After Hours (22 page)

I just stood there, a wide-eyed, slack-jawed statue. The world went eerily still and
quiet. So quiet I could make out Marco’s whimpers and every last one of Kelly’s slow,
steely words.

“I ever hear about you laying a hand on either of those girls, I will break every
bone in every finger you possess.” He tensed, and I could tell how hard he was driving
that knee into Marco’s back by the way Kelly’s leg shook.

“
Fuhhhck
.”

“And if I ever hear a word about you laying a hand on that boy, I will put you in
a wheelchair. Do you understand me, Son?” He gave Marco’s arm a twist.

“
Fuhhhhhh
.”

“What was that?”

“Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah.” Marco was trying to nod, rubbing his own face in the dirt.

“I thought so. And if I ever catch you coming ’round where I live, looking to continue
this discussion, I will neuter you like a fucking puppy. You got that, you drunk-ass,
white trash waste of come?” Another twist.

“
Yuh
.”

Kelly released Marco’s wrist. The effort of standing drove his knee into Marco’s back
one more time, and the lawn muffled the resulting wail.

“Let’s go,” Kelly said, without even looking in my direction.

I ran inside for my stuff. When I dashed back out, Marco was just making it to his
feet. We made eye contact, but he didn’t say a word.

For no reason whatsoever I said, “Bye,” and jogged down the driveway and around Kelly’s
truck. He started the engine as I slammed the door, and we didn’t speak a word for
the entire drive to Larkhaven.

Chapter Thirteen

Kelly pulled into the drop-off area in front of my building, too encumbered by my
car to park.

I��d been seething the entire ride, jacked up on anger and fear, and a sort of reckless,
combustible sexual adrenaline from glimpsing that side of Kelly.

But it was so un-fucking-
fair
that he could do that. That he could get the better of Marco, make some difference
in my problems, just because he was strong and male and pushy. Just march in against
my
explicit
wishes and muscle through the mess I’d been living with for almost three years with
his big, stupid arms.

And I couldn’t do shit, because Marco couldn’t give a damn what anybody thought unless
they were tougher than him. I could
scream.

Kelly put the truck in neutral and turned to me.

I addressed the dashboard, my breath so short it hurt to talk. “How much. Do I owe
you?”

“I’ll tell you after I fix it.”

“Fine.” I unbuckled my seatbelt.

My head was shaking. I wasn’t even telling it to. I stared Kelly straight in his pale,
calm eyes, my own burning with anger. “You have some fucking nerve, butting into my
family’s business.”

“You asked me to come there.”

“For a lift.”

“And what, I’m supposed to just let it go, knowing the guy who messed you around is
inside, thinking there’s no consequences? How’s that not my business?”

“I told you a hundred times, I didn’t want your help with that.”

He twisted in his seat and laid an arm across the back of mine. “You
need
my help with that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. You can’t fix your issues with that shitbag, just like you can’t fix
your car. But I can. So fucking let me, why don’t you? Quit thinking you have to be
the strong one all the time.”

“Don’t you dare analyze me.”

“Quit telling yourself you don’t need anybody.”

“I
don’t
need anybody.” People needed
me
. My sister, my grandma, the residents on the ward.

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “You fucking do.”

“You really wanna talk about people and their control issues, Kel? Because we can
talk about
that
.”

He huffed a quiet laugh from his nose, blinking up at the cab’s ceiling. I wanted
to hit him, he looked so patronizing.

“Thanks for the
lift
,” I spat, shoving the door open. “See you at work.”

“You’re wel—”

I slammed the door on his reply. My hand shook so hard I could barely fish my keys
from my purse. I stomped toward the entrance, punching the walkway with every step.

When I got up to my room, all I wanted was a beer and an early night. But first things
first, I had to make sure Amber was okay. Marco had finally gotten bested by a bigger
bully than himself, and on his own playground, no less. Who knew if he’d be left humbled
or livid by the turn of events.

I sat on my bed and dialed, hunched over, rubbing my forehead.

Amber answered after half a ring. “Hi,” she huffed.

“Hey. I just wanted to make sure everything’s cool over there after—”

“Excuse me? How about an apology?”

My head snapped up. “For what?”

“For sending that Kelly guy after Marco, roughing him up like some thug when he didn’t
do
any
thing.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that! And Marco did do something—he shoved me into a car,
if you haven’t forgotten.”

“Don’t you try that, talking all judgmental, like you didn’t start that fight. Like
you’re not fucking a married man. Which is
so
much worse than—”

“What? No I’m not!”

“Well you want to, I can tell.”

“No, I mean he’s not married. He just wears a ring bec— It doesn’t matter why. It’s
a long story.”

Silence, for a blessed moment. Then, “It is
so
out of line, you letting him get all up in Marco’s face, when he’s been working
so
hard to be better for me and Jack. Like he doesn’t have enough shit he’s trying to
work through. Like it’s even anybody’s business but ours.” When the two of them got
fighting, it was the entire neighborhood’s business, whether anyone wanted to hear
it or not. Marco broadcast himself on thumping speakers, be it a domestic dispute
or the awful, thrashy rap-rock music blaring from his truck.

“I’ll have you know I didn’t
let
him get in Marco’s face. I begged him not to. But he knew how I got my black eye.”

“You just can’t resist butting in, can you?”

“I wasn’t trying— Jesus, fucking forget it. I didn’t ask him to do that. But it’s
all stuff I’d have happily said to Marco, if I had a dick and weighed twenty pounds
more than him and stood a chance at getting heard. And no, I can’t
not
butt-in. Not if it’s about you and Jack.”

“Get your own life, Erin.” Mean words, but they came out lame and petulant, and I
could tell the fire had gone out of her, too.

“You guys
are
my life. Get used to it.”

Some noises in the background, Marco’s voice, unintelligible words in a bored tone,
which gave me permission to relax about Amber’s safety. Hell, they were probably united
against me and Kelly now, all boo-hoo bonding over the night’s drama.

Amber’s muffled reply came through. “I don’t know. Check the freezer.” A pause, then,
“Erin, I have to go.”

“Am I still watching Jack on Monday?”

An angry sigh, and she hung up on me.

I tossed my phone on the bed, grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

Better.

A bit better, though I wouldn’t have minded a benzo jab. I hated these stupid, fiery
Mom-feelings. How nice it’d be to just get knocked out, wake up confused but docile.
A beer would have to do. I pulled a can out of my little fridge and cracked it open,
found my laptop and checked the day’s news headlines, needing a diversion. After that
I scrubbed my face and brushed my teeth, relieved by the routines and the normality.
My surge of Mom-angst subsided as it always did—just in time for the damage to register
and leave me humbled.

As the rage lifted, I had to concede my anger toward Kelly. I was pissed off at Marco
for being a tyrant, and I’d transferred that hate onto Kelly, for using that same
physical intimidation to accomplish what I couldn’t.

It still annoyed me that he’d brazenly ignored my demands that he not get involved,
but I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t happy with the results.

I waited a half hour, until I’d showered and officially calmed down, and I texted
him.
Shouldn’t have blown up. Way more pissed at Marco than you. Still annoyed you butted
in, but thanks for caring. E

Five minutes later, my phone rang. Kelly’s number.

“Hello?”

“I dunno how to text.”

“Oh. Well, your fingers are probably too big for it, anyway. But I shouldn’t have
gone all psycho on you before.”

“I’m trained in dealing with psychos,” he said dryly, calling me on my faux pas.

“Thanks, I guess. For what you did.”

“Sorry you couldn’t have done the job yourself. The world’s shitty that way.”

I sighed, the last of my anger escaping with the breath. “I hope you appreciate how
much power you enjoy, just being . . . you know.”

“A huge asshole.”

“A built one, anyhow.”

“Not like it’s an accident. I don’t lift weights to look good, mowing the lawn with
my shirt off.”

“True.” A beagle could bark all it wanted, trying to sound tough. A Doberman could
send a far more credible message just standing there, silent.

And there I went, animalizing Kelly yet again.

“I’ll let you know how I manage, fixing your car.”

“Thank you, Kelly.”

“Not a problem.”

“Uh, good night. See you when I see you, I guess.”

“Night.”

I flipped my phone closed, feeling deflated. But deflated in a good way, like I’d
been pumped full of something noxious, then lanced. Now I was just limp, anger all
drained away. I wasn’t too worried about Amber. This was merely the latest in twenty-plus
years’ worth of fights. We’d patch it up, same as we always did.

The nagging hole that had opened in my heart might not heal over quite so quickly.
Like Kelly had his finger in there, wriggling it around now and then so it never quite
closed up, like the tear in Amber’s couch. I didn’t want to have a crush on him, but
I’d known I would, if the sex was good, if our connection offered any hint that it
might extend deeper than just the physical. Both of those things had come to pass.
This attachment wasn’t a surprise, but it unnerved me all the same.

I changed into my Red Wings shirt and got under the covers. The pillow I hugged as
I fell asleep was cool and squishy and comforting, but it wasn’t what I wanted to
cling to.

I wanted warm and hard and solid.

I wanted Kelly.

***

I was at a loose end the next day, not having my car. There was a ready list of distractions
in the form of errands I’d planned to run, but now no way to run them. It made it
far tougher to keep my head out of the gloom left by yesterday’s incident. I nearly
pined for restraint training.

I puttered and did laundry, called my mom for the first time in months. I didn’t reach
her, but I left a message saying I hoped she was doing well, that my new job was challenging
but good, give me a ring some time, let me know what she was up to. She didn’t call
back.

Amber didn’t call, either—not for more fighting or for a truce, but happily not for
any fresh crises, either.

To my chagrin, the absent call that haunted me most was Kelly’s. Until about four
in the afternoon, I had my hopes up that he’d ring to tell me my car was fixed. Maybe
instead of dropping it off, he’d pick me up for dinner at the bar and we’d patch over
our little spat with a bit of vigorous, no-strings screwing.

But nothing. A nothingness that echoed with his voice and breath and moans and had
dirty flashbacks strobing through my head. Sexual schizophrenia.

And in the late afternoon, I did a bad thing.

I drank two beers and tipsy impulse got the better of me, and I went places on the
Internet I shouldn’t have. It took a couple of hours, but I found a site with Hamtramck’s
public records going back to the sixties.

I searched for James Mahoney, and I found out exactly what Kelly’s biological father
had done to get put away.

Vet Earns Maximum Sentence for Assaulting Pregnant Girlfriend,
the scanned headline read.

Pregnant.
My insides filled with ice.

And there was his grainy photo, probably the same one Kelly had stared at on library
microfiche when he’d been a teenager. James Mahoney looked sad in the picture, and
tired. A lot older than twenty-six, the age cited in the article. There was a resemblance
to Kelly, in the brows and jaw. Forty-five years he’d been sentenced for aggravated
assault, for beating Kelly’s mom unconscious and kicking her in the stomach.

Jesus. Not even born yet and Kelly was getting waled on by a father figure.

He hadn’t known she was pregnant, the article said, and my heart broke for him. Just
back from the war, probably mind-fucked with PTSD or struggling with alcohol or uppers
like so many of those guys had. And still did.

He’d screwed up, atrociously. He’d beat his girlfriend, but to then sober up from
an episode or a drug high and find out he could’ve made her miscarry his own kid?
Forty-five years was a long time to think about one’s mistakes. But was it long enough
to wrap your head around
that?
And Kelly’d been carrying that shit around for over two decades, going through life
with
that
slung over his shoulders, trudging through a world full of Marcos. It was a wonder
he’d held himself back as much as he had the day before. I shut my laptop, feeling
more lost than ever.

And so, in the end, I passed almost my entire waking day thinking about Kelly.

It didn’t compare to seeing him. Hearing him or touching him. I’d had it bad after
those simple little words uttered in my bedroom, well before we’d even kissed.
We got a little something between us, don’t we?

Now I’d spent two days banging the guy, then a week trying to fool myself into thinking
that was all it’d been.

I was fucked. Just like I’d known I probably would be. I had to make peace with the
fact that I needed to just suck it up. Stay alert and remind myself continually that
infatuation wasn’t the same as a romantic crush, and try to enjoy the filthy-good
memories without letting my libido trick my heart into thinking there was anything
more to it.

I didn’t see Kelly until work, but the second he strolled into the lounge for hand-off,
a hot bolt of shame-lust crackled from my feet up through my hair, everything in between
left sizzling and tender. He started chatting with another orderly, and I studied
him with furtive glances, trying to believe the things I’d done with this man.

He looked so . . . He looked just as he had that first morning, and during our last
few shifts, following my icy lead. Far away and untouchable. But I’d seen him come
apart, tasted champagne on his lips, stroked that soft, short hair as he wallowed
in a post-orgasm coma.

And now I knew things I didn’t really want to. Ugly things that cast shadows over
my assumptions about him, instead of shedding light.

We didn’t speak until after lunch, when I was getting a coffee in the sign-in room
and Kelly walked in. He tossed me a “Hey,” and turned his attention to the whiteboard.

I wandered over, stirring sugar into my cup. “Hey.”

He scribbled Don’s name in his duties box. “Your car’s fixed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup. Part was cheap. You owe me forty bucks.”

“Plus . . . ?”

He thought a second. “Plus a twelve-pack for the labor.”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

He glanced at the open door, then lowered his voice. “I can’t park it anyplace legal
near your building with the tow bar on my truck, otherwise I’d just drop it off for
you some morning. How about you come over for dinner tonight, and drive it home yourself?
Good night for grilling, and I got hamburger patties ready to go.”