Already Home

by Susan Mallery

  “He wanted to know how you were doing,” Cliff continued, something flashing in his eyes. “So you’re seeing him?”

  “I’m not. I’ve met him and he’s nice enough, but he lives in San Francisco.”

  The second she said it, she knew it was wrong. “Not that I would be interested in him if he was here.”

  Cliff stared at her for a long time, then returned his attention to his dinner.

  Silence filled the room.

  She felt guilty, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong, and a little annoyed.

  She stood and walked around to his chair. After taking his hand in hers, she pulled him to his feet.

  “I’m not seeing Dragon,” she said. “He’s my boss’s brother.”

  “He texted you.”

  He was jealous and insecure. If the situation were reversed, she would probably feel the same way.

  “He can text all he wants,” she told him. “I’m unavailable.”

  Cliff studied her for several seconds, then he lowered his mouth to hers.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself over to his kisses.

  They were making progress, she thought as she parted her lips. Every time they were together, she felt a little bit more. It was as if her body was awakening, inch by inch. Last time they’d made love, she’d actually become aroused and had been eager for him to be inside of her.

  Sometimes she thought about telling Cliff the truth. That sex was more difficult for her because of her past. That she held back and it took a lot for her to trust enough to let go. She wanted to be honest—to have all the barriers between them gone—but she wasn’t ready. Probably because she knew her past would be a game-changer. Once he knew the truth, he would be gone.

  She’d tried to tell herself that a man who wouldn’t accept all of her wasn’t worth having. But then she thought about how nice he was, how he was so different from anyone she’d ever gone out with, and she put it off for a while longer. But soon, she thought.

  He kissed his way down her neck. She wore a T-shirt over jeans. Her feet were bare. When he drew the T-shirt over her head and lightly touched her breasts, she felt an actual shiver.

  Nice, she thought hazily. This was nice.

  He kissed her neck again, moved down to her collarbone, then lower to the top of her breast. When he reached the curve, she snuggled close in anticipation of his soft, wet kiss. Instead she felt the sharp pain of his teeth.

  “What?” she yelped and jumped back.

  “You okay, baby?”

  Cliff looked so normal, so much like he always did, that at first she couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She glanced down and saw he’d bitten her hard enough to break the skin. She saw the clear indentation of his teeth and blood seeping up through the broken skin.

  “What was that?” she demanded.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  His voice and demeanor were so at odds with his behavior, that she couldn’t understand what was happening.

  “You want me to do it again?” he asked, still speaking softly, warmly.

  She reached for her T-shirt and started to pull it on.

  He ripped it out of her hands. She never saw him raise his fist. The next thing she knew, light and pain exploded in her cheek.

  Instinctively she turned away, but she wasn’t fast enough. She could see the front door, her purse with her cell phone. If she could get to either.

  But she didn’t have a chance. He hit her face again.

  “Whore,” he whispered into her ear. “You think I didn’t know? That I wouldn’t find out? I had a friend check up on you. He called me today and said that someone with your name was arrested in New Orleans for solicitation. I told myself it wasn’t you, but then I saw that text message and I knew what you were. What you’d always be.”

  Violet cried out. “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop it now!”

  She’d been beaten up twice before in her life—both times while she was still on the streets. Back then she’d been high and that had helped to dull the pain. Now she felt the sting of the smack, the blood and loosened teeth of his punch.

  Cliff raised his arm again. She ducked, determined not to be hit. But somehow she slipped and then she was falling. The side of her head hit the coffee table.

  Agony exploded. She felt the hot wetness of blood. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, she thought as she went down on her knees.

  Survive, she told herself, wishing the high-pitched screaming would stop. Stay alive.

  Someone pounded on her front door. “What’s going on in there?”

  She recognized the voice of her elderly male neighbor. Mr. McAllister was maybe a hundred-and-thirty pounds and used a cane.

  I’m fine.

  Violet meant to say the words, but they wouldn’t come out. It was only then she realized that she was the one screaming and she didn’t know how to stop.

  Blood filled her mouth from the cut on her head, and she vomited.

  Her front door opened. She heard Mr. McAllister demand, “Who are you? What were you doing to Violet?” then the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs.

  She allowed herself to fall to the carpet. As she hit, the room went blurry. She struggled to stay conscious.

  Someone moved past her. She heard a voice saying something about a beating and giving an address. Mr. McAllister, she thought, slipping away. She would have to thank him later.

  The police officer’s gaze was both sympathetic and unsurprised. Violet knew she saw this kind of thing all the time. You didn’t have to be poor or unemployed to be abused.

  Violet did her best to stay very, very still. Her head throbbed with a pain she’d never felt before. The nurse had promised to return and hook up the IV as soon as they confirmed her head injury wasn’t serious. There was also the issue of her swollen jaw, black eyes and assorted other bruises from the fall.

  Things would be better soon, she told herself. As soon as the pain medication hit her system, everything would be better.

  “We’re going to find him,” the officer said. “He’ll be charged.”

  Violet nodded slightly.

  “Charged is good,” she said, knowing it wouldn’t matter at all. He would post bond and be back out on the streets. Probably looking for her. A restraining order was only a technical aid. It wouldn’t physically keep him from coming after her.

  There had to be others, she thought sadly. He’d snapped too easily, too quickly. She would bet a lot that he’d done this before. Other women out there who had lived through the same. She hoped the police found out if he had.

  As usual, her gut had been no help. But when compared to what he’d done to her, the losers she usually gravitated toward were actually looking pretty good. The obvious solution was to avoid men altogether, she told herself. To just accept that she was alone and go with it. She just hoped she wasn’t going to have to leave Georgetown to get away from him.

  She closed her eyes and told herself that in a few days she would feel better. That her body would heal. She was less sure about the rest of her, though. That would take longer.

  The nurse returned. “We’ll be keeping you tonight for observation, but as of now, all indications are that you’re going to be just fine. You’ve got a big bump though.” He hooked up the IV and offered something to eat.

  “I’m not hungry,” Violet told the male nurse, who looked concerned. “I’m fine.”

  “Does it bother you that I’m a man?” he asked. “Do you want me to switch you to one of the other nurses?”

  Unexpected tears filled her eyes. She wasn’t prepared for kindness. The last time this had happened, she’d been maybe nineteen and strung out on drugs. She’d been more concerned about getting discharged so she could get high again than thinking about staff or worrying about healing.

  Violet looked at the guy. He was maybe five-eight and a hundred-and-fifty pounds. His eyes were soft brown and there were flecks of gray in his blond hair. His wedding
ring looked a little battered, as if he’d been wearing it for years.

  “I’m not worried. I could take you.”

  He grinned. “Probably. Try to rest. The pain medication should already be working.”

  She frowned, then realized the sharpness had faded, leaving behind only dull throbbing.

  “It is,” she told him. “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to bring you a sandwich later. If you argue with me about eating it, I’ll arm wrestle you.”

  She caught her breath and winced. Her ribs weren’t broken, but they were bruised from where she’d apparently smacked them on the table, as well. “Okay, okay. Just don’t make me laugh.”

  The nurse—his name tag said Henry—touched her hand. “You’re safe here, Violet. Try to get some sleep.”

  “I will.”

  She waited until he’d walked out, then closed her eyes, only to open them immediately. The fear she didn’t want to acknowledge was still there.

  She was safe, she reminded herself. Cliff would be in jail for at least the night. When she was discharged, she would figure out where she could go that was safe. A hotel, she thought.

  “Violet?”

  She looked up and saw Beth standing in the doorway. Jenna’s mother looked pale and was obviously trying to stay calm. Violet felt herself flush as shame rushed through her. Women like Beth didn’t deal with situations like this in their normal lives.

  “I’m sorry,” Violet whispered, dropping her gaze to her hands. “They insisted on contact information and I wasn’t thinking. They promised they wouldn’t call.”

  “Don’t,” Beth whispered, rushing to her side, tears filling her blue eyes. “Oh, Violet, honey. What did he do to you?” The tears slipped down her cheeks.

  Violet shook her head. “Don’t cry. I’m fine.” She winced. “My head hurts is all and I got that from falling.”

  Beth took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “You’re not fine. He hurt you. I talked to Henry. Cliff hit you. That’s not supposed to happen. You liked him so much. We went shopping so you could make him happy.”

  “Not a mistake I’ll make again,” Violet said. “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Stop saying that!” Beth sounded furious. “You’re not and that bastard is the reason.” She brushed the moisture from her cheeks with her free hand. “How bad is it?”

  “A lot of bruising.”

  Beth winced. “Oh, Violet.” Her lips quivered, as if she were on the verge of crying again, then she got control. “All right. You’re staying here tonight. They’ll be letting you out in the morning. I’ll be here to pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to.” She didn’t want to put anyone out.

  “I want to. I’m bringing you home. You’re staying with us until you’re healed. Do you hear me?”

  The generous offer bewildered her. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

  “Violet, you need taking care of.”

  Simple words, spoken as if they were nothing more than a polite response to “How are you?”

  “You barely know me.”

  Beth bent over and kissed Violet’s forehead. “I know plenty. You’re coming home with us and staying in the guest room.”

  Violet was about to protest when she remembered. “The store. Jenna. I’ve let her down.”

  Beth actually rolled her eyes. “Right. Because you knew Cliff was going to beat you up and you deliberately waited until Jenna was gone just to mess with her. What a great plan.”

  Despite the pain it would cause, Violet giggled. “Okay. Good point.”

  “Thank you. Don’t worry about the store. Jenna’s due back on Tuesday and I can take care of things until then. I’ll call Tiffany and Kayla and have them come in extra hours. There weren’t any cooking classes scheduled, so that part is easy.”

  Beth kissed her forehead again. “I need to let you get some rest. Henry was very clear about that. Marshall is going to pop in for a second to say good-night, then we’ll be back in the morning to take you home.”

  “Thank you,” Violet whispered. “For everything.”

  “You’re welcome. Try to sleep, honey.”

  She left, and Marshall stepped into the room. He was big and broad, yet Violet wasn’t afraid of him. Not even when he looked so fierce and angry.

  “I don’t know what to say,” the older man admitted as he stood by her bed. “I’ve never had to deal with anything like this.”

  “I’ll heal,” she promised. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s many things, but okay isn’t one of them.” Marshall drew in a breath. “Can I hug you? Would that hurt too much?”

  It would probably jostle the hell out of her, but at that second, she didn’t much care. “It would be fine.”

  He bent over and gathered her gently into his arms. She held in the wince as pain seared through her rib cage. He smelled of the night and leather and Scotch, kind of like she’d always imagined a father would smell. His touch was caring and safe. So very safe.

  For a second she wondered what her life would have been like if she’d had a father to take care of her. If she’d mattered to someone…anyone.

  “We’ll be back in the morning,” he whispered.

  “Thank you.”

  “We take care of our own, Violet,” he told her as he straightened. “For better or worse, you’re a part of our family now. There may come a time when you regret that, but you’re stuck with us. You hear me?” She nodded.

  “Go to sleep.”

  The instruction was firm, and Marshall Stevens expected to be obeyed. For once, Violet did as she was told and closed her eyes.

  Despite the late hour, Jenna couldn’t sleep. She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and went downstairs. Although she expected to find the great room empty, she saw Tom standing by the window. He looked up when she entered.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, coming to a stop. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “You didn’t.”

  He walked toward the large sofa and motioned for her to join him.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  “Every now and then.” Generally one night a month, when she was ovulating. Her doctor had said it was hormonal. Not anything she wanted to share with Tom.

  “What about you?”

  He shrugged. “I have a lot on my mind.” He smiled at her. “Your mom really appreciates you visiting. Having you here means the world to her.”

  Jenna ignored the “mom” part of the statement. “She’s pretty amazing.”

  “That she is. I knew from the first second I saw her that I was going to love her for the rest of my life.” He turned away then and swallowed. “Sorry. Sometimes it feels like I can’t hold all the love inside.”

  “It’s nice,” Jenna said, wondering if anyone would ever feel that way about her.

  “It’s inescapable. When we were first together, we were young. Everyone said it wouldn’t last.”

  “They were wrong,” Jenna said lightly. “Did you tell them ‘I told you so’?”

  He chuckled. “I wanted to. Serenity wouldn’t let me. She’s so giving. So caring.”

  “She knows how to fill a room.” Jenna hesitated. “I’ve sort of felt you and I haven’t gotten to know each other as well.”

  Tom looked at her. “I’ve held back. Your relationship with her is the important one. She’s an extraordinary woman, Jenna. Knowing her is a blessing.”

  Which was the oddest response, Jenna thought. Why did everyone keep pushing Serenity to the front of the line? It was as if she was the only one who mattered.

  “Dragon told me a little about what it was like to grow up here,” she said. “She sounds like she was a great mom.”

  “Yes, she was. The perfect wife.”

  He stared out the window. Jenna started to feel as if she were intruding. She excused herself and went back to her room. Only a few more days, she reminded herself. Then she would go home and be back where she belonged.

  A dozen or so wine labels
lay on the kitchen table. The designs were variations on a theme—a wolf, a dragon and a butterfly in some form or another. Next to the different designs were blank labels in different colors. Gold, green, red, blue.

  “I like the gold color,” Jenna said. “The gradation from pale to dark at the bottom.”

  “I agree.” Serenity sat next to her, holding a mug of tea. “But choosing the design is more complicated.”

  Jenna did her best to avoid looking at them. The old labels showed a sketch of the original farmhouse, which she really liked. The new drawings, incorporating the animal manifestations of the names, were just too weird.

  “Maybe just a new color would be enough,” Jenna said. “Rather than changing everything. You want your customers to be able to find you on the shelf.”

  Serenity tilted her head, her long red hair falling over her left shoulder. “Maybe. I’ll talk to Tom about it.” She glanced toward the timer. “Would you check the muffins for me? I’m a little tired this morning.”

  “Sure.”

  Jenna got up and walked to the top oven. Inside, the blueberry muffins were turning a light, golden brown.

  “I don’t have your eye for baking,” she admitted, “but my guess is another couple of minutes.”

  Yet another family meal. This time brunch—without eggs, of course. Yesterday she’d seen Wolf and Jasmine’s house—a smaller version of the bigger log home that Serenity and Tom lived in. Jasmine had also shown her the baby’s room and had tried to teach Jenna how to weave cloth.

  From what she could tell, the Johnson family was very close. Dragon had gone off the previous afternoon to visit a couple of his local friends, but otherwise he’d been around. Wolf and Jasmine had spent more time here than at their own place, and Tom was never far out of sight.

  It was family intimacy at a new level. Jenna believed it was genuine, but something lurked in the background. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “I should show you pictures of the boys when they were little,” Serenity said when Jenna had returned to sit across from her.

  “I’d like that,” Jenna said, “but I think it would be more fun when they’re in the room to watch.”