14. Grant
Grant
The Break doesn’t have any clients today, so I spend the afternoon sorting out the storage room and giving the floors a complete sweep.
I’m taking out the trash when a dark sedan creeps into the side lot and Luther Detro gets out.
I’m about to tell him we’re closed, but he’s heading to the wrong entrance.
He stands outside the door to the apartment stairs and takes out his phone.
Luther’s wearing steel-toe boots and jeans with a Carhartt jacket that looks new. Working man’s chic. I hear he’s driving a snowplow now, although I can’t imagine how he passed a background check to get a county job.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
He looks me up and down. “Doubtful.”
“Why are you standing outside my door?”
“Meeting someone.” Luther is still messing with his phone. Is he texting Annabelle?
She has no idea. Stories flash through my mind.
The one about Luther being marched out of yet another trashed apartment, this time with the police involved and Luther shouting threats to his landlord.
The string of jobs he’s detonated with his temper.
Not to mention what I’ve seen with my own eyes.
The way he sits at The Driftwood bragging about his exes, as if they’re trophies he won and broke on purpose.
I had to help Blake kick him out once when whisky made him violent and he swung a chair at a man who dared to breathe wrong.
I heave the bag of trash into the dumpster and approach Luther. “Whatever you think you’re doing here, you’re not.”
“No beef with you, my man.” Luther brandishes his phone. “Just here to pick up my date.”
My chest tightens as a surge of adrenaline rips through me. Every nerve in my body is screaming stop him. Is this my business? Nope. Am I going to intervene anyway? Oh hell yes.
Annabelle bursts through the door. She’s wearing a yellow pompom hat, an orange sweater, and bright red lipstick. She’s still zipping her coat, gloves in hand. “You must be Luther,” she says. “I’m Annabelle. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s not,” I say. “It’s not nice to meet him, Annabelle.”
“Yes, it is,” she says. “We’re going for coffee.”
“Don’t.”
“We’re walking there,” she says, as if to reassure me that she’s not getting in his car. Or maybe she’s reassuring herself. Her voice has lost its chipper tone and her eyes hold a whisper of doubt as they dart from him to me.
“Let me talk to you for a second.” I shoulder my way between them, cutting Luther off. He knows better than to object.
“I’m really sorry,” Annabelle stage-whispers to Luther.
“Don’t be.” I march Annabelle to the center of our small lot, out of Luther’s earshot. “Why’d you let him come here? What happened to girl 101?”
She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her chin to glare at me. “I didn’t let him come up. Not to my door.”
“You should have met him in a public place.”
“He already knew where I live. Small town, duh.”
“At least he knows I live here too. That will make it easier.”
“Make what easier?” Annabelle asks.
“Getting him to leave.”
“Excuse me?” Annabelle’s blue eyes are stormy as her eyebrows slam down. “Since when do you have the right to—”
“You don’t want to go anywhere with that guy.”
“That’s not your decision.”
“True. It’s not.”
“Good. Thank you. Now get out of my way.”
“We’ll make it Luther’s decision.”
“What? That’s not—”
I turn and march back to Luther, shoulders forward, hands already in fists. “Date’s off,” I tell him. “You’re leaving. Now.”
Luther pushes off the wall he was leaning on. “Who’s gonna make me? You?”
“If it comes to that.” I take a step closer and plant my feet, eyes locked on Luther. He’s a big guy, broad-shouldered and muscled, but so am I. “I know who you are,” I say. “And I know what you bring to the table. Anger. Booze. Chaos. Annabelle deserves better.”
“I’m standing right here,” she says.
Luther ignores her, seeing me as the problem to solve. He’s right about that. “This isn’t your concern,” he says.
“Maybe not.” My voice is low and steady. “But I’m not going to stand here and watch you—”
“I can handle this myself,” Annabelle says. She’s clutching the back of my jacket now. I don’t turn.
Luther’s confidence wavers. “Did I get between something? You two lovers going through a rough patch?”
“No!” Annabelle says from behind me.
I glare at Luther without blinking until he cracks.
It takes a remarkably short amount of time. Luther’s shoulders drop and he loses his fighting stance. He crumbles into himself and steps away. “I’ll be back,” he says. “When she changes her mind.”
“I’ll be here,” I promise.
Luther lopes to his car and gets in. He drives through a murky puddle on his way out of the lot, spewing up brown slush.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
Annabelle holds up a hand. “I need a second to comprehend the audacity.”
“I know. That guy is—”
“Not his audacity. Yours.” She stomps her foot. “You’re not a hero. That was wrong.”
It was not. There isn’t a single universe where I would take back anything I did in the last five minutes. I’m just glad I was out here in time to stop her from making a mistake.
Annabelle thrusts out her chin. “How would you like it if I did that to you? Stopped you from going on a date?”
“I don’t date.”
“You should try it sometime.” Annabelle paces a small circle in front of me. “Let me explain the concept. Two people have a conversation and they get to know one another and then they decide if they want to keep seeing each other. Sometimes, if they’re super lucky, they even fall in love.”
My scoff is so loud it’s more like a thunderclap.
She continues to pace, winding herself up. “That is, if they ever get the chance to actually, I don’t know, get coffee together or some reckless thing like that.”
“Listen to me.” I put my hands on her shoulders to stop her pacing. She throws them off. “You see the best in everyone and it’s going to hurt you.”
“But I—”
“You think he’s ‘rough around the edges’ or he’s ‘got potential.’ He’s not and he doesn’t. I’ve known Luther Detro since kindergarten. He can’t keep an apartment, he can’t keep a job, and he can’t keep control of himself when he drinks. You don’t want to be mixed up with that disaster.”
Annabelle gazes down the street where Luther’s car disappeared when he turned coward and ran. She pivots back to me. “Ah ha. I get it now.”
Warmth rises in me, equal parts relief and tenderness. I’m glad she sees reason. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You mean, you’re helping yourself.”
“This has nothing to do with me.”
“This has everything to do with you. Look at me. I’m pretty.
I’m funny. I’m talented. I have assets. I have great assets.
” Annabelle points to the building and then to herself.
She swoops a hand to indicate her whole body.
“You can’t have this, so you don’t want anyone else to have it, either. The nerve of you.”
She tries to push past me. I don’t move.
“Get out of my way.”
“You’re not going to chase that guy, are you?” I ask. “Please tell me you’re better than someone who chases after Luther Detro.”
“Right, because chasing is bad.”
“It is.”
Annabelle scans my face as if she’s looking for something that isn’t there.
She gives up a moment later with a sigh so heavy it sounds like it comes from the center of the earth.
Her anger is gone, but so is her spark. It’s like someone snapped off a light.
“I’m going upstairs,” she says. “I’m going to wash my face and put on sweatpants and have another evening all by myself in my extremely loud apartment. ”
“No clients tonight,” I tell her. “I gave the demented squirrels the night off.”
I wait for the comeback, but all I get is another sigh and a whispered, “Thank goodness.”
“I’m sorry about your date.” I’m not sorry about Luther. Not by a longshot. But I’m sorry I ruined her day.
“Thanks, I guess.” She looks more than disappointed. She looks sad.
“Do…do you want me to…um…take you out for coffee?”
Annabelle laughs at that. Straight-up laughs in my face. “Do you actually think you’re competing with another man? And winning?”
“No, but The Break’s closed and I just…” Just what? What am I doing?
“It’s not a choice between you and another guy,” Annabelle says. Her sass has come roaring back. I don’t like being on the receiving end of it, but I’m glad to see it.
Annabelle rocks back on her heels and looks up at me. “Tonight, the choice I’m making is between you and my peace. Since the rock concert of doom isn’t happening, I’m going to enjoy my little sliver of tranquility while I have it. Good night, Grant.”
I step aside so she can go back to the building. The door whispers shut behind her, followed by the slowly-fading thump of twenty-three steps as she goes home alone.
I stand in the cold for a long, stupid moment before following her through the door, also going home. Alone.