Fucking ow ow ow ow ow fuckity ow.
If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to get attacked with pepper spray, don’t. Just zip that curiosity right back up in the bowels of your brain where it belongs. Absolutely nothing good will come from it, other than, perhaps, a mildly entertaining rant in which you expound on why you wish you’d died instead of getting sprayed by fucking pepper spray. If you get lucky, someone might film it, put it on the internet, and you’ll become a viral video star.
The pepper spray bottle clattered to the ground. “Oh snap!” Kristi covered her face with her hands, then took them away slowly, looking horrified. “Boss?”
“What the fuck, Kristi?” I whined, running in the direction of the bathroom – and banging into several boxes while I was at it.
Because I was blind. Because she’d just sprayed me with fucking pepper spray.
For the first time in sixteen months, twenty-four days, and – I attempted to check my watch – four hours? Ish?
Anyway, for the first time in a long time, my eyes were streaming with tears not induced by my untamable emotions, but I almost wished they were. Anything – getting punched in the tit, PMDD, and yes, even my grief – was better than this. Because at least those things were familiar. I knew from experience how to handle them. (Yes, I am familiar with getting punched in the tit. I have an older brother, after all.) But this was wholly new, and really fucking painful.
Jesus. No wonder I was crying.
“I’m sorry,” Kristi cried as she hurried along behind me. After the fourth box came out of nowhere to assault me, she put her hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the small bathroom in the corner of the stock room that was only for employees.
“You should be,” I muttered. “I think you’ve permanently blinded me. I should fire you for this.”
“You can’t fire me!” she retorted. “I was just protecting the shop from a burglar.”
“I’m not a fucking burglar,” I growled, reaching blindly for the faucet and rapping my knuckles on the sink instead. I whimpered in frustration and pain and, okay, a little self-pity.
She snorted. “Well, maybe you should have announced yourself. Or, I don’t know, called first.”
I grunted as she pulled my hands away and turned the faucet on, filling a bowl that she produced from I don’t even know where. It had Ewoks dancing around the side of it, distinguishable even in my present state of visual impairment by their little spears and fat asses.
“It’s my shop,” I reminded her, my tone mutinous.
She clucked her tongue. “You could argue it’s my shop. I’m here every day, running it. I make all the business decisions. You haven’t been here in over a year.”
I frowned as she set the bowl on the sink basin. “And you definitely made it your own. The stock room is a mess,” I complained, because I was feeling petty.
Because she’d just fucking pepper sprayed me.
Though lucky for me, her aim was not so great today. She’d merely spritzed my eyes with the pepper oil. But that meant that the lower half of my face, my ears, my neck, and my chest had borne the brunt of the assault. The spray had seeped through my shirt, and my boobs were tingling uncomfortably.
But even a mere crop dusting was enough to make my eyes burn with the heat of a thousand suns.
“Dunk your face in that for as long as you can hold your breath,” she instructed. “And the stock room is not a mess. I have a system,” she sniffed. “Well, I had a system before you came in and bungled it all up.” She paused. “Burgled? Bungle-burgled. Burngled.” Then she giggled at her own wordplay.
I almost asked if she’d been drinking, but this was Kristi. She just had a goofy sense of humor. But she also took exactly no shit from anyone, which is one of the many reasons she made the perfect manager for the shop.
That, and she was capable of getting out of bed every morning and showing up to work like a functional member of society.
I turned to face her, squinting to see her better, though she was still just a Kristi-shaped blur.
“I’m sorry,” I grunted, right before I dunked my face in the water.
Man, I was on a roll. This was twice in one day now I’d apologized to someone. Though I had to admit, it wouldn’t have been so easy if I could actually see her clearly. Or if I were even looking at her, for that matter.
“What are you sorry for?” another voice asked.
A ridiculously deep voice that was most definitely not Kristi. A voice I was suddenly, fervently hoping I hadn’t identified correctly.
I pulled my face out of the water, gasping – though not because I’d held my breath too long. Then I closed my eyes, which hurt slightly less than they had a moment ago. So at least I had that going for me.
“Please tell me I did not just get pepper sprayed in front of Taylor’s boyfriend,” I whispered, praying that only Kristi could hear me.
“No, I was the only one back here when I sprayed you,” she assured me. “I told them I would take care of the intruder with my ninja moves.”
And then she karate chopped me in my spicy tit.
“Motherfucker!” I bellowed, crossing my arms over my chest. My eyes flew open, and I glared at her.
“Sorry!” Kristi moaned. Her hands reached out, but then she pulled them back, like she wanted to rub the owie and make it all better, but realized that she’d basically just be groping me.
I blinked a few times, my tears of pain flushing out the pepper spray, at least. When I could finally focus, I looked up – way up – at Graham ‘Why the Fuck is He Here Right Fucking Now?’ Morris.
Of course. Of course the one person in the entire New York Metro area that I wouldn’t want to see me in a compromising position was standing in the stock room of my shop, watching me get punched in the tit.
And I take back what I said earlier. There was something worse than both getting punched in the tit, and getting pepper sprayed: getting punched in the pepper-sprayed tit. In front of the man I’d been inappropriately lusting after since last night. The man I’d been secretly hoping might, one day, want to play with my tits.
Now there was no hope of that happening, because if he ever even looked at my tits in the future, all he’d be able to think about was where they’d fall on the Scoville index.
Kill. Me. Now.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his stupid movie-star face scrunching in concern. “Also, hi.”
I grunted. “Hi.”
“You’re Taylor’s boyfriend?” Kristi asked, looking at Graham with interest now, my battered, peppery self completely forgotten.
Kristi and Taylor had bonded over nail art when I’d first introduced them almost two years ago, and now they hung out occasionally. Fuck if I knew what else they had in common. Maybe they traded tips on contouring, or how to be chipper.
“Yes, he is,” I answered for him.
“No, I’m not,” he replied at exactly the same time.
“What?” we both said.
He laughed, his stupidly gorgeous leaf-green eyes crinkling. “I’m not Taylor’s boyfriend.”
I sucked in a breath, not sure what he meant by that, and not really having the guts to ask right at that moment. I wasn’t sure which answer I wanted to hear. If he said they were just casually dating, that was bad, because then he was a fuckboy. Taylor’s fuckboy, but a fuckboy nonetheless.
If he said they weren’t dating at all, that was worse. Because then he was free and available, and there was, on paper, no reason why I could not lust for him.
Which was horrible, of course.
“Who is Taylor?” another voice asked, a feminine voice I could only describe as musical. The owner of said voice inserted herself between Graham’s body and his arm, which ended up draped over her shoulder.
And she looked perfectly at home there.
I narrowed my eyes, my gaze bouncing suspiciously from her to him.
“Who the fuck are you?” I barked, before I could stop myself.
“Uh, a paying customer,” Kristi stage-whispered.
The woman, who looked to be about my age, widened her eyes. But she didn’t look mad, or scared, or even offended by my sharp tone.
No, she looked concerned.
“Oh, honey, your shirt!”
I looked down, pulling my arms from my chest to see what she was talking about.
I inhaled sharply. “No,” I whispered in dismay.
Because my shirt – Daniel’s shirt, his favorite Joy Division tee – was ruined. The well-worn screen-printing was peeling up, curling at the edges, and the entire front of the faded black cotton was stained with pepper oil. I had no idea how to get it out, or even if it would ever come out.
And worst of all, a hole was opening along the seam at the neck, widening further and further with each spicy second.
Daniel had bought this tee shirt at a flea market when he was thirteen. For ten years, he’d owned it with pride, taking care of it like it was his baby. It was one of his most prized possessions.
And now I’d ruined it.
“Oh, no,” Kristi murmured.
I looked up, not even bothering to disguise how betrayed I felt.
“Boss, I am so sorry,” she told me. “I had no idea it would do that.”
I grunted, my eyes sliding away. I knew it wasn’t really her fault, and I didn’t want to yell at her. I didn’t want to cause a rift with the woman I trusted to keep this business afloat, because then she might quit. And then I’d lose more than just Daniel’s favorite tee shirt – I’d lose his legacy.
Besides, I was tired of yelling. Tired of this bottomless anger for everyone and everything. Tired of the stupid fucking tears that were once again threatening, and not because the pepper spray still burned.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, trying to get my shit under control. But I couldn’t. There was no control to be had, for my shit or otherwise. I felt like I was spiraling out, spinning and spinning and spinning, getting farther and farther away from myself, until I could hardly even see the real Larkin anymore.
If there even was a real Larkin anymore. Was it possible to lose one’s husband, to grieve like this, to be so wholly consumed by it, and come out the other side of it the same person you were?
I wasn’t sure. But at this point, I would settle for just coming out the other side at all.
“Boss?” the other girl asked. “You must be Krista’s cousin, then.”
I opened my eyes, frowning at her. Who the hell was this girl who was so familiar with Graham, who knew my cousin, who had charged into the stock room of my shop like she owned the damn place?
Whoever she was, she was really pretty. She was also tiny, several inches shorter than me, at least. She barely came to the top of Graham’s armpit. And she was looking at me with undisguised curiosity and a big, bright smile that made me want to hit something.
Or maybe it was the way Graham’s arm was still draped over her that made me want to hit something.
And speaking of Graham, he gave me a long look, like he was trying to figure something out. His gaze flicked from the tee shirt to my face, and he frowned.
“Ellie, this is Larkin Michaels,” he said, gesturing to me. “Larkin, this is Ellie Morris.” The corners of his mouth lifted in amusement. “My sister.”
His sister. I huffed. Of course, now that he’d said it, I could see the rather obvious resemblance. They both had the same coffee-colored hair, though hers skimmed her shoulders and was lighter at the ends in some trendy hair coloring technique that Taylor would undoubtedly be able to name. It looked pretty on her, though, framing her smile, which I now identified as nearly identical to Graham’s.
And they both had the same leaf-green eyes, though hers didn’t cause a shiver to race up my spine the way his did.
“Come here,” she said, walking forward and grabbing my hand. I mutely allowed myself to be pulled back into the bathroom, too shell-shocked by this whole freaking day to argue. “Graham, go grab one of those tee shirts I put on the counter.” She gave me an assessing look, her thoughtful gaze lingering on my eyes. They seemed to light up with something that looked almost like triumph, and I wondered what that was about. “The Ramones one, I think.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, clearly as overwhelmed by his sister’s take-charge attitude as I was.
Her brother now effectively dismissed, Ellie turned to Kristi. “Do you have a break room here?”
“Over there.” Kristi pointed at the opposite corner of the stock room, which had a little row of cabinets, a sink, a refrigerator, and a table and chairs.
That had been Daniel’s brainchild. Our employees would need somewhere to eat their lunches and keep their energy drinks, he reasoned. Because one day very soon, we’d have more employees than just ourselves and Kristi. Some day Soundtrax would be a franchise, he said, with stores all over the country and a thriving web business. We would be the monarchs of the nerd world, he said.
God, I fucking missed him. Coming here today had been even harder than I’d thought it would be, but also not. I’d run like a demon was chasing me all through town, ignoring the stares from all the people who hadn’t seen me during daylight hours in months. Once I’d run all the way down the boardwalk, I’d turned, heading back up Grand Avenue. I’d looped around the building to the alley behind Soundtrax, skidding to a stop in front of the huge delivery doors. Then I’d sunk to the ground, crossing my legs in front of me and staring at the building. After too many minutes of wrestling with my memories, of berating myself for not going in, but also for wanting to go in, I’d finally stood up and walked inside.
Only to find it looked nothing like it had the day before Daniel died – the last day I’d been in the shop. Kristi had rearranged everything in the stock room to suit herself, virtually erasing my husband’s careful system. She’d also painted the bricks a bright white, making it look less like a Prohibition-era dungeon, and she’d added a row of ten or so lockers for the employees she must have hired.
I looked around the room now, biting my lip. I still wasn’t sure if all the changes were good or bad. On the one hand, Daniel’s ghost seemed less intimidating when it wasn’t haunting every corner of the space.
On the other hand, I wasn’t ready to let that ghost move on. Not just yet.
“Excellent!” Ellie smiled at Kristi, bringing me back to the present. “Could you please bring me the dish soap and a clean kitchen towel?”
Kristi nodded, turning and disappearing into the throngs of boxes, which she navigated expertly, of course. Ellie closed the bathroom door behind us.
“Let’s get you out of this and cleaned up,” she said, tugging at the hem of my tee shirt like she meant to take it off.
I crossed my arms over my stomach defensively. “I can do it,” I mumbled, looking over at the wall to avoid her questioning gaze.
Because I wasn’t about to admit that I didn’t want anyone seeing what grief had done to my body. Even though this annoyingly helpful woman had never seen me before, I didn’t want her to judge me. My nerves were raw, and my usual fuck-off deflector shields were glitching.
“I’m sure you can.” She gently grasped my wrists, trying to pull my arms away from my body. “But you don’t have to. Let me help.”
I turned back, frowning at her. Why was she so eager to help me?
“Besides, I’m a doctor,” she added, giving me another one of those bright smiles that were getting harder and harder to hate. There was something genuinely sweet and innocent about this little pixie that made me feel guilty for being such a grumpy bear.
“No need to be embarrassed,” she added softly. “I won’t judge.”
I studied her for a moment. Her green eyes were sincere. So I took a deep breath and dropped my arms. She hummed in approval as I let her peel Daniel’s shirt off me. Then I sat on the toilet lid so she could better access all of me.
She frowned, and I looked away again, sure that she was judging me anyway, despite what she’d said. And I guess I couldn’t blame her. Aside from the larger-than-average breasts that would seemingly never go away, I was not the same person that I’d been sixteen months, twenty-four days, and – I checked my watch, able to see it clearly once more – four hours and forty-three minutes ago. I’d lost nearly twenty pounds that I couldn’t really afford to lose, because I’d been eating only sporadically for far too long. Sometimes I would feel my hollow stomach grumble, well into the wee hours of the morning when I couldn’t sleep, and realize I hadn’t eaten all day.
But a tentative peek at Ellie told me she wasn’t frowning at the ribs that were trying to poke their way through my skin. Her fingers traced over my collarbone without touching me, and I realized she was looking at the skin that had been affected by the Great Pepper Spray Incident of 2017.
“This must hurt,” she murmured, giving me a sympathetic look. “I had to treat a police officer who got pepper sprayed once, in the ER. He was training some new recruits and one of them got a little overzealous with the mace.” She tsked. “He had first-degree burns on his cheeks and nose.”
I winced. That did sound painful. And I was grateful – not that I would ever admit it aloud – that Kristi had such terrible aim. My injuries weren’t so bad, really. I already felt much better than I had a few minutes ago.
Or maybe I was just acclimating to the pain. I was an expert at that, after all.
“You’re an ER doctor?” I asked.
Ellie shook her head as she swept my sweaty hair off my face, tying it into a ponytail with an elastic she pulled from her purse.
“No, I work in biomedical research. I make prosthetics,” she explained. “But I went through medical school and had to do a typical residency, like any other MD.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Wow.” I wasn’t impressed by much, but that was some serious shit. “You seem young, though. You can’t be much older than me.”
She shrugged. “I just turned twenty-six. But I graduated high school two years early, so I had a head start. And I finished my undergrad a year early, too.”
I grunted. She said it all so matter-of-factly, like being a genius was no big deal.
She gave me a curious look. “Why, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, wow. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I sighed. Of course she wouldn’t. I probably looked about as ancient as I felt – which was somewhere around a hundred years old.
“That’s a huge accomplishment, owning a successful business. I’d have thought you were older.”
Oh. That was not what I expected.
But before I could answer, there was a knock.
“Uh,” Graham said. “I have that shirt.”
My arms flew to my chest, trying to cover my body, while Ellie cracked the door just wide enough to stick her hand out.
“I’m not looking, Eloise,” Graham grumbled.
“Whatever, big brother,” she shot back, winking at me as she handed me a vintage Ramones tee. “You are a man, as you constantly like to remind me.”
I snorted. I highly doubted that he (or any man) would want to see me without my shirt on. He was (possibly) dating Taylor, after all, and there was at least a forty percent chance he’d gotten to second base with her. Maybe even further.
My body – a hollowed-out husk of what it used to be – would hardly compare.
“Here’s the soap and stuff, too,” he said, and Ellie grabbed it, shutting the door firmly behind her.
“Okay,” came Graham’s muffled reply. “I’ll just, uh, wait out here.”
“Okay! Thanks!” Ellie called cheerfully, pulling down the first aid kit that was mounted above the toilet and extracting a pair of sterile gloves. She smiled at me as she dumped out the Ewok bowl and refilled it with hot, soapy water. “This will break down the oil,” she told me. “I have some lotion that will help soothe your skin once you’re all clean, too.”
I watched in silence for a few minutes as she worked to clean my stinging skin, patiently and gently washing me, wringing out the cloth, and refilling the bowl with clean, soapy water as needed. She was going above and beyond, really, which made me feel like an ungrateful bitch. Again.
Not to mention, it was kind of hard to be mean to someone who was voluntarily sponge-bathing you.
I sighed. “Thanks,” I muttered, my eyes sliding away again.
“You’re welcome.” She smiled as she turned my face back to her, running the cloth over my chin. Her green eyes bounced all over my face as she wiped it down. “Your eyes are an unusual color,” she observed.
I huffed. “I know. And yes, they’re natural.”
She laughed, a sound like bells pealing. “I can see that.” She winked at me. “I’m a doctor, remember?”
I snorted. “How could I forget? You remind me every three minutes.”
She stared at me, her eyes widening in shock. But then she dissolved into giggles.
“Oh, man” she breathed, wiping tears of mirth from her cheeks with her forearms. “I can see why my brother likes you.”
I frowned. “He doesn’t like me.”
She smiled at me, her gaze lingering on my eyes again. “Oh, I think he does.” She hummed as she bent her head again, dipping the cloth into the soapy water.
“He’s dating my best friend,” I argued.
“That would be Taylor?” she asked, her tone sly.
I nodded. “Why?”
She shrugged. “No reason. He just seemed pretty adamant that she wasn’t his girlfriend.” She gave my face a final swipe with the soap mixture. “Now rinse,” she instructed, stepping back.
I bent over the sink, splashing water over my face, neck, and chest. Then I patted myself dry with some paper towels from the dispenser.
When I turned, she’d disposed of the gloves and was now holding out the tee shirt for me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as I pulled it over my head. “And it doesn’t matter,” I said. “You don’t date your friends’ exes. It’s a rule.”
Besides, there were a host of other reasons why I wouldn’t go there with him. The most obvious one being that I wasn’t fucking ready to date anybody. Let alone someone so intimidatingly perfect.
She gave me a sad smile. “Well, I think-”
“Uh, Larkin?” Graham’s barely-muffled voice sounded through the thick steel door, and I winced. Had he heard that entire conversation?
“Yeah,” I rasped. I cleared my throat. “What’s up?”
“Um, you should really come out here.”
“We’ll be out in a second,” Ellie called, rolling her eyes at me as if to say, brothers. I snorted, because I knew the feeling.
“Now would be better.”
I frowned, my heart rate kicking up at the urgency in his tone. “What is it?”
There was muffled discussion, and what sounded like a new voice. Then someone pounded on the door, hard enough to rattle it.
“Open up! Police!”