Chapter 11
Dean assessed the shell of a woman laying the hospital bed and tried to imagine her as a vibrant healthy mother. If Zoey was any gauge of what Sara looked like when she was younger, he'd bet she'd been a beautiful, amazing woman.
After Zoey introduced him to Sara, he'd spent the next two hours sitting and talking with the dying woman. What a woman she was too. Despite facing death head on and without fear, she also seemed to be guiding the family and calling the shots. Slowed and groggy from the pain medication she still appeared to have most of her mental faculties.
He'd noted how her eyes widened when Zoey first introduced him, not so much in surprise as excitement; as if she knew exactly who he was and why he was there simply by the sound of his name. Briefly, he wondered if Zoey had talked to her mother about him, but immediately dismissed the thought. He doubted she'd given him much thought beyond her phone call to him.
Regardless, he enjoyed the little time grated him to get to her mother. Sara spent the time asking him questions any parent might ask their child's prospective suitor. He'd gladly indulged her and had even managed to make the woman smile a few times.
Zoey on the other hand seemed nervous and unsettled. She hovered over Sara and jumped at her every movement. More than once he'd wanted to grab her and pull her onto his lap just to force her to settle down. He'd refrained, mostly because he hadn't wanted to add to her stress. Finally, when Sara grew tired, they'd excused themselves to let her sleep.
"What now?" Zoey asked as she glanced back at Sara's bed.
"How about you show me the rest of the place?" Dean offered. Through the window he noted the large deck off the back of the house. "Maybe some fresh air?"
She nodded, then held the door as he maneuvered his crutched through the opening. The rather large deck led to an even larger back yard with an attached above ground swimming pool and a small wooded area at the back of the lot. "This is a really nice place," he offered as he eased down into the nearest chair and tried not to grimace from the pain in his knee.
"Thanks." she watched him for a moment, then crossed the deck, grabbed a second chair and brought it to him. "Here, let's get that knee elevated."
He gingerly lifted his leg and placed his foot in the chair seat.
"Better?"
He nodded. "Much. Thanks."
She leveled a look at him. "So, you're not holding out about the seriousness of that injury are you?"
Her concern touched him. She really did care. He grinned. "No, baby. I'm not. It's just a strain that needs some rest."
Appearing appeased by his answer she took a seat across from him. "You should have gone home to rest."
"I can rest here just as easily," he replied. "Besides, I wanted to be with you." That admission came much easier than he'd expected, though by her lack of reaction he wondered how easy it was for her to hear. Instead of pushing the subject he decided to change it completely. There would be time later to work out their feelings.
"So how long has your family lived here?" Dean asked as he glanced over his shoulder at the two-story home. It sure beat the hell out of any place he'd ever lived.
"All my life," she replied. "My folks bought the place before I was born and I was raised here."
"It's a nice house and a nice neighborhood."
She nodded. "It's always been this way. Right after dad died mom was worried that we'd have to move, but she took on two jobs and scrimped and saved in order to keep us here." Zoey developed a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke. "Besides the dorm at college it's the only place I ever lived."
She'd gone to college? Why in the world was she wrestling as a jobber if she had a college degree? Realizing now wasn't the time to broach that subject he tucked the thought away for a later conversation. "I bet it must have been great growing up in a big house with a pool in a nice safe neighborhood." He thought back to his own childhood, the nights of going to bed hungry because there wasn't enough food and the constant moving from shithole to shithole because his folks would run out of money and couldn't make rent.
"It was," she replied, then her brow furrowed as if she'd just realized something. "Didn't you grow up in something similar?"
Dean chuckled and shook his head. The innocence and naivety in her statement reminded him of why he'd been attracted to her from the start. "Hardly," he replied, knowing he'd have to expand on his one word reply. Had this been a few years ago he would have clammed up about his past. However, as he'd made his way through the ranks of developmental, he'd learned more than just wrestling. He'd learned how to face his past and live with it, even embrace it.
Appearing genuinely interested she rested an elbow on the chair arm. "How did you grow up?"
"Poor," Dean replied as he delved deeper into his childhood. Memories of standing in line at the food bank, eating at the local homeless shelter and being teased at school because of his ratty clothing all came flooding back. "My folks were the definition of white trash. Dad didn't like to work and mom couldn't seem to hold a job because she was always drunk."
He paused to rub at the growing pain in his knee. "My brothers and I used to get teased and beat up in school because we'd wear holy and dirty clothes."
"That's terrible," Zoey murmured. "Children can be so cruel."
Dean nodded as he focused his attention on his knee, thankful for the distraction that put some distance between him and his emotions. "Yeah, but it made us tough and determined kids. We all swore never to end up like our folks."
"It looks like you achieved that goal," Zoey observed. "Did your brothers?"
Dean's heart broke just a little as he thought about Danny. "My younger brother Darren did. He's a cop. My older brother Danny wasn't as lucky."
A gentle hand came down over his and Dean looked up to find Zoey kneeling next to his chair. When in the hell had she moved? "What happened to Danny?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.
Sadness flowed through Dean as images of his brother being shot in a drive by; of Danny laying on the sidewalk, his blood trickling from his body into the nearby gutter filled his brain. It happened fifteen years prior, yet the pain was as fresh now as it had been then.
"Dean?" Zoey's sweet voice pulled him from his thoughts. "What happened?"
Dean closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and took a moment to regain control of his emotions. "He-" Dean began then stopped when his voice cracked. Damn! He hated showing any kind of weakness. "He, um-" Dean swiped his free hand through his hair. Finally feeling a bit more settled he continued. "He fell in with a local gang and was killed in a drive by shooting. I was with him when it happened." He looked up and met her stare. "I was twelve."
The look on her face damn near made him want to cry. She hadn't been there and couldn't possibly know the agony he suffered, but somehow he could tell by her expression that she could feel his pain. "Poor little boy," she finally whispered.
He reached over and cradled her head in his hand, but before he could say anything the back door opened and a man wearing a mechanics uniform stepped out. "Hey, Zoey? Whose rental car is in the driveway?" He stopped mid-step and his eyes widened in shock. "Holy shit! You're Dean Ambrose."
Dean glanced from the man to Zoey who shot him a small smile then pulled back. "Dean this is Captain Obvious, better known as my brother Zane."
