Slow Burn(6)

    “Well, it’s not like I enjoyed it or anything,” he said. “That’s why I’m not doing it anymore. But Op Wraith is after you, and I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

    I chewed on my lip.

    “I’m here to keep you safe, doll.”

    “My name isn’t doll,” I said. “It’s Leigh.”

    He glanced at me sidelong from the driver’s seat. “Right.”

    “Where are you from anyway? The Bronx?”

    “Jersey,” he said. “Ocean City.”

    He was like a thug or something. A thug. A tall, muscled, threatening, really attractive thug. “So, you’re just going to come back to Thomas with me. And then what?”

    “And then I watch you,” he said. “And if anyone tries to hurt you, I hurt them first.”

    “Uh huh,” I said. Watch me. What did that mean exactly? Would he be following me everywhere? “And where are you going to stay?”

    “I don’t know, on your couch or something.”

    “For how long?”

    “I don’t know,” he said. He was merging the car onto the interstate, but he glanced at me again anyway, and it nearly gave me a heart attack that he wasn’t watching the road. “Look, I promised your dad. He helped me get out of Op Wraith. I owe him. He never shut up about you, you know.”

    “Really?” I said. I wanted to believe that.

    “He always went on about how sweet you were.”

    “Sweet?” That’s funny. Maybe we never really had a chance to talk about my coke-fueled car accident, my dad and me. But nobody who knew me would describe me as sweet. Nobody.

    “Yeah,” said Griffin. He made a face. “I guess I’m really freaking you out here, huh? A guy like me.”

    He was, actually.

    “I’m not a bad guy, you know,” he said. “Really, I’m not. And I meant it when I said I’d keep you safe. So, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

    “No,” I said. “It’s not. My dad is... gone.”

    He was quiet.

    I’d lost my father, and I’d never had a chance to really know him. He hadn’t known me. He’d spent most of my life avoiding me for one reason or another. And now, we’d never get that back. I’d never have a relationship with him.

    This time, when the tears threatened, I didn’t squelch them. I let the sobs erupt out of me.

    Griffin reached over and awkwardly patted my shoulder.

    I pulled away.

    He put his hand back on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, doll. I really am.”

* * *

    There was basically only one way I wanted to spend the evening after I found out that my father had been killed. It involved a bottle of marshmallow-flavored vodka and a shot glass. (I really liked flavored vodkas. They made getting plastered a lot more easy.)

    I didn’t know what I was going to do with Griffin during that, but maybe he’d want shots of marshmallow-flavored vodka too. He couldn’t crash on my couch forever, like he seemed to think he could. I was going to have to figure something else out.

    My apartment was a pretty tiny one bedroom in town. The kitchen and living room were one room, and neither of them was big. There wasn’t a bathtub, only a standup shower. It was too small of a place for two people to live in. Way too small. He’d have to find his own place to live.

    But I could let him stay until we got it figured out. He had saved my life after all.

    I showed Griffin where to park, and he pulled my car into the gravel parking lot. Without waiting for him, I got out of the car and started up the steps to my apartment. The stairs were rickety wood things that clung to the siding and groaned when you walked on them. The railing was a little bit of a joke, because it had come apart from the steps in a few places. My apartment had its own outdoor entrance, though, so that was something.

    Griffin got out of the car. “Hold up.”

    I stopped. “This is my place.”

    “Yeah,” he said, “but you should let me go first just to make sure that it’s safe in there.”