by Jamie Canosa
Amy extricated herself from the chair with an exaggerated sigh, but she didn’t argue. “Goodnight, Allie. I’m glad you’re back. Come and visit us again soon, okay? Maybe we could go to the lake, or the mall, or—”
“Bed, Amy.”
“Oh, all right, fine. Night, Dean. Night, Mama.”
A chorus of ‘goodnights’ followed her out of the kitchen. And, as Sarah turned to go, Allie caught the slightest, “Night, Allie,” from her, as well.
Their mama trailed out after them, and the moment they were alone, Dean slid the water closer. “Take the damn pills, Al.”
Allie did as she was told, swallowing the pills in sets of two. Hopefully that would take the edge off.
“Is everything all right with Sarah?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. Something just seems . . . off with her. She was awfully quiet.”
“She’s a thirteen-year-old girl. Who ever knows what’s going on inside their heads? It’s just a phase she’s been going through, that’s all. She’s not the one I’m worried about.”
Allie dropped her head in her hands and groaned. He was relentless. Dean’s hand traveled lightly up and down her spine and she tried not flinch. His gentle, repetitive touch felt strangely comforting. Her eyes drifted shut and she was beginning to doze when he reached the bottom of her spine near her belt and hesitated.
When he swept his hand back up, he took the hem of her shirt with him and sucked in a sharp breath. High flying fuck!
“Allie!” He scooted his chair back and lightly smacked her hands away when she tried to pull her shirt back down. “What the hell is that? Don’t even fucking try to tell me you got that helping your mother out of bed!”
She hadn’t actually gotten a look at the damage herself, but she could imagine what the bruise must look like. She’d seen enough of them. Shit!
“Dean, keep it down!” Allie finally succeeding in getting the shirt away from him and tugged it back into place.
“Keep it down?” He was incredulous. “What the hell happened to you? Who—Did your father do that?”
“No!”
Dean’s eyes flared. He knew. He knew. Shit, he knew.
“Dean, he didn’t—”
“Son of a bitch!” He jumped to his feet with so much force that he sent the chair toppling over backward.
“Dean!”
“That bastard hurt you? Dammit! He— This isn’t the first time, either. Is it?”
She just stared up at him as tendrils of icy fear wrapped around her throat, choking off her ability to speak. What could she really say at this point that would make a damn bit of difference, anyway?
“It isn’t. Back before you left, that bruise on your cheek? You didn’t fall down the goddamn stairs. Shit.”
“Dean, don’t—”
“That wasn’t it either, though, was it? There have been other times. How many? How long? Tell me, Allie, how long has this shit been going on? How long have you been hiding it from me?”
“Dean, I couldn’t—”
“Goddammit! I knew it. I knew something wasn’t right. I fucking knew it.”
Dean didn’t lose it. He held his shit together better than anyone else she’d ever met. But he was sure as hell losing it now. He was pacing the small kitchen, tugging on that dark hair of his. She’d never been afraid of Dean for a single second, but this was bordering on scary.
“Dean, please—”
“Don’t you dare ‘please’ me, Allie. You’ve been lying to me. To my face!”
“It wasn’t your problem to deal with.”
“Not my problem? Dammit, Allie, doesn’t it mean anything to you when I tell you I love you? Of course it’s my problem. I fucking love you. Do you get that? I love you and someone is hurting the person I love! That sure as hell is my problem.”
“Dean—” She tried again to regain some semblance of control of the situation and failed miserably.
“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch!”
He started for the door and Allie knew exactly where he was headed.
“No!” She jumped up after him and was fairly certain it was the pained cry that accompanied the movement which stopped him in his tracks, and not her demand.
“Allie!” He almost looked like he’d forgotten she was still there. “Shit, Allie, sit down. You shouldn’t be moving. Hell, you should probably be at a hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital, Dean.” But she did let him settle her back into the kitchen chair. “And I need you going over there and stirring up trouble even less.”
“Stirring up trouble? I’m going to kill—”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” She no longer tried to hide the pain on her face since it seemed to be the only thing getting through to him at the moment. Her breathing had picked up into the hyperventilation zone, and it felt like an internal assault—her lungs battering her poor aching spine. “You don’t know what you’re getting into! If he finds out what you know, he’ll—Augh!”
“Okay! All right! Allie, stop!” Dean looked so distraught her heart ached for him. “Christ, come on, let’s get you on the couch. You need to lie down.”
The couch was in the opposite direction of the door, so she let him lead her that way and get her situated so that she was lying flat on her stomach.
“Can I?” Dean’s hand lingered near the bottom of her shirt as he kneeled on the floor beside her.
He was asking now? Seriously? “Mm-hmm.”
What the hell else did she have to lose?
He inched the material up her back and met the sight with another harsh breath. For several minutes, he didn’t say a word. Allie couldn’t see him from the way they were positioned and she wasn’t about to move, but she could feel him staring at the evidence of everything she’d been trying her entire life to hide from him. For some reason, that made her cry. She buried her face in the cushion as the tears leaked down her cheeks.
“Darlin’.” Dean’s soft breath tickled her ear, as his hand glided over her hair. “Don’t cry. I’m so sorry. Please, Allie . . . don’t cry.”
She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to show him how pathetically weak she really was, but it was too late for that. He already knew. He knew and there was no going back from that.
“Baby . . .”
“Stop!” Allie scrubbed the tears from her face, determined not to play the fool any longer. “I’m not a baby. Stop talking to me like some child, Dean. I don’t need your help and I sure as shit don’t want your goddamn pity, so just save it.”
“Allie.”
She struggled to sit up, but Dean pushed her back down.
“Get off of me!”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I have to go!”
“Go where?”
“Home, Dean. I have to go home.”
“No chance in hell I’m letting you set foot back inside that house, Allie.”
“Not letting me? Who the hell do you think you are? You live over here in Family Fucking Function Land. How nice for you! But I don’t. I live over there. That is my home. Always has been. Always will be. There’s no escaping it.” She didn’t know how thoroughly she believed those words until she spoke them out loud. Even when she’d been out there on the streets, she never really believed she’d escaped this place. Maybe that’s why she really came back. Because, in the end, she knew all along that there was only one way for her story to end and it wasn’t with a fucking happily ever after.
“Don’t you dare try to push me away, Allison. Not now. Not like this.”
“Screw you, Dean! I’m not the one who fucked this all up with the pushing. That was you! Always pushing. Couldn’t just leave things alone.”
“Allie . . .”
“Let me up!” She shoved Dean’s arm off and ignored the stabbing pain as she hauled herself off the couch.
“Allie, don’t! Sit your ass down.” Bossy
Dean was back, but this time she wasn’t listening.
She couldn’t deal. With the pain. With the words that had been spoken between them. With the consequences of the words that had been spoken between them. With any of it. Allie pushed past Dean and out onto his front steps before stopping to face him. She had to at least attempt some kind of damage control.
“I can’t do this with you, Dean. Not anymore. But please, if you ever cared about me at all, please do not stir up more shit than I already have to deal with. Please.”
With that, she turned and rushed back home—back to her personal hellhole—leaving Dean looking shell-shocked at his front door.
Chapter Ten
Dean
Dean ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time. He had to do something with them or he’d punch a hole through the fucking wall. Fuck! How had this happened? How had he let this happen? The girl he loved had been hurting. For who knows how long. Right in front of him. And he’d done shit about it. What kind of sorry excuse for a man did that make him? And she was back there now. With him. While Dean sat on his bed running his hands through his fucking hair!
But what else could he do? She’d begged him not to say anything. ‘If he ever cared about her’? What kind of bullshit statement was that? He wanted to call the cops right that second, but she’d deny the truth. He wanted to go on over there and drag her out of that house. Kill that piece of shit scumbag for laying his hands on her. But she’d sworn it would only cause more trouble, and what the hell did he know?
Not a goddamn thing, obviously.
How could she go back there? Back to that house? Go running back to him after what he’d just seen on her body? Just the thought of it made him taste bile creeping up the back of his throat. The bruise was almost black against her pale skin, and covered most of her lower back. Whatever the hell he’d hit her with . . .
Shit. The image of Allie being hit sent him running for the bathroom. Heaving, the last of his mama’s cooking into the toilet, Dean cursed himself. The bruise hadn’t been there earlier. He was damn certain of that. So whatever the hell had happened, happened after he left. He’d left her there.
Goddammit!
Dean’s fist flew, connecting with the side of the tub. He felt a couple of knuckles crack and saw the streak of red he left behind on the porcelain surface.
Dammit. He needed to get himself under control before he woke up the whole house. Until he knew what he was going to do, he couldn’t explain any of this. Snatching a roll of gauze from under the sink he wrapped up his fingers before cleaning up the mess he’d made. His temper had already done enough damage for one night. It had sent Allie right back to that asshole.
Forcing one breath and then another deep into his lungs, Dean sat back on his bed and fought for composure. He had to try and think of it from Allie’s point of view. She’d come back to take care of her sick mother. What would he do in her situation?
It wasn’t even a question. Hell itself couldn’t drag him away from his mama if she were dying. So how could he do that to Allie? She needed this time with her mom, he had to find a way to give that to her. Even if that meant backing off and leaving her be for whatever time her mama had left.
Dammit all to hell, this was so messed up. His hands were back in his hair again, tugging at the roots. He wanted to rip it all out. Dean didn’t do helpless. There was a problem, he found a solution. His father passed away, he got a job. His family needed more money, he worked extra hours. He did what it took to take care of the people he loved, and he never once regretted any of it for a single second. But this? This had him more lost than he’d ever felt in his entire life.
Chapter Eleven
Allie
For weeks, Allie waited in petrified silence for Dean to turn her world upside down. But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything except sit on his front steps and stare at her house for hours at a time.
More than once, she watched him lunge off the steps, like he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and head across the street with her heart in her throat. Each time, he turned around at the curb. The last time she’d watched, trying to get control of her erratic heartbeat as he stormed back up his driveway and slammed his fist into the hood of that trusty, rusty old truck of his. The whole thing shook with the force of the impact and it made her flinch all the way from her couch. He was really angry with her.
The calls hadn’t stopped, either. Her mystery caller was almost as persistent as Dean. For a while, she thought it was him checking up on her, but several came in while she was watching him sit outside, upping her stalker status to two.
Nearly every day, the phone would ring and Allie would answer it just to be greeted with more silence. But they never once came while her father was at home. She had absolutely no idea what to think of that. It was possible the caller was actually looking for him and that’s why they never spoke to her, but then again, maybe they weren’t. Maybe missing him was intentional, which meant the caller either knew him well enough to know when he would be out, or they knew because they were watching the house.
Part of her knew that should probably freak her out more, but in light of everything else going on in her life, the phone calls seemed relatively unremarkable.
~~~~~~~~~~
The DVD player brightly announced that it was seven-thirty-eight when she woke, despite how dark the room was. Storm clouds were gathering outside, and she felt like she could have slept all day. But something had woken her. A noise. Coming from upstairs.
“Mom?” She pushed open the bedroom door and practically tripped over herself, stumbling to a halt.
Her mother was lying on the bed wracked by a coughing fit and using what little strength she had left to try and turn herself over as blood splattered over her lips.
“Mom!” Racing to the bed, Allie rolled her onto her side so she could spit the rest of the blood out.
Shit, there was so much. And she was still coughing up more.
“Dad. Dad!” Douchebag or not, he was her father and likely to be the only parent she had left very soon.
“What the fuck do you—?” He burst in the room, took one look at her mother, and stopped. For a brief moment, Allie actually thought she saw a flicker of humanity in his eyes, but then it was gone so fast she couldn’t be sure. “Well, call an ambulance, stupid. I don’t want her dying in my house.”
So much for his fucking humanity. Scrambling for the house phone in the kitchen, Allie nearly tumbled down the stairs. When she dialed, the operator had to ask her to calm down repeatedly before they could get all of the information they needed from her. The ambulance was on the way.
Back upstairs, the coughing had subsided, but her mother’s breathing had gotten worse. She was wheezing and it seemed like it was taking all of her strength just to draw each breath. Allie sat beside her mother holding her hand and wondering how much longer she could keep it up.
And where the hell that goddamn ambulance was.
An eternity later the bedroom door burst open again and her father led two paramedics along with a stretcher into the room. He played the doting husband—like he had so many times before—the entire time the EMTs were there, but the moment they screeched off, lights and sirens blaring, the charade was over. He brushed his hands together like he was wiping himself clean of her, and snatched up his keys.
The hospital. Surely he was taking her to the hospital to be with her mother. He couldn’t be that much of an asshole. But, apparently his assholery knew no limits.
“Well, that’s that. I’m going for a drink.” He sauntered out the front door like he hadn’t a care in the world and climbed behind the wheel of his car. The only car they had. How the hell was she supposed to get to the hospital now? She had to be there. She had to.
Dean. It wasn’t ideal, but he was her last hope. He was angry, but he couldn’t deny her this. He wouldn’t. Allie threw on her ragged sneakers and raced across the street. Halfway there, Dean flew out the front door an
d met her in his yard.
“I saw the ambulance. Your mom?”
The worry on his face was too much. It drove her right over the edge of whatever fragile walls she’d erected. She could barely speak past the lump in her throat as tears welled in her eyes. Luckily, she didn’t have to.
“Get in the truck. Let’s go.”
Dean helped her buckle—her hands shaking too badly to do it herself—and then flew like a bat out of hell all the way to the Emergency Room entrance at the hospital. The moment they were inside, he deposited her into one of the chairs in the waiting area. She would have argued if she’d thought her legs could hold her any longer.
“Stay here. I’m gonna go see what I can find out.”
Allie sat there in a daze watching him argue with the nurse behind the reception desk. She’d known this was coming. She’d known it the day she left the city. Stage four cancer wasn’t something you walked away from. Not without some kind of miracle, and her family had never scored high on the miracle charts. Then, why the hell was she so stunned?
Her mother was dying. Dying. The fact wasn’t new. And it wasn’t what bothered her. Her mother was about to be dead. Dead. That was it. There was a hell of a lot of difference between dying and dead. Yeah, sure, one usually led to the other, but her brain had refused to make that connection until now.
Her mom was going to die. Be dead. Dead. She hated that word. It sounded so goddamn final.
Dean’s raised voice drew her back to the present. He was gesturing at Allie and shouting something about family and time. Whatever he’d said must have worked because the nurse got up and Dean waved her over. She followed on numb legs down a stark white hallway lined with puke green curtains. Dean was at her side the entire way until they reached a curtain near the end.
“It isn’t good,” the nurse warned. “Her doctor will be in shortly to speak with you.”
She pulled back the curtain slightly to indicate her mother’s ‘room’ but not far enough for Allie to see inside. Did she really want to go in there? If she didn’t see it, then maybe she could keep on living in denial. But this wasn’t about her. It was about her mom. It was why she’d come back. Someone needed to be with her when it was time. She shouldn’t be alone. No one should have to be alone.