Love Rerouted

by Leddy Harper

  Safe. Protected. At ease.

  He blinked his onyx eyes a few times, and then he shook his head, as if breaking some sort of spell. When he reached behind him, the lever rattled—which probably sounded louder than it really was—and I realized he’d locked the door. I began to give more consideration to the concussion theory, because locked in a bathroom with a man who could probably pull a tree out of the ground with his bare hands should’ve terrified me. Instead, I remained near the sink and waited for his next move.

  He held my gaze and lowered his head just enough to translate his unspoken question. Hesitating near the door, he silently asked for my permission to come closer, and without a single recollection of anything I’d been taught my whole life about stranger danger, I nodded.

  Had I watched this happen on TV, I would’ve been yelling at the screen. I mean, this was no different than those stupid girls in scary movies who ran upstairs instead of taking off through the front door when a crazy man invaded her house, wielding a knife.

  But I couldn’t contemplate the possibly dangerous situation I’d put myself in, because a split second later, he was in front of me. He loosely threaded his fingers through my hair, cradling the side of my head, while he used his other hand to blot a cluster of wet paper towels over the burning ache next to my left eye.

  “You were right,” he said in such a low tone that I could detect every vibration traveling through his vocal cords. “It’s not as bad as it looks. But you’ll still need a first aid kit. Let me go see what they have on the shelf, and then I’ll finish cleaning you up.”

  I nodded, even if I wasn’t quite sure I understood what he said. I was too busy swimming in the vibrato of his voice. It was like a riptide, carrying me out to sea with no promise of being returned. And God, did I wish he could make that come true.

  He tossed the crimson-dotted wad of brown paper towel into the trash, and then swiped the pad of his thumb over my eyebrow. “Lock the door behind me, and don’t let anyone in until I come back. Got it?” It was barely a whisper, nothing more than soft-spoken words grated over gravel; nonetheless, I heard it.

  He waited for my nod, and then turned around. I followed him to the door, and as soon as he slipped out, I twisted the lock. A second later, the handle jiggled from the outside. Realizing he had checked to make sure I followed his direction caused a smile to curl ever so slightly at the corners of my mouth.

  Without his presence, the room cooled. Each second took twice as long to pass as I stood alone in the smelly bathroom, waiting for his return. Even though I still felt safe, I was pretty sure I knew the culprit of the horrific odor in the room, and I avoided a peek at the urinal on the wall. Terror gripped me at what I might’ve found living in it, or in the toilet in the far corner.

  I stood in front of the mirror and took in my reflection for the first time, suppressing a shudder of revulsion—not only at this bathroom but at what met my gaze in the reflection. It was hideous. The left side of my bottom lip, not quite to the corner, was somewhat swollen. Remnants of dried blood clung to the skin beneath my mouth, near my chin, yet I couldn’t find the source of it. Aside from being a little fatter than normal and a shade of blue not commonly found on someone’s face, I didn’t see an actual wound. I slid my tongue along the inside and immediately flinched. Mystery solved. Seemed my tooth had punctured the inside of my bottom lip. I was just thankful it hadn’t gone all the way through. It hurt, but more than anything, it was sore—though nothing like the throbbing ache radiating from the corner of my eye.

  More discoloration dotted the side of my face, starting near my temple and ending at the curve of my cheekbone. In addition to the same bluish hue that decorated my lip, there was a deep-red, almost purple spot toward the center, right where the pain pulsated the most. And at the center of that was a gash about an inch long. It seemed to have stopped bleeding for the most part—although, even after Mr. September had cleaned it off, blood continued to seep out when I ran my fingertip over it.

  A soft knock came from the door, and it set about a pitter-patter in my chest. I stepped closer and wrapped my fingers around the handle. Before I could twist it and let him in, I heard, “Sweetheart, it’s me.” If only he knew the daydreams I’d have after this.

  After I let him in, he relocked the door and quickly moved to the sink with a brown paper bag. I stood still and watched as he produced a box of bandages, followed by a tube of ointment, and finally, a small package of square, white gauze. Once he had it all arranged, now sitting on top of the bag in the sink that he’d lined with more paper towels, he turned to me and held out his hand.

  Again, he offered me the bait.

  And I more than willingly took it.

  I moved closer and allowed him to tend to my wounds. When it became too painful, I fisted the front of his hoodie and closed my eyes, pushing and pulling shallow breaths through clenched teeth. All the while, he soothed me with hushes and “It’s all right, sweetheart. Almost done.”

  I wasn’t ready to let him go; I continued to cling to him while he threw away the trash and returned the bandages and ointment to the bag. I wished time would stop, or at the very least, slow way down. I didn’t want to leave this disgusting bathroom, because I wasn’t ready to be alone. I wasn’t sure how many more miles I had left in me in the dark, in the cold. If I could, I’d stay here with him until the sun came up.

  “The uh…the door that you ran into, is it here?”

  I was confused for a second, but then I realized what he meant. I shook my head and said, “No. I only came here to wash my face.”

  His dark eyes clouded with doubt, like he had something else to say, but he changed his mind, nodding instead.

  “I guess I should be going.” Regardless of my own desires, I released my hold on his hoodie and stepped away, breathing in his scent one last time in the hopes it would stay with me for a while.

  “Well, here…take this.” He held out the paper bag. “I’m sure you’ll need to change your bandage in the morning. Your lip only looks bruised, but that cut might take a bit to heal all the way.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled while accepting the first aid kit.

  Reluctantly, I left the restroom. No one even took notice of us, that we were together or had just exited a bathroom at the same time. In fact, rather than the line of people that had been there when I came in, only one person remained at the counter, and from the sound of it, she was buying scratch-off tickets. We breezed past the counter, but the clerk didn’t glance up, not even when the man who’d tended my wound pushed open the glass door and closed it behind me.

  He followed me into the parking lot, and for a split second, I contemplated going back inside to buy some time. I didn’t want him to watch me walk toward the street. So rather than look at him, I crossed my arms over my chest to fight off the cold and quickly headed in the direction of the gas pumps.

  I’d made it to the road without hearing him call after me. For a minute, I believed I was safe. Until an old car—collector type, not beater—exited the gas station and pulled off on the shoulder just ahead of me. My quivering body rejoiced at the sight of him stepping out from the driver’s side, while my heart cried. He truly was trying to save me, and as much as I wished he could, it would only ruin him in the end.

  He stopped next to the glowing taillight and leaned against the rear panel of the car, waiting for me as I slowly walked toward him. Outside, with very little to highlight his features, he could’ve been anyone. And that thought halted my steps.

  “D-did he send you?” My voice came out so airy it barely qualified as a whisper.

  He blinked, and the red glow of the taillights shimmered in his puzzled, dark eyes. It was enough to set me at ease, to convince me he wasn’t with them. He wasn’t a monster—my fear just made him resemble one.

  “Never mind.”

  His gaze softened; maybe relief flooded his system, too. Then, just as silent as he’d been since getting out of the car, he tilted his h
ead to the side—another unasked question I didn’t need to hear to comprehend.

  “I’m fine. I walked all the way here without getting kidnapped or killed.”

  A huffed laugh escaped in a cloud of smoke as his hot breath collided with the cold air. Then he pointed to the thin sleeves of my shirt and the rips in the knees and thighs of my jeans. “You must be freezing. Don’t you have a jacket?”

  “Not with me.”

  Without another word, he grabbed the cuff of his hoodie and tugged, sliding his arms out before pulling it over his head. “Here, put this on,” he said while holding out the black bundle for me to take.

  “Then you’ll be cold.” Yup, I’d just diagnosed myself with a concussion. No one in their right mind would turn down a warm sweatshirt when it was this cold outside.

  “I’ll be fine. Just take it.”

  I did as he said and grabbed the soft material from his fingers. Everything was fine until he gripped the strap of my backpack to help me take it off. I froze. If he noticed my reaction, it didn’t stop him from sliding it off one of my shoulders and then reaching for the other strap.

  “I won’t take it, I promise. Just let me hold it for you while you put that on.”

  I was in no position to argue. I was cold, and I needed this jacket, so I accepted his help as I quickly slipped the hoodie over my head and shoved my arms through. While it was huge and practically swallowed me whole, it was also warm from his body and smelled of whatever cologne he wore. I held the front of it to my nose and inhaled deeply, earning a guttural laugh from him. I figured I’d already told him he smelled nice, so there was no point in trying to act cool now.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, taking my bag from his grip. I slipped my arms through the straps and pulled it onto my shoulders again.

  He twisted his hips and turned side to side to observe the vast darkness that surrounded us. I had no idea where we were, and even I could tell there wasn’t anything around for miles. When he faced me again, the lights from the gas station emphasized the concern in his gaze.

  “Where are you going?”

  I shrugged, unable to answer him. I mean, I didn’t have the faintest idea where I was, so it wasn’t like I could toss out street names without looking stupid.

  He cocked his head and leaned closer, as if he’d misunderstood me. “You don’t know where you’re going? Are you like…running away from home or something?”

  If only it were that easy. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Did you run into the door on the way out? Or are you leaving because of the door?”

  Without him saying it, I believed he was under the impression I’d been abused. There was no way to prove what had happened, so I decided against arguing with him and said, “Um…both? When I was leaving, I ran into the door, and then after I left, I realized I couldn’t go home. Which is why I don’t have a jacket.”

  “Why can’t you go home?”

  Had I thought before I spoke, I would’ve seen his question coming. Unfortunately, between the freezing temperatures, the throbbing on the side of my face, the scent of his jacket so close to my nose, and the way his sexy face made me stupid, I did not, in fact, think before I spoke. And now, I wasn’t sure how I’d get out of it.

  When in doubt, say, “It’s a long story.”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets, lifted his shoulders, and smacked his lips while rocking on his heels. “Okay. I can accept that. Can I at least ask how far you plan to go? It’s late and cold…not a good combination for a girl of…what, sixteen, seventeen?”

  “Eighteen.”

  He eyed me skeptically for a moment, but I didn’t blame him for being wary. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me, either. After all, I was carrying a book bag, I wore no makeup, and my windblown hair probably made me look like some vagrant child on the run.

  “You sure?”

  I laughed; I couldn’t help it. “Unless you know something I don’t, then yeah, I’m sure. Would you like to see my driver’s license?”

  He shrugged and nodded. “Yeah…why not.”

  Rolling my eyes, I slipped my bag off one shoulder and dug into the front pocket for my wallet. I slid out the card with my photo and date of birth on the front and held it up for him to read. Pinching it between his fingers, he bent down to examine it in the red glow of his taillights and glanced between me and the photo several times, a smile playing on his full, perfect lips.

  “Thank you, Maggie Abrams,” he said and handed me the ID.

  Hearing a stranger use my full name, especially in a voice that dangerous, should’ve sent alarm bells ringing in my ears. However, it didn’t. The grit in his voice filled the syllables of my name and lit a fire inside me. A wild, dangerous, deadly fire. It was something I’d never experienced before, and something I prayed I’d be able to relive again. It gave my soft existence a hard edge and sparked a flame of confidence inside.

  “Which way are you headed?”

  Something told me that no matter what answer I gave, he’d tell me that was the direction he was going, too. I could’ve told him I was going to the moon and he’d say that was on his way.

  “South.”

  “There’s lots of places south of here, sweetheart. Anywhere specific?”

  “Um…Florida?” I hadn’t intended to pose it as a question. I knew exactly where I was headed, yet my answer lacked the confidence it needed to convince him. “I’m on my way to my grandfather’s house. He’s sick, and there’s no telling how much longer he’ll be around, so I’d like to see him before—”

  He carefully placed a warm, callused finger over my lips to silence me, a smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “I have no clue if any of that is true, so save your story for another time when you decide to tell me the whole thing.”

  “Another time?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted one shoulder and raised his brows. “I’m headed out of town with no place in particular to go. If you’d like, I can drive you wherever it is you’re going. Whether that’s the bus station or an airport, or all the way to the Sunshine State. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  “That’s like twenty hours away. And you just met me.”

  “Like I said, Maggie…I have nowhere in particular to go. Florida sounds nice, and I’m sure it’s not as cold there as it is here. Since I no longer have a jacket, I wouldn’t mind going to a warmer climate. And I don’t care that we just met. That’s what’ll make the trip fun—getting to know each other.”

  “Do I get to see your ID?” Why I didn’t just ask for his name was beyond me.

  A hoarse laugh tore through his chest as he dropped his head, shaking it side to side. “Yeah, sweetheart. You can see my license.” Then he dug his wallet from his back pocket and held it up for me to take. At least he was trusting.

  Talon McNeil from Fleetwood, Iowa. And if my math was correct, he was twenty-three years old. His photo resembled him, although I could tell it had been taken a while ago. His dark hair had grown longer, and he appeared to have gained fifty pounds in muscle mass.

  “Okay, Talon.” I wanted to hear his name out loud, then I realized he was the only one who could make a name sound like porn.

  “Does this mean you’ll come with me?”

  I was cold, hungry, tired, and alone. Whether I went with him or continued to walk in the dark by myself, I could potentially be in danger. So, I said, “Yes, but first, I need you to clarify one thing. The rest you can tell me during our trip.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Why don’t you have anywhere in particular to be?”

  He shoved his hands into his front pockets and raked his bottom lip between his teeth. “My boss, who was also like the only person on this planet who meant anything to me, passed away. So I no longer have anyone keeping me in town. No reason to stay. And at the same time, I don’t really have anywhere to go. You need a ride to Florida, so I guess it seemed like a good enough reason to leave, no?”

  “What di
d you do? I mean, before your boss died?”

  “Mechanic. He left me his car.” He turned his head and took a moment to admire the vehicle next to him. “It’s the only thing in my life that means anything to me, so it’s not like I’m leaving anything behind. He always told me to find my purpose. Maybe getting you away from this town is what he was talking about.”

  I’d never understand how such a large guy—a living, breathing brick wall—could sound so small, yet he did. Sadness glittered in his dark eyes and hope lightened his features. He looked…human. Real. It gave dimension to his rough and rugged exterior.

  And again, it made me feel safe.

  “Yeah. Maybe it is,” I whispered, lost at what else to say.

  Apparently, nothing else needed to be said. He took my hand, slipped his rough fingers through mine, and led me to the passenger side. Something about the night felt different as I walked next to him, my side close to his. It was just as frigid as before, the breeze just as cutting, and the sky just as dark. But now, there was a sizzle in the air, a buzzing of danger and a distant melody of freedom. I was right there, on the cusp of getting away, of having it all, and Talon was the one who’d give me that.

  He opened the passenger door, and it took me a moment to stop appreciating its beauty long enough to slide into the white leather bucket seat. I couldn’t tell exactly what color the exterior was, just that it was dark. And other than it being old, I had no idea of the year or model.

  As he stalked around the front to the other side, I couldn’t choose which one to admire more—the car or the driver. Both were excellent eye candy. I wasn’t much of an automobile person, couldn’t differentiate between a Chrysler and a Dodge, but I wasn’t blind. I could appreciate a well-kept vehicle like anyone else. And it was clear that this car had been loved dearly—and probably treated better than anyone’s mama.