I hoped to hear from or run into Cal again after our impromptu motorcycle ride. It was a week later. Thursday again, and like a college girl, I wanted to possibly have a repeat of last week. Leaving the office, I clicked the unlock button for my Toyota sedan, but the door of the car next to mine opened. I was on high alert until I saw my mother-in-law Gwendolyn step out of the vehicle next to mine.
“Gwen? What are you doing here?”
She came around her Dodge SUV with disheveled hair. It looked like she had repeatedly run her hands through her grayish white locks. Greg would reflexively do that whenever he had a difficult decision to make, but I always thought he got the habit from his absentee father. Absentee until Greg passed away, when the man showed his face at Greg and Landon’s funeral. I couldn’t believe Gwen knew how to contact him. I didn’t know why the man had no interest in his son, let alone his grandson, but by the time I met him it was far too late. Gwen had raised my husband as a single mother from the time Greg was three until he was eighteen, and God knows that demands a strength that not every woman has. However, Greg’s dad walking out on them catapulted her from making minor dramas to making Oscar-worthy dramas over the years. She was wearing a turquoise housedress, and I had never known her to leave the house dressed this way.
“Is something wrong, Gwen? Is it Greg’s dad in Montana? What’s going on?”
Gwen’s eyes were puffy, as if she had been crying, “You told me you’d call! You told me you would hear something late this week. Why haven’t you called, Mallory?” she shrieked.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the settlement! My son and grandson should not have lost their lives for nothing, dammit. I need to know about the insurance money.”
This was a whole new level of drama from Gwen, and I was getting a weird feeling about it. “I haven’t heard anything yet, Gwendolyn. They said late this week. If I haven’t heard anything by midday tomorrow, I will call. You realize that if I get a full settlement, the lawyer is taking at least a third in fees? You sound like you desperately need money, so I hope you know whatever amount you think I might get, it’s not going to be the full amount.”
Gwen’s frazzled look began to wane. She took a deep breath, “Yes. Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble? You haven’t been concerned about money before. Something’s different, Gwen.”
Gwen scratched her head, “No, Mallory. Nothing’s wrong. I just would like it if you’d keep me posted.”
I opened the driver’s side door and tossed my purse into my car, “I’ll do that. Do you need me to drive you home, Gwen? I don’t think you should be driving. You’re really agitated.”
She shook her head at me, “Not at all, dear. I’m fine. Call me tomorrow.”
I wasn’t sure if I should trust my gut that Gwen might be in some kind of trouble. I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble she could get into, but our relationship was not super close. I didn’t feel like I could get a firm read on Gwen. When Greg and Landon were killed, I was a wreck. For over two weeks, I can’t tell you what happened on a day-to-day basis. The funeral was a blur. I know Gwen was by my side for it, as were my parents and my best friend Natasha. My boss, Sheila, was a huge help to me. She managed to get me a paid leave of absence. It was only half of my normal salary, but something is always better than nothing. During that leave of absence, Gwen stuck by my side. Almost literally. She stayed in my guest bedroom for two and a half weeks, and kept me from running off the rails. We both saw a family counselor to overcome our grief. Even though we weathered this tragedy side-by-side, I still didn’t develop a mother-daughter relationship with her. I cared about her, but there was still distance there. I figured it was me. I married her son, not her, but maybe I should feel more of a bond with her. I followed Gwen out of my office park. Her driving seemed controlled and normal, so I put it out of my mind.
I went home and changed clothes for trivia. I wanted to see how much Cal would participate tonight. He was adamant about winning last week, but I didn’t remember him contributing much. Definitely seemed like a point worth needling him about. James and Bobby were at a high-top when I strolled in, but Gavin and Quinton were nowhere to be found.
“Hey, guys. Where’s everyone else?”
Bobby and James tilted their heads toward the patio area for smoking. I nodded in understanding. Gavin and Quinton joined us about ten minutes later, reeking of smoke and alcohol. No Cal. I wanted to ask where he was, but I knew I would sound desperate. I got the feeling he would not be here tonight. Not surprising, but my disappointment was surprising. I left the guys shortly after “half-time.” Our team had a decent lead, and my mind was toast.
At home, I called my best friend, Natasha. She was my opposite in many ways, and my long-lost sister in every other way. She was outgoing while I was reserved and shy. She was almost always out of the house, but I was a homebody. She’s black, and I’m white, though we surely didn’t see it that way. She has three siblings, and I have none. But both of us love music with a passion, though neither of us could play music. We dance at the drop of a hat, and we were suckers for wine tastings. We had become friends in high school, and nothing in the last eleven years had changed that.
Natasha answered on the second ring.
“Hey, homegirl!”
“Hi, Tasha.” I said, trying to hide my melancholy.
“What’s the problem, Mal?”
I laid my head back and sighed, “I don’t know. Nothing, really. I’m just a fucking dumbass.”
“What? The f-bomb? You don’t curse much, and I know you aren’t a dumbass, so spill, chica.”
What’d I say? I have a passiveness, and Natasha takes charge and won’t let it rest. I love her.
“Last week I went to trivia.”
“So? You always go to trivia. Those boys don’t let you miss it, God bless ‘em.”
“What? Whose side are you on?” I laughed.
“Yours. You gotta get out of the house in the evenings. What’s trivia got to do with you being a so-called dumbass? People who regularly play trivia aren’t known for being dumb.”
“Well, last week I wasn’t going to go-“
“Yeah, yeah. Gavin and I talk sometimes. He says you try to bail every week. Go on.”
“You and Gavin talk?”
“Do not change the topic,” she said sternly.
“We will revisit this topic, honey,” I said with equal sternness.
“Whatevs. So you weren’t going to go, but obviously you did.”
“Yeah. Only because while Gavin and I were on the phone, some new guy took the phone from Gavin and told me I had to be at trivia so they could win.”
“None of this makes you sound dumb, Mal.”
“He called me ‘woman’ and then he called me ‘sweet cheeks’ of all fucking things.”
Natasha let out her throaty laugh. I loved her laugh. It was so free and easy and almost reckless with its volume and mirth. “I like him already. Whoever the hell he is, go FNG!”
“FNG?”
“FNG…fuckin’ new guy. At what point do you become the dumbass you think you are?”
I sighed, “Today maybe? Or perhaps last Thursday night after I rode on the back of his Harley and listened to him spout manly bullshit at me? All I know is that I showed up at Rounder’s tonight expecting to see Cal, and when he wasn’t there, I was disappointed. And I don’t think I should be. For that matter, I feel guilty for being disappointed to start with. It’s like I’m not being true to Greg and Landon. What right do I have to enjoy life and expect some jackass to be around to aimlessly flirt with me?”
Natasha let out a breath. “Sh-eee-it. Mallory. Mallory! Why didn’t you call me sooner? You should have called me to tell me you got on the back of a hog, at least. I know you’ve wanted to do that for a long-ass time. And you damn sure need to call me when you feel unnecessary guilt. Ain’t nobody got time for guilt. Honey, Greg would want you to live your life. He and Landon both would want you to be happy. Fuckin’ A, all of us just want you to be happy and live a good life.”
“God, Nat. If you were here, I’d give you a serious bear-hug. You’re the best damn friend there is.”
“Damn straight. Now, don’t think about glossing over portions of this little revelation of yours. You rode on the back of his Harley? Was it everything I hope it is? Seriously. Were your panties extra-creamy that night?”
I cackled at Natasha’s brash remark. “I don’t remember! I felt like the wind flossed my teeth when we went over fifty miles per hour, because I couldn’t keep myself from smiling huge. It’s weird when wind gets in your face like that. I suppose I’m just glad it wasn’t love bug season. Gross.”
“Yeah, definitely gross, Mal. Way to ruin a moment for me. So, he calls you ‘woman’? That’s a problem?”
“Really? You don’t understand?”
“I know that if a man with a Harley lets me ride bitch with him, I don’t particularly care what he wants to call me. If he’s the least bit good-looking, then he can call me Al and I won’t give two shits. What’s wrong with him calling you ‘woman’? You and I both are women. ‘Sweet cheeks’ I might object to, but even then a good-looking man with a Harley…I can let many things slide.”
“I think it’s the attitude with which he says it. After he kissed me, he even went so far as to tell me my cheeks, both the ones on my face and my ass, were sweet. He –”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! He kissed you? I think you need to give me a full recount of this whole night. I’m surprised you let him kiss you.”
I blew out a breath, “I didn’t really have a choice.”
“We always have a choice. You’ve heard of the word ‘no,’ right?”
“Of course I have, Tasha, but I was reaming him out for calling me ‘sweet cheeks’ again, and he put a hand on the back of my neck and planted one on me to shut me up. Now that I think about it, that was a pushy-ass move to make too.”
Natasha giggled, “Here’s the real question. Was it good?”
“What? We didn’t have sex.”
“I know that, Mal. I don’t have to have sex with a chocolate ganache cake to know it’s good. Same holds true of a kiss with a fine man. Which reminds me, is he fine? Even remotely good-looking? Do not tell me he’s some grey-haired, greasy biker type. Don’t do this to me. I’m living vicariously through you right now. Leon doesn’t want any more kids in this house of ours, so he’s sworn to no more sex with me until after he has his vasectomy in two weeks. Crazy man doesn’t want to risk any bad juju from his determination to thwart any more offspring. Can’t even talk him into using condoms.”
A vasectomy was news to me. I asked, “What’s with the delay? Why doesn’t he move his appointment up?”
“Move his appointment?! Ha! Your business analyst brain may not be aware of this, but the week of March madness kick-off is the high season of vasectomies. Men get snipped in the morning, then spend four to five days with an ice pack on their crotch while watching endless college basketball. I’ll just be happy when he’s back in the saddle. When they say women hit their sexual peak in their thirties, they weren’t kidding. But you can’t change the subject on me. What’s this biker Cal look like? Leave nothing out!”
I groaned, “Natasha! I don’t want to dwell on this guy. Hell, I’m never gonna see him again. He hardly contributed last week at trivia. He really doesn’t fit with Gavin and them. It was a one-time fluke, which is a-okay with me.”
“Mallory. You can bullshit some of the people some of the time, but you know damn well, I’m not some of the people, so drop the bullshit. What’s Cal look like? Don’t make me call Gavin. I bet he doesn’t know you got into a lip lock with Cal.”
Talk about laying down the gauntlet, “You really know how to throw your cards down, Natasha. Fine. Cal is tall, and his arms are very tan and built. He was wearing a Salt Life shirt, and his voice is very rumbly. He has dirty-blond hair and delectable hazel eyes-”
“Delectable? Girl, did you seriously say 'delectable'?” Natasha giggled at me.
Mental palm-slap to my forehead, “Yes. See, I’m a fucking dumbass. I’m never going to see this dude again, and good riddance. Let’s move on, what are you doing tomorrow for dinner?”
“Oh, no, no, woman! How was that kiss? C’mon. Scale of one to ten. Was there tongue?”
“How could there not be? I was mid-sentence and mid-rant. I don’t know. I enjoyed it, but that only compounded my guilt. I was thinking of Greg and thinking of Cal all at the same time. These are the times I wish I were a man. Men don’t have multiple thoughts when kissing.”
Natasha let out a breath, “Girl, you got it bad. He kissed you and now you’re disappointed because you didn’t get to see him tonight. Is that the gist?”
I groaned, “Yes. Pathetic, huh?”
Natasha’s voice gentled and I knew I wouldn’t like what she had to say next. “No. I did not say that. It’s been almost a year and a half, hon. I think this is the wakeup call you need. It’s time. And I’m not saying it will be easy, but it will be worth it. Maybe not this guy, but this is certainly the push you need to see life’s passing you by.”
“Life isn’t passing me by.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Natasha’s voice got even gentler when she said, “Honey, it’s almost nine o’clock and I gotta go tuck my boys in bed. I’m gonna let that go for now, but if you think on it, you’ll know that it’s true. You asked about dinner tomorrow. We’re grilling hamburgers and hot dogs. You come over and eat with us.”
“You got it. Tell Derek, Nate and your fabulous husband that I said night-night.”
“Will do. Bye, Mal.”
* * * * *
Friday afternoon, I called Gwendolyn to update her on the settlement. The insurance lawyers had stalled for another ten days. In this entire ordeal since Greg and Landon’s deaths, I learned that the wheels of the legal system and civil court system churned extremely slowly. I would say I was at the end of my patience, but I had reconciled myself to waiting. My husband and my son were gone, and no legal action was going to bring them back. What was another ten days in the grand scheme of things?
Gwendolyn did not share my sense of patience, “What do you mean another ten days? Didn’t they even provide a figure? I’m going to have to get involved in this, Mallory.”
“And what would that do for us, Gwen? Not a damn thing. I’m listening to my lawyer. I’m not going to get pushy when we know we’re so close to closure. I’d rather not rock the boat and encourage the insurance company to offer less than what we deserve.”
“I need a figure, Mal. I can’t wait much longer.”
An uneasy feeling hit me, “What do you mean, ‘you can’t wait much longer?’ Are you in trouble? My every instinct says you’ve got a big problem on your hands, financially. What gives?”
There was a long silence on the phone. I heard Gwen sniff, “Mallory, nothing gives. I’m fine. I’m not in trouble. I’m anxious about this. My Greg and Landon are gone. You’re working full-time again. I’m alone. I can’t stand it. This prolonged legal mumbo-jumbo is drawing out any sense of closure we should have from such a horrible accident.”
Natasha’s words from last night ran through my mind, about how it was time. I gently said to Gwen, “You’re right. Closure would be nice. I’ll keep you posted. Have a good afternoon.”
The rest of my work day passed as normal. I left the office at five-fifteen and picked up some pre-made macaroni and cheese from the supermarket deli before going to Natasha and Leon’s house. They lived in a sprawling neighborhood built in the late 1970s located off of Collins road. The lots were huge with plenty of space between houses, a rare commodity as the remainder of the Argyle area was developed. I envied their large yard and larger-than-normal house. I did not envy the difficulties of getting in and out of their neighborhood now that Collins road had become a two lane thoroughfare to the Watermill and Oakleaf neighborhoods west of Argyle. To say it was poorly equipped to handle the onslaught of rush-hour traffic was an understatement.
I parked my car in Natasha’s driveway at six-fifteen. Derek and Nate opened the door as I approached.
“You’re not Daddy, Auntie Mal,” cried five-year-old Nate.
I suppressed a chuckle, but smiled, “I know, baby. Sorry to disappoint you. I’m sure your Daddy will be home very soon. Traffic’s pretty crazy this afternoon.”
“Did you bring us ice cream, Auntie Mal?” Derek asked.
Stepping into the foyer, I said, “No, but I did bring y’all some warm mac-n-cheese from the deli! Hot dogs and macaroni, what could be better?”
A baritone voice behind me said, “An ice-cold beer. That could be better.”
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Leon behind me, and Nate rushed forward squealing, “Daddy! Daddy’s home, Mommy!”
Leon was six-foot two-inches tall and wearing black scrub pants with a polo shirt that advertised the physical therapy firm he worked for. His hair sat about an inch high on the top of his head, and the sides were cut close. He crouched down to pick up Nate. It made my heart swell and it broke my heart. Landon used to do the same thing every evening when Greg would unlock the front door. I hadn’t thought about the getting-home rituals between father and son in at least a few months. Before I could beat myself up with more guilt, Leon came through the doorway and gave me a one-armed hug.
“Come inside, Mallory. No need to lurk in our foyer. You still like your burgers hockey-puck well-done?”
I giggled as I followed Leon and the boys to the kitchen. “No, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’ll go with medium, but if in doubt you could defer to medium-well. Know what I mean?”
Natasha was at the counter, slicing onions and tomatoes. She put her knife down and gave me a bear-hug. “Girl, you been a stranger to our house for too long! If he gets your burger wrong, I’ll eat it. Or we’ll just nuke it. You did not need to bring my sons that mac-n-cheese in that bag. What are you drinking? I got wine coolers, Budweiser, Michelob Ultra, and a bottle of San Sebastian Vintner’s Red.”
I opted for a Michelob Ultra, and the five of us settled in for a relaxing dinner of burgers, dogs, and fun. Being with Natasha, Leon, and their boys was some of the best medicine for me. Around eight o’clock I left Natasha and Leon’s house. I didn’t want to disrupt the boys’ bedtime routine. I remembered all too well how manipulative little boys could be about not going to bed.
I stepped inside my house and immediately knew something was off. The house smelled strange. I thought the heat was out initially; any time the central heat and air went on the fritz the house would get a stale smell to it. As I closed and locked the front door, though, I realized the air in the house was not stale but fresh, too fresh. I hardly ever opened my windows. Instinctively, I turned on every light I could as I moved into the house. When I turned on the living room light, my heart hammered in my chest. It was a disaster. The wood door to the patio had an inset panel of glass, which had been shattered. Glass shards were all over the floor and area rug. Couch cushions were thrown about, bookshelves empty, and books strewn all over the floor. I tiptoed around to the kitchen and when I flicked on the florescent light, I found it was ransacked, also. The pantry door was open, and all of my canned goods were on the floor. Pasta boxes were scattered, a couple of rigatoni boxes broken open with pasta noodles littering the floor. Kitchen drawers had been pulled out and upended.
“What the fuck?” I whispered.
I went to Landon’s room. I hadn’t removed any of his toys or clothes from his room. The burglars had not touched his room for some reason. Checking the guest bedroom, I found it was also untouched. I went to the master bedroom. More mess. My nightstand was turned upside down. One of my dresser drawers was broken and t-shirts, pajamas and underwear littered every surface. My eyes welled with tears. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and called 911. Five minutes later, I opened the front door to a tall black police officer. His name tag read, “M. Smith.”
“Mallory Pierce? You called about a break-in.”
“Yes, sir. Please come in,” I said, stepping aside.
The officer stepped into my foyer and walked forward to the living room, “What time did you get home?”
“A little after eight. I had dinner with my best friend and her husband about ten minutes away off Collins.”
“What have you touched?”
“The light switches. Oh, and the locks on the front door. I thought the heat and air was messed up first since the smell in the house made me think something was wrong.”
He looked at me with that hardened look a veteran cop has. All the bad people and awful situations he had seen, day in and day out, almost poured out of his eyes. He continued into the house and stopped as he surveyed the living room.
“Appears the patio door is where they made their entry. Anyone else home during the day here, ma’am?”
“No. I’m widowed.”
“Recently?”
“Almost a year and a half, so, not recent,” I sighed.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He stepped into the kitchen and started speaking into his shoulder walkie-talkie. I heard him request a crime scene unit. I was still eavesdropping when my cell phone rang. I did not recognize the number, but I answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“Mallory. It’s Cal.”
My mind was still wrapping around the mess and the feeling of violation creeping over me, so I babbled, “Who? What? Cal?”
“Yeah, sweet cheeks. You know, you were on the back of my Harley. I thought it made an impression on you. Maybe I was wrong.”
I tried to suppress a sigh, “Yeah. I remember. Um, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back. This number good?”
Cal immediately grumbled, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong.”
“You can’t talk right now. There must be a reason. You sound a little weird. What’s going on?”
I did not need this man talking to me right now. I was having difficulty concentrating as it was. “Nothing is going on. I just have to call you back. Later, dude.”
I ended the call, but my phone rang fifteen seconds later, “I said I’d call you back.”
“Uh, Mal?” Gavin asked.
“Yeah, Gav. This isn’t a good time. Can you make it quick?”
Gavin sounded nervous, “I just wanted to let you know, I didn’t really have any choice. I gave your cell number to Cal. I don’t know when he’s going to call you, but—“
I sighed, “Yeah, he already did. But thanks for the heads up, Gav. I’ve really got to go. I’ll call you Monday or Tuesday, ‘kay?”
“Something wrong, Mal? You don’t sound good.”
“Honey, I’m fine. Just tired. Talk to you later. Bye.”
I hung up, and thought about powering off my cell. Before I could press any buttons, there was another knock on the door. Officer Smith said, “Should be the crime scene analysts. You want me to get it?”
“Well, this feels weird, but sure, if you like.”
Officer Smith gave me a look, and I swear the corners of his lips were twitching to smile. “It’ll be easier this way.”
Two officers came into the house carrying cases which I assumed contained their forensics equipment. Officer Smith explained that the fingerprint powder would stick stubbornly to the glass and wood surfaces. He encouraged me to clean all of the powdered surfaces with strong cleansers as soon as I could in the morning. They were hopeful that a partial print from the patio door could provide a clue, but it would have to be processed. Nothing was found on the pantry door handle or any other obvious surfaces. Four months ago, a handful of vehicles in the neighborhood had been broken into, with shattered windows. The officers were thinking the burglary was an escalation of crime from the same individuals. Teenagers tended to ramp up their aggression if they were being initiated into a gang. Officer Smith assured me he would pass my case on to the Gangs unit, and keep me posted.
I nodded my head and spotted a bottle of Drano on the floor of the kitchen. I suddenly remembered that it was emptied long ago. I lunged past Officer Smith and snatched the bottle off the floor. As I moved to the sink, I shook the bottle vigorously hearing a slight shake within it.
“You gotta clogged drain or something?” Officer Smith asked.
My smile was almost a smirk. “No. My husband and I used to keep cash in the pantry.”
“How much cash?”
“I don’t remember what we had before the accident. It would have been between $300 and maybe $350. Definitely no more than that.”
“And you kept it in that Drano bottle?”
“Not until just before the accident. Previously, we kept it in an old cookie tin,” I nudged my chin toward the blue cookie tin and the upturned lid about three feet away on the floor, “For whatever reason, Greg suddenly wanted to change the hiding spot before he was killed.”
I opened the Drano container, moved to the sink, and upended the bottle. A plastic sandwich bag with a rolled-up wad of bills came to the spout, and I carefully pried it out and showed the officer the money.
“Who would have known about your cash on hand?”
“Nobody that I can think of. Well. Except, but-“
“‘But,’ what, Mrs. Pierce?”
“Well, my mother-in-law knew we had money stored on the top shelf of the pantry. She didn’t know we had changed the container. But there’s no way she has anything to do with this.”
“That may be so, but we will have to question her. Perhaps she let it slip in conversation. Is she in any kind of trouble?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Drugs? Alcohol?”
“Heavens, no! She can barely finish a glass of Chablis at Easter or Christmas. No way she’s into drugs.”
He said to me, “You might be surprised. As I said, I’ll have to talk to her. Please give me her contact information.”
I gave Officer Smith Gwen’s contact info. The two crime scene techs closed up their gear and ambled to the front door. Officer Smith gave me a wry smile, “We still think this is teenage gang-initiation escalation, but given what you’ve told me about your cash on hand, we’ll have to talk to your mother-in-law. If she has any kind of problems, then that may prove to be another angle.” He held out a triplicate-copy report packet to me, “This is your break-in report. You might need it for your insurance company. There’s also a pamphlet with your victim’s rights. My name and contact information are on the front. I hope you can get a good night’s sleep, Mrs. Pierce. If you need anything further regarding this case, my information and your case number is listed there.”
I nodded and closed the front door after him. I went to the formal dining room where there were unbroken wine glasses and then pulled out a reserved bottle of Kim Crawford Small Batch Pinot Noir. I sat down on the couch with a big glassful when I heard a knock at the door. Jumping out of my skin, and then feeling foolish for it, I tip-toed to the front door. I checked the peep hole and couldn’t believe my eyes. Cal was standing there, looking sexy, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. I quietly turned around. No way was I opening the door to him.
His muffled voice said, “Open the door, Mallory.”
How did he know I was there? With a sigh, I opened the door a third of the way. Glowering I said, “Not a good time, Cal. I told you that on the phone.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Talkin’ to me while the cops investigate your home invasion ain’t ideal in my book either, Mallory.”
“How would you know? And how the hell do you know where I live?”
“Got contacts on the force, that’s how I know. Threatened to beat Gavin to a bloody pulp before he would give me your location. Now grab some clothes. You’re stayin’ with me.”
A bark of laughter escaped me, “Like hell I am. I hardly know you. I’m fine, it’s fine, and I’m staying here.”
Next thing I knew, Cal pushed on the door and stepped into my home.
Enraged and seeing red, I asked, “What are you doing?”
With his hands at my waist, he lifted me up an inch off the ground and put me to the side. Then he said, “Comin’ in.”
I cried out, “Why?”
“Cause you won’t leave,” he replied while he closed my door, bolted it and engaged the swing-bar door lock at the top.
I put my hands on my hips, “I don’t need to leave.”
“Got your door replaced that quick, huh?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go,” he responded stepping into the living room.
I followed, “Not happenin’.”
He scanned the mayhem and gave me a scathing look, “You can’t stay here.”
Who did he think he was? He showed up uninvited, barged in and ordered me about! I said, “Yes I can. It was just teenage vandals.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, “You gotta gun?”
“No!”
With his hands on his hips, Cal asked, “Knife?”
“A butcher’s knife, yes.”
He blew out a breath. “No. I mean a weapon.”
“I don’t need one.”
“What’ll you do if they come back?”
“They aren—“
He raised his voice over me, “Show them the packet of papers the cop gave you about your rights? Helluva lot of good that’ll do.”
“I’m not leaving!”
“Then I stay.”
My eyes bulged, “The hell you are. I met you eight days ago. For all I know, you could have something to do with it.”
Fury ripped across his face, “You’re right about one thing only. We met eight days ago, so I’ll let the rest of that bullshit you said slide. But I’m not lettin’ you stay here alone with a hole in your door, woman!”
“I’m not your…,” snippets of our prior conversations sailed through my mind, “I’m not—”
Cal smiled, “You’re not a woman? What are you then? Aerosmith’s ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’? Those sweet tits and ass tell me different, sweet cheeks.”
I could feel my blood pressure rising, “I really want to slap you right now!”
He chuckled, “Bitch-slap me you mean. Give it a shot, sweets. Just proves you’re a woman.”
I tried not to telegraph my move, but seconds before my hand would have met his stubbled cheek, he grabbed my wrist. He turned us both and pressed me against the living room wall. His lips pressed into mine in a harsh closed-mouth kiss. Fear raced up my spine and I pushed against him with my free hand. He overpowered me, and I was really getting scared. I managed to turn my head and he reared back.
Breathing hard, he said, “Now. If I can do that to you while we’re both awake, what the fuck are you gonna do to a thug when you’re half-asleep?”
I was almost pouting, but I had no response.
“Right. Come with me, or I stay here.”
Running my hand through my hair, I said, “Fine. You’re in luck. The guest room was untouched and the bed is all made up. I’ll show you the way, once you step back.”
His eyes roamed my face, then he asked, “Your room the one behind us?”
“Yeah.”
“So, guest room’s at the front of the house?”
“Yeah,” I said with a slight nod.
“I’m not stayin’ in the fuckin’ guest room, babe.”
I pursed my lips. “Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll get some sheets and make up the couch.”
“No, you won’t.”
“You’re not sleeping with me.”
He stepped away from me and turned toward the couch. He took off his leather jacket and I saw he was wearing a black long sleeve thermal with some kind of leather vest over it. There was a large patch on the back with a picture of a clenched fist supporting a skull with wings jutting out from each side. Arched directly above the skull was a red banner with black Old English script reading, “Riot MC”; below the fist, a curved red banner with white lettering said, “Jacksonville, FL.” He put his jacket on top of my favorite armchair, and then he took the vest off and folded it carefully. Then he gently placed it on top of the jacket.
My mouth got ahead of my brain. “You’re in a motorcycle group.”
His hazel eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at me, “Club, hon. Shouldn’t surprise you. Got a Harley, and I’m pretty sure you enjoyed bein’ on it.”
I tilted my head to the side, “But, you weren’t wearing that the night I met you.”
He smirked. “Yeah. Most of the time I wear it, but that night I decided to let people think I was a civilian.”
“You’re the reason the guys changed their trivia name that night.”
“Yep. You got any plywood around? It’s gettin’ cold tonight, and I can patch up your door until you get it fixed.”
I shook my head and tears started to well up in my eyes. He was right. I had no business staying in the house tonight. I felt so violated. Some asshole or assholes had been through my house! What was I thinking? Cal came over and took me in his arms. I let him pull me close. I tried not to smell him, but to no avail. He smelled like soap and leather and fresh air. His large hands rubbed my back in a very soothing manner. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of it in the morning” he murmured into my hair.