Page 11 of Paths
“Six o’clock, then we have to clean up. It’s getting busy, but she can leave right at closing and we can handle the prep for tomorrow. Will that work?” Addy asks him.
“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor,” Grady growls.
“Sorry, too late. Maya just confirmed what I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks. You still make that doctor appointment, but she’s coming tonight to sort you out,” Crew informs him before turning to me. “He’ll be at the house on my property. You can’t miss it, it’s the next drive over and the lane takes you straight to the front door. Grady’s my employee and I’m self-insured. Send me a bill for your hourly rate.”
“Um…” I mumble, wondering what just happened, because Grady doesn’t look like he wants my help.
“Perfect. It’s all set.” Addy smiles.
Grady shakes his head and turns to leave while protesting, “I’m not doing therapy and I’m going to town for lunch.”
I watch Grady as he stalks out of the tasting room, a sight just as good leaving as it was entering.
“He’s doing the therapy. Thanks, Maya,” Crew repeats before giving Addy a squeeze. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” Addy leans into him before grabbing his hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. When she looks to me, my heart drops when she grins broadly. “Stay right there, Maya. When I get back, I want to know everything about you.”
Oh, shit.
*****
Grady –
Somehow I knew she’d come. As much as I wanted her to ignore Crew and Addy, not to mention me, the past few days have shown me the woman is persistent. The last thing I want is attention or help.
It's one thing to watch her over the cameras, but ever since she was forced to wait on me and wouldn't stop talking, being around her is more than intriguing. Today was more incessant talking, and even though it pissed me off when Crew butted his way into things, she surprised me when she admitted to being a physical therapist along with a waitress.
I thought maybe she wouldn’t show. She certainly didn’t look like she wanted to, but as I watch her drive up Crew’s lane in her small nondescript economy car with Pennsylvania plates, she surprised me again. I didn’t plan on going back to Addy’s to get dinner. I had no desire to be bombarded about my shoulder. But here she is, it’s almost six-thirty, she didn’t waste any time.
Instead of getting up, I watch her on the cameras as she pulls to the front. I finally moved into Crew’s house a couple weeks ago, simply to get him off my ass about moving out of the barn. I know he’s not coming back. He’s in so deep with Addy, I’ve never seen anything like it. Then again, no one close to me has ever had a normal relationship, let alone an exceptional one—but for some reason I can tell Crew and Addy are different than anything I’ve witnessed before. Especially since the day her shit blew up at the vineyard. After everything Crew’s done for me, I was happy to repay the debt. Putting a hole in that traitor’s head was the least I could do.
Even though it’s dark, it’s easy to see her on the cameras as she gets out of her car, carrying a to-go sack from the tasting room along with a pile of papers. She’s changed from the dress and boots she was wearing earlier into her workout gear. I’ve tried not to let her evening runs keep my attention, but I can’t help that they do. She’s definitely a trained runner, she keeps at it for over an hour most days, and not at a slow jog, either. Being a runner, I know one when I see one, she can definitely keep up a good clip.
All of these things shouldn’t pique my interest, but they do. Watching Maya has been a much-needed distraction ever since Crew and I got back, and I’ve taken every opportunity to be distracted. I try not to think about how she’s become an obsession.
I not only see her on the cameras but hear her knock. I do what I planned on doing, and don’t answer. Instead, I stay put in my recliner watching her on the live feed.
Her long dark blond hair is pulled back and I’ve got a clear view of her. She’s got to be five-eight, maybe five-nine. Since she’s on the porch and the cameras are close, I see her light blue eyes before she looks down to check the time, probably wondering where I am. She shifts the things in her hands so she can knock again, before eventually peeking through the side window.
The woman is persistent, waiting longer than I expected. Finally, she sets the sack at the door and folds the stack of papers to slide them inside. I sigh, not knowing if I want to run to her or ignore her, when she gives up.
I switch cameras so I can make sure she leaves the property before I get up and open the front door. Grabbing the bag, I instantly recognize the smell. Going to the kitchen, I pull the papers out first. They’re detailed pictures of stretches and exercises focusing on the shoulder. It looks fucking miserable, so I toss them to the side and reach in the bag, not surprised to find a large bowl of Maggie’s potato soup. I know that smell, I’ve eaten it enough. Still, I stare at the bowl, feeling something foreign turn in my gut.
Tamping that back, I pull out the rest of the containers of food. Popping them open, all I do is shake my head at what I see. There’s a sandwich that I have no fucking idea what it is, but when I peel back the top layer of thick wheat bread, all I see are green, red, and purple. Thank fuck there’s some meat on the bottom, but I’ve never ordered anything that looks like this before. She also got me a side salad, and damn if there isn’t fruit, too.
The last box is a small one, the smallest container I’ve ever seen come from Maggie’s kitchen. In it is the puniest cream puff I’ve ever seen. One—singular. This wouldn’t be a dessert for anyone, especially me, who can down multiple for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
If the vegetables didn’t do it, that one single cream puff pisses me off for some reason. It doesn’t matter that she thought to bring me a meal when no one’s gone out of their way to bring me food since I was little. Crew might’ve right after I fucked up and almost got us killed, but I was so deep in my head at the time, I barely remember. I’ve known Crew since the day we started our training together to become contract killers. We’ve had each other’s back for ten years now. For someone else to do something for me is foreign.
I toss the cream puff in my mouth, savoring it since it’s all I’ve got besides the packaged cookies and boxed cakes I bought when I went into town today. They’re shit compared to the desserts Maggie brings in. That one cream puff was barely enough to chew, swallow, or taste. I proceed to toss the salad and fruit in the trash along with everything of color on the sandwich.
I glance at the papers Maya left for me, thinking maybe I’ll look them over tomorrow. I take the remaining food to sit in front of the TV and flip on a game. I need to get back to my weights, running, and I really need to get back on the fucking mat where I can kick someone’s ass. Maybe that’ll help me sleep through the night. Because right now, I’ve never been more fucking miserable.
The days are long enough, but nights … I fucking hate the nights. When I finally do fall asleep, I’m restless at best. My fucking dreams keep creeping into my head. They’re different since I was captured, just as bad as before, but sometimes worse because they take me back further, to when he was alive.
Those are the fucking worst.
Chapter 4 – We Found Her
