by Laura Brown
He signed something to Willow, but I didn’t pay any attention. Then he helped me into the bathroom. I took my hearing aid off and placed it on a high shelf to stay dry. The fullness of my bladder finally registered, and I forced Reed to turn around. He gave me an amused smile, but obeyed. He prepped the shower while keeping his back to me, then disrobed and climbed in after me.
First time I had a man in my shower, and I wasn’t allowed to do anything. The hospital had put me back in the “no pounding” scenario.
I did need his warmth, his touch, and I pressed my naked body into his. The water rained down on my back. Steam filled up the room. Reed held me close, muscles bunching from restraint. Between us, one part of him didn’t give a damn about the hospital restrictions.
I raised my head to his, lifted onto my tiptoes, and kissed his scruffy jaw. He held still, but I kept kissing until he relaxed and kissed me back. The warmth flooded from every direction, and a feeling of belonging blossomed. I hadn’t been wanted by my father, and I had the scars to prove it. My mother did nothing to protect me. My sisters were just as damaged as I was. But this man gave me all of him.
As the kiss heated up, he pulled back.
“No, we can’t.”
“Sorry. You, me, feel good.” Dammit. Not quite what I wanted to say. “You M-A-K-E me feel good.”
He cupped my face, and brown eyes so full of emotion met mine. “I love you.”
My heart squeezed. And froze. No. No. This wasn’t what I wanted. Wasn’t what I needed. Didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he understand? He had eyes. He had to see.
I pulled back, out of his grasp. “I broke, damage. You no”—I tried to make the sign for love, but couldn’t—“want.”
He stepped back to me, placed one hand on my cheek. “Yes. I want you. Yes. I love you.”
I closed my eyes to try to keep the moisture inside, but a tear broke free. And since the water hit my back, I couldn’t use it as an excuse. “I broken, so broken.” I was. Reynoldses weren’t made to love. Proof was in my father’s hands.
Reed placed his forehead against mine, then pulled back to sign. “Not broken. Not to me.”
I shook my head as more tears streamed down my cheeks. I had always suspected I wasn’t wired for love. Now I knew it to be true. Reed was best to get away from me. Find someone who could love him back. Find someone who wasn’t a fucking mess.
More tears fell. I may not be capable of love, but I still wanted this man. Right now he was the only good thing in my tilt-a-whirl-from-hell life. I rose onto my toes again and wrapped myself around him, kissing him with everything I had. I could only hope he knew he was special to me.
The first real smile in twenty-four hours crossed his face, possibly the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “No sex.”
I laughed and dropped my head to his shoulder. He grabbed the small shampoo I kept at his place and gently, so gently, massaged my hair, cautious of my scalp. He must have found the lumps, as his demeanor grew somber.
Soap came next, though he didn’t offer to let me take over. When he got to my breasts, my whole body wanted to liquefy. No pain, no ringing in my ears, no lack of concentration plagued me at that moment. When he moved on, I grabbed his hand and moved it back.
He shot me a sexy-as-hell grin. I expected him to pull away. Instead he stepped into me, hands slipping over my erect nipples, and found my mouth. Hot and sweet, his hands and mouth were my own piece of heaven.
His breaths were fast when he pulled back. Eyes locked with mine, he moved one hand south, and I quivered when he reached my belly button. And kept going. My body was more than ready to accept any part of him, but I grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Not me only, not again.”
That awarded me a laugh. “Yes. You anytime. You alive, in my hands.” He signed something else, something about me being enough for him and not needing his own release if he could take care of me.
I whimpered when his hand touched my stomach again and spread my legs in invitation. He wrapped one arm around my back for support. His other hand rubbed against my entrance before slipping inside. Everything in my body concentrated on the one spot that felt oh so good. I clutched onto his shoulders for purchase in a world I felt completely lost in.
He moved slowly—no fast movement for my poor head—yet I still climbed, fast. As I got close he moved his hand from my back to my head and crushed his mouth into mine. It sent me flying, but also kept my head safe as my body unraveled from his ministrations.
When I came back to earth, I pulled back enough to sign. “I thought you said no?”
He laughed and kissed my temple. “Oops.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Reed
I LEANED AGAINST the counter and breathed in the bitter scent of ground coffee beans. In the living room, Carli and Willow watched Penelope—again—and Val buried her head in a textbook.
Me? I needed coffee and planned to mainline it for the rest of the day. I had managed about three hours of sleep, all interrupted. Or less. I needed my alarm only once to wake Carli. The rest of the time I waited in the dark as the red LED lights of the clock slowly inched through the night.
Even now I struggled to keep my eyes off her. The angry red and purple bruises cut me deep at each glance. The dazed look in her eyes cut me worse. The research Willow had done all pointed in the same direction: Carli needed time. But like Carli, I was anxious to get her back to normal.
As the coffee dripped and the movie played, I checked my phone. Again. Everything on repeat. I had sent Mom a text, asking her to call when she got home from work. She hadn’t responded. Payback for the night Dad died when I didn’t answer my phone for hours.
Mom wouldn’t do it on purpose, but in my head I considered us even.
I held my mug of black coffee, steam billowing, by the time she texted me back. I had her call my cell and slipped into the bedroom, knowing Val and Willow could take care of Carli.
I propped my phone on my dresser and sat down on the bed once I answered the call.
Mom greeted me with a, “You look like hell.”
“I didn’t sleep well.” Well, hardly at all, same deal. “I’m sending you a picture. Put on your nurse’s hat and give it to me straight.” I fumbled with my phone and sent Mom a picture of Carli’s discharge papers.
Mom’s face fell as she read, then popped up to mine. “Who? What happened?”
“Carli. Her father beat her.”
Mom’s hand flew to her chest. “She OK?”
I nearly laughed. “You’re looking at her discharge papers.”
“That’s only half the story.” But she picked up her phone again and squinted at the screen. “How is she now?”
“Watching a movie with Willow. She’s not herself.”
“She’s allowed. Her body’s been through a lot of trauma.”
I plowed a hand through my hair. There needed to be a magic phrase, something I could do to get her back. To heal her. To rid that haunted, distant look in her eyes. I stared at the floor, trying to process everything, when Mom waved and caught my attention.
“It’s hardest being the healthy one watching.”
I nodded, and she explained what she knew of brain injuries and concussions for the next twenty minutes. No bull, just the facts. One message repeated over and over: Carli needed time to heal. Mentally. Just like her face needed time to recover from the bruises, her brain needed time as well. And may need much longer than the bruises.
“Text if you need me. I’d rather meet Carli on better terms, but if you need a nurse, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She eyed me up and down. “You’re a good man.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because I forced an abuse victim to go to the hospital?”
She shook her head. “No. Because you take care of the woman you love.”
I nodded and ended the call. She’d already pegged my feelings. No use denying it.
LESS THAN A wee
k later, I helped Carli put away her belongings in her dorm. She stood in the middle of her small bedroom with a face that screamed “lost child.” She rubbed her temples and a deep-seated worry settled into my chest.
“You OK? Want me to stay?” I asked. Only her eyes remained distant, not looking my way. I waved until her eyes met mine. “Want me to stay?”
She shook her head, a stubborn streak crossing her brow. “Thank you for the help. But I need myself.”
I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “OK.” If I stayed any longer, I’d bring her back home with me. In order to respect her wishes, I had to leave. I kissed her once and then walked out of her dorm.
Once I closed the door, I let my head connect with the wood and let out a breath. I felt . . . off. Unsettled. I couldn’t explain the roaring emotional roller coaster I was on, couldn’t pinpoint why I felt this way. Regardless of internal emotional turmoil, Carli wanted time alone. End of story.
Back home the place felt open and empty. I pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table. The unsettled feeling wouldn’t dissipate, and my nerves ran raw. The smart thing to do would’ve been to go out for a run, but even my legs rejected that idea.
I thumbed through my phone past all the different threads of text messages, until I landed on the oldest. Dad’s. His temper was a slow coil he held in check. His hands would slow down, and the force would show on his face. I couldn’t imagine him lashing out.
I couldn’t imagine what had actually happened to Carli.
My father would never have hurt me. I wasn’t his blood, but he never treated me as anything less. Carli’s father had four biological daughters and beat them all.
I scrolled through his messages until I found the next unread one.
Dad: Love is unconditional. Love can be slow to realize or a quick onset. Mom was slow, cautious, step by step. You were instantaneous. I saw your eyes, and I didn’t care what problems you had. You were mine.
I put the phone on the table and looked up at the ceiling and the ugly rectangle fluorescent light. Two years and he managed to have the right words for the situation.
I played the last two sentences in my mind: I didn’t care what problems you had. You were mine. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have gotten those words. Now I felt them. I knew them. Carli wasn’t instantaneous, but she wasn’t slow and cautious either. She was fire, burning through my resolve. Whatever setbacks the attack gave her didn’t matter. I wanted to be there for her, to help.
The door opened, and Val came in. She looked around the empty kitchen. “Carli back home?”
I nodded.
“You OK?”
I scratched at my cheek, hairy after a week of not shaving. “Worried.”
Val cocked her head to the side. “You love her.”
“You just recently figured that out?”
She smiled. “No.” The smile faded. “Her recovery will be hard.”
“I know.”
I fiddled with my phone, still with Dad’s message on screen. The table vibrated, a bang, not from the phone. I looked up to Val’s large eyes. “You finally read your father’s texts?”
“I read one a few months ago.”
“When?”
I kept my smile in check. “When I wanted to tell him about Carli.”
Val squeezed my wrist, then read the screen. I didn’t try to stop her. “Wow.” Her eyes shot up to mine. “He really did kill himself.”
“I should title these ‘Life Messages to My Son, Sent through Text.’ ”
“What about the video?”
“Not yet.” I wasn’t ready. It would be the last time I’d see my father.
“He proves blood isn’t everything. Your dad was a good man. Carli’s father should rot in hell.” Val’s brown eyes turned cold and harsh. “She should stab him in the heart.”
I laughed. Weight lifted off my shoulder, even as my hands clenched with the desire to do as Val suggested. “Want to help me?”
“In theory? Yes. In reality? It’s her decision.”
“I don’t like that.”
Val stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You have to.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carli
REED HADN’T SHAVED since the attack. The length of his beard gave me a sense of time lapse in a period of my life when everything blended together. When I felt as though I had lived in hell for hours on loop, those prickly strands insisted I survived longer. But break was over, and tomorrow he’d shave. I wanted to ask him not to. I needed that sense of stability when my world had none. Instead I let him get back to normal, when I knew I never could.
My sheets chilled my bare feet as I climbed into bed that night. I huddled into myself for warmth, shivering with the covers pulled up to my chin. Each little twitch of my body sent a stab of pain to my head. Twitch. Stab. Twitch. Stab. I curled up farther, pressing my head into the cushion of my pillow. I had taken my OxyContin, but the damn meds weren’t doing their trick. Which I suspected was more to make me forget about the pain than mask it.
I tossed and turned, more uncomfortable with myself than my position. Eventually sleep did claim me, only for the rude awakening of my alarm clock going off before dawn.
In a daze I went through my routine and headed to my car. I hadn’t checked on it since I’d parked it at my parents’ house. Andi obviously had her own head on straight, because I found my car safe and sound in student parking.
I got behind the wheel and took a deep breath. I could do this. I could be normal. Today was no different from two weeks ago. The only difference was a diagnosis I was now aware of.
And no hearing in my left ear.
I shook those thoughts aside and got into traffic. Radio off, I kept my attention on the road. I hadn’t driven since the day of the attack. I clutched the wheel, focused on the car in front of me, not willing to give my brain a chance to wander. Halfway through my trip, I relaxed. Stupid. I knew how to drive. I knew where I was going. I could do this.
Once I parked, I pulled down the visor to check my makeup. Much more than I was used to, but it covered the ugly purple splotches. I smiled at my paler-than-normal reflection, the smile fake and half-assed. At least my injuries weren’t visible.
In the classroom, I breathed a sigh of relief when I found Heidi waiting for me. We’d e-mailed a few times over break and on Reed’s encouragement, I had shared the truth. Better to have support as I dealt with my injuries.
“How are you feeling, Carli?” she asked as she made her way over to me.
“Nervous.” I laughed. “Here are the papers I wanted you to double-check for me.” I had managed to get a little work done during my week from hell. It took less than ten minutes to prove my confidence had been shot. Thank you, Dad.
“Anything you need.” She’d said as much in the e-mail, the truth of her words clear in the concern in her voice.
By the last class, I was ready to curl up in bed for a week. My head throbbed, but not outside of typical bounds. Small victory. I shook a mental pom-pom twice, lackluster cheerleader for the win, and began packing up my bag when my phone vibrated.
Reed: How did it go?
Me: Survived.
Reed: Want to grab some dinner?
My head throbbed at the suggestion.
Me: I would love to, but my head needs to rest. I’m going to go home as soon as I can and sleep until tomorrow.
Reed: Need me to make sure you eat?
I read the words twice. As they sunk in, a goofy grin worked its way onto my face.
Me: Probably not a bad idea.
The long day caught up with me on the drive home. Stuck in traffic, I willed tears to stay in my head. When did I turn into Crying Girl? Heidi had said I did okay, but I felt like a failure. I wasn’t on my A-game; I wasn’t able to give my students the best of me. And so many times, I needed a student to repeat what he or she said.
My own thought processes were still slow. At the board I needed extra time to generate my own answer
s. Heidi didn’t catch me on any mistakes, but I didn’t have any confidence in myself anymore.
By the time I parked my car, I was ready to crumple. I blinked tears away as I started the walk back to my dorm. The cold February weather nipped at my cheeks and tried to sneak under my jacket. I shivered as people passed on all sides. Tiny specks of snowflakes fluttered in the air, disintegrating the moment they touched the pavement.
When my legs were ready to collapse, I arrived at my dorm—and sobbed at the bottom of the stairs, the kind of sob spurred on by pure exhaustion. One deep breath, then another, and I dragged my feet up each step until I made it to my floor.
Inside I was alone. I made it to my bedroom, dropped my bag and coat, and collapsed onto my bed, crying myself to sleep.
I was woken up sometime later by Reed shaking my shoulders. I rubbed my eyes and blinked him into focus. D stood beside him.
“You scared us,” Reed signed.
He helped me to a sitting position. “Sorry, I fell asleep,” I said and signed.
“The poor guy had to wait for me to get here. You didn’t answer your phone or the buzzer,” D said.
“What?” I got up and grabbed my phone from my coat pocket. Sure enough, I had missed a dozen texts from Reed. “I’m sorry.” I elongated the sign and walked right into his arms.
“You need a light doorbell.”
“What’s he saying?” D asked.
“That I need a light doorbell.”
“What’s that?”
Reed walked over to my door, knocked, and then flipped my light switch several times.
“That could work,” D said.
They both turned to me.
I blew out a breath, and the hair stuck to my cheek stayed. Ugh, couldn’t have been a pretty sight. “How do I get one?”
Reed grinned and kissed my forehead. “I’ll help. Have pizza, maybe cold.”
I frowned and went to sign sorry again, but he stopped me and shook his head. The word was becoming a bit overused in my vocabulary. I could make up a new list: overused words. Already on the list: sorry, normal, tears. Sucky list.
I washed my face as the pizza heated up. When I came out, Reed rubbed a thumb over the exposed bruises. “Better.” I’d stopped looking at myself barefaced, so had to take his word.
