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“Bullshit!” He slams his palm flat against the wall next to my head. I try not to flinch, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m afraid. “Your eyes are already puffy, and your cheeks are all red. God, you’re a hot mess. I don’t even want to fuck you anymore looking like that. You know, this is just like you. Typical Elowyn. Trying to make me look bad by throwing a crying fit so all your neighbors can hear you. Just let me inside, and we can talk about this without all of your stupid theatrics. You’re such a fucking embarrassment!”
“Please leave, Jesse.” I can’t go inside. And I can’t leave. All that exists is this spot in the hallway. A whimper involuntarily works its way out of my mouth. “Please.”
His spine stiffens. “Fuck that. I do what I want when I want.”
My exhale sounds more like a pathetic sigh. “Jesse?”
“Hey.” A male voice, calm and firm, echoes down the hallway. Jesse pauses, a rebuttal forming on his lips before he’s cut off by the same voice again. “The lady asked you to leave.”
Chapter Four
Weston
When I left the Frosty Pint, I was dead on my feet. I haven’t worked nights in a long time, not since everything that happened with Joel, and I forgot how hard a body fights the change. I intended on going straight home and turning in, trying to catch what little sleep I could before having to shuttle my mom to her appointment tomorrow. Despite my bed sounding like the best place in the world, Banjo talked me into stopping for a late-night ‘breakfast’ on the way out. Said I needed to unwind first to avoid bringing the job home with me. Work-life balance, and all that.
Turns out Banjo’s idea of breakfast is sausage sandwiches and black cups of burnt decaf from the gas station eaten on the open tailgate of his rusted red pick-up. We didn’t do a lot of talking, just sat there watching the stars between bites of greasy biscuit and slightly burnt meat. It was nice. A lot better than I expected. At least the company was. I didn’t realize how lonely I felt lately and how much I missed simple companionship from someone other than my mother or a dead-end one-night stand.
Even better, Banjo’s expectations of me are reasonable, so I don’t feel like a worthless piece of shit around him.
That little detour ended up working out for the best. If he hadn’t insisted we grab breakfast together, I’d be in too deep of a sleep by now to hear the commotion in the hallway.Instead of slumbering, I just got home about a half hour ago, and I’ve been tossing and turning in bed, trying to ignore the light coming from my digital clock on the nightstand.At first, it’s nothing more than some raised voices, drifting in through the cheap, paper-thin walls. I flip onto my back for a while, trying to ignore it. When I hear him tell her people are trying to sleep, I expel the breath from my lungs.
But then that voice turns mean, and the girl turns scared. I spent too many years hearing that same tone in my mom’s voice not to recognize it. The pounding on the wall finally does it for me, thumping into my ears through the pillow I’m holding over them. It sounds wrong and familiar. It sounds like Joel. As much as I make a habit of not getting involved in anyone else’s business, I can’t sit by while a frightened woman takes a man’s shit. I couldn’t live with myself if I found out somebody got hurt two steps from my front door, all because I didn’t feel it was my place to say something.
I slip from my bed and quietly adjust my pajama pants, not bothering with shoes or a shirt. Using my palm to slow the door, I shut it as softly as I can. Not that it matters with the way the guy out here is carrying on, I doubt he’ll hear me.
I realize too late which apartment door the sound is coming from. Of course. It’sher. The one Banjo warned me specifically not to get involved with. The one that I took one look at and decided definitely, never ever, to get involved with. This particular woman makes me feel too much. As my gaze travels over the soft planes of her face, a lump of emotion forms in my throat as every muscle twitches, warning me not to grab him by the throat. Swallowing against it becomes difficult as it grows, and suddenly it’s hard to inhale. My breath is frozen and so am I. For a brief moment, I consider turning tail and heading back inside. This isn’t really any of my business and minding my own business and no one else’s is a lesson I learned early in life.
“Please leave, Jesse,” she says with a sniffle.
The fear in her voice stops me cold. What kind of man would I be if I walked away? Squaring my shoulders, I take a long, steady inhale.
“Hey,” I call out, trying to sound as authoritative as possible, shaking the sleep from my eyes. “The lady asked you to leave.”
“This isn’t your problem, dude,” the stranger sneers. No, maybe not a stranger. This guy looks remarkably like the man in the photo Banjo flashed earlier. The guy he said in no uncertain terms was bad news. “We’re just two adults having a private conversation.”
With a few determined strides, I’m standing in front of him. I place a firm hand on his shoulder and try not to make eye contact with her.The last thing I want is for her to feel embarrassed, so I focus all of my attention on him.Given her strange effect on me, maybe I’m alsoworried about whatI might do if I see something swimming in the depths of her gaze that I can’t unsee. “No, you aren’t. You’re two adults causing a disturbance on private property. I know she lives here, but I’m getting the feeling that you don’t. And unless you leave quietly, I’m gonna call the cops.”
He turns, shoving my hand away, and I immediately confirm his identity from the photo that Banjo showed me earlier. It’s the ex-boyfriend. Great, now I’m really involved. He laughs, flipping a middle finger to the girl against the wall.
“Fine. I’ll go. But only because she’s not worth all this fucking trouble. She let herself go, man. Even worse, she’s a dead lay. Total starfish. I can do better. By tonight, I’ll have a chick in my bed who can actually suck my dick.”
He struts down the hallway and into the stairwell, leaving us standing in a stilted silence long after the door closes. She won’t meet my eyes, tugging at the sleeve of her jacket and wiping her face with the back of her hand.
She’s so tiny.
So fragile.
So fucking broken.
And I think I know how she got that way.
But last night, for one star-crossed moment in time, she smiled at me.
“Are you okay to go inside now?” I offer, not sure what to do with myself. I feel awkward just standing here, but I don’t want to abandon her either. Emotions swirl around us. Hers. Mine. They crackle with electricity like lightning, and I’m afraid a bolt is going to strike me where I stand.
“No. It’s—I feel so stupid. I was trying so hard to get inside, and he had me so freaking nervous that I broke the key in the lock.” Slumping her shoulders, she sighs. “Thank you, really. But you’ve done enough. Go home and go to bed. I’ll call the locksmith and get this fixed. You don’t need to spend your whole night or morning or whatever dealing with my stupid problems.”
“Even if you call a locksmith, they aren’t going to show up any time soon. What are you going to do? Take your chances in the breezeway?” I can’t believe I’m making the offer, even as I’m doing it. I must be an idiot. I’ve gone from involved to completely entangled in less than ten minutes. “Come to my place until they get here.”
