Havoc by Angie Merriam Page A

truth. That's the problem with
instinct when it gets colored by emotions. Instinct is your natural
will to survive, a deeper ability to read a situation before you
get tossed in harm’s way or make the wrong choice. Emotions as part
of that can rock your ship to the deep end, where you don't know
left from right, up from down, or right from wrong. Up until
yesterday, this was never a problem, but now, it's the biggest one
I have.
    Finally, the mission to clothe Haven is
complete, just in time too. Any more walking listening to Mindy
talk about clashing colors and I would clash my head against a
brick wall. She pulls into her driveway and releases me back to
sanity.
    “Thanks again, Mindy,” Haven says,
lively.
    “You're welcome, dear,” she says, killing the
engine.
    “I mean it. Not just for the clothes and
stuff but for everything. It was almost like being . . .
normal.”
    Wow. Those words propel me out of the car to
hold Haven's door open for her—another dose of normal, I hope. Out
of the corner of my eye, I catch a black sports car pulling into
the driveway beside my home. Looks like Felix's hopeless offspring
has arrived home too. My attention falls back to the task at hand,
getting Haven’s things back to our place.
    “I'll be right back,” I say to Haven, taking
her oversized shopping bags, which are a lot heavier than they
look. “Wait here.”
    “Where else am I gonna go, Clint?”
    The way she hums my name out like that
soothes me. In ways, it reminds me of better times in my life. It
seems to seep through my pores and into my veins like some
unexplainable drug meant to relax the body. It's crazy.
    My face smirks, and I shag ass across the
street, leaving Haven in Mindy's driveway. Once in the house, I
dump the bags upstairs in our room. She can rifle through them
later while I lay in bed reading or, likely, just watching her. And
by watching her, I mean in a non-creepy way.
    On my way back downstairs, Sir comes out of
the guest bathroom, buckling his jeans, “Oh. Didn't know you were
home,” he says.
    “Just got here, Sir.”
    “Where's Haven?”
    “Across the street with Mindy. We're bringing
the shopping bags over.”
    “Mindy went a little insane, didn't she?” Sir
guesses.
    “To put it mildly, Sir. Couldn't even stop
her from buying me a few things.”
    Sir chuckles. “So I'm headed to Karen's in a
few. She was wondering if we could have dinner over here with you
tonight since she missed the big party yesterday.”
    Not now. I'm not in the mood for this now.
“Can it wait?”
    He looks taken back by the statement, all
pleasantness removed. “For how long?”
    “Couple of days?”
    “Look, Clint–”
    “This has nothing to do with not wanting you
to move on with your romantic life, Sir.” I quickly shut down the
notion he's conceived in his head. I never wanted him to be
emotionally cut off from women the way he is. That was his choice.
Part of me used to want it for him in hopes he'd ease up on coming
down so hard on me. Eventually, I just stopped caring the same way
I have about most things.
    “Then what?”
    “Sir, Haven just got settled last night. She
went through a lot today. I just . . . I just want to ease her into
our lives, and introducing complete strangers–”
    “Karen's not a complete stranger.”
    “To you,” I correct him. “No one has met her
but you, Sir. So yes, for the time being, she’s a stranger, an
outside danger.”
    “She's not a danger, Clint.”
    Feeling myself get heated, I adjust my body
language back to respectful, “I understand, Sir, but Haven may not.
Could we please postpone dinner for her sake?”
    Sir stares at me long and hard. His blue
eyes, now tinted in gray, are always so uncompromising, yet he
wonders where I get it from. He shrugs. “Fine. I'll call her and
let her know. Couple of days.”
    “Thank you, Sir.”
    I turn to walk out when I hear his voice
again, “You know, I understand what you're going through.”
    Confused, I