Chapter Seven
MATO
“DON’T BOTHER. I don’t care.”
Those words are like a knife slashing through my chest every time I replay them in my head, and they’ve been playing like a broken record every day this week. I knew she would be mad at me, but I didn’t expect the level of anger, bordering on hatred, I saw in her eyes.
Resting my elbow on the door next to the window, I cup my chin as I wait for the traffic light to turn green while listening to the annoying blinker clicking on the dash. The incessant fucking clicking is reminiscent of the blade piercing my heart every time I replay her words in my head.
After ten years, I wrongly assumed she might think of me, at worst, as just a fling from her past. I never thought of her that way, she has always been the love I lost, the only woman I have ever felt genuine love for, and the regret I feel for leaving her has hung over my head like a fucking storm cloud since the day I walked away.
She fucking hates me.
Mr. Harlow said they have family dinner on Sundays, and he asked me to be there. I’ll fucking be there. She’s going to see me every chance I get to be close to her, and she’s eventually going to talk to me.
It kills me to think it, but even if we do end up being just friends, it’s better than knowing she’s out there in the world despising my very existence.
It’s still early, the sky is mostly gray with a pink tinge from the sun hedging the eastern edge. There’s not a lot of traffic yet, but steam floats and curls in the air from the muffler pipes of the cars around me. My weather app said it’s down to forty degrees this morning.
Turning the last corner to the gym, I can see from a block away that the door on the side of the building, next to the bay door, is open. Parking half a block away, I crouch and run up to the side of the building, listening to see if they are still inside.
The flimsy residential doorknob I haven’t replaced yet is lying on the ground, the screws that go to it lying next to it. Did someone take apart the doorknob to get in?
The realtor warned me I would need to install a security system because of the area I’m in, but I haven’t had time to look at systems yet. With my back to the wall, I creep up to the open door and look around the edge, but I don’t see anyone.
Just as I think they’ve already left, I hear something fall inside and I press my back against the wall. Crouching low, I dart through the open door into the shadow on the other side and wait for my eyes to adjust to the dark.
There is the rustling of movement toward the back where a delivery of mats and bags was stacked yesterday, but the person is hidden behind the tall boxes. Slowly creeping up behind stacks that are as tall as me, my heart slows to a calm pace as I prepare for my next move, and I peek between them.
It’s hard to see, but the dim light coming through the skylights is slowly filling in the shadows. Bending my knees, I keep my weight on the balls of my feet as I move from box to box, looking through the cracks.
Something else falls on the floor, and a whispered, “Damn it!” in a voice that sounds distinctly juvenile reaches my ears.
Dropping my shoulders and standing up straight, I walk all the way around to get a good look at the four and a half foot thief with a tiny flashlight while he rifles through a box of gloves and sparring protection.
He looks about ten, and his black hair is shaggy down to his shoulders.
Too-big jeans are folded over in the back, peeking out from under a stretched-out sweatshirt bottom that’s too short at the waist. A big toe peeks out from a hole in his high-top shoe, and I wonder if he is without socks or if there are holes in them, too.
Blocking the exit from the stacks of boxes, which are making a closed-off square with only one way in and out, I cross my arms over my chest as I watch him. “There’s not much of a black market demand for mouth guards and shin pads.”
He fumbles his flashlight when he jumps, and it bounces from hand to hand as he tries to keep from dropping it.
His eyes fly to me when he fails, and it tumbles to the floor, shining across his tattered shoes onto a ratty backpack and a box of protein bars I bought to have here when I’m working.
Fear and something else are in his eyes as he presses his back against one of the big boxes.
Judging by how slim he is and the bones of his wrists jutting out from under his too-short sleeves, I’m assuming the poor kid is hungry. Our eyes lock for several long moments before I ask, “What would you do with that stuff if you’d walked out of here with it?”
His dark eyes never leave mine as he lifts his chin in defiance. There it is, the kid’s got guts for such a small body, probably something he’s learned out of necessity.
“Why? You gonna call the cops?”
Tipping my head, I say, “Not yet.”
His eyes narrow slightly in distrust, but he doesn’t move.
Pointing at my box of protein bars, I lean against the box next to me. “Are you hungry or just a dumb thief?”
His eyes narrow even more, and he presses his lips together in a tight line. He’s definitely got guts, the kind of guts a normal ten-year-old doesn’t get from a safe and loving family life.
“You know how to use a broom?”
“Why?”
Tipping my head in the direction of the side door, I say, “You broke my door. If you come in here a couple of days and clean up a little, we’ll call it even.”
“It’s not broken; I can put it back together.”
Smart kid. I tip one side of my lips up. “I don’t remember giving permission.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I call the cops.”
His eyes move over the boxes and then behind me, scanning the warehouse as he considers what I said. “I have to go to school.”
I shrug my shoulders. “After school, then. How about four o’clock?”
More light is filtering in from the early morning sun shining through the skylights, exposing his Native American features. His alert, dark eyes are distrustful, set in a sharp, too-thin face. “If you let me keep the bars, I’ll come in every day next week.”
I bought the super-size box just the other day, so only a couple have been taken out.
Something tells me the kid is bartering for his dinner, and he thinks he’s getting a good deal.
An idea forms, but I’ll need to see if he even comes back next week.
Today’s Friday and he’ll probably decide to stand me up before the weekend is through.
“Okay, take the bars and I’ll see you after school.”
He’s still for several moments before he slowly reaches down and grabs his bookbag, the flashlight, and the bars, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. Swinging the bag over his shoulder, he hugs the box of protein bars to his chest like he’s found gold.
Taking a step back, giving him room to go past me, he moves slow at first, but takes off like a shot once he gets out of arm’s reach.