One Lucky Hero (12 page)

“I will try talking to my husband tonight.”

Violet wasn't sure if she really would, but she could only listen and advise. She couldn't make people do what they weren't ready for.

“I think that is a great first step.”

“Thank you for listening. It helped,” the caller said.

Guilt shot through her. “You're welcome, and take care, okay? All right, bye.”

Violet disconnected the call and groaned. Slowly she climbed to her feet and went to grab her time card.

“Are you working Friday, Violet?” Sean Lambert asked.

Sean was a funny guy who had started at Here to Listen as part of a community service gig and been hired after his hours were up. Now he was a liberal arts major working on his doctorate to become a college professor in English lit.

“Yeah, I think so. All depends on how much my sister has packed. She leaves at the end of the month for Oregon State.”

“Well, maybe if you don't have to help your sister, we could go for coffee or dinner . . . a movie . . . ?”

Violet stared at Sean. They had been bumping into each other for months, and she'd never gotten that vibe from him. Never experienced the desire for more than just a casual hi and bye. And even if she could afford to date someone right now, it wouldn't be Sean. Not after learning exactly what explosive passion felt like. She couldn't go back to settling for a pleasant time with someone who was just there to stave off the loneliness.

“I'm sorry, Sean. I'm actually seeing someone,” she lied.

“Oh, well, can't blame a guy for trying.” He gave her a hesitant, awkward smile before escaping back to his cubicle.

Violet left the building with a heavy sigh, cursing Dean Sparks for basically ruining her. Before, she would have been completely satisfied to settle for a date with Sean, just to get out of the freaking house for a few hours. Now, it was as if every other man's flaws and shortcomings had been magnified. Sean was nice and funny, but he talked a lot and about boring things, like weird facts and historical references that were too random to be interesting.

Instead, she'd rather sit at home and fantasize about a man who wanted a relationship less than she did and was now completely taboo. There was no way she could hook up with Dean while Casey was at Alpha Dog or even after. If her brother wasn't pissed off now, he would be if Dean started coming around. It was completely off the table.

An hour later, Violet stumbled up the steps to the house with her hands full of groceries, still thinking about Dean. She had been trying to protect the both of them, but she should have just called to let him know that an FWB thing was out of the question.

Do you really think he cares? He probably has girls lined up to be his booty buddy.

That thought was terribly unpleasant, to say the least.

Violet, already irritated by her train of thought, hollered for her sister. “Dais! Can you help me put away the groceries?”

No answer besides rock music thumping through the ceiling. “Figures.”

It was a little after four in the afternoon, and Violet glanced around the kitchen at the dirty dishes still in the sink with disgust. All summer long Daisy had slept the mornings away, hardly lifting a finger to help with the cleaning. At night, she was either working at Safeway or out with her friends, but Violet was done letting her get away with being lazy. Violet hadn't wanted to be an annoying nag for the remainder of time Daisy was home, but apparently, that was the only thing her sister responded to.

Dropping the groceries in the kitchen, Violet pushed the play button on the answering machine. She kept the house phone for emergencies and people she didn't want to have her cell phone number.

“Hello, Miss Douglas, this is Mrs. Paulsen with Child Protective Services. I stopped by today to do a home visit and speak to you about Casey, but it looks like you were out. Please call me as soon as you get in so that we can connect before Casey's release. My number is 916-555-9087. Thank you.”

Perfect. This was just what they needed; after years of having CPS ignore them, they were right back under their microscope.

Violet started putting the cold and frozen stuff away first, grumbling at the way her day had gone, when a loud bang upstairs startled her, and she jumped a foot in the air.

“Daisy, you okay?”

No answer, and the music had stopped.

Worry shot through her like a bullet, and she headed for the stairs. Climbing them swiftly, she reached Daisy's room and turned the knob, but it was locked. “Daisy?”

“What?” Daisy answered, her voice muffled.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Working out,” Daisy said, giggling.

Violet heard a deep chuckle join hers and closed her eyes, counting to ten. Her sister was seventeen, almost eighteen, and she was already aware of how Violet felt about her boyfriend, Quinton Harris. The guy was a druggie loser, but Daisy had spent the last six months trying to convince Violet that she was wrong about him. That he was a good guy. Violet thought her sister was blind, but too much arguing just seemed to drive her sister closer to him.

Still, she did enjoy making the worm squirm. A twenty-two-year-old guy should know better than to mess around with a seventeen-year-old.

“Well, tell your
exercise partner
he's got two minutes to get his ass out of this house or I'm calling the cops, and if you want me to rent that U-Haul for your stuff, you better finish doing the dishes like you promised.”

Muffled cursing and scrambling came through the door, warming Violet's heart.

“Douche bag,” Violet said, loud enough for him to hear.

“Bitch.”

Violet heard Daisy snap at him to not call her sister a bitch, and she grinned.

And then she heard the distinct sound of a slap, and her sister cried out.

Violet ran to Casey's door, planning on using the adjoining bathroom to get in, but it was locked, too.

Violet yelled at the top of her lungs, “If you hit my sister again, motherfucker, you're dead.”

“I didn't hit her, did I, baby? Why don't you just mind your business?”

“I'm fine, Vi. He didn't hit me.”

“One minute.” Violet took the stairs two at a time and ran to her parents' old room, now hers. Punching in the combination to her safe, she pulled out the extra door key for the bedrooms and her gun. It wasn't loaded, but it sure would make that little prick piss his pants.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she yelled, “I'm coming in, Dais.”

“Shit,” Quinton said.

Violet turned the key in the lock and threw the door open. Quinton was already halfway through the two-story window in a T-shirt and boxers, his pants in his hand.

Violet pulled out her cell phone and pretended to dial. As she held the phone up to her ear, she raised the gun. “Hello, some guy broke into my house and attacked my sister . . . ”

“Violet, no!” Daisy yelled as Quinton disappeared, probably to scale down the side of the house. Violet went to the window and watched him fall the last few feet to the ground and hollered, “Yeah, you better run, punk!”

Violet shut the window and slipped her phone into her pocket. Setting the gun down on the bench seat under Daisy's window, she sat on her sister's bed. Violet held a hand out and traced the obvious red imprint across her sister's left cheek. Her sister wiped at her wet, green-gold eyes, wincing when Violet touched the slap mark.

“I should have loaded the gun and pulled the trigger.”

“Shut up,” Daisy whimpered. “It was an accident.”

Violet dropped her hand as it clenched in frustration. Daisy wasn't stupid, so why was she saying something so ignorant?

Probably the same reason Mom always made excuses for Dad. Love.

Which only proved to Violet that she had been smart to keep men at a distance. If love made you blind and complacent, she would pass.

“Someone tripping over your big feet is an accident; someone hitting you because they don't like what you said is assault.”

“Why can't you just stay out of it, Vi? I'm almost eighteen and leaving for Oregon in a few weeks. How are you going to control who I see when I'm a state away?”

Violet rubbed her hands over her face and groaned. “If I wanted to control you, I would have locked you up in a convent the minute you brought that piece of garbage home. In fact, I think I've been pretty understanding about your feelings for Quinton, but no more.” Violet pulled out her phone and took a picture of her sister before she could turn away. She held it up for her to see. “No one who loves you would do this to you. And if I catch him anywhere near this house again, I
will
call the cops.”

“Fuck you! You are not my mother!” Daisy cried.

Violet swallowed down the lump of pain in her throat and stood up. “I know I'm not Mom, but I love you, Daisy. Love is about making sacrifices and putting other people's needs before your own. You aren't thinking straight when it comes to that mother—”

“I didn't ask you to give up your life for me!”

“You didn't have to, that's the point. No matter what you say or what you do, I'm always going to love you. Can you say the same about Quinton?”

Daisy lay down with a sob, and Violet sat once more, gathering her in her arms. Violet waited for her sister to push her away, but she didn't. Daisy clung to her, shaking with the force of her tears as Violet stroked her chestnut hair and rocked her. Speaking from memory, she recited the words of her mother's favorite book,
Love You Forever
by Robert Munsch.

“I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always . . . ” As her sister started to quiet, Violet closed her eyes.

As she spoke, she remembered the softness of her mother's voice when she read the story, and her chest felt like someone was standing on it. She had loved and adored her mother, even when she'd have one of her dark days. When her mother would lock herself in her room, Violet would take care of Daisy and Casey. And after her suicide, Violet had continued to do that, but looking at where they were now, Violet knew she'd screwed up. Her brother was in constant trouble, and her sister was in love with a dirtbag.

After raising her brother and sister, it was hard for Violet to imagine having kids of her own. Not that she didn't love kids and think about having them eventually, but what if she screwed them up, too? What if she chose a loser like her mother and sister had?

Or worse yet, what if as time went on, she turned out like her mother?

There were already so many similarities. Violet cried at everything and internalized every hurt she'd ever received, stacking them up inside like Jenga pieces. She was afraid that someday the pieces would become too high and tumble down. That eventually, all the hurts and unhappy memories would just be too much for her.

Like her mother—who at thirty-five had taken her own life, leaving her children alone with her drug-addict husband and no other family to speak of. It was why Violet never forgot that she had other people depending on her, why she kept busy.

Because she couldn't be alone with her thoughts, memories, and fears. She didn't think she could handle going through the stress and pain of having her own children, especially if there was a chance that she might not be strong enough to endure all the ups and downs. She had four more years, and then Casey would be going off to college and living his own life.

Then the only person she'd need to worry about was herself.

But sometimes, she thought about what her life would be like if her mother hadn't killed herself. If she had finally left Violet's dad and started over. If Violet had been free to have a normal childhood, to fall in love . . .

Only fantasy didn't do anyone any good. Fantasy was just another word for disappointment.

Two weeks later

D
EAN HAD MANAGED
to avoid Violet every time she'd visited Casey, but it didn't mean he wasn't aware of her. Glancing at the clock, he knew there were just sixteen more hours until her arrival. The woman was like clockwork, coming the same time every day, sometimes with another young woman he assumed was her sister, but mostly alone.

Dean had gone through Casey's file, and it was no wonder the kid was pissed off. His mom, Elaine, had committed suicide when he was still a toddler, and his father, Jack, had taken off on them three years ago. The only constant he seemed to have were his sisters.

It had been surprising to learn that Violet was his legal guardian, but with everything he knew about her, it made sense. She was essentially a single mom, keeping everyone at bay while trying to raise two kids when she was basically still a kid herself.

After reading the file, Dean had decided it was better to keep his distance from her. As much as he was drawn to her, she hadn't been lying when she'd said she had a lot going on.

Except now, he was worried about Casey. The kid seemed to be adjusting to the program well. He followed directions and had settled in fine with his bunkmates, but if any of the instructors tried to draw him out of his shell, he closed himself off. He definitely had something against men, though considering what Dean had read about his dad, who could blame him? However, Dean suspected that Casey was dealing with something more. His mood swings and violent reactions to being touched were more than just teenaged angst.

Whatever had happened to the kid, Dean knew that it was bad. Casey probably needed to see a professional, but considering Dean's aversion to shrinks, he wasn't exactly the best advocate.

Which meant he would have to contact Violet and come up with a plan to help Casey. He could keep things professional. Treat her just like any other parent.

Except when you talk to any other parent, you can't actually picture them naked.

A knock on his office door pulled him from his thoughts, and he barked, “Come in.”

Liam opened the door and stepped inside. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

“No problem, Liam, I was just doing paperwork. I appreciate any excuse to avoid it, so have a seat.” Dean waved to the chair in front of his desk and sat back. “What's on your mind?”

“It's about Casey,” Liam said, looking uncomfortable.

“What about him?”

Liam hesitated, and Dean sat forward. “Liam, if he's done something, I need to know—”

“He hasn't done anything wrong, sir, but . . . He has night terrors. Violent ones. In one of the foster homes I lived in, the kid I shared a room with had them, too. I think someone hurt him, Sergeant Sparks, or is still hurting him. I just . . . You've helped me a lot, and Casey's a good kid, so I was hoping maybe . . . Maybe you could help him, too?”

After four months of working with teenagers, Dean had learned that it was hard for most of them to ask for help.

“Just to be clear, you think someone is hitting him?” Abuse would make sense, but who? Violet? Dean couldn't picture it, not with the way she protected the kid.

Maybe one of her boyfriends?

He hated to admit that the thought of Violet tangled up with another man made him want to smash something.

“Or worse, sir. Some of the things he said . . . I get the feeling it might be worse than that.”

Dean's blood ran cold at the horrors that flashed through his mind.
Something worse.

Casey was small, easy to overpower . . .

“Thanks, Liam.” His voice sounded like a guttural growl, and he cleared his throat. “You're a good friend.”

Liam stood, his expression worried. “Can you not tell Casey I told you anything? I don't want to break his trust.”

Such a good kid. Hopefully when he gets out of here, he'll be able to catch a break.
“I won't say anything. Besides, it's not as if he actually said anything to you, so he doesn't need to know that you told me about the nightmares.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As Liam left his office, Dean pulled Casey's file for Violet's number. It would be easier to talk to her over the phone, where he couldn't see her face. Especially since he already knew that if she cried, he wouldn't be able to resist comforting her.

He got her voicemail and went for a completely professional message. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea and think this was a personal call. “Hello, this is Sergeant Dean Sparks. I need to speak to you about Casey.”

Dean left his office number and hung up. He should give her a chance to call back, but if Casey was suffering, it was important to get him help sooner than later.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw it was after six. He could swing by the Douglas home and sit down with Violet. Casey was going to be in his care for another four weeks. He couldn't be afraid to deal with Violet.

He was a grown man, after all. He could control himself.

N
O MATTER HOW
many times he told himself he didn't want to see her, it didn't stop his heart from pounding as he pulled into the Douglas's driveway fifteen minutes later. The two-story house was dark brown and looked like it needed a new roof at the very least. The yard was overgrown, and as he neared the front porch, he noticed a few of the boards appeared a little iffy on their load-bearing abilities. It actually looked like something the neighborhood kids would call haunted, but he knocked on the door anyway.

A young woman answered the door in a tank top and shorts, flashing him a flirtatious smile.

“Whew, happy birthday to me. Whatever you're selling, put me down for two.”

Dean remembered his younger sisters' friends practicing their wiles on him and knew how to deflect feminine interest. “I'm Sergeant Dean Sparks. I work at Alpha Dog Training Program. I need to speak to Violet Douglas about Casey.”

“How about you show me some ID, hot stuff. How do I know you're not one of those sexy home invaders putting on an elaborate ruse to get inside and cut us into little bits?”

First Violet with her serial killer obsession and now her sister.

Dean pulled out his ID and handed it over. She looked it over, her forehead wrinkling in concentration for far too long. Pretty sure she was fucking with him, he held his hand out. “Do you want to call the program, or can I have that back?”

“It looks legit, but then again, I watch
Supernatural
. You could have made this at Kinko's, for all I know.”

“Look, if you want to get your sister, I'll wait out here—”

“I'm just fucking with you! Violet's in the kitchen. Come on in.” She stepped back to let him pass and held her hand out to him. “I'm Daisy, by the way.”

Dean glanced around the living room and took in the aged wallpaper, the brown shag carpet. Threadbare furniture and an old box television were arranged around the small space, and the walls were filled with pictures in a wide array of frames. It was as if they'd picked up whatever they could find and slipped the pictures in.

Dean crossed the room and studied the pictures, one by one.

“That's my mother holding Casey the day he was born. And that's Violet and me in our Easter dresses when I was six and she was thirteen.”

Dean stared at the picture she indicated. Violet had her arm around her little sister's shoulders, and the two beamed at the camera in puffy dresses covered in flowers and ribbons.

“Violet told me that Mom got the dresses at Goodwill for a couple of bucks. They were two sizes too big for us, but she cut them down and sewed all those flowers and ribbons on to dress them up. Violet always said our mom could make a burlap sack beautiful.”

“Dais, who was at the . . . door.”

Dean turned around at the sound of Violet's voice and stared at her. Her red hair was piled on top of her head, and she had on an apron over a T-shirt and shorts. White flour covered her hands, and it looked like she was holding a ball of dough between them.

She was so beautiful, he almost forgot to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Actually, I needed to speak to you about Casey. I have some concerns.”

“What kind of concerns?” she asked.

Dean glanced toward Daisy. “Can we speak in private?”

“Um, sure.” Nodding in the direction of the kitchen, she left the room with Daisy on her heels. He could hear them whispering, but it was too quiet to understand.

When Violet came back into the room, Dean turned back to the photographs and noticed that only one of them contained a smiling man with deep creases around his eyes. “You don't have many pictures of your father.”

“He was never home,” she said impatiently. “I'm sure you've read Casey's file and know why.”

“Yeah, I did. I can't imagine having to raise my brothers and sisters—”

“I didn't
have
to do anything.”

Dean faced Violet, her crossed arms and blazing eyes, and realized he'd said exactly the wrong thing. Again.

“I fought to keep them with me and was lucky I got the right judge. I love them and would do anything for them.”

“I didn't mean it that way, Violet. I was trying to give you a compliment. What you're doing is admirable. Not everyone would step up.”

“Obviously, or we wouldn't have so many kids in foster care.” With a heavy sigh, she uncrossed her arms and spoke calmly. “Look, do you actually have something to tell me about my brother?”

Her attitude rubbed his patience raw. Why was she being so rude to him when he was just trying to help her brother?

“I have reason to believe that your brother is being abused,” he said bluntly.

Violet sucked in her breath sharply. “Why do you think that? Did he say something?”

“Did you know Casey suffered from night terrors?” he asked, ignoring her questions.

“He has nightmares sometimes, yeah, but we haven't exactly had it easy.”

“I understand that, but one of his bunkmates came to me because Casey said some disturbing things during these nightmares, and it has me concerned.”

“A kid told you all this?” Violet said.

“A young man I trust. It's enough to make me think Casey should talk to someone.”

Violet sank into one of the worn chairs, her face leached of color. “Oh, God.” She covered her mouth, and Dean saw her eyes well up. “I did this. This is my fault.”

Before he realized what he was doing, he was on his knees in front of her. “Violet, this isn't your fault. I am not even sure I'm right—”

“He's changed. Just this last year, he hasn't been the same. He was always so happy, even after . . . ” She seemed to catch herself and wiped at her eyes. “I'll look into finding someone.”

“In the meantime, we have counselors at the program. I'd like to set him up with Dr. Linda Stabler. She's really good, at least from what I'm told.”

Violet nodded her head, and Dean took her hands in his. “I have to ask. Do you know who could have been abusing your brother?”

“No. No, I have no idea,” she said.

Dean hated asking, afraid that she would take it the wrong way, but he couldn't help himself. “What about a boyfriend?”

Violet's head jerked up. “I don't bring men around Casey and Daisy.”

“What about your sister?” Dean didn't want to analyze the relief her admission brought him. He didn't think Violet could've handled it if she found out someone she brought around had hurt her brother.

Violet tensed up, and Dean could tell she was considering the possibility that someone her sister knew could have hurt her brother.

Violet pulled her hands from his and wiped at her cheek. “I appreciate you coming by, Sergeant Sparks, but I can take it from here.”

V
IOLET
'
S MIND RACED
as she thought back over all the times that she'd been at work and it had been just Casey and Daisy at home. Had Daisy ever left Casey at home with Quinton?

Quinton was an abusive bastard, but the thought that he might take advantage of a kid half his size turned her stomach.

Still, she wasn't going to question her sister with Dean in the house. For a brief moment, she'd wanted to sink into the comfort he offered, to lay her head on his chest and let him wrap his arms around her. To let his strength hold her up for a little while. But he was still a stranger, and she already had enough people up in her business.

“Violet, I'd like to help you,” he said earnestly.

“I don't need any help. We're doing fine.”

“From the looks of this house, it seems like you could use some,” he said.

Violet stood up angrily and placed her hands on her hips. “We have a roof over our heads, food in the cupboards, and the lights are still on. We're
fine
.”

“I'm not saying you aren't fine, Violet. What are you, twenty-five?”

“I'm twenty-four,” she said.

“And you've been taking care of your siblings for how long?”

“Long enough to know this works. Look, Daisy is heading off to college in a few weeks, and I have a semester left before I have my degree. After that, I'll be able to get a better-paying job and get Casey out of here.” Violet held her tears at bay, refusing to break down again. “We don't need you getting involved. I'll talk to Daisy and Casey, and we will handle this together.”

Dean stood still as a statue, saying nothing. The only part of his body that showed any life were his eyes. Emotions swirled through the dark depths—possibly frustration and definitely pity.

Twisting her hands in front of her, she fought the urge to scream at him. God, she didn't want his pity. She just wanted him out of her house so she could sort through her shit without an audience.