The Lucky One

Part 8

Previously:

Driving down the main road late at night, you very nearly missed the turn that was now overgrown with brush and weeds. Your headlights swept over the rundown Blackhurst house as you put the truck in park and climbed out. Approaching hesitantly, the weight of your footsteps cause the porch stairs to creak before you raised a hand and knocked on the screen door.

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Three loud thumps of your heartbeat passed before you heard the sliding of a lock and the door knob turned. James peered out through the narrow sliver of open doorway until he recognized you and swung the door wider. He was clearly surprised to see you, stowing something into the back of his jeans before opening the screen door to face you.

"Y/N. I, um...I'm surprised to see you. But a pleasant surprise," he uttered quickly. "Come on in."

"Thanks," you said, walking inside as he cleared the doorway for you. "I'm sorry to barge in, but I remembered where you lived and...this just couldn't wait."

"That's okay," he said, closing the door behind you.

You found yourself avoiding his gaze at first, instead taking in the surroundings of James' home. The living room area was pretty scarce, furnished with only a thread-bare secondhand couch, a standing lamp, and a single wooden dining room chair. Against one wall were some hastily-built bookshelves that housed a handful of library books, many about horse training and psychology.

You walked the room slowly, remembering back when this particular home housed a family years ago. In grade school, you befriended a girl who lived at the Blackhurst home and you had play dates here a few times. So strange how time passes.

James kept quiet, watching you, but out of the corner of your eye you saw him open a drawer and stow something inside. Something dull and black. Your brain caught up then and recognized that it was most likely a weapon.

Stomach flipping at the thought, you turned his way and studied his expression. James looked nervous...almost vulnerable. He still wore his usual pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, but both hands were bare. His long chestnut strands looked mussed, as if fingers had been running through them time and time again due to stress. Brilliant, blue eyes still pierced you but there was a weariness to his expression.

You thought about the kind of life he had been living, running and hiding from...who? HYDRA? SHIELD? The government? The world? Who knew about him? None, you hoped. All of the sudden, the readiness to have a weapon nearby made sense. He had to be prepared. What if it wasn't you at the door? Would those hunting him knock? Probably not. Your heart ached at the thought.

Finally realizing James was awaiting an explanation, you took a step toward him and met his eye.

"I, um...I'm sorry for my...coldness earlier today. It's just been a lot to take in and I..."

"No, I understand. I don't blame you in the slightest. I'm just grateful you let me stay and work," he lightly interrupted with a small smile.

You returned his smile conservatively, wringing your hands in front of you. "I've had some time, though, and I looked into your story last night. Most of it checks out...the Smithsonian, the war, your...death," you spoke the last word hesitantly. "Some I'll have to take your word for it, since everyone's dead except the Captain. But I did find some information about your...captivity..."

His eyes shot open at those last words, fists clenching at his sides. "Wh—what do you mean?" he inquired.

"May I?" you asked, gesturing toward the couch.