Chapter Twelve
Ashland
Some people had nightmares that they were back in school and taking tests they hadn’t studied for. I relived my life before the diagnosis. Not in first person, but as a bystander witnessing it all unfold—the drugs, the sex, the experimentation without caution and watching myself making the same mistakes over and over but unable to stop it. Feeling like a hollow tube of ocean water had collapsed on top of me, I kicked for the surface of my consciousness knowing on some level that I was only tangled up in the sheets and not drowning beneath the waves.
“Shhh,” a soft voice soothed, and I felt a gentle touch smooth my hair from my brow. “You’re ok.” Then music, no words only a hummed melody, but the beautiful sound mesmerized me. Suddenly, I wasn’t fighting against the tide anymore but floating along with it. I didn’t want to wake. I wanted to listen to the voice and believe the hope I heard in it. I turned my head more fully into the caress and drifted deeper into slumber.
A gasp.
A clatter.
“Ash!”
I woke with a start. Bright sunlight blazed from the living room windows. Expecting the usual knot of sheets around my legs, I was surprised to find myself somehow free of them. Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, Simone stood over me, wearing a perplexed expression along with her running clothes. She held the key I had given her in a lax grip. She wasn’t looking at me however. Her attention was on the kitchen.
“It’s ok,” Frances said, and I recognized her voice as the one in my dreams. “Ashland invited me to stay. I’m making breakfast. Would you like some?”
“Are you…I mean your eyes are just like hers…” I could hear both the question and the conclusion forming in the incredulousness of her tone. “Are you the Lakers Girl?”
“Yes. I’m Frances.”
As Simone moved toward the kitchen I threw back the sheet and put my feet on the floor trying to get my bearings. The world seemed to have done a reverse spin overnight.
“What happened to your face?”
“I got beaten up. I dragged myself to the public parking lot before Ashland found me and brought me up here.”
“That sounds terrible. You must have been so scared. I’m glad Ash was there to help. Do you know who did it?”
“Um…I…” She trailed off, her easy answers to Simone’s questions stalling as her eyes met mine.
“Don’t stop on my account, Frances. I’d like to know the answer to that question, too.”
“No one either of you would know.”
Clever evasion. I felt the edge of my mouth curve. Frances continued to watch me warily. I could feel Simone observing me just as carefully. But I wasn’t in the mood to address those just yet. I was too interested in unraveling Frances and the mystery she currently presented.
“I didn’t know you cooked. What’s for breakfast?” I decided not to press her for the name of her abuser, but if she thought that meant I was going to go give into all her other demands she was in for a surprise bigger than the one Simone had just experienced.
“A mushroom and sausage frittata.”
No wonder it smelled so delicious.
“Great. I’m starving.” I pulled out a barstool for Simone before I took a seat in my new favorite chair, the one with the best view of the chef and the ocean.
“We usually eat after we run.” Finding a woman in my apartment seemed to have thrown Simone completely off guard.
“Change in plans,” I explained. “With all that’s been going on I’m afraid I actually forgot it was our morning. I’ll have to pass on a run today. I wouldn’t feel right about leaving Frances here alone.”
Simone’s mouth parted in disbelief.
Yeah, kind of shocking I guessed. I couldn’t remember ever cancelling on her.
“Don’t change your routine for me.” Frances set a plate in front of Simone before offering another to me. “I’ll be fine.”
She’d be fine sneaking out the door the minute we left is what she meant. I squinted my eyes skeptically at her. “We can change to a walk that way Frances can come with us. Same route, but I want to stop by Ramon’s place. Let Karen see for herself how Frances is doing. She won’t let it rest now that you’ve seen her.”
“Karen knows about the Lakers Girl…I mean Frances?” Simone asked.
“Yeah, I called her.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Simone frowned. She looked hurt about being left out of the loop.
“Because you cook about as well as I do. I figured you wouldn’t have any food in your house, which is what I needed along with clothes for both of them.”
“Both?” she interrupted, and I realized she wasn’t the only one off kilter this morning. Frances and I had forgotten to mention Hollie.
“He means my sister.”
“Your sister? Did she get beaten up, too?”
“No.” Frances flicked her gaze to the side. “She’s in there asleep. She’s getting over the flu.” She spoke the words loudly and slowly as if she meant for Hollie to hear. It was an odd thing to do if her sibling really was sleeping. “We’ve been resting a lot. Healing. Getting our strength back.” She aimed that last bit at me.
I got the undercurrent. She was reminding me that their stay here inside my apartment was time limited.
I raised a brow. We’d see. She might be the queen of stubbornness. But she was up against the king of tenacity, and I had a court of friends who shared that resolve.
I picked up the fork she’d set on the plate and carved off a big bite. The aroma rising from it had me salivating. Fluffy. Slight crust on the edge. Savory and perfectly salted. “This is fantastic, Frances.” I told her after swallowing the bite.
“Thanks.” She shrugged. “I figured we were all tired of scrambled eggs and lasagna.”
“I’ve eaten some pretty lavish breakfasts around the globe, little one. This is truly outstanding.”
Her cheeks turned pink from my praise. I liked that, liked that I had been the one to put that blush there. Her face looked better this morning. The swelling distorting her features had gone down considerably. The bruises were darker purple but consolidated to two slashes on either side of her nose. Her eyes were fully open and shining bright like polished chrome. Her lips like…well…I stopped taking inventory. She looked way too pretty in a striped Roxy top that kept sliding off her slim shoulder and dark jeans that fit her like the yoga pants had the day before. In other words, distractingly tight.
“How’d you manage this culinary delight? I don’t even have any cookbooks.”
“You have a well-equipped kitchen for someone who claims not to cook. Besides, I can make just about anything breakfast wise without a recipe. My mom taught me how.” Her bright expression clouded. I suspected something bad had happened to her mother. “I just used the Italian sausage left over from last night, and some mushrooms I found in the crisper tray. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome to make anything you want. I can go to the store if you’re missing anything. Only you’d need to go with me. I wouldn’t want to buy the wrong brand or anything.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t seem like an even deal.” Her tone was teasing. She was playing along with me. I loved it. “Sounds like I’m doing the cooking and the shopping.”
“Point taken. To even things out, I’ll eat more than my fair share of whatever you cook.”
“Alright, I guess.” Her lips quirked up. “But I really wish I could do something more to pay you back for letting us stay here like this.” Her mouth flattened. “I’m used to making my own way. I…”
“We’ve seen that, Frances.” I tipped my gaze to Simone, and she nodded her confirmation. “But everyone needs a little help now and then. I’ve got the space for you to stay here as long as you need. And I’m not gonna turn down good food if you want to cook it while you’re here. Down the road when you feel better if you still feel compelled to do something more, I understand Karen offered you a job.”
“So did the gym,” she mumbled, but I heard her.
“Excellent. So you see there’s a path already in place for you to move forward. You don’t have to go back to the streets or the life you were leading before. Back to whoever did this,” I stated firmly.
“You don’t understand.” She glanced away. Her words were so strikingly similar to Hollie’s. I felt she was on the edge of revealing the truth. Truth I wanted to know fully, not just the name of her abuser.
“Frances,” I called. Her head had turned toward the windows the silver sheen of her eyes reflecting the sparkle of the ocean. She had slipped into the current. I could feel it dragging her away. “I might understand if you would explain it to me,” I coaxed softly.
“I can’t.” She slowly turned back to face me. “I’m sorry.” She shifted the direction of her gaze to offer her apology to Simone as well, and it saddened me to see that her previous lightheartedness had been completely washed away.
One step forward. Three steps back. I recalled the same pattern with Linc. I wasn’t anxious to relive it. To know that now even as an adult I could be so powerless. If she went back to her abuser, it was her choice. I knew what the better one was, but I couldn’t force her to make it.
Patience. Wait her out. Reel her back to safer waters. She was tough, resourceful and smart. I just needed to keep her on the line.
“Alright, Frances. You don’t have to tell us anything right now.” I said, and I watched the tension visibly uncoil from her delicate frame. She had expected me to press her. “We’ve made it clear we want to know. We’ve demonstrated our sincerity. My friends and I will continue to help you and your sister in any way we can. But you’ve handcuffed us by holding back. We can’t protect you if we don’t know who to protect you from, and we can’t keep you safe if you go back to him.”
~ ~ ~
Fanny
“I’m not going anywhere near them…him.” I had told him not to push, and he wasn’t pushing per se. He was maneuvering me. A subtle distinction but to me an important one.
“Them?” he queried coming out of his chair. My slip up had not gone unnoticed. Fuck, he rattled me. If I wasn’t clamming up around him, then I was spilling my secrets.
“I…I meant him.” I stuttered as Ashland stalked around the bar. Six-foot-plus of alert male draped in toned golden skin. He wore only a pair of navy boxers this morning. His fingers were curled into fists. His arms and the rest of his rugged body flexed with tension. I knew he would go to battle on my behalf. On Frances’ behalf, I self-corrected. That was obvious. But even so, all that fierceness, all that heat, and all that raw masculinity in close proximity was intimidating…intoxicating.
It was all I could do to hold my ground when he stopped directly in front of me.
“I know what you’re trying to do.” I lifted my chin.
“And what is that exactly?”
“You’re trying to get me to make the right choice.”
His eyes flared. I’d read him correctly.
“You…you think you know my situation because of how it was with your cousin. You want to keep me here. But you can’t. You think that because I’m withholding the identity of my abuser that I’m planning to go back, putting my sister and myself at risk again.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve got in mind, little one?” His expression softened.
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re running from your problems. You don’t have to. Face them. I’ll help you. We’ll all help you.”
“I appreciate that.” I blew out a frustrated breath. Going toe to toe with him was hard enough, but Simone hovered in my peripheral vision. She was leaning forward just as interested as he was in my drama. It was two against one. “But you’ve got it wrong. I’m not running.” Well, I was but not in the way he thought. “I’m regrouping so that when I do fight I’ll have the advantage. I don’t plan to be on the losing side anymore. I plan to win.”