Джей Крауновер - Built

“I heard you might be looking for me. I’m Zeb Fuller, how can I help you today?”

The woman paused in her tense pacing and I watched her eyes go wide when they landed on me. I got that reaction a lot from both men and woman, so it didn’t surprise me. I was a big dude—really big—and the fact I had ink scrolling up both sides of my neck and across the backs of both of my hands often gave people the impression that I was a much bigger and much badder threat than I really was. The beard and the fact that I looked like I could level the house behind me with my bare hands obviously unnerved her.

She uncrossed her arms and lifted a shaky hand to her mouth. It was my eyes’ turn to widen as the woman suddenly started to cry. Not silent trickling tears either, but big, full-bodied sobs that shook her tiny frame from head to toe. I took an instinctive step forward, which caused her to immediately take a step back. I held my hands up in front of me to show I meant her no harm and also took a step back, giving her some space.

“Hey, you were looking for me. You’re on my jobsite. I just came to see what I could do for you.” I hated to see a woman cry. It killed me. Growing up, it had been me and my older sister and my mom. My dad took off when I was too young to remember what he looked like, so that meant I was always the man of the house. I didn’t let anyone make the woman I loved cry, so when this one went all weepy on me it immediately sent me into protector mode. “I’m really sorry if I scared you.”

She bent over and put her hands on her knees while sucking in audible breaths. Her curly hair fell forward to cover her face, and I could see her shoulders were still shaking. I was getting really concerned when she held up a hand and choked out:

“Just give me a minute. You look just like him and it threw me for a second.” She was still breathing heavily and making no sense. It was my turn to cross my arms over my chest as I watched her physically pull herself together. It took a long time.

“I’m not following. I look just like who?”

She pulled herself back upright and shoved her hands through her wildly curly hair. Her gaze raked over me from the top of my head to the tips of my worn work boots, and when she was done she was shaking her head. Not typically the reaction I got when a woman checked me out but I would take it if it meant the tears stopped.

“I know I’m coming across like a lunatic, but I swear I’m not. It took me a couple of days to track you down since I didn’t have a name or anything to go off of. You took me by surprise. I’m sorry for losing it on you like that. It wasn’t the first impression I was hoping to make.”

I was already grouchy and impatient. I didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with the maze of words this woman was winding around me.

“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I have to get back to work sometime in the near future. This house isn’t going to renovate itself. I need you to tell me what I can help you with or I’m walking away.”

She cleared her throat and took a step closer to me. I could see her choosing the words she wanted to use very carefully as she told me, “My name is Echo Hemsley. My best friend in the entire world was a woman named Halloran Bishop.” She paused like either of those names or the women attached to them should mean anything to me. When I didn’t reply she kept going and I could see her lip quiver and her hands shake as she did so.

“Halloran had a rough life. She made a lot of bad choices, had terrible taste in men, and used a lot of really awful things to help her deal with her issues.” The woman took a deep breath and I could see the tears well up. “She was also the kindest, gentlest person I had ever met and I never gave up hope that one day she would be able to get control of her life.”

I frowned. “Okay, but I still don’t know why any of that has you on my jobsite. I don’t know you or your friend.”

I mean I knew a lot of woman . . . A LOT . . . but all of them I could remember and I never went to bed with anyone without knowing their first name. I enjoyed being single and the freedom to play around, but I wasn’t a douche bag about it. In all honesty, my bed had been very empty and my nights very uneventful ever since a certain leggy lawyer had become the center of every fantasy and daydream I had. I wanted her . Only her, and no one else would do. It sucked because so far no matter how much I showed my interest, she wasn’t having it. She seemed absolutely oblivious to all of it.

Either that or she was keeping our relationship professional and casual because she knew that she was so far out of my league. My business was doing great considering how new it was and I made good money, but even with all I had accomplished in such a short amount of time, the fact was that I was always going to be an ex-con and blue collar instead of blue blood.

I was admittedly impressed and slightly captivated that my past never once seemed to be an issue—at least I didn’t think it was an issue until I started trying to express my interest in her. I was irrationally disappointed when she froze me out after how calmly she seemed to accept my revelation when I first told her about my past. I thought she was different, understanding, nonjudgmental, but when it came down to it, Sayer was just like everyone else that couldn’t see past the bars once they knew they were there. She pretended like she didn’t notice the way I watched her every move, and that she didn’t feel the way the air got thick and heavy between us whenever we were together. She brushed off every compliment I tossed her way and ignored every sexual innuendo that I threw at her. Eventually I got the hint that she was okay with me working for her but dating her and getting her into bed was never going to happen. She wasn’t into me the way I was into her, and no matter how much game I leveled at her she wasn’t budging. Hence the crappy mood I was perpetually living in these last few weeks.

“You’re right. You don’t know me, and it’s very possible you don’t remember Halloran because you only spent one night with her. Do you remember a bar called Jack and Jill’s?” When I just stared at the woman blankly she pulled on her lower lip and puckered her eyebrows in a little frown. “Maybe if you think about the day you got out of prison, that will help jog your memory.”

I jerked my head back at those words and narrowed my eyes. Five years ago I had been released from prison after serving two and a half years on an aggravated-assault charge. I refused to let my mom or my sister, Beryl, meet me on the day I got out; in fact I hadn’t even told my family what my release day was.

At the time I was angry, bitter, and had so much resentment and hostility still pent up over the reasons behind my arrest and the subsequent changes in my life, that I knew I needed to blow off some steam and get my head on straight before I saw anyone that loved me. I needed a few days to get back to the man they knew and not the one prison and life on the inside had turned me into.

I might not remember the name of the bar, but I did recall that I had walked aimlessly for a few blocks once the bus dropped me off at the first stop in Denver. The state prison was miles and miles away in Canon City and I swore to this day that the bus ride back home took days instead of a few hours.

“I might recall finding a bar that day but still don’t know anyone named Halloran.”

I had a bad feeling about where this conversation was headed. I didn’t hide my past but it wasn’t exactly my favorite topic of conversation either. It was unnerving that this stranger seemed to know so much about me.

That day was far from one of my finest.