Stay: Changing Tides, Book 1 (27 page)

Brack raced over to the vehicle, meeting Abby’s frantic expression. She jerked away from her mother and grabbed the keys from the ignition. Brack pulled her door open and she fell out, her mother still stomping on the gas pedal as she straddled the console, her hands clawing in Abby’s direction. Blood oozed from a cut on her forehead, and Brack yelled for help.

Then he looked down at Abby. “Are you okay?”

She stared up at him, her face marred by several scratches and ghost white. “She almost killed you.”

“She okay?” Rand approached, his arms wrapped over his crutches.

Brack shook his head and took a long drink of his lukewarm coffee. “Not sure. She won’t let anyone in.”

Rand took a seat next to him in the hospital’s waiting area and propped his cast up on a small table covered with magazines. “It’s been almost twelve hours, man. You should go home and get some sleep.”

“I need to see her.”

Rand nodded, and Brack was glad for his brother’s silent support. They’d never been the closest, but they’d always been there for one another.

The loud beep of their pagers sounded in the huge room, and Rand flipped the volume on his to quiet. “Shit. Bad timing.”

Brack stared at the white hallway leading to the patient rooms. Abby needed him, no matter what she thought right now. He flipped his pager off and glanced at his brother. “Can you see if the team will cover for me?”

“Seriously?” Surprise widened Rand’s stare.

Brack would have laughed if the situation weren’t so damn miserable. “Yeah. She needs someone right now.”

Rand stared for a moment longer, then gave a slight nod. “I’ve never forgiven you for taking Ellen from me.” Brack started to interrupt, but his brother held a hand up, “I know, I know. She wasn’t technically mine. But that’s the past. I like Abby. You break her heart, and I’m going to come after you for revenge for both women.”

Rand struggled to his feet and hobbled away on his crutches. “Give me a shout if you need anything.”

Brack had no response for Rand. His mind refused to focus on anything but Abby and what she was going through. She might not want his help, stubborn, self-sustained woman that she was, but she was going to get it. When he saw Garrett down the hall, he hurried over. Patient confidentiality might not extend to a warning call when Abby and her mother were discharged…

“Mom, the towels are in the cabinet next to the sink.”

“I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

Abby leaned back against the bathroom door. “I know. Holler if you need me.”

She waited until the water turned on then made her way to the living room. Dropping down on the couch, she took a deep breath. The razors were safely locked in her bedroom, along with all the medicines she’d had in the cabinet. It hadn’t been much, but she knew her mother well enough to know that anything was ripe for the taking. Not being a heavy drinker, she’d only had one bottle of wine to dump, and the knives were easily hidden in the back of the pantry.

Getting her mother to calm down had been a bit easier than she’d hoped once they were at the hospital. Her mother’s supply of unopened meds had still been in her pocket—contrary to her claim that she’d been taking them regularly–and the doctor had been able to medicate her accordingly. The staff had been amazing, and after less than a day, they’d let her bring her mother home. Cheri’s clothes were in the wash and Abby had found a fresh set of her own pajamas for her mother to wear for the night.

Food was the next necessity. Reaching over to the end table without getting up, she grabbed the phonebook and flipped through the pages. She didn’t know if Ramone’s delivered, but it was worth a try. Tomorrow she’d make a huge breakfast with what she had left. Maybe a hearty omelet. With the rest of the fresh fruit she’d purchased a few days ago, it would give her mother a choice if she had a wonky stomach. Abby would need to get some orange juice, but she had coffee if there wasn’t a chance to get to the store.

The thinness of her mother’s face worried her. She knew eating came second to any drugs or booze when she went on these types of binges. It always took weeks to get color back in her complexion and her appetite steady. Sleep would help as well.

The same routine as every time before.

She traced a finger down the names and numbers with a yawn. Glancing across the room to where her cell phone sat on the island, she groaned. Reaching her hand out in the direction, she chuckled, willing any latent telekinesis to kick in and save her the exhaustive trip of eight feet. “Damn it.”

She rolled off the couch and stretched. Small lights burst at the corners of her eyes and she waited for the dizziness to disappear. Several lights still marred her vision, and she blinked again. The lights remained, and she glanced at the window. Red and yellow flashers. Rescue flashers.

Before she could reach the door, a low knock jolted her to action. She glanced back at the hallway. Hopefully the shower would keep her mother occupied long enough to get rid of whichever team member had decided to stop in and check on her. She’d had enough disruption lately.

She flung the door open to find Brack standing there, arms laden with several large canvas shopping bags. “Thought you might need some grub and such.”

He walked in uninvited and deposited the bags on the island. She’d refused to see anyone while her mother was in the hospital. Her heart had broken each time the nurses came in to tell her Brack was still there, still waiting. But she hadn’t had the strength to see him. Not when her mother had nearly killed him. Not when the thin hope of being able to stay had been taken away by her mother’s crazed actions.

She could have handled the embarrassment her mother caused, maybe even the strain it could have created for them. But when her actions could hurt him, or Jonathon…

She closed the door, crossing her arms over her chest to keep from rushing forward to the warmth and security only he could create. “What are you doing here? I told you I could take care of this myself.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but this was difficult enough without having him there as a constant reminder of what she would have to leave behind. “Thanks for coming over, but I really think it would be better if you left.”

The bags rustled as he dug through them. “You sure? I brought a few things I thought you might need and a couple just because.”

A stack of movies was placed on the counter along with a box of popcorn, wild rice mix, an onion, mushrooms, some bright red tomatoes and several peppers of different colors. Next came a precooked chicken, Tylenol and ibuprofen, and a package of icepacks. Several cleaning agents and a tri-pack of paper towels were then added to the array.

He waggled his eyebrows before opening the third bag. This one held a small bag of brownies, cookies of several different flavors, some ice cream and any number of sundae toppings. “In case anyone gets a sweet tooth. My favorite is caramel.”

“Brack, stop.” She walked over, her mind working furiously for a reason to make him leave. She wanted him around, wanted to cling to the calm he exuded with such ease. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I know. But I want to.” He met her gaze, tucking her hair back from her face. “And you have to admit, it’s really kind of sweet of me.”

She laughed, the tension in her chest lightning a fraction. “Very sweet. Utterly endearing. But much more effective if you let me tell you how sweet it is instead of pointing it out yourself.”

Scooping up all the vegetables, he took them to the sink. “Yeah, right. If I waited for that I’d be old and gray.”

“Possibly.” A smile worked its way through the turmoil in her heart. “What are you planning?”

He rolled up his sleeves and ran some water to wash the vegetables. A muffled screech from the direction of the bathroom jerked Abby from her study of Brack’s tanned arms. “Oh, shit. Turn off the water!”

He spun the faucet closed. “She’s in the shower?”

Abby nodded. “I’ve got to go check on her. You all set here?”

He pointed to the cabinets. “As long as you don’t mind me poking around for spices.”

“Would it matter if I said no?” He grinned before turning to the cabinets, and she gave up. Walking down the hall to the bathroom, she stepped into the warm fog. “Sorry, Mom. You okay?”

A huge yawn came from the other side of the shower curtain. “I’m fine. Sorry about everything.”

Anger surfaced before Abby could control it. “You should be.”

The water stopped and her pale hand reached out for the towel. “I know. I don’t mean to behave that way. You know that, right?”

The fuck she did.
It was so hard hating the illness that took away the mother speaking now. So many times she’d tried to separate the woman from the disease, but too many years of being let down made it difficult. “I know you don’t mean to, Mom. But I wish you’d try harder. See how well your meds work. You have to stay away from the drugs and drinking. They do this to you.”

“I can’t help it.” The curtain slid back to reveal her mother’s thin frame wrapped in the plush blue towel. She’d lost considerable weight, the bones of her shoulders and collar easily seen beneath her fragile skin. Her cheeks were sunken in and dark patches bruised in wide circles beneath her watery, bloodshot eyes. Several faded black-and-blue marks ran up her right arm. “I’m sick. I know I need the meds, but they make me feel like a zombie.”

“A zombie is better than dead, isn’t it?” Abby could only imagine the abuse she’d suffered putting herself in dangerous situations. The caliber of people her mother ran with scared her almost as much as the behaviors. She’d always expected a call someday telling her that her mother was dead. Overdose, suicide, murdered. She’d prepared as well as she could each time she disappeared again.

Abby grabbed the clean pajamas and handed them to her. “Wear these. Brack is here. He’s cooking supper, so please try to behave.”

Cheri slipped the shirt on first then pulled the towel away. The shirt hung well past her hips, but when she bunched the shirt to pull her pants on, Abby caught a flash of dark purple and mottled red marks on her inner thighs. “What happened?”

Cheri turned away to run her hands through her hair. They shook uncontrollably as she brushed them through the long damp strands. “Nothing.”

Abby’s stomach pitched with nausea as she stared at her in the mirror. “Did you get medical help?”

A scowl scrunched her mouth in a puckered bow. “No. I’m fine. Just too much partying. We had a great time until the cops showed up.”

The fact that she still didn’t find fault in her behavior burned at Abby’s chest. Nothing would ever change. Even sober, medicated and cleaned up, her mother would always go back to the same parties. “Whatever. Come on. I smell supper.”

“I think I’ll pass. I need some sleep.”

There was no use in arguing. They’d been down this road too many times. She’d eat when she was ready. “Fine. You can have the guestroom.”

It only took a few minutes to get her mother tucked into bed. Within moments she was drifting to sleep. Abby brushed her hair behind her ear and slid her fingers over her brow. “I’ve missed you, Mom.”

“I’ll try harder this time Abby. You’ll see. I’ll get better and we’ll be a family again.”

Abby walked from the room. She was too tired to argue with her right now. Too tired to even hope that one time, she’d follow through on her promises. But even a beaten dog will come back hopeful, and her mother’s whispered pledge followed her down the hall.

The delicious scent of spices drew her. Brack stood in the kitchen with his back to her, humming lightly as he moved from one frying pan to the next. She leaned against the doorjamb, enjoying the lithe movements of his body as he worked. He’d rolled his sleeves up farther, and he had a hand-towel draped over one shoulder. After chopping a portion of an onion, he used it to wipe off the counter and flung it back over his shoulder. A moment later he took a quick sniff of the towel and grimaced. He wadded the offending towel up and shot it into the sink with a basketball-style toss.

With a self-satisfied nod, he went back to stirring the contents of one of the pans. A moment later he tugged at his shirt where the towel had hung and sniffed again. With a quick shake if his head he looked at the ceiling with a frustrated growl.

“What’s the matter?”

He jumped at her question and turned with a smile. “That wasn’t very nice. You scared the shit out of me.”

Brack and scared didn’t belong in the same sentence. “What were you growling about when I came in?” She didn’t need to admit she’d been standing there watching him.

He pointed to his shirt. “Onion. Now my shirt stinks.”

She walked closer, peeking over his shoulder at the food. Her mouth watered at the delicious aromas that hung on the steam. “God, that smells good.”

He didn’t move, his gaze on her. “How’s your mom?”

“Asleep.”

He tipped her face up to meet his. “Are you okay?”

No. But she wouldn’t say it. Hiding the pain was so much easier than trying to explain it away. The oddity of emotions was too complex to decipher. Embarrassed, worried, tired, angry. Tears erupted without warning. She’d never had a shoulder to cry on, and as he pulled her closer, the flow of tears refused to stop. It didn’t matter that his shirt smelled of onions, or that he moved to turn the stove off even as he held her. It didn’t matter that her mother slept peacefully in the room down the hall, or that the fire pagers could go off at any moment.