Chapter Seven
Jo
F uck my life.
I’ve burned all of my bridges.
I’m type A to the extreme.
I plan everything, make lists, write addendums for my lists, and choose my battles wisely.
Yet today of all days, I’ve blown up every single connection that I have.
I have nowhere to go.
I refuse to go home, and I have no one else.
It’s almost midnight as I idle in front of the gates to Second Chance Sanctuary.
I’m way more uncertain about driving through them now than I was the first time I was here.
I shouldn’t be here, it’s late, and he told me not to be here at night but, I’ve already pissed him off once today.
How much worse could it get?
My feet are aching so badly by the time I park and turn my car off that I rip my shoes off and chuck them into the backseat.
I’ll just curl up in my seat and get some rest somewhere I feel safe.
I can figure out my life tomorrow.
I’ll come up with a plan, I’ll–
“What the hell are you doing here?” Lochlan barks at me through my window, forcing my eyes wide.
It’s so dark I didn’t even see him come outside.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I admit, pitifully, my voice barely sounds real as it escapes through the crack I made in the window.
He stares at me with those dark eyes that are always filled with so much conviction.
So much anger.
But this time they look filled with sorrow.
“Come have a seat on the porch.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, and it doesn’t seem like he’s giving me a choice as he steps back, giving me space to open my door.
I don’t necessarily want to get out of my car just to be scolded, but it’s better than being told to get the hell off his property.
He holds my door open as I climb out of the car, letting the cool paving stones bite at my bare feet.
I don’t rush to get to the porch, accepting the discomfort after the day that I’ve had.
Lochlan trails me until I get to the rocking chairs and then indicates for me to sit in the chair next to his.
There’s a short glass sitting next to his seat, a finger of amber liquid in it that is dark enough to be bourbon.
We sit next to each other in silence for so long that a chill whispers across my skin, and I hug myself to ease it.
“You can’t sleep here in your car,” he says suddenly as if all this time he’s been trying to figure out what to say and that’s what he came up with.
He stands up, and I think that’s the end of the conversation, but he only snatches a jacket from inside the doorway to drape over me.
It smells like he’s worn it a few times, but clean like men’s soap with a slight twang of cigar smoke.
He either smoked one a while ago, or he’s been around someone who has .
I like it.
“I was hoping to be gone before you woke up. I thought maybe you wouldn’t notice.” I tuck the jacket up under my chin, burrowing deeper into it.
“You don’t know what time I wake up.”
I huff.
He always says what I expect, but not at all at the same time.
“You’re right, I was just hoping to avoid making you mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you, Jo.”
“Really? Had me fooled.”
He sighs and downs the rest of his drink.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re right, it’s not.”
“Then why did you say it was okay?” The question rumbles from his chest roughly, but with hesitant curiosity.
“I don’t know, that’s what you say when someone apologizes.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. I need the truth from you if this is going to work.”
“You mean I’m not fired?”
“I didn’t fire you. You fled out of here like a bat out of hell.” His analogy makes me laugh softly.
“I’ll have ruts from how you peeled out of here.” That makes me laugh harder, my head falls back, resting against the top of the rocking chair.
It’s shorter than his, made for a woman.
“I looked in the shoe box,” I finally admit after holding it in for days, staring at the ceiling of the covered porch .
“I know.”
“How?”
“The lid was tipped.”
He knew, but he never said anything.
He didn’t get mad at me.
“Sorry for looking.”
“I’m sorry for making you feel uneasy around me.”
“It’s not– I wasn’t–”
“No, you were. You didn’t feel like you could tell me the truth because you were afraid I’d get angry. I don’t want you to feel like that.”
“I’m not afraid of you, remember?”
“Right. Just intimidated.” He sighs.
“I’m used to working around men. I don’t give a shit if they’re scared of me, I prefer it. But that doesn’t go for you. I want you to listen to me because I’m your boss, not because you’re afraid of how I’ll react.”
“A healthy level of respect for authority.”
“Yes, exactly,” he exclaims, and it makes me laugh again.
“I need to get a second job. I might have to change my schedule around.”
“Why?”
“My parents found out about school. They’re pissed.”
“So?”
“It’s too late to change my major, or I’d have to start over, not that I’d want to, and they said I have to quit if I want to continue living under their roof. Which is such a manipulation tactic because they think I have nowhere else to go. Exactly as they’ve planned it,” I mumble.
“What do you mean?”
“My parents want me at their beck and call. They didn’t ever want me to attend grad school, and they’ve never wanted me to work. Or, allowed it.
“They’ve spent the last 24 years of my life grooming me to be the perfect political pawn.
I want a life, and they don’t want to let me go, so I’m going behind their backs.
”
“Jesus Christ, Jo. What the hell kind of family drama are you getting me mixed up in? Your father doesn’t even know you work here?”
“No.”
“Fucking hell,” he mumbles.
“When he finds out he’s not going to be happy.”
“I hired you because I thought I was doing good by your family, because your father helped me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut, curling deeper into his jacket in case it’s the last bit of warmth I have before he kicks me to the curb.
“But it sounds like your father is a jackass.”
A sob rips from my throat after processing what he said.
“I only need to play nice until September. I told him that if he forces me to quit school, then I’ll refuse to participate in my brother’s campaign, and I’ll start leaking family secrets. His image is everything despite how imperfect he is.”
“You’re going to blackmail your father?”
“It’s the only way to win against a man like him.”
“Remind me not to mess with you,” he mutters, and I grin.
He has no idea.
“You can stay here.”
My smile drops.
“What?”
* * *
“This is my grandmother’s old studio.” He flips on the lights to what I thought was a detached garage this whole time.
I’ve parked my car twenty feet away from it for over a month.
The small interior is filled with stacks of painted canvases.
A small bistro table sits off to the side of a micro kitchen.
It’s only one counter with a single tub sink under a small window.
A small toaster oven and two cabinets.
“It’s not much, but it’s livable. There’s a twin bed and a small bathroom behind that curtain. My grandfather renovated this so she had somewhere to paint, but she hated it. She preferred painting upstairs in the house where there were more windows. So it turned into storage and then his room when he was in the dog house.”
I look at him curiously.
“They loved each other like crazy, but they fought like cats and dogs. Pops always said that she was the love of his life and the biggest thorn in his side.” He looks so wistfully lost in thought, I almost want to touch him, pat his arm, or squeeze his shoulder in some sort of silent support.
Instead, I bury my hands into his jacket that I wrapped myself in before we walked down here.
“They sound wonderful,” I murmur into the quiet space.
“They were.” He clears his throat and turns to look at me.
“There will be more rules if you stay here.”
Of course, there are.
“Let me guess. Don’t talk to the guys. Don’t make noise. Don’t bug you unless I’m working.” I tiptoe around the room with my bare feet on the hardwood floor.
It only takes a few steps to cover the space between the door and the kitchen.
One car could barely even fit in this space.
“Don’t make friends with the guys. Don’t wander around, especially at night. If you need to go outside after dark, text me first. If you’re on the property, then I need to know. If you leave, I need to know. Keep this door locked at all times. Your phone needs to be on you, and you need to answer if I call you.”
“This is crazy, Loch-”
“That shoe box was left by people who want to hurt this place, Jo. Those animal heads were a threat. No one here has been harmed yet, but I’m not taking that risk with you. None of my parolees have stepped out of line yet, but they also haven’t had the chance.” He looks at me pointedly so I understand.
“I’m not risking that with you. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” He’s a commanding presence anytime I’m near him, but being near him in such a small space is suffocating.
His aura is all-consuming in a way that I’m not used to.
Even when I don’t want to look at him, I catch myself glancing in his direction, but when his full attention is directed at me, it’s hard to meet his stare head-on.
His gaze dips to my bare feet and travels slowly back up to the oversized fleece covering more of me than my dress did, and he sighs.
“If you want to stay here, then it’s temporary, so you can focus on school. You do your job and you keep your head down.”
“Okay.”
“Go home. Get your stuff and come back in the morning. I’ll have it cleaned up.”
“I can help you.”
“No, I’ve got it.” He grabs a stack of paintings and heads out the door, but I’m transfixed by the one that’s left leaning against the wall.
It’s an oil-painted landscape like the one in his living room, except it’s the view from the porch.
The sunrise is streaming over the property, with the light slicing through the gaps of the old abandoned barn.
It’s a warm and peaceful, but intricately detailed view of the place that seems so stagnant.
A woman’s perspective of a place completely overrun by men.
It’s beautiful.
“Can I keep this one in here?” I ask once he returns.
He picks it up and inspects it thoughtfully before hanging it on the wall.
The entire length of the wall has a track running across it with hooks to hold the canvases like an artist’s workshop.
“Thank you, Lochlan.”
He shrugs, still looking at the painting.
“No problem.”
“No, I mean thank you for letting me stay here.”
“Everyone needs a chance in life. This is yours, so don’t let it go to waste.” He continues lofting stacks of paintings out the door, not even glancing at me after that loaded statement.
He’s right, though, I’ll never get another opportunity like this to get out of my parents’ grip.
I have to make it count.
* * *
The next day, when I arrive at my new home, there are paving stones creating a path from my door, along my new parking spot, and all the way to Lochlan’s porch.
He’s either being considerate of my less-than-functional footwear, or he’s marking the exact areas within my bounds.
The door is unlocked when I try it, and I open it to a completely different space.
All the paintings are gone except the one hanging on the wall.
The counters and floors are wiped down, there are fresh sheets on the bed, and the curtains above the kitchen sink are pulled open.
I was here by 10 am; he had to have been working at this all night.
It’s perfect.
“Is this all you have?” Lochlan asks from behind me, holding my giant overstuffed suitcase as if it’s a bag of feathers.
“Yes, I told my parents I was moving out, but convinced them to let me leave the majority of my clothes in my old room.”
“How’d you do that?”
“Well, if they want me to be the perfect accessory at all of my brother’s campaign events, then I’ll still need to be able to access my wardrobe. They’d never risk me not showing up, or worse, showing up in something less than perfect.”
“You have a weird family.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve been taught from an early age that appearances are everything. Show the perfect face and people will throw money at you.”
He looks at me dumbly, it’s clearly not a lesson he was ever taught, rightly so.
“Wait! That’s it! You should come to these events!”
“No.”
“Yes, Lochlan, it’s perfect. Half of these events are charity-oriented. Everyone networks to gain more support for their cause. Second Chance Sanctuary just needs more investors and more donations. That’s how I can help!” I’m so excited I’m nearly bouncing where I stand.
It’s perfect, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before.
“No.”
That’s why.
“Can you just think about it? ”
“No.”
“Lochlan…” He turns his back on me before I can continue.
“No!” He’s already out the door and walking back to his house.
Okay…
Back to square one.