by Connie Cox
“And I’m going to make sure you have someplace safe to go to after you get well.”
This time the boy gave her a look of disbelief.
The office standing beside them caught the look. “If Doc Veracruz says it, kid, she means it.”
The boy gave her the slightest of smiles.
Then the paramedics came in, all hustle and bustle.
Eva frowned them into silence. “Gently, guys. He’s having a bad night.”
Under her watchful eye, the paramedics put the boy on the gurney.
Mark turned to her. “I’ll take you home now.”
“Just one moment, okay?”
Eva walked towards the front desk.
The officer turned to Mark. “That’s quite a woman there. She’s got the rep of being the best substance-abuse doctor in the area. Works mostly with juveniles. Never gives up on them. It’s a real shame she’s not practicing any more. But who can blame her, huh?”
Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to expect an answer because Mark had none for him.
He knew so little about her. Then, again, he knew so much.
He knew what she was made of. Compassion and strength and brilliance.
And passion in everything she did.
She talked to the woman and the two officers who had just entered, giving them pleading smiles and gesturing with her hands. By the time she’d finished talking, they were nodding with her, agreeing to whatever she’d asked.
Both men gave her strong hugs and the desk clerk patted her hand.
She met him at the door. “I’m ready now.”
Mark wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he could take in any more information at the moment. He felt exhausted, over-extended, off balance. Even his worst night in the E.R. wasn’t as bad as this night.
“I don’t live far from here.”
Eva gave him simple directions and they ended up in front of a set of brick apartment buildings. Flower baskets hung from the stair rails, brightening up the plain exterior.
Mark parked and got out to open the door for her.
Instead of taking his hand to climb out of his truck, she said, “Come up with me for a moment.”
“I don’t think tonight’s the night for that.”
“I’ve got some experience in what will happen next with Aaron. We can talk.”
Mark thought about the days ahead. They would not be easy. The more he knew, the better. “Okay.”
When Eva took his hand, it seemed more like she was helping him onto solid ground than he was helping her out of his truck.
Help. Not something he was good at accepting.
But he guessed that was about to change.
CHAPTER NINE
EVA’S APARTMENT WAS on the cluttered side. Magazines and mail on the kitchen table. Tennis shoes in the living room. A blanket and pillow on the couch.
Mark had slept on his couch plenty after the divorce. While he would have told his buddies, if they had asked, that he’d fallen asleep watching television, the truth was the bed had seemed too big and cold.
Eva laid her sweater across the top of a recliner in the living room. “It’s a little late for coffee. How about decaf tea?”
“Sure.” Tea, particularly decaf, wasn’t his thing, but it would give him something to do with his hands. He usually wasn’t the fidgety sort, but he usually didn’t have nights like tonight either.
Eva filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove top. “Have a seat anywhere.”
Mark moved a romance novel off the couch, deciding he liked the lived-in look. He’d grown up in a house that had looked like a photograph in a designer magazine. His mom’s interior designer had put the rooms together for an outsider’s admiration instead of for the family’s comfort.
No designer had ever come within a hundred yards of Eva’s house. Her style was what his mother would sneeringly call garage-sale chic. But Eva called it home—a much better style, in his opinion.
He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. Eva’s house gave him a vibe like he was welcome to stop in any time, no need to call ahead.
The kettle began to sing so Eva poured the hot water into two oversized give-away mugs and then floated the tea bags on top.
She handed him a mug before seating herself at the other end of the couch. “I always thought the best part of hot tea was the dunking part. Otherwise I prefer it iced with lots of sugar.”
Obligingly, he dunked the tea bag. “You’ve got experience in police matters?”
“And in teens in trouble.”
“Aaron’s not...” Mark swallowed. “I guess he is, isn’t he?”
Eva explored the contents of her mug as she dunked her tea bag. “Ricky spent three years in prison for drug distribution.” She looked up from her mug. “My husband was the one to arrest him and take him in.”
Mark sipped at his overly strong tea. “And I thought I was having a bad day.”
“We’d been married about three months by then. I was in my first year of residency, working at the free clinic. Ricky had just turned eighteen and his girlfriend—now his wife, Susan—was four months pregnant with Selma. It was a wild ride.” She set her mug on the floor rug. “It wasn’t Ricky’s first offense but it was his last. Getting him off the streets saved his life.”
Mark mulled over what she’d said, trying to see how that related to Aaron. “But Aaron doesn’t do drugs.”
“Have you had him tested?”
“I’d know. I’m a doctor, trained to see that kind of thing.”
“There’s a reason doctors frown on treating anyone close to them. Objectivity and family don’t mix.” She clasped her hands together. “Aaron might not do drugs, but he does trouble. And that will land him in places he shouldn’t be in. And it might get him injured or even killed.”
“You’re being a bit dramatic here, aren’t you? All he was doing was driving too fast. Then he got mouthy, like a lot of teens do.” Mark gripped his mug. His own mouth was saying things he’d rather it didn’t but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I’m not the one who needs the lecture.”
“A lecture won’t do it. In general, teenagers don’t listen. He needs some heavy-duty counseling. The whole family needs it. And he needs to be evaluated for drugs of all kinds, illegal and over-the-counter. Not just the standard drug test.”
“He’s not doing drugs. He wouldn’t even know where to get them. He’s just a kid.” Mark rubbed the tension that was drawing his eyebrows together. He felt anger rise in him, an anger that had no clear direction. “He had some bruises. They may have roughed him up a little.”
“I know the men who brought him in. They only did what they had to.” Eva reached for Mark’s hand, but he kept it tightly gripped around his mug. “He’s six-two and over two hundred twenty pounds. And he was out of control. What if one of those policemen had needed to use force to contain him tonight? What if he’d resisted worse than he did? A situation like that can escalate out of control in a heartbeat.”
Mark would need names to give to Tiffany for a follow-up investigation. “How do you know those officers?”
“They worked with my husband.”
“What did you tell them as we were leaving?”
“To keep him safe tonight. Private cell. Twenty-four-hour monitoring. As a special favor to me.”
“They’d do that for you?”
“I’m a policeman’s widow as well as a respected doctor. They’d do a lot for me.”
“But not release him to me tonight.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want to do what’s best for Aaron and I don’t think getting off with nothing but a ride to the police station would be enough for
him.”
“Tough love? Like your brother in prison? You don’t even know him. Aaron’s not like that.”
“Not like what? Disrespectful of authority? Not interested in school? Thinking he’s smarter than the average cop on the street? Wanting the thrill of going outside the boundaries of the law? Putting himself and others in danger?”
Mark gripped the mug so tightly that finer china would have crushed. Yes, Aaron was like that.
He had the strongest urge to put his arm around Eva and pull her close, to feel her strength, to find comfort there.
He settled for laying his arm along the back of the couch.
Eva crossed her leg under her, which inched her towards him.
“So what’s going to happen next?”
“Your wife—”
“Ex-wife.”
“Your ex-wife is talking to the right people to have Aaron released to you. If the judge agrees to release Aaron into your custody, you’ll be responsible for enforcing whatever restrictions they give him. That could be anything from a curfew to house arrest.”
“House arrest.”
“It’s up to the judge, who will probably consider recommendations of the attorneys. Odds are the judge will agree to release Aaron to you. Jails are crowded and first-timers can pick up too many bad habits from repeat offenders.” She rubbed between her eyes. “But, then, he’s not a first-time offender, is he? I don’t know what the judge will do. It’s according to who you get.”
“You had him put by himself. There’s a danger that if he’s put with those repeat offenders, possibly gang members, they could hurt him?”
Reluctantly, Eva nodded. “It’s a possibility.”
Mark took a sip of tea but had a hard time swallowing it. “If the judge lets him out, then what happens?”
“You’ll get a court date. In the meantime, your lawyer will be talking to the juvenile district attorney’s office, trying to sort things out before court.”
“What are some of the typical deals?”
“Counseling is a big one and goes with almost every deal. Family as well as individual and group therapy. Community service happens fairly often.”
“What kind of community service?”
“Various things. Working at the animal shelter. Painting the recreation centers around town. Working in a food kitchen on weekends. It’s really up to the judge and their creativity.”
“Aaron could use some of that.”
“Mark, I don’t want to oversimplify this. Assaulting a police officer is serious. Jail time is possible.”
“How will he go to school?”
“They have alternative schools inside the facilities. They’ve got to reach the maximum amount of students with their curriculum and a lot of these kids haven’t spent too much time inside a classroom, so the education isn’t the standard Aaron is used to.”
“If that happens, he won’t be able to play football.”
“There is more to life than high-school football.”
“Not to Aaron. It’s the only threat that’s worked to keep him in line. Ever since he was small, when my sister or I needed him to co-operate, we bribed him with the promise of private coaching time.” Mark felt like a total failure. “Maybe it’s time for a different method than threats and bribes.”
“Actually, a reward/punishment system is not a bad way to parent.” She scooted over next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“My sister is on a cruise. That’s why I haven’t even bothered to call her. What could she do?”
“Fly home?”
“To do what? Wring her hands and give me another person to take care of?”
He drew in a breath, drawing in the scent of her shampoo, drawing in the logic and order he needed to calm the chaos of his racing thoughts.
Eva gave him a probing look. What was she searching for?
Then she blinked and Mark saw sympathy there. He didn’t want her sympathy.
She leaned in close, inviting a comforting kiss.
What he wanted was her body. Her mouth. Her breath mingling with his. All those were a definite yes. But he wasn’t into sympathy sex.
Instead of meeting her lips with his own, he looked away.
His throat ached in protest.
She put her hand on his, probably unaware she’d even made contact.
He didn’t move his away. He may not take sympathy kisses, but he soaked up her sympathetic touch, especially when it came with that undertone of energy that poured life into his much-bruised spirit.
Mark found himself explaining, “We’re not much into sharing the load in my family, only into assigning blame.”
Why did he tell her these things? And why did he feel okay, even better, once he had, as if in the telling, he was lightening his load?
“Believe me, therapy can help with that. When everyone gets their say in a safe environment, a lot of that lopsidedness will begin to even out.”
“Tell me about family therapy.” Mark couldn’t even envision talking about his feelings in front of a stranger and letting that person judge the dynamics of their relationships.
“It’s different for everyone. The therapist may try to draw out thoughts and opinions each family member has kept private from each other to work out any underlying resentment or to make sure everyone’s needs are met. He or she may give practical tips for making things work better for everyone. Mandatory drug tests for Aaron. Maybe individual counseling for you and Aaron’s mother, too. It varies.”
“You’ve done it?”
She nodded. “Been the therapist and the patient.”
“You were the patient when your brother got into trouble?”
“And when my husband died.”
“How did it happen?”
“How did what happen?” she asked, her mind slow to click over from Aaron to herself.
But she made the switch before Mark clarified, “How did your husband die?”
Eva recognized Mark’s change of direction for what it was—self-preservation. The human psyche could only take so much intensity before it had to pull back.
“That’s a discussion for a different day.” Someday she would be able to talk about it. How many times would she tell herself about the someday that never seemed to come along before she stopped believing herself?
Or had it already happened? Indecision was one of the most crippling symptoms of PTSD, right up there with the nightmares and the flashbacks. Would Mark understand?
Somehow, she thought he might. What made her think that?
Gut instinct. While PTSD may have crippled her in many ways, she still had her gut instinct. She just had to be brave enough to trust it.
“You’re not over it yet, then,” Mark said.
Her instincts told her Mark needed some deep-down honesty to be with her. But her hesitation was pushing him away.
Mark shrugged his shoulders and rubbed at his neck. “I guess I’d better get home. I’m not sure why, though. This kind of thing makes an empty house even emptier, doesn’t it?”
Could she do it? Could she go with her impulse?
Eyes half-closed, she murmured to him, “If you leave, my house will be empty, too.”
Indecision flickered across his eyes. “Are you asking me to stay?”
She pulled her answer up from the core. “My husband gave me what I needed back then. But I’m not the same woman he married. I need something different. I need someone different.” Eva expected to feel guilty about admitting that. Instead, she felt more like the self she wanted to be.
“Yes. Stay.” She laced her fingers through his. “Please.”
“Why?” Even though he hadn’t moved at all, Eva felt like he was on the verge of pulling away.
�
�Why?” Did she need to spell it out? She swallowed down her sudden shyness. “Because I want you to touch me in all the right places. And I want to touch you back. I want to fill those empty places in you. And I want you to fill my empty places, too.”
As she looked into his eyes, they darkened so much she thought she might be falling into infinity. His voice was low and slow as he answered, “I’d like that.”
She gulped as a moment of panic overcame her. This was really going to happen. Did she really want this?
Then the panic turned into excitement as she thought about Mark’s hands on her body, cupping her breasts, running down the length of her thighs.
Yes, this was really going to happen and she wanted it. Now. With this man, who fit her like yin and yang. She wanted it, wanted it so badly it made her ache for his touch, his taste, his feel inside her.
Shivers started way down low, curling deep inside her. “I don’t believe I’ve shown you my bed yet. King-sized with a very firm mattress.”
She pulled him up off the couch. Not releasing his hand, she led him into her bedroom.
Her unmade bed looked ready, like it had been waiting for them.
She shoved her sleep shirt off the bed onto the floor then turned to him. “Not the sexiest of nighties, is it?”
“You’re the hostess here. You set the dress standards.”
“In that case, you’re overdressed.”
He whipped his shirt off. “Better?”
“Yes. Much. House rules and all.”
“I’ve got good company manners that way.” He gave her a grin that had a very serious undertone. “May I help you with your own shirt?”
“Yes, please. That would be lovely.” Mark’s knuckles grazed her stomach as he caught the edge of her T-shirt and pulled it up.
Obligingly, she raised her arms as he freed her from the restriction.
Mark’s face become passionate, entranced. “Wow.”
He reached out a finger to trace the cup of her bra. She leaned forward, wanting, wanting.
But he stopped millimeters short. “May I?”
“Yes, please.” She let a groan escape. “Oh, yes, please.”