“You planning on starting your own team?” I ask.
“Nah, she says this is the last call.”
“Yeah, I can’t blame her. Every time you knock her up it’s like a game of Russian roulette. I mean, you managed to get three your first time.”
“I know. Try not to mention that to her, though, huh? The hormones are back and kicking.”
“I don’t envy you. The mood swings are insane during those nine months.” I remember Allie and her swiftly swapping moods. One thing I do not miss about pregnancy.
“That’s an understatement. I’m just waiting for the cravings to kick in. Nothing like a late-night trip to some random location.” The smile on his face tells me he loves it. Or maybe it’s just Liv he adores so much. After all that they went through, they deserve this blissful existence.
“When are you letting the baby out of the bag?”
“Whenever she wants to. I defer to her. My family is all for it, hers is ... cautious. I get it. I’m a little older and came with three kids. But, shit, I’m not going anywhere. They should know that by now. As far as I’m concerned, they need to build a bridge and get over it.”
“Hold on to her, man. You lucked up,” I remark, thinking of their strong bond.
“Still can’t believe how much time I wasted not seeing what was in front of me.”
“No, I think you both needed time to heal. I mean, you’d both been betrayed in a horrific fashion. Some things need time to air out.” Watching him be left at the altar nearly gutted me. The man sobbed like a baby, and there was nothing I could do but lend him a shoulder to cry on.
“Are we talking about me or you?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe a bit of both.”
“I won’t push you, but I want to be sure I let you know I’m here. Anytime day or night, you can pick up that phone, and I’ll be there on the other end. You haven’t been yourself, and that worries me.” He clamps my shoulder gently.
My throat constricts, and I swallow. Me too.
“You know me. I’m like a cat. I always land on my feet. I need time to heal and get back to everyday life.”
Houston remains silent. I wonder if he b
elieves the lines I’m feeding him. He shouldn’t.
I PUSH THE MINIATURE grocery cart. I’m buying enough for a few days at a time—it’s about all I can manage without straining myself, and I don’t want to hinder my healing. Being forced to slow down has been an awakening. My time was divided between work, Rolly, and Allie, with a tiny sprinkling of family and friends. I can’t handle Rolly one-on-one, and Allie is still pissed, so I’m left with the harsh reality that my life isn’t as robust as I once thought.
After grabbing a half gallon of milk and shredded cheese, I move on from the dairy section, sending a chill down my spine. Houston comes by every other day to help with bandage changes and make sure I’m solid. He’s never said anything, but with him, everything is in the eyes. He can convey more with one look than some people can with ten minutes of talking.
I continue to add small items to the cart. It’s good to be out. The house is starting to close in around me, and the movies and television shows are blurring together into one never-ending and utterly ridiculous narrative. If I’m honest part of me has dreaded this trip. In public, I feel exposed. It’s like having an invisible target painted on my back. I’m not sure I’ll ever believe in blending in again. It gives a false sense of security.
If I’d been on my guard that night, things might’ve gone differently. I clench my hands around the cart handle. A man who can’t defend himself is useless. The robbers showed me how inadequate I am. I’m not sure how I’m going to reconcile that with myself, and I need to. Because the self-doubt is quicksand, swallowing me inch by inch. A ravenous darkness has begun to sink into my veins, and it’s headed through my blood stream toward my soul. It’s not a feeling I’m familiar with.
Rounding the corner, I catch sight of a tall figure swathed in head-to-toe in black. My hackles rise. I tense and the memories flood back. I can see the barrel of the gun pointing at me. The black metal gleams under the broken street light like some magical life taking weapon.
I never realized before that night the power and magic life and death held. My heart rate kicks up and I freeze, unable to move as I wait to see his face. What will I do if it’s him? Calling the police seemed too easy. Pounding his face in given my current health is unlikely. I’d collapse like a cheap lawn chair.
The figure turns, and I hold my breath as sweat breaks out on my back. It’s a young boy with a long, slender face and wide, green eyes. The adrenaline continues to flow as I unglue my feet and push my cart, staring at the off-white floor with gray specks. My energy is waning as I cut the trip short and head for the check-out.
The reaction was instantaneous and over the top. My legs feel like Jell-O, and my emotions are a swirling mass of confusion. Will I have a mini meltdown every time I see a tall male in black clothing? My gut clenches and my eye sting with tears I refuse to release. I can’t be seen like this. I keep it together as the cashier rings me up, settle my bill, and power walk to my truck. After tossing the bags into the passenger seat, I get behind the wheel.
Still shaking, I gulp down air and grip the steering wheel tight. The aftermath is even worse than being shot. My mind flashes to the late night call I received from Quinn. She’ll understand. I fumble with the cell phone in the pocket of my flannel and pull it out, searching for her number in my phone book. I hit send.
“Ollie?”
“Hey, Quinn.”
“What’s wrong?”