THANK YOU to the ever-amazing Nattiebroskette, who walked me through the chapter while I whined and complained through the entire thing. Another giant thank you to all of my loyal readers, though my reviewers seem to have wandered away over time - please do come back! I love hearing your comments!
Think of this as a bridge chapter; Meg's got something major in the works - and I saved the best for last. :) (Also, please don't hate Evil Joe! I'm outlining a story where he does, in fact, get the girl.)
Joe phoned it in during that night's match, mind reeling the entire time, wondering what had possessed him to drive the scissors through the cupboard door. He could see Dave's face clearly in his mind's eye, terrified and trying to hold the emotion in, rather than risk Joe turning his own further outward. 'What the fuck was I doing? I said I could have killed her? I said that to Dave? What the fuck is wrong with me? I do need to talk to her. If she tells me she's really in love with him, really happy for me, then okay. Enough.' Joe shook his head as soon as he cleared the ramp, and hightailed it to the locker rooms, in a rush to get his gym bags and get back to the hotel. 'Maybe all I need is to see my fiancee. Get a shower, get laid, whatever. Get Meg off my mind.'
It didn't work. He showered, had his fiancee on the floor, on the bed, on the balcony, then immediately took another shower, trying to wash all the memories of roses and Meg off of him. 'The balcony. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. You were practically looking for her, Joe. Good work, you found her.' When his fiancee slid into the shower behind him, he practically threw her against the wall, so eager to try again and again to get Meg off of his mind, her feeling off of his body, that if he had to drown in that glue-thick jasmine perfume, rub the finish off the shower tiles, just to do it, he would.
Physically spent, he fell into bed, mind wheeling freely from one balcony to another triage bay, restless and demanding. He could hear Meg's voice in his head, whispering to him, asking him to let her go, asking him if he could find any way to just, please, be happy again.
'I just need to find her. Talk to her. I have to straighten all this shit out.' Joe tried to settle into the bed, nestle into the pillows. but only succeeded in disturbing his fiancee, who elbowed him heavily before rolling away from him. Joe glared. 'Meg used to pull the blankets up over me, bitch.'
The next day, it was Meg, rather than Randy, handled the lawn company in the afternoon, leaving Randy to puzzle through constructing a grocery list. When she emerged from his office, nearly an hour later, a list of names and dollar figures in hand, he was shocked that the situation had been handled and repair crews were set up to arrive within the week for the stucco, windows, door, and cars.
"It's not that hard. I might have lied a little bit about my relation to you in order to get them to give up the goods on your accounts and insurance, but it's handled."
"Whatcha mean?"
"Don't be mad, but we might be engaged. A fiancee can have a hissy and ask for repairs; a girlfriend isn't formal enough. Sorry?"
Randy laughed, and handed over his grocery list. "Don't be mad, but it's mostly blank. Meg, you know I don't know what I'm doing. I guess...just shop?"
Meg paled. "I can't...just shop. I at least need a budget. I know most of your likes and dislikes, but...that's on-the-road food, not 'Shit I'll sit around at three in the morning and eat' food.' C'mon, you've got to help me out on this."
"There's no budget. Just...food. Nothing that's gonna kill me. Or make me look like I skipped the gym for a year."
Meg's shoulders sagged. "We'll talk about this." From across the room, her phone rang. "Hey, grab that for me while I see if you have any grocery flyers in your junk mail? I took the lock code off my phone. Couldn't remember the fucking thing anyway." Meg began to pick through the heaps of mail on Randy's kitchen counter, making a mental note to help him sort things out later that evening. Spreading out an advertisement, Meg made some additions to the half-assed list he'd handed her, deciding to take things one week at a time and expand from there based on what they did and didn't use. 'I don't even know how much time we're going to be spending here. I can't shop for seven days if we're only here for three of them.' She smiled to herself; it was shocking how much time he opted to spend in cramped quarters with her, in their tiny apartment, rather than in his spacious home. 'Either something's missing here, or it reminds him too much of something else. Whatever the reason. Maybe I'll just shop for a week regardless, and we can haul things back and forth?'
From across the open room, phone in hand, Randy spun to face her.
"Meg! Meg, c'mere. You need to take this, now. It's Sarah."
"What, she need me to cover the desk again? Tell her it's gonna cost her Thai food this time."
"No, there was a break-in. Sarah's at the hospital. We gotta go."
Meg passed him at the door, snatching her phone as she moved, and was waiting at his car without even so much as her coat before he made it outside.
"Sarah? In broad fucking daylight? What happened?"
"I dunno. Kicked my door in, hit me before I could turn to see what the fuck. I was in the kitchen. Didn't have anywhere to run. They're giving me all types of hassle because I had a drink in me." Sarah's voice started to quaver, and Meg's eyes went wide – her friend, always boisterous, never vulnerable – was on the brink of tears. "Meg, please just come get me out of here. Please? They're acting like I did this. I dunno what the guy did, my head hurts, they're not helping me...Meg, please?"
"Girly, just breathe. We're on our way. Randy's driving; I was at his place when you called. You just stay calm; we're gonna be there in just a few minutes. You wanna stay on the phone with me, or you wanna lay down?"
"Stay on the phone?"
"Okay, babe. Just talk to me. Stay awake and talk to me. Make sure you tell a nurse or a doctor you have people coming to get you, okay? So they get you ready to go."
A gurgled noise came from Sarah; Meg immediately knew she wasn't going to put her clothing back on, if it had been kept at all. 'Whatever the reason, and I'm going to hope it's only that it was bloody.' "I've got a spare outfit in my work bag, Sarah. It's okay. Don't think too much ahead on things, yeah?"
"But...no..."
"Remember when I called you from the middle of that field-of-fucking-nowhere and you hooked me up with my apartment, no questions asked, just gave me keys and directions and helped me out? I'm gonna help you out, Sarah. No questions. Just some ugly scrubs with butterflies or some shit."
"Is it okay that I had the cops put the cat in your apartment? I...kinda had a screaming fit about him before they put me in the ambulance. I didn't want him to run away. My door doesn't lock now."
Meg smiled. "Girl, you better put that cat in my apartment. Chunk needs someone's sofa to pee on." At that, Randy made a face, but sped up and rested his hand on Meg's knee, squeezing it lightly. "Just hang tight, lady. We're almost there. Promise."
The desk clerk's eyes roamed nervously between Meg and Randy, both angry and intense, the only difference being one of physical size – though at the moment Meg was cutting a far more intimidating swath through the ER purely via use of jargon, verbal maneuvering, and medical skill.
"You will let us back to her bed to see her. Period. I know she doesn't have family here; I also know she's on this phone with me right now and is telling you to let us back. Do I need to call the recipient rights board, hospital legal counsel, and the community liaison in order to do that, or do you think you can just press the button on the wall and let us walk to bed fourteen?"
"Ma'am, there are protocols that we have to -"
"Sarah, if you can get up and walk, just walk out. Take the IV pole with you. We're in the lobby, I'll help you get dressed in the bathroom."
Meg stared down the charge nurse at the front desk, listening to the cacophony of voices grow louder and more concerned as Sarah neared the main doors.
"Gonna press the button yet?" Meg was daring her not to; she knew Sarah had the right to visitors, as well as the right to leave.
Acquiescing, the charge nurse pressed the automatic-opener for the doors, and Meg swept through, Randy close on her heels. She caught Sarah as she clung to her IV pole, and gently eased her back to her bed.
Conspiratorially, Meg whispered to Sarah. "You're lucky you were close to the doors. You weren't gonna make it very far, girl."
"No shit. I can't believe you talked me in to that."
"I probably could have talked you into a cartwheel if it would help you get out of here, even with your ass hanging out of your gown. Didn't anyone help you tie this thing?" The gash on the back of Sarah's head was impressive, but Meg was underwhelmed by the placement of the sutures closing it and planned on asking her friend if she could re-do them herself. 'Probably not on enough pain medication, either, judging by her motion.
Randy, for his part, was doing his best to look anywhere but at Sarah's backside as she staggered along, but also felt the need to hover closely for the sake of her modesty. Once they were back to her bed, Meg eased Sarah into a reclined position on the bed, then dropped down into a nearby chair, rubbing her right leg fiercely.
"Fuck, Meg, I'm sorry. See, I'm fucking up everything. Now you're hurt. Your leg." Sarah's voice finally broke, and the tears started in earnest.
"Oh, stop. Sarah, seriously. My leg is shitty all the time. It's not you. Honest. Don't you dare blame yourself." Meg tried to hop up from the chair to hug her friend, but Randy saw the look on her face. This wasn't 'typical' leg pain, for Meg. Something was wrong.
'What's going on with her leg? I've got to talk her in to getting that looked at. Just one film. Then we can talk about what to do next.' Randy watched Meg's leg dangle limply off the bed while she held Sarah as she sobbed, and shook his head. "Hey, Sarah? You're gonna stay with us tonight, okay? At our house. The cat, too."
Meg looked over the top of Sarah's head, her smile full of gratitude and eyes full of love. 'If I could tell you, right now, what you just did for me, and for her...thank you.' "Hey, Sarah? Lemme go to the desk and see if I can get your paperwork, okay? Five minutes. I want to get you out of here. The sooner you're gone, the sooner I can get you home, get you some real medication from my clinic, reset those stitches, and go get Chunk."
"We, Meg. You're not going by yourself." Randy's words went unheard; Meg was already past the curtain and headed toward the desk to talk to the clerk about Sarah's exit paperwork. Randy turned back and sighed. "I'm gonna sound dumb for asking, but...are you okay?"
Sarah had wiped her face off as best she could; everything ached and she was trying hard not to meet his eyes. "I dunno. I was trying to put lunch together and get the damned cat off the counter, and then it was like a bomb went off. The door just blew up."
Randy looked back over his shoulder. Meg was still at the counter, tapping her fingers and waiting for forms and printouts. Sarah continued. "I jumped, I know that much, but then just...everything hurt. My head. I don't know what, after that. I didn't wake up in the kitchen. I was on my bed. The whole apartment was tore up. Everything in my bedroom was on the floor. My phone is gone. My laptop is gone. Photo albums, pictures. One of me and Meg we took fuckin' around in the rental office. My purse was still there, though. My car was still there. And if Meg wasn't with you, Meg would have been there."
Randy started to pale. "Sarah, what the fuck? I'm not mad at you, I'm not saying anything, I'm saying I don't get it. What are you...what do you mean?"
"Is she still at the desk? Wave at her, look nice."
Randy poked his head back out into the hallway, trying his best to look put-together. Meg rolled her eyes at him, pointed down at a clipboard, pointed over the desk, waved her hands in the air, then pointed back down at the board. Randy smiled, just as Sarah asked, and made a neutral 'It's okay, we're okay' gesture before ducking back in. "She's still down there, I think we have a minute. Why?"
"Did she tell you Joe is still calling her? All the time? Leaving messages? Dave knew, too; Dave told her Joe was asking about her backstage. Joe was trying to get Dave to tell him where she lived. I was there when Dave talked to her about it." Sarah was whispering, rushing, trying to get it all out at once; suddenly the step-scuff of Meg's footfalls were nearing. She grabbed for Randy's hands. "Promise me you will not be angry with her. She didn't know what to do. She never called him back, she never talked to him. She was ignoring him, trying to make him get the message. If she didn't tell you, it's because there was nothing to tell. Don't say anything to her now. Lemme talk to you more when we get to your place. Please. I'm not trying to start shit for you two. I'm trying to figure it out, too. And lemme talk to her."
"Sarah." Randy's tone was eerily flat.
"Randy, please. I know I'm asking you for everything right now. She's coming back. I hear her walking. Just...please. Please?" She could feel herself squeezing his hands harder and harder, knowing her voice was moving from desperation to hysteria, not wanting to cause her friend any trouble when she was already causing her so much trouble anyway.
"Ready to go, bestie? I have everything signed. You trust me to take your line out, get you dressed and get us out of here? It's not high-class clothing, but as long as you don't mind sharing socks and undies out of my spares-bag, you're set."
"Lead the way, Meg. You're the only nurse I trust. Just get me the fuck out of here."
'God, I know that feeling, Sarah,' Randy mused, as he stepped between the sets of curtains to wait as Meg pulled Sarah's IV, helped her dress, helped her to the bathroom, and then practically carried her down the hall. Randy moved as though to offer, but Meg gently shook her head and mouthed that they'd talk later. 'Yeah, we will...Sarah's gonna be some of it, but...you needed to tell me what was going on with Joe. I don't understand that. Or why Dave wouldn't tell me. He's my first call.'
Once Sarah was safely in the guest bedroom, Meg called the police department, putting her cell phone on speaker, and asked what could be done about getting into the apartment safely. Sarah's apartment, much like Meg's, came fully furnished – the only things that she stood to lose were personal items and clothing. The police promised an escort, but said Sarah had to be there, which she flatly refused to do. After much bickering, identity-confirming, and debate of policy, the police agreed that because Sarah was the property manager, she could give consent to Meg to go in and get specific things because she was a tenant, but not Randy, and the police would have to be present the entire time. Meg agreed and said they'd call when they were ready. Randy threw his hands in the air and stomped off toward the kitchen, with Sarah starting a fresh round of tears. Meg, doing her best to comfort everyone, asked Sarah to wait in bed and rest while she handled Randy.
"Meg, I -"
"Hon, don't worry about him. He's upset because of...it's where I live. It's too close to home, for him. It'll just take some convincing."
"No, Meg, that's not it." She sobbed. "I told-"
"Just rest, Sar." Meg was out the door before Sarah could explain she'd told Randy about Joe's phone calls, and her tears became wild. 'I just completely fucked up. They're gonna fight. This is gonna be all my fault.' She tried to get out of the bed, but her head swirled and she couldn't coordinate her movements. Falling half-forward over the edge, she tangled in the sheets and had to back herself up onto the bed, willing herself not to throw up on the pajamas Meg had loaned her, the tears never stopping.
Meg found Randy hunched over on his sofa, head in his hands, shoulders unbearably tense. She braced herself, but before she could touch him, he snapped at her.
"If you think I'm letting you go back there by yourself when that could have been Joe in there, looking for you, you're out of your fucking mind, Meg."
She stopped, mid-reach, her jaw dropping. "What does Joe have to do with this?" She dropped to her knees next to him on the floor, her hands on his shoulder and knee. "Randy, seriously. Look at me."
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me he was calling you?" He shook her hands off of him. "Why didn't Dave tell me? What were you two trying to pull? Another one of your plans?" Randy practically spit the last word at her, the derision in his voice so thick it could almost be touched in the air. "You would have been with Sarah in her apartment if you weren't here bitching about my groceries instead. What the fuck do you think would have happened then, Meg?"
"Randy, I – who said Joe was calling me? What does he even have to do with this?"
"Sarah! Sarah told me! Because she doesn't understand why someone would steal a picture of the two of you together, steal her photo albums, steal her phone with all her numbers and her laptop with all her personal info, but not take, I dunno, her fucking wallet with her money in it? Or take her car?" Randy was standing now, towering over Meg, his voice raining acid and steel down onto her at a level of volume he'd never used with her before. "Maybe someone who, gee, let's think, was interested in finding you? Was pissed you weren't where he expected you to be? Was so pissed he might even have beat the shit out of her, when he couldn't find you? Probably more, Meg, didn't she tell you she woke up on her bed and not in the kitchen?"
Meg recoiled from him, falling back from her knees and sitting down hard, her right leg twisting underneath her and her face reading pure terror before she ducked it behind her arm. The wall of nausea that slammed into her – both from Randy's diatribe and the pain from her leg – propelled her to vertical and then toward the bathroom in the guest room. Her right leg went out from underneath her halfway there, and Randy watched her slam into the hallway wall and fall to the floor. She staggered back to her feet, still doggedly heading to the bathroom, still drowning in her own rancid stomach, and he heard her slam into another wall, this time inside the guest bedroom. Sarah's voice was a distant wail followed immediately by Meg retching.
'Oh no. Oh, no. What the fuck did I just do?' He started to go after her, but didn't know what he would do even if he caught up with her. He sat heavily on the sofa, head in his hands, trying to think.
When it was quieter, several minutes later, Randy went down the hall to the bedroom, but found the door locked. Leaning against it, he could hear them both crying, possibly even arguing, but he couldn't tell over what. Randy debated knocking, but instead sighed and walked back to the den.
"Why can't I listen?" he asked himself? "I did exactly what Sarah asked me not to do. Meg's hurt. She's scared of me. Sarah's probably scared of me. She doesn't even know me, and she tried to trust me, and I wrecked that. I'm good at exactly one thing. Fucking things up." He sat heavily on his couch, staring into space, no idea coming to him, and doubting even Dave would know what to do now. 'I still need to call him. I need to know why he didn't – no, I know why he didn't tell me. Because he knew I'd do what I just did. There. Now I don't need to call him. Solved that nice and easy.'
One hour passed, then two, then Randy heard the bedroom door open. Meg crept out, called something back into the room before closing the door behind her, and began to stagger down the hall with her coat over her arm, leaning heavily against the wall. She paused at the end of the hallway, her hands looking for the next solid object to lean on, testing her weight on her right leg.
"Meg, I-"
"I'm waiting for the cop to pick me up, then I'm getting the stuff on Sarah's list and bringing her car over."
"Meg, please. We should talk."
A heavy knock sounded from the front door; Meg limped her way over and wished she had an excuse to take a golf umbrella with her to lean on. "Leave Sarah alone. I already locked the door." She walked out with the officer, leaving Randy alone with his thoughts, some of which now included trying to talk to Sarah through the locked bedroom door.
Sarah's apartment was a disaster. Meg found a suitcase and started throwing clothing and toiletries into it after shaking the glass off, then grabbed Sarah's purse and car keys, and hunted down supplies for the cat. The TV had been slammed to the floor, all of her plates and dishes were broken, and every picture had been pulled from the walls and the glass smashed from their frames. 'It's like Jackson went through here,' Meg thought.
"The laptop and phone were taken?" The officer was unnervingly silent, and Meg felt like she had to make him speak or she'd go out of her mind.
"Yes, Ma'am. Did she have any other electronics that she wanted you to get?"
"Her iPod is probably in her purse. I'll let her look for it. Would you mind helping me carry her suitcase? You're not going to want to tangle with her cat."
Meg's apartment was just as she'd left it, with Chunk trotting up to her and purring when she let herself in. He fussed as she loaded him into the cat carrier, but eventually turned circles and settled. The officer scared her out of her skin when he appeared behind her, suitcase in hand.
"Ma'am, you wouldn't have any ideas about what could have happened here, do you?"
"Jesus! No. Uh, no. Sarah and I are really close, but she's never mentioned any problems with anyone. She doesn't bring people home with her, if that's what you mean, and she's not seeing anyone I know about."
"She kept talking about someone named Joe."
"Oh. That's my ex-boyfriend. He's engaged now, and he travels constantly. We used to work for the same company. He doesn't know where I live, so I don't see how he'd be involved, other than that he calls me once in a while. He's never met Sarah and doesn't know anything about her."
"I see." The officer didn't look convinced.
"Sir...she manages an apartment complex. Ex-tenants. Current tenants. Maybe she's got a crazy relative or ex boyfriend I don't know about. I haven't lived here that long; maybe I don't know her as well as I think I do." 'And if she's bitching to Randy behind my back, maybe I really don't.' "You'd really have to ask her. She's seen pictures of Joe; maybe she thought he was cute and was saying his name because she got hit in the head." Meg cocked her head. "I'm not trying to be rude or flippant. I saw Sarah at the hospital; she looked like hell. I had a boyfriend like that – how do you think I got these?" Meg pulled the collar of her shirt aside, showing the officer her collarbone. "Anyway," she cleared her throat, "I can drive myself back if you'll just help me with her stuff."
Once everything was situated in the car, Meg waved the officer away and dug around in Sarah's purse for a cigarette. Her hands were shaking, and she had no idea how to drive the car back. She couldn't put any pressure on her right leg without feeling lightheaded. 'You signed up for this, Meg. Figure it out.'
Randy moved down the hallway again, this time actually knocking on the door to the guest room. Sarah was so quiet for so long he almost wondered if she'd fallen asleep, and then he heard the lock click in the door. It opened slowly, and Randy backed across the hallway, not wanting to scare her any further than his tirade against Meg probably already had. He waited til the door was open fully before he let himself in the room.
"I fucked up, didn't I?"
"You made it sound like I was talking shit about her. You made it sound like I...I don't know. It all got turned around on me. She went to get my shit so I can leave."
"You're not leaving, Sarah." Randy sighed and looked around the room for something to sit on, but couldn't find anything, so he opted for the foot of the bed. "Look...I was scared. She didn't tell me about Joe starting to call her again, and the last time he said anything about her, it was to talk shit about how he was gonna get her back in bed and be fucking her behind his fiancee's back because she was such a broken, fucked-up mess. I fought with him over it. And then whatever this was with you...Sarah, usually she is there with you. Do you remember what happened?"
Sarah edged toward the top of the bed, holding a pillow between herself and Randy. "No. At least, not what you implied happened, you asshole. But way to lay that guilt trip on her, because it's not like Jackson ever put his dick in her when she didn't want it. The hospital was sure about that not happening. I don't know why he put me in my bed, but he did."
Randy hung his head, looking more and more miserable by the second. "I really fucked up, didn't I?"
"I told you about Joe because I was scared. It made sense for a split-second, because I knew he was calling her. But...Randy, think about it. How could he? He doesn't know she lives here. Even if he did, he might know she's in the city, at most. He would check here, with you before he'd look for me, or for her apartment. And even then, why would he hurt me? He would need me, to find her. Hurting me would scare Meg, which doesn't get him anywhere. And on top of that, he travels all over hell's half-acre. Is he even anywhere near here right now? Can you guys just sneak off like that? Probably no, and no – am I right?"
He hated to admit it, but Sarah was making sense. "Then what do you think happened?"
"I think I got hit in the head, I think I'm fucking terrified, I think I wasn't making any sense. Angry ex-tenant. I sent eviction notices to at least a dozen people in the past two months. Or an angry ex. Meg isn't the only one with an asshole in her past. Or, fuck, Randy, I don't know – someone completely random with a sick sense of how to mess with their victim."
"I just fucked up so bad. I was standing over her screaming at her."
"I know. I could hear you. When she fell in here, it looked like...something's wrong with her leg, Randy. Really bad. She couldn't get up. She crawled into the bathroom before she threw up. She couldn't get up after. Just sat there and pretty much wrapped herself around her leg. Even if it's fucked up, you know what she's gonna do? Nothing. She's so scared of hospitals, now..." Sarah trailed off. "She's getting that degree for you, Randy. So she can stay in that tiny-assed clinic and be around here for you. What else can she do? She can't work in a hospital. It's a fucking miracle she showed up for me, and that's all fucked up now, anyway."
"Sarah...I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter, Randy. Not to me. But to Meg...I don't know. I don't know what you just did."
He edged off the bed and out the door, back to the den, digging shakily through his pants for his phone. Sarah closed the door behind him and locked it, not sure what else she could say. "You're a mess, Randy. Everything she ever did for you, and you can't even talk to her."
Randy barely made it back to the den before his call was connected.
"Medical an-"
"Dave, I fucked up."
"How is this news, Randy? Did someone catch it on film?"
"You fucked up, too. Why didn't you tell me Joe was calling Meg?"
"Because your relationship isn't my business? If Joe was bothering Meg, she would have told you. Obviously he wasn't doing anything major to her." 'Yet. I'm not disagreeing with you, please note.'
"Someone broke into Sarah's apartment over lunch. Usually, Meg is there over lunch."
"Well, hate to break it to you, but Joe's been up my ass and around the corner all day. I won't lie, he's been very...focused...on her...but he's also finally getting married to that thing he replaced her with. It's probably just him trying to work her out of his system."
"Focused?" Randy's voice was incredulous. "Sarah said he was asking about her backstage. You told Meg about it. That's way past focused. Nobody backstage knows anything about her other than you and me. How many times has he asked you about her?"
"Er...a few."
"Bullshit, Dave, and don't you lie to me!" Randy felt himself wind up to kick the sofa, and thought better of it. "Who are you trying to help, Meg or him?"
"Both, you idiot. I'm trying to get Joe some help, get him refocused – Jesus Christ, Randy, he fucking drove a pair of shears through a cupboard right in front of me, it's not like I don't know he's a little unwell right now. And I warned Meg-"
"He fucking did what? And you warned her what?"
"Oh. Uh...look, I was trying to figure out how to tell you two about it, and then you called, so-"
"Dave, you know what? I'm going to call you back when she's here. You're going to tell us both. At the same time. No 'two versions' or 'I told him so he can tell you' or whatever the fuck. Tell me one more time that you know Joe had nothing to do with what happened to Sarah."
"He didn't. Couldn't have. There's no way he left the hotel or arena without someone seeing him, and I was with him for the vast majority of the downtime. When I wasn't, my idiot sidekick was. Or, I presume, his fiancee. Plus, we're kinda six states away right now. There is that."
Randy ended the call and stared blanky at the phone. Meg was probably driving. He would wait to call.
Hours later, Meg pulled into Randy's driveway, sweaty and shaking. She'd been able to make the drive blocks at a time, having to go entirely by surface streets and byways, where she had the ability to pull off onto side streets or into business lots. Long past the point of being able to throw up, Sarah's purse entirely empty of anything resembling a painkiller, Meg had made the drive back on willpower and stubbornness alone, refusing to call Randy for help. 'What would the help be, anyway? We can't drive two cars at once.'
He nearly ran out the door when he heard her in the driveway, meeting her at the car, horrified at how pale and wrecked she looked. He pulled the door open and helped her stand, catching her when, for the umpteenth time, her leg went out from under her. Frustrated, Meg tried to push him back, but Randy refused to be budged, even as Sarah passed them to unload the car. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into their house and directly up to their bedroom, placing her on their bed and kneeling in front of her, holding her hands.
Meg didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't want to touch him, was afraid he would yell again, was still angry, didn't have an escape route, and Sarah was so far downstairs and probably trying to get into the car to leave. 'I didn't tell her to go, she said she wanted to go.'
What was left of her leg felt like it was being crushed while set on fire, memories of their last night in bed were starting to seep into her mind, his aggression not lost on her, and she was starting to suffocate on her panic.
When he spoke, he was so quiet that Meg reflexively leaned in to hear him. "Meggie, listen. I fucked up. I'm sorry. I talked to Sarah, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, I just...you live there. That could have been you. It doesn't matter that you didn't tell me about Joe; there wasn't anything to tell me." 'Not the whole truth, but we can get to that later. This is more important now.'
Meg shifted uncomfortably, so Randy tried again. "If he's calling, he's calling. It doesn't mean anything, and I should know that by now. I just...I overreacted. Meg, I'm sorry. I talked to Dave, too. There's no way it was Joe who did that to Sarah, I'm not blaming you for anything, I'm not mad at you. I was being an asshole."
Refusing to look at Randy, Meg stared down at her knees. 'I just want to go home. Not here. My home. And not there, either. Just go away. Go away.'
"Meg, look at me. Don't float off on me. Please? Meg, I'm sorry." Randy reached for her face, and she flinched. "Jesus, Meg. Meg, please. I never meant to...if anything ever happened to you, Meg, I'd be done. I would just be done. You told me you were staying here, and last night it felt like...like you trusted me. Now I fucked it up."
Tentatively, Meg reached for Randy's face. "What do you want me to do?"
Randy winced; those were the last words he wanted to hear, but he knew they were nearly programmed into her, a learned response to his behavior, the behavior she'd seen so many times before from Jackson. He leaned up against her, slipping past her hands so they closed behind his neck, greedy for her touch. "No, Meg. You don't do anything. You tell me what to do. I fucked up. I know I did." He closed his arms gently around her, grateful for her allowance.
"I don't know, Ran." She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his cologne, gently biting at him. "I don't want to be here, because I'm afraid. I don't want to go back there. Make me not afraid." 'You're afraid and yet you're half-trying to get in bed with him. You're so fucked up in the head, Meg. Or, y'know, just tell him. Your pick. You know he can't do anything wrong. Not really.' She worked her way up his neck, nipped once at his earlobe, sighed deeply against him, and looked into his eyes.
Randy tilted her back, gently, and kissed her forehead. "Then let me take care of you. Get you something comfortable to put on, something for your leg – whatever you tell me, ice, aspirin, I dunno – make sure Sarah stays here because I know you're worried about her, and then let's just...talk. Be in bed. Anything you want."
Meg, relaxing somewhat, returned to the spot she'd started to work at on his shoulder and redoubled her efforts. "I just want to be safe, Ran. Not like earlier. Please?"
'She shouldn't have to ask me for that. God, I fucked up. She didn't even have to come back.' "Meg...I don't want you to have to ask me for that. You shouldn't have to ask me for that."
Pausing, Meg looked up at him, unsurprised by the hurt she found in his eyes. It was the same hurt she'd found so many times before, recognizable by how threadbare it was, stained and worn, tried on and used by so many people before her. "You know what? We're both gonna fuck up, Randy. It's okay. I still love you."
The hurt was replaced by something else in his eyes, something much harder to read, thicker and slower, and she felt his hand come up under the side of her jaw, his thumb tracing the high ridge of her cheekbone before coming to rest across her lips, silencing her.
"You don't owe me that, Meg."
She brushed his hand to the side, then kissed his palm, closing his fingers around the cool spot her lips had pressed against his skin. "I'm sorry." 'And again, Meg, good job. Too soon. The night of a thousand clusterfucks.'
Mentally, Randy kicked himself. 'Are. You. Serious. You couldn't pull a "Me too" out of your ass?' "No, Meg...I..." He shook his head and dropped it to her shoulder, and Meg could feel the tension building in him. "Meg, remember when I found you in Tampa? I told you I was gonna fuck up all the time? I'm not good at this?"
She nodded, trying to follow his line of thought.
His head never moved from her shoulder. "Okay. Good. I love you, too."