Clipped Wings (4 page)

I pasted on a smile, feeling out of place among the sweaty, drunken masses. “Three shots of vodka, unless you want to do one with me, then make it four.”

“All right, that’s my kind of girl.”

Ian’s apparent affinity for girls who drank liquor straight up was mildly disconcerting. He set four shot glasses on the bar and filled them. We toasted on the first shot, and I downed the rest of them, barely pausing to breathe. I welcomed the burn as the alcohol slid down my throat.

“You want to leave your stuff with me?” His calculating smile made the offer sound more propositional than friendly.

“Thanks, but I’m not staying long.”

The bar was packed, and I was taking up prime real estate for would-be drinkers. They were pushing, bodies closing in, elbows and arms, nudging and shoving. Despite the medication and vodka, the close contact still made me uncomfortable. Ian moved on to the next patron, so I gave him a wave and left.

A familiar song blasted through the speakers, the bass vibrating in my bones. Connor had hated this kind of music. He thought it was too aggressive. But our conflicting taste in music—and nearly everything else—was no longer an issue. I could listen to whatever I wanted now. The crushing guilt that always followed this train of thought made it hard to breathe, the effect of the pill already wearing off before the alcohol had even hit my bloodstream and dulled my senses. I moved through the bar, feeling less and less at ease with the sheer volume of physical contact.

Connor’s face flashed through my mind, at first the way I remembered him, but then an uninvited memory floated around the edge of my consciousness and came clear. I had been trying to find a way out, choking on smoke and fumes. I’d found Connor when I’d been sifting through the dead. Everything beautiful about him had been broken. When I blinked, the world was blurred, a fusion of present and past.

The noise, the people, the memories; it was all too much to filter. As the booze clouded my thoughts, I couldn’t separate what was inside my head from what was in front of me. The bar didn’t seem to be a good idea after all.

I needed to get home. I pushed against the flow of bodies, the glaring red Exit sign a beacon for my freedom. Halfway there, someone caught my arm. Fingers wrapped around my biceps and held me in place.

“Hey there, pretty thing, where you headed?” he slurred, spit showering my face as he moved in closer. He was tall, his over-gelled hair spiked into a horrific faux-hawk. His wiry arms were littered with haphazard tattoos. The word
patience
was misspelled on his forearm, the
i
in the wrong place.

“I’m leaving.” I tried to shake free, but his grip tightened.

“Want some company?” His breath reeked of beer.

“I’m good, thanks.” I pried at his fingers. “Care to let go?”

His cheek brushed mine, coarse stubble unpleasant as he yelled in my ear. “Aw, come on, you know you wanna party.”

Either he was too drunk to notice that I wanted to get away from him, or he didn’t care. Regardless, my ability to maintain composure evaporated with the unwelcome touch. Today had already been too much. Red-hot rage flared, bubbling up like lava through my veins. Without weighing the consequences, I slammed my fist into his throat. It had the desired effect; he sputtered and choked, releasing me. He coughed out a vulgar expletive.

I spun around, and familiar artwork caught my attention back at the bar. The hand attached to the colorful arm held a beer, poised to tip. Twin rings pierced the left side of a set of full lips. Pale blue eyes met mine, filled not with shock but something closer to fascinated concern. But before he could react, I turned and shoved my way through the crowd until I burst through the door and was spat out onto the street.

The heat gave way to cool wind and a flash of lightning zigzagged through the sky. I shivered and pulled my hoodie on. My hip protested as I broke into a jog, but the ache kept me grounded. The growing discomfort muted the effects of the meds and the liquor. It had been stupid to think I could manage being inside a packed bar. Confined spaces and crowds posed too much of a reminder of my experience. By the time I got home, my hip was screaming with pain, and I permitted myself one painkiller to take the edge off.

Sleep came eventually, and with it the memories I tried to suppress.

* * *

A thunderous noise shocked me awake. Disoriented, I looked around. Connor wasn’t beside me. The seat-belt sign was flashing, and a voice crackled through the speaker system. Panic set in as I buckled the restraint, craning to look for Connor. He’d only gone to the bathroom or something. He couldn’t be far.

The lights flickered, and the belt at my waist tightened painfully. Bile rose in my throat, and I gritted my teeth against the wave of nausea.

“Connor?” I called out. Fear overrode every other emotion as we were all subjected to another violent heave.

I looked to the couple on the left. They were holding each other’s hands tightly. Several emotions passed across the man’s face until sorrow settled in his eyes. Before everything went black, he turned to his wife and told her how much he loved her.

* * *

I woke up screaming, my tank top and sheets soaked with sweat. The images were still flashing like a slide show in my head. All I could see was the tortured look on the man’s face. The fear and the grief as the plane spun and plummeted. I gripped my hair in my hands and yanked, as if the action would wipe out the memories forged into nightmares. And still I screamed.

When my voice gave out from the strain, I crawled out of bed, my stomach churning. The clock on the nightstand read five in the morning. At least I could justify getting up. I hoped the walls were soundproof, or my neighbor would think I was being tortured. Or insane. Both were not far from the truth.

A small light illuminated the bathroom. I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, waiting for the nausea to pass. It didn’t. The contents of my stomach spewed into the sink; the taste of vodka made me retch again. When I was capable of moving, I pushed up on weak arms and met my reflection in the mirror. The ugliness had forced its way from the inside out. My fingernails pressed hard into my palms, but the pain barely registered. Despair made the ache inside unbearable. I slammed my fist into the glass, shattering my image. Now it matched the rest of me.

I woke up on Saturday morning with a mild hangover, already late for work. Lisa had left me a message more than twenty minutes earlier.

When I walked in, she was sitting at the desk, browsing the latest ink magazine, checking off things she wanted to order. She glanced pointedly at the clock. “How is it possible to be late when you live above the shop?” The question was rhetorical, because she didn’t wait for an answer. “Fortunately, your first appointment isn’t for another hour. Go get me a latte. Chris called and said he won’t be in until one. He’s feeling worn out.” Lisa’s eyes shifted to me, gauging my response.

We both knew what that meant. He must have found a chick to hook up with after I left the bar. From the look on Lisa’s face, she didn’t approve of his choice, which wasn’t much of a surprise. For the most part, his taste wasn’t very discerning. Female and breathing were typically sufficient criteria.

“Good for him.”

“How was your night? You left early.”

I could hear the hint of potential disappointment. She hadn’t seen what had happened with Tenley, so as far as she knew, I’d done the same as Chris. I hadn’t. I’d drained my beer and followed Tenley out of the bar.

“Not nearly as exciting as Chris’s. I wasn’t feeling the scene, so I called it a night.”

By the time I’d gotten outside, Tenley had disappeared. Despite the urge to go back into the bar and find the fuckwad who’d put his hands on her, I’d walked home instead. When I’d gotten there, I’d been relieved to find the lights on in Tenley’s apartment right above Serendipity and her silhouette moving around behind the curtains. I still didn’t like that she’d walked home alone.

Lisa gave me a pensive look.

As little as six months ago, I might have engaged in similar behavior as Chris’s, although I liked to think I had better standards than he did. It had been a long time since I’d brought a random home. It was the awkward postorgasm kick-out that posed the biggest problem. No one stayed the night in my bed. Hell, no woman I brought home even
saw
my bed. The couch, the floor, the wall; they were all fair game, but my bedroom was mine.

Lisa was sensitive about casual hookups. I assumed it reminded her too much of her days at The Dollhouse, when it wasn’t just lap dances that were for sale. Lines got crossed in that business all the time until there weren’t any left. Lisa had only waitressed there, but even that job could entail more than serving drinks. I didn’t like to upset her or make life difficult for Jamie, so I refrained from pulling that kind of crap when she was around. Chris wasn’t perceptive enough to realize how it affected her.

“I’ll be back in five.” I left to get her latte before she had a chance to ask more questions I didn’t want to answer.

I crossed the street to Serendipity. Tenley was working today. I hoped I would get a chance to find out if she was okay. The bell above the door chimed as I entered the store. No Tenley in sight.

“Hayden!” Cassie greeted me from behind the counter. She was half hidden behind a pile of books. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, telling me she was glad to see me. At twelve years my senior, she was more of a friend than an aunt, but she was still the closest thing I would ever have to a mother again.

“Hey.” I leaned over the counter and dropped a kiss on her cheek, then surveyed the stack of books: all classics. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I hear you got a chance to talk to Tenley again yesterday.” She seemed awfully excited about it.

“I did. She seems like a sweet girl, a little nervous, though.” I chewed on my viper bites to hide a smile. After last night, “sweet” wasn’t quite the way I would describe her, but I was censoring for present company.

“Oh? She can be shy, and we all know you can be intimidating.”

“There is that.” I scanned the shop, hoping she would magically appear. “Did she say anything about me?”

“Just that you were interesting.”

That didn’t sound good. “Interesting how?”

“As in not boring? I don’t know. I didn’t ask for specifics,” she said, arranging her stack of books. It wasn’t very helpful.

“Are you working? I thought you might have some time . . .” she trailed off.

“I’ve got an hour before my first client.”

Cassie had been hounding me to look at some items she’d set aside, but I was always between clients when I stopped by. There must have been something pretty awesome involved, because she clapped her hands enthusiastically.

“Great! Tenley,” she called over her shoulder, “would you be a dear and show Hayden the things in the basement?”

Tenley cautiously emerged from between the stacks at the back of the store, well within earshot. She reminded me of a frightened animal, aware a predator was near but unable to escape. Her eyes moved to mine and then away just as quickly, only to return again, a volley of glances.

I smiled, aiming for approachable, hoping to recover from our last encounter. This time I would rein it in and attempt not to leer at her like a creepy douche. Pink flooded her cheeks, and her eyes shifted toward the floor. Her hands were clasped in front of her, the right one patched with gauze.

The scene from last night came flooding back with vivid clarity. Underneath that docile exterior was a spark of fire I had witnessed firsthand. While she’d hit that guy pretty hard last night, one punch shouldn’t have caused such a serious injury.

“I believe you two have met,” Cassie said, giving me a curious look.

I pulled my head out of my ass and tried to do something beyond smile like an idiot. “Hi.” It seemed like a good start.

“Hi.” Tenley spun on her heel and maneuvered her way through the stacks. She didn’t look back to check if I was following.

Mindful of how uncomfortable I made her, I trailed a safe distance behind, watching her hips sway. Cassie knew I could find whatever she’d set aside for me on my own. I’d been in the basement plenty of times, so I assumed this was her way of forcing Tenley to talk to me, which wasn’t working out well. So far, she had managed to squeak out one word.

As she grasped the doorknob, I reached out to trace the edge of the gauze wrapped around her hand. I was so close to her, too close, invading her space again. It was like a compulsion, as if I couldn’t
not
touch her. She shivered when my fingers grazed the bandage and then soft, warm skin. I should have backed off, but I didn’t. She smelled like vanilla, and not the crappy, artificial stuff. More precisely, she smelled like cupcakes. I had almost all of the senses covered, now if I could just taste her. . . . And thoughts such as those were the reason she was so disconcerted by me. I doubted I sported a poker face, and she could definitely read the perversion in my expression.