Broken Bones Read online

  Copyright

  Published by

  DSP PUBLICATIONS

  5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  http://www.dsppublications.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Broken Bones

  © 2015 Deja Black.

  Cover Art

  © 2015 Garrett Leigh.

  http://blackjazzpress.com/

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact DSP Publications, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dsppublications.com/.

  ISBN: 978-1-63476-062-1

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-63476-063-8

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014960301

  First Edition August 2015

  Printed in the United States of America

  This paper meets the requirements of

  ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

  Thank you to Emma Holly, who gave me the breadcrumbs to find my way home….

  To Stacey Jo and Shyla, who bore with me, reading again and again and… you get the picture….

  To my hubby, for the quiet time to work and the pearls of manly wisdom…..

  To Mary, for not only inspiring me, but showing me the path….

  To Rhys, for answering every question I ever asked, no matter how late, how early, or how wonderfully inane….

  And thank you to my favorite authors, my heroes who have thrilled me beyond belief each and every read.

  Lastly, I must thank Tricia for her skill with words (she’s like a word wizard), her connection with my men, and her understanding. The woman is awesome, and I absolutely would not have made it without her.

  Think of it like this. You write your book. Essentially, it’s in the “coal” stage. Yes, you’ve poured out your dreams, given characters life, but there’s more needed before you have a book worth reading. It takes a word wizard like Tricia to take that coal you’ve created and add the necessary pressure and conditions to make it a diamond. Passages may be deleted, phrasing altered, more depth added, conflicts in structure resolved, and a more cohesive story line explodes before your eyes, faceted with complete ideas and areas of amazing prose. Rhys says that she owes her editor a jaguar. Tricia, when I’m able, a summer home in your favorite location is totally yours.

  HE COULDN’T breathe. He tried—oh, he tried—but the small wisps of air he fought to drag into his lungs cost him greatly. He hurt. So. Bad. And the dripping… the dripping chilled his skin as it touched every burn, every cut made from hard, heavy boots springing more tears to already wet eyes.

  It was worse this time. He knew it. Would probably be more than a few stitches. As he tried to climb to his knees, a searing flame tore across his flesh and flared up between his thighs. He knew he would need help. Reaching into his pocket slowly, he tried hard not to press against his bruised ribs. He worried they might be broken. He was also afraid Keith would come back and hit him again, punish him for trying to leave. Pushing heavy curls out of his face, he grasped his phone in his hand as tightly as he could, then slid his finger, smeared with his own blood, against the screen in his pattern, unlocking his phone. He could barely see it out of one eye. Marbled black and blue, swollen; he knew it, but at least he could make out the green contact button. He took a moment to gather deeply labored air before he pressed the number he needed on speed dial.

  He croaked into the phone, his voice scratchy and hoarse. He found it achingly difficult to form any words. His mouth hurt. His teeth hurt. Everything hurt as he lay on his bedroom floor, his scalp bruised from his hair being pulled and the carpet, scratchy from dried fluid that tenderized his skin like raw meat.

  “Dan. Dan, honey? Dan, are you there?” a voice cried. “Dan, don’t worry, baby. I’m coming. Hold on, Dan. I’m coming.”

  The line went dead, and for a moment, it felt as if it took him with it.

  “Shelly,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER 1

  DAN SAT in the hospital waiting room, barely breathing. His ability to take in air hadn’t improved, and as pain ricocheted through every bone in his body, he wished he had stayed passed out on the floor. Who knew what Keith would do when he couldn’t find him? Keith’s face mottled with anger. Dan could picture it, could picture him bearing down on him. He wouldn’t care about Dan’s reasons for staying, that Dan was broken. He would expect him home before morning, no matter how much damage he left behind. He had been late before. Once. Once was all it took for him to try his hardest never to be late again.

  When he finally did make it home from Baptist East Hospital, Dan was sure he would find himself facing more than fists bent on causing pain and piercing kicks from the gold-tipped Ferrini boots Keith liked to parade around in. His phone hadn’t rung with Keith’s smiling face on the screen, the face that used to make Dan warm inside, make him feel safe. Honey-golden skin with a glowing white smile. Now that Cheshire cat grimace made him tremble, caused his spirit to quake with the rumbles before the storm while he anticipated facing the hidden devil incarnate.

  He didn’t know what to do, and he had to admit after this last beating, he was terrified of what could come next. Would he even have a warning, or would Keith just kill him?

  “Goddess,” he moaned.

  Sighing, he leaned his head back gently against the wall and waited to be seen.

  The cold wriggled up and down his spine, his shivers almost rattling his teeth. He had been there for over an hour, just waiting. When he had entered, the same security guards were at their station. One looked up at him, a wavering smile of both recognition and pity on his face. Why not? It wasn’t his first time there. They had to have guessed something was up, right? Dan turned, still favoring the side where Keith’s boot had hit the hardest. The slivers of pain tic-tac-toed along his ribs and skated up and down his torso. Scale of 1-10? 11. He sighed, releasing the load of despondency that rested on his spirit, worn and defeated.

  “Dan, you okay? Honey?” Shelly asked quietly when she returned from outside. She hadn’t been gone long, and though her tawny-colored eyes were warm when they found his, she certainly seemed nervous. Shelly behaving suspiciously? It was alarming, and Dan had to wonder. She blew her bangs out of her face with a scented puff from cherry-glossed lips that curved gently as she looked at Dan. Shelly’s smile could light up a room, the shine brilliant, the silver lining to his storm. Whenever she graced him with one of her stunners, he thought he might just be okay if only for a little while. It would always be that smile of hers he’d use to comfort himself. He would see it when he had to go back home and scrub his blood from the walls. He would think of that smile when he faced an angry Keith, who would barrage him with questions and accusations, not even considering that all of this? Keith was the one who did this, not him. Nothing he had ever said, ever did, could justify being treated like this. But what else was there?

&n
bsp; The damned seat was so uncomfortable no matter how Dan turned. Glancing around, he wondered how many people had heard his explanation for being here, how many knew that it was full of crap, that he was back in here again because he couldn’t figure out how to stop being Keith’s little punching bag.

  Doors flung open, and a family rushed in with a little bundle that looked like nothing more than a handmade quilt cradling a tiny form. The bundle barely moved, which only seemed to scare the hell out of the parents. A blind man could see that. The father was frantic, the mother was quiet—scary quiet. Her face was streaked with tears, her silent screams loud for any who took the time to listen.

  Dan watched as a phalanx of nurses and doctors rushed to get to the baby, quickly dividing the parents from infant and securing the tiny bundle. A blue blanket. Had to be a boy, right? They raced through the double doors, questions and answers volleyed back and forth. Last fed? Last eaten? Possible cold? Flu? Virus? Temperature? All eyes turned to watch the moment of chaos pass before the room fell silent once again. Yeah, Dan’s life was pretty fucked up, but he was a grown up. That little guy didn’t ask for whatever was happening to him. Maybe Dan had.

  “Dan, baby. Look, I can only be your sweet girl for so long before I want to know what the fuck happened to you,” Shelly spoke, pacing her words, clipped tone apparently holding back the rush of feelings that slammed against the dam.

  The anger, the bitter unhappiness saturated the quiet. Her tone was brittle and icy, and while he knew she wasn’t angry with him but because of him, it shook him. Shelly wanted vengeance, but this fight wasn’t hers.

  “We have to talk about this, Dan, and I think you need more help than I can give you.”

  Apprehensive, Dan glanced over, saw her iron-willed look of determination. While he thought about what she could mean, the death metal percussion section started banging away in his head again, and he closed his eyes to try to escape the pain. He had better things to focus on, like making sure he didn’t vomit on the pristine floor at his feet.

  When Dan expelled another trembling sigh, he saw Shelly look up and glare at the woman behind the counter. Throwing her purse down, her leather one shaped like a cat, she clomped over to the reception desk in her heavy Doc Martens. “Look, ma’am. I would like to know when someone will be able to see my friend here, the living punching bag.” She looked back at Dan, and when the fire in her eyes blazed him from where she stood, he had to remind himself again it wasn’t at him but for him. Shelly turned back to the ER’s inner sanctuary, only to have the nurse spy at her over metal-rimmed glasses. The nurse’s face was not a welcome sign, and hope had left the building a long time ago. Yes, doctors, nurses—hell, cops—all became numb to pain after a while, so why not her, too?

  “Miss, there is a procedure here,” the woman said, her mouth pursed, the creases digging furrows around her lips.

  Alice. Yes, that’s it. Same pit bull that guarded the place during his last stay. A sharp tongue but a warm heart, he thought. He let that thought go too, wanting to avoid that bass drum solo. It hurt too much to think, anyway.

  “Your friend? He’s not dying, and this is not his first visit. We all know Mr. Tolliver very well, and if he ever wants to stop being a living punching bag, we will applaud him. Now, why don’t you have a seat and wait until he is called, or the nice security guards can ensure you wait for him elsewhere.” Alice angled her chin meaningfully, indicating the hospital’s boys in blue.

  Shelly squinted dangerously, and she leaned in, her chest rising and falling with each word. “I’m not scared of them. I’m not scared of you.” Her raspberry-blue-cotton-candy-fingertipped hands climbed the curves of her hips. “I would be afraid if I were you, as my uncle is the one who manages this hospital, and he thinks of Dan as a nephew. He would be truly upset to have an individual whom he considers family still waiting to be seen.” Shelly leaned back and crossed her arms, her cotton-candy tips glittering madly while she tapped a wild staccato.

  Dan groaned. He could picture Mr. Heimann’s face when word arrived of this. Shelly meant well, but….

  At that, Alice’s face darkened, her expression showing she’d definitely be blowing a gasket pretty soon. “Look, you. I know who you are, and I know who your uncle is, and again, we follow a procedure here.” Her tone rose on the last note. Yep, spitting hot geyser just around the corner.

  “Alice, let it go,” a warm and silky voice said. Bourbon, and it broke through the ringing in Dan’s ears. “Daniel Tolliver, you’re back for a visit,” the voice questioned almost snidely. “Can’t stay away, hmm? What would the alternative be? Stepping in front of a bus? You might last longer if you make some immediate changes.” Dan knew the voice, knew the face that went along with that rolling-honey thickness. He’d heard it, almost melted from it at least a week or two ago. “Well, Alice, I think I can go ahead and take him back.”

  He could hear footsteps move toward him, sure and confident. As Dan looked down, he noticed the Zelli dress leathers first before the dark bottoms of the doctor’s slacks came into view.

  “Dr. Kavanagh, Mr. Tolliver was going to be called soon. I will not have my ER operating with patient privilege. This is—” Alice said, rounding on the doctor.

  “Alice, look around. The room is practically empty now. From the look of him, Tolliver is about to topple over anyway.”

  Alice’s disposition calmed so quickly that Dan could only guess that Dr. Kavanagh’s gift had to be the ability to soothe wild animals just with the tone of his voice, like the Crocodile Hunter, only thorny with stinging verbal barbs.

  From what Dan could see of him, Dr. Kavanagh’s midnight hair tumbled in his eyes, eyes that were a glacier blue but always changed dramatically. A solid man, strong and finely built, in his thirties at least. What did a doctor have to do, anyway? Why would he even need those chiseled muscles or that tight, round ass? Dan’s erratic thoughts flitted here and there, lacking any focus. Was it any wonder? His brain wasn’t any clearer than it was earlier from his “fall.”

  “Daniel Tolliver!” a sharp voice called, interrupting the poodles chasing each other in his brain.

  Ahh, the first step of the emergency visit. Yeah, getting used to the whole tired process. Wasn’t getting any easier, though, and as he readied himself to take the fifteen or so steps like a blazing journey across a barren desert and he without any water to quench the drought, he was very grateful for Shelly next to him. Dr. Kavanagh? Not the gentlest or even the kindest, but at least Dan already knew him, and Shelly remained with him as she always did. It would be okay. Hey, better than where he had been moments ago.

  SHELLY HAD charged into the house, using the key Keith didn’t know she had. He would never know. Keith hated Shelly and couldn’t stand the two of them having anything to do with each other. He called her “that clam-licking dyke bitch.” Shelly didn’t lick any clams, was not a dyke, but she could definitely do the raging bitch thing with heat and gusto. Shelly? She was Dan’s avenging angel, tall with fiery red hair, strutting in boots that made Dan shake just from the sound as they stomped across the floor. He remembered her shouting his name when she came in.

  As she knelt beside his head, her own breathing became light and shallow. “Dan, baby. I’m here.” She pressed his skin, decorated in bruises, looked for somewhere to touch that wouldn’t hurt. Even that light graze across his shoulder made him want to sob. It didn’t help that Shelly had tears drenching her cheeks too.

  They arrived at the hospital within minutes, he with his head against the window and Shelly’s fingers mashed into his hand, gripping him. She didn’t say one word all the way there, eyes intent on the streets as she sped along, but he knew. It would be a short reprieve. Once she knew he was being taken care of, it was on. Shelly loved him, had loved him ever since they met in school when his mother had brought him here to Louisville. They had watched out for each other. They had both needed someone. Dan, a person he could have as a friend outside of his new family, a person
not a part of the throng. Shelly, someone she could bestow all of her sisterly advice on, a person she could simply love and who would love her for herself.

  And while they waited in the emergency room, Shelly had hummed a song as she sat nearby, her hand close. Dan could have said it made him feel like a child, that a senseless tune shouldn’t have given him as much comfort as it did, but he didn’t. Those notes, as they skipped and spun, the highs and sweet, sweet lows, didn’t heal the cuts and bruises he wore all over his frame, but they soothed his soul.

  His brother used to hum to him when he was little. After a nightmare, when shadows moving in the dark stole his sleep, when he was afraid, later when his mother died, Conner had hummed to him. Sometimes he thought of calling him, but what could Conner have done? He was a man. Did he want to involve his older brother in this mess? His father? Their pack?

  The phone in Shelly’s hand vibrated. After taking a quick glance at the caller ID, Shelly whispered, “Dan, honey, I hate to leave you like this, but I really, really need to answer this call. It won’t take but a sec. ’Kay?” A smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I finish.” After kissing him lightly on the temple, she hurried to the exit, her mane flying behind her, her legs a blur.

  Dan watched her leave, wondered again for a moment, put it out of his mind, and headed toward the nurse. She’d met with him before. She was kind, and he was ready for a kind face.

  He had almost reached her and that welcoming, concerned smile when a firm hand gripped his arm. Nervous for a moment, he dizzily spun and was surprised to see Dr. Kavanagh. Even with his thoughts a bit blurry, Dan could not mistake the look of frustrated determination on Dr. Kavanagh’s face. He’d seen the look before, and Dan wondered what about him made the doctor so unhappy, always seeming to be angry with his appearance, targeting him with those eyes overflowing with exasperation. He hadn’t done anything to him, but thinking about Keith made him realize it didn’t take much to make others unhappy to the point of trying to hurt him, almost kill him. As much as he had heard the nurses, both men and women, sing Dr. Kavanagh’s praises, he didn’t think he would do Dan any harm, at least not where anyone could see, right? Why had he stopped him, though? There were other patients, and this nurse looked like one who would treat him nicely. He honestly kind of needed nice at the moment.