CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jared
I tried to call Darby that evening. Her phone was off. I went to sleep restless and sad. I could smell her all over my apartment – the sweet lavender of her perfume. I had gotten to work later that afternoon and tried to explain it away, but I knew the guys all guessed something was up: I never normally looked that cheerful.
Now, the day after, I wasn't cheerful. I was stressed.
It was Sunday – my day off. I woke up later than I usually did, and tried to message her. I had breakfast and fixed the tap in the kitchen, which was leaking. Then I got a message on my phone.
I ran to the bedroom at top speed and grabbed it. It was from Darby. I stared.
I just got on the plane back again. I'll miss you. Darby.
“She's left?”
I knew it would happen. But still, it took me by surprise. I felt wounded. Like someone had just stabbed me, hard, in the ribs. She could've said something!
“She didn't tell me yesterday. Why not?”
I knew the answer. It was because she didn't want to have anything more to do with me. She had said that, in other words. I just hadn't heard.
“Dammit.”
Of all the ridiculous, stupid things. The only girl I'd ever fallen for, I couldn't have.
Typical.
That was just the story of my life. I had grown up in a hard way, and why should my life get any easier? What made me think that anything better could open up for me?
“Come on, Jared. Get to the store.”
I sighed. It was Sunday. It was my time to stock up on groceries for the rest of the week. I made a list, checking through the kitchen, the bathroom, the sitting-room, for things I needed. Then I headed to the store. My pickup started making weird noises as I drove into town.
There was something loose under the hood. I knew it. The same damn problem I'd taken it to Maxwell's to get fixed four days ago. I should go and get him to fix it again.
I decided to head straight there.
“Max?” I called out.
“Huh? What?”
He slid out from under a truck, hands black with dirt and grease. His big face was smiling with that weird look that suggested he knew I was here to complain to him.
“It's that damn nut,” I said. “It's loose again.”
“What? No way, man.”
I nodded. He sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I'll have another look. You know what? I should just replace the damn suspension. I know, I know,” he put his hands up as I opened my mouth. “It's pricey.”
“It sure is!” I said, sounding horrified even to my own ears. “But I just can't handle the rattling and the bouncing. You did say it's mended.”
He bit his lip. “Okay. Fine. I'll redo it free of charge. Okay?”
I sighed and nodded. “I appreciate it.”
He said he'd take half an hour and I decided to go for a walk. I was feeling pretty wrecked as it was, and I could do with some time to myself. I walked out of the garage and up the side-walk.
Impulsively, my feet took me toward the place where I'd fought the gang. I felt angry and sad and messed up and I didn't care, in that moment, if they spotted me. I was finished.
I walked past the place and headed further, going along the road until it merged with a farm-track, heading out toward the dusty hills.
I was standing there, staring at nothing, feeling as empty as the big sky. Suddenly, I heard a scuff.
Shoes. Someone walking over.
“You,” a voice said.
I turned round. I was looking at the guy I'd beaten up.
Dammit.
Here I was, stuck in the middle of nowhere, more or less, endangered. The guy was smiling unpleasantly.
I shrugged. “Hey.”
I walked back down the road, heading up to the garage. I wasn't going to let him know I was worried. I sauntered, hands in pockets, slowly. My heart was thumping.
“I said, you.”
He was following me. He reached out and grabbed my shoulder. His face was still a mess – one lip still split, bruising everywhere. The bruising on my face had gone down somewhat, except for the ring of mauve around the eye-socket. His was purple, green and gray.
“I heard,” I said evenly. “So what?”
He spat. “You messed with the wrong gang,” he said. “We'll get you.”
I shrugged. “You'll try.”
Where was this coming from? I wasn't usually arrogant like this. His eyes darkened. He was close, now, close enough for me to see the rage and almost smell it, an iron smell like blood on the air.
“You're dead, man.”
I blinked. “Not really, man.”
He made a fist. I froze where I was. He leaned forward.
“We'll get your girl first. Then you. We're watching.”
I grinned. “She's not my girl,” I said.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Weirdly, that made me feel good. At least she's okay. I would have hated having her here, in danger.
“Fine. Then we'll get you instead.”
I laughed. “You can try,” I shrugged. I was rolling up my sleeves. Suddenly, he saw it.
The tattoo on my wrist.
It was a gang tattoo. One from my LA street-gang years. I hated it, but I couldn't afford to remove it. I'd considered having it covered up by another, but as yet I had no idea how to change it. If Darby noticed it, she hadn't asked. I was glad.
He was staring at it.
“That's the Marksmen?”
I nodded.
He smiled unpleasantly. “Everyone know you're a Marksman? Hey?”
I laughed. Inside, I was scared. Nobody knew. I tried to keep it out of sight and on the occasions when I couldn't, the people who saw didn't know what it was. Only someone like him would have known. But I wasn't going to let him know.
“What do you think?”
He sneered. “I think no-one does. Well, you know what? Hey, cowboy?”
“What?”
“Everyone will soon.”
I laughed again. This time, I didn't think he was serious. How could he tell anyone? Who'd believe him?
“Sure,” I said. “You go tell everyone.”
His face tightened. “Fine. I will.”
I knew he wasn't ready to fight me – his ribs were pretty bust up, at my guess, and he wasn't going to try hitting me.
This is his next best weapon.
I laughed easily. “Sure. They'll believe you.”
He glared. I grinned, just to infuriate him. I was still smiling as I walked back along the side-walk to the garage.
I must have been frowning when I got there, because Max's eyes narrowed. “Hell, it's okay,” he said. “Nearly done.”
I sighed and sank down onto a temporary seat on an oil barrel. “Fine. I'll wait.”
It took another ten minutes. As I watched Max and his assistant working, my mind was racing hard. I knew the guy didn't mean it. How could he? There was no-one who was going to believe a lowlife like him.
A lowlife like I was.
The thought was a hard one. I looked, without making it obvious, at my wrist. The tattoo stood out proud. I wanted to burn it out myself, to clean it off. But what was the point? He'd seen it.
I'm marked by that past. I should just own it. What does it matter?
I considered telling the guys at work, just as a precaution. If they knew already, maybe they'd go easy on me.
Come on, Jared!
Who was going to find out? No-one.
I was safe. It was an empty threat by an angry man.
I looked up into a smiling face.
“Ready, Jared.” It was Max. He looked, if anything, more relieved than I felt. I nodded appreciatively and stood to shake his outstretched hand.
“Thanks, man.”
I drove out a few minutes later to the grocery store. The engine was quiet and it didn't bounce, shudder or rattle. In a bad day, there was at least one good happening.