Othello Station (10 page)

“Ow! Do you want me to make this man’s cut worse or better?”

“Don’t tempt her,” I say. “Wait.” Something suddenly dawns on me. “Did you just say I look just like one of your favorite book characters?”

Carina bites her lip in concentration, eyes glued to my hand. “
Mmhhmm
. Why?”

“How do you know what these fictional characters look like if they’re….fictional?”

“You design album covers, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, so you understand. You imagine them. I don’t know, it’s like you get this visual or something.”

“Don’t mind her,” Mira jokes. “Carina operates in Romance Novel Land pretty much twenty-four hours a day. The real world doesn’t apply, except when she’s in school.”

“Or working at this place,” she groans. “It’s true, though. My marriage is coming to an end. Living vicariously through my books makes real life so much more bearable. And it gives me hope that I can still have my own happily-ever-after someday. Fiction is my happy place.”

“You’re married?”

“Yup. Married young. While I was still stupid.” She sighs. “The crazy things we do for love, right?”

I huff and shift on the edge of the bed. Like I would know anything about either of those things. Marriage and love? Talk about foreign concepts. “So, Mira’s a groupie, huh?” I lift my eyes to hers. She’s made herself cozy on the bed, lying flat on her stomach, her head propped on folded arms.

“Don’t listen to her. I am not a groupie. I just like live music.”

“Yes, you are,” Carina says quickly. “You follow local indie bands around and hang out with them after their shows. It’s okay, though. You put up with my guilty pleasure, and I put up with yours.” She giggles and shakes her head, reaching for another cotton ball from her medical supply case. She swipes some blood from my finger and goes back to working the stitches. Her precise, attentive movements and gentle touch are impressive. This girl’s going to make a good nurse.

“It suddenly makes sense.” I study the curve of Mira’s spine as she rests next to me. Her ass is stunning in those pants. What I wouldn’t give to trail my fingers down her naked back and land right there, on the the delicious junction that joins the voluptuous curves. “No wonder you seemed so cozy at that show last night.”

“It’s one of my regular spots, that’s all.” She notices me, noticing her, and quickly directs her gaze straight ahead. It wasn’t only the club she seemed so cozy with. A certain bar tender comes to mind, and my jaw clenches. My mind begins to spin, wondering all sorts of things, like if he’s fucked her already. If it’s been going on for a while, and if so, for how long? The way her body responds when I touch her tells me it’s been a long time since anyone’s kissed her properly, let alone made her come. No way could that little exchange I witnessed between her and Garrett in the hallway had done much of anything for her. It sure as hell couldn’t have satisfied her.

“Hello?” Mira’s voice breaks through. “Earth to Grant?”

“Sorry. Were you saying something?”

“Nah, nothing important. Just making it clear that I am
not
a weird groupie, thank you very much.”

“I’m not buying that, but okay.”

“What?” she pipes up, lifting her head. Carina laughs.

“You’re most definitely weird. And if you do the things Carina says, then you’re positively a groupie.”

“Hey!” Carina looks up with wide eyes. “What if you’ve designed a cover for one of the bands she follows around? How cool would that be?”

Mira suddenly scrambles to sit up. “You know…that’s a good point. Do you only design covers for mainstream bands? Do you have a portfolio or something I could see? Maybe I’ve seen some of your clients live. I might even know some of them.”

“Nope,” Carina leans back to examine her work so far, “not a groupie at all.”

“Shut it.” Mira’s response is quick like lightning.

“Sure. I can show you some of my other work. What time are you off today?”

Carina shoots Mira a sly glance.

“I’m done at six tonight, but I have somewhere to be after work. Aren’t you checking out tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, if you want to extend, you better let us know as soon as possible. We’re sold out the rest of the week. Our availability is going to be really limited over the next few days.”

My mouth doesn’t ask my brain permission. The words just come out, quick and certain, like it’s the most imperative thing in the world. “I want to extend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Can you take care of that for me when you’re done here?”

“I can do it,” Carina offers. “How many more nights do you want to stay?”

“I don’t know. Two, maybe three.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

It’s Mira who grows quiet this time, while Carina turns into a chatterbox. She rambles on a bit more about her controlling, cheating husband, and how much she loves working here, in the city. The longer Mira remains quiet, the more on edge I become. Her gaze has turned distant, and she’s picking at her combat shoe laces as she sits there, listening to her friend go on and on, talking about everything from the latest drama happening with her best friend from college to how she wants to start a book club.

“Well, it looks like you’re just about finished up, here,” Mira says as she returns to planet Earth, rising from the bed. “I’d better get going. Need to eat something before heading back to work. Want me to make you anything from the kitchen, Carina?”

Carina doesn’t look up from her work. “No, I’ll just grab something to munch on before I clock back in. Thanks, though.”

“See you later, Grant.”

“Yeah. See ya.” The room goes quiet as she exits, giving us a friendly wave on her way out. Silence continues to pass between me and Carina even after she’s gone.

Carina finishes up the stitch work and begins putting her supplies away. “She’s been hurt badly,” she says, finally looking up at me. “Don’t expect to move at lightning speed with her, and whatever you do, don’t hurt her. Or I’ll give you another reason to need stitches.” She snaps the plastic case shut and rises from the desk chair. “We clear on that?”

“Crystal.”

She gives my shoulder a friendly tap. “You seem like a nice guy. A little…”

“Please don’t say grumpy.” I close my eyes.

“I was going to say prickly.”

“Prickly?” I grimace as my eyelids crack open. “Is that even a real word?”

Carina chews on her bottom lip and studies the ceiling for a moment. “
Mmmm,
I think so?”

“What happened to her?”

“That’s for you to find out, not for me to tell, sorry. Just be patient with her. And if you’re not willing to be patient, then move along. Leave her alone. Don’t play games.” She lifts her supply case and starts for the door.

“Thanks for this.” I raise my newly stitched-up hand.

“No problem. I hope it feels better soon!” She smiles and exits, leaving me alone to stew in my thoughts. My wounded hand might be stitched up, but now my mind is split open, spilling all kinds of maddening questions into my already too-crowded skull. One person’s head can only take so much before it explodes. I came to this hotel with my own baggage. Now I’m stumbling upon someone else’s. What did I get myself into? God knows I’m far from patient. And playing games? Hell, I’m the master.

But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave Mira alone.

“Grant,” my mother’s voice reaches inside of me, “where are you? Please, call me back. There isn’t much time.” I replay the voice message over and over, sitting on the kitchen floor. My back is to the espresso colored cabinets, and my knees are pulled tightly to my chest. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator on the other side of the counter. My angry scowl is mixed with so many things. There’s conflict there, a tug-of-war evident in my eyes. My jaw is tight, and there are dark, gaunt circles resting above my cheeks. Beneath the ragged tiredness and bitter anger lies the pain. Unfiltered and raw, so tangible I can almost reach out and hold it in my cold, shaking hands.

I glance down. My knuckles are white as they grip the cell phone.

The phone rings again, seconds later. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the call away, silently begging for mercy. For this entire nightmare to just stop. To end. I need it all to be over. But the ringing carries on, incessant and urgent. So much for mercy. So much for relief. There won’t be any relief. Not until long after this thing ends, and I’m almost certain that even then, it will haunt me until I’m buried in my own grave someday. Maybe it’ll follow me into the afterlife, too. Who knows.

All I know right now is that I’m borderline numb. I think I might have already passed over into that territory. That would explain the wasteland I feel taking up residence in my chest, and the limp sensation pulling my arms down. They smack the cool, marble floor, and the cell phone tumbles from my hand. My head rolls back against the cabinet door. The scowl washes from my face. I can no longer see the ache, the pain, or the rage in my reflection.

Now all I see is hollowness.

A white flash pierces the space before me, and the flapping is back. Light, delicate wings swooping before me, hovering over my head. The fucking dove is back. How the hell did it get into my kitchen and why is it here? Who knew doves could be so goddamn irritating? I thought cities were full of pigeons, not pretty doves. Aren’t those used for weddings and religious celebrations and shit? My mind is suddenly consumed with one thing, and one thing only.

What kind of irreverent dove crashes my apartment and flaps its goddamn wings in my face when my father is taking his last breath? The angels and saints need to have a serious conversation with this bird and talk some fucking sense into its little pea brain. I swat at its wings from the floor. I don’t have the strength to stand. Not yet. If it keeps up this flapping, though, I might.

The bird continues to pace in the air, flying from one end of the kitchen to the other, occasionally flying in circles around my head. It’s not giving up. It’s becoming more and more of a nuisance, actually. Like it’s determined to raise hell and won’t stop until it’s officially driven me mad. It’s then that I summon the will power to stand. If the angels and saints won’t teach this bird a lesson, then I will.

I rush at the dove and yell frantically, but I’m suddenly rushing at nothing but air. The dove is gone, along with the obnoxious flapping. I blink and spin around, looking everywhere for the bird. Frustration consumes me. Another wave of anger barrels through my chest and I yell again, dropping to my knees as the sound tears through me. Blackness surrounds me and I shoot up, disoriented and sweating bullets. I’m sitting in the hotel bed, my chest heaving up and down in panic. “Shit.” I wipe my face on the sheet and fall back onto the pillow, pushing out a heavy breath.

My gaze wanders up to the ceiling. I try to focus on creating more constellations, but my mind won’t cooperate.

There’s a soft rapt at the door. I fling the sheet off my body and wince when a sharp, shooting pain reverberates from my wounded finger all the way up to my elbow. “Yeah? Who is it?”

“Room service,” Mira’s voice echoes on the other side of the door. I open it to find her holding a silver tray.

“I didn’t order room service.”

“Yes, you did. Tea and dessert, remember, Sir?” She lifts the tray in explanation and glances around the hall. She mumbles beneath her breath and rolls her eyes like she’s talking to a total idiot. “Are you gonna let me in or not?”

I step aside as it registers and do my own survey of the hall. “Oh. I forgot. Of course. Please come in and set it on the desk. Thanks.”

Mira squeezes past me and sets the tray down on the desk, waiting for me to close the door. “Are you okay?” She eyes me up and down, concern wrinkling her brow. “You don’t look too hot.”

“Thanks. Just what every half naked man likes to hear.”

“You’re not half naked. You’re wearing sweatpants.” She casts a brief glance at my bare chest. I pretend not to notice, but tally that shit on my scorecard. “Now vain and self-centered…that’s another story.”

“Mira, why did you bring me tea? I was sleeping.”

“You’ve been sleeping all day?”

“No. I got some work done after Carina left and then crashed.”

“You mean you took an afternoon nap?” Mira’s lips curl in amusement.

“So?”

“So…are you an eighty year old man?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be off now?” I glance at my watch, still disoriented. “Why are you still here, bringing me tea?”

“I’m just jealous, really. I’d kill for an afternoon nap. Can I be eighty with you?” She waltzes over to the bed and falls onto the sheets, propping her hands behind her head. She’s here, alone, in my bed. I might still be disoriented from my nap, but my desire is crystal clear. I’m two seconds from joining this girl. If I can just get my hands on her, I can convince her to stay. I know I can.

Carina’s warning drops a bomb in my skull.

“I’m done napping. I have to go for a run.” I move quickly for my suitcase to dig through my clothes.

Mira sits up on her elbows. “So, I really want to know. What’s with the vitamins?” She nods to the desk.

“I like to stay healthy.”

“Obviously.”

“What’s with you and your aversion to money?” I glance over my shoulder at her. Our eyes lock and something passes between us. A guard drops and her jaw clenches.

“I already told you. And I don’t have an aversion to money. It pays my bills.”

“You don’t seem very fond of it—or anyone giving you any, for that matter.”

“I need money to live. I don’t crave it. There’s a difference.”

“Not everyone who has it craves it. They just prefer a certain way of life.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“If you get to ask me questions, I get to ask you questions. This is just how it works.”

“How what works?”

“Friendship.”

“We’re friends?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“We’re something, I guess.”

I collect a t-shirt and some socks from the suitcase and turn to face her, lazily rolling the shirt down over my torso. I feel her eyes on me the whole time. She wants it just as badly as I want to give it to her. But she’s so damn stubborn. And scared. I still don’t know of what. Carina’s words spiral through me, and I’m tempted to bring the subject up, but I swallow it down, opting to stick with our current topic.

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

“I’m here to steal you away.”

“Oh?”

“Yup. Unless you have something better to do, like take another nap or organize your vitamins. I’m sure the run can wait.”

“Where do you intend on taking me?”

“All kinds of places.” She hops off the bed and starts for the door.

“I thought you had plans.”

“I did. I do.”

“So…what’s changed?”

“We’re friends, right?” She opens the door with a coy little shrug and steps out into the hall. “Friends share things.”

“Where do I find you?” I ask quickly, before she disappears.

“Out front, on the corner of 6
th
. Give me fifteen minutes.” She closes the door and I chuck my socks on the bed, scratching my chin. So much for running attire. I jump gears, digging back into my suitcase for an oxford and navy blazer. I brush my teeth as fast as I can and run some cool water over my face. I’m downstairs in under fifteen minutes, checking my pockets for my wallet and phone. Mira’s usual co-workers are gone for the day now, too. A trio of gay men have replaced them for the evening shift. They greet me like a well-rehearsed choir and then proceed to undress me with their eyes.

Eat your heart out, gentlemen.

I adjust the lapels of my blazer and step out into the bleak, cold grey. The gloom really is a comforting thing. Like a thick, safe blanket covering the city. It’s predictable, which equals dependability. But most people don’t believe you when you tell them this. It’s a Northwesterner thing. I enjoy sunshine as much as the next guy. But the sun can let me down. The weather forecast says it’s coming, and sometimes it never does. It lies. Not the grey, though. Here, the grey is loyal to the very end.

“Hey,” Mira says, approaching me from the other end of the sidewalk. “You weren’t waiting long, I hope.”

“No.” I eye the path behind her. “Just got here. I didn’t see you come out the front doors. What did you do, sneak around the back?”

“Maybe.” She looks down at her feet, rolling her shoulders. “I didn’t want to be too obvious. There’s a back entrance.”

“No one knows we’re hanging out. You’re worried over nothing.”

“Carina knows. The other girls I work with know.”

“Do you not trust them?”

“They’re my friends. I do trust them.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Word still gets around this place. It’s still my job. I have to play it safe. We’re not to get involved with the guests.”

I give up the fight and focus on her body, instead. She’s wearing a dark beige dress with little flowers all over it that hits just above her knees. The dress scoops down her chest, showcasing just a hint of her cleavage, and a dark navy sweater and grey leggings keep her limbs warm. Those trusty combat boots don her feet, and her make-up is fresh, her long hair swept over her shoulder in a loose ponytail. She’s a vintage work of art, standing there waiting for me to take her hand.

I make my move, reaching for her. “You’re going to freeze in that little sweater. Let me go get my coat for you.”

“No.” She accepts my arm, linking them tightly together. “I’ll be fine. We’re going to be inside most of the night, anyway.”

“We are?”

“
Mmmhhmm
.”

My curiosity burns, but I don’t question her further. My eyes drop down her body and a small, crooked grin works its way onto my lips, letting her know I like what I see. I like it a lot. “Okay, then. Lead the way.”

She bites the corner of her lip and tugs me forward. We walk down the sidewalk side by side for a few blocks until we reach an apartment building on the edge of Boren Ave. “Just a sec.” She jogs up some stairs and rings the buzzer at the entrance.

“Mira, is that you?” A girl calls on the intercom.

“Hey, Gina. It’s me. I’m taking the bikes. Cool?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

“I’ll bring them back in the morning.”

“No probs. Have fun! Say hey to Garrett for me.”

My stomach twists at the sound of the bar tender’s name, but I quickly dismiss the sensation. Mira doesn’t comment, just jogs back down the stairs and pulls at my hand, directing me around the corner to the side of the building. There’s a bike rack against the brick wall. These are not my kind of bikes. They’re not for sport. But the sight of wheels and handlebars warms my black little heart, anyway.

Mira walks over to the tiny garden that sits along the brick wall and bends down to lift up a blue potted plant. She retrieves a small key from the dirt beneath it and returns to the bike rack. She pops the locks on two bikes and pulls them both from the rack. “You ready?”

“We’re biking?”

“Sort of.”

“It’s cold out. It’s going to be even colder on these things. I should really go get you my coat—”

“No. Stop trying to take care of me.”

“Friends don’t let friends ride bikes in Seattle in January with no coat.”

“Get on the damn bike, Grant.” She rolls one in front of me and climbs on the other, then takes off down the sidewalk. Is this girl really going to go up the hill on Denny Ave.? She’s not just exceptionally weird. She’s fucking crazy.

“Mira! Hold up!” I chase after her, hopping on the bike. Thankfully, she’s not entirely fucking crazy. We get off and walk the bikes up the hill, then jump on and sail down from the top. Mira’s laughing and I’m cursing behind her. She hollers at me over her shoulder, telling me to lighten up, and I tell her to watch out for buses and pedestrians. She falls and scrapes her knee when we come to a stop, and I fly off my bike and rush to her side.

“It’s fine,” she says, brushing the dirt off her torn legging. “Just a little cut.”

I move my hand to her knee and lean in to get a better look. “Are you sure? Let me see it.”

She pushes my fingers aside, shooing me away like a mother would a curious child. “Quit fussing. I’m fine.” My brow draws down as I still try and get a glimpse, hovering over her. When I glance up, she’s looking at me. I open my mouth, about to ramble on about band aids, bird poop on sidewalks, and other germs, but she leans forward, tilts her head, and brings her lips to mine.