The Key To Micah's Heart (Hell Yeah!) (2 page)

“Did you?” Colton asked with hope in his bloodshot eyes.

“Yea. Are you hungry? Can I go get you something to eat?”

“No, I ate at Angel House.” Colton smiled. “They’re good to me there.”

“Have you been doing anything interesting?” Micah pressed, just needing to hear his friend’s voice.

Colton swayed a bit, trying to reach behind him. “Oh, just writing. My notebooks are here somewhere.” He caught Micah by the arm, steadying himself. “There are so many stories in my head. Shit. I might be sitting on them.” Out of breath, he gave up and looked over Micah’s shoulder as if he was seeing something beautiful at a great distance. “I don’t remember things so good anymore. But I can go back and read my stories and it all seems clearer. Better.”

Micah knew how precious Colton’s writing was to him. If he thought it would do any good, he’d buy his friend a laptop. But he knew it would just get stolen or he’d pawn it. “You always were a great storyteller. Is there anything I can do for you, man? Anything at all?” Micah sat by him, finding comfort in his old friend’s presence. Even if he had to be the caretaker, being with Colton just soothed his soul.

“Nah, I’m just glad you came to see me.” For a moment, he looked like the old Colton, the one who’d jumped in and got Micah out of the water when he couldn’t stay afloat.

“Me too.” He took out his wallet and removed three crisp one hundred dollar bills. “Here, put this aside for later.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that,” he protested, trying to push Micah’s hand away.

“No, take it.” He insisted, refusing to take no for an answer. “I worry about you.”

“Thank you.” Colton put the money away, looking around to make sure no one saw him do it. A coughing fit hit him and when he was through, he was breathing hard and unevenly. “I don’t feel too good.” Colton said, wiping his mouth of his sleeve. “You know, Micah, I might take my medicine if I had it. It’s in my locker at the shelter. Would you go get my pills for me?”

Micah didn’t know if he was serious or if Colton was just saying this to make him feel better. Either way, Micah would leave nothing to chance. “Yea, sure. Of course. I’ll go do that right now.” Micah rose, having to speak a little louder. Rush hour was causing the drum of the constant wheels overhead to an almost unbearable level.

“Hey, and bring me my notebooks. I have one here, but I need to make some notes on my other stories. You know, they’re the most important possession I have. I’ve poured my whole life into those notebooks.”

“I’ll look, Colton. I’ll bring whatever I find.” Micah promised.

“And if you ever smoke anymore of that brisket of yours, I’d love to have some.”

Micah laughed. “I was actually planning to cook one tomorrow.” He wasn’t, but plans could change. “Do you want coleslaw and beans?”

“Oh, yea, that would be great. Maybe you could make enough for all my friends at the shelter to have some too?”

“You got it, buddy,” Micah assured him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get your meds and if your prescription needs refilling, I’ll do that too. You just rest right here and I’ll be back.”

“Okay.”

Micah looked back at Colton, he’d shut his eyes.

Good. Maybe he could rest.

Micah drove the few blocks south to cross the river and headed down Congress to Angel House, parking crooked and rushing in. The director had seen him before so his request didn’t require much of an explanation. But when Micah got back to the lockers, all of Colton’s stuff was gone including his notebooks. “What the hell?” Micah slammed the door.

The director shrugged. “I guess he didn’t have a lock.”

“Fuck!” With a heavy heart, he left to be the bearer of bad news. Most probably, Colton would have to go back into the clinic to get another prescription. Micah vowed to make sure he did just that. But what about his writing? There was no way he could help him replace that. Along the way, he stopped at a hardware store and bought a few locks, intending to give one to Colton.

When Micah arrived at the top of the bridge. His friend was slumped over to one side. “Colton!” Micah went to his knees and began to shake his friend, but when he drew his hand away it was covered with blood. “Call 911!” He screamed for help, then began administering CPR. By the time an ambulance arrived, Micah knew it was too late. Someone had knifed him, probably for the money Micah had just given him. “Fuck!”

His friend was dead.

Micah called for help, then stood by as the EMT’s came to check Colton out and declare him dead. Once they had his body on a stretcher, one of the medics lifted up a plastic bag and inside it was a blue notebook. “Hey, are you this guy’s family?”

“Yes.” Micah stepped forward. “I’m his brother.” He accepted the bag and watched them carry the lifeless body of his friend away, fully intending to take care of him, contact his folks, and see to his burial. Tossing the lock up and down in his hand, he wondered at all of the wonderful tales Colton would’ve told the world if only he had the time. As he walked away, Micah vowed to never forget. He’d keep the memory of Colton locked away–safe. He was the truest friend Micah ever had. 

Micah – present day

“I beg your pardon?” The woman standing behind the cash register with the name
Helen
embroidered on the right shoulder of her blue smock stared at him with mouth agape. Her round apple cheeks blushed beet-red.

Micah Albert Wolfe gave her his signature big, wide wolf grin. “I said, nice buns, huh?”

Fanning herself with one of the daily sales papers, the woman giggled nervously. Micah knew full-well that the woman had been checking him out while he waited in line. His question had thrown her for a loop. Her blush confirmed his suspicions.

Clearing her throat, she answered hesitantly. “Yes. Very nice indeed.”

Micah smiled. Yea, he knew he was a tease. One after the other, he placed items on the motorized belt that carried the groceries from where he stood to the clerk. “Between you and me, I can’t believe I waited until the last minute to buy the buns.” H.E.B. was packed this time of day, but Micah had been on the phone with his publisher and couldn’t break away until almost five.

Reluctantly, Helen managed to tear her gaze away from the handsome man to check out his cart. To her surprise, it was loaded to the brim with bags of rolls. “Good Lord, sir. How many do you have there?”

Micah stopped and tapped a finger against his lips. “Well, Helen, my goal was to get two hundred rolls for dinner. I’ll tell you the truth, the lady behind the counter wasn’t too happy with yours truly.” Knowing his charm would go a long way to easing her distress, he continued his playful banter. “I cleared out the bakery section, then moved on to the pre-packed buns. And between you and me…” Micah leaned across the counter and motioned for the harried woman to come closer. “By that time, I was just chunking bags into the cart. I lost count somewhere around one-fifty.” Tipping his cap back, he crossed his arms over his wide chest, staring at the mound of bread. “Honestly, sweetheart, there could be anywhere from a hundred and eighty to three hundred and fifty buns in here for all I know. I guess we could dig through and count them all, but I say we just call it two-fifty and move on. I’ve got places to be.”

She didn’t often carry on conversations with customers, but this man’s friendly attitude made Helen feel bold. “It is cold out there. I imagine the best place to be is curled up in front of a warm fire.”

“Yea, with a sexy lady in my arms.” Letting his eyes smolder, he gave Helen a wink. Some people might think he was a prick for doing it, but Micah seldom let the opportunity to flirt slip by him, it was just his nature. And if it got him out of the grocery store without having to count every single bun individually, even better.

Helen seemed to mull the suggestion over in her mind. The evening rush of people stopping to shop on their way home from work was almost over. She probably had only a few minutes left on her shift, then she could go home and get off her feet for a spell.

“What do you think, Helen?” For a moment, Micah figured his teasing banter might backfire. She might decide to keep him around a while longer. Glancing behind him, he saw a line three deep and one man tapping his foot with a tense look on his face as if he could get them to hurry by sheer will alone.

With a big smile, Helen seemed to throw caution to the wind. She gave him an unexpected wink. “Okay, Mr. Sexy Buns, we’ll do it your way. Two-fifty you say?”

Micah’s face lit up and he couldn’t have held back the surprised snort if he tried. “Why, thank-you. Yes, ma’am. Might be a few more, might be a few less. Can’t be sure.”

“Two-fifty it is.” Helen rang up the sale and he paid, leaving her a generous tip.

“Thanks, see you later, Helen.”

“Be safe.”

As he buttoned up his coat before facing the unfriendly night air, Micah caught a glimpse of Helen in the reflective surface of the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, she watched him go with a look of longing. The thought made him smile. “Always leave ‘em wanting more,” he whispered his own personal motto.

Blowing out a breath that was visible in the chilly air, Micah raced the cart through the parking lot, taking a few big strides before hopping on the back of the cart with both feet and riding it for a bit.

“Evening, ladies.” Micah doffed his cap at a group of mature women heading determinedly towards the store as if embarking on an important mission. One of them gave him a disapproving glance. He was familiar with that look. Years ago, he’d dated a girl who hated when he’d ride the cart while they were grocery shopping. “You’re only as old as you feel!” he yelled over his shoulder. A couple of the women laughed, but he could hear the grouchy one fussing at them for encouraging improper public behavior.

“Yee-haw!” Micah couldn’t care less. Jumping off, he pulled the cart to a screeching halt next to his car, almost turning it over in the process. “Crap,” Micah quipped as he struggled to regain his balance and keep the cart from tipping over. Smoothing his coat with one hand, he removed his hat and ran his free hand through his unruly mane of long hair. “No sweat, Wolfe. You still look cool.”

While he’d been in the store, the windows of his car had fogged over significantly. And rightly they should have. In the backseat were several large silver aluminum pans full of uncut BBQ brisket, still hot after a day’s worth of cooking time. He’d gotten up early and put five fifteen pound briskets on the pit. They’d basked in the red oak smoke for four hours before he’d pulled them off and finished the succulent Texas beef in a slow oven. Any cowboy worth his salt knew it was easier to slice them after they cooled a bit, and to always cut across the grain so the meat would be tender.

Carefully he unloaded the buns, piling them into the trunk of the car. It was a good thing he’d emptied it of all his gear yesterday, because between the brisket taking up most of the backseat and the slaw and other trimmings in the front, there wasn’t room for them anywhere else.

Micah slid his big frame behind the wheel of his new Dodge Challenger. He’d gone with the Hellcat V8 and all that extra horsepower could be hazardous to the food and his interior if he got overexcited on the drive. The car was pitch black with matte black rims and tinted windows that made it seem like the sporty car was a part of the night itself. When he gunned the engine, the powerful roar scared the living tar out of anyone who happened to be near. Micah smiled at the thought.

‘You just love people looking at you, don’t you?’ Destry remarked with a shake of his head when Micah had first shown him his new car.

Micah had just tipped his hat to his buddy, who was now serving as Secretary of State under their mutual friend, Texas Governor, Kyle Chancellor. ‘I dare say they get more enjoyment out of it than I do.’

‘Conceited ass.’ Destry had laughed.

Turning the key, the engine came to life and Micah fired up the vents to clear the fogged windows. He relaxed behind the wheel, his seat pushed as far into the back seat as it would go. At six foot two, he needed all the room he could get to accommodate his long legs. Everything in Micah’s life was built around his need to be carefree. Some people said Micah Wolfe had a smirk on his face even in his sleep, but that wasn’t always true. Tonight his heart was heavy and the weight of the memories crashed down on him like a tsunami.

A lump formed in his throat. “Suck it up, Wolfe.” He turned the rear-view mirror toward him to make sure all was right. Yep. The smirk was there, but it wasn’t as sharp, not quite as cocky as usual.

Opening the console, he moved a few things out of the way and drew out his favorite pair of racing gloves. The word
Fox
blazed across the back of the hands in bright neon green. Wearing these, he’d won every dirt bike tournament he’d entered in his early teens. They’d once belonged to Colton. The fingertips had been snipped off of the old tattered racing gloves to allow for Micah’s big hands. Slipping them on, he glided from the parking lot slowly, a most un-Micah-like thing to do. Tonight would be difficult, he’d need all the luck he could get his hands on.

Madison enters the picture…

Sunny Fellows eyes were half-closed. “Are you sure, baby?” Her face was flushed, her words slurred.

“I’m sure, Mom,” Madison said with a sigh. Moving around her bedroom, she busied herself stuffing the duffle bag on her shoulder with whatever she could grab. Clothes. Photos. Her second hand computer. Anything Rudy could destroy out of meanness or pawn for money. In the bathroom, she stuffed toiletries she’d need for the night as well as some ibuprofen and the birth control pills she took faithfully – not because she was sexually active, but when your life was as uncertain as Madison’s – you just couldn’t be too careful.

“You’ve got a good friend, letting you stay with her anytime you like.” Sunny leaned against the wall for support.

“Sure. She’s the best.” Madison’s words were automatic, showing no emotion.

“You know how he gets when he’s in this kinda mood, Maddie.”

“I do, Mom.” There was no use rehashing the situation, Madison just wanted to get out of the house and away from this situation as fast as she could. Rudy Douglas was out in the living room puffing on another cigarette, despite the fact that this was
Madison’s
apartment,
not
his
and she’d politely asked him more than once not to smoke in it. When Rudy had stood up from the couch and taken up a threatening posture, Madison had made the decision to back down. It was bad enough that he was here, she didn’t need for things to be worse by catching a slap from the vile man or feeling his gnarled, bony fingers curled around her neck. The very thought made her skin crawl and the feel of the devil dancing across her spine made Madison shudder.

Sunny put her hands on her daughter’s arms, chafing up and down. “Are you cold, honey? Let Momma warm you up.”

The friction did nothing to ease Madison’s discomfort and the fact that Sunny was so oblivious to her unease with Rudy’s presence, made it all so much worse. “I’m fine, Mom. I just need to get out of here.” She glanced around her shabby apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. Leaving it just so she could feel safe was a shame.

Sunny stretched out on her daughter’s narrow single bed. “I’m not sure why you have to leave. We don’t take up that much room.” She traced the paisley pattern on the blue spread with a chipped fingernail.

“No problem,” she lied. “You two need your space.” There was no way she could sleep knowing Rudy Douglas could walk into her room in the middle of the night.

“It’s just for a few days, baby. I promise.”

Madison closed her eyes, unable to look at Sunny. Her mother was high. She was always high. “A few days,” she repeated.

Yea, she’d heard that before. Sorrow made her heart heavy. Shaking her head, she tried to dispel the useless emotion. Sunny had never been the mother Madison needed, and she wasn’t about to start now. Rifling through the drawer in her nightstand, Madison made as much noise as possible, trying to keep her mother from falling asleep. Sunny had never been any good at protecting her daughter from Rudy, but at least when she was awake she provided some sort of a buffer. If she fell asleep, Madison would be on her own with Rudy and there was already enough tension in the air. She didn’t need to have to fight him off before she even got out the door.

A soft snore made her jerk around. “Mom.” Madison walked over to shake her now passed out mother. “Mom.” Frustration began to well-up inside of her. “Mom!”

“What the hell is going on in here?” Rudy stood in the bedroom doorway, fresh pizza sauce running down the front of his shirt.

No doubt he’d made a mess of himself and not bothered to get up to retrieve a paper towel to wipe his hands clean. Madison knew there would probably be a dark red smear on one of the cushions of her couch. The old blue couch wasn’t anything special. Like pretty much everything else in her shabby apartment, she’d gotten it at a second hand store and its best days were long gone. Again, much like the apartment in general, it was
her couch
,
not
Rudy’s
.

Rudy had that look on his face, the one that told her no matter what she said, it would be wrong and there’d be a confrontation. “Nothing.” Even though she hadn’t finished gathering all of her valuables, Madison knew it was time to go. Moving hurriedly toward him, she made herself as small as possible so she could pass Rudy without touching any part of his body. “I’ll be at my friends,” she said without looking at him.

Throwing his head back, her mother’s abusive husband looked down his crooked nose. “Like either of us gives a shit,” Rudy blew a puff of smoke at her as she passed by.

Hurrying out the door and across the yard, Madison said a quick prayer. Even as she whispered her request for a bit of grace, the irony made her laugh. Her prayers didn’t rise very high. Still, Madison would’ve sold her soul to the devil on this cold night if it guaranteed that her beat-up, little hatchback would start. Come hell or high water, she did not intend to stay at her apartment tonight. Even if she had to walk to the shelter.

Jabbing her key into the ignition, she switched it on. The old motor struggled to turn over, coughing in distress but not firing. “Not tonight. Please. Not tonight.” Madison closed her eyes and cranked the key again. To her immense relief, the engine sputtered to life, hitching and fading before reaching its familiar clunking sound.