Page 6 of From the Ashes
I lock eyes with her, stopping at the edge of her lawn, and nod slowly. A silent promise that I won’t take another step unless she wants me to. She swallows and disappears from the window. Then, a moment later, the front door creaks open. She steps out hesitantly, her left hand tucked behind her back. I’d smile if I could. But I can’t, so I let it go. Whatever she’s hiding, a phone, a knife, maybe even a gun, she’s smart to be cautious. I respect that. Even if it kills me to be the reason she’s afraid. Dr. Parks would be proud, ’cause he’s always saying my biggest issue is not seeing other people’s wants and fears.
She doesn’t say anything; instead, she keeps staring at me from her porch, the height of it making her gaze fall directly into mine. She’s wearing denim shorts and a light little blouse, the fabric barely concealing what’s underneath. The thought of it makes my jaw flex because that bastard saw it too this morning.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right after this morning,” I say blankly. She nods in response, still unsure of why I’m here. “I came to tell you that you could call me anytime if he shows up again.”
This time, she fires back, “Why did you come into my home?” Her guard is up. I’m a good fighter, I can tell.
“I was in the neighborhood and I saw this guy. He was agitated, and when he entered your house, looking left and right before pushing the door, I thought he had no business being here, so I came to check that he wasn’t hurting you,” I rasp back, her honey-brown eyes scrutinizing me. I would smile if I werecapable of it. Unfortunately, my face is as readable as a concrete wall. I could have lied and said I thought he was breaking and entering, but let's be honest, how many burglars wear high end suits?
“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I didn’t want to scare you.” Her body stills, protecting herself from the stranger talking to her.
“Oh, um, okay, well, I...” her shoulders lower a bit, “I wanted to thank you. I…I never got your name,” she stutters with her sweet, velvety voice.
“Carter’s the name,” I answer, wanting to get closer but keeping my distance to make her feel safe around me. Her lower lip trembles before she catches it with her teeth.
“Well, thank you Carter,” she nods, “I’m Lana.” The corners of her lips lift slightly. Her warmth reminds me of sunsets, trees in the spring, and the comfort of going back to a place that feels like home.
Lana.
Two syllables running on my tongue naturally, the softness of her name echoing in the darkest part of my mind and spreading light on the walls. After months of on-and-off stalking, I had never brought myself close enough to read her name on her door. That’s a step I didn’t want to take.
“If he ever comes back,” I start, preparing to say what I’m here for.
“He will,” she cuts me off, the spark in her eyes disappearing for a moment. “He is the father of my child.” Pieces are falling into place and it overwhelms me with a surge of protectiveness.
She steps toward me, her legs toned and shiny, her bare feet melting in the lawn like a goddess. Good. This means I’m not as scary as the guy at the club said I was. Leaving a meter between us, she studies me, a light tint of pink coloring her cheeks. Notsure what that means. She’s probably too hot, which is weird considering the weather isn’t that warm today.
“If he ever comes back, you can call me, and I’ll make him go away,” I deliver bluntly, giving her a piece of paper where I scribbled my number. She looks at it for a second, eyes wide and almost watery, then takes it carefully, brushing my fingers in the process.
Did she mean to do that?
The single touch of her skin spreads fire inside my chest, moving at the speed of a racehorse.
“It’s really nice of you, but…why would you help me?” she asks, looking up at me from her petite height, her brown gaze searing into mine as if she can read me like a book. I don’t know it myself, but she wants an answer, so I think about the most believable and truthful one I can give her.
“Because I want to. And because you seem like a nice person who doesn’t deserve a man like him to destroy your peace,” I deadpan, hoping it gets the result I want, which is her accepting my help. Her lips part as if she’s in shock at my words. Moments like this make me hate myself for not knowing basic human emotions.
“I… Okay, yes, it would actually be great to have someone in my corner if he comes back,” she mutters, her lips in a straight line, as if the admission bothers her somehow. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
I shake my head because no, I’m not. It’s strange of her to ask; I don’t recall anyone ever asking me that. I thought small talk was more about work and weather-related stuff. I have been the enforcer of the club, which means I torture and kill people, but it’s always men who deserve it. Men from our underworld dipping their toes in the same dark waters we are. I have never wanted to kill outside of protecting the club, so no, I’m not a serial killer.
“No. I’m a bodyguard. I protect my boss’s wife.” Most folks in this town know what my cut means, but maybe she has no idea what the letters on my black leather jacket represent.
“He must be important to need security.”
“He is,” I declare without an ounce of doubt. “Call me if you need, okay?”
“I… Yes, okay, thank you. This is… It’s really nice of you.”
I tilt my head to the side.
Nice?
I’m not doing this to benice. I’m doing it because no woman should suffer the threat of a man. “I can’t stand bullies,” I grunt, hoping she gets it. That the kindness she sees in me is a mirage and I don’t want her to fool herself into thinking I have a drop of goodness inside my soul. She nods, tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear.
“I…I have to go,” she says, motioning toward her house with a quick thumb. I’m guessing her kid’s inside. “Goodbye, Carter,” she adds before turning away and hurrying to the door.
“Lana,” I reply, flatly, though my heart hammers beneath my ribs. And just like that, she’s gone. My phone number clutched in her hand, a tiny sliver of hope slipping through my fingers. It’s out of my control now.
