by Imogene Nix
Then she remembered his face when she’d shown him her wrists. The horror when he knew what she’d done. Anger had coiled through her initially, but now she wished she could take it back so he wouldn’t know how broken she really was, that the Jenny he saw was nothing more than a façade.
“Jenny?”
The quietly spoken word woke her from the trance-like state she’d slipped into. She shook herself and looked back at him. “Sorry...you were saying?”
“Just that I think... As long as we stay away from alcohol, I think we should be okay.” He smiled, and her heart tripped in her chest, remembering their actions from a couple of nights before.
She nodded abstractedly. “Okay. Promise me no more alcohol and I’m yours.” She nearly died when she heard the words spring from her lips, but he smiled and winked.
“You’re on.” He turned toward the stove, and she dropped her head to her hands. He must think she was either a lunatic or a rampant nymphomaniac. Neither inspired any feelings of comfort in her.
Her phone beeped and she lifted her head and hunted in her pockets. It was a text from her boss.
She sighed.
“Everything okay?” Steve’s voice intruded on the sudden pit of despair she’d plunged into.
“My boss wants me back tomorrow. I need to...” The dread that pooled in her belly stopped her words. She didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to leave Lola and Steve.
The dichotomy wasn’t lost on her. Leave Steve and Lola behind? There really wasn’t anything more than a tenuous, distant friendship. It wasn’t like he loved her or had offered her a future. Her life was in Melbourne.
“Call him on the phone.” He nodded to the handset on the wall. When she opened her mouth to argue, he pressed the point. “Don’t fret about how much it’ll cost. I can stand it. Go ring him and get some extra time.”
She stared at him. Surely he couldn’t be serious? There was no way she could afford take more time off work. She had bills to pay. And her boss would not be happy with her. While her boss understood her need for time off work, lately she had stretched the friendship a bit and he’d become difficult. Having to leave on the spot to deal with Cara... Well, after that he’d warned her he wouldn’t tolerate any further interruptions to her work routine.
“Jenny?”
“I can’t, Steve. I’ve got commitments...bills...”
“I’ll cover them.” He waved a hand in the air. “Look, I’ve got money. Resources. Let me help. Please?”
“I won’t have a job to go back to.” She was fully aware that no matter how badly he wanted to help, this was beyond the reach of the average man’s wage. It was the point at which he would capitulate, she was sure.
Instead he smiled. “Do you really want to go back to that—to Melbourne and the constant cold weather and gray skies?”
If she were honest, Melbourne held no fond memories for her. She would prefer to move back to Queensland...reinvent herself...but it would be a leap of faith.
Perhaps it’s time. You can be a new person. In that instant, she made a decision. “Yeah, you’re right. I really don’t want to go back.”
He smiled. “Then go get Lola, send her for a bath, and make your call. I’ll finish putting dinner together, and once she’s in bed, I’ll tell you my thoughts.” He turned and she was left gaping after him.
Steve served the stir-fried vegetables and homemade fried rice in small bowls with cups of refreshing green tea for himself and Jenny and milk for Lola. He’d thought about his argument ever since she’d told him about her job being in jeopardy. The way forward was clear in his mind.
Jenny had been quiet since she had come inside with Lola. The little girl had taken her hand and showed Jenny her Hello Kitty pajamas. Even after the months of silence from Lola, it still broke his heart that she wasn’t sure enough of him to speak. He hoped Jenny could help her find the ability once more, so she could open up and enjoy all life had to offer. He needed to make the point to Lola that she was safe.
But was she really? They lived in a gated community, and his best friend was a police officer. Hell, he was an ex-policeman, for heaven’s sake. She should be safe. Still, concern clawed at his insides. He’d thought Cara was safe too.
They ate in silence, and while he was lost in his own thoughts, it seemed so was Jenny. She remained quiet, a small crease between her eyes telling him she was thinking things over. Strange that after only a few days I’m already noticing these things. It wasn’t like this with Cara. Then he reminded himself firmly that was unfair. They were different women, and Cara had been the love of his life, but the heat he’d expected to find in his personal tussle was absent.
During the entire meal, Lola watched them, a challenge in her eyes.
When they were done, the final clatter of cutlery on the plate, he realized he couldn’t avoid talking to her. “Uh...Jenny? Why don’t you make sure Lola brushes her teeth, then could you read her a book while I fill the dishwasher?”
“You cooked, and besides—” She stopped as he shook his head. “No. You go.”
She bit her lip, and the action had something lurching deep inside his belly.
“I’m happy to clean up. You go on. I’m sure Lola would like someone else to read to her for a change, wouldn’t you, Lola?” He needed time to prepare himself, and besides, it was clear Lola was accepting her by the way she took Jenny’s hand.
She hadn’t done anything quite like that with Cara, and the knowledge brought great discomfort.
The doorbell rang and he moved to the front of house and looked through the peephole. A courier stood on the steps, which surprised him, because couriers were usually buzzed onto the estate. He reached for the cricket bat he’d taken to keeping behind the heavy wooden front door. He wasn’t taking any chances with Lola or Jenny’s safety. They had to stay strong and healthy— alive—if they were going to solve this problem.
He jammed his foot behind the door, engaged the safety chain, and opened the door just enough to answer. “Yeah?”
“Ah...I have a delivery for you.” The man sounded uncertain, and alarm bells rang in his head.
The sound of footsteps behind him had him turning involuntarily.
“Steve? Who is it?” When he heard Jenny’s voice, the door swung open. Instantly, the man entered the room, and the door banged against the wall.
The man brushed past him, heading for Jenny. Steve’s muscles seized.
“Bastard!” Steve swore as a splinter of wood from the smashed door hit him in the face. Pain exploded, and his concentration skittered away for a second, long enough for the courier thug to get his hands on Jenny.
She cried out and he blinked, catching sight of the man grappling with her. He moved now, adrenaline pumping, with his hands fisted. The bastard had his hands in her hair, and she twisted and turned, trying to escape. He pushed her toward the floor, and her cries of pain echoed through Steve’s mind.
It propelled him and he reached out, grabbing the man’s shoulders, his fingers digging deep. The man grunted, his grip on Jenny loosening as he turned to throw Steve off.
Steve wrenched the man away, and she sobbed as she fell to the floor with a loud thud. Red liquid splattered on the tiles.
Blood. Jenny had been hurt. He stood still as the man tore himself from his clutches, cloth tearing. In the back of Steve’s mind came the order to run, catch the intruder as he retreated, but he couldn’t make his body move. He stood as still as a statue. Everything took place in some kind of slow motion as his brain collected vital information. The details of the man’s height, hair color, and the uniform he wore were filed away almost by instinct.
The sound of a car engine engaging snapped him out of his processing. His stomach roiled as the man fled out the door, and the sound of Jenny sobbing filled the air. Steve turned and stared at the red spots coating the tiles.
Jenny’s hurt. He moved quickly, looking for the source of blood. She c
owered on the floor, gripping her nose while it bled. A shaking hand covered her mouth, as if she were trying to contain the pain and fright.
“Jenny? Honey? Are you hurt anywhere else?” He couldn’t control the panic in his voice. He wanted to soothe her. Hold her close. Tear the bastard apart limb by limb for daring to do this to her. Rage clawed at him as he accepted that he had stood still while the man had fled. He was some amazing kind of wimp, he told himself furiously.
“He...he was going to hurt me, and I don’t know why.”
The broken words shattered him as much as her actions when she crawled into his arms. The mass in his stomach congealed. Tears traced down her cheeks, mixing with the blood on her face, and he moaned slightly.
“Oh God, Jenny, let me see.”
Instead she turned away. He couldn’t blame her. What had happened to him? Why hadn’t he reacted? Saved her from injury? He’d failed her...just as he’d failed Cara.
A sound from the hallway caught his attention and he whipped around. Lola stood backed up against the wall, her little face white and drawn. His mind told him she was shrinking away from the violence, not him.
He took a step in her direction, but she slunk over to Jenny. He watched as she moved Jenny’s hands away from her face. Jenny stayed still under the careful touches of the little girl, and finally he knew... She’d seen this kind of injury before. He’d felt ill before, now he was sure he would retch on the floor. No child should have to experience this.
Jenny took the child’s hand and rose slowly. Without a word, she led Lola away from the scene of the assault, and Steve stood leaning against the wall for support.
There and then he vowed to find the people who had done this. To nail them in a court of law and make sure they paid for their crimes to Jenny...to Lola.
Chapter 11
Jenny led Lola toward the bedroom. Her nose and mouth throbbed. She’d seen the look of naked rage on Steve’s face. She’d felt his hands shake against her as he’d made a silent inspection of her injuries.
No man had ever done something like that for her before. She didn’t know how she should feel. Wounded, yes, but lost and floundering in a sea of disbelief too.
Lola opened the door to the en-suite and Jenny understood instantly that she’d experienced this behavior before. It made sense.
Mutism was frequently caused by a trauma. She was distrustful and wary. Everything came together and Jenny wanted to bundle the girl up in her arms. Instead she waited, cautious until Lola allowed her nearer.
“Lola? Can you help me?”
She gazed at Jenny, her features pale in the artificial light.
“I need a face washer, so I can clean up.” Her mouth and nose ached, and talking clearly and slowly didn’t help. Each movement jarred injured flesh, but it was necessary and soothing for both of them.
The girl nodded and turned, padding into the bedroom. Jenny heard the sound of wood scraping as Lola opened and closed drawers. Waiting was difficult, but she refused to rush the child, either with the chore or emotionally. So Jenny waited in silence.
The door opened and Lola edged into the tiny room, handing her a washer. Jenny reached for the tap, but Lola’s hand was there first, turning on the cold water. Jenny thrust the cloth under the running tap then wrung it out and wiped the blood away, her mind only half on the task.
A range of possible therapies rolled while her heart ached for the little girl, and Jenny nearly cried when the truth hit her. Lola was almost as damaged as she was. The child had a long road ahead, and Jenny felt a bond with her that overrode the last vestiges of guilt at not returning to Melbourne. Lola needed her more than any other patient she had ever worked with.
On a sigh, Jenny focused her attention on her reflection in the mirror.
Her face was white as she stripped down to her plain cotton panties and bra. Lola watched her silently. The dress fell to the floor and she grimaced down at it. “I’ll deal with that later.”
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel embarrassed that anyone saw her, or the flesh she usually tried to cover up.
“Come on. I need to find some clean clothes.”
The child nodded and followed her to the bedroom. Jenny opened the wardrobe, spying a pair of track pants and top. She snatched them from the hanger and pulled them on.
“Right, Miss Lola, come with me and I’ll get you some warm milk. Would that help you sleep?”
The child gazed at her steadily.
Jenny crouched down to the child’s level so she could look into her eyes. “You know this isn’t your fault, don’t you? It’s bad men making bad decisions.” She slid shaking fingers through the little girl’s hair, pushing it back off her face. “They do things to hurt people who have done nothing wrong because they can.” She emphasized the point with another soft touch on her cheek. “Steve won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe.”
Lola nodded silently, as if still unsure, and Jenny’s heart nearly broke.
She lifted the child into her arms and carried her down the hall, all the while reinforcing her message. “You did the right thing by staying out of the way until he was gone. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”
The girl smiled; a tiny tremble of her lower lip.
Jenny’s eyes misted. She blinked quickly and cleared her throat. “I’m going to make you some warm milk, and you can sit in my lap while I read you another story. Okay?”
Lola nodded again.
Steve waited for them at the end of the hall. “Are you both okay?”
Jenny nodded, but could see he was still upset. Right now, Lola was her priority. “I’m going to make Lola a warm drink and then we’ll read a book.”
“I rang Dave. He’s going to pop around and check for fingerprints. He’ll probably want to talk to you.”
She nodded. “I kind of expected that, but Miss Lola and I have a date.”
She snuggled Lola close and padded into the kitchen, popping her onto a chair.
“You know, Lola, I used to like warm milk when I was your age. My mother would put a
little vanilla and sugar into it. Have you ever tried it like that?” Lola shook her head.
“Well then, there’s no time like the present, is there?” Jenny snatched a small pot from the cupboard, then milk and vanilla from the fridge. A quick rattle around the pantry netted her some granulated sugar, and she carefully poured the amounts, relying on memory.
As she stirred the milk, Jenny talked to the little girl, picking ridiculous, but non- threatening topics, from how she’d seen the fashion runway display in the middle of Melbourne to the silly joke she had got in an email.
Once the drinks were poured and Lola was back in her lap, she finally relaxed, drank the warm milk, and nuzzled up. Jenny reached for one of the books in a holder on the kitchen benchtop, and settled into the repetitive and rhyming story.
By the time they got halfway through the book, Lola was dozing lightly against Jenny’s chest, and she carefully pushed the hair from her dear little face. “Oh, Lola...What on earth are we going to do?”
She looked up as Steve popped his head around the doorway to the kitchen. “Everything okay?” he whispered.
She nodded.
He frowned. “Should we put her to bed?”
“In a few minutes. Let’s wait just a bit longer.”
He nodded and entered the room.
“Come and sit down. I want her well and truly settled before we carry her to bed. She’s already been through enough tonight. While she’s sleeping so well, I don’t want to risk her waking up.”
“Dave’s been and gone. He’ll pop by in the morning to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
Jenny closed her eyes and let her mind think through the episode. Steve had pulled the man away as he started to punch her, so his fist hadn’t connected as hard as she expected, but Steve had clearly been horrified afterward. She’d seen him stop as if frozen in place. The look on his face would
probably haunt her for a long time.
It was something she had seen before on the faces of families of assault victims. Until now, she hadn’t quite understood the trauma they experienced. I need to let him know it’s not his fault. Here and now, with Lola on her lap, wasn’t the time though.
So she waited, listening to the tick-tock of the clock from the corner of the living room until she was sure Lola was sleeping deeply enough to not notice the movement. Carefully, she rose with the child clasped against her, then made her way to the bedroom. Once there, Steve slid the sheet back so she could slip the little girl into her bed and tuck her in.
Steve retreated to the doorway, watching and blocking the glow of light from the hall.
“Good night, sweetheart.” She couldn’t resist gently smoothing a hand over Lola’s brow before she backed away.
Steve’s hand reached out for hers, and with a shiver, she accepted it. Together they moved to the lounge.
“How are you feeling?” His eyes scanned her face and soft fingers rose to touch the area that hurt the most.
“I’ve felt better.” She wanted to make light of the situation, but she just didn’t have the heart for it.
He leaned in and dropped a kiss between her brows. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t stop him hurting you.” He leaned back, and she gave a tiny sigh.
“You couldn’t stop him. What you did do was pull him away so his punch wasn’t so hard.” She inhaled and his scent filled her senses. “You can’t own what someone else does, you know that.”
“But I should have—”
She stopped his bitter recriminations with a finger against his lips. “No, you couldn’t. You did what you could and then you stopped.” There was stark pain in his features now. It hurt to say the words, but she refused to shy away from the truth. “I know you’re struggling with that, but you stopped him from hurting me as much as he wanted to. You pulled him away and stopped his attack. You scared him and he ran away. That makes you my hero.”
His bark of laughter contained no mirth. “Oh, right. The hero who stands by and watches a woman get beat up. Some hero.”
