7 Degrees of Alpha (a collection of seven new BWWM, Alpha Male Romances) (42 page)

As the cashier scans the items, my eyes roam over to the entrance door.

“Your total is $137.62.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask, bringing my attention back to the cashier.

“$137.62.”

“Here you go.” I withdraw the two bills and hand it over to her while my eyes continue to scan the entrance door.

“Thank you for shopping at Walmart,” she responds as she gives me my change.

I quickly load the shopping cart and make my way to the doors. As I near the car, I look around to see if there are any suspicious eyes watching me. There’s nothing more frightening than being on the run and suspecting everyone as an enemy.

I quickly open the passenger side door, place the bags into the seat and make my way to the driver’s side. Once inside, I quickly dig through the bags and transfer all of my clothes and toiletry items into the duffle bag.

I look inside of the plastic bag that had become home to all of my most valuable items. As I stare down into the bag, I come across my driver’s license for the state of Ohio, some pictures, and my journal.

I pull out my journal and begin skimming through the countless entries. This journal holds some of my dearest secrets. The first entry that I read is about the first time I met Jaxon.

When Jaxon and I first met, it was during a period in my life when I was pushing myself to the max in order to excel in dancing. I was a fresh face from Ohio enrolled into Julliard’s Dance School, living off of the scholarship money that I won and waitressing at a popular Brooklyn diner. Jaxon and his partner Ruiz were regulars at the diner that I worked out. Though I never waited their table, I could always feel Jaxon’s eyes on me.

Hell, it was hard not to notice those hooded blue eyes fanned by those long dark eyelashes. Even now I get chills just thinking about it. Needless to say, I did everything to avoid his stare. Men who looked like that always came with trouble. Not to mention, he was a cop. Growing up, there were no such thing as a good cop. He had two strikes against him, but that still did not dilute my attraction to him. There was something so alluring about him that I could not shake off. And that’s when it became scary. Images of him would appear in my dreams, and suddenly every guy that I came across was being compared to a man that I never even spoke to. No matter what shift I worked, he was always there, watching me like a hawk. I soon learned that he was chummy with the owner, Franklyn. Still, I got away with waiting his table… until one morning.

I can recall that morning like it occurred yesterday. I walked in, prepared to get through my ten-hour shift. While I was praying for gracious and generous customers, Jaxon had plotted to get me all to himself. He practically refused to be waited by any other waitress but me. And it didn’t help that Franklyn had been all too eager to please Jaxon. No amount of protest could wash the assertive eyes that hid behind Franklyn’s glasses. Out of fear of losing my job, I abandoned the fight altogether and walked over to his booth.

As I approach his table with sweaty palms, I try to avoid his gaze. I become fixated on my pen and pad.

“Are you ready to order?” I ask immediately with all intentions of getting through this initial moment quickly. 

“Do I scare you?” he asks as he tilts his head to the side to look up at me.

“No. Are you ready to order?”

Still focusing on the notepad, I continue to avoid him although I could feel his eyes on me.

“That’s good to know. Have breakfast with me then.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m working,” I respond, trying not to sound too annoyed.

“Not this morning you’re not.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as my eyes fly up to meet his. The brewing electricity that streamed in his blue eyes was vivid and wild. 

“Franklyn gave you the morning off.”

“I didn’t ask for it. Besides, I can’t afford to miss a shift.”

“It’s already taken care of. Please, sit with me.”

I glance over my shoulder and catch Franklyn’s stare. He nods his head as if granting me consent. As I swallow the lump in my throat, I tuck the notepad and pen into my apron and proceed to slide into the booth.                                                                                                                                         

“You look different outside of your uniform,” I mention as I scan his body.

Even though there was nothing fancy about the grey sweater and dark denim jeans he wore, I couldn’t omit the sexiness that spelled him. His dark, low crop cut gave him an edgier look to match his boyish dimples and chiseled jaw.   

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he asks as he captures my stare.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I think of the best answer to give him. “It's just an observation.”

“Come on, you can tell me; I’m more dashingly handsome outside of my uniform.”

“It’s a good thing that you don’t need me to boast you up.”

“Ouch!” he says as he dramatically places his hands on his muscular chest. “I would hope that seeing me outside of my work clothes would catch your attention.”

“Why?” I ask, slightly intrigued.

“Because I want you to know that I’m more than just a police officer.”

“Why should it matter to me?”

“It's important if we’re going to move forward,” he responds immediately after.

He was right; it was important to know the other sides of him besides being a police officer. Each morning that I worked, he’d have it so that I spend my shift eating breakfast with him, until one day I finally agreed to go out on a real date with him. His ability to be transparent and forward was one of his most alluring traits that heightened my attraction for him. After learning about the circumstances surrounding the death of his parents, I felt more connected to him than ever.  

“I was so happy back then,” I muse as my index finger rubs over the images.

Being with him was the best year of my life. Back then, Jaxon was supportive. Yet, that all changed once he parted ways with his badge. It was like something in him snapped, and he was dead set on moving to Madison, Georgia. Life stopped being about us and had now become about him.

God knows how much I wanted to drop everything and run after him when he left. But I couldn’t. My life had only just begun.

That still does not change the fact that my thoughts are with him. More often than not, I think about where my life would be had I gone with him.

Now I’m left with thoughts of where his life could be today. Did he meet someone new? Did he go on with his life without me? Did he know that my life had stopped the moment he left?

Each time that I think about him moving on, the tightness around my heart becomes even more unbearable.

I continue to shuffle through my old journal and stop at my last entry. It was the night that Jaxon left. Tears had the soaked the pages, smudging my writing. Without knowing back then, I came to realize that Jaxon was more than just my boyfriend. He had become the only family that I had left. And when he left, it was like reliving the death of my mother all over again.

I reach for the American Airline ticket that’s snuggled between the two pages. For the first month, after Jaxon and I broke up, I would look at the ticket and contemplate on whether I should leave everything behind and be with him. At least then, all of the pain would cease and my life would somehow reach the fulfillment that I get only when I am with him. But the fact that I worked hard to get into Julliard Dance School, mixed with thoughts about my life in the foster care system, always made me push the ticket back into its rightful spot, in between the pages of my journal. But now…there’s nothing that’s stopping me.

Though I didn’t want to bring my problems to Jaxon’s doorstep, I can’t deny the fact that I want to see him again, at least, one last time before I start a new chapter in my life. Hopefully, after that, I’ll get to figure some things out and possibly settle in a small town where no one knows me or the woman that I used to be. 

“I’m going to Madison, Georgia,” I silently announce.

But I can’t take this car to the airport. It would be the perfect place to track down a stolen vehicle, and then AJ would know that I flew out of New York.

I quickly empty the plastic bag and place everything into my purse before stepping out of the car. As I reenter the store, holding just my duffle bag, I head over to the customer service desk and ask the beautiful African-American woman if I could use their phone to call a cab.

-Ashley-

“Thank you.” I hand the cab driver a one-hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

              I toss the duffle bag over my shoulder and enter Newark International Airport. Even now, my stomach is churning with fear. It has been nine months since I last saw Jaxon Right. Although I’ve spent countless nights envisioning us reuniting again, I never thought it would be under these circumstances.

              “Welcome to American Airlines. How can I help you?”

              I drop the duffle bag beside me and look up at the young man who is sitting behind the desk. “I have this ticket that a friend of mine gave to me a few months ago. Will you be able to tell me if there is an expiration date on it?”

              While the attendant scans the ticket, I look over at the security booth. Still feeling unsettled, I look suspiciously at everyone who is entering the airport. There was no telling when AJ would wake up or if he would wake up at all. Hopefully, by the time AJ’s car is discovered, I’ll be in Madison.              

“The ticket is still valid; however, because it was purchased during an off-peak season, you will need to pay an additional fee if you were to use it now. It will also be an additional fee if you want to upgrade this ticket to round-trip.”

              “That’s fine,” I respond, shifting my focus back to him. “It will be great if I can take the soonest flight out. I’ll take any seat.”

              The attendant looks up at me suspiciously before glancing back down at his computer screen. As he types on the keyboard, my eyes shift back over to the door.

                “You’re in luck. I have a flight heading out to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport in the next thirty minutes.”

A sigh of relief must’ve been noticeable because he asks, “Are you okay?”

I nervously brush my hand behind my neck and gently tug on my nape, circling my coils around my finger.  “Yes, I’m fine. How much will that be?”

His eyes look like he wants to press further. Instead, he says, “That will be $285.68.”

              I dig into my purse and pull out my wallet. After paying him, I reach for my duffle bag and toss it over my shoulder.

“Will you be checking a bag?”

              “No.”

              “Okay. Here is your flight itinerary. Thank you for flying with American Airlines.”

              “Great. Thank you,” I respond, taking the flight itinerary from his hands before walking away.

              With a limping gait, I make my way through the airport security. Thankfully, I go through smoothly without having to step to the side like the couple in front of me. After putting my shoes back on, I look at the map in search for section B-14.

Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I continue to push further, trekking my way to the second floor where my flight is set to board from. As I approach B-14, I notice that the gate is empty, and the attendant had now closed the door. Ridden with panic, I heavily limp to her.

I wave my ticket. “Excuse me? Is this the flight to Georgia?”

“Ah, yes. We just boarded the last passenger,” she quietly responds with a soft smile.

I try to suppress the cry in my throat. “Please. I
have
to take this flight.”

Her smile dissolves as her eyes look at me with sincerity. “I’m sorry. I believe the doors are now locked. I can see if there is an available seat on another flight.”

“Is there anything that you can do? Maybe call the captain? I really need to catch this flight,” I say through teary eyes.

“I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll see if the captain will allow you to board the flight.” She looks uncomfortably away from me and grabs the phone. I turn away from her, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.

The sound of my heartbeat pounding relentlessly against my chest drowns out the chatter and laughter in the other gates around me. My breathing becomes more shallow and spaced out.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6…

I silently count back, trying to ease myself through my growing anxiety. Though I have a history of anxiety attacks, my episodes are more controlled and often go away when I count backward. The last time I had an anxiety attack was a month after my mother died. It was brought on as reality settled in. I was alone, orphaned practically. My father was serving a life sentence, and I was placed in a group home. That was six years ago.

When my breathing steadies and the invisible corks fall out of my ears, I start to hear the chatter and laughter again. I walk over to the window and solemnly look on as a plane takes off.

The door swings open, causing me to whip my head to the side. A flight attendant appears and walks over to the attendant behind the desk. They speak briefly before shifting their gazes to me.

“Can I get your ticket, please?” 

I limp over to the attendants; shedding tears of happiness. They exchange nervous glances at each other before looking back at me. As I hand my ticket over to her, I silently pray, thanking God that I’m able to board this flight.  

“Thank you,” I say to the attendant behind the desk, grateful for her assistance the moment I’m led to the door.

“I’ll take your bag,” the attendant says. “I’m just going to look for space in the overhead bins to put it,” she continues as I hand the bag over to her.

              All eyes rest upon me as I walk down the aisle in search of my seat. The attendant lifts the lids of a few overheads in search for space for my duffle bag. The moment I find my seat, my body becomes less tense. After securing my seatbelt, I lean back and rest my head on the headrest.

              The moment, the flight pulls off, I exhale.
I did it! I’m free!

              Throughout the entire flight, I can’t help but think about how Jaxon will receive me. If Jaxon is still anything like the man who stole my heart, no woman in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to be with him. Still, he is not without flaws, and we did not exactly leave on amicable terms. 

              Yet, if there was anyone in this world who I ever felt safe with, it is Jaxon. 

*~*~*

Relief washes over me the moment I exit the airport and hail down a cab. Even though my mind is troubled with thoughts about Jaxon, I’m still happy to be here and away from New York. By the time we touched down in Atlanta, I came to terms with the fact that Jaxon may turn me away. If he does, I’ll use the money that I have to get me through the next couple of months until I secure employment.

“Where ya heading, dear?” asks the cab driver the moment I close the back door. Through the rearview mirror, his friendly eyes watch me closely.

              “I need to go to the Right Ranch in Madison,” I say, hoping that he knows the exact address.

              “Right Ranch? There’s a few ranches out here; none that I know to be in Madison, though.  Is there a family name attached to it?”

              “The Right family.” I unravel the letter that Jaxon wrote to me to see if there is any other information that I could give him, but I had discarded the envelope that it had come in and only kept the letter. “They’re white,” I finally say, not knowing how else to describe the family ranch.

              “Oh, child, I thought you were talking about the Johnson or the Brown families. They have some of the biggest ranches down here in Georgia,” he responds as he lifts his cap off of his head and dabs the sweat with his handkerchief. “I’m not too sure where the Right Ranch is, but I do know where the town of Madison is. It's about forty-five minutes to an hour away from here, give or take the traffic. Perhaps you could ask one of the town folks when you arrive there.”

              Feeling a smidge of defeat, I nod my head and say, “Okay.”

              “Where are you flying from?” he asks after a few minutes of silence passes between us.

              “New York,” I respond as I quietly rest my head against the headrest.

              “A New York girl! What brought you all the way down south?”

“Just visiting a college friend,” I lie.

“Is this your first time out here?”

My eyes silently follow the traffic that’s around us on the I-20 east. “Yes,” I answer.

“Welcome to Georgia. It's a lot different from New York, but everyone falls in love with our down home comfort and homey feel.”

“I bet. I’m just happy to be here.”

The rest of the ride was driven in silence as my thoughts went to Jaxon.

Did he move on? Does he resent me?

Before leaving the airport, I attempted to call him with the last known number that I remember him having. However, my call was forwarded to a generated carriers voicemail. As I reluctantly handed the phone back over to the attendant, I wrestled with the idea of showing up at his ranch unannounced. Not like it made much of a difference anyway since I’m already here.

As we enter the town of Madison, my nerves get the best of me. The town, true to its historical southern background, puts me in the mind of those old western movies with how the its set up. There is this simplicity about it that brings warmth to my bones that I could not get from New York City.

“This is downtown Madison. This area is definitely one of the city’s notable tourist attractions,” he says as he turns onto Jefferson Street. “Is there a particular place that you’d like to be let off at?” he glances at me through the rearview mirror.

My stomach growls; yet, anxiousness is triumphing over my hunger. I peek over at the time on the dashboard before saying; “You can let me off right here.”

“Here?” he questions suspiciously.

“Yeah,” I respond, slightly puzzled by his tone. I look out of the window to see where I asked to be let out. He pulls up alongside a tavern called Kisses At The Pub.

“You’re sure you don’t want to just go to a bed and breakfast across town? I’m sure they’ll be more open to helping you get to where you need to go.”

“Uh, is there something wrong with this place?”

“They’re not exactly color friendly,” the cab driver responds wearily.

I scrunch up my face, completely thrown off by what he just said. I know that racism still exists, but damn, we’re in 2016, and this town appears to be more integrated than not.

              “Do you think they’ll know where the ranch is it at?” I ask after much thought. Surely, if there was any group of people who may know where the ranch is it at, it should be them.

              “I’m not too sure if I’m following your logic. But I’ll wait for you out here.”

              “Thank you.”

              As I walk through the front doors, all eyes follow me, watching my every step. Though it is less than a handful of people inside, their uncomfortable stares were enough to make anyone feel like running out the door.

              “Can, I help you?” a petite, attractive woman with sandy blond hair asks the moment I approach the bar.

              “Hi,” I say nervously. I quickly scan her nametag;
Lucille.
“Good afternoon, Lucille. Would you be able to tell me where the Right Ranch is at?”

              She tilts her head to the side and rudely asks, “What business do you have with them? You tryin’ to clean their house?”

              “That is none of your business,” I say, meeting her squinting eyes head on. “Its either you know, or you don’t.” 

              She studies my face for a moment before saying, “I don’t know where they live.”

              “Thank you for your time,” I say before leaving. I have a strong feeling that she’s lying, but I refuse to give in to the bullshit.  

              Once inside of the cab, I say, “You were right.”

              “We can try Macy’s Bed and Breakfast. They’ve been living in this town long enough to know everyone.”

              “Thank you. Are you from around here?”

              “No, but whenever my wife and I want to get away from Atlanta, we head down here.” He pulls up in front of the restaurant. “The people inside should be              able to help you.”

“Great. Thanks.”

              “Welcome to Macy’s Bed and Breakfast,” a pleasant older woman greets me the moment I enter the country style restaurant.

              “Hi, my name is Ashley. I’m looking for the Right Ranch. I’m looking for Jaxon Right in particular.”

              “Oh, they’re not too far away from here. The Right family is one of the original settlers in this town. Jaxon and his uncle, James, are just ten miles east of here. If I’m not mistaken, they’re off of Magnolia Street. You can’t miss it.”

              “Thank you, ma’am,” I respond gratefully. 

              “Oh!” She throws her hands up. “Call me Macy; everyone around here does. And you’re quite welcome. Please come back anytime.”

              Just as I was about to turn toward the door, I look back at the older woman and ask, “Are you hiring by any chance?”