Dela Calling.
Just then,mycell phone blared, the annoying dinging of an unknown caller filling the cab. “Fuck, shit, shit.” I scrambled to find it. All my contacts had assigned ring tones, and this ring tone was meant for strangers. I’d received multiple calls from Cardinal and Sarah and just a couple from Rossy. There were countless texts I had yet to open because I wasn’t ready to face them.
I dug at the bottom of my bag, fishing for the device. When I finally yanked it out and put it to my ear, Hayes was still inside, the old man talking his ear off. A small laugh left me, knowing Hayes was trying not to be rude as I answered, “Hello?”
“What’s so funny, sis?” Marcus sneered.
My laughter died as the warmth from the cab was sucked out in an instant. “Why are you calling me? Was twenty-grand not enough for you?” I snapped back.
Now, it was his turn to laugh. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you!” I returned hotly. “Don’t call me ever again.”
I hung up the phone just as Hayes came back outside. It started ringing again when he opened the door. He folded himself inside, rain soaking his shirt at his shoulders. He looked at the phone, then to me as he shut the door. “Who is that?”
“Fucking Marcus—hey!”
Hayes plopped the bag of food in my lap, the familiar smell of wedding soup overwhelming my senses as he brought the device to his ear, elbow on the window seal. “Marcus Bennett,” he greeted, voice hard.
My brother’s outburst was so loud I could hear him through the phone, demanding to know who Hayes was. “Going forward,” Hayes began, backing up the Jeep. “You are no longer allowed to contact your sister as she is filing a restraining order against you today.”
His words cut me deep, the knife in my back twisting painfully. A restraining order was something I should’ve put against him, our father, and Gordon the second I was free of them, but I’d hesitated. I’d held on to the hope that Marcus would come back to me, be the brother I raised and the man I wished for him to be. Evidence of that hope was plastered underneath my cheek in dark purple and blue. The lump in my throat dispersed into shards of glass, cutting my vocal cords.
“You contact her again, you’ll be in jail,” Hayes continued coldly, ignoring whatever shit my brother was spouting off at him. We Bennetts liked to spout shit off at people. It was one of the few things my bloodline was good at until me. “Call her again and the entire Portland police force will be at your door within the hour.” Hayes hung up and handed the phone back to me, his eyes on the road.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Is that the first time he’s called you since you went over there?” he asked, jaw tight.
I nodded at his profile before focusing on the highway.
More silence.
When we were out of Portland, I watched as he took his hand off the steering wheel to reach over and turn my heated seat on.My lips parted as he switched the heat from our faces to our feet, my legs warming. “Thank you,” I repeated thickly.
“You don’t have to thank me for protecting you,” he replied.
I ignored that, moving on. “Is Dela your sister?” His eyes cut to me, and I quickly blurted, “Your phone fell off the dash when she called earlier.”
“Yeah, she’s my sister,” he answered, inhaling a deep sigh. “She’s a pain in my damn ass most of the time.”
I smiled. “Are you two close?”
He was quiet for a moment, his lips thinning as I watched him decide whether to let me in. “We were. A long time ago. We’re trying to find our way back to that place again.”
My throat grew thick, memories of Marcus and me as kids rushing forth. “Well, I know it’s none of my business, but I hope you find your way back.”
He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Margo.”
I looked back out my window and bit down on my tongue, keeping my pain to myself.
Two hours later, we pulled into the empty parking lot of the Buoy. The sun poked out through the clouds above, making the water shine. The seagulls squawked, hopping along the docks, looking for bait to steal. Hayes directed the Jeep to the back of the building, parking beside my car. Without a word, he grabbed the food from my lap, killed the engine, and got out. He rounded the front, opened my door, and got close. “Stay here for a second,” he commanded softly, touching my cheek. “I’m going to do a sweep.”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “Superman, it isn’t that serious.”
“When it comes to you, yes, it is,” he said before walking away, ascending the steps, food in hand.
A deep sigh left me, deflating my chest as I rested my head against the seat, closing my eyes. Outside, I could hear the waves crashing into the pillars of the docks, the seagulls singing, the boat engines humming as the fisherman barked orders and argued with each other over games, bait, and weigh-ins. I knew my boss was inside the bar, wiping down the counters, tables, and chairs, his broken clip board perched on top of the bar with his inventory and the pen he stole from me.