Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) (9 page)

“You know,” he said, “tell your boyfriend next time to fight like a man.  Instead of sucker punching me.”

Then he was gone, and I was left completely confused.

~2~

Brett disappeared into the morning and in the couple seconds I took to stand still, absorbing the environment around me, one of my regulars came walking in.

Mr. Henderson, a local attorney, wore a sharp suit, his hair still wet with gel, smelling like a corporate office.  He took the sunglasses off his face and smiled at me.  He had rattlesnake eyes but promised a heart of gold.

“Tessa, are you okay?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That snapped me out of my trance.  I hurried around the counter and started to pour Mr. Henderson his morning drink.  A large coffee, black.  I couldn’t imagine drinking coffee like that, but to each their own. 

I looked around the café, wondering what Brett was talking about.  I didn’t have a boyfriend, so what did he see?  I thought about him letting me go.  Had I thrown an elbow and not realized it?  My mind had been so focused on grabbing the coffeepot, it was possible. 

But unlikely.

“Here you go,” I said as I placed the cup to the counter.

My hand visibly shook and Mr. Henderson grabbed my hand.

“You’re freezing,” he said.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded.  “Rough morning.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.  Was up late with a friend, talking.  Didn’t get much sleep.  Whoops.”

I smiled and tried to shake everything off the best I could.

“Late nights,” Mr. Henderson said, “I know those.”

He took his cup and lifted it to me.  He smiled and threw a ten dollar bill on the counter.  As he left, I thought about telling him he forgot his change.  He wouldn’t take the change, he never did.  My first tip of the morning was over five dollars.

Good start to the workday.

Or not.

The rest of morning came and went with the normal hustle and bustle.  It was busy enough that I didn’t have much time to think about Brett.  I wasn’t sure what to do about that.  I could try to talk to Jeff or Jerry, Thorn’s owners, but I’m not sure how far that would go.  I’d get harassed as to why I let someone in the café before opening.  Then would come millions of questions.  Getting the police involved would turn into a he-said, she-said banter between Brett and I.  Plus, whatever scared him seemed to have scared him good. 

When Jerry showed up around eleven, he took one look at me and stopped in his place.

“You look frazzled,” he said. 

“Busy morning,” I said.

“That’s good.  Why don’t you take a breather?”

I hadn’t had a break yet and I wasn’t going to argue with my boss.

"Sounds good, thanks."

With that, I rushed through the small kitchen, avoiding the tantalizing smells of chocolate and cinnamon, and went outside.  The alley was dingy, the forgotten about backside of all the businesses.  It smelled of wet garbage and the ground was littered with cigarette butts.  I leaned against the building and let out a long sigh.  I wished I were home, in my apartment, even with the feeling of being watched.  Things were so out of place, out of routine, it bothered me.  I liked routine and I like comfort.  All of which were disrupted and then shattered to pieces when I saw the figure standing at the end of the alley.

Brett.

He wore the same ratty clothes from this morning, and for the first time, I saw Brett how Bridget probably did.  Seeing him on stage - even though it was a small stage and stood maybe an extra two feet from the ground - gave him a larger than life persona.  His sexy voice, his dirty look, playing guitar, singing, then coming off stage riding that high of playing and having girls flock to him.  As I said, girls flocking because no woman would want someone like Brett.

He paused when he saw me.  We were far enough away that I wasn't worried; if he made a move, I could be inside Thorns before he could make it halfway.  But he was close enough that I could see his eyes.  They were normal eyes now, eyes of regret and a major hangover.

"How do you feel?" I asked, my hand touching the door handle.

"Like shit," he said.

"Good."

There was a pause then the call of a crow as it flew overhead.

Brett looked up and spoke.  "About before.  I was messing around.  Took things too far.  That's not me, just so you know."

"That's refreshing," I said.  "So you didn't intend to force yourself on me?"

"Tessa, come on.  My band... music... that can all go away..."

"Just stay away from me."

"I do like you, Tessa.  And I didn't mean to piss you off..."

Brett trailed off and his face looked confused.  That's when I remembered that he made a comment about my boyfriend.

"I have to go," he said.  "I have to meet my probation officer... drug test day."

"Going to pass?"  I could not believe that just yesterday I thought he was like the sexiest man alive.  Now he looked like a loser burned out druggy.

"I don't know," Brett said.  "Don't remember last night or a whole lot of this morning..."

He shook his head and turned.  I hoped he failed his drug test and was put in jail.  It would suck for Thorns because people liked his band, but there'd be other bands.  There was always people willing to stand up and pour their hearts out to those who would listen.

"Brett, wait..."

He looked over his shoulder.  The way the sun came down and the shadows formed, his face looked like a hollowed skull with dead, blue eyes.  I almost felt bad for him.

"Did you see anything this morning?  In the café?"

He thought about it and shrugged his shoulders.  "I don't know... but someone clocked me in the lip really hard."

I looked at my hand.  If I had hit Brett I would have had marks on my knuckles.  I had no marks and I remembered vividly... I did not punch Brett.

He started to walk and I didn't say goodbye.  My mind was elsewhere.

If I didn't hit Brett, then who did?

~3~

When Jerry asked me to open the café again, I thought about telling him no.
  I saw myself pouring my heart to him about Brett, but something had happened in the meantime.  Bridget sent me a text with a smiley face.  I replied and she told me that my honey was locked up for drugs. 

Unsurprisingly, through six degrees of Timmy, Brett was connected to a group of friends he had in common with Timmy.  Layette wasn’t a big city.  Timmy tried to have a mean streak, a rough guy artsy side, but he had nothing to offer.  He strummed a few chords on an old guitar that needed new strings.  The move worked for Bridget and that’s all that mattered.  Turned out that when Brett met with his probation officer, they searched him first to make sure he didn’t have any pee on him.  Seriously.  That’s what they do.  They make sure a person doesn’t bring in foreign pee for a drug test.  The wild world of users, I guess.  When Brett emptied his pockets, he threw a few packets of something and was arrested on the spot.  I didn’t ask about his drug test but something told me he would fail it no matter what.

So there went Brett, off to jail.  He was twenty-eight, looked in his early thirties, and I had the vibe that he wouldn’t see forty without some real help.

Because that problem was out of my hair, I told Jerry I would work the morning shift again.  Other than Brett’s attempt at forcing himself on me, it had been a great shift.  I didn’t mind it.  It was very mellow, relaxing, so much different than the nights.  Plus, if I worked the morning shift on a Friday, then I could come back at night to watch some bands and mingle.  I had a lot of friends at Thorns but no real friends.  That was cool with me. 

I went to bed early to get up early.  I got to Thorns while it was still dark out, just to embrace the ominous vibe, bringing a notebook and pen for ideas.  When I arrived at the café, there was a stack of papers out front.  The morning papers, only they were really early.  I looked up and down the dark street, seeing only a few cars.  The stack was neatly tied and I grabbed the pile to carry it in.  I put the papers on the rack, cut the twine with scissors, and started to make coffee.

I tried to relax my mind, let it open, and find some inspiration.  Nothing was coming to me, so I turned and froze in place.  The first thing I did was look up, my eyes honing in on the front door.  It was locked.  And it would stay locked until a customer showed up.  I looked back down and found one of the newspapers on the counter.

Had I done that?

No, I hadn’t.  I cut the twine and took the twine, but not a paper.  The papers cost money.  I grabbed the paper and walked it back to the holder.  I threw it down on top of the pile and patted it.  As I tried to turn, the corner of the front page pulled back a few inches as if there was a breeze in the café.

There was no breeze in the café.

I touched the corner and held it in place.  Then suddenly, more than ever, I felt watched.  I stared down at the newspaper, refusing to look up, or look around.

My hand slid off the paper.

The corner moved again, gently rocking in a wind I couldn’t feel.

I gasped and put my hands to my mouth.  I smelled coffee and paper.  I blinked and then shut my eyes.  When I opened my eyes more pages in the paper were folded.  Each page was holding its own in the air.  They were stuck together.  They were all slowly flapping.

I touched the paper, trying for the corners and they moved back more.

A black bold headline started to catch my attention but it meant nothing at first.

OLD MURDER.

I forced the paper back down where it belonged, feeling my heart pounding so hard I felt it in my chest, my hands, my feet, my head.  I took a deep breath and lifted my hands with a quick yelp, knowing it was going to happen again.

It did.

The pages folded right back, this time a little more.

I saw more of the headline and finally just succumbed.  I grabbed the entire paper and threw it to the counter.  It slid, the sections breaking away from each other.  Before I could take a second to think, the next paper in line started to move.

I touched the corners this time and pulled them.

Something - or someone - wanted me to see something.  My thoughts on life beyond death didn’t matter and really weren’t existent at that moment.  They would be a few seconds later.

I opened the newspaper and read the headline.

PROMINENT BUSINESSMAN GRANTED EARLY PAROLE FOR DECADE OLD MURDER.

Him.

That was my first thought. 
Him.

All I had to do was see the name and it crushed me.

Theodore Belle... released from prison... good behavior... self defense... murder... sixteen year old boy... released... released... released...

The word jumped at me again and again.  My body started to shake and when I let the newspaper pages fall, I could still read it.  Again and again.  I took a step back and hit something.  I spun and screamed, finding nothing behind me except for an empty version of Thorns. 

Released.

Released.

“Released,” I whispered.

Released.

The time had come, something I hadn’t expected for another ten years. 

My father - the man who abused me, the man who murdered
my
Jack - was out, walking free.

~4~

I almost forgot to lock the door to Thorns.
  That would have been bad, and Jerry would have given me hell.  I made an awkward move, somehow spinning, putting the key into the door, locking it, and taking the key all out while I kept moving.  I charged to my car and by the time I started the car, tears poured down my cheeks.  I considered calling Auntie B but she would only smooth things over.  Part of me wanted to feel the pain of this truth.  I needed to go for a drive, think about what was happening, and then call Auntie B.  The last thing I wanted was Auntie B to try to convince to come back to her house. 

I sped away from work knowing people would show up soon.  Oh well, I had good cause to leave.  My homicidal father was released from prison.

Welcome home, Dad.

It was still very early, the pre morning dawn a shade of rich blue and charcoal slammed together against the horizon.  How significant a moment it was.  Another day had come.  Some days could just end, not even remembered.  Other days collided together, creating a whirlwind.  Like today.

At a yellow light I sped up, racing through the intersection just as it turned red.  I scouted for police and there were none.  A small victory in life, and I'd take it right then.  The next intersection I rolled through the stop sign.  It felt good.  Flirting with the day before me.  After that intersection came a stretch of road that connected Layette with all the major highways.  The road was a perfect road to test the speed limit on my fifteen year old car.