“I want her here, with me,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“It hurts, every damn day.”
“I know.”
A small sniffle across the table and his gaze swung Hannah’s direction. Tears slid down her pale cheeks. Dean closed his eyes, took in a deep, cleansing breath, and tried to push Erin out of his brain. Tried to force her into the grave where she’d been buried five years ago. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t succeed. It was wrong, pushing the woman he loved away.
“Dean,” Mr. Campbell said, a solid hand placed on his shoulder, “why don’t you join me outside.” It wasn’t a request.
Dean pushed up from the chair, following the man he’d known since before he’d become partners with Jason. Mr. Campbell had been a good cop on the force. A fair officer that the community loved.
“Son, you’re drowning in grief and you need to pull yourself out.” The man also always got straight to the point.
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can. You’re clinging, Dean. Holding onto someone who’s not longer here. Holding onto memories that are eating away at you. They say everyone handles their grief differently, and that’s true. But there comes a time when we lose someone and finally accept that they’re not returning. That we’re still here. Or else we lose ourselves. Erin died too young. Too soon. Which means she left behind a young husband. One who wasn’t meant to bury himself with her.”
Dean understood what Mr. Campbell said. And it made perfect sense. Except how did a man move on when that meant letting go of someone he never wanted to release?
18
Josie hesitated, staring at the contacts on her phone. Her suitcase sat by her feet while her brothers packed up their mom’s SUV. She’d waited until the day after Christmas to move out, a promise she’d made to her mother, but now that the day arrived, she grew anxious. She didn’t know what to expect when she walked through the front door of her home. She didn’t want to burden her already tense family by voicing her concerns. Was she crossing a line if she called Detective Rooney?
Dean.
She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d kissed her a couple weeks ago. He hadn’t stopped by to give her an update on the case or to ask her more questions. His partner had paid her visits, along with another officer, Detective Jordan Hayes. Detective Hayes was insanely handsome man with a bright smile. A man that should be on the cover of a European fashion magazine, not stuck in Pittsburgh wearing an inexpensive suit, investigating crimes.
Her finger hovered over the call button of her phone, conflicted. What would he say if she called? What would his reaction be? There had to be a reason why he hadn’t called her after that kiss. He’d regretted his decision, he’d made it obvious, but would he refuse her when she desperately needed his help? He had promised to help, not to hesitate to contact him. He understood that she needed his protection and strength. She couldn’t call her friends or even her employees, like Marc. They didn’t understand her circumstance. Dean had seen her at her worst and wouldn’t pity or judge her.
She hit call.
“Rooney,” he answered, curt and direct.
“Dean.” Her voice wavered. She despised the tone and the vulnerability that ran through her, the fear and the constant mind-racing questions.
“Josie?” Sounds of men’s voices yelling in the background came through loud and clear. “Hold on.”
She heard rustling and then a door close. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”
“I’m going home.”
There was a small pause. “Do you want me to meet you at your house?”
“I know this is a hassle, but I… I…” A small sob escaped. “I don’t know what’s waiting for me. I’ve talked about this with my therapist, but I had no idea I’d be this nervous.”
“I can be there in twenty minutes,” he said resolute. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you through this.”
Dean disconnected. And an enormous amount of relief washed over her. She hated that she needed to call upon him. But her brothers and mother didn’t ease her mind with their support and tagging along. What she hoped was that Dean would help her gain a piece of mental high ground inside her own home, where she didn’t fear walking into the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, or the bedroom.
“You ready?” Harry wore a prominent frown displayed on his normally handsome features. Her brother didn’t agree with her decision to return to her home and he’d been vocal about his displeasure.
“Yes. Detective Rooney is going to meet us at my house.”
David raised a brow but remained mute. He was the one who worried silently, internalizing his fear.
She ignored Harry and climbed into the vehicle, slamming the door. She didn’t need her brother’s shit.
Ten minutes later, they sat outside of her house, Josie staring at the white front door.
Everything looked normal. Well, except for the fact her house was the only one on the block not decorated for the holidays. A first since she’d bought the home five years ago.
Josie hadn't known what to expect. She considered maybe the house had grown eerily dark, like a Halloween haunted house. Maybe surrounded by yellow tape, with a big red X on the front door? She just didn’t expect…normal. Like nothing had been disturbed. Like an intruder hadn’t tried to take her life.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the beige siding and matching light, brown brick. The dark brown shutters. The bare bushes that lined the front of the house. The barren flower beds. The closed curtains on the second floor.
At some point her family had climbed out of the SUV, pulling her luggage from the back.
The door to her right open and closed. A familiar, masculine scent wafted around her, saturating the enclosed space.
“Josie?”
She slowly turned her head. Dean sat next to her, his short hair askew, day-old scruff making him look even more striking than she thought possible.
He stretched out his arm around the back of her seat. “You okay?”
She shook her head.
“You want me to go in first, look around?”
She nodded.
His sensual mouth turned up, the corners of his eyes crinkling, sympathy pouring from him. “I’ll take care of it, then come back and get you.”
She couldn’t respond. Her mouth was too dry to form words.
Dean smoothly climbed out of the vehicle, Josie watching him disappear into her home, using keys that David handed him. Harry followed Dean inside the house while David and her mom remained outside. It only took Dean a couple of minutes to return to her, opening the car door and holding out a hand.
“Come, Josie,” he said cajoling. “Let me help you inside.”
She placed her hand into his warm palm. He squeezed, the motion reassuring her he was there to protect her. It was then she noticed Nick lingering in the background, watching her and her family. Weird that he didn’t involve himself.
Dean led her into her home. She stopped inside the doorway, her eyes going right for the spot that she’d practically bled out. A new large, dark gray area rug covered the majority of the wall-to-wall carpet. No one would ever know that blood had once soaked the carpet. Her gaze swung to the wall where she’d been tossed against. The vivid recollection assaulting her, playing in her head as if she were watching it live. No visible evidence that she fought for her life existed in the room.
“They couldn’t get the blood out,” she said numbly, her stare not moving from the wall.
Dean leaned against the stair railing, his arms crossed over his chest. “No. Your mother chose the rug. She didn’t want to replace the carpet without your approval. I can have an installer come any time to bring samples for you to choose a replacement. As soon as you’re ready.”
“Yes, I agree.” Her mom scurried about the room, switching on lights. “How about some tea?”
“I don’t want tea,” she said robotically.
/> “Sit?” Dean asked, pushing off the banister, leading her to the sofa.
She sat in the center of the couch. Her pictures displayed throughout the living room were moved. The coffee table had a layer of dust on it. She should have brought in a cleaning person to maintain her home while she’d been gone. But that would have required giving someone her house keys. A stranger. Another stranger, entering her home.
She was aware her brothers and mother carried her bags upstairs. She was aware they were talking to each other and Dean, who crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees, running small circles in steady motions.
“Josie,” Dean whispered. “If you can’t be here, your family will take you back to your mother’s house.”
She looked at him, aware tears slipped down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I expected.”
He took her hands into his, his warmth seeping into her skin. She was so cold. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s as if nothing was disturbed.”
“Exactly,” she said softly.
“Meanwhile your entire world has been shifted.”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “It will take a while to adjust.”
“But will it all go back to the way it was?”
He looked at her dead in the eyes. “I wish I could tell you yes. But that would be lying. I won’t ever do that to you, Josie.”
She cringed at the brutal honesty. She appreciated his forthcoming, more than Dean could ever know, but it didn’t help her in the here and now.
“How about if I stick around for a bit this evening?” Dean suggested. “I have no plans. I can just hang out. There’s a hockey game on.”
Harry growled. “Isn’t that a bit forward?”
David shot his brother a glare, while her mom defended the detective. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Rooney.”
Josie felt badly. The detective shouldn’t have to babysit her. But she didn’t have it in her to refuse him. Darkness would fall soon and she’d be in the house. Alone. Unable to protect herself.
“Maybe I should get a gun,” she said randomly.
Dean blanched. “Good lord, no. Unless you’re trained, someone could easily disarm and use the weapon against you. How about once you’re cleared physically by the doctors, we get you enrolled in self-defense classes? You can go with my friend’s wife. She’ll stand by your side while you learn to kick some ass. In fact, she’ll probably encourage you and show you moves that you won’t learn in class. Wait, maybe that’s not a good idea. Hannah can be a bad influence.”
Josie chuckled. “I’d like to meet Hannah.”
Dean groaned. “I shouldn’t have said a word.”
He reached up and wiped away the tears that she couldn’t control. A handkerchief appeared before her. She’d never seen Nick enter the house. God, she hated what this near death experience had done to her.
19
Dean glanced at his watch and yawned, shrugged out of his black pullover fleece and stretched his arms over the back of the sofa. Eleven at night. Nick had stuck around, observing the family dynamic, leaving after eight when Dean remained. Josie’s family had hesitantly left around nine, insisting she call them if she needed anything. She remained wide-eyed, nervously walking around her house, lightly touching objects that clearly registered with her. Like the wall where she said she’d been pinned against, or straightening pictures that the CSI unit disturbed, and wiping black powder remnants that the cleaning service missed. She’d emptied the refrigerator, dusted the furniture, and completely avoided the second floor.
Dean had watched her the entire time. He could tell she was starting to get sore and tired, but fought the sensations tooth and nail.
“Josie,” he waved to the sofa. “Sit. Relax. I’ll stay the night so you can sleep.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.” She stopped in the center of the living room, a rag in hand.
“You didn’t. I offered.” He patted the couch. “Sit.”
“Would you like a drink?” she asked a bit too politely, as if forcing the words out. “There’s wine in the fridge.”
He could use a glass to help him wind down. He didn’t know how well he’d sleep on the sofa. The cushions were lumpy. “I’ll take a glass.”
A few minutes later, she returned with two glasses in hand.
“Can you have wine with your pain medication?” He’d snatch that alcoholic drink right out of her hand.
“I haven’t been taking the pain meds if I don’t have to. Ibuprofen works better.” She handed him a glass. “All the pain medication does is put me to sleep.”
She sat next to him, taking a sip of her red wine. He took a long swallow of the Pinot Noir.
Josie tucked her legs under her, her cute toes sticking out from the bottom of her black yoga pants. She noticed him staring.
“I need a pedicure.” She wiggled her toes. “I never go this long without having my toes done. It’s kind of convenient, owning a salon.”
He chuckled. “I would have no idea.”
She grinned, her features relaxing, lightening. “I guess not. But take my word for it, they need painting.”
“I will absolutely take your word for it.” He took another drink. “What’s it like owning a successful business? Why did you decide a salon?”
She sighed, a pleasant sound, as if the topic was one she was willing to venture to. “It’s a really long story. But it started in high school. I was a cheerleader and appearance was important. My hair was perfect, makeup flawless, nails manicured. I loved it. I went against the grain and decided to go to VoTech in high school for cosmetology.”
“Why was that against the grain?”
“Because all my friends were in college prep curriculum courses.”
“I see,” he said. He could envision her perfectly in technical school, preparing for a life of providing beauty services to women and men.
“Anyway, once I graduated, I enrolled in a beauty academy. But I also enrolled in community college and took business courses. I never wanted to work for someone. I wanted to be my own boss.” She took another sip of wine. “My dad blamed it on oldest child syndrome. Needing to be in charge.” She made air quotes at the last statement.
“When did you open up your salon?”
“Ten years ago. It was small at first, not far from my parents’ home. But the more my reputation grew, the more customers I had, the bigger the place I had to invest in. I really do try to hire the best of the best when it comes to hair, nails, spa. I do a thorough background check on where they worked, ask for portfolios, and their schooling.” She stretched out her legs, sinking further into the cushions.
“That’s a lot of work for one person. Do you have managers?”
She scowled. “It’s not too much work when you’re invested in the business.”
He tilted his head. What had he said to upset her? “No, I’m sure it’s not. I completely understand about protecting your business and making sure it’s run properly. Though, personally, I know nothing about running any business. But I can’t imagine if you’re going to put so much education and effort into opening a business that you wouldn’t want or need help.”
She huffed. “Typical.”
His brows slid together. “Excuse me?”
She faced him, her shoulders squaring, her chin jutting forward. “Every single man I meet or have dated thinks they know better on how to run a business. Or they want me to hand duties over to my employees, so I can free up time to spend with them. They tell me I should ‘do it this way’ or ‘do it that way’. I’ve busted my ass for my business to thrive. I’ve built it from the ground up. I have a stellar reputation in the industry. Yet, every single man in my life has thought they’d known better.”
He blinked. And blinked again. “I never said such a thing, Josie.”
She was obviously extremely sensitive over the issue of running her business.
“Sure you didn’t,” she said snidely.
Now he gre
w irritated. “Don’t accuse me of being an asshole when I wasn’t one. I don’t know what your issue is with men, but I’m not one of those guys who’s going to tell you how to run a salon when I can’t even remember if I washed my hair the day before.”
She opened her mouth and closed it, blushing.
“I’m sorry.” Her gaze tumbled to her glass and she toyed with the stem. “I’m so used to defending myself to men who want more time from me or want to tell me how to run my business or are actually jealous of the salon.”
“Jealous. Are they insane?” What the hell kind of men did she date? Jackasses, clearly. Men who didn’t know how to deal with a tenacious, brilliant woman.
She looked up through her thick black lashes.
“They’re threatened by your independence, aren’t they?” he said softly.
She shrugged.
“Josie, you stick to your strength and your attitude. It would be so much easier to cave under demands of a boyfriend or guilt from a jerk who doesn’t understand a goddamn thing about what you do. It would be easy to hand over the reins to an employee and have a Saturday afternoon to go see movies or spend a weekend in bed. But then you wouldn’t be where you are. You should be proud of yourself and your accomplishment,” he said sincerely. She was just plain amazing. “How many men have made you feel guilty for your work?”
She ran a finger over the rim of her glass. “I lost count.”
He growled. “How many men have you gone out with?”
Her head shot up, rearing back. His question came out a bit fiercer than he meant.
“Not that many, but I don’t keep tabs on dates or the number of men that ask me out.”
Dean stared at her. Of course she wouldn’t. She didn’t have time to sit and think about her dating history and she certainly didn’t seem the type to dwell. Well, except for the fact she’d been burned by every single man who couldn’t handle a lucrative business woman. Men and their damn egos. He’d never get in her way. In fact, he’d help her as much as she’d allow. Whether that meant changing light bulbs in her salon, fixing a broken doorknob, or putting down new flooring. He’d contribute any way he could, to not only save money but to be supportive. He’d never suggest telling her how to run a salon. Or interfere with her career. Her self-worth was wrapped up in the drive she had to succeed. Her drive was admirable. But did she identify herself through her salon and nothing else? What else was there to Josie besides her business? Could she even answer that question?
Damage: The Men of Law (The Men of Law Series Book 2) Page 11
