Sheltering Annie

by Lauren Giordano

  When he leaned back against the door, resting while she locked it, Annie swallowed around the hot emotion clogging her throat. "Hank—I don't know how to thank you," she stammered, blinking back tears. He was a miracle in her life. One she would never stop being thankful for. "You were so brave-" Her voice choked. "I . . . I can't believe I stood up to him-"

  "Annie, love-"

  His weak voice interrupted, as though he'd exhausted what little energy remained in his body. His forehead slick with perspiration. He needs to rest. She slipped under his shoulder. "Right—let's get you back to bed."

  Hank released an exasperated sigh and turned to face her. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

  HIS HEAD SWIMMING, his heart reverberating like a friggin' air raid siren, Hank thrust her away from him, barely resisting the urge to shake her. "What the hell were you thinking?"

  "You're angry? With—me?" Her eyes wide with confusion, she stilled, her small hands suddenly fisted at her sides. "You're . . . why are you so upset?"

  "You left the shelter," he cut her off, his throat muscles tight with the effort not to shout at her. "You left safety," he emphasized. "Why? Why would you come here?" His voice taut with fury, he couldn't shake the terror gripping him. Couldn't stop the haunting images in his head—Annie—alone with a maniac . . . him unable to reach her- He bit back a groan of anguish.

  Her face drained of color, her beautiful, gold-flecked eyes haunted. "How can you- Henry! How can you ask me that?"

  "You took a foolish chance." His heart still pounding too fast, he released a steadying breath, trying like hell to keep his anger at bay. His gut-wrenching fear that he could have lost her. Waking from delirious dreams to glass shattering. Shouting. Bo snarling. Knowing something terrible was happening as he staggered through the house to reach her. Acknowledging the devastating possibility he might be too late-

  "I had to come-"

  "You didn't." His angry words belied the ache rapidly overtaking him. "You shouldn't have-" He wanted to hold her. To feel her comforting weight in his arms. Her warmth. Allow his brain time to realize the danger was over. His wobbly legs still felt as though his bones had dissolved. Except for the ferocious ache. "Your safety is the most important thing-"

  "How could I not come?" She stared up at him, blinking back tears. "Henry—I love you." She threw herself into his arms. "I love you."

  "What if he'd-" He shuddered, relief pouring through him as he clutched her against him. Holding her too tight. "Annie—dear God, what if he'd-"

  "But, he didn't-" Her earnest eyes attempted to soothe him. But, his heart was still hammering. What if he hadn't awakened? What if he'd been too late? What if Phil hadn't backed down?

  "Damn it, Annie." His shout reverberated in the growing stillness. "I can't . . . I won't lose you." His breathing ragged, he felt her hands on his back, her fingers pressing into him, her warmth slowly beginning to reach him. "I can't lose you, too," he choked out, his voice breaking. "I can't bear the thought of it." His breath huffed out in rasping gasps, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. "I couldn't . . . survive it again." He nuzzled her throat. "I need you, Annie. I need you."

  "You're never going to lose me." Her whispered promise fluttered against his throat. "We're going to have an amazing life, Henry Freeman. You'll never be rid of me."

  He held her for endless minutes, until the icy tentacles banding his chest slowly began to loosen. He breathed in her glorious scent, allowing it to soothe him. She was so strong. So incredibly brave. Annie was everything he could ever want. Her fierce love. Passion. Kindness. An endless reserve of strength. Protective of everyone she loved. Including him.

  "I love you so much." Though he'd been mindless with terror, a part of him had been shell-shocked as he'd watched her stand up to the bastard. If it had been anyone else, he would have applauded when she'd taken the vicious swing at him. With a baton? As she'd chased him down the stairs—threatening to do worse if he ever returned. Hank blinked back his fatigue, suddenly hot when he'd been so cold only moments ago.

  She lifted her head from his chest. Her cool fingers pressed to his forehead. "Hank—sweetie, your fever is spiking."

  "I'm fine." He dismissed the alarm in her voice. Until he staggered, throwing an arm out to catch the wall. "Okay—maybe not."

  Slinging his arm around her shoulder, Annie guided him back to bed. "How about I heat up some broth before you go to bed?"

  "Not hungry," he slurred as he collapsed against the pillows. "Lay down with me." His grin felt foolish on his lips. "Need to hold you."

  "Soon, love." Her lips were deliciously cool against his forehead. He was so hot now. He thrashed against the sheets. "Let me take care of you."

  He sank back against the pillow, embracing the cool, soft cotton. And closed his eyes.

  HANK AWAKENED THE NEXT morning, his mouth dry as cotton. Opening his eyes, he glanced around, no longer sensitive to light. In the dawn shadows, he found Annie, asleep in the recliner. She'd nursed him through the night. His mouth lifted in a smile when he saw Bo, asleep on the floor at her feet.

  "What do you think, boy? We need to keep her, right?" Bo raised his head, snuffled once, then flopped back down. Shuffling to the kitchen, he steadied himself on the counter. Realized he was starving. Bo joined him for breakfast. Kibble for Bo. Six slices of wheat toast for him. He put the tea kettle on low heat, his stomach churning at the thought of coffee. He could keep the kettle warm for Annie, too.

  After a shower, he felt nearly human again. He popped two pain relievers from the bottle she'd left on the counter. Remembering the sound of the window breaking, Hank headed outside to survey the damage. Shattered glass everywhere. Probably inside, too. "Bastard," he muttered. Turning to head back inside, he noticed a flash. Light against metal. Mixed in with the glass. He bent to examine it—and recoiled.

  A knife. Likely the same one they'd seen on the tape at the shelter. Phil's knife. Hank repressed a shudder. He'd had it in his hand. Intending to use it. Annie—alone in the dark. With a madman.

  He swallowed the nausea rising in his throat. Annie—with her damned baton. Had beaten it from his hand. Pulling his cell out, he dialed the police. Phil had just lost his last chance.

  Chapter 20

  Two weeks later, Annie leaned back on the blanket next to Hank, raising her face to the sunshine. The picnic cleared away, their blanket warming in the sun, she heaved a sigh of contentment. She'd applied for three jobs. Started shopping for an apartment. Soon, she'd leave the shelter for good. For the first time in two years, Phil was safely out of the picture. In jail, where he belonged. Unable to make bail. His trial—three months away.

  "You look sleepy, love."

  "I feel lazy." Elbows propped up, they laid together, watching the boys race through the field. Up the hill to the rise. Down through the orchard. Their voices carrying on the breeze.

  "They’re like little sponges," Hank said, wonder in his voice as he watched them. Tommy was pointing to the clearing, telling Jason a story about the mama deer protecting her babies. He lowered his voice. "He's starting to sound like me."

  "They both are." Annie’s smile faltered. Kids absorbed everything. Good and bad. Moods. Language. Behavior. Like when Tommy had begun acting out in kindergarten. Hearing his teacher—a young, newly-minted educator, cheeks flushed as she described her son lashing out at another five year old . . . using his fists when he should have been using his words. It was the day she’d finally admitted being part of the problem.

  "Annie? Honey? Did I say something wrong again?"

  Startled, she glanced up. "No—of course not." She squeezed his arm reassuringly. That day, Annie's perspective had changed. Because somewhere along the way, she’d crossed over from Phil's victim, taking blows to steer him from the boys—to his enabler. Justifying in her mind what she might have done to deserve it. "Let's take a walk."

  For seven years, Annie's version of success had been measured in time. At the three year point, she
'd outlasted four of her mother's marriages. A modicum of success achieved. But, by the four year point, success was measured in placating. Phil’s petty jealousies. Imagined slights. His endless frustration. Over his work. His expectations. Eventually, those frustrations had flashed over to Annie. Instead of his sounding board, she’d become his scapegoat. And later . . . his punching bag. Still, she hadn’t left. The voice in her head reminding her she had two small children to feed. And a husband who had difficulty remaining employed.

  But that day . . . facing a twenty-three year old kindergarten teacher, a sickening chill had swept over her. By her lack of action—her appalling acceptance of Phil's rage—Annie was normalizing his behavior to her boys.

  The knowledge had engulfed her in a new round of shame. There was no way on God’s earth she’d take part in creating a future abuser. The next morning she'd acted normal—as normal as their home could be with a monster inhabiting it. She'd pretended to get ready—the boys for school, her for work, packing lunches, eying the clock. Waiting for Phil to leave for work. The moment his car left the driveway, she’d called in sick to the hospital. Packing everything she could carry—she'd run. It had been the start of a new life. So far, that life hadn’t been much easier, but it had been a great deal happier.

  They'd reached the pond. "Baby, you’ve got that look in your eyes . . ." He ran his hands down her shoulders, the tender caress making her shiver. "Can you tell me what’s goin' through your head? Because I’d really like to help."

  Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, she stared into the kindest eyes she’d ever known. "I’m . . . ashamed. For the role I played."

  "Don’t do that to yourself," he ordered, as though he could command her to feel better, when she didn’t deserve it.

  She haltingly told him about Tommy’s teacher and how her words had finally triggered Annie to break out of the prison she’d been living in. "It makes me furious I didn’t do it sooner. That I exposed the boys to Phil’s abuse for so long. If I’d been brave enough-" She dashed away angry tears. "Sometimes . . . I’m not sure I have the right to—be happy now."

  Hank tugged her into his arms. The wall of his chest comforting, the steady beat of his heart reassuring against her ear. He held her patiently . . . as though he’d last all afternoon if necessary, until she finally quieted. His lips brushed her forehead, her nose, her eyes. When he gently lifted her chin, she discovered he was gazing down at her with an expression of—admiration in his eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "You escaped from hell," he corrected. "You saved your sons." Callused thumbs swiped the few remaining tears. When her expression didn’t change, Hank grew more determined. "You protected them. You rescued them."

  Two years later, she’d come so far . . . but she still hated the part of herself who’d cowered. Who’d placated. Who hadn’t taken a stand until it was nearly too late. The bastard had tried to destroy her. To pull her under with him as he drowned in his misery.

  "What if Tommy hadn’t acted out," she whispered, afraid to voice her confession, but more afraid Hank would continue to mistake her for someone brave. Her gaze locked with his. "Would I still be there?"

  "Annie, you are the bravest woman-" Grief flashed over his features. "Aside from my wife-" His voice hoarse, he swallowed several times. "She fought . . . she battled an enemy we couldn’t see. Her cancer kept coming back—outflanking us. When she finally couldn’t outrun it another day—she surrendered." Lost in memory, his bleak expression slowly shifted to one of wonder. "But, you . . ."

  Stunned to see him blink moisture from his eyes, Annie gripped his hand.

  "You battled the enemy in your own home. A monster who kept coming back for more." He released a violent breath. "When he found you, you escaped—again and again. You did whatever it took to stay out of his grasp. Even when you were afraid, you defended not only yourself, but your kids." Hank cleared his throat. "Hell—you even tried to protect me from him. You’re a damn hero in my book. And now, you have a lifetime to undo whatever damage he managed to inflict in a couple years. The boys were two and four," he reminded. "They won’t remember much. And what they do remember, you’ll be there to explain. They have a great role model in you."

  Annie clutched his hand tighter, unwilling to break the powerful bond she felt with him. "I’m not-"

  "You are," he insisted. "They see what I see. A protector. Tommy and Jason are happy, well-adjusted kids who feel safe. That’s because of you. They know you’ll always be there for them."

  A reluctant smile forming, she shook her head. "Any parent would do that."

  "You took care of me when I was sick-"

  "Honey, I’m a nurse." Her smile broadened over the appreciation in his voice.

  "You risked everything driving out here. You knew Phil was probably following you."

  "I was going crazy," she admitted. "I knew. I knew there was something wrong. You would never not call me."

  Hank frowned. "You put yourself in danger for me."

  Love swelled her chest to nearly bursting. "I needed to get to you."

  His expression softened. "Because you’re a fighter. For what you believe in. For what you want." Eyes heating, he renewed his argument. "For people who can’t protect themselves."

  The admiration in his eyes was doing strange things to her heart. She raised a hand to her chest as though to keep it from soaring away. "Do you remember what I said . . . about us? About this?" She waved her hand at her surroundings. "That I needed to stand on my own? That maybe it was happening too fast?"

  Uncertainty flickered in his gaze, no longer sure where their conversation would lead. He nodded reluctantly. "I still don't agree, but I respect your opinion." He planted his hands on his hips, unconsciously defensive about the subject.

  "I don't want you to have any regrets-" She steeled herself for his answer. It would be unfair to gloss over what he was considering. "The boys . . . are a handful. As they get older, it's only going to get harder."

  "Darlin, my life right now is about as easy as it gets. It's me and Bo. I work—but I don't really need to." His gaze, as always, was direct. Confident. "I have a pension from the army that I never spend. I have life insurance-" His throat worked, as though swallowing would be impossible. "She took out a policy . . . I didn't even know about." His voice grew hoarse. "I had a good woman—for nineteen incredible years. I never believed I'd find someone I could love again." He released an uneven breath. "For a long time, I believed I'd be better off alone."

  "Why?"

  "I felt like I'd already had my luck. I loved my wife. I took care of her when she was sick. I was grateful to do it. To have . . . that last bit of time with her." His smile wistful, he hesitated. "But, then—I met you. And I met your boys." Taking a step toward her, he thought better of it. "And I realized what I was missing."

  The painful knot in her chest heated. Hurting with the intense love she felt for him. Hank had become the answer to her prayers—to dreams she'd never believed could be possible.

  "Honey, I love them." Hank reached for her hand. "If you're askin' me if I know what I'm getting into, the answer is yes."

  She bit her lip. Did he really? Could any guy without kids know? Truly know?

  "I can tell by your expression, you're havin' trouble believing me." Hank grinned, easing the worry in her heart. "Here's what I know." He drew her down on the grass next to him. "One morning . . . I'm gonna get up, half-asleep," he predicted. "And I'm gonna step on some tiny, plastic toy that should've been put away." Beautiful, blue eyes lit with humor. "I'll hobble around . . . probably let loose with a few choice words." He paused. "But, I'll do it under my breath—because I won't want to wake up the little guy who forgot to put it away. Then, I'll sneak down the hall to look at them while they're sleeping—and I'll forget all about it."

  His honest eyes told her everything she'd thought she needed to hear in words.

  "It's showing two excited boys how to be quiet when we're watchin
g a doe in the woods. Patience . . . when they don't necessarily want to share the paddle in the boat. It means teaching them how to be kind-" Hank paused, weighing his words. "When it's easier to be mean. It'll be us explaining why it's important to help those who are less fortunate-"

  "Henry-" Her eyes blurred. When he gently kissed her, she blinked them away, unwilling to miss the beautiful expression on his face.

  "We'll teach them how to be strong. To stand up for others and fight for what they believe in." His eyes glinting, he gave her hand a squeeze. "Through my actions . . . every single day, I'm going to show them how to be gentlemen—who will never disrespect a woman."

  "I love you." Gripping his hand, she released a ragged breath. "I love you, Hank-"

  "Baby, I'm sayin' I know my life is pretty easy." He smiled down at her. "But, if you give me the chance, I choose you. Every damn time. I'd rather have hard with you and the boys than easy by myself."

  "If hard means waking up beside you every morning. Talking every night—laughing over what happened that day—then sign me up," he whispered, brushing his mouth against her temple. "Hard is just a challenge." His voice grew raspy. "With you in my life—hard will be . . . a blessing. I choose hard. "

  She pulled back to gaze up at her stoic, handsome hero. He'd spoken more words in the past few minutes than she'd ever heard before. "But—I don't have anything to offer you."

  His expression suggested she might be crazy. "How can you say that?"

  "Maybe once I can work in nursing again-"

  "Darlin'—what is this really about?"

  "I want to feel like your partner—not a burden." She smiled over his flash of annoyance.

  "Annie, I want you and the boys. You're all I need," he emphasized. "If you want to be a nurse again, I'm all for it. But—that doesn't mean we have to wait."

  "But—then you're carrying all the weight-"