8 Mile & Rion (3 page)

“No you aren’t,” I warn him coolly. “I took over for my dad and if you’re looking for Senior, you get me. Second, that house was supposed to be vacant because the owner let it foreclose. I was even told specifically by the court there was not a tenant and I could reclaim it, safely. Unless you’re here to pay up on the owner’s behalf, get out, I have things to do.”

“Pay what up?”

“Cute,” I tell him rolling my eyes. “The debt owed to me.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

Reaching into my drawer, I slowly pull out the file and toss it on the floor at his feet letting him pick it up himself. Thanks to his kick to the desk my head is pounding worse than it was before. He honest to god sneers at me, but bends at the knees grabbing it. I watch as several emotions cross his face, all of them meaner than the first if that’s possible.

“Ten grand?”

“Oh good, you can read too,” I tell him, clapping enthusiastically. “Ten grand, yes. The house was collateral.”

“Fuck,” he says, running his big hands over his bald head. “I need to talk to your old man.”

“I said you can’t. Do you really need me to spell it out or maybe write it down for you?” I tell him, standing up to my full height of 5’3. “You can talk to me if you’re capable of full sentences. I’m Rion, his daughter and the owner.”

Disbelief crosses his face, but I’m used to it. People hear Ryan and think male, when in fact I’m Rion and a female. Personally, the double standard doesn’t bother me not when it gives me an advantage. Plus I’ll never be Holly Housewife material and that suits me just fine. For several minutes he just sat there staring at me, which let me say, was unnerving. Not moving a muscle, not saying a word, and if I thought it was possible, not even breathing. When he looks up at me, I see he’s tired and worn like I am. Like I give a shit? Okay I do! So what? Don’t give him sympathy Rion, just don’t. But dammit, I did.

“How much do you have?”

“Have?” he mumbles. “I don’t
have
anything. It’s my brother’s place. I was crashing there until I could make other arrangements.”

“Unless your brother is in his late fifties you have the wrong place. Plus, the house was vacant and it was noted on the door. Why would you stay there at all?”

Getting more agitated, he stands up throwing the file back at me. Wait, that’s not right. He actually threw it and it hit me square in the chest before growling at me. “How much time I got before I get tossed?”

“I’m sorry, but you’re out of time,” I tell him firmly, making sure I don’t rub my chest. Show no weakness. “The house now belongs to me. If you have a problem with the owner, he’s kind of dead so you should just cut your losses.”

“You’d leave me homeless?” he asks as a question, but it was delivered as an accusation. Like he expected me to leave him homeless, and enjoy myself while I did it. I was raised with men and this was the first time I’ve ever heard one growl like a wild animal. I kind of liked it, shitty circumstances aside. “So you’re one of those bitches then.”

“What kind of bitch would that be exactly?”

“The heartless kind.”

“Look,” I tell him as my headache threatens to make me vomit, “I’ve been doing this a long time. As of last Monday, I took the business over for my dad who passed on. The owner of that house has been betting with him for years. Now I didn’t know him personally, but if he had an agreement with us, it would be noted it that file. Trust me, I read it four times to be sure myself. My dad was soft. I’m not soft, Sir Kicks A Lot, I’m in debt. I’m owed ten large and he put that house up as collateral and I was collecting. I’d be lucky to make three grand of that place and let me remind you, no one was supposed to be there. I don’t know your brother or his situation. Maybe he was subletting and bailed? Who knows, but the owner of the property died clearing me to make my money back.”

“Heartless,” he growls again. “I’ll be homeless but someone like
you
wouldn’t get that.”

My stomach cramped listening to him. I don’t want to feel for this guy, but I do. He’s right, I may not have grown up with much, but I’ve never had the threat of being homeless to worry about. In my heart I may feel homeless but in reality, my place is paid for and all mine. I imagine the prospect of homelessness is terrifying. Then again, he could be lying to me and I’m too distracted over other shit to catch it. I was born and raised here on 8 Mile and I can tell you, homelessness doesn’t have a ‘look’. They just don’t have a home. Asking myself what Senior would do, it comes to me rather easily, despite my killer headache.

“Right, someone like me. Tell you what Mr. I Scream Sunshine, I have to go Ann Arbor tomorrow. You can crash at my place over the weekend then we’ll figure something out when I get back. That should buy you some time.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

Standing up, meeting him toe to toe, I look way up high and I tell him, “Because, I’m
not
heartless.”

Then I pass him in favor of the door, open it and gesture for him to follow me. “You owe me a new lock.”

“Where we going?”

When I take my keys out and open the door literally across from the office, I show him. “To my place. Come on in.”

He walks in behind me weary of his surroundings and I swear he was looking for a boogie man. He doesn’t speak and neither do I. As for me, I head to the kitchen to grab a handful of aspirin hoping to rid myself of this headache. I hear his bag drop, then seconds later he joins me. “I need a screwdriver and four screws.”

“For?”

“Fixing that lock for you.”

Pointing under the sink I whisper, “Oh right, help yourself” because I needed to lie down like right now. He may be a mean fucker, but he needed help. He was desperate for a chance, I could feel it. Before opening the door to my room I do my best to let him know though I’m generous I’m not stupid. “While you’re here, should you make the wrong move I’ll kill you where you stand.”

When he nods his agreement I swore my threat made him happy and for some reason I liked that it did. Crawling into my bed, I prayed helping this man wasn’t going to bite me in the ass.

I had enough problems.

‘Surround yourself with good people. Whether they're the best or not, people are capable of learning if they've got good hearts and they're good souls.’

~Kid Rock

Reinforcing the lock took minutes. Then with no other options, I was back in her living room wondering what to do next. Sitting down on her couch, I was out of my element and uncomfortable. I don’t belong here and she has no business inviting me. What the fuck was she thinking? Then I find myself standing looking around her place instead of getting pissed at her stupidity. Even though it was small, it was clean and welcoming. I’ve never been in a place like this and I want out. Music was playing on low, loud enough to hear it, but I couldn’t find the source. Oddly enough I didn’t want to turn it off, I didn’t want the silence. Whoever was singing was good, mellow and told one hell of a story. Looking at the photos of her and who could only be Senior the guilt I tried ignoring assaulted me on all fronts.

Judging by these pictures the man was her world and she was his. Others photos included her with a man almost my size hugging her with a huge smile. She was looking up at him like he was her hero and he looked at her like she hung the fucking moon. She wasn’t heartless, she was…kind.

And I hurt her.

A weight settled over me for what I had done. I may not trust women, but I wouldn’t ever hurt one on purpose. That’s not true, there’s one I would hurt, but it wasn’t the female whose head met the fucking table because of me. I was just so fucking pissed off and tired that when I saw someone sleeping, I didn’t see her, I saw the enemy. Now she’s in bed with a headache that I caused, yet she didn’t yell or complain she just simply walked away and trusted me not to kill her while she slept. Normally a female threatening to kill me would be funny but there was something about this one that told me to tread lightly. She didn’t strike me as a woman prone to violence but what the fuck did I know? The only woman I’ve ever dealt with was a violent as they came.

This neighborhood wasn’t secure and that didn’t seem to bother her. Well, it bothered me so the least I could do was make sure she was safe while she slept. The situation was unnerving and when her phone rang, I waited for her to get up, kind of hoping she would answer it, but it went to voicemail. Oddly enough, I wanted the woman’s company but didn’t know why. Then her tiny voice filled the silence then the caller left a message I wish I hadn’t heard.

“Rion it’s Peter, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cancel our plans this weekend. Forgive me for doing it this way, but I can’t see you anymore. We’re in two different places. I heard you quit your job and I cannot support what you’re doing. I mean what would people think? I’m afraid I can’t look past this. A man in my position can’t be seen with a bookie. My condolences on your father’s passing.”

Wincing on her behalf, I debate erasing it to spare her from hearing it, but decided it’s not my business. The guy sounds like a corporate douche anyway and she is probably better off. Hearing movement I look over to her door and see her quickly exit and run to the bathroom. Listening to her vomit made me nervous. She must have hit her head much harder than I thought and she could have a concussion. Shit.

Standing outside the door, I knock but she doesn’t answer. “You okay?” I ask through the door, but then she vomits again, this time louder than the first. “Rion?” I repeat. “You need help?”

“I’m okay,” she whispers then just as I turn to head back, she does it again. Pushing the door open I see she is clearly not okay. Kneeling next to her with shaky fingers, I pull her hair away from her face. Probably not the best time to comment on how soft it is but it was. “Need anything?”

“No,” she spits into the bowl. “I’m good. Getting better by the minute.”

Reluctant to leave, I stand up and notice she’s trembling all over. Kneeling back down, I try to rub her back to comfort her and when I do she starts trembling even more.

“You could have a concussion,” I tell her. “I should take you to the doctor.”

Lifting her head up and looking me in the eye, for the first time in my life I’m terrified. I’m terrified because she’s delicate and beautiful. I thought she was pretty in the office, but I was too pissed off to look closer. Now we’re inches apart and I’m back peddling. If she wasn’t hurting I’d push away and make a run for it. She’s perfection even when puking. I’m a scarred mess both inside and out. Years of service have altered me and I know she can see it. I’m here because she feels sorry for me and let’s face it, I feel sorry for myself. I can’t do this, not with her, not with anyone. Even her god damn eyes are kind and it’s killing me.

“It’s not a concussion,” she whispers wiping her eyes. “It’s a migraine. It was coming on before you even showed up on your dark horse.”

“It hurts so bad it makes you cry?”

“No,” she whispers again looking at the floor. “I miss him.”

“Him who?”

“My dad,” she says choking up. “I miss my dad.”

Then the last thing in the world I expected to happen, happened. She leaned into my chest, wrapped her arms around me and fell asleep. Minutes passed and she didn’t move a muscle so I scooped her up carefully, carried her to the living room and when she wouldn’t let go, let her sleep on my chest. I don’t know what fucking dimension I walked into, but this was the weirdest days I’ve ever had.

Semi homeless with a hot chick on my chest. Jesus Christ, is she sniffing my neck now? What the fuck next?

‘In this business, my business, I get to meet all kinds of incredible people, fascinating people, glamorous people and sexy people and highly intellectual people. And you meet them and you go 'interesting, interesting, interesting'. They're interesting, but not very many people stop you in your tracks.’

~Madonna

Waking up slowly and beautifully pain free, it’s when I stretch and my hand hits him in the face that my eyes go round and I freeze up. Oh my god, did I climb him like a tree in the middle of the night? If so, I don’t remember doing it. I remember puking, crying and the smell of something close to Old Spice then…nothing. Holy hell why did he let me? I don’t even know his name! Groaning to myself, I attempt to disengage but just as I get my right arm back, he tightens his grip on me and I’m
oh shit
…stuck on top of him.