Unlikely Hero (Atlanta #1) (4 page)

He stuffed the journal back down beside the garbage can, and secretly hoped she would find the book, write more, and leave more of her story at her desk again. He greedily wanted to see more of her triumph. He knew in spite of himself and what he should do, he would read the pages again.
 

The last thing he did in the early dawn hours of that Saturday was to look for Erin’s photo by the receptionist’s desk. The firm had a group shot done by department last year and he knew he could find her there…and there she was, second row, third from the left: Erin Connor. He scanned the photo and moved his finger along until he found her. Erin Connor, survivor, finder of hope.
 

Marcus let out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. God, she was
beautiful
. She had flawless ivory skin, red hair, and striking green eyes. She was strong, brave, and…
beautiful
. Reading her triumph and seeing her soft beauty, Marcus made a decision so foolish he couldn’t believe himself. Fighting Goliath would have been a better idea than what he was on his way to do, but he didn’t care.
 

Even though that face was exquisite to look at, her bright eyes alone compelled him to walk toward her desk. Those eyes shone strong, intelligent, and full of promise. This was not a choice, really. Answering to whatever higher power was controlling him now, he went back to her desk, dragged the notebook back away from the wall, and grabbed a pen.
 

He opened the book to the first blank page.
 

E~

 
I found your book and I’m sorry for being rude, but I opened it to see whose it was and I started reading. It was hard not to. I’m so sorry. But I had to write and tell you how strong you are. I can see the hurt you have in you, and I see you clawing yourself away from it. I’m still clawing from my own. You are stronger than you realize, just for even trying.
 

I won’t bother you again, and if I see the book here I won’t read it…not unless you tell me I can. I want to — I want to hear more of your story. You’re a champion. Your story should be told to someone who knows what a big deal that is, but I won’t steal it again. If you’d like, or if you let me, I’ll tell you mine. Maybe we can help each other.
 

I hope this isn’t too creepy. I’m just a decent guy who shouldn’t have read your book but did. Parting words: keep writing, even if it’s not to me. Don’t give up. You’re so close to finding what you’re looking for.

~M

Once he read and reread his note, he pulled a token out of his pocket and placed it in his hand. The little piece of brushed metal wasn’t as fancy as Erin’s hope charm, but the purpose was similar. Marcus carried the word
STRENGTH
around with him for years. Bill gave the token to him, but Marcus didn’t need to depend on that carved word anymore. He had strength. He worked a long time to achieve it.
 

Maybe this little token would offer her help now. He wanted her to know how strong she was, and to give her a reminder for when she couldn’t find her own strength. He kissed the little fob goodbye, placed it in the pages of her book and closed it gently.

He walked away from her desk, hands on his head, and hoped he would find that book on her desk again with a big neon sign that said, “READ ME.” Unlikely, but he could always hope. He looked back one more time and then headed home.
 

Saturday morning was just starting to brighten the sky when his shift ended. He needed to get some shut-eye on his couch before his fight. He still didn’t know who he would be going up against, not that the identity of the opponent mattered. He would go hard either way. Dead-on-strong was the only way he knew how.

Early Saturday morning, Erin walked her way through the parking garage and into the elevator linking to her office building. The electronic bell announced her arrival on the eighth floor and she found herself predictably alone in the office. She was wearing jeans, a loose gauze tank and some Toms.
 

She was comfortable. Usually, her feet were cramped in a set of heels and her walking was restricted by the sharp lines of a professional skirt or suit. Today, she allowed herself to enjoy her new sense of freedom. The contrast between her current outfit and her current surroundings made perfect sense to her. She relaxed her walk as she made her way to her cubicle. There was no need to keep her posture so pristine right now. Her hips rolled a bit as she moved, and again she found herself enjoying the freedom but still the privacy.
 

She smiled and even considered skipping across the bullpen, but even alone that was a bit much for her. So instead, she padded up to her desk and found her notebook sitting squarely in the center by her keyboard. How had she missed that when she was packing?
 

She assumed she had buried or knocked the book off her desk in her hurry to leave for the weekend. But there her journal was, practically on display for her. She gathered her book into her hand, and nearly jumped when she heard a metallic clang. What was that?
 

Erin looked on the desktop and saw the word “STRENGTH” sitting at an odd angle on the surface. Where did that come from? She sat down in her chair and picked up the little token. The metal shape wasn’t much to look at, just a smooth-edged rectangle with a word stamped across the surface. Her eyes drifted up to its cousin “HOPE” on her lamp, also stamped into metal.
 

Erin’s stomach dropped a mile when her mind clicked all of these pieces into place. Someone found her journal, read her personal thoughts, and left her the little metal message. CRAP!!! She wished she could engrave
that
word on a charm and pull its chain tightly around her neck. She was mortified, disgusted, and violated. She nearly sobbed.
 

With shaking hands, she opened her journal. That purple notebook that had been her friend was now here, a victim of misdeed. The implications, both real and imagined, were staggering.
 

Without knowing what to expect, Erin thumbed through the pages. Did she think the words were changed? She half expected to see that someone had scrawled lines of laughter into the pages around her musings. Maybe she thought that they had taken all her private thoughts from her altogether. But instead, her fears proved worse than reality. The only thing changed in her little book was a message, written carefully, even respectfully, on the first available page.
 

She read and reread the invading note several times. Erin had no idea what to think.
“You’re stronger than you realize.” “You’re so close to finding what you’re looking for.” “You’re a champion.”
Erin wanted to jump up and rejoice that someone had seen her book and found strength in her, but also wanted to find that person and beat the snot out of them for reading her words in the first place.
 

She had no idea what to think or what to do about this, but she knew she’d rather deal from the safety of home. She hugged her book protectively to her chest, then as an afterthought reached back and picked up the little rectangle of metal “
M
” had left her. She fingered the letters on the token for a minute before dropping it into her pocket.
 

She drove home, trying to figure out who M could be. Was the M his initial? First or Last? The first letter of a nickname, like Murderer, Maniac, Marauder? He had addressed the note to “E”, so he knew who she was. Wait, not really. He could have gotten that from the first page of the book.
 

If he used her first initial, he probably signed with his own. Then she tried to figure out who had still been in the office when she left the night before. Any M’s in that group? She couldn’t be sure. By the time she got back to her little townhouse apartment, she was thoroughly befuddled.
 

Stepping away from her mystery for a moment, she made herself a large breakfast with everything: bacon, eggs, coffee, bagels, and all the trimmings. She was planning a big work out for the afternoon and needed all the fuel she could get. She had some physical aggression to work out over that note in her book.
 

That note seemed innocent, respectful, and even apologetic for its presence. But still, M violated her privacy completely. She was embarrassed to say the least, and more than once she considered burning this notebook away and saying goodbye to the whole thing like she had before. But then the word which had been stamped on the metal token in her pocket reminded her why she couldn’t. Strength got her started on this and would keep her going.
 

Ironic, a little, that this bit of strength was offered to her by the person she needed to be strong enough against right now. God, this was complicated. If she didn’t already know that she was fed up with being uninspired and empty, she would have easily forgotten the foreign note and said
screw it
.
 

But she did know. She knew the chasm of that kind of core-deep despair, and she wasn’t ready to fall back down. She had to keep
“clawing her way out”
like M told her to. That phrase stuck with her. He perfectly described what she was trying to do. She enjoyed the process of finding all this enlightenment from within, but the process wasn’t easy. She truly felt like she was clawing her way out of that chasm.
 

Whoever he was, he understood. There was no way he could have written that phrase if he didn’t. Suddenly, she felt a degree of camaraderie with this stranger. The decision still had to be made, however. He asked her to share with him again. He asked for permission to share with her. He had taken her book the first time, but never would again without her blessing. Strangely, she knew he was sincere.
 

She could very easily never take the book to work, or never leave it unattended to keep her words safe. But that wasn’t necessary. He was a fellow of clawing with her, and that was a stronger bond than she would have guessed. If she left that bond unanswered, she may as well go back into the chasm.
 

After finishing her breakfast and her dishes, she left her accounting work in her office bag and went straight back for her notebook. She didn’t really know what she was going to write, she just knew what she had to do. She got called out and decided to be strong enough to answer. Her hand drifted to her pocket and touched the outline of the rectangle there before she picked up her pen.
 

M~

First, I can’t believe you read my journal. I understand it was tempting, but do you understand how completely WRONG that was?? That was all of me, and you are a stranger. I don’t even know your name. You haven’t earned that level of knowledge about me. It makes me sick to think about it.
 

But as angry as I am, I still appreciate what you wrote. You were respectful of what you learned. You could have done a lot worse. I don’t know what you’re clawing yourself away from, but I can tell you understand the feeling. You said maybe we could help each other? I guess so, but only if you tell me your story. You already know more of mine than even my family does.
 

It’s your turn. I won’t put another word in this book until you lay yourself out as far as I did. And even though I’m upset, I want to say thanks… for the STRENGTH. I have it with me right now. It’s the only reason I’m writing this.

~E

She read her reply a few times and nodded her head. Her response said everything she needed to say. There’s no way this pen-pal relationship was going to be one-way, and there was no way she was going to give up on herself now.

Marcus returned home from his shift, caught a quick shower, threw on a pair of sweats, and crashed on the couch. He flopped down on his back and brought one forearm up to rest on his forehead. What the hell had he been thinking? He never should have read that book, let alone write to her. She was probably going to call the police on Monday. He could see the headline:
Local Janitor Incarcerated for Total Stupidity
.
 

Stupid was the word. He had even signed his damn initial. Anyone trying could figure out who he was. They could easily have him fired for harassment or invasion of privacy or something. But still, he didn’t regret his note. He was so intrigued by the person in the pages and when he saw those bright green eyes, so clear and strong, there was nothing else he could do.

He grunted aloud to himself. What’s done is done and he would just have to hope he could keep his job. He didn’t dare hope for anything further than that. But still, if she wrote back, that would really be something.
 

Maybe she would let him help, even if just to offer an ear. He felt connected with this stranger and he would be a bit sad to lose that connection. He didn’t find connections very often. Other than his landlord and the human punching-bags he knew, his twin sister and Bill were the only two people in his life. They were the only two who meant anything. But maybe Erin Connor.
 

He forced himself to just focus on keeping his job and falling asleep for the day so he didn’t get thumped too hard at the fight that night. Job and fight, that’s all there was. Focus.
 

His hard-muscled frame finally relaxed back into the cushions for sleep. The picture behind his eyes was Erin Connor. Usually on Fight Day, his vision focused on the bloodied face of his upcoming opponent.
 

He woke up about seven hours later and ran down to get a steak from George to eat before the fight.

“Who ya got tonight?” George asked while wrapping his traditional pre-fight steak.
 

“Don’t even know yet. Bill says 10 on the ticket, so could be anyone, I guess. Thanks.” Marcus held his steak up at George as he took the flight up his steps in about four bounds.

Marcus went through his routine quickly. He ate, packed his gym bag, and started the mental prep for his fight. He let himself sink further into the dark area of his brain and think less about things more human, things like saying thank you for a steak. Marcus’s eyes grew heavy-lidded and deeper as he loosened the chains on the animal inside.