by Cade, Ashton
He’s so tender, so sweet. Even though it would take no effort at all for him to take advantage of me at this point, that’s not Garrett. He would never. He has no ulterior motives. Nothing but pure concern for me. While I’ve been cooped up, he’s taken a number of phone calls, and even done a Q&A type thing over the computer with concerned voters. Clary’s not letting him forget about the election, even though Garrett claims it’s not important anymore.
But I see the way he turns serious when it’s time to talk about the issues. I hear the passion in his voice. He might be trying to hide it from others, but I know him too well. I know this goofy guy, this guy that would rather be alone on a mountain somewhere than cooped up inside talking to people.
And yet he’s doing it.
That tells me a lot about how important it is to him, even if he won’t admit it.
I can’t let him give up on this dream for me.
He’s bringing me a sandwich—one of the few things I trust him to make now that I’ve experienced more of his culinary skills; he wasn’t being modest when he said bacon and eggs and steak and potatoes are about all he can manage, poor guy—when there’s a knock on the door.
“Police, open up!” Ryan calls through the door, snickering to himself loud enough for me to hear from a room away. Garrett groans and rolls his eyes, handing me the plate before excusing himself.
But if Ryan’s here, maybe he’s got news.
I don’t know whether to be excited or worried.
Who’s the news about?
Is it good or bad?
This sandwich doesn’t look appetizing anymore. My stomach is no longer growling ravenously now that I’m distracted with thoughts about all the possibilities.
“Eli here?” Ryan asks right away.
“In here,” I call from the bedroom.
Ryan comes in, his brother hurrying to keep up. He looks around at the nest Garrett’s made for me in his bed, the clear evidence that I’m not the only one sleeping in it at night. He’s too astute to not notice it all, but doesn’t say anything.
“What’s the scoop?” I ask, sitting up, ignoring the protests from deep in my muscles. It’s been days now, and the soreness is probably as much to do with me being stuck in bed as it is the injuries. I need to get up and move around some more. I can’t let Garrett keep me pinned to bed—as much at that idea sounds wonderful in a different context. Besides, he’s got no ground to argue on. I’m the medical professional. If I say I need to get up and stretch, who’s he to argue?
I’ve just been lying here feeling sorry for myself instead of fighting to recover in any reasonable amount of time. He’s made it so easy, though. He’s been so accommodating.
Ryan’s in full uniform and rests his hand on his radio, probably out of habit more than anything else.
“Dr. Peterson was picked up last night. His wife posted his bail this morning and it looks like he’s already skipped town even though that’s against the terms of his bond.”
Garrett stiffens in the doorway, hands clenched to fists at his side.
“You think he’s gonna try to come after Eli?” he growls, a bear ready to protect his den.
Ryan shrugs. I know he’s not going to sugarcoat anything with us. “Tough to say. Honestly, I don’t think he’s got much of a plan. If his wife bailed him out, that means she’s not leaving his sorry ass. Probably means he’s trying to spin this to her, trying to save his ass. If that’s the case, you’re probably safe—men like him usually try to discredit their victims, not silence them. I think he lost his cool at the clinic, but I don’t think he’s gone off the deep end.”
“Why the hell is he out on bail after trying to kill Eli?” Garrett asks, hissing. “I thought you’re supposed to keep dangerous people locked up.”
Ryan makes a face. “There’s a thing called due process, Gar’,” he says. “Innocent until proven guilty? I know we have all the evidence we need in your mind, but Dr. Peterson’s still a citizen. He’s still entitled to his day in court.”
“Obviously he’s a flight risk,” Garrett grumbles.
“Yeah, well, that’ll be taken into consideration when he’s picked up again. And he will be, don’t worry about that,” he says, a pointed look to me, then to Garrett.
“He’s gonna make a mistake. Probably go back to the city and get picked up there. Considering his standing in the community and the crime of passion, I’d say he’ll probably get a plea deal and likely won’t serve any time—”
“That’s bullshit!” Garrett cries, but it’s not surprising at all to me. Men like Dr. Peterson are Teflon. I’ve always known that.
There’s a reason guys like me never press charges against guys like him.
“Battery and assault cases are a dime a dozen, I’m afraid,” Ryan says, trying to be gentle. He doesn’t need to be for my sake, though. I already know. I might not be in law enforcement, but being in the medical field, I see more of this stuff than most people in the general populace. I see how many spouses, kids, parents, and elderly are abused daily without anyone answering for it. I see how many reckless, senseless acts of violence occur with no one to point the blame at.
And that’s in Umberland. In our tiny, sleepy little town. In the city? The clinics I interned with were so overstretched and understaffed, even reporting all the incidents to police took up half our shifts—except you were expected to fill out all those reports and things after you’d seen all your patients.
Nurses and doctors are human too. Sometimes they’re sick, they’re having a bad day, they just want to get home for whatever reason. Things fall through the cracks.
Even having charges go up against Dr. Peterson is more than I expected, to be honest. But it’s clearly not enough for Garrett. Garrett wants blood.
“What about the shit from before? He paid a minor for sex! That’s gotta count for something!” Garrett’s voice rises. And I know his anger’s at the doctor, at his brother and the system he feels is failing me, but having that thrown out there like that still makes me wince.
“That is Eli’s word against his, and unfortunately it’s too old to pursue. There’s no evidence, nothing really to move on,” Ryan says.
I shake my head. “It’s fine,” I say, looking to Garrett, hoping to make him believe it. “I’m just glad he’s gone. I hope he stays far away and never comes back.”
Ryan’s face gets a little more uneasy.
“You might get called in to testify unless the surveillance tapes make a clear case,” Ryan says. There aren’t cameras in the exam rooms—so no footage of the actual assault—but there’s a camera posted by the medicine locker, and covering both doors. It’ll be obvious to anyone watching that we were the only two people in the building. Dr. Peterson running out the way he did, then me staggering out broken and bloodied—what other conclusion could anyone come to?
The thought of getting up in court to testify against him makes my skin crawl anew. I’ve been to a few cases as a witness before, and even when I had very little at stake in the matter, I was made to feel stupid and worthless by the prosecutors and defense attorneys. They twist everything you say, turn it into something wrong and different.
I don’t want to do that again.
There’s one bright spot of hope, though.
“It’ll be a felony, though, won’t it?” I ask, throat tight. “He… he tried to rape me.”
Ryan nods solemnly. “If they’ve got any sense when they charge him, it’ll be aggravated. That’s a felony.”
“And he’ll lose his license,” I say, a satisfied sigh escaping my lips. I never thought I’d be so happy to hear about the destruction of another person’s career, but if anyone deserves to have their life ripped to pieces, it’s Dr. Peterson. “He might not go to jail, Garrett, but he’s going to answer for it,” I tell him, reaching for his hand and squeezing.
It’s weird, but I think he needs that more than I do. He needs to see Dr. Peterson brought to justice more than me. I guess I alread
y made my peace with the terrible things he did to me a while ago. Garrett’s still trying to come to grips with it, still trying to grieve over what’s happened to me.
And I love him for it.
No one has ever been so affected by something that’s really only my problem. But with Garrett, that doesn’t feel like the case. With Garrett, it’s our problem to solve. Ours to tackle and overcome.
“So that’s the first bit of news,” Ryan says, licking his lips and looking from me to his brother and back again. He’s pointedly not looking at our joined hands, but there’s no missing it, especially not for a seasoned cop like Ryan.
“Oh?” I ask.
“They found Craig and Libby a few counties over in a stolen car—”
“What?” I cry, jumping up in bed, all the thoughts about Dr. Peterson shoved aside in an instant.
“You found them? Where? Are they all right? Are they in trouble? Can I visit him? Where are they?”
Garrett squeezes my hand and I take a slow breath.
“They were brought back to the juvenile detention center. Libby’s been bailed out by her foster mother—and you were right, she is pregnant,” he adds with a solemn look and a shake of his head. “We haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone to pick up Craig, and if it gets to forty-eight hours, I’ve gotta call CPS.”
“Can we do it?” I ask without thinking. Tina’s a worthless excuse for a person, but I don’t want Craig to deal with the system if I can prevent it.
“That’s kinda why I came by,” Ryan admits with a nod. “I hoped you were feeling up to it. We’ve got a recorded history of him being released into your custody and that being okay with the parent, so…”
I’m already swinging my legs over the side of the bed, feet touching down on the cold floor, sending shivers all the way up my spine. No one has to ask me twice when it comes to helping out Craig.
“Thanks for coming by,” I tell Ryan, clapping him on the shoulder, both in appreciation and for support as my leg muscles wobble. I haven’t been getting out of bed nearly enough the last couple days.
“Guess I’ll see ya in a bit,” he answers with a nod, letting Garrett come take his place supporting me.
Garrett arches an eyebrow at me as his brother leaves.
“You sure about this?”
“About what? I can’t just leave him, Gar’. Everyone else has given up on that kid. I’m not about to.”
His lips curve into a slow smile and he dips to kiss me, his lips drawing mine out, sucking softly, slow and sensuous, not even using his tongue.
“Let’s get going then,” he says, sliding his hands to my sides, dragging up the oversized T-shirt that’s been my uniform for the past few days. The sweatpants I’m wearing are his, and they’re too big, slung low on my hips, barely held up by the drawstring.
“This is the opposite of—”
“You gotta get dressed, don’t you?” Garrett rumbles, tossing my shirt aside, pressing his warm lips to my chest. He leaves my side long enough to fetch a clean, better-fitting shirt from his dresser, handing it over with a reluctant grin. “Much as I don’t want you to…” he teases.
I pull the shirt on, tighten the drawstring on the pants, and let him help me put my shoes on when bending forward starts to make me dizzy. I don’t think I got a concussion from the assault, but there’s no doubt my body’s not fully recovered yet.
When we get to the detention center, Ryan’s already laid all the groundwork for us to be able to bail Craig out. They obviously didn’t tell him who was here for him, because when he comes through the door, he’s looking confused and suspicious until he spots us, and his face breaks into relief.
Not quite the surliness I’ve come to expect.
“Eli, I—”
“Come on,” I cut him off, looking around at all the cops in the place. I know I shouldn’t be so mistrusting, but I don’t want him to say anything incriminating in front of them. This isn’t over yet, and I don’t know what kind of mess he’s got hanging over him at the moment.
Craig seems to get the message though, and stops talking, letting us lead him out of the building and to Garrett’s truck.
“Thanks,” Craig says once we’re in and buckled up. “I didn’t think anyone would come get me…”
“You should’ve known I—” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m sorry I haven’t been paying more attention, Craig. Why don’t you tell us everything that’s going on?”
He bites his lip, hands twisting in his lap. For once, he seems legitimately worried, shy even. Not that swaggering teenage confidence that could stop bullets. He’s vulnerable.
“You know about Libby?” he asks.
I nod.
“We know she’s pregnant, yeah. So is that what this is all about?”
Craig shrugs. “I dunno. Yeah, I guess. I found out and I was scared… angry… I dunno, that’s why—” He looks over at Garrett, who gives him a tight-lipped nod.
“My greenhouse,” he says.
“Yeah,” Craig admits, regretfully. “I’m sorry. It was dumb.”
“And the fight at school?” I ask, connecting more dots. It had seemed like Craig was doing so well, then all of a sudden he started backsliding. Guess it was stress-induced.
He nods again. “He was talking shit about Libs, saying our baby is gonna be retarded like us,” he growls, his fists clenching tight at the memory. I rest my hand on his arm, trying to hide how much it pisses me off too.
“I didn’t mean to screw everything up so bad,” he says, sounding on the verge of tears. “I just wanna take care of her, of our baby. Her foster mom said she can’t keep it, that it’ll just go into the system like her, and no one will let us get married. We’re gonna lose our baby,” he chokes, tears actually falling from his eyes now.
Shit. I never would’ve expected him to care this much, to be this involved, but I can’t sit by and do nothing. These two kids having a baby at their age is crazy, no one’s going to deny that, but they want this baby. They want a chance to raise it. No one should just take that from them. They were old enough to make the decision to make the baby, they should be old enough to decide what happens with it.
Garrett’s frowning, hands tight on the wheel. “None of that sounds right,” he says, something dark in his eyes I haven’t seen before. “I’m gonna call Ryan,” he says.
“Why don’t we go to the diner? I’m sure Craig could use a hot meal. We’ll sort all this out,” I say, squeezing Craig’s hand again, his tears slowly drying up now that he realizes he’s not in this alone. He’s got allies. People who want to help him and not just screw him over.
Garrett’s on the phone with Ryan the moment he’s parked the truck. He puts the call on speakerphone for all of us.
“Hey, Ry, I got a question for you,” Garrett says casually.
Ryan sounds suspicious when he answers. “Okay, shoot.”
“What’s the situation with a pregnant girl in foster care? What happens to the baby?”
“This about Libby?” Ryan asks. Craig shifts in his seat, and I pat his hand. No need to get all protective. We’re all on the same side.
“Yeah. Seems the kids are under the impression that the baby’s going to get taken away no matter what,” Garrett says, scratching his chin. “Didn’t sound right to me.”
Ryan ponders. “No, me neither. I dunno, though. Gimme a sec.”
The line clicks, and I think he’s hung up on us, but then another second passes and it clicks again.
“Gar’, you there?”
“Yeah, we’re here,” he says.
“I’ve got Sharon on the line,” Ryan says. “Libby’s social worker.”
“Sharon, what do these kids need in order to keep this baby?” Garrett asks, right to the point.
Damn. Seeing him like this, all business, no-nonsense… I can see him negotiating legislation, being a hard-ass in backroom compromises.
He’s more of a politician than I realized.
And unlike
Dr. Peterson who wields his clout and power as something to lord over others, Garrett’s already using the influences he has for good. To help someone who desperately needs an advocate.
“There’s no reason for Libby to lose her baby as long as her foster parents are willing to be responsible for it as well as her. We try not to break custody if there’s no reason to,” Sharon says.
“Lois said she couldn’t. She said…” Craig starts off protesting out of confusion, but then it sinks in, and he’s angry. Furious.
I don’t blame him. What Libby’s foster mom told her was either grossly misinformed, or a flat-out lie. Is she trying to scare Libby into giving up the baby? Aborting it? I don’t even know, but I’m practically shaking at the thought of that woman—the one who’s supposed to be looking out for this poor girl from an abusive home—scaring her senseless about losing her baby to the point that these two kids stole a car and ran away to keep it.
“Does that answer your questions?” Sharon asks, polite but to the point. I imagine she’s got a lot on her desk without trying to hold our hands right now.
“Yeah, I think so. Thanks,” Garrett says.
“Lemme know if you need anything,” Ryan says, everyone hanging up the call all at once.
“You still wanna grab a bite?” Garrett asks, looking toward the diner, to the two of us both radiating anger in our own way.
“I think we should go talk to Lois and Libby, actually,” I say, voice much more even than I expect it to be. I’ve slipped into that cool, calm rage. The kind that almost makes me scare myself. It’s not often that I get angry like this, but people who fuck with kids—especially kids who are so in over their heads and trying to make big, adult decisions—is something I can’t tolerate.
Garrett looks like he might want to argue, but decides against it with both me and Craig so single-minded. If nothing else, I’m sure Craig’s dying to see Libby again. He’s been locked up since they were picked up, and probably hasn’t had a chance to talk to her at all.
I’m the one who knocks on the door when we get there. Craig’s behind me, and Garrett’s behind him, the three of us making up a pretty imposing-looking force on this woman’s front porch.