One Lucky Hero (13 page)

“I'll set Casey up with counseling appointments this week,” he said finally.

He's just trying to help Casey. You don't have to be such a bitch to him.

It wasn't about him—or her, for that matter. She needed to get to the bottom of this on her own, and he would only complicate things for them.

For you, you mean.

“Thank you for coming by, really. I appreciate you looking out for my brother.”

Dean nodded before walking out of the house and closing the door behind him.

Unable to stop it, she raced into the kitchen and hurled the contents of her stomach into the sink. As she clenched the counter and heaved, a comforting hand rubbed her back.

“You heard?” Violet asked.

“I've never left Quinton alone with Casey. I'd never leave Casey alone period, I swear,” Daisy said.

Violet began to sob, believing her. Part of her was relieved that Daisy wouldn't have to bear any guilt for this, but the rest of her just wanted to know everything.

“It's okay,” Daisy whispered.

“No it's . . . not.” Violet tried to calm her breathing, but she was sucking in air like she was drowning.

“We'll talk to Casey, and once he tells us who did it, we'll call the cops.”

“If Casey hasn't talked about what happened before, what makes you think he'll tell us about it now?” Violet asked.

“I don't know. My overwhelming optimism?”

Violet couldn't stand that Casey had kept something like this inside. He must have been so scared. Why hadn't he come to her?

“I can't believe I didn't see this coming.”

“You knew something was going on, just not what. You can't blame yourself for this.”

Violet held her head over the sink, waiting for the nausea to pass. There was no point in arguing with her sister; no matter which way you sliced it, part of what had happened to Casey was her fault. At some point, she'd put her brother in a vulnerable position.

And he had paid the ultimate price for her mistake.

“Sergeant Sparks seems like a good guy. You were kind of harsh.”

“I slept with him.” Violet wasn't sure why she'd told her. Maybe because she was so tired of secrets, but her sister's calming circles on her back stopped.

“For real? You had sex with that guy?”

Violet nodded and turned on the faucet, rinsing her mouth and the sink out.

“Shit, and here I thought you were a sexless prude.”

Violet spun around to face her sister. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you never bring guys home—”

“Of course not. This is our home, and the fewer people we have coming or going, the better,” she said. “Besides, how do I hold the high moral ground and tell you not to screw that douche bag in your bedroom if I'm doing the same thing?”

“You do like your moral high ground.” Daisy smiled only briefly before her expression turned serious. “I wanted you to know that I've decided to break up with Quinton.”

Violet paused, surprised for a second before stifling the urge to jump around and do a dance to the common-sense gods. Of course she refrained, but she couldn't keep the bright tone from her question. “Why?”

“Because I'm going to be in Oregon, and he'll be here. And I love him, I do, but . . . ” The tremble in Daisy's voice shook Violet to her core; she wanted to hug her sister but waited patiently for her to finish. “He's just not who I see when I think about the future, you know? I want someone who's . . . well, nicer for one thing.”

Violet weighed whether or not to ask, finally giving in. “That slap wasn't the first time, was it?”

Daisy avoided Violet's gaze but not before she saw the sheen of tears in her sister's eyes. “No, but it wasn't just that. I want someone who thinks I'm beautiful and smart and funny and nice—”

“You
are
beautiful, smart, funny, and nice! That is exactly what you
deserve
from the man who professes to love you.”

“But I want someone who thinks those things about me, even when they might not be true.”

Pulling her sister into her arms, Violet squeezed her tight. “Dais, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks about you. All that matters is how you feel about the person you are. And just in case you were wondering, your big sister thinks you're amazing.”

“Thanks.” Daisy laughed as she pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “Look what you did, you made me mess up my makeup.”

“Sorry, I was trying to be supportive.” Tucking a chestnut strand behind her sister's ear, Violet asked, “When are you going to do it?

“I called him this morning, but he didn't pick up. Figured I'd meet him sometime this week, do it face to face.”

“Do it in a public place, please.” Violet didn't trust Quinton. He was too volatile.

“Geez, Vi . . . ”

“Humor me,” Violet said.

“Fine, I'll make sure and tell him when we're surrounded by plenty of witnesses.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, Daisy hugged Violet back, hard. “You're a good sister.”

In the last ten years, Daisy had never said those words to her. It was always understood that she loved Violet, but damn, it sounded good to hear it aloud.

“Thanks. So are you.”

“No, not really. Not like you. I don't think I could have done what you did for us,” Daisy said. “Sergeant Sparks was right. You're pretty special.”

“I'm not. I just couldn't lose you guys.” The words sounded selfish to her ears, and she shook her head, wiping at her watery eyes. “I don't know, maybe you would have been better off in a foster home, instead of living in this hovel with me.”

“Stop it. You did the best you could, and no matter what happens, I hope you know that. Who knows where we would have been if you'd made a different choice, but I'm standing
here
on my eighteenth birthday. I'm leaving for college, and that's partially because of you. You are the best big sister in the entire world.”

Violet hugged Daisy back, overwhelmed by her words. Then, suspicion rolled in. Daisy was laying it on awfully thick . . . almost like she wanted something.

And then she chuckled wetly. “You saw the car out the window?”

“You mean the black Honda with the red bow and
Happy Birthday, Daisy
written on the windshield?”

Violet's light amusement exploded into loud laughter. They had shopped for cars last week, and Daisy had fallen hard for the car, but she'd only saved three thousand and the guy was selling it for eight. After telling Daisy no, Violet had called the man back and asked if she could have it looked over by a mechanic she trusted. Later, she'd met the guy for coffee and asked if he'd take six thousand for it. At first, he'd balked, but eventually he'd let her have it for six thousand five hundred.

“Yes, I mean
that
car. Don't you want to know how I got it?”

“No, I knew you'd get it,” Daisy said.

“How'd you know that?” Violet asked.

“Because you can do anything, no matter what obstacles are in the way.”

Violet released a giggle and squeezed Daisy until she cried, “Oxygen becoming an issue!”

“I don't care that you are buttering me up, I needed to hear that.”

Violet's little chicken timer went off, indicating the cake had cooled enough, and she let Daisy go to pull the cake out of the fridge. When they were kids their mother had baked their cakes, and Violet had since carried on the tradition, getting pretty good at decorating along the way.

“Can I go see it?” Daisy asked.

“Sure, the keys are in my purse on a Hannah Montana key chain,” Violet said.

“Ugh, that's going in the trash,” Daisy said.

Violet pulled her frosting kit from the cupboard, her mind wandering back to the problem at hand. Why wouldn't Casey have told her about the abuse? It didn't make any sense to keep this from her, especially since she'd be the first one to support him. Did he blame her because she'd been working and going to school? Did he think she didn't have time for him anymore? Or was he embarrassed?

And how was she going to bring it up to him? What if whoever had hurt Casey was hurting someone else? If she waited until he was home, would he open up more than if she brought it up while he was at Alpha Dog?

No, this couldn't wait. She would try to be as cautious as possible, but she had to let Casey know that she was here. That no matter what, she had his back and that he didn't have to be afraid anymore.

One thing was for sure; until she talked to him, nothing, not even Daisy's excited squeals, could distract her from her dark thoughts.

V
IOLET SAT IN
one of the Alpha Dog visiting rooms the next day, twisting her hands in her lap painfully as she waited for Casey. She'd hardly slept last night, trying to imagine how she was going to ask him if Dean's suspicions were correct. The scene had gone a hundred different ways in her head, but the worst was when he walked out of the room without saying anything.

The door opened, and Casey came in, looking sullen.

“Hey, I brought you some of Daisy's birthday cake,” she said.

“Thanks.” He sat down and reached for the cake, pulling the plastic wrap off the top.

“So, how are you? How's your morning so far?” she asked.

“It sucks, thanks for asking. That dick Dean has been up my ass since I got here.”

“Is he picking on you?” He better not be punishing her little brother because he was upset with her.

“No, he's just annoying. All fake caring and wanting to help bullshit.”

Relief rushed through her. “Maybe it's not fake. Maybe he really does care about what's going on with you.”

“Yeah, right, he just wants me to like him so you'll go out with him.”

Violet's face burned. “He does not want to go out with me, Case. I think his concern is genuine.” Gathering her nerve, she added, “You know, he came to see me about you.”

Casey picked up the plastic fork and took a big bite, talking around the cake in his mouth. “Yeah? Did he tell you how swell I'm doing?”

“Actually, he told me that he suspected you've been hurt by someone.”

Casey froze midchew and then swallowed slowly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he came to the house last night. He asked if I knew who might be hurting you, and I told him I had no idea.” Reaching across, she grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Is it true? Did someone . . . hurt you?”

“What, like rape me? Come on.”

But despite his derisive tone, Violet noticed the slight tremor in his voice as he stabbed his cake.

“Casey, it's important that you know it's not your fault—”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”

“—but you need to tell me who it is.”

“Why? Even if something had happened, why the hell would I tell you?” he asked.

“Because I'm your sister and I love you.”

“But what good could you do? Track him down and shoot him? Would that make it all go away? Did chasing Dad away help us? Really?”

The sting of his words was sharper than any slap. She wanted to yell and rail at him that she'd done it to keep him safe, but she held her temper in a vice grip. “I think not being around a meth head or worrying about him doing something to us when he's out of his mind is a very good thing.”

“But we're still constantly paranoid, always worried that CPS is going to come in and take us away. I mean, is this how you imagined your life, Violet? Taking care of us and working your ass off until you're thirty and then waking up to realize you have nothing?”

He's just trying to hurt you. He's on the defensive and trying to turn the focus off of him.

But his words were like a thousand tiny needles pressing into her skin at once. She was afraid that her dream was just that and that eventually she'd end up wasting all this time and money on an education that didn't help her get a better-paying job. She'd heard horror stories about people getting out of college and getting a job that started just above minimum wage, with mountains of student loan debt. She wouldn't have the debt, but at the restaurant she averaged about seventeen dollars an hour on a slow night with tips. There was no way they'd ever get out of Del Paso Heights on that.

“We're talking about you, not me. And the reason you should tell me is so we can go to the police and tell them what happened.”

“Nothing happened, okay? He tried, I got away, just . . . Just drop it, okay?”

Violet swallowed back her happiness that Casey hadn't been molested. “But what about the next kid, Case? What if he's not so lucky?”

“Shut up,” Casey whispered, his voice cracking. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Why does this have to be put on me, huh?” Casey stood up screaming, and Violet backed away from the table as he grabbed at his hair. “Why don't you just leave it be instead of always being such a nosy bi—”

“Hey!” Dean's bark from the doorway startled them both, but his dark gaze was focused on Casey. “What's going on in here?”

Casey glared mutinously.

“Answer me now, Casey!”

Still, her brother said nothing.

“Sergeant Best!” Dean hollered.

“Yes, Sergeant Sparks.” Best stepped into the room behind Dean.

“Take Casey out into the yard and have him run a mile. Then I want every pile of poop in that yard scooped up.”

“You heard him, kid. March,” Best said.

“Is that really necessary?” Violet asked.

“Your brother is in my facility, and he needs to learn that he is lucky to be here,” Dean said. “While here, he will show every instructor, kitchen worker, guest, or janitor respect. No exceptions.”

Casey pushed past Best without saying good-bye to Violet.

This had definitely not been one of the scenarios she'd played out in her mind.

“Are you all right?” Dean asked gruffly.

Directing her anger at the only person left, she snapped, “What, were you listening at the door?”

“My office is right across the hall, and I heard shouting. I know he's going through a lot, but he has no right to speak to you that way, and you shouldn't let him get away with it,” he said.

Why did people think that they could dispense unsolicited advice and she would just accept it graciously? What made him think that he knew what was best for them more than her?

“Oh, so now you're giving me advice on my brother's manners? That must be so awesome for you, getting to stand there and be self-righteous and all-knowing when you actually have no fucking clue what we've been through. You don't know anything about my brother, my sister, or me, for that matter, so why don't you mind your own business?”

Violet's whole body trembled with adrenaline, frustration and rage radiating across her skin. Going after Dean made her feel powerful, free.

“You were the one advertising your business loud enough for everyone to hear, so don't get mad at me just because you don't give a shit enough to demand respect.”

All of her self-loathing and doubt came flooding back, extinguishing the brief victory. She wanted to rail at him that her family respected her and that once again, he was talking out of his ass!

But unfortunately, whenever she got flustered, she had trouble being particularly clever or articulate.

“Fuck you.”

“That's really nice. I try to help you, and you tell me to go fuck myself.”

Fine, so it hadn't been classy, but it had given her a beat to think. “I never asked for your help. That's what you just don't seem to get. I don't need it, and yet, here you are, giving me all the help I never wanted.” Covering the half-eaten cake with plastic wrap again, she left it on the table and grabbed her purse. “You can give that to my brother or throw it away, I don't care.”

She started to walk past him, but he slammed the door before she could walk through it. Violet spun around to face him just as he advanced, pressing her back into the door.

“Why are you like this?” he asked.

“Like . . . Like what?” He was so broad, so tall, that as he leaned over her she actually felt short.

“Why are you so fucking determined to make me stop caring?”

Violet blinked up at him, a lump of regret building in her throat. “Because I don't have anything left for you.”

Dean's hands came up to frame her face, smoldering heat blazing from his gaze. “Oh, sweetheart, you are so very wrong.”

Violet hardly had time to gasp before his mouth seared hers, his tongue dragging across her lips and then pushing inside. The press of his body against hers liquefied her entrails, her muscles, her bones. Every part of her was affected by the taste and scent of him as he sweetly punished her with his kiss.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pushed back, meeting the thrusts of his tongue with unleashed passion. She had never understood the romance novels that had a hero and heroine fighting one minute and making out the next, but right now, she totally got it. The blood pumping through her veins, the frustration leaking out of her as they touched and stroked and melded together.

Someone turned the knob and pushed on the door, but with both of them leaning against it, it wouldn't open. Dean pulled away first, and she gasped for air, staring up at him as they both tried to catch their breath.

“Hey, is everything okay in there?” someone asked from the other side.

“Yeah, it's fine. We'll be out in a minute,” Dean called.

“Ooooh-kaaaay,” the guy on the other side drawled.

Horror burned Violet's cheeks. Someone might have heard them and guessed what they were doing. Oh, God, what the hell was wrong with her? Casey would never forgive her if he heard from someone else.

She finally got her bearings and dropped her arms from Dean's neck, placing her palms on his chest to push him off. “I have to go.”

Dean didn't release her right away. “Are we going to talk about this?”

“No. No, we're not.” Ducking under his arm, she put some distance between them, taking a few deep breaths before she faced him again, his back now to the door. This poor guy seemed to always be there whenever she was at her worst, and he'd definitely felt the whip of her emotions. It wasn't fair, any of it.

“I am sorry for what I said. I was being defensive, and you didn't deserve it.” It was true, but more than that, they couldn't keep doing this. Especially not here.

What does that mean? That it's okay to kiss him like you can't get enough as long as no one knows?

No, that wasn't what she was thinking. It just seemed like every time they ended up in the same room together, they were always drawing closer, touching. As if they couldn't help themselves, which sounded completely insane, even in her head. Human beings could control their urges.

Except for when the subject of her uncontrollable attraction was giving her that half smile with the teasing edge. The one that made her warm all over.

“I don't know, that wounded me deeply. I might need more than an apology,” he said.

Violet shook her head, fighting the urge to smile back. “You never give up, do you?”

“No, I do. Lucky for you, though, it takes a lot to make me write someone off.”

The sincerity in his expression tugged at her emotions, making her feel almost shy. Definitely awkward, so she joked, “I wouldn't say lucky . . . ”

“Ouch again. You definitely owe me.” He opened the door but stepped back into the doorway, blocking her escape.

“And what is it that you want?” Her heart skipped into a gallop as his eyes raked her from her toes back up to meet her gaze.

“I'm not sure yet. I'll think about it.”

The insinuation wasn't lost on her, and her snark returned as she walked through the doorframe, inches away from him. “I don't want you to hurt your brain.”

He dropped his head, his mouth so close she almost thought he was about to kiss her again. She silently screamed at herself, but her body wouldn't move, as if dying to know if he'd dare. The hallway looked empty, but that didn't mean it would stay that way.

Dean didn't kiss her, though. Instead, his warm breath fanned over her lips as he whispered, “I promise that whatever I come up with won't put you out in the slightest.”

If it involves being near you, it will more than put me out. It will put me in danger of getting too close.

A
N HOUR LATER
, Dean sat at his desk keeping a tight rein on his temper. Across from him stood Casey, with his arms crossed and a stubborn expression plastered across his face.

“I'm not going to some stupid counselor, and you can't make me.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, studying the boy. He was lucky Dean hadn't grabbed him by the scruff of the neck after the way he'd talked to Violet. It had taken every ounce of discipline to remember the kid was hurting and lashing out. That he needed normalcy and understanding, not more violence.

Still, Casey knew how to push every button Dean had.

“Actually, as you are still under my care for the next few weeks, I can. It is my decision whether or not you need a professional to talk to, and I believe it is in your best interest.”

“You don't know dick about me or what's best for me!”

“Actually, I know quite a lot about you,” Dean said, standing. “Your mom died ten years ago when you were four, your father left, and you have been raised by your older sister ever since.”

Casey glared at him mutely, and Dean softened his tone. “I know something bad happened to you, and I am not going to push you to tell me about it, but you need to tell someone. Otherwise, you'll never move past it.”

Dean could see the internal struggle in Casey's face. He hadn't quite mastered the ability to mask his emotions, and Dean could tell he'd struck a nerve.

“Whatever,” he said, his voice choked up.

As Casey started to slam out of his office, Dean said, “I didn't excuse you.”

Casey turned around with a clenched jaw and a defiant gleam back in his eye. “May I be excused, sir?”

“Yes, you can report to the mess hall.”

Casey walked out without bothering to close the door. Dean took a deep breath and reminded himself that these kids had been through things most adults couldn't handle. They'd had their trust broken more times than they could count, and he had to earn their respect.

But it took all of his resolve not to go after Casey and make him scrub the bathroom floor with a toothbrush for being such a turd.