No Perfect Hero, page 11
Truly, my mind’s on one thing and one thing only – but I’ve got to divert myself before one of those downswept glances dips below the water and notices something I can’t really hide without being too obvious. It's only the refracting light dancing on the water making me decent.
So I search for something else, anything, and finally settle on it.
“You said you did claims adjustments...but you were painting. I thought you were an artist?”
“A wannabe,” she retorts bitterly before tacking on, “Oh, wait. We’re supposed to call ourselves ‘aspiring.’ Or ‘struggling’ if we want to be really edgy. Sounds better than 'starving,' I guess.” She shakes her head. “I keep trying. Have been for years. But...I thought I had a break when a local gallery did a showing for me. No one bought a damned thing, though. Not after a month. So the gallery tossed me out on my ass. Which was already sore from the spanking fate gave it with my day job firing me and my fiancé fucking my best friend.”
“Doesn’t seem like she was much of a friend,” I say. “Assuming the friend was a she.”
She lets out another laugh, but it’s not the same as before. It’s harsh and self-mocking. “I’d be less upset if it was a guy. If Eddy had just like...needed to find himself or some shit. I’d rather realize my fiancé was gay than know he just doesn’t respect me enough to keep his hands off other women.”
“I’d say doesn’t matter who it was. If you’re with someone, you honor that agreement. And if you can’t, you have the decency, the integrity, to break it the fuck off. Before fucking around with other people.”
“Yeah, well, asshole missed that lesson.” She shakes herself, taking a deep breath. “You’re supposed to get another question.”
And that’s her way of saying she doesn’t want to talk about this anymore.
Okay. I can take a hint. “All right. You want truth for this one, or dare?”
“You know what? Screw it.” She shrugs defiantly. “Dare. Hit me with your worst.”
“Show me one of your paintings,” I say.
She goes so frozen it’s like she’s been captured in still life herself, the brush strokes of a woman. She just stares at me, those wide green eyes pure liquid crystal, parted lips so swollen and pink. “I...what? Why?”
I shrug. “I want to see how damn stupid that gallery owner had to be.”
Haley smiles wanly. “They’re not that great.”
“Beauty, eye of the beholder, you know the saying.”
“Do I?”
She sets her beer down on the edge of the jacuzzi and folds her arms in tight, and in that moment, she’s so small and vulnerable I have to remind myself I’m naked to keep from going to her, taking her in my arms, comforting her.
It’s like those paintings cut her deeper than even her ex, and I don’t think she realizes it – and I won’t be stupid enough to point it out – but she’s probably got a hell of a lot more heart for her passion than she ever did for a man who was clearly all wrong for her every which way.
With a shaky breath, she says, “I’ll think about it. What are the stakes if I won’t?”
“None,” I answer. “It’s just a game, Hay. We’re just relaxing over a couple beers.”
“Maybe...yeah. Yeah, okay.” She forces a smile, then snatches up her beer and downs the entire thing in a few gulps, her throat working roughly before she slams it down on the edge with a deep breath. “Okay!”
I arch a brow. “Okay? Are you?”
“No, silly, okayyy. Now I get to ask you.” She reaches toward the bucket with grabby hands, flexing her fingers playfully even though it’s out of her range. “Truth or dare?”
I roll my eyes. I get the hint and fish out another beer, pop the cap, and pass it to her.
She grasps it in both hands, nursing it like a little chipmunk, bright-eyed and too cheerful. I watch her with a sigh, wondering at this fond feeling of warmth in my chest, then shake my head.
“Truth. I still don’t trust you with a dare.”
“Relax. It’s not like I’m going to ask you to streak through town.”
If only she knew.
Hay takes another sip, musing, then asks, “What do you do? You’re so weird. All cloak and dagger, and I know you’re ex-Army, but I don’t think deployment sent you on a mission back to your spooky little hometown to uncover all its dirty secrets in the name of some special government operation.” She wiggles her fingers with a little ooo-OOO-ooo sound, then smirks. “So spill it. What is it you do that's got you acting like Agent Mulder?”
I don’t even know what that means, but I also know I can’t even fucking answer her question.
It’s not even that she’ll figure out I’m here after a mark. Or worse, figure out I’m not here after a mark, that this thing with Bress is entirely personal.
It’s that I know she’ll wonder things about me.
Wonder what I’ve done.
Who I’ve hurt.
Who I’ve killed.
And it bothers me to have her think worse of me than she already does.
“Can’t tell you that,” I say, and smile. It feels like too much, heavy and sad, a smile I’m not used to. “Top secret. Guess it’ll have to be dare.”
“Aw, fine,” she retorts. “I dare you to tell me what you do.”
“Then I guess I’m gonna have to lose the game.” I lean over and clink the neck of my bottle to hers with a faint smile. “Since we didn’t ante up any stakes...let’s go another round.”
For a few seconds her eyes meet mine, mischief gleaming.
I wonder if she understands what I’m offering her. A distraction, mostly.
For both of us.
One sweet moment to forget who we are, our worries, and why we’re here. That she ran out here after a man hurt her in a way she never should’ve been hurt and cut her off at the knees after life had already kicked her down, while I’m here chasing down the demon who took what I loved.
Haley tips her head, a faint, wistful smile crossing her lips.
Yeah.
She knows.
She knows, and with a tired little shrug and a hell-with-it smile, clinks her bottle right back. “Hit me, then. Truth.”
This time, I play it safe with my questions.
Less because I’m worried about her prying out my secrets, and more because I’m worried about hurting her with hers.
So it’s the little things, this time.
Most embarrassing high school memory. Favorite color. Dare you to beat me in a foot fight.
I find out that she once stood on the roof of her high school in a prom dress, declaring her love for the high school football team’s star quarterback. All because he’d said he’d date her if she did.
Turns out, it was just a cruel fucking prank to see if she’d really go that far.
Hay tells me her colors like an artist.
How she loves the slate-blue color of a Seattle horizon in the morning, when the sun’s up but the city doesn’t seem to have figured it out yet.
Then this chick shows me she knows how to win a foot fight.
Before I know it, we’re kicking and splashing at each other, and she gets me right on the sole of my foot and tickles me with her toes till I damn near surrender, laughing and sweeping a wave of water at her to make her stop.
She’s also a real lightweight.
After her fourth beer, when I ask her what she dreamed about being as a little girl...
“Happy,” is the one word she whispers, right before her face caves in, and she bursts into tears.
Fuck.
That’s it. Game over.
Hay’s clearly had too much to drink. She’s too raw for this, for this playact of forgetting and pushing everything aside to be light, free, careless.
She doesn’t need to be wallowing in a hot tub, chewing on her feelings in front of a secretly naked guy she can’t even stand. She needs rest.
Carefully, I pry her beer bottle from lax fingers and set it aside, then shut the jacuzzi off.
While she’s still scrubbing at her eyes, I hoist myself out and steal her towel to wrap around my waist. Then I kneel at the edge next to her, catching her gently under the arms, lifting her.
“Here,” I coax. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I'm a big girl, Warren. I can walk. Let me –”
“Hay. I've got this. Got you.”
Then she just gives me a look that says okay, her lips tremble, and her body softens.
She doesn’t protest, even leaning into me as I lift her out and into my arms, hefting her up against my chest. I can’t even notice the slick skin, the exposed flesh, the plushness of her body right now.
Before she’d tempted me like a siren. Now she's tugging at my heartstrings.
I’m more worried about that forlorn sniffle and the redness in her eyes than I am about my own runaway dick.
Quietly, I slip through the door for her side of the duplex. Tara’s not there, she must’ve fallen asleep at Grandma’s. I carry a quiet Haley into the bedroom and set her down on the bed, still soaking wet and dripping.
“Wait here,” I say, holding up a finger.
Then I dart into the bathroom to retrieve another towel before raiding the bedroom drawer. There's an oversized Pittsburgh Steelers shirt – no time for good taste – and a fresh pair of panties.
Sinking to my knees in front of her, I wrap the towel around her shoulders, scrubbing it lightly over her body and hair, looking up at her with a small smile. “There you go. I’ll turn around for a minute so you can change.”
There's ten words I never wanted to say.
She looks at me miserably, clutching the edges of the towel in her fingers, trying clumsily to help me dry her off, though she’s getting in the way more than anything. I just maneuver around her hands, letting her do as she pleases. So long as she’s not hurting herself.
“What's gotten into you? Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks.
I arch both brows. “You’re drunk, Hay. And I’m not quite as huge an asshole as you think I am.”
“But you’re always meaner when you're trying to be...protective. Like you always say you’re trying to save me, but you won’t say from what.”
My jaw tightens. No, darlin', and I never will.
“Because not telling you is part of protecting you,” I tell her instead, nudging my knuckle under her jaw gently. “Right now, I’m just protecting you from waking up sick as a dog with a hangover. So get yourself changed, and I’ll grab you some water.”
She shakes her head. “Not thirsty.”
“Best way to prevent a hangover, sweetheart.”
Haley scowls at me. “Don’t call me sweetheart. Eddy called me sweetheart.”
Cringe. You know some people are colossal assholes when they can ruin entire words for life.
“Got it. No more of that shit, I promise.” It shouldn’t burn me to be compared to that scumbag, even when she’s out of sorts, but I’ll be damned if I’ll sound a thing like him. Standing, I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. “Change. I’ll be right back.”
I head into the kitchen, keeping one ear perked up just in case Haley manages to nearly kill herself struggling with a t-shirt. She belts out a few frustrated grunts, but nothing life-threatening, so I fish a few cold water bottles from the fridge, taking my time to give her a chance to get herself decent before I duck back into the bedroom.
When I do, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed in a sulky bundle, her knees pulled up to her chest, safely away from the damp mark she’s left on the sheets.
I line two bottles up on the nightstand and offer her the third. “One for now, two for the morning. Drink it all.”
She wrinkles her nose up and pokes her tongue at me. “You’re so bossy.”
“I know.”
“And stupid.”
“Stupid is as stupid does.” I chuckle, folding my arms over my chest. “Anything else you want to call me?”
“A really bad liar,” she mumbles, then plugs her mouth with the water bottle and gulps it down.
Just a few drunk words chill me, leave me disquieted.
What the fuck does she think I’m lying about?
I’ve been trying to avoid dishonesty with careful diversions, but if I’ve left a trail a stranger like Hay can pick up, then it’s no wonder Bress figured me out. Enough to start sending misdirected threats.
Damn.
Sobering, I hunker down in front of her. “Think you can sleep?”
With a muffled grunt and a shrug, Haley flops over and buries her face in the pillow. “Nope.”
“You're a crappier liar than me.” Smiling faintly, I catch the rumpled covers and pull them up over her. “Sleep well, you little wildcat.”
She shoots up immediately, damp hair flying everywhere, eyes wide. “Wait. The cat!”
I glance around the room. “What cat—oh. Mozart adopted you?”
Her brows wrinkle. “Is that his name?”
“Yeah. He’s kind of become the mascot around here. He’ll adopt a new family in our cabins, but mostly he hangs around me and Grandma.” I nudge her shoulder. “Don't worry about him. That boy knows his way around. He’ll be back when he’s ready. Get some rest, Hay. Tomorrow it’s another night of beer and frat boys.”
“Fuck. My. Life.” Groaning, she flops back into the pillow. “One of them slapped my ass, you know.”
Who? I’ll take his hand off at the wrist, I think immediately, but bite it back for her sake, clenching my teeth. “Good night, Hay,” I say pointedly.
Her only answer is a listless, noodly arm flopping toward me. I sigh, watching her for a few moments longer before turning to let myself out.
She’s a cute drunk, but God damn is she a handful.
I only hope, for her sake, that she doesn’t remember this in the morning.
She doesn’t strike me as a woman who likes being fragile.
Then again, a few hours ago, I didn’t strike myself as someone who gave a damn about her feelings when she’s been about five ticks away from clawing my eyes out ever since she showed up here.
Too bad I can’t ignore what she’s hiding underneath her sharp tongue and sharper wit.
Even if she’s taking her pain out on me for being a bit of a dick, I wasn’t the asshole who caused it, and apparently, it turns out I don’t mind being a punching bag for a pair of big green eyes as long as it makes her feel better.
I linger at the door, looking in through the glass at the glimpse of the bedroom, and her prone, quiet form – then make myself pull away.
Feels wrong inside. I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking anymore.
I only know this is a distraction I can’t afford.
Not when every delay just has Jenna turning restlessly in her grave another day.
Not when every misstep pulls Dennis Bress further from my reach.
Goddammit, I love my Grandma, but I really didn’t come back to Heart’s Edge for this.
Socializing. Yeah, it's as shitty as it sounds.
I’d planned to spend my Sunday evening on the prowl. I still don’t know where Bress was going when he was heading out of town the other night before Stew stole the GPS tracker and screwed everything up. Or saved my ass, I’m not even sure which.
Still, just when I was getting myself together to head out – and avoiding Haley after that Friday night of strange confessions – Grandma came sailing into my side of the duplex and practically hauled me out in a full Nelson hold.
Sunday dinner, she said, was exactly what I needed. And I wouldn't dream of disappointing her and possibly agitate her aging ticker by turning her down, now would I?
Aging ticker, my ass. I swear that woman has a heart of steel.
And she uses it effectively to bludgeon me into doing her bidding with a smile on my face.
That’s how I find myself up at the main house in the area sectioned off for private living quarters, sitting in the kitchen where I grew up while Grandma ladles out her famous pot roast and gravy.
And while Flynn Bitters eyes me uneasily across the table.
I don’t know why he’s even here, other than Grandma's hospitality.
This is family space, the kitchen lined with framed photos of my grandparents, my parents, me, my sister. Flynn isn’t family, and he looks just as uncomfortable as I feel.
“You know,” Grandma says, “the two of you could try speaking. ‘Thank you, Wilma, for such a lovely dinner.’”
“Thanks, Wilma,” Flynn mumbles. “Good eats.”
“Thanks,” I add dryly. Her and those old-fashioned manners. “Not like I had much choice coming to din—”
All it takes is one razor-sharp look to shut my yap, keen as a dagger, before she smiles pleasantly. “Now, now, I don’t like the idea of anyone eating by their lonesome. Flynn’s been coming up to the house for dinner lately, and I know if I leave you out in that cabin, you’ll just microwave some dreadful packaged thing barely a step above your Army rations.” She arches her brows mildly as she takes her place at the head of the table. “Unless that nice Haley girl is cooking for you again?”
Oh, fuck. Here we go...
“Nah. Haley’s too busy slinging drinks at your pub to cook for anyone,” I point out, instinctively folding my napkin in my lap.
It’s old habit around her. I’m used to eating rough by myself, living raw. Hell, she's barely joking about the rations, I’ve gone months longer on just bacon and eggs than I ever did on deployment.
But around Grandma Wilma, the respectable boy she raised comes out. “I don’t even know how she manages for Tara,” I say, shaking my head.
“She has a little help,” Grandma answers, tapping her collar. “Tara’s such a delight! I’ve been teaching her a few little kitchen tricks myself. But you’d be surprised how resourceful your Haley is. She’s so lovely with her niece. I can only imagine what a delight she’ll be with her own children one day.”
Your Haley? She's not my anything.
And it shouldn't feel so strange knowing she isn't.
Worse, I’d started to take a bite of pot roast just as Grandma dropped that a-bomb about kids.
I start choking on it a second later, the meat turning into a knot in my throat until I force it painfully down. Wiping at my mouth, I stare at her. “That was...about as subtle as a sledgehammer.”
