Page 42 of Roughing
“Where’d he go?” She gripped the dashboard and scanned the horizon.
“He turned left three blocks up.” I turned left, too.
Ahead was a section of town with an active nightlife. Gordon was nowhere to be seen. We drove around the block a few times looking for him.
“There’s his car.” Michella literally bounced on the seat with excitement. I slowed down so she could get a good look as we drove past. No one was in the car.
“He must’ve gone into a club or bar. What now?”
“Let’s park and wait for him.”
“Okay, boss.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Like anyone is the boss of you.”
“I’m trying to be cooperative.”
“You are, and it’s scaring me. So unlike you.”
I snorted and maneuvered my beast of an SUV into a parking spot that presented a decent view of Gordon’s car and shut off the engine. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“We could look for him in one of the bars.”
“What if he comes back while we’re doing that? Then we lose him.”
“Like I said, you’re the boss. I know nothing about surveillance.”
“And you think I do?” Michella’s eyes sparkled as she turned the full power of her smile on me. I didn’t have the strength to resist, and I grinned back.
Michella sobered quickly, and I braced myself. Here it came again.
“Briggs, who the hell are you?” She angled her upper body toward mine and pinned me with a look that dared me to turn away. I didn’t.
“I can’t answer that because I don’t know myself.”
Michella dissected my statement before responding. “Tell me about your sister.” She broke eye contact and reached into the back seat and pulled two bottles of water from the bag she’d brought along. She handed one to me and twisted the cap off the other and took a long drink. I did the same, downing half of it before placing the bottle in the cup holder. I could’ve used something stronger, like whiskey.
She grasped my hand in hers and held it. “Briggs, I want to know. I need to know.”
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, “you know this touchy-feely shit is not me.”
“I know it’s not easy for you to talk about parts of your life that have affected you emotionally.”
“It’s not,” I admitted, recognizing this was another test. Of course Michella wanted me to open up. On some level, she cared about me and needed me to trust her enough to bare my soul. I hadn’t trusted anyone at that level for a long while, but if I didn’t, I’d lose her.
“Briggs, I’m not opposed to a relationship with you if it’s the kind of relationship I want.”
“And what is that?”
“I want give-and-take. Equals. Someone I tell my troubles to and someone who tells their troubles to me. I want a shoulder to lean on and to be a shoulder to lean on. I deserve a supportive partner who trusts me. I’ll settle for nothing less. Now I’m asking you again, tell me about your sister.”
My sister was the last subject I wanted to discuss with anyone, but Michella had drawn her line in the sand.
“I don’t suppose you have anything stronger than water in that bag?”
“Sorry, you’ll have to do this cold turkey.” When I flinched at her terminology, she studied me quizzically.
I sighed and stared out the window. Raindrops hit the windshield and slid downward. I watched them, mesmerized. Beside me, Michella said nothing but clasped my hand and stroked my palm with her thumb in a gesture that was surprisingly comforting. Who’d have thought something as simple as holding hands would have such a calming effect? But it did.
