by Jamie Canosa
“You’re the last person she owes an explanation to.”
AKA, ‘if I’m not getting answers, you sure as hell aren’t’.
By this point, Justin had enough sense to at least look mildly freaked out. It didn’t translate to his vocal chords, though. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned back to Allie, haughty smirk firmly in place.
“You want to have dinner tomorrow night? I promise it’ll be a bit more high class than,” he glanced around the restaurant, “a diner.”
“You son of a—” Dean was on the move again, and this time Allie wasn’t convinced she’d be able to hold him back. She wasn’t even convinced she really wanted to. Justin could be such a prick.
Before Dean could make a scene, Allie took it into her own hands, standing to face Justin on more even ground. She was sick of him looking down at her and Dean. “I’m not interested, Justin. I never have been and I never will be. You want me to write that down so you don’t forget?”
His smirk slipped into a livid frown. He wasn’t used to being rejected. Especially, not publicly. “So, trailer trash is more your style?”
Ass. Hole. “No, dipshit, I’m just not into stuck up, pretentious, entitled, pompous ass, mama’s boys who can’t get a fucking clue. So, why don’t you take a damn hike?”
Allie dropped back into her seat breathing so hard, she was mildly concerned about hyperventilating as she shoved another bite in her mouth to avoid looking at either of them. It didn’t last long. Chewing slowly as not to choke on the massive amount of testosterone suddenly polluting the air, she chanced a peek at Dean. He was staring up at Justin with a slightly amused half grin and blatant laughter in his eyes. So immature. And so fucking hot. She focused her attention back on her plate until she heard Justin stomp away.
Allie waited. Dean was quiet. She took another bite, chewed, and waited some more. He was still quiet. When she couldn’t stand the silence any longer, she snuck another quick peek. Dean was just sitting there staring at her, a completely indecipherable look on his face. She lifted a brow in question because, honestly, watching her eat was a little creepy. With a brief shake of his head that meant as little to her as the look he’d been wearing, Dean turned his attention back to his own plate and they finished their meals in silence.
He watched as she polished off her plate, and then paid the bill before leading her back out to the truck. Just when she thought she’d survived their reunion, he tossed the keys on the seat between them and turned to look at her.
“What the hell happened, Allie? One minute everything’s fine and the next you take the fuck off. You’re just . . . gone. Where the hell were you? Why did you leave? Was it because of me? What I said?”
“What you . . .?” Oh, crap. This whole time he thought she took off because he told her that he loved her? “No. Of course not, Dean.”
“Then, why? Please fucking explain because I’m lost here. I’ve been lost for months.”
“It had nothing to do with you.” Not exactly true, but all these months later, she still had no credible lie to feed him. “I just . . . I needed a break from shit. I needed to clear my head. It wasn’t personal.”
“Not personal!” She’d never seen Dean explode like that before. “Do you have any fucking clue what I went through the past few months? Not knowing where the hell you were, what the hell happened to you. I tell you I love you and then you just fucking disappear? And that’s ‘not personal’?”
Shit. When he put it like that . . .
“Dean. I didn’t think—”
“About me? That much is obvious. You didn’t give one goddamn thought to me at all.”
“Dean.”
He took a deep breath and visibly forced back his anger. It took a few minutes, but he eventually succeeded.
“At the very least, I think you owe me an explanation, Allie.”
He was right. She did. She absolutely did. She just . . . couldn’t.
“Dean, I . . .” Allie sighed, knowing she couldn’t just brush this under the rug anymore. “There was some shit I needed to get away from for a while. Not you. It had nothing to do with you or anything you said.” She paused, looking for something she felt safe sharing. There wasn’t much, but it would have to do. “My mother’s sick, so I came back to take care of her.”
He waited, but there was nothing else to be said. Realizing that was as far as she was willing to go, he shook his head and stared out the windshield. “All right, Allie. If that’s all you can give me, I’ll take it. For now.” His expression softened as he turned his focus back to her. “I heard about your mom. I’m real sorry, Al.”
“Thanks.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Not well. She looks like hell.”
He only nodded and chewed on the inside of his cheek, like he always did when he was thinking.
“If there’s anything you need . . .” He trailed off, but she knew what he was offering. Anything. Everything. He always had.
“Thanks.”
Things were hardly good between them, but at least they’d managed to reach some kind of amiable truce for the time being. As much as she hated to admit it . . . “I missed you.”
Shit. She definitely hadn’t meant to say that out loud. From the look on Dean’s face, it was just about the last thing he’d expected to hear.
“I fucking missed you, too, Al.”
Chapter Six
Dean
Holy fucking hell. When she’d opened that door, he damn near stopped breathing. She looked like one of those kids you see on TV from some god-awful third world country. But this was Allie. His Allie. And she looked like shit. Worse than shit. She looked like she was slowly starving to death. What the hell had happened to her?
He hadn’t stopped worrying. Not one goddamn day had passed since he realized she was gone that he hadn’t worried about her. But, not even in his most horrible nightmares had she ever looked like that. Skin and bones, his mama would call it, and that’s all she was. So small she almost looked . . . frail.
The sight of each of her ribs individually protruding through her nightshirt was enough to kill his appetite. He’d only managed to pick at his omelet, while she shoveled food into her mouth like she was afraid she’d never see it again.
And it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the way she looked on the outside. It was the look in her eyes that hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. She was afraid. What the hell of, he had no fucking clue. Him? Coming back home? Something else? Someone else?
Whatever it was, something was very wrong. The Allie he knew was fearless, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. More than just that half-assed story she fed him in the truck. If, after that, she still wanted him out of her life, he’d go. No arguments. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to just up and leave until he knew she’d be all right. And that meant several more meals and prying the rest of the story from her with the goddamn Jaws of Life if necessary. He couldn’t just walk away. Not from her.
Chapter Seven
Allie
“Where the hell have you been?” Her father had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Not that there was a right side for him.
“I went out to breakfast.” He lifted a brow and she added a quick, “Sir.”
“You went out?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Must I remind you that you work for me now?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then you do not leave the fucking house. You do not eat, sleep, or use the damn bathroom unless I say you can. Do you understand me?”
Shit, this was really going to suck. “Yes, Sir.”
For now, she just needed him to chill out. She’d work the details—and how to get around them—of her self-imposed imprisonment later.
“Get your lazy, useless ass upstairs and check on your mother.”
“Yes, Sir.” Just happy for the excuse to get the hell away from him, Allie booked it up the stairs.
Her mother was lying o
n the bed and once again the sheets were wet. Fuck. This shit wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. What the hell was she thinking leaving this morning? She was just as bad as her father. Dammit.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Here, let’s get you up.” Allie helped her to the bathroom and left her to take care of her business while she changed the sheets again.
When she was finished, Allie tucked pillows around her mother to make her comfortable on her side, where the sores on her back wouldn’t be bothered. Once everything was taken care of, she headed back down to the living room. Her father had finally left—for the bar, she’d guess, considering it was a Saturday afternoon—so she was, thankfully, on her own. It was past lunch time, but she was still stuffed from breakfast. It was going to take a while to get her appetite back, and she wasn’t even sure that was such a good idea.
Allie could still remember all too clearly how hungry she’d been when she first hit the streets. Starving constantly, until her body finally adjusted. If things went south, she didn’t want to have to go through that again. Deciding to skip the meal, she settled on the couch. When her mother woke again, she’d make her something to eat, but until then . . . she hadn’t seen TV in for-freaking-ever.
She flipped through a few channels and realized some things never changed. Could reality TV ever actually get better, really? Giving up the hunt, she snapped it off just in time to hear the phone ringing in the kitchen. Knowing her luck, it was probably her father or a bar tender somewhere looking for someone to give him a lift home.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Hello?” Still nothing. “Is someone there?”
Someone was definitely there. She could hear breathing and faint background noises. It didn’t sound like a bar. Accidental pocket dial maybe?
“Hello?”
A moment later the caller disconnected and Allie blinked down at the phone. Well, okay then. That wasn’t rude or anything.
Irrationally frustrated by the odd call, Allie stalked back into the living room and dropped onto the couch. Damn those cushions felt good. It was so strange not having anything to do. She wasn’t hunting down some place to sleep, or something to eat or drink, or busy avoiding some damn creep or another. For a moment, she forgot why she’d ever left in the first place. Then, she shifted on the couch and the sharp pain shooting up her spine reminded her.
~~~~~~~~~~
Days came and went, each one sucking as bad as the last. Allie stayed home and took care of her mother. She’d already forfeited graduating high school as far as her father was concerned, so there wasn’t even a discussion about going back. Allie didn’t really care. She had bigger problems, and she’d rather have spent the time with her mother anyway. Her mother’s life had sucked for the most part, but at least maybe Allie could make her death a little more bearable.
Death. Allie knew she was dying. It was obvious just looking at her. All of the doctors said it would be soon, but still she had a hard time believing it. It was just something she wouldn’t be able to accept was real until it happened. After that? Who the fuck knew. Take off again? Hit the streets? Maybe. She sure as hell wasn’t planning on hanging around here any longer than necessary. Dammit, Mom. Why did you have to go and get sick? It just fucked everything up all over again.
Dean was AWOL since they’d had breakfast together. She saw him coming and going through the front window, but he hadn’t stopped over again. Between work, and school, and finals, she knew he had to be getting slammed. The guy never quit. He never even slowed down. Not for a minute. Allie wished she had his kind of strength. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been such a sniveling coward.
Every night when her father got home from work, she’d hide upstairs in her mother’s room until he went to bed. He rarely bothered to go in there, except to reprimand her for a chore she’d forgotten to do. Using her new and improved avoidance technique, she’d managed to avoid another physical altercation. So what if her life essentially consisted of house arrest where she helped a disabled woman use the bathroom and reposition herself in bed? It was better than the alternative. Maybe she could be a nurse someday.
Ha, not fucking likely.
~~~~~~~~~~
Without anything to differentiate them, each day seemed to blur into the next, but she was pretty sure it was Saturday when Dean resurfaced. Her father had left later than usual that morning, which meant he was probably hitting the bar and not work. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Dean gave her a silent once over when she answered the door, and then frowned. She was wearing another hoodie, which covered her scraggly excuse for a carcass and the belt it took to keep her jeans up, but he wasn’t a moron. “When did you last eat?”
“Dean, I’m fine.” What the hell did he think? She had an eating disorder or something?
“That’s not what I asked.”
“This morning, your highness. I had a bowl of cereal for breakfast. You want to know what kind?”
“It’s past lunch.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Well, I don’t give a crap if you’re hungry or not. You’re eating. Let’s go.” He reached for her arm, but Allie swatted him away.
“Go where?”
“Out. If you’re not going to eat here, then I’ll take you somewhere you will.”
“Dean, it’s not that I don’t want to eat here. I just don’t want to eat, period. I’m not. Fucking. Hungry.”
“And I. Don’t. Give. A. Flying. Fuck. I don’t care if I have to drag your ass out of this house for every damn meal from now on. I will do it.” Shit. He meant that. He really would.
She sighed in defeat. “Look, Dean. I can’t leave right now.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and just glared at her. “I’m watching my mom. How about a compromise? Come in. You can watch me eat a damn sandwich.”
He considered it a moment before nodding. “Deal.”
Allie let him in, and set about making three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. One for her, one for Dean—because he was always hungry—and one for her mother when she woke up. Dean settled in at the table and watched her work.
She was just smearing on an extra layer of crunchy peanut butter for Dean when the phone rang. Brushing the crumbs from her hands on her jeans, Allie grabbed the receiver off the wall.
“Hello?” No answer. She was seriously getting sick of this crap. “Hello? Who is this?”
Nothing. No response at all. She knew there was someone there, she could hear them breathing just like every other time, but they didn’t say a word.
“What the hell was that all about?” Dean demanded the moment she hung up the phone.
“Nothing. It was no one.”
“What do you mean, ‘it was no one’?”
“I mean I’ve been getting these calls for the past few days, but they never say anything.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s just a phone call, Dean. What the hell’s a phone call gonna do? It’s probably just a wrong number or something.” Yeah, she didn’t really believe that, not after the first few at least, and neither did Dean.
“Normal people do not call someone and then not say anything, Al. If there’s some freak calling you, I damn well wanna know about it.”
Allie sighed. There was no arguing with him when he got like this. “Well, now you know.”
Dean glared back at her as she slapped the pieces of bread together, but he couldn’t maintain it. It was the truth. Now he knew—why ever the hell that mattered—there really wasn’t anything left to argue about.
“So.” Once she’d handed him his plate and dropped down across from him, he finally got around to what he was really doing there in the first place. “You ready to talk to me yet?”
What the hell was this, sharing and caring time? No, she was not fucking ready to talk to him yet. He must have seen her answer on her face because he sighed and jerked
his hand through his messy hair. And, dammit, it only made it look hotter. How the hell was that fair? He’d probably still look like a friggin’ Calvin Klein model after six months on the street.
“Allie.” He reached across the table and settled his hand over hers. Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t pull away. “I know you’re scared. For whatever reason. I can see it in your eyes. But whatever the hell it is that’s got you so damn frightened . . . I wish you’d trust me enough to let me in. Let me help. I can help you, Allie, if you’ll just let me.”
She’d never seen Dean plead for a single thing in his entire life—not a candy or ice cream as a child, or even a job to feed his family—but that’s exactly what he was doing now. What a total shit storm this was turning out to be.
“Dean.” Dammit, what the hell was she supposed to do now? “I do trust you. Shit, Dean, I trust you with my fucking life. That’s not it at all.”
“Then, what is it?”
“I just . . . can’t. Please, Dean, there are just some things I can’t talk about. Can you try and understand that?” Now it was her turn to plead, and he wasn’t handling it much better than she had.
This was probably one of the most open and honest conversations they’d ever had, and they still hadn’t even really said anything. Dean shook his head and stared down at his hand, which was busy scraping at the flaking table surface.
“Dammit, Al. I’m seriously trying here. I get not wanting to talk about things. There’s plenty of shit I don’t talk about with anyone but you, but do ya think you could give me something? A fucking hint, or something?”
“What do you want from me, Dean?”
“Whatever you’ll give me.”
“Like what?” What the hell was it going to take to placate him?