Yes, she was afraid, but she couldn’t let herself give in to that fear. “I’m okay, thanks to Roman.”
One dark eyebrow cocked. “Roman?”
“He’s the one who rescued me,” she said. “Now no one seems to know where he is, except that Vince is supposed to be keeping him out of jail.”
Just at that moment, Vince appeared in the doorway.
She craned to look past him. “Is Roman…”
Vince frowned. Shook his head.
She sat up too fast, and her head swum.
“Doesn’t look to me as though you’re quite ready to head home,” Jesse noted.
She gripped his arm. “Come on, guys. I’m okay. I just haven’t had anything to eat.”
“I’ll see about getting you something,” Cade offered, looking relieved to have something to do. He’d spent several months in the hospital himself not that long ago, and several more in rehabilitation. Hospitals were not his favorite places.
“No.” She put every ounce of strength she had into the pronouncement. “Listen to me, everyone. I. Am. Fine.” But she couldn’t seem to stop her eyes from welling. “I just want to go home.” She looked at Vince. “And I want Roman. Where is he?”
He and Jesse exchanged glances, then he sighed and returned his gaze to hers. “He’s out of holding. He’s gone home.”
“Why was he arrested? He saved my life.”
“I know.” Vince kept his poker face intact.
“Vince?”
“He just went a little crazy when no one would tell him if you were okay.”
“Is he all right? Does he know I’m fine?”
All of them stared at her. “You’re not fine, honey,” Vince said.
“I’m not badly hurt, I was just—” She had to shut her mind down before it finished that thought. “I want to see him. I need to.”
“Jenna,” Vince said gently. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”
“He needs me, too,” she insisted.
Jesse turned to Vince. “Where does he live?”
Vince shook his head. “No idea.”
He’s not coming. He’s…not coming. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did, the unspoken part of Vince’s message.
“You can ask Ray and Fayrene at Ray’s BBQ. They knew his grandmother, and he’s living in her old house, I think.” She swallowed hard, her hands gripping each other as she worked not to show how devastated she was.
Why, Roman? I need you.
But clearly she couldn’t afford to depend on him.
She cleared her throat and pushed back the sheet, sliding her legs over the bed. “I’m going home, even if I have to do it in this stupid gown.”
“Hey, there,” Cade objected. “Nobody said you could go yet.”
From somewhere she found a semblance of who she used to be and glared at him. “I don’t care what anyone says. I want my clothes, and I want them now, and—” She couldn’t swallow past the ball of tears in her throat.
Just then Sophie entered with a shopping bag in her hand. Sophie had been her best friend before Cade ever knew the woman he was now only weeks from marrying.
At the sight of Jenna, Sophie’s eyes welled, but almost instantly, the woman who’d been a powerful executive reassembled her features and put on what Jenna thought of as her hostess face. “I could hear you in the hall. I’m guessing these might come in handy.” Her pregnant belly preceding her, Sophie deposited the bag on the bed. Inside Jenna could see new items, the tags still on them. How Sophie had known that she craved that newness, especially when it had meant Sophie going shopping in the wee hours of the morning, she had no idea, but her gratitude made her eyes sting.
No. If you cry, you will never get out of here.
So Jenna managed not to. “Thank you.”
Sophie smiled, though her gaze held concern. “You’re welcome.” Jenna glanced around at the men, all highly competent, all of whom were practically shuffling their feet in discomfort. They were used to Jenna being plucky and strong and cheerful. They didn’t know what to do with her when she was hurting and weak.
So she wouldn’t be.
“Scram, you guys.” She cleared her throat. “Somebody see to breaking me out of here or I’m walking out, anyway.”
Relieved to have something to do, they cleared the room in seconds, these men who loved her.
“Impressive,” Sophie said, busy removing price tags. “So tell me how you really are.”
Jenna looked up at her taller friend, knowing Sophie would listen if she wanted to talk, just as Chloe would. She glanced from one to the other gratefully, but she didn’t dare, not now. “I’m fine,” she said, pasting on a smile, then quickly turning her attention to the bag of new clothes with no memories attached to them.
It was just as well that the clothes she’d been wearing were needed as evidence. At the thought of donning them ever again—even the jeans, which were her favorite pair—a little shiver ran through her. She’d rather burn them. Soak them in lye. Pour a gallon of disinfectant on them, maybe.
As she slid the new jeans up her legs, an image of her old ones being jerked down blasted into her brain, and she lost her balance. She gripped the sheets and held on for dear life. No. No. You don’t get to do this to me. It’s over. You’re done.
She didn’t look at either of her friends but simply focused on zipping her jeans, then shaking out the shirt Sophie had brought.
“I want to see Freddie before I go,” she said when the men returned with the news that she’d been released.
Chloe and Sophie exchanged glances.
Jesse spoke up. “Honey, have you looked in a mirror?”
She frowned. “No.”
“Maybe you’d better.”
Sophie dug a compact out of her purse and handed it over.
Even such a minuscule glance made Jenna gasp. She stared at the visual evidence, and suddenly Mako loomed over her again, face twisted with hate, arm flying at her face—
She swayed on her feet.
Jesse grabbed her, tucked her into his side. “You need to be back in that bed.”
She closed her eyes, but that only made the nightmare playing in her head more real. She snapped her eyes back open. “No.” She bit her lip. “Please, Jesse, I just want to go home.”
A hesitation. Around her every face bore sorrow. Fury. It was painful to see them so miserable.
She straightened and somehow found a smile, brittle though it was. “Good thing Freddie’s sedated, huh? If he woke up now, I might scare him right back into the dark.” She swallowed hard and handed the compact to Sophie again.
“Vince said he would check on him,” Chloe said gently. “Let’s just get you home before the rest of the family arrives.”
The rest of the family. She both wanted them here desperately and at the same time had no idea how she would bear all their sympathy and helpless rage.
“Oh, dear,” she said, pasting on another smile. “I’m pretty sure my bed’s not made.”
When the atmosphere lightened a fraction, the effort she’d made seemed worth it. That’s what they counted on her for, to be cheerful. Resilient.
Unbreakable.
One step at a time. Fake it till you make it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROMAN AWOKE, and he wasn’t sure where he was.
When he moved, every damn muscle in his body hurt. What the hell had he done the night before?
With a rush, it all came back. He sat up fast, though his body protested. His shoulder glanced off something hard. He blinked and realized where he was.
Abuela’s altar, the private one in a corner of her bedroom. He’d entered her room only once since he’d been back, during his general survey of the place
to check out its condition.
But the scent of his grandmother in this room, so beloved and familiar, had sent him packing. Now he was back, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why he’d sought out the place she’d found refuge.
When you cannot see your way, mijo, she had said to him, the Blessed Virgin will help you. She will listen, and she will intercede for you. La Virgen de Guadalupe, she belongs to us special. When you have nowhere to turn, remember that she is with you. That through her love, I am always with you, as well.
Roman glanced at the statue of La Virgen before him, fierce and beautiful. I wish I could believe, Abuela.
There were no answers for him here.
He was too lost. For a long time now, he’d operated on autopilot, simply getting through one day, then the next, his direction only temporary, his goals few and finite, always with the belief that somehow, someday, the reason he was still alive would become evident. That one day some new purpose would make itself known, and he would understand the next step. He would be able to plan out a future, now that his old one was gone.
He no longer believed that.
Don’t leave me, Roman.
Then maybe you really don’t deserve her.
Of course he didn’t. He’d always known that.
Whatever else you did, you saved her.
Hell if he had. He leaped to his feet. He’d caused the attack. Mako would have left her alone if not for him. If the creep had thought of her at all, it would have been as the woman who foolishly believed in second chances. If he’d never gotten involved, she wouldn’t now be terrified and injured and forever changed.
He cast a glance of apology at the Virgin. I’m sorry, Abuela. For good measure, he crossed himself and backed away, as was proper.
Then he strode from the room, spotting the packed duffel on his childhood bed. Crossed to it and hefted it over his shoulder. Headed for the door to—
Don’t go, Roman. Don’t leave me.
Jenna as he’d last seen her rose vividly in his mind. He could feel her against his chest, trembling. Sobbing. Keeping her body in contact with his, crying out when he set her down.
Try as he might, that was the only Jenna he could envision. The lively one, the stubborn, determined optimist had receded so far into the distance that only a shimmering trace, like a mirage, teased him from afar.
He let the duffel slide from his shoulder with a thud.
If only he could see her one more time and know she was okay.
If he could check on her without having to talk to her.
See but not be seen.
You’re gonna break her heart if you leave.
There was nothing he could say to her. No way to make this right. No, he couldn’t let her see him.
But he had to lay eyes on her, just once.
Tonight. Under the cover of darkness, his old friend.
* * *
FROM HER PERCH ON THE overstuffed chair in one corner of her kitchen, Jenna peered around her at the gathering of people she loved. She’d demanded to be let out of bed, but the compromise was she had stay put while the gathering swirled around her.
Everyone was here—all her brothers and their families, Mom, Dad—crowding the kitchen that overflowed with dishes brought by the families she’d helped, the volunteers she’d worked with. A few came to speak with her—Teo, nearly unrecognizable without his gimme cap and tool belt, had managed nearly fifteen minutes, but he had barely been able to look her in the eye. Most seemed unable to figure out what to say beyond I’m so sorry and hope you feel better soon.
She, in turn, wasn’t sure how to ease them. She didn’t feel the slightest bit bubbly, but she did her best to imitate the person they were accustomed to seeing.
Meanwhile her family tried to fill in the gaps and keep the atmosphere light. Currently Cade was teasing Sophie that their dog, Skeeter, deserved a special place in their wedding, since the dog was the agent of their first meeting. “If he were human, you’d let him,” Cade complained. “I mean, I found him a lighted collar and everything.”
Sophie laughed as hard as any of them as she sat perched on the arm of his chair.
They were doing their best to make everything feel normal, and the love in the air certainly was. How many times had she been in the company of this group of people, laughing and cutting up, sharing the wealth of love that had been the bounty she’d taken for granted?
Her gaze shifted to her mother, the source of it all, and her father, Hal, a bluff, hearty man’s man who might not say the words as often…but he lived them.
Love was her legacy. Once, Jenna had treated it as if it were her right, but no more. The caring of these people filled the very air around her, rich and vibrant and plentiful.
But somehow all of it went on at a distance from her, a chasm she couldn’t seem to cross.
Her mother caught her eyes, and Grace’s brows lifted in question. Are you all right? Jenna managed a smile and nodded, then quickly shifted her gaze away.
Only to catch Diego watching her. And Chloe was perusing her. Despite the merriment, everyone here was operating on two levels, one, the honest exchange of joy and caring.
Two, how is Jenna doing?
She felt naked. Exposed. Alone, when never before in her life had she felt separate from these people.
They were only worried for her.
They wanted her to be okay.
Needed her to be.
She would crack if she sat here one second longer. The hideous, quivering mess inside her would spill out.
She cast her most glittering smile as she rose. “Excuse me.” She pointed vaguely toward the bathroom. “Be right back.” She felt as much as saw everyone’s eyes follow her. More than one person shifted as if to accompany her.
“I can manage to go to the bathroom by myself, thank you.” She summoned a facsimile of her old sauciness and dared all of them to challenge her.
Awkwardly, these people with whom there had never been a moment’s awkwardness in her entire life, one by one, looked away from her.
And an odd and unfamiliar silence reigned. As she escaped down the hall, longing to lock herself in her room and not come out, at last someone spoke. Zane asked Violet if it was true she was going to star in a film about zombie robots next.
Violet’s spluttering response generated laughter, hollow and forced, like the merriment at a wake.
But at least the conversation was renewed. Jenna took her first deep breath in hours.
And escaped out the front door.
* * *
WHEN THE FRONT DOOR OPENED, Roman stirred from where he’d settled behind an overgrowth of vegetation in the vacant lot across the street.
When he saw it was Jenna at the door, he rose to get a better look, keeping away from the glow of the streetlight.
She was moving stiffly, and his jaw clenched at the sight. She had her arms wrapped around her middle—had her ribs been hurt, or…?
Then she approached the porch railing, and in better light, he got a glimpse of the damage to her face—and he wanted to beat the hell out of Mako all over again.
Except that he knew who was to blame for that fist-size bruise on her cheek, for the cut at the edge of her beautiful mouth.
Him.
He turned to go, wrecked at the sight of the damage.
But she was out here alone. Go back inside. Stay safe. If it were up to him, she’d be locked away in a castle with high stone walls, protected by an army.
That house was full of people who would protect her, he reminded himself. What he wanted didn’t matter.
She stared out into the darkness, looking so sad. So lost.
Every cell of him ached to go to her.
Don’t leave me, Roman.
; It’s not your fault. You saved me.
But she was wrong.
He could have patched up her injuries himself and stayed there with her all night, shutting out the world, taking care of her, holding her close, placing his body between her and the world.
Damn, but he’d wanted to. Except that the people he loved died.
She was hurt because of him. Could have died because of him. People he cared for only ever came to harm.
The best thing he could do would be to leave her with that gathering of people, that formidable family he’d heard laughing through the open windows, that group of big, competent men.
They’re overprotective. They treat me like I’m a kid.
But it’s what you need right now, sweetheart. All the protection they can provide.
For an instant he thought about crossing the street, about taking her into his arms. About joining the ranks of those who would guard her.
But his head was a minefield. He’d lost control, and she’d paid the price. She could be hurt again.
Still, she looked so sad. So alone.
Go back inside, he willed. Go back to where you are so loved.
She looked as lonely as he felt.
Then the front door opened, and a man stepped out.
Jenna pasted on a smile, big and fake and nothing like her.
Disturbed, Roman watched her accompany the man back inside. Couldn’t they see that she was faking it?
He didn’t know how to help her, and it gnawed at him.
Then he remembered Freddie. She was in no condition to check on him. At least there was one thing Roman could do for her.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING Roman stood inside the ICU cubicle, his eyes locked on the boy lying so still. Around him, machinery beeped and breathed. Roman took in the tube down the boy’s throat; the tubing in his nostrils that was taped to his too-young, gaunt cheek; the thin chest rising and falling.
Sweet Jesus. Another boy’s still face superimposed itself, another cheek—
This one torn and bloody.
Roman locked his fingers around the edge of the privacy curtain. Freddie’s not dead. He’s breathing. He’s alive.
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