Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2)

by Brooks, Anna

  My jaw tightens and teeth grind together as each word leaves her mouth. I wish I had made that piece of shit suffer just a little before I shot him. Coldcocked his ass with my gun like he did to Kelsey. Slammed his head on the ground a few times.

  Mary astounds me. Her strength has been admirable. She stopped crying shortly after backup arrived and hasn’t shed a tear since. I can’t tell if she’s really okay, or if she’s just putting up a front.

  “Okay. Get some rest and I’ll be in touch.” Jay pats Mary’s hand and nods at me before walking out.

  “You all right?” I push off the wall and sit next to her on the bed.

  “Yeah. Tired.”

  I pull the blanket up to her chin. “Do you want another one or is this good?”

  “This is good. Thanks.”

  Not able to resist anymore, I lean down and press my lips to her forehead. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she mumbles, and when I pull back, her eyes are already closed. “Brandon,” she whispers.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for saving me.”

  What I want to say is that I should have gotten there sooner. If I hadn’t sat in my car for those few minutes, I could have done something different. Saved them from more. But instead, I simply kiss her again and hold her hand until she falls asleep.

  Mary

  I wake with a gasp in the dimly lit hospital room. Brandon’s hand in mine flexes, but he doesn’t open his eyes. With a few deep breaths, I slowly calm my racing heart. My mind replays the events, and panic courses throughout my tired body.

  Retelling Jay what happened was not as bad as I thought. He offered to wait, but I wanted to get it over with. Brandon’s fury was palpable from the corner of the room, but I tried my best to ignore him and finish the questioning. Right there was just another reminder of how well he knows me. I didn’t want him crowding me when I was reliving it to Jay. So even though he wanted to be by my side, he respected me enough to give me space.

  The only thing still unanswered is why the guy thought I was Kelsey. He wasn’t the same one as in the club. Their thought is that since we look similar, and since Kelsey goes inside the apartment sometimes, it was just a mistake on his part.

  I try to focus on the positives. Kelsey and I are alive. We both sustained concussions and got stitches, but considering what could have happened . . .

  My body shudders at the thought, and Brandon snaps his head up from the chair next to my bed. “You okay?” He looks around the room then back at me. Poor guy is just as tired as me, waking every time a nurse comes in to check on me.

  “I don’t know.” I scoot over and run my hands through my hair, wincing when it gets caught in the IV line. “Lay with me.” I want his warmth, his security right now. Because I don’t know what I’m feeling. Too much, not enough.

  He toes his shoes off and crawls behind me, pulling my back to his front. “Wanna talk about it?”

  No. “Do you?”

  The air he lets out tickles my cheek, a welcome relief from the throbbing.

  “No.”

  “You killed somebody,” I whisper like it’s a secret.

  “I’d do it again,” he answers with no hesitation.

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Mary,” he sighs. “Not only was he hurting you and Kelsey, but he was going to shoot me if I didn’t shoot him first.”

  “Is he your first?” I quickly shake my head realizing how lame that sounds. “I mean, have you ever shot anyone before?”

  “Yes. I have, once.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m more worried about you. Not only were you assaulted, but you witnessed a man being killed only a few feet away from you.”

  My mind wanders to that night, and Steve’s body falling down the stairs. Thinking he was dead. The anguish I went through. But this time it’s over; I don’t need to run. I don’t want to talk about it when I can’t even figure out which emotion I’m feeling at the moment.

  “I’m tired.”

  “Then sleep.”

  * * *

  “Mary, I’m fine.”

  We got home from the hospital and since her place is still a crime scene, Kelsey’s staying with Brandon and me. The entire ride home she was silent. Brandon had to go to the station to fill out some paperwork and he’s bringing home pizza. Four hours of her blank eyes staring at the TV later, I finally caved and asked if she was all right.

  “You haven’t said one word.”

  Her face remains impassive and I’m about to give up. “What am I supposed to say? It’s all my fault you got dragged into this. It’s my fault. Stupid fucking decisions I made that could have cost you or Brandon your lives.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was!” she yells then stands, holding her head in her hands.

  When she walks to the window, her profile becomes visible, and my heart skips a beat. It’s not Deja vu but more like looking at myself thirteen years ago. Guilt, anger, shame. A wrecking ball might as well have slammed into me, because it all becomes clear.

  “It’s not your fault,” I whisper. It wasn’t my fault.

  “If I—”

  “No. Listen to me.” I cross the room to her. “You feel like that. But really listen to me. You did nothing wrong. All you did was try to save a boy who you loved at one point.”

  “Yeah, and if I wouldn’t—”

  “If you wouldn’t have then none of this would have happened. Right?”

  She nods as a tear rolls down her bruised cheek.

  “Okay. I get it. But this guy who did this to us.” I touch my fingers to my cheek. “You had nothing to do with that. He is responsible for his own actions.”

  “He’s dead!”

  “Holy shit,” I mutter. “This is insane.” The similarities between our stories are almost identical.

  “What?” Her voice is full of more question than the word.

  “I was you. Thirteen years ago.”

  She sniffles and it draws me out of my dream-like thoughts.

  “I never told you exactly what happened between Brandon and me.”

  Instead of starting from the beginning, because she knows we were childhood friends, I start at the part I always left out.

  “When I was seventeen years old, a man broke into my house. I was alone because my parents had skipped town and left me to fend for myself.”

  Her tears have stopped, and now she’s leaning against the wall, watching me.

  “My parents were druggies. They left town—left me—knowing they owed people money. A lot of it.”

  “Jesus,” she mutters under her breath.

  “So that night, I hid under my bed and called Brandon. He was gone, but I still called him first. He always made me feel safe . . . even when he didn’t know what he was protecting me from. Scott Smith would have killed me that night. I saw it in his eyes. He dragged me out from under my bed and he would have killed me.” My hand absently rubs the scar on my right arm.

  “What happened?”

  “Steve came.” She stares blankly, and I smile. “Brandon’s dad. He came and saved me, but Scott shot him in the process. Now he’s paralyzed. And it’s my fault.”

  “No. You didn’t. There’s no way you could have . . .” She takes a breath and tries again. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers, and a light flashes in her eyes.

  “Just like it wasn’t yours. It’s taken me a long time to get to the point where I could say it wasn’t my fault. I still live with the guilt, still question my decisions, but I know deep down I’m not to blame.”

  She walks to the couch and pulls a pillow on top of her crossed legs. “I didn’t want to enable Chad. But I didn’t want him dead, either. I thought if I left him that it would be enough of a wake-up call for him to get his shit straightened out. I tried to tell him no when he asked for money, but the look on his face, so desperate, broke my heart. I wanted to help him . . . protect him in my own way. I gave
him money, whatever I could so he could pay whoever he owed and not get murdered.”

  I nod in understanding. “And that’s why I left.”

  “You what?”

  “After Steve was shot, I was afraid Scott Smith would somehow come after me. He threatened me that night, and I believed him. So I ran away. I left Brandon and lived for twelve years on my own. Starved with my own thoughts, pretending I did the right thing. I just . . .” I struggle for the words, not even believing I’m saying them. “I was scared all the time. Blamed myself. And when Brandon found me, I still did. I fought him. I cried a lot. Was in denial.”

  “God, Mary. That’s crazy.”

  “I know. He’s helped me grow so much. Given me everything. When we were in the alley, and he got shot at. That was a wake-up call. I thought I was doing okay . . . but when I saw the gun, I froze. It was a really shitty realization that I wasn’t as good as I thought I was.”

  “Wow. I don’t even know what to say. You weren’t like that last night. You were so calm.”

  I chuckle under my breath. “Yeah, well, it took a lot to get me to that point. I was scared, but I didn’t want to make any mistakes. Mistakes almost cost Steve his life.”

  “What mistakes?”

  “When I was hiding, I accidentally dropped the phone. That’s how Smith discovered my hiding place.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Exactly. I know that now. Just like you will come to realize that nothing you did was your fault. Brandon’s put a lot of effort into helping me overcome my fears. And it paid off because I was able to do what he wanted last night. When I saw him, I wanted to scream. To run to him. But I didn’t.”

  She starts crying again, and I let her. I don’t expect her to accept everything right now. It’ll take time. I’m still working on my own guilt, but talking to Kelsey and physically saying the words aloud make me realize they really are true. It feels like an invisible weight lifted off my shoulders . . . and I’m finally able to fly.

  Chapter 23

  Mary

  “So, how are you feeling?” Elizabeth asks me.

  “Umm. I’m all right.” I fidget with the water bottle she sets down and nervously take a small sip.

  “Well, that’s good. I’m glad you were able to stop by.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  We sit on the front porch looking at the empty street. It’s been a couple of months since the incident with Kelsey. Things with me have been going surprisingly great. I just finished my class and have a few months until I start again. Brandon and I are perfect. He’s simply amazing, just perfect in every way. There’s not a thing I would change about my life right now. It’s been a bumpy ride, but everything has worked out, and I’m so unbelievably grateful for that.

  Betty and I talked the other day. It’d been way too long since we spoke to each other. She’s still having a blast on her cruises and vacations around the world. No a part of me misses my old life, but I do miss her.

  “Mary?”

  “Yeah?”

  I look up and lock eyes with Elizabeth. Her lips tilt in a small smile, but her eyes are concerned, small creases around them.

  “What’s bothering you?”

  After taking a large drink, I turn on the porch step, cross my legs, and lean back on the railing. Shit. She knows. How does she know? I haven’t even talked to Brandon about it yet. “Nothing.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Nothing?”

  “No. Absolutely nothing. I’m happy. Brandon and I are great. School was better than I could have imagined. There’s nothing wrong. Everything is great.” God, I sound like a robot.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Yes?”

  Her laughter makes me smile.

  “Why don’t you sound so sure of that?”

  Something else has been festering. An odd sort of guilt. Almost like buyer’s remorse. You know you should take it back because that would be the right thing . . . but the part of you that wants the happiness from buying something you love wins out, so you keep it.

  “I feel like I should be more upset. Like seeing a man get shot and killed in front of me should bother me more.”

  “It doesn’t upset you?”

  “Well, of course, the situation upsets me. But it doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t keep me up with nightmares. I don’t have flashbacks. Honestly, I don’t feel bad that he died . . . and it makes me feel like a horrible person.”

  “Okay. Why do you think that is?” She sounds like more of a therapist now, sympathy in her tone, but understanding written all over her face.

  Not able to hold still anymore, I stand and pace on the porch. “He would have killed me. Kelsey. Even Brandon. He would have killed any of us without a second glance. I think . . . I don’t even know. Shouldn’t I feel something?”

  “Honey. I can’t tell you that. Everyone handles trauma differently. Each person deals with it in their own way.”

  “So it’s not abnormal for me not to care? No.” I stop pacing and sit back down. “I care that a man is dead, I do. But with Scott Smith . . . with that incident, it changed my life. I carried the guilt around forever. It made me an angry, bitter, cynical, paranoid person. I constantly questioned what I could’ve done differently. I know the situations aren’t the same, but I feel like I learned so much from what happened all those years ago. This time I’ve decided not to let it rule my life. Does that make any sense at all?”

  She puts a hand on my arm and gives a reassuring squeeze. “It does. There’s nothing wrong with accepting the circumstances given to you.”

  “There’s not? It doesn’t make me a shitty person?”

  “Not in the slightest. What matters is that you have come to terms with it. And if for some reason you suddenly feel different about it, talk to someone. Don’t hold it in.”

  I take a deep breath and finish my water. “Okay. I will. Thank you. Now. What did you invite me over for?”

  She gives her head a slight shake. “I thought you needed to get that off your chest.”

  “Huh?”

  “I knew something was bothering you at dinner last week.”

  Dinners are another thing we’ve been doing, and I’m kicking myself in the ass for not doing it earlier because I was afraid of . . . something.

  “How?”

  “You’re like a daughter to me, Mary. Always have been and always will be. I know when you’re hurting.”

  My heart smiles and I lean over and hug her. “Thank you.”

  Tires squeak when a car pulls in the driveway, and Elizabeth’s face lights up when Steve is helped out of the car and into his wheelchair. He shakes hands with another older man and pushes himself up the ramp.

  “Well, look at that. I bowled a two forty-six and I get to come home to two of the prettiest women on the planet.”

  He leans down and places a kiss on the top of Elizabeth’s head.

  “What a pleasant surprise. How are you, my dear?” He smiles at me, genuinely. No grudges, anger, or resentment. Not that there were before, but it took until this moment for me to notice them or the lack thereof. To realize that I have my family back.

  “I’m good, Steve. Really, really good.”

  * * *

  “Hey!” I run to Brandon when he walks in the door and throw myself at him. “I actually took a crack at making food. It’s probably going to taste like ass, but I figure I have to start trying.”

  “Really, now?” He kisses me and tosses his keys on the counter.

  “Yeah, I figured I might as well start to really learn how.”

  “It smells great.”

  “Sit.” I pull his chair out and he raises an eyebrow at me. “Just sit.”

  “You all right?”

  “Yup. Great.”

  I bring over the large plate and set it in the middle of the table.

  “You made ribs?” he asks with a confused smile.

  “Yup. Baby back ribs.”

  I sit ac
ross from him and grab my napkin. “The spoon is on your side, can you give me some baby carrots, please?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. Oh, shit. I forgot the bread. Can you grab it? It’s in the oven.”

  He nods and heads over, holding up the lone roll. “Just this one?”

  I suppress a laugh. “Yeah. Just the one bun. I’m cutting back on carbs.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  I shrug and bite a carrot.

  “Mary?”

  “No reason really. It’s not like I can ever quit completely, but if I can cut back a little what’s the harm?”

  He sits back down and starts eating. “This is really good.” When he licks the barbecue sauce off his thumb, I suppress a groan. My hormones are in overdrive right now, and it’s sweet torture not being the one his mouth is on. A change of subject is in order. Otherwise, I’ll just end up jumping his bones.

  “What did you do today?” Thank God, he read my mind.

  “Had lunch with your mom.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Really good, actually.”

  I decide to leave out the details because I don’t want him worried about how I was feeling. After everything that had happened, he was almost annoying with his concern. I don’t think he believed me when I told him I was fine. A part of me didn’t either, but when my feelings stayed the same, I realized I really was . . . okay.

  My eyes wander to his mouth again when he licks his lip to get some sauce off. Who in the hell knew eating ribs was so damn sexy? I clear my throat, trying to get the knot out of it, embarrassed I’m getting turned on watching him devour pork. “How was your day?”

  “Good. Busy. Here, want some wine?” He grabs the bottle I have opened on the table and reaches over for my glass.

  “Oh, no thanks. Water’s good.”

  He tilts his head in confusion. “Since when do you turn down wine?”

  I shrug again and pretend to wipe my mouth, waiting for the detective to start putting clues together. He pours himself a glass and rips a piece of bread off and freezes midway to his open mouth, then drops it back to the table. His eyes find mine then meticulously scan the table. Baby back ribs, baby carrots, a vase of baby’s breath. He looks at my glass of water then turns his head and stares at the oven for a second.