Chapter Five #2
My fingers tightened around the towel, the pads pressing against the soft cotton, damp from spilled coffee.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, feeling exposed under his cold green gaze.
His eyes were unlike any shade of green I’d ever seen.
Cold and methodical. Alluring. Hypnotizing.
The last time we had seen each other, he’d thrown his body over mine, guns literally blazing around us.
Though I was pretty sure I was going to die, death had skipped over me and tried its hardest to take Grayson.
Hayes had left me on the cold concrete, running toward Carrie’s blood curling scream.
I’d lain there, chest heaving, tears running down my temples as I watched Hayes run at full speed, drop to his knees beside Grayson’s blood-covered body, and start CPR.
I stayed there until sirens filled the air and Michael came to me.
I didn’t see Hayes until a few days later in the hospital.
He was on his way to Grayson’s room, and I had just left it, my hands still sticky from the cinnamon rolls I’d made for Cardinal.
There had been a shadow looming over him that day, and rightfully so.
But when he lifted his eyes from the floor to me, my feet halted in the middle of the hallway.
I told him I was sorry and then bolted, unable to handle the pity slapped across his face.
My entire life, people looked at me either like I was a burden or like they pitied me.
I couldn’t take pity from him. Not then. Not now. Never.
“I’m here for you,” he answered, his voice steady, bringing me back to the present. His words were soft-spoken but firm, leaving no room for argument.
Ignoring how good that made me feel, I squared my shoulders, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention.
Hayes Mitchell wasn’t the kind of man who just popped in unannounced on a whim.
No, for a man like him to do anything, he needed a reason, a plan of attack.
It seemed like I was his mission today. My heart, the foolish thing, seemed overjoyed, but the last time I’d listened to her, I’d barely made it out alive.
“Why in the hell would you be here for me?” I asked, sneering. It was a good front; one I’d practiced over and over in the mirror. Cold and bitchy. That was how I kept people away. The only people who didn’t seem to fall for it were my coworkers. But they didn’t count.
Hayes stared at me, silent. It was clear he was studying me—analyzing. I loathed it. Just because he happened to save my life didn’t mean he could dissect me like a science experience.
I couldn’t let him see the mess. I couldn’t let him see me.
I tossed the towel onto the counter and crossed my arms, ready to escape his presence.
“If you’re here for books, turn around. If you’re here for Carrie, she’s at the register.
You and I both know Rossy is the last person on earth you would need to see unless Red Snake has been hired by a tea company to track down where all the missing tea has gone—”
“Did you pull that out of your ass, or does the bullshit just roll off your tongue naturally?” he drawled. I watched in fascination as all the politeness melted from his face, leaving a stone-cold glare in its wake.
Suddenly, I missed the smile.
I cleared my throat. “If you’re here for coffee, tell me your order and I’ll make it. Other than that,” I gestured between us, “this isn’t going to happen.”
“This?” he parroted, stepping closer to the counter. My eyes decided to betray me then, scanning his outfit and hating how good he looked in jeans and a Henley. It wasn’t just any Henley. It was hunter green, just the right shade to make his eyes pop. “And what would this be, Temper?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped as the small dishwasher behind me dinged and popped open. Good, I had something to do with my hands.
He raised a brow. “You threatened to kill me five seconds after we met.”
“Yes, my best friend had been kidnapped, and you swooped into town with your Superman act. So I needed to make sure you were able to handle the job.”
His jaw tightened and a flash of something shot through his intense gaze, but it was gone before I could get a read on it. “Just here to check on you. It’s been a few months since—”
“Ninety-seven days. Yes, I know.” My eyes widened as his brows lifted.
Shit.
Shit.
Damn.
Fuck.
I cleared my throat and gestured to my black jeans and Nirvana top. “Clearly, I’m good. All in one piece. Thanks for stopping by,” I said just before giving him my back.
“Just because you’re in one piece on the outside doesn’t mean you aren’t broken on the inside, Margo,” he replied after a few moments of thick silence, his voice closer. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I grabbed three mugs off the top rack, stacking them on the shelf behind the espresso machine. I snorted, shaking my head. “Mr. Perfect Superman.”
“Margo.”
A lump manifested in my throat, harsh and painful as memories of that cold shed came forth. I was supposed to die that day. He was supposed to kill me; he told me so just before he knocked me out.
“Margo, look at me,” Hayes commanded. Suddenly his hand covered mine, his fingers touching the rim of the mug as I reached up to stack it on top.
I twisted my neck, finding him right behind me, his head bent, face close.
We set the mug down together and I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on to it, suspended.
“You can talk to me,” he assured. “It’s okay to not be okay.
No one should ever have to go through what you did. ”
I blinked, my eyes dropping to his lips. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, Superman.”
His eyes scanned my face. “No, I don’t,” he murmured.
The bell above the door chimed, and a second later, a local called, “Margo, I need the biggest coffee you got! Hey, Sarah. Hi, Carrie.”
My eyes flicked up to meet Hayes’. Hell, even his lashes were perfect. “I have to make coffee now,” I murmured.
“Tell me you’re okay,” he demanded softly.
So I did what any mess would.
I lied. “I’m okay, Hayes.”
“Americano.”
“What?”
He tipped his head to the espresso machine. “Large Americano, please.”
Every week after, he came in and ordered the same, silently watching me from the end of the counter, making sure I didn’t crumble.
Now, I would never have that again.
“Excuse me,” I whispered, my feet already moving.
Dominic said something, maybe he called my name.
I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I needed air.
When I entered the kitchen, Carrie and Grayson were heading back into the living room.
They smiled at me, but I nearly failed as I returned my practiced one to them.
Carrie’s steps faltered, her smile falling, but thankfully, Rossy called out to me.
“Margo, there you are, darling,” he said from in front of the stove. “You mentioned earlier that you were cold. Would you like a cup of tea?”
I looked down to the wine in my hand and then to Carrie, whose blue eyes were brimming with concern. “Uh, sure, boss man. Thanks,” I muttered, quickly moving to the sink and dumping my wine, my best friend right on my heels.
He left you.
You’ve never been good enough for anyone.
Why would he want you, Margo?
You’re trash.
“Margo?” Carrie called quietly.
“Is she all right?” Rossy asked.
I braced my hands on the countertop and closed my eyes. “Yeah,” I pushed out. “I’m good. I just need…”
Three seconds.
I had to get a handle on this—these feelings—and I needed three seconds to do it.
The kettle began to whistle, and half a second later, the oven dinged, the low rumble of conversations flowing in from the living room.
Then the music clicked on, the sound of smooth jazz filling the already noisy space, adding to my torture.
I could feel the walls closing in, the voice in my head sneering.
I shouldn’t be here. It was too much. All of this was too much.
I needed three seconds. Just three little seconds—outside.
“I’ll be right back,” I announced, unable to breathe. I turned and gave Carrie a thin smile. “I just need some air. It’s a little…crowded.” The lie fell from my lips with expert precision and the ghost of my father reared its ugly head, cackling with pride in the back of my mind.
You’re nothing like him.
You’re nothing like him.
You’re nothing like him.
Everything was closing in around me, black spots taking over my vision.
Given the trauma we’d endured together and everything Carrie had been through before running away to start a new life in Astoria, she would get the hint. Her face relaxed and she dipped her head to the back door. “Go. Take a breath.”
As soon as the cool autumn air hit my cheeks, my eyes began to burn, tears forming.
I braced myself against the deck railing, chest heaving as I looked out at the river and the town below.
The sun had set a few hours ago, the cool moonlight bouncing off the water.
But it was the warm streetlights of Astoria that began to ground me in a way.
“You’re okay,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay. ”
His voice hit me then, calling out to me like a lighthouse in the middle of a raging storm. Waves crashed against me, wanting to pull me under. But his voice had the power to keep me afloat. “Margo.”
I lifted my head, gasping for air, Astoria and the dark water beyond now a blur.
“Jesus,” Hayes bit off from behind me, his heavy footsteps following.
I felt his warm, rough hand on the bare skin of my shoulder, and then all I saw was him, his golden light speckled with green. His hands went to either side of my neck, his thumbs hooking under my jaw, tipping my head back. “Look at me,” he commanded. “Focus on me.”
My hands found his wrists, my fingers gripping the sleeves of his shirt. “I can’t,” I gasped. “I can’t take it.” I shook my head, closing my eyes. “It’s too much.”
“Look at me, Margo,” he urged, his voice tight. “You’re safe.”
My heart thundered in my ears and my knees began to shake.
Why was he out here? He shouldn’t see me like this.
I didn’t need him to see me like this.
“Go. Please, go,” I begged as I tried to step out of his hold.
“Hell no—fuck no,” he growled, turning us and walking me backward. Not even a second later, my back hit the blue siding of Carrie’s house, his body pinning me to it. I kept my eyes on his chest, focusing on the rough pattern of his shirt, the indention between his muscles. “Look at me, Temper.”
My ears began to ring, my heart pounding, drops of sweat manifesting at my temples.
“Don’t call me that,” I rasped, trying to gulp in air. “You don’t know me—”
“Cut the shit,” he growled, shaking me gently. “Look at me.”
My eyes snapped up to his, unable to deny him, the panic lacing his voice. His thumbs stroked my neck. “Take a deep breath and hold for three,” he commanded. “Inhale. Hold.”
His eyes scanned my face as I held my breath, his strokes moving in time as he counted. “One. Two. Three. Release.”
My chest deflated and I could feel my heart rate starting to slow.
“Again. Inhale and hold for five this time.”
I did as he instructed, unable to look away.
My world was drenched in green and gold, had been for weeks.
And I thought I would be able to get rid of him.
This was supposed to be easy. After the second round, he made me inhale and hold one more time.
As I released, his thumbs shifted upward, going to my cheeks as he dipped his head.
“You’re okay,” he whispered. “Everything’s okay.”
No, nothing about this was okay.
Nothing concerning him would ever be okay.
“Get your hands off me,” I pushed out on a broken whisper, the pain replacing panic as my soul cracked in two.
He jerked slightly. “Margo—”
“Get away from me, Hayes.”
Like the good person—man—he was, he dropped his hands immediately. It took a few seconds for him to step away, and when he finally did, the cool air hit me like a truck.
“We need to talk,” he stated.
I shook my head. “No,” I clipped, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Margo, please—”
“You left,” I hissed, cutting him off.
He stiffened, his jaw jumping as his gaze went cold once more.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I did my best to push out the rest. “You left me.” My voice cracked. “I thought—I thought that you and I—” I dropped my head, wiping the tear before he could see it. “You told me things,” I continued, voice thick with hurt. “You made me feel wanted, Hayes.”
“Margo—”
My head shot up, and I was off the wall.
I pointed at him, seething. “No, you don’t get to make love to me and then treat me like shit.
I’ve been treated that way my entire life, and I will not let you do that to me.
Not you. You don’t get to make me feel good, leave me, and then come back to rip me apart, Hayes.
Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it. ”
He took a step closer to me. “What do you think I have to say?” he asked slowly. “Since you think you have me all figured out.”
“That we crossed some imaginary line. That we broke some rule,” I snapped, throwing my arm out. “Because that’s what guys like you love the most. Rules you have to follow in order to feel good about yourself!”
I meant to hit him where it hurt. For some twisted and fucked-up reason, I needed to hurt him like he hurt me. The last thing I expected was for him to tilt my Hayes-infected world on its axis.
“Who is Gordon?”