Chapter Six #2
“I know it’s weird, but we left home when we were seventeen, and like I said, it’s always been us against the world. I never saw my parents after that.”
“You were just kids,” he said incredulously. “My grandfather ran away at sixteen to escape his abusive father, but it was a different world back then. He worked construction, no questions asked, met my grandmother a year later, and married her at eighteen.”
“Wow. Are they still together?”
“Unfortunately, my grandmother passed away several years ago, but they were together until the end. They raised their kids in a loving house, free from abuse, and given how hard it is to break those cycles, I think that’s pretty damn amazing.”
“It is. That says a lot about your grandfather.”
“He’s an ornery old bastard, but he’s got a good heart, and we’ll all be a mess when we lose him.”
She loved how genuine his love for his grandfather was, flaws and all, and how easy he was to talk to. “Hopefully that won’t happen for a long time.”
“He’s a strong dude, and stubborn. He’s not going anywhere,” he said as they walked around in the grass behind the building. “I’m curious about how you made it on your own at that age. It must have been hard.”
“We weren’t on our own. Brian and I had each other.”
He seemed to think about that for a beat, his brows knitted and his eyes serious. “How old are you now?”
“Twenty-four. How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“Yikes,” she teased. “You’re an old man.”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. I can…Shit. There I go again, sliding into the pickup lane.”
She laughed. “Seems like that’s a problem for you.”
“Not for long.” He said it like it was a challenge to himself. “How long have you been in this area?”
“Nice transition, pickup guy,” she teased.
“Just a couple of years. We lived in Wareham for a while before moving over the bridge to Bourne, and then we stayed in Falmouth, Mashpee, and a few other places befo—” She stepped in a hole and lost her balance, letting out a surprised yelp, but Zander caught her hand, pulled her upright, and steadied her with his other hand on her hip.
He was right there, his blue eyes holding her captive.
“Thanks” came out too breathily.
He held her hand a little tighter. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” She motioned to the hole that had tripped her up. “My foot caught the side of that hole. You’ve got good reflexes.”
“That comes from years of riding motorcycles.” He looked down at her hand in his and brushed his thumb over her tattoo. When she tried to pull her hand away, he tightened his grip and lifted her hand, brushing his thumb over the ink again. “What’s this?”
“That’s a four. It comes right after three and before five,” she teased.
He cocked a brow.
“It’s my favorite number,” she relented.
“If you want this hand back, I’m going to need to know the story behind that favorite number.”
God, this guy. She laughed softly, loving his easygoing nature. “There’s not much to tell.”
“I doubt that. You put a permanent mark on your hand, which means a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, it’s upside down, which means it’s there for you, not as a statement for others. Usually when people do that, it’s a reminder about something. We shake with our right hands, and this tattoo is on your left. That’s another indicator that you don’t want people asking about it.”
“And yet here you are, holding my hand hostage.”
“That’s right, and if you want this hand back, you’ll explain why four is your favorite number.”
She could make up anything, or refuse to tell him, but something about the way he was looking at her drew the truth.
“I used to party a lot, and one Fourth of July I was at a beach party and drank way too much. All I remember is that I was so drunk, I could barely walk, and some guy put me in his car and drove me home. I was incredibly stupid. He could have been a psycho killer or a rapist, but I remember telling him I didn’t want to live like that anymore, and he said—”
“Then don’t,” they said in unison.
Her jaw dropped, and it was all she could do to stare at him in disbelief, which was mirrored in his expression as he said, “Every minute of the day is a chance for change. Make this one yours.”
“It was you?” She was floored.
“Holy hell, Angel. You’re that girl. I wondered what happened to you. The next day I went back to the house where I dropped you off to make sure you were okay, and a woman told me you were fine and that you and your boyfriend had moved on.”
You checked on me? It took a minute for her to find her voice. “That night changed my life. No wonder we felt like we knew each other.”
“It’s pretty wild, isn’t it? I’m guessing you’re my secret charm bearer?” He fished a chain out from beneath his shirt, showing her the brass key-chain charm she’d put in his vest pocket in the hospital.
She couldn’t believe he was wearing it, and she felt caught again. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Not a chance,” he said with a laugh. “Why did you give it to me?”
“I don’t know. I felt compelled to. I bought it the morning after you drove me home, and I used it as a reminder to stay strong and turn my life around.
I used that as my key chain, and it became my lucky charm.
It helped a lot. Eventually I got the tattoo, so the reminder would always be right in front of me.
When you had your accident, I was first on the scene, but the first responders were from a different firehouse.
When they took you to the hospital, they left my coat on the ground, and I found your leather vest beneath it.
I took it to the hospital after my shift ended the next morning, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had some sort of a connection.
At the time, the doctors didn’t know whether you had any cognitive deficits, and when I saw you lying there, I thought you needed luck more than I did. ”
“Wow, Angel. Thank you. That’s really something. I think it helped. Do you want it back?”
“No, thanks. I don’t believe in taking back gifts.”
“Good.” He held her gaze. “Because four is my favorite number now, too.”
His gaze was unwavering and intense, rooting her in place.
The air between them thickened, pulsing with something alive and enticing, honing in on the moment.
Heat sparked in her chest, climbing up her neck and cheeks.
The breeze carried his leathery, spicy scent as it brushed over her skin, painting her with it.
Her heart was pounding, as if trying to be heard, and she realized he was still holding her hand just as her radio sounded with a call for a motor vehicle accident, jerking her from the moment.
The air rushed from her lungs, kicking her work brain into gear.
She pulled her hand free, grateful for something familiar and steady to focus on, and responded to the call using the shoulder mic to the radio attached to her belt. “Medic one copies call.” Turning to Zander, she said, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
She ran toward the front of the building, thankful for the escape.
Not because she wasn’t attracted to him or curious about the unstoppable energy between them, but because she was.