Cornered

Chapter 1-2

THE HANG & HIDE HAD become my regular hideout around five weeks back, when I’d stumbled across it in need of somewhere to dry off, and definitely in need of a drink. About a half hour from home, the flat but broad shack of a building sat just before the cusp of the town of Derby on a w**d-riddled, uneven car park, and resembled a rundown, wood-fronted shack, but on a grander scale.

Four older teens clustered near the entrance, beneath a bug-spattered lamp that cast a less than weak glow over the lot once sundown arrived. Heading for the opposite side, I bumped across the potholes to my usual spot for parking, just to the right of the windowless door. After cutting the engine, I climbed off the bike and trod toward the entrance, slipping my helmet off on the way.

The kids near the door spared barely a glance when I passed them, and I ignored them right back. I’d never gone there to make friends, never gone there to create new roots. I’d only ever gone there for a break from the stress-hole my house had become.

Stepping through the decrepit wooden door didn’t bring with it much more light than that cast outside. Every strip along the ceiling worked, if one listened to the gossip, but the owner never flipped them on—some said it was because he didn’t like the bills that created.

Inhaling offered up sweat and perfume, dust and spilled lager, and I chased the latter with a glance to the left.

A couple of folks hogged the stools at the bar, behind which Joe, the bar manager, poured from a tap. Farther long, doors led out to a long corridor that ended up at an emergency exit past the loos, and at the back wall, a couple of pool tables were in use—the highlight of the place and probably what brought in the younger crowd.

I knew the situation of everything—had since my first visit—and, as I’d grown used to doing, I checked every corner over, from left—skimming over the ID’s of those at the bar, the two twenty-something’s shooting balls.

The right wall was mostly filled by elongated booths, all of them with haphazardly placed circular tables, like someone’d just tossed them to see where they’d land. The seating had fared little better. Helping to clutter up the space, padded stools of all designs sat in disorder around the tables, pressed up against the threadbare bench seats that stretched the full length on opposing sides of the booths.

On one of those benches, in the booth nearest the door, a head of red hair was bent over some notes on a table, and I smiled to myself. I didn’t head that way, though, but went straight to the bar.

Slotting myself between the two occupied stools, I waited for Joe to notice me—or to quit pretending he hadn’t noticed me, anyway. It took a full four seconds before he nodded my way. No words, just the nod. From my short time visiting the place, I’d noticed Joe never seemed to have a lot to say to his patrons.

“Pint, and whatever Liv’s on tonight,” I said, leaning my elbows on the bar.

The grunt he gave was the equivalent of a full blown conversation, coming from Joe, and as he turned away to grab glasses, I glanced in the mirror behind the him. Right into the dark eyes of the blonde on my left.

I’d seen her before; she sat in the exact same spot every time. Seen her smiles before, too, because she sent me one whenever she thought I was looking. I rarely returned them, though. I hadn’t gone there to pick up, and if I had? Well, something just seemed off about her. I didn’t like a female to be too eager.

Joe’s bulk blocked the view again, and he slammed the drinks down in front of me and held out his hand. He rarely even bothered to let customers know how much they owed him. If they gave too much, he returned with change. If they gave too little, his hand just didn’t move until the error had been corrected.

I dropped a folded fiver onto his palm and told him to keep the leftovers.

With both drinks in hand, I turned for the booth, lifting the smaller glass and taking a sniff. Coke. Usually meant Liv had too much work to get through.

Liv studied at Uni and often landed at The Double-H—as the locals called it—to work on assignments. Said the atmosphere helped her to slip into a zone her wall-facing home desk tended to kill.

Not wanting to break her stride, I placed her drink down on her table and took a seat on the opposite bench without saying a word. Didn’t mean I didn’t c**k my head to the side to see what she worked on, though.

At the top, in her neat handwriting, she’d penned 'Olivia Fanella’, and beneath that, a load of gobble-de-g**k I didn’t understand. She’d once tried to explain what all the codes meant, the one time I’d asked her. It hadn't sunk in, and rather than ask again, I scanned the room for the second time since arriving.

One of the teens, a black kid, lounged over the pool table as he lined up a shot. The other, a pale blond, kept shaking his head, muttering for him to 'miss it’, despite the wonky smile on his lips.

I watched them a moment, almost wondering what it might’ve been like to grow up normal. Human. To have continued on through school until the very end. Through college. Uni, even—like Liv. Instead of hushed phone calls and donations made to school, the day Nate—our Alpha, and Dad’s best friend—decided I couldn’t go back, because I’d experienced my first full body muscle spasm.

I’d been popular in school. Popular with the sporty kids. Popular with the girls. It’d been weeks before I quit sulking over the loss of that popularity. It’d been longer still before I’d been given a new outlet for my energy, because not only did I have to wait until I reached eighteen before Dad and Nate would let me join them at the family construction business, I also had to wait for my first few changes to pass. They’d been some seriously, seriously boring months.

The black kid must’ve potted his ball, because, as he straightened, he outstretched his arms, his face full of smugness. “Man, you’ve either got it, or you ain’t,” he said to his friend.

From the other side of the floor, his volume shouldn’t have been audible. It likely wasn’t, to anybody else near where I sat. I didn’t fall into that category, though.

Studying the guys a bit longer, I took in the fitted cut of their shirts, the neatness of their hair. Despite only wearing jeans and boots, everything they wore seemed to have been chosen with precision. The blonde at the bar looked designer dressed from head to toe, too, and even the bloke on the other stool had on a pressed shirt and trousers, his tie from whatever job he’d left behind still secured about his neck.

Nothing like my stained jeans and scuffed boots, my hair overgrown and a b****y mess. I probably stood out like a tick on a bald cat.

Except for the girl sitting opposite.

I turned my attention back to Liv. The way that red hair of hers hung in her face had a roughness about it, making it—her—seem wild and untamed, despite her quiet demeanour. The hand not holding the pen clutched onto a bunch of the strands, like she needed the anchor to keep her grounded while she worked, showing a glimpse of the black-framed glasses she always wore. Beside her on the bench, her usual parker sat scrunched, leaving her in only a white T, with rolled up sleeves and a Rolling Stones logo on the front, a pair of ratty skinnies leading to the green Converse on her feet. Seemed to be her usual 'work’ gear—she’d barely deviated from the outfit since the first time I’d seen her.

The pair of us looked way out of place, when compared to the rest of the patrons, even if, all things considered, we probably were the only ones in there who actually suited The Hang & Hide, in all its ramshackle glory. Probably what’d drawn me to sit near her in the first place—that, and the way she seemed to want to talk even less than me.

Still, I couldn’t help but lean forward and open my big mouth. “You know, you don’t really look like the kind of female who’d hang around a place like this all the while.” As soon as I said it, I knew I’d sounded like a twit.

“Why’s that, then?” She nudged her glasses up her nose as she lifted her gaze. “Or maybe you just think the place should be full of more like Barbie over there?”

I followed the jerk of her chin, to the blonde at the bar. Like she sensed the scrutiny, the female twisted in her seat, giving me another of her smiles. Another one I ignored. With her movement, her thick waves of hair swung over her shoulder, the colour of popcorn flavoured jelly beans. Her eyes, on the other hand, resembled the liquorice ones.

Personally, I preferred the orangey sorts.

I downed a fat swig of my pint and turned back to Liv, resting my elbows on my knees.

Liv’s attention had already returned to her pad, her coarse wispy strands falling around her face, as she tapped her pen against her bottom lip, creating a smudge of blue there I instantly wanted to wipe away.

“Your hair reminds me of satsuma jelly beans,” I said, before I could stop myself.

“That supposed to be sweet talk, Danny?” she asked, looking up again. “Because you’re seriously crap at it.”

“Just saying.” I shrugged. “I like satsuma jelly beans.”

Breathing out a laugh and shaking her head, she went back to hunching over the table. “Thanks for the drink,” she muttered. “But work on your chatting up skills, yeah?”

Straightening, I lifted a foot and flopped it onto a stool, slouching back as I necked the rest of my lager in a few long swigs. “Who says I’m chatting you up?” I asked when I came up for air.

She dropped her pen long enough to take a drink. As she lowered her glass, she said, “There are always plenty of girls in here you can talk to, yet, you always talk to me. So, either you’re chatting me up ... or you’re gay.”

“Self-flattery.” I let out a low whistle. “That’s ... quite a skill.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Danny.”

That got my attention, and I studied her serious expression, the tightness between her brows, the way she fingered her pen like she needed the distraction. My own frown moved in. “Feel better now you have that out there?”

I heard her swallow as much as saw it, before she gave a small nod.

Leaning forward in my seat again and dropping my foot back to the floor, I swiped up my glass. “Good.” I pushed up from my seat, but paused before taking more than a few steps and twisted back to find her gazing my way through her lenses. “I’m not gay,” I said, like that was somehow important. “And I sit next to you each week because I come here for some peace, and you happen to be pretty good at providing that. Just so we’re clear.”

Without waiting for a response, I headed for the bar and slid my glass across the counter. “Another, when you’ve got time, Joe—JD and Coke, too. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Black scuffs marked the walls of the corridor leading to the loos, like boots had been planted along there and God knew what else, and I shrugged my shoulders in to avoid contact. On reaching the Men's door, I took a deep breath and held it, then nudged my way in using my elbow. My eyes stung at the stench in there, and I strode for the urinals and made light work of relieving myself, before zipping back up and ducking back out in record time. As soon as I entered the corridor and the door swung shut behind me, I sucked in the breath I'd held and headed back out to the bar.

Liv hadn't moved, though the twitch of her head told me she might've been watching for my return. Slapping money on the bar, I nodded toward Joe and scooped up my drinks.

Liv wiggled her pencil back and forth, meeting my eyes as I sat down. "I'm sorry I made assumptions about you."

Sliding my pint onto the table beside me, I took a sip of the JD&C and sank back into my seat. "Okay," I said, once the liquid had travelled to the spot I needed it to hit.

"It's just ..." She dropped her pencil down and flattened her palm atop her papers. "Look, most guys, in my experience, only bother to spend time with a girl because they want to get into her knickers."

As soon as she said it, my focus instantly dropped to where those knickers would hug, and my eyebrow twitched before I could stop it. "Okay," I said again, because up until she mentioned them, I hadn't even given them a thought. At least, not outside of my bedroom. It took effort to force my eyes back up to hers.

"So, you're saying you're not like that, then?"

I smirked. "I'm not trying to get into your knickers, no." At least, not then, anyway.

She didn't look convinced. Not that I blamed her. I didn't dare tell Liv she'd been my inspiration a few times since we'd met. She'd probably never talk to me again, if I told her what, exactly, she inspired. Even so, she picked her pencil up again and turned back to her work, offering up her own, "Okay."

Chuckling, I lifted my glass back to my lips.