“Try and get some rest now. We’ve put a hold on visitors until some things get sorted out. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for a nurse.”
No surprise there. The scene caused by her parents and Jason’s asshole folks was sure to be the talk of the entire hospital. An actual scuffle broke out when she was in the ER and security was called in to calm things down. The emotional explosion pretty much defined how much of a mess everything was.
The kind-faced doctor in the brilliantly white coat pressed a small controller into her limp hand. Slinging a stethoscope around his neck, he smiled. Even as fucked-up as she was, it was hard to miss the sympathy in his expression. His worried look didn’t affect her one way or the other. Nothing would. Not ever again. In one dreary flash, she saw the rest of her life play out and just knew that as long as she lived, there would never be any escape from the horror. Or the pain. This shit would be a part of her forever.
Shifting, she tried to find a comfortable position but the IV and monitor lines attached all over her body held her in place. The restriction felt symbolic. Trapped by circumstance. Jason did his worst, but she’d survived. Barely. And right now, she didn’t give a flying fuck what happened to the bastard. Karma would take care of him. Hopefully.
Eyes too heavy to keep open, she closed them and started drifting. Snippets flashed in her mind. How she staggered into the emergency room and collapsed. The calm, efficient medical speak that went on over her head. The horrifying sound of her mom crying.
Everything got fuzzy. The drifting picked up speed, and it seemed like she was an observer rather than a participant as her dreams flew by. When her family appeared at a distance, she simply retreated further.
Alone. She was alone. No husband. A family she struggled to embrace. No baby.? Was she stupid? Foolish? When did it all gone so wrong?
I missed you.
What was that? Who was talking?
I missed you.
The fluttering started in her belly. Nerves pulled tight to contain the tingling, but it spread anyway. Soon her chest filled with panic. Something wasn’t right.
The bed dipped slightly. She wasn’t as alone as she’d thought. Instead of feeling comfort, she only sensed dread.
Oh, god. What have I done?
“Hey, sleepyhead,” a deep voice teased. “Come on, pretty lady. Time to wake up.”
Jesus Christ! Someone was in her bed. Alarmed, her eyes shot open. Desperately trying to focus through the haze of sleep, Heather blinked then froze. How the hell did Thor get into her bed? No, wait. Not Thor. Someone else. Someone big and muscular with the sort of holy fuck dirty blond surfer scruff that made hearts flutter.
Oh, shit. Brody. It was Brody, and he’d spent the night. In her bed. With her.
Swallowing became difficult. So did breathing. A mirror wouldn’t be necessary for her to see that she was gaping at him with a wide-eyed expression of horror.
“You need to eat, m’lady,” he drawled with a sexy chuckle. “I think we have an energy deficit going on. More out than in … if you catch my drift.”
Clutching the sheet across her chest in slow motion, she was a little surprised her fingers even worked. An energy deficit? Oh, dear god. It all came flooding back.
Brody. Showing up unannounced. On New Year’s Eve. Dinner. George. Crop tops and David Beckham. The things he said and the things they did. Not just once but all through the night. Again and again, they made love. Slowly. Deeply. Completely. When exhaustion claimed them as dawn began to appear, he’d wrapped her in his arms and held her close whispering things that scared the fucking shit out of her in the cold, harsh reality of a new day.
Her stomach rumbled. She’d just said they’d made love. Oh, no. No, no, no.
No.
This was bad. Oh, god.
And where the hell was her backbone? Why couldn’t she shut down her feelings? Oh, right. Along the way, her salty outer shell, the one that protected her from further hurt and from hurting someone else, simply crumbled to dust. She was fucked.
The panic building in her chest went off inside Heather without warning. Her whole body flushed with a searing heat that made her ears feel like she was on fire. She had to get out of bed, and she had to do it now.
Keeping the sheet clutched tight, she pushed him away with her free hand and struggled to get herself upright. The panic was closing her throat. She mentally mapped the steps from the bed to the bathroom and hoped she made it in time.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. So the wrong tone to take with her.
As he held a hand out to help her, she slapped it away and pushed him farther from her. “Get away. I need to get up.”
“Let me help you.”
“No.” Ugh. Get a fucking grip. You sound crazy. Calm down. Just move past him and get to the bathroom. Now.
Scrambling to get off the bed, she tried to dial back the frantic beat inside. Unable to look at him, she averted her eyes the second she realized he was wearing a towel. Just a towel.
“Heather. Honey. Don’t do this. Talk to me.”
Wrapping the entire bed sheet around her quaking body, Heather grimaced but quickly found her footing. She needed to get him out of here before she made things worse. No matter what they’d shared last night, she had nothing to offer as far as a future went. She couldn’t do that to Brody.
“Why are you still here?” she bit out. “You know I don’t do sleepovers.”
He looked … well, he looked more than a little stunned. His reply told her that he was also deeply offended.
“You’re joking, right? Why am I still here? Does the part where you clung to me in that bed,” he roared as he pointed at the rumpled bed, “ever see the light of day?”
Pushing past him, she made a valiant effort to escape before things got too heated, but he stopped her with an arm pull.
Instinct, a foolish one, made Heather jerk her arm away. Hissing angrily, she scolded, “Don’t touch me,” and regretted it immediately.
“Excuse me?” He wasn’t yelling, but he was damn close to losing it. She could tell by the anger in his expression.
“Look.” She stopped and searched for a way out of this mess. None came to mind, so she put on her bitch boots and figuratively kicked him in the nuts. It was the only way she could get him out of here. “Last night was … you know. Thanks, I guess.” She shrugged as her chin lifted. “Mission accomplished. You took my mind off other stuff.”
Shuffling backward several steps when he closed in, she tried to stand her ground, but his naked torso and the damn towel that did little to hide his manly attributes was just making matters worse.
“What about …”
She cut him off. Hearing his argument would only make the anguish and the panic worse.
“Brody. Don’t make me say things I don’t want to. You’re a great guy and coming here last night just proves it. But you know the score. It’s just sex. That’s all it can ever be.” She wanted to throw up. This time, when she said the words, they left a bitter taste.
“Oh, so let me get this straight,” he accused. “You just want to fuck. That’s it. All you’re interested in is my dick.”
Why did he have to stand so close? “I didn’t say that.”
He scoffed and gave her a withering look. “Yeah, well that’s what you meant.”
She didn’t know what to do or say. Panic gripped her by the throat, but she was incapable of walking away.
He subjected her to a long, assessing gaze then put his hand over his crotch. “Okay then. Have it your way. No need to waste morning wood is there?”
She gasped when his meaning became evident.
“How ‘bout you bend over … don’t bother dropping the sheet. I’ll just pull it up over your ass. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Ass up, head down, pussy for the taking. Never done it that way before. You, in bitch position.”
Reflex. That must be what compelled her to haul off and smack him across the face so hard his hea
d snapped back.
“Fuck you.”
His eyes bored into hers. “No. Fuck you. Next time, get your stories straight. You’re either fuck meat or you’re not. I was betting on the not.”
He left her standing there as he gathered his clothing. She could have gone and hidden in the bathroom until the awful moment passed, but she just froze.
When he came back dressed, she almost dropped to her knees. There on the side of his face was the unmistakable outline of her hand. She’d walloped him hard enough to leave a mark.
A fresh, new horror set up camp in her mind. She was the victim of a brutal assault. Knew full well what it was like to have the snot smacked out of her. Seeing that handprint on his skin sickened her. She detested physical aggression. What the hell was wrong with her?
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out over top of whatever he was saying. She heard something about socks and taking George out, but mostly, his words were a blur.
“For what?”
How could she explain? Where were the words that would excuse her appalling behavior? An ice-cold feeling in the pit of her stomach replaced the panic. Every second since she’d opened her eyes turned out to be a waking nightmare.
“Jesus, Heather,” Brody sneered. “Can’t trust without exceptions and can’t explain what you’re sorry for.”
She gulped. Ouch.
He wanted to say more. It was written all over his face, but she’d made it impossible. Finally, with a look that seemed part regret and part anger, he just said, “Happy New Year, Ms. Clarke. I hope it’s everything you hope for.”
And then he was gone. When the door shut behind him, the only sound in the apartment was the ticking of a wall clock. Not even George made a peep.
She was alone. Again.
“HERE’S ANOTHER ONE, Ms. Clarke. The Environmental Club is donating a yard cleanup for the auction. Damn. My dad would love to win that.”
Laughing, Heather stood back from the paper bag full of used books she’d been packing. “That’s why I live in an apartment. The pressure of keeping up with a lawn would make me crazy.”
“Word.”
The annual February Acts of Kindness Marathon sponsored by the counseling department was just one week away. To keep busy, she’d thrown herself into the weeklong series events. Exhaustion was her constant companion these days. Exhaustion and George. That was it.
Getting the help of a couple of students with work-study hours to satisfy, she’d given up an otherwise empty Saturday to make last-minute preparations.
“Um, Casey,” she casually asked, “What did we manage to squeeze out of the English Department?” Was it pathetic that she asked? Yes. Yes, it was. After all … it wasn’t like Brody was going to jump off the list.
The kid scanned a checklist several pages long on a clipboard with a huge smiley face mocking her on the backside. “Wow,” Casey muttered. Snickering, he wryly added, “Leave it to the suit and tie brigade to make this real.”
Absently checking the tag on an original artwork up for bid, she consciously applied an air of indifference to her reaction. “Please tell me it’s not something dumb like an eBook of Shakespeare’s works.”
“Oh shit no, Ms. Clarke. Look.”
Waving the clipboard in her face, she focused midway down the list to where he was pointing and tried to look halfway impressed.
Reading aloud, she drawled, “Complimentary editing on a written thesis and a mini-pass to the Hippodrome Theater in Baltimore for their Broadway Series..” Raising her eyebrows with comical shock she murmured, “That probably cost the farm, huh?”
He agreed with a snort. “My grandmother is a nut for the theater. It’s an awesome donation. Hey, I might bid!”
Heather thought the young man’s enthusiasm was cute. And refreshing.
“Bet it was Mr. Jensen who came up with the Hippodrome thing. Did you hear he’s taking the journal club to the Library of Congress? Some Thomas Jefferson tour. Wish I’d known he was teaching real classes this semester.”
“Hmph.” What else could she say? Brody’s interest in the theater didn’t come as a surprise. He’d shared that nugget of awesomeness in a group session. And taking students into D.C. to explore Jefferson? No-brainer. The guy was interesting like that. The only real news in Casey’s statement was something that surprised her.
Instead of taking on the ESL classes this time around, he’d been given the opportunity to dip his teaching toes into the big pond where the faculty scholars went to hang. He was handling two upper-level English courses and signed on to help with the college journal—a student-run newspaper that was as dry as toast and just as interesting. The word was that when the next issue came out, the whole format would be different. Seemed like he was doing what she was. Staying busy.
Busy was good. Better than wallowing and much healthier than the solitary manic spurts she was prone to. Of course, she was also in perpetual horny hell. But she couldn’t think about that right now.
“Uh-oh,” Casey murmured. “Here comes Dr. Puffy.”
She gave him some side eye. “That’s Dr. Didi to you.” Not laughing at the irreverent nickname the students gave to the affable professor was harder than it should have been. These days, she reacted to most everything in new ways.
Casey made to hurry up and leave but not before shooting her a knowing look. “Oooh, Ms. Clarke. Looks like you’re on the guy’s date list!”
Damn kid deserted her just as her colleague from the science department descended. Crap.
“Why Counselor Clarke! How opportune to run into you here.”
Okay. First … opportune? A whole slew of pithy comebacks ran through her mind—all of which she bit back.
Second … come on! Where in the hell else would she be? She was in charge of the charitable event that was about to kick off. Idiot knew damn well he’d run into her here.
And third … whatever.
“Hello, Doctor.” Quickly picking up the clipboard Casey left behind so he couldn’t shake her hand, she gave him a dim smile and absolutely no encouragement.
Now, speaking strictly from a thumb up, thumb down perspective, there wasn’t anything about the man that earned him an automatic no. He was forty if he was a day. Not that there was anything wrong with that. She wasn’t exactly one of the younglings anymore. And from an eye candy point of view, his rather sedate but agreeable appearance wasn’t offensive. In the grander scheme of things, he’d be just the sort of man she should consider. Not to be a bitch or anything, but he’d be damn lucky to be with her. And maybe someone like that wouldn’t care about white picket fences and kids. She bet he’d be plain sailing with very little heavy lifting on her part. The thought made her cringe.
“I know why I’m here,” she chatted in a collegial way. Polite. Straightforward. Nothing for him to misconstrue in her tone or delivery. “But what brings you out on a Saturday? Can’t get enough of this place during the workweek?”
He straightened his tie and made a show of checking the buttons on his jacket.
Oh my god, she suddenly realized. He’s wearing a tie on Saturday. Goddammit. She so did not need this right now.
“Heather,” he challenged.
She didn’t remember being on a first name basis with this guy.
“There’s a reception at the university,” he began as her stomach bottomed out. Shit. This was what she got for trying to be more approachable. So far, life was nothing but a pain in her ass as she navigated a whole new world. One where she wasn’t quite so self-assured or solitary. It seemed a bit absurd, though, that having a couple of professionally civil moments in the faculty lounge led to fending off dating advances from random colleagues. Smacked of desperation or a shallow dating pool.
“A President’s reception.”
She knew what that meant. President receptions were opportunities to schmooze with some pretty interesting and powerful people. Heather was impressed that he was well regarded enough to earn an invitation.
&nb
sp; “Dr. Wa-Shin is being honored,” he informed her with obvious admiration for the man. Or maybe Wa-Shin was a woman. Heather didn’t have a clue who the hell he was talking about.
“You know how these things are. All cocktail weenies and shrimp puff balls.”
She almost laughed like a hyena when he said the word puff. Didi liked puffs? Puff Didi. Oh, my lord. The wordplay was enough to give her a case of the giggles.
“I was hoping you’d agree to accompany me. As my date, you see. Plus one, after all.”
Just what every woman wanted to hear. Hey—ya wanna be my plus one?
The universe possessed a unique and sometimes fucked-up sense of timing and humor. That was the only explanation when, out of nowhere, Brody appeared as if he’d been transported from the deck of the Enterprise. He was carrying a box and from the look on his face, she knew for certain that he’d overheard the stodgy professor asking her out. In the space of a handful of heartbeats, she’d gone from giggles to dismay.
Oh, dear. Standing her ground as he approached required a hellacious effort. Weeks since she’d seen him up close, she noticed right away how long his hair was. And instead of the drab professional way he normally dressed, he was sporting a well-worn pair of jeans with rips in one knee and a smattering of dark spots and bleach stains on the other thigh. The heavy boots and leather jacket rendered her stupid. When she spied the Harley t-shirt underneath, her thoughts zoomed back to that night. Their last together. He said a Harley t-shirt was his favorite.
Now … he didn’t quite elbow Dr. Didi out of the way. That would’ve been too obvious. Instead, he walked around him as if the man was a lamppost then moved in close to crowd her personal space.
Remembering how to swallow, she faced him with wide-eyed nervousness.
Dropping the box he carried onto the table by her side, he gave nothing away with his expression but that didn’t mean she was unaware of the x-ray scan he’d just subjected her to.
Standing right next to her, he turned and gave Didi a courtesy nod. “Professor,” he drawled. “Little far from the science building, aren’t you?”
Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) Page 12
