Chapter 3 – Cream Puff
Grady –
“You think yer tough, huh?” he slurs, his big body shifting to the side, catching his balance. I don’t know exactly what he does to get like this, but I don’t think it’s just from drinking. This seems different.
Without taking my eyes off him, I say to Peyton, “Go find the girls. You know what to do.”
“You little fucker.” The man sways before looking over my head. “Don’t you move, Peyton. You girls left a fuckin’ mess. ‘Spose to clean this shit up before I get home.”
“Get home from where?” I ask, taking a step closer, trying to get his attention back to me.
“Grady,” Peyton calls for me through her tears, not doing what I told her to. I feel her hand grab at my arm to keep me from moving closer to him, but I shrug her off.
“Go,” I stress. She needs to hide now before I can’t keep him from her. I’ve started to put on some weight, but he’s still got at least sixty pounds and five inches on me. No way can I protect her once he gets started.
“Little fucker,” he repeats, too few brain cells to come up with anything new. “Yer fuckin’ thirteen. You think you can stop me from teachin’ those girls not to make a mess in my house?”
I think I hear Peyton scurry off. I hope she does what I’ve told her to. If not, we’re all in for it, not just me. “Fourteen. I had a birthday six months ago, but you wouldn’t know. You’ve been drunk for years.”
And he has. He was always a drinker but it’s been worse since Mom’s been gone.
His arm comes up, but I’m quicker. I’ve learned to be out of self-preservation, but football taught me to be even faster. Most guys my age go out for football for the love of the sport. I doubt many pray they make the team so they can bulk up and learn to dodge an uppercut to better survive at home. Or to have another excuse for the bruises. And I need every excuse I can get.
He fumbles then trips. “Damn you!”
My newfound agility pisses him off and he really comes for me. I try to dodge him again, but no matter how quick I am or how off he is from whatever he’s high on, his sixty pounds and five extra inches win.
The next thing I know, I see stars…
I jerk awake, pain shooting through my shoulder from my body wracking. The remote goes flying, hitting the floor, and when I look up, game highlights are on the screen.
Fuck. The dreams won’t stop.
I’ve never needed a lot of sleep to function, even to be on my game. But I can’t say I’ve ever been afraid of sleep. Hell, I’ve never been afraid of anything.
I look at my phone and it’s early. I must have drifted off after dinner. The days are so damn long sitting around here, but the nights are even longer. They last for-fucking-ever.
The cameras ding, telling me there’s movement in the woods, and when I open the app, there are multiple alerts. It’s probably what woke me, not that I mind. Ever since Crew and I got back to the States, my shithead father invades my dreams. Fifteen years later, from the grave, he’s still fucking with me. After all this time, his tormenting doesn’t stop.
Because of Crew’s business and training the up-and-coming assassins, this property has got to be one of the most heavily secured pieces of land outside of the beltway. When Crew made Addy his, he extended that security to the vineyard, too. The alerts mean the cameras and sensors have picked up something in the woods, and like it does every time since I’ve returned from the assignment from hell, it makes my insides tighten.
When I click to the cameras, there she is—running.
Always running. I almost missed it.
I should turn off my phone and give her privacy. She has no idea every time she runs, I can’t take my eyes off her.
Seeing her face as she moves quickly through the trails of the vineyard, she’s focused and deep in thought, different than how she looks when she’s working in the tasting room. There, she’s antsy—even nervous.
Just like every time I watch her over the cameras—which is everyday—no matter if she’s coming, going, running, or sitting on her porch, I know I shouldn’t look, but I do.
I can’t stop.
At first, I realized this made me a slimeball—watching a woman over cameras for pure escapism—but I don’t give a shit. If I wasn’t worried about being a slimeball, I should be really fucking worried about my mental capacity that I’m watching her and don’t care.
But I adjust the cameras and do what I do every day. I watch so I don’t think about anything else.
Nothing but her.
*****
Maya –
“I just talked to Morris. Next year I want to go bigger and better in the fall. The Thanksgiving tasting was such a hit—I want to start earlier in October. In the spring, we’ll plant a pumpkin patch for kids and only request a donation to go to charity. Expanding the menu to include some kid-friendly meals or treats might be a good addition. Maybe it will give adults another reason to visit.”
Addy is filling Evan and me in on her plans for next year. I worked hard to become a physical therapist and never planned to wait tables. It sort of makes me sad to think I might not be here next year to experience her bigger and better plans. I don’t know what I expected when I left, but the longer I’m here, the easier it is to breathe, not to mention, I like it. I’m not sure I can make it a whole year without needing to move on. Deep down, I hope I get to stay.
It’s Friday and the tasting room is becoming more crowded by the hour. Thanksgiving was just last week and Addy has the place decked for Christmas. There are trees everywhere and they’re decorated solely with wine and deer-related ornaments that are all for sale. She even mixed in some cows.
I grew up in the suburbs and have never been around livestock before. Addy sure loves her cows. When she found out I’m a runner, Addy invited me to walk with her and the cows in the mornings, but I’m usually at the Ranch by that time. Plus, as cute as they are from far away, they smell exactly how one would expect a cow to smell—like a cow.
I’ve passed on walking with the cows and stuck to my late-evening runs. It’s dark, and out here in the middle of nowhere with no city lights, it’s really dark. I stay on Addy’s property, but I can’t say it doesn’t freak me out to run in the dark by myself. I can’t afford a treadmill, let alone have room for one in my bungalow.
“Maybe build some fire pits,” Evan offers. “If it’s cold, customers can still be outside and the kids can run around. You can offer s’mores on the menu.”
“Ooh, that’s good. I’ll ask Morris how best to do that. Fire pits beyond the patio should be an easy addition. What do you think, Maya?” Addy asks.
She always catches me off guard when she does that. Asking my opinion—like it matters, since I only wait tables. It’s even worse when she asks me something that would give away any personal details of my life.
I feel my eyes go big and shrug, trying to think of something to add. Pulling from my most recent experience at the Ranch, I offer the only thought that pops into my head. “Maybe some yard games? You know, for the kids and even adults, since you’re trying to entertain them outside.”
“Yeah, you need to up the entertainment,” Evan agrees as he washes glasses and looks to me. “I keep telling her she needs to stay open late a couple nights a month and have live music. They’d come in droves for that.”
Addy sighs. “I know they would, Evan, but I already work six days a week, plus all the events. Crew and I are trying to cut back our hours, not add to them.”
Addy is dating a man named Crew, though I don’t think dating is the right word. He lives with her even though he owns the property next door. I’ve seen him come in with Grady a few times for lunch or dinner, so I assume they know each other. I’ve done my best to stick with my don’t make any friends plan, and I haven’t asked, but I’m so curious it’s becoming a thorn in my side.
Speaking of my thorn, I look to the front entrance when the big heavy door swings open. My creeper instincts must be honed to perfection, because there he is—Grady, bigger than life like always, with Crew behind him.
“Hey, you here for lunch?” Addy swiftly moves from behind the counter and greets her boyfriend—or whatever he is—with a kiss.
Crew doesn’t let her go, keeping her tight to his side and looks down at her with full adoration. “Yeah. I decided to drag Grady out for a late lunch.”
Grateful for the excuse to finally peek at him, I bite my lip and try to hide my frown when I find him staring at me. It’s sort of a mix between a glare and a stare, but nonetheless, his beautiful, bright-blue eyes shine through his crinkled brow. I should greet them both, or do my job and offer to take their orders, but Grady frowning at me makes me hesitate. I have a feeling it’s all about my pushing the specials on him.
Hmm.
That was a couple days ago, but apparently, I made an impression. I’ve resorted back to hiding for the last couple days and successfully avoided him every time he’s come in.
“How are you feeling, Grady? You look like you’re moving better,” Addy asks.
Grady’s eyes narrow on me before looking to Addy, muttering, “Better every day.”
“What happened?” Oh, shit. I hate it when I speak before thinking. That popped out of my mouth before I could stop it, probably because I’ve wondered what happened to him since the first time I laid eyes on him. After moving here, I’ve controlled my curiosity about everything in an attempt to keep my distance, but it’s plain to see Grady was in a serious accident. The health care professional in me—and more recently the creeper—has been gnawing at the bit to find out how he ended up broken, bruised, and scarred.
If I’m not mistaken, Addy and Crew tense a bit as all eyes move to Grady. He’s staring at me again, those blue eyes a mix of annoyance and curiosity.
When he doesn’t answer, my mouth starts to run, because the awkward silence is so uncomfortable, I can’t handle it. “You were obviously in some sort of accident and broke your arm, but with your wedge, it’s easy to see it’s more than just your radius and ulna.”
Grady says nothing, but shifts his weight as his frown deepens.
But I’m on a roll and can’t help myself. “I’ve seen you this way for weeks now, broken forearms aren’t slung that long anymore, let alone with a wedge. Did you do something to your shoulder?”
I must have annoyed him into speaking because he finally clips, “I’m fine.”
“You need to go back to the doctor,” Crew adds. “He told you to come back soon for a follow-up. You’re gonna fuck up that shoulder if you wait much longer.”
Grady’s eyes shift to Crew, his blue eyes nothing but angry now. “I said, I’m fine.”
The mention of his shoulder is too much—I slide right into healthcare mode. “What did you do to your shoulder?”
Grady looks back across the bar to me. “Nothing.”
“He dislocated it,” Crew answers for him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Grady growls at Crew.
And I thought he was grumpy before. All this back-and-forth has certainly pushed him over the top.
“How long ago?” I ask, now more concerned than ever. I’ve been stalking him for more than four weeks in this condition, if he hasn’t been back to the doctor by now, that isn’t good.
He’s in full-on glare mode when he looks back at me and asks, “Who are you?”
Sweet Addy offers her first words in the conversation, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sorry, Grady, have you not met Maya Augustine?”
Grady’s eyes widen, and this time I know he’s talking about me pushing the specials when he answers without looking away from me, “Oh, I’ve met her.”
As if no one else has spoken, Crew keeps filling me in. “It’s been five weeks.”
Unbelievable. He dislocated his shoulder five weeks ago and hasn’t been back to the doctor? Grady starts to direct his frown to Crew, but looks back to me instantly when I can’t hold back any longer. My next words come from nothing but pure passion for a job I love, but also concern for my patients, even though he’s definitely not my patient.
“It’s been five weeks and you haven’t been back to the doctor? You’re going to lose motion if you don’t do something right away. Even with the break, light therapy should have started a week after the injury. Those ligaments are going to tighten around the glenohumeral joint between the humeral head and scapula, making it more painful later on, and that’s if you don’t permanently lose motion. The damage is already setting in, and if you don’t get started right away, you’ll never have full range without major reconstructive surgery.”
When I finally end my unwanted assault of therapeutic knowledge, I find all three of them are standing on the other side of the bar staring at me. And I realize I’ve done it. I’ve totally screwed myself for the first time in months, giving hints as to who I am.
Damn, I’ve been so careful, too. If I’m honest with myself, I’m actually surprised I lasted this long. I’m not a good liar and never have been.
Addy is looking at me with wide eyes and a hint of a smile playing on her pretty face. Crew’s head is tipped, but his facial features have barely changed even if his eyes do appear curious.
But Grady?
No, Grady is about to come out of his skin. If I thought he was irritated before, it’s nothing compared to now.
“I mean…” I start to backtrack, spinning my wheels, trying to make my knowledge of the scalpula, humerus, and the glenoid cavity sound like I merely enjoy perusing WebMD for light reading. “It only makes sense, you know, that not moving it for so long would be bad, right? Like when you sit for too long and you’re stiff when you get up. You clearly take care of yourself—it’s plain to see simply by your pectorals, deltoids, and brachioradialis. You look like you lift and work out regularly.”
Addy grins and Crew’s dimple barely appears, but Grady’s frown softens a bit when I realize I’m going on about Grady’s body right in front of Grady. This would be bad anytime, but spewing about his beautifully-built body right in front of him is downright embarrassing.
“Not that I’m looking.” I try and make it better, even though I doubt anything could improve the situation at this point, besides me disappearing and reappearing in a foreign land, never to see him again. Because right now, this is bad, bad, bad, and since disappearing isn’t an earthly option, I need to make it better. “It’s just, how can I not look? Wait, I don’t mean look, I’m not looking. I mean it’s easy to see. Although, I guess seeing is the same as looking. Maybe notice is a better word. I’ve noticed you take care of yourself and it would be … well … sad for you not to be able to do that anymore, so I assumed some type of therapy might help you with that. But, really, never mind.” I take a big breath and decide to change the subject. I’m sure the smile I try for comes across painful, because it sure feels that way. “Would you like to hear the specials?”
Ignoring my little rant, Addy asserts, “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
It’s clear what she means, but I fake it all the same. “Yes, I memorize the specials every day.”
Crew is no-nonsense when he points out, “She means the medical stuff, Maya.”
Now I’m sure my face is pained as I shake my head and shrug. Every time I open my mouth it gets worse, so I bite my lip.
“Are you a doctor?” Addy asks.
“Oh, no, no-no. I’m not a doctor,” I say, happy for once, to tell the truth.
“A nurse?” Crew goes on.
I shake my head again, not liking their interrogation.
“You’re something. Come on, Maya. It’s apparent you know what you’re talking about. There’s no reason to be so tight-lipped, and I know you’ve never waited tables before you started working for me. What do you really do?” Addy pushes.
“You’re a physical therapist,” Crew states, as if he was at my graduation from PT school.
I open my mouth to refute him, but realize I’ve said too much—given away everything I meant to hold dear. As much as I didn’t want them to know anything about me, I do wonder if it’s better than admitting to being a creeper. Even if I have daydreamed of running my fingers over every honed muscle on his body as I reviewed my knowledge of the muscular system, I certainly don’t need to let them in on my fascination of everything Grady.
“Maybe?” I sort of answer.
“You are?” Addy’s shocked. “I thought you were an activities director.”
“Oh, I’m that, too,” I answer carefully. There’s no need for them to know I’m new to the senior citizen circuit. “I’m sort of waiting for the PT position to open up at the Ranch. I like it there and it’ll be full time.”
I try and ignore Crew, who seems to be assessing me in a way I don’t like. Grady opens his mouth to say something, but Addy interrupts him.
“This is perfect. You’re a physical therapist and Grady doesn’t want to go to the doctor.”
Grady looks straight at Addy. “No.”
“Yes,” Addy insists. “You heard what she said. You’re already behind and you don’t want to lose motion. If you refuse to go to the doctor, you can at least work with Maya.”
“I’m fine,” Grady asserts.
I can’t help but sarcastically raise my brows and roll my eyes, because I know for a fact he’ll be anything but fine if he continues to do nothing.
Grady goes on to growl, “Crew, do something.”
Crew looks to his friend and sighs. “If you want to work for me, you need to let her help you. Maya’s right. You can’t lose motion, and you know it.”
Wait, Grady works for Crew? In my attempt to distance myself, I’ve never asked what Crew does, let alone Grady.
Crew looks to Addy and asks her instead of me about my schedule. “When is Maya off?”
“Six o’clock, then we have to clean up. It’s getting busy, but she can leave right at closing and we can handle the prep for tomorrow. Will that work?” Addy asks him.
“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor,” Grady growls.
“Sorry, too late. Maya just confirmed what I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks. You still make that doctor appointment, but she’s coming tonight to sort you out,” Crew informs him before turning to me. “He’ll be at the house on my property. You can’t miss it, it’s the next drive over and the lane takes you straight to the front door. Grady’s my employee and I’m self-insured. Send me a bill for your hourly rate.”
“Um…” I mumble, wondering what just happened, because Grady doesn’t look like he wants my help.
“Perfect. It’s all set.” Addy smiles.
Grady shakes his head and turns to leave while protesting, “I’m not doing therapy and I’m going to town for lunch.”
I watch Grady as he stalks out of the tasting room, a sight just as good leaving as it was entering.
“He’s doing the therapy. Thanks, Maya,” Crew repeats before giving Addy a squeeze. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” Addy leans into him before grabbing his hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. When she looks to me, my heart drops when she grins broadly. “Stay right there, Maya. When I get back, I want to know everything about you.”
Oh, shit.
*****
Grady –
Somehow I knew she’d come. As much as I wanted her to ignore Crew and Addy, not to mention me, the past few days have shown me the woman is persistent. The last thing I want is attention or help.
It's one thing to watch her over the cameras, but ever since she was forced to wait on me and wouldn't stop talking, being around her is more than intriguing. Today was more incessant talking, and even though it pissed me off when Crew butted his way into things, she surprised me when she admitted to being a physical therapist along with a waitress.
I thought maybe she wouldn’t show. She certainly didn’t look like she wanted to, but as I watch her drive up Crew’s lane in her small nondescript economy car with Pennsylvania plates, she surprised me again. I didn’t plan on going back to Addy’s to get dinner. I had no desire to be bombarded about my shoulder. But here she is, it’s almost six-thirty, she didn’t waste any time.
Instead of getting up, I watch her on the cameras as she pulls to the front. I finally moved into Crew’s house a couple weeks ago, simply to get him off my ass about moving out of the barn. I know he’s not coming back. He’s in so deep with Addy, I’ve never seen anything like it. Then again, no one close to me has ever had a normal relationship, let alone an exceptional one—but for some reason I can tell Crew and Addy are different than anything I’ve witnessed before. Especially since the day her shit blew up at the vineyard. After everything Crew’s done for me, I was happy to repay the debt. Putting a hole in that traitor’s head was the least I could do.
Even though it’s dark, it’s easy to see her on the cameras as she gets out of her car, carrying a to-go sack from the tasting room along with a pile of papers. She’s changed from the dress and boots she was wearing earlier into her workout gear. I’ve tried not to let her evening runs keep my attention, but I can’t help that they do. She’s definitely a trained runner, she keeps at it for over an hour most days, and not at a slow jog, either. Being a runner, I know one when I see one, she can definitely keep up a good clip.
All of these things shouldn’t pique my interest, but they do. Watching Maya has been a much-needed distraction ever since Crew and I got back, and I’ve taken every opportunity to be distracted. I try not to think about how she’s become an obsession.
I not only see her on the cameras but hear her knock. I do what I planned on doing, and don’t answer. Instead, I stay put in my recliner watching her on the live feed.
Her long dark blond hair is pulled back and I’ve got a clear view of her. She’s got to be five-eight, maybe five-nine. Since she’s on the porch and the cameras are close, I see her light blue eyes before she looks down to check the time, probably wondering where I am. She shifts the things in her hands so she can knock again, before eventually peeking through the side window.
The woman is persistent, waiting longer than I expected. Finally, she sets the sack at the door and folds the stack of papers to slide them inside. I sigh, not knowing if I want to run to her or ignore her, when she gives up.
I switch cameras so I can make sure she leaves the property before I get up and open the front door. Grabbing the bag, I instantly recognize the smell. Going to the kitchen, I pull the papers out first. They’re detailed pictures of stretches and exercises focusing on the shoulder. It looks fucking miserable, so I toss them to the side and reach in the bag, not surprised to find a large bowl of Maggie’s potato soup. I know that smell, I’ve eaten it enough. Still, I stare at the bowl, feeling something foreign turn in my gut.
Tamping that back, I pull out the rest of the containers of food. Popping them open, all I do is shake my head at what I see. There’s a sandwich that I have no fucking idea what it is, but when I peel back the top layer of thick wheat bread, all I see are green, red, and purple. Thank fuck there’s some meat on the bottom, but I’ve never ordered anything that looks like this before. She also got me a side salad, and damn if there isn’t fruit, too.
The last box is a small one, the smallest container I’ve ever seen come from Maggie’s kitchen. In it is the puniest cream puff I’ve ever seen. One—singular. This wouldn’t be a dessert for anyone, especially me, who can down multiple for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
If the vegetables didn’t do it, that one single cream puff pisses me off for some reason. It doesn’t matter that she thought to bring me a meal when no one’s gone out of their way to bring me food since I was little. Crew might’ve right after I fucked up and almost got us killed, but I was so deep in my head at the time, I barely remember. I’ve known Crew since the day we started our training together to become contract killers. We’ve had each other’s back for ten years now. For someone else to do something for me is foreign.
I toss the cream puff in my mouth, savoring it since it’s all I’ve got besides the packaged cookies and boxed cakes I bought when I went into town today. They’re shit compared to the desserts Maggie brings in. That one cream puff was barely enough to chew, swallow, or taste. I proceed to toss the salad and fruit in the trash along with everything of color on the sandwich.
I glance at the papers Maya left for me, thinking maybe I’ll look them over tomorrow. I take the remaining food to sit in front of the TV and flip on a game. I need to get back to my weights, running, and I really need to get back on the fucking mat where I can kick someone’s ass. Maybe that’ll help me sleep through the night. Because right now, I’ve never been more fucking miserable.
The days are long enough, but nights … I fucking hate the nights. When I finally do fall asleep, I’m restless at best. My fucking dreams keep creeping into my head. They’re different since I was captured, just as bad as before, but sometimes worse because they take me back further, to when he was alive.
Those are the fucking worst.