Everybody Falls

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Either that or a great name for a band.

  I approached slowly.

  I may not be all that old, but my twenty-four years had taught me well.

  Men had to be approached with caution. Especially if they were drunk, mad or hurt.

  Well, actually even if they were happy, laughing and in a good mood.

  Men were, at all costs, to be approached with caution.

  "Are you alright?" I asked, crouching and bending over the man-who-ran, admiring the back view prone almost as much as I enjoyed the back view upright. Not many men can look as good leaving as they do coming, yet the running man had a great body which seemed to look good from every angle. I admit it, I had noticed him from just about every view.

  I watched as he brought his hands up to his shoulders and levered himself back, his inked biceps flexing as he flopped from his stomach onto his back.

  Oh, sweet chocolate, I thought, looking him over.

  Okay, some people have religion and some people don't. I don't, so I don't tend to swear using religious deities. I use what I know, what I believe in and what's important to me.

  Chocolate being number one.

  But, man, this was bad.

  He was a mess. A bloody mess.

  "Do we need to call an ambulance?" I asked him quietly tucking my hands in the pockets of my sweats before hunkering down next to him, my hands itching to push his long shiny black hair away from his face.

  Some mornings he tied it back, but today it was loose. Or maybe it got that way because of his fall.

  His panting got in the way of talking so he just shook his head slowly.

  "No 911, then," I said and watched as he nodded shallowly, his panting harsh in the chilly morning air.

  "You're a mess, though," I tried to explain.

  I saw him as he closed his heavily fringed eyes and simply nodded shallowly again.

  I waited, hoping he'd get his breath back and tell me what I could do to help him. I was a baker, a dessert maker, not a nurse and wasn't really comfortable in the role, if the truth were known.

  "Do you think you can walk?" I asked gently after a time.

  "Ess," he hissed through mangled lips.

  "Can I help you up?" I pressed, my voice still almost a whisper and watched as he turned himself over slowly, bracing his weight gingerly on his hands and knees.

  He paused before getting up onto his feet.

  'Oh, he's tall,' I thought, watching him stretch himself up to his full height. Easily six foot if not more. My heart sped up at the thought.

  Big men meant bigger problems.

  "Come sit on the porch and I'll help you get cleaned up," I suggested, watching the tall man sway towards me as I spoke. "No, this way," I caught myself saying softly, briefly, touching his arm and providing direction for his wobbly feet.

  His sweats were blown out at both knees and I could see drizzles of blood on them as well as deep grazes on his forearms and palms.

  A five-point plant on dirty asphalt. Yipes! He had to be hurting yet, outside that initial shout, he didn't make a sound.

  I glanced up and got caught in his chocolate-eyed gaze that was pointed down at me.

  You know him, my mind announced suddenly. But, that was silly. He only seemed familiar because he ran by my bakery every morning.

  Chapter 2

  He seemed coherent which was a good thing, because I knew that some people could hide a high better than others. And I was sure that somebody dumb enough to run in chucks had to be swallowing, smoking or snorting something.

  Plus, this was Auburn, where being high was almost an art form in certain circles.

  "Just a few more steps and then you can sit, okay?" I murmured, keeping my eyes on his, just like you would a rattle-snake or a crocodile as I navigated with my peripheral vision.

  I settled him on the top step, pressing my barely sipped coffee into his hands before moving back inside the storefront doors and up the stairs on a run after tossing, "I'll be right back" over my shoulder.

  Ice cubes in a baggie, one wet towel and one dry, the little first aid kit and I was back down the stairs as fast as I could go.

  Planted next to him on the wooden trestle, I looked him over.

  His face was road-rash, bleeding and swelling; dirty and scraped.

  "Can I clean you up a little so we can see what's going on?" I asked quietly, not realizing I was touching his arm as I spoke until I felt a muscle move underneath my fingers.

  He nodded as a car drove by with a honk. That'd be Jeff Peters on his way down the 80 to his job at the HP plant in Roseville. I only knew that because his wife Becky liked my German Chocolate cake a lot. Almost as much as she loved talking about her and her man.

  I waved back without glancing, thinking that getting the man-who-ran into the bakery would probably be the smartest way to treat him. Too many eyes caused too many tongues to wag in our small town. Each story spread from ear-to-ear gaining its own momentum and new embellishments with each re-telling. I wouldn't be surprised if I heard from someone next week about a couple that were having sex on the porch in front of the shop in full view of Jeff as he drove to work. That's how the gossip mill worked around here.

  I pulled on his arm until he stood and moved him to sit at the first table just inside, leaving the glass door open.

  I heard the MP3 repeat Soundgarden's song and thought it was perfect for the moment.

  I'm all for soundtracks to accompany our lives, if they fit. At this moment, the music fit, big time.

  Tenderly, gently I began to dab at the blood that oozed slowly from the cuts on his cheek, not wanting to cause any more pain than he must be feeling at the moment.

  "You might want to put the ice pack on your nose and mouth," I suggested as I continued to dab the wet towel over his face and placed the baggie of ice into his hands.

  He was completely silent as I worked, clearing the blood and road-crap off his face. It had to have hurt, yet he didn't say a word.

  Just kept staring at me with those milk-chocolate colored eyes. Eyes so familiar yet so unknown. How did I know him?

  "Okay, so there's a few deep cuts that I've got to clean with the hateful stuff, okay?" I murmured pulling back from him.

  Again, he only nodded.

  "It's gonna sting. Probably sting pretty bad," I warned, taking out the small hydrogen peroxide bottle from the first aid kit along with the small baggie of cotton balls.

  He stopped me with a large hand on top of my much smaller ones.

  I cautiously raised my eyes to his.

  He pressed the now empty coffee cup towards me.

  "You want more coffee first?" I asked, feeling my mouth dry at his touch. I hated the feel of a strange man's hands on me, even if it was mildly done.

  Done like he was doing now.

  He nodded, not even blinking those brilliant eyes at me.

  "Okay, then," I said slowly, taking the mug. "Let me fire up Bertha and I'll be right back."

  I ignored his look of confusion and made my way to the large Espresso machine behind the counter before loading it carefully. The ding from the small kitchen in the shop sounded, which indicated some of today's treats were done and needed to be removed from the oven.

  While the coffee machine moaned with groans as she, too, awoke, I pulled out the two sheets of chocolate croissants as well as four sheets of different flavored cupcakes out, before reloading with other silver sheets of the items I'd prepared earlier.

  I was a baker. A learned-at-Grandma's-knee kind of baker that enjoyed her work and who got started on her work early.

  I loaded the grounds and shot the hot water through them, watching the brew pour into the mug. I set up another round for myself, using my own special downstairs mug painted a deep adobe red.

  I grabbed a straw and tucked it in into his now full mug.

  He was still sitting in the same place I'd left him, so I took the chair next to him, handing him the mug with the straw.

 
; We sipped in silence, both our eyes trained on the towering trees across the road.

  "Can I clean you now?" I asked softly, after a long while of sitting and sipping, the only noises in the store besides the soft, but hard-driving, music.

  I was getting tired of the song and pulled the remote out of my pocket moving it to my Alternative playlist.

  "Ess," he hissed around the baggie still pressed to his mouth and nose. His voice was deep but gentle, a tone I'd not heard from a large man before. He was large, the breadth of his chest and shoulders completely hiding the large oak chair he sat in.

  I picked up the baggie of cotton balls and released one out onto my hand before dribbling it with the hydrogen peroxide.

  "I'm gonna say sorry beforehand because I know this is gonna hurt," I explained, and pressed the wet cotton into one of the deeper cuts on his cheek.

  He didn't even twitch.

  I turned the cotton ball, patting it against another cut.

  Same result.

  Not a sound, not even an involuntary inhale at the sting.

  His non-reaction added another checkmark to the 'possibly high' portion of the scorecard I was carrying on him. Although those almost familiar, gorgeous brown eyes remained clear.

  Which was the whole of his reaction as I pressed and wiped each of the cuts I could find on his face not covered with the slushy baggie of ice.

  "Okay, we've gotta check out the rest," I said finally, falling back into the chair I'd dragged closer in front of him, my eyes capturing his as I tried to smile.

  A smile so rarely exhibited, it almost came with a creak of disuse.

  "Knees or hands next?" I asked, putting the used cotton pieces aside.

  His eyes searched mine, probingly, before he moved the now melted ice away from his mouth and nose.

  "Knees?" he mumbled, his poor mouth so mangled and swollen that it came out as 'Eees'.

  "Okay, then," I replied, grabbing the bag of cotton balls and the peroxide to kneel on his other side. "You're gonna have to move. I'm not climbing under the table for this."

  I heard a lilting grunt, sounding suspiciously like a chuckle, in reply before he shuffled in his chair and offered me one of his legs, the black cotton of his sweats shredded.

  "Uhm," I mumbled looking at the opening in the material that hung a good three inches below his wound. "We have two choices here. You can either remove your sweats or we can cut them off just above your knee. Your choice."

  I glanced up and got caught up again in those deep brown eyes.

  He held up two fingers on one of his large hands. I could see calluses on the fingers and a stray thought shot through wondering what he did for a living, before I got my head back in the game.

  This guy was too distracting for his own good.

  Second choice it was, then.

  Cut his sweats off at the knees.

  A fine choice. A great choice considering I didn't want a man, even a man as gorgeous as this one, sitting in my shop in his underwear.

  Well, maybe in another alternate universe I would enjoy it.

  If I wasn't, you know, me.

  "Let me get the scissors and check on the stuff in the oven. I'll be right back," I explained, rising to my feet, not seeing his proffered hand until I'd risen all the way up. "Oh. Uhm. Thanks."

  I'd forgotten to set the timer but the stuff in the industrial sized oven was just about perfect, maybe another two or three minutes to go. The scissors, large kitchen shears, were in the knife block right where they were supposed to be.

  Their placement calmed me.

  I liked order. After having a childhood that was always uncertain, chaotic, I loved having a place for everything and everything in its place. Something I'd heard Grandma say. When she'd say it, it was always with a sigh of relief.

  I removed the three pans of the different flavors of 'Morning Cake' which were simply pound cake with flavors, and the two other sheets of cupcakes before placing twelve round cake tins back into the furnace after adjusting the temp.

  Only this time, I made a point of setting the timer.

  My set up table in the small kitchen was now covered with the baked but unfinished goods that would be sold in my shop today.

  I grabbed the scissors and made my way back to the man, calmer now than when I'd left.

  Well, that is until I saw him turn his head as I made my way back into the table area of the store. His eyes were doing a slow roam, a top to bottom journey over me, only stopping at my lips, my breasts, my thighs.

  I thought my heart was going to seize from the racing beat it'd decided to take up at the this handsome stranger's gaze.

  *.*.*.*.*

  His angel of mercy had cut his sweats so she could clean his knees before she'd turned her attention to his hands and arms, gently cleaning and disinfecting as she went.

  He'd decided that she wasn't merely pretty but was, in truth, gorgeous.

  Her hair wasn't just brown, but a multitude of hues within the brown spectrum which shimmered along its long, smooth lengths as she moved, flipping it behind her or moving it over one shoulder while she worked.

  Those eyes that met his so often weren't just blue. Her irises were frosted, with a dark blue that rimmed the lighter blue making you think of glaciers and snow and all things pristinely clean.

  Jax was mesmerized.

  She didn't chat as she worked on him. She didn't flirt or offer him anything other than the immediate help she was giving. Her lack of come-on was more of a turn-on than anything he'd ever experienced.

  Girls had been throwing themselves at him since he was fourteen and he'd never lacked for having a babe on his arm or in his bed. It had only gotten worse when Wynter's Vicious hit fame right before his seventeenth birthday.

  But, her? Jay-sus, she was something else.

  The good kind of something else.

  The kind of something else that made you want to be better just so you could deserve to be in her company.

  Done with his knees and hands, his angel moved back to her chair and turned her attention to his face. He felt her hand cup his that was holding the cold water filled bag to his face and move it away.

  "Crikey," she exclaimed on a low voice. "I'm not gonna lie. It's bad."

  She angled her face closer to his, so close he could smell her sweet breath. "Looks like you've chipped a couple of teeth."

  Jax turned his head and spat.

  They both turned their head towards the window at the pinging sound as two teeth, with roots attached, hit the thick window that lit the full floor space in her store.

  "Okay, then," she drawled with a smile that lit the room with more brilliance than an supernova. "It's official. You're a complete bad-ass."

  He had to school his mouth so that the smile he felt inside at her words didn't stretch his hurt and mangled lips.

  He saw her eyes move as she watched him use what he felt was his new crooked grin.

  "Is there somebody we can call?" she asked, using the other end of the wet-towel to press against the splits in his lips which seemed to be the source of most of the blood on his face.

  "Oots," his deep voice said.

  "I'm sorry?" she responded as he tried to think of a way to say his sponsor's name without having to move his mouth.

  Jax gingerly pulled his cellphone out from the pocket of his newly cut off sweats and did a thumb scroll. He handed her the phone and pointed to the contact that read 'Boots'.

  "This is who you want me to call?" she asked. "Boots?"

  He felt his long, layered hair flop as he nodded, pressing the now nothing except cold water baggie back up to his mouth.

  "Okay," she said and hit the 'call' button.

  "Uhm, my name is Lacey Emerson and I was told to call you. I have a man at my business that did a face-skid and was hurt pretty good while he was running. He asked me to call you. You can reach me at…" and Lacey gave her cell number. "He didn't want medical attention, but I think he needs some. I'll look for
ward to hearing from you."

  She hung up and handed the phone back, not realizing their eyes had been connected the entire time she'd left the voicemail.

  He nodded and carefully bent and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  "We need to see about your mouth. Let me get you more ice," she said, standing and holding out her hand for the baggie.

  He stopped her movements with a hand on her exposed wrist.

  "Acey?" he said slowly. "Yar nam ess 'Acey?"

  "Yeah, Lacey Emerson. What's yours?" she asked, reaching to pick up her coffee cup, which he thought was a ruse to nicely step away from his hand. This girl was a contradiction. Seemed like it was okay for her to touch him, but not okay for him to touch her no matter how innocently.

  "Jack Swynt," she repeated the sounds that had come out of his mouth as he tried to pronounce his own name. The sound was close enough to his real name that he just nodded.

  "Ok, Jack. I'm going to get you more ice while we wait for your friend, okay?" she said, her eyes skittering as he watched her try and fail to keep her eyes off of his. "I need to check on the latest batch, too. Be right back, okay?"

  Jax nodded and watched as she disappeared behind the half-doors, wafting the smell of warm, sugary baked goods out into the open air of the shop, out into the air of the street.

  He turned his head back to center and realized he was sporting a pretty impressive piece of wood that was currently tenting the remaining portion of his sweat pants. Something that he hadn't experienced until recently, which had only started occurring when he first woke up.

  His wood was another sign of progress; another sign that he and his body were waking up.

  A good sign.

  Her eyes were mesmerizing.

  The kind of eyes a man could get lost in.

  Shit, the kind of body a man could lose himself in.

  Jax decided right then and there that he wanted to be that man.

  Chapter 3

  When I was able to make my way back to Jack, an older man was standing in front of the handsome stranger, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans as he bent to survey Jack's face.