WingSpan (Taken on the Wing Book 1) (10 page)

“Damn,” Jenn sighs and her heart sinks. The trucks face the taxi up against an empty lot. Only a couple of old leafless trees are visible past the fallen down fence.

“‘dere Miss,” Ambrose points to the other side of the street. “Dat da one.”

Jenn turns just in time to see the curtains fall shut, making the house look as empty as the others. A narrow covered porch crosses the front, windows on either side of the old door. When Ambrose picked her up his practiced mind calculated the best route and he’d only been off by a few dollars so she offers him another twenty.

“Ah, keep it Miss,” Ambrose passes Jenn his card. As she reaches for it he bends his elbow, snapping it away. “Deal ‘ere dis. Don’ work out you call an’ ask for Ambrose, eh? You don’ call den I tell your love story to every fare dat listen. Secon’ bes’ to me an Maude but still good, eh?”

Jenn glances at Mark’s door and imagines the story of the crazy Parksville girl he’ll tell if she doesn’t phone.

“Deal, Ambrose,” she agrees. “And it’s not a love story.”

He shrugs again and before he gets his arms down Jenn hugs him. It is what it is.

“Is cold, Miss,” he says as her door pops open. “Don’ stan’ out long if ‘e won’ listen.”

One last wave at Ambrose and Jenn stands alone, her bag over her shoulder. The cold instantly pulls the moisture from her skin, tightening it over her nose and stiffening her fingers before she gets her hat down a little lower and tries to warm them in her pockets.

As Ambrose backs up, Jenn faces what she hopes is Mark’s door. The cab turns around at the first cross street and sits, its red tail lights looking out for her.

Maybe Mark has another woman or he’ll hear her out and say good-bye. It’s more likely Jenn will choke up like in her apartment and she’ll spend the night with Ambrose and Maude. After she’s come all this way to apologize to Mark it’ll be disappointing if it’s just a repeat of the scene in the hall.

Stiffness in her bad leg sets in after only a few steps. The insufferable prairie winter goes right through her flesh and into the metal that holds her up more than her own bone. After she takes another painful step Mark comes out, glowing in a grease-stained high-vis parka.

He stops and stares so Jenn pulls off her toque letting her long dark hair fall around her shoulders.

“Jenn?”

“Hi, Mark,” bravery makes her voice a little too loud and Jenn glances at the neighbour’s house certain she’s been heard but it’s black inside and doesn’t have a door. A trail of exhaled air follows him down three stairs and along his shoveled walk, heavy work boots leave a trail of fresh prints. His attention is on the waiting taxi and he doesn’t face Jenn until he’s a few feet away.

“Do you have a few minutes?” Jenn starts, still brave inside. “I mean, if it’s a bad time I can come back or something.”

“You want to come in?”

Jenn peers past her freezing lashes to make sure Ambrose is still there. Waiting in the cold for him to come back looks more and more unappealing.

“No, I just need a minute if it’s okay,” she resists palming her eyes as the wetness eases the discomfort. The speech she’d run through is ready but stage fright is already taking the words away.

Mark nods and she starts with a deep breath, hoping it will give the first hard words the momentum she needs to finish. After that, she thinks, the rest will be easy.

“My brother Terry died,” she chokes, hands hiding her face and pressing back tears until she gets control again. “Two and a half years ago. I haven’t even said his name since that morning.”

When her hands come down Mark is closer, eyebrows pressed together and his head tips with concern.

“He left me everything. His apartment, his sports stuff. It still doesn’t feel like my place. He loved those things so I did but they were his love, not mine. When you noticed it wasn’t my apartment I was overwhelmed with everything I’d buried coming to the surface and I thought if I talked it would wash me away.

“I know what it looked like,” she goes on, picking a smudge on his coat to stare at in case he shows pity on his face. Even in the cold the smell of heavy grease settles around them. “Like I brought you to another man’s home. In your place I’d have felt cheated, used. I’d have been angry and I wouldn’t have held my tongue like you did. I appreciated that.”

Mark nods.

“After you left I started boxing Terry’s things up. I’m getting my stuff out of storage and when it’s ready to go I’ll rent something and put his life away… get mine back.

“I didn’t think my problems would hurt anyone and I’m so, so sorry.”

“Jenn…” he says.

“Anyway,” she looks left, seeking the shelter of her waiting cab. “You deserved to hear a real apology.”

She’s barely a step closer to Ambrose when the reverse lights come on.

“Wait, Jenn.”

The taxi keeps coming as Mark tries again.

“Please,” he says as he takes her elbow then she’s folded up in his big coat. Inside it’s dark and warm. Outside they glow in Ambrose’ white lights shining out danger like a yellow-jacket. Mark smells clean of deodorant soap and fabric softener and his lips rest in her hair. The big muscles squeeze and Jenn’s neck tingles, loving it and forcing out any fear she had that Mark would send her away. “Stay here tonight. Tell your ride you’re staying.”

Unable to get her hands from her pockets she surrenders in his arms.

“Please,” he says. “No expectations.”

“Okay, Mark,” she says as he lets her go. What Jenn really wants is a shower and some sleep but first she has to face the chill outside his coat and thank Ambrose. The crunch of snow under tires stops.

Ambrose leans over, looking up at her when she opens the passenger door.

“Thanks for waiting. I don’t need a ride.”

Ambrose laughs, shaking his cell phone in his big fist.

“I call Maude first, tell ‘er ‘bout you!” he proclaims. “‘bout you an da love story!”

Jenn shakes her head to protest but then shrugs like he does. It is what it is. She blows the old man a kiss and he holds his hand over his heart before he waves. The door closes and he pulls away, purposefully this time.

Mark holds the rolled up paper. It’s frozen and the snow slides off and falls to the ground.

“You went to all these addresses?” He sees them there, sorted by city. Every one is crossed off the list except his and Winnipeg. “You could have tried the phone.”

Mark leads her to the house and brushes the snowflakes from her shoulders before they stomp their boots clean. The echoes fall flat in the snowy air. Her coat disappears into the closet with his and their boots sit together on a rubber mat. Jenn stands uselessly by the front door rubbing at her eyes. The deep itch is all her exhausted numb body feels.

“I just got in,” Mark explains as she tries not to yawn loudly. When her eyes unblur the list of addresses is gone.

Behind him the hallway stretches down to a pair of doors, another to his left. To his right the hall opens up into his living room lit only by a fireplace and a flat screen TV. Mark’s Xbox is on. Through the far end is a kitchen, a couple of red lights on the stove. Jenn isn’t surprised the place is as clean as he keeps his truck and himself. The whole house isn’t much bigger than the apartment.

“I don’t want to put you out,” Jenn mumbles but her forehead is suddenly so heavy she might pass out and block his front door.

“Shower and sleep?” he offers and points down the hall. “It’s the door on the right.”

When she doesn’t move he picks up her bag and walks her there. Clean towels are on the counter and it’s still a little steamy. Mark pulls open a small closet behind the bathroom door revealing the stacking washer and dryer.

“Toss anything you want washed in here,” he offers.

“Can I borrow something to sleep in? Everything is dirty.” It has to be; she’s wearing her last clean pair of panties.

When she gets out there’s a clean t-shirt on the counter. Jenn pulls it on, amused that the sleeves hang down past her elbows.

She finds Mark on his sofa; two plates in front of him. His is empty. Hers has a baked potato and some salad, generous since he wasn’t expecting a vegetarian. A glass of wine. He barely looks away from the mayhem on the screen as the headset comes off.

“It’s game night,” he explains. “I only miss if I’m on the road.”

Jenn yawns and sips at the wine, simply relieved to have found him. Her plate is almost empty when she curls up against the arm of the couch. Mark tosses a blanket over and grabs her ankles, stretching her legs out over his.

Chapter Nine

Mark signs off the Xbox when most of his friends decide to call it a night. Tomorrow is a work day it seems for everyone but him. His exhausted mate murmurs his gryphon name and sighs.

Impossibly, her small frame sinks further into his sturdy couch and he scents a little more peace in her. The pain she carries nearly overwhelmed him when she arrived and it’s still strong.

Reluctant to leave her side, Mark slips out from under her legs and turns down the TV before kneeling near her head.

“
Arlette
,” he whispers. “I’m ashamed.”

You can be a selfish asshole, Talon,
he curses himself.
Running out on her when she needed you so much. The wound you opened must have been brutal.

It’s easy to put his feelings into words when he’s been human so long. His eyes close and he rests his head near her stomach, startling when she cups his rough cheek in her palm.

“It was a really good day,” she whispers. “We were headed across the Island to Tofino for a swim in the big waves. Terry loved the heat of summer and the wind on his skin. We turned twenty-eight that day.”

Mark’s eyes close as she shares her feelings: their joy and closeness. He knows that bond since he shares the same with Feather.

“I was riding behind him when a truck came out of nowhere, out of control and Terry broadsided it. I hit them from behind.”

His lungs empty with a rough hiss and he brings his head up, close to hers.

“I tried to hold on to him,” her voice breaks, tearing at his heart. “I tried so hard.”

He’d do anything to spare her.

“Nuke was behind me.”

Now he knows why the little human made her feel so terrible. Shit.

“Don’t push it, Jenn,” he whispers. “I should have stuck around for you.”

She shrugs like she did to the cabbie.

“After you left I got ready for work,” she says, leaving out the tears he heard that morning. “I walked all the way to your hotel and banged on your door but you were gone.

“I got in to work late. Delilah was covering my wicket and as soon as she saw me she hauled me down to the coffee room. I couldn’t sit up I got so dizzy I fell and they got an ambulance.”

“Jesus,” Mark mutters.

“Vertigo but they couldn’t find anything wrong. I got to talking to the nurse about Terry and all the bad things I did to try and cope—”

“What bad things?” he’s glad to be sitting down.

“Drinking, sleeping pills,” she explains. Mark wants to throw up. “I told her the hurt was still as bad as the day he died so they sent in a shrink. They put me on stress leave… post traumatic stress they call it. My insurance pays for a nice counselor. She comes to the apartment and we talk about Terry and she helps me pack.”

‘The’ apartment, he notes, not ‘my.’

“Post traumatic stress,” Jenn sighs. “But I know what it really was.”

“Yeah?” God, he’s trying to be cool for her but all he wants to do is go fuck something up.

Like that would make it all better.

“I tried so hard to hold on to the man I couldn’t have that I almost gave up the one right in front of me.”

Mark watches, washed in her emotions. She seems peaceful then the pulse in her neck picks up and it’s like she explodes inside, then complete despondence…

“You meant it,” she says, now filled with unshakable resolve. “What you said. You wanted to see me again.”

“Yes,” he whispers. God yes, he thought about her as he drove away leaving her crying on the floor.
Asshole.
But he takes her hand, kissing her wrist around the bracelet as if to say the words neither one of them has spoken.