Page 32 of The Bones We Break
Driving down the main street of Rockford, the town already coming to life, I decide to pull up in front of the small coffee shop and treat myself to a hot beverage that I haven’t had to make myself, and maybe a little treat for Lyla who’s taken up her rightful space in the front seat. Cutting off the engine of the Raptor, I climb out of the truck, leaving the passenger side window open a bit. Lyla follows my every move as I round the truck, her eyes never leaving me.
“I’ll be back out in a minute, be good.” I say, even though I already know she’ll be on her best behaviour. Coming to stand in front of the shop I push open the cream door, the shop’s logo embossed onto the window pane that sits in the middle of the door frame, a small sign above it stating that they’re open. The rich, dark smell of the roasted coffee beans hits my senses and I inhale the delicious scent.
The inside is everything you’d expect it to be from a small town coffee shop. Small round tables cover the open space, all decorated with mismatched table cloths and random flowers. The floors are light washed wood, and the walls a warm cream colour. Everything about it screams cosy and nice. It gives me the itches but I can’t pass up on their coffees. I stand out like a sore thumb in here, my darkness staining the freshness. Stepping up to the counter, my eyes dip down to the array of cakes sitting in the glass cabinet, all mouthwatering, but I refuse to give into temptation.
The kitchen is open plan, coffee machines line the back wall and chalkboards hang above them, written in some kind of fancy font, displaying the desserts and coffee menus.
“Morning Dean.” The frail but light voice comes from behind the counter. A small, older woman pops up.
Valerie.
This woman has been running this shop for decades, using the same recipes that have been passed down from generations. It’s no surprise that she sells out everyday. Her face is welcoming and warm, soft grey curls frame her face and pink framed glasses sit atop her nose. She wears her usual cream shirt and pants with a soft pink coloured apron over the top, the front pocket is constantly filled with pens.
“Morning Val.” I reply back gruffly. I don’t mean to be rude but the thought of small talk is enough to send me running to the hills. She laughs at my abruptness, knowing exactly what I’m like.
“You ever gonna show me a proper smile, boy?” She teases, then gets back to moving around the kitchen. “Same as always? And for that pup of yours?” She throws over her shoulder as she starts to prep my usual order and a pup cup for Lyla.
“Yep. Cheers.” I reply whilst digging my wallet out of my pants pocket. I flick through the notes and slide a ten dollar bill onto the counter, knowing I always tell Valerie to keep the change. She tries to push it back onto me but I always refuse, telling her to put it in the charity tub instead. The sounds of the coffee machine bounce around the small room, the steam rising into the air. I spin on my feet and look out of the front window to check on Lyla, her face still resting on the truck’s open window. By the time I turn back round, my foamy latte and Lyla’s pup cup is sitting on top of the counter, steam swirling out of the plastic lid. Valerie swipes up the money and proceeds to run it through the cash register before digging through the coins. I instantly lift my hand to stop her and point towards the red charity bucket. Valerie huffs and then laughs before dropping the change inside.
“You ever gonna’ let me give you the change back?” She questions, her eyes peering over the top of her glasses, her frail hands firmly planted on her hips. She may be old, but she isn’t one to mess with.
“Never.” I reply before wrapping my hands around the two cups and turning to leave. “See you, Val.” Pushing open the door with my shoulder I step out onto the street and round the truck, balancing both cups in one hand whilst unlocking the door. Sliding inside I put my coffee into the cup holder, holding out the small white cup of sweet cream for Lyla. Her tongue instantly laps it up, the soft texture landing on her nose and whiskers.
“You’re getting cream all over my leather seats baby girl, it’s a good job I love you.” I tease, eyeing up the specks of cream flying onto the black leather. Once Lyla has finished I take one of the napkins that’s wrapped around the cup and wipe up the crime scene she’s created in the truck before rolling it up anddiscarding it inside the paper cup.
“Ready for work?” I ask, her head tipping from side to side, hanging onto every word I say. She barks once and I take that as a yes. Slipping the seatbelt over myself, I turn the key in the ignition, the loud rumbling of the engine vibrates through the truck and I pull away from the street, and out onto the road towardsDemon Motors.
The grey building comes into view and I turn into the car park, slowing the truck down to a stop before grabbing my coffee and letting Lyla out of the passenger side. She instantly bolts across the large space and straight towards a Chevy Impala?
Have I booked someone in and completely forgot about it?
I try to wrack my brain on who the car belongs to but nothing comes to mind. It’s pretty beat up, like someone has started to work on the restoration and then stopped, and the back tire is flat too. Maybe someone has just abandoned it?
Lyla’s deep barks shake me out of my confusion, she begins to circle the car, barking at every window, her ears laid flat to her head. An ear stabbing scream comes from inside the car and I instantly drop the coffee onto the floor, the steaming liquid splashing over the tarmac and I sprint over towards the Chevy.
“Lyla! Quiet!” I blast out and she instantly silences and comes to sit at the side of me. My brows furrowed, I spun the cap on my head backwards and duck down to the low windows attempting to see where the scream came from. My eyes darted around the front seats to see it empty by a few throw away shopping bags filled with rubbish and a couple of cassette tapes on the passenger seat. Quickly, I move along to the back seat, and take a step back in surprise.
The most beautiful, young woman I’ve ever seen is coweringlike an animal caught in a trap in the back, her knees tucked up into her chest and a small switch-blade is grasped in between her slim, shaking fingers. Her icy ocean eyes flick from me to the car, to Lyla and back again. Rich, onyx locks have fallen over her round face but I can just about see an array of yellowish bruises covering her pale complexion. My blood instantly boils at the thought of this woman being hurt and I instantly need to end the fucker whose caused her pain. I shock myself at my thoughts, I’ve only just stumbled across this woman and I already feel the ever growing need to protect her from everything, maybe even myself.
Fresh tears begin to well over her eyelids and fall freely down her face leaving damp track marks in their wake. The sight instantly stabs me in the chest.
“Get.. get back!” She croaks out, her voice shaky and broken. She stabs the knife out in front of her to warn me off and I slowly take a step back, raising my hands to show her my surrender.
“You’re okay, mama.” I say in a soft tone, the pet name falling freely from my mouth, like it was always meant for her. “I’m sorry about Lyla.” Tipping my head down to gesture to my dog who hasn’t moved from the same spot she sat down in. “She doesn’t usually bark at people like that unless they’re hurt. Are you hurt?” I ask calmly, hoping that this unusual woman will give me some answers. I leave the question hanging in the air for her, giving her time to answer when she feels ready to. She tightens the knife in one hand now and lifts in her seat to peer out of the window at Lyla who returns a soft gaze at her, then the woman’s wide eyes return back to me and I feel the air leave my lungs, leaving me breathless.
What the fuck is happening to me, I can’t be swooning over a woman I’ve just met, a scared woman no less!
“Who are you?” She speaks out, lifting her chin in an act of fearlessness. I drop my hands and bring one to my chest.
“I’m Dean, Dean Sinclair. I own the garage you’re currently camping out at.” I say, slight humour lacing my voice but she doesn’t give me the same energy back, instead her face seems to turn more shocked. I hear her scold herself, her free hand running over her face before she pushes her long black locks behind her shoulders, revealing the bruises I noted a moment ago except now there’s a healing wound on her forehead that was hidden previously. I want to ask her what’s happened, who hurt her but I know it’s not my place and I don’t want to panic her even more than I feel like I already have.
“Can I ask your name?” I stay leaning down to her eye level even though my lower back is beginning to spasm under the awkward position. She ponders for a moment, trepidation washing across her face before she opens her mouth.
“Annabelle, but just Ana is fine.” She skips over her last name and I can’t help but feel like that was a purposeful move on her part. Maybe she’s running from somewhere, or someone. That kind of explains the bruises on her face, the diamond ring that looks far too heavy on her finger and the fact that she’s been clearly living out of her car. I’ve seen this story before, there’ve been many clients who have hired me to get rid of their abusive partners and Ana is dropping those exact clues for me now.
“Okay then, just Ana. Why don’t you come out and maybe I can fix you a drink or something?” I stand a bit further back from the car and gesture towards the garage with my hand and then place it onto Lyla’s head, silently praising her. The blue eyed woman looks at me, probably questioning my motives before nodding her head. She flicks the switch-blade closed and I let out a shallow breath. She’s probably never used that in her life and I’d hate for her to injure herself more with it.
Ana slips the blade into her sweatpants pocket and begins to climb over the centre console. My gaze instantly roams over her figure and I have to mentally slap myself for the inappropriate act. After landing in the front seat she opens the passenger door, the old hinges creaking as she pushes it open.
