Kristen Ashley - Wild Man

My head tipped back to look at his shadowed jaw in the dark room. “You didn’t see your kids or family for a year?”

His head tipped down and I felt his eyes on my face. “I didn’t see it taking that long but it did so another, bigger reason for my statue of liberty play with Darla.”

“Oh,” I whispered thinking that now definitely made sense and it made sense before it was just that now it made more sense then I asked, “Does that happen often?”

“I’d had to take undercover work before, not often but it happened and it was another reason Olivia made my life a misery.”

This, I had to admit, made sense too.

“She didn’t like your job?”

“Olivia likes attention and if she doesn’t get it, she wants other shit to make up for it and that other shit costs money, lots of it, far more than I made. She also isn’t real big on bein’ a Mom so bearin’ the brunt of raising two sons was not her favorite pastime and she regards it as a pastime, no joke. So she wasn’t doin’ cartwheels that she didn’t have a man dancing attendance on her and she didn’t have what she felt was restitution for being denied that.”

Oh man. This didn’t sound good. Any of it but especially the part about Olivia not big on being a Mom.

“But what you do is important,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“And dangerous,” I added and his arm gave me a squeeze.

“Yeah,” he repeated.

I tipped my head down and pressed my cheek against his chest processing the fact that he had a job which meant he might disappear and wondering if I’d be like Olivia, not too happy about that, acting out when it happened and thinking, uncomfortably, since I knew from experience I’d miss him if was gone, I might.

“Lease is up on this place next month and I’m already lookin’,” he announced into my thoughts and my head tipped back again.

“Sorry?”

“Things are hot for me here, last job before the Heller gig exposed me to some folks I don’t wanna know where I work but now they know where I work. This cripples what I do for the DEA which means deskwork which means, since I’m a field man and deskwork would be like certain death, I put in for a job with the DPD, interviewed, got it and resigned from the DEA three weeks ago. I start at the DPD in the homicide unit in a week. This means more stability, total exposure and if some slimeball follows me home and home happens to be a decent place, they won’t ask questions. So, I’m lookin’ for a new place.”

I was blinking and processing this new information but having difficulty with it.

Therefore, the only word I could force out was, “Really?”

His voice again held a smile when he replied, “Really. Which means, after years of livin’

with one foot in the underbelly of Denver, I step outta that into a stable day-to-day with that underbelly leaking in in a controlled way not being what I breathe twenty-four, seven, my woman hightailing her ass to Kentucky would not be good.”

“I’m currently reconsidering my plans to hightail my ass to Kentucky,” I informed him and received an arm squeeze and a chuckle then he capped it with his lips touching my forehead before he settled back into the pillows.

Then he said, “Tomorrow, before putting my towels outta their misery, job one for you is callin’ your real estate agent and gettin’ that fuckin’ sign outta your front yard.”

“Okay,” I agreed instantly, got another arm squeeze and chuckle but, alas, no kiss on the forehead.

I pressed my cheek to his chest again thinking stupidly but hopefully and oh so pleasantly that Ellie would look cute in a pink flower girl dress.

“Sweetness?” he called into my replete gathering drowsiness.

“Mm?”

His hand slid from my head down my neck and then down the silk at my spine. “You got anymore nighties like this?”

“Uh, no and I have to sell a hundred and fifty cupcakes to afford another one.”

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“It was worth it,” I muttered back.

“Damn straight,” he agreed, still muttering.

I let out a soft giggle.

His hand kept sliding down, rounded my waist and settled curled around my hip against the bed so he was holding me tucked super close to his warm, hard body.

Then he murmured, “Sleep, baby.”

“All right, honey. ‘Night.”

“’Night, Tess.”

I drew in breath then let it go. Then I pressed my cheek deep and held tight to Brock.

Then my body relaxed and I fell asleep.

One month later…

“Uh… aren’t we just gonna eat that?” Joel asked and I looked from piping a border of cream cheese frosting on the cinnamon carrot cake I was decorating to him and his brother sitting at their Dad’s bar.

Update: The last month had been busy.

Firstly, Brock had made two moves.

The first was from his job at the DEA to his job at the DPD.

The second was from his shabby, somewhat scary, definitely taking your life in your hands to ascend the outside staircase apartment to a very not shabby, not at all scary, having no outside staircase rented condo. It was in a small, well-landscaped, quiet, L-shaped layout of condos. The only drawback was he had two parking spaces and the entire complex of twelve units had only three visitor spots which were around the bend of the L from Brock’s place. So, if his family were around, which was somewhat often considering he was available, they were close-knit and still in the throes of emotional turmoil, parking could become a problem.

The rest of it was awesome. A fenced in front patio that was a sun trap and thus, if the sun was shining (as it had a tendency to do a lot in Denver) the minute you opened the wooden gate, you entered warmth even though it was November. Inside the front door was a big living room with fireplace and two story slanted ceiling. Up a short-ish flight of stairs to the right, a humungous master bedroom with bath. In that was a new king-sized bed with new sheets and comforter.

The bed Brock bought; the sheets and comforter I picked out not with Brock who flatly refused to go shopping for sheets and bought the first bed he laid eyes on which, luckily, was a nice one. But instead I went with Elvira, Gwen and Martha, the former two throwing themselves into this errand with scary abandon and the latter doing it under obvious protest for she still was waiting for Brock to expose the dickhead within.

In his condo, next to the up flight was a down flight that led to the door to another flight of stairs that took you to a full basement with laundry. The lower level above the basement had two smaller rooms separated by a full bath. Beyond the up and down staircase was another short staircase, this only five steps that led you to an elevated kitchen that had a railing facing the living room then a small dining area then a bar that separated a somewhat compact but modern and relatively luxurious (for a rental) kitchen.

As threatened, I had bought Brock new towels and dishtowels and when he moved I added more sets for the boys’ bathroom.

As I would learn considering they were more meddling, nosy and intrusive then even Elvira, one day, without his knowledge and using the key he’d given his mother, Fern, Laura and Brock’s other sister Jill commandeered his ratty-assed furniture, delivered it to places unknown that were so covert even a DEA agent couldn’t track them down (and he tried) then they filled the space with a large fantastic, masculine, comfortable sectional, new square coffee table, a handsome upright chest that held his flat-screen TV, stereo, DVD player, PS3

(for the boys) and DVDs, shelves that held CDs and books and a new dining room set.

Oh, and three new standing lamps and coasters for the living room as well as placemats and an unusual but appealing wrought iron, fat candleholder (with candles scented in

“ocean”) to sit on his dining room table.

Unfortunately, they were not finished illicitly rearranging Brock’s new décor and even more unfortunately I was with him when he walked into his new space, he took one look at it and the air in the room went abrasive as he lost his ever lovin’ mind.

Also unfortunately, all members, even the female ones of the Lucas family shared the trait of their mood invading the room, these three women had attitude, knew Brock since his life began (except Laura, who was five years younger than him), were not afraid of him and gave back as good as they got.

Thus began a shouting match which was loud, long, surprising, intriguing but also a little scary.

I could see that Brock was a man, all man, and his space was his space, his shit was his shit and he did not appreciate the intrusion and that intrusion signifying a trio of women taking care of a forty-five year old man.

And that was all I could see because even though I kept my mouth shut and hung in the kitchen while they shouted it out (though his new furniture was awesome), I agreed with Brock that they were out of line.

This went on for awhile and when I say that I mean a long while and I had the sense they did this not because of new furniture and unwelcome intrusions but more deep-seated issues all of them were dancing around. It got to the point where I feared things that could not be unsaid would be said and therefore I was going to have to step outside my status of new girlfriend and therefore person who really shouldn’t get involved and wade in when Fern pulled out the big (and arguably emotionally manipulative) guns as it was my experience that mothers on the whole had the wont to do.