Dances with Monsters(53)

"Chicken," Drew replied immediately.

His smile grew. "Good. 'Cause I wanted steak."

She handed him the sandwich and took a seat across from him. He studied her, then reached for a napkin. "So. You came all the way out here to bring me something to eat?"

Drew sighed and pulled at a piece of chicken. "No. I mean yes, but no. I wanted to talk about last night."

Heath nodded and dropped his eyes to his gyro. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"The fact that I'm sorry I got all emo on you?" Drew said self-consciously, leaning forward. "I sort of ruined the whole night, and I just wanted to apologize for that."

"Don't do that," Heath said quietly, shaking his head. "Don't apologize."

"You probably think I'm a freak," Drew said mournfully, then mentally kicked herself in the ass. She hadn't meant to say that; it just came out.

"Hell, no," Heath said vehemently, frowning at her. "I don't think you're a damn freak. I think you're someone who went through a horrible experience and you're trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces." He took a bite of his gyro. "I can relate."

Drew looked at him in surprise, wondering if he'd elaborate. "You can?"

He nodded, and set his sandwich down with a sigh. "I can." He swigged from his bottle of water. "My pops used to smack me and my brother and my mother around when I was little. He was an alcoholic."

"Your dad?" Drew repeated, confused. She thought back to what she'd heard about him during Ultimate Warrior. "But wasn't your dad your trainer?"

"He still is, sort of," Heath said. "He got sober a few years ago. Anyway, I left with my mother when I was fourteen. We went west. She essentially raised me. I never came back here until after she died. My brother stayed behind because he had a girlfriend, who he ended up marrying. But I had never forgiven him or my dad for what they'd done, until recently. I think that had a lot to do with why I joined the Marines—I was looking for that brotherhood I never had at home."

Drew listened, fascinated. She would never have imagined that someone like Heath could be as introspective as he was being right now; it was refreshing, and she knew that this was a painful topic for him. But he was sharing, and he was doing so to find some common ground with her.

"Between my upbringing, and then losing my best friend in a friendly-fire accident in Iraq—trust me, I know what it is to be damaged," he went on in the same quiet tone. "As part of my discharge from the Corps I had to go through six months of therapy. And it actually helped me out, a lot." His full lips pulled into a smirk. "Just don't tell anyone that."

Drew smiled. "I won't," she promised. "So what's your relationship with your father like now? I've seen you and your brother together."

"It's…strained," he admitted. "But, we definitely are in a better place now than we were six months ago."

Drew nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "About the things you've gone through. And losing your friend."

Heath nodded in acknowledgment, looking down at his sandwich. "Thanks," he replied. "I can't relate to your struggle exactly, but I have my own and I can understand where you're coming from. And I can definitely attest to the fact that there is life after that."

Drew looked at him across the table. It was the first time they'd made eye contact since they sat down. "You might be right," she said quietly. They continued to eat in silence for a while, then Drew cleared her throat. "I wanted to finish the story from last night," she said. "I realize I didn't tell you everything."

Heath merely looked at her, waiting.

She explained what had happened to her attacker, about the rape kit pulling his DNA, and how he'd been caught shortly after her attack. He'd been at Riker's Island in New York ever since, awaiting his trial in the extremely slow-moving judicial system.

"Well, that's a good thing," Heath said slowly, studying the look of discontentment on her face. "Right?"

"It is," she agreed. "I mean, yes, it is. It's just—I thought my role in this was all over." She pulled an envelope from her bag slowly, and handed it to him across the table. "Then I got this in the mail last week."

Heath took the certified letter's envelope and reached inside, pulling out a sheet of folded paper. He skimmed it quickly and read her subpoena to appear in court next month at one Jackson James' trial. He glanced up at her over the edge of the sheet.

"They can't arrest you or anything if you don't actually testify," he said, folding the paper and slipping it back into the envelope. "They can't force you." He handed it back.