by Dale Mayer
If she really knew him, she’d have run screaming out the door already.
Like everyone else had.
He wasn’t the most popular guy. That was okay. He had his sister. Paris was softer, gentler than he was. She’d taken the path of least resistance and had suffered more for it then. He’d taken the full frontal aggressive route, but he was suffering more now.
At least that’s what Paris said he was doing. He thought it was all psychobabble. Still, he loved her. She loved him. They had each other, and there’d never been anyone else in their lives for more than a night or two. Neither had a partner in any real sense of the word – only each other. Through the tough times, that had been enough.
Except Paris wanted more in her life. Children. A husband. To be loved in every sense of the word. Sean wasn’t sure that she could ever have such a thing. And he knew he couldn’t. So it was not something he’d ever brought into his psyche as a wish or a want. Why yearn for what he couldn’t have? But Paris did, and by God, he’d do what he could to see her get it.
One of them deserved to know what happiness was.
“What is it?”
The voice penetrated the black cloud in his mind. He started, realizing he’d been glaring out the window. With considerable effort, he pulled himself out of the place he always ended up in – regardless of his best efforts to not go there.
Moodily, he played with the fork on the table. Pivoting it over end to end. He didn’t know what to say.
“Never mind. It’s obvious that the subject is painful.”
He raised his gaze to stare at her, marveling that her hairstyle completely hid the one half of her face. Why? Was she blind in that one eye to the extent that it didn’t bother her to only see with half her normal vision?
“It’s not painful,” he said abruptly. Then frowned. Why the hell had he said that?
“Well, it can’t be pleasant. You looked like you wanted to kill someone.”
He smiled darkly, remembering his thoughts. “Can’t. That’s already been done.”
She raised her eyebrows and narrowed her gaze at him.
Let her think he was a killer. Let her think the worst of him. That would keep her away.
“Well, if that’s the case, you didn’t kill them.”
Damn. Was she for real? “Who are you, Pollyanna?”
It was her turn to frown. “I don’t know the reference.”
He waved his hand. “Really? Loosely, it means you have a positive-look-only-on-the-bright-side-of-life attitude.”
“I don’t,” she protested. “I’m nothing like that.”
“So you decided I haven’t killed anyone? Are you nuts? I’m perfectly capable of killing.”
“Oh, absolutely.” She grinned. “But only in the right circumstances.”
He stopped in the act of picking up his coffee cup, stared, then shook his head. “You aren’t making any sense.” Trust him to get paired with a lightweight in the brain department.
“You are capable, but you haven’t done it yet. That’s probably part of the anger. You wanted to be able to do something like that, but you couldn’t…”
Just as he was about to lash out at her again, she added, “…someone beat you to it.”
Holy crap. She was dangerous. How the hell had she figured that out? And what was he going to do about it?
Just as he was about to open his mouth and Lord only knew what was about to pour forth – because he had no idea – the waitress arrived and placed full steaming plates down. He had a massive amount of fries in front of him. On cue, his stomach grumbled. The waitress was rattling off something about enjoying their meal, but he was already reaching for one long particularly good-looking fry on his plate – when it was snatched out from under him.
Astonished, he could only follow its trail where it disappeared into Robin’s mouth.
She caught his look and grinned. Then she laughed and laughed.
When she could, she said, “Sorry, that fry had my name on it.” She giggled again. “And the look on your face was so worth it.”
Stunned, but at her huge face-splitting smile that completely transformed her features, he picked up another fry and studied her. When she’d laughed, her hair had moved slightly. Now that she was eating, the hair was brushed out of her way with a quick movement of her hand. And he realized that the hair was more than a style. It was a front. Behind which hid scars. And from what he could see, they were long and ugly.
Hence the comment about what Jenna might be subjecting the children to.
He ate slowly, thinking about all the things her and Jenna had said…and not said, and realized that this was likely one of the core issues why Robin was here. The one side of her face was stunning with pure white skin and huge green eyes that could cloud with emotion or twinkle with laughter. Her hairstyle was dramatic and eye-catching. But she kept to herself and avoided letting anyone see the other side of her face. And now he understood why.
What impact it was going to have, he didn’t know. But as they had a lot of work to get done, maybe honesty was the best policy.
Deciding to be upfront, he asked, “What happened to your face? House fire or car accident?”
She stilled, then choked on her food. She swallowed hard, her gaze flickering in his direction then back at her burger. He kept his gaze steady, figuring he already knew the answer.
Finally, she reached for the glass of water and took a long drink. Her voice was cool and controlled as she said, “Why?”
“Considering what we have ahead of us, I’d appreciate knowing how your face became scarred.”
She stared at him, belligerent but direct. God, he loved that about her. She never seemed to back down. Maybe it would get irritating if she turned out to be one of those women who needed to pick fights to clear the air or one who just liked to cause trouble – create a little drama. Yet it was refreshing to see someone with enough backbone to stand up to him.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me how you got your scars.”
Ouch. He hadn’t seen that one coming. He settled back slightly. “What scars?”
She used her fork to point at the open collar of his shirt, then moved it to the side of his neck by his ear before it finally dropped to his hand. Scarred areas visible to the eye of anyone looking. He’d given up trying to hide the scars a long time ago. They were small and not unsightly. The biggest scars were inside. Of course it was a different story once he took his shirt off. But that rarely happened in daylight and as he wasn’t physically self-conscious – who gave a damn?
But she was right. They both had scars. If he wanted answers, then she had the right to ask for answers as well. His usual lie well-prepared, he opened his mouth and out came the truth instead. “I was abused as a child.”
His own gaze widened in shock as the truth came out. A truth he never shared. Jenna knew. Paris knew of course. She’d been there. But that was it. Except for the odd doctor and social worker or case worker. People without faces. Where he was a number only. A statistic to help fill in the dots on their data graphs.
Her eyes widened first in shock then softened in sympathy.
That part he didn’t like. He said brusquely, “Your turn.”
“It was a car accident.” She winced. “My father was driving my mother, brother, and me to a special event. I’m the only one that survived.”
And damn if she didn’t chip away at another stone on the defensive wall he’d built to keep others out. A wall he’d never been in danger of having any breach before.
But this woman…she had weapons he had no defenses against.
One of them was her forthright honesty.
Chapter 5
Robin plowed through her cheeseburger, her mind screaming with things she wanted to say. Only her mouth was focused on getting the food down. She had wondered when she’d seen the small scars. If he’d been abused like he said, chances were there were many more scars under his clothing. Ones he could hide. She couldn’t
.
She wished they didn’t have to go to the children’s hospital. Her stomach twisted at the thought. Not to mention she had to get there somehow first.
Given the scale of her accident, she rarely shared the details. There was no point. It was hard enough to deal with people’s reaction to her face – and the rest of her body, but if they knew the rest – yeah, that was more than she could handle. At least most of the people in the hospital either knew already or didn’t bother asking many questions. They’d seen and heard it all before. She had no idea how they could handle all the sad cases day in and day out, but they did, and for that she was grateful. They’d made her time in the hospital that much easier. Not easy, mind you. There was nothing easy about this process.
“Are you having reconstructive surgery done?
A simple and calm question.
She responded in kind. “I’ve had many. There are many more to go.” She shrugged. Might as well tell him the truth. “I’ve had enough. Of always being in the hospital. Of trying to deal with the pain and the drugs. Of slowly recovering. The cycle just never ends.”
He nodded. “So you’ve put them on the back burner for now.”
“It sounds simple, doesn’t it?” She quirked her lips, staring down at her plate, not seeing the half-demolished food. “But it’s not. No one understood when I said enough.”
“No one else is going through what you are going through, so how could they? At the most, people can empathize – they can’t understand unless they’ve been there.”
God, he was scary. He understood. And by his own words, he’d been there. She assessed the small scars and then studied the broad shoulders. He’d likely had a few surgeries himself.
“The shrink stuff is hard, too,” she muttered.
“Actually,” his voice deepened, “I think the shrinks are the worst.” His gaze wandered over her face, studying the side she carefully kept hidden from the world. “I could deal with the physical pain as I healed, but the emotional pain, the healing of the mind – now that part was torture.”
And he went back to eating his fries.
She understood so much of what he’d just said and yet he said it so casually. He’d admitted so much freely. It made her question her assumptions about him. She didn’t think he’d open up easily, yet he’d admitted so much so fast.
Maybe they had more in common that she’d first thought.
Her cell phone dinged. She checked the incoming text then winced. “Jenna says the person we’re to meet is available after 1pm today.”
Sean, his own phone in his hand, said, “Good.”
She glanced over at him in surprise. “What’s good about it?”
“The faster we do this, the faster it’s over.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
“Back to the earlier question – my truck or the bus? I understand why the bus given your history, but the truck would be more private and faster. We’d be there in less than fifteen minutes.”
He waited, seemingly unconcerned about her answer. She wanted to take the damn bus. “Truck.”
And found satisfaction in the flicker of surprise in his eyes. He didn’t know her as well as he thought. Then again, as she stared at her hand starting to shake with nerves, maybe she didn’t know herself either.
*
He wondered what her impulse would cost her. Would she actually get in his truck? He knew driving was riskier, but in his truck, she was as safe as anything other than fate could keep her. It wasn’t new but it was big and solid.
He paid the lunch bill, aware that she hadn’t even noticed, now all balled up inside at the idea of sitting in a vehicle again. Then again, this is what these types of sessions were all about. He could help her do this.
He was good at helping out. It kept the focus off him.
Grasping her arm above the elbow, he led her out to the vehicle, not giving her time to back out. If he let her go to her hotel room and change or even collect something to bring with them, she’d changed her mind. Better to drag her forward and have her face this.
She moved like a robot beside him. Perfect.
He clicked the remote lock and unlocked the passenger door. He led her straight there, opened the truck door, and half-lifted her in. Without wasting any movement, he reached across and snapped her seatbelt in place and snugged it up tight. Then he shut the door and walked around to his side.
She never said a word.
Neither did she move a muscle.
He hopped in, buckled up, and started up the engine. To ease the silence, he turned on the radio, then after a careful look around, he pulled the truck out of the hotel parking lot. A good driver already, he drove extra careful today.
Once he was back out on the main street, which was a short straight run up to the hospital, he glanced over at her. That she was still sitting and hadn’t tried to bolt said a lot about where she was at in life right now. His gaze landed on her white-knuckled grip on the seatbelt strap. Or not.
“You’re doing great. We’re almost there.”
She made a small, almost indiscernible sound.
“Another couple of minutes more,” he said quietly. Sure enough, he could almost see the huge building from the road. He pulled ahead and made the turn to bring him into the back lot of the hospital. He heard Robin let out a heavy raspy breath.
“How did you know where to go?” she asked her, her voice subdued.
“I’ve lived in Vancouver all my life.” He winced. “And it’s the only children’s hospital here.”
There was a long silence as she digested his words. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t do it, and it was a long time ago.”
“It might have been a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the cruelty.”
He pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. It was only as he opened his door to exit that he realized that she was referring to his childhood. “I…” he said, slamming the truck door and coming around to help her out, “don’t either.”
Together, a truce of some kind settling inside, they walked into the building he’d spent way too much time in as a child and a young teen. If he wasn’t receiving care, Paris was. She’d suffered so much more than he had. He’d been hurt, but she’d been victimized in the worst of ways over and over again. He’d been unable to stop it and when he had finally had the chance, like Robin had guessed, someone else had done the job for him.
Maybe that was a good thing. He didn’t think once he’d started stabbing the bastard that he’d have been able to quit until the old man was nothing but hunks of raw meat.
He had to wonder what his life would have been like if the rage that had consumed him that day hadn’t spent itself. There’d been one cop whom he’d swung at, the bloodthirst and rage still burning bright, who’d let him hit it out, kick and punch and fight until he couldn’t fight any more, and the cop never once laid a hand on him in retaliation. Only as a way to restrain him so he didn’t get hurt himself. When he’d finally crumpled to the ground, a mess of bleeding raw emotion, the cop had said that he now needed to help his sister.
From that moment on, he’d been there for her like he hadn’t been able to be there for her before.
He thought of that cop a lot but hadn’t seen the man since. What did it take to be someone who could see the need in a child to pound someone to the ground and take the blows while not hitting back? To come from a place of such deep understanding that he allowed himself to be the target for as long as that child had needed? Did that cop know he’d saved Sean’s soul that day, even as Paris had saved his life earlier?
Since that day, Sean had never had the anger return to the same extent. Whenever it did rise up now, it was lighter, softer, and less intense. He knew that one day that rage would no longer be there. He could see that now. The cop must have seen it then.
For that, Sean would always be grateful.
He glanced over at Robin and wondered how
she’d vented.
Had she vented?
Or was she, like Paris, walking around, the raw wound open and still oozing day in and day out without ever having a way to heal?
He couldn’t think of anything worse.
At least he’d managed to punch and kick out at the world at the damage that had been inflicted on him and his beloved sister. His hard-won healing had started from that point forward.
Chapter 6
The truck ride was over. She’d actually ridden in a vehicle again – and survived. She wanted to laugh and jump and cry all at the same time. Only she was afraid it would end in tears – hysterical ones at that. It was stupid to feel so overwhelmed. She’d call the venture a success but as it would not have happened without Sean putting her in, buckling her up, and locking her down to keep her there, it was hardly her success. She’d been white-knuckled the whole time. She glanced down at the nail indents in the palm of her hands. At least she hadn’t cut the skin.
The sun shone high above, a bright beautiful sky signaling that she was alive and life was good. Privately, she admitted, now that the trip was over, it hadn’t been that bad.
Now if she could get through the next hour or so.
As if afraid that she’d bolt, Sean hooked her arm into his and led the way through the imposing double-door entrance of the huge building ahead of them.
Inside the hospital, Robin tugged back on Sean’s arm to stop and look around. And take some deep breaths. Just the noise¸ the smell…memories hurtled back into her mind, bringing back the same panic she’d experienced before her last surgery. And memories from even before that. Tears collected at the corner of her eyes.
She couldn’t do this.
She didn’t want to do this.
She had to do this. Oh God. She closed her eyes and worked on regaining her sense of balance. It was either that or take off back to Sean’s truck. She shuddered. And then what? Get back in the vehicle and wait for him to do his thing here?