Anything for Her

by Lola StVil

  “Ha! And I bet you gave him a good send-off.” I smirk.

  “Well, it was my duty as an American,” she says as she chuckles. “Enough about me. Tell me one of us got laid,” she says.

  “The Hot Pocket got more action than I did,” I reply.

  “Damn. Was there a lot of tension?” she asks.

  “There are battle lines in the Middle East with less tension.”

  “Hell, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not just that, Kat. I knew it wouldn’t be easy and that we wouldn’t just go back to being a couple but…he really…he doesn’t hate me but he wants to,” I reply.

  “No he doesn’t. I could tell by the way he is working so hard to avoid making eye contact with you. That man wants you. He’s just trying to deal with how pissed off and hurt he is.”

  “I know, but I thought…”

  “You thought what, honey? Men like Logan are fiercely loyal and protective. But once you break their trust…it can be a while before they even think of opening up again. If at all.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t cheat on him.”

  “Did you open your mouth and say that?” she pushes.

  “No.”

  “Then how can he know what you won’t tell him?”

  “What if he finds out the truth and hates me even more? What if telling him about that night at the hotel only pulls us further apart?”

  “Girl, the man left the country to get away from you, how much further can you two be?”

  “It took a while for us to stop being so hardheaded and admit we had feelings for each other. At first, all we did was argue.”

  “It was your mom that turned things around for you, right?” she asks.

  “Yeah, my mom changed everything…”

  ***

  Shay (Three years ago)

  So when a guy calls you a block of ice, that’s the time to give up any hope that he will ever like you and move on with your life. It’s fine. I mean it’s not like I think about him all the time or sneak a peek to see if he’s at his desk. And I’m not stepping into the shower every night wishing he were in there with me. I’m not imagining his massive hands all over my soapy body and have no desire to feel his hardness behind me as I stand on the tips of my toes to reach for the sugar on the high shelf in the break room.

  After Mr. Hunter told me off on my way to lunch and accused me of being cold, I came up with a theory. Logan Hunter is a dick. Yes, that’s my take on it. And so, no matter what my hormones want, my heart knows guys like that are empty and pointless.

  Although in the past few days, I must admit, my theory has been somewhat disproved. It just so happens that Logan has a soft side. There was a kid at the station who was terrified because later that morning he had to testify against his dad in court. He was about five years old and when he saw Logan coming down the hallway, the kid actually said, “Wow.”

  He was amazed that Logan was so big and tall. The two of them ended up talking, and although Logan had spent the entire night on shift, he went to court with the kid and made sure the little boy could see him the whole time he was on the stand. It helped, and word at the station is the kid did great.

  There are other moments in the past few days that have given me pause about my “dick” theory. For one thing, while he may be quick tempered and harsh, he’s also sincere and respectful. He’s the first one in to work and the last one on the team to go home. And while he could have his pick of women, I’ve never seen him taking advantage or being unprofessional. Okay, so maybe he’s not evil, but he’s made it clear how he feels about me. So, I try to stay away and say to hell with the whole situation.

  ***

  Today is one of those days when you wish you had just kept your ass in bed. Every single thing that could go wrong did just that. This morning, my alarm didn’t go off, I spilled coffee on my blouse, and I stubbed my toe, twice. I was late to meet with a client at the courthouse, the idiot judge didn’t grant the restraining order we wanted, and the bailiff kept looking at my breasts and licking his lips. Gross.

  When I get back to the police station, I head over to my desk and all I want is to get my hands on the one perfect thing in this world—Pop-Tarts. I don’t allow myself to keep Pop-Tarts at home because then I would need a crane to lift me up out of bed. I’m serious; I could eat a thousand of those damn things. So, I only allow myself one a day and only when I’m at work. I open the lower right-hand drawer and face away from everyone. I open the box of Pop-Tarts and it’s empty.

  Seriously!

  Someone stole my Pop-Tarts. What kind of a world are we living in? I mull over what form my revenge will take. It has to be something bloody and painful. Yes! Whoever it is, I will make them suffer.

  “ARGH!” I cry out like a damn child and put my head on my desk in despair.

  “Can’t be that bad,” someone says. I pop my head up and find Logan standing by my desk. Great. Now my day is even worse. I get to stand a few feet from the guy who has been starring in all of my sex dreams. The same guy who is always two steps away from being written off as a jerk but then does really nice things for other people.

  “It is that bad. I’m out of Pop-Tarts. There, happy? Now you can make fun of me for eating like a kid.”

  “I don’t want to make fun of you,” he says as he sits in the chair beside my desk. Damn my heart for fluttering just because he’s close.

  What the hell is this? When did I get dragged back to junior high?

  “So, what’s going on? Why are you so frustrated?” he asks.

  “You won’t care.”

  “Try me.”

  I sigh and for some reason launch into why my day sucks. I end with my stolen Pop-Tarts. I’m waiting for him to make fun of me or to be a jerk but instead, he listens closely.

  “I think I saw you throw away an empty box the day before yesterday,” he says.

  “No, I remember how many—crap. I think you’re right. I guess I miscounted,” I reply, deflated.

  “It’s okay. I volunteer to manage your Pop-Tart intake,” he says as he hands me a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts. Shocked, I look at the box and wait for an explanation. He waves it off as if it’s nothing.

  “I notice you eat one at the end of every day, and you get this look on your face when you do. I thought I’d try one to see why it made you so happy,” he admits.

  “Try one? Wait, you mean you’ve never had a Pop-Tart in your life?” I ask.

  “No, my mom was all about healthy living. She never let us have sugary snacks in the house. My brothers and I planned to rebel when we left home. We’d buy carts full of sugary junk and go into diabetic shock—we figured that would show her,” he says.

  “Good plan.” I laugh. “You have brothers?” I ask.

  “Yeah, there are five of us. And I don’t think any of us ever got around to trying a Pop-Tart,” he admits. I open the box and offer him one.

  “Feel like rebelling now?” I ask. He grins.

  God, his smile makes it hard to breathe.

  “Yeah, sure.” He takes a bite. “This is pure sugar.” He laughs.

  “Yup, it’s the good stuff,” I agree as I take a bite of the Pop-Tart he started eating.

  “I think you could easily overdo it on these things and since I’m the one currently feeding your habit, I thought I’d hang on to the box. That way, at the end of the day you’d come see me and I’d give you one—if you’ve been a good girl.”

  Shit, why does that sound so erotic?

  “So, now you’re my sugar dealer?” I tease.

  “I’m whatever you need me to be,” he says in a tone so adamant and sincere, it fills me with warmth. I hand the box back over to him. We exchange a look that lets us both know we are headed for something…interesting.

  ***

  Now we meet by my desk at the end of every evening and he gives me a Pop-Tart. It’s kind of nice. I’m learning a lot about him. I learn that aside from his four brothers, he has one sister, her name was Rose
, and she recently passed away from leukemia. I can hear the pain in his voice when he says her name and although I’d like to find out more, it seems cruel to ask at the moment.

  His family has money, but unlike most multimillionaires in Manhattan, his family is heavy into service to the community and being of use to those less fortunate. When they were growing up, their mom told them straight out: If you don’t make your life about service then you have no life. Their dad, Joe, drew from his past experience in the army to make sure they were all disciplined and self-reliant. They got their work ethic from him and their desire to serve from their mother.

  “It has to be so hard on your mom having all her sons carry guns,” I reply as I nibble on my daily treat.

  “She hoped that by giving us that sense of duty we’d be doctors who worked for organizations abroad or maybe go into politics. She had no idea that all five of her sons would go into law enforcement, and I think every day she regrets it.

  “She tries hard to make us feel guilty, but it normally doesn’t work on me; I just remind her that she is the one who instilled that whole ‘fight for the little guy’ thing in us and now, it’s basically all her fault. When I tell her that, she tells me that I am her biggest heartbreak. Then she’ll put her face in her hands and sniffle like she’s crying really hard. But I’ll catch her peeking through her fingers to see if I’m buying it; twisted old bat.” He laughs and I join in.

  “So, do you just go around saving all the abused women you meet?” he asks.

  “Not all of them,” I mumble softly to myself.

  “How did you get Martha to come in and report her boyfriend?”

  “I took her roller skating.”

  “That’s it?” he asks, surprised.

  “She always wanted to learn but thought that she would never get the hang of it. She joked that she couldn’t even stand on roller skates. We went to a rink, it took awhile, but she was finally able to stand. I think it helped her realize that she was smarter and more capable than she thought. It’s like if she can roller skate, and surprise herself, maybe she could do other things she never thought she’d do.”

  “Like reporting her boyfriend?” he says.

  “Yeah. It was a long shot but…”

  “But it worked,” he says with admiration. “She’s lucky she has you.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, hoping he can’t see me blush but knowing damn well he can.

  “So, is there a lucky guy?” he says.

  “No. I’d ask you the same question but I’m pretty sure you’re seeing…a few women.”

  He laughs. “I’m not a relationship guy. It’s a no-no given the job we do. It’s better to just have fun and then call it a day,” he says; my heart sinks.

  “Yeah, sounds reasonable,” I lie.

  “But just to be fair, I’m also not a ‘Pop-Tart’ guy and yet, here we are,” he says as he takes a bite.

  Here we are…

  It’s a week later; I’m at my desk, thinking that since Logan and I haven’t killed each other, maybe I could ask him to lunch. I text Kat about the same time every day and tell her that I’m gonna ask him out. But every day, I chicken out. I haven’t had an issue asking guys out before but it’s different with Logan. He’s a very take-charge guy, and if he wanted to ask me out, he would. Right?

  Jack walks by my desk and teases me every time he catches me gazing at Logan. He smirks and whispers, “If you’re nice to me, I’ll wrap him up for Christmas and send him to you.” He enjoys watching me suffer. He tells me that he teases Logan too and that he thinks we are both idiots for not going out already. It really helps that Jack thinks Logan likes me. The two of them have been best friends since the academy. They have a shorthand with each other.

  I scold myself for letting the day get away from me because I’m thinking about a guy. Really, who have I become? I take out the massive backlog of paperwork I’m behind on and begin to go through it. Suddenly, I hear a commotion at the front desk. Some woman is screaming and cursing her head off.

  “Where is she? Where is that useless daughter of mine?” the woman says.

  Oh no!

  Right away, I know who is shouting and my stomach is twisted up in knots. My hands turn ice cold and I feel like someone placed a thousand-pound weight on my chest. I quickly get up out of my chair and sprint over to the front desk, and even though I know I’m right, some part of me hopes to God that I am wrong.

  I’m not wrong.

  Standing a few yards away is a drunken, disheveled, pissed-off woman who can barely stand up.

  Mom…

  “There you are you! I know what you tried to do. I don’t want you anywhere near me. You selfish little brat!” She slurs as a uniformed cop tries to stop her from falling flat on her face. I rush over, mortified and ashamed.

  “I got her, thank you,” I tell the cop. “Mom, let’s go back outside—”

  She yanks her hand away from me and begins to carry on like a drunken sailor. “You destroyed my life and now you want to take my money?” she shouts.

  “Mom, I’m not taking your money, I’m saving it for you. I’m trying to get you into a really good rehab this time,” I plead. By now people at the station have gathered to see what’s going on. My worst nightmare is being played out in front of everyone.

  “Mom, please. Let’s go outside and talk this out, okay?” I reply desperately. “I’m trying to help you,” I beg.

  “You stole everything from me! You heartless, needy, nosy little bitch! You know how you can help me? Die. That’s right; die,” she cries as she lunges at me. The officers around her pin her down on the floor. My heart is being ripped out as I watch her struggle to break free. I know they need to take her, but seeing her on the floor is so hard to watch. They manage to handcuff her and get her to stand up.

  “Mom, it’s okay, you just need to sleep it off, okay? You will be just fine,” I reply as I try to touch her face. She pulls away.

  “I hate the day you were born. And I wish to God I had drowned you in the bathtub when I had the chance.”

  “Mom, you don’t mean that, you—” Before I can finish, she spits in my face. That’s the exact moment that I realize Logan was there the whole time, and he saw everything. I bolt out the door of the station and take off down the street. Logan takes off after me.

  I finally stop running, fearing my lungs are about to burst. My heart is pounding against my chest and my legs are like rubber. I stop in the entryway of the alley next to a pizza shop. I lean back against a wall and gasp for air as tears stream down my face. He’s right behind me.

  “Come on, let’s go inside,” he says, taking my hand. I pull away.

  “No. Just leave me alone,” I reply with a bitter laugh. “You have no idea how screwed up my life is. You don’t know this, but guess what? I sent my own father to prison.”

  “I know,” he says.

  “You do? Well that explains why you never asked me out.”

  “Shay…”

  “No, it’s fine, I get it. I’m a mess. And who the hell wants to date a mess?” I reply as I burst into tears. Damn it! I fucking hate crying. But the harder I try to stop, the harder I cry.

  “Shay, can we talk inside?” he says.

  “What’s to talk about? I’m a mess. You don’t date. And my mother is a life-long drunk who just spit in my face. That about covers it.”

  “Shay.”

  He calls to me but I don’t face him; instead I look up towards the sky, not wanting to give him a front-row seat to my breakdown.

  “For God’s sake, will you fucking look at me?!” he demands.

  “Fine. What is it?!”

  “The reason I don’t ask you out is because I haven’t found a place that’s special enough to take you.”

  Um…did he just say…wait…what?!

  “Really?” I reply in disbelief.

  “Yes, and now let’s go in the pizza shop and get you cleaned up,” he says. “Then we’re gonna get into my car and ta
ke a ride.” He isn’t asking. He is making the decisions and right now, I’m good with that.

  ***

  It’s half an hour later and we are in his car headed somewhere—I have no idea where. When he stops the car and pulls over, he signals towards the motel on the corner. My heart sinks for the second time today. I really hate men sometimes.

  “A motel? You want to take me to a motel? Seriously? Because I was crying, you think all my defenses are down and now you can take advantage of me?”

  “Shay, I—”

  “No! This is so fucking typical. I let myself believe that you could be a nice guy and that you weren’t trying to just ‘fuck and go.’ But that’s exactly what you want to do. Well, fine. Let’s go in there and fuck our brains out. Then maybe I can put you in the same category as the millions of other guys who just want…Damn it, Logan! I thought you were…oh forget it! All you guys are fucking jerks!” I rage as I open the door and get out of the car. ARGH! I could fucking kill him.

  He gets out of the car and calls after me, “I’m not talking about the motel. I’m talking about the building next to it.” I follow his gaze again and next to the motel is a small church.

  “You’re taking me to church?” I ask.

  “No. In the afternoon on weekend days there’s a support group that meets for relatives of alcoholics. They meet in the activity room. Jack doesn’t like to talk about it much but both of his parents are alcoholics and his childhood really sucked. He was having a hard time dealing and almost lost his spot on the team. But he started going to these meetings and it really helped him.”

  “You want me to go to a support group?”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  “I don’t know, what would I say?” I reply, uncertain.

  “The way Jack tells it, you don’t have to say anything. You can just sit and listen. I’m thinking it helps to be in a room where everyone has the same experience.” “Come on, let’s go,” he says, taking my hand. We enter the lobby of the building and a man stands behind a small table with flyers and a clipboard.