Dare to Love (20 page)

“So this is where you kick me out of your life, is that it? All clean and neat. I've served my purpose and now I'm supposed to walk, like a good little boy?”

She leaned against the wall, tears pooling in her eyes again, this time falling slowly down her face. But she didn't back down.

“I'm not ready to lose you. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. But I can't make promises I might not be able to keep. I tried that once and it didn't work.”

Doug studied her, seeing her pain, her unhappiness, but her resolution as well. A part of him acknowledged the irony of the situation. Here he was, a man who usually could barely wait for his heartbeat to return to normal before he jumped out of a woman's bed, finally ready to stay put—and the woman wasn't offering.

“So where does that leave us?”

Andrea walked over to him, smoothing her slim hands up his chest. “We're here together now. Can't we just have this? Please, Doug. It's been such a perfect day. Just hold me.”

She laid her head on his chest, cuddling up to him, and Doug felt his arms going around her, doing her bidding, even while he knew that he was heading for disaster. He was getting in too deep, and he feared that the lady wasn't getting in at all.

* * *

T
HE DAYS SEEMED
to fly by after that. Each one was precious to Andrea, because she feared her time with Doug was going to end. He wanted more from her than she was giving him. He deserved more from her. But she was just too damn scared to give it. She'd rather die than live through more broken promises, more expectations she couldn't live up to. She'd rather die than believe in a future with Doug Avery, only to have it swept away by her own incompetence.

She was dusting her apartment the Saturday after Thanksgiving, wondering if Doug would be stopping by sometime that evening, when she heard his familiar knock at her door.

Andrea stopped for a quick glance in the mirror to be certain she didn't have dirt smudged across her nose. She would have preferred to have changed out of her jeans and sweatshirt into something a little more provocative, and to have run a comb through her hair so it didn't look as if she'd been running her fingers through it all afternoon. But knowing Doug, she figured she'd be out of her clothes soon enough anyway, and she hurried toward the door with the fierce heat of anticipation spreading throughout her body.

Doug looked awful. He stood in her doorway looking at her as if he were drowning and she were a piece of driftwood. His face was ashen, his lips tight, his eyes glassy with shock.

Andrea took hold of his arm, her heart pounding in her chest. She pulled him forward, trying to draw him into her arms, to hold him, to make whatever it was go away.

He brushed past her into her living room, standing by the couch, looking around as if he didn't know how he'd gotten there. His nostrils were flaring with the obvious effort it took him to keep a hold on his emotions. Andrea's heart filled with fear.

“It's Jeremy.”

The two words were all he said, but they were all Andrea needed. She knew. In the space of two words she knew exactly what Doug was facing. She knew the disbelief, the recriminations he was putting himself through. And she knew about the guilt that lay ahead. She knew it, not because she could guess, but because she
knew.
She'd been there before, once. She'd never made it back.

“Where is he?”

Doug looked over at her, his eyes hard with self-loathing, his breathing heavy with guilt. “Children's Hospital.”

So Jeremy was alive. She'd been afraid to ask.

“Let's go.”

Andrea never hesitated as she picked up her purse, locked her apartment and followed Doug to his car. She knew she was walking into something she wasn't ready to handle, something that could very well strip her of the little control she had left, but she went anyway. Doug needed her.

The hours in the empty waiting room were endless. Doug paced. He sipped the coffee Andrea brought him, and nagged the nursing staff until Andrea finally had to intercede on his behalf. Jeremy was still alive. That's all anybody would tell them.

“Is there anybody we should contact?” Andrea asked when it seemed like their vigil was sure to continue on into the night. She needed something to do. She'd been on this floor before, waited in this very room for the same interminable hours. The memories were suffocating her.

Doug shook his head. He slouched back on the vinyl seat beside her, staring at the floor between his outstretched feet.

“Won't his parents wonder where he is?”

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes bitter. “His old man quit wondering years ago, when he took off. And if his old lady ever bothered to wonder now and then, Jeremy wouldn't be in there fighting for his life.”

Andrea swallowed hard, forcing her own demons aside. She couldn't let herself think about another fight like this one, another young life hovering on the brink of death. She was too worried about the boy whose life hung by a thread right now, about the frightening coldness that was consuming Doug.

“Who found him?” She'd been afraid to ask, afraid to make him relive any part of the tragic day, but now she was afraid not to. She couldn't just let Doug slip back to the lonely hell he'd inhabited before DARE had come into his life.

He didn't answer her.

“Doug? Who found him?”

He didn't look up. He didn't even move, but finally he murmured, “A Rattler.” The next words came as an afterthought. “The kid had seen me around. He'd ragged on Jeremy once for hanging out with an old guy. Jeremy told him who I was. The guy's been looking after Jeremy ever since.”

“Where'd he find him?”

“Relieving himself in a mailbox slot a couple of blocks from home. Apparently Jeremy'd been partying since six o'clock last night. God only knows what all he's on. Someone said he fell off a wall while watching the sun rise six times. Both of his wrists were broken. Jeremy didn't even know it.” Doug's voice was a monotone.

“He's hung on this long, so his chances are getting better every minute,” Andrea said, repeating words she'd been told four years ago, even though she had a feeling they were going to help Doug as little as they'd helped her.

“Yeah. He may pull through and have a wonderful life sitting in a chair, being fed from a spoon like a baby. Who the hell do you think's going to take care of him? His old lady? Or maybe one of the strangers she brings home at night?”

Andrea reached over to run her hand along Doug's forearm. His skin was icy.

“Don't, Doug. Don't do this to yourself. If it's bad, there'll be plenty enough time to deal with it when we know. He may pull through just fine.”

“He may.” Doug's jaw clenched. Andrea could tell he wasn't buying it. If Jeremy didn't make it, she was afraid that Doug wasn't going to make it, either. She knew exactly how he felt.

It was another two hours before the doctor finally appeared. He was an older man, tall, with gray hair and stooped shoulders. Or maybe his slumping shoulders were just a result of the day he'd had. Either way, Andrea's stomach knotted with dread when she saw him heading toward them.

“Doug Avery?” he asked, looking at Doug's bent head.

Doug shot out of his seat, grabbing Andrea's hand on the way, pulling her up beside him. “That's me,” he said.

Andrea wrapped her arms around his waist, hoping he could find some strength from her presence. There were no thoughts of tomorrow or yesterday, no worries about promises made or broken. There was only Doug's need, and her compulsion to love him.

“I'm Dr. Sandborne. You know the boy's parents?”

“Yes.”

“We've been unable to reach them as yet. Perhaps you know where we might find them?”

“No. How is he?”

“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say until I've met with the family. If we can't locate them, we'll need to call in the police.”

Andrea felt Doug's muscles clench. Her nerves were shaking.

“We're police officers, Dr. Sandborne. Officer Avery is responsible for the boy's welfare. His father's gone and his mother is most likely too drunk to be much good to him. We'd be most grateful if you'd let us see him.” Andrea spoke quickly, but as calmly as she could manage, inserting all the authority at her command. Her stomach was quaking.

The doctor looked both of them over, Andrea in her blue jeans and sweatshirt and Doug in his skintight jeans and leather jacket. She reached into her purse and pulled out her badge. Doug saw what she was doing and reached into his pocket for his wallet.

Dr. Sandborne looked at the photos briefly, and then at Doug. “Right this way,” he said, leading them back the way he'd come. Andrea took a quick glance at Doug, uneasy about the tightness of his jaw, his pursed lips, uneasy about the too-familiar smells and sounds that were assailing her.

“How is he, Doctor?” she asked, as much for her benefit as Doug's.

“He's a lucky young man. We pumped his stomach and his vital signs have stabilized, though he'll probably suffer from flashback hallucinations for a while. As far as we can tell, his brain waves are normal. His right wrist is badly broken. It's going to require surgery within the next day or so, so we'll need his mother's signature on the release form. I've already set the left wrist.”

The doctor paused outside a door that stood slightly ajar, his craggy eyebrows knit into a frown. Andrea wondered how many of his days were like the one he'd just had.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said. “We're flushing his system and monitoring his oxygen intake, but the biggest danger has passed.”

With that, he pushed open the door and stood aside for Andrea and Doug to enter the private room. A nurse was busy beside Jeremy's bed. She glanced over as they came in, but didn't stop attending to her patient.

Andrea stood back by the door. Jeremy was going to be all right. She kept concentrating on that thought. The helpless, shockingly pale boy surrounded by beeping machines was Jeremy. And he was going to be all right. The tubes that were coming from all parts of his body were helping him. He was Jeremy. And he was going to be just fine.

The blackness came upon her so quickly she didn't know what was happening. She only knew that the cool relief it offered was too strong for her to resist.

* * *

D
OUG FORCED
his concentration onto the road in front of him. Only a couple more blocks and he'd have Andrea home. She sat silently beside him. Doug wasn't even sure she was aware of the tears that were falling slowly but steadily down her cheeks.

She let him help her from her car and into her apartment, as listless as a stunned animal. Dr. Sandborne had told him that she was suffering from emotional overload. He'd recommended that Andrea take the tranquilizers he'd prescribed. Doug wasn't so sure that was such a good idea.

He didn't think Andrea was simply reacting to the trauma of Jeremy's overdose, as the doctor had assumed. Doug was pretty certain that she had been harboring whatever was bothering her for a long time. And he didn't think she needed to hide from it with prescribed numbness. His instincts told him that if she was ever going to live again, to live wholly, she was going to have to face her pain and put it to rest. He wasn't going to let her run away again.

He led her to her bed and took off her tennis shoes and socks. She flopped back against the pillows he stacked up for her, looking like she didn't have the desire to ever move again. Doug settled beside her, taking her in his arms. She started to cry harder, until her sobs were shaking the bed. He handed her some tissues from the nightstand and held on. The pills Dr. Sandborne had prescribed were still in his pocket. He only hoped he was doing the right thing.

Doug lost track of time as he held her and listened to the pain racking her. He felt so lost, so damned helpless as he tried to absorb her pain without knowing what was causing it. He felt like his heart was breaking into as many fragments as hers.

He held her, he stroked her, he murmured to her. And finally her trembling quieted, her tears slowed to trickles, her sobs to an occasional hiccup. Doug had no idea what to do next, what was best for her, what she needed from him. Should he let her sleep? Suggest she take a shower? Fix her something to eat? He felt almost panicky as he realized he had no idea how to take care of another person.

“Scotty's lips were bluer.”

Her soft words ripped into the night, searing Doug's soul. Who the hell was Scotty? Was he supposed to ask? Or would his question silence her?

“He looked so little, so helpless lying in that bed. And all those tubes...”

Her voice trailed off as she gazed sightlessly across the room. Doug was frustrated by his inability to share whatever pictures were playing themselves out in her head. He didn't even know who she was seeing. She could have been describing Jeremy. Maybe she had been.

But another possibility suddenly occurred to him. Had Andrea been through this before? Had there been another young child, another overdose? Had Andrea, as a young cop, been the one to find him, to bring him in? Had that been the time of need Gloria had referred to? The time when Andrea's husband had walked out on her? Suddenly it all made horrifying sense.

Doug had a hard time sitting still on the bed. He needed to do something. To hit something. To kill the bastard who had locked Andrea up in this emotional hell.

“Jeremy's going to be okay, Doug. The doctor said he was a lucky boy.”

“I know, sweetie. By tomorrow the tubes should be gone.”

“Scotty had the tubes for almost a week. He was so tiny, so innocent. He just lay there with the shadows getting darker and darker beneath his eyes.” Her voice was distant.

Doug's dread increased. Had the boy lived? He was afraid to ask.

“No matter how long I sat there, how much I talked to him, how many times I prayed, he just wouldn't wake up. I thought we were going to lose him for sure. And it was all my fault.”