Chapter 11 #2
She just blinks at me. “Justin? Came to apologize?”
“Yeah, color me surprised too.”
“W-wow,” she stutters. “I’m actually sort of proud of him for that.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist until you know what he apologized for.” She leans closer and motions for me to continue. “He came by my place yesterday.”
“How does he know where you live?” Her eyes look worried.
I spread my arms. “The question of the century.”
“You know I’d never tell him, right? After my history with men, there’s no way I’d throw somebody under the bus like that.
Especially not you. And especially knowing your history with Justin and his…
weird obsession with you.” Fr eya’s eyes dart around as if she let slip something she wasn’t planning on.
“I know. And I wouldn’t call it ‘obsession.’” Her brows furrow at my words. “What about Alex?”
“He wouldn’t do it for the same reason. He sees the way you interact, and he wouldn’t say a word about your home where you feel safe.
” Her eyes cloud with concern. “You know, sometimes I’m a little scared of Justin, to be honest. He kind of gives…
a weird vibe, maybe? You know, like he can feel…
what’s the right word for that? Too intense, maybe?
” She bites the inside of her cheek, thinking.
“And no one knows what will happen when he lets himself feel all that. Does that make sense?” She looks at me, hoping I’ll understand. And I do.
“It totally does. I know what you mean. Yesterday, when he was at my place, I was a little scared of him, to be completely honest,” I answer quietly, glancing around to make sure no one hears me.
“Did he do something?” Her voice rises, and she leans closer over the counter with murder in her eyes.
“Nothing to be concerned about, but it was intense. He was intense.”
“You’ll tell me if he does something you’re not comfortable with.
Right?” Her eyes are burying into mine, holding them hostage, waiting for my confirmation.
As a woman who went through hell, she’s trying to make sure no one goes through the same ever again.
“I don’t care if he’s my friend. That shit will not be tolerated. So you’ll tell me. Right?”
“I will.” She clearly doesn’t believe me, so I add with more conviction, “I will. I promise.”
“Good.” She nods. “Now, back to the mystery. How does he know? ”
“Marina hasn’t said anything either. Who the hell else knows?
” I’m not comfortable with the idea that somebody else knows that I live remotely and there’s no one around for miles.
I have a shotgun, but I’m not sure I will be able to use it.
I know you’re supposed to point it at your target, but for heaven’s sake, I assume there’s a little more to it.
Freya’s face creases with concern. “I’ll ask Justin.”
“Can you? I’d feel so much better.” A mammoth-sized stone just fell off my chest at her offer.
“Sure thing. I don’t like you living alone out there anyway.” She waves off my concern of asking her too big of a favor.
“I’m not alone; I have Bob.” I smile.
Her brows furrow in confusion. “How is your vibrator going to protect you from a big hulky man?”
“That’s Charlie!” I laugh. Charlie is Bella Swan’s father from Twilight. He was so incredibly hot, and I got daddy issues. “Bob is my shotgun. So, I’m not alone, see? I live with two very powerful men.” I wiggle two fingers at her.
She laughs too, but her laughter is a little forced. She’s still concerned about my well-being, and that right there is one of the few reasons I’d be devastated if I left. Or ran away, to be precise.
She eats her breakfast and takes one to go for Alex. For the whole time she’s been in Little Hope, she’s always ordered one dish. One. The Lonely Kurt. Despite all my attempts to force her to try something else, she refuses. She says Kurt will be even lonelier if she does.
The rest of the day goes by without any major events, thank God.
We usually close at seven, but during the weekdays, nobody will come for dinner, so I force Marina to go.
I know she has a show that’s about to air.
I begin getting ready to lock up when the door bursts open, and a glass of tall, dark, and handsome comes in.
The very definition of those three. I usually like guys with sandy hair— fine, one guy —but since my last revelation, I need to switch my type.
He wears a short-sleeve navy T-shirt and black jeans with rips on one knee.
His arms are covered in tattoos, and I instantly sense my people.
“Hi! Sorry for bursting in, but my car just broke down, and my phone died. I forgot the charger, and everything here is fucking closed already, and—” He catches himself right before he, probably, covers our little town in shit and gives me a toothy smile.
“I’ll try again. I’m Archie. My car broke down on the road, and I need to use a phone.
” The dimple on his right cheek totally does it for me.
His jaw has a five o’clock shadow, and I’m melting a little in my spot.
“You can use mine,” I offer with a smile and completely forget what exactly I’m offering. At this point, I’d say everything.
“You’re a godsend.” He walks to the bar where I’m wiping the glasses. I drop the towel, grab my phone, and hand it to him.
“Do you know the phone number you need to call?”
He laughs. “I might be lucky because I just put my friend’s new number into my phone this morning and still remember it.”
“You’re in luck indeed. Besides 911, I don’t know any numbers anymore,” I confess shamefully.
“Yeah, twenty-first century.” He takes my phone, and his eyes linger on my tattoo sleeve. “Nice tats.”
“Thanks.” I feel my cheeks heating up.
“Never seen a similar design before.”
“It’s mine.” I smile shyly. All my tattoos are of my own design. I have a person in Springfield, a neighboring town thirty minutes away, who inks them for me.
His brows shoot up. “Really?” He takes my hand. It’s unexpected and too intimate for someone who just barged into the diner. Slowly, he moves my arm around, looking closely at my tattoo. “You ink yourself?” He gently traces the vines of the rose with the fingers of his other hand.
“No.” I gently pull my arm away, and he lets me go. “I know a guy who does a good carving.”
He smiles, and this time he offers me his own art. “I do mine too.”
“You do designs too?”
“I own a parlor in Boston.” I relax at that. So he was indeed interested in my art, not creeping on my skin. “These,” he shows me his arms, “are mine.”
I look closer this time and see how truly captivating and detailed his tats are. “They are amazing.”
“Thanks.” He smiles, and my phone rings. Archie pushes it back to me—it’s an unknown number. I pick it up.
“Hello?” I say.
“Kayla?” the voice I was expecting the least asks.
“Yes. What do you need, Justin?” I sigh loudly. Now he has my phone number as well. Double torture, fantastic.
“We need to talk.”
“Okay.” We do need to talk, but I’m so not in the mood for him today.
Hard to believe that if he said that to me yesterday, I’d drop everything and jump at the opportunity to spend some time with him, where we can talk like humans without throwing insults at each other.
Or more like him throwing them at me and me deflecting them.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’m not going to talk about anything with you today. I’m tired, and I’m going home. Come tomorrow.” I hang up on him. In my wildest dreams, I’ve never hung up on Justin. I always thought when he’d be ready to talk, I’d be there. But he took too long, and now I have nothing to say.
“Boyfriend troubles?” Archie gives me a lopsided grin, popping that sexy dimple again.
I laugh. I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I wouldn’t know what those specific troubles are. “No. Just fighting over turf.” Assuming Freya and Alex are that turf.
He laughs. “I’m scared to ask.”
“Yeah, don’t.” I bite my lip because it does sound weirdly funny. I give my phone to Archie. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” He punches something in, and his forehead creases. “Huh.”
“What?” I ask, seeing his confused face.
“You know Alex?” His eyes are trained on my face.
“What? Did you check my phone log?” My hackles rise.
“What? No!” His voice rises an octave, defensive. “I dialed my friend’s number, and his name showed up.” He shows me the phone. “See?”
“So, you know Alex too?”
“Yeah. We served together. Our last two tours.” His tone is light, but his eyes say there are not many light memories in there.
“Oh!” My IQ is astonishing.
“I’m actually here to see him. And I almost made it.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh!” Again with that high intelligence. “I can give you a ride.”
“Really?” He looks so hopeful it’s almost funny.
“Yeah. I need to drop something off for Freya, so it’ll be on the way.” I shrug my shoulders.
“That’d be cool. I don’t want to call ahead and give Alex a chance to escape somewhere.” I chuckle at his statement— that does sound like Alex. “He invited me in a moment of weakness, and I took the chance.”
“I bet the moment was Freya,” I suggest with a chuckle.
“She was.” He smiles. Freya was what Alex needed to cure himself from that typical survivor’s guilt and PTSD.
He wanted to be better for her and left to get help.
We never talked about that, but I’m not blind.
A man can’t come back whole after what he sees out there, and Alex’s been hiding in his shell for far too long.
Freya’s got some big balls on her feminine frame, and she’s not scared to show them.
“Let me lock everything up, and I’ll be ready.” I speed up my cleaning so we can go.
“Do you need help?” he offers, rubbing his hands together.
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m good. Thanks, though.”
I’m about to take my apron off when the mass of Justin bursts through the door. When I say a mass, I mean it. He’s rushed like somebody’s chasing him. All his finesse is lost.