by Christa Wick
Outside, he cast his gaze around for the shelter's van. Finding it parked at the opposite corner of the lot, he sprinted over. He knew before he reached the driver-side door that Velda wasn't inside.
The smell of the ocean demanded his attention, reminded him that the restaurant was right on the beach. Upset, she might head for the water.
Going to school in Philadelphia, Velda had missed two things about Florida—warm winters and the beach. There wasn't much time or money for road trips, but Shane managed to borrow a car and take her to the Jersey Shore a couple of times when the weather was just right. She had glowed for weeks afterward, like her batteries had been completely recharged by the salt air and the sand between her toes.
Finding steps down to the water, he followed them, looked around. Couples strolled along the pier or walked close to where the tide rolled in. A few kids darted around their parents' legs.
When Shane finally spotted the moonlit silhouette of Velda's voluptuous curves, a smile flickered on his face then died because of how damn lonely she looked. He started after her, his approach slow so she would have time to rein in her emotions.
"Why did you come to the shelter?" she asked when he was within a few yards and no one else could hear.
He shrugged. "Impulse. No plan beyond wanting to see you."
"Bullshit, Shane." She threw her hands up, wrapped them around her head like she was trying to keep it from exploding. "You always have a plan. It's all diagrammed in your head before you even sit in front of the keyboard."
"Not with you, baby."
"Right," she snorted. "How stupid of me to forget that I don't occupy any of your headspace."
Shane exhaled long and slow. He had been young and stupid at college, focused on being the best and getting a double master's degree. But he had also been madly in love with Velda.
"You'll never believe how much headspace you actually occupied," he said, gaze focused on the waves because he didn't want to watch her cry if she started up again. "I lied when I brought you the check. My media guy didn't say you were eloquent. He left a print-out of your post on my desk with a scrawling note that you were a U-Penn alumnae."
Wanting to reach out to Velda, he shoved his hands in his pockets instead.
"I thought you were eloquent. I couldn't remember if that had always been the case."
She snorted at the admission. He knew exactly how much he deserved the derision.
Hands burrowing deeper into his pockets, he took a step closer to Velda.
"I never stopped remembering all the other things." Shane moved closer still, his gaze darting around for signs she might bolt. "I remember holding you at night, the scent of strawberry dollar store shampoo on our sheets. I remember you meeting me outside the lab for lunch and how all the tension would roll away from me at the sight of your smile. None of that faded, Velda."
"I've seen the glossy magazine articles," she shot back, her eye roll visible in the moonlight. "Pretty sure there were plenty of times you forgot I ever existed."
"Yeah," he admitted. "I fucked a few women over the last decade."
Shane reached out, cupped his hands around her elbows.
"But I never wanted to marry any of them." He brought his body closer to hers, caressed the side of her arm. "Not for one single second did I love any of them."
She tried to pull back.
He held firm.
"Baby, everything I've accomplished is meaningless without you."
Velda twisted free, raised both hands to warn him away.
"You didn't love me when you walked into the shelter with that check in your suit pocket."
"Wrong," Shane snorted. "I did. I was just too damn stubborn to admit it—even to myself."
She spun, tried to bypass him. He gently hooked her wrist, brought her hand up and kissed the inside turn.
"We're not even a full week into the deal," Shane coaxed.
"You're right," she agreed.
Nothing in Velda's voice suggested to Shane that his confession had convinced her of anything meaningful. She confirmed this impression a second later when she extricated her hand from his light grip.
"Regardless of this," she said with one of her little waves between them. "What you have done for the shelter is wonderful. And I truly appreciate any additional help you wish to offer. But, when you realize that is all there is between us, you have to exit gracefully. You can't just drop the families like they were never anything to you and walk out."
"Like you did to me?" he softly asked. "Like you're doing now?"
Velda stiffened then offered a faint nod before turning toward the parking lot.
"Yeah," she answered. "Like I'm doing now."
Chapter 14
Velda hit the Taco Bell drive-thru on Beach Boulevard. She ordered a Crunchwrap Supreme and a Baja Blast Freeze to numb her racing thoughts. With the order filled, she parked out of view.
She ate slowly, hoping the methodical chewing and long, cold sips would erase Shane Wehr and his accusations.
He wasn't entirely wrong. Still, after busting her ass at the shelter for a decade, it hurt to see Shane walk in with his money and win everyone over without trying. It hurt even more to see any of them win him over, even if it was the kids—kids she loved and knew were starving for a positive male presence.
Turning the key in the ignition, Velda told herself the pity party was over. She would be more polite to Shane—or at least less rude. If she hadn't driven him away, she would apologize in the morning. She would even eat a whole damn crow and explain how she had been jealous over his rapport with the kids.
She still wanted him to leave, didn't trust him to stay. But she also wanted to believe she had matured in the last decade. She had asked him to exit gracefully. She would model how it was done.
Satisfied with the internal pep talk, Velda shifted the van into drive and headed for the shelter.
Reaching the main entrance a few minutes past curfew, she found the door unlocked and Melanie shouting at a 9-1-1 operator. Seeing Velda, Melanie pointed frantically toward the hall that led to the main stairwell.
"He's gonna kill her, Miss Pace!"
Velda didn't pause to ask who or why. She bolted down the hall. Reggie stood at the bottom of the stairs with a pipe wrench from her toolbox. Easing the teen aside, she stared at the landing where a man gripped Honey Grier by her reddish-blond hair.
The stranger had the same color hair as the girl. Electric blue irises contrasted sharply with the rest of his bloodshot gaze.
Above them, Tammy Grier clung to the balustrade, her left eye rapidly swelling as she begged the man to release Honey. Behind Tammy, Georgia Carter comforted baby Billie. Georgia didn't look injured, but the collar of her shirt was ripped and her hair poked out in clumps from the usually impeccable bun.
"They're my kids," the man screamed at Tammy. "You can't keep me from my kids, you fucking whore!"
Spit flecked his mouth, his rage such that he hadn't noticed Velda's arrival. Reggie tried to get in front of her again, but she warned him away with a nudge.
"You!" the man yelled as he finally took notice of Velda. "It's your fault they're here, you meddling cunt! They'd be back with me if you didn't give all these unclean bitches somewhere to hide."
As he yelled, he jerked the hand wrapped around Honey's hair. Terror carved deep lines in the child's face. This was the night her daddy was gonna kill her. All those times she had stayed quiet, kept the baby quiet—she was still gonna die because she couldn't make daddy happy, couldn't make daddy love anyone, not even himself.
Meeting Honey's tearful gaze, Velda projected a calm confidence she didn't feel before addressing the father.
"Your daughter loves you, Mr. Grier."
The man waved his arms, his fury whipping Honey around like a rag doll.
"Don't you fucking Mister me!"
"Honey loves you," she persisted, hands raised in supplication. "But you're hurting her."
"Please, da
ddy," Honey whimpered. "I won't be a bad girl ever again. I promise!"
Velda fumed on the inside. Damn this man! The children would be the best things to come from his sorry existence. But Honey would spend half her life or longer blaming herself for the chaos she had been born into.
"Can't you hear how she's hurting?" Velda asked, one foot easing toward the staircase. "Her heart is breaking right now."
Grier jabbed a finger in Velda's direction.
"They're mine. I'm taking both my kids with me," he bellowed before pointing at his wife. "Not that bitch! There's no place for the unclean where we're going."
Velda's heart hammered in her chest. So far, the man had only used his fists on Tammy. Honey didn't have any obvious physical injury. But Grier wore a sickeningly righteous expression. And his language sounded a lot like a man ready to commit murder-suicide.
That was before he went full-on Biblical.
"Forbid them not," he warned in a creepy tone, his blue gaze burning into Velda like a laser beam. "Forbid them not, to come unto me."
The words were familiar. She realized their source, had always hated to hear the passage because it was so often warped to harm instead of heal.
"Mathew 19:14 is about teaching children," Velda softly corrected. "Teaching them love, Mr. Grier."
From the corner of one eye, Velda saw Georgia pass the baby off to another resident. That woman faded down the hall. Georgia remained, desperately tugging to get Tammy away from the stairs. Tammy didn't want to leave Honey—or was too paralyzed to move.
It was a horrible scenario with no guaranteed chain of events. Removing Tammy from Grier's sight might infuriate him or it might calm the hate eating at his soul. He might let go of Honey to give chase.
Everyone could come out safe.
Someone could die.
One of the kids could die.
"Look at your daughter," Velda implored.
Grier shook his head, tightened his grip on Honey's hair until the girl had to stand on her tiptoes.
"That verse isn't about suffering being a child's path to Heaven," Velda soothed. "They are of Heaven already. Children are the closest we come as adults to grace because they fill our hearts with a pure love."
His jaw worked side-to-side, his lips almost invisible from how tightly he pressed them together.
"Look at your daughter. That's all I'm asking—that you really, really look at her."
Honey softly repeated the request.
Please, Daddy.
Look at me.
I love you, Daddy.
I love you so much.
I'll be good. I promise.
Still resisting, he shook his head. But his gaze began to drop, slowly descending until it landed on his daughter.
He collapsed to his knees, jerked the girl into his embrace.
On the ground floor, uniformed cops slid along the wall, guns out and up. Velda raised a cautious hand, her splayed fingers begging the officers for a few more precious seconds.
"If you love your daughter, let her come down the stairs."
Grier's bloodshot gaze turned to Velda. His entire body shook. Carving grimy tracks, tears streaked his face.
For one fleeting second, Velda caught a glimpse of the little boy he might have been. Her heart ached for that boy, but not as much as it ached for the living girl still trapped within his dangerous grasp.
"I know you love her," she said, holding her arms out.
The fight left Grier. He leaned back on his haunches, hands falling to his sides, knuckles knocking lightly against the wooden landing.
Honey moved slowly at first, one careful half step after the other. When she was beyond her father's reach, she launched herself down the steps and straight into Velda's arms.
Velda shielded the girl's face against her shoulder and moved quickly past the police officers. As their feet pounded up the stairs, she prayed there would be no gunfire.
Reaching the reception desk, she tried to thrust Honey into Melanie's arms. The little girl wouldn't let go.
"Sweetheart," Velda coaxed, "You're safe now."
Honey burrowed tighter against Velda's shoulder.
"Don't you let me go, Miss Pace!"
"Okay, love. I've got you."
Looking at Melanie, Velda nodded toward the hallway. The woman snuck over and carefully stuck just enough of her head past the threshold that she could peek with one eye.
"Cuffed," Melanie reported. "Hands and feet. Not an ounce of fight left in the bastard."
A small draught of the tension gripping Velda's body receded.
"I'm taking Honey to the kitchen. Make sure the police get a paramedic to look at Tammy. Georgia will help you tag team them if there's a problem."
Melanie nodded sharply before disappearing down the hall.
The journey to the kitchen was slow. All the adrenaline that had flooded Velda's body abandoned her once the emergency passed. And an eight-year-old child, even one small for her age, weighed a lot more than Velda had ever realized. But she made it, huffing and puffing as she sank onto one of the side chairs.
"You know that espresso machine also makes some fancy hot chocolate," Velda whispered as Honey's sobbing eased.
Cuddling deeper, the little girl nodded.
"Mr. Shane showed me."
"Did he show you how to use it?"
Honey nodded again.
Velda kissed the top of the girl's head then got her to stand. Clutching Velda's arm, Honey walked over to the machine. She lifted a handle to expose a used pod. Velda took it out, inserted a fresh one.
Five minutes later, they were back at the table, Honey on Velda's lap as they drank a cup of hot chocolate in silence. Hours later, Velda tucked the child into bed then retreated to her own room.
Before they separated, Honey wrapped her arms around Velda's neck and whispered.
"I love you, Miss Pace."
Chapter 15
Incessant knocking forced Velda to open her eyes. She responded with an inarticulate croak. Blood painfully pounded inside a head that had morphed into a bowling ball or a boat's anchor since she collapsed onto the bed.
"Velda, are you okay?"
She croaked again. The door handle rattled. She pawed in search of her robe then realized she hadn't removed yesterday's clothing before falling asleep.
"Velda!"
Mouth dry, face swollen, she stumbled to her feet. Reaching the door, she managed one raspy word.
"Who?"
Shane barked his name.
She leaned against the wall, her voice like boulders grinding together.
"Give me a minute."
"Not until I see you."
Her body sagged. She wasn't ready to fight him—didn't want to. And the residents certainly didn't need another scene.
Hands as numb as the rest of her, she slowly turned the lock and opened the door.
Shane towered in front of her, lips parted, brows pinched.
"There, you've see—"
Sweeping into the room, he folded her into his arms.
"Your face. Is that all from Sunday's bruise?"
"Yes."
"You're puffy."
His tone was pure accusation. She tried to pull free.
Allowing her a few inches of wiggle room, he gingerly ran his fingers through the ratted mess of her hair then carefully touched her rounded cheeks. When his hand drifted toward the right side of her nose, she pulled back and swatted his arm.
"That bruise was more faded."
"Glad to know I look like a wreck." She staggered in search of something to lean against. "Seriously, Grier didn't come near me. I'm emotionally drained, and I had an eight-year-old attached to my hip for three straight hours."
"They said he punched Honey's mother in the face."
Nodding, Velda found herself in Shane's arms once more. She needed coffee if she wanted to evade him. A full pot preceded by several more hours of sleep.
Tilting her head back, she forced a neut
ral smile despite the awkward discomfort of being in his arms.
"I was never in any danger."
Shane stared, suspicion locking his features in place. Velda realized the body shaking wasn't hers. She rolled her lips, tried a more genuine smile and a distraction.
"Did you see Honey?"
"Yeah, she was on the stairs when I got here, told me you saved her and Billie." He relaxed his grip, guilt clouding his face. "She also asked if I was going to take you away."
He exhaled, stared off to the side.
"We both know that's not happening."
Velda couldn't keep looking at Shane, couldn't listen to the hurt threading his words together.
Tears gathered behind her closed lids.
"Baby, just tell me what you really want," he pleaded. "You never would when we were together. I know I was stupid for thinking you would be there when the work was done. It should have been the opposite. I should have treated the work as something that would still be there after I spent time with you. You were—are—the most precious thing in my life."
He paused. She glanced up, saw what looked like creeping panic as he stumbled over a partial retraction.
"I mean, you’re not a thing, I know that. I’m just trying to say, clearly in the most artless way possible, that nothing and no one is more precious or important to me than you."
Maybe it was yesterday's drama and the resulting fatigue, but Velda lost the strength to keep standing. She folded just like Grier had before the police cuffed him.
Shane scooped her up, carried her to the bed and sat down, his strong arms cradling her body to his chest.
"Please, love," he begged. "Just tell me what you want."
Burying her face against his neck, Velda whispered her weary answer.
"Time."
Chapter 16
Time, Shane thought as his phone vibrated in his pocket. A glance at the computer screen told him it was a quarter to six. Velda would be at the front desk if he was lucky.
Reaching to his left, he gave Stefan an encouraging back slap.
