Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Rett
With four hundred dollars in my pocket, I should have been on a bus out of town. Escaping this hellish frozen tundra without a backward glance toward something better. And while I didn’t have much, I did have this plan.
So tell me why, an entire week after I was nearly mugged, was I still standing in Buffalo, shivering in my sneakers? Not only that, but I’d gone down countless alleyways and into places I knew I shouldn’t, chasing after a faceless man who seemed to haunt the shadows.
I only saw him that one time. When he wouldn’t even let me look at him.
But I was still here, wandering the streets in hopes I’d catch another glimpse of him. Part of me knew it was ridiculous. I mean, even if I saw him, would I recognize him?
My heart whispered yes.
I didn’t even know what I’d do or say if I were to meet him again. He obviously didn’t want anything to do with me. He said as much.
So why was I still here?
Was it morbid curiosity and stubborn determination to catch someone who clearly wanted to remain anonymous?
Or the faint, wispy memories of a soft voice and soothing touch?
The echo of being warm and safe lingered beneath my skin even a week later, somehow making me even lonelier but also somehow less alone.
More likely, it was the way he’d saved me—not once but twice—as if he saw something worth saving and not just a waste of space. How he’d unknowingly filled a gaping need for someone to care. No one had ever cared about me before. I was a lot of things, but I was never enough.
For someone as attention-starved as I was, I couldn’t just walk away even when he told me to. No, those fleeting moments awoke an insatiable craving that chronically gnawed at my insides and had me abandoning my plans in search of something I didn’t think I would ever have.
I couldn’t keep doing this. It was too risky and flat-out stupid.
I was tired, my body weak. And even though it wasn’t as cold as last week, I seemed to shiver even more.
Tonight, the line for the shelter stretched down the sidewalk, the scent of exhaust and winter twirling around while everyone huddled into themselves and occasionally shuffled forward.
The four hundred dollars felt heavy in the pocket of the hoodie beneath my coat.
I’d only spent ten of it, doing my best to stretch it, knowing I needed it to escape.
It was why I was in the line for a bed instead of renting a room for the night.
Just the thought of a soft bed, warm shower, and unlimited heat made me whimper.
Sagging into the cold stone wall, I ducked my head, waiting to be called forward.
When I finally made it, they waved me inside, and my body practically ached with the relief that I was going to get a bed. The relief was short-lived when I heard the “at capacity” announcement right behind me.
People out on the street sighed and muttered, and I turned to see frowning face of the woman who’d been behind me. “I don’t need a bed,” she said, voice brittle. “I can sit on the floor.”
“You know we can’t do that, ma’am. Rules are rules.”
“Please,” she begged. “I’m so tired today.”
She was older than me by a lot, her face weathered and craggy beneath the dirty knit cap she wore. I watched her clutch the threadbare blanket around her shoulders, knuckles gnarled and fingers shaking.
“Try the shelter over on thirty-fifth,” the man at the door said. “They don’t fill up as fast as us.”
Yeah, because they were on the other side of the city and getting over there was difficult. And by the time we were turned away here and made our way there, we were often too late. Sometimes it seemed like a waste of energy to even try.
“Come on, hon,” one of the volunteers inside called, waving me toward a bed.
I hesitated, sparing another glance at the woman. “Wait,” I called to the man about to close the door.
He looked up, his eyes flashing briefly with something I didn’t understand.
“She can have my bed.”
Closing the distance between us, he spoke low. “You don’t have to do that, Rett.”
It was always nice when they remembered my name… but also kinda sad because I’d been here enough to be recognizable.
“I know,” I replied. But as weak as I felt, I was stronger than her.
“You don’t look good. You should stay,” he beseeched.
Ignoring the ache in my joints, I moved back to the door, chills already rippling across my skin from the winter air creeping inside. Turning back, I offered him a smile. “I’ll be fine.” Before he could say anything more, I gestured to the woman. “Please come in, ma’am. Turns out I can’t stay.”
“There’s a bed?” she asked, eyes moving between me and the man behind me.
He was silent a moment but then replied, “Yes. One just opened.”
Resigned, I left the protection of the building to step back out onto the grungy sidewalk. A hand on my arm brought me around to a pair of dull, tired eyes. “God bless you, son. God bless you.”
I laid my hand over hers. Between us, there was no warmth to share. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll go across town.”
“Enjoy those young bones while you got ‘em,” she said, patting my arm.
Smiling, I turned away while the man helped her inside and closed the door for the night. Even with the noise of the hustling city, I heard the lock slide home. With it, despair swelled in my chest, making it tighter than it already was.
I wasn’t sure if a heart could hurt, but I was pretty sure mine did.
The more I walked, the wearier I became, and I knew I’d never make it to the other side of the city in time to get a bed.
This is what your neediness got you. I battered myself. Chasing after something that isn’t even yours. You should be gone by now. Somewhere warmer. You can’t keep enduring poverty to chase a ghost.
Knees protesting with every step, I walked on, turning into an alley where I’d spent more than one night.
The effort of holding up my head started to wear, and I wondered, not for the first time, if other people got tired of carrying around their own body.
Desperate for rest, I leaned into the nearby brick, heaving out a sigh.
I wanted to lie down, curl into a ball, and close my eyes. I wanted it so much I throbbed with it.
Shifting so my back was against the wall, I swept my eyes over the alley, landing on a few boxes lined up beside the dumpster. It would be better to get a motel room, but maybe I could rest for a few minutes before moving on.
Relief coursed through me, and I pushed away from the wall, dragging my feet across the alley toward the boxes. My sneaker slipped on a patch of black ice, and my entire body locked up as I fought to stay on my feet. Pain flickered as I flailed, eventually losing the battle and ending up on my ass.
Tailbone stinging, nose sniffling, I scooted the rest of the way to the boxes.
One was ruined from the snow, but the one in the middle looked brand new.
I crawled inside, the cardboard creating a thin barrier between me and the rest of the world.
It wasn’t much, but it blocked the wind, and when I sank, some of the tension that was coiled in my limbs eased.
The box wasn’t huge, but I wasn’t either, so I fit just fine. Limited space just meant less to heat. After pulling the flaps down for more protection, I did just as I’d been imagining and put my back to the open side, rolling into a small ball.
Digging into my coat, I tugged the oversized hood of the sweatshirt up through the neck and bunched the excess fabric beneath my cheek.
Sighing, I tucked my hands inside the coat and closed my eyes.
It felt so nice to lie down, to give the burden of my weight to the ground beneath me.
Burrowing my nose a little deeper into the makeshift pillow, I snuffled around, searching for the scent.
Stale cigarettes and leather with a hint of something I couldn’t name.
Though, after a week of continuous wear, it was beginning to fade.
I tried to tell myself it didn’t bother me, but then I’d catch myself burying my nose in fabric like an addict desperate for a hit.
A faint echo of smoke burned my nostril, and I let out a tiny whimper. In that moment, I was not curled inside a cardboard box but back in that hotel room. Fear wasn’t absent. For a man like me, it probably never would be. But fear wasn’t as frightening in the presence of trust.
And I realized as I lay there, sleep tugging on my consciousness, the reason I was still lurking the streets of Buffalo, looking for a man without a face, was because I trusted him before I remembered I shouldn’t.
I succumbed to fitful sleep, trembling and aching as wind battered the box. Despite the chills running all over, my forehead was damp and my throat painfully dry.
A draft of cold air rushed in, curling around my back and brushing over my cheek. I whined against it, blinking bleary eyes over my shoulder where the flaps of the box were peeled back.
Stupid wind, I thought, starting to roll over. Before I could, a large shape filled the opening, blocking out what little light was left on the street. I jolted, skittering to the very back of the box as hands grabbed my limbs and pulled.
“No,” I croaked, the protest turning into a cough. “Leave me alone!” I yelled as I was yanked completely out of my shelter.
A grunt. A low curse.
“You can hit me all you want, Pip. I’m not putting you down.”
It was a voice I’d barely heard. Not nearly enough to be considered familiar. But he didn’t have to be familiar in order to be recognizable.
I stilled instantly, body slumping in the cradle that supported it.
“Don’t hold yourself up or anything. I’ll do all the work,” he mumbled.
“Hero…”
The body holding mine went rigid. “What?”
Instead of answering, I grabbed a handful of leather and smothered my face, inhaling until my lungs ached and I was lightheaded.
Cigarettes. Leather. Spice.
Home.
“The fuck?” the voice above me wondered, trying to tug the leather away from my face. “Are you sniffing me?”
I growled.
“Feral, are ya?” he murmured, no longer fighting me for the coat.
I went back to sniffing as fingers carded through my hair.
“Christ! You’re burning up.”
Was I? I had been cold a minute ago, but now I felt fine.
“What the hell are you doing in a box?” he demanded.
“Sleeping,” I answered, turning my face into his chest.
“I’ve been in some sketchy places, but not even I have slept in a box.”
“Tired,” I mumbled, lulled by his scent, warmth, and the steady tone of his voice.
“How long have you been sick?”
“I’m not,” I protested, coughing. Suddenly, my throat felt like it was lined with razor blades.
“We’re going to the hospital,” he declared, the muscles in his arms tightening as he walked.
“No,” I protested, body arching upward. “Put me down.”
“Hard pass. Extra nope.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
“You are.”
“I’m not!” I said, flinging myself out of his arms.
He caught me midfall, steadying me as my feet hit the ground. He followed when I straightened and then caught me again when I folded like an accordion.
Grunting, he swept me against his chest, and I sighed. He started walking again, his footfalls heavy on the ground.
“No hospital,” I begged. “I can’t afford it. I just need some rest. Drop me at a motel again. A cheap one. Take the money from my hoodie.” Then I corrected myself. “Your hoodie. But just the money. The shirt’s mine now.”
When he laughed, his chest rumbled with a rich purr. It was like being brushed by velvet. My teeth started to chatter, and the muscles in my legs and arms spasmed with a whole-body tremor.
He said something, but I only heard his voice, not his words. More proof that I trusted him without meaning to. I didn’t even care what he said, just that he was talking.
My eyes drooped as I battled the lure of sleep.
“Please, hero,” I implored, slipping my hand beneath his jacket, the softness of his shirt and the body heat emanating through it pure bliss.
“No doctors,” I spoke softly before pitifully losing the battle and passing out for the second time in his arms.