by K. L. Savage
I gulp, hating how quick he knew how to use it. He deserves answers if he sticks around with me. Tom isn’t a man to ignore. Once he has you in his line of sight, it’s that simple—you somehow are in his hands, life ruined, future damned.
Patrick walks over to the window and grips the bars that are there to block the patients from breaking the glass. Is this rehab or a mental institution? I’m starting to think it’s both.
His head drops between his shoulders, and the weight of the world has him slumping, the strong posture that defines his back gone, and the strength usually exuding from him, drained. He turns to look at me and opens and closes his mouth. “I—I—” But he can’t form the words.
“I was pregnant,” I blurt out of nowhere. “I don’t know who the father was. I had been with too many men.” I sit cross-legged on the twin bed and twist my hands together. I don’t want to see his disgust. I’m sure it’s on his face. “I was a whore for Tom, my dad. At least, I don’t know if he’s my dad. He said as much when he walked in earlier. I’ve only ever known him, and I’ve been working for him since I was sixteen—”
“Sixteen!” Patrick roars and then remembers we need to be quiet because patients aren’t allowed to be in each other’s room this late. He lowers his voice. “You were a child.”
“Sixteen is the legal age in Nevada.” I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “He kept me pretty doped up. It got to the point where he’d threaten to not give me my next hit unless I worked for it. And I did, Patrick.” I lift my head and try to sound strong and brave. “I fucked whoever I could if it meant getting my heroin. God, I remember going so long without it my body would tremble and when I’d finally get it, it was the best high.” I moan, a phantom memory tickling the suppressed craving in my core. My eyes water, but I don’t notice the tears falling, not until Patrick is there in front of me, kneeling and wiping them away. “I didn’t care who I fucked, Patrick. How does that make you feel? That I took cocks in every hole, multiple men at a time, sometimes women too. I fucking wanted it. All of it. The more I had sex, the more money Tom made, and the more heroin I got. It was an evil circle, but one I’d loop a hundred million times if it meant getting the same result.”
“I don’t care.”
“Liar!” I spit, pushing off my ass to stand. He straightens too, towering over me in his full height. “Of course you care. Like you want to fuck a whore? Please.” My laughter is maniacal, and I scratch the worn, scarred space of skin on my inner arm.
“I don’t care,” he repeats, snaking his fingers around my wrist. “You did what you had to, to feel good, to feel what you were trained to feel. I don’t hold that against you. It’s the life you’ve known, Sunnie. The only way of life you’ve ever lived. Plus, I’m not a saint. I’ve fucked plenty of women too. We have whores at the clubhouse, ready to serve, and guess what? I had their lips wrapped around my cock more often than not. People like us aren’t angels, babe. I know that.”
“You really don’t care?”
“I only care that you had to live that life for so long. I only care that you were hurt repeatedly. I care your addiction was forced on you and used against you. That’s what I care about.”
“I didn’t know who the father was,” I repeat, trying to make him see the woman I am. “Do you get that? All that unprotected sex with men. Does that bother you?” I realize I’m trying to push him away. I want him to see what he might settle for. I go to shove him again, but he catches my arms. “I hated the baby,” I cry. “I hated her. I felt like she ruined my life. I wanted drugs. That’s all I cared about. Men liked fucking pregnant women too, you know. I worked until I was around six months. Strangers hands would cup my stomach, and Tom would sit and watch me get used, Ross by his side enjoying the show.”
“Sunnie—”
“I gave birth to her early.” My sobs break my words, and I hold out one hand, showing him how tiny she was. “She fit right there, smaller than the palm of my hand. Her body shook because she was born addicted, and Patrick, I died in that moment. I didn’t understand how important she was until it was too late. I wanted her, but I wasn’t allowed to have her. I was too late with my love. There was nothing the doctors could do. She died as I held her. Fighting the addiction was too much for her little, premature body. I knew then that I needed to change my life because I never wanted to feel so damn worthless again. My baby died because of me, because of my actions, and missing her is the consequence that I deserve.”
“Babe.” Patrick’s voice breaks for me as he pulls me to his chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“She was so little,” I wail, burying my hands in his chest, clutching onto his shirt so hard it might rip. “I’m a bad person.”
“No, you aren’t,” he begins. “You aren’t a bad person. A bad person changed you into someone you didn’t want to be. It makes Tom bad, not you. I’m so fucking sorry you lost her.” His arms are so big as he circles them around me, and they overlap one another across my back. Patrick sways us back and forth, like a mother does an upset child. We stand there for a long time, rocking to the sound of the rain and the thunder.
I always hated dancing, but this, this I could do forever.
“My sister and I were kidnapped on the way home from school. We walked like we always did. I was thirteen, she was seven. I woke up in a place that looked like a dungeon, caged like an animal,” he says over my shoulder as we hold onto one another. “Macy was in the cage across the room. She was scared, and there was nothing I could do.” His fingers claw the middle of my back. “Then he came in. Long hair, beard, smelled of beer, and he gave her a Barbie doll. I told her not to take anything from him. I told her, but she was seven, and she loved dolls. I yelled at him to not touch her, and he smashed my head against the cage. I could hardly move. My head killed me. I remember the room spinning, my stomach turning, but I couldn’t roll over.”
Patrick’s breathing changes. It’s fast. Too fast. I lean away and see his eyes are glossed over, and he’s in the beginning stages of hyperventilating.
“He raped her. Right in front of me. He raped her. I couldn’t stop him. I tried. I tried so hard.” The words are familiar since I’ve heard him say them so many times before. He’s lost right now, reliving a memory that’s burned into his mind and soul.
Oh, god, to witness this … no wonder he turned to alcohol. “She cried for me.” His eyes well over, matching the rain falling outside. He doesn’t blink. He stands still. His eyes are cast on the floor, and his hands shake as if he is reaching out for her. “I tried to get to her. She cried”—his tone dips—“for me. And then her screams stopped. Quiet. Nothing. He picked up her body and dropped her in front of my cage. Her neck was broken. Her dress was torn. I saw everything,” he says the word slowly. “I can’t unsee it. I can’t scrub my mind clean.” He rubs a hand over his mouth and muffles a sob. “I offered myself to him, and he pushed me onto my knees. I don’t know how I managed, but I fought him and hit him over the head with the shovel he was going to use to bury Macy in the ground in the same fucking room as me.” A sly, demonic grin crosses his face. “It took a while, but I cut off his hands with the shovel, making sure he could never hurt a kid again. I locked him in his cell. Carried my sister’s body upstairs and called 911.”
“Oh my god, Patrick.” I lay my hand on his face, and he jerks out of my hold, blinking for the first time in what seems like minutes.
“Sunnie.” He takes two steps and picks me up off the ground, holding on to me like he is relieved I’m his reality and he isn’t in the past. Patrick’s hand buries in the back of my hair, and he kisses the side of my neck. “My sun,” he whispers, and I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging onto him like a tree.
“I hate that, that happened, Patrick. I can’t imagine. I wish I could take it away from you. I wish I was enough, but I know I’m not. All I can do is be here.”
“That’s more than enough,” he says. “Our journeys might be different, but our pai
n is the same.” Patrick bends me in the air, and that’s when I feel the bed pressing against my back. He crawls over me and rubs his hand up my leg, stomach, until he is in control of me, bringing my head forward to kiss me. “You’re more than enough.” His tongue dips into my mouth, and I can taste the salt from the tears. I’m hoping all of this healing is worth it because between the two of us, we have cried the Pacific Ocean.
I’m not sure how long we kiss, but that’s all we do. He is hard beneath me, groaning against my mouth, and my nipples tingle into beads as his chest glides across mine. Patrick deepens the kiss, pouring his want, heartache, and hope into me.
We don’t rush.
But something is different between us.
A part of us, somewhere, some piece, has healed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PIRATE
“And just what is going on in here?”
What an annoying voice. Who the fuck is waking me up, shrilling like that?
“Patrick,” Sunnie nudges my side, and I pull her against me so her ass can feel how much I want her.
I’ve never slept so well. She does what the alcohol couldn’t. She silences the nightmares. “Good morning, babe.” I kiss the back of her neck, wanting another make-out session. Damn, my lips still hurt. Is that what I’ve been missing out on?
Nah, I haven’t missed anything. I doubt kissing one of the cut-sluts is comparable to kissing Sunnie. She’s a rose, her lips are enough to prove it, and I’m the thorn, drawing blood just so I can feel the plush petals against mine.
“Patrick.”
She nudges me, and her elbow hits between my ribs. “Ow, what the fuck, Sunnie?” I grumble, waking up from the sweetest damn slumber of my life. I rub my eyes and blink away the sleepiness, and my eyes focus on the figure in the middle of the room.
Fuck.
Gale.
Damn it, Gale. Ruining everything, once again.
“Uh … good morning, Gale,” I greet with a crooked smile.
Her hands fall to her hips, and she shakes a finger at us. “Don’t you ‘good morning, Gale’ me with your deep voice, which is nice, but I’m old, and I’ve been around the block. I know a man’s way, and you aren’t getting your way out of this, Patrick. And, Sunnie, I’m not surprised. You love breaking the rules.”
“Sunnie?” I turn to see a sexy blonde next to me with tussled hair that I want to grab and use as reins to yank her to me. Her lips are still swollen from all the kissing we did, and it’s causing my cock to take notice. “How did I get in here? I must have been sleepwalking again.” I steal a quick grab of her ass before rolling out of bed and stretching, eyes widening when the gun rubs against my skin.
Shit.
Forgot all about that.
I lower my arms so the shirt fully covers the weapon and scratch my head, yawning. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry to bother you, Sunnie.”
“Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” Gale’s red polished fingernail presses against my chest as she stops me from walking out the door. “I know good and well what you two were doing. I might be old, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Your room was empty, Patrick. Your door was locked, Sunnie. Patients are not allowed to be in the same room with one another. Do I make myself clear? For the next week, if I see you two together like this again, I will request one of you to be transferred to another facility.”
“Gale—” I start, but she lifts her hand to shut me up.
“I’m pretty slack, I know. Sunnie, I know you take Patricia’s book. I don’t care. It’s a damn book. I know you sneak down the hall, and I know you love giving the orderlies you hate a hard time. Whatever, they are dicks most of the time, so I don’t care. But this? I’m sorry, I have to follow the rules.” Her gaze softens as she looks at the both of us, the wrinkles vanishing around her eyes. “Two addicts cannot be together until therapy is complete and the patient is released. You don’t know if what you’re feeling is real or the addiction switching paths. The worst thing you can do is get addicted to each other.”
“Gale, please—” Sunnie says in desperation. “He has helped me. He’s my best friend. He has done more than any of those damn therapy sessions have ever done for me.”
“You can be friends, but you cannot be more. Not as long as you are here. Am I clear?”
My happiness is gone in seconds. “What the hell are you talking about?” I snap, taking a step toward her with my fists clenched at my sides. Gale takes a step back, and she hits the door behind her. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. If I want to be around Sunnie, I’m going to be around her. You can’t just—” I stretch my fingers and try to relax, but it doesn’t work. The longer Gale stands in the room, the more pissed off I get. “You can’t just do that. I finally feel like I’ve made progress in this shithole, and it isn’t because of you. It’s because of her.” I’m starting to feel panicked, closed in with no way out.
Another damn cage.
“I’m sorry, Patrick.” Gale swallows, and I have to hand it to her—she’s a tough old bitch for standing her ground and barely flinching. “You can be friends. That’s it. If I see what I saw this morning, I’ll put you on the transfer list. This is the reason why two people here can’t be together. Addicts feel deeply. You’re very empathic whether you want to believe it or not. When you come together, it’s intense, and it takes your focus off getting well for yourself.”
“For myself? What the hell makes you think I give a damn about myself and the damn circle jerks you make me go to every day? I go to group therapy because I have to. I talk to her, I’m with her, because I want to be.”
“Patrick, if you don’t calm down—”
“Hey.” Sunnie’s hand lands on my lower hip, her thumb grazing the skin under my shirt. “Gale, can we have a minute, please?”
Gale pinches her lips together, her red lipstick creasing between the lines surrounding her mouth. “I don’t know…”
“Please? Just a minute and then he’ll go, and we will be friends. You won’t have problems out of us.”
“Okay,” she relents, eying us on her way out as she shuts the door behind her.
“Friends?” I hiss. My anger is climbing by the second. “I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Sunnie. I’ve never … you can’t … you can’t be serious, not after last night.” The panic is back and setting in. I feel like I have the emotional range of a twenty-year-old since I’ve never given a damn about anyone before. I’m emotionally goddamn stunted.
I have the past of an adult and the heart of a teenager being in love for the first time. Fuck, is that what this is? Love? No. I’m not capable of such a thing, that much is clear. I’m an asshole. I’ve treated cut-sluts horribly, and I’ve been vulgar to one of the ol’ ladies back at the clubhouse. I can’t remember who. I was too drunk at the time to care.
I was always drunk.
“Fuck Gale and what she says.” Sunnie blows out a puff of air, mean-mugging the door. “She’s right, though. We are going to have to be careful. We have to be friends for everyone else. Maybe we can leave notes somehow to each other throughout the day when we want to have a minute alone. We can figure it out. I don’t want to be your friend, Patrick. I don’t know what we are, but it’s more than friends; even if we aren’t ready for it or don’t know what to do with it.”
I lift a brow at her and charge, letting my hands roam down her body until I have the plump globes of her ass in my hands. “I know what I want to do with it,” I growl, throwing my mouth against hers in a savage kiss.
There’s no way all lips feel like hers.
“This is the only pair of lips I’ve ever gotten lost in,” I say, not wanting to tell her I have never kissed before. How stupid does that sound? Grown man with plenty of experience in the sex department; only I can never come, and I’ve never bothered kissing because I liked drinking more.
Yeah, I’m a real fucking winner.
Gale knocks. “Okay, time is up. Get out of there, Patrick. Please do
n’t make me put in a transfer.”
I stare at the door, wishing it would burst into flames, but Gale sounds like she’d rather do anything other than what she is threatening to do.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” I say, not sure how we will get away with it. If there is one thing I know for sure, I can’t let this feeling slip between my fingers. This is what happiness is, this is what it feels like.
It’s freeing. I forgot what it’s like to live without that poison running through my veins, and I’m starting to see I can live without it. My mind isn’t clouded, the memory of losing Macy is still there, and the pain is manageable.
Now more than ever.
I slip in one last kiss before taking a step to the right and opening the door to see a frazzled Gale waiting, looking left and right to make sure no one sees me coming out. Right as I do, Lundon comes down the hall with his cart. When he sees me, a cocky smirk crosses his lips.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving that fucking creep in that room with my gi—friend.” I almost say my girl, but I catch myself, and Gale follows my line of sight and pats my arm.
“I don’t blame you. I’ll allow you to stay until she takes her medicine, but I’m staying right here. No more of that hanky panky. Not under this roof, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I watch as she looks at the watch on her wrist, and Lundon smacks the cart into Gale’s hip, hard.
Too fucking hard.
Gale tumbles, slamming her shoulder against the wall, and I reach my arm out to catch her before she falls to the ground. “I got you,” I say, pulling her up to her feet. She cradles her shoulder protectively, and she isn’t putting her weight on her right leg.