Dances with Monsters

by D. C. Ruins

  And there was the man who had done everything in his power to torture her and end her life.

  Drew stood rooted in place, unable to break the gaze she held with Jackson James. He wasn't smiling now but his eyes were as dark and dead as they had been before. They were pure evil. Her head began to spin and waves of nausea roiled through her stomach. Sweat beaded her skin and her pulse accelerated to a level that left her shaking and breathless.

  "Miss Carnevale?" the judge called gently from his booth. Drew turned her eyes toward him, seeing a white-haired, grandfatherly face peering at her from behind a pair of spectacles. "Would you please come forward?"

  Drew turned her eyes back toward Jackson James, and gagged. She clapped a hand to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears involuntarily.

  "Bailiff, please escort Miss Carnevale to the restroom," the judge said quickly. "We'll hold briefly for the witness to compose herself."

  Drew pulled away from the bailiff. "I got it," she squeaked. She pressed her lips together firmly and rushed out of the courtroom. Her family must already have moved to the waiting room down the hall. Drew hurried down the corridor to the women's restroom and burst into a stall, dropping to her knees as she gagged violently again. Nothing came up, not even bile, and tears streamed down her face as she gagged again.

  "Goddammit," she mumbled, cupping her face in her hands as she struggled to catch her breath. She leaned her head against the cold tile wall of the stall and gradually the urge to vomit passed. She got shakily to her feet and left the stall, moving to the counter. She winced at her reflection—all of the color had drained from her olive complexion, even from her lips, and she looked as waxy and pale as a corpse. She leaned over to splash water on her face and then took a long drink. When she felt her pulse calming down, and her breathing regulating, she took a deep breath and straightened her clothing. She left the bathroom and walked back up the hallway to the side door of the courtroom she'd entered into earlier. For a moment, she paused with her hand on the door, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath as her pulse threatened to start racing again.

  "Drew."

  She whirled at the sound of her name spoken by a familiar and missed voice, and her jaw dropped.

  Heath stood awkwardly down the hallway, dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a navy blue button-down shirt. His face held a few cuts and bruises from the fight, but his recently cut hair was tamed, his clothes were pressed and he was wearing dull black leather shoes. He looked at her for a long time before he offered her a slight smile.

  She flew toward him.

  He let out a soft grunt as she threw herself into his arms and winced, holding her back from him slightly as her arms started to squeeze around him. She looked up at him in confusion as he hissed softly, his face contorted in pain.

  "What?" she whispered.

  "Sorry," he murmured back, giving her a small half-smile. "Three cracked ribs."

  Drew gasped, her hands going lightly to his side. "Jesus, Heath, are you all right?"

  "Yeah, I'm good," he said softly. He reached up to rest a hand on the back of her neck. "You all right?"

  She looked up into his eyes. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. She shook her head, suddenly feeling the need to explain. "Listen, I'm sorry I ran out on you yesterday. I heard about what happened. The news says there's a major fan backlash against the judges—that they cheated, that someone—Heath, I'm so sorry I wasn't there –"

  "Stop it," Heath said. "I don't give a shit about that tournament right now. I'm here for you."

  Drew bit her lip to stop it from shaking, fisting her hands unconsciously into the material of his shirt at his sides. "Thanks," she said tremulously.

  "Ow," Heath grunted softly, catching her hand that was twisting into his bad side. She dropped it immediately.

  "I'm so sorry," she gasped. "How did—how did you get here? You didn't drive all this way like this, did you?"

  "Connor," Heath replied, half-smiling again. "I tried to get him to fuck off and go home with his wife but he refused. He sent John home with Lana and drove me out here in my car. He dropped me off. He would have come in, but I told him I didn't know if that would be too overwhelming for you. So he said he's got a few business calls to make in the meantime."

  "Tell him thanks for me," Drew said. She shook her head mournfully at Heath. "You should be resting."

  He shrugged. "Told you I'd be here for you," he said simply. He smirked a little. "Even risk your pops beatin' my ass if he sees me here." He looked around. "Where's your family, anyway?"

  Drew pointed over her shoulder down the hall. "They're in a waiting room down that way."

  The door opened behind her and the bailiff poked her head out. "Miss Carnevale, are you ready now?" Her eyes glanced over Heath questioningly. "This is a closed court. Your friend may wait out here or with your family down the hall."

  "I'll be right there," Heath said, nodding toward the bench just to the left of the door. He took her hand. "Come on."

  They walked the dozen or so steps toward the courtroom. The bailiff averted her eyes and ducked back into the courtroom to give them some privacy. She used her foot to keep the door slightly ajar for Drew.

  "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered as she caught sight of her attacker's profile in the room. Her stomach immediately seized up again.

  Heath tugged on her hand and made her look at him. "You have to do this," he said softly. "You have to do it for you and for the women he killed, and for the women he might kill if you don't do this. Drew, don't let this guy have a hold on your life for one more day. Put this shit to bed, now. He couldn't kill you, couldn't destroy you, and he never will." Heath grabbed her chin and made her look up at him when she tried to look away. "He doesn't define you. What he did to you doesn't define you. You told me yourself—you're no victim. Now show me." His pewter eyes bored into hers intensely. "Show me. You copy?"

  His tone was harsh, terse and brusque, but Drew could still hear real caring in it. It strengthened her, made her stiffen her spine and hold her shoulders back. She pulled gently out of his grasp and lifted her chin of her own accord. She looked him in the eye and nodded.

  He returned her nod and reached out to pull the door open for her. He looked at her expectantly, and Drew refused to let him down twice, so she entered the room again. The bailiff nodded at her and hovered a hand over the small of her back, gently guiding her toward the witness stand. Drew glanced back at Heath as the door began to shut. He didn't nod, smile, or otherwise change his stoic expression, but everything she needed to hear or feel, she saw within his eyes. She turned away as the door closed and stepped onto the stand.

  ***

  The bailiff opened the door for her and Drew headed for it, her knees wobbling. Her testimony had easily been the most difficult thing she'd done. It was even worse, in some weird way, than the actual attack itself. She had been required to relive the ordeal in detail to a crowd of strangers and in front of her attacker. Jackson James had remained expressionless and motionless during her testimony and it had unnerved her completely. There were a few times she faltered, unable to go on, but she thought of Heath, heard his words, believed the truth in them, and made herself carry on.

  But she was immensely proud of herself. For the most part, she remained stoic and calm, answering all the questions asked following her testimony. The cross-examination by the defense attorney had been difficult at best, absolutely appalling at worst. Jackson James' defense was that he was criminally insane and therefore had no real knowledge or idea of what it was that he was doing. The defense attorney used Drew's testimony to try to further his point that some of those actions—forcing Drew to hold him after she'd been raped and beaten—showed how unstable and out of touch with reality he was. Drew wondered what his sentence would be. While she didn't contest that any rapist was a madman and a sociopath, she felt that her attacker knew precisely what he was doing, and said so. The prosecution supported her claims by poin
ting to Jackson James' original statement to the police—that he'd been following her for several weeks before going through with the attack. It was pre-meditated, they said, and could therefore not be the random act of a man insane.

  Drew hoped he would receive the harshest penalty possible. For now, though, she just wanted to get the hell out of there before she had a real breakdown.

  She walked straight out of the courtroom into Heath's arms, being careful of his injured side, and hugged his good one. She felt him press his lips against the top of her head as he held her firmly to his side.

  "You good?" he asked softly. She didn't look up at him, but nodded against his chest. He kissed the top of her head again. "Let's go see your family," he said lightly. "They're waitin' for you."

  Now she did look up at him. "You—you want to come?" she asked hesitantly.

  He glanced down at her. "Yes. Come on."

  They walked down the hall toward the waiting room where her family was and knocked on the door. After a moment, her mother pulled the door open, a look of concerned expectancy on her face that changed to surprise when she saw Heath.

  "Heath!" she exclaimed, and glanced over her shoulder at her husband meaningfully. She turned back around to face Drew and Heath and reached out to squeeze his hand. "Look, everyone. Heath's here."

  Heath nodded at the chorus of greetings, and Drew tensed up when she saw her father get to her feet. She knew that he knew he had been wrong for his treatment of Heath based on their talk, but she was still nervous about seeing the two of them come together.

  "Heath," he said calmly by way of greeting. He glanced at Drew. "Can we, uh, step outside into the hallway for a chat? Drew, why don't you go on in and get a cup of coffee and hug your mother or something."

  "No," she said stubbornly, tightening her arms around Heath's waist. He hissed in pain accordingly and she loosened her hold. "Shit. I'm sorry."

  "What's the matter?" Mr. Carnevale asked, lifting his eyebrows in mild surprise.

  "Just a little injury from the tournament, sir," Heath managed, his voice roughened slightly from pain. "I'll be all right."

  "Three cracked ribs," Drew informed her father.

  Mr. Carnevale sighed and reached behind him to shut the door to the waiting room. "You need anything, kid? You been to the doctor yet?"

  "I saw the medic at the tournament. He taped my ribs for me. I'll be fine, sir." Heath straightened up and looked her father in the eye. "You wanted to talk, sir?"

  "Yeah," Mr. Carnevale said, sounding defeated. He sighed again. "Listen, Heath. You didn't deserve what I said to you yesterday. I was in a rage, I was panicked. I had gotten some anonymous call telling me you leaked the story to the press, about Drew, and I just lost it –"

  Heath's calm expression didn't change, but Drew didn't miss the way his jaw clenched in anger. "Sir, can I ask who called you?"

  "I don't know," Mr. Carnevale said. "Just some guy. He didn't give me his name. Why, you think you know who it was?"

  "I have an idea, sir," Heath said quietly. "And it was nothing against Drew. It was done to hurt me, sir. Drew was just an innocent bystander, if you will. I'm really sorry she got mixed up in it. The network is getting fined for the airing the information and the commentators are getting suspended from working for a while. There was a reporter and then the manager I fired who were involved as well. I think they're the ones responsible for digging up the information and giving it to the commentators."

  "You fired your manager?" Mr. Carnevale asked, confused. "Why would you do that?"

  "He didn't take care of Drew, like I told him I needed him to when I was working," Heath said simply. "I believed he'd look out for her, and he didn't. So I fired him."

  "Dad," Drew said gently. "I told you he was a good man. You don't need to worry about me with him. I'm always going to be okay."

  Mr. Carnevale cleared his throat and extended his hand. "You are a good man, Heath," he said quietly. "Again, I'm really sorry for the things I said."

  Heath immediately reached out to clasp his hand and shook his head. "No worries, sir. I'd have done the same thing."

  Drew smiled at both men, her heart filling with a sweet emotion she didn't have a name for. Mr. Carnevale cleared his throat again and Drew realized he was fighting tears. Who knew John was really a teddy bear? she thought, patting his arm.

  "Well, you have to rush off, Heath?" Mr. Carnevale was saying. "We're going to visit some family while we're up here, have Sunday dinner on a Monday before we head home. Would you like to come?"

  "Oh, thank you, sir, but I have my brother waiting for me," Heath said. "He drove me here as a favor. He's got to get home to his wife and kids."

  "Heath needs to rest, too," Drew said, concerned about his ribs.

  Mr. Carnevale nodded. "I understand. You get some rest, kid." He pulled open the door to the waiting room and gave Heath a half-smile. "You're all right with me, Heath." He disappeared inside, leaving Drew and Heath alone.

  Heath smiled at the look of happiness on her face. "Your pops is a good man."

  "Yes, he is," Drew said, gingerly hugging his waist again. "So are you. Thank you for being here."

  "You're welcome." He kissed her forehead. "I better get going. Connor is waiting."

  "Tell him hi," she said softly. "And don't forget to thank him for me." She tilted her face and pressed up on her toes and swept her lips over his. His hands massaged at her shoulders as he kissed her back. Finally, she sighed and pulled away from him, her hand trailing in his.

  "Enjoy your family," Heath said. He smirked a little. "Feel free to bring me back some of that homemade food."

  Drew chuckled. "There will be plenty of that, I'm sure. I will."

  She moved toward the door of the waiting room and glanced over her shoulder. For a brief moment, the hallway receded and she only saw him—strong, quiet, thoughtful. Possibly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, and not just on the outside. He constantly went out of his way to prove himself to her, to prove himself worthy of her, all the time. She was beginning to wonder if she were worthy of him. She bit her lip and her cheeks grew hot with the color that was rushing into them. She felt the urge to tell him something suddenly, something urgent, something she really needed him to know. It was on the tip of her tongue, and it wouldn't go away.

  He looked back at her, cocking his head curiously. "What?" he asked.

  She looked down, pulling the door open to stall while she worked up her courage. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door until they turned white and she bit her lip so hard she tasted copper on her tongue.

  "I just –" She faltered as nerves overtook her. She thought about copping out then, saying something else. She didn't know how the game was played when it came to stuff like this; she was afraid she was about to fuck up big time.

  "You just what?" his voice was quiet, calm, and Drew forced herself to look him in the eye again. She found her courage in his eyes in that moment and remembered when he'd told her he didn't like playing games.

  "I just…love you," she said simply, in a tiny voice. "That's all." She held his gaze for a brief moment, seeing an odd mix of emotions coming into his eyes as his mouth opened in surprise. When she couldn't bear the look on his face anymore, she slipped inside the room, pulling the door shut behind her and feeling terrified, brave, uncertain, and happy all the same time.

  "You look like you're going to pass out," Nik said, suddenly appearing at her side. She took her baby sister's arm and led her to a chair. "What's the matter? Are you okay? Do you need water?"

  Despite the emotions warring inside her and her curiosity if Heath was still standing on the other side of the door, Drew shook her head. Even if she'd just fucked up monumentally, she'd been forthright, brave and voluntarily honest…with him and with herself.

  "I'm good," she said, and meant it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Heath rarely ever watched television, but now it seemed he couldn't stop.

  He w
as finally back at his own place after spending the night at Connor's house when they'd gotten in from New York. He'd been planning to drive home to his apartment last night, but Lana had all but threatened bodily harm if he didn't agree to stay with them. As a result, he'd had a fuss made over him by his sister-in-law and his nieces, and slept over in the guest bedroom. He'd tried to sneak out early that morning but had been caught by Lucy, who had then woken up everyone else in the house and he hadn't been permitted to leave until after breakfast.

  His pain was manageable after swallowing a dose of ibuprofen. He refused anything stronger, not wanting to potentially head down the same path involving painkillers he was on last year. Before going home, he'd stopped by his own physician to get a more thorough exam and to get his ribs re-taped. His doctor persuaded him to go home and rest, and sternly advised that any exercise was out of the question for at least the next four weeks. Heath was only too glad to take a little bit of a break, although he knew it wouldn't be a full four weeks before he was back to some form of physical movement. It just wasn't in him to be idle for that long, with or without an injury.

  Now, he was seated on the couch in his living room, intently watching ESPN. He was surprised at the amount of coverage there was not only about Smackdown in general, but specifically about the three notable situations he'd personally been involved in. There was a feature about Drew and how her situation had been shared with the public. There were snippets of interviews with various MMA fans, both from Smackdown and not, and the general outcry was that whoever had leaked her story to the press should be soundly punished. Connected to that story immediately was the story of how he had fired his manager on the first day of the tournament. Apparently there were mixed reactions from the fans—some thought he was a chump for firing his manager over a girl. Others thought he was a perfect gentleman and made the right choice, while still other believed that the principle was sound, but the execution was a bad idea. Heath personally didn't give a rat's ass one way or the other how anyone felt about it; he was just as comfortable now with his decision to sever ties with Carter as he had been in the moment he'd made it.