Chapter Nine
HOURS PASSED WITH battering waves of anger, confusion, hurt, and a modicum of relief, though that was the one that hurt the most. Shauna was exhausted.
Even after she’d heard Brian leave the house, she was too on edge to close her eyes.
She didn’t know if he’d come back even angrier or promising to get help. Either way she needed to be ready.
She couldn’t fool herself anymore. She had to do something, but she didn’t have any reasonable options.
By late afternoon she was emotionally and physically depleted, and her back hurt.
She felt like a zombie. Hoping a shower would clear her head, she locked the front door and headed for the bathroom.
She hesitated in front of Brian’s room, the chaotic state of it a mirror of what he’d become.
The picture of them they’d taken this time last year lay on the floor among shattered glass and the broken frame, breaking her heart anew.
When she finally stepped beneath the shower spray, she tilted her face up, letting the water rain down over her.
Memories tiptoed in. Hitchhiking out of town with Brian the night they’d left home, getting high on the side of the highway.
Climbing into cars with strangers. At the time she’d told herself they were brave, and they had been to have gotten away from their parents, but they were also so damn young, and what they’d done was dangerously stupid.
As she washed her hair, she thought about the days after Brian had nearly died from an overdose.
They’d both been so scared. But they’d been there for each other on their journey to sobriety, cheering each other on and dragging each other to meetings.
They’d come so far. How had she let so much time go by without figuring something out so it wouldn’t come to this?
She’d been to enough meetings to know better than to take the blame for his addiction, but that didn’t make it any easier to face their current situation.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She told herself to get all her crying done now, because there was no way she’d let Brian see that weakness. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t come back until he miraculously found a way to get out from under the drugs, but that thought brought a deluge of guilt.
She fought that guilt, and instead of shedding the rest of her tears, she did what she knew was best and forced herself to regain control.
She was reaching for a towel when she heard a knock at the front door.
Her stomach clenched. Brian had a key, but with the way things were going, he probably lost it.
She wrapped the towel around herself and went to answer the door.
She peered out the sidelight window as she reached for the doorknob, and her heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t Brian.
It was Zander.
He flashed her a cocky grin, sending her heart into a tailspin. Shitshitshit. She leaned out of his view, hiding behind the door. Why was he here? She looked down at her towel and cringed. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him.
What kind of crazy test of sanity is this?
She took a deep, calming breath and opened the door, hiding half of her body behind it. “Zander, hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I wanted to come by and…” His brows slanted, his smile morphing to a clenched jaw, his eyes locked on her arm. “Who did that to you?”
She followed his gaze to an angry bruise on her arm and swallowed hard, averting her eyes. She’d been so upset, she hadn’t even registered the tenderness in her arms where Brian had grabbed her, but now she remembered flinching in the shower as she’d washed them.
“No one. It must’ve happened when…” She heard herself lying, and stopped. That was how she’d ended up in this predicament. She couldn’t, shouldn’t, do it anymore.
“Shauna.” He stepped closer. “Who hurt you?”
Emotions thickened her throat as she met his gaze, and she was hit with another wave of guilt as she said, “Brian.”
His chest expanded with a deep inhalation, his nostrils flaring, his jaw tightening. “Where is he?”
She shrugged. “Not here.”
“Go get dressed. You’re coming home with me.”
“What? Why?” Was he serious? This man she barely knew? The guy who unknowingly changed my life once before? That sobering thought gave her pause. She hadn’t known him then, but had trusted him enough to get into his car, drunk, and tell him where she lived.
“Because no man should ever put their hands on you like that, and I’m not leaving you here for him to do it again.” His tone carried no pity or judgment, only steady, caring insistence, and that, too, rattled her.
“Zander—”
“You’re safe with me, Shauna.” His voice was low and reassuring, but firm.
“I have an extra bedroom. I promise I won’t touch you.
But if you don’t trust me, then I’ll take you to a hotel, or you can stay at the firehouse.
Or if you want to stay here, I’ll sit my ass down on your front porch and stand guard, but I am not leaving you here alone. ”
A lump lodged in her throat. The fighter in her who had made it this far wanted to say no, to prove she was strong and could handle whatever came her way.
But as she stood there looking at Zander, she knew in her heart that she could trust him, and something about that made the tension she’d carried every minute of every day for as long as she could remember unfurl.
She’d been strong for so long, fighting for survival, then for sobriety and to make something of herself, and more recently, she’d been fighting for her and Brian.
She was wrung out, utterly and completely spent, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep well there, whether or not Zander was standing guard out front.
Just this once, she didn’t want to be strong.
It took everything she had left to say “Okay” and step back, allowing him to come inside.
His gaze swept over her, moving from one arm to the other as she closed the door, fury rising in his eyes. “Jesus,” he whispered. His gaze dropped to an old bruise on her forearm.
“That one’s from pole class,” she managed.
“Shauna,” he warned.
“I promise. I get them all the time on my arms and legs,” she said shakily.
His arms circled her, embracing her so gently, she knew he was giving her a chance to step back.
But she didn’t. She pressed her cheek to his chest, soaking in his comfort, and the dam broke, tears flooding down her cheeks.
He held her a little tighter, his hand moving soothingly up her back.
She inhaled sharply when he touched the sore spot where she’d hit the picture frame.
He gently shifted them, keeping her tucked against him with one arm, and moved the towel a little lower on her back. His body went rigid, every muscle flexing. She closed her eyes, emotions swamping her anew, but then his arms were around her again, holding her more carefully.
“Never again,” he said gruffly, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, causing another deluge of tears.