Chapter 5
Layla
I’ve never been so overwhelmed than I am when the girls show up, one after the other, Wyatt and Harold hauling things inside my apartment, filling it with the furniture it would have taken me forever to afford to buy—a full-sized white-spindle bed frame with a box spring and mattress, four-drawer matching dresser and a two-drawer nightstand, a round kitchen table with two chairs, and a three-shelf bookcase—all of which is newer and nicer than the things Steven and I ever had.
Hands clutched together over my heart, I try to thank them for their generosity, but my sobs eat my words. None of them will tell me how much any of it costs either, so I can’t pay them back, which is as stressful as it is kind. Faye, Dolly, and Violet converge around me for a group hug. I don’t even mind all that much that Dolly’s baby bump is pressed to my front.
A knock at the front door and the cold sweep of air when it’s opened has us pulling apart, wiping our cheeks. Jared tips his head in greeting, but I only have eyes for the older man behind him, whom I haven’t seen in a week. Russell looks half wild, his clothing rumpled and his beard grown out longer than usual.
He almost knocks me off my feet when he pushes past Jared and tugs me out of the group hug so he can wrap his arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re safe, darlin’.”
I freeze, my arms pinned to my sides beneath his, my nose pressed to the sternum of his big, unfamiliar body. Just as I relax into him, he lets go. We make eye contact for a split second before he drops his gaze to his huge boots and steps back.
The group as a whole wears various expressions of surprise, though no one is more surprised than me. Jared breaks the awkward moment when he’s the first to move, embracing his wife. He kisses Violet’s forehead, the tip of her nose, then down to her lips while his hand slides between them to rest on her belly.
“I tell you what, this place was a real poop-box when I lived here,” Wyatt says, admiring the appliances, giving me a wink. “Got a sweet setup now. I’m almost jealous.”
Russell huffs as he makes a loop around the apartment. I watch him from my periphery as he inspects the deadbolt on the door, the doorbell camera that will be synced to my phone, and then the window latches.
Dolly suggests, “How ‘bout we all go out to eat to celebrate your new independence? There’s a delicious Chinese restaurant around the corner from here.”
My stomach rumbles at the thought as the others agree, and Wyatt pats his stomach over his black and gray long-sleeve flannel. He’s the size of a professional football player, height and weight-wise, and the man can put away more food in one sitting than I can in a whole day. It’s honestly impressive.
Coming up with an excuse to get out of it, adverse to the idea of dipping into more of my savings, I tell them, “I’ll have to take a rain check.” Russell narrows his eyes. “I want to get some things unpacked and organized before work.”
“You’re not on the schedule tonight,” Harold says, his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. Other than the tux he wore for his wedding, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear anything besides slacks, though he’s traded in the white button-down uniform top for a red argyle sweater.
“I have a shift at the bridal boutique.”
Dolly asks, “You got another job?”
With all eyes on me, I brace for more you work too much and you need to take a night off every once in a while , even though I never, ever complain. They mean well, but it gets tiresome having to constantly reassure everyone I’m fine.
Violet seems to sense my sinking mood, and she brightens her tone. “Alright, rain check it is. We’ll get out of your hair, but you let us know if you need anything.”
“Will do.” I hug her extra tight, silently communicating how grateful I am to her. Harold and Jared both pat my shoulders, Wyatt gives me a short wave after I hug goodbye to Dolly and Faye, and then they’re gone in a flurry of voices that fade as I watch them drive off. I wave and close the door, then turn and press my back to it.
My yawn is cut short by a scream when Russell steps out of my bathroom. He raises his hands, darting closer but stopping just short of arm’s reach. “Shi-oot, darlin’, didn’t mean to scare you.”
My heart thumps hearing him call me darlin’ again. If it wouldn’t be too weird, I’d ask him to repeat it on video so I can replay it when I need a little boost. “I thought you left with the rest.” Without saying goodbye to me , I add silently. Not that that would have been unusual. “Didn’t Jared pick you up from the airport?”
He nods. “But he dropped me off at home first so I could grab my truck.”
I somehow hadn’t noticed it, which is saying something since it’s a behemoth. I hide a yawn with the back of my hand. “Ok. Well…” I twist the doorknob. “Thanks for coming by. I’ll, um, see you tomorrow?”
Russell swings his keys on a finger. “You’re working the morning shift at Granny’s?” I nod. “What time do you have to be at the bridal place?”
I check the time on my phone. “A little under two hours.”
“And what time do you get off?”
“Ten. Why?”
“So, when were you planning on going grocery shopping?” He tips his head toward the refrigerator, which is empty.
“I don’t know,” I answer with a shrug. “Probably when I get off at the diner tomorrow.”
He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, and I wait for him to say something else, but his eyes shift to the door, and I widen it to let him out.
“Thanks,” I say after he steps out, though I don’t know what I’m thanking him for since he hasn’t done anything except hug me, then get really awkward about it.
At first, I don’t think he’s going to respond as he stares at the big, fuzzy purple slippers I’m wearing in lieu of shoes, but he eventually looks up and asks, “Any allergies or dietary restrictions?”
“What?”
“Anything you’re allergic to and can’t or won’t eat?”
“I’m allergic to pineapple, and I don’t like chicken or turkey. Why?”
He nods instead of answering yet another one of my questions, then makes his way to his dually parked at the farthest end of the lot, mostly concealed by a giant oak tree whose roots have grown too close to the edge, busting up the concrete.
After that confusing exchange, I close and lock the door and double-check my bathroom, just in case anyone else is hiding. Though I had intended to finish unpacking, another yawn has me setting an alarm on my phone so I can take a nap before I have to get ready for my shift at the boutique.
My empty stomach rumbles again, but it doesn’t stop me from passing out as soon as I change into my nightgown, grab the white teddy bear I hid on the top shelf of my closet, crawl onto the bare mattress, and curl up in a ball.
* * *
A knock on the door drags me from my sleep thirty minutes before my alarm is set to go off, so I’m grumpy when I stumble out of bed and rush to open it. I quickly hide my bear behind my back when Russell parts his lips, his arms loaded with plastic shopping bags. Behind him is his truck parked right in front of my unit, the back passenger door still open.
“What are you doing here?” I die a little inside when he notices my cheap old nightgown patterned with unicorns shooting rainbows out of their horns.
He takes a slow step forward, and I automatically step to the side to let him enter. I gape when he drops the bags off on the kitchen table, then leaves and comes back with even more bags. A third trip has him carrying a large plastic zipper bag containing a pastel blue comforter and sheet set that he drops on my mattress, four king-sized pillows, and a fuzzy, purple body pillow nearly as long as I am tall. And finally, a fourth trip has him kicking his back door closed before carrying a laundry basket full of more bags of stuff.
Once I close and lock the door, I hurry to hide my bear in my closet, wrap my waffle robe around me to hide my nightgown, then trail into the bathroom to find him tearing open a cardboard package to fit the pieces of a silver shower rod together.
“What is all this?”
Russell grunts, eyeing my robe that’s hardly longer than my nightgown, then tucks the rod under his arm. He hands me a package containing a beachy shower curtain, plastic liner, and twelve hooks to hang on the rod that he’s already putting up into place.
“Seriously, Russell. This is—” I can’t catch my breath, my shoulders starting to shake while my stomach clenches. “This is too much. I don’t…hundreds of dollars…I can’t pay you back anytime soon and…” I’m trying to hold it together, hating it when people see me cry, their looks of pity even harder to bear.
As soon as he finishes tightening the rod so it doesn’t fall, he turns, his brows pulled low. “You’re not paying me back. I won’t take it.”
“Then, I’ll have to clean—”
He shakes his head. “No. Not this time. It’s a gift. You don’t have to do anything to earn a gift.”
He sees how much I’m struggling, guilt festering at the idea that he’s spent so much money on me when I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve it.
His voice cracks when he says, “Layla…”
I drop the package and raise my arms moments before Russell wraps his around my back. Rolling up on my tiptoes, I circle his neck, crying into his broad chest. I tighten my hold when we reach the acceptable time limit of when a hug is supposed to end, nowhere near ready to let go when this is one of the most meaningful hugs I’ve ever received.
“Take as long as you need, darlin’.”
I cry harder. His voice, so deep and soft, whispered in my ear, leaves me reeling as if my world has been knocked off-kilter while he holds my fragile pieces together.
Being ten inches taller than me, Russell has to hunch over. I can’t go up any higher on my tiptoes, though I try, hoping I’m not hurting his back in my desperation to extend the hug. He lifts me, my feet dangling off the floor so he can stand straight after another minute.
If he were my boyfriend, I’d lift my legs to wrap them around his waist like I really, really want to. But he’s not, and the first thing I say when I finally catch my breath is, “My dad would have loved you.” The kind of man I could love.
“No, he wouldn’t have,” he grumbles low.
“Yes, he would.” Even if he would have made me politely decline Russell’s gifts. “He used to call me darlin’ just like you. And he’d…he’d…” A sob keeps me from finishing my sentence. “I miss him so much.”
Russell seems to vibrate against me, and he kisses my temple. I love it. I want him to do it again. I stroke the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pressing on the back of his head so he will do it again. And when he does, I whimper, almost moan at how good it feels. He gives me a third kiss when I twist my head, his lips brushing my cheek close to my mouth, his beard course against my skin, then carries me out of the bathroom, still dangling in his arms until he sets me on my feet in front of my closet.
I drop my head, beyond mortified by my actions, my weakness, gross desperation, and neediness. I don’t look up until he presses something soft into my arms. My teddy bear . My cheeks heat, and I try to hide it behind my back. He pulls it back around, then lifts me again, carrying me to my bed. After setting me on the edge of the mattress, he takes a knee before me.
Russell thumbs the ribbon around the bear’s neck, opening the heart-shaped tag. “Your dad gave this to you.” It’s not a question.
I nod, reading what’s been written in blue ink inside the heart:
To my darling daughter.
Love always, Dad
I stroke one of the fuzzy paws. “How did you know?”
“I found it hidden in your closet earlier when I checked out the apartment.”
I sniff and rub my nose. “I know, it’s embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not. It’s special.”
I snort. “You don’t think it’s embarrassing that a grown woman still has a teddy bear?”
Russell tips my head up with the edge of his finger below my chin. “I still have the stuffed grizzly bear my son gave me for Father’s Day in first grade that has #1 DAD embroidered in a heart on its chest.”
I tilt my head to the side, admiring how clear his blue eyes are, and ask self-deprecatingly, “But do you sleep with it?” For years, I’ve had to hide my teddy bear in my pillow case so I could have it close without Steven knowing since he would have thought it was childish .
“Sometimes, yeah, I do.”
“Liar.”
He cracks a grin. “Ok, yeah, that was a lie. But I do keep it in my room on a shelf and take it down from time to time, remembering the early years when Paul was small. Missing them, too, sometimes.”
“That’s sweet.”
“So are you.” Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s wiped before I can pinpoint what it was.
I jolt when the alarm on my phone goes off, and Russell stands quickly. He clears his throat a few times before asking, “Time to get ready?”
I stand, too. “Yeah.”
“I’ll finish putting up your shower curtain so you can…” He stops mid-sentence and goes into the bathroom.
After propping my teddy bear in the corner of my bed, my mood lifting now that I no longer have to hide it since I live on my own, I start putting away the groceries Russell bought.
* * *
Russell
I ought to be disgusted with myself instead of relieved by how quickly I was able to cum in my palm not a minute after I pulled my dick out when I heard Layla turn the shower on. I’d have died if she’d caught me masturbating on her bed, staring at the bathroom door, imagining her soaping up her beautiful body. I’d have died if I hadn’t found my release after getting hard and staying hard from the moment I walked into her apartment.
I’m finishing up putting the new sheets on her bed, her teddy bear tucked under the covers between her pillows when Layla steps out of the bathroom in a black blouse tucked into skinny black trousers instead of the body hugging nightgown she was wearing—the one I can’t stop thinking about; the one I want to replace with newer, but just as tight, nightgowns in every color of the rainbow.
“You’re still here.” I can’t tell if she’s pleased or annoyed by that, her dark brown eyes round with surprise, her curls bouncy after blow drying them for the majority of the last thirty minutes.
“Couldn’t leave without locking the door.” Wouldn’t have left even if I could .
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” There’s a rosiness to her cheeks that makes me wonder if it’s makeup or me. Probably makeup, seeing as I apparently remind her of her dad, who most definitely wouldn’t love me if he could see the filthy images I’ve dreamed up of his daughter in my mind.
“I made you something to eat, too.” I tip my head toward her tote bag that I’ve packed with reusable to-go containers of gluten-free spaghetti with homemade sauce and meatballs, a large spinach and kale salad with a Greek yogurt dressing, and mixed fruit drizzled with local honey for something sweet.
Ok, her cheeks are definitely pinker now , and my dick jerks back to life in my jeans. Another alarm goes off on her phone, signaling it’s time for her to leave for work. I hang back while Layla locks up her apartment, then walk her the ten feet to her car.
I open the driver’s side door for her when she reaches for the handle, which seems to startle her. I’m guessing that little pissant of an ex never did something so simple for her. She looks up at me instead of getting in her car, and I wish I could read her mind.
I also wish I could gather her up, take her inside the apartment, and strip her out of her black clothing. Lay on top of her and slide my tongue into her mouth just as I slide my cock inside her heat. Make love to her nice and slow on her new bedsheets. Listen to her make that whimpering sound again when I bring her to orgasm.
So now I’m thinking I’m grateful she can’t read my mind either.
“Thanks, Russell. For everything.” She kind of leans in and away before diving back in, squeezing me around the waist.
I gently grip the back of her neck and drop a kiss on top of her head, rubbing my nose side to side over her soft strands. “You’re welcome, darlin’.”
I’ll admit I’m a bit of a bastard for hoping her car won’t start when she finally gets in, only so I can be the one to drive her to work. I sigh when the engine finally turns over on her third attempt.
Idling in my truck for a few minutes after she drives out of the lot, I follow her to the bridal place in case her car breaks down. Once I’ve made sure she’s arrived safely, I go home, planning to shower and catch a nap before I have to head out toward the end of her shift so I can follow her back home.
Except a nap is exactly what I don’t get, having to spend my time pounding my fists into my punching bag the way I’d like to pound Steven’s face. After a call to Sheriff Gibson, I found out the cops had caught up to Steven not fifteen minutes after Layla called him. They currently have Steven in custody, charged with DWI, which apparently isn’t his first or second offense, either, so he’s looking at an actual prison sentence instead of a slap on the wrist.
Despite repeatedly upping my offer, Gibson has refused to accept my bribe to let me inside the station and have a few minutes alone with Steven. No cops, no cameras. Just me, my rage, and the shit-bag who should have never had the pleasure of being with a woman as sweet and precious and loyal as Layla.
Steven is safe and out of reach.
But he won’t be forever.
And I’ll be waiting for him when he gets out.
* * *
Faye greets me with a worried crease between her light brows, then grabs a mug and pot of coffee before leading me to my usual table. After spending two nights in Austin, visiting my son to make up for having to end our vacation early, I’m hungrier for the sight of Layla than I am for a meal.
Things have changed quite a bit in the months since Layla moved into her apartment. No longer do I feel the need to stare at my mug instead of looking her in the eye, though I haven’t deluded myself into thinking I have a shot with her just because she’s no longer engaged and we’ve hugged a few times.
Two of my warehouse employees—Steven’s old friends he quickly won and then lost—tip their ball caps at me when I pass, muttering, “Hey, boss.” A few others give a friendly wave, including Dolly and Violet, sitting at a red booth on the opposite wall.
Faye fills my mug as she chews her bottom lip, then writes down my order on her notepad without asking me what I’d like, even though she’s rarely the one to serve me. I watch the front while I wait for my food, then scowl at the plate with my six-egg omelet, the double order of turkey bacon Layla had put on the menu just for me, and a large bowl of cut-up fruit when Faye returns.
I gently catch her wrist before she can leave. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Faye twists her hands together when I let go. “Don’t get upset. Everything is ok, I promise.”
Immediately on alert, I bark low, “Where’s Layla?” I pay Jared’s little brother, Trent, who is a line cook in the kitchen, to take photos of Layla’s schedule and send them to me every week, so I know she should have gotten to work hours ago.
Faye puts her hands out to placate me. “Don’t worry. She’s fine. She called out this morning to take care of something.”
“Take care of what?”
The front door opens behind her, and my little darlin’ rushes inside in her adorable pink hoodie, her hair wind-blown and cheeks blooming red from the cold.
“Layla, why are you—” Faye hurries away.
I plant my feet on the checkered floor for all of ten seconds before I can’t take not knowing what’s going on any longer. No one says a thing to me when I follow their voices, stomping through the swinging doors and past the kitchen to the employee area where Layla is struggling to take her hoodie off.
“I know I should, but I really need the tips,” Layla says to Faye, her voice muffled by the hoodie around her face.
My eyes are drawn to her tits spilling out of her uniform when the top three buttons pop open, one by one .
“Seriously, honey. Go back home. Take a bath. You’ve already worked eight shifts in a row, and who knows how many other side gigs. You don’t need to be working when you’re exhausted and in so much pain.”
“You’re in pain?” I ask, wishing I could take it from her and bear it myself so she wouldn’t have to.
Both women turn to me, though Layla’s arms are now stuck up over her head. “Is that Russell?” Layla asks.
“Yeah, darlin’, it’s me.” Faye steps aside so I can take her place, and I tug the hoodie up so Layla can pull her arms down out of the sleeves.
“Ow, ow, it’s stuck on something,” Layla says, hopping on her feet.
I spin Layla around to face the row of lockers, locating a loose thread from a seam in her hoodie tangled with the little hairs at the nape of her neck.
“Hold on, let me get it.” I try to be gentle as I untwist her hair—soft, so very soft. My fingertips linger on the back of her bare neck when I’m done, my heart beating double-time as I trail my hand down the length of her spine.
If I gave her the gentlest of pushes, I could have her front pressed to the locker, lift the hem of her dress up to her waist, pull her panties down, unzip my jeans to free my swollen cock, then slide into her little pussy in under thirty seconds. She’d be tight and hot, pulsing around my shaft, gasping as she begs me to give her another slow, deep thrust.
I’d pull her hips back and tilt them up so I could go deeper. I’d give her long, measured strokes that would have her moaning my name softly, then louder as I drove her closer to the edge. I’d slip my fingers around her front to massage her clit, and when she came, she’d beg me not to pull out .
I’d kiss her neck and whisper in her ear how much I love my little darlin’ as I pump her full of my cum. I’d stay inside her as long as possible to keep it from spilling out while I rubbed her little belly and prayed for a miracle.
Layla’s voice is soft and sweet when she says, “Russell?”
Mine is the opposite, hard and husky, hearing her say my name. “Yeah?”
She drops her head back against my chest and tips her chin so she can look up at me. So small and precious. “I’m good now.”
I drop my nose in her hair, inching forward, my upper thighs brushing against her bottom. “Yeah, I know you’re a good girl, darlin’.”
“Wow,” Faye whispers from the side.
“No, um, I mean…” Layla yawns, and I finally notice the deeper purple circles under her eyes that she’s tried to cover with concealer, which worries me to no end. “You can let go now.”
I jerk back to reality, finding my right hand wrapped around the side of her neck possessively and the other on her opposite hip, standing close enough that a stiff breeze from behind would have me grinding my hard dick against her lower back. I suck in a huge breath before I drop my hands and move to the side.
Even after clearing my throat, my words are still garbled when I say, “Sorry ‘bout that.” Ignoring Faye’s reddened face from my periphery, I continue with the conversation beforehand. “Why did Faye tell you to go home? Are you sick? Hurt? What?”
“Yes,” Faye says at the same time as Layla says with another yawn, “No, I’m fine now. ”
Faye rubs her hand up and down Layla’s arm. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Clock out. Relax with the girls. I’ve got this.”
I look back and forth between the women as they continue to argue in the nicest manner I’ve ever seen. “Will someone please answer the question? If you’re hurt, I need to know.”
Faye sighs, and Layla clamps her mouth shut only to yawn again.
I’m not used to the people around me not following orders, and my patience is being tested by the two lovely but obstinate ladies. I cross my arms as I widen my stance, making it clear I’m not leaving—nor am I letting anyone else leave, for that matter—without an answer.
Layla blurts, “I’m on my period, ok? Can everyone please just…drop it.” Layla removes her hair clip, letting down her curls to finger-comb the tangles out before clipping everything back in place.
“You mean the one that makes you puke sometimes because it’s so painful? No, that’s not ok. Faye’s right. You need to go home.”
“No, I need to work the rest of my shift.”
A clamor of voices from the front draws Faye back to work. With her gone, I can be more frank. I pull my billfold from my back pocket, take out the one hundred dollar bill, then stuff it in Layla’s apron pocket.
“There, now you don’t have to work. Go home, darlin’.”
“No.” She ducks her head, half-turning away to struggle with buttoning up her uniform. I wish she wouldn’t . “I’m not making Faye work a double when I’m”—she covers her mouth when she yawns for so long it brings tears to her eyes—“perfectly fine. ”
She takes the cash from her apron and darts around to shove it in my back pocket, making my dick even harder after her fingertips skim my ass. And then she’s jogging out of the kitchen, leaving me behind.
My omelet is cold and rubbery by the time I return to my table, and even though I need to get back to work myself, I linger. Every time Layla yawns as she’s serving other tables, I want to jam my fork into the tabletop, sling her over my shoulder, and take her home. Make her change into a nightgown and put her to bed.
Davis and his red-headed woman, Goldie—the pregnant hitchhiker he picked up not too long ago and has since become obsessed with—walk into the diner. They have their infant daughter, Lily, with them, and a fierce ache takes up residence in my chest. If I were better company, I’d invite Davis and Lily to join me at my table while Goldie makes plans for their wedding with Violet, Dolly, and now Faye. But since I’m not, Davis sits at the counter with the old-timers while I continue to track Layla throughout the diner.
Even though Layla isn’t the only waitress working, she’s running herself ragged. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to end up in the hospital, and it won’t have anything to do with her endometriosis. It pisses me off all over again that yet another prior-authorization has been denied, or so Jared has told me when Layla shared it with Violet.
A crew of muddy guys come in just as I’m finishing my meal. I slip the one hundred dollar bill and a little extra cash beneath my plate as the guys are seated at the open table beside me. When Layla stumbles back against my table after taking down their order, I don’t think—I just act. Before she can fall and hurt herself, I stand and hook her around her waist, her ass brushing against my swollen dick.
Layla snaps her gaze up when I groan, and I immediately let go, panicking at the thought that I’m about to cum in my pants while in public. I stomp outside without saying goodbye to anyone and keep going past my truck into the thicket of trees that line the property around the diner. Farther still I go until I can no longer see the diner—which means no one can see me, either, when I unbuckle my belt and free my cock from my jeans.
“Layla, little darlin’.” I slap a hand against a tree and grip my cock, keeping my fist steady as I fu—I cut off the mental curse word. I don’t even want to think the word when she’s on my mind. I crouch as if I’m sliding into her from behind without a step stool to even out our heights. “Darlin’, darlin’, I’m gonna cum.”
The fantasy is so vivid that I hear her say don’t pull out between little phantom gasping sounds of pleasure, moaning about how much she loves my cock. I love you , Russell.
My mouth drops open when my cum erupts, the ecstasy so overwhelming that I lose my footing on the dead leaf litter. I have to scramble to stay upright, the fantasy shattering when I scrape my palm on the tree bark. Shame and despair battle for dominance in my mind when my cum dribbles down the tree trunk instead of it being planted deep inside Layla.
This is as good as it’ll ever get.
It’s depressing as hell.
My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket as I’m buckling my belt, trying hard not to be swallowed up by grief that I’ll never be with Layla. Surprised I even have reception this far out, I unlock my phone to read Dolly’s text message, letting me know Layla fell asleep at their booth and she needs someone to take her home.
And then I’m running through the trees and across the parking lot. When I get inside the diner, I find Layla with her head laid over her crossed arms on the tabletop. I can’t face a single one of the Granny’s Girls after jerking my dick outside, praying to all that is holy that none of them can read my mind—or worse, smell me.
My ears burn when the girls remain silent, staring at me when I scoop Layla into my arms and walk toward the door. Her lashes flutter but never fully open when she mumbles, “Put me down. I need to get back to work.”
“Hush, darlin’.”
Old Freddy punches the air in silent victory when he sees me, then holds his hand out to Pete, palm up, having won some kind of bet. Faye catches up to hand me Layla’s tote bag and hoodie. Davis smirks when he holds the door open so I can carry Layla out, and I wait to kiss her forehead until after we’re alone.
I head for my truck, wanting to get her inside and put the heat on before I even realize Layla’s car isn’t parked in the lot. “How did you get to work?” I set her on the passenger seat, already missing her in my arms.
“Rode my bike,” she mumbles, curling into a ball with her head resting on the center console.
“You rode your bike to work? In forty-degree weather on two-lane roads without a sidewalk?” I’m too loud, and she startles, her lashes fluttering again. No wonder her hair was tangled and her cheeks bright red. All that on top of being on her period and working herself to death.
I rub Layla’s back so she’ll calm. “I’m sorry, shh, I’m sorry. I’ll keep my voice down. ”
Layla relaxes again, and I can’t help but caress her cheek with my thumb. She shivers, goosebumps rising along her arms, which snaps me back into action. In the backseat, I reach for and shake out one of the folded blankets I keep in the truck on the nights I spend outside her apartment.
Once I have the blanket tucked in around her, making sure all her sensitive skin is covered, I get my truck running, turning the heat up to the max. An orange bicycle meant for an older child, also held together by duct tape, is leaning against the side of the double-wide trailer. I pick up the bicycle, meaning to put it in my truck bed, but I end up throwing the damn thing toward the trees. I’ll buy her a new one meant for an adult, though she’ll never, ever have to use it, not when I’ll be around to drive her the next time she needs a ride.
Sitting in my driver’s seat, fisting my hands on my thighs with my head tipped back, I count to ten several times with my eyes closed, trying to calm down. I don’t want to drive while I’m this upset.
It doesn’t work, though, since all I keep picturing is trucks flying past Layla on her crappy little bicycle, dang near killing her. So I do something I know I shouldn’t. I carefully take the clip out of her hair so I can slip my fingers through her curly strands.
Instant calm.