by Maddy Barone
Brutus’s hand clenched, white-knuckled, on his pool cue. He tried to sound polite, but his voice strained through tight teeth, not sounding as courteous as he’d intended. “That was a private conversation.” He turned his head to Wolfe. “I think we better leave.”
“Right,” Wolfe said, starting for the rack to put up his pool cue. But his eyes widened, and he lunged back.
Not in time. The side of Brutus’s head took the brunt of the pool cue Slim Jim slammed against it. He pitched into the pool table, pain screaming through him. He heard the kid laughing, saying something about the bigger they are, the harder they fall. At first, Brutus was too confused by pain to take much in, but the next words came through loud and clear.
“Your bitch Denise turned you into a pussy.” Slim Jim’s high-pitched giggle scraped down Brutus’s nerves like fingernails on a chalk board. “You do whatever she says, don’t you? I’ll find her and show her how a real man treats his bitch.”
Brutus’s head came up, his promise to Denise smothered under a tsunami of outrage and fear. With a roar, he launched himself at the bastard.
Denise unlocked her car door, exhausted after a long day. In addition to the usual dogs puking and peeing on her, there had also been a vicious fight between a new Doberman mix and Banner, one of the longtime residents of the shelter, that she’d had to break up. Even that hadn’t completely driven the thought of her sperm donor and his impending visit from her mind. She was utterly exhausted. Brutus would be off work by now, but they had decided to not get together tonight so she could concentrate on school. Dang it. Maybe she should call him and see if he could come over for supper at least.
As she opened the door, her phone rang. She slid behind the wheel and grabbed her phone. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello,” she barked, ready to hang up.
“Denise? This is Dusty Wolfe. Brutus’s partner.”
“Oh. Hi, Dusty.”
“Hey.” It sounded like Dusty was clearing his throat. In fact, he sounded nervous. “Can you come to Cornerstone?”
Denise paused, her key hovering in front of the ignition. “The hospital?”
“Yeah. There’s been an incident. Brutus is hurt. He asked me to call you.”
“Oh, my God.” She shoved the key in and turned it. The engine roared, so she raised her voice to be heard over it. “Was it a fire? Was he hurt on the job?” Her voice sank. “Is it bad?”
“No, not too bad. Just a lot of bruising, a hairline fracture of his skull, and some stitches. He’ll be okay. They are keeping him here overnight but just for observation. We’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”
“I’m on my way.”
She tore out of the shelter’s parking lot. A dozen possible scenarios went through her mind as she drove to the hospital. Was he rescuing someone when the building collapsed? Had he been buried under rubble? She slid into the first parking spot she saw and rushed to the hospital entrance.
“I’m looking for Brutus Gunnison?”
“One moment.” The lady tapped at a keyboard for a few seconds. “Mr. Gunnison is in room 220 on the second floor. Just follow the blue stripe on the floor and you’ll find the elevator. Have a nice day.”
Denise wouldn’t describe today as nice, but she smiled and thanked the woman before hurrying along. Denise paused just outside the open door of room 220 to catch her breath. She could see Dusty in a gray sweatshirt and worn jeans standing to one side of the bed, a troubled frown on his face. A man in a traditional white lab coat stood at the foot of the bed, his back to her, blocking her view of Brutus and speaking quietly.
“Mr. Gunnison,” he said, “you were very lucky. A skull fracture, even one as slight as this, could do lasting neurological damage. Fortunately for you, the blow did not result in a depression of the skull. This could have been much worse.”
In the hall, Denise squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears of relief.
“But you will require some medical leave. You’ll need time to heal before you can go back to work. The paperwork must be submitted to your captain.”
Brutus’s voice rumbled. “Aw, doc, do you have to? I just went back to full duty a couple of weeks ago. Maybe I could just use a couple weeks of vacation time.”
Dusty shifted his weight. “I know you have the time, but taking two or three weeks around the holidays? The captain won’t go for that.”
“Stewart’s going to kill me.” Brutus sounded miserable. “Please, Doc, let me talk to him first.”
The doctor’s shoulders slumped. “Brutus, you got into another fight, even after you were specifically warned about it. Worse, you haven’t been to counseling as ordered.”
Denise’s sharp gasp turned the doctor around. He smiled at her and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “Hello, you must be Denise. I’m John Bell.”
Denise shook his hand automatically, but her eyes were fixed on Brutus lying in the bed. He looked awful. His short brown hair had been shaved away on one side of his head, and a square white bandage was taped there. His battered face was a variety of colors. Horror and betrayal struggled with pity and hope inside her.
“A fight?” she demanded, dropping the doctor’s hand and marching on the bed. She waved a hand at him. “Not a work-related accident? This is because you were in a fight?”
He reminded her right then of little Sailor, the puppy who had been beaten so often in his short life that he cringed at a single harsh word. “I couldn’t help it,” he croaked.
“Really? Where was this fight?”
“Billie’s. Me and Wolfe went over there after work.”
“I talked him into it,” Dusty put in quickly.
Denise didn’t look at Dusty, just stared with clenched teeth at Brutus.
“And this little assw … Er, fella kept digging at me,” Brutus said.
Her heart was barely holding together, trembling under the pressure of betrayal. “You promised me you wouldn’t fight anymore,” she accused.
“I know.” Brutus reached a bloody knuckled hand toward her. “I’m sorry.”
She stepped back. “You should have walked away.”
“I tried!”
“He did,” Dusty confirmed. “He said, ‘Let’s go’, and that’s when—”
Denise cut him off with a slash of her hand. “And you lied to me. You lied to me, Brutus.”
“No, Dee.”
“You did. Or are you seeing a professional therapist?”
“I never actually said I was.” He gestured with the arm that wasn’t hooked up to an IV. “That’s not the way I do things. So I let you think what made you feel better.”
“How noble.” Denise felt the first big crack jolt through her heart. “You lied to me, Brutus.”
He glanced away toward Dusty. “Could you give us some space?”
Dusty murmured something, and he and the doctor left, closing the door behind them.
Brutus opened his mouth and closed it several times. “I’m sorry, Dee.”
“Are you even talking to Dusty? You said you would.”
“Sure, we talk all the time.”
“About anything important? Anything that would keep you from fighting?”
Brutus tried to sit up. “I don’t need to,” he snapped. “I haven’t had a fight in weeks. I wouldn’t have this one except I couldn’t avoid it after that punk knocked me upside the head with his pool que.”
“Talking to someone would help you. This need to fight is pathological. But if you don’t want to, you should have just said so instead of leading me on.”
Brutus folded his arms. He shot a scowl at the IV when the tubing pulled, then transferred it to her. “Are you talking to someone?”
Her back went up. “For what?”
“Your dislike of your dad is pathological.”
Something sharp and jagged burst in her throat. “He is not my dad,” she screamed.
He shook his head with obvious disbelief. “Listen to yourself. You’re out of c
ontrol as far as he is concerned. And what about Stella? Does your mom know your sister is staying with you yet? Or is it okay for you to hide the truth, but the rest of us have to inform you of every little detail?” He snorted. “You think talking to someone will help? Then you should go talk to someone, Denise. Unless you like being a hypocrite?”
Hypocrite? Her nostrils flared. “We’re not talking about me here, Brutus.” She was proud of herself for sounding calm. “We’re talking about you. You lied.” She shook her head, feeling as battered as he looked. “I can’t do it. I can’t be with a man I can’t trust. I can’t let myself go through this anymore.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket, located his house key, and twisted it off. She set it down, very gently, on the bedside table. She forced herself to look into Brutus’s bruised eyes. “You can throw my toothbrush and other stuff away. Goodbye, Brutus.”
“Dee!”
She heard the bed squeak and something rattle. Probably Brutus, trying to come after her. She turned in the hall to look back at the bed. Both the doctor and Dusty rushed past her to pin Brutus down.
“Dee!” he shouted again. “I tried to avoid the fight. I swear I did.”
“You lied to me.”
He managed to angle his head up to look at her. “I fucked up once, Dee. Just once, and you decide it’s over?”
She shook her head sadly. “How many fuck ups do you think you get before you break my heart?”
She made it to the elevator before Dusty caught up with her. “Denise, you’re hurt right now, but give it some time. Gunnison deserves a break. He really did try to leave before that guy took a swing at him.”
“You don’t get it either.” She looked straight ahead at the closed doors of the elevator. “It must be a man thing, so let me make it perfectly plain to you. Don’t lie to a woman. You’ll both be happier if you are completely honest.”
Dusty pushed his fingers through his hair. “It takes a cold-hearted woman to walk out on a man while he’s lying in a hospital bed with a fractured skull.”
That almost made her waver. The elevator dinged and opened. Saved by the bell. She walked in and stabbed the button for the lobby. The doors slid closed on Dusty’s angry face. Despite her best efforts, tears escaped. She pretended not to see anyone as she walked out of the hospital to her car. She was probably not the only person who’d been crying at the hospital. People often wept when loved ones were sick or hurt.
She got in to her car, locked the car doors, leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, and cried like a baby. Or a woman mourning the loss of the man she loved.
Chapter Ten
One week later, Denise had her laptop open on the kitchen table, taking notes for her research paper, when Stella came in. Denise glanced at the wall clock. Only nine. Stella’s shift didn’t end until after midnight. “You’re home early,” she said.
“I know.” Stella took off her coat, unwound her scarf from her neck, and hung them on the hook. “It was real slow tonight, so the boss told me I could take off. Lots of holiday parties around this time, so fewer people have time to go out to a club.” She went to the fridge. “Part of me didn’t want to, but with it being so slow I wouldn’t get much in the way of tips anyway. You want to share the last of this pie?”
“Sure.”
Stella brought two plates over and put one in front of Denise before sitting. “I made three pies for Thanksgiving. A pumpkin and two pecan. I took the pumpkin and one pecan to Jesse’s family for Thanksgiving, and I meant for you to bring the other pecan pie home to your folks. But you left earlier than I expected you to.”
There wasn’t any censure in her voice, but Denise hid a cringe anyway. “I know. Sorry about that. I did send you a text to let you know.”
“I know you did.” Stella waved a fork at her. “I’m only sorry you couldn’t bring this pie home.”
“I’m not.” Denise savored the gooey rich sweetness of the pecan filling. “This is much too good to waste on my cousins. This is the best pecan pie I’ve ever had.”
“Why, thank you.”
“I’m serious, Stel, you sure know how to cook.”
Stella put her folk down. “It’s funny you should say that. You know, we haven’t talked, you and me, for a while.”
No, they hadn’t. Denise had done her best to stay out of her sister’s way. She didn’t want to hear anything about the sperm donor. “Guess I’ve been busy with the end of the semester coming.”
“Well, Jesse and I have been making plans.” She looked over at Denise with wariness in her blue eyes. “Daddy said he likes Jesse, and he likes his family too.”
Denise tried hard to sound noncondemning. “That’s nice.”
Apparently encouraged by the lack of explosion, Stella smiled. “Jesse says I can do better than being a cocktail waitress. I sent in an application to The Culinary Institute in San Antonio yesterday.”
Denise stopped chasing the last crumb of crust around her plate to look up at her sister. “Go to school to be a chef? That’s great! You are a fantastic cook.” Stella might not be an intellectual giant, but she was more than just a dumb blonde, and she really did make delicious food. “When would you start?”
Stella’s cheeks pinkened. “If I’m accepted, I’ll start next August. Jesse says he’ll support me while I go, but I’ll need to save up for tuition and stuff, so I can’t start right away.”
Denise’s phone rang. She knew who it was without looking at it. Stella might not be an intellectual giant, but Denise was a knucklehead. She should have blocked him a week ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Stella gestured with her fork. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“Nope.”
The call went to voicemail. Brutus’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Dee? Dee, pick up. Please. Look, I know I fucked up. Can’t we at least talk about it? Dee?”
Denise hardened her heart and let the call end. This was call number fifteen since the day she’d walked out of the hospital. Her voicemail storage was running out of room, but she hadn’t deleted a single one. It hurt to hear his voice, but she kept her phone on speaker just to feel the hurt. She missed Brutus desperately.
Stella reached to touch her arm. “What was that about it? Are you and Brutus…”
“We’re done.” Denise picked up her plate and took it to the sink. “You heard him. He fucked up.”
When she turned back, Stella had her hand to her mouth, blue eyes round with shock. “I never would have expected that from Brutus,” she said sorrowfully. “I mean, the man practically worshipped you. Who did he mess around with?”
“Nobody. It wasn’t like that.” Denise’s brows pulled together. Oddly, she had never once doubted Brutus’s fidelity. He had lied, but he would never cheat. “What he did was unforgiveable.”
Stella was looking hesitant. “He hit you?”
“No.”
“Then it can’t be unforgiveable.” Stella sounded very sure. “Cheating is one thing. Beating you up? That would be another thing. But other than that, anything can be worked out if two people are willing to talk.”
Good lord, Stella sounded like a therapist. A good therapist. Denise forced a smile. “Thanks for the pie. I better get to work on this paper.”
“Well, okay. If you ever want to talk, I can listen.”
“Thanks.”
The last thing Denise wanted to do was talk to anyone. When she was home for Thanksgiving, her mom could tell something was wrong. She had told her that she and Brutus had broken up. She hadn’t mentioned the lying, or why it bothered her so much, because then she would have to bring the sperm donor into it, and there was no way in hell she was mentioning that the asshole was in town.
Denise spent the last two weeks of the semester doggedly focused on schoolwork and the shelter. Brutus continued to call daily. She continued to let him leave messages. Sometimes he was pleading. Sometimes he was angry. In one message, left at two am on December 6th, he flat out called her
a hypocrite for not being willing to talk to the asshole.
“You wanted me to see a therapist?” he growled. “Well, I am. I’ve been talking to Colonel Flowers since the Monday after Thanksgiving. Seems to me you should talk to someone too, unless you like being a hypocrite. This thing you’ve got against your father isn’t healthy, Dee. Talk to someone.”
He called the asshole her father. She almost deleted that message.
The Saturday before Christmas was the Annual Holiday Adopt a Dog Open House at the shelter. Large posters were tacked on the wall of the main room, depicting happy puppies with large red bows around their necks posed under a Christmas tree. Give love this Christmas was the slogan. Beside those posters were the more realistic ones, of those same puppies a few months older, looking sad and forlorn chained in an empty yard. Those posters read Why don’t you love me anymore? Denise made a sour face as she hung up her coat in the tiny breakroom. Lots of people bought puppies for their kids for Christmas and far too many of those puppies ended up in the shelter a few months later, once the family realized how much commitment a pet demanded. A few smarter people came looking for an older dog to adopt from the shelter. That’s what this open house was for. Denise headed for the main room, where the scent of cider and coffee almost covered the smell of dog, to greet guests and help them find the right dog for their family and circumstances.
It was nearly the end of the afternoon when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“I love big dogs, but I live in an apartment, so I think a small dog would be best for me.”
She turned to see Dusty Wolfe with Jenna, one of the volunteers. A quick glance around didn’t reveal Brutus. Denise let out a breath. A relieved breath, of course, not disappointed.
“My friend got his dog here,” Dusty went on with a charming smile at Jenna. “In fact, I think it was Denise who helped him.” He directed that smile at her, almost too handsome to be real. Jenna was visibly disappointed as Dusty moved away. “Hello, Denise.”
She nodded curtly. “Hi, Dusty. You’re looking for a dog?”
He glanced around the big room. A few people clustered around the table with the cookie trays and hot drinks. Others, moms, dads, and kids who had come to see the dogs, played with the hopeful adoptees while volunteers led other dogs on leashes around the room to show them off to prospective families. His gaze returned to her with another smile, this one still charming but a little crooked.