Page 21 of Unexpected

Josh and I would fuck around in the water, usually pissing off my dad, who sat on the water’s edge, drinking as many beers as he could until he passed out in the sun. My mom would read an entire book every time we went to the lake. She loved to read, but she didn’t have much time to do it with the way my dad liked the house run. She took full advantage of his drunken state. She read and then jumped in the water with us.

Even in the afternoon on Halloween, the temperature was in the mideighties, although a cold front was due later. It would’ve been a good day to go to the lake.

I was mowing the yard in the heat. It had gotten out of hand, and I’d already received two notices from our hoity-toity homeowners’ association, letting me know that the next notice would include a two-hundred-dollar fine. So, I braved the stupid heat and mowed the front and backyard.

I was about to put the lawn mower away and begin the cleanup process when I noticed Hazel’s yard was also looking a little—better yet, a lot—out of sorts. Since we’d decided to start over, I thought I’d do the neighborly thing and knock on her door to ask if she wanted me to at least mow her front yard. It had nothing to do with the fact that I was still stewing over that fucking text message I heard from her fiancé last night.

Luke from several years ago would have demanded his number and set up a time to “talk” about the way he spoke to his fiancée—future wife. But I had moved past the anger and would continue my plan of attack: get in Hazel’s good graces and watch her back like a fucking hawk.

I stood at her door for a minute after knocking, thinking that maybe she wasn’t home. I raised my fist to knock again when she swung the door open, looking disheveled and a little sweaty.

“Hi,” she said, out of breath.

“Hey, I was just mowing my yard and was wondering if you wanted me to do yours too.”

She smiled and leaned against the door. “That’s really nice of you, but the guys who usually do it should be here a little later. I started paying the high school kid down the street twenty bucks a week to do it.”

As she spoke, I tried to slyly take in her outfit. She was dressed for the heat in small workout shorts that showed off the curve of her legs and a fitted tank top. There was a sheen covering her skin, her cheeks were flushed from exertion, and the ponytail her hair was in was a little mussed. I wasn’t sure what she had been doing, but my mind immediately began wondering if that’s what she may look like after sex.

Not necessarily where my mind needed to be going, but I had little control over it.

When I finally pulled my mind out of the gutter, I realized she was waiting for me to respond or leave or something. I stopped staring at her and caught a glimpse of the interesting arrangement of her living room furniture.

“Doing some redecorating?”

She laughed—God, it was a good sound—and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, I needed a change. I was cleaning and then decided that I wanted the couch over by the windows, so I cleaned under it and moved the rug. The stupid leg fell off the coffee table, though. I’m just having trouble getting it back on. I can’t find the damn screwdriver anywhere.”

“What kind of screwdriver do you need? I can grab one from the garage.”

She bit her bottom lip as if contemplating if she really wanted to take my help. With another glance over her shoulder, she said, “Phillips.”

“I’ll be back.” I jogged over to the garage, grabbed the screwdriver from the top drawer of my toolbox and let myself in her front door that was left slightly ajar.

Hazel was kneeling over the upturned coffee table, trying to shove the leg back on with a murderous look in her eye.

“I swear I’m about to just buy a new damn table,” she muttered as I stooped and inspected the table. Within a minute, I had the leg in place and the table upright once again.

“Yeah, the screwdriver was necessary.”

She nodded and began arranging the rest of the furniture the way she wanted it. “Since you’re here…” she began as she lifted one side of the couch and eyed the other.

I picked up the other side as she instructed me where it should go. We had it in position, and I took it upon myself to place the couch cushions that were thrown on the other side of the room back in their rightful places.

Hazel was busying herself with decorations on one of the end tables while I placed the pillows. “Women and their damn decorative pillows. Is this right?”

She whipped around and inspected my work. The corners of her mouth tilted in a small smile. “No, but I’ll fix it.” She turned back to continue rearranging the books on the table for the tenth time when her ponytail landed over her shoulder, and I noticed the top of the bruises I had seen the week before.

From the little skin of her back that I could see, it looked like the bruises—now more yellow and green and less black and blue—followed the length of her spine. I tried to tell myself that it could’ve been an accident or a fall, but I couldn’t believe it. Without thinking, I closed the distance between us and ran my thumb along her spine and along the bruised area.

Hazel immediately tensed and gasped when my hand touched her exposed skin.

“Hazel,” I said her name in a low whisper. She wouldn’t have known, but I was begging for her to let me help her. To tell me what the fuck was going on.

I expected her to jerk away from me immediately, but her reaction was delayed. She didn’t relax, but for a few seconds, she let me touch the bruised skin. I’m not sure why I felt a pull to touch her. Maybe to make sure the bruises were real? Or to try to erase the brutality of it with a softer touch?

She finally stepped away from me and replaced my hand with her own at the base of her neck. She faced me, and I tried to decipher the unreadable expression on her face.

“Hazel,” I said her name again, hoping to elicit a vocal response.

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