by Nicole Helm
“All right. New ice pack. Some ibuprofen. Anything else you want?”
“Will you lie with me?” she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“That’s never something you have to ask,” he managed to say, though his voice was rough. “Never.”
He placed his supplies on the nightstand and crawled into bed, lying next to her on his side. She reached out and linked her fingers with his. He removed the watery ice pack from her cheek and replaced it with the bag of frozen food. She’d need some bandages for those scratches, but trying to reduce the swelling seemed more important.
Her lips curved on one side—the good side. “Thank you for not saying I told you so. I’m not sure I could have dealt with that tonight.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t want to tell her that. He hadn’t told her anything. He’d failed by stepping back, stepping away. Path of least resistance. No I told you sos.
Her index finger trailed across the back of his hand. “It’s okay that you wanted to.”
“I don’t want to. I want to go back in time and not listen to you is what I want to do, but I can’t do that.”
“No, you can’t.” She looked at their linked hands. “If there was time travel available, I’d go back a little farther than that.”
“How far?”
She reached out with her free hand, ran her index finger down the length of his nose. “You can come with.” Her face scrunched up and she adjusted the bag on her cheek.
Trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, Marc grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen and shook a few out. “Take these. I can’t stand watching you wince every five seconds. Hopefully they’ll help.”
She sat up and took the pills, washed them down with the glass of water he handed her. Then, as if the energy to sit up was too much, she wilted back into the pillow. “Thank you.”
“What are you thanking me for?”
“I’ve never had someone take care of me before. At least that I remember. I guess when I was a baby. But, mostly, it’s just been me. I know you don’t want my gratitude, but I want you to know that it means something to me.” She cleared her throat. “So I’m going to lean a bit, because I need it, but don’t think I’m weak.”
“Tess, I could never think you’re weak.”
“I didn’t want them to arrest him.” She closed her eyes. “I knew they had to. I knew I should want it, but I didn’t. Not really.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and he reached out to brush it away, his own emotion clogging his throat.
But he had to be strong. So he was. “You can’t blame yourself. Anything that he’s done, ever, you can’t blame yourself for that.”
“I know that.” She blinked her eyes open, staring at the ceiling, eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t always feel that, unfortunately. I’m so afraid that’s weak.”
He shifted, gingerly slipping his arm under her neck, drawing her near. She rested her good cheek on his shoulder, and he leaned his cheek against her head.
“I love you, Tess.”
She expelled a breath against his neck. “I know. You have no idea how glad I am that you do.”
It released at least a fraction of the tension he felt inside. He hadn’t been able to keep her safe, and he couldn’t fix this, but he could give her something. That would have to be enough.
* * *
TESS COULDN’T SLEEP. She stared at the dark ceiling above her, counted the rise and fall of Marc’s breathing, but she couldn’t drift off.
Her cheek ached and burned and her ice pack of vegetables had long gone limp. But she didn’t want to wake up Marc. She didn’t want to move.
Her body felt like a lead weight. Like everything that had ever happened to her was holding her down on the bed. Or maybe it was just the comfort of lying next to someone, knowing he cared, knowing he loved her. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to leave the warmth and comfort of someone who would give her ice packs and bring her painkillers and sleep next to her.
But her father was in jail. She had put him there. No matter what comfort Marc gave, she couldn’t get over that. She couldn’t pretend that it didn’t matter. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t feel at fault. Because even if it was pathetic, the blame stifled any attempt at getting angry.
She wanted to feel angry. She wanted to be able to rage against the man who had hit her in the face in the dark. She wanted to be the kind of person who knew it was wrong, who knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had nothing to blame herself for.
But she wasn’t that person. She felt guilt and blame and shame and none of the anger or righteousness that should accompany a vicious, violent and premeditated attack.
Disgusted with herself and her thoughts, Tess got out of bed. She walked quietly to the bathroom in Marc’s hallway. She flipped on the light, winced at the change in brightness, and then winced again because the first wince hurt her face.
She caught sight of herself in mirror for the first time. She hadn’t wanted to look. The pain lingering despite the ice pack and ibuprofen was enough evidence to know it was bad. But it was even worse than she had expected.
Almost the entire side of her face was swollen and covered in already purpling bruises. There were scratches across her cheek, although none of them were too deep.
One blow. One simple strike against her cheek had done a spectacular amount of damage. Inflicted by her father. It shouldn’t be a surprise. Things had been escalating this way for months, years, maybe her whole life? Maybe this was the inevitable conclusion of a daughter certain she could fix her father despite all evidence to the contrary.
Tess forced herself to keep looking at the injuries on her face. She needed to memorize them. She needed to commit each scratch, each bruise, each swelling bump to the forefront of her mind so that she would never forget.
In fact... She tiptoed out of the bedroom, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, then tiptoed back. She pulled up the camera, took a picture. Maybe it could act as some kind of reminder.
She couldn’t help him. She’d never helped him. Nothing was ever going to change. This was the end. She could not allow herself to ever go back. This had to be it.
So she stood in front of the mirror willing herself to be angry, hurt, devastated. She willed herself to feel everything so deeply, so painfully that she would never believe his bullshit, or her own, again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
IT WAS STRANGE, driving his Bluff City police cruiser to work without Tess by his side. A few weeks wasn’t all that long in the grand scheme of things, but every day he’d worked at BCPD, Tess and her flowery perfume had been right there.
Instead she was on his couch watching some DVDs and hopefully enjoying at least a few seconds of her day.
Okay, probably not enjoying.
He wished he could stay with her. Wished he could be with her for at least today, and if things were different he might have taken the day off. But he did not expect Granger to have kept his mouth shut last night. No, he expected Granger to have all sorts of stories spread around the department by now.
While he didn’t care, because they could all go fuck themselves, he knew Tess would care. Did care. That was the last thing she needed to come back to whenever she was able to come back.
Marc parked his cruiser in the department parking lot. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be allowed to go alone today or if someone would be taking Tess’s place as field training officer, but either way he did not foresee it being a very fun eight hours.
Marc decided to go straight to Franks’s office. It would be easier than trying to track down someone who might already be on duty. However, before he got to Franks’s office, Granger appeared.
“Santino.”
“Granger.” He gave a polite nod and tried to step arou
nd him, but the idiot stood there in his plainclothes looking way too smug.
“Guess you took my ‘she doesn’t fuck cops’ as a personal challenge.”
It took everything in his power not to slam his fist into the guy’s mouth. “Why the hell do you keep showing up, Granger?”
“Work here, remember?”
“Yeah, and you’re on evening shift. Yet somehow you were on midnight shift last night. And now it’s morning and you’re still here.”
“Wanted to catch the captain.” The little smirk he gave sent Marc’s teeth on edge.
He should walk away. He should absolutely ignore this guy and move on, but...but... “Make you feel important to tattle?”
“I’m looking out for the good of the department. The fact of the matter is, Tess’s pussy already has every guy here by the balls and I don’t think—”
Marc grabbed a handful of Granger’s T-shirt and shoved him into the wall. Hard. He’d never rammed someone against a wall in anger before. Occasionally out of necessity, if a criminal got a little out of control, but never because he was angry.
He was angry now. Violently so. His free fingers curled into a fist and he could imagine, he could picture with absolute clarity his fist bashing into Granger’s nose.
“Santino.”
Marc closed his eyes, just for a second. Captain Franks. He dropped Granger’s shirt, had to force his gaze away from the asshole’s smirking face.
“Captain.”
“My office.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Enjoy,” Granger muttered once Captain was out of earshot. “And if you were thinking you’d be able to keep it on the down low for precious fucking Tess, well, it’s too damn late for that. Captain knows she’s a useless slut. He’s probably fucked her a few times him—”
Even knowing it had every possibility of getting him fired, Marc cocked his fist and rammed it right into Granger’s jaw.
Granger stumbled backward, but he didn’t fall. He righted himself then charged Marc. It was easy to shove him away, but Granger kept coming. Until Captain called their names, jerking his door open so hard it banged against the wall.
“Santino. I said my office. Now. Granger, go get yourself cleaned up and then wait.”
“Captain, he—”
“Do it,” Captain barked. “Inside. Now,” he said to Marc.
Marc nodded, trying to find a way to even his breathing, to get rid of some of the unsteady anger still pumping through him.
He should have been above it. Should have waved off Granger’s words as the whining of a pathetic piece of shit. Instead, he’d jeopardized his job. All for one satisfying punch to the face.
Although it had been pretty satisfying.
“Sit.”
Marc did as Franks instructed. He sank into an uncomfortable chair against the wall next to the door. Franks stood in front of his desk, expression grave.
“Santino, I don’t know how they did things back in your old department. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but this kind of behavior—”
“Unacceptable. I know, sir.” Marc sat in one of the chairs, ramrod straight, staring at the wall in front of him. “I apologize. I lost my temper, and it’s inexcusable.”
Franks’s frown went deeper into a scowl. “We don’t know each other that well, Santino. I know Granger can have a bit of a mouth, and this incident last night...” The captain looked incredibly uncomfortable. He turned away from Marc, then back again. “I’d like to hear your rundown of events.”
“Sir?”
“I’ve seen Stumpf’s report. Granger’s been on and on about...things. I want to hear what your role was. Then we’ll discuss your altercation with him.”
“I—” Marc cleared his throat, trying to remember his role. Even if Granger had been an asshole telling everyone he and Tess were sleeping together, it didn’t mean Marc had to give everyone that impression.
It was none of anyone’s business.
“Camden has been having a few run-ins with her father. She received a call that he was threatening to commit suicide, and so she went to check on him. She’d dealt with similar situations with him before and was concerned about getting anyone involved for fear he’d go through with it.”
“You know all this because?”
“She told me.” At Franks’s raised eyebrow, Marc had to force himself to unclench his jaw. “I was with her at the time.”
“At...” Franks looked at some papers on his desk. “Three in the morning?”
“Yes.”
Franks sighed. “Do you know the rules about this sort of thing?”
He almost went the what sort of thing route, but he really doubted Franks would appreciate that. Besides, there wasn’t any denying what was going on. “As far as I know the only rules against people...having relationships is if it goes as far as marriage.”
“And you understand why?”
“I guess I’ve never thought about it.” Sure, he’d thought about one of them having to leave if things got that far, but never the reason behind it.
“We can’t, as a department, police who you choose to spend your time with, but when it comes to lawfully combining your lives, we can’t send you both into dangerous situations. It becomes an issue of family, and safety. We can’t in good conscience sacrifice that since we’re here to protect the safety of Bluff City.”
Marc didn’t know what to say to that. Any of this.
“Now, you’ve only been here a few weeks, so maybe this is all overkill, but I have worked with Tess for ten years and I feel like I know her well enough.”
“Not enough to know what was happening with her father.” He immediately regretted saying it when Franks’s mouth firmed into a thin, almost invisible, line.
“The point is, I’m choosing to trust you and Camden. Your personal lives are your personal lives, as long as that does not affect your work. Should things take a turn for the legally binding side, we’ll need to discuss this further. But as long as it remains a separate issue, I want nothing to do with it.”
That was...very diplomatic, and while he knew it’d be a relief to Tess, there was still a whole department of side eyes and whispers to deal with.
“As for Granger, I’ll have a talk with him. Stay out of each other’s way, and no more altercations. As it is, I’m going to have to formally write you up. It’ll go in your file, and as long as there are no other incidents, it’ll be expunged after a year. That being said, two write-ups during field training will lead to termination. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You’re going to be riding with Gordon until Camden gets back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can go now.”
Marc nodded, got out of his chair and stiffly walked toward the door. He wasn’t fired. He was barely in trouble. He didn’t have the energy reserves to process all that.
“Oh, and, Santino?”
Marc paused in the doorway, waiting for some kind of snide comment about his relationship with Tess, or a warning about getting in fights in the precinct.
“Give Tess my regards. She’s one of my best officers.” He looked at a picture on his desk. “Reminds me of my daughter, actually. Shameful thing, being hurt by your flesh and blood. I hope she recuperates soon.”
Marc gave a curt nod, chose his next words carefully. “I won’t try to defend hitting Granger. Wrong place. Wrong time. Maybe just wrong, period, but he’s out to make Tess’s life a little harder, and I won’t let him do that right now.”
“I won’t argue with that, but I can’t keep you on if you hit him again.” Franks took a seat at his desk. “On duty.”
“I understand, sir.” For the first time since he’d moved here, he felt good about getting the job wit
h BCPD, aside from anything to do with Tess. Captain Franks was a good guy, and aside from Granger, it was a good department.
Maybe he’d moved here for Mom and Dad, in the hopes they’d notice, but he was starting to feel as if he was staying for himself.
* * *
TESS WAS PRETTY sure she was going completely stir-crazy. Even she could only watch TV and nap for so long. Eight hours straight was a stretch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had eight hours to herself that didn’t include doing something for Dad, doing errands of her own or work.
She’d dreamed of having a day to herself, just to lounge. Now she had it, and it sucked. Although possibly because her face felt as if it had been...well, smacked with something really, really hard.
She blew out a breath, once again talking herself out of calling the jail to check on Dad. He was the reason she was in this whole damn mess. It didn’t matter how or what he was doing. He’d cut that tenuous thread of her support.
Sure, he did.
She pushed off the couch. She had to do something, but had no car and no keys to her apartment. She was practically a prisoner herself.
It was almost three. She could make Marc take her somewhere, but she knew what she looked like. What it would look like if she tried to hide the injuries and go out with Marc.
She sank back onto the couch and groaned. This was excruciating. She looked at her phone one more time. There were a handful of texts from a few of the dispatchers, some of the midnight shift guys, letting her know if she needed anything they were available.
It had been a surprise to wake up to. The support. Sure, she’d supported them in their own times of need, but she’d somehow never expected to need it back.
If she spent one more second thinking about the past twenty-four hours, she was going to jump out the window. It was almost three, Marc should be home soon, and while it was a little early for dinner, she was going to make some anyway.
“Suzy Homemaker, here I come,” she muttered, marching resolutely to the kitchen. She poked around the fridge and cupboards. Though she was more than used to making her own meals, what Marc kept on hand was so different from what she did, it was hard to figure out what to make. He didn’t have the little blue box of macaroni and cheese, one of those premade salad kits, lunch meat. He had all this fresh crap.