“One of the women I spoke with seemed nervous. She didn’t want to talk, said she knew nothing about it even though it was her next door neighbor who’d been shot.”
Tension flexed his large hands into fists, then he deliberately relaxed them, spreading them out on his knees. Such big hands, so competent – and yet, so gentle. With her, with Ryder.
“In my gut, I knew something was wrong, but she was living with her mom and dad, both of them elderly, and me being there had them stressed, too. She had three kids, Joey.”
Had?
“The youngest one, only two-years-old, kept crying, even with the grandpa carrying him around. I finally decided I would talk with her again after the holiday.”
Oh, no. Joey could guess where this was going. For herself and for Hendrix, she hugged herself up close to his arm.
“I knew something was wrong. Ifeltit. My instincts were screaming a warning, but I couldn’t see a threat. Just a frazzled mom, upset kids, and worried grandparents. I reasoned that a single woman deserved some peace for the holiday.” In a precursor to admissions, his chest lifted on a deep breath, his biceps knotting. He slowly exhaled, braced himself, and said in a measured tone, “Christmas morning, a man broke in and shot her, one of her kids, the grandma and grandpa.”
“Dear God.” Horrified and brokenhearted, she understood that this was the awful memory Hendrix carried, the one that had forever changed his outlook on Christmas.
“Both of the elders died,” he continued, his tone now flat, as if he’d forced away the emotion. “They were trying to protect the others. The woman lost an eye, but she lived.”
The child? Joey was too afraid to ask.Please, please, please let the child be okay.
Suddenly Hendrix hauled her up and into his lap, tucking her against him, his face against her neck. She could feel him trembling and it destroyed her.
“Hendrix,” she whispered, one hand stroking his hair. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” Not for intruding, not now. He needed totalk. He needed to let it out. No man should have to suffer that memory alone. She pressed a kiss to his temple.
“It was touch and go for a while, but the kid survived, too.”
Squeezing him tight, her eyes damp with tears, she nodded. “Thank God.”
“The mom gave them all away. She said it had been hard enough to keep up, but with her parents gone and her injury, she couldn’t do it anymore. She said she wanted to start over.”
Pushing back from him, Joey asked the first thing that came to her mind. “Together? Or were they separated?” She couldn’t understand the woman’s decision, but she wasn’t in her shoes. She hadn’t lived her difficult life. Hopefully, she’d be okay, but more than ever, her children deserved love and stability.
“When I left Indiana, the adoption was pending, but it was for all three kids.”
Grateful, Joey briefly closed her eyes. “The man who shot them?”
“I killed him two days later.”
That got her eyes wide-open again.
As if he’d long resigned himself to that death, Hendrix lifted one shoulder. “Officers were called to a domestic disturbance. I was already nearby. The long and short of it is that he shot first, wounding one officer, so I returned fire and killed him.”
“You’re sure it was the same man?”
“I didn’t know it at the time, but others stepped up after he was dead. He’d been on a drinking binge Christmas Eve, bragging to everyone about how he didn’t like loose ends. He specifically mentioned the witness.”
“And no one reported him?” Such a callous, uncaring attitude left her dumbfounded. “They could have kept it all from happening!”
“For a lot of people, Christmas is about decorating, buying gifts, planning visits and cooking treats. But in thatneighborhood, it was more about burglary, larceny, domestic disputes, and gun assaults. Nice families trying to make the holiday count are outnumbered by ODs happening on shop steps and alleys.” His mouth firmed. “It’s a different world.”
And Hendrix had seen it all. What an awful contrast it would be when he wanted to celebrate with his own family. “I see.”
After giving her a long look, he nodded. “The bastard I shot had been terrorizing that neighborhood for a while. A lot of people were afraid of him.”
Sometimes you had to confront your fears – although she hadn’t, not until it endangered her son. “Is it awful that I’m glad he’s gone?”
“If so, we’re both awful.” He cradled her face between his palms. “After I walked into that murder scene on Christmas morning, I knew I’d never be the same. Blood was splattered on the tree and ornaments. Fallen bodies had crushed the presents. The traumatized kids were huddled in a corner, the oldest one holding the two-year old who’d been shot.”
Tears burned her eyes but she wouldn’t cry; she wouldn’t add to Hendrix’s burden that way. “Seeing something that awful could destroy anyone.” Thank God it hadn’t destroyed Hendrix.
