Shooter (Burnout) (10 page)

"Hayley," he called out to her. She swung her gaze to him. "You should go back to bed. Try to rest if you can."

****************************

Hayley stood helplessly in the bedroom, unsure what to do. A large man with a gun was
in her living room
. On the other hand, she was terrified to think what might happen if he
wasn’t
there tonight, since the door was broken. She looked around the room, slightly bewildered and then settled her gaze on the bed.

She slowly crept out of the bedroom, practically tiptoeing down the hall to the living room. Chris was sitting on the couch and looked up at her as she approached. “Here,” she said awkwardly, handing him a pillow and the blanket from the foot of her bed.

“Thanks, Slick,” he said, taking them from her.

“Do you- do you think anyone called the police?”

Chris considered it. “Probably not. Your bedroom window is right across from mine. That’s how I heard you. It wasn’t all that loud outside. I think if they haven’t come now, they probably won’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” he assured her. “Slick, you know, the deadbolt on that door isn’t a cheap piece of shit. The wood on the frame’s a little old so it won’t stop anyone from booting it in, but it can’t be picked by your average burglar. And most of them aren’t gonna breach a door the way I did. You
are
safe here. Unless there’s somebody out there who
might
kick in your door.”

Hayley could feel him watching her even as she kept her eyes on the front door. “Probably not,” she told him. “But I’m still alone, and it can be…scary….sometimes.” She turned her head to catch his nod.

“I’ll have the guys here in the morning,” he assured her. “Go get some rest.”

Hayley went back to her room, and even though she knew it was a terrible thing to do, even though she knew exactly what it said about her, even though she knew there was no rational reason to do so, she pushed the dresser back against the door.

******************************

Chris woke up early and fired off a text to all the boys. Hawk and Tex were re-routed from the garage to the home improvement store with a list of supplies. Chris hadn’t wasted much time with details and they hadn’t asked for them at the time. They each simply sent a reply of acknowledgment of the orders and an ETA.

Hayley had woken up shortly after him. Or, from the dark rings under her eyes, had emerged from her room in the morning, not having slept at all. She made them both coffee and set about doing something with a mixing bowl.

When he’d gone to lock up his own place last night, he’d thrown on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and didn’t bother with going to change in the morning since Hawk and Tex were on their way already. Instead he took Hayley’s cup of coffee and stood on her front porch, waiting for the troops. When they pulled up, it was not lost on them that he was next door to his own place and wearing the equivalent of skivvies.

“I don’t suppose,” Tex said, “that you and Slick had some kind of tequila-induced circus sex and tore up her house?”

Chris shook his head. “Not even close.”

“You owe me ten bucks,” Tex told Hawk.

Hawk rolled his eyes. “Don’t remember making that bet.”

“It was implied,” Tex insisted to Hawk. To Chris he said, “So what’s the damage here?” Tex asked. “And why?”

Chris glanced behind himself to make sure the door was as closed as it could be. “Okay, look,” he said in a low voice that caused Hawk and Tex to step closer to hear him. “She had a nightmare last night.”

“Okay,” Tex said cautiously.

“It was bad. She was screaming like a banshee and it woke me up. I came over not knowing what was what and kicked down her door to get to her.”

“Damn,” said Hawk. “Must’ve been really bad.”

Chris nodded. “It was. She was a little shaken up then, and she’s probably not feeling great about it now. So we’re not gonna bring it up to her or make her feel worse about it.”

“Copy that,” Tex said. “Let’s get the garage door open and unload the truck.”

The men set about building a work station in the garage, using Chris’s tools. Hawk cut a new frame piece and Tex routed it out. Chris took a drill and added a chain lock that the boys had picked up to the door on the inside. It wasn’t much in the way of security. The door already had a peephole and if the deadbolt didn’t hold or wasn’t engaged in the first place, a boot to the door would pop that chain easier than Chris had managed it last night. But damn if he didn’t know any other way to make her feel better.

Tex and Hawk hammered in the new frame piece and tested the slide of the bolt to be sure. Then Hawk asked what they needed the spackle for. Chris directed the men to Slick’s bedroom. Hawk tilted his head and frowned at the hole in the dry wall. “Which one of you managed this?” he asked.

“I did,” Chris admitted. He gestured to the highboy. “She put the dresser in front of the door and when I couldn’t get it open, I accidentally toppled it. Didn’t know it was there.”

Tex surveyed the wall and door. “Fairly ingenious,” he deduced. “Couldn’t possibly get in here unless she moved it. Not unless you come in through the window.”

“All this for a biker spat in a parking lot?” Hawk asked. “We should find them and break their legs.”

Chris shook his head. “Don’t think this is for the prospect or Prior. I mean, granted, it’d keep them out. But I’m pretty sure this set up is directly related to the
other
asshole.”

“We should find him, too,” Hawk grumbled and pulled the top off the drywall compound.

“With you there,” Tex agreed.

When they were finished, they hauled the tools back out into the living room.

“Alright what do I smell?” Hawk finally asked.

Hayley gave him a wan smile. “I made pancakes. I don’t normally get to make them for myself. Because it’s not that easy to make batter for just three pancakes.”

Hawk grunted. “You can only eat three? Amateur. Load me up, woman.”

“Buttermilk?” asked Tex.

“Of course,” Slick replied. “With bananas and blueberries.”

Tex clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “So worth getting up early,” he declared and watched greedily as Hayley piled a stack of cakes onto a plate and handed it to Hawk.

Chris waited his turn, lounging against the counter, and then took a third plate from Hayley. “Thanks, Slick,” he told her, grinning. “Get yourself some and come eat with us,” he told her.
Hayley took the fourth chair between Tex and Chris and gingerly cut into her stack.

Hawk paused in his gluttony only to say, “Can you break some more shit next week so we can do this again?”

Hayley blushed, but grinned down at her plate.

Chapter 8

Hayley wasn't exactly asleep due to her chronic insomnia, but neither was she willing to get out of bed at the ass crack of dawn, however this choice was taken away from her by the ungodly sound of a motor running precariously close to her bedroom window. She sat up, stretched, and looked out, seeing nothing. She hit the floor in her sleep shorts and tank top and wandered dazedly into the kitchen and looked out that window to see Chris mowing the lawn. Scratch that. Mowing
her
lawn.

He seemed engrossed in the activity, pushing and pulling the mower in a clearly defined pattern that reminded her of a tiny football field.

And not that she would normally notice this kind of thing, but...wow. He'd only ever worn jeans in front of her and seeing his calves alone was a holy experience. The shirt fit about as tight as all his other shirts, not that she looked. Much. But the sum total of Chris Sullivan in shorts and a t-shirt participating in an activity that made him sweat, no glisten, was enough to nearly render her comatose. She really had to stop getting those romance novels at the grocery store. And then, as if sensing the wayward thoughts that she was in denial about having, he looked up.

Damn. Busted. She smiled a huge goofy smile and waved. He waved back and she ducked back out of the window as quickly as she thought was appropriate without seeming ridiculous. He'd caught her looking at him. But then again, it was 6:30 in the morning and he was mowing the freaking lawn. Maybe he hadn't had a neighbor in so long he'd forgotten that normal, non Greek God, military-type people slept late and had coffee before doing anything that required that much energy.

She peeked and he'd gone back to mowing her lawn. Which now made her feel guilty. She could mow the lawn. If she had a mower. Which she did not. And she really didn't want to buy one. Her last apartment had been situated over a Chinese noodle shop in downtown Denver and had no lawn and the added bonus of smelling like soup all the time.

Even at 6:30 in the morning, mowing was hot, hard work. That much was obvious and she felt guilty.

***************************

Chris had one more pass to go when out of the corner of his eye he saw Hayley come out the back door and down the steps of the small deck. She had on flip flops, jean shorts, a t shirt, and had a glass in her hand. On closer inspection it looked like iced tea. Intrigued, and parched, he killed the motor as Hayley got closer.

"I can do this," she told him.

He grinned at her. "I'm almost done, Slick," he said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I meant next time."

"Uh uh," he said, shaking his head. "See, Slick. This here's what they call Man's work."

"Oh, really?" she asked in a challenging tone.

"That's a fact."

"And the legion of women, for there are many, who mow their own lawns every day?"

"Don't have a man to do it for them," he informed her. "Women's work… is making tea," he added, swiping the glass from her.

"How do you know that's for you?" she asked.

"Don’t care, didn't ask," he replied, grinning and took a swig. And nearly choked. "Holy hell, Slick. What is this?"

She frowned. "You don't like it? It's Sweet Tea."

He took another small sip. "It's like....liquid crack. It's all sugar," he declared. "How did you manage to make sugar with tea in it?"

"You boil water. Then add sugar. Then reheat. And add more sugar. Then reheat and add more sugar."

"Yeah, I got that part, Slick. Jesus. If I finish this glass, I'll have diabetes."
Scowling, she reached for the glass, but he swung away from her. "I'll risk it. What else is in there?"

"Mint. It's refreshing," she snapped.

"It
is
that, Slick," he said, grinning. He downed the glass and handed it back to her.

He lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

************************

Hayley was a little irritated that he didn't like her sweet tea. She made excellent sweet tea, thank you very much. All true Southerners did. She snatched the glass back and made a mental note to put salt in Chris's tea next time.

Then he lifted his shirt.

She froze, rooted in her spot. Scars. Chris had scars. they seemed to come up out of the waistband of his shorts on his left hand side, jagged white marks laid out in a haphazard fashion that stopped short several inches before the mid-line of his torso. They covered his side and skittered off toward his back. They stopped just under his armpit. Without thinking, she reached out to touch them. Chris, realizing what was happening, immediately caught her hand. She startled and dropped the glass.