I know she’s in there. I watched her through the window. On my third round of knocking, I’ve about had enough. I walk to the small kitchen window and bang on the glass with the flat of my hand. I don’t knock on it easy, though not quite as hard as I would like to since the glass is cracked, and the window itself looks older than I am. Hell, it might even be older than that damn stove in the rat-hole I slept in last night. She walks to the window as though she’s in a trance, her eyes widen, staring back at me like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car.

I didn’t think she was much to look at yesterday. She appears marginally better today; her hair doesn’t seem as dark. It’s almost strawberry color in places, before slowly fading into darker hues. It’s long. I don’t think I appreciated how long, which is weird because it was worn down yesterday. Today, it’s pulled to the top of her head and laying in a crazy mess, that somehow looks natural. What I am noticing more today, are her eyes. They’re as large as saucers right now, as she gapes at me. I can see fear and the disgust flickering in them. Do my scars bother her? Yesterday, it had been cloudy and close to dark, maybe she missed them. Just like I didn’t notice that her eyes are a strange shade of blue—especially the right one which is a little darker in color. They could almost be called a steely gray.

She moves quickly from the window, and I cuss under my breath. What the fuck is her problem? Without a thought, I make it back to the door. I yank hard on the handle at the same exact time she’s on the other side opening it.

I let out a grunt when the woman stumbles into me. I catch her easily. My hands grabbing on each side of her, my thumbs and fingers are pressing against breasts that I could have sworn I thought were small yesterday. I hold her still. She doesn’t speak, and I’m not sure if it’s that fact or the feel of a woman in my arms after all this time that pisses me off more.

I steady her away from me, letting her go, and taking her in. She’s wearing another loose sweater that is about three sizes too big, though her stomach is definitely protruding from it. The only difference in this one and the one from yesterday is that this one is a pale yellow and looks better on her.

I know fuck-all about pregnant women. I’ve done everything I could to stay away from them and Jan…Fuck, I didn’t even know she was pregnant for most of the pregnancy. But this one appears exhausted. Not my problem. Where in the hell is her man? Obviously, she can’t even walk on her own. There’s no way she should have a baby on her own. I wouldn’t even trust her to hold a child.

A wave of memories crashes down on me. All these thoughts about Jan, of her pregnancy, of Annabelle…these thoughts are not welcome. They aren’t wanted—at all. The fact that the woman standing in front of me caused them to attack me makes me snarl. I watch as the sound I make causes her to jump back like a frightened rabbit.

“Wha…” she starts but stops to take in a shaky breath. “What are you doing here?” she finally gets out.

I clear my throat. If I could go the rest of my life not speaking, I’d be okay with that. The sound of my voice has been altered from the accident and it serves as one more reminder. A reminder I don’t need. I clear my throat and rub my hand across my beard, scratching under my chin, subconsciously touching one of the scars I hide behind the hair.

“I need to plug in my phone.”

“What?”

“I don’t have power. I need my phone charged.”

“You don’t have power,” she mimics, as if she’s in a trance. Her eyes are still holding mine captive, and I have to wonder if she’s mentally disabled or some shit.

“I just said that,” I tell her, getting irritated.

“You want me to charge your phone? In my house?” she questions, her eyes widen even further, and she takes two steps back. I nod yes, instead of speaking. “I can’t do that,” she says, shaking her head back and forth for emphasis.

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know you.”

“I’m not asking you to suck my dick, just charge my phone.”

Her head whips back. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s not the kind of woman I’m used to dealing with. I see the moment my words hit her, there is not a blush like I would expect to see from a woman hearing something so vulgar. No. She’s completely different. Her face goes deathly white. She’s so pale it wouldn’t surprise me if she passes out.

Instead, her head goes down, and I hear a faint mumble come from her, that I have to strain to hear. “I have to go,” she says.

I reach out to grab her hand; I’m not even sure why at this point. She tries to push away from me, and I really should let her go, but the woman is annoying me. I mean, Jesus, I only want to charge my damn phone. I’d charge it on my bike, but I don’t have the right cord. I hold onto her tighter, stopping her from walking away. For a second my eyes go to our joined hands. Hers are small, tiny, and pale compared to mine. The scars marring my hand look even more grotesque with the way the skin stretches just to capture her hand…It looks wrong.

Skull and the others tried to convince me once that life didn’t have to change. I wanted to believe them. Memories of the day we had a family picnic come to mind. I can hear Lucy and those girls laughing in the back of my mind. My brothers thought I was sweet on the girl. Maybe I was at one time, who knows. At the very least I enjoyed the hero worship she showed me. I would have never acted on it. She was too young for me, and I had been burned so hard when it came to women.

Jan was a fucking cunt. I was trapped with her. I would have made a bed with the devil himself to keep my daughter with me, however. The idea of Jan taking her away—not seeing Annabelle and being able to protect her every day…terrified me. So, I did my best to swallow down my fucking pride and keep Jan happy for no other reason than to keep my daughter safe with me. In the end, I failed to protect Annabelle…I failed to be the father she needed…

“Is there a problem?” A man asks, walking around the side of the house.

I was so lost in the past I never heard another vehicle pull in the driveway. I didn’t even hear him approaching. This is just another reason why it was a good idea to leave the Devil’s Blaze. I was going to end up getting one of my brother’s killed.

I turn my attention back to the man who just appeared. I’m kind of thankful he pulled me from my thoughts. I already have sweat popping out over my body and my stomach is churning. Fuck.

I do my best to concentrate on the now. This man is tall, though not my height. He stands over six foot—easily. He’s also the opposite of me. Clean cut, with a suburb vibe, wearing navy dress slacks and a shirt with a collar in an annoying color of orange.

The woman is whimpering and gasping like I’m inflicting pain on her. Is she sickened by my touch? Does she hate the fact my hands are grotesque and on her body? Join the fucking club lady.

I let her go and she immediately flees from me. The man stands on the deck, facing me—as if he’s guarding the woman from me. She instantly moves behind him, half hiding, as if for protection. Something about that sits wrong with me, but I ignore it. I don’t know what her issues are, but they aren’t my concern.

“No problem. I was asking the lady if she could charge my phone so I could check on getting electricity hooked up. I think from what I’m getting, the answer is no,” I tell him. Fuck it. I’d rather just go back to the barn and drink in the damn dark.

“Are you okay, Hayden?” the man asks her, and that just pisses me off more.

“Of course, she’s alright. All I did was ask if I could plug my phone in,” I growl, defensively.

“I’m okay,” Hayden whispers, biting her lip, and refusing to look at me. Jesus. What is her damage?

“Good. Do you have the baked goods ready?” he asks her.

“Yes. I was just getting them together when…when I had company,” she says, and I wonder where the woman from yesterday is. She talked to me without stuttering then. She didn’t act like this. It has to be the scars, either that or not having the gun in her hand makes her feel unsafe. I shouldn’t be curious, but there’s a side of me wanting to hear exactly why she’s acting as if I’m about to kill her today compared to yesterday when she was ready to kill me.

“Good. We’ll get them in a minute,” the man says, patting her hand reassuringly. She’s definitely not backing away from him. He’s probably the baby daddy. It’s clear he’s nothing like me, maybe that’s why she’s got her ass in a knot.

My appearance probably offends the bitch. Too bad for her. It can’t offend her more than it does myself. Hell, I can’t think of the last time I looked in a mirror.

“I’m Pastor Sturgill. I run the Little Pines Baptist Church in town,” the man informs me, extending his hand.

I look at it for a minute, then shake it, reluctantly. I grunt in response.

When it becomes clear I’m not going to answer, the man prompts me. “And you are?”

My first reaction is to give him my club name. It’s the only name I’ve used for years—more years than I care to remember. The problem with that is, I’m no longer part of the club. Skull may not have accepted my Blaze cut back, but I left it behind anyway. I left it and the club. I’m no longer that man.

“Michael,” I answer, giving my name for the first time in years.

“Michael, it’s good to meet you. Are you new to the area?”

“Yes. I just bought the old barn over there.”

“You’re living in a barn loft?” the man asks.

“Yeah,” I grumble, annoyed.

“Well then, that’s all fine and good. I’m sure Hayden will feel more comfortable knowing there’s someone close by for her to call if she needs something.”

I’m just as sure that’s not what’s going through her head, but I don’t correct him.

“There’s an outlet off Hayden’s front porch. I’m sure she wouldn’t have an objection to you charging your phone there, would you Hayden?”

“I…I guess not.”

“Good. That’s settled.”

“Fine. Thanks,” I tell them and turn away. The thank you sticks in my throat. I don’t see what the big damn deal is, but I would rather it be this way. I won’t have to deal with anyone.

I go plug my phone in, and I’m stomping back over to my place when the Pastor’s voice stops me. “Might I have a word, Michael?”

Christ. Why didn’t I just let the phone go? I started to, but years of being conditioned to always keep one active for the club and for Annie…Fuck.

“What?” I growl, and because of the memories I’ve accidentally set off inside of me, it is a growl.

“I was wondering if we might have a word while Hayden is inside.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about, Rev?”

“I’m no reverend. God says put no reverence on any man, I’m merely his servant,” he replies, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say to that, so I shrug and wait. “Hayden is very sensitive.”

“That’s one way of putting it. No worries, man. I have no plans on even talking to her again.”

“That might be for the best. She’s had enough trauma in her life. I won’t have her hurt again. It’s important that you know she will be watched over.”

“Is she yours?”

“Pardon?”

“Is she your woman? That baby she’s carrying, you put it there?”

“Of course not.”

“Where I’m from a man—a real man, takes care of what’s his, so if she’s yours you are obviously doing a piss-poor job of it.”

“I’m her pastor. I assure you there’s nothing else, but I do care about her. I need to know she’ll be safe here with you so close.”

“She’ll be as safe as she ever was. I don’t intend to look at her again, let alone talk to her,” I tell him, and that’s the God’s honest truth.

Exhausted, I walk away. I’ve already talked too much. I want to forget the fucking world and crash with a bottle of whiskey and darkness. Is that so much to ask? Behind me, I hear the woman tell the man she’s ready to go. I don’t look back, but for some strange reason I want to. Her voice is softer than it was yesterday, but I can still hear the anxiety in it. That’s not why I refuse to turn around. No, it’s those pale eyes of hers I want to gaze into. Because in them, I think I see as much pain as I have mirrored in mine. I relish in thinking that someone else has suffered as much as I have. I enjoy the idea so much that I want to see it again—but I deny myself that comfort.

“Let’s get going, Hayden. I was just saying goodbye to Michael. You’ll like having him as a neighbor. I know you like your solitude, but Michael is the name of God’s most trusted archangel. He’s the one who leads the battle against evil.”

Fuck. It’s been awhile, but I feel a rusty laugh pull up from my chest. It ends as more of a cough, but it was there.

“I’m no angel, Rev,” I toss out carelessly over my shoulder, as I keep walking away.