Chapter 8
There's part of me that's looking forward to the end of the day more than usual. There's another part of me that doesn't think Mack will show up. It feels like someone like him could have been some sort of mirage for my time of need--an illusion of hope, all wrapped in one delicious package.
But Caitlin and I walk out together, and there he is, parked in the shade, straddling his bike. He raises a hand in greeting and I wave back.
Caitlin turns to me and whispers, "Is that one yours? No wonder you turn the old people down for dates."
"He's not mine. He's just a friend."
It's the easiest way to describe Mack without answering a dozen more questions about a subject I don't want to discuss. Caitlin and I are friends, but I don’t want to tell her about Alex going missing. The stakes are too high and she’s his coworker, too. At least, kind of.
I’m not a hundred percent sure that she wouldn’t tell another coworker here about it and get Alex in trouble. Not that he’s going to avoid it for long; he can’t have that much vacation time saved up. But since no one has mentioned his absence to me yet, I’m not going to bring it up to anyone.
Caitlin scoffs. "Just a friend? What's wrong with him? Herpes? Micro-penis? A really high voice?"
I laugh. "He's a new friend."
“Where did you find him?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I'm trying to keep things light, trying not to answer too many questions. I’m banking on the fact that Caitlin wants to get home to her pool, margaritas, and golden retrievers.
"Phew girl, you better move that right into dating. Don't linger too long in the friend zone or you might get stuck."
"Nah. I have to find out who he is first. For all I know, he might have a Herpes-infected micro-penis and a really high voice."
"Or he could yell Shazaam! right after he orgasms," she says with a grin, doing jazz-hands.
"Or expect me to go halfsies for dinner."
"Yuck," she says. "I'd rather a guy yell Shazaam, as long as he paid for dinner."
I laugh. "See you in the morning."
Despite my initial resistance, it feels nice to have Mack follow me home. His bike rumbles behind me all the way up the hill and it feels like I have my own security detail. It doesn't hurt that he's hotter than a Texas afternoon, either.
I keep sneaking peeks at him in the rearview mirror. He rides the bike like he knows what he's doing, arms out, an easy grip, those delicious legs propped on either side.
If those guys are waiting in my driveway again, I think they’ll think twice about coming back. Mack's not as big around as two of the guys were, but he's far more muscular. Plus, he moves like he knows what he's doing in that body--he doesn't lumber or forget where his arms are like some guys do.
I shake my appreciation of him off. It's idiotic considering the circumstances. It occurs to me that I don't know this guy, that he might be just as dangerous to me than those strangers were. More, even.
At home, I hop out of Goldie and wait for him to disembark from his bike. I study him, trying to figure out if maybe I just invited a serial killer to my house. But I like Mrs. Norris, and she speaks well of her grandson. Even if she does call him MacArthur.
"Why are your eyes narrowed like that?" he asks, and I realize I'm lost in my thoughts and let him catch me with doubt on my face.
"Just wondering what qualifications you have to think you can help with something like this. If I wasn't clear before, we can't call the police."
We? My mind shrieks. You just threw a 'we' at this guy, and you've known him for five seconds!
"I was Military Police when I was a marine."
"Really?"
He nods with an easy smile. "People were surprised when I didn't go into law enforcement when I left the service, but I'd had enough of bureaucracy to last a lifetime."
"You were military police, and you're really ok not calling the cops?" I prop my hand on my hip.
There's a flicker of something on his face, there and gone so fast I can't read it. "Like I said, they have to work within a bunch of red tape. They wouldn't be allowed to look at your brother's case holistically."
"Are you sure you aren't vegan? You just used the word ‘holistically’ in a non-ironic way."
He rolls his eyes. "Just show me his apartment."
I walk Mack through the back gate and open my brother's apartment door. Mack's posture changes--his shoulders go back, his chest comes forward--and it's no longer difficult for me to imagine him in a uniform, investigating things and keeping people safe. I study him while he surveys the damage.
After a couple of minutes he turns to me with a frown. "You say your brother isn't involved in drugs or anything? Are you sure?"
"Positive. He always was disgusted by the stuff. I don't know what's going on here, but there's no doubt in my mind it's not drugs."
"Then what do you think they were looking for?"
"Looking for?" I blink back over the damage. Suddenly, it takes on an entirely new meaning. "Oh, I'm such an idiot."
It's obvious, now that I realize what I'm seeing.
They were looking for something. Something very tiny, because everything is torn up.
I knew that before, but it had looked like very thorough damage--as if they'd been petty enough to take the time to destroy every item well past the possibility of repair.
"It must have been small," Mack says, echoing my thoughts. He squats in front of me and picks up a mangled picture frame. It was the one of me, Alex, and Grandma in front of a waterpark the year before Alex was arrested.
I'm suddenly distracted by the wide expanse of Mack’s muscular back underneath that t-shirt.
I mentally chastize myself and look away.
I took Intro to Psychology. I know all the popular ways humans distract themselves when a tragedy has taken place, and an attractive member of the opposite sex is pretty high on that list.
I need to focus on Alex's plight, even though it makes me feel helpless and worried. Helpless and worried are appropriate emotions to feel right now. Feeling attracted to the hot ex-marine who's helping you only because his Nana likes you is not appropriate.
"Any idea what it could be?" He turns and looks up at me.
His back is distracting, but those eyes are on another level. I have to look away.
I give a non-committal hum and shake my head. "The only things Alex loves are computers, that War of Veilcraft game, and computers."
"What about you?" Mack rises to his feet and stares down at me. "Does he love you?"
The mess in the doorway of the apartment makes it so we have to stand really close. Mack’s chest nearly brushes mine. I feel my body react to his closeness and I want to step back, but I force myself to stay where I am. If I move, it might clue him in that he makes me nervous.
"Yes, but I'm not arrogant enough to think that I make the top three." I sigh when he frowns. "Look, you have to understand that I am to Alex what the foundation of your house is to you."
Mack cocks his head. "How so?"
"It's something that's always there holding you up, but you don't think about it. You don't wake up every morning and say, 'Thank you, foundation, I'm so glad you're here!'"
He studies me for a minute then smiles. "Maybe I'll start."
We survey the damage a few more minutes.
Mack says, "You don't think he'd miss you if you were gone?"
"Oh no," I say, my laugh gusting over the words.
"He'd miss me. He'd be flummoxed that I wasn't there anymore.
But that's my point. When Grandma died, I had to go break the news to him in prison.
He thought about it and his first question was who was going to bake the oatmeal cookies for Christmas. "
I don't want to admit how much that hurt me, how hard it was to keep my temper in that moment.
But maybe some of my anger leaks out anyway, because Mack says, "I’m sure he loves you as much as he’s able.”
Neither of say the obvious--that sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.