The Love She Craves: Selling Her Soul to Declan

by Gemma Jenkins

  “Who?”

  Both Nyxie and Declan swung their heads around to stare at the boy.

  “The kid you hit.”

  The teenager paled visibly. “Is that his name? I didn’t know. There was so much shit happening all at once if anyone told me his name I didn’t catch it. I’ve been trying to find out if he is okay—you know, watching the news to see if they’d say anything. But I didn’t hear anything since the second day. Do you know how he is?”

  Declan touched the aluminum seat before letting Nyxie sit down. He turned sideways on the bleacher to face the younger man.

  “It’s too soon to say,” he said refusing to capitulate to his father’s wishes to tell the boy what he wanted to hear. He’s still in a coma, lots of broken bones. He has internal injuries and lost his spleen.” Declan intentionally kept his voice emotionless wanting to see Jonah’s reaction.

  The boy planted his face in his hands and began sobbing. “I didn’t mean to hit him. God, I can’t erase his face from my mind. I was going to be late for practice and Coach is such an asshole if we’re late and I couldn’t find that stupid address. I turned the corner and he was right there. If I’d had another ten feet, I could’ve stopped. Oh, shit. You’re not cops, are you? My dad said not to talk to cops without him with me.”

  Declan held up his hands in a dismissive half-shrug.

  “I’m sorry; I should’ve told you who we are. We’re not cops. This is Cody’s sister, Onyx and I’m Coach’s son, Declan Stryker, and I’m also one of Cody’s doctors.”

  Normally, introducing himself to one of his dad’s players elevated Declan to celebrity status but Jonah only had eyes for Nyxie.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am, more sorry than I’ve ever been for anything in my life. I truly mean that. I wanted to visit him in the hospital but my parents thought I’d probably be unwelcome.”

  “He’s not allowed to have anyone but family visiting him while he’s in intensive care,” she said remembering what Rachel said when Mrs. North visited. She almost wanted him to see Cody, to see what he had done with his reckless driving. “He wouldn’t know you’ve been there. He doesn’t know I’ve been there.”

  Declan reached for Nyxie’s phone and pulled up a picture of Cody, his face still unrecognizable, his leg in traction, a pillow under his broken arm, his misshapen, half-shaven head barely visible behind the respirator.

  As Jonah stared at the image, Nyxie fished in her purse for the other picture. It was a photo of Cody at the science museum in Lubbock. His teacher snapped the picture while Cody stood on a small platform inside a wading pool and two people lifted a hula hoop incasing him in a giant bubble. His eyes were wide as he laughed. Back then, back before their father died, Cody rarely laughed, and that was one reason she cherished the picture as much as she did. Nyxie had carefully folded the full-size photo so the image of Cody had no creases going through him.

  The teenager was crying again and so was Nyxie.

  “He’s a good kid,” she said sniffling. “He’s responsible and smart. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

  “No, ma’am. If there’s anything I can do to help—get his homework assignments when school starts or drive him to therapy—I’d be happy to help.”

  “That’s nice of you, but that’s so far down the road….”

  “Onyx is moving to Lubbock to be closer to the hospital. We could probably use an extra set of hands and a pickup.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said eagerly. “I’d be happy to help.”

  “Give me your phone number and we’ll call you.”

  Declan spared a quick glance at Nyxie and knew she wasn’t about to let him help. But neither was he. Declan took his number and programmed it into his phone.

  “Well, thanks. We just wanted to know what happened,” Declan said. “You weren’t using your phone at the time, were you?”

  “Oh no, sir. I promise. I better get back to practice. Ma’am, when he wakes up, tell him every touchdown I get this season is dedicated to him.”

  Nyxie resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but realized to the boy, it was probably the kind of grandiose gesture he’d once seen in a made-for-TV movie.

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

  He handed the picture and phone back to Nyxie and ran back to the field pulling the silver helmet onto his head.

  “I don’t want that kid in my house moving our things and I’m certainly never letting Cody into his pickup to go to therapy.” Nyxie said when the boy was gone.

  Declan shook his head. “I got his phone number to give to the lawyer so he can get his phone records. For now, we'll just have Junior sit on the information, but it’ll help get Cody a good settlement from the insurance company—hopefully, enough to pay for college after everything is paid off.”

  17

  Declan walked Nyxie out to the parking lot without a backward glance at his Dad. Before he started the car, he turned to her ready to apologize.

  “Sir, you are no more responsible for your father’s behavior than I was for mine. I think Coach Stryker was a big part of why I was afraid of you in school. I thought you must be like him.”

  Declan started the Jeep and put it into gear. “I’m too much like him—too much like both my parents. My mother is just like my father except less facial hair and bigger breasts.”

  Nyxie laughed. “And hopefully no cojones.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. I’d be afraid to look.”

  As they drove, the houses became larger and the lots bigger and Declan pulled into a one-story modern ranch-style house with a circle drive and manicured landscaping.

  “This driveway is my favorite feature of the whole house—it’s great for quick getaways.”

  “Surely, she’s not that bad.”

  He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “No,” he said shaking his head. “She’s okay.”

  When Nyxie looked at the house, she saw his mother standing in the doorway, looking at them, waiting.

  As always, Nyxie waited for Declan to open her car door. “Maybe I should wait in the car,” she said as he took her hand and helped her out.

  “No way I’m going in there alone,” he laughed. “Who’ll protect me?”

  He laced his fingers through hers and led her to the porch.

  “Hi, Major,” Declan said as he gave her a one armed hug. “This is my friend, Nyxie. Nyxie, this is my mother, Major Dorothea Stryker, retired.”

  His mother’s hand shot out in a masculine gesture and Declan lifted his hand to show Nyxie’s right hand clasped in his.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Nyxie said with an apologetic tone when he refused to release her hand.

  “Come in out of the heat,” his mother said. She led them into a formal living room and Nyxie was quick to note how sterilely clean and tidy the room appeared and she suspected the whole house would be the same. The air was every bit as crisp and clean as the hospital’s and had a faint odor of pine cleaner and Dove soap—very old lady-ish, she thought.

  But his mother was not. Although she appeared to be in her early sixties, there was nothing about her that appeared aging. She wore a straight yellow skirt that stopped above her knees. It was made of linen and had a casual but expensive look about it. She wore it with a white sleeveless blouse that showed her toned arms. Her brown hair was stylishly cut into a short modern wedge and highlighted to camouflage the gray. Her white leather sandals revealed her pale pink pedicured toes which matched her manicured fingers.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Declan maneuvered her to the end of a sofa and sat down with his side flush to hers.

  “Good grief, son. If you were sitting any closer, you be sitting on top of her.”

  “I’m cold natured,” Nyxie said in his defense.

  “You should wear heavier clothes.”

  Nyxie looked pointedly at Declan. “Yes, I should.”

  “I like what you have on,” he said squeezing her hand. “That’s why
I suggested you wear it.”

  Dorothea unconsciously frowned at Nyxie then cast a deeper frown at her son. A moment later, she smiled politely. “Would everyone like some iced tea? I was just making it when I saw you pull up.”

  “Sure, Major, but we’re only staying a few minutes.”

  “Declan, darling, why don’t you come help me. My hands aren’t as nimble as they used to be.”

  With a gleam of mischief, knowing his mother’s reaction beforehand, Declan said, “Nyxie would love to help. She’s a waitress. I bet she can teach you all sorts of tricks.”

  Nyxie began to rise. “I’d be happy to help.”

  Declan tightened his arm to keep her from getting up.

  “No, you’re a guest. You might be interested in looking at the pictures on the piano while I borrow my son.”

  Dorothea stayed quiet all the way into the other room, but turned on her son the moment her feet hit the tiled floor of the kitchen.

  Knowing the only way to shorten the vis-à-vis with his mother was to complete the task at hand as quickly as possible; Declan immediately crossed the kitchen and pulled three tall glasses out of the cabinet.

  “So, is something wrong with your passenger door?”

  “For God’s sake, Major, what’s wrong with a man opening a car door for a woman?”

  “Ever hear of Women’s Lib?”

  He held each glass under the ice dispenser in the fridge door. “Yeah, that’s where a bunch of hairy-legged men-haters got together and burned their bras for the right to call men chauvinist pigs and wave their bitchiness around like flags under the guise of PMS.”

  Dorothea’s brow would have creased if it had not so recently been Botoxed. “You have no clue.”

  “Is it so wrong she lets me wear the pants and be the man in the relationship?”

  She didn’t answer. “Don’t get me wrong, son, I can see a certain appeal in her. I’m sure you like the way…well, uh, the way she’s out of uniform,” she said motioning toward her own breasts. “You know Victoria’s Secret has those nice push up bras. I hear they even do wonders for tiny boobies like hers.”

  “Ew. Major, were you checking out Nyxie’s breasts? Christ, when are you going to admit you’re either a lesbian or a man?”

  “When you admit you think you’re too good to fight for your country.”

  Declan placed the last glass down on the counter harder than he intended. “I’ve already done all the sacrificing I’m going to. I gave up having a normal relationship with my parents. You gave me away to Grams and Gramps and then ripped me from the only home I’d ever known when you retired. It killed them when you took me away.”

  Dorothea crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop being dramatic. You were my kid, not theirs. I had every right to take you.”

  “I barely knew you,” he said raising his voice, even as he rehashed the same argument they’d had for years.

  “Get over it, Declan. You’d think all that money you inherited from them was salve enough to get past it.”

  Declan laughed a harsh, cruel sound. “Oh, my God, you are still pissed they left me their money while they only left you a hundred dollars. You know why they did that? So I could be my own man—out from under my parents’ thumbs.”

  She took the pitcher and poured the tea into the glasses. “It was the stupidest thing they could possibly do. It gave you this false sense of superiority, but when it’s all gone, you’re going to find out about the real world. How much money is left, Declan?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “That little?”

  “Look, maybe we should just go. I wasn’t planning to stop by today to see either of you. I’ll be lucky if Nyxie doesn’t run for the hills after the way Coach treated her.”

  His mother put her hand on his arm. “Don’t go. I hardly ever get to see you. I want to get to know your girlfriend better. She’s not exactly the kind of girl I pictured you dating. Are you sure she’s our kind of people?”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s my kind of people,” he said with irritation.

  His mother softened her accusing tone. “How long have you known this girl?”

  “Not long,” he said.

  “You be careful with her. She’s just the kind of girl who gets pregnant on purpose to trap someone like you.”

  He stared at the glasses as a slow smile crept up and crossed his features. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about putting holes in all my condoms to trap her.”

  She shook her head picking up two of the glasses. “I believe there are some cookies in the freezer in the utility room if you want to grab a plate and get some.”

  Declan opened another cupboard with the familiarity of someone well acquainted with the room and pulled out a plate.

  ~*~

  Knots formed in Nyxie’s stomach at the sound of raised voices in the kitchen. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but Nyxie knew the words spoken during an argument were a lot less important than the undercurrent and the tone.

  She tried to ignore them and concentrate on the photos before her. Nearly every picture was a studio shot. Mostly, they were Declan’s school pictures or Declan wearing his football or baseball uniforms. There were pictures of both his parents when they were still in Marines dressed in their formal white garb. But the picture she like the best was of Declan with two older people—presumably his grandparents. She thought he looked to be about Reina’s age—about eight. He was sandwiched between his grandparents in a hug and his grandfather appeared to be tickling him making him laugh. They all three look so happy, like a Norman Rockwell painting.

  There were moments since her father died that Nyxie felt that way—only she felt that way when surrounded by her brother and nieces.

  “That’s Declan’s favorite, too.”

  Nyxie set it down where she found it and move back to her place on the sofa. The woman handed her a crystal clear glass of golden tea.

  “Thank you.”

  “So, you’re a waitress?”

  The smile on the woman’s face didn’t reach her eyes she noticed and felt herself shrinking back into the sofa. This woman had been married to Coach Stryker for decades. How different could she be?

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said looking to the doorway for Declan.

  “Are you working your way through college?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m supporting my family.”

  The woman sipped her tea as she composed her thoughts. “And how many little ones do you have?”

  Nyxie felt the woman’s judgment despite her neutral tone. “Three,” she said. “Cody, Lotus and Reina.”

  “And is their father still in the picture?”

  She hesitated before answering. “Cody’s father died two years ago. I don’t know who Lotus or Reina’s fathers are. So, no, their dads are not in their lives.”

  Nyxie knew how she made it sound, but she sensed the woman had already made up her mind to dislike her. She wondered what the woman would think of the true nature of her relationship to her son. Dorothea may have thought she was dirt beneath her feet, but she wasn’t the one with the proclivities.

  “All I found were Oreos,” Declan said entering the room with a handful of cookies on a plate.

  “That’s good enough. Everyone likes them.”

  Declan eyed his mother suspiciously knowing she’d never serve package cookies to a guest and suspected he’d been sent for the cookies to give her a minute alone with Onyx. Shit.

  Declan sat down as close to Nyxie as before with his arm slung over her shoulders. Under the guise of kissing her temple, he whispered in her ear. “Is everything okay?”

  She smiled briefly and nodded.

  “I suppose you heard about all the excitement the other day—about that boy getting hit by the pickup. One of your father’s players was driving the pickup. Didn’t they take him to UMC?”

  “Yes, I operated on him.”

  “Did you? And he survived?”

  D
eclan fixed a hard stare on his mother. “Is that supposed to be a joke? It’s not funny. He could have died—he still could.”

  “Sometimes, it’s less cruel to let them go, than it is to save them for a lifetime of disability. I bet his family may not admit it, but they’d rather not wipe the ass of a drooling cripple for the rest of their lives.”

  “Major!”

  “You’re wrong,” Nyxie said rising to her feet. “I have cared for my brother since he was four years old and I will wipe his ass until he’s a hundred and four if that’s what it takes.”

  Declan stood up and put his arm around her shoulders, casting dark looks at his mother. “When your family truly loves you, they’d give up everything for you.” Within seconds, they were to the door.

  Dorothea stood, turning pale as she put two and two together. “Honey, I didn’t know. I would’ve never said anything if I’d known he was your brother.” She looked accusingly at Declan. “You should’ve told me.”

  “And then you could judge her over CPS taking them. You have no idea what sacrifices she made daily for her brother and nieces. She didn’t deserve to have them taken away and I’m going to help her get them back. I don’t care if you or Coach likes it. It’s my money, Grams and Gramps left it to me, and I think they’d be proud to see it used to reunite a blended family who loves each other as much as Grams and Gramps and I loved each other.”

  He had her out of the house and into the Jeep as quickly as he could manage. Dorothea stood in the doorjamb and cringed at the sound of the tires squealing on the cement.

  18

  They were halfway to Lubbock when Nyxie broke the strained silence.

  “Declan, if you ever did get a brain tumor, you know you can call me, and I’d take care of you. It’s the least I can do after everything you’re doing for me.”

  He turned and smiled warmly at her. “Sir,” he corrected. “That’s kind of you, Nyxie, but when our contract is up, you have no further obligations to me. Besides, the possibility he gave me anything truly harmful is remote. When I said that to Coach, it was more so he thinks about what he’s doing to his current players than what he did to me.”