I should walk away. Should go upstairs to my apartment, crack a beer, and forget this happened. Other people's problems aren't mine. I learned that the hard way. Learned that trying to save everyone just gets you broken.
But she's looking at me like I'm the only thing standing between her and those men coming back.
"They know where you live," I point out. "They'll come back."
"I know." Her voice is small. "I know they will."
"This Castellano. Who is he?"
She flinches at the name. Actually flinches.
"Someone I was supposed to marry." The words come out bitter.
Jesus.
"You ran."
"A week ago." She's still pressed against the door. "I've been hiding ever since."
"Not doing a great job if they found you already."
She flinches again, and I feel like an asshole.
"I'm sorry." She's apologizing. To me. "I didn't mean to bring trouble to—"
"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't apologize for running from something you didn't want."
She blinks. Like that's not the response she expected.
"I'm Marcus," I hear myself say. "Marcus Cole. Third floor, unit 3B."
"I know." She says. "I've heard you. Through the walls. You and your brother."
Great. Thin walls and a neighbor who's been listening.
"Nora," she adds, like I might have forgotten in the last three minutes. "Nora Hayes. Unit 3A."
Right next door then. The apartment my brother mentioned. The one he said had a pretty new tenant I should meet.
"You need to get inside," I tell her. "Lock your door. Don't open it for anyone you don't know."
"Okay." She fumbles for her keys. Her hands are shaking so hard she drops them.
I pick them up before she can bend down. Our fingers brush when I hand them back. Hers are ice cold.
"Thank you," she whispers. "Really. Thank you."
I nod. Don't trust myself to say anything that won't sound like I'm making promises I shouldn't make.
She gets her door open. Disappears inside. I hear the deadbolt slide home. Then a chain. Then what sounds like a chair being wedged under the handle.
Smart girl.
I head to my own apartment. The empty space feels emptier than usual tonight. My brother's still gone. Two more days on a logging job upstate. Just me and the buzzing in my ear and the memory of Nora's face when those men cornered her.
I drop my bag. Grab a beer from the fridge. Stand at the window looking down at the parking lot where this all went sideways. They'll come back. Men like that always do. And next time they might bring more friends.
Not my problem.
