Pieces in Chance (8 page)

His thoughts were right: he really was going to go to hell for thoughts like that. He knew he shouldn’t have them, shouldn’t think them or even entertain them. But he’d been searching his whole life for the warmth the young girl brought him.

When she sighed again, he lifted slightly, using his free hand to pull his cell phone from his pocket. He needed to make sure she was okay, that the way they were sitting was still comfortable for her, and if she was thirsty or in any pain. He didn’t, however, want to move her so he could speak to her.
Maybe I should learn sign language … I wonder how hard that would be
, he thought, cringing as his subconscious when on a mental tirade about moving too fast and her age once more. Bringing up the note app on his phone, he typed slowly.

Are you o.k. like this? Hurting? Need anything?
he asked, moving the phone down so she could read the words. Drew angled her head up, flashing him a broad smile before taking the phone from him with one hand.

She typed back, her movements painfully slow, the bandages covering her burns limiting her. Jensen wished he could tell if it pained her to communicate with him like this.
Im perfect. Thank U 4 staying with me
.

You
are
perfect,
he thought before taking the phone back from her.

You’re welcome.

He handed the phone back to her and she held it for a long moment without typing or moving. Jensen couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. Here she was, cuddled up to a complete stranger – she had to be thinking something. The traumatic events she’d been through should have her running from all men, not wanting to be close to one – especially one she didn’t know. But, for some strange reason, she clung to him, the same way he did her.

Eventually she started to type.
Y did U come back? Y did U stay?

Well, there, she’d done it. She’d asked him the same questions he’d been asking himself, questions he didn’t have any plausible answers to. What was he going to say? He didn’t want to scare her, or worse, push her away, but he didn’t want to lie either. How does one tell the truth when the truth is strange and makes no sense? In all reality, there was no reason or logic to what he was doing. He was running on some inner demand.

Truth?
he typed and she nodded against him.
I don’t know. I shouldn’t have come.

Im glad U did,
she answered and he smiled. That was good – at least she wasn’t a heartbeat away from throwing his ass out of the room, which she should. In fact, he really should go. Taking the phone from her he typed just that – he needed to leave.

Please, don’t
,
she asked him and sat up slightly, her face close to him and their eyes locking.

“I like you here,” she told him softly, clearly fighting the urge to drop her gaze in embarrassment. He could tell it bothered her, not hearing herself – little did she know that her voice was music to his ears.
Pathetic sap.
“I feel safe with you, like I can breathe.”

Jensen said nothing, merely got lost in her honey eyes, mesmerized by the golden flecks that flashed as she stared at him. Being this close to her, this intimate, made his heart speed up. When he looked at her, he didn’t even notice the bruising at her cheek, or the gauze wrapped around her head. When her tongue flicked out to moisten her lower lip, he broke eye contact to follow the motion.

Not thinking, and unable to help himself, he moved one of his hands up to gently cradle her face, being mindful of her current fragility. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, before staring at him once more.
Yep, I’m going to hell,
he thought, throwing caution to the wind and capturing her lips with his.

The kiss was gentle, soft, questioning. As she pressed her mouth harder to his, he reciprocated, his tongue tracing the path hers had before, seeking entrance. Despite Drew’s clear lack of experience, she explored his mouth, like a thirsty woman seeking water in the desert. Her mouth was still bruised and the corner of her lip split from her sperm donor’s abuse, and he tried to favor those areas, placing soft caresses there, but she wasn’t having any of it. Instead both of her arms circled around his neck and she shifted, all but sitting in his lap in an effort to get closer to him.

You’re taking advantage of her,
his thoughts berated him.
She’s been beaten, abused, and doesn’t know what love is – what comfort and affection feel like. You’re stealing that from her, you fucked-up, piece-of-shit thief. You need to stop, and now.

Unable to deny the truth in his mind, he broke away, quickly reaching for his phone and typing as fast as he could. He didn’t want to hurt her – it was the last thing he wanted – and he needed to talk to her, let her know why he couldn’t keep kissing her. Why he couldn’t trail his hands across the fabric of her shapeless hospital gown until he reached her skin. Why he couldn’t caress her, trace the contours of her body the way he wanted. Why he just … couldn’t.

Fuck, Drew. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just couldn’t help it
, he explained, hoping she’d understand. It was his fault – he’d kissed her, she’d merely reacted. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to never kiss her again. He wanted to run as far away as possible, yet he wanted to glue himself to her, to take care of her and keep her safe forever.
What the fuck is going on with me?!

Im not sorry,
she replied back, arching an eyebrow at him before huffing and laying back down, her head returning to its place on his chest. He let her get comfortable again, squeezing his eyes shut to calm the running images in his mind. Flashes of her topless, and what she’d feel like underneath him.
Stop it, you dirty asshole,
his thoughts screamed and he agreed, grasping for the remote and turning the volume up to drown it all out.

Eventually he got lost in the show once more, his fingers constantly, gently, tickling the skin at her shoulder. Drew’s breathing grew even and his matched hers. It wasn’t long until they were both sleeping, her hand resting on his heart and his holding her close to him, where she belonged.

Chapter Seven
 

Drew

Officer Marks was long gone by the time Drew awoke the next morning. Breakfast had been delivered, her tray holding a single rose and a note, along with the usual hospital meal of cardboard pancakes, something that was supposed to be eggs, and dry toast. At least this time they’d brought her some juice and coffee, the latter a luxury she’d been missing since she couldn’t sneak out to get any like she had when at home.

Fingering the small folded sheet of notebook paper, she smiled, immediately knowing who it was from – not that there would have ever been a question in her mind before. Who else would have left it? Certainly not her brother, and she didn’t have any friends from school anymore … especially any who would’ve wanted to send her a flower to begin with.

Her heart screamed for her to open it, but her mind steered her toward her caffeine instead. If he was going to apologize, or say something that would hurt her feelings, she wanted to be prepared. Of course, that was what the cynic in her head boasted – her heart knew otherwise, but still, she relented. After doctoring her brew with the little amount of sugar and powdered cream they’d brought her, Drew took a sip and grimaced. It was definitely
not
Mama’s Donuts coffee – the little mom-and-pop shop in the town center had the best donuts in town, which everyone knew. Their best-kept secret, however, was their coffee. It was better than any she’d had and Mrs. Ainsley, also known as Mama, always snuck her a cup on the house when she was able to find her way there. But, since it was the best she was going to get, she drank it anyway.

Picking up a piece of gross toast, Drew bit into it before putting it down, unable to keep her curiosity at bay. She lifted the thin paper and unfolded it, grinning as she saw messy print in blue ink.

Dear Drew,

Thank you for the most restful night’s sleep I’ve had in as long as I can remember. I’ll be seeing you, beautiful girl.

Jensen.

Butterflies exploded in her stomach as she read his words. They weren’t a declaration of love, or even things most girls would get silly happy about, but to her, they were so much more. He’d stayed with her – she’d figured he had, but wasn’t sure. Now she was desperately curious as to when he’d left. How long had he been gone?

Her fingers traced over her name, written by the man she had no business crushing on. Such a little thing, to have someone care enough to actually put pen to paper. In a day and age where everyone had cell phones, even kids, plus e-mail and Facebook, it was a thoughtful gift.
I love the way he writes my name
, she thought, mentally kicking herself afterward.
You’re such a little kid,
her subconscious snarled, embarrassed that she could think something so childish. It didn’t take the truth away though.

Holding the note to her chest, Drew sipped her coffee and watched TV, for once not bothered by the fact she couldn’t hear the words and had to rely on reading subtitles. The entire time Officer Marks –
Jensen,
he’d signed – had held her and they’d watched
MASH
, she’d cursed her father and the whole situation. What she wouldn’t have given to hear his voice. She’d been surprised when he’d gone along with texting back and forth on his phone. Remembering their messaging, images of his face close to hers spiraled in her mind.

He’d kissed her. Really, truly kissed her. It had been awkward at first as she was afraid she’d do it wrong – she’d never kissed a man like him. Sure, there had been a couple when she was in grade school, and one boy from junior high, but nothing and no one like Jensen Marks. He was on a completely different planet than her – and, being five years or so older than she, it was to be expected.

His lips had been gentle and oh so soft as they’d caressed hers, lightly tracing over the split and bruise at the corner of her mouth. At first Drew had loved his slow motions, but when his tongue traced her bottom lip, something had snapped inside her. She’d wanted more, more of his lips, more of his closeness, more of him.

She still wanted him, in a way she never known she could. Even thinking about that moment made her tingle. Drew could have cried when he’d pulled away, immediately filled with guilt about it. Originally she’d thought she’d failed, done something wrong and he hadn’t liked it, until he’d explained.
I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just couldn’t help it.

Clearly he was bothered, whether it was the age difference, or the fact that she was who she was. Of course, neither of that bugged her – she didn’t care. She wasn’t even sure what they would be to each other. All Drew knew was that if she wasn’t careful, she could easily lose pieces of herself to this new man in Chance.

Weeks passed slowly, painfully. A plastic surgeon had finally come to evaluate the damage to Drew’s eye socket and cheek. He’d offered the option of having surgery, to, as he put it, ‘rebuild her previous look,’ but she declined. Having an unnecessary procedure didn’t really appeal to her – and while she was sure she’d probably be self-conscious for a long time, she was sure she’d get used to any changes in her face. Besides, it wasn’t like she looked at her face very often anyway. She hadn’t even seen the damage until the doctor had come in with a hand mirror. She’d expected the bruising, so her reflection hadn’t been a surprise. On the contrary, she was more shocked that the bruising was green and yellow, with only a couple spots of purple rather than black and blue. Score one for healing.

Her burns were a bit of a different story. Some of the areas were worse than the others; Drew’s right wrist and forearm, her left thigh down to her ankle and foot being the major damage she sustained. Dr. Andrews, the head of the burn unit, had come in several times to change the dressings and clean her wounds before declaring she’d need a graft on her forearm and thigh – the others he wanted to wait and see how they healed first.

Drew had dubbed him Doctor Brutal-Pain-I-Hate-You after he’d excised the skin, effectively peeling her flesh like a potato. The burn had felt like a constant, dull pain she’d become accustomed to, but after the procedure it felt like she was on fire.
Fitting, don’t you think?

Luckily she’d become a drug connoisseur and had been given plenty of drugs. Dr. Brutal had informed her there would be scarring, it would be noticeable, and that one day she could explore other plastic surgery options – which, just as before, she declined. No one was going to be putting a knife anywhere near her body for quite a while.  

Through it all, Jensen was with her in some way, shape, or form. Many nights he spent with her, the two of them laying together on her small hospital bed, watching TV. The days after her surgery, he spent time changing her bandages for her, ensuring she wasn’t in pain, and holding her hand. Even despite her objections, he’d put the burn cream the doctors had kept in her room on her feet and hands, massaging it gently into her skin to promote healing.

On a particularly rough day, Drew found herself alone in her room, crying. Nurse Jean had informed her earlier in the day that the audiologist would be coming to see her to discuss future options, and she’d been happy. She
wanted
her hearing back, even the limited she’d had before the fire, so she wasn’t sure what had set off the waterworks, but they’d come fast and furious. Her entire body hurt and the gravity of everything had once against collapsed around her.

Her mother
and
father were dead. Her father had deafened her, possibly permanently, for the rest of her life. She’d set her house on fire, tried to commit murder and suicide. Her face looked like crap, her arms and legs burned and gross, and she hadn’t brushed her hair in longer than she could remember. For some reason the latter was what kept the tears coursing down her face.

Drew, you’re ridiculous,
she brain scolded as she continued crying.
It’s just hair.
But it wasn’t just hair – Jensen hadn’t seen her be anything other than the nasty mess she was, and she yearned to feel normal again. Even through the worst at home, she’d always been clean and presentable. Now the most she got was a light washcloth sponge bath, with the help of the ever-present Nurse Jean, and a change of gown. She yearned to have her hair washed, conditioned, and thoroughly brushed. A haircut would also be in order, since she vaguely remembered Officer Carrigan mentioning that her hair had been burned as well; she hadn’t taken the time to evaluate the damage to her bright locks when speaking with the plastic surgeon.

So, naturally, that would be the instant Jensen chose to walk through her door. When he saw her crying, he rushed to her side. He mouthed
‘what’s wrong’
several times, but she couldn’t speak. How was Drew supposed to tell him she was having an emotional breakdown over stupid stuff? That her world had randomly crashed around her ears, but that the tipping point had been something as small as her hair? Unable to answer, she shook her head. Jensen’s arms wrapped gingerly around her, holding her, cautious as ever of her injuries.

Once her sobs had subsided, she wiped her face with her bed sheet and faced the man beside her. Embarrassment flooded her that he’d seen her mid-meltdown, but she tried to swallow the emotion – there was nothing she could do about it now. He slowly raised a hand so she could see his intention and wiped stray tears from her cheek.

“Oh, Drew, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” he mouthed, his forehead wrinkled in concern.

She could have kissed him in that moment and wished she had the guts to do so. He hadn’t kissed her since the first night he’d stayed with her – and while he still called her beautiful and left sweet notes, she was still unsure of where they stood.

“I’m fine. I had a girl moment is all,” she told him awkwardly, the words feeling even more foreign to her. Her throat hurt and she could only assume she’d been making noise while crying.
God, could this be any more embarrassing?
Immediately she regretted the thought and prayed Murphy’s law wouldn’t come back to bite her.

Jensen stared at her for a moment, his head cocked to the side. He’d been around her enough to know when she was telling him the truth, and was obviously not believing her explanation, despite its vague truthfulness. And, apparently, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it, either.

“Drew … tell me.” Going by his expression, he wasn’t going to take any fluff for an answer. Drew was sure if she could hear his tone, it would mirror his face exactly. Taking a deep breath, she spoke.

“My hair,” she said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t brussed … brushed,” she corrected, stumbling on her words and focusing harder on the syllables she was speaking, “it in forever. I want to. I want it washed and soft and cut. I want to feel less … dirty.” Drew was noticing the more upset she was, the more difficult it was to remember the sounds of certain letter combinations. She’d been about to say gross, but couldn’t concentrate hard enough on the double ‘s’ sound and changed it last minute.

She’d expected him to laugh at her, for his face to light with amusement. It would’ve been the logical reaction, especially from the strong man beside her, still wearing his perfectly pressed Chance PD uniform. His hair was done in its usual precision high and tight cut and she was sure he went to great lengths to ensure it never grew to look messy. The thought depressed her even more – she wanted good hair too, as stupid as it was.

Instead he leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead before mouthing he would be back.
But you just got here!
Drew mentally called to him, but he’d already gone back out the door and left her alone.
Great. Instead of laughing, you scare the beautiful man away, good job, Drew.