Tainted Black - Williams Shanora. Страница 8

I understood he was a good man and that he would never harm the people he loved, but I wasn’t sure if I fit into that group. As someone he cared about… someone he loved.

After spending seven years around this man, he never could be placed in that “fatherly” category. He acted as more of a friend than a role model to me. Like he wanted to be my age again, living a free and reckless life.

Sluggishly, Mr. Black stepped back towards the door that led into the house, his face tightening. “I should have waited,” he said, voice breaking. “Instead of going home early, I should have been there, following her home.” He lowered to a squat, pressing his elbows on his thighs and folding his fingers in front of his mouth. “I was complaining about a damn headache and she was good enough to understand. I should have just manned the fuck up. I should have stayed there. If I had, it never would have fucking happened.”

“No, no, no,” I cooed. Marching forward, I squatted in front of him, holding onto his forearms. “No, don’t say that. You didn’t know this would happen. Mrs. Black takes the same route home every night. Things happen that are out of our control.”

“I should have just rode to fucking L.A. with her. This is the exact fucking reason we left from that fucked up city. Ignorant, stupid motherfuckers can never keep their hands to themselves. I swear to God if I find them, I’ll fucking kill them. All of them. There was more than one.”

I blinked my tears away, watching his run free. He didn’t dare swipe them, and he didn’t even try to hide. He no longer cared how he looked or how emotional he was. He was… comfortable with me. At least he was talking, not bottling it all up.

“She’s fucking gone, Chloe. Isn’t that some shit?” He scoffed, giving a smile that contained no trace of happiness. “Her, of all people… my fucking wife of thirteen fucking years. Dead.” He shook and dropped his head. A few stray tendrils fell down on his forehead, eyelashes touching his cheekbones. I tucked the loose strands back. He looked up. Our eyes connected and barred for just a small moment.

“It doesn’t seem real,” I murmured. “It seems she could come home at any minute. Pull up in the driveway and greet everyone.”

“Yeah…” His eyes held mine, the brown pools darker but softer. He studied my face, the small stretch of sunlight allowing him the opportunity.

Eyes connected.

Skin tingled.

Heartbeats quickened… my heartbeat.

Swallowing thickly, he stood to his feet, bringing me up with him. When he held my hands, it caused my skin to buzz, eliciting a fire within me. I controlled my reaction, taking a step back as he raked his fingers through his hair. He looked at me hesitantly, like he felt the same thing but couldn’t speak on it—wouldn’t dare speak on it. Breaking the silence, he said, “I’m going to go hit the shower. Catch some sleep if I can.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “When Izzy’s up, I’ll let her know you’re here.”

His face grew pained, almost like he didn’t want to face his daughter. There was fear, fear that he might break down once he saw traces of his wife in his baby girl. Like her green eyes and small nose. Her wild personality. “Okay,” he finally said.

He stepped back, looking me over before turning around and entering the house. I watched him go inside, the door shutting behind him. I stood in the garage for a moment, recapping all that’d just happened.

He was hurt.

He was devastated.

He couldn’t believe he was the one suffering.

He of all people.

Losing his wife.

Losing half of himself.

Losing what probably felt like everything to him.

I can tell you that Mr. Black was never the same again. I can tell you that he hardly ever showed up at home, and if he did it was to shower and change clothes, maybe work on his bike late at night.

I can also tell you that he was angry, like the world and his life had gone to full-blown shit and that it could never be restored. He was always at work. Always busy, trying to steer his mind from reality, working to will away the broken life he hated even existed.

But for Izzy, he did his best. He survived. He attended graduation and even saw her off to college. She left a week and a half before I had to go, and during that week, I watched him from across the street, peeping out of my bedroom window. I watched as he worked on several different bikes, blasted rock music he’d never listened to before, and got so drunk in his garage that he’d pass out. Music like that, metal-rock, made most people hostile and angry.

I was certain that was his goal—to be angry with any and everything. To have an excuse and something to back him up if things went awry. He was being immature and taking his grief out in all the wrong ways.

When he passed out, I’d walk across the street to help him. I’d carry his weight up their two flights of stairs, nearly dragging him into his bedroom and laying him on his bed. This happened three nights in a row without a single issue.

Not even Izzy was taking it this hard. Yes, the pain still cut her deep, but she was healing from her loss, ready to start fresh elsewhere. I guess it was different for Mr. Black because he loved Mrs. Black in a completely different way. He lived in a home they shared and slept in a bed that I’m sure reminded him of her every single day and night.

One night—the fourth night I helped him—changed our relationship in its entirety.

He passed out in the garage again around midnight.

Sighing, I walked across the street and helped him up, going through the same routine, draping his large body on mine. He was damp with sweat and grease marks soiled his shirt. I tossed him on the bed, and he chuckled then sighed.

He reeked of gin this time. I shook my head. Knowing he’d hate himself if he ruined his sheets with his dirty boots, I bent down, untying the strings and pulling one of them off.

Mr. Black kicked the other foot as if he was trying to get rid of me, like he had no clue I was helping. “Mr. Black,” I said, struggling to catch his foot. “Please stay still. I’m trying to take off your shoe.”

“Mr. Black?” he repeated, voice sluggish. It took him a while to sit up straight just to find me in the dark. The bathroom light was on, but the door was cracked. Only a sliver of light showed, revealing part of his face. His glassy eyes caught mine, his supple lips separating as he said, “I like it better when you call me Theo.”

“Well, Theo, please be still so I can take your other shoe off. Don’t want to ruin your sheets, right?”

“Yes ma’am.” He grinned, teeth white and glistening. I ignored the drumming of my heartbeat, pulling off his other boot and then standing, placing it aside.

“There. I’ll put some water and aspirin by your bed. You should take it in the morning.” It was weird talking to him now. Normally he’d pass right out once he hit the sheets, but not this time.

No, this time he stared at me as if he wanted something—something he knew he shouldn’t have. His eyes roamed my body, up and down, breathing heavy. Words were begging to be spoken, but instead he kept quiet, allowing his actions to speak for him.

Standing from the bed, he leisurely walked towards me, but I stumbled away, my back hitting a wall, preventing escape. I wasn’t afraid of him, though. No, in fact, as his smoldering brown eyes pierced mine and he stood before me in nothing but a grey muscle tank, I couldn’t help but falter.

He was such a beautifully damaged man. So much pain and chaos and hurt in his eyes, but it didn’t mask his good looks. I wanted to make him better with the only way I knew how.

Affection.

Hugs.

And sweet, tender kisses.

But hugging and kissing Mr. Black would have been wrong… right?

“I don’t want you to leave,” he admitted. “You’ve taken care of me and Izzy…” He met up to me and cupped one of my cheeks. I expected a rough hand touching smooth flesh, but it was gentle, his hands free of callouses and blisters, courtesy of the gloves he often wore while working. “I appreciate you so much for that. Taking care of me. Watching out for me. I know I can get crazy—do some really childish shit.” He stroked behind my ear, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “God, you have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” My heart pounded.