Breaking the Rules

by Suzanne Brockmann

  She broke off and focused on walking, on looking down the street for Neesha. But nothing moved on the sidewalks. There was no sound but the shush of the tires on the road as another car went past.

  Izzy was silent, just waiting for her to continue.

  So she did. “Her grandmother was a retired music teacher, and still gave clarinet and piano lessons to the neighborhood kids, including Ben. I swear, he lived in that house. After he found out they both died, he just, I don’t know. He shut down. We moved to Houston first—not by choice, but more because we ended up there. That was where Ivette met Greg—they were both in physical therapy. She broke her arm and he’d been in a car accident, and suddenly she found God—along with Greg’s big insurance settlement—and then they were married. Except, just like that, the money was gone—I still don’t know how they blew it—and the honeymoon was over, but we were moving to Las Vegas. And Ben kept everything locked up inside, partly because Greg is such a dick. Neesha’s the first friend he’s made in all those years. I think maybe he feels like … if he can help her, he can maybe forgive himself for not insisting Deshawndra and her grandmother get into our car when we left.”

  “He was eleven,” Izzy pointed out. “Most eleven—or fifteen-year-olds, for that matter—don’t have a say in who does or doesn’t get into the car they’re riding in.”

  “But he was driving,” Eden told him. “He was, then I took over, and … I should have stopped to get them. But I couldn’t. I …” She shook her head. She really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. She didn’t want to think about it.

  “You were driving,” he repeated.

  “It was Ron’s car—my brother-in-law’s.”

  She and Izzy had made a complete circuit of the block and were back on the main road, where a bench sat at the deserted bus stop. She pointed to it. “Mind if we just sit for a few minutes?” she asked. “I want to give Neesha a chance to come out of hiding. You know, maybe if she’s nearby and she sees us …?”

  “That’s a smart idea,” Izzy said as he sat down beside her. “So how come the two of you were driving? As if I don’t know?”

  “Ron was high. Can we not talk about Katrina?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “I just … I know what it’s like to lose a friend and …”

  “Frank O’Leary.” She named the SEAL who’d died in the same terrorist attack that had left those grim-looking scars on Izzy’s chest.

  He looked surprised.

  “You told me about him,” she reminded him.

  “I know,” he said. “I just didn’t expect you to remember his name.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.

  Izzy was looking at her with an expression on his face that she absolutely couldn’t read. But then he kind of laughed. “Because we talked about him, I don’t know, once, a long time ago?”

  Eden glanced behind her, hoping that Neesha would appear. But she didn’t. Lord, she was tired, and she didn’t want to sit here, talking about things that made her want to burst into tears and throw herself into Izzy’s arms, and say things he didn’t want to hear. So she brought them safely back to sex—where they were both in agreement. “I remember all of our conversations. Including one you’d probably prefer I forget.”

  Izzy definitely laughed at that, and she knew he knew that she was talking about a conversation they’d had on their wedding night, after she’d gone down on him for the first time, where she’d referred to his man-parts as “Mr. Big.”

  No, Izzy had said, pulling sharply back to look at her. Nuh-uh. No way are you naming my dick.

  Too late, she’d teased him.

  No it’s not.

  You can call him whatever you want, she’d said, and I’ll—

  Great, he’d interrupted her. I’m going to get a little boring here and call it “my penis.” Not Mr. Penis, not mister anything. No him, no, thank you. With the understanding that I do appreciate the ego-stroking behind the whole big thing. I mean, you’re the mastermind behind Pinkie, so it could’ve gone in an entirely different direction. But here’s the deal, Mrs. Zanella, I have an absolute no-name policy for body parts.

  As far as nicknames went, that Mrs. Zanella had made them both freeze with the eye-opening reality of what they’d just done at the little Happy Ending Wedding Chapel. They were legally married. For richer or poorer, for better or worse.

  Ten long months later, even after spending all that time apart, Eden was still Mrs. Zanella—at least in the eyes of the law.

  And despite the fact that she’d all but promised never to utter those words again, he was still Mr. Big.

  “I know what you’re thinking, smart-ass,” Izzy said. “So stop it.”

  Eden had to laugh, even as she leaned slightly forward to check if that really was a shadow that moved across the street, or just her tired eyes playing tricks on her. Come on, Neesha … “Okay, Amazing Kreskin. If you’re so good at reading my mind, what am I thinking now?”

  “You’re still thinking about Katrina,” he said, “because you’re still hoping Neesha will show up, and thinking about her makes you think about everything Ben lost because the levees broke, even though you hate thinking about it. Eed, I have to confess that I’ve been thinking about it, too—for a long time. Ever since I knew that you were there and lived through it. I always wondered what you’d lost, and now I know a little bit more. I know you lost your home.”

  Eden just shook her head. She’d lost so much more than that. She’d lost everything. She’d lost herself, for too many long, dark years.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it right now,” Izzy said. “But if you ever do …?”

  She made herself nod, okay, but she wouldn’t say anything. Not now, not ever. Because Izzy really didn’t want to know. He thought he did, but if he ever found out …?

  He wouldn’t believe her. Her own mother hadn’t.

  And there it was. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to know, but that Eden didn’t want to face his disbelief.

  Their silence stretched on as she focused on a passing car, watching its taillights moving down the street, hoping that when it disappeared, Neesha would come out from wherever she’d been hiding.

  But the car turned a distant corner and nothing moved in the shadowy stillness of the night.

  And Izzy let Katrina go. He went back to their earlier conversation, pre-Mr. Big.

  “You know, I’m kind of like you,” he said. “A nomad. We moved a lot when I was a kid, and because I was the youngest, I rarely got my own room. They just kind of stuck me on the couch, wherever we lived. I was a post-vasectomy surprise—I ever tell you that?”

  Eden shook her head.

  “Obviously, the procedure didn’t work.” He smiled. “My brothers were all much older than me, and my parents were pretty much done with raising kids when I came along. I’m not complaining—it was an interesting way to grow up. Always sitting with the adults, never really treated like a child. At least not by my parents. My brothers could be pretty brutal, because I was always tagging along. School was optional—depending on whether or not my brother Martin was home. He was my Obi-Wan Kenobi, if you know what I mean.”

  “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said. “You’re my only hope.”

  “Exactly,” Izzy said.

  “How many brothers did you have?”

  “Four,” he told her. “Martin was the oldest—he was fifteen when I was born; then there’s Nick, who’s a year younger than M., then the twins, the Double D—Dougie and Don. They were two years younger than Nick, twelve years older than me. I was like the weirdest only-child ever, because they all left home and went to college or whatever, and then came back and lived with us at one point or another, sometimes with their wives or girlfriends and/or children in tow. But by then I was, I don’t know, nine? Ten? And suddenly I was kicked out of my room again, and there were infants in the house. Which got old really fast for my parents, but not for me. It was a good excuse to not go to
school. I’m babysitting.”

  “So you … just didn’t go?” Eden asked.

  “Pretty much,” Izzy said. “But it was okay, because I was reading and doing math on a college level when I was seven, so school was really just a place to handle the boredom by getting into massive amounts of trouble. It was probably better for everyone when I didn’t show up. Although I prolly could’ve used the socialization skills—assuming I was capable of learning them. Which I’m not sure I was. Anyway, my point, when I started telling you all this, is because we moved so often—I’m talking at least once if not twice every year. My parents’ passion was to buy old houses—really old antiques—and fix them up and sell them, so it was chaos on all levels, living in a construction zone, always going—or not going—to a new school … So, it’s hard for me to think of any one place as home. I mean, right now I’m still living in that same apartment, but when I’m there? It doesn’t feel like anything special. It’s like it’s just a giant box that holds my shit. It’s where I sleep when I’m in San Diego.”

  “I liked your apartment,” she said.

  “But it’s not home,” Izzy told her. “I know all these people who are so wrapped up in having things, you know? And they buy a house and they get what they think is perfect furniture and … Jenk—you know Mark Jenkins? He and his wife, Lindsey, are having a baby, and he’s all about moving out of their condo into a house with a yard. The kid’s not going to be hitting a swing set for another few years—she’s only a few months pregnant …” He shook his head. “But the truth is, home’s an illusion. We try to create this place that’s supposed to make us feel happy or safe, when in truth it’s the people who are around us that matter. Where we are has nothing to do with it.”

  “I’m safe right now,” Eden said. “When I’m with you, I feel very safe. Can I say that? Am I allowed?”

  Izzy smiled at her then as he took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll accept that as a fact. As a Navy SEAL, I tend to make people feel either very secure or extremely insecure.”

  “I’m in the first subset,” she told him.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said. “For the record? I’m personally feeling pretty happy right at this moment, so … Home, sweet home on a bus-stop bench, you know?”

  And sitting there with Izzy, in the heat of the Las Vegas night, Eden did know. But she didn’t dare tell him so.

  Jenn still had a reddish mark on her face where Dan had hit her, and the sight of it made him sick.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said this was going to be hard for you,” she said, after Eden and Izzy went out to look for Neesha.

  “I won’t blame you,” he said, “if you decide that you … should go.”

  She was standing there, with her hair still rumpled from bed, wearing her pajamas, looking at him as if she were truly considering catching the next flight back to New York.

  But then she asked, “Which would be harder? Doing what you’re doing here, with Eden and Ben, or learning how to walk and live your life with only one leg?”

  Her question caught him completely by surprise, but the answer was obvious. “It definitely would’ve been harder to lose my leg,” he admitted. “Because this would’ve still been happening, only without me here to help. Yeah, right, I’m really helping. But still, I’d’ve been going crazy, plus dealing with losing … Jesus, everything.”

  “Not everything,” Jenn said quietly. “You know, I came to Germany partly because everyone was saying the doctors were going to have to amputate, and I didn’t want you to have to go through that alone. I wanted to be there. For you. To help you, if I could. And I know I probably wouldn’t have—”

  “Yeah,” Dan said. “It would’ve helped. It did help. Having you there.” To his complete horror, he started to cry again. “Jenni, Christ, I’m so sorry. I’m—”

  “Shhh,” she said, moving into his arms and just holding him. She was so soft and warm and she smelled so good—like everything he’d ever wanted. Like happiness and laughter and the incredible peacefulness he felt, just lying with her in his arms. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. What if Eden’s right?”

  “She’s not.” Jenn was absolute. “She doesn’t know you. Not the way I do.”

  “I’m going to go in.” Dan told her what Zanella had suggested. “For counseling. Because, Jesus, that scared me …”

  He felt her laugh. “Well, hey, you know me. I’m never going to try to talk anyone out of a little counseling—touchy-feely liberal that I am. But … Don’t go for me, Danny, go for you. Go, because what you’re doing here, with your family, is hard. And because everyone needs a little help when things are hard.”

  Danny nodded and wiped his eyes as he made himself let her go. “God, you haven’t even met my mother and … Jenn, I really think you should go back to New York.”

  “Back to that again, huh?” she said. “I guess I didn’t make my point. Danny, listen to what I’m saying: I was ready to hold your hand as you talked to your doctors about being fitted for a prosthetic leg. I was ready to help learn to care for your stump until it healed. I was ready for all of it, as hard as it was going to be. And I was ready for you to try to chase me away.”

  And great, now she was crying, and it was getting him going again.

  “And I wasn’t going to let you do it. I wasn’t going to be chased,” she said. “And this? Yeah, it’s hard. But it’s not half as hard as that. So why would I leave, when I know that you need me?”

  Dan kissed her. “I do,” he said. “God, baby, I need you.”

  And she kissed him back, and for that moment, with Jenn in his arms, he could almost believe that she was right and that everything was going to be okay.

  At least until the next anvil dropped on their heads.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  Ben got dressed.

  Quietly, even though the other bed in the hospital room wasn’t occupied—probably because, even though the people here were nice, they didn’t want him to get any of his gay on another patient.

  Like it might be contagious.

  The night nurse—Sherry—had just been in to check both his blood pressure and his blood sugar levels, and he was fine. She’d tiptoed away, and he’d led her to believe that he hadn’t even fully woken up when she’d pricked his finger.

  Even though he’d been lying here, waiting for her to do her thing.

  Now he moved toward the door, peeking through it and down the hall toward the nurses’ station. There was a woman sitting there—her blond hair was gleaming in the overhead light as she focused all of her attention on the desk in front of her.

  The hallway was otherwise empty.

  He’d have to crawl past her, silently on his hands and knees, because there was only one way in or out of this ward. It was good that it was set up this way—it kept him safe from any unauthorized visits from Greg or Ivette.

  But right now it wasn’t the unauthorized visits he was afraid of.

  No, it was the impending authorized visit tomorrow morning that scared the crap out of him. Because what if he did everything he could do, and he still lost the fight? What if he and Danny and Eden called CPS and requested their help, and they turned around and decided that, no, Crossroads was a school, and his parents had the right to send him to whatever school they wanted.

  He couldn’t go back there. He’d end up like poor Peter Sinclair.

  So he crept out of his room and into the hallway while the nurse’s head was still down. And he got onto his hands and knees and crawled.

  It was a piece of cake—to sneak past her like that. He’d spent years perfecting his technique, moving silently, invisibly, as he avoided Greg and his mother. He’d entered and exited his house through his bedroom window so often, it felt almost strange walking in through a door.

  This wasn’t even half as hard as that, because he knew if he got caught, the nurse wouldn’t hit him.

  But he could
n’t get caught, so he held his breath as he moved past the desk and headed toward the elevators—toward the freedom that was just around the corner.

  Danny’s cell phone rang in the darkness, and Jenn sat up as he rolled over and grabbed it.

  “It’s Zanella,” he said. He punched TALK and spoke into the phone. “What’s wrong now?” And apparently something was wrong, because he almost immediately added, “Shit!”

  Jenn switched on the lamp on the bedside table as Dan swung his legs out of bed and pushed himself painfully to his feet. “Hang on, I’ll look.”

  But Jenn was capable of moving much more quickly, and she beat him over to the bedroom door. “Look for what?” she asked, even as she did a quick scan of the living room. It was empty.

  “Eden and Izzy went to the hospital to check on Ben, and he’s gone,” Dan said tightly as he followed her out.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, turning on the kitchen light. The bathroom was empty, too. “He’s not here.”

  “Eden’s ready to go to war with Greg,” Dan reported, “but the nursing staff are swearing up and down and sideways that he didn’t come back to the hospital. They’re checking security tape right now. Izzy thinks Ben might’ve self-released—snuck out.” He took the various locks off the apartment door and opened it, looking out into the courtyard. “He’s definitely not here,” he told Izzy.

  “But if he did leave the hospital,” Jenn pointed out, “under his own steam, wouldn’t he come here? It’s hard to believe he wouldn’t. He’s going to need insulin, and it’s here, in the fridge. Does Eden know if he has a key? Was the one Neesha used an extra, or …?”

  Danny asked, via Izzy, and came back with, “Eden says there were only two keys to the apartment. The second was hidden down in the courtyard.”

  Dan had that key right now. Jenn followed him back into the bedroom, where he searched the pockets of the pants he’d been wearing yesterday as she quickly got dressed and unplugged her cell phone from its charger. When he found the key, she took it from him. “I’ll put this back downstairs,” she said. “In case Ben comes and looks for it while we’re out looking for him.”