Page 1 of Average Joe

PROLOGUE

Marley

“You shot me!”

“I’m sorry!” Frantic and pleading, I repeated, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry” as I climbed over the fallen man, peeled off my Guns ’N Roses T-shirt, and balled the fabric over his oozing wound. “Don’t die. Please don’t die,” I begged. Despite my best efforts, sticky fluid saturated my shirt and his.

I pressed harder, hoping to slow the blood loss, only to draw an agonizing scream from the man beneath me. With violent grunts, he bucked his hips, attempting to throw me off his thighs.

“Stop squirming. I have to stop the bleeding.” I squeezed my knees together, desperate to hold him steady.

“Get off!”

“Hold still.” I leaned to the right, stretching, walking my fingers across the floor toward the fallen phone, so, so close to calling for help.

“You goddamn motherfucking cuckoo-ass crazy bird.” He curled his bottom lip between his teeth with a groan. “You shot me.”

“I swear, it was an accident.” My fingertips grazed his cell, shoving the lifeline farther from reach.

I needed therapy. My temper was out of control. Why had I touched that gun? I hated violence and blood—oh, God, the blood. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. Yet, there I sat, all one hundred and twenty-three pounds of me, fighting with two hundred and something pounds of pissed-off, wounded man-beast. He would not die on my watch or because of my recklessness. Engaging my thigh muscles, I surged forward, stretched, ignoring the sharp twinge in my ribs, and curled my fingers around the thin metal.

“Got it!” I held the phone high in the air, but it was a short-lived celebration. The bugger slipped right out of my gore-slicked hand and landed with a thud on Joe’s head.

He yelled words not fit for any ears.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

“Get”—his large hands cinched my waist—“off.” His face contorted as he lifted me with supernatural strength. “You maniac!”

My butt hit the hardwood floor with a spine-crackingthunk.

Joe rolled to his side, sucked in two breaths, then pushed to his feet. Fists clenched, face red with rage, he stalked toward me.

I was dead, and I was too young to die. I crab-walked backward to no avail, my elbows hitting the wall before my shoulders and head caught up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” were the only words I could manage.

Joe stood over me, his chest rising and falling in rapid, violent bursts, the dark stain spreading halfway down his leg, soiling his jeans.

“We need to call an ambulance. Let me call for help before you kill me.”

His red eyes narrowed. “Kill you?” he snarled. “Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe that’s what I’ll do.” He tilted his head in a thoughtful gesture, his gaze aimed at my feet for a long moment before bouncing back up to strike me with a death glare. “I’ll make it slow, too.”

He’d always been larger than life, but now, towering over me, contemplating the many ways he could end my life, he seemed bigger, omnipotent even.

This was not how I’d imagined my last moments on earth, dying at the hands of my terrifying neighbor, the ex-con, the man who’d made my life miserable for the past months.

The man who’d stolen my heart.

Marley

“Come on!” I shouted to the metal beast. “Start. Please. One more time. I know you’ve got it in ya.”

My rusty, tired, yard-sale lawnmower stood like a cow in a field. Unmoving. Unmowing. Unmotivated. I dropped one foot on the bumper, grabbed the plastic handle, and pulled with all the fight I had left in me, yanking the string with a hard jerk.

Nothing. Not even a halfhearted sputter.

Defeated, I bent forward, hands to knees, head down, catching my breath, glaring at the lush green blades beneath my feet.

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