by Liz Crowe
I dropped my head to the pillow and waited for pain medicine to grant me oblivion.
*****
After a fitful night of sleep, I stared out the open window of my hospital room.
“Do you need a ride?” Trent asked, disturbing my peace. He dropped a pair of scrubs on the end of the bed. “Doctor said he’d send in your release papers soon.”
“Glad they tell you all of my business.” I wondered how many pairs of scrubs I’d end up owing the hospital by the end of all of this. Better yet, I wanted to know if there was an end.
Trent rubbed his hand through his hair. He wasn’t leaving whether I said yes or no.
I took a deep breath and rolled to face him.
“You saved his life,” he said, “and he’s going to kill me for saying anything to you.”
“I just returned the favor.” I didn’t want to think about Kirk lying on the floor bleeding in the Outlook, or the splatter of blood that coated the wall when I shot Gabe. Whatever I’d done to save him was paid off, since I was also alive.
“I don’t mean when he was shot, or….” His voice trailed off and I assumed he knew all of the details. “I mean. He was losing it in there. You—gave him something to fight for again.”
“What are you trying to do?” My chest burned. This was exactly what I didn’t need.
“I know you’re not ready, and I know that everyone keeps telling you both to move on separately, but you found something in each other that gave you the ability to fight through things that would have broken most people. And, seeing you both without that….” He shook his head. “I don’t think they were right in keeping you two apart. If you’re mad at James because—“
“It just hurts.” I licked my lips, trying to put the pain into words. “I’m not Silver anymore and he’s not Kirk. If not for any of that we wouldn’t have met and… how do I let go while hanging on?”
Trent shook his head. “I don’t know, but I think you two make each other stronger.”
I looked out the window again. I was tired of being an emotional wreck.
“I’ll step out so you can get dressed. Want me to send in a nurse to help?”
After yesterday, I wanted nothing to do with the nurses, so I shook my head. I could figure out how to dress myself. Luckily, they somehow seemed to find a top that buttoned up, so I slid it over my injured arm first and then fiddled with the buttons until I was covered. That just left me to pull the pants on without twisting my right arm, or extending it.
It was going to be a miracle if I didn’t starve to death by the time my arm healed. I wasn’t even sure I could take a shower, and I really didn’t want to know how I was going to manage to change into most of my shirts since I didn’t have a single button up shirt.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Learning To Heal
I was thankful that Trent had a cleaning crew come in, but there was still a partial blood stain down the wall when I got home. At least painting would give me something productive to do. I curled up on the couch, and Trapper decided to take up residence on my feet as I dozed through the afternoon and early evening.
I finally roused myself enough to think about ordering food, but I didn’t have the energy to get off the couch and make the call. As I laid there debating, the doorbell rang.
“Trapper, when will you learn to answer the door?” I said. She jumped off my feet and bounded into the kitchen. Freeloader.
I wasn’t surprised to peek through the window and see Trent, but his usually stern demeanor was hunched, and his face was somber. I jerked open the door, hoping that it didn’t have something to do with James.
“Can I come in?”
I couldn’t swallow. “James?”
“He’s fine, I just talked to him.” He waved his hand, silently asking for permission to enter.
I stepped back, my feet moving like iron posts trapped against a magnetic floor. Barely able to hold myself up, I leaned against the door as I closed it.
“Maybe we should sit down and talk,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the living room, but I didn’t follow.
My thoughts still swirled around James. If he’s fine, what else could have possibly happened that could warrant this reaction? Was the rest of Milo’s group coming for us? Had Alley told them where to find us? Every time Trent paused—even if only for a few seconds—it gave my mind long enough to speed through a dozen scenarios I didn’t want to consider. “Just say it.”
Trent lowered his head but kept eye contact. “We found Alley.”
My heart jumped. “Can I see her?” She’d just shot me, but there was something off about her. I wanted to help her. I needed to know she was okay.
He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“What happened?” I grabbed for the doorknob as everything spun.
Capturing my arm, Trent steadied me and helped me to the living room where I could sit down.
“She overdosed on heroin. They couldn’t—”
“Don’t,” I yelled. I felt like it was partially my fault. I should have checked on her, made sure everything was okay, but I was wrapped up in my own damn misery.
“Rose,” he knelt in front of me, but I pushed him away and climbed over him.
I covered my mouth with my hand, pacing back and forth in the middle of the living room.
“She refused anyone’s help, Rose. We tried. You can’t blame yourself; you don’t know that she would have reacted any differently to you three weeks ago.”
“You don’t know that.” I wanted to rip out my hair. Fall to the floor. Scream and cry. It was like getting shot all over again. My body shut down and refused to do anything to help deflect the emotions coursing through me. “Please leave.”
“You shouldn’t be alone right now.” Trent reached for me and I backed away again.
“I want to be alone right now,” I yelled, “and I’m fucking tired of people still telling me what to do. I’m not a slave; I can take care of myself.”
I pushed him to the front door, but before I could open it, he dug in his heels.
“I’ll leave you alone,” he said, and then he pulled out a piece of paper. “It’s James’ number. If you change your mind, I want you to have it, and if not, he won’t know that I gave it to you.”
I took it and threw it on the table next to the stairs. He nodded and walked out without another argument. I watched through the window as he went back to his car, but it didn’t move. The rat bastard was going to sit out there until he was satisfied. I turned my back and slid down the wall, sitting there and staring into space until Trapper ran up and pawed at my arm.
After pouring the cat a bowl of tuna, I sat down with my phone, dialing a number I knew by heart, but hadn’t used in months.
“What the hell, Twig?” Chey said as soon as she answered the phone.
“Don’t call me that. I hated it when we were kids, I hate it now.” My parents had started the trend; it had nothing to do with my size. It all started when I was four and decided to try and cut my own hair. I don’t know what they were thinking, but the damn name stuck, and since Chey was only two years older than me, it ended up getting around to most of my friends and half the school.
I heard her sigh. “You okay? We’re worried about you.”
I groaned, “I’m fantastic.” I took a couple of long breaths before I could continue. “I got shot.”
“Shot?” Something thumped in the background. “After—”
“I’m good,” I said before she could freak out anymore. “I’m home, safe, a cop is watching the house, but they found the person who did it.”
“Then, why is the cop still there?”
Ah, fuck. There was no good way to answer that question that wouldn’t cause even more worry. Because I have difficulty dealing with life in the real world. Even a simple, “Because he’s worried,” wasn’t going to go over well. I stared at the ceiling, unable to formulate an answer.
“Rose
?” Chey began softly, “You should come home for a while. You can stay here.”
I swallowed a laugh, “I’m not good company. How’s the baby?” I wanted to talk about anything else.
“She wants to meet you.”
I wasn’t falling for that. Even the baby wasn’t going to make me anymore sociable. “She’s seven weeks old; she just wants food and a clean diaper.”
“If it was all that simple, I’d sleep a lot more.” There was a pause, and I heard muffled voices and pops. “Peter’s here. He’s worried about you, too.”
Perfect. I was considering going to town and having a few dozen cards printed up that said stop fucking worrying about me.
I felt even the smallest laugh in my shoulder, but slowly, as we talked everything unraveled inside of me. “What’d we fight about again?”
“Oh, same old, same old. I’m sorry Rose, just come home for a while.”
“I’m sorry, too, but I need to do this. I’m not always the greatest at communication and people shit, and I’m going to try, but I’m not ready to be around people all the time.” My family knew enough to understand why I hadn’t been the same, but that was all I was ready to give up. I needed space. I needed to not have to explain myself and the crazy dreams.
“You have someone to talk to?”
“Yeah, they throw me in with a shrink twice a week. And there’s….” James. The only person who’d really come close to not needing an explanation. “The cop who’s watching the house has been checking in on me.”
“Because,” she dragged the word out, “he’s afraid someone else will come after you or that you’ll do something?”
Suddenly, the conversation about our fight seemed like a better alternative. “So, you and Peter are engaged?”
“Rose. Which is it?”
“I don’t think he believes I’ll call and ask for help if I need it. Nothing to worry about.”
“That’s quite an obligation from just some cop.”
I should have never let that tidbit slip out. “I’m not ready to go into this, Chey. Give me the ‘you and Peter’ gossip. Give me gossip about Mom and Dad, Uncle Ben, anything, just give me something normal.”
“We are engaged and also seeing a counselor, once a week. Apparently, I’m not so great with communicating either, but we’re doing better. I’m sorry I dragged you into the middle of all of that and then abandoned you.”
“And I’m sorry that I get bull-headed and don’t want to listen. Let’s just put it behind us. It’s about damn time, right?”
Chey changed the subject to crazy stories from our childhood, like the time she’d tried going down the slide on a board, and it caught her pants and ripped them off.
By the time we were done with our hour long conversation, I was too sleepy to even consider dinner, but at least I didn’t feel like I was going out of my mind.
*****
I gasped, clawing at the comforter on the bed, tears still rolling down my cheeks. Or maybe they were new tears; it was becoming too hard to tell.
Rolling over, I glanced at the clock, it was three am. I couldn’t breathe. My body shook. And the more my mind went over everything, the worse it got. I grabbed my phone and the crumpled up note that I’d tucked in the drawer, dialing the number before the numbness wore off too much and I talked myself out of it.
“Hello,” a barely-there voice answered.
I sobbed at the sound of his voice, unable to even utter a single word.
“Hello?” he repeated, stronger this time. “Are you okay?”
I sucked in a breath. “No.”
There was silence, and I hoped he hadn’t hung up for some reason.
“Rose?”
“I’m sorry,” I cried.
“What can I do for you?”
“Talk…. Say anything… Just… She’s dead.” I collapsed against the pillow as another fit of sobs tore at the hole in my arm.
“I know,” he whispered. “Take a breath, Rose.”
I wanted to ask him to come over. Come hold me. Make the fear and sadness go away. “I’m sorry for what I said to you.”
“I get it. You needed to speak your mind. I’m glad you did and I’m glad you called.”
I bit my lip. I had no idea what else to say. Waves of emotions crashed in my chest, but I had no words that would make sense.
“Are you okay?” James asked after a long silence.
“No.” Okay didn’t seem to even exist. I felt guilty for not reaching out to Alley. She’d been my friend. She’d played a part in making a horrible situation not so bad, and I never thought to do the same for her. The investigators and doctors told me to stay clear of everyone involved, but she needed someone and it should have been me.
“Will you be okay long enough for me to get dressed and drive there?”
“I—” Come on, this is what you wanted. “I can be.” All I had to do was convince myself of that. I went through the house and turned on all of the lights, hoping that’d make me feel less alone, then I got paranoid that someone outside could see my shadow through the curtains, so I went back through and turned them all off again.
It had only been ten minutes since I disconnected the phone with James, but it felt like two hours and I had no idea how far away he was. I dragged my fingers through my hair and paced through the hallway until I saw headlights coming up the street. I had the door open before he even made it to the front steps.
“Easy, honey,” he said, taking my face between his hands and kissing my forehead. He glanced around then pulled me to the living room.
We curled up on the couch. I enjoyed the simple warmth of his body pressing against my back for a long time before either of us spoke.
“I just have one question,” he said. “How’d you get my number?”
“Um…” I bit my lip.
“Trent?”
I nodded, “When he came to tell me about—”
Trapper bounded down the stairs and stopped in the foyer to stretch before continuing on into the kitchen.
“There’s my little hobo,” I mumbled. “I’ve been—I wanted to pretend that none of that was me. It was all Silver, and she’s gone now.” I shook my head and turned to face him. “I was pissed at you for disappearing, but if I cut off Silver and let her die, then nothing exists between you and me.”
He pushed back my hair. “It’s impossible to make it so black and white. You survived. We survived together. And as much as I’d like to erase some things. It’ll always be part of us. We both have a lot of work to do. We can’t exactly pick up where we left off and we can’t just forget what happened.”
His eyes were different. It was far more than being exhausted because I had woken him up in the middle of the night. He’d become distant and detached. “What happened to shedding it all away or smothering?”
“It takes time.” He wrapped his arms tightly around me and tucked me against his chest again, kissing the top of my head as I relaxed. “And work. And maybe something to work toward.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Something to work toward. I’d been concentrating on where I had come from, just getting through the day, and hoping it’d finally be the day things would feel normal again. It was time to rewrite my idea of normal. But there was still one thing that stood in the way of what I wanted. “Together?” I asked, hoping that he felt the same way.
“You sure you want to try that?” he asked.
“Yes. But I don’t want you to do it for me.”
“Good.” He rested his cheek on top of my head. “But, maybe we should work on becoming friends first.”
I grunted and glared up at him. “I assume that means no sex.” We used sex to avoid everything else—going back to that would only make it harder to move on. But at the same time, I wanted his hands all over me. I wanted him to ease the pain, to help me remember the good. We had to find a new way to do that. “Anything else?”
He shrugged, dragging his fingers mindlessly through my
hair. “We stop apologizing about anything that happened and try to act like it didn’t happen.”
“Easier said than done. You might have to remind me a time or two, but I can handle that.”
James chuckled, “If I only have to remind you a time or two, I’ll be worried.”
I twisted around just to see the smile on his face. For those four weeks, we’d shared more than an apartment and our bodies. We’d shared the pain, our fears, secrets, trust. Things that I couldn’t put into simple words. We came through it, and even though every day was still a struggle, simply having him next to me again made me want to keep fighting. I wasn’t ready to let the feeling go again, even if only for a few hours. “Does no sex include sleeping in the same bed?”
“If you want me to stay, I’ll sleep down here. We’re both tired, and even I can only resist so much.” He kissed my neck.
“Yeah, do that again, and I’ll make it much harder.”
“Go to bed, Rose. You’re exhausted and so am I. We’ll talk more—” he glanced at the window where the morning light was just beginning to stream in. “We’ll talk more this afternoon.”
*****
Someone knocked on the door and I shot out of bed, pulling a robe over my pajamas. I glanced out the window, but I didn’t see any cars that I recognized. The knock sounded again and I sprinted down the stairs. Through the thin curtains next to the door, I saw a female figure and yanked the door open. “Chey and….” I looked down at the carrier in her hand. “You said, but—you didn’t have to drive up here with her.”
“No…” she looked past me then raised her eyebrows. “ Is that your protective detail?”
My face heated and I followed her gaze. James was standing in the doorway of the living room in his jeans and the white tank he’d worn under his T-shirt.
“Chey, this is K—” Fuck. “James. James, my sister Chey and her daughter Laney.”
“Nice to meet you,” James said with a nod.
“And you,” Chey drawled.
I punched her in the arm, and she gently shoved me back.