Tori opened her eyes and blinked. Her stomach knotted, just like it did every time she woke and remembered this was not a bad dream. She was trapped in a hellish nightmare, utterly and totally fucked.
Three weeks, two days. It may as well have been months with the way the days dragged on in the darkness. She slept most of the time, unable to figure out her internal clock that was seriously screwed.
She rolled over and tapped her phone. The time is now eight thirty-three. At least she got a full night sleep for once. Jane would be there soon, as she had been every day for the past week. Thankfully, today was the last day she’d need to rely on her sister. She dug her toes into the shag rug under her feet, enjoying the soft texture.
She pressed the home button on her phone. “Text Keith Nielsen.”
“What should I text Keith Nielsen?”
“The furry shag rug under my feet. I never noticed how soft it was. Send.”
She went to her bathroom and drew a bath, sticking her legs into the water to gauge how high it was. She and sunk down in when it was nearly full, making sure to keep her left arm propped so her cast wouldn’t get wet.
She reached for the bottles on the caddy beside the tub. Shave cream. That one was easy; it was the shampoo and conditioner that gave her fits at first. Jane had poured them into different shaped containers for her, a little trick her sister learned taking care of elderly people as a home health care nurse.
Part of her wanted to curl in a ball and die, take the easy way out. She gripped the razor tightly in her hand as she finished shaving her legs. I’d need something sharper anyway.
“Stop it. Stop it now,” she ordered her brain.
The door to her apartment squeaked open and shut, causing Tori to jolt out of her trance. Every creak, every groan in her home startled her. Noise was her friend and enemy at the same time.
“Tori, it’s me!” Jane hollered.
“I’m in the bath!” Tori yelled back.
“Hey,” Jane’s voice came through clear now as she walked into the bathroom. “Need help with your hair?”
“No, I’m not washing it today.” Tori pulled the plug on the drain and stood, reaching for her towel on the rack.
“I’ll put some clothes out for you on the bed,” Jane offered kindly.
“I’ll dress myself, Jane.” Tori gritted her teeth.
“I’m sorry. Of course you can.”
“Now you’re just patronizing me. Please just treat me like a normal human.” Jane was talking to Tori as if she was five, like her nice Hannah. In addition to her own grief, she had to deal with the endless pity from others.
Tori dressed and made her calls. Phone call after phone call to work and friends…the same questions, the same answers, and always, the pity.
Tori shoved her phone in her back pocket after the call to her boss. “How about a mass Facebook post? I tell everyone at once and get it over with?” she bitched. “Would that be tacky? Status update: Victoria Johnson is blind. Feeling despair. Zero likes, five thousand comments.” She rubbed her temple.
“Nice to see your sense of humor and sarcasm is still intact.” Jane let out a wry laugh as the dishwasher slammed shut. Jane’s footsteps shuffled to the sofa. “I guess these days, though, a Facebook post would be appropriate. I mean… Good grief, you can’t call everyone in the world. You do need to tell those closest to you, though,” Jane urged as the sofa cushion sunk down.
Tori’s entire body stiffened, knowing where she was headed.
“Have you called Scott yet?”
Tori reached for her drink on the coffee table and gulped the last bit of her vodka. Tori went to set it down, undershot the distance, and missed. The glass tumbled onto the floor. “God dammit,” Tori cursed, flopped backward on the sofa, and laughed and cried at the same time.
“I’ve got it, sis.” The cubes chimed, one by one, back into the glass. Footsteps went into the kitchen, dropping the cup into the sink with a clank. “You need to cool it with the drinking. How did you even get the liquor?”
“Stores do deliver, you know.” Tori clenched her jaw. “I’m not completely inept.”
“Tori, I’m worried about you,” Jane began. “Between the painkillers, the Xanax, and the drinking, you’re headed down a slippery slope.”
“When you go blind, then and only then, you may tell me how much I can drink,” Tori bit back. The thought of calling Scott made Tori’s stomach go into a knot.
Jane was a hopeless romantic who married her high school sweetheart Darren—the only man she’d ever slept with—then quickly started popping out kids. Jane just didn’t get the dynamic between Tori and Scott.
“You can’t let him show up here one day for a booty call and find out about all this.” Jane’s voice dripped with condemnation.
Tori groaned at her sister. “Stop judging my relationship with Scott.”
“What relationship?” Jane spat. “Apparently, according to everything you’ve ever said, there isn’t a relationship.”
Scott was not anywhere near ready to settle down. Tori thought he may have been years ago, after he lost his leg, but he took the job as a private military contractor and skipped town. The man was in DC once, maybe twice, a year. When he was in town, they’d have mind-blowing sex, then he’d move on. It’s how things had always worked between them.
“Jane, I’ve told you a hundred times. We’re friends who just so happen to fuck. Now stop it.”
“If you’re such good friends, then call him!”
“I will when I’m ready.”
“Is this about you still being worried about how you look?” Jane snorted. “You look fine.” Other than some bruising and scars that would fade, Jane promised she was starting to look like her old self again. “You have to rip this Band-Aid off sooner or later. He is going to hear about it anyway, whether you tell him or not.”
Jane had a point. The news had been all over the accident. Because Nathaniel was a congressman, the media was having a field day with his death. Thankfully, police hadn’t released her name yet as the “unidentified female” in the vehicle with him, but it was bound to release soon.
Why was she having such a hard time coming to grips with calling him? Scott was missing a leg, after all. This really shouldn’t be a big deal.
Who was she kidding? It was a huge deal—way more than missing a leg. Hell, I’d saw off my damn leg with a butter knife right now if it meant the lights would come back on.
Tori walked to the freezer, grabbed the bottle of vodka, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig. On her trudge back, she bumped her chair. She gave it a swift kick as payback for its offense. Tori flopped onto the sofa, took another gulp, and shoved the bottle between her legs. “No glass. I can’t spill it now. Problem solved.”
“Drinking yourself into a stupor isn’t going to make the conversation any easier,” Jane moaned.
“Says you.” Tori took another swig.
Jane grabbed the booze from her. “I refuse to sit here and watch you turn into Mom. You will stop this right now!” Jane stomped to the kitchen and the precious liquid flowed down the drain with a glug, glug, glug. “You’re officially cut off. You can’t drink with the medication you are on. Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Tori tugged at her lip. The last thing Tori wanted to be was like her mother. If she let this beat her, if she continued on the path of self-pity, that was exactly who she’d turn into.
Jane came back and plopped down on the sofa. Tori curled her feet underneath her and leaned her head onto Jane’s shoulder, fighting the hot tears threatening to spill over. Jane was silent for a long time. “You need to call him, Tori.”
“I’ll call when I’m ready, I said. Dammit.” Tori crossed her arms, wincing at the pain in her casted wrist and the growing pressure in her temples. She could feel a headache coming on, and that was the last thing she needed right now.
“No, Tori you have to call.” Jane softened. Tori could hear her sister clicking on her phone. “They’ve released the accident details in the news. Your name has been mentioned. It’s all over the web.”
Tori’s heart pounded. “Shit.” Tori sat up, pulled her phone out of her back pocket, pressed the home key, and spoke, “Call Scott.”
Scott eyed the dark-haired barmaid as she leaned on the wooden counter tracing her fingertips over his tattoos; her message received loud and clear. He pulled his arm away, threw some cash on the counter, and paid his tab. He wasn’t feeling it tonight; his leg was killing him due to the friction in the socket. He just wanted to get back to the hotel and yank the damn prosthetic off and soak up mindless TV. If he was lucky, he may catch a show in English.
Scott walked the half mile to his hotel room in Belgrade, the place he’d called home for the past month while he worked security detail for the US Ambassador.
He tossed his key card on the table, sat on the bed, and pulled off his shoes and jeans, followed by his prosthetic. He massaged his sore stump. It’s time for an adjustment.
Scott heaved a big sigh, grabbed his crutches, swung himself over to the small sofa, and sunk into it, grabbing his laptop from the coffee table.
He scrolled the news and social media. He despised Facebook, but it kept him in the loop with friends and family—and Tori. It had been well over a month since he’d heard from her. They had remained close over the years, still having their friends-with-benefits arrangement whenever he was in town, and she’d call him for occasional phone sex during her dry spells. It was weird to go so long without even so much as a text. She’d even been MIA on social media, which was unlike her. He scrolled through—still nothing.
She’s just busy with work. She’d just gotten a promotion after all. She was extremely distracted during their last conversation. Or maybe she’s with someone. That thought burned his neck.
He growled internally and kept checking the feed. His mom had posted photos from Thanksgiving. His chest tightened looking at them. He missed his mom’s home cooked meals, and playing games and watching the Cowboys with his dad. Christmas was in three weeks, and it would be another holiday spent away from them. His bank account was big, but looking at what he was missing made his soul feel empty. He was growing weary of this lifestyle.
He continued to scroll. A headline caught his attention from Washington Post.
“Coroner Report and female victim’s name released in Congressmen Donaghue’s Deadly Crash.”
The story had gotten buried in light of coverage on the Paris attacks on November 13th, but it was making headlines again. The news wouldn’t shut up about the mistress he’d nearly killed only a week after separating from his wife. He couldn’t say he was sorry about the man’s passing. He clicked on the article out of curiosity.
Washington County, D.C.
Coroner Brandon Clarke said Nathaniel Donaghue, of Washington, D.C., died as a result of severe head and neck trauma from injuries sustained in an automobile accident on November 12th.
Toxicology reports were inconclusive, but it is apparent alcohol may have played a factor in the accident that claimed his life and critically injured his female passenger.
Female crash victim was identified as twenty-nine-year-old Victoria Johnson of Arlington, VA. Both were transported to Georgetown University Hospital where Donaghue was pronounced dead upon arrival.
Johnson suffered several injuries, including severe head and facial trauma, and is reportedly blind from injuries sustained during the crash.
Scott’s heart stopped as blood drained from his body. What. The. Fuck. Scott reread the paragraph again, making sure it was not the liquor getting to him.
He sat back and ran his fingers through his dark hair as the room spun around him. The words “blind” and “severe head trauma” pounded his skull. Was she even the same Tori anymore? The booze in his system with the combination of the gut-punching news, turned his stomach sour. He grabbed his crutches, went to the bathroom, and vomited.
Scott collected himself and grabbed his phone out of his jeans. One Missed Call from Tori, the display read.
He slumped on the bed, dropping his crutches to the floor with a thud, and clicked her number.
Please pick up. Please pick up.
“Hello?”
“Tori?” Scott’s voice wavered slightly.
“This is her sister, Jane.” God, she sounded like Tori. The fact that Jane was picking up and it wasn’t Tori was another kick in the gut. This is it. You’ve lost her. You let her take a backseat to your pride, career, and ego, and now it’s too late.
“Jane, it’s Scott, I’m—”
“I know,” Jane said impatiently. “You’ve been screwing my sister for years. Of course I know you, Scott.”
“Then I guess I need no introduction.” He brushed off Jane’s snarky comment. “How is she?” he finally muttered.
“I take it you read the news?” Jane sighed wearily. “Been dodging calls all day since that story hit the internet. Every reporter in the world has been blowing up the phone. You wouldn’t believe—” Jane rambled on like a clanging symbol.
“Jane,” he cut her off abruptly. “Tori. Can she speak? Her head injury…is she normal?”
“God, has Tori ever been normal?” Jane gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah, she’s her typical, pig-headed, stubborn self. I’ve been trying to get her to call you.”
Scott breathed a slight sigh of relief; there were so many questions, but one thing rang true, she’s still Tori. “Can I please talk to her?”
“Yes. She went to lay down. I warn you, though… Apparently, she washed down a Xanax with several glasses of vodka, so she may be bit out of it. All the phone calls were getting to her.”
“And you let her?” Scott scolded Jane. “Aren’t you a nurse? You need to watch her more carefully.”
“I am watching her. I dumped the Vodka, of course, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Jesus…let me talk to her, please,” Scott huffed.
He heard muffled voices for a few moments then she came on the line.
“Hey sexy.” Tori’s throaty whisper was like music to his ears. “You pissed Jane off.” She chuckled.
“Hey you,” Scott croaked. “When were you planning on calling me?”
“Well, I’ve kinda been tied to a hospital bed until recently.” Her words slurred. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.” Tori yawned. “It was too much too soon. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said kindly. “You’ve been through a major trauma.”
“Well, if anyone would understand, I guess it would be my one-legged friend.” Tori laughed wryly.
“So, fill me in.”
“I got in a car accident. It sucked.”
Xanax plus Vodka equals snarky Tori. Some things never change. “Tori…” Scott gently scolded.
“Fine, fine,” Tori grunted. “We were at an after-hours event. We had some drinks…” She paused, almost like she was weighing her words. “About two minutes in the car with him driving like a maniac, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. Right as I opened my mouth to scream at him to let me out, we were hit. That’s the last I remember. I had some internal injuries. Broke my wrist… Those, I’ll recover from…” her voice thinned.
“And your vision?” Scott’s heart thumped, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for what was next.
She let out a deep breath. “Gone.” Her voice cracked, and she gulped loudly through the line. “Airbag didn’t deploy properly—factory default. They say I should sue. The impact caused swelling in my brain, damaging my optic nerves—”
“And there was nothing they could do? Once the swelling subsides?”
“Oh gee. I never even thought of asking.”
Scott grunted. Point taken.
“They tried, Scott. You can’t reverse optic nerve damage. It’s game over.”
He let out a huge breath as the finality of her statement sunk in. “God, Tori. I’m so sorry.”
“I coded in the ER, and they were extremely worried about any other brain damage. So, all things considered, it’s a damn miracle I’m not a potato.”
“That’s true,” he said for lack of anything else better to say. He knew a lot of soldiers with severe deficits from TBI. This was tragic, but it could have been worse. He groped for a silver lining somewhere.
“God, Scott. What am I gonna do?” she whined. “I’ve devoted my whole life to art, a visual career. Not just that it’s in my soul. I’m the tragic, blind artist.” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “This is so fucking cliché it’s like I’m a goddammed after school special or something.” She laughed nervously.
“Tori, I want to be there for you in whatever way I can. Let me rearrange some things on this end. I can get there in a couple days.” She was by his side in his darkest time, and he wouldn’t leave her alone through hers. The irony of that thought was not lost on him.
She cleared her throat. “Stop fussing over me,” she said coolly. “What are you going to do here? Stand around and watch me bump into shit? Anyhow, I won’t even be here. I’m leaving for six months for mobility blind school or whatever the hell they call it.” She snickered. “Hey, at least I’ll be able to hide out from the press there for a while.”
She laughed a little too loudly, putting on a brave front. Tori was a pro at stuffing down her emotions, forever keeping him at arm’s length.
“Leave it to you to get yourself caught up in a government sex scandal. Classic Tori.” He chuckled, making a lame attempt at a joke.
“Hey, you know me. I never half-ass anything, even going blind, apparently,” she feigned pride. “Well, I better get going. I have a very full day of sitting in the dark and listening to Metallica’s Fade to Black.” She cackled obnoxiously, at her crass joke.
Her and her sick, twisted sarcasm. “Good grief, Tori,” he snickered. “Please don’t do that.” He let out a long breath. “Are you going to be ok?”
“I’m always ok. I’ll talk to you soon.” The line went dead, and the picture of her face disappeared off his screen.
Scott held his phone in his numb hands. He couldn’t wrap is mind around it. He flipped to his photos and pulled up the album of Tori, stopping at one of his favorites. Her hair lay disheveled across the white pillowcase, and her fist was curled next to her mouth. He couldn’t see her wicked smile, but he knew it was there, hidden behind her hand by the way her eyes crinkled in the corners, gleaming, saying come fuck me.
Those eyes. Those big, blue, beautiful eyes stared back at him full of lust, desire, and so much mischievousness. That was his favorite expression. Her eyes always told him more than words could ever say.
She’ll never look at you like that again.
His heart sank to his stomach. How the hell did this happen? What on earth was she doing with Donaghue? Tori and a congressman? It made absolutely no sense. The woman hated politics. Anytime he ever tried to discuss current events, her artistic brain would check out. Her eyes would glaze over, and she’d vacantly nod, and when he tried to call her on not listening, she’d repeat his last sentence to him like a programmed recording.
Was Dongahue just another conquest for her, or was there more going on with the two of them? The man did just split from his wife. Politicians rarely divorced. The need to keep respectable appearances outweighed marital happiness.
His stomach churned again, and he went back to the bathroom to vomit, but there was nothing more in his belly. He dry-heaved over the toilet, cursing himself for not being there to protect her from herself.
He should have stayed and fought for her heart. There were hundreds of times he almost told her he loved her, but the words always caught in his throat. If he would have let go of his pride and said how he felt, things could be different.
If only. His life was full of if only’s that were now just memories. Each one had their names tattooed across his right forearm.
His throat tightened as he slumped onto the bathroom floor. A hollow ache filled his chest as tears flowed down his rugged cheeks. He was thankful she was alive, but would she ever be the same?
His eyes darted to his stump lying across the cold tile. That loss was nothing compared to what Tori was facing. She brought him back years ago, refused to let him wallow in self-pity. She helped him fight through the pain and the grief of all he went through. He wouldn’t be the man he was today if it wasn’t for Tori. He wanted nothing more than to be at her side, to hold her and tell her she’d be ok, that together, they could get through this.
How could he do that when she never let him in?