I’m scared he might break his neck with how absolutely wasted he is, so I follow at a speed walk.
Just before I near the edge of the pool, one of the girls who was running after him suddenly veers right toward me, bends over, and hurls the contents of her stomach at my feet. After which, my brother and his cronies promptly all cannonball into the pool, splashing water everywhere.
“Fuck this,” I grumble, trying to shake the puke from my shoe while wiping pool water from my face.
I haven’t even been here an hour and I can see how much I now loathe this scene. Once upon a time, I reveled in it. Hell, I’d be leading the naked charge into the pool. But I am over this; the nameless women, the hours lost in whiskey and vodka, the meaningless nights with even more meaningless people.
Now that I’ve touched her, had her to myself for an hour, even if it was in the worst of her tragedy, I want more. Specifically, with Hannah. I want all of her nights, all her meaningful mornings. I want to make a family with her, protect her, have her look at me the way I know I always look at her.
I chickened out the other night, but something stirred in me now. Checking my watch, I know it’s way too late to go over there.
But maybe, just maybe, her light would be on. Maybe I could … Jesus, throw rocks at it? Who am I, Romeo? Hell, I guess I am the very definition of star-crossed.
I shouldn’t do it, I should just let it rest until the morning when I’m not so keyed up by the argument with my brother or talking crazy about destiny and settling down.
That doesn’t stop me from getting in my truck, rolling the windows down, and heading for Hannah’s condo.
9
Hannah
The tree is scratching against my window again, depriving me of sleep and peace of mind.
Not that I really have either of those, though the sleep is coming a bit easier these days. With the exhaustion of working a little more than part-time and then coming home to play single mom full time, it’s led to some pass-out-as-my-head-hits-the-pillow nights.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like I’ll get one of those tonight. I’m keyed up, for some reason, and that damn tree is making me sweat against the sheets. Rising from my bed, the first one I’ve occupied solo in a long time, I move to the window. With each passing day, I’m getting stronger, more brave. I can feel the chains that Shane had wound around me slowly unlocking themselves, from both my physical being and my mind. A month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to step foot out of bed in the dark … much like a scared child afraid of the monsters in the closet or the bogeyman under the bed.
Now I can walk to the window, my heart still pumping, but mostly confident I won’t find a lone figure standing on the sidewalk, casing the joint.
Part of the transformation comes from having my own time outside of the home for the first time in years. I’ve been working at Siesta for about a week, my shifts falling at different times or days so either Dahlia or I can cover the girl’s schedule. With Noelle in kindergarten this year, it’s a little bit easier. But then comes the homework, the drama of making new little friends, and all of her excited talking that she occupies us with until she finally passes out at bedtime. It’s amazing, and I love seeing her grow up, but school years just bring a whole other level of motherhood. And that’s one more thing I have to juggle with everything else going on in my life.
As for my own personal life? I finally have some adult, female conversation for once. It’s been years since I’ve gone on a girl’s night, much less a trip without my children. Honestly, it’s been years since I’ve actually had a friend. And not that the women at the salon are necessarily my friends, yet, but we do sit together during lunch breaks and gossip about frivolous things; reality TV, hair dyes they’re loving, dating problems and celebrity gossip. Thankfully, I haven’t been mentioned in the latter category, nor has anyone brought up my court cases or situation. Everyone who works at the salon is pretty friendly, with the exception of a few who seem to keep their distance from me.
But having a job, and an outlet for meaningless conversation, seems to be helping me more than I bargain for. Because as I stare out the window, I feel less like a mouse trapped and waiting for the lion to pounce, than I did just weeks ago. Now, I can feel myself on the offensive, daring someone to come in here and try something. Slowly, I’m becoming the lion, protecting my cubs and my den.
Then I spot it, the truck in a spot that I normally don’t see occupied. When you’re as paranoid as I am, you memorize your surroundings, hunting out anything that might be suspicious.
Except this truck isn’t unfamiliar. I’ve seen it dozens of times around Packton, or in the Piston’s stadium parking lot. That is Walker’s pickup, and what the heck is he doing here?
Unable to contain my curiosity, I sneak down the stairs, hoping my tiptoeing doesn’t wake Dahlia, who is asleep on the futon in the living room. It’s essentially become her bedroom, and I would feel horrible that she doesn’t have a proper space, but I need her so desperately to help with the girls that I can’t let it get to me.
Slipping on a pair of UGG boots and a fleece that’s hung by the front door, I walk out into the night.
As I near the pickup, I can make out a figure. When I get closer, I see it’s Walker asleep in his truck. Adrenaline, nervous flutters, and something close to admiration mix in my gut. What is he doing here?
Tapping on the window gently, I hope I don’t startle him, but I can’t just leave him sleeping outside my house. Plus, I’m too curious not to seek answers.
Sleepily, those denim-blue eyes open, blinking at me. His strong jaw clicks with a yawn, and he rolls his neck in a way that has my insides tensing before he fully focuses on me.
“Crap. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says as he opens the driver’s side door.
The heat inside his truck pours out, warming my frigid bones. “Walker, what are you doing here?”
A blush creeps up his cheeks, and if it’s possible, makes him even more attractive. A man who is sheepish does something dangerous to my insides, because it means he’s not stomping around like some alpha, refusing to be vulnerable or embarrassed.
“Well … I, uh … wanted to just check in on you. But I don’t think you necessarily want me to do that, considering the last time I was here. So I thought I’d just check in. And I guess I was more tired than I thought, because I passed out. I swear, I’m not being a creep or anything.”
It’s kind of strange, how I don’t view this man as a threat whatsoever. I have a restraining order against a male I used to, and maybe still do, love. An order of protection so that he can’t come around me and do the very thing Walker is doing. That should make me skeptical of any man getting too close.
But for some reason, Walker sleeping outside my condo only gives me schoolgirl jitters, and doesn’t ring a single alarm bell in my brain.
“I didn’t think you were. But I am cautious that you might be arrested for sleeping in your car.” I snort, the first true laugh I’ve had in weeks outside of with my girls.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” He raises an eyebrow. “Want to hop in for a minute?”