A Little Like Destiny (Robin and Tyler 3)

“OPEN THE FUCK UP,” he shouts into the door. It almost sounds like he’s shouting into my door. I peek out again just to make sure that he isn’t. The pounding and kicking continues until I’m certain he won’t stop until he’s broken inside her apartment.

&n

bsp; Chapter 5

“What a lunatic,” Miranda says. “Aunt Robin, where’s your phone?” She finds it on the bay windowsill before I can answer her. “Good idea,” I say, jumping when Robert yells again. “The cops can take care of this.”

Miranda shakes her head and puts the phone to her ear. She sits on the bay windowsill and leans against the glass to get better reception. I haven’t yet told her that my new service gets much better reception than the old one. I also haven’t given her the special surprise I bought for her, but right now isn’t the time. “Not the cops. Have you seen the cops in this town? They’re like a hundred years old.”

“Then who are you calling?”

“Hey Tyler,” she says into the phone. My heart makes this nervous leap as she continues. “It’s Miranda. We, um, have a situation here.” While she explains what’s going on, I try to comfort a now panicky Elizabeth. She’s biting her fingernails and pacing my living room, looking nervously out of the window every time Robert beats on her door. It’s been at least five minutes and I can’t believe he hasn’t given up yet.

“What if he comes here?” she whispers.

“We’ll hide you in the closet or something and I’ll pretend you aren’t here.”

Miranda walks up, shoving my phone in my hands. “There’s a text for you. From earlier.” She gives me a look with some kind of deeper meaning that I don’t quite understand. Then she looks at Elizabeth. “I hope he does knock on our door. I’ll tell him some hot businessman from the city came here, a lawyer or something, and he whisked you away in his arms, and that you finally found a man worthy of dating. Then I’ll tell him and his stupid wifebeater shirts to go to hell.”

Elizabeth laughs at this. “There ain’t a lawyer in the world who would date me. I didn’t even finish high school.”

Miranda starts disagreeing with her and I check my cell phone. There was one new text message that I must have gotten while eating breakfast. It’s from Tyler. I feel childishly stupid at how my stomach feels both jittery and like it’s floating.

Good morning girl who won’t date me, it says. Hope you have a great day.

Robert’s massive boots stomp angrily down the porch. He must have stepped over the railing that separates her side from ours because now it sounds like he’s—shit. He’s right in front of my door. The three of us flatten against the wall when he walks in front of my living room window. My heart is surely pounding as hard as Elizabeth’s is right now. If he actually tried breaking in here, I’m not sure there’s much we could do.

Miranda appears at my side, holding a cast iron skillet. She wiggles her eyebrows when I give her a what the hell look.

Okay, so maybe we could do something if he broke in.

A few minutes pass and he still paces the porch, occasionally beating on Elizabeth’s door and demanding for her to come out and talk to him. Once he tries speaking in a nicer tone but that doesn’t last very long.

“Are you fucking serious?” he says before letting out a string of curse words. “You called this douche? Fucking seriously, Elizabeth?”

We lean back toward the window now, and see him step off the porch, his chest all bowed up like an ultimate fighter. Tyler’s truck pulls into the driveway, stopping right at the fork that separates her driveway from mine.

“Oh thank god, he’s here,” Elizabeth murmurs. Her fingers touch the blinds and pull them down a bit so she can see easier out of my window. Seeing Tyler does set my mind at ease, but knowing he’s here to rescue Elizabeth, not me, doesn’t exactly sit well with me.

The three of us girls perch in front of the window with the blinds twisted just barely open so that we can see out and no one can see in. We’re like a set of gossipy old women, just dying to see every second of the drama unfolding outside.

Tyler steps out of his truck. He’s wearing black basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt. I wonder if that’s what he slept in. I wonder if he’d look this freaking gorgeous and casual if I were to wake up next to him every morning. Robert throws his hands in the air. “What the hell are you doing here, man?”

“I own the place.” Tyler presses his truck door closed with a defiant click. His hand stays on the door frame, almost casually mocking Robert’s puffed up cocky stance. “The question is what are you doing here? You’re trespassing and you need to leave.”

“I ain’t doing shit but trying to talk to my fiancé.” He throws an arm backward, pointing at Elizabeth’s apartment. “I’m trying to have a civilized conversation with her and she calls you instead of talking to me like an adult.” He looks back toward Elizabeth’s living room window. “Real fucking mature!”

“You gotta leave,” Tyler says. “Now.”

“Why don’t you make me, you asshole.” Robert charges across the yard and rears back his fist, aiming straight for Tyler. Tyler ducks and the punch that was supposed to hit him slams into his truck. Robert yells more profanities and attacks Tyler again. Inside, Elizabeth shrieks and flails around as the two men fight in our front yard.

Miranda is quick to action and calls the cops from my phone. “They’re right down the road,” she says, adjusting the skillet in her hand. “He said less than a minute.”

“Thank god,” Elizabeth screeches. “Oh god, oh god. He’s going to hurt him.”

I’m not sure who exactly she’s talking about. The fight is messy. Robert lands a punch to Tyler’s jaw and his head snaps back at an angle that sends phantom pains down my own spine. I can’t help myself. I steal Miranda’s skillet and throw open the front door.

Robert shoves Tyler against the truck door and his body goes limp. For a second, it’s as if he’s stopped fighting back completely. Blind rage fills me. My legs move on their own. Soon I am off the porch and across the yard. Now I know why Tyler struggles to fight back: blood soaks his grey shirt.