Life Unwritten

by T. I. Lowe

  Jack shakes hands with a massive guy guarding the door. “Bryant, how’s the night treating you?”

  “Great, man. The house is full.” The dark-skinned giant looks at me, but gives nothing away with his hard features.

  “That’ll make the night interesting.” Jack slaps him on the shoulder, laying his masculinity on rather thickly. He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me into the most crowded perdition I’ve ever ventured into.

  Before I can freak completely out, a brightly colored cocktail in an otherworldly blue hue is shoved into my hand. Downing it in one long gulp to avoid the sickly sweet taste, I hand the empty glass over only to receive a hot-pink replacement. As I’m tugged through the throngs of bodies swaying to the pulsating beat, glass after glass of weak alcohol find their way to me. I think I’m going to end up with a stomach ache from the high doses of sugar before the traces of alcohol can offer me a buzz.

  Dizzy and slightly nauseated, I keep my head down and focus on my Converse sneakers. Jack tries introducing me to a few people, but a blur has crept into my vision. Loud music and laughter collide, making it impossible to focus in one direction. He remains my anchor for about an hour before letting go of my hand and that’s when I lose him in the sea of bodies. One moment he’s by my side, the next I’m cocooned on an upper dancefloor among sweaty strangers who seem in a dancing trance.

  This is not me and not my kind of place. The only place I belong is back at the cottage in my dark office cave.

  A set of arms halt the escape I was about to make, pulling me against a chest. “You look like a treat needing to be unwrapped, sexy!” a man yells into my ear.

  My elbows shove backwards, making contact with the stranger’s gut until he releases me.

  “Feisty! This is gonna be fun.” He bellows in laughter.

  I swing around and find a bleach-blond man who’s barely an inch or two taller than me. Mr. Napoleon makes up for his limited height with lots of cocky attitude. He’s squinting to the point that only a sliver of pupil peeps from each eye and his cheeks are rosy. Clearly he started hitting the spirits a little too early.

  “No fun here, man. I’m mean!” I bare my teeth for effect, but the dude laughs at me and grabs at my waist with one hand and starts tugging at my hat with the other.

  “Come on, sexy. Take that hat off and let me get a better look at ya.”

  Thick blonde curls fall all around my face once the hat disappears. He sloppily brushes the mass of hair out of my eyes.

  I see red.

  The adrenaline starts to burn through my veins, pushing out pure evil as my fist balls up and takes a swing. His face isn’t nearly as soft as I thought it would be and has my entire hand throbbing.

  “No one touches me!” I shout.

  Blood starts trickling from his bottom lip as he dabs at it in disbelief. “I think I’m in love,” he lisps out, sending the onlookers into a raucous roar of laughter.

  Rolling my eyes, I give him a harsh shove and stomp off. I yank my phone out and text a death threat to Jack, promising to dismember him piece by piece and toss his remains in the ocean, before rushing out of an exit.

  The tears threatening to spill seem to dry in the sultry breeze as I take a deep inhale of it. Pushing the breath out, I suck in another long gulp and repeat this breathing technique until the tingling along my arms and the pounding in my chest settle down to a manageable attack.

  “You okay, little lady?” a vaguely familiar voice asks.

  I glance way up and find the bouncer I met at the door earlier. Bryant was it? My head nods as I keep to the deep breathing.

  “You need me to get Jack?”

  My head shakes. I keep breathing.

  He considers me through several breaths before grunting. “All right. How about a cab?”

  My head nods vigorously with hearing the best option of the night. Inhale through the nose. Out through the mouth.

  Not much time wastes until I’m tucked inside the back of a cab and am heading back to my safe haven, vowing to never leave it again. It’s a short ride, but gives me enough time to reflect on the stupidity of Jack’s decision tonight. What was he thinking bringing me into something so wild and swarming with people?

  One way to break a skittish animal, throw them in headfirst?

  That saying flickers through my fuzzy mind and I shake it away. Wrong. So wrong. Five years it took to guilt me into an excursion such as this and one hour to determine it will never happen again.

  The cab delivers me home in mostly one piece. With my missing hat and throbbing knuckles, I’m a little worse for wear. Before I can dwell on that too long, a dark shadow moves on my porch.

  “I ain’t in the mood to kill a man tonight, but this gun will do what it’s gotta do!” I try growling out the threat, but it comes out with a hint of slurring.

  Beck’s chuckle washes over me like a soothing caress, sending my tense shoulders back below my ears. I stumble up the walk and take a seat on the step beside him. The entire club debacle seeps away at the sight of him lounging beside me, looking like he just hopped out of the shower and strolled over here. From his damp locks and sweatpants, I’d say that’s exactly what he did.

  “Where’ve you been? A ballgame or something?”

  “Or something. Jack guilt-tripped me into going with him to a dance club.”

  “Yeah? You went dancing dressed like this?” He tugs at the hem of my jersey.

  “I didn’t dance. I had a hat on at one point, too, but some jerk swiped it.”

  “Harper?” There’s a mix of warning and concern in the pronunciation of my name, but it’s still poetic coming from his lips. My eyes focus on that mouth until he repeats, “Harper?”

  “The entire night’s experience was a nightmare. Do you go clubbing?” I ask even though I’m pretty sure of his answer already.

  “Not my scene.”

  “That’s what I said.” A breeze sweeps across the porch and sends my hair all over the place. Beck gently combs it from my face, his blue eyes holding a hefty amount of concern.

  “Why did Jack push you to go to a place like that in the first place?”

  I shrug. “Jack thinks it’s his job to yank me out of my shell.”

  Beck drops his hand and huffs. “Well, I can think of a better place for that than a club.”

  “Oh yeah? Where?”

  “Church,” he says instantly and I instantly recoil.

  Scrunching up my nose, I mumble, “Not my scene either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Fakers aren’t my idea of fun company.” There’s no holding the flinch back over my own words, knowing I’m as fake as they come in my professional life.

  “How do you know that if you don’t go to church? You shouldn’t knock something until you’ve tried it.” His dark brow hitches up.

  “Oh, I tried it for eighteen years. Trust me, I have plenty of evidence to knock it.”

  “What evidence is that?”

  A few golf carts come zooming by with a crowd of teenagers hooting and hollering at each other. After they pass, I’m ready to present my case. “The church I attended picked certain parts of the Bible to fit their lifestyles. Twisting other parts so they could feel entitled to judge and condemn others who didn’t fit into their religious mold.”

  “Explain the mold,” Beck states as soon as I pause to take a breath.

  “The mold where it was okay to consume several slices of cake along with an extra plate of cookies and brownies at the church social. They had no problem with members making pigs of themselves and doubling the size of their temples. But heaven forbid if a member is caught at a restaurant having a glass of wine with their meal. That somehow didn’t fit the mold and the bloated members would come up with a plan before the next service to show the outcasts to the exit.”

  Beck nods as though considering what I said. “Anything else?”

  “Plenty!” Oh, I’m just getting started. “Don’t you dare say a curse wo
rd even though that’s nowhere in the Bible, but it’s perfectly okay to talk about the person who slipped and said the ugly word as long as you call it prayer request instead of gossip. And it was even better if you follow the gossip session with a “bless their hearts” before you say amen.”

  “Overindulging seems to be the issue here. They thought it was okay to overindulge in some things but not others, correct?”

  “Yep.” I nod, impressed he gets my point. “Anything in excess is considered a sin from what I gather from God’s words.”

  “So, you have no trouble overindulging or maybe slipping with some inappropriate words every now and then?”

  “I see where you’re going. Yes, I overindulge. I was over two hundred pounds not too long ago, and you already know I can get carried away with a bottle.” I point at my chest. “You won’t find me sitting on a cushioned pew pretending I don’t, so don’t try turning this religious crap around on me”

  “What’s really the point in going to church?”

  “Beats me!” I push a heavy huff out with growing frustrated by this stupid conversation.

  “I go to church to praise God and give Him the respect He deserves for blessing me with this life.”

  “I’m good there.”

  “Explain.”

  “I don’t live much.”

  “You’re the only one to blame for that.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s your life, Harper. If it’s unwritten, then pick up the blame pen and get to it.”

  “I don’t know how,” I whisper.

  “You need to start by dealing with your insecurities and quit deflecting that by blaming that church of yours or any other person.” I try to interrupt, but Beck plows on. “Answer me this. Do you like people holding your mess-ups over your head?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then stop doing it to others.”

  “Can we just drop it?” I snap. Huffing and crossing my arms, I direct my scowl to the dark beach house across the street. It looks so all alone. I can relate.

  “Okay,” he mutters, sounding like it’s not okay with him at all.

  Silence settles around us for a while, but the breeze picks up and starts teasing me with hints of Beck’s scent. I can take only so much before leaning in and inhaling the fresh scent permeating his long neck.

  “You just sniff me?”

  “Yes. You always smell so delicious.” I steal one more lungful of his comforting fragrance before straightening back up.

  “Are you drunk again?” There’s weariness in his voice and it doesn’t set well with me that I put it there.

  I flick my left hand to shoo his accusation away. “No. Jack kept shoving sissy drinks in my hand, but I’m fortified with top-shelf bourbon. And the little buzz I had going on back at the club has been burned away from the adrenaline.”

  “Adrenaline from what?” Now he’s sounding agitated.

  I shrug dismissively and secretly sigh in relief that we’ve veered away from the church subject. “From the fight.” I probably shouldn’t poke at this bear, but it sure is fun to get him riled up.

  “Level with me. I’m not playing this silly game.” Drill Sergeant McCaffery has arrived.

  “You’re no fun… Okay, so the guy that stole my hat thought it was okay to grab me. I taught him a lesson.”

  “I hope you taught it to him firmly. Or do I need to go over there and hunt him down?” Beck is already about to stand, but I wave him to stay seated.

  “I punched him in the mouth and made the punk bleed. I took care of him myself.”

  “Atta girl.” He produces his knuckles for a bump.

  Without thought, I bump his and a pain ricochets from my knuckles and on up my arm. “Oww!”

  Beck brings my hand over to his lap and inspects my booboo. “It’s swelling. Let’s get some ice on it.”

  “I will later. Let’s just sit here a little longer, please.”

  “We can hang out inside while I ice your hand.” He’s got that authoritative glint in his eye.

  “No. I…”

  “It works better the faster we get the ice on it.”

  “No.” I refuse to budge from the step and he looks close to lifting me against my will.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want you to come inside tonight.” I expect him to ask why not again, but he remains silent with his eyes seeking the answer. He’s so intimidating and I’m close to chickening out, but I manage to deliver the truth. “I just need some alone time. Tonight was overwhelming… Last night was overwhelming…”

  “You know that just makes me want to stay even more.”

  Now it’s my turn to ask, “Why?”

  Beck sits back down and runs his hands over his face. “You have my protective instincts on high alert. All the time.”

  “I can take care of myself.” My chin juts out and he reaches over and captures it with his fingertips.

  Leaning down, he says against my lips, “I didn’t say you couldn’t, but I want the honor of doing it for you.”

  Well, what does a girl say to that?

  Not a dang thing, I tell ya.

  I seal my lips to his and kiss out my fears, my hopes, and my exhilarations over Beck’s declaration. As we continue to kiss, I feel his fingers slip into my front pocket and grab my house key.

  I lean my head back to sever the connection. “I’m serious about you not coming in tonight.”

  He says nothing, just gets up and goes to unlock the door. We both stand at the threshold waiting. For what? I haven’t a clue.

  “Beck, if you come inside, my brain will turn to mush and I may do something stupid…like bite you again…or punch you.”

  This cracks the tension and we both let go of a small laugh.

  Beck hands over my key and graces my lips with another kiss. “Get some ice on that hand, Rocky.”

  He gives me an appreciative smile, looking proud for some reason, before stepping off the porch and into the night.

  I lean against the doorframe and watch on until his form completely disappears. One thing I’ve grown to admire about this man is he knows when to push me. He also knows when to step back and allow me a breath.

  Taking a much-needed deep breath, I head inside to tend to my bruised hand.

  Chapter Seven

  Google is said to be my friend. Maybe so since it tells me what I need to know, even if it’s not normally what I had hoped to hear. I tap out my question at four in the morning with one hand while my other one throbs like a toothache, hoping it’ll be kind this time.

  Q. - How to treat bruised knuckles?

  A. - Initially, ice and anti-inflammatory meds. Exercise to help relieve stiffness in the joints.

  Nope, not what I wanted to hear. I shut the computer down and text Beck while shuffling into the den. My hand hurts.

  He texts back—Come on anyway. We’ll work around it.

  I glare at the phone and toss it on the couch before plopping down beside it. Sure, I want to see his handsome mug, but I’ve woken up with not one ounce of aspiration to work out today. I lean my head back and start dozing off when the phone comes alive with Justin Timberlake’s “SexyBack” crooning from the tiny speaker. My left hand awkwardly picks it up, making me feel right pathetic.

  “What?” I grouch into the receiver.

  “I’m outside waiting on you,” Beck answers as a knock sounds at the door.

  Groaning, I stand up and head over to open it. “I don’t feel good. Can’t we both just stay here?” Once the door is open, I end the call and stare at him. He’s in a black T-shirt, black cargo shorts, black hat and sneakers. “Are you going to a body boot camp funeral?”

  His lip twitches as he pockets the phone, but doesn’t allow me the gift of a smile. “Yours if you don’t go get dressed.”

  “I don’t feel up to it today.” My nose wrinkles as I show him my hand.

  Beck gently presses his lips to my purple knuckles before spinning me
around. “Get dressed. You don’t want to make me late. Now hurry.” He reaffirms his demand by popping my backside.

  I hop out of the way and slice him a glare. “You’re the devil.”

  “And you’re certainly no angel. Get the lead out, Blume!”

  “Sir, yes sir!” I give him an exaggerated salute and stomp to my room.

  After wiggling into a pair of loose jogging pants and an oversized T-shirt, I open the door and plow into Beck’s chest.

  “Watch out before you hurt yourself some more.” He takes my shoes out of my good hand and bends down to put them on my feet. After he ties them, he yanks the drawstring tight in my pants and ties that as well. “You got one of those hair tie things?” He looks up in all sincerity.

  And I look down and crack up into a fit of giggles. “You’re going to do my hair?”

  He stands and hurries into the bathroom on a mission. “Yes, or you could ask one of the women in class to help you out when we get there.”

  I move him out of the way to open the drawer below the one he was plundering through and pull a tie out and hand it over. “Guess you’re stuck with the honor. None of them will even look in my direction.”

  Beck carefully gathers my wavy mess of hair, using his fingers as a comb. “Because you’re trouble. If you’d behave they’d probably be friendly.” He manages to wrangle my entire mane into a low ponytail.

  “Not bad.” I eye the lumpy hairdo in the mirror.

  “I have three sisters, remember?”

  “That’s right.”

  He checks his watch. “We’re cutting it close. Let’s go.”

  Mr. Bossy-pants tugs me through the house and out the door, slowing just enough to grab two bottles of water from the fridge.

  A dark-green Jeep Wrangler sits idling in my drive. Oddly enough, it’s the first time I’ve seen him drive anything anywhere. “I thought you normally walk or bike to class.”

  Beck lifts me into the passenger seat that has no door and fastens me in with the seatbelt. “Normally I do, but I thought you would need a lift this morning.” He cracks open one of the bottles of water and hands it over before hurrying to the driver’s side. “Drink some of that before we get to class.”