“Holly,” I say in a quiet yet commanding tone. “You’re going to come to my house. It’s not a request. If you want to show everyone that you are sorry for what you did, you will let me help you through this. That way, I know you’re staying clean.”
I’m not going to say it to her right now, but she’s still facing a rough road. The DA is pushing to charge her with kidnapping, possession, and a few other charges thrown in for good measure. I’m not sure what we’ll be able to do to minimize the permanent damage, but if she’s willing to stay clean, then I’m willing to do what I can to help her.
“Why do you care?” she asks me, puffing the bangs away from her face.
“Because people I care about care,” I reply. I don’t tell her that I feel drawn to her. If I say that in here, there’s a good chance I’ll be the one locked up for evaluation. “Which goes back to my earlier statement. I will always do what’s best for my family. Tasha is now my family, which means you are because she cares about you.”
I hear Tasha sniffling on the other end of the couch. It wasn’t that long ago we were all trying to impress upon her what it meant to be part of our circle of friends. When Holly throws Tasha a disbelieving look, Tasha nods. I know there’s a lot that’s being said in the way they’re looking at one another.
It’s good to know that everyone else has my life figured out. I could kill Tasha for springing this on me. Hell, I’m upset with Doctor Armstrong because he knows that I’m barely hanging on to my sanity right now. Then again, neither of them knows that it’s Tommy’s face I see at night when I go to sleep. Even though I was unconscious, I see him standing over my battered body, trying to mask the panic in his eyes.
“Well, since it sounds like I don’t really have a choice. Who wants to tell me how this is all going to work?” I force myself to sit up and pay attention, determined to not show how anxious I am about staying under the same roof as the man who has haunted my dreams for the past month. Probably longer, but I don’t have any memory of the first part of my stay.
For the next forty-five minutes, Doctor Armstrong explains that I will be in an outpatient program designed to help me transition back into the world. During this time, I will come back to the hospital three times per week for behavioral therapy and career counseling. Typically, there would also be family counseling, but since I don’t have any family to speak of, Tasha and Tommy assure the doctor they will attend these sessions. I understand why Tasha is coming, but Tommy’s insistence still confuses me.
By the time the session is over, I wish I could pack my bag and leave with them tonight. It’s just plain mean to make me sit there talking about my freedom for so long, only to tell me I have to wait a few more days before it’s a reality.
I’m still not happy about the arrangements Tommy and Tasha have worked out for me. I appreciate what they’re doing, but I don’t see how this can possibly work out. Seeing Tommy every day when I was still recovering was painful. He represents everything I want but can’t have. Knowing that I have no other choice but to sleep under the same roof as him now feels like torture.
From the moment we walked out of the hospital, I realized how hard it’s going to be to live with him. If he hated me and was doing this reluctantly to help his friends, I think I could deal with that. What I can’t deal with is his forceful tenderness. He has made it very clear that he’s taking me to his house no matter how many times I tell him he doesn’t have to. That he’s not going to listen to me telling him that I don’t deserve his help. He’s just…nice.
“What do you want to eat?” Tommy calls from the other side of the kitchen wall. I stare at the wall that doesn’t quite reach the ceiling, trying to figure out how I got here. I mean, I know how I got here and even why I’m here, but I can’t figure out how it is I deserve to have someone as kind as Tommy helping me.
“I’m not hungry,” I reply, turning my attention back to the television. I should be doing something more productive with my time, like trying to find a job, but with everything in limbo, I can’t bring myself to move forward. The reality is that I screwed up so major this time I’ll be lucky to get more than a night or two in a decent bed. After that, I will more than likely be living off the state, given three hots and a cot, and a standard-issue jail wardrobe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tommy leaning against the wall, staring at me. When I look up at him, my stomach churns at the disapproving look in his light brown eyes. His mouth is pulled tight, somehow managing to highlight the ever-present scruff on his face.
“You have to eat,” he says in a commanding tone. “Since we’re still getting to know one another, you can tell me what you would like or I can choose something. Either way, you will eat tonight.”
This is the same fight we had at lunch. I won that round, but there’s something in the set of his jaw that says I won’t get so lucky again. His arms cross tightly over his chest, accentuating every rippled muscle in his arms and down his torso. My mouth goes dry, imagining everything I would eat if given the chance to use his smooth skin as my serving tray. I shake my head of those thoughts, knowing they’ll get me nowhere other than sexually frustrated and locked in my bedroom to take care of my needs so I won’t do something I’ll regret.
“Tommy, you can’t make me eat. I told you I’m not hungry.” I curl up on the end of the couch, resting my arms over my knees. Rather than continue staring at the way his jeans hang low on his hips or the band of his boxers peeking out at the top of the denim, I begin tracing the spider web tattoo covering my elbow. As much as I love most of the sleeve covering my right arm, I wish I had chosen something else for this space on my skin.
I jump when I realize he’s moved across the room and is now sitting on the floor in front of me. It’s the same position he has taken multiple times over the past few days when he’s joined me in Doctor Armstrong’s office. Although he’s lower to the ground than I am, I know without a doubt that he plans to retain control of this discussion.
“Holly,” he starts, placing his hand on my bare foot. My breathing slows as I get used to the warmth of his skin against mine. “I know you don’t want to eat, but you need to right now. You have to stay healthy to help your body repair the damage you’ve done to it.”
Shame. That’s what I feel when he points out what I’ve done. But the damage hasn’t only been to my body or myself, it’s been to everyone. And while no one will bring it up, it’s the fact that keeps me grounded and forces me to keep my emotional distance. My eyes drift to the deep red accent wall, unable to look at him and I shake my head, not wanting to talk.
“Holly,” he says more forcefully this time. “I told Jeff I was going to take care of you and I intend to do just that. Now, would you like to tell me what you want to eat tonight?”
This is what I hate about being sober. I hate feeling. I hate the inadequacy. I hate knowing that I’ve failed to live up to my potential. And now, I have to face more trouble than I’ve been in before without anything to numb the pain.
I heard Dylan and Tommy talking this morning while Tasha helped me get settled into my new room. According to Tommy, the DA is getting close to deciding on the charges to file against me now that the investigation has been completed. Hearing words like kidnapping and human trafficking echo through the house did nothing to strengthen my resolve to remain sober. In fact, had it not been for Tommy refusing to leave me alone, I’m sure I would have snuck out and fallen off the wagon within hours of getting out of rehab.
There’s no way to express to Tasha how sorry I am for what I did to her. I am possibly the world’s worst friend because I lured her out of the club knowing that Nick wanted to talk to her. Knowing that I had to take her to him in order to pay off my debt. But kidnapping? Human trafficking? It all seems a bit harsh, given the circumstances. It’s not as though I set out to hurt her. If I thought, for even a minute, that he was thinking of hurting her or holding her against her will, I would have told him to do whatever he wanted to me.
“Why do you care if I eat or not?” I snap at him. He doesn’t deserve my venom, but anger is the only emotion I feel like I can cope with right now. “You’re not my father or my warden. You can’t make me do shit!”
I spring off the couch, heading to the only place I feel any semblance of security in this foreign space. Before I can make it two steps, a strong hand clasps around my forearm.
“You’re absolutely right, Holly. But I made a promise to Tasha and I intend to keep that. Now, sit down so we can talk about this like two adults. You’re acting like a petulant child and you’d be well served to realize that will get you nowhere.”
My shoulders slump in defeat. Like it or not, I need to get used to allowing others to help me. And I owe it to Tasha to do whatever it takes to make sure I never go back to the way I was.
When Holly falls back onto the overstuffed couch, I sit on the cushion next to her. I’ve tried giving her space, hoping that would make her see that I’m not trying to be overbearing but it hasn’t worked. So now, I’m going to do things my way. One way or another, I’m determined to get this frustrating woman to let me in.
“Why is it so hard for you to accept my help?” I ask, fighting the urge to run my finger along the line of her bare left arm. It’s as if I’m viewing two sides of her personality as I take in the art covering one side while the other is pristine. One side hard and edgy, the other soft and scared.
She doesn’t answer me, so I reach to lift her face, forcing her to look at me. “When I ask you a question, I would appreciate if you would at least try to answer me.” I can see that she’s scared, but Lord help me, she holds my gaze with purpose.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, momentarily allowing her focus to shift to the floor before returning to my face. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you that way.”
While I appreciate the acknowledgment of her indiscretion, it’s not what I’m waiting for. I square my shoulders, showing her this isn’t a game to me. “Thank you, Holly. Now, would you like to answer my question?”
I fight the urge to smile when she shakes her head, trying to avoid answering me. She’s trying to show me the tough Holly, but it’s one hundred percent scared Holly that I’m seeing.
Her breath hitches as I trace the back of my finger against her jaw. As I move my hand along the curve of her neck, I glance down to see her nipples pebbling beneath her thin tank top. This girl is going to be the death of me if she keeps walking around in tight fitting yoga pants and tops without a bra beneath.
“Answer me,” I demand. I hadn’t planned on pushing her quite so soon, but seeing her body react to my touch has invigorated parts of me that I’ve denied for far too long.
“I hurt everyone,” she says sadly. “If I let you help me, I know I’ll do the same to you.”
There was a variety of answers running through my mind. That wasn’t one I was prepared to hear. I take a moment to collect my thoughts, needing to know more.
“Why would you say that?” My tone remains controlled, even though something inside me is squeezing tight as I feel the pain washing over her body.
Her eyes grow wide in disbelief. “You really have to ask that? I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t fucked up and almost gotten Tasha killed. You already got hurt because of me. You quit your job because of what I did.”
“You’re wrong on so many levels,” I correct her. “First, you didn’t almost get Tasha killed. Was it a bad situation? Yes. But I don’t believe Nick would have killed her. And I don’t think you do either, if you really stop to think about it.”
“But--”
I press a finger to her lips and she immediately falls silent. I file another question in the back of my mind, likely for another time. “And I didn’t quit my job because of what you did. We’ve discussed this already. If I had been completely happy with my job before that night, I would still be sitting behind a desk, waiting for them to put me back on full duty. I wasn’t. Everything that happened after that night made me realize I was chasing the dream of an eight year old boy, not a twenty eight year old man.”
I have no right to need her, but that doesn’t stop me from wrapping my arms around her and pulling her body close to my side. Her body is rigid as a mannequin, but she doesn’t flinch away from me.
“I guess you’re right,” she concedes. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I hurt her. I manage to screw things up wherever I go. That makes it hard for me to understand why anyone would want to help me.”
Now that she’s talking, I relax into the back cushion, bringing her with me so her back rests against my chest. Her hair still smells like the medicinal shampoo they provide in the hospital. We’ll have to make a trip to the store later to get her toiletries she prefers.
“Have you ever had anyone take a chance on you?” I ask, assuming I know the answer. I need to hear it from her.
“Tasha and her mom have always been there for me,” she sighs. “God only knows why since I’ve given them more fits than anyone should have to put up with.”
“Could it be that they love you?” As I ask the question, I begin massaging her shoulders. One by one, I feel the hard knots ease beneath my touch. The entire time, all I can think of is how much better this would be without the fabric creating a barrier between my skin and hers. I’m starting to feel like a creep taking advantage of a young woman in a dire situation.
“In a way, yeah.” Her body begins to relax and I know we’re finally making progress. “Other than them, I’ve never really had anyone. Even when my parents were around, they weren’t really there. I was an inconvenience to them and they made sure I knew it. Both of them were too busy hanging out at the bar every night to take the time to make sure I had dinner or my homework was done. And once they got divorced, it was like they fought over who had to take me.”
I can’t imagine living through childhood knowing your parents felt that way. My own family has always been close and each of us kids was told we were a special gift. That sentiment stretched to our extended family, which might be why I have always looked to Zeke as more of an older brother than the cousin that he is.
“So is your issue that you feel like you’re going to fail me or are you more worried that you will allow me to help you and I will abandon you?” The latter makes more sense, even if she can’t see her fear for what it is.
“You’re starting to sound like Doctor Armstrong,” she chuckles. It’s a sound I haven’t heard often but I could get used to it. I like knowing that, even if I’m annoying her by forcing her to talk to me, I’m not upsetting her. “Yeah, I guess you might be right.”
I turn her body so she’s facing me, needing her to know I’m completely serious about what I’m going to say. “Holly, I want to help you because I think there’s something good in your heart. I see that and I want to help you see it as well. Will you let me do that?”
“I can try,” she answers quietly. If she could just show the world the young woman sitting next to me instead of pretending to be a badass bitch, I think she would get much further in life. I fully intend to help her do just that.
It’s a turning point in our budding friendship. She’s given me an ounce of her trust in those three words and now it’s up to me to never fail her.
By the end of the first week, Holly and I have fallen into an easy routine. She no longer fights me on giving her rides to treatment every morning and being there when she’s ready to come home. I’m not doing it because I don’t trust her to take the bus; I’m doing it because I need to know she’s okay.
The more time we spend together, the more I understand Dylan’s obsession with Tasha’s safety. Zeke and I gave him a hard time for wanting to take care of someone he barely knew back when he and Tasha first met. Now, I’m in a nearly identical position and I can’t imagine doing things any different.
As I cross the dining area to set the table for dinner, I glance into the living room to find her curled up on the couch with my laptop. The past fe
w days, Jeff has been talking to her about deciding on a plan for her life. Having known what I wanted to do with my life, or at least what I thought I wanted to do, since I was a young child, I can’t imagine drifting through life without purpose. It pisses me off that she never had anyone in her life pushing her to dream.
Unexpected Protector (Isthmus Alliance) Page 4
