Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2)

by Shana Vanterpool

  She laughed a little in relief, probably because I wasn’t being a cat lady. “Right? I guess looks are deceiving.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  She cringed, and then looked up, wiping her expression away. “How do girls do that?”

  I lifted my mug. “Tea and cats, remember? I don’t know.”

  I had no stinking clue.

  From an early age, Mom drove one simple rule home harder than any others. No boys. For the most part, it wasn’t a difficult rule to follow. I rarely hung around the opposite sex much anyway, but I wasn’t in a bubble. Men were out there. Attractive men, bad men, good men—they existed. I couldn’t pretend they didn’t forever because that’s what my mother wanted. I would be nineteen soon, and the most I’d done with a guy was kiss Jason Gray last year at Piper’s birthday party. It’d been awkward and wet, better forgotten than remembered.

  But even with my lame kiss, it was one rule I had to abide by that I secretly resented.

  I wasn’t untrustworthy. I did the right thing because that’s what was good for me. When it came to boys Mom lost all reason. She almost feared my decision-making abilities. As if I’d end up throwing everything away for a boy from our side of the tracks. Her overbearing behavior hurt. I wouldn’t betray her trust. There was no man worth that.

  “Let’s talk about something else.” Piper sat back with her coffee, crossing her legs. “What are you going to wear tonight?” She eyed my clothes.

  My jean shorts and white top were cute. I didn’t know what her problem was. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “Was it hard to find clothes my grandmother would like?”

  “Grandmother?” I frowned, checking out her clothes. Her shorts were shorter than anything I would ever buy, and she’d intentionally pulled her tank down, highlighting her cleavage. “Was it hard to walk down the sidewalk without being propositioned?”

  “I’d rather be propositioned than peed on. By my cats,” she added, snickering. “Seriously, Hillary. You’re so pretty. You have a perfect body. Why do you dress like you’re going to a retirement party?”

  “Perfect?” I snorted. “Define perfect.”

  “Size two. That’s perfect.”

  I knew first hand that perfection did not exist. We could never truly grasp it because it wasn’t something you obtained, but coveted. Most times I didn’t consider how I looked from the perception of others. In doing so, I only felt let down. I was comfortable with myself, and I thought that was all that mattered. What was there to be uncomfortable about when my mother picked it all out for me?

  “How about I change that.” I reached over and snatched what was left of her cake, shoving it into my mouth. “Bye size two. Hello, huge butt.”

  She pursed her lips and set her mug down. Then she reached into her backpack and took out her cell phone. Her thumbs raced across the screen. “There. I feel better.”

  “What did you do? Piper,” I repeated when she ignored me. “What did you do?”

  “We’re going to get sexy tonight.”

  Sexy and Hillary weren’t two words that went together. “I’d rather not.”

  “Too bad.” She returned her phone and picked up her mug, taking a sip. “Can I ask you a question? Without you getting mad.”

  I nodded warily.

  “What are you so afraid of?” When I frowned, she continued. “You’re on this straight and narrow path that you didn’t even pick. You do everything your mom says. I get it, I really do. You’re all each other has. That forges a tight bond. But the last rule you broke was eating carbs after midnight. What are you so afraid of? How can you know this is what you want when you’re not even the one who wanted this first?” Her light blue eyes were alive with an emotion I wasn’t familiar with.

  I studied it as I pretended to contemplate her question. My best friend didn’t look the same anymore. Gone was the shy little Piper, who used to come over and play dolls. It made me truly wonder what happened to her this past summer while I’d been busy. She was hanging out with Emery and Jasmine too much. They were taking my friend. I’d let them, unknowingly losing her to the other side of the railroad tracks.

  “I’m not afraid. Not too long ago you understood how I felt. Because you felt it too.” I doubted having sex was responsible for her change. It was something else. Something was pushing Piper over the edge. I could either sit here and drive my point home and risk pushing her further away, or I could give in just enough to keep her here. “How sexy are we talking?”

  A huge grin broke across her face, and she bounced in her seat. “Hot. Emery’s bringing some things over. I texted her your address. This is going to be so much fun!”

  I smiled at my best friend. Inside I wasn’t smiling. My red lights were going off like crazy.

  Danger! They screamed. In danger of rule breaking. Back away while morals are still intact.

  But Piper needed me. I couldn’t leave her.

  I had a feeling I’d left her enough already.

  Chapter Three

  Dylan

  My nails scratched indulgently at my wounds.

  “Ahh,” I moaned, closing my eyes in bliss.

  This was as close to sex as I was going to get. I scratched harder, feeling blood around my fingers but not stopping. I sagged against my hospital bed and basked in the pleasure radiating from my pain. It was fitting of my life, deriving pleasure from the wrong. So I scratched harder, craving a single second of escape.

  Once I’d had enough, I opened my eyes to find my fingers bloody and my gunshot throbbing red and angry. Shit. I had to admit this looked bad. I wiped most of the blood off with my blanket, but there was no denying what I’d done. I stared at the puckered bleeding flesh of my leg, picking the blood from under my fingernail absentmindedly. Any minute now my door would open. I’d signed my release papers this morning before I went apeshit on my wounds.

  I knew I had nowhere to go, no one to go there with, and that leaving this hospital meant I was on my own, I still wanted out. I folded the bloody sheet, so it was undetectable and then tried to pull my boxers down as low as they would go. It didn’t help much. The majority of the proof was still evident. If anyone saw this, I’d be forced to stay to wait for the wounds to heal. One more week could turn into two, another month.

  I’d lose my mind.

  My heartbeat increased. It was the first time in months I felt it pound. The last time it pounded I was in Afghanistan. My fear of staying in this bed became the panic of being shot. I could smell the blood in the air, the dirt on the wind, and the screams of my unit. I was eight thousand miles away from home, from my daughter, and my girl.

  I enlisted to give Aubrey a better life. There were choices in the army. There were no choices I wanted in Crystal Gulf. But my plan had been rooted in my lie. I’d lied right into my uniform, and the Dylan I really was didn’t know it until I’d been given a gun and orders. My false confidence shriveled up fast. I left the people I loved for a chance that amounted to nothing because my wants disappeared with the truth.

  I made it home. But when I got here all I thought was waiting for me was gone. I didn’t know what to do with the man who made it back.

  I gave up on hiding and laid there, staring at CNN. The nightshift nurse put it on when she checked in on me this evening. The monotone voice of the reporter lulled me into painful boredom. I wanted out of this bed, into a bottle, and ripping off a pair of panties. To escape from myself for one second. My left leg twitched, aching to move. To run. To lie my ass off again so I could stand being alone with myself. I was stuck within my thoughts.

  Minutes faded around me, ticking and marking my silence. When the door opened I looked over, expecting the nightshift nurse to come in, take one look at my wounds, and demand I stay here forever.

  Instead, it was Bach. He was dressed this evening in jeans and a white shirt, pushing a wheelchair. There was a set of crutches balancing precariously on top. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder, and his cocky dickhea
d grin was in place. Even Harley couldn’t erase that grin. It’d been there his whole life. I was sure of that because I had the same one.

  The bastard was right. We were the same.

  “It’s Friday.” He closed my door and took his backpack off, setting it on my bed. “You’re out of here. The nurse said she’d be here in a minute.”

  I pulled my boxers up in response.

  His eyes shot to my leg. I watched him take my wounds in. His mouth opened slightly, and he blinked slowly, as if his thoughts were trying to understand not just the wounds I’d just created, but the ones that ruined my leg.

  “If she sees this she won’t let me leave.”

  “What did you do to yourself?” he demanded, stomping over to get a closer look. “They’re infected.”

  I grabbed his arm and dug my nails into his skin. “Get me out of here, Bach. She can’t know. I have to get out of here.”

  He pulled free and glared, stomping over to the backpack once more. Unzipping it with an angry pull, he wrenched out shorts and a shirt. “Put these on, you douchebag.”

  I plunged the shirt over my head, but when I got to the shorts I balked. Maybe staying here wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It was undoubtedly preferable to the pain moving would cause. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, despising the idea of asking Bach for help. He didn’t put me here, but his actions made my position that much worse. When I opened my eyes, he was standing there with his hand outstretched.

  “I can do it,” I growled, knocking his hand away. “Just watch the door.”

  I bent my left leg close to me and wiggled my foot inside. Taking a deep breath and gritting my teeth, I leaned over to do the same to my right foot. They were athletic shorts. There were no buttons, and the material was soft. It shouldn’t be hard to get on. But there was a reason I only showered when they forced me, why I only wore boxers. It took two nurses to get them on and me to lift my body. Dark thoughts started to form, tossing words at me relentlessly. Worthless. Burden. Waste of space. I pushed those thoughts away. I’d been all of those things my entire life and a shattered femur and a broken leg weren’t going to make me accept them now.

  But as I struggled, as the sweat poured down my face, and the pain burned in my blood, I had a hard time not arguing.

  This was worthless.

  “If you need help ask.” His quiet voice infuriated me.

  “I needed—” I groaned in pain as it ripped through my leg. My body shook with it, but I fought through it, forcing myself to ignore the little voices whispering, “worthless,” at me as I tried once again to pull my shorts up my legs. “Help when you were supposed to watch my girl,” I finished, sagging against my pillow. My shorts were over my knees. I needed one more good pull, and my bloody inflamed wounds would be hidden. Turning my glare on him, I seethed. “I needed you then. I don’t need you for anything anymore. When are you going to get that? Why are you here? Talking to me, buying me shit, helping me. You took my fucking light!” I roared, snapping on not just Bach, but myself. “Give her back. I want her back!” I tried to grab for him, but he moved away, knocking my hands aside. “I just want to be myself again.” I closed my eyes against the moisture in them and fell back; lungs deflated, heart breaking. “I want out of this hospital. For the pain to give me a break. For the memories to leave me alone. I want my Harley. I want my daughter.”

  Once my admission was out I laid there, refusing to open my eyes and face him anymore.

  His soft sigh sounded painfully loud. There was movement and then his voice sounded. “Hold on to the rails.” I grabbed them unwillingly and lifted myself up. He pulled my shorts the rest of the way. “I’ll get the nurse so we can go home.”

  My eyes didn’t open until I heard the door close. I wiped them off with my shirt.

  Pussy, I thought bitterly.

  My old man used to call me that when I was a kid. Who knew the ornery bastard was right? His image didn’t help my mood. Months I’ve been home and not one damn visit. I wasn’t even sure they knew I was home. When I told them I joined the army my father’s exact words were: “Didn’t know they let pussies into the army.” I hadn’t done it to please him. I’d done it to help my daughter, but it wouldn’t have been a terrible thing for him to care. Give me some advice. Show some fucking emotion for once in his life other than anger.

  I ran a hand through my hair and tried to dredge up my gray area. Sit still and fade away. Just as I began to slip within the comforting maddening space, the door opened. The nightshift nurse entered my room with my thieving ex-best-friend in tow.

  “Oh, good. You’re already dressed.” She lowered my rails and gave me a hopeful smile. “Do you have five minutes to talk to one of our counselors?”

  I stared at her.

  “On second thought perhaps we get you going.” She smiled hesitantly and then stepped away, making me wonder how lethal my expression truly was. The nightshift nurse was the most skittish of them all. “I’m going to bring the wheelchair close to the bed like we’ve done in the past. You slide to the end and then grab the arms on the wheelchair. Lower yourself down and take as long as you need.”

  As she brought the chair close to my bed, I turned my lethal gaze on Bach. He raised his eyebrow and crossed his arm over his chest, not getting the hint or not caring. I wanted him to leave. It wasn’t bad enough he stole my girl and my kid, now he wanted to watch me get into a wheelchair? I scraped my pride off the ground and slid to the edge of the bed. The pain erupted. I did my best to ignore it and grabbed the arms on the wheelchair. The nurse held it still as I eased down. I put my left knee on the seat and then used my momentum to turn, falling gratefully into the chair; my eyes blurred from the pain.

  “I’ll wheel him out,” her distant voice said. “Why don’t you go get the car?”

  My heart was pounding and my stomach rolled. I hadn’t eaten since Bach’s last visit. I couldn’t remember when that had been. My days and nights blurred together, often indistinguishable. I bit my tongue to keep the water I’d drunken this afternoon down. Once I was sure I wouldn’t puke, I looked up to find the room empty except for the nurse.

  I didn’t look back at where I’d lain for the past few months as she pushed me out. I wanted out so badly I’d crawl on my hands and knees.

  “Your friend has all of your paperwork. We’ve spoken to you about aftercare countless times. I do hope you’re not alone. It’s hard enough with our help.” She squeezed my shoulders as we waited for the elevator. “Being on your own might feel like all you want to do,” she said, “until that’s all you’ve got.”

  I was a disrespectful son of a bitch. Growing up in my house, respect existed just like security—it just didn’t. I’d had no idea how to treat people until the army. My sergeant had knocked something akin to sense into me, Harley taught me how to treat a woman, and Aubrey showed me how beautiful they could be, but there was still that man in me, just like Bach couldn’t lose his dickhead smirk. Who we were was rammed home for years. But these women had put up with me for months. They’d seen my tears, heard my screams, and washed my pathetic body. I held my tongue, choosing to continue my usual behavior and quieted the rage I wanted to expel.

  My gaze remained straight ahead as she wheeled me into the elevator. Didn’t move a muscle as we traveled the long bustling hallway on the first floor. Bodies shuffled by me, giving me curious looks. What happened to him? They were probably wondering. I didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. My sights were on the large automatic clear doors in front of me. The sun was setting, and gold glared off the glass of the hospital in Galveston. My entire body was tensed. My heart was hammering. I was almost out of here.

  There was a huge light brown 4X4 parked in the drop off zone. Bach was leaning against the passenger door, his arms crossed over his chest, expression impassive as he watched me being wheeled out. I eyed his truck with the first real spark of interest I’d felt in months. Beneath my panic, I had to admit it was bad. The grill was mean, ra
diating the sun. The paint reminded me of something … something light brown and good, but I couldn’t place it.

  “He’s all yours,” the nurse said, pulling me into the street alongside Bach. “We’ve talked, Mr. Bachmen. Please heed our advice. As for you, Dylan.” She leaned over and placed her mouth close to my ear. “You’re not as damaged as you think.” After patting my shoulders in a parting gesture, she left me once and for all.

  My gaze locked on Bach’s betraying face. “You talked to them?”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  I wanted to knock him out. Land a hard blow right over that eyebrow. “Stealing my girl wasn’t enough? You had to go behind my back and talk to my nurses?”

  Without responding, he opened the passenger door.

  I was free. I didn’t need this son of a bitch anymore. I put my hands on the wheels and pushed away. My options were slim, they always had been, but I’d find a way to make it home.

  I managed to make it to the roundabout in the middle of the hospital parking lot when my stomach turned. I let it go and puked over the side of my wheelchair and watched the bile laden puddle blend in with the asphalt. It had been hot today if the heat rising from the asphalt was any indicator. Even though I was sitting, I felt lightheaded. My eyes were blurring, and the only thing I could think about was the fact that I couldn’t even leave the hospital without the one bastard I didn’t want.

  I didn’t want Bach anymore. The only person I wanted wasn’t allowed to see me. Bach had stolen her too. What was my daughter doing?

  I sat back, ignoring the honking behind me. For the first time in a long time, I wondered what I looked like. I was in a wheelchair for one, stuck, with puke pooling around me. My brown hair, which I’d cut off seven months ago, had grown back, and I hadn’t made one attempt to comb it. My dark blue eyes were probably bloodshot and darkened. My clothes were … I looked down in dismay when I realized they weren’t even mine. Bach brought his clothes to put on me. The tattoos on my right arm clashed with the dark asphalt. I probably looked like a punk thug stuck in the middle of the hospital roundabout with cracked lips and no future. My leg didn’t work, the pain turned my stomach, and my ex best friend had just pulled up, having all that I wanted.