Only Between Us (25 page)

I sit up a little straighter.
No. Why?

Dropped her off 2 hrs ago. There was a guy waiting for her at your place. She went with him. Thought you should know.

It takes me a few tries to read it, but then I give up and call Amy. “What do you mean, she went with a guy?” I ask.

Amy sighs. “He was some dark-haired guy on a motorcycle, and Katie got out of my car and went right up to him,” she explains. “Like he’d been waiting for her.”

“And you let her go?”

“What was I supposed to do, Caleb? Tackle her? That’s why I’m letting you know.”

“But you said you dropped her off two hours ago.”

She speaks to someone in the background, Derrick, I assume. “Derrick told me I needed to let you know, so you didn’t come back and find her gone. But also, Caleb, I just checked my purse, and she took all the cash from my wallet.”

I curse. “Did she say who he was? How long she’d be gone?”

“No. She made some comment about how she didn’t think you’d be back tonight, and that was it. I’m sorry, Caleb. I was treating her like an adult, but I know that was probably a mistake.”

“I’ll find her. Thanks for letting me know.” It’s all I can do not to roll down the window and toss the phone onto the road. Goddammit. “Katie’s run off,” I say to Romy after I hang up, my buzz melting away and leaving only a sour uneasiness. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“Of course,” she murmurs.

I call Katie, and it rings and rings. I leave a voicemail asking her to call, and then text her.

And then I sit back and churn. Romy’s hand has disappeared from my thigh—she’s gripping the wheel pretty tightly. “Any ideas?” she asks quietly, like she’s afraid she’s going to set me off.

I shake my head. “She said she’s been making friends in this treatment program she’s been attending, but I thought all of them were women, and Amy said she went off with some guy. She doesn’t have the greatest judgment, Romy. I have no idea where she is.”

My phone buzzes, and I let out a broken noise when I see Katie’s name come up. “Katie?”

“Cabe?” she says in a quavering, barely there voice. “Can you come get me? I-I’m in trouble.”

And then she starts to sob.

Chapter Twenty-three: Romy

I know Catherine has been through hell. I know she works hard to hold herself together, and it must be exhausting. I know she battles chronic mental illness every day, and that takes courage. I know she needs compassion and kindness, and that she’s going to mess up sometimes. That’s part of the deal.

But right now? I’m so pissed off at her that I can barely think. This is Caleb’s moment. His time to shine. He’s had the night of his life, and he stopped in the middle of it to rescue me from the most terrifying moment of mine. He’s fought through so much, and what he deserves is to bask in his triumph.

Instead, I’m driving to the worst part of town to rescue Catherine, and he is quietly panicking in my passenger seat. I want to stop the car and give him whatever he needs, but right now he’s only thinking of his sister. I’ve come to understand this about him, though. He thinks of her first, and he always will. It’s part of why I love him, but I wish he had the space to think of himself.

Maybe that’s my job, though. “What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I’m going to go in there, and I’m going to get her out,” he says, his voice flat.

It sends a trill of fear down my spine. Catherine told him she’d taken Amy’s money to pay for some drugs she’d agreed to sell. A member of her therapy group had been kind enough to hook her up. For some reason, Catherine thought this would be a great way to make money, but she’d lost the drugs and still had to pay the dealer. Unfortunately, she didn’t show up with enough money, and now these people are refusing to let her go unless she provides the cash. That’s why she called her big brother, of course. “Should we call the police?”

“I don’t want to get her in trouble. Can you stop at an ATM?”

“Caleb …”

“What am I supposed to do, Romy? They want two hundred dollars.”

“I could help. I’ve got—”

“No,” he says sharply. “We’re not doing that.”

My mouth snaps shut, and Caleb curses. “I’m sorry, Romy. I—I know you have more money than I do, and I don’t want that to get between us. This isn’t your problem.”

But it is
, I want to say.
Because it involves you.
Instead, I pull up to an ATM and watch Caleb withdraw what is likely most of his money, and then we’re off to a dismal neighborhood at the edge of town. Caleb yanks his tie off and shoves it in his pocket.

“Stay here,” he says as I pull up behind a motorcycle parked at the curb. We’re in front of an old one-story home with a large front porch. Shadows move back and forth in front of one of the windows, backlit by orange light. He looks over at me. “I know I said I didn’t want to call the police, but feel free if it looks like we need the help.”

My eyes sting. “I want to come in—”

“No offense, Romy, but you look like a Christmas present in that dress,” he says roughly. “I need to focus on Katie. I won’t be able to do that if you’re in there with me.” He throws the door open and heads up the walk. My heart skips as he knocks on the door and disappears inside.

I stare at the silhouettes in the window, and I recognize which one is his without even trying. How he moves, how he stands. I clutch my phone in my hand, ready to dial 911 if anybody twitches in the wrong direction. But if I do, will Caleb get in trouble, too?

Another wave of frustration crashes over me—Catherine’s drawn him into this mess, and now he’s stuck. I roll down my windows, straining to hear, but all that comes to me is muted music from one of the other houses on the block.

Then someone screams, a piercing, terrorized sound. It’s Catherine. And I don’t think—I run toward it, because Caleb’s in there, and if she’s screaming … she bursts out the front door, wide eyed, at the same time a guy comes crashing through the front window, landing in a sprawl on the rotting porch. Catherine screams again as she stares at the person. I reach her and drag her off the porch as shouts and thuds roll through the shattered window of the front room.

“Get in the car!” I command, pointing at my backseat. “Where’s Caleb?”

She points a shaking finger to the front room, and I give her a push toward my car. “I’m calling the police!” I shout from the bottom step of the porch, staying down and trying to keep out of sight. I’m hoping they think I’m a disgruntled neighbor. The guy who crashed through the window, who has reddish hair, a pale face, and a gushing nose, crawls toward me, but he doesn’t seem to care that I’m there. He seems to want to get away.

He doesn’t make it far, because a half-second later, two people come toppling out the already-demolished window, landing with a thunderous crash on the red-haired guy. Both of the newcomers are throwing punches.

One of them is Caleb. He rises up, his fist swinging down hard and slamming into the dark-haired guy beneath him. His face is lit by a streetlight. He’s bleeding from a cut on his cheek, and his expression is vacant.

“Catherine’s in the car,” I call out, hoping to snap him out of it.

It works. His head jerks up and his eyes meet mine. Unfortunately, it gives his opponent enough time to kick him in the chest, sending him careening backwards. He hits the porch railing and it buckles with a
crunch
. The dark-haired guy gets to his knees and reaches into his pocket. I don’t waste time finding out what he’s got in there.

“Hey,” I say, drawing his attention to me. “I wasn’t kidding about the police.”

He squints at me, like he’s trying to figure out who in the hell I am, and in that moment Caleb gets to his feet. He grabs the guy’s greasy black hair and smashes his face into the porch railing.

“We need to leave now,” I say.

Caleb staggers toward me and I put my arm around his waist and help him down the stairs. He’s limping and bleeding. “What happened?” I say as I hustle him down the walk. Catherine’s already in the back, the engine’s still running, but those guys on the porch are stirring. I hear them thumping around behind us.

“They weren’t going to let her go unless I gave up my wallet,” he mumbles.

Catherine jumps out of the car and opens the passenger side, and Caleb dives in as I run around and get in the driver’s side. The dark haired guy is coming down the porch steps when I throw the car into gear and swerve onto the street, knocking over his motorcycle as I speed by.

“Are we going home?” Catherine asks after a few blocks, still sounding panicked.

“No,” I say evenly, “we’re going to the hospital.”

“I-I think I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me. I don’t need to—”

“Look at Caleb!” I snap. He’s slumped against the window, smearing blood across the glass.

“Oh.”

I clench my teeth. Caleb’s told me that she doesn’t respond well to being yelled at, so I need to calm down. I force myself to take several deep breaths, and when I’m finally able to control my voice, I say, “Catherine? Could you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Please call Amy, and ask her to come to the hospital.” I take another deep breath. “Tell her it’s an emergency.”

I gently squeeze Caleb’s hand and let it go. His knuckles are swollen, and two of them are split. The sight of it makes my chest tight. He’s stripped to the waist. His fingers grip the edges of the exam table and his head is hanging. They gave him some heavy-duty ibuprofen, but it hasn’t kicked in yet. There are bruises across his ribs and back. His ankle is swollen but not broken, thank God. His cheek is a little puffy, but the cut on his cheekbone didn’t need stitches.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Can you get dressed again, or do you need help?”

“I’m fine. I can do it,” he mumbles. Resisting the urge to pull him into my arms and never let go, I walk out of the exam room.

He’s okay.  

But I’m not sure I am.

Catherine is in the reception area, curled up and sleeping on one of the vinyl loveseats. I wish I could do the same, seeing as it’s almost five in the morning. My feet are killing me, and I’m still wearing my russet cocktail dress. I must look ridiculous, but I don’t really care.

I only care about one thing right now.

Catherine has a folder with some self-care instructions sticking out of her bag. She spoke to a psychiatry resident as soon as we got here, who interviewed her for an hour and determined she didn’t need to be admitted. Amy got here soon after that and is hunched in a nearby chair. She discards her magazine when she sees me coming.

“How is he?” she asks me. She looks irritable and tired, and I can’t really blame her.

“He doesn’t need to be admitted.”

She sags with relief. “Oh, good.” She picks up her purse. “I’ll go talk to him and then you guys can take Katie and—”

“No, Amy,” I say quietly.

She frowns. “What?”

“I’m taking Caleb, and you’re taking Katie. You guys can come to the apartment and pick up her meds and some clothes, but she needs to stay with you today.”

Her mouth drops open. “No, I-I have kids—”

“I understand that, but here’s the deal: Caleb takes care of Catherine all the time. Every single day. Emotionally, financially, you name it. He doesn’t resent it. He loves her and always puts her first. But it’s a big job, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, but—”

“No, not today.” I meet her eyes and don’t look away. There are so many things I could say. So many things I want to say.
Stop blaming him. He was abused, too. He needs someone to take care of him because his family has done a shitty job.
But instead I focus on the immediate situation, because I suspect that’s all she can handle right now.

“Catherine needs to be supervised, and he can’t do that. He’s going to need to keep his foot up, and he needs to rest. He’ll recover quickly, but only if you help. You can offer him a break, and he needs it so badly right now. You take care of Catherine, and I’ll take care of him. Twenty-four hours is all I want.”

“Twenty-four hours.” She tilts her head. “Why should you get to decide?”

“I don’t—you do. And I know you’ll do the right thing, because you love your brother and sister.”

She nods, and by her tender expression, I can tell that she
does
love them, but she has no idea how to handle either of their needs. “What do I do if Katie freaks out or something?”

“Call Dr. Prihadi. Call the partial hospitalization program. I’ll make sure you have all those numbers.” I can’t believe she doesn’t have them already. Caleb really has been doing this all by himself. “This is a wonderful thing you’re doing for him, Amy.”

Amy looks over her shoulder at her little sister, who snores softly and turns over. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Twenty-four hours. I can do that.”

Chapter Twenty-four: Caleb

I wake to the sound of the shower running. I lie very still, trying to gather my wits, which isn’t easy because pain gnaws at all my edges. I’m in my bed. No shirt, just a pair of sweats. I take a breath and wince, then glance down to see a purple-red bruise the size of a fist on my left side. Everything aches. I feel like I’ve been dropped off a building and splatted on the sidewalk.

The shower switches off. I need to get up and make sure Katie’s taken her meds. Groaning, I push up on an elbow and reach for my phone. What the hell. It’s noon already.

The bathroom door squeaks as it swings open, and then I hear cabinets clacking shut in the kitchen and the tap running. A few seconds later, Romy appears in my doorway, clutching a bag full of ice cubes, a towel, a glass of water, and a bottle of pills. I squint at her, praying that I’m not hallucinating. Her hair is wet and messy. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts, which hangs to her thighs. I pull the sheet over me in an attempt to conceal my growing hard-on.

“We need to ice your ankle again,” she says, “and you can take another of these.” She sets the ice and towel down at the end of the bed and shakes the bottle of pills.

“Katie?” I croak.

“Do you remember?”

I fall back on the pillows. “It’s a little foggy,” I admit.