In Control (13 page)

"Did you hurt yourself? I thought I heard you yell," JoBeth called from the other room. The crackle of a paper bag filled the air.

She winced. So much for going unheard. "I caught my eyelashes when I tried to curl them."

The scent of a smoky barbeque sauce tickled her nose.

JoBeth filled the doorway. "That must have hurt like fuck."

Trapped by the lie, she forced herself to nod. "It did, and not the good kind of fuck." The lack of white face brought a sense of vulnerability, especially in the face of her deliberate falsehood to her closest and trusted friend.

She turned back to the mirror, embarrassed, and caught up the almost-empty container of white base makeup. She spun the top. "I'll be out in a minute."

JoBeth didn't take the hint. She hovered in the doorway. "Another date with Zach?"

"Yeah."

"Bel, don't do this to yourself. Not again. Please."

She sighed and turned back to the mirror. Her gaze avoided JoBeth's by concentrating on locating a pack of hair bands. There'd been a package of them here a couple of days ago. Braids would give the impression her dual-colored hair was intentional. Attitude was all she needed to pull it off.

"Don't ignore me, Annabel."

She let her shoulders slump. Ignoring JoBeth hadn't been her intention...mostly. She understood JoBeth's concerns. Of course she did. She had them herself. And she didn't really have a fabulous excuse for any of this...thing...with Zach.

"I'm okay. He's okay."

"Really?" JoBeth's voice held a bite. "Last Saturday was okay?"

Annabel had no explanation for why she trusted Zach, but she did. She even slept in his T-shirt, his scent comforting her and easing her dreams. She parted her hair down the middle and went to work making two braids.

"Jeremy's lies were the cause," she said, hoping to sound more confident than she felt. "Zach did what every brother worth a damn would do. He came to his brother's defense. But Jeremy, that lying fuck, didn't deserve it. The result of those lies caused Zach to take a hit. And me, too."

"There's no excuse for it. None."

She stopped and gave her attention to JoBeth, an unbraided hank of hair hanging down the left side of her face. The severe business suit worn by her friend only added austerity to her starkly carved face. She was angry.

A flutter of fear roiled though her stomach, a familiar consequence of her past.
JoBeth would
never
hit me.
"But there can be forgiveness."

"You're assuming he's worth forgiveness."

She felt her eyes fill and blinked against the welling tears, pressing her trembling lips together to hold back a sudden tide of sobs.

"I have to believe we're all worth forgiveness," she whispered.

JoBeth rushed into tiny bathroom and enfolded Annabel in her arms. She tensed, her usual reaction to another's touch. JoBeth responded by easing away. She cupped Annabel's shoulders in her hands and gazed intently into her face.

"Your stepfather was an evil man. There's no need to do this. You have nothing to atone for. You did nothing to deserve that evil.
Nothing,
hear me?" She gave Annabel's shoulders a soft shake. "I don't care what the fuck he told you. And no, there's no forgiveness for someone like him. Ever. Every Sunday when I'm at church, I pray he burns in everlasting hell."

Annabel stared back, struggling as she always did to believe what JoBeth said, but those rage-filled, condemning words replayed over and over, screaming forth from her memory like a ghost rising from a restless grave
. It's your fault! You brought me to this!

She and JoBeth remained motionless for a few moments; their hearts speaking what words could not. Finally, JoBeth dropped her hands.

"Just be careful is all I'm saying."

"I will. I am." Wasn't she?

"Okay, but keep being careful." JoBeth turned and exited the bathroom. "Finish your hair. I'll set out dinner," she called back over her shoulder.

Annabel winced. "Oh, umm, it's for me and Zach. He wasn't a fan of yesterday's dinner."

"Way cool," JoBeth crowed, her voice diminishing.

"Said it reminded him of the war."

"Less cool."

She felt a smile stretch her cheeks. "You don't mind, do you? Getting us dinner? I'll pay you back."

"No worries," said JoBeth, who must have been across the apartment by now. "My pleasure. I'll sprinkle in some rat poison as a parting gift."

Annabel laughed, her merriment accompanying the closing of JoBeth's bedroom door. The disk player snapped on. Soft jazz filled the air. The closet door slid open with the sound of the metallic floor runners rattling. Hangers slid across a wooden rail with an oddly squeaky moan. Two muted thumps signaled the moment when JoBeth tossed her high-heeled pumps into the corner.

The ritual was as familiar as her own. It played out every workday about six-fifteen in the evening, traffic willing, when JoBeth arrived home and shed her business day persona. Sadly, some people were still in the kinky closet.

Actually, the sad thing was that society still tried to police what folks did in their bedrooms.
Sickening.

She finished her hair and makeup and paused to examine her reflection. Not bad, all things considered...and all those things considered included the bloom of copper atop her head and the incongruous shadow-colored braids that fell down the sides of her face.

"Gorgeous." She chuckled.

Zach's voice echoed the very same word in her memory. Her heart gave a painful squeeze of... Oh, God, yes, it was hope.

She followed the sound of JoBeth exiting her bedroom and entering the kitchen. The blender thumped, then commenced a loud grinding. Then silenced. Annabel found the other woman leaning on the counter, sipping from a tall glass of whatever she'd blended. She wore neon green bike shorts and a banana yellow tank top. Her exercise clothes, which meant the frothy liquid was some blend of healthy stuff.

They exchanged smiles.

"Food's on the table still packed and ready to go." JoBeth nodded to the brown bag.

"Awesome." Annabel located her tote and car keys, grabbed up the bag, and headed for the door. "Don't wait up for me, honey." She sang out their playful parting.

"Not a chance." JoBeth snorted and took a swig from the tall glass.

But Annabel knew better. JoBeth would sleep lightly, one ear listening for the door. She watched and worried. A great friend, she acknowledged. In fact, the one contribution to her survival from a God who'd spent the earlier length of her life ignoring Annabel's tears and pleas.

She didn't need that unsympathetic God now. She had JoBeth.

And Zach.

Annabel pulled into the driveway and parked. She turned off the motor, letting the tricky engine hiccup to a stop, and reflected how different things were from her first visit five days ago. The position of her car told much, but only to people who knew her. She didn't feel the need for a fast get-away, so hadn't parked in the street.

A huge change for me, she reflected.

She felt the urge to smile and didn't fight it.

The driver's side door opened after its usual battle for dominance. It would fight her, too, on closing, but that didn't seem to be as annoying as normal. Even the metal-on-metal squeak sounded more like a burble of laughter than the usual metal-on-metal stream of invective. She'd managed to exit, loaded down with food and fashion accessories, when the ringtone she'd selected to indicate Zach blared with a strident summons.

She set the food on the compact's roof, along with the keys, and rooted through her tote for her phone. She thumbed it on before it went to voice mail. "Hello?"

"Annabel." Zach's voice, clipped and tight. "I'm canceling tonight."

The blood rushed from her face. She grabbed the car door against a wave of dizziness. Panic gripped her heart and squeezed. "Oh God, you're mad at me. What did I do?"

"Not mad. My leg. It hurts like hell."

It occurred to her that his voice did sound as though he were in considerable pain. Roughened, abnormal, and with small grunts between words. Panic released its hold on her and was replaced by a swell of compassion.

"Let me help you. I'm right outside."

"There's nothing you can do."

"I brought dinner," she wheedled, but he only sighed in the face of the lure. "Please let me help you. I want to help."

My God, she was begging. She'd fallen for him already. A goner. It worried her she wasn't scared by that fact.

"Annabel..."

He sounded reluctant, but adamant. She rushed the next words.

"I brought all-American food this time. Bar food. Wings and ribs. I forgot to order drinks, though."

"On JoBeth's dime again?"

She flushed. "Well, yeah, but I'm gonna pay her back as soon as I get my check."

He heaved another noisy sigh. "Look, gorgeous, it's not that you're not wanted. It's"--a gruff grunt and choked-off moan interrupted him for a timeless moment--"I'm in pain."

"Please let me help you, Zach."

"Fine. I could eat some wings, but don't cry for attention, goddamn it. I don't have it to give."

"I promise."

"Door's open. Lock it behind you."

The phone beeped in her hear, alerting her to his disconnect. She shoved away and gathered up the items from the rusted and peeling compact's roof. Another brush of the barbeque sauce teased her nose. However, it was the caramelized baked beans that stole her attention.
Man, they smell good
.

She managed to make it inside and kicked the door closed.

"I'm here," she called out.

No answer came other than the sound of restless bed linens.

She juggled the items she carried over to the table and managed to set them down without any disasters. A quick trip back to the entrance and she twisted the bronze knob to seat the deadbolt. "Zach?"

This time, she thought she heard the sound of a choked-off groan. She knew that sound, one of swallowed pain. She had crippling cramps occasionally, so painful it hurt to moan. What'd happened today? Concerned, she followed the sound of agony into the master bedroom.

"Zach, omigod!"

"Don't," he ground out. "I survived. Others didn't."

He lay on his back, clad only in his white briefs. Sweat dappled his skin. His injured leg lay propped on a pillow, the leg sporting skin mottled from burns and pitted with scars. A streak of white scar tissue bisected his ankle. He knotted his hands in the coverlet, fighting the clearly painful twitching of the taut muscles. His complexion was whiter than the sheets.

Feminine instincts she hadn't known she possessed kicked on, driving away the shocked horror of seeing his beautiful body so insulted by the tools of war. She rushed forward. "What can I get for you?"

A long, drawn out moan rolled from his throat. She could see the muscles across his thigh twist and tremble. His fingers tightened in the coverlet. His knuckles whitened.

"Oh, Zach," she whispered.

He managed to find his breath, his body going still. Was it over? Or was there more to come? The cramps came in waves, she realized, much like her menstrual cramps, but horrifyingly worse.

He spoke between pants. "Half a pain pill. Bottle's in the bathroom. Then food."

"Only half? Not the full pill?"

He flicked her a glance of pain-induced fury. "If you're gonna fight me, then get the hell out."

Ouch.
"I'll get it. Water?"

She watched his throat work as he swallowed heavily.

"Can of Coke in the fridge."

Soda probably wasn't the best bet, but now was not the time to argue with him. She gave a nod that probably resembled one used by a crotchety head nurse with a ward of difficult patients, and hurried to fetch and carry as requested.

The twelve-pack of soda was where he said it would be, in the fridge. She grabbed a can and hurried to the bathroom, popping the tab as she went. Yes, she took a sip while in the room, but she also found a bottle--
Take one every four to six hours for pain
--with his name on it. She removed a pill and snapped it in half, then paused as an idea nudged her. Should she?

"Any reason you're not talking the full dosage?" she called to him.

He said her name with a growl.

"But what if you have a reaction or something? I need to know."

"A full pill puts me under too deep. I don't--" Another hastily choked-off grunt cut into his words. "I don't like the feeling."

He won't be pleased, she warned herself, but what the hell. She palmed one half of the tabled, dropped the other half into the soda, flushed the toilet to make a believable cover story, in the event he called her on this, and returned to Zach, doctored soda in hand. She sat carefully on the mattress beside him and offered the other half of the pill.

He struggled into a near-seated position, refusing her attempts to help with snarls. He took the medication from her hand and tossed it into his mouth, followed by large gulps of Coke.

"Easy," she squeaked, concerned. The pill half she'd slipped into the can hadn't had time to dissolve.

He squinted at her. White lines of pain bracketed his mouth.

"Something I should know?"

"Worried you might choke. That's not a shot of whiskey, you know. It's carbonated."

"Wow, carbonated Coke? Amazing." Sarcasm dripped off his words like venom from a pit viper.

Mean Mr. Grumpy, she thought, but she could understand it. It wasn't as though he didn't have a helluva good reason. She urged him up and forward enough to arrange a stack of pillows behind him to support his back and allow him to sit in relative comfort while he ate. "Try this."

He settled back with a curt nod and a muffled curse. "It's fine."

She straightened and settled her hands on her hips. He did look more comfortable, she noted. "I'll be right back with food. Wings, you said?"

He grunted and took another swallow of Coke. She took that to be a yes.

It didn't take her long to dump some wings onto a plate and consider the rest of the food. Doubtful he'd want to be bothered with the beans, she concluded, but did add on a couple of short ribs and carrot sticks.
Just in case.
She returned to his side and set the plate down near the soda, within easy reach. He didn't react, just sat in silence with his eyes closed and his mouth hard. The savaged muscles near his knee visibly trembled.