by Abby Brooks
Chapter Eight
I never thought I’d set foot in a police station before. I’m a good girl and good girls don’t end up in police stations. I feel like everyone’s staring at me as I step out of my car. It’s cold, colder even than when I left for work this evening and I pull my sweater up around my chin, thankful for a reason to hide my face. Because good girls don’t end up with big ass bruises on their faces, either.
I am so effing tired of having thoughts like that in my head. I didn’t do anything wrong! I walked in on a bad man doing bad things and tried to stop him. That’s not bad; it’s good. So, maybe good girls do come to police stations when they’re trying to stop the bad guys.
Or something like that. I’m not sure I believe that yet, but if I say it enough, maybe I will eventually.
Officer Santoro is waiting for me just inside the front door and I take a moment to give a little whispered thank you to God for that. I might have just turned around and walked away if I had to sit down and wait for him to show up. He escorts me back to his desk and it feels really good to have him beside me, deflecting all the curious glances that keep coming my way. His size alone is comforting, but when he slides that imperious glare down over that strong face, well, only an idiot would consider challenging him, that much I know for sure.
The process is straightforward and clinical and I do my best to relate the experience as if I was a detached outsider rather than the victim of a brutal attack. I go into detail and name names. Officer Santoro digests the information without judgement, only slightly raising an eye when I name Sloan Anderson as my attacker. Before long, all the details are taken care of and all I have to do is wait. He hands me a copy of the report and escorts me to the door.
“You didn’t come in just for me?” I ask as he ushers me outside.
“Sure did.”
“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.” And that’s the truth. I feel better for having done the right thing. “I bet you’re anxious to get back to your family.” Night fell while I was in the station, courtesy of the shorter fall days and the line of storms moving in through the area.
“I’m not a family man.” His response is short and clipped and I feel like there’s so much more to this story than just a simple statement of fact.
I swallow and stare out at the darkened parking lot, pools of light settling at the feet of the lampposts. “Well, then, I bet you’re just anxious to get home.” I shrug and smile, overwhelmed by the suddenly awkward encounter. I can’t keep up with this guy’s mood swings.
He shrugs, a fluid movement of his massive shoulders and again, I feel like there’s more to the story here. “My dog needs me to come home and let her out.”
What am I supposed to say? He keeps on not heading towards his car and I keep on feeling compelled to stand here with him, but he’s not exactly easy to talk to.
“I like dogs.”
Wow. Did I really just stoop so low as to say I like dogs? I clear my throat and shake my head.
“Well, Mister… I mean, Officer Santoro. Thank you for your help.” I become the first of us to move by taking a few steps out towards the parking lot.
“Max,” he says and I stop in my tracks.
I look over my shoulder and raise my eyebrows.
“You can call me Max.”
I smile. “Well then, you can call me Chelsea.”
There’s something so raw and open in the smile he gives me in return. Something powerful that reaches down into my heart and opens it right up. This man is so closed he might as well be surrounded in barbed wire and in that one instant, that one smile, it was as if I got to see that part of him he’s guarding. It was just a glimpse, a tiny moment of sunshine peeking through the clouds. But it made me want to see it again.
No, not just see it again. I want to cause it again. Something tells me Max Santoro needs a few more reasons to smile.
“So how big was he?” Dakota is lounging in my favorite chair, sitting sideways in it so her legs are flung over the armrest. She’s got a margarita in her hand and a sparkle in her eye. It’s so damn good to see her.
“Who? The cop?”
She giggles and shakes her head. “No, you goober. The football player.” She exchanges a look with Maya while I blush furiously. Of course she meant Sloan. Why would I think she meant Max?
“He’s big.” I say and take a drink to cover up the fact that I’m still thinking about Max Santoro. “He’s a friggen linebacker for heaven’s sake. Think like, six foot four, two hundred and fifty pounds.”
“You got hit in the face by a linebacker?” Maya sounds incredulous and more than a little drunk. “Your face doesn’t really look all that bad, considering.”
“Uhh? Thanks?” I arch an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean. The pictures you sent were terrifying, but you’ve really healed up since then.”
She’s right. The bruises have faded. The fear response has, too. I feel less and less like a victim and more and more like someone who managed to do something pretty amazing.
“I just like giving you a hard time,” I say to Maya and raise my glass.
Dakota rolls her eyes. “Ain’t that the truth?” She finishes her margarita and stares at the empty glass. “You guys ready for another?”
I’m really not. The closer I get to thirty, the harder it is to recover the next day. But, this is a special occasion after all. Who knows when the three of us will be able to hang out like this again, what with Dakota traveling as much as she does now. I tell her I’m game for another, as does Maya, and Dakota hops up to do her bartender thing in the kitchen.
“So, be honest,” she says as she pulls bottles out of the cabinet and sets them on the little island that separates my kitchen from my living room. “How badass do you feel?”
Maya grins at me. “Yeah, for real. I mean, we all know you’ve got a ferocious streak, but did you ever think you’d be the one to walk in on a sexual assault, take a hit from a professional linebacker, and finish the story by kicking the guy in the balls?”
“Honestly? If someone had told younger me that story was in my future, I would have laughed and called them crazy. But that’s exactly what I did. And then, to make it even better, I didn’t just hide under a rock and let fear freeze me. I went ahead and pressed charges. I took action. I am not a victim and that is such an empowering thing to know about myself. When the shit hits the fan, I’m the girl who’s going to kick it in the balls.”
Dakota returns with margaritas and hands one first to Maya and then to me. “That has to feel good.”
“You bet it does.”
We chat for a while and Dakota fills us in on her new life with her new husband. In the past several weeks, they’ve been in three different countries, twice without anything but a tent to sleep in. She’s never been happier but I think that kind of uncertainty would upset me. I’m not sure I could handle the instability of it all, but one thing I’ve learned is that Dakota and I are cut from very different cloth.
“So, tell me about the guy. Is he hot?” Dakota’s looking at me and it takes me a second to comprehend what she’s asking me. Surely she doesn’t care about Sloan’s looks? “The guy,” she says, waving her hand and looking for the right words. “The patient.”
“Ohhh…” I smile. “Yeah, he’s pretty hot. Tall and dark with these amazing blue eyes and I swear he’s bigger than the football players. And he walks around with such an intense look on his face.” I close my eyes and envision Max Santoro’s somehow super sexy scowl. “I don’t usually go for the grumpy guys, but what can I say? I guess I’m branching out!”
Dakota looks confused. “I thought he was a football player.” She turns to Maya. “She said he was a football player, right?”
Maya nods. “Yeah. I thought so.”
“No, sillies,” I say and pick at the salt on the rim of my margarita. “He’s a cop. The guy who took me to the club is a football player.”
Maya and Dakota burst into laughter.
; “What?” I ask. “I don’t get it.”
“She wasn’t asking about the cop.” Maya smiles at me, still laughing. “She was asking about the guy who took you to Aura in the first place.”
“But,” says Dakota, swinging her legs back over the armrest of her chair. “Why don’t you go on about this cop because he very clearly is the one who has your attention instead of, you know, the professional athlete with the rockin’ bod on his way to fame and fortune.”
“I don’t want to talk about the cop.” And I really don’t. I mean, clearly there’s some part of me that does, but I don’t really have anything to say about him. “He gave me a speeding ticket and I thought he was a jerk. But then there’s this softness to him … this … I don’t know. Softness isn’t the right word, that’s for sure. That’s definitely the wrong way to describe him. And he’s more closed down than anyone I’ve ever met. But when he saw my bruises, the only thing on his mind was how he could help me. And then he smiled and it was so beautiful I just wanted to keep on making him smile.”
And now, thinking about Max’s smile, I’m smiling.
“For someone who doesn’t want to talk about him, you sure have a lot to say on the topic.” Maya’s still laughing.
“Yeah, well, he’s an enigma. I find him fascinating.”
Maya and Dakota lose it again and I stare at them in shock.
“Oh man,” Dakota says. “She’s really got it bad, doesn’t she?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this way.” Maya leans forward and touches my knee. “Have you considered asking him out?”
“No. I’m not even a little interested in a date with Max Santoro.” But even as I say it, I realize that’s not exactly true. In fact, I realize that’s not true at all. The more I think about it, the more I realize that if Max Santoro asked me out on a date, I would say yes without hesitation.
Why?
I can’t exactly say. There’s just something about him, something that calls out to me, begging me to see him. Begging me to know him. And there’s that smile, the one that made me want to bring him so many more after that initial one.
I slide forward so that I’m perched on the edge of my sofa. “Holy shit.” I swallow and look from Maya to Dakota and back to Maya again. “I have a crush on the cop.”
Chapter Nine
This has been one hell of a boring couple days. I took Chelsea’s advice and have stayed off my feet. Lots of TV. Lots of reading. Lots of … not much. And not much is just not a good thing for me. Today, I meet Charlie at the park. As much as I typically look forward to spending time with the kid, I’m really looking forward to it today. I need the distraction. This will probably be the last time we can count on an outdoor activity because of the weather. I’ll need to start coming up with some indoor activities for us. I slip on my jacket, stuff Reagan’s ball into the pocket, clip her leash to her collar, and lead her out to the car.
The wind is brutal. Slices right through my jacket as I let her in the backseat. I duck my chin into my collar and hop into the driver’s seat, grateful to shut the door against the wind. The gray skies don’t look like rain, just that awful slate-colored, sunless misery that’s all too common in Ohio in the winter. I swear, I was meant to live somewhere tropical. This place is fine, I guess. Better than New York at least. But it’s definitely not ideal. I check the weather before I pull out of the driveway, just in case I need to put Reagan back in the house and find something other than the park for today.
No rain. Just gray skies and a lot of wind. We should be good, especially if Charlie is running around with Reagan. He’ll be nice and warm. It’ll be my ass that we’ll have to worry about while I sit on the bench and shiver. I stop on the way to the park and grab a cup of coffee for me and a hot cocoa for him. I never knew a kid who didn’t like hot cocoa.
Of course, Charlie’s waiting for me. I recognize his bright blonde hair from the parking lot. His mom is supposed to hand him off to me, but after our first meeting, I haven’t seen her. Not once. Charlie always seems okay. He typically just waits for me on the bench, his wary eyes taking in everything all around him. I just don’t like the idea of a ten-year-old sitting alone very long. Not this close to downtown.
“Hey man,” I say as I sit down beside him. Goosebumps raise down his thin arms as the wind bites into his exposed skin. “Where’s your jacket?”
He shivers and draws his knees up to him. “I grow too fast.”
“Don’t have one that fits?” Or, you know, a long-sleeved shirt? I do my best not to judge because some people really do struggle to make ends meet. But Charlie’s mom has my cell phone number. All she needed to do is text me and ask if we could meet somewhere else. I hand him the hot cocoa and he holds the warm cup in close to his body. In that moment, he looks so small that my heart breaks.
“Nah.” Another shiver. “See you brought the dog along.”
“Sure did. I still can’t run.” I pat my knee. “Made my physical therapist mad at me last week by playing too hard.”
“Physical therapist? What’s that?”
I think for a minute, trying to find the right way to describe the job to a kid. “She’s kind of like a doctor, but she knows how to make injuries get better faster.”
Charlies nods. “You could have just said doctor, you know.”
“I could. But she’s not really a doctor.”
“She pretty?” Charlie looks up at me, the wind lifting his hair from his forehead.
“Very,” I say without thinking.
He grins and damn, if it isn’t marvelous. “You got her ball?” He gestures towards Reagan with his chin. The second she hears that word, she tilts her head and perks her ears. “Hey!” Charlies grins again. “She knows what I said!”
“Of course she does.” I dig in my pocket for her favorite toy. “She’s no dummy.”
“Nope. You can tell just looking at her. She’s like me. Too smart for her own good.”
I take Charlie’s hot cocoa from him and hand over the ball. It kills me to see his thin arms exposed, his pale skin looking slightly blue. “Hey. Tell you what. You take my jacket for a bit. You’ve been out here longer than me.”
The kid doesn’t hesitate. “You sure? It’s gonna be so big.”
“Just like you, huh?” I take the thing off and hand it over. It’s huge on him, of course. As big as he might be in the future, he’s just a scrawny kid now and I actually am big. We roll up the sleeves as best we can and I send him out to play.
He’s good with the dog. Fast, too. Gives her a run for her money if they’re both going for the ball at the same time. I watch them play and it makes me smile to see him fighting with my jacket. Well, until I start worrying about how long it might be until he gets a jacket that fits. Then I stop smiling altogether and my teeth start grinding together. I understand not being able to make ends meet. I really do. I understand that sometimes, people have to decide to do without. But how long will Charlie have to go without a jacket?
The decision’s made before I even realize I’m making it. I call him back over and he sprints towards me, both boy and dog grinning widely. “Wanna go get a jacket?”
“Really? Like right now?”
“Yup. This very instant.” His enthusiasm warms me.
Charlie looks at me, eyes wide and glimmering with excitement. “You mean a new jacket? Like it’s mine and no one else’s?”
“Yours and no one else’s.” Talk about an icepick to the heart. It kills me to think about the life this kid is living. We pile into my car and head to the mall. I might go a little overboard, letting him pick out a jacket, and a coat, and a few long-sleeved shirts. I keep my eye on the time so we can be back at the park in time to meet Charlie’s mom who is—of course—late. We munch on some soft pretzels while we wait, Charlie swinging his legs happily while he throws bites to Reagan.
“So are you gonna ask that doctor out on a date or something?” Charlie asks around a bite of pretzel.
“
Doctor? Oh you mean the physical therapist?”
“Yeah. The pretty one that’s fixing your knee.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Nah.”
“Oh.” Charlie nods knowingly. “I get it. She’s pretty but she’s not nice.”
“Actually, she seems very nice. And she’s brave. Her friend was getting picked on by some guy a lot bigger than her and she stepped in and helped.”
Charlie shrugs. “Just not into her?”
“How old are you? Ten or twenty-three?”
“Ten, silly.” Charlie tosses Reagan another bite. I wish he’d eat more. He looks about ten pounds underweight.
When his mom finally shows up—chatting away with someone on her iPhone, digging through a Coach purse with her manicured hands—she’s almost half an hour late. She gestures at Charlie, barely sparing him a glance, and my gut churns. I get having to do without, but I don’t get buying luxury items while your child doesn’t have a properly fitting jacket. Charlie hops off the bench and waves.
“Hold on,” I say and wait for his mom to notice that he’s not at her side.
“Charlie,” she snaps, her overly made up eyes glinting angrily. “I ain’t got time to wait on your slow ass.”
And that’s about all the patience I have left. I stand, putting myself between Charlie and his mom. She finally sees me, all six foot three inches of me, and she licks her lips while her eyes travel greedily across my body. “Call ya back,” she says into the phone and ends the call, her long fingernail clicking on the screen. “What’s up?”
“I bought Charlie a few things.” I wrap an arm around the boy when I realize he’s hiding behind me, peeking out at his mom like he’s afraid she’ll bite. “I only meant to get him a jacket, since it was so cold today. But I ended up grabbing him a new coat and some shirts. He was just so thankful, it made me want to do more for him.”
The woman eyes me, sizes me up, then unleashes a wide, red-lipped smile. “That’s very kind of you. It’s hard to keep him in clothes, he grows so fast. And what with me only able to find part time work, money just gets so tight.” She gives me a shrug and a look that says what can you do. I can think of a few things she could do without, that’s for sure.