by Hamel, B. B.
“Better be. I trained for this.”
She grins. “Good job.”
“Thanks. Glad I can be of service.”
“Seriously. For a day or so after our sessions, my leg feels a little better.”
“That’s a good sign. Means your body responds to the rehab.”
“Yeah?”
“Seriously. I bet if you keep doing those exercises, my estimate I gave you will seem conservative.”
She grins a little and does a shimmy. “That’s exciting.”
“Don’t let it get to your head. You still have a ton of work to do.”
“You really do know how to bring a girl down, don’t you?”
I laugh and shrug a little. “I guess so.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence. I should end it here but I don’t want to.
And besides, I have to ask again. I have to at least try.
“Look, Amber. Can I ask you something?”
“I know what you’re going to say,” she says, her voice low. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I can’t help it. I just… if something happened, you can tell me. I can help you.”
“Brent.” Her eyes are hard. “Stop.”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m insane and there’s nothing wrong and you’re fine. I’ll drop it. I’ll stop texting you.”
She bites her lip. “I don’t want you to stop texting.”
I smirk a little bit. “I know. That was a test.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not doing this.”
“Just tell me you’re fine.”
She struggles up to her feet. This time, I help her, and she lets me. I get her cane and she looks up with a sad expression.
“Just… drop it. Okay? Just drop it.”
I want to take her hand and hold it. I want to tell her I can take care of her if she’d only give herself to me. I can help her and make things better.
But I know that’ll only scare her off. So instead, I just nod once.
“You can talk to me,” I say.
“I know.” She smiles then turns away. “Come on. Help me out of there. Last time I was too proud but this time I’m too sore.”
I laugh and take her arm, helping her limp down the hallway. I see her outside and she gives me another one of those gorgeous smiles.
“See you next time,” she says.
“See you then.”
I turn and head back inside.
I wish I had done more. I wish I told her that I want her. I wish I had kissed her, taken her into my office, cleared my desk, fucked her. I wish I had gotten her off so hard she blacked out.
Instead, nothing.
I’m not letting this go. I’m going to have her. I just have to figure out a way to do it where I’m not risking my job and my medical license.
Sooner or later, I’ll have her. I just need to figure out how.
5
Amber
I wake up early the next morning still thinking about Brent.
The way he looks at me drives me wild. When he was massaging me on that table, his hands strayed closer and closer to my ass, and I wanted him to grab it. I wanted him to smack it. I wanted him to touch me, kiss me, pull my hair. But every time I’m in that gym with him, we’re surrounded by other people.
And then he ruins it by asking about the accident.
I need him to stop questioning it. Or maybe I don’t want him to stop. Maybe I want him to keep asking, because I desperately want someone to figure it all out. I just don’t know how.
I close my eyes and sigh. I struggle out of bed, leg throbbing. I go through my morning routine, basically doing it on one leg. When I’m done, I head downstairs and into the kitchen.
My father’s there, which surprises me. He’s usually out at the job site this early.
“Morning,” he grunts. “Hungry?”
“I guess.” I sit down. “What’s the occasion?”
“Heard back from Dave.” He grins at me. “We’re a go.”
“We’re… what?”
“We’re doing it. That boy of his negotiated some terms for the two of you, I think you’ll be happy to hear. Gets you both a piece of the pie, so to speak. Smart kid. I was wondering if you’d do the same, but it’s too late now. We’re all set. It’s all in ink.”
“Dad.” I stare at him, heart pounding. “What are you saying?”
“You’re marrying that boy. It’s happening. We just need to pick a date.” He laughs. I don’t think I’ve seen my dad this happy in a long time. “You want to plan the wedding or should I have someone else do it? We’re going to be rich as sin, Amber. We can hire anyone to do it. Get you whatever you want. This wedding is going to be special, girl.”
“Dad.” I shake my head. “I can’t… what? You really want me to marry that kid?”
His eyes go dark. “The boy’s name is Michael. Your fiancé. He’s coming over later with a ring and you’d better fucking take it.”
“Dad.”
He steps toward me. “You want to do this again?” he growls.
I flinch back from him. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. Know your place, Amber. Do as I say.”
“I just… I don’t know him. I don’t want to marry him. Not even for money.”
“It’s always about money. It’s all about money. That’s the only damn thing worth anything in this world.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “Don’t you get that? You don’t matter, Amber. You don’t matter without money.”
I want to be sick. I feel dizzy. I get up and move away from him. “I can’t.”
“You fucking can and you will.”
I shake my head and limp away. My dad comes up behind me and grabs my arm. I stumble, putting too much weight on my leg, and groan in pain.
His hand grips my hard.
“Don’t fuck this up.” I smell whiskey on his breath. It’s barely nine in the morning. “You hear me, Amber? You remember what happened the last time you argued with me about this. So don’t fuck it up.”
He lets me go roughly. I stumble and drop to the floor. I bite back tears as pain flares up my leg. He stares at me, disgust on his face. “I’m going to work,” he says.
He turns and leaves without another word. I sit on the floor and cry, sobbing harsh tears of shame and hate and pain.
It takes me a little while to get it together. Eventually, I’m back on my feet. I head into my room and shut the door. I lock it and collapse into bed with a groan. My leg aches like crazy.
I grab my phone. I find Brent’s number.
Me: I want to see you. Can you meet me today?
Brent: Where and what time?
Me: I don’t know. Anywhere. Anytime. Can you meet me?
Brent: There’s a diner a few minutes from the clinic. Called Cross Keys. Come meet me there around eleven. Can you do that?
I stare at my phone then nod to myself. I don’t have my own car. But I can get an Uber. I can figure this out.
It’s time to be less reliant on my asshole father. If I want to get out… I need to think. I need to be smart.
Me: Cross Keys Diner at eleven.
Brent: See you then.
I put my phone down and get up. I limp into my bathroom and stare at my reflection.
I’m not a victim. I won’t be a victim. And I won’t be bullied into this marriage. I don’t care if Michael doesn’t seem so awful. I don’t care if I’ll get filthy rich. I’m not doing it, not for anything.
My father can go fuck himself.
* * *
The Uber drops me off outside of a boring-looking diner. It’s a little rundown, a little dirty, but at least there’s a handicap ramp leading up to the big chromed doors. I’m lost in thought as I take the ramp, limping along slowly, before I feel a hand on my arm.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Sorry,” Brent says. “Shit, sorry. I did say your name.”
“God damn. Scared me.” I wince a little bit, putting weight o
n my leg.
“Sorry.” He laughs a little. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get you something to eat.”
I let him help me the rest of the way. I feel a little better now that his hands are on my body.
The diner isn’t crowded when we stop inside. We grab a seat in a corner booth and the waitress comes by with a watcher pitcher and menus.
Brent grins at me. “You’ll like this place. They have everything.”
“I didn’t know there were diners in Texas.”
“Diners are everywhere,” he says. “Although most diners in Texas also do barbecue.”
I open the menu. “Looks like this place is no different.”
“Still in Texas, after all.”
I smile a little bit but I don’t really look at the menu. I don’t feel hungry. I don’t really feel much of anything at all, other than a persistent anxiety buzzing in the back of my head.
Brent looks at me over his menu. “You okay?”
“I think so.” I sip the water and put the menu aside. “I just want eggs.”
“Then eggs you shall get.” He smiles and looks around until he waves down the waitress. He orders the brisket and I ask for scrambled eggs and toast. The waitress walks off with a nod.
“I like this place,” he says. “Quiet, you know? Never gets too crowded.”
I look around and sure enough, he’s right. There’s a nice-sized lunch crowd but it’s not packed. There’s nobody nearby.
“And it’s close to the clinic.”
“There’s that too.”
We sit in silence for a minute. He’s looking at me, sizing me up, and I know what he’s thinking. He’s wondering why this weird, crazy girl called him away from work and now is just sitting there like a moron.
Except I can’t help it. I want to tell him everything, but as soon as I think about opening my mouth, I just realize how crazy my story is.
I’m not sure he’ll believe me, and I think that’ll be the worst thing of all.
“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says finally, breaking the silence. “I know you called me here for a reason. And if that reason’s just to sit and talk and flirt a little bit, that’s fine by me.”
“Maye that’s all there is.”
“But,” he says, continuing, “I don’t think that’s really all. I think you want to tell me about what happened to that leg.” He leans closer. “I want you to know something.”
“What?”
“I’m protective, Amber. I take care of the people I care about. And if you need protecting…” He trails off. His gaze is serious and hard, and I believe him. A chill runs down my spine.
“I don’t know what I need,” I say.
“Why don’t you start with how you injured that leg.”
“I can’t start there. You have to know the whole story.”
He nods once. “Okay then. Start from the beginning.”
I shift in my seat. “You won’t believe me.”
“I will.” He stares at me and doesn’t look like he’s going to say more.
So I open my mouth and I talk.
“My father’s an oil man. He’s one of the few new oil men in the state. He got lucky, found some oil, and started drilling. The well was productive, really productive, so he started drilling more and more, and now… now he has a lot of wells, a lot of oil, and even more money.” I pause for a second. “But it’s not enough.”
“He wants more,” Brent says.
“Exactly. I think that’s common, right? You get successful, but it’s never enough.”
“It’s never enough,” he agrees. “Believe me. I know better than most.”
I let that comment pass. “So he does some research. Turns out, there’s a large cattle and horse ranch near where Dad drills. It’s a big ranch, not all that rich or anything, but really old. The land’s never been touched. And he’s sure there’s oil on that ranch. He’s absolutely sure of it.”
“What makes him so sure?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He says he had it surveyed. He talked to his geologists. He prayed or some shit like that. I don’t know what he did, but whatever it was, he’s convinced it’s there.”
I stop my story and sip my water. He’s watching me carefully and I can’t tell if he thinks I’m a liar or not yet, and I haven’t even gotten to the weirdest part.
“So this ranch,” he prompts. “I’m guessing they’re not willing?”
“Of course not. They don’t want him to come in and rip up their land. Except… they sort of do. See, they don’t make much money. The ranch turns a profit apparently, but not much, never enough to grow. So they’re sort of stuck. It’s this man named Dave and his son, Michael, running the place.”
“That seems like the sort of situation your father could use.”
“Right.” I nod a little bit, warming up to the story. “Except Dave’s a stubborn guy. Dave doesn’t want to just give up his land to some oil baron for money. The land itself is important. He wants promises… he wants a guarantee.”
Brent frowns slightly. “What kind of guarantee? And for what?”
“He wants something more binding than any legal document ever could be. And he wants to make sure some of that oil money stays in his family’s hands.”
“So he wants a piece of your father’s company.”
I hesitate a second, looking away. This is the part he’ll never, ever believe, because why would he? It’s totally insane, totally out there. And it wasn’t even my dad’s idea. Oh, my dad loved it when Dave suggested it all those months ago, but it wasn’t his originally. He just wanted to pay Dave off or sell a portion of the company to him in exchange for the land and the drilling rights.
Except that’s not what Dave wanted.
“That’s what my dad offered,” I say finally. I feel like my throat’s dry but drinking water won’t help. “But Dave turned it down. Dave wants something… even more binding.”
Brent shakes his head. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”
“This is where you won’t believe me. But please, I’m not lying.”
“I don’t think you are, Amber.”
“Dave wants me to marry his son.”
Brent cocks his head only very slightly. “He wants you to marry his son… as in some kind of arranged marriage?”
“Exactly. It’s like… like what old noble families would do, marry each other for political reasons or whatever. He thinks that if I’m married to his son and we have kids, that’ll bind our families together forever. Businesses can be bought and sold and all that shit, but if we’re married, we’re in it for life.”
He stares at me for a long moment. I can feel myself blushing and starting to get defensive. I can already feel the words bubbling up from my chest.
“Okay,” he says. “I can see how this would be a problem for you.”
I blink and slowly those words deflate and drop away. “You believe me?”
“I believe you,” he says. “It’s an outlandish story, don’t get me wrong, but there are parts I can easily confirm. For example, I know your dad does own an oil company. I did a little research when we met.”
I shift uncomfortably. I don’t know how I feel about that.
“But more than that,” he continues, “it’s not a story you wanted to tell. I can see that plain as day. And that makes me believe you even more.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Okay then.” He leans forward. “How does this connect with your leg.”
I close my eyes for a second and let myself remember that night. It was a horrible night… dark and ugly outside, humid as hell.
“We got into a fight,” I say. “My father and I were never very… close. I mean, we got along. He paid for my college. He wanted me to come work with him… at the company.” I struggle through this part. Remembering how things used to be is painful. “He was my dad, you know? But he got this idea in his head. If I just married that boy… things wo
uld be good. We could make even more money. As if we need any more. And—”
I get cut off as the waitress returns with our food. She puts my plate in front of me. I stare down at the eggs, yellow and fluffy. The toast dangles on the side. I poke at it with a fork and force myself to smile as the waitress asks if there’s anything else we need.
“No, thanks,” Brent says.
She walks off. He ignores his food.
“What happened?” he asks.
“He got obsessed,” I say. “Kept pushing me. Asking me. He wants me to marry that boy, that total stranger. And one night, after a month of fighting about it, things got ugly. He was drinking… angry… I told him I was never doing to do it. No matter what he said. And I meant it. I still do.”
I close my eyes again. I can feel the hot pain in my leg from the memory.
“What did he do to you?” Brent’s voice is level but there’s a strange anger there, almost a malice.
“Pushed me,” I say. “We have steps… we were upstairs when the fight started. I want to get away from him, tried to get downstairs. I made it halfway down before he kicked me in the back. I flipped, hit the stairs once, then smashed down onto my leg.”
He sucks in a breath. “Jesus.”
“I know. He apologized after but things haven’t been the same since. Yesterday… he took me to meet the rancher and his son. Dave and Michael. They’re not that bad actually. Michael’s not my type, but he seems nice enough.”
“Your dad did that to you.” His voice is calm but his eyes are burning hot embers.
“I know.”
“Amber. We need to call the police.”
I reach out without thinking. I take his hand and stare in his eyes. “No. You can’t.”
“Amber.” He holds my hand in both of his. “Your father kicked you down the stairs. He broke your femur in a really horrific way. We have to call the police.”
“No,” I say again. “I swear, Brent. If you do that, I’ll never forgive you. I’ll tell them you’re a liar.”
“Why would you defend him?”
“I’m not.” I pull my hand away. “But I’m not going to the police on my own father. I don’t know them and I don’t trust them. And more than that, my father donates a lot of money to the cops. He has friends on the force. I just… I don’t believe they’ll help me.”