Chapter 57 Justin
JUSTIN
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Heather’s parents stand in the middle of the driveway, her dad frowning, her mom with her hand clapped over her heart.
Lynn asked three times if Heather’s helmet was on correctly.
Leo has lapped the bike who knows how many times, as if hoping it will magically transform itself into a car.
I’ve never met parents who worry so much.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Lynn asks worriedly.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Heather reassures her.
With Heather’s parents watching my every move, I accelerate painfully slowly down the street, heading toward The Hill. Apart from the odd teenagers parked there and steaming up car windows, it’s an isolated spot.
The evening is slightly balmy, glorious colors smudging the sky. I purposefully set an easy speed, enjoying the feel of Heather’s body resting against mine. Reaching The Hill, I find a place to park and cut the engine. No one else is here. I wait until Heather gets off the bike before I dismount.
Heather takes her helmet off and simply stands there.
A chorus of cicadas echoes around us. Sighing inwardly, pretending it won’t cost me, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her, tucking her under my chin.
For the briefest of moments, she resists, her body stiff, but then she sags against me.
Burying her head in my chest, she clutches the front of my shirt and begins to cry, great racking sobs that shudder through her body.
“It’s okay,” I murmur over and over again, rubbing her back, wishing I was as skilled at soothing as I am at inciting trouble.
After a while, she quiets. Sensing the worst of it has passed, I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the honeyed scent of her hair. “You okay?” I ask softly.
With her cheek still pressed against my chest, she shakes her head, giving a violent and indelicate sniff.
Still keeping an arm around her, I kick aside a collection of empty beer bottles and clear a spot for us on a large rock, tugging her down to sit next to me.
We sit for a while in a silence that isn’t uncomfortable, taking in the night air and the breath-catching view of a suburban sprawl of millionaire homes.
The soft notes of her perfume wrap around me as I rest my forearms on my knees and wait for her to speak.
Heather fishes out a tissue and blows her nose. “I keep seeing the monkeys in their cages, watching their companions leave and not return.” Her voice is hoarse and shaky. “One of the lab techs said that on necropsy days monkeys are unusually silent, as if they know what’s coming.”
I intertwine my fingers with hers, giving her my warmth. “You’re not alone in this, Heather.”
A shadow of a smile crosses her lips. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”
“Guess I’m not such an unredeemable villain.”
“No, you’re not,” she says quietly. “Although you put up a good front.”
While I absorb her statement, Heather removes her glasses and uses her free hand to wipe at her face, trying to repair the damage her bout of crying caused.
Then she squeezes her eyes shut and I’m guessing she’s seeing that video again, reliving the scene of the necropsy technician cutting into a still-alive monkey.
“Hey, come on, get out of your head,” I tell her. “I need you here with me.”
She opens her eyes, drawing in an unhappy breath. “I suppose you want to hear all the details.”
“You suppose wrong. I’m not here to debrief you. I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
She puts her glasses back on. “Worried I’m going to quit? That I’m going to do something to jeopardize the operation?”
“No,” I say patiently, understanding she’s angry, and I’m the closest target. “I got your email. I know what you went through today.”
“No, you don’t,” she says dully. “You have no idea.”
I pull my hand out of her grasp and start to peel my T-shirt out of my cargo pants.
Heather’s eyes widen. “Is this your plan? To distract me with a striptease?”
I laugh. “I want to show you something.”
I pull my shirt over my head. Her breathing snags, and while I’m enjoying the effect my body is having on her I have to remind myself there’s a purpose to this. Turning, I present her with my back.
“You have a tattoo,” she remarks, surprise in her voice.
“Read it,” I instruct. “Aloud.”
She does. “Tell me and I’ll forget. Show me and I may remember. Involve me and I’ll understand.”
“It’s an old Chinese proverb, sort of an unofficial motto for Kane and me.
” I slip my T-shirt back on and face her.
“I’m involved, TT. I worked undercover for a racehorse trainer.
I watched thoroughbreds being injected so they could run when they were crippled with pain.
I watched these magnificent animals shipped off for slaughter when they were no longer considered commercially productive.
I had to go home and rage at the cruelty and my helplessness.
And every day for six months, I had to remind myself there would be an outcome. ”
“I didn’t know,” she says in a more subdued tone. “What happened?”
“The trainer was slapped with a fine.”
“That’s it?” Her voice rises. “That’s all he got? Then what’s the use of us—”
“You never stop trying,” I interrupt fiercely. “You never stop fighting. Because sometimes you make a difference.”
“And you’re hoping I’ll make a difference at SolomiChem.”
“Yeah, I am. And the video you took could be just what we need to bring them down.”
“If it isn’t? If nothing changes?”
“If we fail, there’s always another fight.”
She exhales hard. “It must be emotionally exhausting always running on that wheel.”
“Emotions? What’s that?” I ask, teasing a watery smile from her. I revel in her smile for a moment, then I ask, “Did Lean Cuisine give you any trouble today?”
Heather shakes her head. “Glen kept his distance. You obviously intimidated him into behaving himself.”
I give a skeptical grunt. “He doesn’t strike me as the behaving type. He seems more a vindictive kind of guy.”
“There you go, looking on the bright side again,” she jokes lightly.
I don’t smile. Instead, I ask abruptly, “Who assigned you to assist with the necropsy of the primates?”
“Glen did.” She falters. “Oh,” she breathes, getting it.
“Coward.” I swallow the anger burning my throat. “I’d like to wring his scrawny neck, but at least his cowardice worked in our favor. We got video.”
A shudder goes through Heather at the mention of the video.
Searching for a safer subject, I comment, “Your father’s not what I expected. He’s nice.”
“Yes, he is.”
“You’re fortunate. You’re the product of your upbringing. As am I.”
“From what you’ve said, it sounds like you had a neglected one.”
I try to keep my face blank, but I can’t mask my discomfort. So she noticed the inadvertent conversational clues. “Exactly. Not much of an upbringing, so not much substance to the product.”
“Oh, Justin, you couldn’t be more wrong,” she says, so firmly my attention is caught. “I care about you too much to let you believe that about yourself.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You care about me?”
“Out of everything I said, that made an impact?”
“Superficial creature that I am, yes.” My hand cradles her face. “Look at me.”
Her eyes jump to mine. I hold her stare while I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Then I dip my head so my lips brush softly over hers. A shiver steals through her as I tease her with the promise of a kiss.
An electric tension travels between us.
I’ve tried to be a better man and keep her at arm’s length, but I want her too much. Logically, I know we don’t fit together. Right now, though, I’m thinking with a part of my body where very little logic is involved.
“I’m tired of this,” I say in a rough voice.
“Tired of what?”
“I’m tired of fighting you.”
“You want to be friends?” she whispers.
“No, I don’t want to be friends,” I retort in a low voice. “Come back to my place.”
Her breath catches and those gorgeous, full lips part.
My body tightens. She’s driving me insane.
“And then what?” she asks.
I frown. I know she’s lived a sheltered life, but what exactly is she asking for here? A birds-and-bees talk? Carefully, I reply, “What do you mean?”
“Will it be a casual hookup? Or is this the start of something?”
I knead the nape of my neck. I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Let’s just play it by ear.”
I see in her soft brown eyes the desire to give in and lose herself completely in me, but I also see the shadows of a conflict there.
“Justin, I can’t do a casual hookup,” she says at last.
It’s not as if her statement surprises me. Nothing in her upbringing, her character, or her dreams of the future says she’ll be happy with a carefree fling. A man can hope though.
We watch each other for a moment.
Her heart is right there in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and I know I won’t like what she’s going to say next.
“I want a relationship where I feel safe and treasured,” she says, laying it all out there. “All you’re offering me is momentary pleasure.”
“Hey, don’t knock pleasure,” I tell her gruffly.
She bites her bottom lip. “I deserve more than just pleasure from you.”
A strained silence coils between us.
That’s when she pulls the pin and throws her grenade. “Isn’t there some part of you that wants to be in a relationship that’s more than just a superficial hookup?”
I stare at her.
There is. To be loved. To be accepted. To belong. I’m blindsided by a jolt of longing so intense my eyes burn. My throat closes. It’s all I can do to breathe.
Then I think of my parents. I think of how much of myself I’ve given to them, but it’s not enough for them. It’s never enough. And it won’t be enough for Heather either, despite the misguided hope shining in her eyes.
A single word flashes through my mind. Enough.
Abruptly, I say, “I don’t have head space for this right now.”
“Will you ever give it head space?”
My anger spikes. I realize the reverse applies here too. Heather’s the type to give all of herself to me. Knowing what I’m like, I would inevitably find a way to trample over her too. Because that’s what I do. That’s how I was raised. I’m a tornado that destroys everything in its path.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “We don’t fit. We’re two people pulling in different directions, hungering after different things.”
It hurts more than I expected to shut her down. I feel my past, the darkness in me, like a massive mountain blocking the road Heather wants to travel on with me. And I have no idea how to climb its slippery slopes.