Faith (Stregth Series Book 2)

by T. L. Nicholas

  “Thank you,” he says, getting in and handing one of the cups to me.

  “I got you coffee. If you don’t want it, you can just leave it in the console.”

  I’m more grateful than I can say. He takes a drink of his, then sets it in the cup holder in the console. He digs into the bag, pulling out a bag of Doritos, a bag of Combos, and a couple granola bars. “Just in case you get hungry, while I’m fixing the fence.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly. We buckle back up, and I drink my coffee, while I study him over the top of my cup. I’ve never known anyone like him.

  As he drives, eating Doritos, and singing along with the radio now and then, my thoughts turn to the past.

  I was with Mike for years. He was my high school sweetheart and we moved in together right after graduation. I did his laundry, I knew his favorite movies, and what kind of toothpaste he used. I cooked for him, though I’m not sure if that would be considered a kindness or a punishment. I tried to be thoughtful, and would buy him things I thought he’d like for birthdays and Christmas, and, sometimes, just because.

  He never remembered my birthday, had no idea what my favorite movies were, and for Christmas, invariably got me something that made me wonder if he knew me at all.

  I grew up hearing the mantra ‘that’s a man for you’ and I believed it to be true. I always believed that he loved me. He did try to take care of me, he just wasn’t that kind of guy. If I cried, he walked away, because he said he didn’t know what to do about it and couldn’t stand seeing me that way. If I yelled, he went out with the guys, figuring I’d calm down while he was gone. His apologies always came in the form of roses, red ones, and I hated the cliché, but always said thank you and tried to act grateful.

  On Valentine’s Day, I would leave hints that I love lilies around the house, mention them in conversations, and point them out at the grocery store. He would come home with a dozen red roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates and I’d dutifully gush over them. My friends would say ‘but that’s what they do in the movies’ or ‘I’d do anything for my boyfriend to even remember Valentine’s Day’. Once, when I was saying that even if he had just gotten me any other color it would have been better, Alex said ‘at least he made an effort’ and I agreed with her, but in my head? That wasn’t an effort, that was romance by rote. That’s not at all romantic.

  But, Alex had gotten nothing except cheated on and hit when she protested, so I couldn’t really argue. I had it good by comparison. He never yelled at me or put me down. He never even considered raising his hand to me. He worked hard, and so did I. We kept food on the table, clothes on our backs, and the bills were paid most of the time.

  I became more and more disenchanted, but accepted it as a good life. It was a good life. I was comfortable and content. I wasn’t necessarily happy, and I wasn’t bubbling over with joy or anything, but it was a good life.

  I would likely have stayed forever, and would have married him had he asked, and he never even cared enough to learn how I take my coffee. I don’t know what that means. I would have lived the rest of my life, comfortably content, with a man who never really knew me.

  He was a good man, I would never imply different, but what does that say about the man next to me? He doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t get ‘tangled’, but he pays attention. It seems that my needs are always at the forefront of his mind, and he fills them effortlessly. It seems like he doesn’t even have to think about it, he just knows what to do to make me feel better.

  I know that if I was still with Mike, he would never have brought me a coffee and food ‘just in case’. I said I didn’t want anything and he would have taken it at face value. The pharmacy? He never would have done what Jace did. It never would have even occurred to him to try to help me. And the breakdown? Me curling up in a ball and screaming? I don’t even know. He probably would have called nine-one-one and had me committed. I do know, for sure, he never would have held me the way Jace did. He wouldn’t have stayed. He wouldn’t have even tried to understand what was going on, and probably would have told me to get over it.

  Everything about Jace feels like love, or at least what I imagine being loved would feel like. I have to remember that he’s just being kind. That I’m an obligation. The kissing and touching is a by-product of an extremely sexual man who, in his own words, ‘enjoys giving pleasure’. He’s been spending all of his time with me, so I’m a natural outlet. I’m going to have to learn to be the same with him, because there’s no way I’m going to be able to turn away from him.

  We pull into the driveway of a small, white house with blue trim. The front yard is ringed by a chain link fence, the outer corner a mangled mess of metal fabric. The corner post is dented and the fabric of the fence is not even attached to it on that side, laying over in the snow.

  He parks the truck, and unbuckles. “It shouldn’t take too long, I’ll leave the truck running so you can stay warm,” he says, reaching over and squeezing my hand.

  I nod, wondering how he can fix that without taking it out and redoing it.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Tiny,” he says, slipping out of the truck and closing the door behind him. He grabs some things out of the bed of the truck and walks over to the corner. He grabs the top of the post with both hands, and leans back, putting his weight into it, and jerking it back into place. I hadn’t even realized how much it was leaning, but it’s straight now. He stomps all around it, kicking the snow out of the way and stomping some more.

  He grabs the pole that runs across the top of the fence, bent and crushed along the end that used to go to the corner, and pulls hard, shaking the fence until it comes loose. He pulls it out and drops it on the snow.

  He walks over and picks up the end of the fabric, the edge that should hook to the post a twisted mess. He pulls a tool out of his back pocket and snips the top of one little piece about halfway between the corner and the next post, where it looks normal again. He pulls up on the piece he cut, twirling it around and around as he pulls. When he gets it all the way out, the mangled piece of fence falls away, completely unattached. He leans over and bundles the piece he removed together with the bent pole, then carries it to the truck.

  When he walks back over he’s carrying a small roll of fence and he lays it next to the piece that’s still attached. He picks up the single wire he pulled out of the broken one, and threads it into the old fence and the new, attaching them together. It’s like a magic trick, completely seamless. He pulls the end towards the post and clips another wire, unthreading it like he did before. This time, when he separates them he threads the wire back in on the side that’s still rolled up. He picks that up and carries it to the truck. When he goes back to the corner he’s carrying a new pole. He slides it into where the other one was, shoving hard until they go together. He attaches the other end to the corner post somehow that I can’t see, then goes under it, to the inside of the fence. He stands the fabric up, and grabs a straight wire out of his back pocket, bending it around the top of the fabric, then pulls it down over the pole. Reaching into his back pocket he gets pliers, twisting the wire into the fabric below the pole. He lets go and it stands there, gaping open and away from the pole in the middle. He swings back under and walks back to the truck, getting a big t-shaped thing with two handles.

  He hooks it into the end of the fabric in the middle, pulling it over to the corner, hooking the tool around the post. He pumps the handle and it stretches the fence tight. He drops a strip of metal through the fabric, picking up a couple of metal bands and snapping them around the post. He reaches into his pocket again, then pushes a bolt through the top band, locking the strip of metal into it. He reaches over to put a nut on the end of the bolt. Then he jumps over the fence, so graceful and quick I never saw it coming. He hunkers down, and I assume he’s doing the same thing for the middle and bottom of the post. It takes him a lot longer and he keeps dropping things. He stands up and runs wires through the fabric and over the pole along the top of
the section he fixed, stopping a few times to cup his hands together and breathe into them.

  He jumps back over to the outside, grabbing the t-shaped thing and carrying it back to the truck. Walking up the driveway towards the house he grins at me, and I smile back. Opening the gate, he goes up to the door and knocks, shoving his hands into his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Someone opens the door and he talks to them for a second, then comes back out and closes the gate. He opens the door and climbs back in, just as two big German Shepherds fly out the door, barking at the truck.

  He laughs at them, rubbing his hands together vigorously, then cupping them together and blowing into them. “Damn, it’s cold!”

  I reach for his hands and hold them in mine. He sighs, “Ahhh… warmth.”

  “Why don’t you wear gloves?” I ask.

  “Can’t. No dexterity. I can’t feel the bolts and stuff. It’s much easier without them.”

  “Until you get frostbite!” I say.

  “That’s why we only do repairs when it’s this cold. They’re usually pretty quick.”

  “It’s like magic,” I say, without thinking.

  He throws his head back and laughs, making me smile. “That’s exactly what I thought, the first time I saw my dad do it.” He chuckles, pulling his hands back and buckling his seatbelt. “I haven’t thought of that in forever. It’s just… a fence to me now. Thank you for reminding me,” he says, putting the truck in gear and backing out of the driveway.

  CHAPTER 11

  The trip home was quiet, both of us singing along to the radio and lost in our own thoughts, though he did hold my hand the whole way.

  It’s a little chilly in the house, and while he works on the woodstove I make coffee. I take my new meds, then make him a cup of coffee. I carry it into the dining room and hand it to him.

  “You’re an angel. Thank you, Tiny,” he says, taking a long drink.

  “You’re welcome. I left my new meds on the island, but I’ll put them in my case in a few minutes. I’m going to go upstairs and find a sweater, I’m cold.” I say.

  “I’m sorry you’re cold, Tiny. I should turn the thermostat up a little when we’re going to be gone. I didn’t even think about it.”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know about the repair job when we left, and it’s not like being cold is going to kill me,” I laugh.

  He laughs and says, “It better not kill you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  I laugh, “Oh, I’m sure you’d survive.”

  He looks up, his face surprised, “Don’t be so sure,” he says. The way he’s looking at me, so serious and open, makes my heart flutter. I laugh lightly, needing to break the spell. “I’ll be right back.”

  I all but run up the stairs and to my room and close the door. Not real, not real, not real, I say, over and over, until my heart beats normally again. Searching for a sweater, I realize how desperately I need to do laundry. I settle for a heather gray, long sleeved V-neck. It’s not a sweater, but it’ll keep me warmer than the t-shirt I took off. As I walk by the mirror toward the door, I see that the combination of this shirt and the bra under it puts my breasts on display in a way I haven’t been comfortable with in a long time. I consider changing, but think better of it. I have surprisingly large breasts for my tiny frame, and people often think they’re fake. You don’t normally see double D’s on a small-framed person without it, so I’ve spent most of my life minimizing them. Especially since everything happened. I don’t want to give anyone a reason to stare at me.

  Jace though? He can stare. I decide it’ll be fun to see what he does, and head downstairs.

  In the kitchen, he’s sitting at the island, reading the paperwork from my new medication. He doesn’t look up, and asks, “You’re not dizzy, are you?”

  I pull down a cup and make myself coffee, “No.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Bay. I came out here to make you coffee, but I saw this and got distracted.”

  I laugh, “It’s okay. I can get my own coffee.”

  “I know you can, but that doesn’t mean you should have to,” he says. It’s so sweet, the butterflies start all over again.

  “Why’d you want to know if I’m dizzy?” I ask, choosing not to comment on what I should or shouldn’t have to do. I sit down at the island next to him, his eyes glued to the paper in his hand.

  “It’s a possible side effect of these. Also, vision changes, difficulty swallowing, rash, excessive thirst— “

  “I get the idea, Jace. I feel fine. You don’t have to read all that.”

  “Yes, I do. If I don’t, I won’t know what to watch out for.”

  I giggle. He’s acting like a mother hen. His cellphone buzzes and he gets it out of his pocket, flipping through screens. “Oh shit! Get your coat, Tiny!” he yells, jumping up.

  I jump up too, “Why? What’s wrong?” I ask, hurrying to the door and throwing my coat back on.

  He grabs his off the hook, opening the door and ushering me out, “You have an appointment with Dr. James in ten minutes.”

  “Oh. Well, I can reschedule, it’s not that big of a deal,” I stop.

  He opens my truck door, all but picking me up and putting me in. “Um, no, I don’t think so. You haven’t missed a single appointment, and you’re not missing this one either. You won’t get better by not going.”

  I can’t think of a good argument for his logic, so I let him close my door and buckle my belt.

  We’re halfway there when I remember what I’m wearing. Oh my God, what have I done? I’m going into an appointment, with my doctor, and I look like I’m interviewing for a position on a stripper pole. Okay, I’m overreacting, I know it’s not that bad. It’s a normal shirt and women wear them every day, but I feel so exposed in it. Too late now.

  We arrive with three minutes to spare. I hop out of the truck and he meets me on the sidewalk, his hand on the small of my back. When we walk in there are more people than I’ve ever seen here. There isn’t a single open chair. My chest starts to tighten, and I hear myself wheeze. Jace puts his arm around my shoulders, and ushers me to an empty corner of the room, behind all the chairs where I don’t have everyone staring at me. “You can do this. I know there are a lot of people, and if the wait is going to be too long I’ll reschedule and we can go, okay?”

  I nod, “Okay.” It’s barely a whisper.

  “I’m going to check you in. Just stay right here. See the picture of the mountains over there? Focus on that and think about the place up in the mountains.”

  “Okay.”

  He walks away and I do as he says. I’m shocked when he comes back, it really worked and I barely noticed he was gone.

  He grins at me and puts his arm around me, squeezing tight. A nurse calls my name and we follow her back to a tiny little exam room. She asks me a couple of questions and I remember that this appointment is to check on the progress of my surgery healing. That means there will be an internal exam. She directs me to change into the tiny paper outfit, and it actually makes me feel better, since no one will have to see the shirt.

  “That’s my cue to get out,” Jace says, grinning. “I’ll be right out in the waiting room. If you need me, you just scream and I’ll be here before you take another breath,” he says. I have the urge to ask him to stay, and I smack it down. I don’t actually want him here for this, I just feel so much better when he’s there.

  The door closes behind him and I change into the little blue paper gown that barely covers anything at all, and settle in to wait.

  When I come back out to the waiting room, Jace is sitting in a chair laughing and playing with a little boy, not much older than Cadan. Watching the little boy, I feel tears gathering, and try to force them back down. He sees me, and hands the little boy his toy phone, telling him to be good. He says a quick goodbye to the boy’s father and walks to me. He puts his arm around me and escorts me back to the truck. He doesn’t say anything, but he looks at me questioningly.

 
I shake my head. I can’t talk. My thoughts are all over the place and I just want to drown in them for now.

  He seems to understand, and turns the radio up, just loud enough to hear it.

  At the house, I silently wait for him to unlock the door and then mumble that I’m going to go lay down. He nods, and I go to my room, feeling his eyes follow me all the way up the stairs. Once there I take my coat off and curl up on my side, not even bothering to remove my boots. Then I let the tears fall.

  I wake up, and my eyes go to the clock. Six-thirty. Almost time for my meds. My eyes hurt, my head hurts, but I can’t stay here forever. I tell myself to shake it off. No point being upset about something I can’t change. Life goes on.

  I use the bathroom, blow my nose, throw some cold water on my face, and go downstairs.

  The kitchen smells fantastic, and my stomach growls. I follow my nose, wanting to know what that smell is. I’m almost to the doorway when Jace rushes up to me. He grabs me, spinning me around, “Nope, you’re not going in there. It’s a surprise.”

  He pulls out a dining room chair for me, and I sit down. The table is set for two, with candles and wine glasses. My heart twists up in my chest. Dammit.

  “What is all this?” I ask.

  “I thought you could use a good night. So, I’m going to give you a great dinner, an excellent dessert, and then we’re going to watch a movie, because you need a break. You need to just have a good time and give whatever went wrong— “

  “I don’t— “

  “Stop, Tiny. Let me finish?” How could I not when he’s looking at me like that? I nod, and he continues. “I’m going to help you forget about whatever went wrong, and I’m not asking what went wrong, you can tell me when you’re ready to, or never. Totally up to you. I just think that sometimes things seem… so big… that we can’t see around them. Let me help you see around it. Let me try.”