“Dane,” I say, and my mouth is open but no words are coming out. I take my hands back to my side of the table. I look around at the mint-green tile and the bored-looking guards and the women here visiting their boyfriends and husbands and fathers, and then back to my boyfriend. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, seeing what a user he is, and how he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me or anyone. I don’t want anything more to do with him. I swear it’s like some kind of magic, like the jail has this special lighting system that allows you to see people like they really are, and not how you’re dreaming them up to be, you see what I mean?
“No fucking way,” I tell him. “You want me to wind up in here with you? Are you kidding me?”
“Babe,” he starts. I see him thinking hard, trying to figure out what angle will work on me. But I’m standing up. I’m done.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I say. “I’m leaving.”
“What? Nicky, don’t go! It’s horrible in here! Can’t you make bail for me? Come on, at least get me out of this place!”
The jail magic is still working. I look at him and I don’t see what he could be, if he cleaned himself up and got off drugs. I see what he is. And there is no fucking way I want that.
No.
“It’s over, Dane.” I take a deep breath and the smell assaults me and makes it even clearer that I’m doing the right thing.
All I’ve ever wanted is to make really good food for people, and to have love in my life. I don’t need to be rich, I don’t want to be famous, I just want my job to be satisfying and to have some loving arms to come home to. I may never get those things, but it is crystal fucking clear that Dane takes me away from them, not towards them.
So as I stumble back through the hallway to the blessed fresh air and cold outside, I thank god for the nauseating mint-green tile and the sickening reek of the City Jail for making me see what’s been right in front of my face.
5
ON THE BUS ride home my head is spinning. I’ve never broken up with a guy in my whole life and it’s sort of flipping me out. I don’t mean I’m second-guessing myself: I’m done with Dane and I’m as sure about that as I’ve ever been about anything. But there’s another part of me that’s wondering if I’ll ever find any love, or if it’s just my destiny to be alone. I’m not sure I’m ready to face that. So—it hurts even though it was my choice. It hurts even though I’m losing someone I hope I never see again.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I get off the bus two stops too soon, but I don’t mind the walk. It’s just gotten dark and the wind is up, so I walk along with my coat buttoned all the way up and my arms tight across my chest, wishing I’d worn a hat and a scarf, and kind of dreading how my apartment is going to seem empty when I get there.
I’m about a block from my building when I feel an iron grip on my neck. Fingers are digging into my throat and it’s hard to breathe.
I wrench my head to the side and the fingers loosen. “Get the fuck off me!” I scream. But the guy gets his arm across my chest and starts pulling me backwards. I’m off balance and can’t get my feet under me, I’m yelling as loud as I can, adrenaline surging through my body. The dude is dragging me towards an alley and I know once I’m back there, the chance of anyone helping goes to around zero.
“Leave me alone!” I scream. “Let me go!”
But no one comes. People don’t give a fuck.
I keep trying to catch him off balance, to surprise him enough to get away, but he’s strong and I don’t even come close. I try something else.
“Hey, what do you want? You want money? You can have my wallet. Just let me go. I won’t call the cops, I swear.” Of course I’m thinking I’m gonna call Matthew the second I can, but hey, I can lie to this shitbag, right?
“Heeeeelllp!”
“Shut up,” he says. We’re deep in the alley now, it’s dark and filthy and at this point I’m just hoping he doesn’t kill me.
He has one hand on my upper arm and he’s squeezing it so hard I’m almost crying. With the other hand he tears my coat open and feels my breasts, roughly moving his hand over them, over my clothes. I try to get him to look at me but he’s not looking anywhere near my face.
Then he’s gripping both my arms. “Take ’em off,” he growls at me, and then squeezes my arms so hard I swear the bones are going to snap.
“Fuck you,” I say to him. I’m not taking off my pants, no fucking way, not even if I die here in this alley.
“Gonna cut you, bitch—take down your pants!” And one hand lets go of my arm and comes back with a knife. He holds it at my throat and I can feel the cold metal on my skin.
I’m about to die. I’m terrified but also strangely calm. Time gets all stretched out and the seconds tick by with all this space in between them. All I know is that I am not taking down my pants. Not going down without a fight.
I knee him hard in the balls and he crumples up with a yell but does not let go of my arm. He’s snarling at me, it’s not even words, and all my anger at Dane and at myself comes surging through my body and I knee him again when he finally straightens up, and this time he goes down, dragging me with him. I start screaming for all I’m worth but it’s not like I think it will do any good—he’s still gripping my arms and now he’s rolling up on top of me and his weight feels like it’s pressing the last breath out of me. He takes one hand and slaps it over my mouth and with the other he’s fumbling with my zipper.
I’m waiting to feel the cold blade on me somewhere. He’s got his hand down my panties now.
I close my eyes, unable to move, unable to kick, nothing left but the hope that when he’s done, he’ll leave me alone and not kill me for the fun of it.
And then I hear a roar and the weight lifts off me. I spring up, trying to see in the dark what the hell is going on. Somebody has come to help, a huge guy, and in about three seconds he’s got the dude on the ground with a knee in his chest. The dude is shouting at him and the huge guy smacks him across the mouth.
It’s Matthew.
Before I can even take that in, he’s telling the guy his rights as he puts the cuffs on him.
“Stay with me,” he says to me, and for once, I want to do what he tells me.
He pulls the dude out to the sidewalk where there’s more light. Matthew is wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I see a gun sticking out of the waistband in back.
“Asshat,” I say to the dude who assaulted me. He’s all quiet now, he’s no match for Matthew and he knows it. Matthew’s on his cell calling for someone to come pick the guy up and take him in. Dude’s gonna love the City Jail, is what I’m thinking.
“What’re you doing, walking alone at night in this neighborhood?” Matthew asks me, his tone all angry.
“It’s where I live!” I cross my arms, still getting some pleasure out of how the dude is in cuffs, totally humiliated by my stepbrother.
Just then a squad car pulls up and two uniformed cops jump out. Matthew talks to them for a moment, they put the dude in the car—pushing his head down as he gets in, just like on TV—and then it’s just me and Matthew standing on the sidewalk.
“Well,” I say slowly, “okay. Thank you. That was…that was going to be bad.”
“Hell yeah,” he says. “I don’t want you out here at night, Nicolette. You know it’s not safe! And you—”
“I can’t believe you’re blaming me. It’s my fault that douche attacked me?”
He starts to say something, then looks a little sheepish. “Come on, make me a cup of coffee, willya?” he says, and he takes my hand and tugs me down the sidewalk in the direction of my place.
“Okay,” I say, because what, I’m gonna deny him coffee after he just saved my life? I haven’t forgotten for one second that he got Dane arrested. Not for one second. But at least he deserves some thanks for being in the right place when I needed him, and being willing to step up. Even if it is his job.
What a fucking day.
“Go ta
ke a shower,” Matthew says, the minute we’re inside. “I know how this stuff goes, Nicolette. That guy was all over you and you’re gonna want to wash him off. I’ll make the coffee.” And he starts bustling around the kitchen like he’s Betty fucking Crocker or some shit.
But it’s true, I want a shower more than anything in the entire world. So I just nod and disappear. I blast the water as hot as it will go—and that’s one thing this shitty apartment has going for it, super hot water. I let it pour over my face and I just stand there, letting all the crap of the day wash over me. I soap myself, giving extra attention to anyplace where that dude touched my skin. I try to let all of the worry, the fear, the anger just wash down the drain.
But it’s not that easy.
I’ve broken up with my boyfriend. I’ve been attacked. Betrayed by my stepbrother and then saved by my stepbrother. And oh yeah—holding on to my job by a frayed hangnail. All the emotions swirling around that heap of trouble—it’s gonna take more than a shower to set things right.
But still, I almost enjoy shampooing, and then conditioning, and then taking the time to shave my legs and pits and bush. When I get out, I’m feeling extra-clean and smooth as a dolphin. I’m feeling calmer. I put on a ton of coconut moisturizer so I can pretend I’m on a tropical island, and when I smell the coffee, I’m thinking that hot liquid is going to taste so freaking good.
I wrap up in a towel and—
“Matthew!”
He’s standing in the hallway, with that sheepish look again. His gaze seems to be dancing along the top edge of my towel.
“Nic,” he says. I can see his dragon tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt. His chest is massive as ever and my eyes can’t help lingering on it.
He steps closer. “Nic,” he says, and once again he does that thing with the back of his hand, stroking my cheek.
I know he means it in a friendly way, but it makes me wet.
“Matthew,” I say. “Thanks again. I was really lucky you came along when you did.”
“It was nothing,” says Matthew. “I’d take a bullet for you, you know that.” And then I see something in his eyes I’ve never noticed before. Some mixture of pain and regret, with a hint of…desire? mixed in.
No way. I must be hallucinating. The idea that Matthew is a little bit aroused makes a spurt of juice come out of me and drip down my inner thighs. I would die of embarrassment if he found out about that! So I suck in a breath and slide past him, saying “’Scuse me, just let me get dressed and I’ll be right out.” I can’t look him in the eye. Once I’m in my bedroom with the door closed, I hear him walking back down the short hallway.
I’m remembering how I used to hang around in the hallway back when our families first started living together. How curious I was about what was under his towel. And now damn if he wasn’t doing the same thing!
“Oh come on, Nicolette,” I say, actually out loud. There’s no. way. Matthew was trying to get a look. He was just checking on me, like he does. Probably thinks I don’t even know how to take a shower right.
I toss on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I’m thinking I’ll put off talking to Matthew about Dane for another day—all I want to do is drink that cup of joe, settle in on the sofa and watch some junk TV. Not think about anything, you know? Maybe splurge and order in Chinese.
But then it hits me. Out of nowhere, it’s like the guy is attacking me all over again—I can feel the way his fingers dug into my neck, and I can smell his breath in my face. I stop in my tracks, putting my hands on the wall for support.
“Nic?” calls Matthew, and then he comes running. “Come on, come to the sofa,” he says, putting one arm around me and walking me to the living room. “You’re having a delayed reaction to the attack. Very common. It’s okay,” he says, sitting next to me and smoothing the hair away from my face. “You’re going to be okay, beautiful,” he says, looking into my eyes and giving me a crooked smile.
I raise my head and look into his ridiculous blue eyes. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re going to be okay.”
“No, no. After that. The part after that.”
Matthew smiles wider. His hand goes from my hair to my ear, touching it lightly, then down the side of my neck, caressing it, and stops on my shoulder. “I said you’re beautiful,” he says simply.
My eyes widen. I shake my head.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says. “You’re not allowed to reject that compliment.” He takes both hands and holds my face, turns it up to his. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are? How can you not know?”
I can’t help it, I smile. Even if he’s just blowing smoke up my ass, still—it’s pretty nice to hear.
And holy hell, his arms go around me—those big beefy tatted-up arms, holding me tight, holding me close against that big beefy chest, and for a moment there, I think I’m actually going to be safe, that I’ve actually got love—
But I pull away. I pass my hand over my eyes and try to pull myself together, because obviously the day has been such a clusterfuck that I’m imagining things. He’s holding me like a brother, not a lover.
“Listen, Nic,” says Matthew, letting me go. “I’d be happy to stay here tonight, if it would help. It’s gonna take you some time to get your feet under you, after something like that. People think if you don’t get hurt that when it’s over, it’s over. But that’s not how it is.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, but my voice sounds small. Once again I’m in an emotional storm, tossed around by my red-hot desire for Matthew but also at the moment not wanting anything at all sexual, not after what that guy tried to do to me. And everything with Dane. And….well, I’m a mess, no way around it.
Matthew stands up to go and I thank him again. Actually the sight of him leaving is making my throat close up, it’s the last thing on earth I want, but I can’t tell him that.
He’s got his hand on the doorknob when he turns back around. “You know what, I’m gonna stay. I know you say you’re fine, and I’m sure you are, but I’ll just feel better about things if I’m here. Just toss me a blanket and I’ll sleep on the couch.
And I’ll tell you, I slept better with Matthew on my couch than I had ever slept before. I woke up the next morning feeling peaceful and rested.
At least until I heard him in the shower, and started picturing how he looked in there. Not so peaceful after that, lol.
6
I GET TO work early the next day. I need to show the owners I took their warning seriously, but also I’m feeling pretty beaten up and fragile, and the restaurant feels sort of like home to me. It’s loud and crazy in the kitchen, and the teasing can get brutal, but it’s something I’m part of and I really do love my work.
I’ve got a bag of potatoes at my station. I sharpen my knife and attack the pile, but my thoughts are zinging all over the place. I keep thinking about the awful smell at the City Jail, and how Dane looked kinda shrunken and lost. Because, uh, he is lost. And I keep thinking about the moment when that fuckwad grabbed me by the throat and dragged me into the alley, and how I wasn’t sure I was getting out of that alive.
But the main thing I keep thinking about is how Matthew called me beautiful, and how he pulled that guy off me like he was just an annoying mosquito.
And how Matthew would look in the shower, with suds all over that chest and those abs, and water running down his bronzy skin.
I get so involved imagining that I nearly cut my thumb off.
I’ve gotten so used to hating Matthew over the years that it’s tough to tell whether that’s what I still should be doing—does that make any sense? Did he get Dane in trouble? I’m not sure. And when he called me beautiful, was he just trying to lift my spirits like any really nice brother would?
Or did he mean it? Like, mean it?
I stay awhile after my shift, helping to organize the cooler. And then I ride the bus home, not looking forward to coming home to an empty apartment but feeling pretty okay about
it anyway. It’s almost five in the afternoon, the time when people in my neighborhood start stirring, some of them looking for trouble, so I’m on my guard, especially after yesterday. But I get to my building with no problem, and start trudging up the stairs.
I am not prepared for what I see.
Starting on the second floor, there are pots of flowers and helium balloons on the stairs. A sign stuck into the flowers says “Hello Nicolette!!” and then a little farther up, more flowers, more balloons, and a sign that says “Hope you’ve had a great day, Nic!!” and I’m thinking what the hell? I don’t know anybody who does shit like this. And then on my floor, even more flowers and balloons, and this time an envelope stuck in with the flower. I open it up, my hands trembling for some reason.
“I love you, beautiful,” it says.
Now I’m seriously trembling. It’s like my body understands the words before my mind does, and it’s shaking and excited and tearful and grinning. I unlock my door, half expecting Matthew to be inside, but of course he has no key. So I call him.
“Hey, Detective,” I say when he answers.
“Yup,” says Matthew. I can hear him smiling.
“I’ve got a stalker,” I say, grinning my fool head off.
“Yup,” says Matthew. “Listen, I’m off duty in fifteen minutes, can I come over?”
“Hmm,” I say, pretending to think it over.
“Nic!”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Hurry.”
And then omg I scurry around my place neatening and straightening as though he wasn’t here this very morning and already seen the mess. And I wash my face and put on some mascara and a swipe of lipstick, and brush my hair, although when I look in the mirror I despair. If I haven’t gotten it across to you by now, let me try again: Matthew is a serious, card-carrying hottie. Girls are always after him. He’s got these amazing blue eyes and a body that could be on the cover of magazines. And on top of that, he’s so not a dirtbag.
Stepbrother on the Force Page 3