Chapter 10 #2
I stop halfway up the stairs. “Fuck it. Call the police. I’m just going to tell your wife goodbye before I go to jail.”
“Goddammit,” he grumbles, following me.
I stay a good ten paces ahead of him. When I get to Callie’s room, I don’t knock. Instead, I slip inside and shut the door behind me. It’s dark because the sun’s not up to filter through the cracks in the pulled drapes.
“Rupert, I told you to leave me alone,” she says in a raspy voice beneath the pile of blankets on the bed.
“June is scared of me. I blew it,” I say, collapsing into her high-back chair; its wooden legs releasing a screech in protest. “And I didn’t even tell her the worst part.”
“Flynn?” Her dark silhouette takes form as she sits up in bed.
“She begged me to kiss her at the park. But no. I was a gentleman. Manners. All that good shit. Opening doors. God, you would have been so proud of me. Then I made the mistake of being honest with her about something in my past, and she couldn’t handle it.
” I plant my elbows on my knees and drop my head, running my fingers through my hair. “Hell, she could barely look at me.”
“Flynn,” Callie rasps. “This isn’t a good day for me.”
“Well, join the club. I was so angry last night I drank one too many beers, forgot to set my alarm, and had to be woken up by Naomi, my roommate’s girlfriend. She technically doesn’t live with us. Yet, lately, I’ve been feeling pressure to move out. Gotta room you want to rent me?”
Her silhouette disappears. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she says, muffled like she’s back under the covers, but I can’t tell for sure because my eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness.
“Come on. I’m doing my best to inspire you.
Isn’t that why your husband hired me? I can’t have you slitting your wrists or downing a fucking bottle of pills—forgive my language.
But that will look terrible on my résumé …
once I get out of jail. Oh, did I mention the police are on their way?
I guess what I’m trying to say is, you don’t have any reason to be depressed.
You’re rich. Your husband obviously cares about you.
I bet you’ve never been to jail. You have the option to stay in bed all day. ”
Silence.
That’s it? She has nothing to say?
“What did you tell her about your past?”
I sit up in the chair and clear my throat just as Loki rubs up against my leg. “I told her I beat a man with a baseball bat for treating a young girl like a dog.”
More silence.
I drum my hand on my thigh.
She sighs. “Hold still.”
I freeze.
“That’s a lot to put on someone who doesn’t know you very well.”
“He was a terrible man,” I say.
“Does June know this man?”
“No.”
“Was she the girl you were protecting?”
“No.”
“Does she know the girl you were protecting?”
“No.”
“Then it’s too much. If she doesn’t feel invested in you, the man, or the girl, then it’s too much.”
“He put a fucking prong collar on her!” My fingers grip the arms of the chair.
Callie slowly sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Then she turns on the lamp.
We squint against the light for a few seconds as our eyes adjust.
“Vigilantes are complex. Sure, their intentions can be honorable. But to people who aren’t vigilantes, such extreme actions can seem appalling. Have you ever seen the show Dexter?”
I shake my head.
“Well, it’s about a serial killer who only kills other serial killers.”
“An eye for an eye,” I say.
“Yes. But not everyone lives by that mantra. All I’m saying is you need to give people a chance to know you before you give them everything. If people on dating apps only listed their bad or questionable traits, no one would swipe left or right or whatever direction you’re supposed to swipe.”
I deflate, closing my eyes briefly. “She asked me to kiss her. I thought … I don’t know. I thought we were there. So now what?”
“I don’t know, Flynn,” she rubs her temples. “You have to tell her everything, or she’ll feel lied to. But you could lose her.” She shakes her head. “I can’t make this decision for you. But it’s never a bad idea to show her your softer side. Flowers. Write her a poem. Bake her something.”
“I don’t have a softer side. No money for flowers. I’ve never written a poem, so there’s no need to start now. And I don’t know how to bake. What else do ya got?”
Callie rubs her hands over her face before sliding her fingers into her hair. Her weary expression triggers my guilt. I like her. Even if I don’t understand why she needs a muse, I like her. She’s kind, and I haven’t had a lot of that.
“I have a garden.” Her tired eyes find me, and she smiles, but it’s forced.
“You want me to pull weeds?”
“No.” When her feet hit the floor, she rests her hands on her hips to stretch her back. “I want you to go into my garden and find the prettiest flowers in full bloom and cut them at a forty-five-degree angle, leaving about four inches of stem, and tie them into a bouquet.”
“How many?”
Her hands flop to her sides, and she gives me a blank expression before shrugging. “That’s for you to figure out.”
“What do I tie them with?”
She pads her feet toward the bathroom. “Figure it out.”
The door clicks shut before I can ask another question, like what I should do if Rupert has me arrested before I can gather the flowers?
Figuring it out on my own, I tiptoe down the hallway, listening for sirens or chatter from the main floor.
All I can hear as I descend the stairs is the thrumming of my pulse in my ears.
“You’re an arrogant little shit with no respect for authority.”
I jump at Rupert’s voice behind me. Where was he hiding?
With a slow gulp, I gather as much false confidence as I can. “Maybe. But you knew that when you hired me.” I stop at the landing and he nods for me to keep going as he catches up to me.
A suit has replaced his robe and pajamas.
“Sit,” he says when I reach the last step.
I do as I’m told.
“No. Sit on the floor.”
This feels eerily similar to the man who put a prong collar on the girl I defended.
“Are you trying to belittle me?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes, pausing several steps above me. “Have you been belittled?”
After a beat, I slowly nod.
His lips twist as he navigates the last few stairs, sidestepping me. When he turns to face me, he crosses his legs and lowers his butt onto the marble floor in front of me.
I laugh a little to hide what feels like a fist to my gut. “What are you doing?” I shake my head, but I can’t look at his stupid face because he’s not grinning. He’s being nice. I don’t like nice because I don’t know what to do with it. I’d rather he punch me.
“I wanted you to obey for one goddamn moment. That’s all. I never want you to feel beneath me or anyone for that matter. And I don’t want you to feel the need to be an asshole to prove that you’re tough or worthy of respect. It’s exhausting, demoralizing, and unsustainable. Trust me.”
“Get up,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because this is stupid. Just get up.” I hold out my hand.
He studies me, gaze locked to mine while he takes my hand. When he’s on his feet, he squeezes my shoulder. “Good talk.”
“Was it?” I squint.
He releases my hand and heads back up the stairs. “Did Callie fire you?”
“No.”
“Then I guess you earned your paycheck today.”
“Think I’ll ever see an actual paycheck?”
He stops and turns. “How much money do you need?”
Is he serious? This has to be a trick question.
“Pay me what you think I’m worth,” I say as if he asked me if I want the money in his right or left pocket.
His lips twitch like he’s holding back a grin, then he slowly nods.
I grab my shoes, but I stop him before he reaches the top of the stairs. “Just so you know, my rent is seven fifty.”
Mr. Rawlings doesn’t respond, continuing up the stairs.