Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Hollow Watcher
One Year Ago
I’ve never seen Brett’s friend with the red lips and smoky eyes. She looks like Barrett, but more dramatic. She’s also a lot louder than Barrett, but she makes Brett laugh. I’m sure I’ll get to meet her eventually.
I approach them from behind, my black hoodie still pulled over my head. Bodies part as I slip between them, totally focused on her. I step to the left and place my hands on her hips as I brush past her. I lean down as I go, inhaling the cloyingly sweet scent of her hair. It’s torture when her curls feather against my nose. The thought of knotting them around my fist like a rope is already making me hard.
But I already know what that feels like, which only makes it worse.
I know she turned to see who touched her, but I’ve disappeared into the crowd again. And if she does see me, I’m just a nobody in a black sweatshirt, fighting for a space at the bar like everyone else. She probably gave my back a dirty look for invading her space. It’s a shame I can’t turn around to see it.
I was going to leave her alone tonight, but I can’t resist. I do it for my own selfish reasons, but I also do it to keep her safe. Just like when I intercepted the asshole following her through the grocery store or had a word with her neighbor about lingering near her window too long when she still lived in her condo. She’ll never know the extent of what I do for her. And that’s how it’ll stay, because she shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of bullshit.
Fortunately, it’s girls’ night, and I get to watch her in her natural habitat, laughing with her friends and showing me that incredible smile of hers. As much as I love looking at it, I love making it disappear just as much. She gets my drink and I laugh when I see the look of pure terror on her face when she sees my note to her. She hides it immediately because, as always, she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. I don’t know why she gets so worked up. I just like giving her compliments.
Because I’m a fucking gentleman.
And I’ll never stop making sure she knows my entire existence revolves around her. She could be a desiccated pile of dust and bones in the deepest cave in the most desolate desert, and I’d still watch over her night and day and grovel in her presence.
And then I notice some asshole and his good ole’ boys post up at my girl’s table like jackals. At first, they’re just a bunch of nameless dicks looking for a good time, until I get a better look at his face.
No fucking way. Is that…
It is. I’d recognize that motherfucker anywhere with his shark eyes and smarmy grin. Two million people in the metro area alone and this douche shows up at my girl’s table tonight. And even more intriguing is that he and Brett don’t seem to know each other. Yet…
She and her friends wonder if Wells sent her the drink. And when I see him move it away from her, I want to tear his fucking arms off and drink his blood. It’s bad enough I have to watch her willingly interact with the one who’s already a thorn in my side, now this asshole shows up just to test my patience.
Brett wouldn’t stand within 50 feet of him if she knew who he really is. Not to mention he’s not her type at all. He’s too…clean. It sounds weird, but she likes some grit with her cologne and fabric softener. I know how her mind works. She turns and says something to him and, after a few minutes, I know exactly what she’s doing. It would be smart, if I wasn’t already onto her.
Brett starts to relax the longer Wells stays, but he’s not much of a deterrent. It’s subtle, but I see the way she recoils when he touches her arm. Not only does she have good intuition, but she’s a good girl. She’s a loyal girl.
At least she will be to me after all of this is over.
Tonight, she’ll put up with some discomfort for a while if it makes her feel safer. But I also know she likes the taste of being a bad girl. She likes the order, the routine, and the lack of complication, but sometimes she gets an itch. It’s why she loves me, and it’s why she’ll never get me out of her head. She’ll try to make the best out of her arrangement with him, so I’ll cut her some slack for throwing some smiles at this idiot.
It’s girls’ night, after all.
I watch them from the edge of the room, blending into the wallpaper. Places like this look hilarious when all the lights come on at the end of the night, like a film set for The Addams Family. All the colors and design have to look over the top in the daylight so it looks sultry and moody when the lights go down.
Soon, she and Wells stand up and walk to the bar. They’ll be there for a while. He stands behind her patiently while they wait, but after a minute he puts his arm around her and says something in her ear. She turns to respond, but doesn’t touch him back. I clench my jaw when I see his other hand creep up to touch her. His eyes are fixed on the bar over her shoulder, but his attention is elsewhere.
Everything around me melts away and the room goes silent. All I can hear is my pulse in my ear and all I can see is his hand eclipsing the perfect curve of her hip. His fingers are kneading her curves back and forth and it looks how nails on a chalkboard sound. Soon, I watch his hand slide around to her stomach, low at first, threatening to dip below the tie on her jeans. Her face is relaxed, but she’s not smiling anymore. I know she doesn’t like it.
He turns to inhale her hair and breathe in her intoxicating scent. My jaw is clenched so tight it’s aching and my eyes are burning holes in the side of his face. He’s holding her against him, sliding his hand back and forth across her stomach, but she’s smart, her tank top is tucked in, so he can’t feel her bare skin. He reaches up, sweeps her curls away from her ear, and whispers something to her. She chews her bottom lip, furiously picking at her cuticles down by her waist.
He slides his hand up the side of her torso, slowly, and gently positions her right tit in the crook of his thumb. But when she feels him and tenses, he lets go and his arms fall away from her. He takes a few steps away from her and then motions to the far end of the bar. She looks over her shoulder toward her table, but then follows him. I don’t take my eyes off her as she crosses the floor to the edge of the room.
But then someone taps my shoulder. It’s a girl who can’t be more than five-two asking if the table next to me is free. I nod and step away from the wall to change my vantage point. When I look up, a large group crosses in front of me, obscuring the bar. When they finally move out of the way, Brett’s gone.
And something is very wrong.
She’s gone, I don’t know where she went, and worse, I don’t see Wells, either. I move along the perimeter on high alert, scanning the bar, glancing at their table as I pass. Barrett and their other friend are still there, along with the rest of the pack. I move through the crowd like a shadow toward the last place I saw them.
And that’s when I see the door.
Everyone has to be somewhere. No one just vanishes into thin air. I know this better than anyone. I pull my hood over my head and raise my neck gaiter over my nose as I stride across the floor. In an instant, I blend into the darkness and no one notices me throw open the door and disappear through the wall. And when I do, I find exactly what I’m looking for.
When I see her face, I can breathe again. But with that breath comes blind rage. When I see she’s terrified and Wells is holding her hands behind her back, I decide he might not leave alive.
He doesn’t know what hits him. I grab his shoulders and jerk him off of her, throwing him across the corridor. Her scream as he hits the wall only feeds my fury and as soon as he turns around, I shove him into the closet, slamming the door behind me. I send him flying into the metal shelves with a crash and grab him by the front of his shirt, ramming his back against them as he stumbles over the loose bottles and packs of paper towels rolling around the floor.
“Are you deaf? You not fucking hear my girl say no?”
I didn’t even have to hear it; I know she did. The look on her face said as much.
“Who the fuck are you?” He’s outraged, which is laughable.
I reach behind me and rip my knife from my jeans, pure fear flashing across his face for a brief moment when he sees the blade. Air hisses through my clenched teeth as I rake the serrated edge over his throat, nicking his flesh with each breath he takes.
“You fucking touch my girl again, I slice off your dick and feed it to you,” I whip my hand away from his throat and swing my arm down, bringing my knife up between his legs, “or I can now if you have problems with impulse control.”
If he had anything going on in his jeans before, he sure as hell doesn’t now.
“Alright man,” he eyes me suspiciously before suddenly getting his second wind, “what are you, her pimp? I need to pay first?”
Even now, his audacity is impressive.
“Bet that pussy’s expensive,” he taunts, “you charge extra for that ass or you keep it for yourself?”
I break his nose for that one. There’s only room for one irreverent asshole in this closet.
After throwing him to the floor and landing four impeccable blows to his face, I drag my hand across the front of his shirt to wipe his blood from my knuckles. I’d rather listen to Brett’s moans tonight than his, but here we are.
“Have a good evening, Officer,” I sneer as I step over his body, leaving him a dazed and bloody mess on the floor as I shut the door behind me.
Once I slip out the door into the main room again, I make my way around the perimeter to a dark corner where I can watch their table. Brett’s not there, yet. But I’m not worried because at least she’s not with Wells anymore. Barrett’s not at the table, either. So, I wait, and keep an eye on their friend, alone at the table with the remaining four. It’s not five minutes before he comes staggering out from the far end of the bar and slinks back to the table. He manages not to make a scene, but takes three of his friends with him when he leaves. He wants to get his raggedy ass out of here as soon as possible before everyone finds out the dirty cop got jumped while trying to rape a woman.
About 10 minutes later, Brett and Barrett return from the opposite side of the bar. Brett’s laughing again, so I let myself relax a little. I even smile a bit when I notice the uncomfortable look that creeps across her face after she starts talking to her friend and the one guy that stayed behind. I know they’re talking about me. And now she knows I’m here. I might love scaring her, but I’ll keep her safe like no one else can, especially if it involves Wells or any of his associates.
But one thing’s for sure, I can only imagine the exchange that’ll take place when he and Brett inevitably come face to face at one of the Garrison family barbecues…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brett
Present
“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve seen the signs. There are always signs…” I trail off, once again admonishing myself for things I can’t change.
That bitch, hindsight, and her fucking 20/20 vision.
“Like what?” Judy asks.
“I even took a risk and told him about my writing before I really knew him. And when I told him, he acted like he was impressed. He told me he wanted to read it and he even helped me get it out there. He—” I suck in a breath and shut my mouth, still mortified by my utter naivety. I clench my teeth, my lungs feeling like they’re filled with cement as I breathe through the rage, “Then he took it all away and destroyed everything I had. He wanted me to pay.”
“Because he needed you,” Judy says gently.
My eyes shoot up, “How did he need me?” I snap, tears beginning to well. “He just toyed with me, pulling strings in the background, seeing what he could wreck without me even knowing, acting like I wasn’t seeing what I was seeing.”
“I can’t diagnose him because he’s not my patient,” Judy peers at me over the rims of her reading glasses, “but from what you’ve described, I’m positive that he’s a narcissist and likely a sociopath.”
I go still, just staring at her. For some reason, when she says this, the crushing weight on my chest lightens ever so slightly, just enough to notice. I like labels, and maybe this is the kind of label I need right now.
“He can’t feel emotions the same way as you and I,” she continues, “he needs someone who’s empathetic that he can live vicariously through. He’s able to convince you he’s not a threat, that it’s OK to get close to him. But it’s only so he can get a taste of what you feel, but he never will—not really.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of sick joke?” I laugh bitterly, “This is my punishment for trying to be a nice person?”
Judy rests her chin on her fist with a smile, “Have you ever read Trevor Noah’s book, Born A Crime?”
I shake my head no.
“There’s this really good part where he talks about something his mother said. She said, ‘the traditional man wants a woman to be subservient, but he never falls in love with subservient women. He’s attracted to independent women. He’s like an exotic bird collector,’” Judy leans forward, pinching her fingers together with emphasis, “‘he only wants a woman who is free because his dream is to put her in a cage.’”
●●●
“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” The young woman shrieks from the door of her white SUV.
She slams her door and rushes toward me with a horrified look plastered across her face. She has dark brown hair that’s gathered in a high bun at the top of her head, her glossy nude lips frozen in a grimace as she scurries toward me. And she looks like she’s two seconds away from hyperventilating.
I throw my door shut with a sigh, meeting her at my back bumper. She hugs her arms and stares at my bumper, her arms jutting out of her white tank top, tense with dread. There’s a giant crack through the middle of my Army green bumper, streaked with white paint from her vehicle. She gasps and clasps her hand over her mouth.
God, please don’t start crying…
I’d probably be more annoyed, but now I’m just hoping I’m not going to have to calm her down in the middle of the Starbucks parking lot. I adjust the strap of my grey linen overalls and shift my focus to her.
“Are you OK?” I ask, trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
She looks up at me, her caramel eyes still wide, and realizes she should respond, “Uh…yeah…I can’t believe I just did that. Look at your car!”
I glance back and forth between our bumpers, “It’s OK, I think you won,” I titter, “you could probably just buff those scratches out. I don’t want to hold you up if you’re in a hurry, do you just want to exchange information?”
She seems to calm down when she realizes I’m not about to chew her out for crushing my bumper, “Yes, of course!” she exclaims with relief. “Let me grab it. By the way, I’m Valerie.”
“Brett,” I extend my hand to shake hers, “nice to meet you, regardless of the circumstances.”
Valerie pauses and squints at me, “Brett Sorensen?” The tone of her voice rises with curiosity.
I return the inquisitive look, “Yes?”
“Are you serious?” Her eyes widen and a grin slowly spreads across her face. “I knew I recognized you.” She shakes her head with a laugh, “I just finished listening to your interview with the Spice Ghouls.”
“No way! That’s wild.” And it’s the truth, because this is the first time a stranger has recognized me out in public.
“And, of course,” she rolls her eyes, “I meet you by wrecking into your car…”
“It happens,” I say as I turn to walk back to my door. “And trust me, there are stranger ways to meet people.”
When I duck into the car to retrieve my insurance information, I pause, lingering for a few moments. I glance out the back window at Valerie, starting back toward me with her information.
“Wow…” I murmur to myself before climbing back out of my 4Runner. I slide back out of the driver’s seat and meet her next to my bumper, “I guess I do need to call someone,” I say as I hold out my insurance card for her to take a picture, “my car seemed OK, but now it won’t start,” I lie.
“Oh, no...” she groans as she holds out her card for me. “Well, let me at least give you a ride. I was just going home, so I can wait with you.”
I shake my head, glancing down at my phone to make sure the photo is clear before tucking it into my back pocket, “I can’t ask you to do that. I can just call my boyfriend.”
“Seriously,” she insists, “it’s not a big deal. I’d hate for this to inconvenience anyone else. I’ll pay for you to get towed and I’ll buy you another coffee while we wait.” Then she flashes me an impish smile, “Besides, it wouldn’t be the worst to hang out with the author of my new favorite book.”
I can’t help but laugh. She seems nice enough—normal enough—so her offer is tempting. And she does have a point, it wouldn’t be the worst to hang out with someone who’s so enamored with my writing.
Or me…
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Brett
One Year Ago
“When were you going to tell me that you used to fuck Hannah?” I ask while sinking my knife into a ripe cantaloupe.
Bowen slowly turns on his heel to face me, “Come again?” he asks, arching his brow with curiosity.
At first, Hannah’s bitchy jabs didn’t bother so much. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something in her voice that was different than just a jealous woman trying to press my buttons. It sounded like…she knows things.
“When—” Slice “were you going to tell me—” Slice “that—” Slice “you used to—” Slice “fuck Hannah?”
Bowen shifts his eyes between me and the cutting board, “Can you put the knife down, please?”
I look down at the cubes of cantaloupe and then at the gleaming chef’s knife. I guess I do look rather unhinged. I rinse the knife, set it down on the counter next to the drying rack, and then turn back to him expectantly.
“Alright,” he continues, “what makes you think I fucked Hannah?”
“Because she said so. Barrett was there, she heard everything, when she—"
The Hollow Watcher
One Year Ago
I’ve never seen Brett’s friend with the red lips and smoky eyes. She looks like Barrett, but more dramatic. She’s also a lot louder than Barrett, but she makes Brett laugh. I’m sure I’ll get to meet her eventually.
I approach them from behind, my black hoodie still pulled over my head. Bodies part as I slip between them, totally focused on her. I step to the left and place my hands on her hips as I brush past her. I lean down as I go, inhaling the cloyingly sweet scent of her hair. It’s torture when her curls feather against my nose. The thought of knotting them around my fist like a rope is already making me hard.
But I already know what that feels like, which only makes it worse.
I know she turned to see who touched her, but I’ve disappeared into the crowd again. And if she does see me, I’m just a nobody in a black sweatshirt, fighting for a space at the bar like everyone else. She probably gave my back a dirty look for invading her space. It’s a shame I can’t turn around to see it.
I was going to leave her alone tonight, but I can’t resist. I do it for my own selfish reasons, but I also do it to keep her safe. Just like when I intercepted the asshole following her through the grocery store or had a word with her neighbor about lingering near her window too long when she still lived in her condo. She’ll never know the extent of what I do for her. And that’s how it’ll stay, because she shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of bullshit.
Fortunately, it’s girls’ night, and I get to watch her in her natural habitat, laughing with her friends and showing me that incredible smile of hers. As much as I love looking at it, I love making it disappear just as much. She gets my drink and I laugh when I see the look of pure terror on her face when she sees my note to her. She hides it immediately because, as always, she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. I don’t know why she gets so worked up. I just like giving her compliments.
Because I’m a fucking gentleman.
And I’ll never stop making sure she knows my entire existence revolves around her. She could be a desiccated pile of dust and bones in the deepest cave in the most desolate desert, and I’d still watch over her night and day and grovel in her presence.
And then I notice some asshole and his good ole’ boys post up at my girl’s table like jackals. At first, they’re just a bunch of nameless dicks looking for a good time, until I get a better look at his face.
No fucking way. Is that…
It is. I’d recognize that motherfucker anywhere with his shark eyes and smarmy grin. Two million people in the metro area alone and this douche shows up at my girl’s table tonight. And even more intriguing is that he and Brett don’t seem to know each other. Yet…
She and her friends wonder if Wells sent her the drink. And when I see him move it away from her, I want to tear his fucking arms off and drink his blood. It’s bad enough I have to watch her willingly interact with the one who’s already a thorn in my side, now this asshole shows up just to test my patience.
Brett wouldn’t stand within 50 feet of him if she knew who he really is. Not to mention he’s not her type at all. He’s too…clean. It sounds weird, but she likes some grit with her cologne and fabric softener. I know how her mind works. She turns and says something to him and, after a few minutes, I know exactly what she’s doing. It would be smart, if I wasn’t already onto her.
Brett starts to relax the longer Wells stays, but he’s not much of a deterrent. It’s subtle, but I see the way she recoils when he touches her arm. Not only does she have good intuition, but she’s a good girl. She’s a loyal girl.
At least she will be to me after all of this is over.
Tonight, she’ll put up with some discomfort for a while if it makes her feel safer. But I also know she likes the taste of being a bad girl. She likes the order, the routine, and the lack of complication, but sometimes she gets an itch. It’s why she loves me, and it’s why she’ll never get me out of her head. She’ll try to make the best out of her arrangement with him, so I’ll cut her some slack for throwing some smiles at this idiot.
It’s girls’ night, after all.
I watch them from the edge of the room, blending into the wallpaper. Places like this look hilarious when all the lights come on at the end of the night, like a film set for The Addams Family. All the colors and design have to look over the top in the daylight so it looks sultry and moody when the lights go down.
Soon, she and Wells stand up and walk to the bar. They’ll be there for a while. He stands behind her patiently while they wait, but after a minute he puts his arm around her and says something in her ear. She turns to respond, but doesn’t touch him back. I clench my jaw when I see his other hand creep up to touch her. His eyes are fixed on the bar over her shoulder, but his attention is elsewhere.
Everything around me melts away and the room goes silent. All I can hear is my pulse in my ear and all I can see is his hand eclipsing the perfect curve of her hip. His fingers are kneading her curves back and forth and it looks how nails on a chalkboard sound. Soon, I watch his hand slide around to her stomach, low at first, threatening to dip below the tie on her jeans. Her face is relaxed, but she’s not smiling anymore. I know she doesn’t like it.
He turns to inhale her hair and breathe in her intoxicating scent. My jaw is clenched so tight it’s aching and my eyes are burning holes in the side of his face. He’s holding her against him, sliding his hand back and forth across her stomach, but she’s smart, her tank top is tucked in, so he can’t feel her bare skin. He reaches up, sweeps her curls away from her ear, and whispers something to her. She chews her bottom lip, furiously picking at her cuticles down by her waist.
He slides his hand up the side of her torso, slowly, and gently positions her right tit in the crook of his thumb. But when she feels him and tenses, he lets go and his arms fall away from her. He takes a few steps away from her and then motions to the far end of the bar. She looks over her shoulder toward her table, but then follows him. I don’t take my eyes off her as she crosses the floor to the edge of the room.
But then someone taps my shoulder. It’s a girl who can’t be more than five-two asking if the table next to me is free. I nod and step away from the wall to change my vantage point. When I look up, a large group crosses in front of me, obscuring the bar. When they finally move out of the way, Brett’s gone.
And something is very wrong.
She’s gone, I don’t know where she went, and worse, I don’t see Wells, either. I move along the perimeter on high alert, scanning the bar, glancing at their table as I pass. Barrett and their other friend are still there, along with the rest of the pack. I move through the crowd like a shadow toward the last place I saw them.
And that’s when I see the door.
Everyone has to be somewhere. No one just vanishes into thin air. I know this better than anyone. I pull my hood over my head and raise my neck gaiter over my nose as I stride across the floor. In an instant, I blend into the darkness and no one notices me throw open the door and disappear through the wall. And when I do, I find exactly what I’m looking for.
When I see her face, I can breathe again. But with that breath comes blind rage. When I see she’s terrified and Wells is holding her hands behind her back, I decide he might not leave alive.
He doesn’t know what hits him. I grab his shoulders and jerk him off of her, throwing him across the corridor. Her scream as he hits the wall only feeds my fury and as soon as he turns around, I shove him into the closet, slamming the door behind me. I send him flying into the metal shelves with a crash and grab him by the front of his shirt, ramming his back against them as he stumbles over the loose bottles and packs of paper towels rolling around the floor.
“Are you deaf? You not fucking hear my girl say no?”
I didn’t even have to hear it; I know she did. The look on her face said as much.
“Who the fuck are you?” He’s outraged, which is laughable.
I reach behind me and rip my knife from my jeans, pure fear flashing across his face for a brief moment when he sees the blade. Air hisses through my clenched teeth as I rake the serrated edge over his throat, nicking his flesh with each breath he takes.
“You fucking touch my girl again, I slice off your dick and feed it to you,” I whip my hand away from his throat and swing my arm down, bringing my knife up between his legs, “or I can now if you have problems with impulse control.”
If he had anything going on in his jeans before, he sure as hell doesn’t now.
“Alright man,” he eyes me suspiciously before suddenly getting his second wind, “what are you, her pimp? I need to pay first?”
Even now, his audacity is impressive.
“Bet that pussy’s expensive,” he taunts, “you charge extra for that ass or you keep it for yourself?”
I break his nose for that one. There’s only room for one irreverent asshole in this closet.
After throwing him to the floor and landing four impeccable blows to his face, I drag my hand across the front of his shirt to wipe his blood from my knuckles. I’d rather listen to Brett’s moans tonight than his, but here we are.
“Have a good evening, Officer,” I sneer as I step over his body, leaving him a dazed and bloody mess on the floor as I shut the door behind me.
Once I slip out the door into the main room again, I make my way around the perimeter to a dark corner where I can watch their table. Brett’s not there, yet. But I’m not worried because at least she’s not with Wells anymore. Barrett’s not at the table, either. So, I wait, and keep an eye on their friend, alone at the table with the remaining four. It’s not five minutes before he comes staggering out from the far end of the bar and slinks back to the table. He manages not to make a scene, but takes three of his friends with him when he leaves. He wants to get his raggedy ass out of here as soon as possible before everyone finds out the dirty cop got jumped while trying to rape a woman.
About 10 minutes later, Brett and Barrett return from the opposite side of the bar. Brett’s laughing again, so I let myself relax a little. I even smile a bit when I notice the uncomfortable look that creeps across her face after she starts talking to her friend and the one guy that stayed behind. I know they’re talking about me. And now she knows I’m here. I might love scaring her, but I’ll keep her safe like no one else can, especially if it involves Wells or any of his associates.
But one thing’s for sure, I can only imagine the exchange that’ll take place when he and Brett inevitably come face to face at one of the Garrison family barbecues…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brett
Present
“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve seen the signs. There are always signs…” I trail off, once again admonishing myself for things I can’t change.
That bitch, hindsight, and her fucking 20/20 vision.
“Like what?” Judy asks.
“I even took a risk and told him about my writing before I really knew him. And when I told him, he acted like he was impressed. He told me he wanted to read it and he even helped me get it out there. He—” I suck in a breath and shut my mouth, still mortified by my utter naivety. I clench my teeth, my lungs feeling like they’re filled with cement as I breathe through the rage, “Then he took it all away and destroyed everything I had. He wanted me to pay.”
“Because he needed you,” Judy says gently.
My eyes shoot up, “How did he need me?” I snap, tears beginning to well. “He just toyed with me, pulling strings in the background, seeing what he could wreck without me even knowing, acting like I wasn’t seeing what I was seeing.”
“I can’t diagnose him because he’s not my patient,” Judy peers at me over the rims of her reading glasses, “but from what you’ve described, I’m positive that he’s a narcissist and likely a sociopath.”
I go still, just staring at her. For some reason, when she says this, the crushing weight on my chest lightens ever so slightly, just enough to notice. I like labels, and maybe this is the kind of label I need right now.
“He can’t feel emotions the same way as you and I,” she continues, “he needs someone who’s empathetic that he can live vicariously through. He’s able to convince you he’s not a threat, that it’s OK to get close to him. But it’s only so he can get a taste of what you feel, but he never will—not really.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of sick joke?” I laugh bitterly, “This is my punishment for trying to be a nice person?”
Judy rests her chin on her fist with a smile, “Have you ever read Trevor Noah’s book, Born A Crime?”
I shake my head no.
“There’s this really good part where he talks about something his mother said. She said, ‘the traditional man wants a woman to be subservient, but he never falls in love with subservient women. He’s attracted to independent women. He’s like an exotic bird collector,’” Judy leans forward, pinching her fingers together with emphasis, “‘he only wants a woman who is free because his dream is to put her in a cage.’”
●●●
“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” The young woman shrieks from the door of her white SUV.
She slams her door and rushes toward me with a horrified look plastered across her face. She has dark brown hair that’s gathered in a high bun at the top of her head, her glossy nude lips frozen in a grimace as she scurries toward me. And she looks like she’s two seconds away from hyperventilating.
I throw my door shut with a sigh, meeting her at my back bumper. She hugs her arms and stares at my bumper, her arms jutting out of her white tank top, tense with dread. There’s a giant crack through the middle of my Army green bumper, streaked with white paint from her vehicle. She gasps and clasps her hand over her mouth.
God, please don’t start crying…
I’d probably be more annoyed, but now I’m just hoping I’m not going to have to calm her down in the middle of the Starbucks parking lot. I adjust the strap of my grey linen overalls and shift my focus to her.
“Are you OK?” I ask, trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
She looks up at me, her caramel eyes still wide, and realizes she should respond, “Uh…yeah…I can’t believe I just did that. Look at your car!”
I glance back and forth between our bumpers, “It’s OK, I think you won,” I titter, “you could probably just buff those scratches out. I don’t want to hold you up if you’re in a hurry, do you just want to exchange information?”
She seems to calm down when she realizes I’m not about to chew her out for crushing my bumper, “Yes, of course!” she exclaims with relief. “Let me grab it. By the way, I’m Valerie.”
“Brett,” I extend my hand to shake hers, “nice to meet you, regardless of the circumstances.”
Valerie pauses and squints at me, “Brett Sorensen?” The tone of her voice rises with curiosity.
I return the inquisitive look, “Yes?”
“Are you serious?” Her eyes widen and a grin slowly spreads across her face. “I knew I recognized you.” She shakes her head with a laugh, “I just finished listening to your interview with the Spice Ghouls.”
“No way! That’s wild.” And it’s the truth, because this is the first time a stranger has recognized me out in public.
“And, of course,” she rolls her eyes, “I meet you by wrecking into your car…”
“It happens,” I say as I turn to walk back to my door. “And trust me, there are stranger ways to meet people.”
When I duck into the car to retrieve my insurance information, I pause, lingering for a few moments. I glance out the back window at Valerie, starting back toward me with her information.
“Wow…” I murmur to myself before climbing back out of my 4Runner. I slide back out of the driver’s seat and meet her next to my bumper, “I guess I do need to call someone,” I say as I hold out my insurance card for her to take a picture, “my car seemed OK, but now it won’t start,” I lie.
“Oh, no...” she groans as she holds out her card for me. “Well, let me at least give you a ride. I was just going home, so I can wait with you.”
I shake my head, glancing down at my phone to make sure the photo is clear before tucking it into my back pocket, “I can’t ask you to do that. I can just call my boyfriend.”
“Seriously,” she insists, “it’s not a big deal. I’d hate for this to inconvenience anyone else. I’ll pay for you to get towed and I’ll buy you another coffee while we wait.” Then she flashes me an impish smile, “Besides, it wouldn’t be the worst to hang out with the author of my new favorite book.”
I can’t help but laugh. She seems nice enough—normal enough—so her offer is tempting. And she does have a point, it wouldn’t be the worst to hang out with someone who’s so enamored with my writing.
Or me…
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Brett
One Year Ago
“When were you going to tell me that you used to fuck Hannah?” I ask while sinking my knife into a ripe cantaloupe.
Bowen slowly turns on his heel to face me, “Come again?” he asks, arching his brow with curiosity.
At first, Hannah’s bitchy jabs didn’t bother so much. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something in her voice that was different than just a jealous woman trying to press my buttons. It sounded like…she knows things.
“When—” Slice “were you going to tell me—” Slice “that—” Slice “you used to—” Slice “fuck Hannah?”
Bowen shifts his eyes between me and the cutting board, “Can you put the knife down, please?”
I look down at the cubes of cantaloupe and then at the gleaming chef’s knife. I guess I do look rather unhinged. I rinse the knife, set it down on the counter next to the drying rack, and then turn back to him expectantly.
“Alright,” he continues, “what makes you think I fucked Hannah?”
“Because she said so. Barrett was there, she heard everything, when she—"
