Page 40 of The Heart We Guard
I look at my utilitarian pajamas and cork-soled shoes that are good for the spine.
“You’re good for my ego. Eric Haramond, however, was not. The vermin took my virginity in his hotel room at the Hollywood Roosevelt, then had the audacity to not respond to one phone call or a single letter once I had left. He told me that our room was the same room Marilyn Monroe stayed in. Not sure I believed him, but it’s an interesting story, don’t you think?”
“If he was such an unconscionable jerk, why is he the one who got away?”
Esme takes a breath, holding some imaginary cigarette stuck in a long-handled cigarette holder. “Because that’s what rogues do. They lure us in. They take advantage of us and let us believe we’re the one who can change them. And a part of us believes it.I still do. Utterly confident that if I could have spent more time with him, I could have turned him into the loving partner I…”
“What?”
Esme chuckles. “Well, I was just thinking I never really wanted a lifetime partner, so I don’t know why I’m telling you this mumbo-jumbo story about a boy I thought I loved once who broke my heart. Besides telling you that I understand how the wrong rogue can lure you in and make you believe whatever was happening between the two of you means something.”
I look up at the sky. It’s a clear blue day after the huge storm that blew through last night. “You think that’s all it was?”
“Wasn’t it?”
I shake my head. “Maybe. If I’m honest, I had a similar thought this morning, but then he did something nice before he left.”
“Is it something special that only the two of you could share?”
It was a flower, picked from a garden, in a mug. “Not really.”
Esme reaches for my hand through the fence. “I’m sorry you’re sad about his departure. And knowing you as I do, I’m sure the old adage that the only way to get over one man is to get under another won’t work.”
She’s right. It’s the very last thing I’d find comforting.
“But I am also glad he treated you in a way that stirred your romantic feelings, because you strike me as someone who would thrive under the care of the right person.”
I squeeze her fingers; her knuckles are boney. “I think you would too.”
She slips her hand from mine as she laughs. “Lord, no. You’re like an orchid that would benefit and thrive from someone who knows to use ice cubes to water them. I’m like a rampant weed that would choke anyone who tried to determine how I should be treated.”
“Esme, that’s the most ridiculous analogy I’ve ever heard.”
She shrugs, nonchalantly. “Maybe. But he was a rogue. And one who may or may not think about you now that he’s gone. So, look for the person with ice cubes in their pocket to treat you better.”
With a smile, I make a promise to myself that I will.
Esme walks back into her home, and I’m just approaching my patio when I hear the roar of motorcycles.
“Butcher,” I say, and hurry to the path along the side of the house. I should probably care more about what I’m wearing than I do. My hands shake as I unlock the gate.
But when I round the front of the house, it’s not Butcher I see. Instead, there are men with Midtown Rebels patches on their backs.
Five of them in total.
“Doctor Hansen,” the man on the first bike says.
“Who’s asking?” I wrap my hands around myself. Butcher would be furious at the way I just gave myself away without even checking who was here.
“A friend of Nicholas Gray,” the man says, but he climbs off his bike and pulls himself to his full height. I’m not sure why he won’t tell me, because it’s right there on his cut.
Gulch. Sergeant at arms.
I don’t acknowledge the answer. It doesn’t tell me anything I couldn’t figure out for myself.
But my heart races. I don’t know if this man knew my brother. Maybe he did. Maybe he was there the night my brother died. I was only able to remember the name and face of the president.
He walks closer to me. He’s tall. Intense. With a faux hawk haircut and a cobweb tattooed on his neck. “What did Nicholas say to you in the hospital?”
