Victim Of Circumstance

by Freya Barker

  “And now?” I ask, glancing over again.

  I’m curious. It’s an issue I struggled with, especially at first; the knowledge I’d never have kids. There’d been a time I wanted that—kids, a family—but I would never put the burden of having a murderer for a father on a child. Fuck, I lived it.

  Jimmy shrugs. “Whatever happens…happens. But I have it on good authority, I should probably meet a good woman first.”

  I chuckle as he pulls open the door to the diner. It looks pretty much the same, although I can tell there’ve been some upgrades.

  “Fucking Gray Bennet!”

  Well, shit.

  I notice the heads swiveling in my direction before I see an older, but still beautiful, version of Kim heading my way. The smile on her face is not exactly the welcome I expected, nor is the bone-crushing hug she folds me in.

  Jesus. I have to firmly remind my body this woman is as out of reach as the stunning New York stranger who’s been plaguing my dreams.

  “Kim,” I grunt, peeling myself from her hold.

  “God, it’s good to see you. How long have you been back? I’ve heard rumors you were in town.”

  “You too. Been back since July.”

  She opens her mouth to say something else when she suddenly seems to realize we’ve become the center of attention.

  “Shit,” she hisses, leaning into me. “We’re gonna have to catch up later. I’m short a waitress today.”

  Relieved, I nod before following Jimmy to the round table in the corner where four tough-looking guys sit, watching us approach.

  “Tank,” the one with the bald head and goatee says to Jimmy.

  “Rooster,” he answers.

  “Tank?” I repeat before I can check it.

  My friend grins sheepishly. “My road name.” Then he turns to the men. “Guys, meet Gray. Gray, from right to left; Bear, Tattoo Bob, Shortie, and that’s Rooster.”

  The guys grunt a greeting and I return the favor before taking a free seat. Kim shows up shortly after to take orders.

  I eat and mostly listen to the conversation centering around an upcoming event in Kalamazoo these guys are heading to next weekend.

  “You coming?” Shortie asks me. A tongue-in-cheek name, since he’s at least six four, if not taller.

  “We need someone to haul the trailer,” Bear adds.

  “You should.” Jimmy nudges me. “It’s like a giant swap meet. You can find every fucking motorcycle part you can imagine. I bet you they even have those parts you were missing on that old Knucklehead of yours.”

  “Would be a moot point since that bike is long gone,” I point out.

  I found that old bike at the dump out in Clare, when I was digging around for parts for my Mustang. It was missing a back wheel and most of the engine block was stripped for parts, but the seat, the frame, and the tank still looked to be in good condition, so I loaded it up on my old pickup.

  It was supposed to be my project after I got done the Mustang, but that never happened.

  “It’s in my parents’ garage,” Jimmy explains. “When the bank foreclosed on the farm, I managed to haul it out of the barn.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I didn’t think there’d be anything left after my lawyer notified me the farm was gone. I know it’s probably a pile of unsalvageable rust by now, but it means something he cared enough to hang on to it for me.

  “I…” I have to clear my throat before I can continue. “I’ll come. Next weekend; I’ll come.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Kim walks up to the table and turns to Jimmy. “One of my girls is stuck on Dale Road, about fifteen minutes out of town with a dead engine.”

  “Fuck. Sorry, guys. Rain check for me.” He starts getting up when I grab his arm and pull him back down.

  “I’ll go. What does she drive?” I ask Kim.

  “Black Mazda Tribute.”

  I get out of my seat and grab my wallet from my back pocket, but Kim stops me.

  “On the house if you get my girl off the side of the road before all light is gone. Nothing but trees out there.”

  “Keys for the tow truck are on the tackboard in the office,” Jimmy says. “I owe you one.”

  “Fuck no. I’m not even close to paying you back.”

  Before he has a chance to respond, I make my way through the diner, ignoring a few curious stares. The crisp night air feels good as I jog the two blocks back to the shop. It’s still twilight, but it can get dark real fast up here. A girl alone, on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere is not a good thing.

  I have to be careful with my speed. I don’t want to draw the attention of law enforcement—they generally don’t feel that forgiving when dealing with an ex-con.

  She must’ve seen my headlights coming toward her because I see hers flashing a few times. I use a widening of the shoulder to turn the truck around and carefully back up to the black SUV.

  I drop down from the cab and have to raise a hand to my eyes to block the glare of her headlights as I walk up. She seems to catch on when they suddenly turn off. By the time I get to the driver’s side door, my eyes have adjusted to the dark and I catch sight of her.

  A woman—not a girl—and one I would’ve recognized anywhere, even though I only saw her for a brief moment once before.

  In New York.

  Chapter Five

  Robin

  I sit frozen as the man approaches.

  Those blue eyes. The same white shirt and leather jacket.

  I turn the headlights off and blink furiously, positive my mind is playing tricks. When I open them he’s right beside my window, staring in slack-jawed, but then his features even out. Should I open my door? This is too much of a coincidence.

  I grab my phone from the passenger seat and dial the diner back.

  “Over Easy.”

  “Kim? It’s Robin. The guy you said was going to pick me up, what does he look like?”

  “Gray? Tall, lean build, silver-haired, blue eyes. I think he was wearing a black leather jacket. Why?”

  That’s him to a T.

  “Never mind. He’s here, I’ve gotta go.”

  I quickly end the call and unlock my door, opening it carefully.

  “Are you Gray?”

  “Gray Bennet. You work for Kim?”

  “I do. I’m Robin.”

  I’m about to offer my hand but he moves around me, sticking his upper body into the car.

  “Keys?”

  “Oh. I have them here.”

  He holds up his hand and I pass them over. Then he climbs behind the wheel and tries to start the engine. It sputters a few times but doesn’t engage. He gets out again, and I have to take a step back to give him room.

  “Need anything from the car?” he asks, and I take a minute to clue in.

  “Just my purse. Do you know what’s wrong?”

  He leans in and grabs my bag off the passenger seat, handing it to me.

  “I’m guessing fuel pump,” he mumbles, walking to the back of his truck where he starts to roll out chains.

  He’s not very talkative. In fact, he’s borderline rude, not even looking me in the eye when I know damn well he recognized me too.

  “You were at the 9/11 Memorial, weren’t you?” I probe when he drags the chains to the front of my SUV.

  “It’s safer for you in my truck. Door’s open.”

  He totally ignores my question and it’s clear he wants me out of the way. Fine. Glad to know he’s really an asshole so I can stop fantasizing about him.

  It still freaks me out to bump into the same man I ran into in New York, a few weeks ago, at the side of a dark road in nowhere Michigan.

  I resist the urge to call him out on it, step over the chains he’s attaching somewhere under the bumper of my vehicle, and because it’s getting chilly out, climb inside the warm cab of his truck.

  Minutes later, his door opens and he gets in behind the wheel. I try hard not to glance at him, keeping my eyes firmly on the roa
d ahead as I wait for him to start driving. When significant time passes and we’re still in the same spot, I glance over to find him watching me.

  “That was me. In New York,” he says, his rough voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

  “I know,” I answer, matching his volume. “This is weird.”

  “Sure as fuck is.” His raw chuckle is a surprise, as are the dimples popping up by the corners of his mouth, but the next moment his face irons out again. “Where to?”

  “The garage?” Seems like a no-brainer to me.

  “Car won’t get fixed tonight. Where’s home? I’ll drop you off.”

  I can’t count the times I cautioned my daughter about sharing information like her phone number or our address with strangers, and here I am, contemplating doing just that.

  “How do you know Kim?” I ask, trying for a little more assurance that he’s on the up and up.

  “We were in high school together. She was a couple of years behind me.”

  “You grew up here? I’ve never seen you around and I’ve been here now for almost seventeen years.”

  A muscle ticks in his jaw as his eyes stare out the front window.

  “I just recently moved back to town,” he says brusquely.

  “And you work at Tank’s shop?”

  “Olson’s. Yes.”

  He turns his head and I meet his eyes, amazed again at how light they are.

  “Okay,” I concede, giving him my address.

  I watch his hands on the steering wheel as he pulls onto the road. You can tell a lot from a person’s hands. Gray’s are large, with a wide palm and long fingers. The remains of a hard day of manual labor not quite gone from around the blunt nail beds. Callused hands I imagine would feel rough to the touch. Slightly abrasive on skin.

  My face flushes at the direction my thoughts travel and I abruptly turn my focus on the road ahead, just in time to see a couple of deer dart out in front of us. He slams on the brakes at the same time his arm shoots out, bracing me in my seat. Much like I used to do with Paige, instinctively protecting what was precious to me.

  We sit like that for what feels like much longer than it is. I’m acutely aware of the pressure of his forearm against my chest and forget to breathe.

  “You okay? Robin?” He pulls back his arm and I can feel him looking at me.

  “I’m good,” I manage to rasp, despite feeling breathless and a little shaky. Although, I’m not sure whether from the near collision or his unexpected touch.

  I need to get a grip. It’s clearly been too long since I’ve been in close proximity to a man if I get flustered by this. Even as I’m silently berating myself, I know it’s more than that.

  I’m around men plenty at the diner, even handsome ones, but they don’t make me feel unbalanced the way Gray does. He’s quiet, seems self-contained and even distant, but I swear every time his gaze is on me, I can feel it. Probing and curious, yet shuttered. Like one-way mirrors, keenly observing while hiding behind them.

  “I saw you, you know. On the plane. I almost stopped to talk to you.” I’m not sure why I’m volunteering the information, other than to fill the silence. He looks startled. “You were looking out the window. I wasn’t sure…I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “I don’t like flying,” he says, surprising me. Not so much he doesn’t like it, but that he would admit it. “Looking out the window helps me forget I’m stuck in a small tin can.”

  I smile at that.

  “I gather you don’t fly often?”

  He glances over at my question and I can almost see shutters coming down.

  “Nope.”

  Silence stretches until he pulls into the long tree-lined driveway to my house. It’s dark except for the porch light I left on when Shirley and I left. Being alone again will be a bit of an adjustment. Despite the not so happy reasons for Shirley’s two-week stay, I enjoyed having company.

  “You need more lights.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your drive is too dark. You’re out here alone, you need to be more careful.”

  I’m annoyed at his gruff, patronizing tone, while at the same time wondering if perhaps I should be worried instead.

  “I’m five minutes out of town,” I protest.

  “By car. Which at this moment is hanging off the back of my truck.” He stops in front of my house, peering out the front window. “A lot longer if you have to walk it.”

  Shit. I’m gonna need a car.

  “About that, you guys wouldn’t happen to have a loaner car, would you? I’m kinda stuck out here.”

  Gray

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  Not my smartest move, but the woman is out there alone without wheels so I volunteered driving her to the closest car rental place in the morning. Never mind that it’s in Midland, half an hour drive away.

  An even longer time in her presence than last night.

  “This thing is a piece of shit,” Jimmy says, poking his head from under the hood of the Mazda. “Robin should be looking for another ride instead of investing any more money in this one. You should tell her putting in a new fuel pump would be a waste. Unless you want me to?” he asks with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  We’ve been over this since I told him this morning who the customer was. Apparently he’s familiar with her, information which burned in my gut. Especially when he offered to take on the task of driving her to Midland. As much as I want to distance myself from the intense feeling of need she seems to stir in me, I still don’t want Jimmy anywhere near her.

  “Fuck off.” I scowl at him before marching to the tackboard with keys, grabbing the ones to the pickup truck I’ve been using.

  “Hey, hold up,” he calls after me. “On your way back, can you pick up some parts at Advance? It’ll save me shipping costs. I’ll call in the order now.”

  Instead of answering, I flip up a couple of fingers in acknowledgment before walking out the bay doors.

  I notice, getting in behind the wheel, I’m wearing my coveralls instead of my usual uniform of jeans and a white T-shirt, but I would never live it down if I were caught running upstairs to change. Who the hell cares anyway? It’s not like this is a fucking date.

  It only feels like one.

  I run an agitated hand through my hair before I turn the key in the ignition. I’m out of sorts and short on sleep. I’m still trying to find my equilibrium in a world that is much more overwhelming than I remember, and this woman only adds to the confusion. What are the odds?

  At the memorial she stood out like a bright beacon in a vast ocean of grief: a promise of hope I have no right to. Then she turns up here, in the town filled with dark memories, making me believe in a higher power when I know damn well there is none.

  She’s waiting when I pull up to her place, sitting on the steps of her porch. Already wearing her work clothes: jeans and a T-shirt with the name of the diner across her chest. As she walks up to the truck, I have a hard time looking away from those letters stretched over her ample tits. My dick, dormant far too long, picks now to rise to the occasion. Thank fuck I’m wearing my coveralls; they hide more than my jeans would.

  “Morning,” she chirps, as she gets into the passenger seat. Too sunny and trusting, and way the hell too appealing.

  “The car’s a write-off.”

  I’m being an asshole on purpose. I don’t want to be like a fucking moth helplessly drawn to her flame, but when I see the light dim in her eyes, I regret it intensely. I’ll just add it to the truckload of regret I’m already lugging around.

  “Really?” She doesn’t seem to expect an answer so I stay quiet, turning the truck down her driveway. From the corner of my eye, I see her working her bottom lip between her teeth as she stares out the window. “Guess I’ll be shopping for a new car then,” she finally says. “I figured that day was coming.” I can sense her eyes on me. “Maybe I’ll check out a few secondhand car dealers in Midland when you drop me off.”

  I
will myself not to respond but it’s useless, I have little control around her.

  “They’ll charge too much. Let me talk to Jimmy, he may be able to get you something reliable for a decent price.”

  “Thanks, that’d be awesome.”

  I make the mistake of looking at her, the smile on her face so genuine it hits me square in the chest. Pity to have her waste something that beautiful on me.

  Still I engage when she asks my opinion about what she should be looking for. My responses are the bare minimum, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Before I realize it, we’re driving into the outskirts of Midland, a city much larger than the one thousand plus population of Beaverton.

  I fight the urge to turn the truck around, not quite ready to end what had been a far too meaningful half hour with Robin. She seems surprised when I get out with her and follow her into the rental office, but Jimmy had asked me to make sure they gave her our preferred rate.

  It takes about two seconds for me to want to put my fist in the face of the guy behind the counter, whose eyes never quite make it up to Robin’s face. Fucking sleezeball is so focused on her tits; he doesn’t notice me glaring until one of his colleagues elbows him in the ribs. The moment his eyes meet the murder in mine he blanches. He barely even looks at her after that, rushing her through the paperwork, and even throwing in an upgrade.

  Within minutes, we’re back outside, walking around the SUV they’re giving her. I point out a few dings on the fender Robin missed, making sure they’re all noted on her contract. Leaving her with the keys, he disappears inside and I stand awkwardly beside her, my hands buried deep in my pockets.

  “I appreciate you driving me all the way out here,” she says, turning her face up to me. All I can see is the warm light in her much darker blue eyes and the soft swell of her perfect lips.

  “Not a problem,” I mumble, backing away before I do something I’ll regret.

  “Wait,” she calls out when I turn my back. “Can I buy you a coffee or something? It’s the least I can do,” she adds quickly, as I look over my shoulder. A deep blush darkens her cheekbones as her question hangs in the air.