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Adrenaline. That’s the only word in my mind as I feel my arms pull the skillet in the air and then swing it down with all of the strength I have. I aim for his side and not his head. Even in my anger-fueled rampage, I know I can’t kill the guy. Police sirens fill the air.
The skillet slams into Robert’s ribcage with a satisfying and almost hollow-sounding thunk. He stumbles to the left and drops to his knees. Something falls from his hand and clanks onto the rocky driveway. A knife.
Tyler’s head falls back against the side of his truck. He grabs his side with two bloody hands, his teeth gritting together as he draws in quick breaths. The stitches over his eyebrow had just healed. And now he’s going to have another scar.
“How bad did he get you?” I ask, reaching for his shirt.
“Don’t,” he says, pressing his hands tighter to his body. “Don’t touch it. I don’t know. I don’t want to let out more blood.”
Elizabeth appears. Tears stream down her cheeks. “Oh Tyler, oh shit, oh god.” She’s a stuttering, crying, mess. She crashes into him, throwing her arms around his neck. “What did he do to you? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Tyler, I swear. I had no idea.”
Two county sheriff cars speed into view. “It’s okay,” Tyler tells her, along with some other kind words that I can’t hear over the sirens. Seeing Elizabeth tangled up around Tyler like she freaking owns him sends an annoyed rush of anger coursing over my body. Not wanting to see the display in front of me, I meet the officers and start explaining myself. I realize the skillet is still in my hand. That’s probably not the smartest thing I could have done.
Robert, dazed and angry, is arrested and tossed into the back of the first patrol car. He’s not even allowed to tell his side of the story and by the way the sheriff acts, he’s already dealt with that guy enough times to know that his side of the story is anything but noble. The other sheriff is also a trained emergency technician. He says the gash in Tyler’s side is just a flesh wound that will require stitches, but was lucky enough to avoid any arteries or organs. Robert’s pathetic pocket knife and poor aim simply cut him open and nothing more. Luckily.
When all the drama has died down, I thank the officers and head back toward my house. Tyler’s side is bandaged up thanks to the sheriff, and now he needs to go to the hospital, but I don’t offer to drive him. He seems perfectly capable of driving himself after all. I think I hear him call my name as I step up the three porch steps to my apartment, but I don’t bother looking back.
After all, he has Elizabeth to keep him company. The way she clings to him without reservation tells me two things. The only two things I really need to know. One - they have a history together. And two - she’s not over him.
Chapter 6
My phone lights up on Monday morning, making a little twinkly beep sound that signals a new text message. I’m still in bed, although I wasn’t exactly asleep. My heart takes up residence in my throat as I reach over and grab the phone, hoping it’s another good morning text message from Tyler.
It’s not.
It’s a text from a number I don’t have saved into my phone. But it’s no question who the message is from by the contents of it. Have I ever told you that you’re the greatest aunt ever? BECAUSE YOU ARE.
The phone beeps again. I LOVE YOU AUNT ROBIN!!!
Smiling, I save Miranda’s new cell phone number into my phone. After all of the dramatics that happened yesterday morning, I had forgotten all about the new phone I bought for her when I went out with Tyler to shop for baby shower stuff. Elizabeth had ended up going with Tyler to the hospital yesterday and seeing the two of them drive off together had ruined my spirits. So, in true pathetic Robin fashion, I just moped around the house all day instead of doing anything productive.
Marcus kept Miranda busy on her day off by helping her set up baby stuff a
nd then they had gone to his house to meet his sister. I had fallen asleep before they came home, but not before leaving the phone on Miranda’s pillow with a note that simply had a smiley face on it. I’m not good at sappy notes that say I love you and here’s a phone because your bitch of a mom cut off the service on your old one.
She must have left for work without waking me up. There is this small bit of guilt I feel each morning when I sleep in for as long as I want—sometimes as late as noon—but I keep telling myself that it’s okay. It’s okay to quit and chill. I used to wake up at five thirty in the morning just to make it to school on time and then I went from high school to college to work with no break in between. I’ve been waking up early my whole life. So it’s okay if I take a few weeks to sleep in and be lazy.
No amount of self-assurance ever makes the guilt go away though. I have got to get a job. This is our last day of setting up the Halloween festival and when it’s over, there won’t be any more volunteering opportunities in town until the Winter Festival. I can’t keep ignoring my joblessness forever.
But I can ignore it for today.
Grandpa’s watch makes a clunky accessory to my faded jeans and black racerback tank top. Last time I was helping at the fairgrounds, my clothing got filthy and I spilled orange paint on my shoes. Today I’ll wear something that can get demolished.
I show up to the fairgrounds a little late but Tyler’s truck isn’t in the parking lot. I’m a little relieved. I don’t know why. It’s just…complicated being around him right now. I guess it makes sense that he wouldn’t show up since his side is all stitched up.
Marcus seeks me out the moment I walk in the double garage doors, tossing me a pillow-sized bag of white fluff. “Help me spider web this place,” he says through a small gap in his mouth. His teeth bite down on a bag of thumbtacks.
“Are we the only people here today?” I ask. It’s kind of a dumb question because there’s only two cars in the parking lot. Marcus nods. “Everything is pretty much done. Sherry had to stay home to get her costume ready for tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is Halloween. It’s kind of ridiculous that I forgot the date. “What are you going to be this year?” he asks. He stretches out some of the white fluff and makes a very convincing-looking fake spider web against the wall.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Your costume. I want to be Thor but my sister said I’m too Mexican to pull it off.”
I laugh. “Miranda loves Thor. She’s watched it like a dozen times since we moved here. I think you should totally do it.”
Marcus nods. “Hell yeah. I already have the blonde wig. So what are you going to be?”
