by P. Jameson
But would it hurt her? It touched her so gently. And smelled like home. Not her apartment, but Nana’s house. Like lemongrass and pine needles.
Punk felt herself relaxing. Her muscles eased, letting go of their hold on her bones. She breathed easier. Her forehead unfurled which gave her stitches some relief. She was eerily comfortable. Maybe more than she had been in years.
She drew in a long shuddering breath and released it slowly, silently thanking whatever caused this reprieve.
She blinked once more, and saw light. Horrified, she squeezed her eyes closed again. But this light wasn’t part of her dream, she realized. It wasn’t the dimness of a dark alley. It was bright, fluorescent. And there was the faint beeping of machines. She knew what this was.
Peeking through her lashes, she made sure her hunch was correct.
Yep. She was awake in her hospital room. With the yellow curtain and the horrible blue gown and…
A brown paper gift bag sat on the long over-the-bed table.
That hadn’t been there before she’d conked out.
Her gaze flew around the room, but no one was there. And Annie and Ella wouldn’t have chosen that hideous bag if they’d wanted to leave her a gift. Annie’s would’ve had flowers and hearts and shit. Ella’s would’ve been solid colored but ridiculously glittery.
Punk sat up, careful not to jostle the cast that ran from her ankle to just under her knee, and reached for the bag. Pulling out the contents, she was surprised to find her favorite snack. Mother’s Iced Oatmeal Cookies. She set the package on her lap and folded the bag, returning it to the table.
Who would bring her these?
Turning the package over, she noticed a yellow post-it note. I’m sorry, was scrawled across the paper.
Punk squinted at the writing. They were from him. Beast. The one who’d put her here. The one who was responsible for the return of her nightmares.
She sighed, leaning her head back against her pillow.
It wasn’t really his fault. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The wreck was caused by another driver and then the fence that was supposed to contain accidents came down. It wasn’t something he could’ve prevented, but she had no one else to blame.
Actually, that wasn’t true. She could blame Ella for dragging her to the tracks so much over the past year. She could blame herself for actually going in the first place. She could blame the damn person who put up the fence, or the other drivers, or…
Beast was just easy to blame because she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what kind of person he was or if he even cared that he’d landed her in the hospital. Except now she did. These cookies answered all those questions.
He was thoughtful otherwise he would’ve just sent her some generic flowers.
He was regretful even though it wasn’t his fault, otherwise he would’ve ignored her completely.
He was apologetic otherwise he would’ve left the cookies without an actual “I’m sorry”.
Yeah, okay. So Beast wasn’t the devil she’d pretended he was these last couple days. Didn’t make any of this easier to handle.
Ella and Annie said not to worry about things, but it was impossible. With the broken leg, Punk would be out of work for several weeks. She had rent to pay and Ella wasn’t there anymore to pay her part. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t be a problem. The tips from Red Cap paired with her simple living had always left her with extra money. But not enough to allow her a six to eight week vacation.
She ripped the package open and pulled out the first cookie, nibbling at the edge while she pondered her situation. It was easy on her stomach, which she needed after the nightmare.
Her phone buzzed making her jump. Shit, she had to chill the fuck out or everyone would know how shaken she was. And she couldn’t afford to appear weak. It was the first rule she’d learned in self-defense therapy so many years ago.
The weak are preyed upon. Appear strong whether you are or not. Take no shit. Be a motherfucking badass even if it distances you from people. But keep close the ones you can trust. They’ll be your lifeline in a crisis.
With Nana gone, that consisted of exactly two people: Annie and Ella. Still, she didn’t want them to know she was a mess right now.
She picked up the phone and saw a picture of Ella on the screen.
“Yeah,” she answered.
“Hey, it’s Ella.”
“Yeah, I know. This is 2015. Every phone has caller ID now.”
There was a slight pause. “Well, someone’s feeling sprite today.”
“’Sprite’? Are you fucking kidding me? Who under the age of eighty uses the word ‘sprite’ anymore unless they’re talking about the soda?”
Ella broke into laughter. True belly laughs pumped through the phone’s earpiece like they would never end. “Annie, that’s who,” Ella managed through giggles. “It’s her new favorite word. She says it sounds bright and cheery. I just wanted to be the first to say it to you so I could get that very reaction.”
Punk grinned in spite of herself. God, Annie was like, the girl everyone wanted to hug and squish and keep in their pockets. And it was because of things like “sprite” and the way she could cook a meal that made you feel like you were melting under the comfort of it.
If she didn’t get laid soon there’d be no hope for the woman.
“I’m sure she won’t even wonder when I don’t make a big deal about it later.” The smile remained on Punk’s face. She really loved her friends.
Ella sighed, coming down from her laughing fit. “I just called because I have some good news. Drake says there’s work in the garage you can do until your cast is off. Some organizational crap. I’m sure you’ll love it,” she said sarcastically. “He says the boys don’t have time so they were going to hire someone anyway. So… what do you think? You up for it?”
Punk threw her head back, staring at the ceiling. She knew good and well they’d all come up with this to help her out. And she fucking appreciated it. She just didn’t want to be a burden.
But that was the second rule she’d learned during self-defense. Depend on the people around you for help. Alert them to your problem. Many times, it’s a stranger who’s dialed 911 that saves the day.
“Yeah, I’m up for it. Or I will be once they free me from this prison of tubes and machines and bandages.”
“Which should be very soon,” Ella assured her. She would know since she was a nurse before she’d moved to Cedar Valley.
“They said maybe tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll tell Drake to get your room ready and then someone will come pick you up when they unshackle you.”
Punk blinked twice trying to make sense of Ella’s words, but finally she had to ask.
“What do you mean get my room ready?”
“Well, you’ll be staying here in the big house of course.”
Yeah. Of course.
“You can’t stay in your apartment. Can you imagine crutching up and down those stairs day and night for six weeks?”
Shit. She hadn’t even thought of that. And she had another oh-my-god moment when Ella’s words really sunk in. She wouldn’t be able to drive. Not with this cast on her leg.
Son of a bitch.
“Punk? You there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Mother of fuck, Ella. I’m screwed. I can’t drive. My house isn’t handicap friendly. And I can’t work. What am I going to do?”
“Hang on.” She heard some muffled scratching and then a door close. “Listen, okay. First, you’re going to breathe. Then you’re going to let your friends help you. You’re going to ask for a ride when you need one and you’re going to stay here where there is a whole crew of people ready to wait on you hand and foot. Trust me, Punk, they’re dying to help you. They feel responsible for all this.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, all of them. They do everything as a group including feeling guilty.”
“God, this just keeps getting worse. None of them o
we me anything.”
“They’ll never give up until they feel like they’ve done right by you. Trust me. This is a good group of guys. You might as well just indulge them.”
Punk sighed. She was only doing this because Ella said it was okay. She did trust her. Ella wouldn’t let any harm come to her. And also… Punk could take down a grown man even with the fucking cast on. She knew all the crucial places to hit ‘em.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Of course you do. If you really want, I’ll move back in with you for a few weeks. But fair warning, you’ll be seeing more than you want to of Drake. And you’ll still have to manage the stairs.”
“Dog Boy? You mean he’d sleep over or something?”
“Yep. And since I was on the couch when I lived with you…”
“Ew. Stop. I can’t handle the thought.”
Ella laughed.
“Okay, okay.” Punk shivered. “I’ll stay at the club for a while. As long as you’re sure they don’t mind.”
“Nope. They insisted.”
“Fine.”
The line was quiet for a few breaths before Ella spoke again. “Hey, did Beast make it over there today?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I dunno. I’ve been worried about him. Drake says he’s not himself lately. I thought once he talked to you and saw that you were okay, he’d feel better.”
“Well, we didn’t exactly talk. He came while I was sleeping and left some cookies.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. But he got the right cookies. That was nice. He really shouldn’t feel bad. None of them should. I’ll tell them when I see them. Would that help?”
“Yeah. I think it would.”
“Fine. Done deal.”
When she hung up with Ella, she finished off half of the cookies and watched some reruns of Gilmore Girls. When she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore, she let herself drift to sleep, hoping there wouldn’t be any nightmares.
Chapter Three
Leaving the hospital should’ve been more exciting than it really was. But as Punk sat on the edge of her bed waiting for her ride, she’d already chewed every bit of the navy blue polish off her nails.
Annie couldn’t make it. Some emergency at Red Cap. And Ella was over in Milton with fucking Dog Boy. So one of the guys from Dirt Track Dogs was coming to get her.
It would be fine. She loved being carted into a stranger’s home without any friends present. It wasn’t weird at all. Nope.
She sighed and checked her phone again. Nothing. They’d discharged her an hour ago, and she was strongly considering having the nurse wheel her to the front door where she could hitch a ride to her own apartment. Never mind the stair thing.
From the hallway, she heard a deep, thrumming voice. “I’m here for Room 436. Is she ready?”
“Yes, sir. She’s already been discharged. She’s free to go.”
Finally.
Punk took a deep breath. She was not going to be rude to these guys. If it killed her, she was going to be nice. They were helping her. The least she could do was tame her inner bitch. God, some day she was going to have to quit seeing every man as her enemy.
But not today. Today she was just going to pretend there was nothing to be afraid of.
Heavy footsteps, and then the frame of the door was filled with a huge sonofabitch that she recognized. Though she’d never seen him up close before. From a distance, he looked far less substantial. His shoulders had to be twice the size of hers and he was at least a head taller than her 5’ 8”. His hair was pulled back away from his face instead of wrapped in a bandana as it always was at the speedway, and his eyes were a brilliant blue that reminded her of a summer sky.
Holy shit, he was a beautiful piece of human up close.
“Hi,” he said quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m Beast.”
“I know.”
His mouth curved on one side which brought her attention to his lips. They were full and looked softer than any man’s lips should look. Especially a man who was Godzilla-fucking- tall and Elephant-fucking-wide.
He looked around the room. “You got the cookies I left?”
Punk raised an eyebrow. “Oh that was you? The note said ‘I’m Sorry’ so I just assumed they were from someone that went by the name Sorry.” Bad joke, but she was nervous and sometimes when she was nervous she just babbled shit.
A single, loud laugh burst from his chest and he stepped into the room. “You’re funny. The nurse said you’re ready to go. Is this all your stuff?”
Punk nodded.
He strolled forward and grabbed her things, standing so close, she had to tilt her head back to see his face.
“How are you feeling?” His voice was low and it vibrated across her skin even though they weren’t touching.
She needed him to back up. He was too close. He was in her personal space bubble, granted it was a pretty large bubble.
“Fine,” she snapped. “They let me put my piercings back in so, peachy keen.”
His eyes traveled over her face stopping at each piece of metal. Her brows. Both of them. Her lips, top and bottom. The diamond in her cheek. And then finally her ears.
“Not gonna lie,” he murmured. “Those are hot. But I meant how is your leg? These?” His hand came up to brush her stitches so softly she barely felt it.
Punk jerked her head back. “I’m fine. You don’t need to touch me.”
Who did he think he was?
His brow furrowed and some emotion flashed through his eyes. He almost looked… hurt.
He looked away, shuffling her belongings under his arm. “As long as you’re all right, that’s all I care about.”
Beast started for the door and Punk followed with her crutches, only to be stopped in the hall by a nurse.
“Wait, wait.” She bustled around in a panic. “We have to take you out in the wheelchair. Stay right there, young lady.”
Punk rolled her eyes but appeased the lady. She glanced at Beast and he grinned at her. His smile was contagious because she noticed her own lips curve up in response.
When the nurse returned, Punk settled into the wheelchair that would’ve actually fit someone the size of Beast and let herself be pushed into the elevator, then finally out the front doors.
“I’ll get the truck,” Beast said before rushing off.
She waited awkwardly with the nurse, but he wasn’t gone long. An old beat up truck pulled up to the curb and Beast hopped out to open the passenger side door. Punk used her crutches and hobbled to the truck.
Then hesitated. How the hell was she supposed to get in? The cast was on her right leg so she couldn’t stand on it long enough to climb in. Whose idea was it to send the big guy with the big truck?
“Here,” Beast said, coming up beside her. “Let me have your crutches and then I’ll help you in.”
“I don’t need help,” Punk responded quickly. But then… she really did. Stupid move to shut him down like that.
She blew out a frustrated breath.
“It’s really okay,” he said softly. “It’s what I’m here for.”
She glanced at him. He wasn’t rushing her. He wasn’t acting like she was a bother. He was being as patient as Mother Fucking Theresa. God.
She ignored the way his calm demeanor made her chest all tingly and nodded. “Okay, yes. I… I need some help.”
He took her crutches and placed them in the bed of the truck and then leaned down.
“Put your arm around my neck.”
Punk hesitated, uncomfortable with being so close to a man. Fucking hell, it had been almost ten years and she still couldn’t cope with physical closeness. Not even when it was platonic. Not even when it was simply because she couldn’t get her own ass in a truck.
Enough.
Determined, she wound her arm around his shoulders. Carefully, he slid his own arm behind her knees and lifted her into his powerful arms. She let out a gasp and he went still.
“Did I hurt you?”
She found his eyes and was shocked to see actual fear in them. He desperately didn’t want to hurt her. How… sweet. And refreshing. His concern for her was genuine. How much of it stemmed from his guilt, she wasn’t sure, but this man certainly wasn’t going to harm her.
Punk relaxed. He wasn’t going to hurt her. The knowledge was comforting. No, it was like a weight was lifted from her shoulders. A weight she’d been carrying for too long.
“No,” she murmured, still staring into his worried eyes. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“You sure?” He squeezed her body closer to his and she could feel the hard muscle beneath his t-shirt.
Punk nodded.
Beast stared, his breath coming faster. His gaze fell to her parted lips and lingered there. He looked at her like he was trying to understand something. Like she confused him. And like he didn’t want to do something wrong.
There was something different about him. He wasn’t like any other man she’d come across. Working in the bar, she was around all sorts of men. Drunk men. Sober men. Asshole men. Decent men. Men who needed another hole in the head. Men who were just trying to make it. Men who wanted things from her. Men who didn’t. But this man… this man she didn’t even really know… he showed so much care for her and her well-being it almost scared her.
“Truck.” Her breathless reminder floated between them.
His eyes didn’t move from her lips. “Did you know when you talk, your nose moves up and down like a bunny’s. It’s incredibly cute.”
“What the hell? It does not.”
He grinned. “Just did it again. It’s distracting I tell you.”
Punk rolled her eyes, fighting a grin. “Put me in the truck and let’s go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Carefully, he set her in the passenger seat and slowly pulled back. He adjusted her cast so her leg was mostly straight.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Great. Thanks.”
He found her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
Before she could reach for her seatbelt, he grabbed it, pulling it around her torso and buckling it.
“There,” he murmured, and then stepped back and closed the door.
