At the door, I glanced back, his eyes were still on me, a sharp, sinking feeling weighing against my chest. It ballooned out and spread like liquid heat over my shoulders when I watched his eyes narrow, one eyebrow arched in annoyance.
I dashed through the house, grabbing my purse and my keys—only skidding to a stop on the front steps when I heard the first sound of the sirens. My pants were a bloodied mess, raw and gritty, just like my life. I sank down hard, hitting the last concrete step with my bottom so roughly that it rattled my teeth. The stones were so cold my bones turned brittle.
Flashing lights, red and blue, came speeding down the street. Two emergency workers met me at the stairs, and I led them inside.
There were more people in the house then, voices and chaos; my mother shouting out she was fine. “Don’t touch anything,” she yelled, her voice shattering like glass. The fire department rolled up next. Giant beefy men, wearing full gear, stormed through the house, tracking mud, snow, and ash all throughout.
I turned off the television in the living room, crossed my arms around my torso and watched in the background as they worked on helping my mother. She still held onto the broken bottle, white knuckling the glass. “Don’t touch my shit, you motherfuckers,” she screamed over their radios crackling static into the air. “Can someone get me a drink? A goddamn cigarette at least?” She pulled the nearest bottle up to her lips and one of the emergency responders slipped it agilely out from her fingers. “I…I need that,” she said grabbing for it. “Cocksucking thieves! Stop stealing my booze!”
Her arms were so thin, frail and birdlike. She’d changed so much since the last time I saw her. Her face was so much older, worn and tired. Dark brown liver spots darkened her skin like some invading army of age. She looked so much older than her forty-one years.
“You okay?” Dean asked, swinging his legs over the coffee table and sitting on its edge. I gagged loudly at the smell of his cologne mixed with burnt onions. I tried to play it off like a cough, but he was watching me too closely. He leaned his elbows on his knees, hands dangling loosely between them. “Take a deep, slow breath before you make yourself puke.”
I did as he told me.
Inhale slowly, exhale slowly—I did it until the queasy feeling turned into an empty ball of nothing in the pit of my stomach—some hollow piece of me that used to be my guts.
“You should let them look at your legs,” he said softly.
“No. I’m fine,” I said low, trying to scoot back unnoticeably. My eyes focused on the gold shield pinned over his heart.
Back in the kitchen, a blur of voices coaxed my mother to calm down, no one would be taking any of her belongings and yes, she really needed to go to the hospital.
The firefighters were by the side door, talking about checking around the rest of the house.
“You want something to drink? A soda or something?” Dean asked, quietly. “I can get you something from my place. Your mom’s frig is empty—”
“Yes,” I said, quickly, surprising myself.
“Yeah?” he said, blinking a couple of times like he was surprised too. I couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a flicker at a time. It had been a long time since I stood in front of Dean Fury; the last time it was one of those humiliating teenage angst-filled scenarios I never wanted to remember. He nodded, and slid off the table, graceful and boneless for someone his size, making his way to the front door. My eyes chased after him, watching him move; my hands squeezing hard against my sides. I should have never come back here.What was I thinking?
When I heard the door close behind him, I slumped forward, dropped my head into my hands, and closed my eyes. I’d get my mother to the hospital, and see if there was some sort of rehab I could force her into—again. I’d set up some sort of grocery service for her and get myself back home. Far away from here. I’ll take on some tutoring for the neighborhood kids on the weekends to help more around here with money.Everything will be okay.
I opened my eyes at the sound of the EMTs rolling my mother through the living room, strapped down on a gurney. She was wide-eyed and angry. “Don’t touch my stuff!” she said to me. “Livie? Liv? Is that really you?”
I stood and shifted closer to her, grimacing inside with how she looked.Why was she always doing this to herself?
Dean walked back in with a black bag slung over his shoulder and a can of soda, which he clanked onto the table next to me.
“I’m going to meet you at the hospital, okay?” I said, grasping her hand and giving it a firm squeeze.
“No, Liv. Go home! Get out of here and don’t come back,” she croaked, thrashing against the buckles holding her down. “And don’t you go through any of my fucking things!”
Automatically, I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, making sure she wouldn’t see my tears. “Sure, whatever,” I said dryly, walking behind the gurney and watching them pull her out of the house and down the front steps. I leaned against the door and listened to her scream as they packed her into the back of the ambulance, only turning back inside when it was moving down the street and on its way to the hospital.
“Sounds like she doesn’t want you to go through any of her stuff,” Dean said with a mischievous grin, tossing his bag onto the couch and folding his arms across his chest. “You okay?” he asked, locking his eyes on mine.
For a moment, that old familiar rush of warmth he always produced in me spread out across my chest, unsettling me. I averted my eyes, clasped my hands in front of me, and twisted my fingers together. “Yep. Just perfect.”
I kept the front door open and took a deep, long breath. First thing’s first, I needed to get my teenage crush out of this house, so I could think. Then, I would make a plan and get back home as fast as possible. “So, thanks for all your help,” I gave him a curt nod and pointed out the front door. “I’m just going to clean up and go to the hospital. Then leave.”
Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, a lock of dark hair falling out across his forehead.
Don’t look at him, I told myself.Look at the floor.
“You should stop by the house before you leave,” he said, clearing his throat, Brooke’s working now, but I bet she’d love to see you. Catch up.”
I accidently glanced up into his face, right into his hazel eyes.
