It didn’t help that I was full-on talking to myself.
I slipped into my trainers and exited the closet.
Mr. Tom waited for me by the bedroom door with his hands out in front of him. On his palms sat an 80’s style sweatband with a green stripe running through it and two matching wrist bands.
“Nope.” I pushed past him.
“Well at least take some water with you. Here.” He hurried down the hall.
I didn’t wait, instead heading to the stairs.
Mr. Tom met me there, carrying a small backpack with a water tube extending out of the top.
“It was only used once. I decided running wasn’t for me. It’s in great condition.” He got to the bottom of the stairs, his cape fluttering, and held it out. I heard water sloshing within its depths. “It’s important to stay hydrated.”
“It was only used once…but did you change out the water?”
He paused in his urgency. His eyes dipped to the backpack.
“Or wash the water tube?”
A relieved smile crossed his face. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t backwash. And water doesn’t go bad.” He extended the backpack a little farther.
There were no words.
“Wait! Do you want me to come with you?” he called after me.
I walked down the stairs and into the cooling night. Although I wouldn’t go running in certain L.A. neighborhoods at night, I wasn’t too worried about O’Briens. Even still, there was Broken Nose Harry and the normal safety concerns of being a woman out at night. I’d only keep one earphone in so I could hear if someone ran up behind me…
I stalled on the walkway, realizing I’d forgotten my earphones in the mad dash out the door. I did have my phone, at least, having managed to slip it into my sweats when huddle-changing in the closet. At least I could call for help or use GPS if needed.
I noticed movement from Niamh’s darkened porch. She stood as I neared.
“What are ye at?” she asked, a rock in her hand and only two next to her chair leg. She was apparently selective in her weapons. “Goin’ for a jog?”
“Yup. Need a little air.”
“Here. I’ll come. Wait there.”
Why did everyone want to escort me everywhere?
As soon as she’d disappeared inside, I took off. I needed alone time, and I felt like pushing myself. It was mean to say but running was a different beast than walking fast. I didn’t want to be held up and Niamh didn’t look so spry.
It only took until the end of the street for me to realize I did want to be held up. By a hammock.
My knee twinged in pain, my lungs burned, and everything ached. Running with music was so much better because I could get lost in the rhythm and lyrics and forget the pain. Forget some of the pain, anyway. Without it, I had nothing to focus on besides each jarring step. Each tree slowly passing. My ragged breath.
Feet thudded behind me rhythmically. Someone faster than me was rushing at me.
My heart stuttered and my adrenaline spiked. Self-defense lessons I’d taken in my twenties cycled through my head. I looked over my shoulder, playing it cool.
Niamh was on my tail, wearing an 80’s sweatband nearly identical to the one Mr. Tom had offered, a wrist band set and tiny running shorts showing off wiry, bleach-white muscles that nearly glowed in the streetlights.
I slowed to speak, or at least grunt, but she put up a hand in a wave and passed me by. “Meet ya at the pub after. First round is on me.”
I gulped air in her wake, watching her form practically zoom up the street and around the corner. The woman was trucking it! What an ego crusher.
Legs wobbly, I carried on. If she could do it, I could do it. Eventually. One day.
A half hour that felt like years later, I finished a large circle, landing me at the opposite end of the downtown strip from home. Deciding it was time to cool down before I fell down, I slowed to a walk.
All in all, besides the fact that a woman twice my age had mopped the floor with me, it had been a decent first run. Everything hurt and I probably looked like Quasimodo, but at least I’d gotten out and done something. Which didn’t mean I was about to join Niamh for a drink.
The downtown strip, all few blocks of it, was mostly quiet. Loud laughter came from the hotel down the way, with soft orange light spilling onto the wide sidewalk from the open door. Someone—a woman it looked like—stepped out of a little cottage a block down, probably some sort of business rather than a dwelling, and locked up.
I straightened up, still panting, sweat dripping down my face, and marshaled on. Darkened or covered windows dotted the way. Doors were closed. It wasn’t that late, but most of the businesses had already shut down for the night.
A squeal erupted from the hotel. I peered in the open door as I passed. A few younger people sat at the far end of the bar, the women scantily dressed and the guys in variations of the same outfit: a blue-collared shirt and artfully distressed jeans.
My gaze lingered on the bare midriff of one of the women. What I wouldn’t give to have my four pack back. If I had one, I’d show it off, too. No jiggling when this forty-year-old moved, no-siree. I’d want to put it out there as proof.
I gritted my teeth. I would put it out there as proof. Why else was I running? Soon I’d get my diet under control—no more binging cookies right before bed—and then I’d be a rock star. I could do this!
Okay, not as many cookies before bed. A lady had to live.
A loner sat in the middle of the bar and the bored bartender stared at his phone, leaning near the cash register. Didn’t seem like much of an exciting place unless you brought your own friends. Not like Austin Steele’s place, with people playing pool and most of the clientele chatting and exchanging greetings.
The memory of what he’d said swam through my memory. My gut twisted.
Maybe he was right. I clearly didn’t fit in here. Yes, that was starting to look like a compliment, but the betrayal still stung. He’d listened to me. He’d walked me home. Those were things gentlemen did. Things that seemed to be dying off with the younger generation.
But he wasn’t a gentleman at all. He thought I was lowering the status of his crazy community.
I walked on, approaching the edge of the strip.
What was Austin’s game, anyway? Why help me out if he wanted me to fail?
And what was the deal with the name Steele? Really, Steele? He probably came up with that name himself. A silver fox rebranding his middle age—“I can still hang with the young bucks, because I’m made of steel!”
Well, I didn’t need to rebrand myself to know I was awesome. I might be in the middle of a full-blown identity crisis, with a mom bod and no craps left to give, but I could still run circles around my twenty-year-old self.
Okay, not run per se. The only thing that bitch couldn’t beat me to was an ice cream truck.
But I’d think circles around her! I had money matters on lock. I knew how to juggle running a household, managing bills, working, taking classes at the city college, and raising a human being. At twenty, I could barely keep myself alive.
I had become fiercer, too. Being a mom really taught you the meaning of self-sacrifice and absolute courage. I would run into fire for my son. I’d step in front of a bullet. I’d throw myself at any danger, no matter how terrifying, just to see him to safety. And I’d do it all without blinking.
The courage of a mother could not be measured. We toiled in the background, day in and day out, without thanks, so our children could become their best selves. We sacrificed ourselves for our loved ones, and we did it silently. Gladly. Full of love.
I blew out a frustrated breath. What kind of bad sort of person was Austin calling me, anyway?
You know what? I didn’t even care. I liked that house. It spoke to me. It felt like home. So what if the neighbor was violent and drank like a sailor. And so what if the gardener liked to fool unsuspecting children with his well-tended shrubbery. And who cared if the butler thought he was a super hero and didn’t really understand personal space—they all had big hearts. They’d welcomed me. That said something about their character. If the only problem was some muscle-bound guy who’d never grown out of his hotness, so be it. I didn’t need friends like that, anyway. He would not find a way to push me out of that house. It was my home now, and I protected my home.
Except for the doll room. That still had to go. That was too far.
I nodded to myself, approaching the intersection that would bring me to Austin’s bar. Niamh was probably there, a six pack in and not feeling it.
I hesitated on the corner in indecision. It’s not like we’d had plans. Or even that she needed me. Based on what I’d seen last night, she had a history of heading to the pub alone.
Besides, I didn’t have any money, and really didn’t want to drink.
Mind made up, I continued on toward the house. Which was when I noticed a strange sensation burrowing between my shoulder blades, like someone was watching me. Like danger lurked somewhere out there.
This area was host to mountain lions that came down from the hills. Bears, maybe, in search of trash cans. I hoped so, at any rate, because I’d take an animal stalker over a human one any day. Humans could be sick and twisted, and they weren’t likely to scare off if you played dead or put your arms wide and said, “Hah!”
Gulping, playing it cool, I glanced right, trying to pierce the darkness with my gaze. Nothing moved but the restless leaves.
Looking straight again, I monitored the other side in my peripheral vision. Still no movement. But I didn’t doubt what I felt. A predator awaited me in the shadows, their interest in me keen.
Pressure building in my chest, I slowly increased my speed, half thinking of running back toward Niamh.
Okay, fine. Maybe I was also thinking of heading toward Austin Steele. That guy had made it clear that he didn’t tolerate aggression in his bar, and he did not shy away from a fight.
I pulled out my phone, ready to tap the screen.
A shape coalesced a ways in front of me, slinking out from the shadows. Thin but without curves, I pegged it as a man.