After Hours (InterMix)

chapter Twelve


I ran into Kelly in the mid-afternoon in the S3 break room. He was eating an apple and watching a golf tournament on the tiny TV in the corner—surely someone else’s selection he was too lazy to change. He turned as I entered and offered the barest flicker of a smile.

“Hey, Kelly.”

“Hey, yourself.”

I bought an orange pop from the machine and sat on the other side of the table. I needed the sugar, badly. The afternoon had been a mess—nothing that required any restraining or sedation, but it seemed like everybody’s psychoses were keyed up and eager to clash. Maybe from the gloomy weather.

“It’s not a full moon, is it?” I asked, pressing the cold can to my temple.

“Feels like it. Everybody’s voices are screaming extra loud today.”

After a few minutes of impersonal pleasantries, Kelly got up. I figured he was leaving, but he headed for the vending machine. When he sat back down, he faced me, instead of the TV.

“Wasn’t expecting to find you sitting in on that admission,” he said, cracking open his cola.

“Me neither. I didn’t know I was ’til I saw it on the duties board.”

“How was it for you?”

“It was . . . interesting. I’ve never gotten to see that before. Plus the part afterward, listening in on a psychiatrist explaining how they come up with the treatment plan they do. It sounds naive, but I didn’t think there’d be so much guesswork. I mean, I’m sure they know their stuff, but at the end of the day, it’s just taking a best stab, or holding off until there’s a better set of clues to go by.”

“Mental illness is messy. Can’t check an X-ray and pin it down like a broken bone.”

“I know. It was just interesting. Demystifying. And I like Dr. Morris now. He always seemed kind of brusque and snarky in hand-off, but he’s actually pretty cool.”

Something changed in Kelly’s expression. Was I dreaming, or was that jealousy passing over his unreadable face? I had to make a decision. Stroke his ego and downplay how impressed I was by Dr. Morris, or let him suffer the knowledge that I could be wowed by more than a potent attraction and a big dick. Not much of a contest.

“He’s good,” I finished casually. “I can see why he’s the head of the department.”

“He’s not perfect. No doctor is.”

“I know that.”

With a nasal huff, Kelly’s expression went back to its usual neutral state. “But he’s good. You’re right. He’s been real good with Don.”

I softened at his concession. “So have you.”

Kelly shrugged, taking a deep drink.

“Dr. Morris told me I should think about psychiatry.”

“Probably wise,” Kelly agreed, deadpan. “You can use all the help you can get.”

I shot him a snotty look. “Ah ha ha ha. He said he’d write me a letter of recommendation. Like, if I ever applied to premed, I think he meant.”

Kelly’s gaze wandered to the window as he sipped his pop. “Did he, then.”

There was something mean-spirited in his tone. At worst he was implying it was a ridiculous notion, my being a doctor. At best . . . He couldn’t actually be jealous, could he? Kelly Robak, so above everyone’s bullshit, jealous of a middle-aged doctor who’d deigned to compliment a new staffer? Would wonders never cease? Plus if that were the case, what on earth did it mean for any future sex Kelly and I had? He was a force already. Jealousy might turn him full-on, foaming rabid.

“So, yeah. Though it’s not like I’ve got a spare hundred grand lying around to go, even if I wanted to.”

His gray eyes stayed pinned to the outside, lit up like icicles by the belated afternoon sun. “Do you want to?”

“I dunno. It’s a pretty expensive gamble to take.” But damn if I wasn’t proud to have been told I should consider stepping up to the high-stakes table. Before now, everyone in my life had been dazzled that I’d earned any kind of useful qualification, that I’d landed a salaried job with benefits. Not because I was dumb or anything, just because that sort of achievement didn’t happen for people in my family. Amber’s graduation from beauty school had been a major event. As far as that crowd was concerned, my scrubs practically deemed me a brain surgeon.

The senior weekend nurse entered the break room then, and though we didn’t look suspicious in the least, I sat up rod-straight.

“Afternoon Erin, Kelly. How’s Saturday treating the two of you?” she asked, perusing the vending machine.

“Fine,” Kelly said, “except somebody must’ve spiked the water cooler with extra crazy juice.”

She rolled her eyes with commiseration, not bothering to correct his casual use of crazy, as she might have if she’d had the energy. “Tell me about it. You both off tomorrow?”

We nodded.

“Any good plans?”

I glanced at Kelly, and he glanced at me.

“Nothing I know of,” Kelly said, staring me in the eyes.

A dark little part of me was pleased to say, “I’m spending the day with my sister and nephew. We’re going to a farm with a legendary hay-bale maze.” And no Marco. Though I wouldn’t mind a bit if he came along and wound up lost in the maze, never to be found again.

“Oh, how old is your nephew?”

“Almost three.”

We went off on a tangent about what the most adorable ages were for boys versus girls, and Kelly finished his pop and excused himself to get back to the ward. I watched him go, proud in a petty way that I was busy all day Sunday, and now he knew it. That what we’d done was fun, but I wouldn’t be spending my free time mooning in my room, wishing he’d call to validate my existence with another invitation to screw all over his house.

The only trouble with this strategy, I realized, was that it sounded depressingly like some tactic you’d read in The Rules.

* * *

My day off passed too quickly. The farm was fun—with the exception of Jack having a meltdown when a llama spat on his new jacket—and we had an impromptu picnic dinner in Amber’s front yard.

I thought about Kelly as little as I could manage, knowing if my mind started wandering, the infatuation would return in a blink, and my resolve for us to go back to simply being coworkers would be gone just as fast.

Come Monday morning hand-off, it felt almost as if we’d never slept together. The sensation should have pleased me. After all, that was exactly what I wanted, in my rational brain. Why on earth should it be disappointment filling me, right where I’d expected the relief to be?

I stole glances at him, trying to remember how that cool, calm face had looked looming above mine. How that level voice had sounded. How those battered arms had held me through the night. I could recall those things, but with only dreamlike fidelity. That made me sadder than I’d ever have guessed.

I saw Lee Paleckas on the ward for the first time that morning, bright and early, for breakfast meds. He wasn’t on the roster—Dr. Morris would be supervising his pharma regimen personally for the first week or two—but I offered a smile as he eyed me through the booth’s window. I thought maybe he returned it, sort of a grudging twitch of his lip, but for all I knew, it was a side-effect tic.

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that I got a chance to talk to him. I was done with post-lunch meds, free to mingle with the patients during their short free period between sessions. I found Lee staring out the rec room window and walked over.

“Hi, Lee.”

He turned and offered a guarded assessment. “Hey.”

“How are you finding everything so far?”

“It f*cking sucks,” he said, with a sneer like he might hawk a loogie, but thankfully didn’t. There was more lucidity in his eyes today, and his color was better.

“I hope it won’t suck for too long. You play cards at all?”

“You let us play cards? Didn’t know we were allowed to do jack-shit on our own time except veg out to the f*cking soaps.” He jerked his thumb at the TV.

“Until somebody comes up with a way to assault themselves or someone else with a worn-out pack of Hoyles, yes, cards are allowed. You want a game? I’ve got nothing to do for the next half hour.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

As we walked to the games shelf I said, “That wasn’t a challenge, incidentally. I’m not looking to be proven wrong about cards making lousy weapons.” I kept all the suspicion out of my tone, and it earned me the faintest shadow of a smile.

“Poker?” he asked. “That’s the only kind of cards worth playing.”

If I’d had the time, I would’ve consulted with Dr. Morris and found out if Lee had any known issues with gambling. We weren’t playing for money, but still. At the moment, though, my primary concern was getting him to engage, so I took a gamble myself. “Sure. Five-card draw? That’s all I know.”

“We got anything to bet with?”

I scanned the shelf and grabbed the checkers box.

“Red can be one dollar, and black can be five.” We sat at a free table and Lee shuffled while I divided the checkers between us. Kelly passed by, smooth and silent as a trolling shark.

Lee dealt. “You’re a lot nicer than the other nurses.”

“I’m new. Give it a week,” I said with a smile, stealing Dennis’s line.

“Well, you’re still miles nicer than that Jenny bitch.”

My professional coat slid over my shoulders with ease, no reactionary bits of me tempted to take his bait and get defensive. Clearly I saved those lapses in self-control for real grade-A douchebags like Marco. “It’s not any of our jobs to be nice, sadly, not unless being nice explicitly helps your treatment.”

“Can’t hurt,” Lee said, dealing the cards.

“No, happily you’re right. What’s wild?”

Lee snorted, shooting me this funny little coy glance with his face cast down, a taste of how charming this guy might’ve been, if his life weren’t so terribly complicated. “Wild cards are for babies and pussies.”

“Fine,” I said, arranging my hand then setting a red checker between us. “Ante.”

Lee did the same. “And maybe she’s not such a bitch, that Jenny chick. I was giving her a hard time.”

“She’s used to it.”

“I’m not giving you a hard time, though. ’Cause you’re pretty.”

I gave him a cool look. Nothing about the comment came off as skeezy, but I wouldn’t be setting any permissive precedents with patients where attractiveness was concerned. “It’s not my job to be pretty, either. If you give me any reason to suspect my appearance is becoming a distraction to your treatment, I will arrange for our paths not to cross.”

Lee laughed silently, shaking his head at his cards. “So you’re a bitch, too.”

“When it suits me,” I said, and plunked two red checkers beside the antes. “When it benefits your—”

“Yeah, my f*cking treatment,” he finished for me, still grinning. “I got it.”

After a few hands, I was up eight facsimile bucks and Lee asked, “Where’d you learn to play poker?”

“One of my mom’s old boyfriends,” I said, stacking my ante on his.

“One of ’em? She go through a bunch?”

My stomach soured with misgiving, but I’d see where this topic took us, since it had him communicating. “Yeah, you could say that.”

After a heavy pause, Lee said, “Mine, too. New dude every f*cking month, it seemed like.”

“It’s not easy, is it?”

“Did . . . Any of your mom’s boyfriends. Did they ever . . . you know. Try to f*ck with you?” Lee murmured. I looked him dead in the eyes, to see if he was fishing for titillation. But his stare didn’t chill my blood—it broke my heart. That stare said, If they did, I understand.

“No,” I told him. “They didn’t.”

“That’s good,” he said, avoiding my gaze.

“Happens to lots of kids, though.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hear it does.” His hands were shaking, ever so slightly, lips pursed to a thin, bloodless line.

After a few quiet hands, I took a chance. Knowing Lee might very well blow up at me for what I was about to say, I caught Kelly’s eye across the room, and raised my brows to beam him a warning, just in case. He gave a single nod.

“You know,” I said quietly to Lee, “if there’s ever anything you need to get out of you, any shit that’s weighing you down, you can always talk to Dr. Morris. About any baggage you might have, from your childhood.” I held my breath, every muscle on a hair trigger.

He stared at me a few seconds. “I could talk to you instead, maybe. You’re easy to talk to.”

“I’m not your doctor, though. That’s not really my place. But Dr. Morris, he’s here. And he’s heard everything under the sun, I promise.”

Lee cracked a shy smile. “He’s not pretty like you.”

“I’ll tell him to work on that.”

With no crisis imminent, I beamed Kelly another message when Lee was busy shuffling. It’s cool. As you were.

“How have your voices been?” I asked. “Since you came through the ER?”

“Jesus. I thought we were just playing cards here.”

“We are. But it’s my job to be nosy. How are your voices?”

“They’re fine, since the meds kicked in. And since some of my DIY prescriptions wore off.”

“Good.”

He was about to replace my discards, but froze with the deck between us. “How long d’you think I’m stuck here? Like, for real?”

“It’s too soon to say.”

He released my cards and exchanged a pair of his own. “Figures.”

“But I think you’re one of the most self-aware patients I’ve encountered, so far.” It was the truth, though I didn’t bother telling him exactly how new I was. “If we find you the right meds and you can stick to them, I think you could be headed to an outpatient program sooner than most. But those are big ifs.”

“What’s self-aware mean?”

“It means that at the best of times, you can see your symptoms for what they are. You seem like you’re able to step back from yourself, and examine what you’re feeling, and what your voices might be telling you.”

“And that’s good, for somebody like me?”

I smiled. “That’s good for anybody. That’s the difference between someone who can turn the other cheek and walk away from a pointless fight, and one who’ll lose their shit and wind up hurting someone, or go to jail. Someone who’s circumspect, and can look at their emotions and urges with detachment, not somebody who’s a slave to their impulses.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit. I been in lots of fights. Over real stupid shit.”

I exchanged three cards. “I know you were self-aware enough to seek substance abuse treatment. That means, at least sometimes, your brain knows what’s best for you, and has the strength to shout louder than your addictions or your disorder.”

“I never finished none of those programs, though.”

“Lots of people don’t. Lots of people who aren’t dealing with possibly being medicated for the wrong disorder.”

“That’s just an excuse.”

I shrugged, laying my full house down to trump Lee’s three of a kind, and collected my winnings. “Not an excuse, just a factor.”

“Like I said—too much credit.”

“Until somebody gives me reason to think that encouraging you is detrimental to your treatment, you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“I’m not real used to getting the whatcha-call-it. The benefit of whatever.”

“The benefit of the doubt?”

“Yeah,” he said, tossing all the cards in a heap and seeming done with losing for the time being.

“Well, I don’t see how anybody can be expected to get back on their feet, if people keep kicking them when they try to stand up.”

“I guess. But people must f*cking love kicking, considering all the boot marks I got on my ass.”

“Sadly, I think you’re right. Some people do get off on kicking.”

“Thanks for the game, Nurse Downer,” Lee said, pretending—rather poorly—to find my wisdom depressing. He was welcome to the act, if it made him feel safer.

“I prefer Ms. Coffey,” I said, standing when he did. “But anytime you want a game, I’m happy to whup your butt.”

He responded with an eye roll and a “Whatever,” but I knew I had him.

* * *

If part of me was secretly wishing Kelly might initiate another encounter, then I was secretly disappointed.

No catching me after sign-out, no turning up at my bedroom door. No calls. No nothing by the time my next pseudo-weekend arrived after Tuesday’s shift. Not that I had the time. I was babysitting Jack most of the day on Wednesday, and Thursday was for chores—an overdue trip to the grocery store, maybe call some apartment listings and work on moving away from campus. Though I was procrastinating that latter task.

I needed to ask Kelly which neighborhoods to avoid in Darren, and I’d rather do that casually, during lunch on the ward. A phone call seemed too . . . personal. Ridiculous, when what we’d done on his couch and floor and bed had been pretty f*cking personal. But calling him . . . That seemed too familiar, now that we’d sunk so thoroughly back into professional mode. Too normal, when I didn’t want Kelly to become a normal thing. He was what he was, and what had happened had been transcendent. I’d probably even mess up and let him seduce me again, if he hadn’t lost interest. But I would not put myself in a position to start thinking about him like a potential boyfriend.

What we’d had for those two days had left me pretty self-satisfied, the secret wrapped around my shoulders like an invisible mink. Add to that my progress with Lee, plus two perfectly instinctual, by-the-book emergency sedations, and I was feeling damn-near confident. Damn near like I knew who I was, and trusted that I could survive the jungle I’d parachuted into.

I got to Amber’s early on Wednesday, wanting to take her up on an offer to cut my hair before she left to go do more of the same, at work.

She settled Jack on the floor with his trucks and got me ready at the kitchen table, draping a towel around my shoulders. As she finger-combed my hair, I marveled at how gentle it felt, after Kelly’s fists. The entire world seemed softer. Even the ward’s linoleum had looked cool and soothing after the burn of Kelly’s carpet.

“Girl,” Amber said, scrunching my curls, “you are so overdue for this.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What do you want? Anything special?”

“Nah.”

“Something short and trendy?”

“Like our toddler hair stays styled for more than five seconds.”

“True. Something more romantic? I hear hockey fans can’t resist a girl with a mullet.”

I snorted. “Just whatever. Just as long as I can still put it in a ponytail.”

Amber evened out the layers and did that thing with a round brush and a hairdryer I envied. Normal women don’t stand a chance when they leave a salon.

“Thanks,” I called, preening before the bathroom mirror. “Looks great.”

“I gotta take off,” Amber said, leaning in the doorway. “But before I go, I gotta know. Who is he?”

I whipped my head to the side. “Pardon?”

She laughed. “Oh yeah, busted. You only ever say pardon when you’re being extra proper. Overcompensating.”

“Why do you think I met a guy?”

“Because you’re . . . I dunno. You’re all different. You’re even walking like you got laid.”

F*ck a woman so hard she wakes up half-crippled. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “All slinky.”

I brushed past her, heading down the hall. “Well, I’m not seeing anybody, so you’re hallucinating.”

“Uh-huh.”

I snatched her keys off the kitchen counter and tossed them at her. “Don’t make yourself late.”

Amber shouldered her purse and kissed Jack good-bye. “I will find out,” she warned me with an accusing finger. “I’ll be back a little after five. Oh and don’t let him pick at that hole in the couch. I can’t keep his frigging fingers out of there.”

I rolled my eyes at the soft cuss and waved good-bye.

If only this Amber were here all the time. Fun Amber, harried but generally responsible Amber. My mischievous baby sister. But the second Marco or whoever the next Marco might be rolled up in his stupid truck or SUV or on a motorcycle . . . poof. Self-destruct Amber, come on down!

Though for now, things were peaceful. Jack was behaving, which meant life must have been pretty uneventful of late. When Marco was coming and going, Jack got way less of Amber’s attention, and you could tell from the way he acted out. But our day was nearly crisis free, the only incident being when a particularly large ant ran across Jack’s ankle and scared the bejesus out of him.

Kids aren’t so bad, really, I thought, kissing his hair as he sat sleeping on my lap, conked halfway through a DVD. I’d spent so long assuming I didn’t want any, having felt cheated of my childhood, raising Amber, then giving up my carefree college years to care for my grandma. I’d grown convinced I didn’t have the energy to make that serious a commitment again . . . But Jack did weird stuff to me. Made me think maybe I had more capacity to love than I’d let myself believe. Or maybe the responsibility just didn’t intimidate me so much lately, after the kind of babysitting I’d been doing at Larkhaven.

Amber got home early with bags of fast food in tow, enough for the three of us. While she gathered plates and glasses, I noticed another bag she’d left by the wall, heart sinking to discover it held a twelve-pack of beer. Marco’s beer.

Like you’re even surprised?

“Marco coming over?” I asked, in that incriminatingly casual tone Amber would have no trouble seeing right through.

“What? No.” And I could see right through her, too.

“You bought his brand,” I said, nudging the bag with my toe.

“It’s my brand, too.”

I shot her a look that said I wasn’t fooled, then dropped it. It’d been a good day. A fight-free day. Far be it from me to wreck that.

At six thirty I got my jacket on and kissed Jack night-night.

“Thanks again for the cut,” I told Amber. “And dinner.”

“Oh, shush. Thanks for giving up your day off for me.”

“It was fun. Really.”

“I hope it’s not my fault there’s some sad man out there someplace, all alone when—”

“God, stop it. I’m not seeing anybody.”

“Yuh-huh.”

I backed my way out the door, eager to escape her interrogation. “I’ll see you both soon, I’m sure.”

Dropping into the driver’s seat, I felt unexpectedly energized. Maybe I’d grab groceries now, instead of the next morning. I liked being in the grocery store at night. That was when my mom had done her shopping, after dinner, and when I was little it had made me feel special, riding in the cart with us face-to-face—well, face to bosom, anyhow—and getting her all to myself for a rare half hour.

I stuck the key in the ignition and turned.

A-rr-rr-rr-rr-rrr.

“Oh come on.”

A-rr-rr-rr. Thump thump.

“No, no no no.” I stroked the wheel beseechingly, but the Tempo wasn’t soothed. The fifth time I tried to turn the engine over, something made a scary grinding noise and I yanked the key out. “Motherf*ck.” I rested my head on the wheel, took a deep breath, and calmed down.

For the first time in my life, I could afford whatever repairs were needed. And I wasn’t due anyplace for thirty-six hours. If this had to happen, now was the best possible time.

Still, I didn’t have AAA and I doubted a garage would be able to have me running again tonight, not by the time I managed to get to one. Plus a tow would cost me a chunk, and maybe the thing only needed something cheap. A jump, or a spark plug—I was thoroughly clueless about cars. There was an obvious answer to the problem. A big, muscly answer, about six feet and four inches’ worth of obvious.

I sighed. At least we had the same schedule. Unless he was out wooing some other woman, Kelly would probably be perfectly happy to come rescue me. After all, it was number one on his tablet of man-commandments, those things guys were supposed to be able to do for their women. He’d already grilled me a steak. He’d f*cked me half-crippled. Check the car thing off the list and I was in serious danger of fulfilling his macho prophecy.

The notion made me weary, but I dug in my purse for my phone and scrolled to his number. My heart migrated north, like an Adam’s apple thumping in my throat as I listened to the tone.

“C’mon, Kel . . .”

After three rings, “Booty call?”

I had to laugh. And I had to admit to myself, I was relieved he wasn’t off boning another girl when I needed him. “I have a favor to ask. A really annoying one.”

“That’s my favorite kind. Shoot.”

“My car won’t start. I’m at my sister’s in North Woodley.”

I heard him grunt softly, like he was getting to his feet. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Any chance you know anything about the engines of late-model Tempos?”

“I may. And if I’m lying, I’ll bring a tow bar. Two-wheel drive?”

“Yeah.”

“Manual?”

“Yes. And thank you.”

Keys jingled in the background. “Address?”

I dictated it.

“On my way.” He hung up before I could say good-bye.

I went back inside, finding Jack rolling his dump truck back and forth along the sofa cushions. Amber was crouched in front of the fridge, stacking beers in the crisper.

She glanced up. “Forget something?”

I shed my jacket and dropped my bag on the counter. “No, my car won’t start.”

“Oh damn. Need the Yellow Pages?”

“No, I called a friend. He’ll be here in an hour. If he can’t fix it, he can at least tow it out of your driveway and drop me home.”

“That’s an awful handy friend to have. Who is this guy?” She drew out the guy, batting her eyelashes wildly.

“He’s my coworker—an orderly from my ward. We’ve hung out a few times after work.”

She shut the fridge door. “What’s an orderly, exactly?”

“They do all the butch stuff. Restraining patients, lifting heavy equipment, escorting people. Just sort of be there, in case something needs doing.”

“Like a bouncer?”

“Pretty much.” Bouncer, orderly, prison guard. Whatever kept Kelly on top in a power struggle against dangerous men.

Amber made a face. “An hour, huh?”

“Yeah.”

She looked to the microwave clock and nodded. “I gotta bathe Jack, but afterward you want a beer? Watch some bad TV?”

“Sure. But let me deal with bath duty. You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Best sister ever,” Amber declared, and disappeared down the hall to change.

I wound up opting for a pop, but it was nice, sitting on Amber’s couch with Jack in his PJs between us, making fun of the people on a reality show. Reminded me of all the nights I’d spent babysitting Amber when I was a teenager. Hell, when I was eight. It made me want to drape my arm around her shoulders or stroke her hair, but those days were long gone. She was twenty-three, not five, drinking a beer instead of Hawaiian Punch. She was a mother herself now. A real mom. And my years spent raising her felt diluted by that distinction.

I glanced up at the sound of a vehicle approaching then going silent.

Amber was on her feet, jogging to the front window. “Blue truck?”

“Boo truck!” Jack said, rattling his own such plastic vehicle in the air. “This is my boo truck!”

“Yes it is,” I confirmed, smoothing Jack’s hair as I stood. I grabbed my keys and met Kelly as he was striding up the driveway. “Hey! Thank you.”

He shrugged, eyeing my car. “What’s it doing?”

“Nothing, sadly. I turned the key and it went ruhhr, ruhhr, ruhhr, then it made a worse noise, like a grinding squeal.”

“Get in and try to start it.”

But before I could—

“Hey,” Amber called from the steps, waving for us to come inside.

Oh Lordy. Did I really want Kelly meeting her and Jack? It felt too personal. But then that thought made me feel like a guy, all leery and compartmentalizing.

Kelly looked to me and I nodded, knowing it was way too rude to refuse. We headed for the house.

“I’m Amber,” she said as we reached the steps. She was using a toned-down version of the annoying, helpless-little-girl voice she employed when flirting. Find me adorable! it said, like our apple-cheeked faces didn’t scream the message loud enough. Protect me, you big, strong, capable man!

“I’m Kelly. Nice to meet you.” They shook, Amber’s hand gulped by Kelly’s giant paw.

“And that’s my nephew Jack,” I said, nodding across the room to where his huge eyes blinked at the stranger.

Kelly waved. “Nice truck. Mine’s blue, too.”

“This is my boo truck,” Jack said, then went back to playing, apparently satisfied by Kelly’s vehicular credentials.

“Awful nice of you to come out and fix my sister’s car.” Amber was doing that other thing that annoyed me, developing a mild Southern accent, the auditory equivalent of parasol twirling. Unseen, I rolled my eyes.

“You thirsty?”

Kelly shook his head.

“Need anything?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“Well alrighty,” Southern Amber said, sounding disappointed. “I’ll let you get to work, then. Come in and get cleaned up when you’re done.”

Back outside, Kelly opened my hood and we dicked around for at least twenty minutes, with no luck.

“I can’t fix this. Not without getting underneath it, and a jack’s not going to cut it.”

“Shit.”

“But I brought a bar. I can tow you. Your hair looks nice, by the way.”

I suppressed a reflexive urge to preen. “Thanks. Can you recommend a garage near work?”

“Not really. But give me ’til tomorrow or Friday and I can probably fix you up.”

My stomach sank. I didn’t want to be beholden to Kelly for this. Having to call him in the first place was disempowering enough. Dependent enough.

“You don’t have to. Maybe there’s a cheap place in Darren that could do it.”

“Just let me,” Kelly said, leveling me with his stare.

“Okay, fine. But not for free or anything.”

“For the cost of parts, if you need any.”

“And labor.”

Kelly wiped his hands on a rag, real slow and thorough, with his eyes narrowed. “Pay me in some other way, if you want.”

My inner fuse lit in an instant, and it was a short one. It always became shorter when I was near Amber. Like whatever impulsive chemicals we’d inherited from Mom surged when we got close. It must have shown on my face, as Kelly spoke before I could berate him for basically inviting me to prostitute myself for automotive favors.

“Whoa now, crazy-eyes. Chill. I’m only trying to flirt. Not subjugate some vulnerable woman who can’t pay her f*cking mechanic.”

It pinched the flame off, right before I exploded. My shoulders slumped and I abandoned my outrage. “I’m paying you in money.”

“Fine.”

“Including labor.”

“I said fine.”

Why was I acting like such a douche about it, when Kelly was probably just trying to be chivalrous?

Because he was behaving like a boyfriend about the situation, I realized. And I couldn’t start thinking about him that way. I couldn’t let things start feeling that way, because . . .

Because why not?

“Hop inside and put it in neutral. You steer and I’ll push. We gotta move you down to the road so I can get at your front bumper.”

It took a while, but we managed to get the car onto the edge of the street, and Kelly backed his truck in front of it.

He started pulling tools out of his bed. I watched his arms flex in the waning daylight, all covered in bruises and scars and black grease. Did I like him, like him? Probably. Was being with him, romantically, really such a terrible idea . . . ?

I didn’t have the first f*cking clue.

He was a good guy, but he put me on edge all the time. Made it so I couldn’t relax, always monitoring myself to make sure I was sticking to my guns, retaining my independence.

But the sex was f*cking insane.

But, he needed way too much control, and so did I. If we wound up in a relationship, it’d be an endless power struggle.

But the sex was f*cking insane.

I shook my head. What a dumb thing to even be debating. For all I knew, Kelly had absolutely no interest in me, outside of some f*ck-buddy arrangement. Which was possible. Probable.

Did f*ck buddies drive two hours roundtrip to tow their lays’ cars? Seemed a bit beyond the call of duty—

Then I heard a noise that pulled me straight out of my internal argument and dropped my heart into my gut. The distant thump of car-stereo bass. And a glance confirmed my worst fears—a shiny red truck turning the corner, with Marco’s stupid meaty forearm flopped out the driver’s side window.

So Kelly had grilled me a steak, laid me soundly, rescued me from my automotive woes. That left exactly one box to check off his manly to-do list before he had the set.

“F*ck me,” I whispered. Let the dogfight begin.

Kelly glanced up at the noise.

“Don’t talk to that guy,” I told him, and rushed up the lawn and into the house, screen door slapping at my back.

“Amber!”

She was untwisting one of Jack’s socks on the couch. “What?”

“Marco’s here. And you better get him to turn around and leave. Kelly knows he’s the reason I showed up at work with a black eye and I doubt he’s going to be subtle about it.”

She sighed, clearly more annoyed by my barking than the situation. “Shit.”

“Don’t swear.”

“I asked him to come, but not this early.”

I blinked at her, but could I really act so shocked? The beer had told me everything I’d needed to know. “Dear God, why?”

“I dunno. He’s been sweet lately. He said he wants to reconcile.”

“Honey.” I stared at her squarely. “Don’t.”

“Don’t,” Jack echoed, eyes on the TV.

“I don’t know what I want. But he’s so much nicer when he’s trying to win me back.”

“That’s charming. And so sustainable, when it means you have to have been fighting, first.”

Amber made a puppet of her hand, miming blah blah blah blah.

Through the window, I watched as Marco exited his truck across the street and slammed the door.

“The fact that he thinks you’re a possession that can be won—”

She swept past me with Jack in her arms. “Give it a rest, Erin. Jesus.”

“Jeezes!”

I brought up the rear in the confrontation parade, marching down the patchy lawn. Marco spotted us as he was striding toward the front door, and gave a stiff wave. He could play nice all he wanted, but no way was I forgetting that the last time I saw him, we’d both driven away bleeding.

He cast Kelly and the vehicular activities a glance over his shoulder, looking shifty as he faced forward. Kelly’s cold eyes went to Marco’s back, then my face. There was no question in that stare. He already knew the answer. Yup, that’s the guy.

Amber was wise enough to greet Marco with her skinny arms still full of Jack, not welcoming a hug.

“Hey,” he said to her, then tossed another wave in my direction.

“Hey.” Amber leaned forward stiffly so he could peck her cheek. Clearly, she liked this cold-shoulder-versus-penitent-boyfriend shtick. F*cking foreplay.

“How’s my boy?” Marco touched Jack’s hair, the hair I’d so lovingly shampooed, and I fought off an urge to slap his hand away.

“He’s been pretty good today. Right?” Amber cooed at Jack. “You’ve been real good for your auntie Erin?”

Jack excitedly began recounting the incident with the monster ant, but Marco wasn’t listening.

“Cool. So . . .” He glanced behind him, to the action blocking the driveway.

“My car won’t start,” I said.

“Why’d you let her call a mechanic?” Marco asked Amber. “I coulda took a look at it.”

“It’s fine.” Never in a zillion years would I put myself in a position to have to say thank-you to Marco. I’d sooner paper cut my eye. Maybe the same eye I bruised, getting pushed into the car he was now so graciously offering to fix.

“That’s not a mechanic,” Amber said, in a voice I didn’t trust one bit. Even in reconciliation mode, she couldn’t resist taking a shot. She was winding up, and the pitch wouldn’t be far behind.

“If he ain’t a mechanic, who is he?”

“That’s Kelly,” she said, way too sweetly, with her head cocked just so.

I watched Marco frown, Amber’s curve ball whizzing past his thick, predictable skull.

“He’s my coworker,” I interjected. And no, Amber’s not f*cking him.

But I am.

“Oh. Okay. You gonna invite me in or what? Work was f*cking exhausting.”

“You’ve got to quit using that word in front—”

Marco plowed right over my nagging. “I need a f*cking beer.”

“Yeah, fine.” Amber sighed, and turned to lead Marco into the house. I sighed, too, silently, with relief.

I wandered back down the driveway to Kelly. He’d installed a wishbone-shaped thing to his truck’s hitch, and was crouching with a jack now, lining the prongs up with the front of my car.

“You work quick. Everything—”

“That’s him, huh?” Kelly didn’t look up from his chore, just hoisted my car another inch with each crank on the jack’s lever. When I didn’t answer, he jerked his chin up and stared me dead in the face. “That’s him? The one who gave you a black eye?”

I shook my head. “Don’t.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Kelly, please. Don’t. It’s not your business.”

His eyebrow twitched, telling me he did in fact think it was his business, but then he went back to the task at hand.

I leaned against his truck. “I’m asking you as a favor, please don’t make a thing of it.”

He finished with the jack and brushed past me to dump it in his bed, pulling out a mess of wires. “Why don’t you tell that guy to come outside, so I can have a word with him?”

My arms locked across my chest reflexively. “I’m not doing that.”

And Kelly said nothing for the next ten minutes while he ran cords between the two vehicles and tested my blinkers and brake lights. It was eating me up, not knowing what he was going to do.

“We’re just about set here.” He wiped his hands on a clean rag, then tossed it in the bed. “Lemme just take care of that other issue, then I’ll get you home.” He headed for the house.

“Kelly, don’t. Seriously—don’t.” I grabbed his forearm, but he twisted loose with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“Kelly. Please.”

He just kept striding, pulled the door open and held it long enough for me to precede him inside.

Jack was playing on the floor, and Amber and Marco were sitting on the couch with beers, watching something noisy on the television. Marco had shitty hearing from working on road crews, and I hated how he blasted everything and said, “Huh?” all the time. I hated lots of things about him.

“How’s the car coming along?” Amber asked. Marco kept his eyes on the screen. It was embarrassingly obvious how little he relished being only the second-biggest man in a given room.

“Car’s just about ready,” Kelly said. “But I need a word with your man here. Outside.”

Marco’s head jerked up. “Word about what?”

“Word about that black eye you gave my friend the other week.”

Marco got to his feet and set his beer on the coffee table with a thunk. “She—”

“You raise your voice in front of that kid and we’ll be having more than just the one word,” Kelly said, deadly calm.

Foam had erupted from the beer bottle and Amber scrambled to pull picture books and magazines out of its spreading tide.

Kelly had turned his back on us, heading for the door. Marco shot me a killing look. I could’ve told him I had nothing to do with this duel, but f*ck him for leering at me that way. Let him think I’d sicced this bruiser on his sorry ass.

He left us, exiting thirty seconds behind Kelly.

“Oh shit,” Amber said softly.

“Ship,” Jack agreed, and held up a toy boat to show us.

I rubbed my face and took a deep breath. Outside, Marco’s voice flared with words I couldn’t make out. “Just keep Jack inside. I’ll be back.” I pulled out my phone as I shoved through the door, ready to call the cops if it got ugly.

It had already gotten ugly. The men were nearly chest-to-chest in the dusky light, Marco seething and shouting, Kelly impassive.

“And exactly what f*cking business is it of yours?” Marco demanded.

I couldn’t make out Kelly’s reply.

A deep shiver went through me as I imagined what must be happening in his head, smelling Marco’s beer breath, feeling his warm spittle. Was he back in high school, scrapping with his drunk stepdad?

“I didn’t give her no black eye. She fell. She keyed my truck and spat at me.”

I caught a snatch of Kelly’s stoic reply, something about, “Self-defense? Against a hundred-pound girl?”

“Who in the f*ck told you this was your business?!”

Holy hell. Was this my nephew’s future? Getting cussed out by his drunk father, same as Kelly had? I turned, finding Amber watching from the window, Jack in her arms. I glowered and waved at her to get the f*ck away, get her son’s eyes off this train wreck. She tossed her hair and disappeared toward the kitchen.

“Just like their momma,” Marco was saying, right up in Kelly’s face. “She is a goddamn. Crazy. Psycho. Cun—”

And he never got that hard T out. It was swallowed by a grunt, his arm folded up behind his back, chest slammed to the ground, then Kelly was on him, one knee on the lawn and the other jammed hard into the small of Marco’s back. The side of Marco’s face was mashed into the grass. His teeth were gritted and his eyes clamped shut, snot already slipping down his lip.

I just stood there, a wide-eyed, slack-jawed statue. The world went eerily still and quiet. So quiet I could make out Marco’s whimpers and every last one of Kelly’s slow, steely words.

“I ever hear about you laying a hand on either of those girls, I will break every bone in every finger you possess.” He tensed, and I could tell how hard he was driving that knee into Marco’s back by the way Kelly’s leg shook.

“Fuhhhck.”

“And if I ever hear a word about you laying a hand on that boy, I will put you in a wheelchair. Do you understand me, Son?” He gave Marco’s arm a twist.

“Fuhhhhhh.”

“What was that?”

“Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah.” Marco was trying to nod, rubbing his own face in the dirt.

“I thought so. And if I ever catch you coming ’round where I live, looking to continue this discussion, I will neuter you like a f*cking puppy. You got that, you drunk-ass, white trash waste of come?” Another twist.

“Yuh.”

Kelly released Marco’s wrist. The effort of standing drove his knee into Marco’s back one more time, and the lawn muffled the resulting wail.

“Let’s go,” Kelly said, without even looking in my direction.

I ran inside for my stuff. When I dashed back out, Marco was just making it to his feet. We made eye contact, but he didn’t say a word.

For no reason whatsoever I said, “Bye,” and jogged down the driveway and around Kelly’s truck. He started the engine as I slammed the door, and we didn’t speak a word for the entire drive to Larkhaven.