Chapter 11

11

Nola

Istare down at the cash that fills my purse. One thousand dollars. Another two thousand sits in a wallet on my phone. In seconds, Voss turned my world from impossible, to what every white collar in the world must feel like. How liberating it must be to deal with issues so quickly and efficiently that they hardly make so much as a hiccup in the day. That’s what I imagine Voss’s life must be like. If something is broken, he has the means to fix it. When he wants something, he has the means to get it.

I sign the paperwork for the tow and hand over a hundred-dollar bill, waiting on the change. Hell, when was the last time I waited on change, instead of counting out pennies to meet the required charge?

The garage is going to keep the car and have offered me a rental in exchange, and a shiny red Explorer pulls up to the front of the building. The driver from the rental place conveniently located next door tosses me the key. “All set.”

All set.

The only reason any of this is all set is because of Voss. Had he not given me the cash, I’d probably be scrambling to figure out how the hell to pay for everything, because apparently my insurance doesn’t cover rental.

I drive the new car, which rides like a dream, to Jonah’s house, and smile when Oliver walks up with a confused look on his face. “Hey, Champ, how ya like my new wheels?”

His brows furrow deeper, and I chuckle.

“Just a rental. The Jeep took a shit, so I have to drive this until it’s fixed. Hop in.”

Jonah strolls up behind him, holding a mug that says Not all heroes wear capes. “Everything work out with the Jeep? I’d have come picked you up, you know.”

“Everything is great. Voss helped me out.”

“Voss, huh?” Eye squinting, he takes a sip of coffee. “So, how is the new roommate?”

Oliver’s head snaps in my direction, and I catch Jonah’s flinch.

“Sorry. I forgot he hasn’t heard the news yet.”

Licking my lips, which suddenly feel as dry as cotton, I scratch the nape of my neck and smile back at Oliver, unsure of how he’ll feel about another man in the house. I meant to tell him and introduce him to Voss. Eventually. “So … there’s a guy. He’s going to be living in the apartment behind the house.”

Oliver’s pale blue eyes glower with the kind of anger that could peel the paint right off the walls, and when he directs his attention toward the windshield, crossing his arms, it’s a sure sign he isn’t thrilled with the idea.

“It’s only for a month, Oli. And we’ll have some extra cash. In fact, I was thinking we could order some pizza tonight. How’s that sound?” I haven’t ordered a pizza in months, thanks to being flat ass broke after groceries and bills.

“Um. Diane … she ordered pizza the other night.” There’s a sheepish quality to Jonah’s voice, as if he still feels bad for ruining the surprise. “Sorry, Nola.”

“No. No, that’s fine. Maybe I’ll make dinner tonight. Something good that you used to like as a kid.” I ruffle his hair and force a smile. “You still like spaghetti, right?”

Eyes sliding to the side, Oliver nods and unravels his arms.

“Good. Spaghetti, it is!” Twisting the key, I fire up the Explorer, trying not to let Jonah see the look of relief on my face. He’d tell me that I don’t have to try so hard to make Oliver happy all the time, that everything I do is enough, but Jonah doesn’t know what it’s like to go to bed every night feeling like it isn’t. He doesn’t understand that a parent’s worst fear is watching a child try to deal and silently process the brutal and unforgiving nature of some human beings.

I try to put myself in Oliver’s shoes every day, and it makes me angry, too. The betrayal, the fear, the untimely annihilation of innocence.

And I can’t reverse it for him. I can’t fix it or undo what’s already been done. All I can do is pave the way to something brighter, less dark. To preserve those small bits of innocence from his past and let him reconnect with the carefree boy he once was. So, if that means making spaghetti for him tonight, that’s what I’m going to do.

“Thanks again, Jonah. Tell Diane she’s my rock star.”

“Will do.” Hand reaching through the window, he tugs me forward and plants a kiss on my forehead, then reaches out to give Jonah a handshake. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

* * *

The moment we walk through the door, Oliver dumps his duffle bag at the entrance and runs up the staircase, probably to his bedroom. With a sigh, I lift the bag that’s decorated in Minecraft characters up from the floor and set it out of the way. “Glad to have you home, buddy.”

The doorbell rings, and a quick peek through the peephole shows Simon standing on my front porch. I snort at the sight of him, recalling Voss’s words from earlier, and open the door.

“Hey, Nola. I, um … just came by to check you out. I mean, check on you.”

“I appreciate that, Simon. I’m good today. Just a minor hangover, is all.”

“Good. Okay, well, have a nice day, Nola.”

Slapped with confusion, I tilt my head, watching him trot down the stairs like he’s seriously leaving already. It’s so ridiculous, I have to stifle the urge to laugh. “Simon! Um … do you … want a cup of coffee, or something?”

“No, no. I don’t want to trouble you. I just wanted to check and make sure you didn’t pass out and crack your head on something.”

“It’s coffee, Simon. No trouble.”

“Maybe just one. And then I’ll go. I have lots of errands to run today.”

“Sure.” I step aside, allowing him into the house, and direct him toward the kitchen. “Let me just fire up the Caffeine Machine, as I call it.” My dad went all out a year into his retirement and bought a crazy expensive cappuccino/coffee/espresso machine. The thing is about ten years old, but still chugs away like a champ. “What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“What do you take in your coffee?”

“Just black, thank you.”

I shiver at that, my jaw tingling with the memory of trying it once. It takes a special breed to drink black coffee, I’m convinced. “So, how is your day going?”

“Very well, thanks for asking. I’m glad to know yours is better today.”

“It is.” After setting the coffees on the table, I sit down across from him, and push a box of lemon cookies left out from breakfast earlier, toward him. “These are great with coffee. Try one.”

He reaches toward the box, and in doing so, knocks his mug to the side. Steaming coffee splashes over the edge of the table, and when Simon startles out of his chair, a dark circle marks the spot on his thigh that captured the hot fluids.

“Oh shit!” I scramble forward, setting the cup upright and spin around for a towel. “Are you okay?” With the rag dangling from my fingertips, I hesitate to dry the spot too close to his crotch.

As if taking the cue, he nabs the towel and sets it there himself. “Yes, I um … can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. It’s just … down the hall. There are more rags under the sink if you need them,” I say, tearing off some paper towel to sop the spilled coffee. Once it’s cleaned, I toss the saturated scraps into the trash and plop back into my chair.

A minute later, Oliver enters the kitchen, removing his earbud, which blasts his music loud enough for me to hear, as he passes on his way to the fridge. He grabs a carton of orange juice from inside, while, eyes on me, he kicks it back without a glass, and I set my coffee on the table, frowning.

“Hey, manners. Get a glass.” I know he’s testing me. The therapist told me he probably would, and not to relent, or let him control the situation, as she put it.

Rolling his eyes, he sets the carton of juice back in the fridge and grabs a soda, instead.

“Half. And pour it into a glass. You don’t need to consume an entire can of soda in one sitting.”

As he nabs a glass from the cupboard, I catch his gaze skim toward the second coffee cup still set out on the table.

“A friend of mine stopped by. Someone from work. Would you like to meet him?”

Lip curled as he’s though disgusted with the thought, he finishes pouring his Coke and leaves the can on the counter, before he exits the kitchen, stuffing his earbud back in.

I like to think I have infinite patience, but I also thought I’d have a few years before the bratitude reared its ugly face. Part of me tries to cut him some slack, but the momma in me, the one who used to be good at being a momma, anyway, says what he’s been through doesn’t give him the right to behave with such disrespect.

The second Oliver leaves, Simon returns wearing a large wet circle on his thigh, his face still red, as if he’s embarrassed over spilled coffee.

“I should probably go.”

“Simon, I’ve had to clean up far worse than a little coffee. That’s pretty much the norm at a diner.”

“I suppose I’m somewhat particular about my clothes.”

“I’d stay away from parenthood, then. Especially boys. I swear, Oliver must’ve stained every outfit I put on him. Food, dirt, snot trails he’d wipe on his sleeve. Now that was gross having to clean.”

Lips forming a hard line, he nods. “Well, I’ll take that into consideration if I ever decide to settle down. Thanks for the coffee, Nola. I’m going to let you get on with your day.”

The heavy thunder of music pounds overhead, and both of us look up toward the ceiling. Lips tightened, I offer a sheepish smile, as My Chemical Romance blares from Oliver’s room. I only know the name of the band because I Googled the lyrics last week.

“I’m sorry. My son … he’s taken a liking to goth music, as of late.”

“How old is he?”

“Just turned eleven a few months back.”

“Wow, that’s pretty dark for an eleven-year-old.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m … addressing it. Slowly.”

“I knew goth kids in high school. Kinda strange.”

“Well, in his defense, the last few months have been kinda rough on him. His dad died. In front of him.”

Face etched with concern, he rubs his knuckles against his jawline. “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. I didn’t realize … I knew you’d been married, but I thought it was divorce. I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a tough road, but we’re getting through it. Anyway, I appreciate you stopping in to check on me. That was nice.” And nice that he didn’t try to make a move on me.

“Of course. Say, Nola. Would you… would you want … I mean, you can say no. But I wondered if you might want to have dinner with me, sometime?”

“Oh.” Shit. It’s not that Simon wouldn’t be date material. Looks-wise, he’s nothing special, but he seems nice enough. A little too young for me—I’m guessing by five, or six, years. Unfortunately, I’m in no place financially, or mentally, to jump into a romance with someone right now. “It might be a bit too … soon. For me.”

The red flare of his cheeks intensifies, and he takes a step back, dropping his gaze from mine. “Sure. Forget I asked. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Thanks again.” Spinning on his heel, he makes a beeline for the front door, and I trail after him.

“Simon, wait! I’m sorry if that came off wrong.” My words fail to slow him down, and he pushes through the front door. “Simon!”

Once outside, he twists to face me, staring at me through the storm door. “It’s okay, okay?”

“Okay.” Dumbfounded, I watch him stumble on his way down the stairs and hobble off to his car.

Once inside his car, he backs toward the end of the drive, and comes to an abrupt stop at the sound of a horn. Voss’s black Audi backs up a little, allowing Simon to slip out, and as the black car crawls up the drive, I see Simon’s car sitting just on the other side of it, as if he’s waiting for something. He drives off down the street, and the bass from Oliver’s room upstairs draws me back to the realization that I have some shit to address with my son.

Before that, though, I race out the back door, catching Voss before he enters his apartment, carrying what looks like a grocery bag.

“Hey!” I shout up to him, and he pauses to face me. Maybe it’s the light hitting his face, or the angle from which he’s looking down on me, but something about him is strikingly attractive. Which is thoroughly irritating, because no way do I need to be attracted to the first renter who comes along. And I’d hate to think it was money that made a man handsome in my eyes, but in all fairness, it’s been a while since one handed over a wad of it all at once. “Thanks for your help today. I’d really like to do something nice in return and invite you to dinner with Oliver and me.”

“It’s no problem, Star Wars. But I’ll take a raincheck on dinner.”

“Oh.” Not that I had any ulterior motives—really—but I suddenly feel the need to make the same exit that Simon did just moments before. And I kind of hate that he still calls me Star Wars. “Okay that’s no problem. I just … really appreciated what you did and wanted to return the favor.”

“Consider your gratitude well-received.”

“Oh. ‘Kay. Cool. Well, that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Who was that? Pulling out of the drive when I arrived?”

“A friend. From work.”

“What’s his name?”

At the crack of a grin on his face, I frown. “Why do you ask?”

“He’s the one who drove you home the other night?”

“Yes.”

Snorting, he shakes his head and pushes the apartment door open. “I wasn’t wrong.”

“Um, if you’re implying I just bedded him, you’re dead wrong.”

“Then, he didn’t ask you to dinner?”

“He did. But it doesn’t mean I accepted. Not that any of this is your business.”

“You’re right. It’s not. And I don’t care to make it my business. Have a good night, Nola.”

The door closes, as if he’s slammed it in my face, and I set my hands on my hips, shaking my head. “What the hell is it with this guy?”