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You’re married.
No, I wasn’t. I stopped being married a long time ago, and it was a little scary how quickly I was accepting it. Like I hadn’t just been speeding out of Manchester two days ago, obsessively checking my rearview mirror in case Dennis was coming up behind me. I wondered if there was anything logical about what I was doing, and quickly realized no, there wasn’t.
“Andrea?”
Bobby was waiting for me in the living room, half asleep on the couch, the TV still on. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, stretching as I walked in and slumped down on the chair in front of him.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Ten, dad,” I teased.
He gave me the finger and ran a hand across his face. “I have to do a double shift tonight and tomorrow morning. You should get some sleep but I’ll back in the morning for a while and then I’ll be dropping you off at Jane’s, on my way.”
“I can take my car,” I said.
“I’d rather you’d not,” Bobby replied. “Andy was telling me we should probably park it in the garage anyway. It’s like a beacon for Dennis the way it’s parked outside like that.”
I thought about that for a second and decided that it probably would be for the best. “Is Andy babysitting me again tomorrow?” I asked.
Bobby looked at me, his eyes searching mine. He stayed like that for a few seconds before saying, “No, he’s on the morning shift, too.”
“Oh.” I heard the disappointment in my voice and noticed that Bobby had to.
“Andy’s my best friend,” he started, “but that also means I know a lot about him. I love him like a brother, but I have to warn you. He might not be someone you want to get too hooked up on.”
“I’m just enjoying his company, that’s all.”
Bobby eyed me. “Just be careful, okay? I trust him to keep you safe, but that’s pretty much as far as it goes when it comes to Andy and women.”
He got up, stretched, and made his way outside, leaving me alone in the living room to think about what he had just said.
Chapter 8: Andy
I drove home feeling like a million dollars.
Andrea was like a breath of fresh
air. For the first time in a very long time, I actually felt good around someone. I didn’t feel like I had to put on some show, make a spectacle to impress, or up the macho to swoon. I felt like I could be myself, completely and utterly me, and still have a fucking good time, too. I even caught myself whistling as I made my way upstairs, already running through possible things to do the next time I saw her.
I liked her. A lot. And even though that feeling was foreign to me, it didn’t scare me. I had always expected that I’d be the type of guy who shied away from a relationship. At least a real one. Crazy nights, a different girl every time, and dodge Hannah as much as I could until she lost interest in me. Then probably grow old and die alone. And I was okay with it.
Andrea made me reconsider that.
You know that her interest in you would only be rebound, right?
Probably. She had run away from an abusive marriage, was hiding from her husband, and was pretending to be okay. I was willing to bet that beneath the whole bravado was a terrified little girl. Getting involved was going to mean nothing but trouble. Add to that the fact that she was Bobby’s sister, and you had a recipe for disaster. The right thing to do was just keep my distance and help out whenever they needed me to.
But I couldn’t help feeling like I wanted more.
I walked into my apartment, closed the door and was halfway to the bedroom when the doorbell rang. I frowned, guessing that one of the neighbors had probably been waiting for me to come home just to bitch and moan about one thing or the other. Sometimes I hated the fact that I hadn’t just sucked it up and kept the house. It would have at least spared me the agony of dealing with these people.
The doorbell rang again, and I flung it open angrily, ready to rain verbal abuse on the idiot who had dared to bother me.
Hannah pushed past me. “Close the door.”
I fought back the anger and tried my best not to snap at her. “Come right in.”
“Close the fucking door, Andy,” she said, kicking off her heels.
