Fighting Shadows Read online

  “Dat’s bullshit,” I replied when he finished.

  “We love you too, Flint. Get some rest,” Till said, folding his arms across his chest, not buying into Quarry’s explanation.

  “No! I said, ‘I love her.’ Eliza.” I began to point in her direction, but Quarry once again slapped my hand down.

  Turning his back on Till, he leaned into my face. “Shut your goddamn mouth. I’m trying to help you here.”

  “I love her,” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

  Eliza wedged her way back to my side. “No, you don’t. You’re just drugged up right now, Flint.”

  “Bullshit,” I declared adamantly.

  Drugs didn’t cause the way I felt any more than they could fix it. I’d have been a junkie long ago if there were something that could’ve quelled the burning in my chest every time I saw her with Till.

  “This isn’t somethin’ new, Eliza. I think about you when—” I’d started to spill all of my embarrassing secrets when Quarry’s hand slammed over my mouth.

  “I said, ‘Shut the fuck up,’” he seethed.

  “Stop cussing,” I mumbled from behind his hand.

  He looked to Eliza. “Can you press that button again? Maybe see if he’ll pass out.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Till snapped from behind us, losing his cool with being in the dark.

  Nothing. He’s acting like a bitch. Just doing my job as his little brother to protect his manhood . . . or something like that, Quarry signed then flashed Till a tight grin.

  “No, I—” I started, and his hand once again landed over my mouth.

  Quarry gave Eliza an impatient glare.

  “He has a few more minutes before the pain pump will give him any more meds,” she answered, frazzled by my confession.

  And just that small reaction to my admission hurt more than whatever the hell was happening on my back.

  “Well, I’ll just keep my hand right here until it’s time,” Quarry hissed at Eliza.

  “Um, I’m gonna step out and get some water,” she announced uncomfortably.

  “Eliza, wait,” I tried to shout, but Quarry wasn’t lying about not removing his hand. “Get off me.” I weakly swatted it away.

  Glancing back at Till, he lifted a finger in the air to signal one second. Then he turned back to me. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. You’re in love with her, fine. Now, shut up.”

  “Not until he knows,” I replied.

  “Go to sleep, Flint. If you still want to make this mistake when you wake up, I’ll sign it out to him myself.” He urged me with a hard stare.

  I was tired. Sleep didn’t exactly sound like torture. I’d been sitting on my feelings for Eliza since I was twelve. What was one more night?

  “I would take her from him,” I declared as my lids began to droop.

  Quarry busted out laughing. “Then, when you wake up, I’ll sign out your warning. Oh, look! Time’s up.” He grabbed the red button and gave it a push.

  I moaned as the glorious burn of the medication hit my vein.

  “Thank God,” he breathed as I drifted off to sleep.

  When I awoke some hours later, my determination to tell Till had fortunately disappeared.

  Unfortunately, so had my desire for Eliza to know.

  But the truth was out.

  As the embarrassment set in, I tried to convince myself that maybe it was for the best that she knew how I felt.

  It wasn’t.

  It was a hell of a lot worse.

  THE DAY I FOUND OUT that I might never walk again was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. And that’s saying a lot for someone who had seen more heartbreak in eighteen years than most people experience in a lifetime.

  Hell, I was a fucking pro at heartbreak. I lived with the knowledge that my mother had abandoned me. And the fun fact that my father had spent years in prison after he’d almost gotten my brother killed. I’d witnessed firsthand the night Till had suddenly gone deaf. And I’d had a front-row seat the day Quarry had found out he shared the same silent fate. Most recently, I had spent hours reeling as I’d watched my family fall apart while we had frantically tried to find the man who had taken Eliza at gunpoint.

  Heartbreak was nothing compared to the road I had ahead of me.

  I was paralyzed after having taken a bullet in the back to protect her. At least, that was the way other people saw it. Till especially hailed me as a hero. It was a lie though. I had taken that bullet to protect myself. I wouldn’t have been able to survive a single moment without her. My actions that day had been so selfish that I couldn’t even be devastated.

  I made the choice.

  “We have high hopes that you’ll walk again¸ but until your body starts healing, we just don’t have any clear idea of when that will be.”

  “Have you had other people with similar injuries walk again?” Till asked when Eliza finished signing the information for him.

  “Of course!” the doctor answered enthusiastically.

  But I felt like I had been punched in the gut. “You’ve also had some not though, right? I asked, bitterly.

  “Well, yes. Every patient has a different recovery.”

  “So, it’s basically a coin toss, huh?”

  He didn’t respond as he exchanged a knowing glance with Till.

  “Right. Well, you should know, Doc. The coin fucking hates the Page brothers.” I laughed without humor. Pointing at Till, I announced, “Deaf.” Then I waved my arm at Quarry. “Going deaf.” Then I stabbed my finger at myself. “Paralyzed.” I shook my head, looking down at my worthless legs, cursing them for failing me.

  “It’s not permanent, Flint. We’re gonna fight this. We’ll get you back on your feet. I swear to God we will,” Till vowed, barely able to contain his emotions.

  I wanted to scream and yell that he couldn’t possibly make that promise. But it would have only added to my mounting guilt.

  I know, I signed back to him with a forced smile. “Really. It’s okay,” I whispered as Eliza, who was securely wrapped in Till’s arms, broke down.

  My attention was drawn away by a knock at the door.

  “You up for some company?” Slate asked as he walked in, his wife, Erica, in tow.

  Slate Andrews was the former heavyweight boxing champion of the world. But to me and my brothers, he and Erica were the parents we’d never had. Slate owned a boxing gym for underprivileged kids, and considering that the three of us had never fit into a category more, we’d spent most of our time at On The Ropes. He was tight with a lot of the kids at the gym, but it was obvious to everyone that he had formed a special bond with us—or, more accurately, with Till. Like so often in our lives, Quarry and I were just part of the package.

  A few years earlier, Slate had given Till the opportunity of a lifetime by bankrolling his efforts to become a professional boxer. A fated chance that had ultimately led us to a moment where I lay paralyzed in a bed and my brother sat across from me as the current heavyweight champion of the entire fucking world, holding the woman I loved.

  It didn’t exactly seem fair, but not much in my life was.

  “Yeah. Come on in,” I replied, looking around the room at the solemn faces.

  My eyes landed on Quarry, who was in the corner, peering out the window. If it weren’t for the softest shake of his shoulders, I wouldn’t have thought much of it.

  “Hey, Q,” I called.

  He didn’t turn to face me as he answered, “Yeah.”

  “You crying over there?” Yep. I went right for it. He was my little brother. Even in a moment that, by all means, should have been emotional, it was still my job to give him absolute hell.

  “Fuck you,” he barked at the window.

  My lip twitched at his response. “Hey, you can’t be a man and a baby. Either cuss or cry,” I teased, making sure to sign as I spoke so Till could join in the fun.

  Slate groaned beside me, and Till shook his head before kissing Eliza’s temple.

&nbs
p; “Leave him alone,” Erica urged.

  I couldn’t do that at all though. I needed that interaction to keep my mind from spiraling out of control.

  In an exaggerated baby voice, I mocked, “Q, you want me to ask the nurse if she has a lollipop?”

  “I hate you,” he mumbled, pushing to his feet and storming toward the door.

  “I’m just kidding, Quarry. Christ, don’t be so sensitive,” I yelled after him.

  When he reached the doorway, he looked up and flipped me off. Tears painted his face, and it would have been a lie if I didn’t admit that it fucking killed me to see him like that, but at least the attention was on him.

  “Seriously, Flint? He’s worried about you. Cut the kid some slack, ” Erica huffed as she went after him.

  Cut him some slack.

  Cut him some slack?

  What exactly that meant, I would never understand. We were the Page brothers. Slack was not something we would ever receive—and truth be told, we couldn’t afford to. You know what slack did to a person? It made you soft. Slack left you unprepared and gave you a false sense of safety, all the while slowly working its way around your neck, leaving you a tangled mess and fighting for your next breath. Fuck that. I was doing Quarry a favor by keeping him on his toes. The world didn’t hand out slack.

  Where had my slack been when I’d been scrubbing the filth off the floors of our shithole apartment just so Social Services wouldn’t place Quarry and me in foster care? No one had cut me slack when I used to stay awake all hours of the night waiting for my father to come home because I’d known he’d have drugs in his pocket—drugs I could trade to the old lady next door in exchange for a fucking meal to keep us fed. Had slack helped me as I’d searched through the bins at the local church drive for jeans that fit Quarry who, for some reason, wouldn’t stop growing?

  No.

  I’d had to fight for everything. The same everything that had absolutely never been enough. For God’s sake, hearing and walking weren’t even guaranteed for us.

  Fuck the slack. Give me the tension.

  Erica was right though. I should have apologized to Quarry, but where would that have left him? He needed to learn that it’s not okay to cry. No one cared about his tears any more than they did the billions I’d shed in my eighteen years. Emotions didn’t pay the bills, or I would have been Donald fucking Trump. You had to get up, brush yourself off, and figure it the fuck out. You found a solution, even if it fucking sucked, and then you moved on. Wallowing got you nowhere, and pity was for the weak.

  So, as I lay there in front of my family, I made a decision.

  One choice.

  Infinite possibilities.

  One gigantic lie.

  “I’m gonna be okay,” I told the room. However, the announcement was entirely aimed at myself. “Even if this isn’t temporary. I’ll be fine.”

  If only I could have found a way to keep from losing myself in the arduous process of pretending to be fine and okay.

  “HELP ME! PLEASE!” I SCREAMED, almost plowing the well-dressed man over. The concrete was cold against my bare feet, and the torn sweater did little to protect me from the freezing wind swirling around the city.

  “Whoa!” he exclaimed, grabbing my shoulders to still me.

  “Please. You have to help me. My dad . . . He . . .” I faded off as tears sprung to my eyes. “I need to call my mom. She has no idea where I am.” I grasped his wrist and pulled his arm around my shoulder, burying my face in his jacket.

  “Wait.” He took a giant step away, unraveling me from his involuntary embrace. “What the hell is going on?” His forehead wrinkled as his eyes scanned my face, searching for answers I would never be able to give.

  “Oh my God!” I whispered, peeking over his shoulder. “He’s coming. Quick, hide me!”

  Using the lapels of his suit coat, I dragged him against me. His arms hung at his side, but his confusion was obvious. Mine was not. I had but one focus.

  “Please, mister, just help me. I can’t go through that again,” I sobbed.

  His tense body momentarily slacked. “Okay, okay. Calm down.” After glancing up and down the busy downtown sidewalk, he guided me into the small alley between two buildings. “Better?” he asked.

  Not yet.

  I lifted my head off his chest and peeked up through my lashes to give him the weakest of nods. “I’m sorry.” I shoved my hands into the pockets on my sweater.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Danielle,” I responded then started chewing nervously on my bottom lip.

  “Okay, Danielle. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen,” I answered. I would have gone younger, but I was five foot nine with a thirty-two double-D bra. No one bought the truth anymore.

  “Shit.” He swallowed hard.

  I pressed to my tiptoes to look over his shoulder, and he followed my gaze.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m not looking for anyone. Can I, um . . . Can I just use your phone to call my mom?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He began to pat down the pockets on his slacks. “Shit, I must have left it in my car.”

  “Oh God.” I started to cry all over again.

  “No. It’s okay. I’m just parked right out front. We can go grab it.” He smiled, forcing me to look away.

  “I can’t go back out there. He’ll see me. You don’t understand what he’ll do if he finds me. I just want to go home.” My teeth began to chatter as I wrapped the ratty sweater tighter around my body.

  He dragged his suit coat off and draped it around my shoulders. “You have to be freezing.”

  “Thank you,” I said softly, the smallest of smiles growing on my lips.

  “Listen, I’ll go grab my phone. You hang out here for a few minutes.”

  I nodded and leaned against the brick wall of the building.

  “I’ll be right back.” He held my gaze as he backed away. My Good Samaritan cautiously looked up and down the sidewalk before exiting our hidden alley.

  “I bet you will,” I mumbled, inching myself to the corner to watch him go.

  When he got a few feet away, I made my move.

  Once I’d shed his jacket, I dug through my sweater pockets and pulled out the car keys I had easily lifted from his pocket. After a quick swipe with my sweater to remove, or at least smear, any possible prints, I dropped them to the ground beside his jacket.

  He seemed like a nice man. It was the very least I could do.

  Feeling guilty as hell, but without so much as a backward glance, I sprinted in the opposite direction down the alley. I zigzagged through a few of the side streets finally stopping to pull out his phone and dial the number to my father’s latest disposable phone.

  One ring later, he barked, “Where are you?”

  “Corner of Price and Fourteenth.” I pressed end.

  I waited several minutes until my father’s sedan came rolling to a stop in front of me.

  “What the hell took so long? There is a very good chance that I’m going to lose a few toes to frostbite,” I snapped, climbing inside and sliding on the pair of Oscar the Grouch slippers that were waiting on me. “Remind me again why I had to be barefoot?”

  “Studies have shown that men are more likely to help women who are barefoot. Here.” He offered a large, plastic cup of water.

  Knowing the drill, I dropped my newly acquired iPhone inside. Within seconds, the screen blinked to black.

  I cried a little each time we had to inhumanely put such a beautiful beast to sleep. I could have given that phone a wonderful home in my back pocket. He would have been so happy sending out my tweets. I could almost imagine his delight while helping me create cat memes. Unfortunately for me and the shiny little guy, cell phones were traceable. So, regardless of how many of them I managed to pickpocket, they all suffered the same fate.

  “Ash, don’t look at me like that! We’ll get you a new phone soon,” he lied.

  I h
eard that promise along with numerous others on a daily basis. All. Lies. I was never getting a new phone, not after he had given mine to his beautiful new wife. The whore.

  “Here. You want this one?” He spun the cheap, disposable flip phone in his fingers.

  I rolled my eyes. “As amazing as that offer may be, I’ll pass,” I retorted sarcastically, causing him to chuckle.

  “All right. What else did you bring me?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

  I dug into the pockets of my sweater. “Watch.”

  He lifted it to inspect it. “Oh, come on, Ash. This is fake!”

  “Wow. I’m so sorry, Pops. Maybe you should hustle yourself from now on. Are there any studies that show how men react to a comb-over? We should give it a try.” I smirked.

  “Don’t you dare catch that attitude with me. That is, unless you want to move up to Minneapolis.” He quirked an eyebrow.

  “What? No!” I shouted. “You said we could stay in Tennessee.”

  “Then quit your bitching. This place isn’t cheap. If you want to stay here, you need to bring me back something better than a fake Rolex. And don’t even act like you didn’t know the difference when you targeted him.”

  I gritted my teeth.

  Oh, I knew the difference, all right—which was precisely why I had taken that one instead of leaving it. I wasn’t a bad person. Sure, I was a thief, but I only took what I needed in order to appease my father. I hated every single second of robbing people, especially the nice ones who seemed like they genuinely cared about me. It was freezing outside, and he’d offered me his coat. Unlike my father, who had taken my shoes and shoved me out of the car two blocks away.

  I didn’t want to rob people; however, I was willing to do whatever it took so I didn’t have to move again.

  Fifteen years. Twenty-two houses. Well, house might have been a little-too-liberal use of the word. Sure, we had lived in houses. Nice ones. Big ones. But we’d also lived in trailers, apartments, and, on more than one occasion, our car. Conning people didn’t exactly provide a steady income.

  Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the rest of the man’s belongings. “Here.”