by Diane Kelly
Bartholomew Edmund Jonasili was definitely a hero.
Dad and Uncle Angus stood as the white-headed doctor toddled in a few minutes later. The man perched on the end of my bed, giving my foot a friendly squeeze. “You were lucky, young lady. No head injuries, no internal injuries. But you’ve got a dislocated shoulder, a broken arm, and a broken leg. The break in your leg wasn’t clean and will cause you some pain for a while, but you should be back on the road harassing motorists in two to three months.” The doctor shot me a wink and a smile.
“Thanks, Doc.”
After the physician left, Dad turned his chair to face me more directly, sat down again, and leaned in. “Lucas Glick called to check on you. He saw the report on the news. Trey came by the hospital, but the doctors wouldn’t let him in to see you since he’s not family. He’s phoned me a dozen times for updates.”
I harrumphed.
Dad stared intently at me. “The guy’s a wreck, Marn. You should talk to him.”
I shook my head, wincing with the pain it caused in my shoulder. “I don’t want to talk to Trey, Dad. It’s over.”
Hell, it was over the minute it started. Regardless of the recent developments, with me unable to leave Jacksburg and Trey unable to find suitable work in the area, the relationship had been doomed from the start. His plans to work on Felony Frenzy 2 had only sealed the deal, made the break cleaner, in fact. Besides, he’d left on Wednesday. By now he’d be back in California, programming sadistic pimps to beat the crap out of the poor prostitutes who sold their bodies for them.
While I’d slept, my father and uncle clearly hadn’t. The bags under their eyes told me they were exhausted. “Go home, you two,” I told them. “Get some rest.”
“You sure you’ll be okay without me?” Dad asked.
“The nurses can take care of anything I need.”
“All righty, then.”
Dad and Uncle Angus gave me a kiss on the cheek and left, leaving me the TV remote and my phone, which miraculously had not been damaged in the incident. I cued up Culture Club’s “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” Alone with my music and my thoughts, I realized that no matter how bad my shoulder and leg felt, the physical pain Tiffany Tindall inflicted on me was nothing compared to the pain Trey had caused. He hadn’t merely disappointed me as Madame Beulah predicted, he’d devastated me. His betrayal hurt worse than any of my broken bones. Tiffany had broken my body, but Trey had broken my soul.
When the song ended, I thumbed through my phone, looking for suitable self-pity music, eventually settling on “Love Stinks” by the J. Geils Band.
Yup. Love stinks.
***
The following morning, two orderlies arrived to move me out of intensive care and into a regular room for my final night’s stay. The doctors wanted to keep an eye on me one more day as a precaution. The good news was that I’d be going home tomorrow. The bad news was they’d lowered the potency of my morphine drip. It hadn’t only numbed my battered body, it had also helped to numb my battered heart.
A knock sounded at the door and I looked up to see two big, bald, brown and identical men in the doorway. Andre and Dante. So there are two of them, after all. With the identity theft case concluded, that made two mysteries solved. One of them carried a huge bouquet of yellow roses, the other a box of pecan fudge.
They greeted me in unison. “Hey, Captain.”
The guys took seats on either side of the bed and filled me in on the latest police action. With Lucas Glick in rehab, not much had been going on the past few days. Andre had clocked a donkey doing eighteen miles an hour on the highway, taking a kick to the groin when he’d tried to stop the escaped beast. Dante had pulled Sheriff Dooley over in his personal vehicle and issued him a citation for expired registration. When the sheriff had argued, Dante had told him that no one’s above the law.
I got a good laugh out of that one. “Wish I could’ve been there to see it.”
The two of them stood. “We should get back out there,” Andre said. “You get better quick, okay?”
Shortly after the twins left, a nurse came into the room, bringing me a lunch of colorless baked chicken in congealed gravy, plastic-looking green beans, and blue Jell-O that must’ve been sitting around a while because it had long since lost its jiggle. But after two days on IV fluids only, I was ravenous, inhaling the tasteless glop on my plate in record time.
I had just dipped into the gelatin when a shadow appeared in the doorway. I glanced up and froze. Trey. He must’ve sneaked past the nurse’s station while they were busy delivering meals.
His face bore a dark three-day growth of stubble, which might have looked incredibly sexy if I hadn’t been so enraged, so hurt. His eyes were sad, pained, his shoulders sagging as if he bore the weight of a tremendous unseen burden. His shirt and jeans were wrinkled, looking like he’d slept in them.
I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I pointed at the door with my good arm. “Get out.”
He stepped into the room. “Marnie, please listen to me.”
This was unfair. With my leg in a cast clear up to my thigh, an IV drip in my arm, and a catheter shoved into my girl parts, I couldn’t exactly get up and walk away. I didn’t want to talk to him again. Ever. There was nothing more to say. I glared at him. “Get. The hell. Out!”
Trey walked to the foot of my bed, a pleading look in his eyes. “Marnie—”
“Go!” I screamed.
He paused a moment before shaking his head.
Damn him! If the bastard wasn’t going to leave, then he was going to get an earful. I struggled to sit up in the bed, grimacing against the pain. I threw back the covers, exposing my mangled leg and arm, the casts, the bandages covering my abrasions, the line of stitches across my right knee.
“Take a good look, Trey! This is real life cops and robbers.” I wrapped a hand around the metal stand for my IV drip and shook it, the clear bag of fluid swaying back and forth. “I’ve got pain-killers dripping into me, an arm that’s fractured in four places, and a shattered leg. There’s a four-inch metal screw holding my thigh together. The doctors say with a lot of luck I might come out of this with only a slight limp. Does this look like entertainment to you? Does this look like fun?”
He flinched, but his eyes never left my face.
“This has been an absolute joyride for my father and Uncle Angus, too, wondering if I’d make it through, if I’d come out okay.” By this time my voice had risen to an all-out shriek. “Dealing with the bills and the insurance company will be a regular laugh riot. Woo-hoo! What a great game! Fifty points for me!”
Trey opened his mouth to speak but there was nothing he could say that I had any interest in hearing.
“Game over, Trey!” I grabbed the plastic bowl of Jell-O off my tray and flung it at him with every ounce of energy I could muster.
Trey didn’t even duck, taking the bowl full-force to the forehead as if it were some sort of penance. The blue gelatin stuck in his hair, a cube of it sliding down the side of his face, dropping off his chin to his shirt, sliding down until it disappeared into his breast pocket.
Trey stared at me for a long, silent moment and, despite my best attempts to hold back my emotions, I burst into angry, frustrated sobs, my fists clenched at my sides. He turned to go, glancing back one last time with a face so full of shame I felt a tinge of shame myself for making him feel that way. But it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.
He took one last look at me. “I’m sorry, Marnie,” he said softly. “I am so, so sorry.”
He walked out of my room. And out of my life.
I grabbed the white cord draped across my blanket and pushed the call button on the end. Seconds later the nurse stuck her head in the door.
“More blue Jell-O,” I sobbed, tears running down my cheeks. “Please.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ALL OUT OF LOVE
I spent the next six weeks on disability leave. Dad drove me out to the rehab hospital a few times
to visit with Lucas, pushing me in a wheelchair since it was difficult for me to manage crutches with my left arm in a cast. Lucas was doing well, had overcome the shakes and even met a woman who was also going through the program, the two of them encouraging each other to stay strong, to take life one day at a time. No doubt Lucas would come out of rehab stronger, smarter, and sober. I’d come out of my ordeal, too. Stronger, smarter, and still alone.
The day Lucas completed rehab and swung by our house to pick up Tosh, his eyes bore a look I’d never seen in them before. A hint of hope, the bold glint of determination, that shiny spark of life.
“You look good, Lucas,” I told him.
He smiled. “I feel good, too.”
As we stood in my front hallway, Lucas cradled his cat in his arms, scratching Tosh affectionately under the chin. “Missed ya, buddy.”
A loud, rhythmic purr was Tosh’s reply.
Lucas turned grateful eyes on me. “Thanks, Marnie. If it wasn’t for you . . .” He choked up, unable to finish his sentence. But he didn’t need to.
I put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “It’s what friends do.”
He packed up Tosh’s bed, food, and toys. I watched from the window as he drove away in his tank truck, sparkling from a fresh wash and wax courtesy of Dad and Angus. They’d even had the broken passenger window replaced.
An enormous sense of relief and fulfillment flowed through me. I may have lost in the game of love with Trey, but my karmic score was even now. I couldn’t change the fact that I’d ended a life, but I had no doubt now that I’d saved one, too.
***
Trey hadn’t tried to contact me since that day in the hospital when I’d gone Jackson Pollock on him and splattered him with blue Jell-O. No doubt he was back in Silicon Valley, working fourteen-hour days to crank out Felony Frenzy 2 as quickly as possible, our relationship now a vague memory, amounting to nothing more to him than a few romps in the hay.
How could I have been so fooled? I’d actually believed the guy cared about me, loved me. What an idiot I was. The guy had just wanted to get in my pants. And I’d let him. Then again, he had put on a convincing act. And at least he’d given me some long-overdue kick-ass orgasms.
The orthopedist removed my casts with instructions for me to follow up if my mobility didn’t improve in a few days. After a month of sponge baths, I felt beyond ripe. The first thing I did when I returned from the doctor’s office was take a long, hot shower. I wore out the razor blade combating the thick, coarse hair that had cropped up under the cast, making me look like a female Chewbacca. Yuck. I stood under the spray until the last drop of hot water ran out.
The following morning, the skin on my left arm and leg was still pale and soft, but it looked a little less pasty. I took another hot, heavenly shower, scrubbing every inch of my skin with my loofah, as if trying to erase the broken person I was and release a new me. Afterward, I sat on the edge of my bed and slid into a pair of my navy-blue police uniform pants. A searing pain rocketed down my leg as I bent my knee, but I fought through it. I had to get back to work, had to get out of this house, had to get busy and get my mind off Trey.
It would be my first day back at work since Tiffany had tried to kill me. Even though my body wasn’t yet back to one hundred percent—the doctors said it might never be—I was looking forward to cruising the streets. Sitting on my butt watching endless episodes of Family Feud had proven pretty damn boring. I’d even grown tired of my Wonder Woman DVDs.
Bluebonnet had done her best to keep me company, had seemed to sense my loneliness, licking my hand incessantly. I’d had way too much time to think about Trey, how he’d made me laugh, how he’d made me think, how he’d made me feel alive again. How he’d taken all that away, ripped my heart to shreds, and left without ever looking back. That sorry son-of-a-bitch.
I stood and shoved my .38 into the holster at my waist, tossing my head defiantly. Why was I moping over a sack of shit like Trey Jones? Even if he had the skills to put a zip in my drive, a woman can’t live on orgasms alone. I’d be damned if I’d waste another second thinking about some computer geek whose personal ethics needed major reprogramming.
When I finished dressing, I headed out of the house, Bluebonnet on my heels. I gave her a kiss on the head and ruffled her ears. While she settled on her blanket on the porch, I walked to the garage, taking deep breaths. The cool fall air bore a faint scent of hay, the last cutting of the season.
I stopped next to my motorcycle and ran a hand lovingly along the seat. I’d missed her, missed the therapy the bike provided, the tranquility of meandering down country roads, taking in the scenery, the sun on my face, my troubles forgotten, if only for a while.
Having been neglected the past few weeks, she rode a little rough at first, but she eventually worked the kinks out and we sailed down the road. The fresh fall breeze caressed my exposed cheeks as I rode, but it was nothing compared to Trey’s touch.
I rounded the bend by the tall transformer where Trey’s electronic GPS gizmo had led us during our high-tech scavenger hunt on our first date. I refused to let my mind linger there, forcing myself to make a mental grocery list instead. Dog food, bread, coffee . . . Shortly thereafter I rolled past Lorene’s, where Trey and I had our first meal and several others together, Trey performing discreet acts of erotica with the onion rings for my amusement. The guy had an offbeat sense of humor, one of the things I love—make that loved—about him.
Unwittingly, I slowed as I passed the baseball field where we’d first made love on the trunk of his parents’ Lincoln, sorely testing the shocks as we gave ourselves to each other with a rough, unrestrained, wholly satisfying passion I hadn’t known I was capable of and certainly hadn’t expected from a computer nerd like him. Damn. It had been six weeks since I’d last seen the guy, and he was still on my mind. Will I ever be able to stop thinking about Trey?
As I turned into town, an eighteen-wheeler came down Main, heading toward me from the opposite direction, spewing dark smoke as it struggled to gain momentum with its heavy load. For a split second I debated pulling into its path and putting a quick end to my misery, but that wouldn’t be fair to the trucker, my dad, or myself. I’d have to get through this somehow. If it’s true that time heals all wounds, I should feel better by the year 3862.
I parked at the DQHQ in my usual spot, shaking out my leg as I climbed off the bike. The darn thing still felt stiff. Chief Moreno looked up from the morning paper as I stepped into the station. As usual, a Red Vine dangled from one corner of his mouth, a Marlboro from the other.
The chief stood and walked toward me. “How you feeling, Captain?”
“Never better.” An out-and-out lie, but what good would it do to tell him that my leg felt rigid and shaky, my muscles had atrophied, and I’d lost the will to live?
Chief Moreno put a hand on my shoulder and gave it an encouraging pat. I forced a smile. He returned to his paper and I headed to my booth.
Selena appeared at my side with a powdered donut and a mug of coffee flavored with hazelnut creamer, giving me the royal treatment. “Glad you’re back, Marnie. I’ve missed our girl talk.”
I took the donut and mug from her. “I should break a bone or two more often.” I took a big swig of coffee. Mmm. I looked up at Selena. “How’re things with Eric?”
Selena grinned and tossed her hair sassily. “He asked me to be exclusive.”
“Sounds like true love.”
She giggled and opened her mouth as if to say something else but looked at my face and seemed to think better of it. No doubt she’d heard about me and Trey breaking up, and no doubt the still-raw pain was evident in my eyes. Too bad I’d long since run out of Vicodin, though the painkillers did little to stop the ache of a broken heart.
I’d expected a mountain of paperwork to be stacked in my inbox, but Chief Moreno and the other officers had pitched in while I was gone. The box contained only a few items none of the men wanted to deal with, including a proposal from a
vending machine distributor who wanted to place a feminine products dispenser in the station’s ladies room.