by Jenn Hype
“Yeah, about that. I was thinking I might try to come up next weekend if you don’t have anything going on.”
“Oh my gosh! Really?!” That enthusiasm is not forced, and I’m practically jumping up and down with giddiness.
“Hey, Brailey, got a minute?” I whip around and see Wyatt peeking his head into the laundry room, looking apprehensive. His nervousness distracts me, and I miss Mark’s question.
“Brailey?” Mark asks through the phone, getting my attention again.
“Oh, I’m sorry, what did you say?” I hold up a finger to Wyatt, asking him to wait a minute, and turn my back to him. I don’t have a shot in hell of focusing if I’m looking at Wyatt.
“I asked who that was. I heard a man’s voice.”
Shit. Um. Am I a good liar? Dammit, I don’t know! Think Brailey, think.
“Oh, um, that was just the uh...maintenance guy! I was having a problem with my plumbing and he is going to fix it.”
I startle when I feel Wyatt’s arm brush against mine, and out of the corner of my eye I see him smirking at me.
“Okay well, let me call you back, okay? I’ve got to um, let the maintenance guy do his thing. Bye!” I hang up without waiting for Mark to say bye, my heart beating a little faster than is really necessary.
“Boyfriend?” Wyatt asks, crossing his arms. I don’t answer. Instead I start refolding a stack of clothes I’d just finished folding, just to have something to do with my hands.
“What’s up, Wyatt? You need something?” I try to sound casual, but it comes out a little breathy.
“Well, I was going to ask you if-”
My phone rings, cutting him off, and I pick it up to hit ignore, only I miss and hit the answer button instead.
“Hello?”
No one answers, but I can hear crackling noises on the other end, so I know someone is there. I say hello a few more times, and just when I’m about to hang up, someone finally speaks up.
“Brailey! Put the phone down and come play with me!”
It sounds like a little kid, but it’s so muffled and staticky that I can barely make out the words. The voice is familiar but I can’t place where I know it from.
“Just do your thing and ignore me, Shaun!”
My own voice comes through the other line, and a sharp, stabbing sensation shoots through my abdomen and up to my chest when the little boy’s voice rings out again.
“Come on, please! We need a fourth!”
“Okay, okay, buddy. I’m coming.”
I absentmindedly rub the spot on my chest that’s restricting in pain, desperate to hear Shaun’s voice again, but I hear a clicking sound and the static disappears.
The call ends suddenly, and I start hyperventilating, my shallow breaths doing little to help ease the panic coursing through my veins. I’m still holding my phone up to my ear, my hand clenching it so tightly that my fingers start to ache, so I loosen my grip and let it crash to the floor. Tears start gushing from my eyes and my chest aches so hard I could swear I’m actually having a heart attack.
It’s not until I feel strong arms pull me up against a warm body that I snap out of my haze and spring into action. I start screaming at the top of my lungs, thrashing and kicking, trying to free myself of the tight hold someone suddenly has me in.
“Leave me alone! Why are you doing this?! Get away from me!”
“Brailey!” Keegan’s cry stops me mid-scream and my body stills instantly. I watch as she runs over to me, looking over my shoulder and speaking to whoever is holding me. “I’ve got her, let her go. Seriously, I’ve got this, just go.”
My breathing starts to deepen and my heart rate begins its descent back to normal speeds while I stand there with Keegan’s arms around my shoulders. I’m dizzy and weak from my panic attack and all I want in that moment is to be laying in my own bed. Luckily, Keegan notices my body starting to droop and she pulls me toward the door, but my legs give out again and she’s not strong enough to hold me.
Next thing I know, I’m being scooped up into the air and carried over to the elevator. My head is heavy and if the person holding me is intending to kill me, then their job will be an easy one because I no longer have it in me to fight back. I let my head fall to the chest of whoever is carrying me, and curiosity gets the best of me, so I open my eyes and I’m stunned to see Wyatt staring back me.
My eyes widen a fraction before falling closed again, and they stay that way until I feel him laying me in my bed. The last thing I remember is Wyatt kissing my forehead right before I fall asleep.
~
“There she is! Have a good night, sis?” Shaun asks as I toss my keys on the counter and plop down on a stool across from him. I snatch a grape out of his bowl, almost dropping it when Shaun swats at my hand playfully.
“Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Aw, c’mon. I haven’t seen you do the walk of shame since college. Who was the lucky guy?”
My forehead slams down on the counter hard enough to make a loud thump. I don’t care. My head is already pounding so hard I barely feel it.
“You know you’ll tell me eventually. Save us both the trouble and just tell me now so we can move on.”
“Fine,” I grumble. “It was Mark.”
Shaun looks away, searching his mind to figure out who Mark is, his eyes going big as freaking dinner plates when it finally registers who I’m talking about.
“Mark as in your co-worker Mark?”
I still can’t believe it myself. When I got the call from the bank saying the loan I applied for to pay for Shaun’s surgery was denied, I was too devastated to deal. For months I’ve been working my ass off - getting letters from employers, friends, businesses I frequent - anyone and everyone who could say something positive on my behalf, I begged them to help. My credit is already shot because of all the debt I’ve wracked up in medical bills, and it was a long shot anyway, but it’s still upsetting as hell to know I’ve failed Shaun. Again.
Not once have I ever felt like Shaun was a burden. After our parents died, I willingly took over the role of parent for Shaun. He’s the best brother anyone could ever ask for, and if our asshole foster parents had paid enough attention to us, he wouldn’t be in the condition he’s in now. I told them for weeks that something wasn’t right and Shaun needed to see a doctor, but they never listened. It wasn’t until he ended up in the hospital with Rheumatic Heart Disease from untreated strep that CPS stepped in and removed us from the home.
Shaun recovered and we moved on with life. Then a few years ago for his eighteenth birthday I took him to play laser tag to celebrate. We’d never gotten to do those fun things growing up and he got to invite a bunch of friends. It was a great day - until Shaun collapsed. I was already in nursing school, thank God, and I gave him CPR until the ambulance got there.
I’ll never forget the minute the doctor walked in and the grim look on his face. I knew it was going to be bad, that our lives would never be the same. Shaun needed a new heart. Only eighteen years old and he was given only a few more years to live if he didn’t get a transplant. That damn strep throat from when he was a kid had destroyed his, all because our foster parents were too lazy to get him some antibiotics.
“Sis,” Shaun says, placing his hand over mine and pulling me out of those dark memories. “Where did you go just now?”
How am I going to tell him I failed again? How am I going to tell him that it’s looking more and more like he’s not going to be alive much longer, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it?
~
My room is pitch black when I jolt out of my dream, my clothes damp from sweat. I hear voices coming from just outside my bedroom door, which is slightly cracked, allowing a sliver of light to stream across my bedroom floor. My head is pounding and my muscles ache like I’ve ran a marathon, but I’ve been through the after effects of a panic attack a time or two and I push past the pain and make my way over to the door.
I freeze when I
hear Wyatt’s voice. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but what he says gives me pause long enough to catch part of his conversation. His back is to me as he stands in my kitchen, talking on his phone, and by the sounds of it, whoever is on the other side of the conversation is pissing him off.
“No, she’s fine. I don’t know if she remembered anything, all I know is that she flipped the fuck out. It needs to stop, this isn’t right. No, I understand the-…yes sir.”
I don’t have a chance to react before he turns and sees me standing in the doorway. He doesn’t look surprised, almost like he knew I was there and either wanted me to or didn’t mind if I overheard him. He takes a tentative step towards me and I look around, realizing we’re alone in my apartment.
“Who was that?” I ask cautiously, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No one.” He looks worried but his words come out brusque, making it clear he’s not going to tell me anything.
“Alright...well thanks for helping me out. I owe you. I’m fine now, though, so you can go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.” I take a step in his direction this time and don’t bother masking my anger. How dare he demand I open up to him when he was obviously just talking to someone about me, but won’t tell me about it.
“Yeah, not really any of your business. I don’t know you and I’m not keen on sharing the personal details of my life with strangers.”
“We aren’t strangers, we’re neighbors. We hung out and you drank all my beer a few nights ago, and then we spent all day bitching about Ikea while putting together that table you’re leaning on, remember?” He moves towards me with one more step, a smirk lifting at the corner of his mouth. My attention is immediately pulled down and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from licking my lips. “You can’t tell me you forgot about the part where you laid in my arms, torturing me through one of my favorite movies. Don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch that episode without thinking of you now…Peaches.”
“Yes, of course I remember, and I appreciate your help and everything, but that doesn’t make us friends. We still barely know each other.” I can’t comment on the part where he said I was torturing him. I’m too distracted by that mouth of his and thinking about kissing that cocky smirk off his face.
“So let’s hang out,” he says casually with a shrug. I’m all hot and bothered over here, and he’s just shrugging like the temperature in the room didn’t just jump up twenty degrees. “You need me to spend time with you so you can get comfortable opening up, then that’s what we’ll do. Because like it or not, you’re going to tell me what happened down there, and I’m a man of little patience. So help me out and tell me what I can do to speed up this whole ‘becoming friends’ process.”
Wyatt closes the distance between us, his eyes darting to my mouth before he brings his hand up and rubs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, then pulling down and letting it go with a quiet ‘pop.’
“If spending time with me was so torturous, then why are you trying to do it more?” Stupid, stupid girl. You finally find your voice and that’s what you say?
“What can I say? I like a challenge. And I don’t mind torture when it’s as sweet as you, Peaches.”
Somehow we’ve moved to standing only inches apart, so close that I can feel his breath fanning on my face. His head dips down, our foreheads touching and then our noses, and I let my eyes drift shut. I can feel his mouth closing in on mine; so close that if I were to inhale through my mouth, I would probably be able to taste the cinnamon left behind from his toothpaste or gum or whatever lucky substance it was that got to take up residence in that mouth I want to taste so badly.
After a few seconds – that feel more like hours – I open my eyes, not at all expecting to see the pain looking back at me. Pulling back, already hating the loss of his heat, I notice it’s not just pain in his eyes. He looks…conflicted?
My mouth is suddenly painfully dry and for some strange reason, I feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes. Wyatt just stands there, unmoving, and watches while I run to the kitchen and down half a bottle of water in one drink. The whole atmosphere suddenly feels uncomfortable and awkward, and I feel like I’m slowly suffocating under his stare. I need him to leave. Only the thought of him leaving makes me feel a little panicked and I know if he tried to walk out my door right now that I would end up begging him to stay. My thoughts are so jumbled it feels like I’m drunk again, but this time I have no excuse. Nothing to blame my feelings on other than my hormones and inability to control them.
“You get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Wyatt’s voice startles me, and I wonder how much time has passed with me leaning against the counter and staring at my half empty bottle of water. The urge to leap on his back to keep him from going is pretty fierce, but I manage to not act like a lunatic and respond with only a curt nod as I take a sip of my water.
It’s not until he reaches the door that it sinks in what he just said. “Wait. What? Why would I see you tomorrow?”
“You’re making me lunch and I’m going to hang up those paintings and put together those tables we didn’t get to yesterday,” he says, nodding to the large paintings sitting on my living room floor, propped up against the wall next to the unopened boxes.
“Uhhhh, I don’t remember asking you to do that.” My mind scrambles to remember if I did something dumb, like ask for a favor in the midst of my stupid panic attack and just don’t remember.
“You didn’t,” he responds before pulling the door shut behind him, not giving me a chance to argue.
~
“What do you mean Mayra’s been transferred? Why would that even happen? Where did she go?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but that information can only legally be obtained by a blood relative. I’m not permitted to divulge that to a friend of a patient without her permission.”
“I’m not just a ‘friend’. Surely this means something to you.”
I’m eavesdropping, but I can’t help it. As soon as I heard her name, I had to listen.
“While I can appreciate you providing your work identification, without a legal document stating we are legally obligated to release this information to the bureau, then I still can’t tell you. You addressed yourself as a personal visitor, so I’m assuming this is not an official visit.”
I can’t see his face, but his voice is so loud and angry that I think it could crumble walls of stone if he wanted it to.
“Oh, I can get something official for you if that’s how you want to handle this. I can also make things incredibly difficult for you, and that’s not an empty threat. This is unacceptable. You act like I’m some sort of creep off the streets. I can provide you any personal information about Mayra you want to prove how well I know her. It’s just a waste of time to make me go through the hoops of acquiring a warrant.” Silence.
I gotta hand it to Becky, the receptionist. She’s been holding up well under his booming, scary-ass voice. The only sound now is his heavy, harsh breaths, and I picture a fire breathing dragon on the other side of the door, or in the least, someone very big and threatening.
“I-I’m s-sorry, sir. I-I’d help you if I could.” I cover my mouth when a snicker escapes my lips at the sound of her stuttering. Mean, I know, but seriously. Becky is actually kind of a bitch. It’s funny to hear her getting shit dished back out at her.
“This isn’t over,” he threatens, his voice no longer loud and yelling, but rather calm and menacing.
I hear the door close behind him, and I step into the entryway where the receptionist sits.
“Becky,” I greet her. “Do you know who this wallet belongs to?” I ask, bending over and pretending to pick something up.
She’s too shaken up to notice I’m not actually holding a wallet. I could be stark naked right now and she wouldn’t notice, so I take advantage of her being distracted and tell her I’m going to see if the gentleman who just left dropped it.
I see him stepping up to a big pick-up truck just as I step outside, and I call out to him.
“Wait, sir! You forgot this!” I take off running down the path to where he’s standing. When I finally reach him, he slowly turns to face me, and I suddenly lose the ability to breathe.
“Excuse me?”
I’m a little winded from running down the steps, which tells me I definitely need to quit skipping the gym. Although, to be fair, I’m pretty sure I quit breathing the second the man in front of me turned around.
Holy snacks, he is delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone this hot - at least not in real life - sans Photoshop.
His hair is dark and a little long on the top, but it looks intentional, not like he skipped a haircut. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, and his chiseled face makes my mouth water. He’s a few inches taller than me, and we’d probably be the same height if I wore high enough heels, but his shoulders are so broad that he seems much bigger.
He lets me blatantly check him out, not seeming at all affected by my drooling over him. He’s probably a cocky sumbitch, but he deserves to be, because holy hotness, Batman.
“Okay, sorry,” I say, shaking my head and forcing myself to look him in the face again.
Nope. One more quick gaze down his body and back up, thanks.
“Anyway.” This time when I look at him he’s smirking, the cold and emotionless expression softened just a smidge. “You’re hot. It would be a crime not to appreciate it. Thanks for letting me,” I say seriously, and he laughs.
“You said I forgot something?” He asks, and my panties melt just a little at the silky smoothness of his voice. Yeah, I heard him talking to Becky, but he was practically growling. Which was also hot, but this is totally different.
