Rooter (Double H Romance) (3 page)

“Not always. Some days, you walk in the door and cringe when you see me. You walk by me like you wish I wasn’t here.” The tone in his voice is accusatory, yet sad.

“I never did those things until you started being so mean,” I justify.

“You broke my heart.” He loses his cool and throws his hands in the air. “I didn’t take it well, I admit it. But you knew for years how I felt about you.” I start to say something, but he holds a finger up to stop me. His body shakes. “First, you let me kiss you, and then blew me off. Then, when I needed you most, I told you I loved you and you acted like I was inconveniencing you. It doesn’t get much crueler than that. So before you start pointing fingers, you need to realize how you are partially to blame.”

His words have knocked the wind out of me. He’s never been this open or vulnerable with me. My knees shake and I need to sit. The only place to sit is on the bed which isn’t preferable, but since it’s my only option I take it.

It’s all true. The day his father died, I went to see how he was doing. He broke down in front of me and afterwards, kissed me. And I kissed him back. When he confessed his feelings for me, I wasn’t prepared for it. I think my exact words were, “Please don’t do this. I’ve been through enough already.”

“The way I handled things with you was wrong,” I admit while staring at the matted down gray carpet. “I let you kiss me because I wanted you to feel something other than the agony of your father’s death. I’d just been raped by Adam. I wasn’t prepared to deal with your feelings for me.”

“Then why didn’t you say that?” He asks. I hear him take a step. “Instead, you got up and walked away like I was nothing. And then the next time I saw you, you ignored me. You don’t do that to someone you care about.”

I peer up at him. “I wasn’t ready to talk about the rape. I’m so sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t my intention.”

He sits next to me on the bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. “If I’d chosen a better time to tell you, would it have made a difference?” Mike looks at me with inquisitive eyes.

He’s not asking if it would’ve changed my reaction. He’s asking if I would’ve been open to the idea of being with him.

“It would’ve changed the way I handled the situation.”

“How would you have handled it?” He puts me on the spot.

“I don’t know, but Mike…” I can’t say the words. I look away, uncomfortable.

“But you never felt the same,” he finishes for me.

I shake my head.

“Why?” He puts me on the spot again.

I rub the tips of my fingers together. A nervous gesture. “I don’t know.”

“I devoted my entire life to you.” He taps hard against his chest. “I've tried everything I can think of to be the guy you want, but it’s never enough. Is it because I’m not bad enough for you? Because let’s face it, I’ve tried that too.”

“I don’t see you that way.”

“But you like that thug next door.” The vein in his forehead throbs, and he clenches his fists.

I don’t answer. This conversation is heading in a bad direction so I raise to leave. Mike races me to the door and barricades it with his body; his hands balled into fists as his thick arms hang at his sides. 

An eerie chill shoots through me. “Let me go, Mike.”

Chapter 3
The Warning

Mike’s angry eyes bore into mine. “Did you send him here?”

My fear transforms to anger. “No.”

He leans forward until our faces are no more than an inch apart. There’s a haunting gleam in his eyes. “Are you fucking him?”

And so we’re back to this. I refuse to answer his question. “What difference would it make?”

“Because if you could be with a piece of trash like that, you’re not the person I thought you were.”

“Well, you’re not the person I thought you were either.” I jut out my chin. “Because the Mike I grew up with wouldn’t act this way and he certainly wouldn’t attack me or his sister.”

Mike winces at my words and leans away.

“Please let me go, Mike.”

He backs away from the door and lets me leave.

An hour later, I hear the rumble of Rooter’s motorcycle and peek out my bedroom window to watch him pull up to the side door of his house. Once he’s off the bike, he glances up to my window and our eyes lock. My heart slams in my chest. Did he look up here because he knew I’d be watching or because he knows it’s my room? I can’t read his expression. After a moment, he motions for me to come outside.

As I make my way outside I check for any sign of Miranda or Mike. If they catch me going out to talk to Rooter they will be pissed. Not that it’d matter. Nothing they might say would stop me. But I don’t want to put up with more of their attitudes or accusations. I breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t run into either of them.

As I approach, Rooter stands next to his bike with his hands in his pockets. If I thought my heart was beating hard when he looked up at me through my window, I was mistaken. It’s like a jackhammer in my chest as I stand before the object of my affection.

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier,” his voice is soft. “That wasn’t my intention.”

One wouldn’t expect such softness from a “vicious” biker, and yet it seems natural coming from him.

“I wasn’t scared.”

His eyes go wide with amazement. They’re such a dark brown, they’re nearly black. I’ve never seen eyes so dark. They’re captivating. “You weren’t?”

“Surprised, maybe.” I smile.

He smiles back and I melt. There has never been a more gorgeous smile than his. He doesn’t just smile with his lips. His entire face lights up, like a child on Christmas morning.

“I bet,” he admits and rubs the back of his head and rocks front to back on his heels and toes. “How’s your friend… What’s her name?”

“Miranda. Now, she was scared.” I chuckle.

“I could tell,” he says regretfully, his brow furrowed. “Look,” he holds his hands up in front of his chest, palms facing me, “what happened yesterday, believe it or not, is completely out of character for me. I’m not some weird dude who busts into people’s houses and attacks them. It’s just… I have a problem with guys who hurt girls.”

Swoon. I try to conceal my excitement of standing here talking with him. “That’s an admirable quality.”

He smiles and rocks back and forth again. “I wish I’d handled it differently. But when I saw him get out of the car… I lost it.”

“Well, the good news is, I don’t think he’ll be attacking us anytime soon.” I say it jokingly, but I mean it. Mike may act like a hard ass and be willing to attack a couple of girls, but I doubt he has balls enough to go up against a guy like Rooter. If he was to go after me or Miranda again he knows as well as I do Rooter will jerk his ass into a knot.

Rooter perks up to this, his eyes hopeful. “You kicking him out?”

I shake my head. “I just think he’ll be too scared to try again. You scared the shit out of him.”

His nostrils flare. “Why aren’t you kicking him out?”

“He’s Miranda’s brother,” I explain, “and she owns the house. I don’t really have a say in the matter.”

Rooter shakes his head and grits his teeth. “You should have one if you pay rent to live there.”

I look to the ground. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not,” he asserts. “He’s an abusive ass. He needs to go.”

“If anyone will leave, it would be me.”

His eyes bore into mine. “Maybe you should consider that option.”

“Easier said than done on my income,” I explain. “And Miranda can’t afford this house without me. Besides, I don’t think it’ll happen again.” Not necessarily because Mike’s remorseful, but because he’s scared of what Rooter might do.

Rooter throws his head back and laughs sarcastically. “Are you kidding me? Of course it will.”

“Mike is working through some issues.” I say it more in my defense than Mike’s.

“Sophie, do not make excuses for that asshat.”

Rooter’s hands clench into fists, but it doesn’t scare me. Most girls would be intimidated by or even scared of him, but I’m not. I find it incredibly sweet he’s willing to step up to my defense.

My mother was a drug addict who paid no attention to me whatsoever except when she was smacking me around and screaming. My dad bailed when I was a toddler. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I never met any aunts, uncles, or grandparents.

Once, while high, my mom admitted she never wanted children. The only reason she got pregnant with me was to keep my dad around which backfired because he never wanted kids either. When I turned sixteen I moved in with Miranda and her parent’s. My mom got pissed, but only because her maid was gone.

The only boyfriend I’ve ever had took my virginity by raping me. Miranda has always been there for me, but when it comes to Mike we’re at odds.

“I appreciate your concern, Rooter. Truly. But the situation is complicated.”

His bitter expression tells me he wants to argue this point, but instead he says, “Well, just know, if I find out he hurts either of you again, I won’t be as easy on him as I was before.”

I don’t doubt it.
“Understood.”

His phone rings and he looks as relieved as I feel. This conversation was a bit deeper than I’m comfortable with since I don’t know him all that well. He snatches the phone out of his pocket, looks at the screen, then back to me.

“I need to take this.”

I nod and turn to leave. He calls my name and I spin back around.

“If you ever need anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks.” I wave.

I watch as he answers his phone and strides to his door. Once he’s inside I turn around and find Miranda standing in the doorway glaring at me with arms crossed and pursed lips.

“What was that about?” She whispers so Mike won’t hear as I walk in the door.

“He wanted to make sure we were okay and apologize for scaring us.”

“How very nice of him,” she snorts. “Did he happen to apologize for attacking my brother?”

I stalk past her to the kitchen, but she follows on my heels. “Don’t be like that, Miranda. He’s genuinely concerned about our safety.”

The kitchen looks exactly the same as it did when we were kids. Same pastel wall paper. Same old gray and white formica countertop. Same old reddish brown vinyl flooring. It has always been my favorite room in the house. It’s where I spent the majority of my childhood.

Loraine, Miranda’s mom, would bake cookies and cakes, while quizzing me and Miranda for upcoming tests. There’s a scratch on the countertop from me cutting a head of lettuce without a cutting board when I was ten. Loraine had been so kind and patient with me about it. Every time I see this scratch, I want to cry.

“Did you tell him there’s nothing to be concerned about?”

I turn and face her. Her arms are still crossed. “He’s not an idiot. He hears what goes on over here.”

“We argue. Who doesn’t?” She protests.

I roll my eyes. “It goes way beyond that and you know it.”

I grab a glass from the cupboard. Some of the glasses are from when we were kids. Loraine wasn’t one to upgrade. She’d simply buy more when needed. I choose one of the oldest ones.

Miranda’s defensive stance becomes even more rigid. “We have issues like everyone else. It’s not anyone’s business but our own.”

I open the refrigerator, remove a two liter of soda, and fill my glass. “Well, Rooter hears those issues on nearly a daily basis, and he doesn’t like it.”

“I still don’t understand why he’d even care.”

I plunk the glass on the counter a little too hard and she flinches. “Don’t start with your accusations, Miranda.”

She uncrosses her arms and softens her expression. This is how it always goes with her. She comes on like a hard ass then the moment I reciprocate, she backs down at once. “I’m not accusing, just making a statement.”

“Rooter doesn’t like guys hitting women. He hears us over here fighting with Mike all the time. He heard what happened last night,” I motion toward the bruise on her face, “and then he saw your face.”

She picks up my glass and takes a drink. “So your big bad biker has a soft spot for abused women?”

“Apparently so.” I tap the counter with my fingers. “He’s not letting this go.”

“It’s none of his damn business!” She squeals like a petulant child.

“Quiet,” I urge with wide eyes and glare at the ceiling. The last thing we need is for Mike to hear us.

Miranda points at Rooter’s house and whispers harshly. “That guy needs to keep his nose out of our business. He’s going to cause more trouble.”

“Don’t make Rooter out to be the bad guy here, Miranda. Mike caused all of this. And just so you know, I don’t think he’ll be going away anytime soon so Mike had better keep his anger in check.”

I’m half asleep when I pull into the driveway after work. It’s been a long, hard Monday. I had class from ten until three thirty then had to be at work by five. With all that’s been going on, I’m lucky to be averaging four hours of sleep each night. To say I’m exhausted is putting it mildly. I am utterly dead on my feet.

As usual, Rooter sits in his regular spot on his front porch when I pull into the driveway. I climb out of the car and wave. He waves back, but says nothing. As tired as I am I’d like to chat with him. Not about anything in particular. I just like talking to him. But I don’t know what to say. It’s difficult for me to initiate a conversation with a person I don’t know well. Asking about his day or commenting on the weather would be trite.

Since he doesn’t speak, and I don’t know what to say, I plod to my front door. As I unlock the door, I see movement to my left. I turn my head to see Rooter enter his house. All of a sudden, I get a crazy notion he may have been waiting for me to get home so he could make sure I got in safely. The thought gives me butterflies and a warm sensation fills my chest.

Our neighborhood is no longer the safe, family oriented place it once was. It has become overrun by criminals and prostitutes. A registered sex offender lives four houses down from ours. Last week there was a home invasion on the next street over.

I carry a thirty eight special everywhere I go. A birthday present, along with ammunition, from my mom on my sixteenth birthday. One could imagine my reaction. Saying I wasn’t pleased is an understatement. Now, I’m glad to have it. Although I’ve never fired it, I have wielded it on a few occasions. Works like a charm.

To my surprise, the house is dark and quiet. Mike isn’t in his typical spot on the couch playing video games. I creep up the stairs, listening for signs of life. Nothing. I take a deep breath, relieved. Tonight I will be able to sleep soundly, for at least a few hours, until I have to be up at seven to get ready for my nine o’clock class.

Thank God it’s the last week before summer break. And to think I considered taking summer classes. Sure, graduating early would be nice, but I need a break. Plus I’ll be able to put in more hours at the restaurant or even consider getting a second job and finally save a little money. As it stands, most of my money goes towards books and rent. There’s hardly enough left over at the end of the month to splurge on something as simple as instant cappuccino.

I turn on the lights in my bedroom, drop my purse and keys to the floor and quickly strip down to my panties. I’m so tired I don’t even bother to put on pajamas. I stretch my arms out wide and yawn. Just as I get ready to turn out the light, I see Rooter staring at me, bug eyed, from the window across from mine. We lock eyes for maybe three seconds. I’m frozen in place. He rushes and closes his blinds. I grab my comforter, wrap it around me and turn out my light.

How long had he been standing there? Had he watched me the entire time I undressed? He wouldn’t do that. Would he?

My heart pounds within my chest and I giggle with my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe that just happened. I’ve only been that exposed to one other guy. Adam. The night he raped me. Somehow, this exhibition doesn’t bother me. Even if Rooter had been standing there purposely watching me undress, I don’t care. In fact, I find it exciting. A fact that takes me wildly by surprise. Ever since Adam raped me, I’ve been rather timid around guys.

But as I stand giggling I find myself hoping Rooter liked what he saw. For the first time in my life, I genuinely want someone. I want Rooter, and I want him to want me.