Page 6 of Under His Control

Elizabeth crosses my mind. I missed her call a few weeks ago and forgot to return it. My sister would never give Alyssa my address. She hates her as much as I do, if not more.

I take out my phone and call Elizabeth because this warrants more than a text. Her assistant answers in a harried tone. Voices chatter in the background, and the loudest is some guy yelling to “bring the MicroFogger.” Elizabeth must be on set.

“It’s Jake. Tell Liz to call me back when she’s free.”

I end the call and sit on the bench by the door to unlace my boots. How Alyssa and Penelope found me is important, but I have to focus on my next move.

What do you do when the enemy learns your precise location?

You haul ass somewhere else.

The thought of leaving pisses me off more than Penelope’s unexpected visit.

Ten months ago, I came to Wenora, and it was beginning to feel like home. For once, I felt settled. Every day I inhaled the good air, I exhaled some of the bitterness I’ve been carrying for years. I would’ve been light and free given enough time.

Shoes off, jacket hung, I head to the bedroom to change into workout clothes. It’ll be dark soon. The weather is about to get worse, but a run always helps me decompress after work. I need that now more than ever.

I need your help.

Penelope’s voice replays in my head while I’m doing warm-up stretches on the porch. Guilt stabs me when I remember the hurt in her eyes. Yeah, I was a dick for chasing her away like that, but I don’t regret it. I’ll make the same damn choice if I had a do-over.

“Fuck her for thinking she could waltz up here and con me with a fake sob story. Fuck her for thinking I would offer up my other cheek after she gouged the first one.”

The wind howls in response.

I set off for my run, leaving thoughts of Penelope and the past behind, focusing on my breathing and surroundings instead. Time disappears. My brain falls into the familiar, comforting calmness despite the rising burn in my legs.

It’s starting to snow when I return home. My heart is pounding and my limbs are tingling. Then my satisfaction from a good workout fades. A woman in a long, padded black jacket is on my porch. Her hood is up, strands of her reddish-brown hair visible. She wrings her hands as I approach.

Fuck me.

Another visitor?

Today must be my lucky day.

I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around the house at the bottom of the hill when I drive by. Sometimes she’s on the porch wall reading a book, or she’s doing yard work, or she’s hanging out with friends.

She steps down from the top porch step. Now that she’s closer, I realize she’s younger than I thought. She couldn’t be older than twenty.

“My stepdad is lying on the ground outside. Can you help me bring his drunk ass into the house so he doesn’t freeze to death?”

Her expression is sullen as if she would rather let her stepdad turn into a block of ice. I would also prefer to get inside and take a shower.

She hiked up the steep hill while it’s snowing. I can’t let her effort go to waste. She might get caught in the storm searching for help elsewhere.

“Sure.”

“Oh, thank god.” She descends the rest of the steps. “I’m Ruth, by the way. What’s your name?”

I turn, walking alongside her.

“Jacob.”

“Thanks for helping me, Jacob.”

How ironic.

You’ll help someone else’s stepdaughter but not yours.