Chapter 12 #2
I pull the damp sheet off me and swing my legs out of the plush bed, the lasting pain from the gunshot wound is still causing me grief in my thigh as I stretch my leg in front of me to ease the tension.
The pads of my fingers run over the healed wound, the scar a stark white against my tanned skin.
A prominent discoloration that will stay with me forever.
Quickly, I pull my hand away, wanting to forget the memory as best I can to rest my elbows on my knees, my head dipping low, the inky black strands of my hair falling over my forehead, brushing my eyelashes.
I stay there for a moment just to collect my thoughts, lifting my hand I run it down my face, my fingers brushing over the four day stubble.
I should probably shave it but Eli says the ladies love it nowadays.
The thought makes me chuckle, I wouldn’t even have the first clue on how to be in a relationship.
I’ve had one night stands, what guy hasn’t?
But the thought of a proper relationship has me retreating into my shell to keep a safe distance from anyone.
I’m meant for a life of solitude and nothing more. It’s only what I deserve.
Standing from the bed, my muscles are tight and sore.
I can feel my forties laughing at me in the distance.
After a quick stretch, I walk over to the chair that’s sitting in the corner of the room, the cold, hardwood floor sends a shiver up my legs.
Grabbing the white t-shirt and shorts that’s hung over the back, I step into the black running shorts and pull them up over my legs until the waistband hits my boxers then slip the t-shirt over my head, proceeding to run a hand through my hair before putting my black cap on backwards.
My hands scramble through the set of drawers that sit next to the chair, locating a pair of socks in the mass of mismatched ones. Don’t judge me alright.
Turning to leave the bedroom, I make my way down the hallway into the living room.
I built this house myself. After the accident I needed to get away from the hitman job, the trauma was just too much for me to handle.
I couldn’t go back. I did my last job and left, then I found myself in Rockford, a smalltown in the middle of butt fuck nowhere and I’ve never left.
My whole life is here now in this home, in this town and I’m happy with that.
Don’t get me wrong, I miss the action some days but I swore to myself that I’d never go back to that place and I’ve kept that promise.
I also managed to convince Eli to move with me, he was also feeling the after effects from that last job and it hurt me in the process to see him that way.
Eli now has his own security firm, a wife and two little girls who have adopted me as their uncle.
I never thought I’d see the day where children brought me so much joy, but the moment they burst into my life, they brought a little bit of sunshine with them.
Loud snoring breaks me from my trance, a small smirk grazes my ever stoic face.
“Morning baby girl, I know it’s early.”
My black and tan German Shepherd, Lyla, huffs her annoyance at me from the grey couch in the living room as I take the short walk over to her, her little snout shining in the moonlight, that breaks through the small gap in the curtains.
Her big, chocolate brown eyes stare into my forest greens, probably wanting to trade me in for another dog dad for waking her up so early.
My girl loves her sleep. Closing the gap between us, I pull my face closer to hers, the soft fur on her snout brings me a sense of comfort.
“Fancy an early morning run?” I ask her. Her head tilts from side to side at my voice and she barks once. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Lyla jumps down from her favourite spot on the sofa, her feet padding across the black rug that sits in the middle of the room before sitting at the front door. I place my hand in between her bat shaped ears, running my fingers through the fluff on top of her head.
“You’re such a good girl.” I coo. She barks again at my comment and I shake my head, letting out a small laugh.
Picking up my trainers from near the door, I slip my feet inside then collect my keys and phone from the kitchen island where I left them last night.
Lyla bum shuffles so I can get to the lock in the front door and I push the key into the lock hearing it click once then open the door, instantly breathing in the cool fresh air.
Lyla sits patiently waiting for my command for her to sprint out of the house like a bat out of hell.
My gaze drops down at my best girl, her entire focus waiting on me.
“Let’s go.” I tilt my head, gesturing to the open door and she’s off, leaping down the steps of the porch, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake down the dirt road that leads away from our home.
Closing the door behind me, and locking it until I hear the mechanism click, I quickly make my way down the steps to follow Lyla down the path.
After about an hour through the dirt trails of the woods that surround my house we start to head back, Lyla hot on my heels.
I adopted her at six months old from a shelter that just couldn’t keep up with the funds it takes to raise such a highly active dog.
After leaving my last job I’d never felt more alone in my life, even after choosing to spend my time in solitude, this time it felt different.
Like I’d lost everything. A lonely soul wandering aimlessly in the dark.
A part of me probably died that day when I pulled the trigger for the last time, but Lyla quickly filled that gap.
She’d come from an abusive home herself, much like me, then ended up being left on the streets before the shelter found her.
I knew the moment I saw her, her big floppy ears that were struggling to keep up right, we’d heal each other.
The oak wooden house comes into view as we turn the corner.
The cabin is spacious and gives off a homely vibe.
The wrap around porch sits two rocking chairs near the front door, that slowly sway in the early morning breeze.
Two huge windows cover the face of the house, now letting in the morning sun.
Picking up speed I sprint the last few yards of our ten mile run then plant my ass down on the porch steps.
Lyla flops down on the short grass and rests her chin against the metal bowl I leave out for her, lapping up the cold water.
Droplets begin to run off her whiskers, then fall heavily onto the grass.
My calves and thighs ache as I stretch my legs out in front of me, feeling the burn from my run. The bullet wound pulls against my skin causing me to hiss through my teeth, Lyla lets out a small whine at my pain but I brush her ears back, scratching at the place she loves the most to reassure her.
“I’m okay, girl.” She licks the palm of my hand, her rough tongue is cold from the water. Lyla climbs up the steps then sits at the front door, repeating the same process from when we left.
After a cold shower, I dress in a pair of black cargos, boots, a black t-shirt and an old flannel I wear religiously then shake out my damp hair before putting my hat back on, then moving on to feed Lyla her breakfast and make a start on my first coffee of the day.
Flicking the switch on the coffee machine, it rumbles to life, a shot of hot steam rises from the water that’s being mixed with the ground coffee beans, creating a delicious caramel colour.
I grab my favourite mug from the cupboards above me, each one of them are meticulously placed in order.
Running the pad of my thumb over the printed image on the mug.
‘Best Uncle!’, written in a blue bubble font.
The coffee machine stops and I grab the metal coffee jug, pouring the creamy caffeine into my mug, adding a touch of milk and sugar.
Lyla’s wet nose pushes against my leg, alerting me that she’s finished her breakfast. I give her head a quick scratch before grabbing my backpack off the hook near the door, swinging it over my shoulder whilst balancing my mug and phone in one hand and my keys in the other.
Turning to leave I open the door and Lyla waits for my command to go outside, tipping my head I give her the go-ahead.
She sprints down the wooden steps at rapid speed, swiftly turning left at the side of the house.
I lock up behind me, taking the steps two at a time to find Lyla sitting at the side of my Ford truck.
I’d usually take my bike to work but I’m currently working on it in the garage so I opt for the truck instead.
Double clicking the key fob, hearing the truck’s doors unlock I say.
“Your chariot awaits, baby girl.”, whilst opening the door for Lyla to jump in.
She takes her place in the passenger seat, I follow suit, climbing in behind the wheel then throw my backpack into the back seat before downing the rest of my coffee, instantly feeling the buzz and place the mug into the centre console. I’ll move that later.
Starting the ignition, the engine rumbles to life, scaring a few birds out of the trees.
I start down the dirt driveway, brown dust and rubble flick up behind the tires causing a dust cloud to form behind me, and make my way into town.
Rolling the windows down, the air is cool as it enters the truck, even with the bright sun making its way over the tops of the trees, the colder months slowly creeping in.
After about twenty minutes or so I drive down main street, the V8 engine of my Raptor rumbles through the streets that are just starting to wake.
Coming to the end of the street, I turn off to the right and pull into the carpark of my garage.
The dark grey exterior of the building comes into view, the heavy metal shutters pulled down to the floor.
My eyes look up at the fire orange sign that’s mounted above the double front doors.
Demon Motors has been my pride and joy for years.
I needed a place to call my own and something to do with my fidgeting hands, so I opened a garage, specialising in classic cars and bikes.
I’ve always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie, hence my previous jobs, so this was one of the best decisions I’ve made.
Climbing out of the truck, my heavy boots hitting the asphalt, I reach into the back to grab my bag before situating it on my shoulder, then leave the door open for Lyla to climb out, gently closing it behind her, clicking the key fob twice to lock it.
She runs up to the double glass front doors and sits, waiting for me to let her in.
This is the bonus about being your own boss, I can bring my child to work.
Locating the front door key on my excessive amount of keyrings I unlock the door and Lyla slips in first, then I flick on the overhead lights, and enter the code to turn off the alarm system.
The white lights of the garage illuminate the space, reflecting off the black polished floor.
The smell of oil and rubber overloading my senses.
I feel calm here, something I struggle to feel quite often.
Walking through the main space of the garage, passing the front desk on my left, to the office door at the back, I slide the smaller key of the bunch into the lock and turn the handle, letting myself into the small office.
The room is pretty simple, a few filing cabinets line the walls containing customers’ details, there’s also a drinks machine in the corner, a tattered leather chair and a small wooden desk that’s currently covered in paperwork.
The surface is nowhere to be seen. I should definitely hire some help here, but letting people into my safe space, letting someone into the carefully constructed walls I’ve built isn’t something I can do.
Sighing, I shake the negative thought from my mind and hang my back pack up on the door, then leave the mess of the room for another day.
Coming into the main space, I find Lyla in her favourite spot near the front desk.
The plush grey bed encompassing her. She huffs a sign of content as I walk past, grabbing a pair of black latex gloves out of the box on the desk, sliding them onto my hands, covering the ink in the process.
Once the gloves are on, I turn the metal key in the wall to open the metal shutters.
The heavy frames lifted to let in the bright daylight from outside.
Filling my lungs, I take a deep breath and give myself a mental pep talk before starting the day.