“Danny, are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine,” he shouted.
He didn’t want Calvin following him. Trying to “brother” him, fix him. If the psychiatrists after juvie hadn’t been able to help him, he doubted Cal could, no matter how well-meaning. He was damaged goods. He just didn’t need everyone finding out.
He raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he got to his bedroom he closed and locked the door, then leaned heavily against it. His heart was still racing and his chest felt tight, his breathing strained.
He’d been managing. It had been months since the last attack and that one had been so minor he’d been able to hide it from his brothers. Before that, it had been even longer, but living alone above Jesse’s garage had helped. Small, quiet, the bars on the windows and the heavy armed door a necessity in East L.A., it had protected him, provided him with a cocoon of security. He’d been able to sleep there, for the first time in as long as he could remember. Even here, in Mom’s house with the sound of her voice occasionally soothing in his ear, he didn’t sleep until he was so tired his body shut down. And now—
His knees went out from under him and he slid down the door until his ass hit the floor. His first instinct was to bury his face in his hands, but they were a bloody mess. He’d have to do something about it, he thought dimly, letting his head fall back against the hardwood. But—later.
He ignored Cal’s call for dinner, ignored the rap on his door until Devon spoke in an irritated voice.
“Daniel,” he said sharply through the wood, “if you don’t want to eat, that’s fine. But you can’t just ignore Cal.”
“Fine. I don’t want any fucking dinner, all right?” He clenched his hands into fists of frustration. The action made them throb, and he cursed colorfully. There was a pause from the other side of the door.
“Are you all right?” Devon’s concern was obvious. It made Danny furious.
“Christ, how many times do I have to say it? I’m fine. I just don’t feel much like playing ‘happy family’ tonight, all right? I’m tired, and I want to be left alone.” He knew he sounded like a shit, and he couldn’t seem to help himself, which only added to his anger and confusion. He bent at the waist and pressed his forehead into the floor. “Just leave me alone, okay? I’m not fit company for anybody.”
There was a weighted pause. “Okay. You know where we are if you need us.”
“Talk to your brothers, Danny.”
He jerked upright and pushed his back against the door, chills racing over his shoulders as he stared into the darkness. “You aren’t real. You aren’t. You’re dead.”
“Talk to your brothers. They can help you.”
“I don’t have any brothers,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I’m an only child, and you’re dead! Now, leave me the fuck alone!”
“Oh, Danny...”
He couldn’t say why the disappointment in the wisp of a voice made the urge to weep almost unbearable.
Chapter Nine
He shifted restlessly on rumpled sheets, sweat slicking his bare chest. He’d turned the light on next to the antique four poster and tried to read, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate and ultimately weariness won out. The dreams he’d feared slipped through the cracks between sleep and wakefulness, and he whimpered softly.
He woke to weight pressing down on top of him. His first instinct was to push it away, but he found his hands fastened to the headboard with something cold and unyielding, something that rattled and hurt when he yanked. Handcuffs.
“What’s the matter, Princess?”
The voice was next to his ear, the breath fetid where it brushed across his face.
“What? Got nothing to say? Not such a smart mouth now, are you, you little bitch.”
He’d known it would come back to haunt him, the way he’d mouthed off. When the ugly guard leered at him, and he’d said he’d rather fuck a geriatric leper than let him touch him, he’d known. The other guys, his roommates on the ward at the juvenile detention unit, had laughed, and Danny had seen something ugly and dangerous enter the man’s beady eyes. He’d known he’d pay for it.
“Get off of me.” His voice was full of false bravado, even though his heart pounded against his ribcage. He tried to kick, but the man’s legs held his pinned to the bunk.
“Oh, I don’t think so, pretty boy.” A hand twisted in his hair and pulled hard, and tears sprang to his eyes. “I think you’re going to use that fucking smart mouth of yours to suck me off.”
Danny snarled, his teeth bared. “Come near my face with your tiny little diseased prick and I’ll bite it off.”
He was slapped so hard his ears rang and he tasted blood in his mouth.
“Fine. If that’s the way you want it. I’ll show you what that attitude gets little snots like you.” He lifted away, and Danny had a glimpse of a wide, moon-shaped face, bad skin, crooked teeth. His tormentor was flushed, his face slick with oil and sweat.
Danny was grabbed roughly by the hips and flipped onto his stomach, and he fought the entire time, crying out when his wrists twisted at an awkward angle. The guard straddled Danny’s calves, pinning them to the thin mattress. Danny’s boxers were grabbed and yanked down, and the cold breeze that brushed across his exposed ass made him grit his teeth and try to buck the unforgiving weight off. The guard laughed.
“Help!” Danny screamed. “Somebody help me!”
“What, you think someone is going to come rescue you, like you’re a fucking damsel in distress or something? Your little roommates have been relocated for the night, and it’s just you and me, sweet cheeks.”
A calloused hand caressed Danny’s ass, and bile hit the back of his throat.
“And they are sweet.”
He wasn’t prepared for the blow that landed, hard and open-palmed, on his ass. It echoed against the walls and stung like fire, and Danny arched into another scream.
“That’s it,” the harsh voice above him murmured. “I like it when you brats fight.”
Danny felt his cheeks being pried apart, and he tried to buck away but an elbow jammed hard into his spine took his breath. Tears were slipping down his face, and his nose was streaming. A blunt finger with a ragged nail brushed over his hole, and he buried his face in the thin detention-issue pillow to stifle a sob. No one was going to come—no one was going to help. The ugly bastard was going to rape him, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Fear sent a wave of shuddering cold over him, and his stomach lurched.
He lifted his head enough to speak through gritted teeth. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
The man laughed again. “So now it’s please? Well, tough luck, little lady.”
The finger that had been obscenely stroking jammed inside without preparation, and searing pain shot through dry, delicate flesh. Danny screamed and screamed...
He lashed out, fist striking something unforgiving, and a loud crash filled the room. Fighting against a sheet wrapped around his knees, Danny’s eyes shot open, only to find the room pitch-black. Heart pounding, he lurched out of bed but a sharp pain seared through the arch of his right foot and he cried out.
Voices were raised in the hall, and the sound of the doorknob jiggling, but Danny scarcely heard them over the roaring in his ears. He did finally hear someone shout, “Stand back!” and the door to his room crashed open to bounce off the interior wall. Three shadows filled the frame.
“Danny?” It was Cal, and his voice was tight. “Are you all right?”
He couldn’t answer. He honestly wasn’t sure, and his voice stuck in his throat when he tried.
“Where is he?” He thought it was Devon who separated himself and stepped into the room. “Danny, where the hell are you?”
Sudden concern for his brother loosened his voice. “By the bed.” His voice sounded high and hoarse, but at least he’d managed to produce a coherent sentence. He took and released a deep breath. “But I think there’s glass on the floor.”
> Cal spoke softly. “There’s a switch for the overhead light by the door.”
The switch was thrown, and soft amber light filled his room. Danny was momentarily blinded and winced, lifting his hand to shield his eyes.
Cal, Will and Devon were crowded in the doorway, Cal wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, dark hair mussed, Will in a pair of striped boxer shorts and a sleeveless undershirt. Devon looked as if he’d thrown on the worn blue jeans that were still open at the fly and clung precariously to sharp hipbones.
“Are you all right?”
Danny hesitated, then sat heavily on the side of his bed.
“I think I cut my foot.” He looked down, and there was a bloody footprint on the hardwood floor.
Cal saw it too. “Will, could you go and get a broom, please, so we can clean up the glass? We don’t need anyone else getting hurt.”
Devon sought Danny’s eyes. “What happened?”
He swallowed convulsively. His throat felt dry as dust. “Nightmare.”
Devon grunted. Feeling the weight of both brothers’ stares, Danny fidgeted and looked away. He hated that they were seeing him like this, shaken, the lamp in shards from where he must have struck out in his sleep. And the nightmare... A chill raced over the surface of his bare chest and he shivered, suddenly cold clear through. He wrapped his arms around his torso and hunched his shoulders.
Will came back with the broom, and murmured something in Cal’s ear before leaving again. Devon took the broom and methodically cleaned up the glass while Cal sat gingerly on the bed at Danny’s side, careful not to touch him.
“May I see your foot?”
Danny closed his eyes but extended his foot. Cal took it in cool hands, turning it, making a soft, distressed sound.
“There’s a piece of glass in the arch.”
Danny looked down and saw a shard of glass about an inch long sticking out of the bottom of his foot.
Cal’s steady gaze drew his. “May I pull it out?”
Danny hesitated. The idea frightened him and his chest began to tighten down again.
“Let your brother help you.”
Danny shuddered and his hands trembled. Her voice was so clear. Sometimes she sounded right beside him, other times it was as if the words drifted to him on a breeze. Right now, he felt her in the room and yet neither Cal nor Devon seemed to hear her. It made him feel as isolated as the nightmares did. Cal’s eyes were on him, patiently waiting, but he didn’t have an answer for even the simple question.
Devon swept the glass into a dustpan and dumped it in the waste bin by the door, then came to the bed and stood over them. “Does he need stitches?”
“I don’t think so, but I won’t be sure until we get the glass out of there.”
Both of them were looking at him now, waiting.
“Daniel, let your brothers help you.”
“Okay, fine. Fine.” He said it more gruffly than he intended, and instantly felt ashamed of himself. “Sorry. Just...pull it out.”
“It’s all right, Danny.” Cal spoke calmly.
“Yeah, we already know what a charming personality you have.”
Cal’s lips twitched at Devon’s teasing tone. At that moment, Danny didn’t find anything funny.
“There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom across the hall under the sink,” Cal said. Devon left the room without further prompting.
Danny refused to meet Cal’s gaze. Devon came back carrying the kit in one hand and a washcloth in the other.
“Thanks.” Cal wiped the blood dripping down the side of Danny’s foot, and then gripped the end of the shard. He yanked it out quickly and pressed the cloth to the wound. It stung. Danny gasped and reached reflexively toward his foot, his hand curling around his ankle.
Cal held the glass up for Devon to see. “It’s not deep, so no stitches.” He lifted the cloth and studied the injury, then pressed it back again. “Hold that,” he told Danny. “Tight.”
Danny grimaced. He could feel his heartbeat in the wound.
Cal opened the first aid kit, sifting through it. Devon crossed his arms, bracing his feet. The silence around them thickened.
“It was just a nightmare,” Danny blurted when he couldn’t stand it anymore. “No big deal.”
Cal laid a package of gauze and some white medical tape on the bed between them. “Is this the same nightmare you’ve had before?”
Danny’s eyes darted between them, startled. “What do you mean?”
“It isn’t the first time we’ve heard you make noise in the middle of the night,” Devon said. “It’s just the first time it sounded like a bar fight was going on in here.”
“Oh.” Danny refused to meet either of their gazes, shame thickening his throat. “Sorry.”
“Don’t misunderstand.” Cal tore open the gauze. “You haven’t bothered us that much. Except we’ve been concerned.”
Now Danny was irritated. “Oh, so you’ve been talking about me, have you? Well, I don’t need your help, so you can just—”
“Oh, shut up.” Devon reached for the desk chair, turned it and straddled it. Danny clamped his lips together, stung. “Look, you’ve been having nightmares a couple of times a week from what Cal tells me.” Danny shot a dark look at Cal. He seemed unconcerned. “Once I’m asleep, I don’t hear anything. He’s a lighter sleeper. He’s heard you out wandering around on the porch. But tonight, there was no way even I could miss it. So, you want to just knock off the crap and tell us what’s going on?”
“Nice, Devon.” Cal shuffled through the contents of the kit. “Your approach should really encourage confidences. I’m amazed you don’t try to make a living at counseling. You have a great bedside manner.”
Devon gave Cal a flat look. “It’s two-thirty in the morning, and I was sound asleep. Forgive me if the delivery is lacking in subtlety.” He settled his gaze on Danny. “Look, we both know you don’t sleep much. You wander around the house or sit on the porch and smoke. Then when you do try to sleep, you end up having nightmares.” His voice was gruff but his red-rimmed eyes were kind. “I wish you could bring yourself to trust us.”
“Let your brothers help you, Danny. Please.”
It sounded as if there were tears in her voice. Danny bit his lower lip.
“You don’t have to tell us. Not if you don’t want to.” Cal’s voice was soft.
Danny did battle with himself. He never wanted to admit what had happened to him, ever. Just thinking about it made him feel damaged. The shrink he’d been forced to see told him if he didn’t talk about it, he’d never heal, but he didn’t even want to think about it.
Christ, what was he supposed to say to them? That he’d been hungry and had fucked up? That the ache in his belly, and his wide-eyed gullibility, had led to his luck running out? When that shit had happened to him in lockup, all he could think was that he’d been so stupid, so smug, that he’d probably deserved it. If he told them what he’d done, who he’d become to survive, Devon and Calvin would never look at him the same way again, never trust him. And seeing his own self-loathing looking back was more than he could take. He shook his head tightly.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, staring down at his bruised and scratched palms. “I’m fine.”
The silence following his pronouncement was complete. Even the old house, which sang a song of creaking floors and settling walls every night, was quiet.
There was a pause before Cal spoke. “Do you want me to take care of your foot?”
“I can do it.”
“Okay.”
Cal stood, and after an almost painfully long interval during which Danny could feel Devon’s eyes as tangibly as if he’d touched him, he heard him stand and turn the chair before shoving it back under the desk. Danny lifted the washcloth and pretended to study the bottom of his foot, but he wasn’t seeing the wound. He bit his lower lip, desperately wishing they’d go and leave him alone.
He didn’t allow himself a deep breath until they moved to
the door. Devon went out into the hall, but Cal paused, the doorknob in his hand.
“If you change your mind, Danny...” he offered.
“I won’t.” Danny finally looked up to find Cal studying him, his eyes watchful. “I won’t.”
Cal’s long fingers moved on the old crystal knob, rubbing the facets, his eyes steady, and then he left, closing the door behind him.
“Oh, Daniel.”
She sounded so disappointed, but he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear her, not then, not when his insides still felt like gelatin and his muscles hurt from the effort of stopping soul-deep shudders. Ignoring her, he opened the first aid kit and rummaged around inside.
“Danny, they can help.”
He picked up an alcohol swab and tore it open, knowing it would hurt, anticipating the pain. “They can’t,” he muttered, letting the washcloth fall to the hardwood floor. He shook out the small towelette and pressed it to the cut, hissing when the alcohol contacted the torn flesh. He held it there, relishing the distraction the pain provided. He reached for a bandage. “And neither can you, Audrey. So give it a rest.”
He could feel the weight of her disappointment, but he didn’t care.
Chapter Ten
Danny loitered in his bedroom as long as he could the next morning. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed or anything. He was hurting, and he had to move carefully. The first time he stood up, a sharp pain shot from his arch up his leg and he cursed, using every colorful epithet he knew. After that, he figured he needed a shower, because his hands were still grubby and raw. When he was done, the bandage he’d put on his foot was wet and coming loose, so he re-dressed it. He put his clothes on slowly, balancing on one foot.
By the time he made his way laboriously down the stairs, it was nearly ten o’clock. Sam and the crew were probably wondering where he was. Just thinking about Sam filled Danny with a combination of embarrassment and apprehension. He exhaled heavily before pushing through the door into the kitchen.
Cal was standing at the counter gazing through the window over the sink, a cup of coffee in his hand. He glanced over when he heard the door bump into the wall and Danny stopped, afraid of his reaction. But Cal looked at him just the way he did every day, with a calm, accepting expression. “Hey.”
The Growing Season Page 7
