by Anna Paige
I, of course, volunteered to pick up at the diner each day.
Sometimes—like today—Clay came along and we would discuss the build’s progress at the counter while Lauren and Miss Fay got our orders boxed up, but oftentimes it was just me. I kind of liked those days better, not that Clay was poor company, but I much preferred chatting with Lauren as she worked.
She and I talked every day at lunch and got together to hang out several times a week, or as much as my work schedule would allow. Our one night together aside, we’d kept it just friends. Not that the urge didn’t hit me every damn time she and I were together. How could it not? She was the sexiest, most mind-blowing lover I’d ever had.
Did I want to take her to bed again?
Um… hell yes.
Did I still think about what it felt like to be inside her?
Damn right, I did.
But, would I risk our friendship to fuck her again?
Not a snowball’s chance in Phoenix.
It wasn’t every day that I found someone I could relate to the way I related to Lauren. She was an outsider, like me. Maybe not for the same reasons, but she was. We both stood apart from the crowd, looking in like spectators at how damn easy it seemed for everyone else. It wasn’t easy for us. Either of us.
But we had each other.
Weirdo and Pariah against the world.
“Hey, doll. Lauren’s bringing out the boxes right now,” Miss Fay offered as she stepped behind the counter, tearing a ticket from her book and sliding it through the opening to the cook line. She spun back to us. “I pulled my back moving patio furniture yesterday so I’m afraid she’s stuck dragging it all out here by herself.” Her eyes cut to me.
“I’ll help her.” I offered, jumping up and leaving Clay to chat up the elderly server.
The swinging door to the kitchen squeaked softly as I pushed my way in and glanced around. “Lauren?”
“Over here, Brant,” she called, sounding exasperated.
The kitchen was exceptionally warm and humid from the recent use of the dish steamer. The air seemed thick, hard to draw in. “Damn, girl. It’s hot in here. You need bigger exhaust fans in this place.” I called, making my way to the cook line, which was partially obscured by dish racks, and spotting Lauren as she blew a strand of sweat-dampened hair from her face, rolling her eyes at me.
“Ya think?” She raised her brow sarcastically, slipping into the snarky banter we’d developed over the last few weeks. “You really are a genius, Matthews.”
“Right back atcha, babe.” I winked. “It takes a brilliant mind to decide to pack the food back here in the sauna rather than taking it out into the air-conditioned dining room.”
A pickle chip whizzed past my head. “Just grab a box, smartass, before I melt into a puddle and ooze into the floor drain.”
“Yes, boss lady,” I snickered, stacking the two large boxes and taking them both as Lauren picked up a thin plate and used it as a fan, following behind.
I slowed long enough to be sure the swinging door didn’t hit her, holding it with my foot until I was sure she had it before I stepped back to my spot at the counter and waited for Miss Fay to finish making change for Clay.
“So, you boys working late again today?” Lauren asked idly, not fooling me in the least. She was lonely. It had been three days since we’d spent time together and we were both going through withdrawals. I’d had to work well past dark all weekend and then spend an hour or two coordinating with the crew leaders so that we could get all the framing done at once.
“Hopefully, not. We have some stuff to finish up on the main building’s foundation today and then we will be able to dial it back for a bit while the framers do their thing.” I gave her a hopeful smile.
“Awesome. I’m sure you could use a breather. I know you guys have been working really hard.”
“Ali and Talia, too.” Clay interjected. “I think Spencer is going to give himself a damn stroke if Talia doesn’t slow down. He’s so busy following her around like she’s a toddler that he’s not getting anything else done. It’s driving us all crazy, especially Talia.” His voice dropped and he leaned in so that only Lauren and I could hear. “And I think she’s about to snap. I caught her glaring at him earlier with a hammer in her hand.”
Lauren’s laughter rang out, momentarily halting all conversation in the restaurant as everyone looked her way. After a beat, they all resumed their meals as if nothing happened but not before I saw a few judgmental looks cast her way. I knew it still happened, though Lauren rarely mentioned it anymore, but seeing it for myself was enough to make my blood boil.
Busybody motherfuckers.
For her part, Lauren didn’t seem to notice or maybe she was just used to it.
I told Lauren I’d call that evening and we said our goodbyes, filing away the incident to ask about later as Clay and I hefted the lunches from the counter. The bell over the door jingled as Clay and I were turning to leave, boxes in hand. An older guy, maybe mid-fifties with a wide scar across the right side of his face, held the door open as we passed. We offered our thanks and made our way out, heading to the side parking lot where I’d parked my truck.
We loaded the boxes in the back seat, taking our time to enjoy the cool fall breeze as we chatted for a few minutes over the hood of my truck and admired some of the classic cars in the lot—property of some of the bullshit table regulars. Knowing the crews were waiting, we grudgingly climbed into my rig, ready to get back to the site and feed the starving masses. Just as I was putting the truck into gear, a flutter of motion caught my eye. I watched with a furrowed brow as Lauren emerged from the rear door of the restaurant, sprinting toward the back of the lot before doubling over and emptying the contents of her stomach near the large metal dumpster.
“What the hell?” Clay muttered beside me, his eyes tracking her too.
I put the truck back in park and moved to climb out. “Take the guys their food; I need to check on her.”
Clay was already climbing out of the passenger side and coming around when I reached the front bumper of the truck. “How are you gonna get back?”
“I’ll figure that out later. Just go. I’ll be fine.” I didn’t even slow down, not giving a damn if I made it back to work or not. All I knew was something was wrong and I wasn’t leaving her.
I vaguely registered the sound of my truck idling as I closed in on Lauren’s crumpled form. Just like Clay to stick around despite my instructions.
“Lauren?” I called, getting more worried by the second. “Lauren? What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
She managed to rise to her feet, but was unsteady so she kept one hand on the dumpster as she shuffled around to the opposite side and away from the mess. Her eyes were downcast and her whole body shook. She still hadn’t spoken or acknowledged my presence.
“Lauren, please talk to me. Say something, Red,” I pleaded.
She just sat there, shivering so hard I could hear her teeth clicking together. It wasn’t from the cold, couldn’t have been. The temperature was warm that day; in the sixties.
“Sweetheart, are you sick? Do you need me to take you to the doctor?”
A quick shake of the head between tremors. Progress, I supposed.
“Okay, so you’re not ill. Did something happen in there?” I flicked a glance toward the restaurant, noticing that Clay was finally pulling out of the lot. “Did one of the customers say or do something to upset you?”
Another swift head shake.
I reached out to brush her hair from her face and she flinched back as if burned, pressing herself against the dumpster and out of my reach.
What the fuck?
I held my hands up in front of me. “Okay, it’s okay. I won’t touch you, but you have to tell me what’s going on.”
Another head shake.
Shit.
Silent tears streamed down her face, thus the reason her hair was sticking to it so badly. I fought the urge to reach out to her again, d
eciding instead to sit down. I moved as close as I dared, settling beside her with about two feet between us and pressed my back against the dumpster, clasping my hands between my bent knees so she could see that I wasn’t trying to touch her.
I sat there for a while, not talking, not moving. Mostly because I had no fucking idea what to do. I hadn’t felt this useless—this helpless—in a long damn time. She cried and trembled, I sat and watched. It was killing me.
Long minutes later, my phone vibrated in my pocket and, after a moment of debate, I pulled it out and frowned at the screen. Talia.
Why was Talia calling me?
I accepted the call and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“How is she?” she asked without preamble.
“Shaking, crying, and not letting me touch her. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“It’s a panic attack.” She cut right to the chase. “Clay told me what you guys saw on the way out. She’s having a panic attack. Is she talking?”
My heart galloped in my chest, mostly in relief that I had an answer of sorts. “No, I can’t get her to speak and she flinched away when I tried to touch her.” I looked over at Lauren, waiting for her to react to being spoken about, but there was no noticeable change. “I need to help her Talia, but she won’t let me. What do I do?”
“If she won’t let you physically touch her yet, all you can do is talk to her. Use a steady, soft voice. Make sentences short because it’s hard to focus during an attack. Tell her she’s safe. Tell her you’re not going to let anything happen to her. Try to get her to breathe with you, taking slow deep breaths. If she responds to that, then see if you can get her to do something physical. Ask her to raise one hand over her head, wiggle her fingers, anything that will shift her attention. Most of all, make sure she can see everything you’re doing. After she’s calmed down a little, you can try to touch her again but move slow, stay in her line of sight, and back off if she flinches away.”
“How do you know all of this?” I asked Talia as I shifted from Lauren’s side to sit directly in front of her.
“Experience,” Talia sighed, her voice full of sympathy.
“From my point of view or hers?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Talia blew out a breath. “Hers, little brother. Hers. And I’m glad to come to the diner if you need me, but I really think she needs you right now. She’s closest with you.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all any of us can do, sweetie. Call me if you need me, okay?”
“Okay.”
I ended the call and watched Lauren’s distant expression as the tears just kept coming and the shakes racked her body. “Lauren, I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe with me, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.” My voice shook with remembered pain, past failings rearing their ugly heads to remind me that I’d made that promise before. I bit down hard to fight off the onslaught of emotion and refocused on Lauren. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I swear I do.” I won’t fail again.
I leaned down, trying to catch her eye. “Can you do something for me? Can you breathe with me? We’ll do it together, okay? Take a deep breath for me, baby.” I took in a deep breath, my chest expanding as I watched her. After a moment, she drew in a long, deep breath. We breathed out together and her eyes finally met mine. Her expression was so haunted, vacant, hollow. More so than I had ever seen. It scared the shit out of me. Instead of reaching for her like I wanted—and goddamn did I want to—I offered a soft smile and inhaled again, watching her follow along.
We sat like that for several minutes, just breathing. I even managed to get her moving a little. Her hands raised, her fingers wiggled, and eventually, she even brushed the errant strands of hair from her face. I was grateful as hell for that because in my panicked mind they were once again starting to look like streaks of blood against her pale skin.
When her hand returned to her lap, I held my own hand up and slowly reached for her. She tracked my movements with wary tension in her face but didn’t stop me. Rather than touching her, I turned my palm up and waited for her to give her hand to me. She looked at my upturned hand for a moment before haltingly threading her fingers through mine.
Once contact was made, I could breathe again. I was getting her back; I was helping even if only a little.
She squeezed my hand and held my gaze, tears still falling but shaking far less than she was. “He found me.” Her voice was raspy when she spoke, her eyes suddenly widening as she turned to glance at her surroundings, looking on the verge of bolting. “He was here.” There was no mistaking the terror on her face or in her words.
“Who was here, Lauren?” I was looking around too, wondering what the hell she was talking about.
“He thinks Teach left me money. Said I had to pay him. That I owed him for all those years in prison. That it was my fault he was scarred and I better pay or else.” The shaking returned now, worse than ever. I expected her to draw away but, instead, she practically jumped into my lap.
Scarred?
My mind immediately flashed to the guy who had been entering the diner as Clay and I left.
“I saw him.” I told her as she tucked her head under my chin, curling herself into a ball. “Who is he?”
“My stepfather.” She said, sounding small, fragile. “He used to hurt me. A lot. But Teach saved me. He found him doing that to me and Teach nearly beat him to death before the police got there.”
Jesus fucking Christ. “He hurt you?”
I felt her nod against my chest, moisture from her tears soaking through my thin t-shirt. “He’s the reason I can’t ever have babies. They had to take my uterus when I was eleven. I was hemorrhaging.”
Bile rose in my throat at the implications, my fucking analytical mind trying to fathom the trauma that had caused a thing like that. I couldn’t get it out of my head, couldn’t breathe for the pain of knowing what she must have suffered. Couldn’t swallow back the tears of rage at knowing I had walked right by the son of a bitch who did that to her, smiled at him and thanked him for holding the door.
I’d walked out and left her unprotected against him.
“I’ll fucking kill him.” My voice was unrecognizable even to my own ears. Deadly serious. Vicious. Determined.
She shook her head, looking up at me with tear-reddened eyes. “No. Don’t do anything. I don’t want to lose you. You’re my only real friend. I need you with me, not in prison.” She glanced over at the diner. “Maybe he won’t come back. I told him I didn’t inherit anything, and that I didn’t have any money and I was calling the cops. He was going out the door when I ran out through the kitchen.”
She paused and chewed her lip, thinking. “He probably won’t come back, right? All he wanted was money and now he knows I don’t have any. Maybe that’s the end of it. Right?” She looked up at me, hope and fear shining in her crystal blue eyes.
“Maybe.” I didn’t believe it for even a second but right then all I cared about was making her feel better.
Once I knew she was okay, the hunt was on.
Seven
Lauren
My head was still pounding when I got home. Brant had loaded me into my Mustang, gone back into the diner to get my things, and driven me around for hours, just letting me stare off into space. I barely noticed when he hit one of the drive-thrus and got us both something to drink. Oddly enough, he picked a strawberry shake for me. It was my favorite drink from that particular restaurant.
There was a time that I’d have been suspicious of anyone who knew my habits that well, but the last several weeks with Brant had changed that, at least as far as he was concerned. I trusted him. I’d grown accustomed to the thoughtful gestures and started seeing them for what they were, his way of showing his friendship. There were no ulterior motives, just kindness.
In the past, guys had done sweet things to ingratiate themselves to me so that they’d have a better chance of getting into my panties. Th
ey thought I was stupid, gullible; weak-minded enough to think that some token gesture meant they were good men, worthy of my trust. I was no fool, though. I knew better. I knew what they cared about, what value I held for them. And they didn’t win. Ever.
I never fell for the bullshit lines, never drank anything handed to me by anyone I didn’t trust, and I never let my guard down. I’d never be a fucking victim again. Not for anyone or anything. That meant spending a lot of time alone. And when I had to be in a crowd, I spent a lot of time in my own head analyzing people’s motives.
With Brant, though, I felt safe enough to be myself for the first time in my life. I felt accepted, appreciated. Understood. Safe. I was happier than I’d been in a long time.
I should have known it wouldn’t last.
Happiness never does.
Just when I thought I might make it, might have found a way to be okay… bam! Isaac strolls into the diner with loathing and violence in his eyes and I was suddenly back there again, a scared little girl who lived in perpetual pain and fear. A few words from him and I was ruined all over again.
Brant cut the car’s engine and got out, circling to open my door. He reached out his hand to help me from the car and I took it gratefully. I was still shaky from my episode in the parking lot and it took a minute to get my wobbly legs under control. Once I’d righted myself and given him a nod, he let go of my hand but kept close as we made our way inside.
Spencer and Talia said they’d bring Brant’s truck by after work, which seemed to suit Brant fine since he’d given no indication of wanting to leave my side any time soon.
We neared the door and I fumbled with my handbag, looking for my keys as the front door swung open.
Bonnie.
Just what I needed.
“Well, aren’t you popular? Second fella of the day…” she cut her eyes at Brant.
