Chapter Eight
Fanny
“He thinks we’re in some sort of domestic abuse situation,” Hollie hissed after Ashland left.
“Yeah,” I agreed. He actually wasn’t so far off the mark. “I ran into Karen earlier at the church. We talked a bit. I said I was in trouble, but not with the law. She probably told him about it, and now, after what happened to me, I imagine it was a natural conclusion for him to draw.”
“Not so natural. But understandable. Did you hear him tell me about his cousin?”
Expression somber, I nodded.
“Did you know Lincoln Savage had a history of being abused?” She twisted on the frayed hem of the blue plaid thrift store shirt she had been wearing with the same pair of jeans the entire time she’d been sick.
“No. I don’t think it’s a widely known fact.” In all the interviews I had watched back when I had been obsessed with the band, I had never heard the lead singer mention it. Probably because either Linc had yet to come to terms with it, or simply that he wanted to keep his personal life private. But I could certainly empathize with either reason.
“Well, I think it says a lot about Ashland that he came to our rescue. That he shared. That he wants to help. So why lie to him about your name?”
I dropped my chin. Lowering my head made my swollen nose throb, but I couldn’t maintain direct eye contact with her. I didn’t want her to see the entire truth. That keeping my identity a secret had partly to do with my pride. I didn’t want him to see me like this, didn’t relish anyone seeing me like this really. But the other reason, the more overriding one, was the risk of our being discovered. “Even a guy like Ashland Keys can be bought or manipulated, Hollie. Have you forgotten the things Samuel said to you before we ran?”
She shook her head. “But Fanny, what happened to you…” Her voice choked up and tears filled her eyes. “Those guys still pose a real and present danger. Whereas Samuel…”
“Just as real,” I interrupted.
“But…”
“He was siphoning money from your account.”
“I’m not so sure,” she protested. “Ernie only said there were large irregularities.”
“He came onto you,” I reminded her.
“He was drunk.” She dropped her eyes.
“That’s not an excuse, honey.” It saddened and disturbed me that she would defend him.
“I know.” She gnawed on her lip.
“I get he’s the only dad you’ve ever known Hols,” I said gently. “But he betrayed that trust. And the part about mom, the things he told you that happened on the boat the night she died? That’s why we ran. That’s why we can’t tell anyone. Who knows what he’d do to keep us silent.”
“You’re right, Fanny.” She lifted her watery gaze, the tears in her eyes spilling down her cheeks, but her expression was firm.
“If I had known he was manipulating you, hurting you the way he did me, I never would have left you there with him.”
“Not your fault. You’re not responsible.” Hollie grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “You and me. No one else. We stick together. And when I turn eighteen.” She climbed into the bed with me, her shirt so big on her small frame that she had to lift the hem. “Then we get my money, lawyer up and do what needs to be done.”
~ ~ ~
It was nighttime. Hollie was sound asleep beside me when he appeared in the doorway again. Not to take our plates away or to bring me hot and cold compresses or pain relievers. This time he just stood in the doorframe filling, no eclipsing it, with his larger than life presence. I pretended to be asleep wondering why he was watching us so closely. Curiosity perhaps. I didn’t think he was worried about us robbing him because there was nothing in the apartment to steal. No TV. No computer. Not even a laptop or a sound system which seemed odd given his musical background. Just the amazing Spanish Mediterranean architectural elements and the breathtaking views of the ocean out every window. Plus his furniture, though the arrangement of it only seemed finished in the central living space. The pieces were nice, sturdy dark wood and earth toned leather. Nothing within the inner sanctum of one of the legends of rock ‘n’ roll that revealed to me more than I already knew. I had as many unanswered questions about him after a restless night and a sleep filled day spent in his apartment as he probably had about Hollie and me.
We were being purposefully evasive. What was his story?
After a couple of moments, he moved closer. Through my lashes, I watched him. Same graceful swagger, made more devastating by the jeans that fit him exceptionally well and the smooth skin and sculpted muscles displayed above it.
Waking that first time to find him in the kitchen, on the other side of the bar from my sister, several things had hit me at once. First, my imagination of what lay under his shirts had not done justice to the reality. Chiseled chest, bulging biceps, defined pecs and abs, his upper torso matched the strength of his lower and bespoke of his many hours working out in the gym, surfing and playing his drums. I’d experienced all that strength firsthand when he had whisked me into his arms and carried me into the bedroom.
The second thing that had hit me was a smidgen of irrational jealousy. My sister was way too young for him, but she was beautiful. That she wasn’t of legal age didn’t seem to stop most guys from looking. That he had been talking to her in the same confidential tone he had used with me at the Oscars made pain slice through me again almost as badly as when I had put one and one together and realized he was in love with Simone.
Yeah, I was over him. Of course, I was over him. Our encounter had been a little nothing, and it had been ages ago. Yet deep down, for me at least, it had felt like something significant.
And thirdly, did he not even own a shirt? Why didn’t he put one on? Did he not get that he had two women in his apartment? Granted one looked like Dead Pool, and the other was underage. But did he not comprehend how incredibly sexy he was? And how completely, unnervingly distracting it was to be confronted with an unveiled version of his golden godlike form?
And I had not only seen it, I had touched it and felt it, felt his warm sleek skin and flexing strength beneath my hands. Not only that I had smelled his intoxicating, citrus, sunshine summery ocean scent. I might be banged up to hell, but I wasn’t dead. I guess it was better that he didn’t seem to notice how much he distracted me. He seemed to think I was afraid of him. Hardly. I was afraid of myself with him.
He was so close now as I continued to feign slumber that all I could see through my lashes were his bare feet. So different from mine. So large. So male. He leaned closer. I held my breath. What was he going to do? Did he know I was awake?
No.
He drew the covers up to my shoulders, nearly bare but for the thin straps of my tank. He gently tucked in the blanket around me. Stepping back, he turned and left the room. I stared at the empty doorway for a long time after he had gone. But eventually exhaustion overcame my musings, and I fell into a true deep sleep with a soft smile on my lips.
It had been a long time since anyone had cared for me so tenderly.