Pieces in Chance (7 page)

It wasn’t the first time he’d hit her, but she was still surprised each time. As his fist came at her again she attempted to move, finding only a wall at her back and his free hand still tangled in her long red hair. The blow landed forcefully and he let go, simultaneously knocking Drew to her knees. She expected him to stop, too drunk to follow her down, but he didn’t. Instead, his heel replaced his fist, stomping on her thighs, her stomach.

Helpless, she curled into a ball as he continued screaming, continued beating her. Pleas fell unheard from her lips. Time passed slowly and quickly – each second an eternity but then he was gone. Her only remaining parent left her hurting on the floor, repeating ‘No, no, please, no,’ over and over.

Gentle shaking had Drew bolting upright, wetness coursing down her face. Heart beating frantically, breaths coming in pants, her eyes darted around the room. Panic filled her throat as she took in a man peering down at her. Unthinking, she shoved her hands outward, attempting to ward him off. A fist met his face and she gasped, recognition finally overpowering the dream fog, a second too late. It wasn’t the monster from her nightmares – he was the exact opposite. She’d inadvertently just punched a cop. Officer Marks.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, sure she was all but shouting yet unable to help it.
Now you’ve done it, Drew. You just punched the guy you’re crushing on. The older, very handsome police officer you’re crushing on.
“I’m so mortified! Are you okay?”

Every inch of her wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but there. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and clicked her heels a house would fall on her or however that story went. Anything would do; she didn’t want to face the handsome stranger she was drawn to. The handsome stranger she’d just punched. In the face.

“Drew, Drew,” he mouthed, his hands moving to rest on her shoulders. “I’m fine and you need to calm down – you’re going to hurt yourself moving like this.”

Doing as he told her, she allowed him to gently guide her back onto her pillows. Now that he mentioned it, the pain that’d started to increase at her party was even worse now, partly due to her abrupt movements. Shooting pains coursed to her ribs, her cheek, along with a throbbing from the burns on her hand. Marks must’ve read her face because he pressed the call button, summoning a new nurse and clearly asking for pain meds. Neither said anything as the woman came forward, drawing clear liquid into a syringe and reaching for Drew’s IV line.

“Wait,” she said, forcing both the cop and nurse to look at her. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Regina, according to her hospital ID, turned to Officer Marks, frustrating Drew. Even worse, from the angle she was propped up at, everything they said was lost to her. She watched as he nodded, shook his head, and made motions with his hands. Whatever point he was making, he must’ve made it because the nurse glanced ad her, nodded, and hurried from the room.

Disliking being left in the dark, or silence as it were, Drew tapped the bed to get Marks’ attention. He turned and, without her having to ask, explained.

“She’s getting something less strong,” he said, his face serious. “Not that she’s happy about it, though.”

Regina reappeared in the room, holding up a new syringe. Speaking to Marks, Drew was at least able to follow the conversation this time. Apparently Dr. Adams didn’t like her demand either and insisted when the weaker drug wore off there would be no discussion about the stronger. They nodded in understanding and allowed her to inject the drug into the tube connected to her hand. The liquid was almost cold as it entered her bloodstream and it was as if she could feel it spreading throughout her body. By the time it was just she and the policeman once more, her pain had dimmed to a dull roar.

“So, want to talk about the bad dream you were having? And, before you try to blow it off, don’t forget it was bad enough you punched me in the face when I woke you.”

Inwardly Drew groaned. She’d hoped, clearly in vain, that he’d forget with the medicine distraction. Nope. It seemed he wanted his pound of flesh.

“No,” she spoke aloud, suddenly wishing he knew sign language. Talking was taking a lot of her concentration and focus, ensuring she remembered each syllable and hoping they came out as she thought them. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The man beside her merely gazed at her, a thousand thoughts visibly crossing his expression. They were easy to read – he wanted to push for details, to demand she tell him everything. He didn’t, though. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes searching hers for answers to questions unspoken.

Sighing, she broke the connection between them and looked around. Balloons and flowers still filled the room, but it wasn’t bright like before. It was dark, the only light in the room coming from two small lamps near the bed. A glance at the clock on the wall informed her it was almost four-fifteen in the morning. It was very early, or late, depending on how one looked at it. She couldn’t help but wonder why he was there, especially at that hour. Needing to know, she repeated the question to him.

“I don’t know,” he told her, his lips turning down in a frown. A crease formed on his forehead as he moved to position himself directly in front of her. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to check on you – I’d expected you to be sleeping and didn’t intend to wake you but you were so upset … Anyway, is it okay I’m here? Do you want me to leave?”

Drew hesitated before answering, taking a hard look at the man. He looked tired, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. She also noticed he hadn’t changed, still wearing his Chance PD uniform. But, where it had been pressed and perfect earlier, it was now wrinkled. The look on him was just … wrong to her. Then again, he could be like that all the time and she wouldn’t know, but she didn’t think so. Officer Marks oozed military, structure – not the ragged, tired cop she saw now.

“It’s fine, don’t leave,” she told him, unsure of what else to say.
You could invite him to get comfortable … maybe watch TV,
her brain supplied and she silently huffed.
Absurd,
she thought back, though the idea stayed with her. Sure, she’d have to explain that she could watch with subtitles, if they had them, and that there wasn’t any pressure, of course. Maybe?

“Think it’d be okay if I stayed for a while? Maybe we could watch some TV?” He beat her to it. “Wait, that’s dumb … sorry,” he added, half to himself. She couldn’t help but smile and place a hand on his, nodding.

“Subtitles,” she told him in explanation before scooting over to make room for him on the small bed. Marks stared at her for a heartbeat before inclining his head. Drew was certain he was about to turn her down, yet he surprised her again by slowly climbing over her and into the empty space.

As his weight settled in beside her, one arm moving to snake around her neck and shoulders, Drew was surprised by the immediate comfort she felt. She stiffened for a moment, unfamiliar with another’s kind touch other than her brother’s, before letting herself relax. She pulled the remote up and put it in his lap, scooting down and resting her head on his chest. Marks’ heart was beating rhythmically in his chest, his breathing slightly increased, but he made no motion to move her. Instead, his hand fell to hold her shoulder.

Drew craned a little to see his face, forcing the question into her eyes.
Is this okay?
she was asking. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, or to cross any lines that may be already drawn in the sand. Sure, she knew he was probably already breaking a few rules by even being there with her, by sitting with her, but she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to stay where she was, encircled in his warmth. For reasons she couldn’t explain, didn’t want to even contemplate, she felt safe in his arms.

Marks gazed down at her, a small smile playing on his lips before he kissed her forehead, his fingers tickling a small trail along her skin. With that, he picked up the remote, pressed the closed captioning button to activate subtitles, and started channel surfing.

Chapter Six
 

Jensen

You are crossing so many lines right now, dirt bag,
Jensen’s mind berated him, as it had been for the last hour or more. Since the moment he decided to come up to the hospital, his subconscious had been running on non-stop commentary.

After he’d left Drew to her birthday celebration, he’d gone to the station to write up his reports from the incident at her house. Because law enforcement, as well as fire department and EMS, had been brought into it, they couldn’t pretend it had never happened. Instead, he followed along with Carrigan’s plan, writing that the fire had been accidental, seemingly caused by a candle in Drew’s room. Luckily for them, the fire marshal had been a childhood friend of his partner, and also agreed to the lie. It hadn’t taken him long to finish and he sat staring at the screen of his computer for a long time, seeing nothing. So long, in fact, that he hadn’t heard his partner come up behind him.

“Good thing you did today,” Carrigan remarked, startling Jensen into sitting up straighter. Still, he said nothing. He knew if he engaged in conversation, it would only lead his partner into asking him questions, questions to which he didn’t have an answer.

Instead, Jensen nodded and shut his laptop down, grabbing his cell off his desk. “Been a long day. I’m headed home for some shut eye. Morning is gonna come entirely too soon.”

Without waiting for a reply, he took off, making his way to his patrol car and to his house. The place he’d purchased on arriving in Chance wasn’t much, but it was his. A small one-bedroom cottage, formerly owned by Mrs. Ewing, it had been well kept until she could no longer do so. Jensen had felt so bad about her having to sell it, he’d given her five grand over her asking price – it was the least he could do. He’d seen the tears in her eyes when she’d explained having to move in with her son on the other side of town; it’d been a tough thing for the retired teacher to sell.

Since he’d moved in a year or so ago, he’d done little to the inside. He was content to keep the old-school wallpaper on the walls and the dark, thick carpet. It made it feel more like a home – besides, it wasn’t like he entertained or anything in it. Usually he was only home when he finished a shift, to eat and go to sleep. Other than that, he lived his job, spending more time at the station than practically anywhere else.

Moving slowly, he unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on the hook by the door. His father would’ve reamed him out about gun safety, demanding he lock it up, but he didn’t really care. No one could get hurt by a weapon if they weren’t anywhere near it. Since he was alone, it didn’t matter. His wallet, badge, and phone went next, on the convenient shelf above his belt hook – one of the few additions he’d put in the home. It was so much simpler to drop all his junk off in one place when he got home then have to scramble to find them when he was in a hurry.

Jensen headed for the kitchen, his stomach screaming in hunger. It hadn’t dawned on him he’d barely eaten in the past two days, too caught up in Drew to even think about food. The last thing he’d eaten was a bite or two of birthday cake, and the frosting he’d wiped from her lips.
God, her lips,
he thought before shaking his head and roughly pulling the freezer door open. Frustrated with the direction of his thoughts, though unsurprised by them, he yanked a frozen dinner out and stuffed it into the microwave, mashing the cook buttons on the old machine much harder than necessary.

He just couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with him. What was it about her? He’d asked himself that same question, on repeat, over and over, and was still no closer to understanding the way he felt about her. It wasn’t like he’d been deprived on the woman front. Jensen knew he was a decent-looking guy – he’d never had a problem picking up a woman. They loved him, flocked to him at bars, and he’d been used to taking one home from time to time. Sure, he wasn’t looking for anything serious from any of them, and made sure they knew it, and they never seemed to mind, always content with what they could get. After their short time was over, they’d leave, and he’d never think about them again. So why was he so hung up on Drew? She was seven-fucking-teen. She was bruised, battered, burned, and beaten. Hell, she was just this shy of broken. Yet, something about her called to him, drew him to her.

When his dinner was cooked, he sat at the bar counter and ate. The food was tasteless to him, and, not for the first time, he wished he could cook more than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then again, even if he had the cooking skills, he probably wouldn’t have had the energy, or will, to make anything better. Instead he was stuck with soggy Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes. Not that he cared.

Jensen wondered if Drew had eaten anything more than her birthday cake. He hadn’t asked beforehand, hadn’t even thought about it, and kicked himself about it.
Why, why why why, are you obsessing over that girl?
His subconscious all but groaned, exasperated. Once again, he couldn’t answer, and threw his garbage into the trash, his fork in the sink, unwashed.

Exhausted, he sat in a recliner and turned on the TV, letting it stay on the default channel, not really watching it. It was background noise, noise he hoped would drown out his own thoughts, his own questions, his own analyzing of his actions. He was tired, emotionally and physically, and simply didn’t want to think about the last forty-eight hours anymore. The problem was, though, that his brain wasn’t on board with the plan.

Instead, images of Drew kept assaulting him like an old-school movie. Drew laying in her hospital bed, eyes red, head bandaged, looking terrified as Carrigan questioned her. Change scene. Drew opening her eyes, seeing all the balloons and flowers he’d painstakingly set up for her birthday, the cautious joy on her face. Change scene. Drew eating her birthday cake as he helped feed her, her tongue being replaced by his thumb to catch errant frosting, the mutual lust as they gazed at each other.

I wonder what she’s doing now,
he thought, picturing her alone and sad once more in her hospital bed. But then, maybe her brother was there to keep her company.

“Damn it!” Jensen exclaimed softly, rubbing at his hurting eyes. If he kept going down this route, he was going to drive himself insane. Hell, he was probably already halfway there. He couldn’t stop thinking about a girl he didn’t even know. A not-even-eighteen girl, who’d been through entirely too much. Annnnd there he was, thinking about her … not even just thinking about her, but obsessing over her.

He’d almost kissed her at her party, in front of people. When he’d been feeding her, for those few moments, no one else had existed – it had been the two of them, lost in each other. She’d looked at him in a way that had him all but melting, like he was the only man in the world to her. Her lips had parted, her breathing had increased, her eyes begging him to kiss her. And he wanted to. Damn him, he wanted to almost more than he wanted his next breath. He could only imagine how softly he would have kissed her, so not to hurt her more than she already was. How he would have very gently caressed his lips over hers, his tongue lightly tracing her bottom lip, seeking entrance.

If only her piss-ant brother hadn’t decided to choose that very moment to come and talk to Drew, then fantasy would have been reality. Of course, it was probably more of a blessing than anything else. Sure, legally there would have been no repercussions if he had, but still. Kissing the poor girl in front of nurses, her brother, in a hospital, would have been a bad idea. Hell, kissing her at all would have been a bad decision, really.

Knowing that, though, didn’t make him want it any less. Shifting in his seat, Jensen glanced at his watch. Three in the morning. He’d been home for more than four hours, and hadn’t moved for the last three or so. Realistically, he knew he should go to bed, but he doubted his mind would shut up there, either. Instead he’d lie awake, thinking. Thinking about her.

Frustrated, he stood, deciding there would only be one cure for his thought-induced lack of sleep. He’d just go to the hospital and peek in at her. Once he was content she was fine, sleeping soundly, he’d leave. That was it. Yep, that was it.

What the hell am I doing?
Jensen asked himself for the hundredth time since returning to the hospital. His plan had been to simply check on Drew, make sure she was alright. But no, of course he’d get himself into more hot water where that girl was concerned.

None of the hospital staff had stopped him as he strode through the corridors. Visiting hours were long over but no one questioned him or even gave him a second glance. Wearing his uniform, as disheveled as it was, probably helped, not that he’d thought that far in advance. If he had, he would’ve changed. It was a rare thing for him these days, looking anything other than pristine. A quirk of his time in the Marines, he supposed.

Still, when he’d entered Drew’s room, finding her sleeping fitfully, crying real tears and pleading to a terror in her dreams, his heart had practically exploded in his chest. It was wrong, the fear in her voice, and had eaten at a part of him he hadn’t realized existed.

He’d dealt with a lot of unspeakable things overseas, while deployed and at war. He’d experienced firsthand when a grown men would plead for their life, beg not to be hurt, despite the crime they were or weren’t being punished for. None of that had ever phased him – he was a soldier, doing what he’d been trained to do. So how was it that the cries of the beautiful girl in front of him got to him the way they did? He’d felt cold before, absolutely numb, but not with her.

Unable to deal with her pain, he’d woken her, being rewarded with a sucker punch to the jaw. He had to hand it to her – she packed one hell of a strength despite her slight build. Even as his face had throbbed he’d felt almost … proud of that fact. It almost surprised him she’d never decked her asshole of a father.

Once she was calmed, given a pain killer that wouldn’t knock her out – her request, not his – he should have left. He’d done what he set out to do; he’d checked on her, she was as well as she was going to be for the night, and that should have been that. But something had stopped him.

Jensen didn’t really want to go home to his little house, alone, with only thoughts of her playing on repeat in his head. He’d never minded being his only company before, but it held no appeal to him. So, like the jackass he was, he’d asked if she wanted to watch TV. He could have kicked himself for his stupidity there – especially since she couldn’t hear the damned thing – until she smartly reminded him of subtitle options.

So, here he was, propped up in her small hospital bed, her resting her head on his chest and an arm wrapped gently around her shoulder. Part of him hated how right it felt, her slight frame a good fit pressed against him. For the first time in the last couple days, he breathed easier, which was just absurd.

They’d flipped channels for a bit, his first instinct to put
Law and Order: SVU
on, as it was his default show, but he refrained. The last thing Drew needed was more hurt, abuse, and since that was what the show centered on, it was just a bad choice. They ended up on old reruns of
MASH
, something mindless they could watch and laugh at while not being a heavy drama.

The two of them stayed that way for what seemed like forever, their breathing slowing to match each other’s. It was the most peaceful moment Jensen had in a long time and he enjoyed merely being in Drew’s presence, even with the lack of conversation.

Moving his hand up to stroke her hair, a small smile lifted his lips as she sighed happily, the hand with her IV drawing circles on his chest. He could almost picture them in his bed like this after making love, completely content.
You’re going straight to hell, Marks. Jesus H. I don’t know what you’re doing.