The ride to the hospital passed in a blur. Scenarios flashed in her mind, images of Pete bloody and bruised. Machines hooked to his body with tubes shooting out in every direction. By the time she pulled into the hospital parking lot, her nerves bordered on hysteria.
Cara rushed through the sliding doors of the emergency room. A cloud of antiseptic filled her nostrils, while the glare of fluorescent lights reflected off the sterile white walls, making her squint. She spotted John by a water cooler, his face bruised and swollen, blood splattered on his shirt. He guzzled water from a paper cone cup.
“Where’s Pete? Is he okay? What happened? Why is there blood all over you?”
John held up his hand. “Take a breath. We’re fine. Pete’s in with the doctor.”
She crinkled her nose. “What, did you bathe in whiskey?”
John frowned. “No…more like showered. Damn asshole hit me with a bottle of Jim Beam.” Cara smacked him in the head. “Ouch! Damn it, Cara.”
“You were fighting!” she shouted. “I thought you were in an accident or something. Here I am rushing here, freaking out, terrified what I would find when I got here all because you were acting like freaking toddlers.”
John rubbed the spot where she struck him. “Hey, that hurt.”
“What do you want…to lose your job? You’re supposed to uphold the law, not break it.”
“I feel like shit as it is, Cara. I fucked up. Nobody’s pressing charges and my boss made a compromise when it came to my punishment.”
Cara stood with her arms crossed, her foot tapping the tile. “A compromise?”
“Yeah, I have to work with some youth group on my weekends off.” John rolled his eyes.
Cara poked his chest hard. “You’re darn lucky all you got was some weekend work.”
“All right, Jesus, Cara, stop it.” He swatted her hand.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cara spotted Pete at the end of the hall. A petite nurse maneuvered the wheelchair he sat in.
Cara pushed past her brother. She ran up to Pete and the nurse, prepared to tear Pete a new one.
Pete lifted his bloodshot gaze. A swollen and angry bruise ran along his entire cheek, a big lump popped out from his forehead, and his eye had swollen into a blackened slit.
He narrowed his one eye on John. “What the hell is she doing here?”
John shrugged. “We needed a ride. We sure as hell can’t drive.”
The woman glanced at Cara and tilted her head. “Cara…Cara Sands. It’s Jade. Jade Santiago, from Heart Falls High.”
“Holy smokes. It’s been forever.” Jade was one of the few girls Cara liked in high school, but she moved before their junior year. All kind of rumors floated around about her abrupt departure, but Cara never cared for rumors. “Of course I remember you. You look amazing. A nurse, huh? I would have thought you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. You were always into all those crime dramas.”
“Nah, not me, I prefer to help people, not arrest them.” Jade smiled, but when her gaze landed on John, her amusement disappeared. Her skin paled. “John,” she whispered.
“You’re Chief Santiago’s daughter, aren’t you?” asked John before he flashed a cocky smile. “I remember you from school. How you doing, darling?” He leaned on the wall and almost fell, catching himself on a nearby counter. “It’s been a long time.”
Jade looked taken back for a second, but recovered. “You remember me.”
“I never forget a beautiful woman.”
Jade turned to Cara. “Is he for real?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Cara frowned at John.
John glared at Cara and then Jade. “Hey, do you know anything about some youth group thing called Best Buddies Foundation?”
A scowl replaced her surprise. Jade perched her hands on her hips. “The youth group thing, as you call it, happens to be a wonderful organization. They help children who have lost a parent due to divorce or death find some fun in their lives, similar to the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program.” She frowned. “Why are you asking about it?”
“The chief ordered me to work with the kids on my weekends.” John rolled his eyes.
“Oh, he did? Well, I’m surprised my father let you off so easily. His punishments tend to be severe.” Jade lowered her gaze when John stared back at her. Cara didn’t miss Jade’s suddenly nervous posture or her lack of eye contact.
“Easy? There’s nothing easy about spending my days off hanging out with a bunch of ankle biters.”
Jade’s head shot up. “Judging by the shape of you and your friend and the stench of whiskey permeating from you both, perhaps mentoring a youth group isn’t the best idea. Fighting like a bunch of—”
Pete cleared his throat. “Listen, I appreciate a good old reaming like the next guy, but can I get the hell out of here? My head is pounding, and I think I’m going to puke.”
Cara jerked her thumb at Pete. “So what’s his problem, aside from his crusty disposition, of course?”
Jade shot John one last scowl before turning back to Cara with a smile. “A mild concussion, some bumps and bruises. He is lucky his leg didn’t suffer any further damage. He is going to need to remain in bed for the next two days at least. He can take some Ibuprofen or acetaminophen for the pain if needed or his regular prescribed pain medication he has listed on his chart.” Jade turned to Pete. “Is there someone you know who can keep an eye on you tonight? It’s important you’re watched over the next twenty-four hours.”
“I’ll watch him,” Cara blurted out. Pete shot her a glare.
Seconds after the words left her mouth, she considered checking herself into Heart Falls Psychiatric Center a few floors up, because she must have lost her mind. Pete had made his feelings clear and here she was, throwing herself at him yet again. She glanced at John. He swayed back and forth a few times before using the wall for support. She shook her head. What choice did she have? Pete had no one to look after him. His mom would smother him in his sleep, the woman a poster child for horrible mothers. Her dad might take him in for the night, but why bother him this late? Stan would do it, if she asked. Yet getting those two together screamed disaster.
Pete shook his head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
Cara shot back, “Are you sure? Considering you’re still getting into fights like a darn juvenile.”
“He can come back with me.” John stepped up and wavered, falling back against the wall.
Cara laughed. “No, I’m dropping you home before you fall down.” She glared at Pete. “And you, Mister-I-got-something-up-my-big-butt are coming back to my place. No argument, you can ride the sofa bed for the night.”
“I’m not—”
“If you value your life, I’d zip it. I’m tired, cranky, and I missed my daily supply of chocolate. Either you come back with me or you can stay here. It’s your choice.”
Pete kept quiet, offering nothing more than a frown. They finished the release papers. Jade offered her number to Cara, and John took it from her fingers. Cara swiped the slip of paper back from his hand.
“I need her number, sis,” he whined with a pout.
“I’ll hold on to this until you’re sober. Knowing the condition you’re in, who knows what will happen to it.”
They said their goodbyes to Jade and headed out to the car. Cara dropped John off at his house. He was in no position to drive. After tucking him in bed, she brought Pete to her house. He remained silent the entire drive. He shuffled his way into the house, refusing any help, his limp as prominent as his frown. He hobbled over to the couch and collapsed.
“Wait.” She shook her head. “Get up. Let me open it up for you.”
He groaned, but stood.
With a less-than-gentle tug, Cara opened the worn sofa bed. “You may now fall.”
He dropped to the bed. She tugged off his shoes, tossing them a foot away by the television stand. Wincing from the obvious pain attacking his body, Pete rolled over on his side, and shut her out once aga
in.
Chapter 10
Cara sat on the edge of the sleeper sofa, a foot or so away from Pete. She flicked through the channels of her outdated television. Not finding anything but infomercials and reruns, she clicked the television off. Behind her, a sharp jerk brought her attention back to Pete. She turned around and watched him. God, she felt like a voyeur to his private pain, but it wasn’t a sick curiosity that glued her to his side. No, it was the undeniable longing to be there for him, to offer him comfort, no matter how small.
She listened to his stressed moans and sporadic breathing. He lay on his back, hands clinging to the fitted sheet, which popped off its corners not long after he closed his eyes. The fabric now wrinkled beneath his spine. He held his legs in a rigid pose as if shocked by some intense electrical charge. Incessant movement twisted his tee shirt, bunching up the thin material above his waist, exposing rows of angry marks lining his torso. The damage screamed of suffering and horrors no one should ever bear, and the fact Pete carried so many scars broke her heart.
Was this why he slept with a gun tucked beneath his pillow?
Most people dealt with an occasional nightmare. This, however, didn’t appear occasional. His jerks and shudders held a familiarity as if in league with whatever demons tormented his dreams. She feared for him, feared his pain and sorrow would destroy him. Whatever darkness he carried inside him burned a black stain on his soul, a taint that grew darker with each passing day. His drinking had skyrocketed since his return, along with his temper. He spoke to no one but John. He ignored any attempts to help him find a job. All he wanted to do was go to the bar.
She knew Pete’s shame went beyond some misguided obligation to her and John. Fear hid beneath his anger.
Whatever horrors he endured overseas had ripped Pete to shreds, and she feared the damage inflicted went well beyond her capabilities to repair.
Again, Pete jerked in his sleep. His eyes shifted beneath his eyelids, and his groans grew louder, more desperate. She inched closer. Tension warped his features. Sweat beaded along his brow as his body bowed. A sudden scream of anguish shot from his lungs, shredding the usual calm of night. She covered her mouth with her hand, overcome with emotion. God, each cry struck her chest hard.
She scooted closer, prepared to shake him awake, when his arm snaked out and trapped her against his chest. “Get down! Sniper!” His words went from commanding shouts to anguished cries.
His hold around her chest constricted like a boa, blocking air from reaching her lungs. “Stop, Pete…you’re hurting me.”
“Don’t fucking die on me, Private. Don’t fucking die.”
She twisted in his grip until she faced him. His eyes were shut tight, his face red and drenched in sweat.
“Pete.” She smacked his shoulder. “Pete, come on, wake up.”
His eyes popped open. Tears soaked his lashes. He glanced around as if still lost in his nightmare. It took a few seconds for him to focus. He stared at Cara, shaking. His arms snapped back from her as if burned.
“What the hell is going on? What are you doing here?” he asked, breathless. He scooted away from her.
“You were having a nightmare.”
“So you thought it would be good to climb in bed with me.”
She frowned. “All I did was sit down to see if you were okay. You snatched me like a darn frog snatching a fly. What were you dreaming about anyway? You scared the crap out of me.”
“Nothing.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with his blanket. His hands still trembled. “What time is it?”
“Nothing? What I just saw was not nothing.” She moved closer.
He scrambled off the bed, knocking over a lamp. The bulb popped, blanketing the living room in darkness. “It was a damn mistake coming here.” He staggered over to the kitchen.
She hustled after him. “Pete what’s going on with you? You jump at everything. You’re starting fights everywhere. You’re drinking like a darn fish. You won’t talk to me. God, you don’t even look at me anymore.” He didn’t turn. He didn’t bother to respond. He opened the fridge and rummaged through the shelves. “What are you looking for? Stop it.” His silence made her furious. “I want answers.” She pulled on his arm.
He spun on her, his eyes lethal. “You make me feel, damn it, when all I want is to be numb.” He crowded her, bumping her against the kitchen table. A bowl of fruit went flying to the floor. “Do you know how many times I dreamed of being with you? How many nights I stared at the black sky, heavy with smoke and death, wishing I was buried deep inside you?” No space separated them. The thick, hard bulge of his erection pressed against her inner thigh. “Cara, you don’t want to know what happened to me over there.”
Tears formed in his eyes. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him, but she resisted. The man was in pain, a bone-deep kind of agony she feared he might not survive. “Let me help you, Pete. Please talk to me.”
His fisted hands caged her against the table. He closed his eyes. Defeat etched in his features. All of sudden, his eyes sprang open. “Help me, Cara.”
He captured her mouth in a blinding kiss. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her in place. Wild and masculine, his taste exploded across her senses. Not waiting for acceptance, he took what he wanted, demanding submission. She tried to fight. A useless attempt once his tongue invaded her mouth. The man kissed with the skill of a dark angel. Dominant and possessive, yet laced with enough passionate flair to ensnare her body and soul. It didn’t take long for her to become lost in the arousal his embrace caused. His skill almost made her forget the last few weeks, but logic somehow broke through the erotic haze.
They needed to stop. They were over, according to him. He’d didn’t want her. Not her heart at least.
She broke away and shoved him back. “Pete, please.”
He growled. He wiped his mouth. “You wanna help me? Take off your damn clothes and spread your legs.”
Cara slapped him hard enough to make her palm sting. No matter what pain ate away at him, it didn’t give him the right to treat her like a whore. He rubbed his cheek with a grin, caressing the red mark as if pleased with her gesture.
“Get out! The sight of you right now makes me sick.”
“Where am I supposed to go? The fucking sun isn’t even up yet.”
“I don’t care. I want you out of my house. Out of my life!” She felt tears form in her eyes and she let them fall. She refused to hide how much he hurt her.
All of a sudden, his gaze softened. “Cara, I didn’t mean—”
“Get out. This time, I’m done.” She ran away toward her bedroom. There was nothing left to say. He’d spoken enough crap over the last few weeks for them both. She stomped into her room, and slammed the door shut.
*
Pete flinched when Cara’s door slammed. The violent action forced an ominous echo he bet the entire state heard. If she didn’t hate him before, she sure as hell hated him now.
Are you happy? You managed to alienate her.
Happy? Don’t make me laugh. His mind swam through a river of sludge, polluted because of pride and fear.
He stared at the empty, dark hall that led to Cara’s room. Part of him wanted to go to her. March up to her door, force his way in, and make her smile the way he used to before life and circumstance kicked his ass. While another part, a powerful part, guaranteed him her loathing was a necessary casualty in order to protect her from a worthless son of a bitch like him. The powerful part won. It always did.
He needed to let her go. He saw no other possibility. Years of death, violence, and anger had stripped away whatever layers of hope once blossomed in his soul. All that remained was a faithless man who’d lost his fight. Cara deserved better. He put on his shoes, slipped out the door, and closed it with a gentle click.
Dawn broke through the trees as he stepped outside. The gentle chill brushing his face didn’t compare to the coldness centered in his chest. He grabbed his cell from his pocket and searched fo
r a cab service. He considered walking the fifteen miles or so to John’s. When on a mission, he’d hiked twice as far in the blistering heat with a forty-pound pack on his back. Yet sharp pains shooting through his knee put an end to his ambition right quick. With two companies to choose from, he dialed the first number available. After sputtering the address to their dispatch, he plopped on the curb and waited.
Memories of Cara’s concerned gaze popped in his mind. When he had opened his eyes and saw her staring at him, he’d lost whatever control remained. Drenched in sweat and lost in the terror of a nightmarish flashback, his rage had consumed him. Cara had considered him a strong man, someone who held himself together for the most part. Now she knew the truth. He had become a blubbering weakling who screamed like a child afraid of monsters. Embarrassment, shame, and fear—all those wonderful emotions a man like him resented—teased and tortured his fading pride until he’d snapped from the onslaught.
He’d turned on her, used her attraction as a balm to soothe his wounded pride. He had become one insecure bastard. Why else would he require proof, evidence that his manhood remained intact in her eyes? Why would he care how she saw him? Sure, self-hatred found a home in his heart years ago. He did spend years in hell, leading other men to their deaths. Yet, for some reason, Cara’s respect remained crucial. Like superglue, her bloated view kept his shattered existence together.
Shit, he’d live with her contempt and deal with her anger, but he refused to accept the pity swimming in her eyes. She’d ogled him as someone would a helpless child in need of a hug. Damn it, he didn’t need a reminder of his limitations, not from her.
Remnants of her cherry lip balm clung to his mouth. He licked his lower lip hoping to taste her and wasn’t disappointed. Spearing his fingers through his hair, he groaned in frustration, his body harder than steel. Her scent rose off his skin. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy her soft aroma. He did this often when stationed overseas. The memories helped him through countless lonesome, cold nights.
After about fifteen minutes, the cab pulled up and Pete jumped in.
Cross My Heart Page 14
