by LK Shaw
Almost a third of the entire population of Chicago was Hispanic, and there were a lot of women with the name Maria, so it could be entirely coincidental. It didn’t mean anything.
“Charity, babe, this may be important. Who’s this Maria woman?” I asked urgently.
She seemed confused by my question. “Um, she’s just some woman I met on the train one day. The day of my interview actually. She dropped her book, and I picked it up for her. We chatted for a few minutes before we got to our stop. She had an armful of bags that she could barely carry so I offered to help. I walked her to her apartment building, and we talked along the way. Just about random things like the weather.”
“Was she younger? Older? Caucasian? Latinx?”
“Older I guess?” She phrased it like a question. “I’ve never been good with guessing how old people are. I do remember she said she was from Mexico. We spoke a little Spanish to each other. Well, she spoke most of the Spanish. Mine isn’t so great anymore.”
I shifted closer in my chair, clutching her hand in excitement, although I tried not to get ahead of myself. This could still all be a complete coincidence.
“Do you remember anything else you two talked about?”
Her eyes darted back and forth like she was trying to recall their conversation. “She said she hadn’t been in Chicago for long. We joked about how mean I was to tell her that if she thought it was cold now, she hadn’t seen anything yet. I asked what brought her to Chicago, and she said her son. I see her about three times a week, and I’ve helped her carry bags to her apartment a few times. We’ve talked about pretty much everything, so I might have mentioned working at Franklin’s, but I can’t say for sure. I’m sorry I’m not being very helpful.”
I jumped from the chair, palmed her cheeks, and planted my lips against hers. She leaned into me until I slowly pulled away a small fraction, my eyes boring into hers. I brushed the hair back off her face.
“You’ve helped more than you can know.”
A knock on the door startled us. I stepped back as a nurse entered the room.
“How are you doing, Miss Yates?” she asked.
Charity’s eyes lingered on me for a second longer before she turned to the woman. “I’m fine. I’d like to know when I can get out of here, please.”
The nurse jerked in surprise. “You lost a lot of blood, and the doctor would like to keep you at least through tomorrow.”
“I’d really like to leave as soon as possible, please. In fact, now would be ideal.”
My gaze landed on her. Why was she in such a hurry to get out of here? She’d been hurt, badly from the sounds of things.
“That isn’t really a good idea. You’ve been through a lot, and your body needs time to heal.”
“I can heal just fine in my own place, in my own bed. I’d really like to leave.” There was a thread of anxiety to Charity’s tone that hadn’t been there until the nurse arrived.
“Excuse me, but could you give us a minute, please?” I interrupted.
The woman’s eyes darted between us, and she nodded. “Of course. Just ring the bell if you need anything.”
I gave her my bland smile. “Thank you.”
She turned and left Charity and me alone. I swiveled in my chair and reached for her hand again. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I really, really hate hospitals. And doctors. And nurses. And all of this,” she said, gesturing in a general way. “Can we please leave? Please?”
There had to be more to it than that. I wasn’t a fan of hospitals either, but this was above and beyond the normal dislike.
“What if I stayed here with you? Would that help?”
Charity swallowed. “Probably, although I’m not excited about staying here.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” I rose from my seat, toed off my shoes, and circled around to the other side of the bed, motioning more her to scoot over. Raising the covers, I crawled in beside her, gently pulling her against my chest, taking care to not jar any her injuries as well as any of the tubing and equipment around us. Charity snuggled up against me with an exhausted sigh. “I promise I won’t go anywhere, and the minute the doctor says you can leave, I’ll get you out of here.”
“Thank you for staying with me.” She whispered against my chest.
“You’re welcome.” I brushed a kiss across the top of her head, settling in for what I expected to me a long night. I needed to call Pablo and let him know about this Maria person and get more information from Charity about where she lived, but it could hold until the morning. Instead, I laid here listening to her soft breathing, and feeling this increasingly familiar emotion grip me.
Chapter 30
I snuggled deeper against the warm body wrapped around me. Oliver’s crisp, clean scent filled my nose. I’d woken up a few times throughout the night, crying out in fear, but each time he’d held me tighter, whispering reassuring words in my ear, until I settled down and fell back to sleep. This thing between us was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It terrified me, because I was pretty sure I was setting myself up for heartbreak.
Oliver wouldn’t necessarily mean to shatter me, but it seemed almost inevitable. We were so different from each other. I also didn’t know what his feelings were. Sam’s warning frequently played in the back of my mind. We may not have had sex, but we’d certainly been intimate. Oliver didn’t tend to stick around once he’d gotten what he wanted, though. The question was, what did he want? I wish I knew.
“Good morning,” Oliver whispered in my ear.
I tipped my head back to look up at him. “Morning. How did you know I was awake?”
“You stopped snoring.”
I gasped in mock outrage. “What? How dare you say I snore.”
“Only like a Mack truck. Don’t worry though, it’s adorable,” he added, tweaking my nose.
“You’re such a jerk,” I pouted.
Oliver chuckled. “You shouldn’t call me names, you know. Especially since I’m the one who’s managing to break you out of this joint in the next hour, hopefully.”
I pushed myself upright and stared at him. “You better not be kidding.”
He slashed his fingers over his chest. “Cross my heart.”
Not even caring about the wires still connected to me, I threw my arms around his neck, plastering sloppy kisses all over his cheek. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I pulled back with a giddy smile. Oliver pointed at his lips. “I think you missed a spot.”
He looked so innocent sitting there with his finger tapping against his chin while he waited for me to make a move. Slowly, I leaned forward, stopping centimeters from his mouth, teasing him with the anticipation until, at last, I closed the distance and our mouths met. His grip tightened on my hip, holding me in place.
The kiss started out innocent enough. Another extension of the thank you kisses I’d left on his cheek, but it didn’t stay that way. Not after he flicked his tongue across the seam of my lips, almost begging for entrance. There was no denying him. I opened to his persuasive touch, letting him in. His free hand palmed the back of my head, holding me gently, as he deepened our connection.
We drank from each other, celebrating the fact that I was alive. Oliver continued his oral seduction, and I was helpless against it. I rode the wave of pleasure as he masterfully touched me, driving me wild. He kissed me until we were both breathless. We reluctantly broke apart, our chests rising and falling to the same rhythm.
He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, until he raised his head and stared down at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Something about it made my heart race even faster than the kiss we’d just shared.
A soft knock at the door interrupted us before I could embarrass myself by asking him, and a different nurse from last night, or whatever time it had been, walked in.
“Miss Yates, your boyfriend asked me to speak with the doctor. He’ll be in shortly to examine you and make sure everythi
ng looks good. If he thinks it’s safe for you to go home, I’ll get your discharge paperwork together for him to sign. Hopefully we’ll be able to get you out of here soon.”
My entire body had frozen, including my brain, at her calling Oliver my boyfriend that it took me a second to form words. “Ok—okay, thank you.”
She gave us a friendly smile and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“Told you I was breaking you out of here,” he said smugly. “Don’t you feel guilty for calling me a jerk now?”
“Fine.” I drew the word out in a playful groan. “Yes, I feel guilty.”
He sat back with a satisfied sound. I bit my lip, uncertain whether I should broach the topic or let it go. Was I reading more into it?
Oliver turned my head toward him using two fingers along my jaw. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”
“It just threw me when she called you my boyfriend, is all.”
He nodded solemnly. “I wondered if you’d catch that. Based on how you were plastered all over me and sleep drooling on my chest when she walked in earlier, I guess she jumped to that conclusion.”
I blinked then sputtered with indignation while Oliver’s lips twitched. “Oh,” I growled, crossing my arms in a huff, and glaring at him. “You know what? I take it back. You’re not a jerk. You’re a giant, sweaty, stinky nut sack.”
He threw his head back with laughter, his entire body shaking with it. “A…giant…stinky…nut…sack?” he repeated, gasping for air between each word.
I jabbed a finger into his rock hard stomach. “Don’t forget sweaty.”
Another snort burst out of him. He snagged my hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the digit that assaulted him. “I don’t think I’ll ever get bored around you.”
A flush of heat spread across my chest, but a sense of satisfaction settled inside with a warm, tingly sensation.
“What’s going to happen after we leave here?” I changed the topic. “I can’t go back to Sam’s.”
I loved working there, and I’d come to love my cozy, little room in the back even if I hadn’t been there long.
“You’re coming home with me.” Oliver said it in a way that he was surprised I hadn’t figured that out yet.
“Isn’t that going to cause problems with your boss and the case?” I asked. “I mean, that was the whole reason why I’d been staying at the gym in the first place.”
He reached up and palmed my cheek, his fingers threading through my hair. “That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before there was an us.”
My heart tripped a beat. We were an ‘us’?
“You could have been killed last night,” he continued, his thumb rubbing back and forth along my skin. “From the beginning, you’ve trusted me to keep you safe, and I failed.”
“What?” I gasped, laying my hand over his. “No, that’s not true. If it weren’t for you teaching me how to fight, I never would have made it past that guy standing guard outside. It’s because of you that I was able to get away from them. See, you did keep me safe.”
“Not safe enough. You were hurt, and it’s my fault.”
My heart ached at his guilt-ridden expression, but I refused to let him take the blame. I cradled his face between my hands and stared deep into his eyes, trying to drill into him the importance of what I said. “The only people I blame for what happened are those monsters with Los Lobos. You will not blame yourself. I forbid it.”
Oliver stared back at me and then his lips twitched a little. “You forbid it, huh?”
“Yes,” I emphasized my answer with a sharp nod.
His intense expression loosened a bit, and he leaned forward and gently kissed me. “Thank you.”
With that settled between us, I laid back down, cuddling into his side, waiting for the doctor to hurry up and get here so we could finally leave this place.
Chapter 31
The doctor discharged Charity, and we were heading home. Home. With a woman. A woman who made me feel emotions I’d never felt before. Pablo’s words about what a relationship consisted of came back to me. Tenderness. Affection. Love. I didn’t know what love was. Had my parents loved each other at one time? If they had, why did my mother leave?
The only examples of love I had were Sam and Dottie. Hell, maybe even Pablo and Michele. I’d seen their love first hand, and it had actually been kind of nice. I glanced over at Charity sitting in the passenger seat. A warmth spread through me at just the sight of her. Could I choose to be happy?
She turned her head, and a soft smile spread across her face. There were so many facets to her personality, each of them shining brightly for attention. I wanted to discover every single one of them.
We pulled up to the townhouse, and I parked in front of it like usual. Charity leaned against me, limping a bit on her wounded leg, as I helped her into the house. I settled her onto the couch, pulling the coffee table closer so she could prop her foot up and rest it, if she needed to.
“You hungry?” I asked.
“I could probably eat a little something.”
“Coming right up.” I headed into the kitchen to try and wrangle us up something to eat. Before long, I returned with two bowls of chicken and rice soup, handing her one, while I flopped onto the other end of the couch with my own.
“Sorry if you like crackers with your soup, but I didn’t find any in the pantry,” I said, blowing on my spoonful.
Charity shook her head. “This is fine the way it is, thank you.”
We ate in companionable silence, but I kept my eye on her. We needed to talk, but she’d also had a rough night and hadn’t slept well. She’d woken up, crying out in fear, several times. Luckily, I’d been able to soothe her until she fell back to sleep. Finally, she set her bowl down.
“All finished?”
“I don’t think I could eat another bite.”
I held my hand out for the dish, and I took hers and mine to the kitchen, washed them, and laid them in the dish drainer before returning to my seat. I patted my lap. “Give me your legs. The doctor said you should keep them propped up to reduce the swelling.”
Charity swiveled in her seat and swung her legs up, laying them over my thighs, scooting her butt down so she was mostly reclined, her back against the armrest. “You paid more attention to my discharge instructions than I did.”
“You were pretty anxious about getting out of there, and I could tell you had zoned out a bit.”
Her eyes darted away from mine. I gently squeezed her knee of the non-injured leg. “What was that all about anyway?” I prodded, wanting to learn more about her.
Charity raised one shoulder in a dismissive gesture. “I just don’t like hospitals or doctors.”
I gave her a disbelieving stare. “That was more than just dislike. I’m not a fan of them, but I’m also not nearly crawling out of my skin to get away either. So, what’s the deal?”
She still hadn’t looked at me, and for a moment I regretting pushing the issue. I was on the verge of telling Charity she didn’t have to tell me if it was too painful, but I continued to wait it out. She trusted me with her safety even when I didn’t deserve it. Would she trust me with her secrets?
“I spent a lot of time in the hospital as a kid. A lot of time. By the time I was ten, I’d probably been to at least fifty different doctors and specialists in Chicago.”
My eyes scanned every visible inch of her, trying to find evidence of whatever sickness or injury had led to all those medical visits. Charity caught my gaze. “It was my mother.”
I blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“My father left the day after my fifth birthday. One day we were having a party and I was blowing out candles, and the next he was gone. No letter. No explanation. Just vanished. My mother took it hard. She stayed in her room for days.”
Her voice had turned emotionless. I fucking hated it.
“By the third day, s
he managed to make it out to the living room. She sat there like a zombie watching television. I put myself to bed again, because she still hadn’t gotten up from the recliner. When I woke up the next morning, she was like a completely different person. She stood in the kitchen making pancakes and bacon, smiling and talking to me the minute I walked in. It was like I had my mother back.”
Charity’s gaze had lifted to the ceiling with an unfocused stare. I stroked my hand up and down her leg trying to soothe her. She relaxed a little.
“That must have been nice,” I said. “Having your mom back, I mean.”
She snorted. “You would think. No, that’s when my hell started.”
An ominous sensation creeped over my skin. I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what she had to tell me, despite my earlier need to know more about her.
“It wasn’t long before I started getting sick. My mother couldn’t figure out what was wrong, so she took me to the doctor. They ran a bunch of tests, but they all came back inconclusive. The doctor told my mom to keep an eye on me, and if I got worse to bring me to the emergency room. Once we got home, she changed my diet in case it was some type of allergy and started making me eat more vegetables. Within a couple days, I was feeling better.” Charity took in a shuddering breath. “Then I got sick again, and the process started all over. More doctor visits. More tests with no answers. My mother always taking care of me, bathing me, feeding me, promising to make me better. Hell, she even dressed me. I was always so tired, I couldn’t do anything for myself.”
My god. I couldn’t imagine her as this helpless little girl. She always seemed so full of fire.
“This went on for years,” she continued. “I missed more school than not, so my mother ended up homeschooling me. I didn’t have any friends, because I was always too sick. Everyone—teachers, parents, doctors—praised my mother for taking such good care of a special needs child, and she soaked it up.”
She laughed, but it was filled with bitterness. “At some point in time, a nurse became suspicious. They began investigating my mother and all the countless doctor visits I’d had. For five years, she’d been making me sick—poisoning me—and then nursing me back to health.”