by Jamie Canosa
No answer. Just those wide eyes.
“Baby?”
She blinked once and then twice.
“Allie, there isn’t a single goddamn thing on this planet that could ever make me hurt you. Ever.”
Another blink and he could literally see the shutters fall into place. “Don’t go getting all bent out of shape over me, Dean. I’m fine.”
Dammit all to hell. That was so Allie. She showed a single moment of vulnerability and now she was going to shut him out completely. Well, not this time.
“Don’t do that. You’re not fine, Allie. I know you’re not. How could you be? Don’t go playing this shit off, now.”
“Dean—”
“Darlin’. Just don’t.”
She held his stare until her eyes silently welled with tears. Not the bullshit kind she’d turned on and off like a faucet for years, distracting him every time . . . That’s exactly what she’d been doing. Distracting him. Redirecting his attention every time he got close to something like this. And he’d fallen for it every damn time.
As the first tear slid down her cheek, it struck him that this was the first time he’d ever truly seen her cry. It broke his fucking heart.
“Darlin’.” All it took was that one whispered word and she collapsed into his arms.
“I had to come back. I had to.” Her entire body was shuddering with the force of her sobs.
“Because of your mother.” Dean could understand that.
“I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry.”
“Baby, what the hell could you possibly have to be sorry for?”
“I never should have come back here. I knew this would happen. I knew I’d put you in danger. I should have stayed away. I—”
“Shh, darlin’. Stop. Please stop, Allie. You have nothing to be sorry for. You hear me? Nothing. You coming back . . . That was just about the best thing that ever happened to me. I couldn’t live forever never knowing what happened to you. I wouldn’t have survived.”
Knowing what he now knew, imagining her like that? It was killing him. His eyes burned like hell and he buried his face in her silky hair, allowing her familiar scent to surround him and comfort him with the knowledge that, despite how fucked up everything was, for right now—right at that moment—she was there, in his arms. She was safe.
Long minutes later, when her shuddering sobs turned to tiny hiccups, he still couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He’d promised her only ten minutes. That had come and gone over half-an-hour ago. She was bound to notice sooner or later, but the idea of her leaving turned his blood cold.
Wracking his brain for something to talk about, anything to keep her there with him just a little bit longer, Dean tossed out something he’d been wondering for a while. “How did you know about your mom? How did you find out she was sick?”
She couldn’t even meet his eyes as she pulled away, swiping furiously at her cheeks and tucking her hair back behind her ears. Any emotion at all embarrassed the hell out of that girl. She straightened her shirt and brushed invisible dust from her jeans before finally glancing in his direction. Dean tried his best to keep his face impassive as he settled back into his seat across from her. He didn’t want to give her any reason to withdraw from him any more than she already had.
“Sam. He was this baker who used to open his shop early every morning to make sure the street kids had something to eat at least once a day.” Her voice was back to that flat, neutral tone that had been scaring the crap out of him earlier, but at least she was talking. “I don’t know why, but I trusted him. I was worried about my mom. What my dad might do to her when he realized I’d left. I told Sam. Asked him to check on her somehow if he could. I have no idea how he did it, but two weeks after she was diagnosed, he knew. Then I knew. She needed me, so I came home.”
“Did she know? About the abuse?”
“Yes.”
That Dean couldn’t understand. “And she didn’t do anything?”
“There wasn’t anything she could do.”
“That’s bullshit, Allie! You were her daughter. It was her job to protect you.”
“She was scared, Dean.” The words came out so faint he barely caught them and she dropped his gaze again. The look on her face making his stomach plummet. “He broke her. I know how that feels.”
“Allie.” No fucking way. Dean was on his feet and around the table in a flash, taking a knee beside her chair and her hands in his. “Darlin’. You are not broken. Do you hear me? You’re not. I would never let that happen to you.”
She just stared down at him, her eyes taking on a vacant look that damn near destroyed him.
“Baby, tell me you believe me.”
More staring. She wouldn’t lie to him. Not about this. But, she wouldn’t give him the answer he needed, either. She was giving up. He could see it.
“Allison. Say it!” He couldn’t let her. Wouldn’t.
“It’s been more than ten minutes.” She finally broke her stare to push the chair back and got to her feet. “I have to go.”
“Allie. Stay. Please. Let me take you away from there.” Dean couldn’t remember ever feeling this desperate before in his life. If he let her go—let her walk out of here and go back to that house—he was giving up, too. And he just couldn’t. Not on her. Not on Allie.
“Where are we gonna go, Dean?” She looked so worn and delicate as she shook her head tiredly at the floor. “Across the fucking street? Sure, he’ll never find us here. If I left again . . . He couldn’t ever find me. I’d have to disappear and never come back. You can’t leave your family behind. And I can’t go back to living on the streets. I just can’t. I’m too damn tired to fight anymore.”
“Then we’ll call the police. We’ll do it right now. Tell them everything.”
“Dean, be realistic. You know him. You’ve known him for years and never suspected anything. You don’t think he can talk his way out of that? That he isn’t prepared for that? And even if they did believe us, even if they took him to jail, he has friends, Dean. Friends who will bail him out. And then what? Nothing’s changed.” The sound of her sigh cut straight through him. “He still can’t find out that you know all of this. We’re still in danger. Which is why this has to stop. Now. You said if you got to the bottom and I still wanted you to go, you’d leave me alone. I want you to go, Dean. Go live your life. Move on. Forget about all this crap.”
Dean shut his eyes and planted both hands on the counter. His chest heaved under deep breaths as he fought for control.
“I can’t.” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper. His heart warred mercilessly with his head, shredding each other to bits. She made sense. Her argument was justified. She was right. About everything. And nothing, because there was absolutely nothing right about any of this. “Allie, I can’t.”
“You have to. Your family needs you, Dean. Pushing this any further will put not just you and me at risk, but them, too. If something happened to you . . . You have to let it go, Dean. Let me go.”
Allie stared up at him unmoving, her soft lips moist and slightly parted. Everything in him demanded to claim those lips, devour her mouth until he’d erased every last ounce of pain from her beautiful eyes. He fought it with everything in him. If she knew what he was thinking—that he was recalling the taste of her lips, her skin, the feel of her body against his—she probably smack him, or worse, dive back behind those fortress walls of hers.
Dean forced himself back half a step to keep from reaching for her. The attraction growing in that moment—the intense desire to touch her—was so strong it was practically magnetic, pulling him in against his will. With his retreat, something that looked very much like disappointment flashed across Allie’s face and his willpower was torn all to hell. Her soft gaze dropped to his lips and that was all he could take.
Without his permission, his arms reached out and surrounded her slim frame, hauling her closer. On a groan, his fingers weaved through her silky locks, tugging gently until her h
ead tilted back to him.
The moment her lips became accessible, his crashed down over them. She parted beneath him and his tongue dove inside, softly caressing hers. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck as she arched into him. The feel of her soft curves pressed against his body stirred something inside of him, and he ached to squeeze her in his arms and never let her go, invade her, claim her, mark her for her and the rest of the world to see that she was his to protect and care for. But he couldn’t. Not after all she’d shared with him. So, he held her carefully and kept his kiss soft and sweet. She needed that much from him.
When she pulled back anyway, it cut like a knife to his gut. She was retreating again. Curling back into that imaginary armor she thought she wore. Dean swore viciously and repeatedly under his breath as he watched her turn and disappear without a single glance back.
This girl was going to be the death of him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Let her go. Allie wanted him to just let her go. And that’s exactly what he’d done. He stood there beside that empty fucking chair at a complete loss as to what else to do, and watched her walk right out his front door.
His fist probably couldn’t handle anymore run-ins with hard objects and he didn’t have the energy for it, anyway. All of that pent up frustration and helpless rage had turned into hopelessness. She hadn’t run from him, pushed him away, and hidden because she didn’t care, or because she was angry, or afraid. She’d done it because she hadn’t seen any other option. And the real kicker was, neither did he.
But could letting her go—moving on without her, while he knew she was trapped in that hell—ever be an option, either? What the fuck was he going to do?
Dean didn’t know her father well enough to judge, but Allie was convinced if she left again he’d kill her. So taking her away and bringing her to his house wasn’t an option. The bastard would just come for her. And Allie was equally convinced he’d kill anyone who got in his way.
Was he willing to die for her? Hell, yes. But she was right about his family, too. They depended on him. There was no way he could just abandon his mother and sisters. And he could never put them in danger like that. So where the hell did that leave him?
Lying on his bed, running his hands through his hair and staring up at the ceiling, while he tried not to choke on the pain of losing her. That’s where.
Were they really destined to spend their lives separated by only a street, watching each other suffer, but being unable to do a thing about it? Was their love story really destined to be a goddamn tragedy? Fuck!
Chapter Twenty-three
Allie
Dean still sat on his steps when he was home. He still watched her house at night. And she still watched him through her bedroom window. It hurt, knowing he was so damn close. But he never once made a move to get any closer. He finally understood everything, and he’d come to the same conclusion she had.
It was hopeless.
This was the way it had to be. She wasn’t brave or strong. This was the only way she could protect the people she cared about. The only thing she’d done right. Even if it felt terribly, horribly wrong.
Sooner or later Dean would move on. He’d meet someone and stop sitting on those godforsaken steps. The house across the street would become nothing more than a memory he passed on his way to work and he’d forget all about the girl trapped inside.
It would happen. She wanted it to. For him. But it scared the living shit out of her. If no one knows you exist, do you? When Dean forgot about her, would she simply cease to exist? Or would she go on, trapped within these fucking walls for the rest of her pathetic life? Which would be worse?
Operating on autopilot was the only way she could survive. The less she thought, the less she felt. And the less she felt, the easier it was not to think. She tucked away her picture of Dean along with her mother’s unicorn in her sock drawer and never looked at either of them.
She woke up, cleaned the house, cooked dinner, showered, and went to bed. Occasionally, she would eat or drink something. That was all she could handle doing. Anything else required too much feeling. She couldn’t feel anything, anymore. She had to shut it all off or it would have torn her apart.
Even the creepy-ass-stalker calls ceased to bother her. There was still no answer, but they’d eased the barrage to only two or three calls a week. Allie would answer, hang up, and move on. They became just another part of her routine.
She probably should have been more concerned about them. Whoever they were obviously knew a hell of a lot about what was going on in her life, but she couldn’t really find it in her to mind. Their silent connection had almost become welcome. A quiet reassurance that someone, somewhere remembered her. Allie had stopped trying to get them to talk. When she knew who it was she simply stayed quiet and shared a few minutes with another human being before they disconnected and she found herself alone again.
Her father floated through her hazy world, making rare appearances and causing various pains, most of which she barely even noticed. But he still scared the crap out of her. That was the one emotion she hadn’t been able to turn off.
Dean was sitting on his steps, watching the house again when her father’s car swerved into the drive. Getting out cost him no small effort, and then he stumbled his way to the door. Saturday. Another day spent at the bar. Allie was ready for that, though. It was just another part of their routine.
“Allison!” Shit, her full name. When he drank it was always fifty-fifty on what kind of mood he’d come home in. As soon as she heard her full name, she knew. She knew she was screwed. “Allison, get your ass over here.”
She rushed to her father’s side and attempted to steady him on his feet, but he shoved her off.
“I don’t need your help you stupid, useless girl. What did I tell you about stealing from me?”
Stealing? Crap, the most dangerous questions were always the ones she didn’t know the answers to.
“Umm . . .”
“Umm. Umm,” he mocked. “It’s a wonder you have any brains at all. But then you must not, thinking you could steal from me and get away with it.”
“I didn’t!” Wrong call. Arguing was always the wrong call.
“You didn’t?” The deceptive calm to his voice was more frightening than if he’d yelled. “Then, would you mind explaining what the fuck this is?”
He stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and what he pulled out nearly stopped her heart. Her mother’s glass unicorn.
“Where . . .?”
“Your drawer. What, you don’t think I check up on my employees every now and then? I found it right beside this.”
His hand disappeared back into his pocket and this time she was certain her heart did skip a beat or two. Her picture with Dean. Her only reminder of the joy he’d brought into her life, even if only for a little while.
“Please, I didn’t—”
“Steal? I told you to box my wife’s things up and donate them. Not keep them for yourself.” My wife, not your mother.
“Please.” She hadn’t cried in front of her father in she couldn’t remember how long, but her eyes stung now. “Not the picture. I didn’t steal the picture. That’s mine.”
“Yours? Whose house is this? Mine. This is my house. Which makes everything in it mine. Like this.”
He hurled the unicorn at the hardwood floor. Allie moved to catch it, but she was too late. All it earned her was a blow to the back of the head that sent her down beside the shattered remains of the only token she still had left of her mother.
Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she laid there watching him tear her picture to shreds and drop them over her like a hopeless rain of a past that was gone forever. She clutched the pieces she could gather and squeezed her eyes shut.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
What could she say? What did it even matter? “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” He was mocking her again. Then, his hand wrapped aroun
d her hair, dragging her back to her feet and twisting her head sharply to the side so that her neck was bent at an awkward angle and she was looking him right in his face. “You’re sorry, what?”
It took her a moment to decipher the question. A moment too long for his taste and he shook her head roughly.
“Sir!” She cried out as pain lanced through her scalp. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“You most certainly are.” He released his grip on her hair and she stumbled away from him. “The most sorry piece of shit I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. Useless just like your fucking mother. But at least your mother was never a goddamned liar or a thief.”
Liar. Thief. Crap, not good.
His hand flew, and being that she no longer had anyone to hide the evidence from, landed indiscriminately across her left eye. The smack sent her reeling. It felt like her eye was about to pop right out of the socket as she slammed into the back of the sofa nearly taking a lamp down with her. Her father was there quicker than a person as drunk as he was had any right to move. Dragging her up by her hair again, he spun her around and bent her over the back of the couch. Her face planted in one of the cushions and he held her there.
“You think you can steal from me? Lie to me? You think I’m fucking stupid? Your mother’s gone. I have no use for you anymore.”
Allie choked and gasped for air, but the cushion pressed against her airway. She tried to push back, but her father’s grasp on the back of her head held firm. She struggled and begged with muffled pleas, but he was relentless. The world was starting to slip away. Her lungs screamed for mercy and the blue plaid cushion blurred to blackness before her eyes. As her struggles grew weaker, she knew what would happen. The roar of blood in her ears was so deafening that she almost didn’t hear the pounding on the door.
Chapter Twenty-four
Dean
Dean’s ass hurt from sitting on the cement steps out front of his house. He’d been at it so long, his back was starting to ache. This was his new routine. Work all day, sit on those damn steps half the night. He knew it didn’t do him any good. It was borderline masochistic sitting out there every night, just staring at her house, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.