Always The Hero Page 3

  I took the first step toward the brick and mortar home, and I reached back with my left hand to make sure I had my knife. I had no idea what could happen once I stepped foot in there, and protecting myself was the most important thing.

  The closer I got, the guiltier I felt. The sky was cloudy with a bad storm brewing tonight. It was supposed to pour. Fuck, of course I’d feel guilty about someone I didn’t know staying in my house. My boots hit the red clay of the driveway that would eventually get paved. The garage door was not installed, so until the house was complete, anyone could come and go as they pleased. I walked through the freshly painted room and stealthily made my way through the hole in the wall where a regular door would be.

  I bypassed the pieces of wood on the floor, stepping around them to not make any noise. To my right, the kitchen was bare and covered in a thick sheet of sawdust. There were no appliances yet, and only half the cabinets were installed, but it was coming along. It looked like home, and if I didn’t get this house, I’d be devastated. It had everything I wanted.

  Minus the squatter.

  I peeked my head in the living room, darting my eyes from side to side, and unclipped the knife on my belt. The crown moldings were still my favorite part of this room. Oh, and the wood-burning fireplace. It didn’t sit in the middle of the wall like most; it was in the left corner of the room where the main wall and sidewall met. It was painted a light grey color, my choice, of course because it was better than white, but still showed that I had style.

  After deeming the living room and kitchen clear, I stepped into the hallway and heard something coming from the master bedroom.

  My sanctuary.

  The one room in this entire house that was almost done. It had high tray ceilings, so part of the ceiling was deeper than the rest, giving it a step effect. It was an extra-large room with a gigantic walk-in closet, but that wasn’t my favorite part.

  It was the bathroom.

  Tin tiles shined on the ceiling instead of conventional material. It had a stamp on each tin that reminded me of the New Orleans Saints symbol. The floor was made up of bamboo wood, a pale tan color with brown grooves that made the white double sink vanity pop with its vintage designs and curled golden claw feet. The soaking tub could hold two people comfortably, and whoever my significant other would be, her breasts and knees would be covered at the same time.

  Lucy said that was important. Who was I to question a woman?

  The shower had a few rainforest showerheads coming from the natural stone walls. I wanted it to look like something from a tropical paradise. The idea came from wanting to shower under a waterfall, so I made it what I wanted. That shower stall could hold three people, but a third person would never happen.

  I’d just use the extra room to fuck my wife.

  Whoever she was, she was probably out there, cuddling up to some fucking nobody that treated her like dirt. I’d wait impatiently for her to come to her senses, and I’d be right here ready to treat her with all the love and respect she wanted.

  I walked so slow to the doorway, afraid that I’d make noise. It took some time, but I managed to press my back against the wall and peek around the corner to see if I could see them. What I saw made my heart skip a beat and my cock wake up. I immediately looked away, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm myself down.

  Whoever that was, had the most beautiful backside I had ever seen. With that quick glimpse, I saw more than I should have, but to be fair, I had no idea the he I thought this person was, would be a she. She was skinnier than she needed to be, but regardless, she was beautiful. Long cappuccino colored hair fell to her waist, and her round ass was plump and firm, probably from all the walking she had to do.

  Something swelled inside my chest, something protective.

  Risking my sanity, I took another look and breathed a sigh of relief that she was dressed. Don’t get my wrong, she was beautiful naked, but staring at a woman I didn’t know, and who had no idea I was there, made me feel like a peeping Tom.

  I hadn’t seen her face yet, but as she combed her hair over her shoulder, those protective instincts swirled again when I saw a huge scar on the back of her head. God, it looked horrible and painful. It was still pink like it was healing and had happened recently. She flipped her hair over, combed it again, and then flip it back up. It had a natural wave to it, but she didn’t leave what I imagined were silky soft strands down. She twisted the brown locks and then spun in it in a circle on the top of her head, tucking the ends underneath to make a makeshift bun.

  She didn’t have a hairband.

  Her neck and shoulders showed, and she had milky skin, and the thin straps of her gown were parallel to one another as they ran down her back.

  Her nightgown was old, simple, a light blue cotton material that fell to her feet. The only other person I knew that wore stuff like that was my grandma. She died a few years before my parents did.

  The woman in front of me was not a grandma, though. She was young, younger than me, but still, the gown worked for her. I didn’t need to see her face to know that. It suited her. She sat down on a few cheap blankets that had holes in them, and her backpack was positioned like a pillow would be.

  She opened something and it was now or never to introduce myself before it got too weird. I had been standing here watching her for far too long. Shit, I was acting like a peeping Tom. Her back was to me, and my eyes fixated on the soft spot on the back of her nape. The urge to kiss it was strong, too strong. I hadn’t even seen her face, but I wanted her more than anything.

  Something pulled me to her.

  “Excuse me?” I finally spoke up, but my voice cracked like I was some preteen boy.

  She jumped and screamed at the same time she turned around, so she faced me and pressed her back against the wall, trying to get as far away from me as possible. On the ground, there was a sandwich and a drink; she hadn’t even taken a bite out of it yet because I interrupted her.

  A lungful of air whooshed out of my lungs when I saw her face. Gorgeous, no, timeless. Her face held no flaws, her lips were a natural bright berry color, and those almond-shaped eyes almost had me on my knees. Big brown doe eyes stared at me, filled with tears and terror.

  While I was stunned into silence by her beauty, her fear of me had me pulling my head out of my ass. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.” I sat the bag down slowly, and her head jerked to the right, watching my arm and every move I made.

  She crossed her arms over her chest to cover herself. At the same time, her pointed chin started to wobble, and tears fell quicker than a mudslide down her face.

  I kneeled to the ground to hopefully seem less threatening. “I’m not here to hurt you. I am the man building this house. I got a call about someone being here.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she scrambled for her things only to sit back. She wasn’t too sure what to do. Getting her things meant getting closer to me, but I was a threat right now, so she wanted to be as far away from me as possible.

  And that fucking hurt more than it should have.

  “I wanted to come see for myself who was here and to make sure no one was damaging the place. I see your not. I brought you food, but you seem to have that covered.”

  She pulled her blankets to her and held her sandwich, narrowing her eyes at me like she was about to fight me for it. Jesus Christ. What kind of life had this woman had?

  “I’m not going to take your food. That’s yours. I have a bottled Coke and some steak. It isn’t much, but it was what I had. Do you want it?” I asked, watching her interest peak. She tried to look into the bag, but she didn’t see anything from that angle. She still held her sandwich in a death grip, but I could tell she wanted more than that bread with thinly sliced meat. The woman needed protein.

  She was too thin.

  I could fix that. I’ll take care of her.

  “I’m Logan,” I introduced myself and held out my hand. “What’s your name?�
� I waited for her to take it. I wanted to feel her skin against mine, but she only stared at it.

  While my heart wept, my soul rejoiced.

  There was something good about this woman, something I needed.

  I felt it.

  Chapter Four

  Abigail

  The man in front of me was very intimidating. I wasn’t too sure what to make of him. He was here to kick me out. It was the house he was building after all, but he was being nice about it, and he wasn’t rushing me. Kindness was a rarity these days and wasn’t too sure if I believed him.

  Logan.

  It was a nice name. He was very handsome with bright red hair, a five o’clock shadow, and blue eyes that reminded me of the sky on a bright and sunny day. He had freckles everywhere, too many to count, and he was tall, a hulking size that scared me. He could break me in half.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle as if he were speaking to a cowering animal.

  I shook my head because, for a split second, I didn’t remember my name. I didn’t know if it was nerves or because of my memory issue, but I couldn’t articulate right now. My bag had my name on it, so I lifted my finger and pointed. His blue eyes fell from me, and instantly I felt empty without his gaze on me. He reached for my bag, and I snapped my hand out, taking it from him.

  “Mine,” I said firmly. I worked too hard to keep my things. I wasn’t about to let him take them. “My bag,” I repeated. I hated how I sounded it. My sentences were broken, and my words sometimes slurred together.

  “Yours,” he said. “I wasn’t going to take it, I promise. I would never do that.” He glanced down at the top of my bag again and read my name that was in big black sharpie. “Abigail?” he asked, falling to his butt and lifting his knees in the air to get more comfortable. Was he going to be here for a while?

  I hoped not. I wasn’t ready for that. He was too good looking. My body felt bothered and hot, I was sweating, but the windows were open for the night breeze, so it couldn’t be the temperature. It was him. My breasts felt heavy, and my nipples were hard.

  There was a sudden ache between my legs that I had never felt before, but I knew what it was.

  Lust.

  Arousal.

  Feelings I had no clue how to handle.

  I nodded eventually, telling him that he said my name correctly. I bit into my sandwich and started to chew, needing to do something other than look at him.

  “That’s a pretty name. It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”

  “Abi,” I corrected him. I didn’t like my name.

  “What’s that?” he scooted forward, and the closer he got, the more I wanted to run.

  “Stop,” I lifted my hand and started to pant. “Stop it. Not closer. No.” My chest felt tight. “Too close. Get back.” I couldn’t breathe. Was he going to take my things? Was he going to do something to me?

  “Woah, hey, you’re okay. Abigail? You are safe here. I’m not going to hurt you.” He tilted his head at me, so many questions swirling around in those bright blue eyes, but none of them would ever get answered. He held his hands up too, not in defense, but in surrender. I noticed how big his palms were. They were wide with callouses all over from hard work, from building things from the ground up.

  “Back,” I said, shooing him. I still couldn’t breathe. I needed to leave.

  To my surprise, he scooted back, dragging himself across the floor until he was another few inches away from me. I closed my eyes with relief but then remembered I couldn’t see what he was doing. He could be stealing my things, so I opened my eyes again, ready to fight, but he was nowhere near me.

  He kept his distance and stared at me with curiosity.

  “Is that better? I never want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  “Better,” I said. I took another bite of my sandwich and chewed. The lettuce crunched, and I hummed in delight when the tomato burst across my tongue. It had been so long since I tasted a tomato. It wasn’t every day I got to eat like this. “Abi,” I said after I swallowed. “My name. Abi.”

  “You like to go by Abi?” he questioned me, trying to understand my broken language. It was frustrating, and I felt so worthless, talking to a man like him. He had smooth words and thoughts while mine were shattered.

  I’d forever be broken. Some days, I hated myself because who would want to be friends with someone that could barely string a sentence together?

  I nodded again.

  “Well Abi, hate to say this, but I like Abigail better. I’ll call you that. Abi sounds like a street name. You’re not going to be on the streets anymore. Okay?”

  I took another bite, cocking my head at him. I didn’t understand what he meant, so I shook my head in hopes he understood what it meant. Finding words to explain myself was the last thing I wanted to do.

  I finished off my sandwich and wiped my hands on the blanket and reached for my bottled water. I twisted off the cap and drank half of it immediately.

  “Wow, you were hungry. Do you want more?” Logan took out a black container with a clear lid. “It will be cold, sorry about that.”

  He opened the top and tilted the bowl so I could see what he was talking about. I had never tasted steak, or if I had, the memory wasn’t there. The meat was brown with a pink center, and the smell of something a spicy made my nose tingle. I got on my hands and leaned forward, sniffing it. It smelled really good.

  “Ever had it before?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “It’s good,” he popped a piece in his mouth and smile. “See? It isn’t poisoned or anything.” Logan winked at me, and something about it made him seem so much more untouchable.

  I glanced away, blushing. My cheeks were hot, and I was embarrassed. Why did he have to be here? I just wanted to spend my night somewhere clean and uninterrupted. No loud noises, people fighting, dogs barking, cats screeching, people crying, or worse, people dying.

  One night of peace, that was all I wanted.

  He sat the bowl down and pushed it over to me. “I understand you need to trust me. You can, but my word isn’t as good as my actions, and only time will tell you that you can.”

  I picked up the bowl and pressed against the wall again, popping a piece of steak in my mouth just like Logan did. My eyes rounded when the flavor burst across my tongue. I picked up another piece and stared at it with wonder.

  Logan chuckled. “Good, right? I know. It’s my favorite. I eat way too much of it. I need to watch my health.”

  Health. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t think of what it meant. I didn’t ask. The last thing I wanted Logan to think was that I was stupid. I wasn’t stupid.

  I wasn’t.

  Still, he must have seen the look on my face because he proceeded to tell me. “Health has to do with the state your mind and body are in, your blood and organs. Like it’s better to eat an apple than it is a candy bar because apples have good sugar and candy bars are fattening and have bad sugar. It’s like that with almost everything in life. I should eat more chicken because it’s leaner and less fattening and it won’t clog my arteries, the veins in my heart, like this meat would. If that happened, something called a heart attack could happen. It could kill me.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath and without thinking, tossed the steak out the window to get it away from him. I didn’t want him to die. Why in the world did he have it if it could kill him?

  He tossed his head back and laughed. Was he laughing at me?

  “I’m not laughing at you.” He took the words right out of my head again. “You didn’t have to throw it out the window. Everything is fine in moderation. Eating steak every now and then is okay, but I eat it a few times a week because I love it so much. That isn’t good for my body. Also, working out is healthy, things you do to get your heart rate up and your skin sweaty.”

  A flash of what I saw two people doing against a wall in the back of an alley next to a dumpster came to mind. Why did I think of tha
t?

  “Thanks for caring enough about me to throw away your food. That was nice of you,” he admired, giving me a kind smile.

  I gave him one in return. He knew my intentions. I didn’t have to speak for him to understand me, and because of that, it made me want to talk.

  “How long have you been out on your own?”

  I lifted a single finger.

  “One week?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Month?”

  I shook my head again.

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “A year?”

  I tilted my head up and down, guzzling the room temperature water.

  “An entire year? Why? What happened for you to be all alone?”

  My scar on the back of my head started to burn, and my head throbbed. I cried out, dropping the water bottle on the floor and clutched my head.

  “Abigail!” He ran toward me, and his hands touched my shoulders. Usually, when people touched me, I got a flash of a terrible memory or dream, but not with Logan.

  Calm and peace washed over me, but my head still hurt.

  It was then I realized I wasn’t trying to get away from him, and when I saw that, I ripped my body out of his hold and pressed myself against the wall again. I wanted the wall to swallow me whole and make me disappear.

  “I won’t hurt you. What happened? Does it have to do with the scar on the back of your head?”

  I nodded.

  “What happened?”

  I lifted a shoulder, shrugging. I hated to talk about it because I only had snippets and feelings. The real truth was something I’d never know.

  “You don’t know?” he asked with disbelief and tried to reach for me again but thought better of it and laid his hand back down.

  I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.

  “Abigail?”

  My eyes caught on something shining on the side of his jeans; the holder was long, wide, and came to a point. It was a knife.