Unlikely Hero (Atlanta #1) (6 page)

Marcus spent much of the day on Sunday sleeping, just like he did after almost every fight. He was pretty sure he had a broken or cracked rib under that knee-shaped bruise so he knew he had to go easy on himself for a few days. Down-time was the hardest part about the fight. Pain wasn’t difficult; he was well used to that. Recovery left him with too much time to think and not enough physical work to vent the angry energy that would build up only too quickly.
 

He had napped off and on for hours and was getting stiff from lying on the couch for so long. He had only woken up with nightmares once, which is pretty good for right after a fight. Usually when he allowed himself a trip to the darkest reaches of his mind, he came back with quite a bit of baggage. Usually, a few days would have to pass for the nightmares to cease. Today, he found pleasantly, he woke up from one dream about a puppy licking his nose. He laughed at that one and fell right back to sleep.
 

By four o’clock, though, every ounce of him ached from so much time on the couch. He heard a truck in the alley beside his apartment and headed downstairs.

“You want help unloading?” Marcus asked George and the delivery guy.

“You look like hell, kid,” George responded playfully. “Nah, you’re too beat up. Take a break from the heavy work. There’s some ribs out on the block in the back room that need trimming if you’re looking for something to do.”

Marcus tilted his head back in a nod and reached for a vinyl apron from the line of hooks. He headed back to the cutting tables and got to work on the ribs. George had been teaching him trade skills like he was an apprentice.
 

George always told Marcus that he never had a son to teach this stuff to and he felt lucky for the help. Marcus felt lucky because helping out gave him something to keep his hands working when there was nothing else to occupy him. Plus, the work helped him feel like he was earning all those steaks, burgers, and sausages he ate.

“Hey, George — I don’t work until Monday night and I’m not going to the gym until this rib heals. You need an extra hand tomorrow?”

“Sure. We can put together some picnic packs. Those are always big in July. It helps to get an early start.”

Marcus nodded again and got back to the work in front of him, still thinking about Erin Connor. He shook his head at himself and hoped he didn’t lose his janitorial job. That’s all he was going to hope for.
 

Marcus spent Monday sleeping on his couch in the morning and putting ground chuck through the patty machine for the picnic packs in the afternoon. He and George worked most of the afternoon on those, shrink-wrapping sets of burgers, hot-dogs, and brats, and boxing them. One of the big walk-in freezers was dedicated for bulk-package deals and the pair was filling the shelves for the summer picnic season. Other workers bustled with the heavier work in the refrigerated processing room.

Mostly, Marcus and George talked about the different fights of the weekend and other sports. The whole time, however, Marcus was distracted by thoughts of Erin Connor. He flipped back and forth between confidently assuming she’d leave him the notebook to read again, and fearing terribly that she’d turned him in and he would be fired.

“What’s with you today, kid?” George asked with a smile. He just nodded with a bigger smile when Marcus stopped to look at him. “Who is she, then. Come on. Let me hear it.”

“Shut up,” Marcus grinned. “Nah, it’s nothing. Just sort of met someone who has a good story. Well, it’s a shit story, but it’s looking like it might have a good ending. That’s all.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“Didn’t yet.”

“What?”

“Try to keep up, old man,” Marcus said with a grin. “I told ya, it’s nothing. It’s just that I might find out more of the story tonight. I’m interested, that’s all. Plus, I’m just bored from not training for two days. My mind wanders.”

“Sure,” George said with a knowing grin. He had never seen Marcus distracted before, but he liked seeing the lighter look in his eye. He always hoped the kid would find something in the way of happiness that didn’t involve getting his face kicked in on a regular basis. Maybe the story would help…or the girl who was attached to the story, anyway.
 

“I think I’m gonna kick off now. I want to get a little more shut-eye before my shift,” Marcus said, removing his vinyl gloves and apron.

“Sure thing. Thanks for your help today. Grab a couple of those flank steaks for dinner. They didn’t sell well this week.”

“Yep.”

Marcus couldn’t leap up the steps like he usually did, but he went up with a thank-you wave anyway.
 

He went straight for the grill and got his supper ready, still hoping he had a job to go back to. He hadn’t been fired yet; no one had called. That at least was promising. His real hope, no matter how hard he tried to suppress the excitement, was that Erin Connor would write to him, and leave him a clear sign that she would allow him back into her journal. Maybe after a while they could even meet.
 

He really wished he wasn’t having those thoughts. He really didn’t want to be disappointed. But still, he pictured her little “HOPE” charm and thought the word was appropriate for himself. He could hope, too…hope for a connection with her.
 

After he saw her eyes in that picture, and saw through her writing she had some common cores with him, he became acutely aware that he was alone. He felt like he could potentially be close with her and he wanted to be more than he could admit.

“Focus,” he said to himself out loud in his apartment.
Eat your dinner, set your alarm, sleep. Get ready for work, and just do your job. Check cubicle 15, and be ready to find nothing.
That became his mantra for the next several hours, right up until he arrived at the high-rise downtown. Then his mental monologue became:
check cubicle 15, be ready to find nothing. Deep breath. Check cubicle 15…

For the first time ever, Erin couldn’t wait to get to work on Monday. By the end of her weekend, she was feeling positively elated. She ran errands, exercised, relaxed, and found joy in each of those things. She realized during those two days away from work something substantial: this
new
Erin was simply the
true
Erin.

All the warmth and excitement rushed into her so easily because it was already there! Most of her life was this way, with the exception of the last few years. She felt so hollow only because she had been pushing her joy down along with all the bad feelings. The sense of confidence, no matter how small, found an easy home in her heart. Erin was certain that if she remained focused on keeping herself open, this fullness would take root and stay.

Already she understood more of herself with the help of M. She was so ready to get back to work and leave that notebook on her desk for him. The hardest part of her entire weekend had been trying not to write anymore.
 

She went through her workday like always with the exception of her lightened mood. She still went to lunch by herself and enjoyed some new flavors, even though she didn’t have her notebook with her as a companion. Instead, she thought more about the mysterious M and what he may write to her in return.
 

She really wanted to hear his story, not just to even the score, either. She was genuinely interested in how he clawed his way out of his dark time. That was an important thing, she understood. Not everyone experiences that kind of triumph. Erin really wanted to hear how he managed the task.
 

By the time six o’clock rolled around, Erin couldn’t stay at work any longer. She arranged her desk so there was a clear spot in the back corner of her cubicle. She didn’t want just anyone to happen by and pick up the book. She couldn’t display it front and center. She knew M would be looking, so barely-hidden in the corner was the perfect spot. She propped the book up at an angle against her stapler and stuck a post-it note on the cover.

M~ I left this here for you. ~E

She knew he would understand the permission slip to read more. She smirked at herself. He wanted more of her story, but he was only getting a request for his. She couldn’t wait to see what he would write. She hoped his story would be waiting for her in the morning, but who knows? He may need a day or two to write everything he wanted to.
 

Either way, this was an exciting moment for her, but also nerve-wracking. She was trusting him with her book, this time by choice. No matter how much she wanted to hear his story, offering her book to a stranger was terrifying. She was putting herself in his hands. Her chest got tightly nervous, but the decision was made and she nodded to herself. Now she had to play the waiting game.
 

Erin grabbed her purse and work bag and headed to the elevator bank. She tapped her hands against her thighs while she waited for the doors to part. The waiting might undo her completely, but not having tried would have been worse.
No going back
, she thought to herself with a smile.
 

Marcus was early for work that night for the first time ever. He couldn’t help himself — he had to know if the book would be there for him or not. He rode the elevator up to the eighth floor by himself and walked right past the custodial closet. He technically wasn’t on shift for another ten minutes or so, and he had an entirely different agenda right now.
Check cubicle 15, be ready to find nothing. Deep breath.
 

The office was empty so he didn’t have to worry about looking like a creeper. He walked straight to cubicle 15 and saw nothing on the desk that looked like her journal. His heart sank and he let out his breath. Oh, well. The hope had been nice.
Hope
. He looked up to see if the charm was still there on the lamp, and he saw the pewter charm hanging there still. Good. The lamp was still trained on the little glass ball, which was sitting next to a purple book with a note on it.
 

He smiled broadly when he read the words addressed to M. She left that book here for him. She left it for him! Her story, her trust, right there for him. He picked up the book and ran his fingers over the note. He opened the journal and flipped to the page he had written on Friday night. On the very next page was a note addressed to him from Erin Connor.
 

He felt guilty at her first comments chastising him for reading her story. He wasn’t bothered; he earned that scolding. But the next section got his heart racing. He read the words,
I still appreciate what you wrote. You were respectful of what you learned.
Immediately he knew she understood.
 

He
was
respectful of what he learned. She really understood that. Thank God! And because they shared that kind of mutual respect, she wanted his story. His story! This was more than he hoped for. He clapped the book shut and walked back to the custodial closet. He placed her journal carefully on an upper shelf to rest while he worked his shift.
 

He smiled nearly the entire time he cleaned that night. He thought and thought about what he would write to her. How much should she know? He didn’t want to scare her with the details of his hellish childhood, but she needed to know enough to see how far down a person can be and still come out alright.
 

She
needed
to know that. That knowledge would help her. Their dark pasts were different, but in some ways not at all. Both of them had been overpowered by someone they couldn’t fight at the time. She was strong, and he would show her what that strength could do for her.

He worked more quickly than usual so he would have time to write back to her. He knew he could never write everything on his break, so he made a quick decision while making his final rounds on the tenth floor. He finished his vacuuming and went back down to Erin Connor’s cube. He took a piece of her printer paper and jotted a quick note.
 

E~

Thanks for getting it. You’ll have my story tomorrow. Your book will be safe with me in the meantime.
 

~M

Marcus placed that note in the corner where her book had been, and went home grinning in the dim light of dawn.
 

Erin drove to work much too early on Tuesday morning. She couldn't wait to see what M wrote to her. She clacked her way across the parking garage and up the elevator. No one else was there at 7:10 in the morning, because no one else would have reason to be so early on a random Tuesday.
 

What a thrill to desperately want to get to work, even if the reason had nothing to do with her job. Being desperate for anything was akin to flying when compared to her cardboard past. There was no sense of the mundane when her heart was racing in her chest. Even the boring elevator noises added to the intensity of her morning.
 

She almost ran to her desk, hoping to see her notebook waiting there for her, filled with his story. Instead, she saw a hand-written note. She smiled when she saw his words. He answered every question: the book was safe and she would have his story tomorrow. Her heart jumped at the thought. She would have his story of triumph and would be able to share that feeling with him.
 

Not knowing who this person was driving her crazy! Could M be a fatherly figure, warm-eyed and caring? His notes didn't read that way. They were short and minimal, and said everything they needed to. There was no fluff where M was concerned, nothing extra. Every word had impact.
 

No, M was not fatherly and full of warm, sage advice. M was a survivor, probably a bit scrappy. He was bare-bones and maybe even a bit raw. She guessed from his notes that he was young, but not too-young. She dared hope he was about her age. The thought of connecting with a contemporary outside of the office was exhilarating and scary. She had been so careful for so long. Still, his words drew her in completely while she remained safe with her book.