Thick Love

A brief dash up the stairs and Ransom was in my apartment, slipping his hands in his pockets as he looked around my place. No one but Lea

My place was nice, small but comfortable, though it wasn’t really more than a couple of converted storage rooms. I had a small kitchenette with a mini fridge and stovetop and there was a tiny bathroom at the back.

My style was a little eccentric—vintage because I could only afford thrift store and garage sale finds, and hand-me-downs from Lea

The sofa was really only a loveseat, and was plush but threadbare, covered in an olive cable knit throw Lea

“Who did this?” I asked him, coming closer to the sofa with my knee leaning against the plank wood coffee table.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Those large hands trembling, the defeated, exhausted tone of his voice, were almost too hard to bear. I’d never seen him like this up close—broken, wounded in a way that I worried couldn’t be healed.

When I came to my knees in front of him, Ransom didn’t move. “Hey,” I said, pulling his face up to look at me. “Talk to me. How can I help?”

“You can’t,” he said, as a bitter laugh left his throat. “You can’t help the hopeless.”

“No one is hopeless.”

He stared at me a long time and when I tried to touch his hand, he sat back, fingers ru

Everyone tiptoed around Ransom when it came to bringing up the past. He was such a large, imposing figure that only Keira and Kona really got to push his buttons. They knew how to handle him, everyone else took their lead. And as much as I respected them, loved them even, I thought they did more harm than good letting Ransom wallow in his grief, not making him confront the stuff that seemed to weigh him down. Now he had brought the past to my front door. Or backdoor, however you look at it. He hadn’t come here for a damn dance lesson. I thought maybe it was being here, at the studio, getting lost in the music and movements that eased him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come here because he needed a friend who wouldn’t try to tell him things would be fine. More likely, he’d been lost but that i

Ransom needed a friend, I knew that, but he also needed to talk through the ghosts that were hurting him. It was a risk to mention, but one I’d take just to get him past this. “Is this…the roses, it has to do with…with Emily?”

His fingers came down, slapped onto his leg at my question and I recognized that swift flare of anger, insult in his eyes. But Ransom was able to retain his temper holding back from it as he looked away from me. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Lea

“What?” he said, moving his head to the left to glare at me over his shoulder before he turned around. He moved his hands from his hips to ball into fists at his side. “Get in your business? If that’s the case then I don’t want any friends.” It was a shock, that harsh tone, one he hadn’t used since that first confrontation after I lied to him. Instinctually, I flinched when he yelled, stepping back, then feeling stupid for pulling away.

I’d only meant to help, to get that sad frown off his face and deep down inside Ransom must have known that because his immediately softened. “Aly…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He laced his fingers in his hair again, staring up at my low ceiling. “Shit, I suck at this.”

Someone had to reach him, knock down the walls Emily had erected the day of the accident. “You don’t talk about her?”

That anger flashed again and Ransom stood straight, curling his fingers into a fist. I felt the tension from him, it shook his arms and lowered his deep voice. “No.”

“It might help.”

He shook his head.

“Ransom…”

“No!” This time when he shouted I wasn’t surprised and found myself a

He moved his chin up, but kept his face hard, a frown that shook his top lip, reminding me of a tiger, pent up and pacing behind a glass wall at the zoo. “No one gets that from me. It’s none of your damn business.”

He stepped closer, the sadness and frustration that had covered him downstairs now replaced by a quick rip of anger.

“Fine,” I said, waving him toward the door. I had my own bullshit to handle and I wouldn’t stroke his ego if he didn’t want help. That would do him zero good. “Go face Lea

“What…” His glare twisted, became a shock of surprise, eyebrows lifting as though he couldn’t believe I’d call him out. “What the hell did you say to me?”

“Did I not make myself clear?” More a

He looked at me hard, the muscle in his jaw clenching, and I thought he might speak, call me something insulting. What I didn’t expect was for his temper to tamper down or for him to look crestfallen, and apologetic. But silent.

“Whatever,” I finally said, tired of looking up at him expecting a response I knew wouldn’t come. “Just…whatever.”

My place was neat but confining with him standing behind me, watching as I threw my bag on my bed and fiddled with my stereo. Ransom’s angry panting had slowed, but I was still aware of his breaths and his movements as he lowered himself back down onto the sofa. I needed a distraction, something that would keep me from lashing out again, so I chose Van Morrison, “Into the Mystic” because that voice, that song always settled my simmering temper.

Outside my window, Metairie was a bustle of activity, with cars shifting on the Interstate, drivers eager to hit the city, and I had a fleeting notion to follow them. I still had to work at the diner tonight, after all. But I wasn’t needed for another couple of hours and being around customers and Carl’s nagging wouldn’t do me any good. So instead I closed my eyes and let the music roll over me like a balm, easing away my anger.

I’d almost forgotten that I wasn’t alone when Ransom cleared his throat behind me. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”