Lead (Stage Dive 3)

“I wish I’d hit her harder,” I said. “I’m sorry, I know she’s your mother, but …”

“Don’t pull that shit again,” he said. “She’s not rational, Lena. You could have gotten hurt.”

“Ha. Then you’d have to listen to me bitch.”

“Like hell.”

“You wouldn’t play Nurse Jimmy for me? How sad.” I laughed softly. If I could just keep things light and easy everything would be okay. Or at least, as light and easy as things ever got between us. The air of misery around him, however, made it impossible to keep a distance.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

He turned away, hands tight around the first aid kit making it creak again. “Finished?”

Carefully, I kept rubbing the cream in. The main problem with me is my mouth. In that I have one and use it far more than I probably should. It’s especially irritating when its hell-bent on bringing forth information that only serves to make me look dumb. “I dated this guy once who sold my car to score weed.”

Jimmy leaned back, away from my fingers. “Lotta weed.”

“Yeah.” I braced my palms on my hips, keeping my greasy fingers away from my body. “Sometimes you have to cut people loose for your own good.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

“Out there, you couldn’t bring yourself to hit her,” I said. “But she needed to leave. Seemed the least I could do was give her a shove in the right direction. And I don’t regret it.”

“Next time, stay out of it.”

“Is there going to be a next time?”

“I hope not.” The pain in his eyes was heart breaking. Oh my god, he was killing me. It had to stop.

“You’re all good,” I pronounced, turning to wash my hands at the basin. More than enough with the touching. It was feeding this ridiculous notion that Jimmy and I were close, like we were friends or something. We weren’t, I needed to shake it off. History dictated once foolish enough to grow feelings for a guy, my heart stayed stuck till the bitter end. My collection of idiot exes was epic. When it came to mixing penises with emotions, I couldn’t be trusted. He was my just my boss, no more, no less.

Jimmy stood and stretched behind me. “Bastard of a day.”

“Yeah.”

“Be glad when it’s over and we can head home.”

He studied himself in the mirror over my shoulder. “Lena, I can’t go out there like this! Christ.”

“There isn’t a big enough bandage in the box to cover your cheek. I did the best I could with what I had.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look fine.” I scoffed.

He mumbled expletives.

“Would you calm down?”

“Wasn’t talking to you,” he grumped.

He leaned in and I leaned forward, only there was no room, nowhere for me to go. Any contact between his front and my back must be avoided at all costs. It’s basically impossible, however, to suck in your ass successfully. Trust me, I’ve tried. So I settled for grinding my h*ps into the edge of the bathroom cabinet, trying to stay out of his way. It was highly unlikely I managed to reduce myself any but a girl could always dream.

Behind me, he started prodding at his cheek, pulling weird faces.

“Stop it,” I said. “You’ll make it start bleeding again.”

Icy blue eyes narrowed on me in the mirror.

“Why don’t I go ask Mr. Ericson if he has a shirt you can borrow?”

He jerked his chin in agreement. Nine times out of ten this was Jimmy’s preferred method of communication. So much more effective than wasting time on actual words.

“Um, Jimmy? If you could stop looking at yourself in the mirror for just one minute …”

“What?”

“It’s a small space. Can you give me some room to move, please?”

His gaze raked over my back, down to the curve of my abundant ass and what had to be the hairsbreadth of room between us. Without comment, he stepped left, so I could go right.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Ask if he’s got a plain white shirt, yeah?”

“Sure.”

“And hurry.”

No please. No thank you. No nothing.

Typical.

I found Mr. Ericson standing at the kitchen sink, staring out the window. Music and chatter flowed in from the living room, but he remained apart, alone. No one could help him through this. There couldn’t be many things as heartbreaking as losing your life partner, your other half.

What if this had been my mom or dad?

Shit. My throat tightened. I pushed the horrible thought away. They were both fine, I’d only talked to them the other day. Eventually, though, it had to happen, they were getting older. My aimless wandering had to come to an end. I needed to go back and see them sooner rather than later because if something ever happened I’d never forgive myself.

It didn’t seem right to interrupt Mr. Ericson. Jimmy would just have to suck it up.

I stepped back, my elbow knocking a fruit bowl on the counter. The glass chimed noisily, alerting everyone within a twelve-mile radius to my presence. Mr. Ericson turned, staring in surprise. “Lena. It is Lena isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr. Ericson. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Please, call me Neil. Is Jimmy all right?” The lines on his face multiplied.

“He’s fine.” I smiled. “But would it be okay if he borrowed a shirt? His got blood on it.”

“Of course. Follow me.” He led me up the carpeted staircase to the second floor and into a room covered in floral wallpaper. The scent of lilies lingered here too. On the dresser sat a wedding picture and beside it was a more informal shot of them from the 70s, I guess.

“Your wife rocked a pair of knee-high white boots,” I said, crouching down to get a better look. Mal had obviously inherited his smile from her, the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Any money says Mrs. Ericson had gotten up to all sorts of things back in the day, really lived life to the fullest.

I hoped she had.

“She rocked everything, Lena.” The depth of sadness in Mr. Ericson’s voice was immeasurable. So too was the affection. “She was the most beautiful woman I ever met.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“Which one do you think will be acceptable?” He stood in front of the open wardrobe. Half of the space still contained Lori’s clothes. Neat rows of skirts and slacks and blouses. A couple of dresses. How did you move on when half of your life was gone?