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Chapter Twelve
Lena
Ipulled on the oversized sweatpants and thermal shirt. It felt good to be clean, to get the smell of Troy off me. Jackson had been thoughtful enough to bring a brush up with him when he brought up the shampoo and towels. Standing in front of the mirror, I brushed the tangles out of my wet hair and then carefully applied some makeup to my face. It was no use, though. No amount of makeup would hide the dark bruises. I’d have to wait it out.
I went to the daybed and sat, propping the pillows up behind my head. Bringing my legs up, I extended them out in front of me. It felt amazing to stretch out. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
I had the sense of sleeping, dreaming as I approached a dense, dark pathway that seemed to go on forever. I wandered down the narrow trail, the grass brushing the tips of my fingers as I walked. It was quiet. No one else was around. It seemed too tranquil, a bit too safe. Something was wrong, yet I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until I recognized the deep, rough voice. “You can’t hide.” I jerked my body around toward Troy ... he was alive. I ran that slow, sluggish jog you have during a dream, but my energy seemed too weak, making my attempts at gaining enough speed to escape nearly impossible.
His voice was like a distant echo. “You can run, bitch, but you can’t hide. I’ll find you, and when I do, I’ll kill you.” I tripped over some shrubs. There was a creaking from a distance, moving closer, turning into scratching. I crawled my way through a thicket of thorny bushes as they scratched at my skin. Thorns tore at my clothes and arms; the warmth of blood seeped through my sleeve and trickled down my wrist. Then he grabbed me.
“Troy!” I screamed, shoving at the hands pressed into my shoulders and pushing away from him, curling my body into the corner of the sofa. I held onto my knees, rocking. “He’s dead. He has to be dead. Please tell me he’s dead.”
“Shhh, you were dreaming.” Jackson’s voice sounded soothing, but as he reached for me, I curled further into myself. He stopped, held out his hand. “It’s okay. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you now.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“What, Lena? What don’t I understand? Tell me. I’ll help you. Please trust me. I promise you can trust me.”
I stared at his outstretched hand but didn’t take it. I considered my dream a premonition. If I didn’t kill Troy … “He’ll kill me,” I whispered loud enough for him to hear, but not sure I wanted him to.
Jackson sat down beside me, and I rolled my knees up against my stomach. I hugged my arms around them, not ready to be close to anyone. Would I ever be?
We sat in silence for a moment. His fingers brushed against my arm, and then he moved closer. I couldn’t move. I was afraid to even breathe, and he probably sensed that since he didn’t move either. Then a minute later, his arm moved behind me, and I let him pull me against him. I shivered under his arms as he held me tight. He rocked me, stroking my still-damp hair. Maybe I was still dreaming. If this were real life, would I be letting a strange man hold me?
Then Jackson asked, “Who will kill you?” and I realized his strong arms were real, and I very much wanted them to be safe.
I wanted to tell him what had happened as I sat secure in his embrace, not like Troy—nothing like Troy. I wanted to be able to trust someone. Still, how could I tell him that just that very morning, I’d killed my husband? That I had his blood all over my hands when I ran, that I hadn’t looked back and hadn’t called for help. I left him there bleeding to death, I hoped. Did it make me a bad person that I hoped he was dead? I pushed myself away from Jackson’s strong arms.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting all this on you. You don’t even know me. You must think I’m horrible, the way I walked into your place so early this morning all beat up.” I swiped at the tears on my cheeks and sniffled as I sank back against the pillows.
“Listen, I want to help, but I understand your reluctance to confide in me. Hell, you don’t know me from Adam, so if you don’t feel like talking about it yet, that’s okay. I’m ready to listen whenever you’re ready. Look, are you hungry? I made some eggs and toast and a fresh pot of coffee. I thought maybe you’d like a bite to eat. There’s not much food up here. Later, if you like—when you’re feeling better—you can come down to my place, see if there are any staples you’d be interested in bringing up here. You know, tea, coffee, milk, sugar, cereal. Or if I don’t have what you want or need, I can take you to the store, or better yet, go for you.”
“What cloud did you say you were from?”
He laughed. “See that one over there?” He pointed out the window. “No, not that one,” he said, as my gaze followed his, “the lighter one, over there. The one shaped like Pluto.”
“The dog or the planet?”
“The dog, of course.”
At that, I smiled and found myself relaxing a bit.
“Eat your eggs. You need your strength. I’ll leave you alone for a while to rest. Then you can expect me back to wake you up again. As Doc said, no more than two hours’ sleep at a time. Oh, here are two bags of ice. Keep one on your eye, and alternate the other between your side and your head.”
As he began to get up from the daybed, I realized I didn’t want to be alone. The odds of Troy finding me, if he were alive, were slim, but I was afraid. I really should hate men and never want to be in the company of one again, except this man with his gentle green eyes and his soft voice soothed me. When he’d held me a few minutes ago, I wanted to stay there in his arms. I hadn’t been joking when I asked him which cloud he came from. Because, truly, he must be an angel sent from heaven.
“Wait ... I know you probably have things to do, but please stay with me for a while. I don’t want to be alone.”
“Well, I do have to tend to some business ... but okay, I guess I can stay for a while. A short while. My brother—fully capable though he is—has a hard time holding it together without the knowledge that I’m right in the back room.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Yeah, I’m kidding. Brodie is great. I don’t know what I’d do without him. I like the idea of owning a bar, but I hate having to work in it.”
I sat up a little, took a bite of the eggs, and sipped some coffee. I hadn’t realized I was hungry until then. “Are you going to eat?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer as I scooped up some eggs on the fork and held it in front of his lips. He opened his mouth and took the eggs. Funny, I’d never done that with Troy. Of course, Troy probably would have slapped me and accused me of forcing something on him he didn’t want.
“Thanks, but I should be feeding you. You’re the injured one,” he said.
