Page 73 of Average Joe

“Not mine.His.” She pushed at me but fell to her side to lay in the grass, one hand under her cheek, the other fisting the blades. “He’s gone,” she sobbed. “Men leave… I can’t say happy birthday… I miss him. I miss him so much I can’t breathe.”

I stood guard while she purged, confident the neighbors could hear her grief spill into the night.

“He’s my whole life. Gave him everything,” she cried into my lawn. “And he left.”

Her pain gutted me, but her words? Fucking hell. I had my answer. Understood, with sobering clarity, her reluctance to be with me.

Marley’s heart belonged to another man.

A guy who’d left her to bleed out.

Every day, this woman got out of bed and pretended to be okay. While Marley was twisted in knots over some piece of shit, all I would ever be was her fuck buddy.

Fighting a wave of rage, I lay down at her side and pulled her to my aching chest.

Marley bawled, dragging me back to the first time Dad had left me and Mom standing on our front porch. I’d never heard my mother cry so hard, and I’d feared she’d never stop. But weeks later, that strong, beautiful woman dragged herself out of bed, and day by day, she’d cried a little less, smiled more, and pretended to be okay until, one day, she was.

When Marley’s sobs faded to whimpers and her hitched breaths steadied, I carried her upstairs, ditched her wet clothes, covered her in one of my shirts, and laid her in my bed.

When I woke five hours later, she was gone.

* * *

I pulled up to the covered window, cut the engine, and waited, palms sweaty, guts twisted over a damn woman like I’d never matured past middle school.

Five minutes later, the neonOpenlight flickered then illuminated, the privacy curtain lifted, and Marley stood before me, tits spilling out of a red satin bra covered by a scrap of red flannel pretending to be a shirt.

Bare torso.

Denim shorts hit below her hip bones and barely covered her crotch.

No doubt, when she turned around, her ass cheeks would be on full display.

Sweet, beautiful Jesus.

Marley made me hard as a fucking diamond, but still, the visual messed with my head. Other men got off on her outrageous body, and I took great personal offense to that injustice.

Marley broke the silence, drawling, “Mornin’, Joe,” getting into her farm girl character. Her makeup was flawless, but her smile was forced and her eyes didn’t shine. No, those peepers, dull and weighted, hid behind heavy eyeliner and thick lashes.

After an all-day bender, that woman had managed to rise, get to work looking downright edible, and pretend to be okay when she had to be dying inside.

Respect.

“Morning, neighbor.” When my voice cracked, I cleared my throat of the morning junk. “Came by to check on you. See how you’re doing.”

Facade crumbling, her shoulders dropped. As fast as she broke, she pieced her shell back together, then hit me with a sweet smile. “I’m fine, Joe. Thanks for worrying.”

Headlights shone behind me, but Marley never strayed her gaze, a million apologies shining in those hazel beauties, each of them unnecessary.

“I washed your clothes. Found one of your shoes on my front porch and one in Ginger’s bed. She chewed through the laces.”

“Oh, man.” She laughed, more embarrassed than humored. “I was a mess. I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize,” I interrupted, raising a hand. “Don’t. I mean it. We’re friends. We take care of each other. Got me?”

Marley nodded, pulling a red-stained lip between her teeth. Her eyes liquified, but she blinked the emotion away. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

---