Phoebe: Book One of Broken Girls Series

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  But sometimes not even their light was enough.

  Diane was the one who taught me it was okay to shove the dark away with a myriad of nightlights, naming it a ‘coping mechanism’ for the shit that roiled inside me every time I was confronted with the dark. And I’d been afraid of the shadows, the ones that permeated everything after the sun went down, for as long as I could remember.

  After doing the run-through and illuminating my new place, I reached for my cell so I could call Diane with the latest and greatest about my former foster-father since I’d forgotten to forward the DOC text. Years before, Diane was the one who received the calls. But after I’d turned eighteen, the calls concerning my former foster-care parents came straight to me. A fact I both hated (because they started coming in text form) and loved (because I got the info first hand).

  Still and all, I needed to talk this latest bit over with her. Not only was she the smartest woman I’d ever met, she was also my friend who knew me better than most, and in some ways better than even Vonnie. I wanted-slash-needed her take on the Sloan Davis situation.

  After swapping our usual greetings, I recapped the text message I’d received from County Corrections and afterward waited for her response, holding the phone lightly against my ear. Sitting on my secondhand couch and placing my can of soda on one of my thrift-store scores of end tables which came with one of a matching coffee kind , I toed off my shoes and stretched out my legs along the length of the cushions.

  It sometimes took a while for Diane to gather her thoughts enough to express them, and she was one of those women who couldn’t be rushed. So I waited, sipping at my soda as I crossed and uncrossed my ankles, reaching behind to adjust the cute throw-pillows Tonya gave me as a house-warming gift.

  I was patient (but not) as I lingered, a silent phone pressed to my ear.

  Although when her voice came through, I was totally unprepared for what she determined was a much more interesting topic than just good-ole Sloan Davis. “That guy at your place, what was his name? Ryker?”

  My body went into statue-mode as I cautiously responded. “Yeah. His name’s Ryker. What about him?”

  “He seemed nice,” she started and I wondered what she was leading up to. Because that was what Diane did…she led you up to things, albeit gently. Especially the stuff you didn’t want to acknowledge or let anyone in on. “And he seemed really into you. At least, from what I could see.”

  Oh shit! Diana knew. Knew the damn, freaking whole of it just by having a ringside seat to the ‘Phoebe and her Handy Man’ show. Had it been when Ryker and I talked as if there wasn’t anyone else around?

  “Yeah, he’s nice. Cut his hand and came to the ER for stitches,” I admitted through clenched teeth, as if my mouth was trying to hold in what my heart couldn’t. My mind zeroed in on one particular memory and I began to savor it, moment by moment. “He told me I give good ‘nurse’ and brought me bagels the next day to thank me.”

  I heard some noise, something along the lines of a giggle through the phone. Then I heard her utter the same question I’d been asked earlier.

  “So when are you gonna add him to your master-plan?”

  I had to swallow before I responded, hating I had to shut the conversation down but my thing with Ryker (whatever it might turn out to be) was too new, too fragile to discuss yet. Even with Diane. “And in other news…I had an episode at work today.”

  There was no reaction, not even the sound of her breathing for a couple of beats. “Are you okay now?” It was a good question and a fair one since Diane had been witness to a lot of ‘episodes’ as I called them for lack of better term and was even the one who bought me my first nightlights.

  “Yeah, I am,” I replied on a shaky laugh and reached for my soda to take a swig before getting down to the recap of my freak-out in the elevator. She made all the right noises in all the right places, but didn’t interrupt. That was another thing Diane did and did well. She listened all the way through before responding. At one time, I thought that was how all adults were until I discovered she was rare in that regard. Most others I came into contact with always seemed so geared up to speak they constantly cut-in, so intent on having their say they missed most of what was being told.

  Not her. Not Diana.

  So it wasn’t until my story wound down that she spoke again. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad was it?”

  I took another swig and tried to assign my freak-out a number, easily remembering my emotions while inside the elevator but doing it at a emotional arm’s length. “A six, I think.”

  “And how long did it take you to regroup afterward?”

  Thinking back I realized by the time I’d exited the ladies room, jogged the length of the hospital to the other set of stairs and finally made my way back to the ER, I’d been shaky but okay enough to shift my focus off myself and back to my patients. “Less than ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m proud of you, honey.” Her soft words helped me realize I was proud of me too because my episodes back in the day used to tip the scale at well over a ten and take me hours to calm down afterward. By comparison, that day’s freak-out was pretty manageable.

  Not that I ever wanted a repeat of what led up to it in any way, shape or form.

  “You know, not everybody shoves a child into a dank, dark closet as punishment. And to do so, speaks more of their need for power than to correct the behavior of their charges.” As her words hit my brain,, my emotions took flight. As evidenced by my accelerated heartbeat and gasping breaths at just the memory.

  Some things could never be forgiven, forgotten or swept under the rug. And my time spent in punishment while at the Davis’s house was one of them. The fact was, that god-awful time in my life continued to color my world even as an adult. As evidenced by the nightlights and lack of closet doors in my living space.

  “As for Sloan Davis and his release,” she began again. “I think you should apply for a restraining order but I’ll check with Carmen to see if she still has copies of the letters.”

  Oh shit, I’d forgotten about his letters, the ones he used to send to CPS but addressed to me back in the old days. Although Diane and Carmen didn’t share them until I was fourteen or fifteen, waiting until I was old enough to handle the absolute hatred he had for me and the other two kids who’d experienced his and Marcy’s idea of ‘parenting-for-pay’ first hand. Even then, each one-paged missive was filled with so much rage, every sentence stuffed full of his promise of retribution, they terrified me.

  “I don’t think any judge in the land would deny you a restraining order once he saw the letters, Pheebs.” I was thinking she was right. “And I’ll see if Carmen has any other ideas.”

  “That’d be good,” I agreed. My life would’ve turned out a whole lot different if it hadn’t been for both Diane and my social worker, Carmen.

  The smile was back in Diane’s voice when she suggested, “Once you get settled in a bit, let’s grab all the girls and make a night of it.”

  “Sounds like fun! You put it together and I’ll be there.” And I would because even though we’d all lived in the same house with Diane and Carmen as our navigators, we’d grown up and gone our different ways only coming together sporadically. In all truth, I missed having my girls, those sisters of my heart around in my day-to-day life. Which was probably why I didn’t mind picking up the extra shifts when there was a need, just to fill up the lonely hours.

  There was a pause as there was so often was whenever it was time to end the call with Diane, but she softened her closing the best she could. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”

  “I’ve turned on every light in the house,” I admitted. “So yeah. I’ll be good.”

  And as she had always done, every single night I’d spent in her house and at the close of every face-to-face meet or telephone call, Diane ended with a warm, soft, “Love you, honey.”

  I closed my eyes, absorbing not only her words, but the emotion behind them before I murmu
red back. “Love you back, Di.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ryker had wanted to spend the night with her after their amazing bed-play. To wake up with her in his arms the next morning and, if she wasn’t too sore, initiating a round two. But he knew he needed to get home. If he’d known what the night would contain, he could’ve warned his mom he wouldn’t be around for breakfast. He was, after all, a grown man and she made no restrictions on his time. However, if his ma got up and discovered he’d never come home she would absolutely lose her fucking mind and make his life a living nightmare for all the hell he’d put her through in worrying if he was dead or something.

  So he’d regretfully dressed in the dark and left Phoebe’s place vowing to advise his mom not to expect him whenever he and Phoebe had a date. Because sure as shit, they would do that particular brand of hot and sexy again and again.

  Which would include sleepovers.

  And lots and lots of round twos.

  But he’d already forgotten his vow when he’d made plans to take Phoebe out that Sunday.

  He was turning onto one of the streets down into Grantham proper with his girl by his side, when his cellphone rang. At first, he tried to ignore it but when he caught her looking at him in consternation from the corner of his eye, he felt he had no choice but to answer.

  Disconnecting their typical palm-to-palm clench that had become a routine for them whenever they were in the car, he hesitated before reaching into his back pocket for his phone.

  It was his mom.

  “Buenos dias, mamacita. Como esta?” He tried to sound unconcerned and cheery, but the truth of it was, his mom almost never called him and he wondered what shit-storm was happening to make her dial him now. Unfortunately, she was wound up tight and felt no qualms in getting to the root of the ‘why’ behind her call as quickly as possible.

  It was done fast.

  And in Spanish—but not in any of the words he knew.

  The tone, though. Madre Dios, the fucking tone he more than recognized, had known for as long as he could remember. And it told him much more than the words she used.

  That he’d fucked up.

  Royally.

  “Mama, mas despacio, por favor,” he begged, asking her to slow down. “No puedo entender.” He truly didn’t understand what she was saying and he allowed his eyes to rest on Phoebe who was staring at the road in front of them as if to block out what was happening in the seat right next to her.

  His mom began swearing before she inhaled on an audible gasp and let loose again, albeit a little more slowly. Ryker hear the words, ‘Domingo, comida, la familia’ and felt his stomach drop.

  He’d forgotten.

  Although how he could forget the formal, traditional family dinner his mother cooked every Sunday was a mystery. She’d cooked it, demanded her boys attend it for as long as he could remember, inviting all sorts of people to sit beside them at her table and partake of the feast she started preparing in the earliest hours of Sunday morning, before mass.

  “Si, mama. Si,” he mumbled into his phone wondering how he was going to handle this latest wrench in his plans. “We’ll be there.”

  At her screech, Ryker pulled the phone out away from his ear and shot another look to where Phoebe remained motionless in her seat. But his mom’s diatribe was cut off mid-sentence before he heard Max’s voice. “Get your ass home, motherfucker, at the soonest possible moment or you’ll have me and Cruz to deal with.”

  The line went dead and Ryker found himself swallowing before he flipped his phone shut. Palming the device back into his rear pocket, he struggled with the words in order to tell Phoebe their plans had changed.

  “Ah…Phoebe?”

  She turned wide eyes his direction and he was grateful for the stoplight that slowed his roll.

  “Ah…we won’t be eating at the hotel.” At her crestfallen face, because they’d both been looking forward to eating in the restaurant portion of the Grantham hotel which everyone said was the bomb, he hurried to explain. “We can still have dinner together, though.”

  She let out a breath he didn’t see her take, but from the depth of it, he knew it was a deep one.

  “But it’s gonna be at my mom’s place with the rest of my family.”

  Her face morphed into shock, every limb stilling as she held his eyes, working through his words. “Oh, my god.” Her quiet whisper was just an echo before she scrambled to find her purse at her feet.

  Dragging out a wide-toothed comb, she hastily ran it through her hair. “You can just drop me off at my place, can’t you? I mean, we have plenty of time for you to get me home before you have to be there, right?”

  “Phoebe—,” he started, but was immediately cut off.

  “I’m not dressed to meet your family, Ryker,” she dithered after tucking her comb away and smoothing the loose portions of her hair by sliding her hands over her head. The worst of it was the way her wild eyes wouldn’t meet his. “You can just let me off close to the apartment building and I can hoof it from there.”

  “You look perfectly fine, cariña,” he announced, his voice rising in reaction to the flurry of movement she exhibited. But he’d obviously said the wrong thing because she again went to statue-mode before slowly turning shocked eyes to him.

  “No girl, and I mean none of my gender, can show up to a guy’s family dinner just looking ‘fine’.” Her voice was a stricken whisper and Ryker’s already constricted heart tightened further at not only her words but her tone. “Every girl needs the opportunity to prepare, Ryker. So she can make herself look the best she can when she meets her man’s family.” She inhaled through her nose before clenching her jaw. “And, for most of us, ‘fine’ is just not good enough.”

  Holy shit!

  Seriously?

  If she could be that truthful, then he needed to give her the same. “I’m not ready to take you home, baby.”

  She blinked up at him, the wand of her lip-gloss stilling as it hovered over her lower lip, losing the panicked look as she considered what he said.

  “Either you come with me to my mom’s or we hit the hotel as planned, but I’m not absolutely not going to take you home.” He nodded in emphasis, recognizing the motherfucking truth of his words. “I don’t give one good goddamn about the consequences.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No,” he quickly replied as the person behind them honked as a reminder the light was green. “I want to be with you tonight. For as long as possible.”

  After slicking the goopy, shiny stuff on her top lip, she recapped the tube as she smeared her lips together. “I feel the same, Ryker,” she whispered at long last before tidily tucking the tube of gelatinous stuff back into her purse.

  And reached for his hand on the steering wheel. As she caressed his fingers, he loosened the white-knuckled grip he had on it as he stepped on the accelerator and soon found his fingers again entwined with hers, their elbows touching on the console.

  *.*.*.*.*

  As Ryker drove through Grantham proper and into the older, more established residential section, I tried to get my freak-out under control. And I was definitely freaking out at the thought of meeting his family.

  Wasn’t that sort of thing done later in a relationship as opposed to, say, the first time you’d seen him after having stupendous sex together? Offered with plenty of foreknowledge and tons of time to decide what to wear, find an appropriate bottle of wine or bouquet of flowers to offer as a ‘thank-you-for-having-me-over’ kind of deal?

  If it was any other guy, I would’ve demanded to be taken home and let him go do his thing with his family. But it was Ryker. And from what I overheard (though I tried to pretend I hadn’t) he was in major trouble with his mom. Trouble with a capital ‘T’ even I understood though I didn’t speak hardly any Spanish.

  As if I had any doubt, the dark, deep voice coming at the end of the call, demanding Ryker’s attendance, more than told me it was a command performance. One that shouldn’t be refus
ed, with the ‘or else’ implied.

  I didn’t even want to imagine what the ‘or else’ included.

  With Ryker flat-out saying he was not going to take me home, that he didn’t want our date to end so soon, all my protestations died an early death. Truthfully, I would have preferred our time together be more private but I wasn’t going to say so. No need to get in between him and his family straight out of the gate (or at any time for that matter).

  Plus, my nurse’s training taught me how to interact with strangers (albeit, most of it during emergency situations), how to turn on the ‘friendly’ portion of my naturally shy personality and smile even in the worst of circumstances. So meeting an angry mom and another family member willing to enact an ‘or else’ should be a piece of cake.

  Or so I tried to tell myself and the butterflies swarming in my mid-section.

  Ryker pulled up to one of the older homes in one of Grantham’s original residential neighborhoods. It was a beautiful part of town with its large lots and stately mature trees, a place I’d always thought spoke of old money of the inherited kind.

  He pulled into a driveway already lined with so many cars, the large Escalade back wheels remained on the street. As he set the hand-brake, I let my eyes trail over the arts and crafts home and its beautiful yard. Someone had a green thumb as evidenced by the flowering borders bracketing the sidewalk leading up to the wide front porch, which was adorned with more flowers in hanging baskets. As my gaze continued over the structure, the front door opened and I could see the outline of a person behind the painted wood screen door.

  The sound of his seatbelt unlatching startled me out of my perusal and I reached to undo mine while using the other hand to open the door. Ryker put his hand on my shoulder and I stopped to look up at him in question. “I’ll get your door.”