by Kendra Leigh
Keep calm. Keep calm.
Blackness rushes toward me.
White noise.
Tread water, Sparrow, just like I taught you.
* * *
It’s cold. So cold. My eyes open and this time I see I’m in the kitchen. On the floor by the door to the garden. I try to remember how I got here, recall the sound of Nick screaming at Erin to get out, that she was a worthless whore. The blows rained down on my head over and over and as I curled into a ball to protect myself, I felt his boot ramming into my stomach, my arms, my back. Until, finally, I passed out. I can only remember a handful of occasions when he’s struck me on my face; he’s always tried to limit his beatings to my torso as much as possible—easier to hide. Sometime later, he came back. I came to when he began to drag me by my hair through the hall to the kitchen. That was the moment I began to fear for my life.
I wonder where he is now and what time it is. I know that if I don’t try to move from where I lie, I might not make it. The chances are he hit the bottle hard when he was done with me, as he usually does, and now he’s out cold somewhere. If I’m right, he’ll be sleeping it off for hours. Moving the tiniest bit at a time, I raise my head from the floor. My vision has stabled, although I can still only see out of one eye, but I’m more confident now the spinning has relented. The pain is off the scales as I push myself gently into sitting, and I have to take a break to stop myself from passing out again. When I feel stronger, I edge my way across the floor to the table and pull myself, very gradually, into a standing position, but the room begins to swim and I am forced to take a seat.
It’s the same chair Jackson sat in today, when I felt the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. When he took my body to the heights of ecstasy, breathing pleasure into every fiber of my being, and yet here I am, only a matter of hours later, and I’m in the bowels of Hell.
The time on the clock reads 5:15 am. I’ve been unconscious for longer than I thought, and the knowledge breathes a fresh wave of panic into me. I can’t afford to be here when he wakes. Mustering all the energy I can, I get to my feet. I’m trembling violently from both pain and cold; I’m still only dressed for bed in cotton shorts and T-shirt, but there’s no time to find a change of clothes. Instead, I move to the dresser in the corner and open the drawer, reaching to find the piece of card I taped to the underside a few weeks ago. Through blurred vision, I read the address scribbled on the back. I know what I must do.
Minutes later, I’ve reached the hallway. Silently, I check in the sitting room, but Nick is nowhere to be seen. He must have gone to bed. This allows me to breathe easier. I’ve been conscious of how loud my breathing is, only able to take short bursts of breath through my mouth, but now I know he’s out of earshot, I relax a little. Finally, I make it to the phone. The number is where I left it, and I pick up the handset and dial.
“Hello?” he answers on the fourth ring, his voice hoarse from sleep.
It takes me a few seconds to find my voice, my tongue is so swollen, my throat so dry, but the hardest thing is trying to speak over the sob that rises from my chest into my throat. It encompasses all the fear and all the desperation and all the hope that comes from being moments away from being safe. I can only manage a few words.
“Eric? Can you come?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jackson
“YOU LOOK HAPPY THIS MORNING,” Angel says as she tops up my coffee. “Something happen?”
Oh yes, I think, it most definitely did. My mind is still swirling from the events of yesterday afternoon, and I’ve been wearing an inane grin ever since. That single moment of intimacy was worth more to me than any I’ve ever encountered because it was one I’ve thirsted after for so long. Savannah hasn’t left my thoughts in months, but they’ve been thoughts that were steeped in shame and confusion, worry and desperation. I’d begun to accept that the feelings we developed at the cabin were now purely one-sided and she would never be a real part of my life. That once she was finally free of her abusive marriage, I, too, would have to let her go. But today my thoughts have taken a different shape. Something which resembles hope.
“A man can smile, can’t he?” I answer as I stare out over Central Park from the beautiful oasis that is Ethan and Angel’s terrace.
“Yes, of course. It’s just that I haven’t seen you do much of it lately and wondered if there was a reason.”
“Just appreciating the view,” I tease.
“Oh, come on. If you have some good news, you have to share it.”
Just then, Ethan appears. I’m here to pick him up for an 8:00 am meeting Downtown. “Right, I’m good to go. Kiss me, wife, goddamn it. I need sustenance for the day ahead.”
Just as he’s about to make his way over to Angel, the inside buzzer goes, so he holds up a finger indicating he’ll be a second and goes back inside.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of it, Jackson. I want to know exac—”
“Jackson?” Ethan shouts me from the terrace doorway. “That was Phillip on the front desk. Someone’s here asking for Angel. I think its Savannah.”
My heart bounds out of my chest. She’s here. My Savannah is here. I jump up, making my way inside as Angel follows.
“What do you mean, you think? Didn’t she say?”
“Yes, but—”
“Is she on her way up?” I head for the elevator that opens directly into the Wildes’ apartment foyer.
“There’s an elderly man with her, apparently. He’s bringing her up.”
“A man? Why?”
“Jackson…” Ethan shakes his head, his expression grave “…it doesn’t sound good.”
In that very second the elevator door opens and my whole world falls apart.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jackson
A CACOPHONY OF SIGHTS AND sounds move through my conscious like a montage. Sirens and chaos, faces shouting questions I cannot answer. White corridors with doors speeding by as I race behind her stretcher into the ER, arms restraining me as the doors swing closed, my Sparrow disappearing behind drawn curtains.
Suddenly, I see her sitting there cross-legged in the rocker on the cabin porch, pencil poised over paper, the sun and the sweetest smile lighting up her innocent face. Excitement and joy as I hold her afloat in the water, swimming for the first time. The look of unexpected pleasure as she bites gently on her lower lip the very first time I made love to her. Her body pressed up against a tree, a blend of wariness and desire brewing in ice blue eyes. The bruise on her hip. Confusion and abandonment as I leave her standing alone in an underground parking lot. Peaches and cream.
A doctor in scrubs, her lips moving, voice echoing off the walls—I’m afraid there was nothing we could do—my heart shattering into a million pieces, my life coming to a screeching halt, my mind imploding, heart stopping. No! Please, no!
“Mr. Dean?” A hand on my shoulder, the doctor is smiling.
Ethan and Angel nod reassuringly. They look relieved.
“Mr. Dean?” My reverie is broken, the doctor’s face coming into focus, her words now clear and precise through dissipating fog. “She’s going to be alright, Mr. Dean. She’s heavily sedated, but you can sit with her if you like.”
“She’s okay?” My own voice seems distant.
“Yes. We’re awaiting a CT scan, but we’re confident it will come back clear. All the signs are good. If you come this way, I’ll take you to her.”
I nod. “Thank God.”
Thank God.
* * *
“We can go away. Anywhere you like, you choose. Barbados. The Maldives. Italy, the South of France. Anywhere, you name it …”
I’m rambling, but it’s a form of self-preservation, I know it. I’m afraid that if I stop talking, it will leave time to think about what Savannah has gone through to end up looking like this, and I just can’t take it. Why? Why? Why did I leave her there? Why?
When the elevator door slid open and I saw her there, slumped against this te
rrified looking man, my heart imploded inside my chest. Her eyes met mine for a single second before she collapsed and passed out. I gathered her broken body into my arms, whispering, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” And I swore then that no one would ever hurt my Sparrow ever again. As long as I have breath in my body, I will protect her until my dying day.
I look at her now, her expression peaceful in the oblivious state of sleep, and she seems smaller than ever. Although she looks better than when I first saw her covered in blood this morning, the swelling and the bruising make her face almost unrecognizable. It flashes into my mind, a vision of her flawless perfectly proportioned face crumpling against the fist of that animal, and I can’t—
“… We can lie in the sun. You can get better.” I continue for the sake of my sanity. “I can wait on you hand and foot. And when we get back, you can stay with me, for as long as you want—forever, if you like. And even if you don’t want, then that’s okay. We can sort something else out. Just let me look after you. No strings, if you don’t want. But if you do, then, damn, I’ll be happy. Just, please, don’t ever go back there. Well, you’re not going to. I won’t let you—there, I’ve said it. What I should have said weeks ago. I should have put my foot down then. Thrown you over my shoulder like I did before and never let you out of my sight again. But I couldn’t, could I? I couldn’t drag you into my life, kicking and screaming, if it wasn’t what you wanted. I had no right. The only way I can have you in my life is if you want to be in it, and I pray that you do, because if you don’t, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. But if that’s your choice, then I’ll respect your decision. I’ll always respect you, Savannah, no matter what. It’s what you deserve. Consideration, respect, and love. Plenty of love. And you might ask what I know about love, and I admit, not an awful lot, but that only goes to show that it’s not an emotion I’m liberal with. It’s not a word I’ve brandished about in droves like some people. In fact, I’ve never said it. Because I’ve never felt it. Not until—”
“How is she?” Angel peers around the door, her voice a whisper.
“She’s lucky to be alive is what she is. Come in, she’s sleeping. They sedated her.”
“Probably for the best. Give her time to heal.” She comes to stand by my side, her hand resting supportively in the middle of my shoulders. “What did the doctors say?”
“Cuts and bruises mostly, a few cracked ribs. The CT scan was clear, which is the main thing. They were worried she could have a bleed.” The idea makes me choke on the words, so I change subject. “Has anyone called the police?”
“The hospital are asking questions, insisting she speaks to someone when she wakes up, but we haven’t. Ethan wasn’t sure how you wanted to handle it.”
I nod in approval. “It’s Savannah’s decision. Only hers.”
“Yes. We’ll be here for her, for both of you, whatever you decide.”
“Thank you.” I muster a vague smile before turning back to Savannah. “How could he do it, Angel? How could anyone hurt her? She’s so … precious.” A tear wells up and tumbles down my cheek. I lift my hand to swipe at it, but I’m holding on to Savannah’s with both hands and I don’t want to let go, so I bring her with me. The scent of her skin rushes into my senses, and I know I could live on it alone if I had to. It’s familiar and comforting, and I close my eyes to the joy of it.
Angel doesn’t answer my question. How can she? How can anyone?
“You must be exhausted,” she says instead. “Why don’t you go home? I’ll stay with her. Get a shower and a change of clothes—a shave—your stubble is fast turning into a beard.”
“Savannah likes my stubble.” I smile up at her again. “Thanks, but I need to be here when she wakes up. I’m not leaving her.”
“Okay. It’s what I expected you to say, anyway. I’ll go to your apartment, then, shall I? Pick you up some essentials.”
“Thanks.”
She turns to leave.
“Pick me up some decent coffee too, will you?” I ask.
“Sure. Call me if there’s anything else.”
When she’s gone, I lean forward and kiss Savannah’s fingers, warm and soft against my lips. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Barbados. Sun and coconuts and rum—”
“We could just go to the cabin. I like it there.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper, but the words are unmistakable.
Relief floods me in an instant. “Savannah, you’re awake. Thank God.”
She opens her mouth to speak again, but I can see the effort is too painful. Quickly, I pour a glass of water and hold it to her lips. She closes her eyes with the relief the cold liquid brings.
“Don’t try to speak, Sparrow. Just rest. There’s plenty of time.”
She replies with a barely perceptible nod, and as she does, a tear leaks from the corner of her eye. I reach out to wipe it away with my fingertips, my other hand folding protectively around hers. She reciprocates, linking her fingers with mine, a tenuous squeeze. More tears. My heart is physically aching. All I want to do is take away her pain. My own eyes fill with emotion, my lip trembling.
“Just rest, baby.”
“Stay … stay with me.”
“I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.”
There’s a slight shake of her head. “I mean for always. Stay with me always. I’m ready.”
The tears roll unrestrainedly down my face now. “I’m going nowhere, Savannah. I’ve got you now. No harm will ever come to you again. Sleep now.”
A sense of calm settles, the lines of pain and concern etched into her features finally soothing. Her eyes drift closed. She’s safe. She sleeps.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Savannah
THE DARKNESS TAKES ME INTO its arms, enveloping me. I’m not afraid, not this time, because I’m safe now. I feel his hand in mine—my Bear. I hear his words, and I know he wouldn’t let me fall if I was in danger. I welcome the darkness, drift into its warmth, its comfort. I know it’s where I must go to heal, and so I go willingly. Without pain and without fear, I sleep.
Each time I wake, he’s there, right where he said he’d be. He whispers words of reassurance, strokes my hair, soothes me back into sleep. And each time, I’m stronger.
* * *
My eyes flutter open, both of them. It’s a good sign because it means the swelling is reducing. I shift my head and look down to where I know he will be. He sleeps with his head on his arm, his hand enfolding mine.
“Sweet Bear,” I whisper, not wanting to wake him.
Regardless, he stirs, his sleepy eyes flickering awake as he looks up and smiles. “There you are.”
“Here I am,” my voice croaks a reply.
“Water?”
I nod. “Yes, please.”
He releases me, just long enough to pour me a glass and offer me the contents through a straw. I sip greedily until I’m done, and my hand is scooped up again. There are flowers everywhere. Jackson sees me looking at the ones closest to me, an array of brightly colored flora.
“They’re from Eric. He’s been every day. God bless him. He told me what he did.”
I smile at the thought of the dear man. I have a faint memory of him peeling me off the front steps of my house and pouring me onto the back seat of his car as I thrust the card with Angel’s address on it into his hand, resolutely refusing the suggestion of a hospital. All I wanted to do was find Jackson, and I knew if I found Angel, she would lead me to him.
“Every day?” I ask. “How long have I been here?”
“Four days.”
“And you haven’t left?”
He points to the door in the corner of the room. “Only to go to the bathroom.” His free hand reaches up to scratch his stubble.
“I like your stubble.”
“I know you like my stubble.”
“Ah, you’re awake. How lovely.” A nurse enters the room, mid-thirties, red hair, very pretty.
“This is Jessica. She’s been taking care of y
ou.” Jackson informs me.
I see the way she looks at him, all smiles, a twinkle in her eye, and I’m roused by a sudden attack of jealousy. Of all the emotions to feel right now, it’s this one.
“Hi.” I’m suddenly terribly self-conscious about how I must look.
“Would you like to sit up?” she asks kindly.
“Yes, thank you.”
With Jackson’s help, they ease me into a sitting position, pillows stacked behind me for support.
“How’s the pain?”
“It’s bearable.” I don’t want to take more meds just yet. I want the chance to talk to Jackson.
“Let me know if that changes. Don’t struggle. In the meantime, can you manage something to eat?”
“Something light, maybe.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She flashes a smile at Jackson and leaves the room.
“She’s pretty.”
“Is she?”
I smile shyly, mindful that my jealousy is evident.
“Savannah? We need to talk about what happened. Do you remember?”
A vision of Nick in a blinding rage, fists flying, spittle spraying from his mouth like a feral animal, swims into my mind.
“Yes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” I tell him everything. About Nick arriving home with Erin, me challenging them both and ordering her to leave.
I see the fear and sadness in his eyes as I explain, the anger too, but there’s something else—and I realize it’s a conflicting emotion akin to the one I was feeling only minutes ago.
“That must have been tough to find him with someone else. I’m sorry.”
“Jackson, if there is any part of you thinks I have any feelings other than hatred for that man, you are seriously mistaken. But I wasn’t about to tolerate any more of his crap. I can’t. It’s like someone’s flicked a switch and I find myself retaliating when before I would have slunk back to my room and locked it … if I’d even been brave enough to come out at all.”