Paper cuts, p.4
Paper Cuts, page 4
He never usually rode home this late and was surprised at how busy the roads still were. No way he’d expected to be in slow-moving traffic at half eight at night but he guessed that was one of the drawbacks of living in a busy town and working late. It wasn’t because he had to. Going home to his dark and dingy flat wasn’t all that appealing, so he’d stayed late to finish some jobs, and Sam had left him the keys to lock up. Luckily he’d picked up a ready meal from the supermarket when he’d popped in earlier to get some new t-shirts for work. Processed food saves the day yet again.
When he finally got moving again, he noticed something wrong with the bike. It wasn’t pulling right. He was literally three minutes from his street when the damn thing spluttered and the engine cut right out.
Shit. He’d just changed the plugs this morning. That should have sorted the problem. Turning the key to the off position, Jake realised what the issue probably was and wanted to kick his own arse. He turned the ignition back on and a glance at the fuel gauge confirmed it. Empty. His head had been so pickled all day he’d forgotten to fuel up.
Jake removed his helmet and secured it on the back of the seat, and got to pushing the damn thing, which wasn’t easy considering the weight. Thank God he’d only conked out right before he turned into the estate where he lived so he wasn’t too far away. At least it had stopped raining.
Working up a sweat, he was thinking about leaving the thing there until he got some fuel in the morning when voices drifted over on the wind. He’d turned off the main road, and the street that led to his was a lot quieter so he picked up on male laughter coming from up ahead. Moving a little further, a group of lads came into view though it was hard to make them out in the darker part of the street where they were. Then a woman’s voice put him on high alert because she definitely wasn’t laughing along with them. It sounded like she’d cried out. As he got closer enough to see her there was no doubt in his mind that she was in distress. It was a split second for his brain to realise what was going on and that was when he left his bike on its stand, rushing over.
There was a struggle. One of the lads had hold of the blonde woman’s arm as the rest of them laughed and taunted. There was four of them altogether. None of them looked tough, at least not to him. To a lone female though. . . Yeah, it made them dead tough. Jake was all fired up as he made his way towards them, rage burning hot in his veins. Without even thinking how dangerous the situation could be—any of the lads could have a knife—all he cared about was getting the woman away from the scumbag and his little cronies. He removed his bike jacket so it didn’t hinder his movements should things turn ugly.
The woman called for her attacker to let go of her, prompting Jake to move faster when he heard the fear in her voice. The handle on her bag snapped in her struggle to get away. She didn’t manage it. But that was about to change.
“Hey. Let her go.” Jake charged over to the gang just as the woman stuck a boot into her assailant’s crotch. “What the fuck’s going on?”
* * *
Charlie’s attacker bent over choking back the pain she’d inflicted on him and suddenly she was free. Before she even had chance to blink, a large body came into view and as Ratty looked up, the new guy punched him hard in the face. He fell backwards, eyes wide and watering as he stumbled, only just catching his footing while he held his hand over his bleeding nose. Then he turned and ran, the rest of the gang following as quickly, leaving her stuff scattered on the ground. Leaning over, holding her stomach as it ached with nausea all of a sudden, Charlie could barely get her breath.
“Hey. You okay?” A warm hand pressed against her shoulder and Charlie looked up to a dark-haired man, his handsome face full of concern. His hand stayed where it was as she rested her hands on her thighs, then he removed it once he saw that she was steady. “Did they hurt you?”
It took her a moment to answer while she crouched down to gather up her things. Oh, hey, they’d been kind enough to leave her purse but when she looked inside the money and the cards were gone. The stranger helped her put her notebooks and pens back where they belonged.
Her wrist was burning from the lad’s grip; thankfully that was all. “Um, no. I’m okay.” Her hand went to her forehead as she went to get up and realised she was shaking, her heart erratic in her chest. The stranger helped her stand, holding her forearms gently as he guided her up, a thick leather jacket draped over his arm.
“Have you seen those lads around here before?” She noticed he was looking at his phone as he dialled a number and then his eyes went back over to the green where the gang had disappeared into the shadows. He was tall, maybe six feet or close to it. In the dim overhead street lighting it was hard to see the true colour of his eyes beyond the midnight sky they appeared to be. But why was she wondering about that right now? When he put his phone up to his ear he looked at her with a harsh frown and she remembered he’d asked a question.
“No I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve seen lads hanging around the area before but I don’t think I recognised any of them.”
His hand went to her shoulder again as he spoke into his phone, as if on instinct. “Yeah, police please.”
“Oh, no—” She tried to protest.
“Hello? I need to report an assault. . . ”
It was the last thing Charlie wanted. Her day had been far too long already without having to wait for an officer to come over, which could take hours. All she wanted was to run a hot bath and put the whole twenty-four hours behind her, but it seemed her saviour had other plans for the rest of her evening.
“You live around here?” Charlie hadn’t realised he’d finished talking to the officer until she looked up to see him waiting for an answer from her, the phone away from his ear.
She nodded, still trying to get her anxiety under control. “The flats in the corner of Holland Park, just over there.”
His eyebrows went up briefly and his head lifted a little, but he didn’t say anything. “Sorry?” He spoke into the phone again. “Uh, yeah sure. Hang on.” The harshness disappeared from his features as he quickly removed his hand from her shoulder like he’d only just realised it was still on there. He held the phone out to her. “They want to talk to you. Is that okay?”
Reluctantly, Charlie nodded and took the man’s phone. She recounted everything she could about the boys and told the officer she didn’t think they were around any longer so there was probably no point in pursuing it, and that all she wanted to do was go home. It didn’t work. The woman told her she’d send a car over to the area to see if they could find the gang from the brief description Charlie had given, and they’d call in to take a proper statement. Great. Not exactly how she’d planned her evening, or what little of it she had left anyway.
After she finished giving her details she ended the call. Handing the phone back to the stranger, she noticed he was looking at her with a strange expression on his good-looking face as he placed the phone back in his jeans pocket. For a moment, Charlie couldn’t look away, noticing his jaw was tense.
“So we live in the same building.”
Charlie paused. They did? He wasn’t familiar. In fact, she was certain she’d never seen him before. He didn’t exactly have a face she’d forget. Perhaps he lived on one of the upper floors.
“We do?”
“What floor?” they said together. Only Charlie smiled. Then they both said, “First,” at the same time again.
Her floor? But there were only three—
That was when her brain switched back on and she noticed the navy hoodie he was wearing, the leather jacket on his arm. She glanced down at his worn, grey jeans, then his heavy, black boots. Then her eyes moved past him and she saw a motorbike parked by the kerb a little further down the road.
J. Sure.
It was him.
After all this time of trying to see his face, to meet or get a glance of him out in the hall, almost to the point of stalking the guy, here he was standing right in front of her after swooping in and saving her from a gang of arseholes. And it was a good job she’d already had the wind knocked out of her because. . . Wow. Her neighbour was gorgeous. When she looked at him again it was with even more interest now. His deep brown hair was all choppy and tussled, obviously from a helmet. Short stubble highlighted a strong jaw line and lips that were full, but set tight. Dark brows were pulled down, one slightly lower than the other, over intense eyes that were almost navy in the light—eyes that she noticed had narrowed on her.
“I should. . . ” He twisted and pointed over his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked when he turned back to her.
“I’m honestly fine. My bag took the worst of it.” She held it up by the body, the broken strap hanging limp.
“I can walk with you if you give me a sec. My bike’s just back there.” She glanced at the bike again, totally recognising it as it stood at the other end of the street resting on its stand under the street light. “I was pushing it back when I saw what was going on.” He must have seen the question in her eyes. “Ran out of fuel.”
“No honestly. It’s two-hundred yards away. I think I’ll be safe enough now. Go get your bike.” As he backed away he glanced at her like he was unsure whether to leave and it made Charlie’s chest fill with something unfamiliar that she would probably question later. She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. And thank you.” He nodded and walked away. Then she called out to him. “Hey. What’s your name?” It would be nice to know what the J was for.
Pausing without looking back, she wondered why he dropped his head before answering so quietly she only just about caught what he said, “Jake.” Then he headed off in the direction of his bike.
Jake. Jake Sure.
He hadn’t asked for hers, but Charlie hoped that now they had finally met, this wouldn’t be their only interaction.
Walking towards home, she smiled and couldn’t help thinking: isn’t it funny how life can knock you on your arse one minute, then give you a pretty big boon the next.
CHAPTER SEVEN
You just had to be the hero!
Everything had been going to plan. For two months Jake had been right where he wanted to be: alone. In the time since he’d moved to Hatfield from Selby, he’d successfully avoided most social interactions outside of what he had to. He’d kept his head down, avoided any and all unnecessary complications and was starting to feel like Hatfield was a place he could stay; somewhere he could get on with rebuilding his life exactly how he wanted without events of the past getting in his way.
Finally, after an unhealthy obsession with revenge had almost destroyed him mentally, Jake had started to believe he could move on.
Alone.
Now, though, in the week since he’d stepped in to help his neighbour, she’d successfully spoken to him three times in the hall outside his flat. Granted, it was little more than a quick “hey”, but it was enough to mean that he was no longer anonymous.
Shit! Why hadn’t he just hung back and called the police? Had there really been any need for him to step in and play the hero? A few youths thinking they were being clever, that’s all it probably was. They’d have taken her money and run. But as he thought back to the look in that one lad’s eyes—the biggest of the group, and the mouthiest, the one whose nose he’d happily split open—it was that look that had got him bolting over there. Jake had seen it before. Too many times. He knew exactly what was behind those eyes so he’d acted purely on instinct.
Now the woman seemed to think she’d made a friend. Going by the effort she made to say hi every time their paths crossed. Only they weren’t friends, and would never be. He didn’t want any friends.
Moving on, leaving his past where it was, didn’t mean forgetting everything he’d been through. He wasn’t kidding himself into thinking he could get over any of it. His fight had to end only because the revenge he sought was out of reach. His shitty life had shown him he was meant to be alone and he planned on staying that way.
All Jake could do was hope that the gratitude his neighbour felt towards him would eventually fade. In the meantime he would do what he could to help turn her attention away from him. At least he was getting some idea of her daily schedule so he could try to avoid her. Hopefully she’d soon get the hint he wasn’t a friendly guy and move on.
Swinging the backpack off his shoulder, Jake crouched down in front of the fire that was burning steadily in the fire pit he’d made. He’d spotted this place on one of his rides and had visited the forest a few times since. Now, after leaving his bike parked up in the visitor’s car park, he was some distance from the path the walkers used, quite deep into the forest where the trees were pretty dense and the undergrowth was difficult to traverse. Of course, he’d only had the moonlight to guide his way and even though he doubted anyone would be out walking their dog this late, he wanted to be sure he was well out of the way—lost in the wild.
The flickering orange light from the small fire he’d built, tried to chase away the darkness beyond. Warmed by the flames, Jake opened his pack, reached inside, and started to pull the contents out. Reluctantly at first, he threw the small pile of paper onto the fire, watching as the flames quickly devoured them, little wisps of embers rising up and disappearing. The next lot was mainly newspaper clippings and he paused at the picture of the man on the top one. Taking in a breath, he continued, throwing them ones on too, not allowing the anger that he’d worked so hard at controlling to take a hold. The contents he’d stuffed into his bag he’d kept hold of for too long.
This needed to happen. If Jake was going to have any chance at moving on, he had to start by letting go of the things he’d used to obsess over him. The clippings and the printed reports were the first step. Of course, throwing paper on a fire was the easy part. Mentally, it wasn’t going to be so easy. How does your mind let go of the things that still hurt so much?
One thing at a time, he told himself.
There was no rush. If Jake had learned anything over the past three years, he knew he was a dab hand at patience.
When he was done and the backpack was empty, Jake picked up a stick and poked at the fire, moving the charred piles of paper around to make sure they were finished off properly. He was content to stay there for a while longer, so he put his bag under his arse and sat down, knees up with his arms resting on them. As he stared into the fire, enjoying the heat, his eyes were mesmerised by the dancing flames. There was something about naked flames; they captured your gaze like they were enticing you in. And in the centre of them he saw a vision. His thoughts in that moment were unwelcome. Why was he thinking of her? As if the reason he was in these woods wasn’t enough to occupy his mind, she’d waltzed right in there like nothing else mattered enough in that moment.
He was damned if he could shove her out of there.
Annoyance. That’s what it must be. He was angry with the situation that had arisen from his act of heroism and his mind was stewing over it enough to bring her into it. He’d first seen her two days after the attack as he’d been leaving for work. She’d called out “hello” to him as he’d sat on his bike fastening his helmet ready to go. Jake had tried not to notice her, but when he’d looked up she’d already walked past and his gaze had landed on her, lowering down her body, checking her out as she’d walked away. That was the first time he’d been ignorant to her. The memory must have manifested right now because he knew he needed to fix the problem he’d caused.
Yeah. That was it.
So what did the colour of her hair have to do with it? She could have been anyone, with any hair colour, and he’d be just as annoyed with how things had changed in the week since the attack.
And yet. . . why had he noticed how silky it had looked. And why was he trying to remember the colour of her eyes?
Fucking hell.
Like he needed a woman in his life.
Or anyone for that matter.
The only person he did want in his life he barely saw, and that wasn’t for the want of trying. But even he wasn’t enough to sway Jake’s thoughts away from his neighbour.
He needed to get a grip.
Yeah. Time to go, Jake.
When he got to his feet, he grabbed his bag and got the bottle of water out. He poured it on the fire, smoke hissing out as he doused the flames. Then his mind shifted to the money. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the mini statement he’d got from the cash machine earlier. It had been a shock to see his balance. Last time he’d looked at his finances he was down to his last forty quid, which had to last him until his next wages went in at the end of the month. Of course, that was besides all the inheritance money sitting in his other account that he hated even thinking about.
As he looked at all the zeroes, he was hit by a myriad of emotions. The money was certainly bitter sweet, leaning far closer to the bitter. This amount alone was a lot of money for someone like him to turn his nose up at; it would pay for all the travelling he’d once dreamed of and more. But still, he wouldn’t touch it. Couldn’t touch it. Not with the knowledge of how he’d acquired it. It wasn’t just eight months of his life he’d lost back then. Not to mention it was an evil coincidence that the money had come around the same time he’d started to think he could move on.
The feelings it brought forth risked setting him back.
Screwing up the bit of paper, Jake threw it onto the remains of the fire. If the money hadn’t been digital, he’d have thrown it all on there too. He got his phone out of his inside pocket, turned the torch on, and headed back through the forest to his bike.
By the time he got back to the car park, Jake felt a little better. He’d been anxious about getting rid of the stuff, but in the end, with things the way they were, there was no reason to keep any of it anymore. This was the start of the moving on process he never thought he’d have the strength to do. It had been almost three years and while the pain of his past hadn’t lessened, the anger he’d held onto so tightly had. Of course, he’d been forced to let go of that when the cause of it had fled the country.
