Law Man (Dream Man #3)(13)

“I’m tired and I need to work tomorrow.”

“I’m thinkin’ we need to talk right now.”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing to say. I should have maybe slipped you a note or something to tell you when I’d be over. I’m sorry that I put you in that –”

He cut me off, definitely impatient, “Mara, just let me in.”

“Mitch, really. Sundays are crazy at work. I need to sleep.”

“That wasn’t what you thought it was,” he told me.

I shook my head again. “There’s no need to explain.”

“Jesus, Mara, just let me in.”

“I’ll knock on your door next time, leave you a note, give you a warning, make sure you’re free.”

“Mara –”

I stepped away from the door and started closing it, “’Night, Mitch.”

“Damn it, Mara.”

I closed the door, locked it and ran to my room, closing that door too.

Then I got in my nightgown, slid into my bed and finally let myself cry.

A long time later, when I was done, I wiped my face, got out of bed, went to my open plan living room-slash-kitchen-slash-dining area and turned out the lights.

Then I went back to bed. Alone.

Like many Ones to Threes did every night.

Chapter Three

Messes

It was a week after the Mitch Incident.

My candles were lit and I was lying on my couch listening to my Chill Out at Home Premier Edition, the first of the Chill Out playlists I’d created. Al Green was singing “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” and I was doing nothing but listening to him sing and drinking a glass of red wine.

I didn’t know if Mitch had come over Sunday night because I wrapped up my pizza and took it to work. I put it in the fridge in the break room and took it to Roberta’s after work. I cooked it in her oven and both Roberta and I managed to eat a piece before her children decimated it. I hung out with Roberta watching action movies until it was way late and I needed to get home before I was too tired to operate a motor vehicle.

Incidentally, this proved my pizza kept prior to baking.

Roberta asked about pizza with Mitch mainly because she was curious but also because it didn’t bode well she was eating Mitch’s pizza. I told her that Mitch hadn’t been able to make it. She looked about as disappointed as I felt.

Okay, maybe not that disappointed. Since I felt the need to scan newspaper ads to find an apartment somewhere on the other side of Denver from the one in which I lived across the breezeway from Mitch. But not before I became an alcoholic in order to numb the pain.

But she did look really disappointed.

Luckily, I’d worked the next two days and found reasons to get home later than normal. Both nights this effort proved unnecessary as his SUV wasn’t there when I got home.

Wednesday, however, I was off and that night at five thirty there came a knock on my door. I went to the door and looked through the peephole to see Mitch standing outside. He didn’t look happy. He looked impatient and maybe a little angry. When I kept looking and he kept looking angrier, I stopped looking and put my forehead to the door again. He knocked again. I didn’t move or make a noise.

He stopped knocking and when I pulled in a breath and chanced a look through the peephole, he was gone.

There was no more from Mitch. He didn’t come back even though for the next three nights when I got home, later than normal each time, his SUV was in the parking lot.

It was now Sunday, my day off. Since I ran all my weekly errands after work, I could hole myself up in my apartment, clean, putter around and avoid even the possibility of running into Mitch. I also avoided the phone that day and the many times throughout the week that Brent and Bradon and LaTanya (who, clearly, B and/or B told about Mitch and pizza) had phoned, left messages and texted – all asking about Mitch.

I definitely had to move.

On that thought, my phone rang and I really wanted to ignore it but I didn’t. It might be Lynette and I could use talking to Lynette. I’d known her since seventh grade. She’d get it about Mitch. She wouldn’t agree with it but she’d get it. I was toying with calling her anyway. We talked once a week at least and we were due.

When I got to my phone, I saw my caller ID on my house phone said Stop ‘n’ Go - Zuni.

I felt my brows draw together at the same time I felt my heart speed up. I picked up the phone, beeped it on and put it to my ear hoping B and B or LaTanya hadn’t headed out to some Stop ‘n’ Go to wangle a conversation with me. I was hoping more that whatever it was wasn’t about Billy and Billie.

“Hello,” I greeted.

“This Mara?” a gruff male voice asked.

“Um…yes,” I answered.

“You know some kids named Billy and Billie?”

I felt panic seize my chest.

Just as I feared, it was about Billy and Billie, my stupid, lame, petty criminal cousin Bill’s kids.

Bill had followed me out to Denver which was something I didn’t need. When we were kids, I loved Bill. He was fun and funny and we got on great. When he got older, he wasn’t so easy to love. Mainly because the way he had fun and the way he dragged me into it and got me into trouble was no longer so great. He’d never stopped liking hanging with me. I’d stopped liking hanging with him. I left Iowa to escape my crazy Mom (whose sister was Bill’s crazy Mom) but also to escape Bill and his antics. Unfortunately, Bill followed me.