Everybody Falls (2 page)

He concentrated on breathing the large breaths out and felt the tension ease.

He wondered if the brown-haired girl would be on the steps this morning.

Would she be alone or with the redheaded older gal? Maybe the miniscule blonde with the wild hair would be there, too, although she had only been there a couple of times that Jax had noticed.

His eyes were mainly on the pretty brown haired girl.

She was there most mornings, sitting on the wooden steps at the front of the historic wooden mall, sipping something hot from a large mug that she held in both hands.

She was pretty cute from what he could see in his place on the other side of the paved road. A road that wasn't framed with gutters or even sidewalks. Just a small two lane paved road on the far side of the historic district before it met the other roads which took you to roads leading out to houses and farms.

Funny how each of those roads held different views, different smells. And he should know since he'd spent a lot of time exploring them on his runs.

When he'd first seen her, he just ran passed trying to keep his eyes off her. A couple of weeks later he'd acknowledge her with a chin-lift.

But he never got a response.

Not when he ignored her.

Not when he tried to be cool.

It was recently he'd tried a flick of his wrist, his version of a wave, and saw her lift her fingers from around her mug in response.

Progress, however slight, still counted.

As he ran through the Y-juncture that separated the residences and farms from the old, historic portion of Auburn, Jax looked and found her in that same spot on the steps. Today she was wearing the soft pink sweats and sipping out of the blue mug. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, tumbling down her breast, hidden behind one of her bent arms.

Today, she turned her head to watch him as he ran down the road, each stride bringing him closer to her.

That was new.

The head turn.

She really was very pretty, Jax thought, wondering what color her eyes were. The pink of the sweats highlighted the pink of her full mouth and high cheeks.

He probably should've been minding his feet and the road more than staring at her.

Because it was then that his foot hit a fallen, forgotten pinecone which threw him completely off his game.

Both mentally and physically.

*.*.*.*.*

There was something precious in the mornings here.

A renewal, a rebirth.

Especially when the sun was first coming up, but, with all my windows except in the kitchen and bathroom facing west, I really shouldn't have been aware of the coming dawn.

Each morning I was awake before the light began to make itself visible in my bedroom.

Even though Deja, my next door neighbor and fellow merchant at the historic mall, wasn't around this week, I still did my routine greeting of the morning by taking my coffee outside on the steps.

I made coffee in my second hand machine up in my apartment over the store and freshened myself while I waited for it to brew.

This was the way I started my day, every day.

And, everyday, I missed having Grandma to start it with.

Her passing so suddenly, it still hit me like a ton of bricks every awakening; an unfilled hole in my heart echoing her loss daily.

Pouring a cup, I went downstairs and out the front door of what used to, at one time, be a biker bar. I sat on the worn, wide steps that welcomed people into the old-fashioned, old-time strip mall. Too early for either customers or other store managers, I sipped my brew and watched the dawn light twinkle on the different trees that lined the other side of my street.

Grandma had told me all their different names but I could only remember Ponderosa Pine and Incense Cedar. I wished I remembered more.

All I know is that I couldn't start my day without my coffee or greeting the morning light on the trees.

Inevitably, I heard the slap-slap of his chucks on the pavement.

The man came by every morning like clockwork, running as if his life depended on it, instead of the gentle jog that other people used to get their exercise in.

Nobody in their right mind exercised in chucks.

They were too thin. Not enough sole, enough support, to run in.

Yet, every day, there he was.

Running the street in his chucks, his long legs reaching and eating up the asphalt. His broad shoulders and muscled, inked arms keeping a counter rhythm as he ran.

At least he'd lost the leather jacket that he used to wear.

He'd become such a fixture of the morning scenery, the sounds of his feet on the asphalt keeping time to whatever was in his head. I had taken to putting on music that had a beat to match his cadence. Today, my MP3 in the store was playing Soundgarden's 'Black Days'.

The low volume of such a rock anthem was probably illegal in more than a few states.

In fact, the hard-driving rock anthems seemed to be my music of choice when I waited for him. There was something about the set of his shoulders, the tattoos that fully covered his arms spoke to me of deep pain when I watched him run, but I couldn't have told you why.

Normally, he'd run right by me with only a quick wave, which was more than alright by me.

Today, he'd stopped.

But, not by his own volition.

He tripped, wind-milling his way past me on the porch steps. Taking giant, wobbly steps trying to find his balance before failing, before falling.

Before doing a skidding face plant on the asphalt not ten feet away from me. Just there on the other side of the road, yet still on the asphalt. That cold, hard surface, sprinkled with the various pinecones from the beautiful tall, tall trees on the other side.

"Arrg," he shouted as his face had hit the ground.

I placed my new bright blue mug on the worn piece wooden step and made my way slowly to his still figure sprawled on the blacktop. I could see his back rising and falling with his breaths, so I figured he was, at least, alive after his dive. That would've been a horrible epitaph, 'Death by Pavement'.

Either that or a great name for a band.

I approached slowly.

I may not be all that old, but my twenty-four years had taught me well.

Men had to be approached with caution. Especially if they were drunk, mad or hurt.

Well, actually even if they were happy, laughing and in a good mood.

Men were, at all costs, to be approached with caution.

"Are you alright?" I asked, crouching and bending over the man-who-ran, admiring the back view prone almost as much as I enjoyed the back view upright. Not many men can look as good leaving as they do coming, yet the running man had a great body which seemed to look good from every angle. I admit it, I had noticed him from just about every view.

I watched as he brought his hands up to his shoulders and levered himself back, his inked biceps flexing as he flopped from his stomach onto his back.

Oh, sweet chocolate
, I thought, looking him over.

Okay, some people have religion and some people don't. I don't, so I don't tend to swear using religious deities. I use what I know, what I believe in and what's important to me.

Chocolate being number one.

But, man, this was bad.

He was a mess. A bloody mess.

"Do we need to call an ambulance?" I asked him quietly tucking my hands in the pockets of my sweats before hunkering down next to him, my hands itching to push his long shiny black hair away from his face.

Some mornings he tied it back, but today it was loose. Or maybe it got that way because of his fall.

His panting got in the way of talking so he just shook his head slowly.

"No 911, then," I said and watched as he nodded shallowly, his panting harsh in the chilly morning air.

"You're a mess, though," I tried to explain.

I saw him as he closed his heavily fringed eyes and simply nodded shallowly again.

I waited, hoping he'd get his breath back and tell me what I could do to help him. I was a baker, a dessert maker, not a nurse and wasn't really comfortable in the role, if the truth were known.

"Do you think you can walk?" I asked gently after a time.

"Ess," he hissed through mangled lips.

"Can I help you up?" I pressed, my voice still almost a whisper and watched as he turned himself over slowly, bracing his weight gingerly on his hands and knees.

He paused before getting up onto his feet.

'Oh, he's tall,' I thought, watching him stretch himself up to his full height. Easily six foot if not more. My heart sped up at the thought.

Big men meant bigger problems.

"Come sit on the porch and I'll help you get cleaned up," I suggested, watching the tall man sway towards me as I spoke. "No, this way," I caught myself saying softly, briefly, touching his arm and providing direction for his wobbly feet.

His sweats were blown out at both knees and I could see drizzles of blood on them as well as deep grazes on his forearms and palms.

A five-point plant on dirty asphalt. Yipes! He had to be hurting yet, outside that initial shout, he didn't make a sound.

I glanced up and got caught in his chocolate-eyed gaze that was pointed down at me.

You know him
, my mind announced suddenly. But, that was silly. He only seemed familiar because he ran by my bakery every morning.

Chapter 2

He seemed coherent which was a good thing, because I knew that some people could hide a high better than others. And I was sure that somebody dumb enough to run in chucks had to be swallowing, smoking or snorting something.

Plus, this was Auburn, where being high was almost an art form in certain circles.

"Just a few more steps and then you can sit, okay?" I murmured, keeping my eyes on his, just like you would a rattle-snake or a crocodile as I navigated with my peripheral vision.

I settled him on the top step, pressing my barely sipped coffee into his hands before moving back inside the storefront doors and up the stairs on a run after tossing, "I'll be right back" over my shoulder.

Ice cubes in a baggie, one wet towel and one dry, the little first aid kit and I was back down the stairs as fast as I could go.

Planted next to him on the wooden trestle, I looked him over.

His face was road-rash, bleeding and swelling; dirty and scraped.

"Can I clean you up a little so we can see what's going on?" I asked quietly, not realizing I was touching his arm as I spoke until I felt a muscle move underneath my fingers.

He nodded as a car drove by with a honk. That'd be Jeff Peters on his way down the 80 to his job at the HP plant in Roseville. I only knew that because his wife Becky liked my German Chocolate cake a lot. Almost as much as she loved talking about her and her man.

I waved back without glancing, thinking that getting the man-who-ran into the bakery would probably be the smartest way to treat him. Too many eyes caused too many tongues to wag in our small town. Each story spread from ear-to-ear gaining its own momentum and new embellishments with each re-telling. I wouldn't be surprised if I heard from someone next week about a couple that were having sex on the porch in front of the shop in full view of Jeff as he drove to work. That's how the gossip mill worked around here.

I pulled on his arm until he stood and moved him to sit at the first table just inside, leaving the glass door open.

I heard the MP3 repeat Soundgarden's song and thought it was perfect for the moment.

I'm all for soundtracks to accompany our lives, if they fit. At this moment, the music fit, big time.

Tenderly, gently I began to dab at the blood that oozed slowly from the cuts on his cheek, not wanting to cause any more pain than he must be feeling at the moment.

"You might want to put the ice pack on your nose and mouth," I suggested as I continued to dab the wet towel over his face and placed the baggie of ice into his hands.

He was completely silent as I worked, clearing the blood and road-crap off his face. It had to have hurt, yet he didn't say a word.

Just kept staring at me with those milk-chocolate colored eyes. Eyes so familiar yet so unknown. How did I know him?

"Okay, so there's a few deep cuts that I've got to clean with the hateful stuff, okay?" I murmured pulling back from him.

Again, he only nodded.

"It's gonna sting. Probably sting pretty bad," I warned, taking out the small hydrogen peroxide bottle from the first aid kit along with the small baggie of cotton balls.

He stopped me with a large hand on top of my much smaller ones.

I cautiously raised my eyes to his.

He pressed the now empty coffee cup towards me.

"You want more coffee first?" I asked, feeling my mouth dry at his touch. I hated the feel of a strange man's hands on me, even if it was mildly done.