Nearly Broken (5 page)

“He pays me more
than he has to.” And in cash.
Head down. Stay off the radar.
“Paul knows the nightshift doesn’t get as many tables as
the day and that the clientele doesn’t tip as well. You’ve
been here a week now. You know that half the reason we’re there
is to keep the diner cleaned and stocked.”

“Still. If you
have to work every day just to afford a place to stay, you should
probably find a better job.”

“Nah. I prefer
the diner. It’s quiet and few out-of-towners come in.”

My lungs inhaled a
fast breath.
I shouldn’t have said that.
I was becoming
too comfortable around Nick for my own good. Luckily, he didn’t
seem to realize I considered those words a mistake.

God, I am so
freaking paranoid!

Myrtle Creek
was safe, so small and inconsequential you couldn’t even find
it on a lot of maps unless you zoomed in on a digital copy or bought
a local fold-up. It sat along the I-5 in southern Oregon where hardly
anyone stopped for anything but the local gas stations. I knew I
couldn’t stay here forever; it’d already been a year and
half. And if I stayed even one day too long, he could catch up with
me.

An uninviting hand
snaking its way up my bare thigh, and me, powerless to stop it.

I shivered, and
crossed my arms far enough to hug myself. Nick was just staring at
me, watching me, with that gaze that always managed to decipher the
truth behind my unspoken words. Maybe he did catch the hidden meaning
behind that statement.

“How do you feel
about taking on a roommate?”

“Who? You?”
I asked, my voice rising and extending that last syllable two seconds
too long.

“Why not? You
can save half the money you make and I won’t have to stay in
that disgusting motel room anymore. This place is old, but at least
it’s clean.”

“Nick, we’ve
only known each other a week.”

Leaning the base of
his spine against the edge of the kitchen counter, he jested, “In
some cultures we’d be married already.”

I huffed and narrowed
my eyes. “This isn’t one of those cultures.”

“What are you so
worried about? Do you need a background check? Because I’m
pretty sure Paul did one when he hired me. You can keep the bed, I’ll
crash on the sofa. I don’t even need a closet, just a place to
put my bags.

“Come on,”
he sang. “Think of all the good food I could fill your belly
with.” Waving the empty gumbo can in the air, he added, “I’m
not above bribing you with actual food.”

“Oh, God…”
I rubbed my face up and down, my hands finally settling flat against
my cheeks, ready to squeeze a death grip if I went against my gut
instinct. A roommate was not a good idea. Forming attachments to more
people in this town was not a good idea. Letting this very
attractive, very sexy, green-eyed young man with gorgeously
sculptured biceps into my home
was so not a good idea
.

But part of me
realized that if I did, I wouldn’t feel so alone and scared all
of the time either. That was why I worked so much. I preferred to
keep company with those who would notice if I went missing. That if I
disappeared in a hurry and didn’t call to say goodbye, they’d
question my exit, would care enough to look for me.

Something I didn’t
have last time...

And it wasn’t
like he hadn’t proven himself to be a decent guy. Since day one
he had come off a little protective, and tonight he showed exactly
how far he’d go to keep those jerks from harassing me. I didn’t
know why, but I was actually comfortable around him now, and though
it was probably selfish of me, I kind of liked the idea of having him
between me and anyone that tried to come through that door. And I
loved the idea of increasing my money stash. “Yeah. Okay. I
guess.”

He didn’t tease
me about my shaky acceptance, probably figuring the slightest remark
would teeter-totter my decision in the opposite direction.

I let him walk the
place now that he was going to be staying here, hoping he didn’t
notice the stuffed bag in the back of my closet. If he did, he didn’t
say anything. He had the strength to wiggle the divider doors free
from the walls, saying he could fix them tomorrow so they didn’t
rattle or screech. Now we’d be able to maintain some sense of
privacy during the night. The bathroom was on his side, but he wasn’t
fazed at all when I asked if my using it at night would make him
uncomfortable.

He went ahead and
crashed on the sofa that night, using the fleece throw as a blanket.
I didn’t question why he didn’t just go stay in the room
he already paid for.

Like always, I slept
in a long sleeved tee and cotton pants, so I didn’t have to
worry about feeling exposed or putting more clothes on to go pee. And
for the love of God, I couldn’t keep from peeking over the back
of the sofa on my way. My jaw dropped as I silently gasped.
Oh,
why did I have to look?

He was passed out on
his back, the blanket covering him from stomach to knees, and every
inch of exposed skin was bare. No shirt. No pants. Just a sleeve
tattoo on his upper left arm that spilled onto his chest and
shoulder, the lack of light too dim to define it. I sucked my lips
into my mouth and hurried off to the bathroom, scolding myself for
wondering if he was completely naked under there.

Great. Just lovely. So
he was nice
and
freaking hot. That was just
so
awesome.

Nick woke up before I
did and was quietly watching the news. I wasn’t sure if I was
relieved or disappointed to see him fully clothed again.
Doesn’t
matter, Megan. No boys allowed.

“Morning,”
I murmured, averting my eyes, going to the refrigerator to get the
bottle of water he had made fun of.

“Morning,”
he replied casually. “I was going to get kolaches for
breakfast, but I didn’t want to leave the door unlocked while
you slept.”

My eyes widened.
“Yeah, please don’t do that. Ever.”

“I’m still
going to go, but I thought I’d get your key copied while I was
out.”

“Okay.” I
drank a few swigs of water on my way to the closet. Digging the key
out of my purse, I swished the water around in my mouth, trying to
rid myself of any lingering morning breath. When I passed the key
off, I told him, “Don’t worry about getting me anything.
I’m not hungry.”

With his back to me,
he shook his head and playfully cried, “Hush!” before
closing the door behind him.

I thought I’d
have enough time to shower and make it back to the safety of my room
before he got back. No such luck. I gathered my dirty clothes and
froze two steps into the living room, nothing but a towel wrapped
around my body. I frantically debated whether to make a run for the
bedroom or retreat to the bathroom.

Sitting on the sofa
reading a paper he must’ve picked up, his torso turned my way.
I gasped, my heart suddenly putting in double the effort. His lips
parted, and all expression fell from his face as he honed in on the
last place I wanted him to look. My damaged skin was a stark contrast
to the creamy beige complexion of my healthy skin. I hated the look
of disgust most people gave when they caught sight of it, or the pity
given by others.

I didn’t wait to
see which was going to appear on him.

Making a mad-dash for
the bedroom, I roughly slid the doors closed behind me. Backing up, I
sat on the edge of the bed, releasing a few silent tears, hating the
splotchy spots randomly splashed across my arms, chest and abdomen,
even getting part of my left breast. My right forearm got burned the
worst. It was the spot I always covered first, to protect its
deformity at all costs. That spot reminded me of a topographic world
ball, similar to the raised peaks that marked the mountains and
ridges, though mine were more subtle. At least I hoped they were,
because my mind could sometimes be cruel with its interpretation.

One year, five
months, sixteen days since I singed my lungs, my skin melting before
my eyes.

But what I hated most
about my burns was the constant reminder of why I had them.
Of
what I’d done.
Why I’d never feel peace of mind
again, always living in fear of retribution.

A few minutes later I
still hadn’t moved, my hand securing the top of my towel, my
skin now dry by natural means. At least the tears had stopped. My
fingertip pressed down in the center of the worst of my burns, the
one at the bottom of my right forearm. I felt nothing. Unlike the
lighter burns that simply felt numb when I touched them, this
particular area lost all sensitivity, my nerve endings completely
obliterated.

Sometimes I wished a
few selective memory cells had disappeared along with it.

When Nick rapped his
knuckles on the frosted windows of the partitions, my eyes diverted
from my feet to his blurry silhouette. Could he see me too? Maybe a
faint shadow in the distance? For once my body could still be viewed
as perfect.

“Megan,”
he began softly, “I have a lot of errands to run so I’ll
be gone most of the day. I left my cell number if you need anything.
It’s right next to the box of kolaches. The ones on the right
have jalapeños, so stick with the ones on the left.”

I swallowed to soothe
my dry throat. And because he’d been nothing but kind since the
moment we’d met, I forced an, “Alright,” loud
enough to reach him through the barrier. He stepped away then, and
soon left the apartment, his car starting and driving away.

Damn my fucking
burns!
I never used to be so self-conscious before. But the way
I’d been looked at since it happened, only convinced me that
the world truly did believe beauty was only skin deep. I didn’t
like not trusting people, not thinking better of the strangers I met,
not thinking Nick would automatically be better than the previous
jerks who gaffed at me, because I truly thought he was.

I spent a good part of
the day cleaning the apartment and doing laundry, trying to busy
myself and doping myself with obnoxious fumes so I wouldn’t
fall into another bout of self-pity. I even ate the kolaches. They
were good, but I was pretty sure Nick could improve on them ten-fold.

At a quarter to four,
I journeyed the short walk to work, continually scanning my
surroundings in each direction. The path was just a quick zig-zag of
streets right off Main Street. I knew every nook and cranny along
this walk, as well as all the locals’ faces, so I was basically
on auto-pilot but still attuned to it all. I was never going to let
anyone get the jump on me again.

Honestly, it was a
little weird that Nick wasn’t at the diner, even though my four
co-workers and I were all we had since I began working there. Paul,
who had to work the night shift with me, was already transitioning
into the kitchen, picking up the new orders as Juan finished his. The
patrons were going to be disappointed if they came in tonight looking
to be served the same masterpieces that were served all last week.

Darla got squeezed out
of the rotation, and soon enough, it was just me and Tish working
side by side. And the first moment we were alone, Tish lifted her
eyes suggestively at me.

“What?” I
dared, the smirk on her face telling me I was going to regret asking
that.

“So how’d
you do it?”

“Do what?”
I pulled four glasses from the shelving and began filling table
seven’s drink order.

“Don’t you
play dumb with me,” she replied with drama queen attitude.
“It’s all over town how Nick’s off the market
because a certain cute waitress snagged him up.” Hands to her
hips, she added, “And since that cutey ain’t me, I can
only assume it’s you.”

“Please. I
haven’t even cast a line, so how could I possibly snag him?”
And whether he liked me or not, I was in the air over whether I even
wanted that, because I still firmly believed in my rule of no
unnecessary relationships. Friendship with a coworker was one thing,
but having something more with Nick was just pushing my luck, which
had seriously kicked my ass on more than one occasion. But my heart
also fluttered when I dared to believe Nick could still want me after
seeing my ugly, damaged body.

“Girl, don’t
even. I’ve seen the way you two sneak peeks when you think the
other’s not looking.”

I snapped to
attention, my eyes opening wide. Guilty. Damn it, so guilty…but
the guy was nice to look at!

“Yep. That’s
right,” she confirmed. She crossed her arms and shifted her
weight to her left hip.

“It’s not
like that. We’re just roommates.”

She gasped
dramatically, her hand thrown over her heart. “Shut the fuck
up!” she yelled in a hushed tone. The two guys eating at the
opposite end of the counter turned their attention our way. “No
fucking way you’re shacking up with that honey of a lolly-pop!”
Then she went off in a random tangent. “Is he buff under there?
He totally looks like he’s got a rockin’ body. Is he good
in bed? Oh, he has to be! All those guys that look hot on the outside
but
aren’t
conceited, totally rock in bed. Oh, my God, I
can’t believe you get to sleep with that every night! I am so
fucking jealous right now.”