Page 8 of Come in with the Rain
Last night, I stared out my window while I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, knowing that even when this job is over, she’ll still be there right in my line of vision, always.
I get in my truck, glancing at the time as I head back to Mickey’s place. The guys and I have been off less than half an hour.
No one answers when I ring the bell. I know they have those cameras on. They’re always on, surveilling everything in the condo, so I wave up at the camera pointed down at me from the ceiling. But no one comes. I ring the doorbell again. I’m not exactly supposed to just let myself back in, but I need my wallet, and I figure no one will even know. Mickey is probably still down in his office, the way he always is, and Stella’s car wasn’t in its spot when I parked in the garage down below.
The condo is silent, like I knew it would be, as I push open the door, still unlocked from when the crew left. I rush in, heading straight for the guest bathroom and snatching my wallet off the sink where I left it. But when I head back out, the whole transaction taking less than a minute, I catch sight of the screens on the wall, and I slam to a halt. I’m staring at the square screen that peers right into Mickey Kline’s office downstairs, and for a long stretch of time, I’m not positive what it is I’m seeing.
And then my brain arranges the scene, puts all the colors and lines and shapes in the right order, and I realize what I’m seeing is Mickey, with a woman in his lap. A woman that isn’t Stella. This woman has dark, almost black hair covering most of her face, but not enough of it to obscure the fact that they’re kissing, and based on the way she’s grinding on his lap, I’m not so sure how long it’ll be before they’re doing more than that.
I feel a sickness start in my stomach, like being on a gently rocking boat.Stella.How long has Kline been doing this? How many women has he brought into his lair while Stella was away from home?
In the bank of screens, I see myself, standing in the middle of the living room, frozen for far too long. The woman crawls off Mickey’s lap, and I don’t want to see what happens next.
I throw open the door and rush down the hallway toward the elevators. It’s a short walk, as Mickey’s condo is the only one up here. As soon I get inside, I bend over at the waist, my hands on my knees.
“Fuck!” I shout into the empty elevator. I press my forehead to the cold steel of the elevator doors and think about Stella, her kind eyes and bright smile. She deserves so much better than this.
But it’s not my place to say anything. It wasn’t my place to witness that at all. I wasn’t even supposed to be in there. And now there are a million reasons why I can’t say anything, why Ishouldn’tsay anything, but one really big reason why I should.
CHAPTER11
ADAM
Imake it a week. That’s how long the ugly thing I saw sits in my chest, trying to claw its way out. I make sure to keep my head down. I know if I look at Stella, if I meet her gaze even once, it’ll come spilling out of me like a dam ripped open by a rainstorm. So, I don’t look. She says hello to me and Shawn and the other guys as she comes and goes, but it’s nothing more than that.
Until a week after the incident with Mickey. That morning, the guys and I arrive at the condo to a fight so loud that we can all hear it as we wait in the hallway for someone to open the door. I’m back behind the other guys, further from the door, so I can’t make out a lot, but when the shouting switches from Stella’s slight voice to Mickey’s booming one, I can hear every word.
“I am aware that you are a human being with needs. I thought I was meeting those needs! I thought I was giving you everything you wanted, but now you’re telling me it’s not enough? You need my attention all the time, like a child?”
It takes everything in me not to press my ear to the wall. This isn’t our business and I know that, but there’s a part of me, the part responsible for my trembling hands, that wants to be in there defending her. Does he not see the way he ignores her? The way she walks through his home like a phantom while he works and entertains and fucks other women?
The doorbell rings through again, and I grit my teeth and scowl at my boss as the voices on the other side of the wall fall quiet. I hear footsteps and then the door flies open. The guys file into the condo, but I’m still standing there in the hallway, my hands balled into fists. When I can finally bring myself to move, I stomp past Mickey, still holding the door open. We don’t know each other. We’ve barely spoken in the time that I’ve been working on his condo, but in this moment, I know I hate him.
As soon as the door shuts behind me, Mickey takes off down the hallway, but I search forher. I may not have heard what she said, but I heard the tone of her voice, the desperate pitch of it, and I need to know she’s okay. I can’t even explain why. None of this is my business.
My eyes find her on the balcony. She’s out there with her back to the condo, her elbows on the railing, and her face in her hands. I don’t have to be able to hear her to know she’s crying. I can tell by the trembling of her muscles and the shake of her shoulders. And I’m moving before I can stop myself.
“Adam,” I hear Shawn hiss, but I can’t stop. My body is being pushed forward by some magnetic force. I slide open the door, and when Stella’s head comes up, I know she thinks I’m Mickey, but then her wet eyes focus on me, and she quickly reaches up to wipe at her face.
“Adam.” She breathes out my name, and I suppress a shiver at the sound of it on her lips. I’m distracted for a second by the way it comes out so easily, like she’s said it a hundred times.
“You okay?”
She coughs out a laugh. “Of course I am. I’m sorry if you heard any of—"
“You’re crying,” I say as if she’s unaware.
She turns her back to me, her red hair blowing in the wind. “It was just a stupid fight.”
I know where the line is. I am not Stella’s friend. I’m not in a position to talk to her about her relationship, but my feet can’t stay on this side of the line anymore, not after what I saw a week ago. “He was yelling pretty loud for a stupid fight.”
She turns to me, and I register the shock on her face before she manages to mask it. She knows where the line is, too. She shakes her head, trying to seem casual when I can see the worry lines around her mouth. “That’s just Mickey.”
“And you’re fine with that?”
Her eyebrows furrow, her mouth pinching, and I know she’s looking to redirect her anger. Maybe she didn’t get to say what she needed to, so now she’s here, taking a step toward me, trying to find someone else to throw her words at. I’m not budging. I’ll take her anger if Mickey won’t.
“This really isn’t any of your business,” she says, jaw tight. And God, I know she’s right. Whatever I’m doing here, it’s not me. It feels like an out-of-body experience, like I’m still in that hallway and some other dream-walking version of me is out here on this balcony with her. So, why can’t I stop?
