Chapter 15
NORA
STARING AT my computer screen, I’m on the verge of panic. My profile on the online platform I use for my editing jobs has been deleted. I haven’t felt fear like this for a while, not since I first left Matt.
The day I left, I separated my life from his by moving my money into a new account at a different bank and filling out applications to get my own place. Within a week, my bank account was drained and closed, and each of the applications I sent in was declined because of a negative rental history.
I don’t have a rental history. I went from living with Grams, to a college dorm, to living with Matt.
At that time, I had almost eighty thousand dollars in my account because that was when I still had an in-office job that paid well, and since Matt paid for the condo, my money was mostly untouched.
But he took it all without a second thought about what it would do to me.
Eighty thousand dollars is not much to him, but it was everything to me.
That was when I found out just how mean and vindictive Matt could be.
I don’t know how he did it, he knows a lot of people, but for weeks he was sabotaging any move I made to get away from him.
He followed through with the threats he made to me the day I left him; he tried to make it impossible for me to live without him.
I almost let him win that day. I got in my car intending to crawl back to him so I would have a place to sleep that night. But everything in me was screaming not to go back, not to let him break me.
With my heart beating so hard, it could break a rib, I sat in my car trying to figure out my next steps.
Could I sleep in my car? With no money to pay for my hotel anymore, it was my car or go back to Matt.
I chose to sleep in my car. It took me a few days and quite a bit of deception, but I set up a false online profile that I’ve been living through since then.
Apparently, he found it.
All the editing jobs in my queue are gone; my damn queue is gone, including the contact information for the authors sending me their manuscripts.
My mind can barely keep up with the panic that is making it hard to breathe.
Oh God, my payment center is gone, too. I don’t keep money there; it’s just where online payments go when I get paid for a job.
I always move it quickly, but, fuck! My outstanding compensation has nowhere to go. I’ve lost that.
The last bit of my identity is gone. As of right now, I’m a waitress in a bar living in a fancy hotel. I don’t even have my car. With a deep breath, I fight the claws that are hooked into me and trying to pull me into a dark hole of despair.
Switching gears, I go to my online bank where I move my money to check the balance.
Surely he hasn’t got to that, too. It’s under another fake name.
When I see the same balance that was in there yesterday, the breath that I was about to choke on rushes from my lungs, and I sit back, willing my hands to stop shaking.
The feeling of being violated is so strong that I want to cry.
Not wanting to take any chances, I rush to the closest Western Union and withdraw the balance in cash. I’ll need to spend the rest of the day setting up a whole new online presence under different names. It’s not like I have any work to do.
Damn it!
When I drag myself into the pub that evening, I’m so tired and paranoid that I barely fixed my hair and I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. Even the casual ‘hellos’ from the shop owners who have got used to seeing me walk to work every day weren’t enough to lift my spirits.
I was so focused on fixing my online life today that when I walk into the pub, the smell of food makes my stomach growl, and I realize I haven’t eaten.
“Damn, girl! Are you okay?” Sammy says when I walk into the locker room to put my purse up.
My eyes snap to hers, and I turn to look at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall by the door.
I look like shit. Putting on a fake smile, I do the only thing I can think of; I lie.
“I’ve had a headache all day, I’ll be fine.
” It’s not a total lie; trying to build a life again is a colossal headache.
She steps close and lifts her palm to my forehead. The gesture is so caring and maternal that I almost tear up. “You don’t have a fever. Are you sure? I could probably cover your shift if you need me to.”
Remembering Stony telling me not to come back if I call out sick, I shake my head. “No, you don’t have to do that. I took some ibuprofen, it should start helping any minute.”
Her hand moves to my arm, and she gives a soft squeeze. “Okay, but if you get worse, let me know and I’ll tell Stony I’ll take your tables.”
“Okay, thanks, Sammy.”
Because I feel so defeated, the evening drags on, and I just want to get back to my room and lock the door. Not to mention, Tuck didn’t show up. I watched the door for most of the evening until I realized he wasn’t coming.
I keep telling myself it’s for the best; my life is screwed up enough without pulling another person into it. But that doesn’t stop the ache in my chest, especially after that kiss last night. I’m being stupid; a kiss means nothing, and I need to focus on other things, anyway.
Around eleven, Stony calls me up to the bar. “Sammy says you’re sick, and you don’t look like you feel well. Go home.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay, I can finish my shift.”
He stops what he is doing and locks eyes with me, his usual no-nonsense stare is softer. “I didn’t ask if you could finish your shift. Go home and get some rest. I’ll give you your share of tonight’s tips tomorrow night.” I almost smile because I realize he’s sending me home because he cares.
On the walk back to the inn, every little movement grabs my attention, and I’m scared to death that someone is going to jump out of a shadow. But once I’m in my room, I slide down the door and let myself cry.
My payment system is that I get half the payment up front and the rest after I finish the edit, so everything outstanding was just lost. It comes out to almost two thousand. I needed that money. Not to mention I’ve lost the few repeat authors I had.
Changing into my sleep shorts and a t-shirt, I curl up on my bed and spend the next hour feeling sorry for myself.
A soft knock on the door nearly sends me into another panic, and I lie as still as possible. Another soft knock and then, “Nora?” It’s Allison’s voice, and she’s practically whispering, probably not wanting to wake up the other guests.
Grabbing a tissue to blow my nose, I open the door enough to see she’s in her pajamas, and she doesn’t look happy. Lifting my eyebrows in surprise, I look into the hall behind her to make sure she’s alone. I whisper back, “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry to wake you up, but Tucker Harlow is on the front porch and he says he won’t leave until he sees you’re okay.” She huffs an exasperated breath like she’s been arguing with him. “Will you go down and tell him I don’t appreciate him almost waking my guests up? Or me.”
Looking at her in confusion, I whisper, “Sure, but why does he want to make sure I’m okay?”
She shakes her head and waves her hand in the air exasperated before she whispers back, “He says Stony sent you home sick.”
He’s checking on me?
Despite it being midnight and Allison being unhappy with the situation, the coldness of all the worry I’ve been carrying today is replaced with something warm and comfortable.
Clearing my throat, I nod my head as I open the door the rest of the way to step out. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”
As I tiptoe down the stairs, I can see his broad back leaning against the porch post at the top of the steps, under the dim porch light, and flutters start warming my stomach.
His t-shirt is hugging all the muscles across his back, his lats tapering perfectly into his waist, the sleeves stretched around his triceps.
Like he can feel me staring at him, no, ogling him, he turns around and sees me through the glass of the door.
With his usual Clint Eastwood squint, his eyes roam over my face as I step out the door.
The long scruff on his face is impeccably cut, and his jaw looks even sharper.
His usual baseball hat is on his head, the brim curled over his forehead.
Pulling the door shut behind me, I suddenly feel self-conscious since I’m in my sleep shorts and a raggedy t-shirt that I’ve slept in for over a year, and he not only looks nice, but he smells nice, too.
Damn. I didn’t even look at my hair before I came down here; it probably looks like a rat’s nest.
My cheeks flush as I run my fingers through the long, tangled strands to make sure they’re not standing up in different directions around my face. Clearing my throat, I talk softly even though the crickets are challenging me to see who can be louder. “Hi.”
Stepping closer to me, he tilts his head, scrutinizing my face. His deep voice is soft but threatening. “What’s wrong?”
Okay, direct it is.
“Uhm, I just have a headache.” Looking around the area behind him, I look for any strange shadow or someone who doesn’t belong.
He gently grips my chin with his thumb and finger, tilting my head up toward the light. “No, you’ve been crying. What’s wrong? Did any of those guys bother you?” The hardness of his tone has gone soft, the baritone caressing me all over.
My cheeks turn scarlet because I know I look like a basket case right now, but the fact he came here and woke Allison up to check on me makes my eyes sting with new tears.
I don’t trust myself to talk, so I shake my head.
First, I can’t tell him about Matt. The last thing I want is to look as bad as it sounds, and second, I don’t think I can keep my voice from shaking.
Turning his hand, his eyes soften as he cups my cheek, the calluses of his palm warm against my skin. “Tell me why you’re upset.”
With a sniffle, I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Why are you here?”
Ever so softly, he slides his thumb across my cheek as he sighs a deep sigh. “I wanted to make sure you got home okay after your shift, but you weren’t there. Stony said you went home sick. I wanted to check on you.”
The smile I’m trying to hold back spreads across my face, and all the worries of today feel just a bit smaller. “You wanted to check on me?”
Softness I haven’t seen in his eyes before holds my gaze, and he nods his head. “Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were okay.”
For six months, I’ve made my peace with being alone. On more than one occasion, I’ve missed my Grams more than I can express, her warmth and unconditional love is something I fear I’ll never feel again. Many nights I have missed being kissed, touched, and held, but I’ve come to accept it.
To some, his gesture might be considered small or even nothing that a good friend wouldn’t do, but to me it’s more than I’ve felt in a really long time.
The town grump, who everyone accuses of not caring about anyone, left the warmth of his bed to drive into town at midnight to ensure I got home safe. And the way he’s looking at me is like the most brilliant sunshine on a wintry day.
On the inside, my chest is full and the fluttering in my stomach is moving lower, but I can’t control the tears of relief that fill my eyes.
Relief for what? For months, no one has checked on me; no one has cared if I’m okay.
The sheer unexpected kindness from this wounded and closed-off man, here in the middle of the night, breaks something open inside of me.
Not wanting to look like a blubbering idiot, I reach up to swipe the tear that just broke loose, but he softly grasps my wrist to stop me and then cups my face with both hands, his thumbs swiping the tears off my cheeks for me.
Sliding one hand around my neck, he says, “Come here.” I don’t resist when he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me.
He feels so good. Everything about him is strong and hard, and my arms instinctively go around his torso, my fingers finding the hard muscles of his back. I melt into the warm, spicy, citrus smell of his cologne, and for just a moment, life isn’t so hard, and I close my eyes with a sigh.
A cool breeze moves across the porch, lifting my hair to blow across his arm, and goosebumps erupt over my body, including my front that is not covered by a bra. I hope he can’t feel that.
Keeping his chin on top of my head, he mumbles, “You’re cold.”
With one small shake of my head, I mumble into his shirt, “Only just now.” I don’t want him to let me go, I don’t want this moment to end.
His arms loosen from around me. No! But he cups my face again as my hands fall to his hips. “Go back in and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The gold in his hazel eyes seems to swirl as his eyes volley between mine, and I nod. “Okay.”
Lowering his head, he brushes his lips against mine, but before he pulls away, he does it again, only longer. Before I realize I’ve done it, I part my lips and slide my tongue along the seam of his lips.
Like a door has suddenly been opened, his control slips and he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. His tongue slides against mine, his lips claim mine with a gentle force that has my insides lighting up like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm, leading him in.
A small moan escapes my lips into his mouth, and he stops to pull away. We’re both breathing harder, and his eyes are hooded but severe, like it’s taking all he has to stop. With one more soft, slow brush against my lips, he croaks, “Go.”
With one last look, I force myself to let go of his shirt and turn to go back into the house.