by Juli Valenti
“What was what?” she asked aloud, answering his question with a question. Her brother looked surprised she hadn’t signed, and so was she, but, honestly, she didn’t have the energy anymore to sign. Even the thought of lifting her arms was too much to contemplate. Still, Dean continued.
“With Marks? You two looked awfully cozy.”
Drew sighed. She didn’t want to try to explain, not that she knew either. Plus it wasn’t any of his business. “Nothing,” she lied, resorting back to half-hearted ASL. “He ensured me I wasn’t going to be in any trouble is all.”
For once, luck seemed to be on her side because he didn’t question her further. Usually he could see straight through her, their twin link giving her away. Still, whether he believed her or not, he didn’t call her on it. He did, however, continue on.
“There’s something about him, Drew. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked you. But,” he hesitated, “that doesn’t make sense. You’re freaking seventeen. You’re in the hospital wrecked to hell and you can’t…”
Her brother must’ve realized he crossed the line, long before his hands stopped moving – not finishing his sentence. She hadn’t needed to be reminded that she looked awful – she already knew. Add to that the cruel non-mention of her deafness … Sure, he hadn’t finished the statement, but he didn’t have to. It was written on his face, along with regret and pain of his own.
Realistically Drew knew he wouldn’t intentionally hurt her, with words or otherwise, but his callousness was harsh. Everything, all her wounds – both visible and not-so-visible ones – were simply too fresh. Unbidden tears filled her eyes and trailed unchecked down her cheeks. Drew hated that she was so weak she’d cry like this, and that hate turned her sadness into anger.
“Everybody out!” she demanded, no longer caring how her words sounded or if she was shouting. “Thank you for my party. I appreciate it, really, but get out … please.”
Manners peeked through her emotions but they didn’t make her words less real. She didn’t want to entertain anyone or even see anyone anymore. It amazed her how quickly she could go from happy and hopeful, enthralled, to depressed and angry in such a short amount of time.
Everyone nodded as they left, all shooting her looks of understanding or sympathy as they passed. She tried to express some semblance of grace and gratefulness, but probably failed. None of them seemed to mind.
Soon it was just her and Dean. Clearly he hadn’t thought she’d included him in her dismissal. Raising his hands to sign, she shook her head and raise a hand of her own to silence him.
“No, Dean. You too. I love you, happy birthday. The door is over there.” Her brother winced at her words but she ignored his reaction. She hadn’t been upset with him in a long time, but she was now.
Turning her head away, she allowed silent tears to fall. After what seemed like forever, the weight beside her vanished. He placed a hand on hers and kissed her head before moving away. Still, she didn’t turn.
Seconds passed, minutes, who knew how many, before Drew finally straightened her head, finding the room blessedly empty. Sighing, she awkwardly lowered the bed and shifted uncomfortably. Once her tears subsided, she closed her eyes, mentally begging for sleep. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to win over pain; sleep overtook her and she welcomed the escape.
“No! Please, don’t! I swear I didn’t do it; I didn’t break the bowl,” she screamed, backpedaling on her butt, the wood floor cold beneath her hands. Despite her words he continued advancing toward her, his fist raised above his head.
“Don’t lie to me, you ungrateful little bitch,” he snarled at her, anger and hatred written on his face. “I work all fucking day, keeping a roof over your head and food on the table. How do you repay me?! By breaking an irreplaceable heirloom. It was your mother’s!”
Drew cringed at each spat word, his voice rising until he was screaming, the floor vibrating from it. She wanted to yell back. She hadn’t broken the damn bowl and he knew it. If he hadn’t been drunk, stumbling into the house and running into furniture, it wouldn’t have happened. Hell, she wasn’t even in the room when it happened. She had been upstairs in her room, reading. The loud shatter of glass had brought her down to check on things. Why had she cared if he was okay or hurt? Unfortunately she didn’t have an answer and was paying for her compassion.
A hand tangled in her hair, yanking her up harshly before she could back out of his reach. Searing pain lanced through her head and she scrambled, trying to get her feet underneath her. Excruciating seconds passed, her socks causing her to slip, and she finally stood steady. The relief to her scalp was fleeting though, as a meaty hand struck her. Shocked tears filled her eyes as she cradled her cheek.
It wasn’t the first time he’d hit her, but she was still surprised each time. As his fist came at her again she attempted to move, finding only a wall at her back and his free hand still tangled in her long red hair. The blow landed forcefully and he let go, simultaneously knocking Drew to her knees. She expected him to stop, too drunk to follow her down, but he didn’t. Instead, his heel replaced his fist, stomping on her thighs, her stomach.
Helpless, she curled into a ball as he continued screaming, continued beating her. Pleas fell unheard from her lips. Time passed slowly and quickly – each second an eternity but then he was gone. Her only remaining parent left her hurting on the floor, repeating ‘No, no, please, no,’ over and over.
Gentle shaking had Drew bolting upright, wetness coursing down her face. Heart beating frantically, breaths coming in pants, her eyes darted around the room. Panic filled her throat as she took in a man peering down at her. Unthinking, she shoved her hands outward, attempting to ward him off. A fist met his face and she gasped, recognition finally overpowering the dream fog, a second too late. It wasn’t the monster from her nightmares – he was the exact opposite. She’d inadvertently just punched a cop. Officer Marks.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, sure she was all but shouting yet unable to help it. Now you’ve done it, Drew. You just punched the guy you’re crushing on. The older, very handsome police officer you’re crushing on. “I’m so mortified! Are you okay?”
Every inch of her wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but there. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and clicked her heels a house would fall on her or however that story went. Anything would do; she didn’t want to face the handsome stranger she was drawn to. The handsome stranger she’d just punched. In the face.
“Drew, Drew,” he mouthed, his hands moving to rest on her shoulders. “I’m fine and you need to calm down – you’re going to hurt yourself moving like this.”
Doing as he told her, she allowed him to gently guide her back onto her pillows. Now that he mentioned it, the pain that’d started to increase at her party was even worse now, partly due to her abrupt movements. Shooting pains coursed to her ribs, her cheek, along with a throbbing from the burns on her hand. Marks must’ve read her face because he pressed the call button, summoning a new nurse and clearly asking for pain meds. Neither said anything as the woman came forward, drawing clear liquid into a syringe and reaching for Drew’s IV line.
“Wait,” she said, forcing both the cop and nurse to look at her. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.”
Regina, according to her hospital ID, turned to Officer Marks, frustrating Drew. Even worse, from the angle she was propped up at, everything they said was lost to her. She watched as he nodded, shook his head, and made motions with his hands. Whatever point he was making, he must’ve made it because the nurse glanced ad her, nodded, and hurried from the room.
Disliking being left in the dark, or silence as it were, Drew tapped the bed to get Marks’ attention. He turned and, without her having to ask, explained.
“She’s getting something less strong,” he said, his face serious. “Not that she’s happy about it, though.”
Regina reappeared in the room, holding up a new syringe. Speaking to Marks, Drew was at least ab
le to follow the conversation this time. Apparently Dr. Adams didn’t like her demand either and insisted when the weaker drug wore off there would be no discussion about the stronger. They nodded in understanding and allowed her to inject the drug into the tube connected to her hand. The liquid was almost cold as it entered her bloodstream and it was as if she could feel it spreading throughout her body. By the time it was just she and the policeman once more, her pain had dimmed to a dull roar.
“So, want to talk about the bad dream you were having? And, before you try to blow it off, don’t forget it was bad enough you punched me in the face when I woke you.”
Inwardly Drew groaned. She’d hoped, clearly in vain, that he’d forget with the medicine distraction. Nope. It seemed he wanted his pound of flesh.
“No,” she spoke aloud, suddenly wishing he knew sign language. Talking was taking a lot of her concentration and focus, ensuring she remembered each syllable and hoping they came out as she thought them. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The man beside her merely gazed at her, a thousand thoughts visibly crossing his expression. They were easy to read – he wanted to push for details, to demand she tell him everything. He didn’t, though. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes searching hers for answers to questions unspoken.
Sighing, she broke the connection between them and looked around. Balloons and flowers still filled the room, but it wasn’t bright like before. It was dark, the only light in the room coming from two small lamps near the bed. A glance at the clock on the wall informed her it was almost four-fifteen in the morning. It was very early, or late, depending on how one looked at it. She couldn’t help but wonder why he was there, especially at that hour. Needing to know, she repeated the question to him.
“I don’t know,” he told her, his lips turning down in a frown. A crease formed on his forehead as he moved to position himself directly in front of her. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to check on you – I’d expected you to be sleeping and didn’t intend to wake you but you were so upset … Anyway, is it okay I’m here? Do you want me to leave?”
Drew hesitated before answering, taking a hard look at the man. He looked tired, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. She also noticed he hadn’t changed, still wearing his Chance PD uniform. But, where it had been pressed and perfect earlier, it was now wrinkled. The look on him was just … wrong to her. Then again, he could be like that all the time and she wouldn’t know, but she didn’t think so. Officer Marks oozed military, structure – not the ragged, tired cop she saw now.
“It’s fine, don’t leave,” she told him, unsure of what else to say. You could invite him to get comfortable … maybe watch TV, her brain supplied and she silently huffed. Absurd, she thought back, though the idea stayed with her. Sure, she’d have to explain that she could watch with subtitles, if they had them, and that there wasn’t any pressure, of course. Maybe?
“Think it’d be okay if I stayed for a while? Maybe we could watch some TV?” He beat her to it. “Wait, that’s dumb … sorry,” he added, half to himself. She couldn’t help but smile and place a hand on his, nodding.
“Subtitles,” she told him in explanation before scooting over to make room for him on the small bed. Marks stared at her for a heartbeat before inclining his head. Drew was certain he was about to turn her down, yet he surprised her again by slowly climbing over her and into the empty space.
As his weight settled in beside her, one arm moving to snake around her neck and shoulders, Drew was surprised by the immediate comfort she felt. She stiffened for a moment, unfamiliar with another’s kind touch other than her brother’s, before letting herself relax. She pulled the remote up and put it in his lap, scooting down and resting her head on his chest. Marks’ heart was beating rhythmically in his chest, his breathing slightly increased, but he made no motion to move her. Instead, his hand fell to hold her shoulder.
Drew craned a little to see his face, forcing the question into her eyes. Is this okay? she was asking. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, or to cross any lines that may be already drawn in the sand. Sure, she knew he was probably already breaking a few rules by even being there with her, by sitting with her, but she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to stay where she was, encircled in his warmth. For reasons she couldn’t explain, didn’t want to even contemplate, she felt safe in his arms.
Marks gazed down at her, a small smile playing on his lips before he kissed her forehead, his fingers tickling a small trail along her skin. With that, he picked up the remote, pressed the closed captioning button to activate subtitles, and started channel surfing.
Chapter Six
Jensen
You are crossing so many lines right now, dirt bag, Jensen’s mind berated him, as it had been for the last hour or more. Since the moment he decided to come up to the hospital, his subconscious had been running on non-stop commentary.
After he’d left Drew to her birthday celebration, he’d gone to the station to write up his reports from the incident at her house. Because law enforcement, as well as fire department and EMS, had been brought into it, they couldn’t pretend it had never happened. Instead, he followed along with Carrigan’s plan, writing that the fire had been accidental, seemingly caused by a candle in Drew’s room. Luckily for them, the fire marshal had been a childhood friend of his partner, and also agreed to the lie. It hadn’t taken him long to finish and he sat staring at the screen of his computer for a long time, seeing nothing. So long, in fact, that he hadn’t heard his partner come up behind him.
“Good thing you did today,” Carrigan remarked, startling Jensen into sitting up straighter. Still, he said nothing. He knew if he engaged in conversation, it would only lead his partner into asking him questions, questions to which he didn’t have an answer.
Instead, Jensen nodded and shut his laptop down, grabbing his cell off his desk. “Been a long day. I’m headed home for some shut eye. Morning is gonna come entirely too soon.”
Without waiting for a reply, he took off, making his way to his patrol car and to his house. The place he’d purchased on arriving in Chance wasn’t much, but it was his. A small one-bedroom cottage, formerly owned by Mrs. Ewing, it had been well kept until she could no longer do so. Jensen had felt so bad about her having to sell it, he’d given her five grand over her asking price – it was the least he could do. He’d seen the tears in her eyes when she’d explained having to move in with her son on the other side of town; it’d been a tough thing for the retired teacher to sell.
Since he’d moved in a year or so ago, he’d done little to the inside. He was content to keep the old-school wallpaper on the walls and the dark, thick carpet. It made it feel more like a home – besides, it wasn’t like he entertained or anything in it. Usually he was only home when he finished a shift, to eat and go to sleep. Other than that, he lived his job, spending more time at the station than practically anywhere else.
Moving slowly, he unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on the hook by the door. His father would’ve reamed him out about gun safety, demanding he lock it up, but he didn’t really care. No one could get hurt by a weapon if they weren’t anywhere near it. Since he was alone, it didn’t matter. His wallet, badge, and phone went next, on the convenient shelf above his belt hook – one of the few additions he’d put in the home. It was so much simpler to drop all his junk off in one place when he got home then have to scramble to find them when he was in a hurry.
Jensen headed for the kitchen, his stomach screaming in hunger. It hadn’t dawned on him he’d barely eaten in the past two days, too caught up in Drew to even think about food. The last thing he’d eaten was a bite or two of birthday cake, and the frosting he’d wiped from her lips. God, her lips, he thought before shaking his head and roughly pulling the freezer door open. Frustrated with the direction of his thoughts, though unsurprised by them, he yanked a frozen dinner out and stuffed it into the microwave, mashing the cook buttons on the old machine much harder than
necessary.
He just couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with him. What was it about her? He’d asked himself that same question, on repeat, over and over, and was still no closer to understanding the way he felt about her. It wasn’t like he’d been deprived on the woman front. Jensen knew he was a decent-looking guy – he’d never had a problem picking up a woman. They loved him, flocked to him at bars, and he’d been used to taking one home from time to time. Sure, he wasn’t looking for anything serious from any of them, and made sure they knew it, and they never seemed to mind, always content with what they could get. After their short time was over, they’d leave, and he’d never think about them again. So why was he so hung up on Drew? She was seven-fucking-teen. She was bruised, battered, burned, and beaten. Hell, she was just this shy of broken. Yet, something about her called to him, drew him to her.
When his dinner was cooked, he sat at the bar counter and ate. The food was tasteless to him, and, not for the first time, he wished he could cook more than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then again, even if he had the cooking skills, he probably wouldn’t have had the energy, or will, to make anything better. Instead he was stuck with soggy Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes. Not that he cared.
Jensen wondered if Drew had eaten anything more than her birthday cake. He hadn’t asked beforehand, hadn’t even thought about it, and kicked himself about it. Why, why why why, are you obsessing over that girl? His subconscious all but groaned, exasperated. Once again, he couldn’t answer, and threw his garbage into the trash, his fork in the sink, unwashed.
Exhausted, he sat in a recliner and turned on the TV, letting it stay on the default channel, not really watching it. It was background noise, noise he hoped would drown out his own thoughts, his own questions, his own analyzing of his actions. He was tired, emotionally and physically, and simply didn’t want to think about the last forty-eight hours anymore. The problem was, though, that his brain wasn’t on board with the plan.