I quickly gathered her up and brought her into the bedroom. Tonight would be one of those nights I didn’t bother to give her a bath but changed her into her pajamas and tucked her in.
I figured she couldn’t have gotten but so dirty during the day. Darcy and I cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom, so even while Gabby was crawling around on the floor, it was clean. Besides, a bath might wake her up and I didn’t want her awake all night. It would ruin her routine for the next day.
She was pretty much asleep when her head hit the pillow, but I still sat beside her and read a bedtime story. That was a tradition that was as much for me as it was for her. It felt comforting and reassuring to have something we could rely on every night. No matter where we were or what else was happening, we had our stories.
Now that night was settling in, the heat broke. Clayton encouraged me to turn off the air conditioning and open the windows. At first, I was resistant. Sleeping in stuffy heat was never something I enjoyed. And he had just put in the new unit. It seemed like a waste of glorious technology. As soon as I relented and let him throw open the huge windows at the front of the building, I knew I was wrong.
The sweet night air rushed in, freshening the entire space. It brushed against my skin and tingled on my face. I breathed it in deeply and smiled.
“See?” Clayton asked. “I told you.”
I couldn’t stop turning my face to the windows and drawing in the air as we sat and sipped cold beers to unwind. I loved the smell of this town. That definitely wasn’t something I ever thought I would say. Or think. On the list of requirements for where I wanted to settle, smell never even placed. But this air proved it should have. Every breath was so much fresher than the air I was used to back home.
The day caught up to me faster than I expected it to. I didn’t realize how tired I was until the three of us were sitting in the living room swapping stories and making jokes.
At the beginning of the conversation, I was perky and involved. Somewhere along the line, my responses slowed and it was mainly just the two of them laughing and talking. My eyes felt heavy and I was fighting to keep them open. Eventually, I stopped responding altogether and dropped off to sleep.
“You have got to be kidding,” Matteo said, his back still turned as he looked at the stove.
“I know, it’s awful,” I said, half laughing. It was silly, but part of me was afraid of how he would react. He had come home from a long day of work and had been looking forward to the dinner I told him I was making. It was complicated and required making several things at once, and I had burned the chicken pretty badly. It now sat on the stove, blackened on the tips, and I had placed the carving utensils close by. We would have to cut past the skin to get anything not burned.
Matteo placed his hands on either side of the stove and I looked up at him from the laundry I had distracted myself with folding. Putting the folded shirt down on the stack, I swiped my hair away from my eyes and tried to smile. If I made it silly, he would see it as silly. We could always just order out.
“Sorry, babe,” I said. “I know you were looking forward to it.”
“Sorry?”
His tone cut me off, and I cocked my head to the side. I couldn’t tell if he was playing or not. It sounded so serious.
“I figured we could order some fried chicken from the place up the street,” I said. “I can go get it and the sides will be perfect with it. But if you cut past the skin, I’m sure—”
“It’s burned,” he growled.
“Yes, but if you cut past—”
“I said it’s burned! It’s ruined!” He shouted so loud that I took a step back.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. Something inside me was screaming I needed to get away. I needed to run for the door or the bedroom and lock myself inside. But Matteo wasn’t like that. He had to be playing.
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” he screamed and spun. I didn’t see the open backhand that brushed across my cheek, but I felt it like a bag of hammers. I crumpled to the floor as much in surprise as anything and looked wildly around the room. Matteo was standing above me.
I scrambled backward, keeping eye contact with him. He didn’t move but eventually looked down at his hands. His breath was shallow and I watched his chest heave in and out as rage built even deeper inside him.
As soon as I felt like I was outside of the range of a lunging grasp, I stood and ran for the bedroom door, slamming it shut behind me and locking it. I slid down the wall beside the door and breathed heavily, possibly for the first time since he struck me. I felt like I should cry, but the tears weren’t there. I was too scared. My ears were still perked, listening for the sound of his footsteps.
Call the police. That’s what I need to do. I knew I needed to do it and had told myself I would do it if anyone ever put their hands on me. Get somewhere safe and call the cops. I was somewhere safe, behind a locked door, and I needed to call the cops.
But my phone was in the kitchen. We didn’t have a house phone because it seemed like an unnecessary expense these days, and I had set my cell on the table next to the laundry. Before Matteo came home, I had been listening to a cooking podcast. It was still waiting for me on pause next to the stack of Matteo’s folded shirts and my socks.
Then the rumbling, pounding sound of his footsteps, stomping their way through the hall, rattled me to attention. My back was still partially against the door and I steeled myself against it. A bellow came from somewhere deep in his chest. I recognized my name but not the words surrounding it. But they weren’t apologetic. Or remorseful. Or pleading.
The doorknob rattled and I held my breath. I felt him push on it and then pound in the center. He waited a few seconds and then pounded again.
“Unlock the door, Gianna,” he growled. “I want to apologize.”
I tried to stay silent, but the tears that had failed to come before started now. I couldn’t get air in my lungs, and I breathed in a low wailing sound. I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop it and trapped the tears against my lips. They tasted like salt.
The door slammed into my back and I rolled away instinctively. He must have kicked it. The door came off the hinge, breaking through the lock and bruising me deeply. As the door fell against the wall, I scrambled to get to my feet, but his arms were already there. He grabbed me by my elbows and I tried to flail at him.
“Stop it,” he said, almost calmly. “Stop fighting me.”
I tried to scream at him, to yell that he needed to leave me alone. To never touch me again. But the words wouldn’t come out. My eyes locked on his hands gripping my elbows and I yanked one away. I reared back to slap him. That was when stars filled my vision and I could feel the world spin.
I was vaguely aware of the smell of the wood under my nose. Fresh polish. I had mopped it this morning right after my shower. I loved having hardwood in my bedroom, and the smell of the pine-flavored polish was soothing to me. It smelled clean. But now, although I could smell it, it was tainted with something. Something I tasted in my back of my teeth.
I opened my eyes and saw what it was, dripping in tiny pools under me. Blood. One of my nostrils was dripping and I watched as a big bubble fell and joined the others, splashing up and spreading the red blood across the clean wooden floor.
Matteo stepped behind me and I fought against myself to push up against the floor and face him. I wanted him to see what he did to me. I wanted to look him in the eye.
When I turned, I noticed the left side of my vision was blurry. Only half of him came into focus, and he stood there for a moment, his hands loose by his sides like he didn’t just punch me in the face.
“We’ll go get the chicken together,” he said evenly. “Go wash up. I’ll clean the floor.”
I stared at him unbelievingly. There was silence for a few moments. Apparently too much silence. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly. All I could think of was how much more damage he could do. How quickly he could do it. He wasn’t even sweatin
g.
“I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “There. I’m sorry. Now get up. We need to eat.”
With that, he turned and went across the room, pushing the door against the wall so it sat steadily, and opened the closet in the hall. He pulled out a towel and some cleaner and set them down. Then he grabbed a hand towel and turned back to me.
“Here,” he said, a lift in his voice like he was helping me clean up a spilled drink. “For your nose.”
Chapter 17
Clayton
Most of the time, my Friday nights were spent at The Junction after being dragged there by Jesse and Shannon. As soon as I was able to escape from there, I went right back home to get sleep so I could be up bright and early Saturday morning to work the ranch. But that was before Gia.
For the last two weeks, I spent as much time with her as I possibly could. She did wonders for motivating me to work faster and get more done so I could squeeze every drop of time with her into my day.
I spent the last two Friday nights having dinner with Gia. One of them was another date, and the other, we shared with Darcy and Gabby. Last Saturday, I introduced the little girl to a playground on the other side of town.
It used to stand in the schoolyard, but the little one-room building had been closed for many years. A bigger, more modern school cropped up a few miles down the way, but families still flocked to the familiar grounds for picnics and play on the playground.
Gabby was enthralled by it. I had a feeling there would be many more days spent pushing her on the swings and trying to scramble up the jungle gym after her. At least, I hoped there would be. Few things in my life had ever given my heart a jump quite like seeing Gia laugh as she played with her adorable daughter. It was a kind of fun I didn’t expect. I remembered playing with my siblings growing up, but this was different.
Every minute of it made me grateful they’d decided to stay in Green Valley. It was what I’d hoped for, but I didn’t allow myself to expect it. Now they were moved in. I wasn’t showing up at the hotel to visit her and wondering if she would be gone soon.
Her finally being moved all the way into her new apartment gave me a sense of relief I could barely describe. Sitting around eating pizza I picked up from my favorite shop down the road and sipping cold beer felt like a celebration after the day’s hard work. It might not be as raucous and festive as gathering up with everybody at the bar, but it was perfect. There was nowhere I would rather be than right there in that living room, breathing in the fresh night air and telling cheesy jokes.
Nowhere I’d rather be than right there with Gia.
I glanced over at her and saw she was still asleep. I thought she had just drifted off during one of the long, complicated tales Darcy was weaving and would snap back awake. Instead, it looked like she’d settled in for the long haul.
Darcy glanced down the hallway, then back at me.
“I’m going to go check on Gabby,” she said. “Her first night in the new apartment and all. She’s gotten used to sleeping at the hotel. With all the new sounds and everything, I don’t want her waking up and being scared.”
There was something in her voice that made me wonder about that explanation. It sounded good. It also sounded like someone trying to reassure themselves. That little girl had been perfectly happy all day. She didn’t have any trouble falling asleep and we hadn’t heard a single peep from her since Gia put her to bed.
Seeing her fast asleep and happy was about making Darcy feel better. Maybe there was a part of her that wasn’t as eager to get started on this new life as Gia. I always figured the three of them were running together. The two women shared something they wanted to put in their past.
Now I wondered if they might both be running, but from different things.
As Darcy disappeared into the back of the apartment, I gathered up our pizza dishes and cups to bring them to the kitchen. Usually, I’d wash them, but I didn’t want the sound of the sink to wake Gia up. The living area, dining area, and kitchen combined were barely the size of a bullfrog’s backside. If I turned the faucet on, the sound of the water rushing into the sink would be sure to jostle her awake.
Putting the dishes into the sink, I went back into the living room and got my boots. Sitting down beside Gia again, I put my shoes on to prepare to leave. She looked deeply asleep, so I got a blanket from one of the boxes and carefully draped it over her. As the fabric settled over her, she stirred and I went still. I thought I was being gentle enough not to disturb her, but she shifted and wriggled slightly.
Not wanting to disrupt her even more, I slowly took my hands away. Suddenly, she let out a whimper. I wasn’t even touching the blanket anymore, but something was upsetting her. She shook harder and whimpered again. The movement made her face turn toward the lamp Darcy set up against the wall.
Light fell across her cheeks and I saw tears streaming down them. That definitely wasn’t about me putting the blanket over her. She was having a horrible nightmare. Something was tormenting her even in her sleep.
Seeing her react like that gave me the same sinking feeling that I got when I first saw Jesse go through an episode. It was a disturbing, helpless feeling. There was nothing I could do for him when something triggered his PTSD.
It took a long time for me to really accept that. When I saw my younger brother so terrified, so on edge, all I wanted to do was save him. It was just like when he was a little boy and played out on the ranch.
Jesse always liked to play hard. He ran and jumped, climbed on everything he could find. It was good for him, but it also made for a decent number of tumbles and accidents.
When they happened, one of us older boys would scoop him up and tell him he was safe. We checked whatever was hurt and made sure he would be all right. We let him cry if he needed to, then told him he was strong and brave. When he was calm again and ready to go back to playing, we found out what made him get hurt and fixed it.
I was only a few years older, but it made me feel better to protect my little brother.
We couldn’t do that now. When something happened that sent him into an episode, we couldn’t just sweep him up into our arms and make him feel safe. He was somewhere else. In those terrifying moments, his mind brought him away from wherever he was. He wasn’t at the ranch. He wasn’t in Montana. Those episodes brought him right back into the turmoil of the desert.
That kept him away from us. We couldn’t see what was hurt the way we could a skinned knee or a bruise. There was no blood to wash away, and a pile of ice chips from the cooler wrapped up in a bandana wouldn’t help. Even worse, we couldn’t find what hurt him and stop it from happening again.
All we could do was be there for him. We could watch and hope nothing serious happened to him before he came back into reality. Things were changing. They were getting better. We brothers were doing everything we could to help Jesse. But it was still hard. We still couldn’t step in and save him.
I felt much of that same helplessness now as I looked at Gia. She continued to stir and whimper, even with her eyes tightly closed in her sleep. We learned from Jesse’s doctor never to try to interfere with one of his episodes.
We could talk to him and should do what we could to keep him safe and stop him from doing anything dangerous. But we should never try to snap him out of it or force him back into reality. It could be detrimental to his mental health but also harmful to us. Unlike when he was a little boy and fell while playing, his reaction wasn’t just crying or being scared. He could get violent and unpredictable. Attempting to force him out of his episode could turn those violent actions toward us.
That wasn’t what was happening with Gia. She was sleeping, having a bad dream. The tears streaming down her cheeks told me there was no violence in her. Resting my hand on her shoulder carefully, I gently shook her to wake her up. For a second, she resisted.
When she did snap awake, she was close to hysterics. Her eyes wide, she made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a scream
. She tried to scramble back across the couch away from me, shaking her head frantically. It was like she was seeing something else. Somebody else.
“Gia, it’s me,” I said. “It’s Clayton. You’re fine. Everything’s all right.”
Gasping for breath, Gia looked around. Her hands gripped the couch beside her and she grabbed onto the blanket to pull it up like she was trying to cover herself. She was trying to protect herself from something and it made my heart ache to see it. I sat down beside her and opened my arms to gather her up. As soon as I pulled her close, she seemed to realize who I was and let out a sob. Clinging desperately to me, she tucked her head against my neck.
Her fingers clutched my shirt so tightly the fabric started to pull and squeeze around my throat, but I didn’t say anything. She could hold me as tightly as she needed to. Whatever was upsetting her, I wanted to keep her safe from it in any way I could.
The feeling I had while I sat there holding her against me was something I had never experienced before. I’d never felt anything like this. It wasn’t just about the intense feelings I had for the woman I was cradling. It was also the fury I experienced thinking about what might be hurting her. Deep inside me, there was a true burning anger searing my belly. I wanted to find whoever had scared her this badly and make sure they were never able to do it again.
Down the hall, Darcy poked her head out of the bedroom. A look of concern etched her face.
“Is she okay?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“She had a nightmare,” I said. Gia moved closer to me, like she was trying to climb up into my lap. This was a woman who had been through a lot. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Gia let out a shuddering breath and pulled back to look at me. I brushed a strand of hair away from her face and stroked her cheek. “What’s going on, honey? What has you so scared? Are you running from something? Or someone?”
Emotion welled up in her face and she started to shake. Her eyes widened like she was fighting to keep more tears from pouring out of them, but it wasn’t working. She nodded.
His Dirty Hands (The Montgomery Boys Book 2) Page 10