Unexpected Protector (Isthmus Alliance)

by Sloan Johnson

  “Good morning, beautiful.” I continue staring out the window as Tommy enters the room. I already know he’s carrying a cup of black coffee for himself, a grande mocha for me, and two bagels. I don’t know why he keeps coming around, but if it means I don’t have to eat hospital food for at least one meal a day, I’m all for it.

  He places the coffee on my bedside table. I don’t acknowledge him. I never do. If I keep ignoring him, maybe he’ll realize I’m bad news and he should walk away. I’m sure his bosses wouldn’t appreciate a cop hanging out with a junkie. And Dylan will probably never forgive me. Seeing as Tommy is one of Dylan’s closest friends, it would make more sense if he avoids me.

  “How are you feeling today?” He tries to make conversation. The weak part of me wants to fall into his arms, crying from the pain, both physical and emotional. But I won’t.

  Things have changed a bit since I regained consciousness, but he’s still one of the kindest, most compassionate men I’ve ever met. I have no doubt that he would hold me as I cried until there were no more tears to give. Whenever his fingers brush against the back of my hand, my senses come to life, yearning for more of his touch. A touch I don’t deserve to feel.

  I continue staring out the window at my view of a painted steel sculpture placed on a pea gravel roof, no doubt to liven up the dull gray view from this wing of the hospital. It’d be nice to have something a bit more picturesque, maybe the lake in the distance, but when you don’t know how you’re going to pay the skyrocketing bills, you can’t exactly ask for better accommodations.

  “Still not saying anything?” Tommy laughs. I can see his reflection in the window. He didn’t shave again this morning. The fact that I’ve figured out that he only shaves once a week is a bit disconcerting. I spend far too much time imagining what his stubble would feel like against my palms as I draw his face closer to mine, but that’s something that will never happen. He’s only here because he’s almost as bored as I am. “You know, one of these days, I bet I’ll talk enough that you have to say something, even if it’s just to tell me to shut up. Should we see who cracks first?”

  No, we shouldn’t, because I want to talk to you, I just can’t. If there’s a God in heaven, please let that man’s cell phone ring so he’ll leave.

  I reach for my mocha, the only vice I will allow myself from now on. I glance at Tommy and give him a slight smile. Looking at him is a huge mistake. I see his sleepy, whiskey colored eyes staring back at me. Every feature on his face is strong, from the set of his jaw to his straight, masculine nose.

  “Are you starting to thaw?” he asks, jokingly. I wonder what he would do if I started responding in questions. It seems to be the only thing that ever comes out of his mouth and I’m tired of hearing question after question all day long.

  I consider answering him, but that would lead to an actual conversation. I have no clue what we would talk about because I know nothing about him, other than he is a cop, an incredibly sexy cop, and he’s suspended from work because of me.

  That’s not true. I also know he’s a Dom, but only because I’ve seen him at the club with Dylan and Zeke. The fact that he’s friends with them is even more of a reason for me to stay away.

  “Miss Richards?” The attending physician walks into the room, giving me a temporary reprieve from Tommy. “I’m Doctor Pinet and I’ll be taking a look at your injuries this morning.”

  “They’re fine,” I say, beyond tired of the constant poking and prodding. It wouldn’t be so bad if Doctor Pinet were the only doctor I had to deal with, but I’m in a teaching hospital. That means for every doctor, there are at least three med students in tow. This time, he’s joined by a trio who appear more suited for a campy, frat-boy movie than white lab coats and saving lives. “Will I still be able to go home by Friday?”

  Up to this point, the doctors have been vague whenever I ask them when I can go home. I can’t stay here. I’m on the mend and since I don’t have a job, I don’t have insurance and I’m already uncertain I’ll ever get out from under the mountain of debt Nick’s attack created.

  “Miss Richards,” the doctor says, folding his glasses and sticking them in his pocket. “According to your chart, you have requested a transfer to the addiction recovery ward.”

  My jaw goes slack. I know I look like a moron, sitting there gaping at him, but I don’t even know what to say. I most certainly did not ask for more time in this place. I know inpatient treatment will give me the best chance of staying clean, but once again, I’m unemployed, broke, and probably homeless. There’s no way I can afford one of the best inpatient treatment facilities in the state, no matter how much it’s what I need.

  Unfortunately, the struggle to get and stay sober is something I’ve known about since I was a child. Both of my parents were addicts. Whenever someone would notice, my mom would feel guilty and start going to meetings. Within a month, she’d be off the wagon again. When she wasn’t strung out, she was getting drunk. My biggest fear is that I’m going to turn out just like her. No matter how many times I promised myself that would never happen, my current situation says otherwise.

  By the time she was my age, I was seven years old. My mom felt that she was missing out on the prime of her ‘partying years’ because she was saddled with a kid. More than once, she took me to the parties with her rather than leaving me home alone. Only once did she forget me when she climbed into the car of a random stranger. The other times, she bribed me with new toys to keep me from telling my dad about her disgusting encounters.

  And people wonder why I’m screwed up in the head.

  “I’m sorry, there must be a mistake. The doctor yesterday told me he thought I would be out of here by Friday at the very latest. As you can see, I’m doing fine, so I would like to know if it’s possible for me to leave today instead.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tommy stand to leave the room. Sure, now he leaves. I could use a little support here. He has to know how bad my situation is.

  I step out of the room to call Tasha. For the first time since she woke, I have a feeling I’m about to see Holly’s attitude in full force. Sure, I could probably talk her down, but she doesn’t need a cop trying to defuse the situation. She needs a friend to console her and she’s not ready to see that I am a friend to her. Plus, I’m pretty sure Tasha is partly to blame for the impending outburst.

  “Hey, it’s Tommy,” I say as soon as she picks up the phone. “Can you get up here?”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” I hear her fingernails clicking away at the keyboard.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I assure her. “Well, unless you count the fact that I’m pretty sure you and Dylan neglected to tell your friend that she’s getting an all-expense paid trip to the recovery unit. She’s seriously about to lose her shit up here.”

  “Dammit,” Tasha grumbles. “They were supposed to wait to tell her about that until Dylan gets home tonight. He and I were going to go up there to convince her it’s for the best. You agree that it is for the best, right?”

  “Of course,” I say quickly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s freaking out up here. I can hear her in the room yelling at the doctor that she can’t go into treatment because she has no money.”

  “Okay, go in there and tell her I’m on my way up,” Tasha instructs me. “Then, get the doctors out of her damn room. I don’t care if you have to pull him out by the hair. Get him out and explain the situation. I’ll be there within the hour.” It’s almost laughable that I’m sitting here willingly taking orders from her for a change. She’s always reminding us that we need to learn to ask for what we want rather than demand it.

  Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I turn down the hall. I have a feeling getting Holly to calm down is easier said than done. She’s wringing her hands in her raven hair when I walk through the door.

  “There’s been a mistake,” she sobs to the attending physician. “I know it’s what your paperwork says, but there’s no way I can go
up there.”

  I tap the doctor’s shoulder, motioning for him to join me in the hall. Satisfied that he’s no longer here to upset her, I walk over to Holly’s bed. “Holly, you need to calm down.” I keep my voice low and forceful. “Tasha’s on her way up here and we’ll get everything taken care of.”

  Her shoulders continue to shake as she cries into her hands. “That’s easy for you to say. No one understands--”

  “Stop!” I demand. Immediately, I regret the gruff tone I’ve taken with her. I’m surprised to see her looking at me from beneath the midnight veil of her hair. Taking her hand in mine, I continue. “I’ve already talked to Tasha. She’s on her way up here. Now, you drink some water, take some deep breaths, and calm down. While you do that, I’m going to talk to Doctor Pinhead and make sure he doesn’t make you cry again.”

  The corner of her mouth quirks up at my insult to the doctor. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I brush the hair away from her face and allow my lips to gently graze across her forehead. Both of our bodies stiffen at the contact and I quickly retreat.

  Cupping the plastic mug in both hands, I slowly drink my water as I stare out the window. It’s almost December but there’s no snow on the ground yet. I think about how much fun Tasha and I had playing in the snow when we were younger, walking across town to a pathetic little hill with our hard plastic saucer sleds. When I was with her or her family, the biggest problem I faced was deciding on marshmallows or whipped cream for my hot cocoa.

  Tasha might not realize it, but she has been my rock for as long as I can remember. When my parents divorced, hers was the family that took me in while mom worked late. It was in their basement that I did most of my homework while watching MTV, right at the end of the time when the channel still played music on a regular basis. She was the one who drove me to see my boyfriend on the weekends and covered for me when I didn’t come home. And she was the one holding my hair while I puked after partying too hard more than once.

  Even during the years she was with Nick, Tasha kept me grounded. I worried about what she would think of me if I got too far gone and I would reel it in. When her marriage crumbled, we held onto one another. Her saving me from my own stupidity while I tried to show her that there’s more to life than living for a man.

  I should have never taken her to Leather & Lace night. I knew it wasn’t her scene, but I wanted to shock her. Of all the nights, that had to be the night Dylan Caprese showed up with his chiseled body and killer smile. I knew the moment I saw them together that she was going to fall hard for him. And as soon as I realized that, I had to try to save both of us.

  By that time, I was already well over a grand in debt to Nathan. Up until that fateful Friday night, he was willing to let me keep paying for my fix with sexual favors. I wasn’t the only person in debt and trying to find a way out. Nathan was behind with his supplier, who happened to be my best friend’s ex-husband. That worked out for everyone except me.

  The moment Nick found out that Dylan caught Tasha’s eye, everything changed. Nick knew I hated being in the hole just as much as he knew I couldn’t quit cold turkey. I hated what he had to offer me, but once he said I would no longer get anything from Nathan, I didn’t have much of a choice. If I had known how far he planned to go to get what he wanted, I think I would have refused and accepted whatever he did to me.

  Muffled voices in the hall bring me out of my mental self-loathing. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but Tommy’s rumbling voice forces me to focus on what’s being said. I can tell he’s agitated with the doctor. “You weren’t supposed to tell her,” his voice grows louder.

  “Sir, it’s not my job to dance around delicate topics you choose to hide from her. My job is to make sure she’s healthy. Your job, if you’re any type of boyfriend at all--”

  “I’m not her boyfriend,” Tommy groans. Although it’s the truth, the tone in his voice sends a searing pain through my heart. It sounds as though being associated with me in any meaningful way is deplorable to him. “I’m a friend. Actually, I’m not even that. I’m a friend of a friend who happens to have—you know what? I don’t have to get into this with you. The point is, you’re supposed to make sure she’s physically and mentally healthy. How in the hell did you do that this morning?”

  “Sir, you need to calm down.” I fist my hands in the sheets, trying to resist the urge to spring from the bed. I hate how condescending the doctor is being to Tommy. I hate feeling like Tommy is rushing in to be my protector. I hate everything about this stupid hospital. I want to go home.

  Dipshit, you probably don’t have a home.

  By the time dinner rolls around, I’m on the seventh floor, securely locked into the rehabilitation ward. I’m not happy about being here, but it’s for the best. I hate relying on other people. If it was just Tasha, that would be one thing, but I know damn well that Dylan’s the one signing the check to pay for my deluxe accommodations.

  “Holly, we want to do this for you,” Tasha reassures me. I know she wants to help me, but why Dylan? He should hate me for what I’ve done to the two of them.

  “I can’t let him…” I let out a long sigh, not having the strength to keep fighting her. “Tasha, I know you’re not paying for me to go to rehab. Why would he do anything for me?”

  “Because he’s a good man,” Tasha says with a smile. I hate how sickeningly in love she is. Even when she was a sophomore in high school, she was never goofy in love with Nick. “And he doesn’t think you’re evil, so don’t try that again.”

  I’m impressed with how much more assertive she is now than I’ve ever seen her before. Realizing that she’s right, that Dylan is a good person, makes what I did that much worse. Nick’s ultimate goal was never to get Tasha back. He wanted to hurt Dylan for embarrassing him years before.

  “Tasha, I can’t take his money.”

  The sound of a chair banging against the wall breaks my train of thought. I look up to see Tommy looming over me. “Holly, listen to me. You could be in serious shit when you get out of here. If you go to rehab, we can make some calls and see about getting charges reduced because of the situation and the fact that, by some freak miracle, you’ve managed to avoid having a conviction record before this.”

  I swallow hard as I digest Tommy’s words. Until just now, I hadn’t thought about the fact that I could be facing jail time. Well, at least that would take care of not having a place to live…

  Tommy continues, “Dylan’s not the one who made the arrangements. I am. Yes, Dylan’s paying for part of it, but no one wants to see you that messed up again, so we’re all doing our part to make sure you’re clean.”

  I look up into his eyes and see more tenderness than I deserve from anyone. “But why?” I whisper, turning my gaze to the floor before I start to cry.

  “Because, whether you believe it or not, there’s something good in you. But no one will ever see it if you’re fucked up all the time.” He squeezes my hand and leaves the room without another word.

  There’s a soft rap on the door to my private room. “Ms. Richards?” I open the door to see the most amazing blue eyes staring down at me. “You’re late for your first session,” he says, ushering me out the door.

  I have no clue who this man is, but I will follow him anywhere. We walk down the long, dimly lit hall, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t a singles club. It’s rehab, and there’s no point in flirting with anyone, especially not a sinfully sexy shrink.

  He opens the door to an office and we walk in. He motions for me to have a seat in an oversized chair against the wall and I comply. I’d like to blame the medication they have me on for my absent-minded obedience, but the only thing currently in my system is an anti-inflammatory. Doctor Pinhead had been adamant that I don't have anything so my mind is clear for my intake up here. I’m sure the sexy doctor on the other side of the desk will change that soon and put me on a regimen to fix what he thinks is wrong with me.

  Too bad that there’s no pr
escription out there that can fix what’s inside. I’ve known that for a long time, which is why I turned to the drugs. They numb me so I don’t feel the pain that has been eating away at me as far back as I can remember.

  I should be happy that Holly came to her senses and stopped fighting inpatient treatment. I am happy and hopeful that she’ll be in a better place, but there’s a sick, selfish part of me that wishes she wasn’t there. Now that she’s on a secured floor, I have nothing to do with my days. Without being on her list of approved visitors, I have no way to know how she’s doing, unless I can get information out of Tasha.