Hating to even think of the man she’d attached herself to out of desperation and had remained with out of fear, Gwen shivered. Hunter was one scary dude, that was for sure.
Since she’d been stuck in this bed, she’d had a lot of time to think about her relationship with him—such that it was. A little over a year ago, she’d been living at home, hating every minute of it, and hoping and praying for a way out. Things hadn’t been good there. They hadn’t been good for a long time.
Gwen didn’t know who her father was. Her only home had been a fifth-floor apartment with a mother who didn’t have much to give anyone, and even less for her own daughter. Gwen had been in high school and flunking out. School meant breakfast and lunch, but also a whole lot of getting yelled at.
She skipped a lot and did anything to get through each day. Which was how she’d ended up hanging out with Valerie, who also skipped a lot and had a boyfriend named Rick. Rick was rich. Gwen had soon discovered that Rick’s friend Hunter was rich too—since he did good business selling drugs in the neighborhood.
Gwen hadn’t been into that, but she had been into his compliments, his gifts, and the fact that if she was with him and his friends, she didn’t have to go home or to school.
A couple months after meeting Hunter, she’d dropped out and was living with him, Rick, and Valerie.
But then everything had gone to hell, which was saying a lot, because things hadn’t been very good to begin with. Valerie’s parents had pulled her out of the house and taken her across the state to live with her grandparents. Rick had gotten violent and Hunter had gotten lazy and sneaky.
Next thing she’d known, Gwen had been living with Hunter and a couple of guys who were even bigger losers than Hunter himself. She was pregnant, and he didn’t care. No, instead, he was trying to sell heroine in Bridgeport, but had gotten so hooked on the crap that their place had essentially become a flophouse.
Then their neighbors had called the cops, and she’d ended up here. For the first time in months and months, she was clean, had three meals a day, and was actually thinking about more than how to get through the next two hours.
“Knock, knock!” an older, somewhat comfortable-looking woman named Dee called out before she rolled in a cart.
Lunch! “Hi, Dee. How are you?”
The woman smiled just as brightly as she always did. “I’m good, dear. Better now that you’ve got some color in your cheeks.” After parking her cart on the side of the bed, she lifted up the covered plates. “Let’s see what you’ve got here. Salad, chicken noodle soup, two wheat rolls, and a slice of apple pie.”
Gwen’s mouth was watering. “It all looks so good.”
Dee grinned. “You’re the first patient today who hasn’t made a face about this lunch. You sure aren’t a complainer, are you?”
“Not about hospital food. It’s more than I’ve gotten to eat in a long time.” Like, years.
Dee’s smile faded. “You’ve had a time of it, haven’t you?”
“Kind of.” Wariness engulfed her. She shouldn’t have said anything. She shut her mouth, reluctant to say more. She’d learned quickly that no one felt sorry for a girl who’d done the things that she’d done.
“You know, I don’t just deliver meals around here. I help out with other patient services. Say, do you have any family that you’ve been trying to get a hold of? I can help you make some calls, if you’d like.”
“Not really.”
“What? Are you on your own?”
“Yes. I mean, I have a mom and a brother, but I don’t think they’re missing me much.”
“You sure about that?”
“Very sure. My mom . . . well, she has her own demons. And my brother is fourteen months older. He took off a while back. I wouldn’t know where he was even if I wanted to try.”
“That’s too bad,” Dee said softly.
“Other people have had it worse.” Feeling increasingly uneasy, Gwen wished Dee would just move on. There wasn’t a lot she could share about her life and even less that she felt good about or wanted to try to explain.
“I suppose that’s a fact. Well, don’t fret now. Tomorrow you’ll get to meet Melanie. She’s the social worker. She’s real nice. I’m sure she’ll have some ideas about where you can go after here.”
“Hope so.”
Dee stared at her a moment longer. Obviously, she was waiting for Gwen to spill some more information about her life. But what could she say? Gwen turned her head, looking out the window like there was actually something to see.
“Well, eat up, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She kept her face averted until she heard the nurse leave. When she was alone again, she breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t make sense, but she almost preferred being alone with Officer Lucky. At least the cop didn’t pretend to care about anything other than her baby. That was honest.
Shaking off her blues, she clicked on the television and flipped to some game show and started carefully pulling off the plastic covers of her soup and salad.
She’d just taken her second sip of the hot soup when a volunteer came in.
“Hey, mail call.”
“Huh?”
The volunteer—a young, pretty teenager and was probably volunteering at the hospital just so she could say she cared about other people on her college application—held out a letter. “You’ve got a letter.”
Just as Gwen held out her hand, she paused. “Wait. You are Gwen Camp, right? I was supposed to check that.”
“I’m Gwen. You got the right room.”
“Oh. Here you go, then.” She smiled before grimacing at the soup. “That’s your lunch, huh? Wow. I bet you can’t wait to get out of here.” She smiled again before flying out of the room.
Gwen shook her head at the volunteer before tearing open the envelope. Maybe Officer Lucky had found her mother?
All that was inside was a torn-off sheet of paper.
Baby, they wouldn’t let me in to get you. Said you weren’t allowing visitors. What’s up with that?
Don’t worry. They locked me up, but I got out since they couldn’t pin anything on me. And they won’t, as long as you don’t talk.
You better not talk.
As soon as they let you out of there, I’ll find you.
Then I’ll make sure you and my baby don’t leave ever again.
She shuddered. She supposed if someone read it one way, they might think that Hunter really cared about her. But he didn’t. She knew more than anyone that he only cared about his reputation and his business. He was slick and a liar, and he was willing to do anything to make sure nothing hurt him.
Gwen wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten involved with him.
It had happened almost out of her control—she’d been desperate. She’d had no clue where her brother Billy was, and she was frightened to go back to the apartment she shared with her mom. She had no money and was pretty sure she was about to get kicked out of school. Circumstances were dire.
And then she’d met Hunter. She’d been scared of him from the beginning, but she had been so glad to be away from her mother and off the streets that she’d done whatever he wanted. In a twisted way, she thought he’d saved her.
It was only during the last few weeks that things had gotten really bad, when Hunter had realized she was pregnant.
Then he began to get mean. He hit her a couple of times, withheld food until she did things he wanted. Then, the night before Officer Lucky found her, he’d forced her to smoke meth with him.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but by the time she was even halfway coherent, she was sitting in a hospital room getting an ultrasound.
Now all she knew was that she didn’t want to be that person again. She might not ever be a woman to be proud of, but she sure didn’t want to be that.
Hunter had found her in the hospital, contacted her, and he wasn’t giving up.
It seemed like it wasn’t as easy to run away from her life anymore. And . . . that her luck had just about run out.
She didn’t know what to do, either. She could already tell that Officer Lucky didn’t really like her. She hadn’t been mean or anything—but sometimes Gwen would catch the woman staring at her, and there was something in her eyes, like Gwen wasn’t even human to her.
The sad thing was that Gwen didn’t feel the same way about Officer Lucky. Actually, she kind of admired the police officer. She was tough, pretty, and walked with confidence. She also always spoke her mind. Best of all, everyone seemed to listen to her.
Gwen knew that they’d never be friends or anything, but she sure didn’t want Officer Lucky looking at her like she was scum she’d discovered on the bottom of her shoes.
And that’s how Officer Lucky would look at her if she knew the truth about Gwen’s relationship with Hunter. Heck, the woman probably wouldn’t even believe her if Gwen told her that she hadn’t been communicating with Hunter, but he’d sent her a letter anyway.
No, it was a lot better to keep this note to herself. She was going to have to hide it and pretend nothing happened. And that might work out for her, too.
Until she was let out of the hospital.
Just imagining what would happen, no, knowing what would happen to her once she was discharged made her shiver. And feel nauseous.
Gwen barely grabbed the plastic bowl on her bedside table before losing the contents of her stomach.
CHAPTER 5
“There are shortcuts to happiness,
and dancing is one of them.”
—Vicki Baum
Tuesday Night
“This isn’t very much fun, Shannon,” Traci muttered. “Like, I don’t think it’s fun at all.”
They were standing at Shannon’s barre in her dance studio. They were also kind of, sort of stretching.
Correction, Shannon was stretching. Her sister looked like the ballerina she used to be, dressed in pink tights and a black leotard, with her long hair contained in a messy bun on the top of her head.
Traci, to her disgust, was wincing from the effort as she tried to follow her sister’s lead. Their third sister, Kimber, clad in a tank top and black leggings, was quietly going through the motions, though she performed each movement only about halfway. Kimber seemed perfectly happy about her progress and wasn’t even breaking a sweat.
Traci, on the other hand, in her gray sweatpants and old band T-shirt, was starting to look like she’d just stepped out of a sauna. Honestly, she would’ve thought being flexible was a genetic thing. Or, maybe it wasn’t, since it hurt to touch her toes.
“Oh, come on, Traci. You’ve just got to give it a chance.” Shannon smiled at them in the reflection in the mirror. “This is one of my favorite things to do to relieve stress. There’s nothing like a good stretch to make a girl feel like she can do anything in the world.”
“Right now I feel like I’m not going to be able to do anything at all. I know for a fact that I’m not going to be able to move tomorrow morning. Every bit of this hurts.”
“It’s not that bad,” Kimber said as she lifted one of her feet on the barre and followed Shannon’s lead. “You’ve just got to stop fighting your body, Trace. You need to think of positive images.”
After barely getting her foot on the barre as well, she groaned. “Positive images? Who taught you that? Your fancy-pants model girlfriends?”
Kimber, to her credit, didn’t look fazed at all by her nastiness. “Ah, yeah.”
Shannon chuckled. “She’s got you there, Traci.”
Kimber smiled, too. “See?”
Traci rolled her eyes in the mirror at both of them. Kimber was not only thin, tall, and graceful, she was a bona fide super model. She’d appeared on the covers of magazines, been featured in fashion shows in New York City, Milan, and Paris, and who knows what else. “You’re one to talk. Your body is just used to not eating and looking good.”
“No, it’s more like I take care of myself. I saw those fast food wrappers in your Subaru, girl. You’ve been eating junk food on the sly.”
“I wasn’t hiding it, Kimber.”
Shannon cleared her throat. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Y’all are enough to drive a girl to drink. Now listen up and do what I do. Raise your right foot, set it gently on the ground, and move into first position.” While Kimber and Traci followed, she smiled. “Good. Good job! Now, plié.”
Traci groaned again as she moved her feet into position and sank into some awkward knee bend.
“Slowly, Traci!” Shannon called out.
“I’m trying to go slow.” She was also now trying to get up without making a fool of herself.
After another ten minutes of torture, she stepped away at last. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I’m going for a run.”
Shannon paused in her latest movement, which involved one arm stretched out to the side while she bent her torso backward. “Are you sure?”
“So sure.”
“Okay. Well, at least you tried, right?”
“Right. Um, you’re not mad that I hate this with every fiber of my being, are you?” Shannon was constantly trying to get all of them to do fun, bonding things together. Traci didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Mad that you don’t want to do ballet with me? Not at all.”
“Thanks. Um, you can go running with me one day if you want.”
Shannon looked alarmed. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll stick to sweating indoors.”
“Fair enough. Well, girls, I’m outta here.”
“Hey, Trace!” Kimber called out before she got to the door.
“Yeah?”
Kimber lowered her voice. “Hey, are you okay? You seem a little more on edge than usual. Are you still worried about Gwen?”
She was on edge, even though she’d been doing her best to pretend she wasn’t. Gwen had seemed particularly stressed when she’d visited her that morning. She’d even been short with Dr. Rossi, which she never had been before. Something was up with her. But Traci knew better than to worry about her too much—Gwen Camp had multiple issues that one concerned cop couldn’t fix in just a couple of days. “I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?” Shannon asked.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Gwen might not be, but that wasn’t her problem, right? She was a cop, not a social worker.
After giving her sisters another half smile, she ran up to her room, put on a pair of shorts, a tank top, and her favorite running shoes, and then headed over to the kitchen to grab some water and her earbuds.
Their newest roommate, Jennifer, was chopping up vegetables at the counter. She grinned at Traci. “You clocked out of barre ballet, too?”
“Too? Shannon tried to get you to do it?”
“Well, she offered. I told her that I was not quite ready to get on board with that.”
“At least she listened to you. I tried to get out of it, but it didn’t go over too well.”
“Shannon has been dancing so long that I think she’s forgotten how the rest of us mortals feel when we enter her classroom.”
“Hopelessly clumsy?”
“I was thinking more like a little flabby and a lot intimidated.”
“No worries, I feel the same way when I watch you cook. You can make anything taste good. What are you making for dinner, by the way?”
“Stir fry.”
“Oh, yum. With pork?”
“No. Tofu.”
She groaned. “Really?”
Jennifer smiled. “Come on. It’s not so bad. Plus, you said you liked it last time.”
“I also liked stir fry with pork. Or beef. Chicken. You know, real food.”
“Tofu is real. Well, real enough.” She went back to slicing peppers. “Anyway, it’s as a favor for Kimber. She asked for it. She’s leaving on Friday for another photo shoot.”
“I forgot about that.” Now that she realized how many accommodations Kimber had to make in order to look good in tiny pieces of designer clothes, she shrugged. “Tofu stir fry is fine with me.”
“I am also making a coconut cake.”
Jennifer could both cook and bake like a dream. But no matter how many things she did well, she created the most amazing cakes. “Get out. Why?”
She smiled. “Dylan and Shannon are joining us for dinner before they go back to their place. He asked me to make it for him.”
Shannon’s brand-new husband was Jennifer’s older brother and Traci’s partner on the police force. It was a lot of connections, but it seemed to work. “You are the best sister.”
“I’m his only sister,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t mind, though. He’s done so much for me.”
“You know he’d say that you don’t owe him a thing.” Jennifer had been stalked by one of the members of a gang who had attacked her, and Dylan had supported her through all of it.
“It doesn’t mean that’s the way that I feel, though.” She winked. “I’m trying to own my emotions, just like my therapist has been encouraging me to do. What do you think?”
“I think I need to take some lessons from you. I seem to own everyone’s emotions.” And problems.
Jennifer’s easygoing smile faltered. “That’s not good.”
“I know.” She kicked out a shoe. “That’s why I’m going for a run. I’ve got to get a handle on it.” Like, before she exploded.
“Have a good time.”
Traci grabbed earbuds, slipped on her CamelBak, and began a slow jog down to the bike trail that ran along the river through the middle of Bridgeport. The moment she reached the trail, she felt her body relax.
She wasn’t a ballet barre type of woman, no matter how much Shannon wanted her to be. Traci needed space and good old-fashioned push-ups, sit-ups, and four-mile runs. Sure, it was probably a product of her upbringing. Desiree, one of the women who ran the group home had been a terrific runner and had encouraged all the kids to join in and keep her company.
Take the Lead Page 3