Be My Hero(17)

The message read: hey babe u stil lookin for a hit?

My hands balled into fists and my muscles went so taut Julian shifted restlessly, letting me know he'd fallen asleep.

Counting to ten, I forced myself to breathe deeply and not lose it. Then  I set my fingers to the keyboard and mechanically typed: No.

The fucker replied instantly. wi not? ur ol man kach u?

I assumed kach was idiot-speak for catch, so I answered: Something like that.

Mabe latr then.

Jesus, learn how to spell, you dip shit.

I slammed the laptop shut, startling Julian. Drool ran down the back of my hand as his mouth lost contact with my knuckle.

Blowing out a breath to calm myself, I tossed the laptop onto the couch  and eased from the chair. After carrying the baby to my room and  settling him gently in his crib, I covered him up and then stood there a  moment, watching him sleep before I felt composed enough to confront  Tristy.

I shut the door behind me as I stepped into the hallway. After I reached  the barred entrance to her room, I waited another moment, trying to  keep my shit together.

And then I began to pound on her door.

"Get up, Tristy. We need to talk." I'm sure I was loud enough to wake  her, but when she didn't open the door within a minute, I completely  lost my temper.         

     



 

"God dammit," I bellowed, pounding hard enough to rattle the entire  doorframe. "I swear I will break this fucking door down if you don't  open it within ten seconds."

Five seconds later, I began to shout, "Ten. Nine. Eight."

The door flew open, and my lovely bride of less than a day glared at me,  wearing an old ratty pair of boxer shorts and a too-large T-Shirt  covering the fact she hadn't lost any of her baby weight since giving  birth.

"What the fuck is your problem?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes and shoving ratty tangles of red hair out of her face.

"Are you still talking to Quick Shot?" I demanded, folding my arms over my chest.

"What?" she croaked in the middle of a yawn. Dropping her arms to her  sides, she muttered a curse. "Jesus Christ. You woke me in the middle of  the night to ask that? I thought the fucking building was on fire."

"Answer the question, Tristy."

"What? No. No, I'm not talking to that shithead anymore. Haven't seen him in months."

I arched an eyebrow. "Really? Is that why the time on the Facebook  message you sent him, begging for a dime bag, says four hours ago? Is  that why he just fucking asked if you were still looking?"

Tristy's mouth fell open. She shook her head once before saying, "No . .  . wha . . . Wait, what were you doing on my Facebook page?"

Great. Of course, she'd twist this around to make it all my fault.  That's what she always did. Gritting my teeth because I felt caught, I  muttered, "I was trying to look something up and you were still logged  in. Then these messages started popping up and, fuck! You've been  fucking lying to me." Grabbing handfuls of my hair, I gritted my teeth  to keep myself from reaching out to shake her. "Damn it. I've been  busting my ass to keep you clean and safe, and you do this? With Quick  Shot? The dick who left you abandoned in an alley the last time you  overdosed?"

If it hadn't been for a complete stranger calling the cops, who'd in  turn called an ambulance and rushed her to the hospital, she'd probably  be dead right now.

"Keeping me safe?" Tristy snorted and folded her arms over her chest.  "You've been keeping me prisoner is what you've been doing. I've been  trapped in this goddamn apartment for-"

"You have not been trapped. You know damn good and well you can do  whatever the fuck you like. You're free to come and go as you please."

Tris snorted and rolled her eyes. "As if I could go anywhere with a baby strapped to my hip. I have no freedom. No-"

"You got yourself knocked up. And if you ever need a break from Julian,  I'll find you a fucking babysitter. Damn it, Tris. This is no reason to  go to Quick Shot for fucking drugs!"

"It's what I know, okay. Those people, that life, that's what I know.  Who I am. And you're trying to change me. Turn me into something I'm  not. Into her."

I gritted my teeth and glanced away when she mentioned Tinker Bell. I  regretted the night we'd gotten drunk together and I'd spilled  everything to her about Madam LeFrey and the glimpses she'd given me.  She'd never forgotten, never let me live it down.

"I'm not trying to change-"

A pounding on the front door of the apartment interrupted me. "Police. Open up."

I closed my eyes and hissed out a breath. Of course, someone had called  the cops on us. The walls in this building were paper-thin. Someone  probably heard me every time I sneezed.

Fuck.

"Are there any drugs in my apartment?" I asked quietly. "Don't lie to me, Tris."

When she answered, "No," I opened my eyes and sent her a hard look. She scowled and hissed, "There's not. I swear to God."

"There better not be. Because if I get arrested tonight, you have nowhere to go. Julian has nowhere to go."

"If Quick Shot was asking if I still needed a hit, that meant I hadn't gotten anything yet, right?"

If anything, she at least managed to look guilty that she'd just  confessed she'd been planning to bring drugs into my home . . . the one  thing I'd made her swear never to do.

I sniffed and shook my head. "Unbelievable." Whirling away from her, I  stormed down the hall to the front door and yanked it open.

Two officers stood in the hallway, and one of them had arrested me the  last time I'd gotten into a fight. "We received a domestic disturbance  call from one of your neighbors."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did." I pulled the door open wider to let them in.  After growing up in the foster care system, I was well aware how this  worked. When the cops showed up at your place, you cooperated, you  didn't turn belligerent, and you answered whatever questions they asked.  Nothing more.

They stepped over the threshold and immediately turned their attention to Tristy. "You okay, ma'am?" the shorter one asked.         

     



 

Tristy clammed up in the presence of cops, mostly because we'd always been treated like suspects, even if we were the victims.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, ducking her head, which only made her look like an abused spouse.

God, this better not end badly for me. She might regret my interference  in her life and feel as if I was keeping her prisoner, but without me,  she'd be on the street right now and Julian would probably be dead.

When she wasn't any more forthright than that, the men turned to me. "So what's all the commotion about?"

"I shouted," I confessed. "And I pounded on her bedroom door, trying to  wake her up so I could talk to her. But I wasn't even loud enough to  wake the baby."

"And just what did you need to talk to her about at . . . four in the morning?"

Four? It was already four? Nice. I was going to have to get up in four hours to get ready for my day shift at the garage.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, feeling the need to be belligerent but trying to hold it back.

"Hands out of your pockets," they barked at me together.

I jerked my hands free and lifted them to show I didn't have a weapon.

"Why did you need to wake her up and talk to her?" the taller one with more attitude repeated.

Glancing away from him, I ran my hand over my face. "I found some  messages from another guy on her Facebook page. And I didn't like what  they said."

There. I made it look like a lovers' quarrel. I don't know why I covered  for her since she'd been planning to sneak drugs in behind my back. But  I didn't want to see her go to jail either.

The ball-buster cop, the one who'd arrested me seven months ago, stepped  close to study my face. "I've dealt with you before, haven't I?"

"Yes," I admitted. "For battery and assault."

I had looked up the guy Tristy was seventy percent certain was Julian's  biological father because he'd been hitting her, and I'd bashed his face  in.

Almost disappointed that I was being so cooperative and not giving them any lip, the men turned away from me, eyeing Tristy.

"Are you sure you're okay, ma'am? Did he hit you or touch you in any malicious way?"

She drew even further into herself.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, ready to get this shit over with.  "Tristy, just let them look you over so they know you're okay."

"No!" she screamed, stomping her foot and glaring at me. "I don't want  anyone to fucking look at me. I don't want anyone to fucking touch me.  JUST . . . LEAVE . . . ME . . . ALONE."

Down the hall, Julian's muted wail made me hiss a curse. "Now that was  loud enough to wake the baby," I told the officers before I started down  the hall to fetch him.

The short cop followed me. "Anyone else home?" he asked, glancing into Tristy's room when he passed it.

My gut clenched as I hoped to God Tris hadn't been lying about there  being no drugs here, because if they found anything in my apartment,  Julian would end up in foster care. That was the very last thing I  wanted to happen to him.