Indisputable (13 page)

“Hi there, I’m the owner here.  Can I help you
with something?” he asks, his voice stern and bordering on impolite.  I
can tell he’s the type of boss who protects his own.   

“I’m just here for my girlfriend’s car.  This guy
said it’d be ready yesterday,” I reply coolly.

“What car is it, Wyatt?” the boss man asks him, and
Wyatt’s face turns an unbelievable shade of red.

“The Honda,” is all he says. 

I watch as the owner walks to a peg board with several
sets of keys hanging on it and plucks one off the rack.  He leans over the
counter to consult a record log and walks back over to where Wyatt and I
continue our staring match. 

“Here you go, sir.  Looks like she’s all paid
for.”

I take the keys, realizing when I check the key tag
with the license plate her car is this beater of a Honda right next to
me.  Wow.  I can’t even be sure this thing is street legal. 

Praying I don’t die a fiery death in this beater
mobile, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucker worked on it, I climb
into the car without another word.  My house is only a few minutes’ drive
so I take the car there and walk back to the service station to retrieve my own
car.

With Tatum’s car back in possession, I decide to pick
up some groceries so she has something substantial to eat after work.  In
this morning’s awkwardness, I failed to get her some breakfast.  She
probably doesn’t feel that great with an empty stomach after a night of
drinking. 

The supermarket is packed on a Saturday afternoon, so
I try my best to hurry through.  I gather the ingredients for homemade
spaghetti sauce, pasta, and garlic bread.  Lettuce, cucumbers, and
tomatoes end up in the cart as well for a toss salad.  Italian is quick
and easy.  Seems like a safe option considering I don’t know anything
about her. 

As I walk through the pantry type aisles, I end up
grabbing more than is necessary, filling the cart with different kinds of
cereals, granola bars, canned soups, chips, cookies, Pop tarts, and a couple 88
cent boxes of mac ‘n cheese.  I want to be prepared since I don’t know how
long she’s staying. 

How long do I want her to stay? 

As I’m pondering that question, while staring at the
assortment of fruit cups, my thoughts are cut short by the vibrating coming
from my pocket.  Extracting the device, Trey flashes on the caller
ID.  Damn, I never called him yesterday.

“Hey man, what’s up?” I answer, ready to launch into
an apology.

“Why’d ya bail on me yesterday?”  Always cutting
right to the shit.  That’s Trey.  I met him at the gym two years ago
when I first moved into town.  He’s a big guy, with bulging muscles from
practically living at the gym.  He’s also military.  With his nearly
bald shaved head and darkly tanned skin, he makes a good wingman.  Where
I’m clean and fit, he’s massive and rugged. 

I’m struck speechless momentarily.  Do I tell him
about Tatum?  Maybe I should lie.  Scanning the people milling about
the aisle, I decide to lie.  I’m not talking about her assault in the damn
canned fruit aisle in the only grocery story in town.  A town where
everybody knows everybody. 

“Sorry, man.  I got caught up in some shit after
school, and once it was all sorted out, I ended up at home nursing a couple
beers.”

“Well shit.  You missed out on a good time last
night.  I ran into that Melissa girl you’ve been seein’, and she was all
up on some other guy.  Hope you’re covering your shit when you hit that,
man.”  He laughs into the phone, and I can’t help but chuckle with
him. 

“She sure moved on quick for seeming so broken up the
other day.”

“Yeah, or maybe she’s been double dippin’ this whole
time.”

“Or triple.”

“Anyway, man, besides checkin’ why you dipped out on
me, I wanted to see if you were up for going out tonight since you left me
hanging yesterday.  Beer and pool at Old Willow?”

I open my mouth to reply, but then I remember
Tatum.  I can’t leave her at my house all alone.  I run my hands
through my messy hair while I contemplate what to do.

“Sounds great, but see, uh, I have this girl staying
with me for a few days—ˮ

“You have a girl staying with you?” he blasts, making
my eardrums ring. 

“Dude, it’s not like that.  I’m at the fuckin’
grocery store so I can’t talk about it right now.  But it’s not what
you’re thinking.”

“Alright. Bring her with then.”

“I’ll ask her.  Let me text you, she gets off
work this afternoon.”

We disconnect, and I step into the checkout line,
replaying the conversation in my head.  Shit.  She can’t come with to
the bar, she’s only eighteen.  At least, I hope she’s eighteen.  My
stomach plummets to the floor.  What if she’s only seventeen?  What
the fuck am I doing? 

I add her age to the long list of questions I need to
ask her about, and start piling my groceries on the conveyor belt at top
speed.  I need to get out of here.    

After unloading the groceries, I begin a pot of
spaghetti sauce to simmer throughout the afternoon.  After adding
tomatoes, garlic, onion and some seasonings to a large pot, I start another pan
to brown some beef.  I wonder if she’s a vegetarian.  After the beef
is browned, I pop it into the fridge instead of adding it to the sauce in case
she doesn’t eat meat.  After the sauce is at a rolling boil, I turn it
down to a simmer, and begin chopping some vegetables for a salad. 

At 6:15 I turn the sauce off before I leave to pick up
Tatum.  She’s already waiting outside when I arrive and she gives me a
little wave when I pull up. 

“Hi,” she says as she buckles her seatbelt.  Her
mood seems to have improved dramatically since this morning.

“How was work?” I ask as I pull onto Main Street
towards home. 

“It was fine.  I like working the day shift on
Saturdays.  It’s nice to see all my residents fully awake for once.”

I can’t miss the happiness in her voice, and it makes
me smile.  I wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to recover from
yesterday, but this is a start.

“I bet.  Do you work a lot?”

“I put in 40 hours a week.  Once in a while I’ll
get some overtime if they need me to fill in for someone.”

“Why the hell do you work fulltime?” My shocked voice
fills the car.  “When do you have time for homework?”

“I need to work to live,” she responds simply,
ignoring my second question. 

We drive in silence for a few more minutes and arrive
at my townhouse.  On our way to the front door, I tell her, “I made
Italian for dinner. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure,” she says quietly.  I can’t see her face,
but I wish I could.  I want to know what she’s thinking. 

I step back to let her inside, and she drops her
backpack in the entry way.

“Mmm, it smells amazing in here.”

The warm aroma of garlic and seasonings fill the house,
wafting in from the kitchen.  My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t
eaten all day.

“Just give me a few minutes to toast the garlic bread
and boil the pasta, and we can eat.  Feel free to use my shower to get
cleaned up if you want,” I call over my shoulder as I enter the kitchen. 

I’m leaning over in the fridge to pull out the butter
when I spot the beef I cooked earlier.  “Do you eat meat?” I call behind
me, and when I turn around I run face to face with Tatum, practically jumping
out of my skin and dropping the container I was holding.

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she says shyly.  “Um…yes, I do. 
I was just coming to get some water.”

“It’s okay,” I breathe, trying to calm my racing
heart.  Reaching back into the fridge, I grab a bottle of water and hand
it to her.  “Here.” 

“Thanks,” she says, and I notice she’s chewing her
lower lip.  Her long eyelashes fan against her cheeks as she focuses on
the label to the plastic bottle in her fidgeting hands.  I can’t help but
stare, and this rolling sensation starts low in my stomach. 

Jesus, what the hell is that?

“I’ll, um, go shower now,” she says as she scampers
from the room. 

Did I really just check out my student in my own
kitchen?

Tatum

Well, that was fucking weird.  The hot water
cascades down my back, and my head drops forward, letting the steady stream
massage the muscles in my neck.  I can’t be certain, but I have the
feeling Jacoby was checking me out.  He’s my teacher for God’s sake! 
Okay, so maybe he’s good looking, and he’s been nothing but nice and generous
since yesterday and sort of sweet.  He isn’t much older than me.  And
then there was that kiss…  But he’s my freakin’ teacher!  I slap my
hand against the tiled shower wall in frustration, enjoying the ringing pain
echoing through my palm. 

If yesterday hadn’t happened, I’m sure we’d be back at
each other’s throats come Monday.  But now?  Everything is different
now. 

I finish showering, not wanting to seem like I’m
avoiding him, even though I wish I could, and I walk back downstairs where I’m
assaulted with the sweet aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread.  It
smells amazing, and I realize how hungry I am.  I ran out of here so fast
this morning I missed breakfast, and thanks to work’s no eating rule, I didn’t
have lunch either. 

When I round the corner into the kitchen, I notice
Jacoby has set the dining table, complete with salad plates and fancy
glasses.  Hmm.  There’s no way a bachelor eats this way every night,
and I feel awkward that he’s doing this for me.  I tell myself to get over
it, and sit down at one of the two place settings. 

“Hey, there you are.  Dinner is all set,” Jacoby
says as he appears from the kitchen.

“It looks amazing.”

“Hopefully it tastes like it looks then.  It’s
been a while since I’ve cooked for someone other than myself.” 

“Really?” I question as we take our seats.  “Well,
thank you.  But you know you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know,” is all he says in response. 

I can’t take my eyes off of him as he lifts his glass
and takes a small sip of what I’m guessing is white wine.  I pick up my
own glass, eyeing it suspiciously before taking a whiff.  It doesn’t smell
like anything.  Jacoby chuckles beside me.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, curious what I did wrong.

“It’s water.  You really think I’d give you
wine?  Haven’t I done enough to put my job in jeopardy?”  There’s
humor in his tone and a twinkling in his eyes.  I don’t find it funny, and
suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

“I didn’t ask you to,” I snap, embarrassed I’m still
here.  If I were smart, I’d go home.  This isn’t right. 

He raises his arms in surrender.  “Hey, hey it’s
okay.  I’m teasing you.  My job is safe, don’t worry.”

I’m not convinced, and I worry I’ve crossed a line
somewhere.  

He continues, “Seriously, I want to help you,
Tatum.  You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but I do have some
questions for you.”

I can only guess what questions he wants to ask, and
I’m not sure I want to answer them.  But he’s doing me a tremendous favor
and I’m sure he’s confused, so I nod my head in compliance.  Picking up my
fork, I dig in, hoping the food can help buffer against some of the answers
he’s expecting.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s amazing, seriously.  I’ve never tasted food
so good.”  And I haven’t.  I don’t have time to cook for myself, and
there’s not a single cooked meal in memory from living with my mom.

“Good.  Let’s start with the beginning.  Why
do you live on your own, and why can’t you go home yet?  Please don’t
think I want you gone, I just want straight answers and honesty so I can help
you, okay?”  His dark chocolate eyes are soft and warm and filled with
concern. 

Trust.  He wants to know I trust him, and he
wants honesty so he can trust me.  We have to lay the foundation to our
newfound…alliance.

I swallow the food in my mouth and reach for the glass
of water before answering.  At least it’s an easy question.  “Halfway
through my junior year, my mom was found in our bathroom unconscious from a
heroin overdose.  Since I was underage, I would have been placed into
foster care, but I petitioned to be emancipated from my mom.  A judge
granted my request, and I have since been living in my apartment and working
fulltime to make rent and buy food.”  I realize the glass in my hand is
shaking, so I take a small sip before setting it back down.  “Wyatt knows
where I live, and I’m afraid he’ll come looking for me.”

“Wow.” That one word holds so many emotions. 
Jacoby isn’t saying it with disgust or sarcasm or judgment.  He’s saying
it with pride and admiration.  I think I see shock as well. 

“So you’re basically housing me from a psycho. 
Sorry about that,” I say flippantly, raising an eyebrow.

The corners of Jacoby’s lips twitch.  “I meant it
when I said stay as long as you need.  I’d prefer you to be safe, and I
know you will be here.  Although, I hope he won’t try to contact you after
I spoke with him today.”

My fork slips out of my hand and clatters loudly
against my plate.

“You-you spoke with Wyatt today?”  A wave of
disgust rises within me from saying his name aloud.  I hold it down with
another sip of water. 

Jacoby shovels a bite of food in his mouth.  “I
went down to the mechanic’s shop today and got your car.  We spoke.”

“And what exactly did you speak about?”  My
heartbeat is picking up in my chest.  I don’t want him involved.  I
want to move on, forget it ever happened, and never see or hear from Wyatt
again.

“I told him to leave you alone, got your car, and
left.  That’s about it,” he responds with a shrug of his shoulders. 
I don’t entirely believe him.

“I didn’t see my car when we pulled up.”

“I parked it in the garage until you’re ready to go
back home.”

We eat companionably for several minutes, neither one
of us speaking.  Though, I’m sure both of us are thinking about this
predicament we’ve found ourselves in.

“How old are you?” he suddenly asks, while taking a
drink from his wine.  I find myself watching the smooth glide of his
Adam’s apple before I answer. 

“Eighteen,” I respond, pausing because Jacoby chokes
on his swallow of wine.

“Well that’s good,” he says simply.  Hmm.  I
wonder if he’s thinking about our kiss.  He must be a little relieved I’m
of legal age and all that jazz.  Not that it matters because this will
never go further than it already has.  The thought makes me frown for some
reason.

“And you, Mr. Heartthrob?”

Jacoby laughs.  “What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me you don’t notice how
half the female student body stares dreamily in your wake every day.”  I
try to hide my grin with a bite of garlic bread as his face turns an impressive
shade of red. 

“Can’t say I’ve noticed.  And I’m 25.”

“Why would you choose to teach high school when you’re
only 25?  You’re barely out of high school yourself.”

He scoffs.  “I’ve been out of high school for 7
years, thank you very much.  I couldn’t tell you the exact moment I
decided to teach high school.  It just sort of happened.” 

Jacoby and I sit staring at each other, neither of us
eating or talking, for what feels like forever.  I get the feeling he’s
holding back something.  Maybe a piece of personal information, which kind
of pisses me off.  It’s not like he hasn’t learned more than enough about
me in the past two days. 

He stands up to clear our plates, and I hop up to join
him, shaking off my annoyance.

“So, I feel a little better asking this now that I
know you’re eighteen, but a buddy of mine wants me to go out with him tonight.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, I feel surprisingly hurt.  “You
should go.  I’ll be fine here.”  I discard the remnants of food into
the garbage, pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and begin running the water to
rinse them for the dishwasher.

“Tatum, I want you to come with me.” 

I pause scrubbing a sauce pan.  “You do? 
Why?”  Always too curious for my own good.  I can’t help fishing for
information even when I should keep my big mouth shut. 

“I’m not leaving you alone here.  You’re my
guest, and I want you to come with me.  It might be nice for you to get
your mind off of everything.”

“I don’t want to make things awkward for you.” 
And I don’t want to be a damn charity case.

“You won’t. I promise.”

“What if someone sees us?  I don’t want you to
get into trouble.”

Jacoby looks thoughtful for a minute.  “Don’t
worry, I have an idea.  It’ll be fine.”

I probably shouldn’t agree.  I should stay home
and study or figure out how to clean up this mess called my life.  I
should probably do anything other than go with him.  But somehow I find
myself saying yes before I fully think it through.

“Great,” he smiles at me.  “We’ll head out around
nine.”

Even though I’ve lived here my entire life, I’ve never
been out to Old Willow.  The place is known for not checking ID’s so my
age isn’t an issue.  At the end of junior year, I decided I have too
little free time to spend it out drinking, and vowed I wouldn’t step foot in
this place until I graduated.  I made it about 4 months.  I can
categorize that into the win column. 

The building is old and weathered, with some bricks
crumbling on the face of the structure.  There’s one heavy wooden door
leading in, and one heavy wooden door leading out through the back, and six
huge windows which are frosted so you can’t see inside, liquor advertisements
plastered across the glass.

As we step inside, I realize the old decrepit looks
are deceiving. 

The bar is alive with loud rock music, a local band
playing on a rickety stage in the far corner.  A large semicircular bar
adorns the front of the room, behind it lined with shelves upon shelves of
bottles and four large coolers.  The place is literally packed. 
Young and old, bikers and groups of women, pretty girls and football
jocks.  I’ve never seen such a strange array of people gathered together
in my life.

“Come on,” Jacoby whispers as he tugs my hand, pulling
me inside.  I stopped to take in the scene in front of me and evidently
upset some patrons by letting in a rush of cold air.  Oops.

Jacoby leads us through the crowd, stopping to scan
around us every few minutes.  He stands almost a foot taller than my 5’2”
and doesn’t seem to have any trouble spotting his friend.  He pulls my
hand towards the center of the bar where a huge guy gets out of his chair to
great him.

This man has muscles larger than my head, and I’m
mesmerized by the flex and rippling of his forearm as he shakes Jacoby’s
hand.  He’s about 6’5 and by the looks of him, spends a lot of time in the
gym.  His head is nearly bald, and he has a set of piercing blue eyes,
which he pins me with in that moment, catching me staring.  I think the
temperature in here just increased a good 10 degrees.   

“And who’s this pretty little thing you’ve been hiding
from me?” he asks, slipping my hand into his large paw.

“Stop it, man,” Jacoby says, pushing the guy
jokingly.  “This is Tatum.  And this is Trey,” he introduces us
before taking a seat at the bar. 

“Nice to meet you, Tatum,” Trey says, giving my hand a
gentle squeeze.  I swear if he kisses it, I’m out of here.  
“Sit by me, will you?”

The flash of my eyes to Jacoby’s is automatic, a
subconscious reaction as if searching him to say, is this okay?

As if he heard my silent question, Jacoby locks his
eyes with mine and nods his head.  A small smile curves his pink plump
lips. 

Shit.  Don’t look at his lips.

Trey pulls the stool out with his foot, and I clamber
on none to gracefully.  My back is ramrod straight while I sit, unsure of
what to do next.  Small talk has never been my forte, unless it includes
90 year olds who don’t hear half of what I’m saying anyway.  Sensing my
distress, Jacoby begins a conversation with Trey, and I try to relax.

As I sit here taking them in, I realize this was part
of Jacoby’s plan.  My stool is somehow positioned closer to Trey than
Jacoby.  When I look over, I see Trey’s huge thighs are situated on each
side of my stool.  The close position makes us look like a couple. 

Add that to the ball cap Jacoby has pulled low on his
forehead, and we’re almost unnoticeable.  Almost.   

“Hey, what do you want to drink?” Trey asks me a few
minutes later, pulling me from my thoughts.  I got caught up watching a
girl dancing between two guys, their bodies moving like the parts of a
well-oiled machine.  I’m not a prude, I know people behave like that, but
I can’t imagine myself acting that way, especially in a public place.  She
sure seems to be enjoying herself, though, when she suddenly latches her mouth
onto the guy grinding against her front.

“Um,” I freeze, unsure of what I’m supposed to do.

“She’ll have a water,” Jacoby butts in.

“Seriously?  Nothing to drink for you,
Sweetheart?”  Trey isn’t letting it go.  I frown.  The endearment
sounds all wrong coming from Trey.