Page 12 of Erik

“Let’s get this going. We’re gonna be productive today, whether you like it or not.” Marshal sat down as Fred made his announcement, and I groaned in foreboding. Valerie and I didn’t need to do this, but Fred didn’t have a friggen job, and Marshal was still waiting on his money to start rolling in. “Don’t even try to argue with me— weareworking today, Natasha. No procrastinating.”

“Yeah, okay . . . ” My dreary agreement earned me a giggle from Valerie, and she waddled her chair back to my side to rub my back comfortingly. “I guess if I really have to.”

“You better— you set us really far behind with the whole not showing up shit yesterday. If you have a tough time, you did it to yourself.” Fred was on a damn mission today, and I shot Marshal a curious look, but he only shrugged. Scowling lightly, I sat up and took a deep, stabilizing breath before grabbing my laptop.

At least being forced to work this cyber sweatshop meant I didn’t have to think about Erik or last night. Even now, the calm, comforting atmosphere in the kitchen after my little explosion permeated my skin all the way down to my bones. I wasn’t going to tell him how much I enjoyed cooking with him, and he wasn’t that bad.

Starting over wasn’t such a bad idea.

12

Erik

“No, Dad. I quit. I’m not gonna let myself be subjected to that shit. The dude’s a fucking nut case, and I got unlucky having him as my first partner. I became a cop because it seemed reasonable at the time, but . . . ” My dad snorted over the phone knowingly, and I frowned deeply as I shoveled a piece of bacon into my mouth. “What . . . what? Are you gonna tell me ‘I told you so’? Because I really don’t want to hear it right now.”

“I did tell you so, Erik. So, do you have another job lined up, or are you just going to sit around on your pension and disability?” I scowled fully at that. It sounded so derogatory when he put it like that. Sure, I was receiving aid for my injury, but I fucking earned it— I got shot right in the ass, for fuck’s sake! “Well, if you’re not doing anything, you should come down to South Carolina and visit us some time.”

“Why? So you can tell me I’m a pussy for accepting medical discharge?” My dad was such a hard-ass, and I didn’t let him confirm my suspicions as I leaned back in my chair and swallowed roughly. “You know, I realize that I’m the first in our whole family to accept it, but I’d rather be alive, thanks very much. I have a bullet half an inch from my spine, and I want to keep it there.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just busting your balls, Erik.” Grunting as I wiped my mouth with a napkin, I shook my head, and my dad sighed contentedly. “I’ve got to go, but you should really call your mother. I need you to confirm that I told you to come see us.”

“Yeah, I will. I’ll talk to you later, Dad.” We hung up, and I licked my teeth as I recounted the conversation silently. In my family, too much of an opinion was a bad thing, and my fingers drummed on the table absently. Questions were bad— do what I was told, or get railed at about following orders. “No wonder I’m such a useless adult.”

“Your dad sounds nice.” Twisting to find Natasha standing over me, a coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other, I grunted to hide my surprise. “Mind if I sit?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, and I took my fork to stab a piece of egg as discomfort tightened my shoulders. Eyeing Natasha in the silence, I propped my elbow on the small, circular table to hold my cheek. Her eyes weren’t puffy anymore, and she didn’t look so gaunt. After last night, I wondered what would happen when she had time to think about the implications of ‘starting over’.

“Did you sleep last night?” Posing my question, I took a bite off my loaded fork, and Natasha shook her head. Her long, brown hair fell in slight curls over her shoulders, framing her face perfectly, and I swallowed my mouthful before speaking up. “When was the last time you slept?”

“A long time. A couple months, maybe. Before Christmas, I think.” My brows furrowed above my frown at her casual reply, and she set down her coffee to lean on her forearms on the table. “How about you, Erik? I had a nice time last night.”

“Would you like to do it again?” The question slipped out of my mouth, and I pursed my lips tightly as Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise.Shit . . . shit . . .“You’re a great cook.”

The silence stretched beyond discomfort and into straight awkwardness, and I berated myself above the blood drumming in my ears. Natasha stared and stared, and anxiety curdled my gut the longer it went on. Why the fuck did I have to say something so damn stupid?

Tensing when Natasha suddenly stood up and walked away, I scowled at the place where she’d been sitting. Rubbing my hand over my head roughly, my eyelids fluttered closed as a frustrated, tired sigh rolled off my tongue. She just fucking popped up and disappeared with no damn warning. How was I supposed to know what set her off if she didn’t fucking stick around?

“Here.” The hairs on my neck bristled as Natasha flicked a napkin in front of me, and I glanced up at her. Sipping her coffee leisurely, she watched me with those eyes that seemed so vulnerable and so steely at the same time. “You’re not that useless— you can cut vegetables really nice.”

“Natasha—" I almost reached out, but the only time she voluntarily touched me was when she hit me. Turning to me, Natasha arched a brow quizzically, and my cheek twitched under her gaze. “I appreciate that.”

“You should.” She nodded curtly before rushing out of the breakfast-slash-coffee place, and I sat back in my seat to scoff in disbelief. Covering my mouth to hide my grim smile, I turned back around to stare at the napkin she’d tossed in front of me. Her phone number scribbled in pen, and I picked up the plain square to rub it between my fingertips. The way we interacted was insane— me being a complete dumb shit, and her being completely awkward.

Because she’d never been on a date . . . because she was abused as a kid.My appetite fled at that thought, and I stood up to stuff the napkin in my pocket and head outside. The cold assaulted my face, and I pulled my hood up on the short walk to my car. I had far too much time on my hands to think about something so fucked up, but it was slowly but surely consuming me.

Natasha was consuming me. I’d been gripped by anxiety after I got home last night, hoping she’d start talking again. She didn’t, of course, but I stayed up regardless. Everything was a blur between leaving until now, and I shook my head viciously as I dug my keys out of my jacket pocket.

“I need to get a grip.” Climbing into my car, I shut myself inside to rub my hands down my face and neck. I was too old to be going through this shit, and I pulled the napkin out of my pocket, followed by my cell phone. Typing a quick, simple message, I dropped my phone in the cupholder before turning the engine and gripping the wheel. There wasn’t much to do in this city in the dead of winter, and I backed out of my space to head out of the lot.

“Maybe going home wouldn’t be a bad idea.” God only knew this shit stain in the northern edge of New York state wasn’t my home. I’d been here four months, reluctantly moving here for a job I didn’t really want. My father was right, but I’d never tell him or he’d hang it over me forever.

There was too much thinking going on for a brain that didn’t do much of the stuff, and a headache sprung behind my eyes as I turned onto the street. It didn’t help that this winter was long and cold, and I didn’t know anyone or anything here.

Cooking with Natasha was the first time I’d had ‘fun’, if that’s what it could be called.

The kitchen was quiet but not unpleasant or heavy, and I glanced up from peeling potatoes at the table to Natasha by the stove. Her shoulders curled a little, her hands steady but slow as she seasons the steaks she brought out.

“I’m sorry about earlier, making you lash out.” She paused at my words but didn’t turn around, and I pursed my lips thinly as my chest tightened. “I’ve never been a civilian. I was sent to military school. Technically speaking, I didn’t graduate high school on time because I was deployed when I was eighteen and didn’t get my last few credits until after I came back thirteen months later.”