He leaves before I find my voice. What use is answering anyway? I’m just never right, no matter what I do.
And worse still, a tiny doubt clouds my mind, a treacherous voice saying, what if he’s right? Not for breaking up with Blake, but about roaming the streets, thinking I can make a difference on my own?
I lean back on the pillows and close my eyes, feeling tired and defeated. Because, in the end, I have nothing to show for my efforts—no victories, no people saved, no sign I did something worthwhile. Just a leg that smarts in heavy weather, an ugly limp and whole lot of heartache.
Thankfully, the bus stop isn’t far from the sports store. I step off the bus and keep my gaze down. To my embarrassment, I have to use the walking stick I had after the surgery on my leg. It’s a purple and white stick, decorated with flowers like a starburst. For a walking aid, it’s quite pretty.
Oh sure, how incredibly sexy, Ev.
Yeah, as if anyone is watching. It’s morning time, and the tattoo shop is still closed. I hurry past it, my stick tapping on the sidewalk.
Someone steps out of a side street, blocking my way, and I jerk back, my stick screeching on the sidewalk. The guy grins at me and for a moment I just stare at him, stunned.
Blake.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt, and I hate how my voice shakes. I lift my chin. Don’t know why Blake scares me so much. He’s never hit me or anything, but he’s been giving me the heebie-jeebies lately.
He takes a step closer and I fight not to back away. Dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, his dark hair styled back, he smirks at me.
“What do you want, Blake?”
“I wanted to talk.” He waves a hand airily. “Since you won’t answer my phone calls, I thought to come in person.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“Joel told me you work at this store nearby.” He clucks his tongue. “You know you could do much better with your life, Evie.”
“My life is fine, thank you, and it’s none of your concern.”
He takes another step toward me, and I thrust my hand forward to keep him back. He snorts. “Really, Evie? That how you treat your boyfriend?”
“Let me refresh your memory: we broke up.”
“No, you broke up. I never did. You like to play games, Evie. Which is why I choose to ignore your little ultimatums and your little tantrums every time.”
A chill goes through me. He’s crazy. “What do you want?”
His lip curls. “If you won’t see me, then you won’t be seeing your homeless buddies, either.”
“What are you saying?”
“I told you to keep away from them. If I see you talking to them, even looking at them, I’ll bust their legs, do you understand?”
I gape at him. “You’re threatening innocent people? Why?”
He shrugs. “I’m only looking out for you. So far you’ve been good, staying on the main street, not deviating. Just keep it up.”
“You’re sick.” My grip on my walking stick tightens. “Stay the hell away from me.”
“Uh-oh.” He wags a finger as he turns and walks away. “Language, Evie. Not very lady-like.”
Damn you, Blake.
I watch his retreating back until he turns a corner and disappears. Fear clogs my throat. I hurry to the sports store and slip inside.
My boss is there, looking pointedly at his watch. It turns out he isn’t overly happy with the two days I had to call in sick and my worsening handicap, and I can’t find it in me to care.
“You should take better care of yourself, Miss Kingsley,” he grumbles, squinting at my walking stick. “Customers at a sport store don’t like to be reminded of accidents that can happen to them while doing said sports.”
“It didn’t happen while doing sports,” I say. “It was—”
“I don’t care what it was. You’d better get rid of that stick as soon as possible.” He actually wags a finger at me. His neck is turning red above his white tennis shirt. “In fact, you’d better put it away for as long as you’re here.”
I gape after him as he walks away, muttering.
“Don’t mind him,” Cassie whispers, her blue eyes wide. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” I stash the stick in the storeroom and do my best not to limp too badly. Of course I fail miserably, because my knee really hurts, and Blake’s appearance and threats have shaken me up pretty bad.
“Afraid he’ll fire you?”
I shrug. Losing this job wouldn’t be the end of the world, I’ll probably find another one soon enough. Maybe I should, and not tell Joel or anyone.
Why does the thought of not passing in front of the tattoo shop—not seeing a certain guy hanging out outside—make me sad?
I force my mind back on the job at hand. Customers come and go, keeping me busy. Going back and forth makes my leg ache so badly I want to weep.
When I finally leave, I’m so tired I can’t see straight. I’m also nervous, thinking Blake may be watching me from the shadows. So when I pass by the tattoo shop and nobody is outside, I’m glad.
Okay, that’s a lie. The sadness that hits me is terrible. Unbearable. I’m amazed that my feet keep moving, my stick keeps hitting the concrete of the sidewalk.
Micah isn’t there.
Maybe I left work earlier, I think as I continue to the bus stop. Or maybe he had to work later today. Or something happened to him. Maybe he’s sick. I remember the way he coughed, and I feel cold. Another face surfaces in my memory—of that young homeless man I lost, his sunken eyes and long stringy hair, coughing as if dying.
I almost turn back and walk into the tattoo shop to see Micah, make sure he’s okay. Almost. But instead I continue to the bus stop, thankful I don’t see Blake anywhere on the way.
I catch my bus and return home, my thoughts churning. When did this happen? When did I turn into an ‘almost’ kind of person?
As I unlock the door and enter the familiar hall, I realize I’m angry at myself. I’ve chickened out. I’m a coward. Blake scared me, but that excuse isn’t good enough. He’s just throwing threats about. He wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t dare.
I used to trust my instincts, my feelings. It’s as if the accident broke more than bones; it broke my faith in me. The girl I was a few months ago wouldn’t have hesitated to walk into that shop and make sure Micah was okay.
It’s not getting into trouble. Not talking to homeless people. Not even saving the world. But it’s the least I can do.
Next day drags, probably because I can’t stop thinking of my plans to talk to Micah. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I think my heart is on overdrive, but the excitement is pleasant. Cassie sends me questioning glances, and I realize I have a smile on my face.
I need to calm down. This is stupid. He may even be outside when I pass on my way to the bus stop, and I won’t even need to do or say anything because I’ll know he’s okay.