Unexpected Protector by Sloan Johnson
Text copyright © 2013 by Sloan Johnson
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This book is dedicated to my Isthmus Alliance. To the online Alliance, the women who have been there to push me to keep going when I wanted to quit, made me laugh when I wanted to cry, and somehow managed to get me to share things about myself that may have been better left secrets. And to my real-life Alliance, the people I’ve gotten to know over the past several months and am proud to call friends. You’ve taught me so much about life, I’m not sure there is a word strong enough for how grateful I am to all of you. I love you!
I don’t know why I’m here. I walk into her room with a cup of coffee and a bagel every day and sit with her until someone comes in, forcing me to go home for the night. The nurses think I’m the compassionate boyfriend, not willing to leave her side. The truth is that I’m no one to her.
“Holly, I don’t know if you can hear me,” I whisper in her ear, wrapping my hand around her fingers. “You need to wake up. Tasha’s starting to think you’re slipping away but I told her she’s wrong.”
There’s no response. There hasn’t been for the past two weeks and I’m starting to worry there never will be. The first ten days, they kept her in a medically induced coma so she wouldn’t suffer from the drug withdrawal. They started easing her off the medication a few days ago and she should be awake by now. The doctors are now classifying her as being in a “vegetative state” because she’s breathing on her own. If only she would give us some sign that she’s still in there…
I reach for a bottle of lotion beside the bed. Every day, I massage her hands and arms, hoping that my touch will cause her to open her eyes and say something. My fingers trace the outline of every flower inked from just below her elbow up to her shoulder. Her half-sleeve gives her a hard exterior from a distance, but upon closer inspection, the tattoos form a magnificently detailed garden on her pale skin.
As I take her hand in mine, preparing to work the lotion into her fingers, I feel her jerk away from me. Startled, I look to the head of the bed and see her eyes open, staring at me. This is the first time I’ve been able to see the flecks of gold throughout rich brown irises. Even through their vacancy, I can appreciate their mysterious beauty.
“Hey, sleepy,” I say, my throat dry and raspy from the recycled air in the hospital. “You had us scared for a while.”
There’s no recognition in her eyes, no sign that she’s hearing what I’m saying. I should get the doctors, but after so many days spent sitting next to her, I want a minute alone with her. It’s illogical since, as I said, I’m nothing to her, but I need this time.
“I don’t know if you heard me earlier, but Tasha’s been worried about you.” Holly blinks hard at the sound of her best friend’s name, making me wonder if it was a mistake to mention Tasha. My only thought was to let her know that people care about her and want to see her healthy, but I realize now that Tasha is also a reminder of the mistakes that put Holly here.
Wiping away the moisture seeping from the corner of her eye, I allow my hand to rest on her cheek. “Hey, no tears. She loves you. Do you want me to call her?” Holly shakes her head, stopping almost instantly as she winces in pain. “Okay, I won’t call her yet, but I am going to get the doctor.”
I don’t want to leave the room, but I have to. Sure, I could hit the nurse call button, but I don’t trust them to come quickly and I heard the attending physician in the hall just a few minutes ago. If I can catch him, he can detour from his normal routine to check on her.
By the time I return to her side, Holly’s eyes are closed. There’s no sign that she’s been awake and I’m sure the doctor thinks I’m losing my mind. “Come on, Holly. You can’t make a liar out of me now.” Once the doctor examines her, telling me he sees no change in her condition, I slide my chair closer to the bed, hoping to close my eyes for a few minutes. I reach for her hand, praying she’ll wake up again and I’ll feel her movements.
The sleepless nights are catching up with me; every time I close my eyes, I see her body lying in a pool of blood on the concrete. If we had gotten there sooner, she might not be here.
The only saving grace of her being in a coma is that she hasn’t suffered the violent withdrawals from the cocktail of pills she had been using to get through each day. Her body still went into shock, but she didn’t have to battle the emotional demons. I’ve already talked to a friend of mine in the addiction recovery department and he has a bed waiting for her as soon as she’s healthy enough. But before that can happen, I need her to wake up for good.
“Tommy?” The soft voice at the door sounds almost as weary as my own. I turn and see Tasha. She’s alone today, which is highly unusual. Dylan hasn’t been thrilled with the idea of leaving her alone since the attack. “What are you doing? You need to get out of here, go do something.”
I’m used to this fight from her. She doesn’t understand why I am willing to sit with Holly every day, since the girl doesn’t even know I exist. Hell, I don’t understand it either, but that doesn’t mean I can change it.
“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” I grumble, leaning back in my chair. “They aren’t ready to wrap up the investigation yet. It seems there are a lot of people hoping your friend wakes up so she can give her statement.”
At this point, I’m not even sure I want to go back to work. The past six months, I’ve wondered if being a cop is what I’m meant to do or if it’s me hanging onto the dream of a child. When I was a kid, I thought being a police officer would be awesome; you get to save people, catch the bad guy, drive fast, and carry a gun. What’s not to love?
What’s not to love? Most of it. I’m not out saving lives. I’m taking reports at fender-bender car accidents, arresting abusive husbands so their wives have a night away from them before taking the men back without pressing charges. And they always take them back. That’s one of the things I hate the most. The problem is that I’m not sure what I’ll do if I quit.
Right now, I have time to think about that because I’m on administrative leave. I wasn’t at Nick’s house on official police business that night, but the fact that I shot him means I’m not allowed to work until they clear me of any possible charges.
By the time we got to his place, Holly was lying on the ground, unconscious and bleeding, and there was a good chance Nick was getting ready to do something to Tasha against her will. I’ve had enough dealings with Nick to know talking to him wasn’t an option. When he’s strung out, he’s not thinking at all. That’s why I took the shot when I had it.
“What’ll happen to you if she doesn’t wake up?” Tasha asks, tears filling her eyes. I can’t imagine the pain she is in, seeing her friend lying in this hospital bed with a tangled web of probes and wires attached to her body.
I resist the urge to tell her that Holly opened her eyes today. If it hadn’t been a fleeting moment, if anyone besides me had seen the way she looked at me, it would make sense to mention it. But, for now, I keep that information to myself because Holly is once again lying in her bed with no signs of waking any time soon. Not only that, but Tasha will hate herself if she knows Holly
woke up and she wasn’t here.
Professionally, I’m confident that I will be fine once the investigation wraps up. I know I did nothing wrong when I fired a round at Nick Romero, Tasha’s ex-husband. My paid administrative leave is a formality while they try to conclude the investigation of the night’s events. Personally, I can’t bear the thought of Holly not pulling through.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure Tasha, motioning for her to take a seat across from me in the chair between the bed and the window. “Where’s Dylan today?”
“He’s finally getting back to work,” she sighs. “Between the two of us, I was starting to wonder if he would ever leave town again.”
“You can’t really blame him, can you? Look at everything the two of you have been through since you met.” I don’t bother listing off the number of police reports I filed on her behalf because all that will do is get her thinking about what she could have done differently to stop Holly from going in debt to a drug dealer.
Tasha doesn’t answer me. Instead, she stares at the monitors, as if they will give her some insight as to what’s going on with Holly. No one knows why she’s not waking up. The doctors think her body might just need time to heal itself from the combination of drug abuse and the assault.
At some point, I drift off to sleep. I can hear Tasha talking to Holly, begging her to wake up so they can get past their problems.
“Please, Holly, you have to wake up,” she sobs. “You can’t leave me, especially when I was mad at you when you saw me last. You have to wake up so I can tell you how sorry I am for not trying harder.”
“Next week is Thanksgiving. Dylan and I are having a bunch of people over to the house. I know you probably won't be out of the hospital by then, but I can see if they’ll let me bring you some pie.”
I’m awake now, but I stay as still as possible. I want the girls to have this time together and Tasha gets quiet whenever she knows I’m listening. This is how I learn the most about Holly; eavesdropping on Tasha’s ramblings, hearing about the trouble they used to get into. Despite her frail, bruised appearance, I know she’s a spitfire. I only hope that someday I will be able to experience her attitude for myself.
My body feels pulled toward the ground by lead weights, and I can barely move. Even without the pressure, I doubt I’d be able to because every muscle in my body is stiff. As I assess my situation, I hear voices around me, arguing. I focus on my breathing, trying to keep it steady so they won’t know I’m awake. If I open my eyes, I’ll have to face him and I’m not ready to do that.
“I’ve already arranged to help her get clean; I don’t see why you think we owe her anything beyond that.” I may not know Dylan well, but it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s pissed off. But at whom?
“Dylan,” a deep male voice warns. I’m trying to figure out why that voice sounds familiar to me. “Do you really mean to tell me you’ve never fucked up?”
“Like this?” He sneers. “No, I’ve never almost gotten myself and someone I claim to care about killed because I was so fucked up I couldn’t think straight.”
The words are completely true, but that doesn’t make them sting any less. While I have no clue what day it is or how long I’ve been asleep, I remember everything that led to me being here. I wish this were one of those times when the movies had it right, that I had no clue what happened to me.
“Dylan, you’re not being fair.” Tasha sobs. Her voice sounds further away than the men’s did. Knowing she’s in the room causes an internal struggle. I want to see her, to apologize to her, to beg her to forgive me, but I’m not sure I deserve her forgiveness. I’m the one who led her into the arms of her ex-husband in a feeble attempt to save myself.
“Tasha,” Dylan scolds her in a low voice. “You’re the only reason I’m even standing here having this conversation. Don’t push your luck tonight.”
“Dylan, calm down,” the deep voice encourages. There’s no one in my life I can think of who would be sticking up for me this way, so who is he? “Take a look at your woman. Do you see how much this hurts her? How torn she is? Don’t make this even harder for her. Holly hasn’t always been the mess you know her as…”
“And how would you know? You’re the one who told me she was bad news. Now, all of a sudden you’re saying she’s not really a messed up junkie?”
Gee Dylan, don’t hold back now. Not that he has ever been one to censor his thoughts, but I hate him for being so frank when, for all he knows, I’m lying here fighting for my life. And how does the deep voice know anything about me? It’s going to drive me nuts, not knowing whom that voice belongs to, knowing that we’ve obviously met before.
“As I said before, everyone makes mistakes. Do you really think Tasha would be fighting this hard for us to help her if there wasn’t something good in her, even if it’s buried deep down?” Between the kind words and the way I feel his voice as he speaks, I want to leap into the mystery man’s arms and thank him. Well, I would if the mere thought of moving didn’t send shockwaves of pain through my body.
“I have to get going,” Dylan says curtly. Thank God for small miracles. “Tasha and I will stop by tomorrow to see how she’s doing. But Tommy, you really have to let this go. She’s not yours to save.”
Tommy? I don’t think I know anyone named Tommy. Whoever he is, I’m grateful that he is here, no matter how much I don’t deserve anyone’s kindness.
When Tasha squeezes my hand, I almost work up the courage to look up at her, but I can’t. I know Dylan is still here and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him again. If I thought he hated me before all of this, I can’t imagine how he feels now.
I lie perfectly still until there’s no noise in my room. Slowly, I open my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the dim glow of the light over my bed.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” I turn my head, realizing that the man with the sexy-as-hell voice is still in the room. “Are you actually going to wake up this time?” His voice is more compassionate now, as if he’s trying to soothe my nerves.
As the room around me comes into focus, I see a man folded into a chair next to my bed. He looks uncomfortable as hell but makes no move to get up. His dark blue t-shirt pulls tight across his chest. A light gray hoodie covers his arms, but that doesn’t keep me from seeing that this is a man who takes care of himself.
When my eyes travel to his face, I’m thankful that I’m already lying in a hospital bed. The lines at the corners of his eyes and dark circles below don’t detract from the warm honey color staring at me. His cheeks are coated with just enough growth that I can’t tell if it’s from a lack of shaving or his normal style. He’s gorgeous. And he’s the last person I expected to see defending me.
Is this some sort of sick joke?
“What are you doing here?” I croak. My throat is so dry the words barely form. Shock and relief fill his eyes as he looks up at me.
Every inch of my body still hurts. I don’t want to take any pain medication, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. I’ve been clean for almost a month and I’m terrified I will have a setback. Okay, so they were giving me intravenous meds while I was out of it, but I haven’t had anything illegal since the night I tricked my best friend and almost got us both killed.
They say I might be able to go home by Friday. The only problem is that I have no clue if I still have a home to go to. My downward spiral placed paying bills near the bottom of my priorities and I highly doubt anyone has been paying my rent while I’ve been here.
When I was using, I didn’t need to worry about where I was going to live. Nathan was more than willing to let me stay with him, especially when I had no money. That meant he could use me as his personal plaything and there was nothing I could do about it. If I wanted my next fix, I had to pay for it with a blowjob. I had a bed to sleep in whenever I needed, as long as I didn’t put up a fight when I woke in the middle of the night to Nathan hovering over me, ready to fuck me hard.
At the time
, it was a win-win situation for both of us. I was able to get high whenever I wanted and he was able to spend time with someone completely out of his league. That’s not me being conceited, but Nathan Starnes is not a good-looking man. He’s in his mid-forties and balding with dead eyes and a beer gut that hangs over his belt.
Unexpected Protector (Isthmus Alliance) Page 1
