by Voss, Deja
That comforter probably needs to be burned on account of the blood covering it, and I should’ve told the girls to bring a fresh one down. I grab some blankets off the back of the couch.
Is she going to be hungry? Is she going to be thirsty? Shit, is she going to be breathing when she leaves that room?
I knock on the bathroom door, needed to catch a glimpse of this girl, needing to see that she’s alive.
“Just a minute,” Sloan says. “We’re just getting her dressed.”
The bathroom door opens, and my heart races a little bit, catching a glimpse at the short blonde covered in bruises and handprints leaning up against her sister and Amber, wearing a long green t-shirt that comes down to her knees. Her hair is wet, and her smile looks weak. I grab her around the waist, pushing everyone aside to help her to the bed.
“She’s going to be fine,” Sloan says. “Bruised ribs, a couple contusions, I had to put a couple stitches in the side of her nose. She’s not showing any signs of concussion right now, but we’ll have to keep an eye out for a few days. I can get her into the hospital for an MRI real quick if we need to.”
“You’re the best, Sloan,” Helena says, pulling the blankets up under her chin. “And I don’t just mean that because of the pain pills.”
“She’s going to be a little loopy. Probably don’t want to leave her alone tonight. Do you want me to call Gavin and tell him I’m staying?”
“I’m staying,” Josie says, hopping up on the bed next to her. She curls up beside her older sister, brushing her hair out of her face, doting on her, and I don’t know why, but it makes me feel overwhelmed with emotion. Sadness. Maybe jealousy. There’s no one in the world who would ever treat me so tenderly again. Regret. That’s all Esther wanted in her last days. Just to be loved by me, and I pushed her away, too scared I was going to break her or something.
“I got nothing going on,” I say. “You go home. Go be with Evie.” My goddaughter. The closest thing I’ll ever have to a kid of my own.
The girls say their goodbyes, and Sloan loads me up with fresh dressings for Helena’s wounds, walking Josie and I through the protocol, giving us a rundown of what we need to watch out for.
Josie and I let Helena sleep, busying ourselves flipping through the three channels we get on the antenna out here. I try to teach her a card game other than Go Fish, but the novelty wears off pretty quick when she starts kicking my ass at Spades. We order pizza and check Helena’s wounds while we’re waiting for it to come.
I never saw myself here before.
Never pictured in a million years that I’d be entertaining a teenage girl at camp and playing nurse to an ex-cop.
Something about it, I don’t know, it feels like there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Helena snaps her eyes open as I brush the hair out of her face, making sure the stitches in her nose are drying. That thankful smile, that knowing and comfortable smile, that’s all I need to feel like I’m exactly where I belong.
“How you feeling?” I ask. She sits up, wincing the whole time, trying to stifle her groans. It pains me to see her like this, but I pretend like I don’t notice her agony.
“Thank you,” she says. “Thanks for looking after me. I’m sorry I was so stubborn. Thanks for being such a good friend.”
I take her hand in mine and squeeze it. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. It’s confusing, this moment. Maybe I have a thing for damsels in distress, some sick fetish for coming to the rescue, but she’s gorgeous in my eyes, propped up on those pillows, her eyes sunken in and lips pursed. I need to snap right out of that before I start acting crazy.
Snap right out of it so I can send her packing. Help her figure out where she’s going. Lord knows it needs to be far away from here, the club, this life. She’s too good for us misfits. She’s too good for me.
“You hungry?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I want to get up and walk around a little bit.”
“You sure about that?” It’s getting late, but I guess that doesn’t mean much when you’ve been passed out cold for six hours. I crouch down at the edge of the bed, offering her my shoulders. “Hop on,” I say.
“Oh my god,” she says with a giggle. “You’re out of your mind. I don’t need carried.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder and swings her soft smooth legs to the floor.
“Want pizza?” Josie asks, pulling the box from the fridge.
Josie and I both watch with rapt attention as she sits at the table and eats, like it’s the most miraculous thing in the world, like we’re watching a baby take its first steps. I think she notices.
“This is a really nice place,” Helena says. “I bet the backyard is beautiful.”
This camp has been in the club for over sixty years. Gavin’s grandpa bought it a long time ago, and ever since, we’ve used it as our downtown hideout and hangout. These four walls have seen some pretty horrific stuff, but she doesn’t need to know about that. On the surface, it’s just your cozy little log cabin.
“Want to go sit outside?” I suggest. I grab a blanket and wrap it around her shoulders and we step out into the warm summer night air and sit on the back porch swing. Josie stays behind, wanting to watch some boy band on whatever late show is on, and part of me is excited for a minute alone with Helena.
Part of me is dreading it. Josie as a buffer has been a great thing so far. Who am I kidding, though? Other than an ecstasy-induced fascination with my beard, I have nothing to worry about with this one.
I pull a joint out of my pocket as she rocks the swing back and forth, her breaths deep, forced, like she’s trying to drown herself in the summer breeze. “You mind?” I ask, as I light up the marijuana stick.
“Not at all.”
“You want some?” I suggest. Probably better for her than the pain pills. At least it’s natural.
“I do,” she says. “But I can’t.”
“Oh,” I shrug, taking a long drag. “You can do random goofy pills with Desmond but you don’t want to smoke pot with me? I see how it is,” I tease.
“It’s not like that.” She wraps herself tighter in the blanket, the crocheted thing swallowing her body whole so that all I can see is the light of the moon flickering in her blue eyes. “I need to get off everything. I need to get clean as soon as possible. I have work to do.”
That’s right. She’s a cop. She’ll definitely get drug tested if she applies for a new job. This is the reality. She’s a cop, and I’m a pot smoking, dirty old criminal. Outside of this moment, she’d probably be trying to lock me up.
“I’m going to go get a job downtown,” she says. “On the local force.”
I hate that idea. That’s a terrible idea. She needs to take her sister and get the hell out of this town. I exhale a huge cloud of smoke from my lungs with a rattle of a cough.
“You know those guys are on my payroll, right?” I ask. “Bunch of corrupt fucks. You’re too good for that.”
“I know,” she says. “Something’s going on there. I need to find out what. It’s going to drive me insane. They know something about Esther, and I want to get to the bottom of it.”
“Why?” I ask. “You trying to impress me or something?”
She laughs so hard she nearly falls off the swing, clutching her ribs in agony. At least I know where we stand. She thinks I’m a fucking joke.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I think it’s just the meds Sloan gave me. She’s awesome, by the way. Gavin really lucked out.”
Sloan was alright. She was a good-looking broad, and her connections at the hospital have saved our asses many times. The fact that she’s a trained trauma surgeon tends to come in handy more often than it should, even though Gavin tries to hide shit from her, tries to put on like they’re you’re normal white picket fence kinda family. I have nothing against Sloan. Other than the fact that she’s still alive, and my wife is dead.
“Brooks, I have to confess something,” she says. She turns her
whole body towards me, crossing her legs on the swing. She grabs the joint from my hand and takes a long drag. She lets out a long sigh, as if she’s trying to pump herself up. “Sixteen-year-old me would’ve killed to be in this position right now. To be here with you, all alone, hanging out, having a conversation… I would’ve died right then and there. It was all I ever wanted.” She hides her face in her hands.
I’m flattered, but I can’t help but laugh. This girl must not have known the first thing about me in high school. I was running drugs as soon as I could drive. I had buried more bodies by the time I graduated than any human would in a lifetime. My father died my senior year and I was so depressed I couldn’t even function without a bottle of whiskey a day. The fantasy she had built up of me was so far from the truth. I was no one’s dream man. The only woman for me was one who knew exactly what they were getting into.
“You were always such a good girl, Helena. You wouldn’t even give me the time of day if I asked.”
“That’s because I was terrified of saying something stupid! It’s silly. I know. I don’t know where I’m going with this,” she laughs, her giggle echoing through the trees.
“So what happened? You can talk to me now, obviously. Did you realize I’m just a scumbag?”
“Don’t say that,” she says. “You’re not a scumbag. You’re a decent man and you know it.”
Apparently, she was still living in some sort of fucked-up fantasy. Nothing I’ve done since she’s come around has proven that I’m a decent man.
“I guess it’s just easier,” she says. “Obviously, I’ve grown up a lot. But it’s easier now, knowing exactly where I stand. I’m not Esther, I’ll never be Esther, and I’m not trying to be Esther. I can be your friend, though. I can be her friend too.”
It pains me the way she keeps saying Esther’s name over and over. I’ve tried it myself a million times, praying that it’ll bring her back to me. Instead, it just keeps her memory in the front of my mind all the time.
“When I got fired down in North Carolina, I had an opportunity to help a lot of women. I was being sexually harassed on a regular basis, and I wasn’t the only one. I was denied promotions because I have tits. I was treated differently because I’m not a man. I’m sure it’s a widespread problem, and instead of speaking out about the details of getting canned, I was selfish. I didn’t want to be a poster child for workplace harassment. I wanted to be able to come back here, get my sister, go get a new job somewhere far away, and pretend this never happened.”
She sounds so angry with herself. She stands up from the swing and begins to pace back and forth in the grass barefoot, slowly, every step obviously painful in her condition.
“It’s not your job,” I say. “It’s not your job to take on everybody’s else’s burdens. You gotta be selfish, Helena. You gotta do right by you. This world ain’t always about looking after everybody else. Sometimes you can only do right by your family and you.”
“That’s why I’m getting a job downtown. It’s not cuz I have a burning desire to get back in a cop car. It’s because I need to do right. Something’s going on there, Brooks. It’s shady as fuck. What Desmond told me, how quick Esther’s case was closed… I might not have it in me to be an advocate for every woman in the world, but I want to do this for her. I want to do this for you. What you did for Josie, I mean, shit…”
“Come here,” I say, reaching out my hand for her. This girl is an angel. The way she’s crying softly about a girl she hardly knows, a guy who wouldn’t even pay attention to her growing up, not because she wasn’t worth the attention, but because she had no reason to be tangled in my shit. I pull her close up next to me, wrapping my arm around her, letting her cry into my chest.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a hard-ass or something?” she asks, laughing through her tears. “What would the guys say?”
“It’s none of their fucking business,” I say. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be a hard-ass, Miss Shooting Dudes in the Dick? What the hell happened today? I thought you could hold your own.”
She pinches my thigh a lot harder than I thought she could. “Ouch!” I shout. “Guess I had it coming.” We hang out there, my arm around her shoulder, listening to the branches crack beyond the tree line, the coyotes crying for their dinner, and the crickets chirping so loud, their songs echoing into the warm darkness. I don’t know what the fuck is happening here, but it feels alright. I feel close to her, I feel okay. I feel like this is good. She’s good. This woman is going to make me all better, and I haven’t even tried to fuck her yet, haven’t even thought about it, honestly.
She’s going to make me all better, and I’m going to make her all worse.
“You can’t take that job,” I say. “I forbid it.”
“Sure thing, boss,” she says, prying herself up off the swing and walking towards the house. “You know that shit doesn’t work on me, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, watching her disappear inside. Of course it doesn’t. Easy and obedient has never been my jam. Why would I expect it to be any different?
Chapter 13
Helena
“Carrie, you are a damn godsend,” I say into the phone. I’m trying to walk and talk, trying to shake the aching from my legs and the hangover from whatever the hell I consumed yesterday from the rest of me. I know I look terrible. I’m going to need some serious make-up intervention, but right now I need to get my ducks in a row. “Yeah, that’s the fax number. If you need anything else, just call me back. I’ll be around.”
Carrie is sending my files to the local police station, along with that beaming recommendation the sheriff promised. I figure the sooner I get a jump start on this process, the better. If there really is something shady going on, I’ll be interested to see how they handle Desmond’s case. Then again, knowing the way the hierarchy of small-town police stations work, I’ll probably be on desk duty and late-night Main Street patrol for a long time. I don’t care. I’m up for the challenge.
Brooks is still passed out in the recliner, fully dressed. The man didn’t even take his boots off, but he looks like he’s pretty comfortable, and I don’t want to wake him. Josie is flopped on the bed, tapping away at the laptop, catching up on her schoolwork. I’m so proud of her. Apparently cyber school is the best thing for this girl. I’m amazed at how resilient she is. It doesn’t matter where she is, as long as she’s not in that trailer with Dad, she’s thriving.
I walk to the front door. I need to get my bags out of the car so I can get dressed and get this day started. There’s so much I need to do before I can go down to that station and apply. I need a permanent address, one that’s not affiliated with the club. I need to get my resume printed out. I need a firehose filled with concealer to cover these black eyes of mine. Hopefully I can cut these stitches out of my nose in the next day or two, because they’re ugly and they itch like hell.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Josie says. “You’re supposed to be in bed!”
“I’ll be back in one second,” I assure her. “I just need some stuff from my car.”
She jumps up from the bed and grabs my keys from my hand, pointing to the other side of the room.
“Fine,” I say with a laugh, hanging my head. She slams the door behind her, and Brooks stirs, his eyelids fluttering. I try not to act like I’m obviously staring at him, but it’s hard not to. I can’t put my finger on what happened yesterday, but something changed. I feel like we’re both part of some inside joke that nobody else needs to get. I’ve never felt this way before, like for some reason, fate has thrust the two of us together and it was always supposed to be this way.
In what way, though? I have no idea. I can pretend like I’m not attracted to him. I can pretend like I didn’t really love curling up in his arms or feeling his callused fingers running through my hair. I can pretend I’m just a good friend. We’re in our own little bubble in this camp, in this time, in this situation. Once he gets back up there on the mountain with his
crew, I’m sure all this will go away.
“Holy shit,” I hear him groan. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “What the fuck time is it?”
“Good morning,” I say softly. “You want me to start some coffee?”
“What are you doing up?” he asks.
“It’s damn near noon,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, jumping up from the recliner. “You’re supposed to be on bed rest.”
“Tell her, Brooks!” Josie says, slamming my suitcases to the ground. “Get your ass back in bed.”
These two are ridiculous. I’m bruised up, scraped up, and a little bit sore, but I’m fine. I don’t need to be mollycoddled. Coffee and a shower and a fresh change of clothes, and I’ll be on the road. I’ve taken care of myself for over twenty years. I’ve seen much worse shit than I did yesterday. I’m not some needy damsel in distress.
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” I ask Brooks. “I’m sure your presidential duties don’t involve being a live-in nurse. I’m fine, guys. I have shit to do.”
“You have nothing to do but get well,” he says. “I gotta go back to the clubhouse, though. No funny business. Do you need me to send someone down here to look after you?”
Something about his command is oddly sexy. Something about having the power to challenge him is a whole different level of hot, though. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my keeper. I don’t take orders. I love the look on his face when I let him know that.
“Send Micah,” I wink. “He’s really good at that, you know.”
“Fuckin idiot,” he mutters.
“Or who’s the redhead? The obnoxious one with the face tattoos? I noticed he doesn’t have a wedding ring. I think I’d like to get to know him better.” I pour myself a cup of coffee and bring it to my lips, raising my eyebrows. Probably should’ve thought that one out a little better, because I feel the stitches in my nose pulling so tight they sting.
