Damian

 

“So, what can you tell me about your attack?”

 

I was sitting up in bed, spooning some Jello into my mouth, staring at Sheriff Dan Perkins. He was a big man, still in good shape – and we'd been friends back in high school. Or at least, we'd been teammates on the football team. That sort of made us friends. It at least gave us something in common.

 

But that commonality was gone, and any bond of team went with it. Now, Perkins was a cop, and I was – well – not.

 

I shook my head. “Not much, really. It was dark. I never got a good look at who was pulling the trigger.”

 

Perkins sighed. “C'mon, Damian,” he said. “You and I both know that's bullshit. Who was it?”

 

“I don't know, man. I never saw his face.”

 

I was lying, and Perkins obviously knew, but there was no way in hell I was going to get tagged with the snitch label. But more than that, I was going to pay Mendoza back on my terms, in my own time. And that would be a little difficult if he was sitting up in Pelican Bay rotting away in a steel cage.

 

Perkins snapped his notebook shut with a loud pop. He was getting annoyed – not that I cared. He stared hard at me as if he could intimidate me with his steely-eyed gaze. It only made me laugh and shake my head.

 

“You might be able to get some sixteen-year-old kid you popped for shoplifting to piss his pants with that look,” I said. “But I'm not a sixteen-year-old kid, man.”

 

“Ahhh that's right,” Perkins replied. “You're the grizzled war vet. You've stared down the enemy and blown him to pieces. You're—”

 

“Shut your fuckin' mouth right now,” I snapped. “You didn't serve. You don't know shit.”

 

There were a lot of insults and snide remarks I could deal with. Most of the time, some asshole's words didn't bother me. Water off a duck's back and all that shit. But when it came to demeaning my service – especially by some candy-ass who'd never been in a combat zone – that was a bridge too far. Way too fuckin' far. That was something I wouldn't put up with.

 

“Touchy, touchy, aren't you?” Perkins asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

“You think because you're wearing that tin star on your chest you're a tough guy or something?” I growled. “You ain't shit, man.”

 

Perkins chuckled. “Yeah, if you say so,” he said. “Look, I'm trying to avoid some goddamn biker gang war from breaking out in my town. You gotta give me something. Because if you don't, and you retaliate, and people start getting hurt, I'm going to pin this all on you. You can avoid it all by giving me a name.”

 

“I got nothin' to give you, man,” I replied, trying to calm myself down. “I never got a look at the guy.”

 

“Goddammit, Damian—”

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Cara said as she stepped into the room. “But I think that's enough for now, Sheriff. Damian needs his rest.”

 

The Sheriff looked from her to me and back again, clearly torn between his desire to throttle an answer out of me and obeying the wishes of my doctors. Plus, I knew that Perkins had always had a thing for Cara – and the fact that he'd been married for the last fifteen years had obviously not snuffed out that flame.

 

He turned and flashed me that steely-eyed gaze again. “This isn't over, Damian,” he said. “I'll be back, and I'm going to want some answers.”

 

Perkins turned and gave Cara a shy little smile and a nod as he left the room. She stepped into the room and let the door swing closed behind her. She didn't meet my eyes as she grabbed my chart and started to read.

 

“Clearly, that guy hasn't gotten over his crush on you,” I said.

 

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, still not looking at me.

 

“Sore. I still hurt.”

 

“I'll see about increasing your pain meds.”

 

“Hey,” I said. “Look at me for a minute.”

 

She seemed to resist at first, but slowly lowered the clipboard and looked at me, something akin to disgust in her eyes.

 

“What?” she asked, distinctly irritated.

 

“Thanks for sending Perkins outta here.”

 

“I only did it to keep you from getting so worked up that you might tear your sutures,” she said. “That would just make more work for me. I wasn't doing you a kindness.”

 

I shrugged. “Thank you anyway.”

 

She sighed. “Why didn't you just tell him the truth? Even I know you're full of shit, Damian. You know exactly who shot you.”

 

“Like I said, it's complicated.”

 

“Not really,” she snapped. “It's not all that complicated.”

 

“How do you figure?”

 

“If you do what I expect you to do – which is go kill the guy who shot you in retaliation,” she started, “you'll set off some goddamn gang war in town. And innocent people are going to get hurt.”

 

I shook my head. “Nothing like that's going to happen.”

 

“You can't guarantee that, Damian. And what happens when one of these comes gunning for you, and innocent people get caught in the crossfire, huh? What happens if it's me? If it's my son?”

 

Cara stopped speaking, and her eyes grew wide as if she had said something she shouldn't have. And maybe she had. Or at least, revealed something she didn't want me to know.

 

“I didn't know you had a son,” I said. “How old is he?”

 

“My son is none of your business,” she snapped.

 

I sighed. “Listen. I know what you think of the club. And believe it or not, but we jump through hoops to keep anything bad from touching this town. We run all of the bangers, drug dealers, and any other bad guy out of town. This is our home too, and we have a real vested interest in keeping it safe and clean. And we do everything necessary to keep it that way.”

 

She sighed and shook her head again – she seemed to do that a lot around me. “You got shot – clearly, you failed in keeping Fernwood safe and clean.”

 

I shifted positions and grimaced as a bolt of pain shot through me. “Technically,” I said and gave her a grin, “I wasn't in Fernwood. I was outside of the city limits.”

 

Cara couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She shook her head. “You're such an ass.”

 

“Guilty as charged.”

 

A moment that had been charged with tension and even anger slowly dissipated. And while the atmosphere wasn't necessarily warm and friendly, it was at least companionable – which was a huge step up from what it had been recently.

 

“Listen, Cara,” I said. “I wanted to thank you for taking good care of me in here—”

 

She shook her head. “Like I said, I'm just doing my job.”

 

I shrugged. “Regardless, once I get out of here, I'd like to take you to dinner.”

 

She looked at me for a long moment and then shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but no. Thank you.”

 

“Okay, how about coffee, then?”

 

Her smile was soft. “Again, I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you.”

 

I flashed her my best smile. “Come on – it's just dinner. Catch up. Talk about old times?”

 

“I'm just doing my job, Damian,” she said. “I'm really not interested.”

 

Ouch. That kind of stung. I wasn't used to being turned down so flatly, to be honest. I tried not to be too arrogant or cocky about it, but I'd never had trouble with women before. Cara was proving to be a tough nut to crack. Which only made her all the more compelling to me. Not because I thought she'd be a satisfying conquest, but because she was… different. Different in ways I couldn't quite understand yet. But different in ways I wanted to get to know better.

 

It seemed, though, that I was having trouble outrunning my past – a past that had bled over into my present and was coloring how she saw me. I couldn't blame her for wanting to steer clear of a guy like me – if only for her son's sake. But I found myself wanting to prove that her preconceived notions of me were wrong – that I wasn't the guy she assumed me to be.

 

She gave me a small smile. “I'll check on you later.”

 

I nodded. “Looking forward to it.”