Promise (20 page)

I’m terrified to open my eyes, and I’m still just inside the door. I open my eyes just a slit. My head is exploding, and I look down at the soaking red covering my right hand. I push up and manage to get onto my knees, crawling out the door, screaming, but the only thing that comes out is a croaking sound and a jabbing pain in my throat.

Someone is touching me. I start kicking, pushing myself away when another set of hands is on my back, then under my arms, and before I can stop him, I’m upright.

I’m all flailing arms and kicks and anger that just won’t stop. Why doesn’t it ever stop?

“Hey,
you’re okay
! Promise!
Stop
!” It’s Beckett.

Sobbing. I’m liquid again.

The sound of Beckett’s voice hits me like a drenching bucket of cold water. The pain in every part of my body lights up, and I hold up my hands to him. Blood is coursing down my wrist, and I look for the blue-green glow.

I need his eyes. The eyes that made me feel safe. I need to feel safe.

Finally, I focus. I see them. They are narrow. He’s bending down, so his nose is right in front of mine. I feel the warmth of his breath, so clean and fresh, and I throw my arms around his shoulders, holding my hands high, trying not to get the red mess all over his light colored denim shirt.

“
Shhhhh
, you’re okay. It’s okay.” He’s wiping his fingers gently over my cheeks. His shirt isn’t snapped. It’s freezing outside, and it’s blowing wide open while I’m shivering and can’t stop crying.

My legs are useless, and just as gravity starts to take over, I’m against him, scooped up like a child, and we’re in the middle of the street. I can see his head flying back and forth, looking in every direction at once as if to say, “Stay the fuck away.”

I glance over his shoulder and see blue-blanket in a heap at the bottom of the steps. There is a deep burgundy pool of blood growing in a slow circle under his head. Then, I see movement inside the door as the linebacker groans and sits up, staring straight at me.

“
He’s getting up
—” My voice is a shaking whisper, and I tighten myself into Beckett.

He turns to granite under my arms. I hear a primal growl come from his chest, and he spins on his heel. I swear his chest and shoulders grow a few inches broader. He steps back toward the open door, and I attach myself to him like a barnacle.

“You better stay down, motherfucker,” he yells. “When we’re gone, you better be gone, because I’m fucking coming back, and I will fucking end you. I will
end
you.” Beckett takes three, long strides straight back toward the door, holding me like I’m weightless. I feel the fury coming out of him, and I press my face harder into his neck until it feels like my nose is going to break.

I know this is Beckett. It looks like him. It smells like him.

But, it’s someone else. Someone I should fear.

The smiling, joking, gorgeous man that I kissed yesterday is not this man.

This man is removed from law and rules.

I think he may have killed blue blanket with his bare hands, and I don’t know if I should be relieved or afraid.

Beckett

Get her in the bath. Get the filth off of her.

That’s the only thing I can think as I kick open the door to the loft and carry her into the bathroom setting her feet down to stand next to the enormous clawfoot tub. With the industrial-sized water heater in the next room, I’ve got the tub half-full of steaming water in a matter of minutes. I crouch down to smooth her hair from her face and pick out the pieces of garbage and glass.

“Okay? You’re okay. Let’s get you cleaned up, babe.”

The look of terror in her eyes makes me set to kill. I twisted that fucks head half off his neck before I slammed him into the corner of the concrete steps. I don’t know if he’s fucking dead or not.

Motherfuckers picked the wrong fucking day and the wrong fucking girl to mess with.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice comes out in a broken croak as she holds her hands up, the blood darker and drying down her wrists but still weeping fresh and bright from a deep gash in her palm.

“What are you sorry for? Don’t be sorry. Don’t . . .” I have to take in a breath deeper than my lungs can fill because suddenly my eyes are burning and my voice cracks.

There is only so much even a fuck like me can take. The sharp scent of the fire still hangs in the air. I almost forgot she was supposed to come today. So fucking caught up in my own pain and grief, I never did answer her text yesterday.

This girl you’ve waited for. This girl that you know was meant to be yours. This girl that fucking needed you today to tell her not to come. Now look what happened.

Everyone I care about gets fucked.

When I pulled up to the loft, I’d just wanted to see how bad it was. Turns out the fire wasn’t that bad from what Louis told me. I wanted to check and see if I could still live here. As soon as I’d gotten to the street-side door of the building, I'd heard it—that scream—and I remembered.

She said she would be back today. To read. Because I asked her to come.

Couldn't I take two fucking minutes to text her back last night? Tell her not to come, and I’d explain later? What a fucking, selfish, piece of shit I am.

My hands are slowly working her orange peacoat gingerly off her shoulders. Then I start on the soft, yellow, button-down shirt. All the buttons are popped off, the front pocket torn and hanging in a triangle smeared with burgundy. I can see a flash of panic in her eyes, but I have to get her in the bath. I have to get them off of her.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m going to take care of you; that’s all. Trust me. I’ll never do anything to hurt you.”

Silent tears are flowing down her cheeks, making streaks in the grime that covers her face. My heart is in a million pieces, and there is no way I can ever let her go again.

“Sit. I’ll be right back.” I guide her to the chair next to the tub, but her hands dart out, and her fingers dig into my forearms. There are no towels in here. I need to get a washcloth so I can get her cleaned up and wrap her up when we’re done.

“Don’t leave.” Her raspy voice tears at the shattered pieces of my heart, scattering them at my feet. “Don’t go.”

“Hey, I’m never going to leave you. You hear me? I’m
never
leaving you.” And I mean it.

I take her hand and gently pull her next to me, taking the ten steps out of the bathroom door to the makeshift closet I set up on a stack of shelves.

Towels in hand, we walk in step back into the now billowing steam of the bathroom.

“See? I’m not leaving. But, I want you in this tub. I won’t do anything, but I’m going to get your clothes off. Okay?”

Her shocked eyes meet mine, and the smallest of nods tells me what I need to know.

With the shear strength of my own will I want to undo what has been done. My hands are shaking as I smooth her hair and think about what could have happened.

“I should have run. I slipped and hit my head, and he was just right there . . .”

I hear the terror in her voice. I want to tell her to just try to forget about it, but she needs to tell me. As much as it hurts, I let her go as my hands work slowly to the collar of her shirt, and I take a deep damn breath and remember why we’re here.

“I thought he was going to help me up. I mean, when someone falls, you help them, right?” There’s a little girl in her voice, I hear her, and it’s wreaking havoc on the part of me that wants to destroy anyone that made her feel like this.

“Right. But there are bad people out there. They’re everywhere. From now on, I want you to do something for me, okay?”

I wait until I’ve got her eyes on mine before I drop her shirt from her shoulders, and I hate the part of me that wants to look at her.

“What?” Her eyes are attached to mine, and we’re both trying to pretend she’s not about to be naked.

“You text me every day. I want to know when you go to work, when you leave, when you get home, and when you go out with your friends. And, you said you have another job? I want to know about that, where is that? Another nursing home? You work a night shift?”

I lay my hands on her shoulders, slowly turning her around, and I see the deep purple bruises already forming on her back where they dragged her. I think I might throw up.

Stay the course, man. Don’t leave her.

“Really, I’m fine. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to worry about me. Really.”

My fingers work the clasp on her bra, and as hard as I’m trying, my dick is thickening and filling my pants, making me shake my head, and I try to think about something else.

Which is impossible.

Every part of her is stunning. My eyes drop from her shoulders. Women are amazing, but Promise is somewhere between dangerous and miraculous.

I absorb the way her body curves down from her shoulders, the indent of her spine, the sway of her lower back. I work the bra off her, barely able to form a clear thought.

“Just do it, please?” I manage to say. “For a week. Okay? That’s the deal; you text me every time you go somewhere and get somewhere for a week. I mean, it’s been a hell of a couple days with—”

I catch myself. She doesn’t know about Dad.

Fuck.

“You want me to turn around while you get in?” I ask as I fight away the thoughts of my dad and the promise I made to her to tell him I loved him.

She has her arms wrapped around her chest, and as much as the screaming in my head is telling me to rip her jeans off her hips, I’m still in control, if ever so slightly.

“Yes.” It’s a whisper, but I turn around.

I hear the soft sound of the fabric as she takes off her jeans.

The bath is topped with mountains of bubbles thanks to a generous squirt of shampoo I’d added to help her feel a bit more secure.

I listen until I hear the movement of the water as she steps inside.

She may not be in my line of vision, but I see every curve in my mind. Every soft place where my hands and my lips are going to be someday.

“You in?”

“Yep.” Her voice has a hint of high notes again, and I feel like I haven’t taken a full breath in forever.

“Great. Good?” I ask watching her settle in and wince as the hot water hits her hands where there are small and large cuts. “I’ll bandage that when you’re done. Try to let it soak for a minute if you can stand it.”

“A week. I’ll do it but just for a week.” She raises her eyes when she gives me that gift, and I wonder if she knows the depth of what I feel for her.

I will not run out of time again. Not with her.

I heave an invisible sigh of relief when she lays her head back onto the soft towel I’d put on the edge of the tub.

She is a wonder to me. Every time I look at her, I see something new, something amazing.

Every word she speaks, I hear her. I hear something that comes from deep inside. Not just the words, but the person. The pain and the sorrow. I’m going to take it from her, and my life’s mission will be to see her smile and hear her laugh.

Everyday. From now on.

I draw in a new breath, louder than intended, and let it right back out as her eyes look up to see the stress in my face.

“Are
you
okay? I’m fine, honestly. You can relax now.” She gives me one of her smiles, and as much as I want to give one back, I have to tell her.

I sink the washcloth under the water and bring it up to gently cover where the tops of her shoulders are peeking out from the white bubbles. Her skin is pink from the heat of the water and almost as white as the suds where it hasn’t touched her yet.

“Dad’s gone.” I can’t think of a way to ease into it, and I feel like I'm deceitful if I don’t tell her.

“Where? Did he fall?” The alarm in her voice makes me shudder. I feel like I no longer know the English language. There are no words I think to use that won’t sting.

“He’s gone. Last night, there was a CO2 leak. He died in his sleep while I took you home. There was a small fire in the kitchen, too. They think he must have turned on the stove for some reason. They’re still trying to figure it all out.”

The most horrific sound comes from somewhere inside her. She’s gasping for air then immerses her face into the water and screams. I’ve never heard anything like it before, and I never want to again.

She may have cared for Dad for only a few months, but a bond formed in their subtle back and forth. They understood what it was like to be so broken and still breathing.

After what feels like a lifetime, I drag her shaking body from the cooling water. I hate myself for being relieved that I can focus on her.

I hate that I revel in the beauty of her body when she doesn't cover herself, instead waiting for me to wrap the towel around her. I fight off the crazed, possessive part of me that only wants to take her. To lay her down and sink into her and growl at her that she belongs to me.

I hate that her pain distracts me from mine.

I hate that she tried to fix the brokenness between my father and me, and I couldn’t do it. I ran out of time.

There never seems to be enough time.

And that’s what I hate the most.

“I’m going to take the towel off, okay? I’ve got a robe for you to put on.” I want her to know what’s coming, to know how deep the river of my care for her runs. I don’t rush, every movement is slow, my eyes pinned to her face, looking for clues that she’s with me. That she isn’t scared. That I’m not pushing her too far.