A Good Man

by Rosanna Leo

  Instead, Emily quickly reread the invitation and memorized the name of the person requesting responses. Mary Sullivan, an employee at police headquarters. It shouldn’t be hard to track Ms. Sullivan down if need be. If Michael disposed of the invitation, Emily would remember the details for him.

  In her heart, she knew they had to do this on his terms, no one else’s.

  She crumpled the invitation once again and tossed it toward where Michael had left it. After crawling back into bed, she arranged the covers over herself but pulled aside a corner for him. He emerged from the bathroom and got in next to her, drawing her into a tight embrace. His lips at her cheek, he smoothed his hand over her abdomen. His thumb traced slow circles below her navel. It wasn’t long before his fingers strayed between her thighs.

  She touched his hand. “I can’t, Michael. It’s too soon.”

  “I don’t want to make you come this time. I just want to hold you.” His urgent whisper sliced into her heart, tearing her in two. She had a vision of her heartstrings splayed against her ribcage. He palmed her sex, but didn’t allow his fingers to wander. He simply held her there, as if receiving succor from her heat, and filling her with his own. “Let me touch you here. You’re so warm and wet and soft. I feel good when I’m with you, Em. You make me strong again.”

  She couldn’t refuse him. Emily spread her thighs so he could nestle his hand between them. True to his word, he didn’t try to stimulate her, although the very feel of him there made her want to grind against him. Squeezing her eyes shut, she held still and offered him her body and soul in the only way she could.

  Within minutes, his heavy breathing told her he was asleep. It seemed strange to sleep with his hand between her legs, but eventually her eyelids began to droop as well.

  His odd, intimate touch soothed her, but his words haunted her dreams until daybreak.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “One black, one with two creams and two sugars, please.”

  Emily sat, silent, in Michael’s truck as he rattled off their drink orders into the drive-through intercom. She couldn’t stop visualizing him curled up in the corner of the room in the wee hours. They hadn’t spoken much that morning, both of them overwhelmed by what had passed the previous evening. She still felt a heaviness between her legs from sleeping with his hand there. Not unpleasant, but unusual.

  She didn’t know if his hand had rested in the same place all night, but she’d awoken to a fluttering near her sex. Gentle fingers had been caressing her skin, insisting she wake up, and she’d been powerless to refuse.

  The first thing she’d seen upon opening her eyes had been Michael sliding down her body, grinning.

  ‘Rise and shine, Dimples.’

  He’d gotten comfortable between her legs and had replaced his roving fingers with his mouth.

  When Emily had come, she’d had to blink back tears. Not just because he’d felt so good but because her heart had cried for him.

  What if she couldn’t help him? He’d already hinted at how much he cared about her and she was conscious of not having replied quite as clearly. What if she disappointed him? What if she couldn’t say the words he hoped to hear and her silence caused him more suffering?

  He’d sensed her reticence at breakfast and hadn’t initiated much conversation. Instead, they’d gotten ready for another day of renovations and filming at the house.

  Mere weeks ago, her life had been headed in a completely different direction. It wasn’t long ago that he had been an unattainable TV celebrity and an individual of note in the community. Now, he was just her Michael. Wounded and worn and beautiful.

  In some ways, it was easy to be with him. When he was happy, he filled her with hope and delight. But when she glimpsed his demons, she worried she’d never be able to banish them.

  He might need to dispel them on his own.

  They drove in silence toward Beatrice Street, and he clutched her hand periodically. “You look beautiful today.”

  “Liar. I look like a mess.” At least they’d made a point of stopping by her place that morning so she could change out of her walk-of-shame clothes. Too bad she couldn’t switch out her tired face for one that looked refreshed.

  “You always look beautiful to me.” He stared out through the windshield, his jaw tight. “I was a wreck last night. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t.” Now who’s the liar?

  “Em, I said some heavy stuff. I’m not trying to jump the gun. I just want to you know how much I care.”

  “It’s okay, Michael. Just understand it’s a bit early for me.”

  “I do understand.”

  Maybe he did, but he still remained quiet during the rest of the drive.

  As they turned from College onto her grandmother’s street, Emily noticed a group of people from the crew standing in front of the house, milling around the front window. “So much for arriving together on the down low.”

  Michael said nothing, peering at the assembled crowd. He parked his truck in front of the house and everyone turned to look at them as they got out of the vehicle. “What’s going on?” he asked as they approached.

  Nick greeted them with a nod. “You’re not going to be happy.”

  “Why not?”

  Emily didn’t notice the damage until a few of the crew members shifted in their places on the lawn. The front picture window had been smashed. She walked toward the window, stunned. Emily had seen enough episodes of Handymen to understand that it wasn’t a case of faulty windows. She’d also seen enough episodes of TV crime shows to understand someone had done this with intent. The house had been targeted. As she drew closer, she saw the shards of glass inside the front room, a clear indication that the missile had come from the outside. Someone with a grudge had stood before the house she loved and had vandalized it.

  Her heart bottomed out. She couldn’t have felt worse if someone had set light to all her grandmother’s old photos.

  “Fuck.” Michael ran his hand through his hair.

  “There’s more,” Nick said, pulling the two of them aside. “We’ve kept the crew from entering the house, but Eli and Lacey and I went in when we first got here. Whoever did this threw a brick at the window. The brick was wrapped in paper. Someone wrote the word ‘whore’ on it.” He looked up under his lashes at Emily. “I’m sorry.”

  Shock gave way to a sense of violation as Emily considered the implications of the foul word. “I want to see it.”

  “Em,” said Michael. “Don’t.”

  She didn’t listen. She plowed inside the house, Michael and Nick on her heels. Sure enough, the brick still lay on the floor. Ripped paper clung to the missile, fastened by a couple of lengths of twine. It had been wrapped up like a malicious present. Against the white paper, the red lettering blared.

  Whore.

  She couldn’t bear to look at it. She raced back outside toward the driveway, gulping fresh air in an attempt to lighten the tightness in her chest. However, as soon as she thought about all the work that had been done on the house, her grandmother’s home, her hands began to shake with anger. So much money, so much pride and lots of energy spent by the Handymen crew. Now she’d have to deal with police reports and insurance claims on top of everything else.

  Michael and Nick followed her out. Michael touched her shoulder.

  “Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?”

  “Do you really need to ask?” He turned to Nick. “Did anyone see anything? Where the hell is Blake?”

  Lacey walked over. “Blake arrived right after we did. He called it in to the police. He’s just finishing up with them on the phone.” She called out to the assembled members of the team. “The police will want to have a look inside. Everyone, grab a coffee. We might be waiting a while.”

  As they dispersed, Emily touched her forehead. It was clammy. Not good. As if in agreement, her stomach lurched.

  Michael put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, shi
elding her from the sight of the window. He hugged her tight, his breath coming hard. “I’ll kill him.”

  She extricated herself from his grip. “Surely you don’t think Trent—”

  “Em, come on. Who else?”

  She wanted to give him alternatives but couldn’t think of any.

  Their security guard, Blake, appeared from around the corner, cell phone against his ear. He waved at Michael, a signal to join him.

  “The police need to know about your situation with Trent,” said Michael. “If you won’t tell them, I will.” He stormed off to talk to the security guard.

  Emily couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The idea that the man she used to love might stoop so low almost knocked the wind out of her. Never mind Michael killing him, she suspected Chris would want a go as well. She could almost see the two of them, wielding pitchforks, at the head of a mob of angry villagers.

  No. She couldn’t attribute this level of malice to her ex-fiancé. They’d had their issues, but Trent would never call her a whore. He might be an idiot and a narcissist, but he wasn’t a gangster.

  Eli appeared at her side. “Take a load off, Em. Why don’t you wait in the truck where you can sit down?”

  What he really meant was she should sit where she didn’t have to stare at the window. She didn’t argue and let herself be led back toward the truck. As they passed Lacey on the driveway, Emily heard the director mutter to one of the crew.

  “It’s been nothing but drama with this shoot. Disappearing fiancés, a romp with the leading man and now this. Talk about playing havoc with my schedule. Our DIY show has become a bloody soap opera.” She shot off a mean-spirited look at Emily and marched down the sidewalk, cigarette dangling from her red-tipped fingers.

  Whore. The word burned in Emily’s side like a brand. She could almost smell the burned flesh. Or was that the stench of her violation? Her stomach churned, but not with hunger pangs. When she swallowed, her saliva tasted of acid.

  “Don’t listen to her, Em,” cautioned Eli. “Lacey just shoots off her mouth when she’s upset.”

  Revulsion, pure and insidious, wormed its way up from Emily’s core, burning her throat. She tried to swallow the bile but it wouldn’t be contained. She raced to the edge of the driveway, hurled herself over one of Eli’s new shrubs and vomited.

  Not Trent. Anyone but him.

  As her shame spewed forth in hot, greasy chunks, heavy boots pounded the pavement. Two large hands appeared on her shoulders, massaging her trembling frame. “I’m right here, Dimples. Right here.”

  She spat the remains of her breakfast, grimacing and gagging. Michael helped her stand straight.

  One of the makeup ladies, Naomi, brought over a wet cloth. “Here you go, honey. The police will catch him, you’ll see. What was that about the fury of a woman scorned? If you ask me, men are the loose cannons.”

  Everyone thinks Trent did this.

  Michael took the cloth and wiped her face, cradling her cheeks with such gentleness. “After we speak to the police, I’m taking you home and I’m going to run you a hot bath.”

  “No. You heard Lacey. We’re already behind schedule.”

  “What does she know? I’m head of contracting on this site and we’re doing fine. I’ll talk to her myself. As for the window, I have about four window guys who owe me big favors. I’m going to light some fires, so to speak. You watch. We’ll have a new one installed in no time.”

  “I appreciate it, but if it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to go home.”

  “Em.”

  “I mean it, Michael. I want to be kept busy. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He frowned, but little by little, the knit in his eyebrows relaxed into an arch of approval. “Careful. Your Nonna Olivia is showing.”

  “It’s a good thing she’s not here. She would have already started going door-to-door, interrogating the neighbors.”

  “We don’t need a detective to tell us who did this. This has Trent’s signature all over it.”

  “That’s the thing, though. It doesn’t. In all my time with Trent, even after he was fired, I never saw him demonstrate this sort of behavior.”

  “Love can make people do strange things, especially when we lose it.”

  “I hear you, but this is probably a case of neighborhood teens looking for a cheap thrill.”

  “No, this is personal. He knows you’re with me now and it’s pissing him off. This is Trent getting revenge.” His lips compressed and he lowered his voice. “You saw what he wrote on the brick, Em. He called you a… I can’t even say it.”

  “But…”

  “Please don’t defend him to me. He’s a prick and he was terrible to you. End of story.”

  As Michael walked with her into the house, Emily worried that the story was far from over.

  * * * *

  “I don’t care what the police said,” argued Michael. “I want to talk to Trent myself.”

  If Emily didn’t know any better, she’d swear the vein at Michael’s temple was throbbing. With each passing hour since the smashed window had been discovered, he’d grown more agitated. Now, at the end of the day, even after one of his window guys had come to take measurements for a replacement, he seemed ready to head out on his own in search of Trent.

  “You heard them. He cooperated and he was able to provide an alibi for his whereabouts last night.” Indeed, when pressed, Trent had apparently admitted he’d spent the night with a woman he’d picked up at a bar. The woman had confirmed he’d spent the entire night with her. The information had stung, but it would have hurt a lot more to know Trent had deliberately damaged her house.

  “I don’t care, Em. This stinks.”

  “I know, but thank God there’s comprehensive insurance. The repair work will be covered.” She nodded at the window Michael had boarded up himself. “Hell, the new window will look so nice I’ll have to get all the others done now to match it.”

  He embraced her and leaned his forehead against hers. “I don’t trust him.”

  “You need to let this go, Michael. Trent might do a lot of things, but he wouldn’t destroy my property. He just got a new job. He wouldn’t jeopardize it.”

  “I don’t believe this was a case of neighborhood hooligans running amok.”

  “It’s just a window. As annoying as this has been, the important thing is, no one got hurt.”

  “This time.” Michael looked her in the eye. He caressed her cheek, slowly running his thumb along the arch of her eyebrow. She wanted to run her own fingers over his forehead and smooth out the furrows. He looked so stern, so concerned. He’d taken the incident to heart. Even though Emily appreciated how much he cared, it also scared her a little. The man already suffered from headaches and flashbacks. She didn’t want to add to his stress.

  “I hate the idea someone would do this to you.”

  “It probably wasn’t even meant for me. Some idiot got bored and decided to pull a prank. This sort of thing happens all the time.”

  “I don’t know about that. And anyway, this time it happened to you.”

  His eyes turned down at the corners in sadness. Emily wondered that he could feel the injury more keenly than she did. Of course, knowing what she knew of Michael, he didn’t take injustices lightly. He was a fixer and wanted to fix it. For her.

  “Today’s been stressful,” she said, massaging his shoulders, trying to ease his worries away. “Let’s forget about it.”

  It occurred to her she sounded a bit like Michael now, evading the issue rather than dealing with it.

  “Okay, but I won’t let this go. If Trent was involved…”

  “He wasn’t. I’m sure of it.” She rested her head against his chest. “Can’t we just go somewhere and get naked?”

  His quiet chuckle warmed her heart. “Sure. I’d love to get naked with you.”

  From somewhere over her shoulder, she heard a feminine huff. “Excuse me.”

  They turned to face Lacey.


  “I guess I should congratulate you guys. Aren’t you adorable?”

  Neither of them said anything. Emily wasn’t sure what sort of reaction Lacey wanted, but she wasn’t about to give it to her. Everyone on the set had been supportive today, all except Lacey. She understood. The woman had feelings for Michael, and clearly the emotions hadn’t dissipated, but her sense of compassion only went so far. If Lacey was nicer, Emily might care more about sparing her feelings.

  “Seeing as you’re joined at the hip,” Lacey said, “maybe you can talk some sense into this man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, I have to respond to our producers. Michael, you haven’t circled back to me about the idea we discussed.”

  “Lacey,” Michael said, his voice lowered in warning. “I told you I want nothing to do with the families from the daycare incident.”

  “You’re being stubborn. You’ve always been stubborn, but this idea is nonnegotiable. The show is happening, whether you like it or not.”

  “I can’t see it happening if I’m not around, that is unless you’re planning on hiring a hero stand-in.”

  “Are you threatening to walk, and after everything I’ve done for you?”

  “I had a life before this show. I can go back to it very easily.”

  Emily touched his arm. “Maybe if Lacey explained what format the show would take.”

  “No, Em. I don’t care if she brings in trained elephants and magicians. I’m not doing the goddamned show, not with those people.”

  “Those people,” said Lacey, “want to thank the man who saved their children from a gun-wielding maniac.”

  Emily knew she’d promised to take Michael’s side, but she couldn’t help wondering if it might help for him to at least hear Lacey’s idea in full. Perhaps the show wouldn’t deal so much with the incident. Perhaps the producers wanted to make it more of a feel-good experience, helping the families move forward. “Just hear her out for a second, okay?”

  His frustration escaped in a small sigh, but it seemed to fill the entire room with disappointment. “You too? You said you’d support me in this.”