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Somewhere Along The Line 6. James 23%
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6. James

After last night’s exchange, I’d be thrilled if Piper skips this morning’s commute like she did yesterday’s. I seem fairly incapable of having a normal conversation with her, and I don’t have the energy to stick my foot in my mouth, not ahead of today’s pitch at work.

I go through my usual morning routine, black tea in hand, my jacket scratching at the back of my neck as I head out the door. It’s 7:08 on the dot, right on track for what should be a busy, if uncomplicated day.

One can certainly hope.

The B Line arrives at Carmack at 7:15 and I step on, finding a seat near the doors so I can make a quick exit if necessary. It’s a beautiful day, sunny, and the ride is peaceful… as peaceful as it can be on public transit.

My pulse increases as we pull into Roosevelt. My eyes start scanning the crowd for Piper before we even stop.

She boards in a rush, as though she made a ten-minute walk in five minutes flat, her tote bag trailing a second behind her as she pulls it through the doors. She spots me immediately and breaks into a grin before shuffling through the car and plopping down in the seat beside me.

So much for an uncomplicated day.

Piper’s buzzing, and I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or nerves. Maybe she had too much coffee this morning? She turns in her seat, her knee bumping mine like it did the last time we found ourselves here. I’m not sure she’s noticed.

“This,” she rustles through her tote like she’s digging for gold, “is for you!”

The bag of sausage balls swings from her fingers like a pendulum in an old cuckoo clock, ticking-tocking back and forth as she awaits my reaction. Her brown eyes are so earnest I can’t pull away. Her gaze sends blood rushing south and my heartbeat thumping in my ears.

“Wow!” I say, realizing she may be rubbing off on me already. “To be honest, I didn’t know if you were going to hold up your end of the deal. Thank you.”

I take the bag and open it carefully, savoring the familiar smell. It’s home and childhood and easy mornings and everything good. My eyes close without my consent.

“Why would I slack on this if we made a deal?” A jolt of cortisol races through my veins, pulling me out of my nostalgia. “We shook hands, remember? I resent you thinking I might take you for your money without delivering on my end.”

She’s joking, I think, but this is clearly a sore spot. I don’t like the fact that it’s there. I like even less that I touched it.

“Sorry, you’re right. Thank you for these. If you don’t mind, I’m going to save them for lunch.” I press together the zipper seal and tuck the package into my shoulder bag to save for later. It would be a shame for them to get squished before we leave the train.

“James, I don’t need your pity. If you don’t want the sausage balls, you can say so.”

She deflates, sinking into her chair and picking at a string near the hem of her skirt. Piper has no idea how much I want these damn sausage balls, much less why.

Foot, meet mouth.

I reach for her leg, my hand extending toward her before my brain knows it’s happening. I grip her thigh gently, the warmth beneath my fingers spreading heat up my arm. “Hey, look at me.”

She lifts her cautious and questioning eyes to mine.

“I’m not doing you a favor here. I meant what I said last week—this breakfast,” I pat the bag in my lap, “is what’s in this arrangement for me. I appreciate you bringing it for me.” I lift my hand slowly, moving it from her thigh to my own, watching her straighten and soften as we both take a breath.

BANG!

The sound ricochets off the metal siding and surrounds us, loud and disorienting. Piper and I operate from muscle memory, years of lockdown drills at school propelling us to dive into the well in front of our seats and raise our arms to shield our faces.

The area between our row and the row in front of us is tight—not meant for two adults to crouch comfortably.

I step over Piper and sit, positioning my back as a barrier to the aisle of the car before pulling her to me, tucking her into the pocket between my arms and chest.

I’m sure I do this to help optimize the tiny space and not because I feel protective over this woman I barely know. She collapses, her head heavy under my collarbone and her body twisted up between my legs.

Smoke fills the car. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I’ve got her. My autopilot kicks in, no thinking or feeling, and I act accordingly.

“You okay?” I shout, my mouth grazing the soft, warm shell of her ear. Her legs curl up as she scoots into me, trying to make herself smaller. She’s definitely not okay.

“I want you to breathe with me.” I tuck my chin to the top of her head, my arms wrapping around her curved back as she inhales again and again, too shallowly. “I’m here with you. Try to slow your breathing down.”

I tighten my grip on her sides, tracing small circles with my fingers, hoping it projects confidence and not my deep-seated fear that something might happen to her on my watch.

My senses are at DEFCON 1 as we wait, my breath stretching my lungs and lingering there, held, for whatever comes next.

Nothing comes.

No new noises after the first crack; no repeated pops to indicate gunfire. Is it over?

I peel my focus from Piper and risk glancing around. A heavy haze blankets the space, making it almost impossible to see anything. It’s quiet now, the sound of the bomb ( was it a bomb? ) having mercifully dissipated. Whispers and coughs replace it.

My eyes spot movement near the front of the car, and I whip my head to see a lone figure darting between rows. I strain toward the image, willing myself to focus, to cut through the smog so I can make out what’s happening.

The person looks to be grabbing items out of bags people left abandoned on their seats. Within a second, he’s gone, hidden somewhere among the rest of us crouched down for cover.

Holy shit.

The sound and smoke were just a diversion for theft.

The train pulls into the downtown station in near silence outside of the familiar screech of friction on the track. No one moves, no one talks. Piper is still whisper-close, our tiny piece of square footage existing for me and her and no one else.

I assess where I am in space, focusing on details, to bring myself back to our current reality. My feet are on the floor, hip-width apart and knees bent, my soles pressing against the linoleum. Piper’s shoes are between mine but twisted sideways, notably small in comparison to my wingtips. Her hips are settled right below my knee, and her curled-up legs rest on my left thigh.

My arms envelop her top half, my sweaty hands stretched across her back to grip her sides, with less force now that the threat is over. Is it over?

The weight of her rests against my sternum (and also my groin, which I’m ignoring) with her head tucked just below the hollow of my throat. Her wavy hair catches against my stubble as her breath pushes her slightly up my torso with each inhale. I count each one.

My blood pulses wildly in my neck, in my limbs, down to the tips of my fingers. I want to blame the adrenaline still coursing through me from the sound and smoke, but I know it’s not that.

It’s not only that.

It’s been years since I’ve held a woman like this. The thought flashes faster than I can catch it:

Piper fits here.

The train doors open, and a rush of fresh air fills the car: cool, clear, and clean. If anyone exits the train, I don’t see it.

“I called 911!” A man shouts from several rows back. “We’re supposed to stay here. The police are on the way.”

Piper takes a deep breath, her chest pushing into mine as it expands fully for the first time since we’ve been in this position. I regret the way it draws my attention, the feel of her breasts against me as she inhales. She’s still shaking, still curled into a ball within the confines of my body, and she makes no effort to move. It’s more than fine by me.

“Hey, we’re safe,” I whisper in her ear, feeling her relax just a bit in my arms. “It’s over, we’re good. Are you alright?”

She glances up and nods, holding my eyes and searching for something. Perhaps she needs more convincing that we’re going to be fine or assurance she can stay here until she’s ready to move.

Maybe it’s both.

“You can stay like this, you know… with me.” I tuck her hair behind her ear then lightly hold the back of her head to my chest, my palm stretching from the nape of her neck to her crown. “We’ll stay here until the police come, and then we’ll talk to them together. We’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”

We sit in silence for a long while, our bodies intertwined on the floor as people around us stretch and take stock of what’s missing—mostly cell phones and credit cards. I feel Piper’s heart slow as the minutes pass. She unfurls bit by bit as the train fills with chatter plus a few tense laughs as we wait for the police.

“Thank you. I…ugh… I… I had a panic attack.” She’s sitting across from me now, her knees pulled up to her chin as she wraps them with her arms.

Given that we’re still tucked between the seats, she's close enough that I can feel her breath as she utters the words. Even so, I notice her absence acutely, the place that she occupied between my limbs now cold and hollow.

“Thank you,” she says again, and I know she means so much more than that.

“Of course,” I whisper, and I mean more than that too, though I shouldn’t.

A throng of passengers huddles along the side of the station, shaken and sweaty. Piper and I join their ranks. At some point, my gratitude will turn to anger, but right now I’m just thankful we’re off the train in one piece.

Two pieces, if you count both me and Piper. Two pieces, because we’re not a unit. What we experienced this morning doesn’t change our relationship; we’re still near-strangers who happen to find themselves witnessing wild events on the B Line.

I will myself to believe it, even while I can’t convince my hand to leave the curve of her lower back.

I guide Piper in front of me, my fingers pressed to the base of her spine as we take our place near the other commuters. Turns out the police want to talk to you when you’ve witnessed a crime, so now we wait.

The excuse to spend extra time with her this morning has my heart palpitating. It doesn’t help that Piper's trying to dissolve into me as we stand here, her head pressing against my shoulder and her body leaning into me as though she can’t bear the weight of her own bones. The panic attack this morning drained her.

An officer with a clipboard inches his way toward us, jotting notes as his boots thunk with each step closer. He’s taking fare cards and transcribing names on a list. He pauses in front of us, eyes narrowing as they dart between Piper and me, and points.

“You two, you’re together?”

My stomach tumbles as I glance at Piper, unsure how to proceed. She smiles weakly, leaving the ball in my court. I can’t blame the guy for asking given that my arm is currently draped around her waist, keeping her anchored to my side.

“You got your card with you?” he asks. “We’re going to cross-reference this written list against the database of all the cards swiped on this line before this stop. Will help us know who was still on the train during the incident.”

I pull out my wallet and hand over my card. The officer gives it a quick once over.

“Ah, gotcha—a family pass. That must make you…” He glances down at the name on the rectangular piece of plastic and then over at Piper, “...Mrs. Newhouse.”

My whole body stiffens, every nerve rising to attention. He turns back to me as he continues.

“I’ve got you and the Mrs. recorded here.” His pen taps against the list, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s a more advanced technology that could be used instead of a clipboard.

“We’ll pull your full names and contact info from the profile associated with your MTA account. You’ll get a call from a deputy within a few days as we’d like you two to come down to the station and give witness statements.”

I nod, not daring to look at Piper as I digest what he’s saying.

“And between you and me,” the man catches my eye, “my gut says this incident will lead to a damages case. Don’t be surprised if you get called to testify. Lawyers love having a family man on the stand.”

His unexpected slap on the shoulder before moving to the next person in line makes me jump. It’s enough to startle Piper away from my side and spring her back to life. The softness of her body draped against mine is replaced with static.

We stand frozen for two minutes or ten—I can't be sure. Neither Piper nor I are willing to make the first move to address what just unfolded.

And to think, I assumed the smoke bomb would be the beginning and the end of the day’s surprises.

“Well, alright,” Piper offers, breaking the silence as she shuffles her feet. “Seems we’re going to have to… figure this out.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” We’re still facing outward, side-by-side, as though the traffic passing in front of the platform has suddenly become binge-worthy.

“The officer said they’d reference your commuter profile—I’m assuming that’s the one you added me to? What exactly does it look like?”

“It shows that we hold a joint account under the Family Fares program. My name is the primary contact, your name is listed with 'spouse' as the designation, and it has my address, phone number, and billing information.”

Piper nods, a slow bobbing of her head that I catch in my peripheral vision. A motion that says, I’m processing this .

“I had to agree to the terms and conditions before purchase—acknowledge that the information provided was true.” It hurts coming out of my mouth, these words that barely squeeze past the giant lump in my throat.

“There was a warning about falsification with a threat of fines, loss of transit privileges, that sort of thing. I checked the box anyway, confident we’d never be in a situation where the validity of our relationship would come into question.”

I still haven’t made eye contact, feeling the breeze tickle the back of my neck as we stand there, still frozen.

“You had no way of knowing this would happen.” Piper sounds like she’s trying to comfort me, but I can tell she’s spiraling. The shakiness of her voice gives it away. “Neither of us did. I agreed to this too, remember?”

It’s silent for another moment as we peer at the cars, each turning over ideas and solutions for how to proceed and coming up empty.

“If you want I could…” she starts to say, directly on top of the “We could decide to…” that spills out of my mouth.

We finally dare to glance at each other, and before I can make sense of what’s happening, a high-pitched giggle cuts through the tension and breaks it up like confetti. The floodgates are open, and all the stress, fear, and uncertainty of the day comes tumbling out of Piper in squealing, heaving waves. Her laugh makes me laugh and soon we’re clutching our stomachs, trying to catch our breath as tears slip down our cheeks.

It’s a sweet relief, this sort of laughter after the heaviness of the morning. The harder we try to rein it in, the worse the fit gets. We gasp like hyenas until we’re wrung dry, until our abs are sore.

“As I was saying,” I compose myself enough that the words are (mostly) intelligible, “we could decide to see this through. I mean, if you’re up for it.”

There’s a lot I don’t say right now about ethics and lying and loyalty. I’m not even sure what I mean by “see it through,” if I’m being honest.

I can’t read the look on Piper’s face as spins the suggestion around in her mind, swaying side to side as she thinks.

“We could …” she murmurs, rubbing her hands down her arms, her fingers pressing against the soft wool of her jacket as she considers her options. “We could. I’m not sure that we should keep up this charade considering what happened this morning and what may be asked of us, but we could.”

She pulls her lips between her teeth, and I have to restrain my eyes from lingering on her mouth.

“How about this,” I say, nudging her gently with my elbow which she rewards with a small smile. “Take some time to think about what you want to do. We can make a plan to come clean before we give our statements, or we can let the folks at the station think what they want to think. I’ll defer to you entirely. Just let me know what you decide.”

I pull a business card from my wallet, a chuckle escaping with my exhale as I consider how comically formal this feels. This woman spent the better part of the morning tucked between my legs, after all.

“Here’s my cell. Shoot me a text when you’re feeling settled, and we can make a plan. No rush—the officer said it would be a few days before we hear from anyone with next steps.”

Piper takes the card and nods, toying with it for a second before slipping it in the back pocket of her tote.

“I will.” She smiles, a bit of hesitation pulling at the right side of her lips. She turns to head out, presumably in the direction of wherever she works, before spinning around to face me. “And seriously, thank you, James. For all of it.”

“Of course,” I parrot my words from earlier. Like before, I mean it.

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