Sink or Swim

by Jamie Canosa

  She never left. Never came outside. But every once in a while he’d catch sight of her in her bedroom window. He lived for those damn moments. Each glimpse like a jumpstart to his dying heart. He was pathetic.

  Tonight there hadn’t been any overtime available, so he was home earlier than usual. He’d been sitting out there since he got home, desperately hoping to lay eyes on her for even a moment before she went to bed. So far, nothing. He watched the living room and bedroom windows like a hawk, but not a peek.

  At least the driveway was empty. That meant she was alone in there, so he didn’t have to torture himself with thoughts of what might be happening to her just behind that damned door . . . yet. It would come. The moment that monster was alone with her, he couldn’t hold them back anymore. Images of Allie being hurt and in pain flooded his mind, penetrated his subconscious, and plagued even his dreams.

  He had no idea how long he’d been out there when he heard the front door open and close behind him. Dean didn’t bother turning around to see who it was. He could still hear Mama clanging around in the kitchen, and if it were Amy he’d already have a headache. Sarah settled quietly on the step above him and for a while just sat there, staring out across the yard.

  Dean wasn’t a fucking idiot. Neither was anyone he lived with. He knew they knew something was up. They just had no idea what, and so far, no one had asked. So far.

  “Is Allie all right?”

  Dean squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. God, how he wanted to tell her the truth. That he had no idea if she was all right or not, and that not knowing was eating him alive. But, he couldn’t tell her that. There was really only one thing he could tell his baby sister.

  “She’s fine, Sarah. Why don’t you go on inside and see if Mama needs a hand?”

  She hesitated a beat and Dean was certain she had more she wanted to say, but then he heard the scrape of her shoes on the stairs. A warm glow illuminated the step when Sarah pushed the door open, but when it grew dark again, he still sensed a presence at his back.

  “You shouldn’t lie to your family, Dean Michael Ritter.” Mama was leaning up against the shaky railing—he really needed to fix that before someone got hurt—arms crossed and head tilted to stare down at him. But, for all her full name usage and defensive posturing, she looked more concerned than angry. “You wouldn’t be out here staring at her house like you do night after night—don’t think I haven’t noticed—if everything was ‘fine’ between you two.”

  Dean really had no idea what to say to that. Luckily, he didn’t have to say a word because Mama just kept on going.

  “Flowers.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever it is you did, girls appreciate flowers. Even girls like Allie, who act like they don’t. They do. You buy her some and see if I’m wrong.”

  If only the answer could be so simple. He’d buy her every last flower on the damn planet.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Mama.”

  “See that you do. Now, supper’s almost ready. Why don’t you come on inside?”

  “I’ll be in in a minute.”

  He could hear her sigh over the sound of the doorknob grinding—he needed to fix that, too—and, in a brief flash of light, he was alone again.

  Delicious smells of whatever Mama was whipping up started wafting out the kitchen window and Dean was just getting ready to do as she asked and head inside when a car screeched around the corner and weaved its way unsteadily down the street, sending his heart right into his throat.

  It was going to be one of those nights, then. Allie’s father pulled into their drive and slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting the trash cans.

  When the asshole stumbled out of his car, Dean’s pulse spiked. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t his normal dazed, sloppy mess. He was . . . stiffer. Terser. When he slammed the car door hard enough that it echoed down the block, Dean shot to his feet.

  “Stupid bitch!” His angry shout hit Dean like a knife to the chest before he shoved something in this pocket and stormed toward the front door. Toward Allie.

  This was not fucking happening. Dean could not just stand there and let this fucking happen. Without telling them to, his legs took him down the stairs and across the street. This shit ended tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Allie

  Her father held her a moment or two longer, but finally let go with a shouted curse. Even in his inebriated state he wasn’t about to commit murder with someone standing right on the other side of the door. He threw it open with enough force that the knob cracked the wall, and there stood Dean.

  His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Allie. God only knew what kind of mess she was. His entire body stilled for a beat and then he shoved past her father, into the house.

  “Allie!” He stopped in front of her, his hand coming up to hover near her throbbing eye. Funny, she’d completely forgotten about the pain there until right that second, having been distracted by more important things. Like the need to breathe. “That’s it. This shit ends now. You’re coming with me. Right now. Right this second.”

  “I don’t fucking think so. Who the hell are you to—?”

  “Who the hell am I?” Dean whirled around and the confrontation she’d been trying to avoid for months was about to explode. “Who the hell are you? You’re supposed to be her father. You’re supposed to take care of her. Protect her. She’s your child, for fucks sake! Look at her! You’re killing her!”

  Not as thoroughly as he’d like to, Allie thought, but kept it to herself.

  “You get your ass out of my house right this instant. This is family business and none of yours.” Her father’s voice had gone soft again, and that seemed to throw Dean. Allie knew what it really meant, though. Things were about to get really bad, really fast.

  “Dean, you should go—”

  “Like hell.” He was facing her again, desperation and determination warring in his eyes.

  “Dean, please—”

  “The only way I’m walking out that door is if you’re with me. I’m not leaving you here, with him, ever again.”

  “He’s dangerous, Dean.” Allie kept her voice down but it didn’t matter. Her father had left the room. Here was their chance. Dean could still get out.

  “You asked me to leave it alone before and I did. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I won’t do that again. Whatever happens from here on out, we’re in this together, Allie.”

  “Dean, please—”

  “Dean.” Her father was back, and holy crap . . . “You’re still here? You really should have listened to my daughter.” He had a gun.

  Dean’s eyes latched onto the weapon hanging loosely from her father’s hand and he stepped in front of Allie.

  “Mr. Porter, there’s no reason—”

  “No reason? I think there are plenty of reasons. First, I have this useless piece of crap for a daughter.” He flicked the gun in Allie’s direction and Dean’s shoulders stiffened, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “Second, I got this punk-ass kid standing here in my house trying to tell me what to do. And third. Third . . .” He seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a moment and Allie was reminded just how drunk he actually was. Maybe they did still stand a chance. “Third, I have this here gun.” His grip firmed as his finger slipped around the trigger and all hope faded. “So, I think I have plenty of reasons to do exactly as I damn well please.”

  “Just let her go.” Dean was pleading with her father, but Allie knew it was pointless. “Just let her walk out the door and I swear to you no one will ever say a word about any of this.”

  “There you go, trying to tell me what to do again. Remind me, Dean, who has the gun? Allie, perhaps you know? Get your ass over here.”

  “Don’t.” Dean’s hand wrapped around her wrist as he begged her to stay where she was. Behind him.

  Her father’s trigger finger twitched and there was no question. Allie pulled away from Dean and went to her father’s sid
e as directed.

  “Very good. Now, let’s see if Dean can be trained as well as you.” He shifted his aim to Allie as his eyes connected with Dean’s. “You’re not going to move a fucking muscle. Not unless you want to watch me put a bullet in her brain.”

  Dean’s hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched. Besides that and the rapid panting of his chest, he didn’t move. Her father’s smile looked more like a snarl, but Allie only caught a quick glimpse of it before his fist connected with her stomach, doubling her over.

  “Stop!” Dean was still standing perfectly still, but his eyes were wild.

  Allie’s back was struck in the same spot it had been weeks ago, and just like then, she cried out. Blows rained down, one after another, relentlessly, until she lost count and her body started to go numb absorbing them. The floor came up to meet her and she just lay there, struggling to breathe through the pain.

  “Please. Please, stop. I’ll do anything. Whatever you want. Please, just stop. She’s your daughter, for God’s sakes. Leave her alone!”

  Somewhere between bracing for the next hit and actually weathering them, she’d missed it. She’d missed the moment when the anger and rage had drained from his face, washed away by the heartbreaking pain shining in his tear rimmed eyes. Dean—her strong, brave Dean—arms framing his face, bent at the elbows, and hands gripped firmly in the hair at the back of his head, was standing there, begging for her life. Tears streamed down Allie’s cheeks, but not from the pain. They were for Dean. For everything she’d tried so hard to protect him from. And failed.

  “Stop? I’m just getting started.”

  A kick connected with her side, sending a shooting pain up her ribcage to her chest. She gasped, startled by the intense agony. Then, gasped again. There wasn’t enough oxygen. Her breaths came faster and shallower. It felt like drowning on dry land.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Dean

  “Allie?” She was lying on the floor, bruised and bleeding. Tears seeped from her wide eyes. Her chest spasmed as she tried to take in air. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. “No! Allie!”

  He couldn’t think. Could barely see past the sight of her lying there, fighting for her life. The son of a bitch was going to kill her. Beat her to death. Right there in front of him.

  Over his dead body. Her father moved to kick her again, no longer paying any attention to where the gun was aimed. He meant for her death to be more painful than that. But it gave Dean the chance he needed. Lunging across the small room, he intercepted the kick, shoving him away from Allie.

  Dean took a moment to check on her, but her father recovered more quickly than he’d expected. He obviously had a lot of experience operating drunk. He was no small man, either, so when he collided with Dean, it sent him stumbling backward. The gun twitched back in Allie’s direction and Dean lost it. He slammed into her father with all the force of a freight train, pinning the weapon between them.

  Would he die for her? Hell yes!

  Latched together, they wrestled for control of the trigger. Allie’s father was strong and he definitely kept in shape—probably by wailing on his daughter. But he was also drunk, and Dean hadn’t spent the past few years hauling heavy ass wood all over the lumber yard without building up a few muscles of his own.

  They grappled, pushing and shoving as they went. Dean lost sight of Allie when they rounded the sofa, but he could still hear her soft moans and gasps. Goddammit, he needed to get to her. Now. His desperation gave him strength, but it also blinded him. Too much of his attention was on her and not enough on his opponent.

  The kidney shot hurt like bitch, but Dean maintained his grip on the weapon like his life depended on it. Like her life depended on it. Because it did. Slowly, he twisted the barrel of the gun away from himself, until it pointed back at Mr. Porter.

  How easy would it be to just pull the trigger? End all of this bullshit once and for all. It would be self-defense. He could hardly be blamed for it. But, before he could think too seriously about the possibility, the moment passed. His palms had grown sweaty with exertion and the gun was slipping.

  The course grip of the weapon rubbed his skin raw as he struggled to hang on to it.

  “You’re . . . never . . . going to . . . hurt . . . her . . . again!” Images of the beating he’d just witnessed flashed through his mind, fueling his rage. Thoughts of other times she’d been in pain and he hadn’t been there for her. When she’d come to school with a broken arm in eighth grade. The week she’d spent on crutches with a sprained ankle in tenth. All of those unexplained cuts, and bruises, and limps he’d allowed her to brush off for years.

  He’d failed her then. Time and time again, he’d failed her. But, not now. Not this time. He wouldn’t let that bastard lay another hand on her as long as he lived.

  Allie’s father was ruthless. A solid kick to the shin and Dean’s knee threatened to give. He stumbled backward until he came up against the far wall, diving the living room and kitchen. With Dean pinned, her father had the advantage and he damn well knew it.

  Little by little, the gun shifted, a millimeter at a time. Sweat mingled with the torn flesh of Dean’s palms and stung like hellfire. Still, he hung on. He kicked out with both legs, but only found air. His breath was coming quick and shallow, and it was starting to make him light headed. Still, he fought. For himself, for Allie, for Mama, and Amy, and Sarah. Dean fought back with every last ounce of his strength, until all there was left was the twitch of a finger and the blast of a gun.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Allie

  NO!

  The sound of the gun firing tore through Allie like the bullet itself had hit her flesh. It hadn’t.

  Not Dean. Please, not Dean. Allie had never been a big believer in prayer, but she prayed. She prayed, and she begged, and she pleaded as she dragged herself mercilessly across the cold, hard floor.

  Fire ripped up her side and tore through her chest as she grabbed a hold of the area rug and hauled herself forward another foot. The sight of Dean’s motionless body slumped on the floor underneath her father caused sobs to ravage her already battered body.

  “No, no, no, no, no.”

  He couldn’t be dead. Not him. Not Dean. Not the only person who’d ever given a damn about her in her entire godforsaken life. Not the only person she’d ever truly loved. And she did love him. Always had. Even if she’d kept it locked away deep down. A treasured secret even from herself.

  She’d done everything she could to protect him. She lied, and made excuses. She hid the truth for years. And when that wasn’t enough, she’d left. None of it was enough, though. None of it. She tried to make him leave. But he just wouldn’t go. Damn stubborn Dean. He refused to give up on her and this is where it got him.

  “Dean! Dean!” She choked on the breath it took to call to him, but she didn’t care. She’d call his name with her dying breath. “Dean!”

  They’d had their fair share of problems, but they were made for each other. Meant to be together. But, not like this. Not in death. In life. A life that would have been—should have been—perfect. The life they both deserved. All they needed was time . . . more time. The one thing no one ever got more of.

  Raw sounds of anguish tore from her throat as Allie pulled herself, arm over arm, every movement excruciating, toward them. She only vaguely noted her father’s form still lying over him. Dean was on his back, his face turned away from her. She needed to see it. She needed to see his face one more time.

  An inferno raged in her chest, her lungs burning with each insufficient breath. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Whatever happened from that moment on had ceased to matter. Her father would kill her next. He had to. She’d just witnessed him commit murder. Allie wasn’t afraid, though. She almost welcomed it. Wished he’d hurry up and get on with it already, just to end the pain. Living hurt. Dying would be easy.

  Then, he moved. He rolled off of Dean, landing on his back with a dull thud. And A
llie froze.

  Her heart beat wildly as she watched him get to his feet and come toward her. She couldn’t do anything but lie there and try to catch her breath. Tears welled up in her eyes and she choked back a sob. For a moment he just stood there. Towering over her. Looking at her with wide, watery eyes.

  Then, he dropped to his knees and slid a gentle hand over her hair.

  “It’s okay, darlin’. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

  Dean!

  Everything happened so fast after that. Dean hauled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest, while he called 9-1-1. Allie caught a glimpse of her father’s unmoving body still lying on the floor. A deep red stain spread wide across his chest.

  When Dean hung up with the operator, his eyes and hands roamed over her from head to toe.

  “You’re going to be okay now, Allie. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Renewed tears poured down her cheeks. But these were tears of joy. He was here. He was alive. She was in his arms, and a sense of peace—of rightness—engulfed her that she never thought she’d feel again.

  “Don’t cry, baby. You need to save your breath. You hear me?” There were tears streaming down his face, too. “Don’t you dare leave me, Allison Porter.”

  Not a chance. Not a chance she’d leave him. Not now that she had him back. She’d never leave him again. Not ever. But she didn’t tell him all of that. She did as she was told and saved her breath. There was one thing she needed to say, though. Something she meant from the bottom of her soul and for one terrifying moment thought she’d never get the chance to tell him.

  “I love you.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Dean

  ‘Give them room to work. Give them room to work.’

  That’s all anyone would say to him as they sped toward the hospital, lights and sirens blaring the whole way. Dammit. Didn’t they understand she needed him? He needed her? Needed to touch her. Hold her. Give her something to hang on to.