2. Everett #2
But something about her, standing there, half blind and stubborn in the middle of a field full of people who almost trampled her to death, makes me want to hear the answer.
That’s not a thing that usually happens to me.
I don’t get curious about people. They’re usually predictable and mostly disappointing.
“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to get in my truck and let me drive you home, and I’ll find him for you. Promise.”
Her laugh sounds exhausted. Like she doesn’t really buy it, but doesn’t have the energy to argue either.
She finally gives up and lets me walk her the rest of the way to the players’ lot with one small hand hooked loosely around my forearm so she doesn’t trip over anything she can’t see.
She’s got a careful way of walking, testing the ground.
Like trust isn’t something that comes easy to her.
For some reason, the detail sticks with me the whole way to the truck.
Once we’re inside, she gives me the address. “Promise you’re going to take me straight home?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know... I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are. You don’t owe me anything.”
She’s right about all of that. But what she can’t know, because she doesn’t know who I am—even if she did, we don’t know each other personally—is I don’t normally do nice things for people.
I’m not even sure why I’m doing this. I haven’t even taken a shower yet, for fuck’s sake, but here I am, still in my gear, driving this girl home.
“You’re safe with me,” I settle for telling her. “Though you owe me something now.”
She goes stiff. “What?” she whispers.
“An explanation. Why are you looking for him?”
A soft laugh bursts out of her. “Oh. Right. Well, I might need him to... do a little bit of intimidating for me.”
Okay. Now I’m interested. “Who would he be intimidating?”
“Her name is Christine Jones, and she’s the head of the homeowners association, and she’s trying to make me get rid of my chickens.”
Not what I was expecting. I could’ve spent all night and never come up with that. “Chickens. Like actual chickens?”
“No, like fake chickens. The rubber ones that squeak when you squeeze them.” Normally, anybody who made a crack like that while sitting in my truck and having a favor done for them would get kicked out on their ass at the next corner.
For some reason, though, her response makes me laugh. “Okay. Chickens.”
“She’s been sending threats for years now. Over five chickens and one rooster. I mean, come on. They’re not hurting her or anybody else.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard horror stories about homeowners associations. They act like they own the whole world and won’t let people get away with shit.”
“Exactly.” There’s this fierce little edge to her voice that makes my chest go dangerously warm.
“But you’re trying to pay somebody to scare the head of your HOA... over chickens?”
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”
“No offense, but it is a little ridiculous.”
“They’re not just chickens. They’re my chickens.” She folds her arms and juts her chin out. “Mine.”
I can’t help it. I sort of respect her for standing her ground. “Well, if you’re looking for an intimidating guy, Everett Stone is pretty much the best you’re going to find around here.”
“That’s what I thought, too, from what I’ve read about him.
” She tucks her hair behind her ear and goes back to chewing her lip.
“But now I don’t know. I’m starting to doubt myself.
He’ll probably think the whole thing is just as ridiculous as you do.
But I do have money, and I can pay him to, you know, look menacing. Send a message. That’s all I need.”
She needs a hell of a lot more than that.
She needs new glasses, for one thing. She also needs somebody to keep her safe.
She’s got, like, zero self-preservation instinct.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have tried to find me on that field.
She can’t be more than five feet tall and might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, if that. She didn’t stand a chance.
But I guess her chickens are more important.
Obviously, I can’t help her. I have too much on my shoulders already.
A scholarship hanging by exactly one more bad decision.
A coach who already thinks I’m one hit away from getting cut.
A fight scheduled in a warehouse two towns over in three days that I can’t afford to fuck up either, because that’s where the real money is.
The kind of money that keeps the lights on and gas in my truck.
I don’t have room in my life to go intimidate some homeowners association over a bunch of chickens.
That’s not who I am. I’m not the muscle-for-hire guy.
I’m barely holding my own life together, for fuck’s sake.
So when I pull up outside her place, a little ranch house with a flickering porch light, I should tell her no. I should confess I’m the guy she’s looking for, but not the man she thinks she needs.
Instead, I murmur, “We’re here, dimples. You need me to walk you inside?”
“No, I think I’m okay. Thank you.” She glances my way, seeing nothing. “Will you please let Everett know I’m looking for him? I’m not sure how I’d get in touch with him...”
“I have an idea. Give me your number, and I’ll pass it on to him.”
She’s going to draw blood if she chews her lip much harder. That would be a shame since she has nice lips. “Are you sure? You’ll actually give it to him?”
Somebody made it so this girl doesn’t feel like she can trust anyone.
It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.
“Scout’s honor.” I pull out my phone, and she gives me the number.
When I call it, something buzzes in her backpack.
Okay, so she didn’t give me a fake number. She must really be desperate.
I watch her slowly navigate the front walk. She actually does a pretty good job—she’s probably walked it enough times that she knows exactly how many steps it takes to reach the front porch. She fumbles her way through unlocking the door and goes straight inside.
While I sit in the truck, still staring.
But I’m not seeing the house. I’m seeing the crowd swallowing her whole.
Nobody looking down, nobody noticing the girl searching for her glasses.
I’ve spent my whole life being the guy people notice, usually for the wrong reasons.
Tonight, I watched a girl get trampled in front of three hundred people who all noticed me first, and never once looked at her.
And it makes the noise in my head louder than ever.
But I’m not going to think about her again. I have a fight to get ready for. A scholarship to protect. I have zero space in my life for somebody else’s chicken problem.
It’s a shame I don’t believe myself for a second as I pull away from the curb.