by D. C. Ruins
"Good morning," Drew said, feeling shy and embarrassed as the memories of the previous night came rushing back to her. She wasn't sure what to say, how to say it, or whether to say anything at all. She jumped a little when she felt his other hand touch her back gently.
"Good morning," he replied. She looked into his eyes and realized she didn't need to say anything. One corner of his mouth turned up a little and after a moment he dropped his gaze, though his hand continued to gently stroke at her back. It felt wonderful.
She sighed reluctantly. "I have to start getting ready for work," she whispered.
"It's all right. I've got to get going, too," he murmured back. "I'm usually up running by now."
"Sorry," she said, genuinely regretful. "I made you miss your workout."
"You didn't make me miss anything," Heath replied, sitting up slowly so as not to jostle her. Drew scooted back to give him room. "I chose to stay here."
Drew flushed a little. "Can I make you some coffee? Some breakfast?" she asked.
"Nope, don't worry about it," Heath said, standing up and stretching. "Just some water, if you don't mind."
Drew got off the couch and went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She handed it to him and then went to feed Rocky who was growing increasingly impatient. She headed back into the living room as Heath finished draining the water.
"Thanks for having me over," he said.
"Thanks for staying with me," she replied. "Sorry I ruined our night."
"You didn't," Heath said simply. "You couldn't."
Drew stared up at him, biting her lip. God, what must he think of her now? Did he think she was some damaged basket case? Was he disgusted by what she'd told him? Did he look at her differently? She felt like crying again.
As if he could read her thoughts, he reached out and took her hand. She allowed him to pull her toward him, tensing only slightly when he slipped his arms around her. He didn't say anything else, and that was okay with her. She was only too happy to sink into the warmth of his embrace. She leaned her cheek against his chest and tightened her arms around his waist, closing her eyes.
They flew open a moment later when she felt something brush the top of her head. Had he just kissed her?
His hand moved from her back to her hair and smoothed over her unruly mane, before stepping away and looking down at her.
"You better get started on your day," he said softly. "I'll call you later."
She nodded silently, watching as he unlocked her three locks and slipped out the door. She wondered if he would actually call, and realized she couldn't and wouldn't blame him if he didn't.
Chapter Twelve
Bunz looked up in surprise when Drew burst through the back door of the café later that morning. The café still wasn't open for business but Bunz was organizing the kitchen's inventory as she waited for her Italian loaf to finish baking in the oven to join the other dozen freshly baked loaves lined up neatly on the counter.
"Hey," she said uncertainly, noting Drew's face. "No offense, yo, but you look awful! Are you all right? You look like you've been crying. You're all…puffy."
Drew simultaneously touched an eyelid and her lips with both hands. "I'm—I don't know what I am. Can I talk to you? I need to tell you something. About New York."
Bunz studied her for a long moment, then pulled over a couple of stools and sat down, patiently watching her friend.
Drew took a deep breath and told her the story of her experience in New York. She left out some of the more gruesome details, but essentially, it was the same story she'd shared with Heath. Somehow, it was easier this time; she knew she trusted Bunz and that her friend would never judge her or look at her differently. She also told Bunz how she'd told Heath about it after he'd spotted the wounds on her leg.
Bunz wiped tears from her cheeks when Drew was through. "I'm so sorry," she managed to say thickly. "I always assumed you'd been assaulted but I had no idea it was to that degree. Wow."
Drew reached out and patted Bunz's hand, strangely amused that she was the one offering comfort. Why shouldn't she?
"It's ok. I'll be ok," she said, although she wasn't sure if she could believe that or not.
"Can I ask you a couple questions?" Bunz said hesitantly.
"Of course," Drew replied.
"What happened to the guy? Your attacker?"
Drew sighed. "Eventually, he was caught. It took about three months. I was unconscious from the beating and blood loss by the time he left my apartment. When I came to, I called 911 and they did a rape kit on me at the hospital. Eventually, they found a match to his DNA, and they eventually caught him. It turns out that he'd done what he did to me to several women in the Tri-State area. I was just the only one that lived to tell the story."
Bunz sat in silence, staring at her hands as she processed what she'd been told. She glanced up, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Why you?" she asked quietly.
Drew shrugged a shoulder, sighing. "Why any woman?" she asked rhetorically. "He told the police he'd been tracking me for a few weeks. He thought I was an easy target…and I was." She shook her head. "Not anymore, though. That's why I got into boxing and stuff before I came here. I'll never be that defenseless again, ever."
Bunz nodded. "So you told Heath," she said. "How did he react?"
"Well, he didn't run screaming out the door," Drew said wryly, "although I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. He was actually really…sweet."
"You told him everything?"
"Yes," Drew said. "Everything. In detail."
"Why do you think that was?" Bunz asked, folding her hands in her lap. "You don't know him that well."
"I don't," Drew agreed. "But there's something in him that makes me want to trust him. I know he's had some family issues and I know he's damaged, too. I guess I feel like he just…gets me. Like you do. And it was sort of like word vomit. Once I started talking, I just couldn't stop. It was like, subconsciously, I had to get every detail out of me, rid myself of that sickness. I guess I realized in that instant that I can't really start to heal if I don't let it out."
"That makes perfect sense," Bunz said. "Perfect sense. So if you feel better about telling us, and he was really sweet…what's the problem? You still look so…sad."
"He'll never call me again," Drew said with definitive acceptance. "He's a nice guy. He wouldn't leave a girl by herself in tears. But now he knows how fucked I am. He's like, a local celebrity, and an actual celebrity in the MMA world. Why the hell would he want to burden himself with a crazy, damaged shell of a girl when he could find someone who really has her shit together?"
"Stop it," Bunz said sternly. "You're not crazy, you're not a shell. You might be damaged but it's nothing that can't be fixed. You're intelligent, talented, a loyal friend and not to mention, you're sort of pretty. He'd be an idiot not to see those things. And…" Bunz trailed off, recalling her conversation with Heath about the ballet when he'd stopped by. She was certain he hadn't been asking questions just out of curiosity for his own information. "He seems really thoughtful and nice. He did come down here when he barely knew you to apologize that you got attacked on his property. That says a lot about a person. So don't sell yourself or him short. Don't be unfair—you don't know what he's thinking right now."
Drew knew her friend had a point and hope immediately rose in her chest. She did her best to neutralize it, knowing that Heath was his own man and would act of his own accord.
"Anyhow," Drew sighed. "I just wanted to tell you what was up with me. I should have told you a long, long time ago. It didn't really feel right that I told him before you, but it sort of happened on its own."
"Stop, again," Bunz said, holding up her hand. "You told me, and that's what matters. You didn't have to, but you trust me enough with that information. So, thank you. I do appreciate it. Maybe one day I'll tell you my sad, sad tale." She smiled teasingly.
Drew laughed. "Only if you want to. But I am always here."
&nb
sp; "Love you, yo," Bunz said, reaching out and pulling Drew into a brief hug. "Now, we better get our shit together before customers start showing up. Or your parents!"
Drew shuddered, instantly picturing her father's face turning red as he bellowed at her in Italian. "You're right," she said, climbing off her stool and hurrying toward the front. "I'm on it!"
The day flew by, due to the many customers that entered through the doors of Café Carnevale. It was a typical for a Friday, with people taking the day or a half-day from work. It was another misty, gray spring day but nonetheless the café was overflowing by the noon lunch rush.
Drew and Bunz worked the crowd at the register together, handling the large group with quick service and good-natured barbs tossed to customers. An hour later, Drew was pleased to see their tip jar was nearly full.
"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Bunz said, eyeing the jar. "Did I ever thank your parents for only having the two of us as employees? More tips to go 'round!"
"Word to that," Drew murmured. By her best estimate, there had to be nearly two hundred dollars in the jar.
"All right," Bunz announced, stretching. "We should slow down now. I'm gonna go bake some shit."
"And I will straighten up here," Drew said, glancing at the mess on the counters. "And sort the drawer."
As Bunz retreated into the kitchen, Drew began to wipe off the counters and the espresso machine, restocking cups and lids and sleeves. It always happened this way—whenever there was a huge rush, there was always an equally huge mess to clean up afterward.
As she cleaned, Drew realized that she felt different somehow. She felt lighter. For the first time in a long time, the oppressive weight of her dirty little secrets had lightened with her telling not one, but two people. She didn't know how things would play out with Heath, but telling Bunz had made her feel so much better.
Her phone suddenly vibrated in the back pocket of her jeans and she pulled it out. She had a text from Heath.
"Hey. I just wanted to check on you. See how you're doing."
Drew was surprised. While she had taken Bunz's advice to try to "be fair," not discounting the possibility of Heath reaching out to her, she hadn't held high hopes for it and certainly hadn't expected him to reach out so quickly.
"I'm good," she typed back. "Thanks for asking. How is your day?"
"It's ok," he responded after a moment. "Working at Cliff's tonight?"
"Yes."
"Got a ride home?"
Drew smiled. "Yes. Bunz."
"Ok. Good."
Drew chewed her lip, then typed, "Could I stop by at the gym after I get off work at the café?"
"Of course," he responded. "You don't need to ask me if you can do that."
"Ok," she replied. "I'll see you in a few hours."
***
Drew walked through the entrance of the gym apprehensively, the paper bag with string handles she clutched dangling from her fingertips. It felt like forever since she'd been in the gym, when it had really only been a few days. She hadn't ever set foot in the gym in street clothes, and she drew stares from the nearby gym patrons drawn to the pretty brunette in skinny jeans, a ruffled cream-colored top, and an olive utility jacket with black leather sleeves.
"Hey, Carnevale," Rex greeted her from the front desk where he was watching ESPN.
"Hey," she replied. "Good to see you're hard at work like always."
"I do what I can," he said modestly. He nodded to the bag she carried. "Smells good. You bring me grub?"
Drew smirked. "You wish," she retorted. "Is Heath around?"
"Ah, should have known you were here for that Irish prick and not me," Rex replied, feigning hurt. "But yes. He's in his office. Go on back."
"Thanks," she said, and walked past the desk, her black, peep-toe wedges thumping dully on the concrete floor.
Heath was sitting on a corner of his desk, talking rapidly into his phone when she approached the doorway. She wasn't sure who he was talking to, but she could tell it had to do with the tournament.
"Yeah, I'm good," he was saying. "Workouts have been good. Training's fine. I'm set." He paused. "Yeah. I'll get back to you on that. Just send me the itinerary. No. No interviews. I mean it, Carter." He glanced up quickly when Drew shifted her weight, and though he didn't smile, his face seemed to light up and he nodded slightly and held up one finger.
"All right, man," he said. "Just send it to me. Okay. I gotta go. Something important just came up."
Drew smiled inwardly.
He hung up and tossed his cell phone on his desk. "Hey," he greeted, his eyes moving over her quickly. "How you doing?"
"Good," Drew replied. She held up the bag. "Do you have time for a dinner break?"
Heath lifted his brows in surprise. "Sure," he said. "You really didn't need to do that. Thank you. Shut the door."
Drew pushed his office door closed and set the bag on the desk, pulling out foil-wrapped gyros. "I got a grilled chicken gyro and a grilled steak gyro, on multigrain flatbread with sprouts and some other junk." Drew held each one in her hands. "Which one do you want?"
Heath smirked. "Which one do you want?"
"Chicken," Drew replied immediately.
His smile grew. "Good. 'Cause I wanted steak."
She handed him the sandwich and took a seat across from him. He studied her, then reached for a napkin. "So. You came all the way out here to bring me something to eat?"
Drew sighed and pulled at a piece of chicken. "No. I mean yes, but no. I wanted to talk about last night."
Heath nodded and dropped his eyes to his gyro. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"
"The fact that I'm sorry I got all emo on you?" Drew said self-consciously, leaning forward. "I sort of ruined the whole night, and I just wanted to apologize for that."
"Don't do that," Heath said quietly, shaking his head. "Don't apologize."
"You probably think I'm a freak," Drew said mournfully, then mentally kicked herself in the ass. She hadn't meant to say that; it just came out.
"Hell, no," Heath said vehemently, frowning at her. "I don't think you're a damn freak. I think you're someone who went through a horrible experience and you're trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces." He took a bite of his gyro. "I can relate."
Drew looked at him in surprise, wondering if he'd elaborate. "You can?"
He nodded, and set his sandwich down with a sigh. "I can." He swigged from his bottle of water. "My pops used to smack me and my brother and my mother around when I was little. He was an alcoholic."
"Your dad?" Drew repeated, confused. She thought back to what she'd heard about him during Ultimate Warrior. "But wasn't your dad your trainer?"
"He still is, sort of," Heath said. "He got sober a few years ago. Anyway, I left with my mother when I was fourteen. We went west. She essentially raised me. I never came back here until after she died. My brother stayed behind because he had a girlfriend, who he ended up marrying. But I had never forgiven him or my dad for what they'd done, until recently. I think that had a lot to do with why I joined the Marines—I was looking for that brotherhood I never had at home."
Drew listened, fascinated. She would never have imagined that someone like Heath could be as introspective as he was being right now; it was refreshing, and she knew that this was a painful topic for him. But he was sharing, and he was doing so to find some common ground with her.
"Between my upbringing, and then losing my best friend in a friendly-fire accident in Iraq—trust me, I know what it is to be damaged," he went on in the same quiet tone. "As part of my discharge from the Corps I had to go through six months of therapy. And it actually helped me out, a lot." His full lips pulled into a smirk. "Just don't tell anyone that."
Drew smiled. "I won't," she promised. "So what's your relationship with your father like now? I've seen you and your brother together."
"It's…strained," he admitted. "But, we definitely are in a better place now than we were six months ago."
Drew nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "About the things you've gone through. And losing your friend."
Heath nodded in acknowledgment, looking down at his sandwich. "Thanks," he replied. "I can't relate to your struggle exactly, but I have my own and I can understand where you're coming from. And I can definitely attest to the fact that there is life after that."
Drew looked at him across the table. It was the first time they'd made eye contact since they sat down. "You might be right," she said quietly. They continued to eat in silence for a while, then Drew cleared her throat. "I wanted to finish the story from last night," she said. "I realize I didn't tell you everything."
Heath merely looked at her, waiting.
She explained what had happened to her attacker, about the rape kit pulling his DNA, and how he'd been caught shortly after her attack. He'd been at Riker's Island in New York ever since, awaiting his trial in the extremely slow-moving judicial system.
"Well, that's a good thing," Heath said slowly, studying the look of discontentment on her face. "Right?"
"It is," she agreed. "I mean, yes, it is. It's just—I thought my role in this was all over." She pulled an envelope from her bag slowly, and handed it to him across the table. "Then I got this in the mail last week."
Heath took the certified letter's envelope and reached inside, pulling out a sheet of folded paper. He skimmed it quickly and read her subpoena to appear in court next month at one Jackson James' trial. He glanced up at her over the edge of the sheet.
"They can't arrest you or anything if you don't actually testify," he said, folding the paper and slipping it back into the envelope. "They can't force you." He handed it back.
"I know," she replied, taking the envelope and stuffing it back into her bag. "My lawyer told me the same thing, since I was the victim of the assault. But he also said that of the women that James has done this to, I'm the only survivor. My testimony could potentially put him away for longer than he might get without testimony. The prosecution is going for life."
Heath looked at her carefully. "And what do you think about that?" he asked her neutrally.