Maybe it just means I’m scared.
And tired of being alone.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For sending him.”
“I wanted to be there myself.” There’s grit in his tone, like he hates the distance. “Club business kept me. Can I see you tonight?”
“I work late,” I hedge. My body screams yes. My brain fumbles.
“I’ll walk you home.”
I nod before I even answer, like he could see it. “Okay.”
A pause. Then, amused, “How did you get my number?”
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low and smooth, “I asked the right person. That’s all you need to know.”
By the time class ends, the sun has dropped and the streetlights buzz to life.
I step outside and see him across the street.
Leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, leather cut catching the glow. Havoc looks massive and out of place, like violence decided to stroll through suburbia.
Thomas lets out a low whistle. “That yours?”
Dorothy fans herself with a paper plate. “Mercy. Up close, he looks like trouble and bedtime stories all in one.”
“I’ve made worse decisions for less,” Gladys says under her breath.
Thomas smirks. “I had that look once. Broke a few hearts myself before arthritis took me out of the game.”
“You didn’t break hearts,” Dorothy says. “You broke furniture.”
I bite back a laugh and feel heat crawl up my neck. “Be good. I’ll see you next week.”
They wave me off with knowing grins.
He watches me cross the street like he’s counting every breath I take. Then he turns, silent and steady, and walks with me like it’s already decided.
“Evening,” he says.
“Evening,” I answer. My voice doesn’t shake, but it wants to.
We walk in step. Not speaking much. It isn’t awkward. It’s loaded.
When we round the corner to the cabin I rent a room in, Mrs. Hayes is already waiting on the porch.
Arms crossed. Lips pursed.
My battered backpack sits at her feet like a period at the end of a sentence.
“What’s going on?” I ask, slowing to a stop.
She doesn’t waste time. “You need to find somewhere else.”
"Why?"
Her voice is sharp, shaking only slightly. “You think I don’t see what’s been going on? Throwing yourself at my husband like some cheap—”
