Page 15 of The Love You Hate
“How long?” The lump in my throat turns into coiled venom sinking to my stomach. It shouldn’t bother me that the question resembles me giving a shit, but asking makes me feel weak. Weakness is one quality The Charge Men are created not to bear. Things that reflect as weakness? Love. There isn’t room for it nor is it recommended.
“They don’t know.” The reply. “Not long. Less than six months. A year max.” I blow out a relieved breath. There’s enough time. I’ll be able to visit before. “You’re missed, son. He needs you.”
Even though I’m laying down, I get lightheaded. It’s my father, the one person in my family who understands my life choices, and supports me being a Charge Man. The fact that he’s bearing the truth like this tells me the circumstances are dire. I don’t keep any phone numbers stored in my phone as a precaution, but I let my eyes scan over his number multiple times to commit it to memory. “Okay,” Is my reply. I don’t feel better knowing more. Does anyone ever feel better when it’s all on the table? Doubtful. Ignorance is bliss. The more you know the worse it gets. There is a surplus of sayings that back up that thought process.
I’ll never get to sleep if I think about him. About the past. The future. Wondering what he feels, knowing his days are limited. The faces of people who love him trying not to let the grief seep out too early while not wanting to miss a single moment in his presence. No, I have to take my mind off of that side of my life completely, and the only way I can do that is to focus on work. Comics didn’t even work. Presley Cohen. Yes. Fixate on her. I know her internet sucks so I pull up my browser and do a little shopping. Her happiness isn’t my priority directly, but if my haunting past has taught me anything, I know what people like. The person most likely to do harm to a Principal isn’t an enemy lurking in the corner, it’s themselves. I search roller skates, and look for a pair that are safety rated. Not that I think that particularly matters, but it’s still an attractive offering. I choose the blue skates and add them to my cart. She’ll wonder how I got her size right. She might get creeped out that a guy she barely knows is buying her gifts. Presley will be leery of any kindness. People in her old world are not kind without ulterior motivation. This new world isn’t glittering with wealth and opulence. Trust will come because even if I do have to lie to her about certain things, I will be who I say I am. Wanting her to be happy in Gold Hawke isn’t a lie. Her redo bucket list makes me nervous, but I find it odd I’m eager to help her mark off her goals. I check out after adding knee and elbow pads, wrist guards, and a helmet. When I can’t sleep still, I research gardening. More than research, I read every article on the internet I can find and watch every tutorial about keeping seedlings alive and study the best plants that thrive in Colorado. I map out a backyard garden, and plan raised garden beds for the side of the house that gets the most sun. It’s four in the morning when exhaustion finally wins. Two hours of sleep is all I’ll get before Presley wakes up to go for a run. The Charge Men motto bounces from one side of my mind to the other. Protect the heartbeat. Preserve the Principal life at all costs.
****
She’s running so fucking fast. I hate that I’m exhausted, that I couldn’t fall asleep or lose the part of my brain that beckons emotion. Life sure would be easier if I could just worry about her. I stay in the woods next to the path she runs every day. Well, usual days she’s merely jogging, not running. Today is different, Presley is on a mission. Her brown ponytail is slicked with sweat and she has her long-sleeved shirt tied around her waist. Only in a sports bra and leggings, she is flying through the forest. I’m not so worried about humans coming for her here, we’re in such a remote area that is unfamiliar. No, right now I’m worried about fucking bears, mountain lions, coyotes with babies, things with teeth. My arm is still sore, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it did last night. I forgot about the wounds when I rolled over in bed this morning and screamed out in pain. I wrapped it in a new bandage and took the pill the doctor gave me. As quick as Presley’s pace is now, when she turns around to run back to the trailhead, and town, she pounds the gravel even faster.
“Fuck,” I hiss, keeping up as best I can. I’m not on a trail like she is, I’m hopping tree roots, fallen trees, craggy rocks, and bramble bushes that would have cut the fuck out of me if I didn’t have on workout pants. Well, today I won’t have to find time to do cardio, I think. When she turns on the last fork to run the last mile, I branch off and head the other way to get to town. The Irish Pub is a gym from the hours of five in the morning until lunch, when the regulars show up. There’s a weight rack and a pull up bar, a treadmill that squeaks when you don’t run faster than seven miles per hour. This is where Presley will finish her fun. The owner, Gary, is sitting at the bar with a pint of beer when I blow through the door. I come here every morning. I throw up a hand to Gary as I pass.
“Good night, then?” he asks, like he does every morning.
I nod. “Looks like it’s still night for you,” I reply, nodding my head at his stout.
Gary smiles and his top lip disappears. “Well, you know what they say about the hair of the dog. Trying to kill last night’s beers with a new one.” He watches me carefully. “You’re already sweating, son.”
Pulling plates out of the janitor closet I begin loading the bar. Presley usually comes much later in the morning, so we never run into each other. I know we will today, though. “Yeah, well,I was watching Cops this morning.”
Gary grins. He likes dumb jokes almost as much as Presley. “What happened to your arm?”
I’m going to try to do my normal workout, because the stitches are sitting on a place on my arm that won’t stretch. Looking down, I rub it gently. “Jake’s dogs got ahold of me yesterday afternoon,” I say. Gary looks at me suspiciously. “I was there to buy a car, not steal one.”
“Those dogs are a vicious pair, aren’t they? Jake’s not going to have many customers if those dogs eat em’ all.”
“I agree. Though we don’t have any other options around here, do we? I need to head over there again to buy a truck.” I could take a cab and go to an actual car dealership down the road, but I don’t know how many made it after the recession. “I got a job at the bakery,” I say, changing the subject. There’s an enormous clock on the wall against the door that tells me I need to start running on the treadmill because Presley will be here soon.
Gary narrows his eyes. “Isn’t the new broad working there too? Why are they hiring all the new people?”
I bite my lip to hold back a snide comment. “Is that a job offer, Gary?” Even from across the room I see his face go ashen. Another man walks in the door and heads my way. It takes a few seconds for me to tick through my mental roll call and place the face. Roger Dunway lives in the main section of Gold Hawke, where Presley lives. He works at the grocery store sometimes, but his main job is a teller at the bank. Roger has broad shoulders and skinny legs. So, when he gives me a head nod and sits down at the lifting bench, I’m not surprised. Gary wanders over to greet him with more spirit while I turn my jog up to a run and really exhaust myself today.
“I don’t need any help,” Gary says, loud enough for me to hear him over the squeak. “If I ever do, I’ll come find you. Okay?” He does his best to look sincere, but that’s the thing with this place, I think everyone is wearing masks. The people who aren’t are just apathetic to us outsiders. Gold Hawke does not want newcomers, nor are they eager to integrate us into their lives. They think we aren’t here to stay.
I grin.
“Thanks. I appreciate that,” Gary replies.
He turns to look at the ground before chatting up Roger about an upcoming poker tournament. It’s supposed to be a fundraiser for the town from what I’ve been told, but it never brings in money, because the only people who know about it are the people of the town who can’t afford to contribute.
Presley stumbles into the gym, covered and I do mean covered, in sweat. Her shirt is soaked. She lifts the hem to wipe her face and her abs flex and release as she pants to catch her breath. My gaze catches on Roger and then Gary. Gary is minding his own business, but Roger’s face changes and I see him sit up a little straighter, like a fucking peacock. Normal human man reaction, I tell myself. Not a threat. I breathe at a steady pace, looking as if I’m deep in my head, focusing on my running cadence. I keep my eyes forward on the mirror that has a long crack running down the center. I’m sure it happened when someone stumbled drunk into it on bar hours.
“Nate,” Presley says, standing next to the treadmill.
I act surprised to see her. “Hey, good morning.”
Her eyes crinkle in the corner as her gaze flicks to my arm. “How are you feeling today?”
“I told you yesterday. It was nothing,” I pant, keeping my pace quick, and exhales steady. “I’m fine, Presley.” Her eyes flick up to meet mine when I say her name. “What are you doing here?”
Her brows furrow. “I come here every morning. What are you doing here?”
Roger clears his throat and Gary greets Presley with more enthusiasm than I got. “Nate is in here every morning.”
Ah, thank you Gary. For being nosy and giving me an alibi.
“He works out before you do. Looks like you already got a workout in.” He gestures to the sweat all over her. “What do you need the gym equipment for?” I could butt in and say because cardio and weight lifting are not the same workout, but it would be over his head. Gary looks like he’s never worked out a day in his life. His beer belly is so stout it makes him look pregnant.
