EYES WIDE OPEN

Ranger POV

Chapter 4

oOoOo

I was relieved that Stephanie finally slept through after that one nightmare. She woke up shaking and practically running, breathing hard. Her heart was racing. I was able to calm her down, reassuring her that she was alright and safe now. Whispering to her in Spanish with a soothing tone seemed to work like magic, while I held her close, hugging her, calming her. For the rest of the night she murmured occasionally, but did not seem to be in pain. She looked so much better, less strained with pain in her slumber. The bruises were blooming boldly but she still looked gorgeous. I feel so smitten with this woman. I want to take care of her for the rest of her life.

When I woke up at my usual time, I was sporting morning wood and I really needed to take care of that. But this is such a wonderful way to wake up. Smiling, I looked down at how she had snuggled right to my side, her curly head resting on my shoulder, with her good arm linked under my bicep. One leg was tangled around my thigh, her knee precariously close to a delicate part of my anatomy. Obviously, she had tried to roll over but the sling and possibly pain prevented her from accomplishing that feat completely, so it rested on her chest. I stayed a bit longer, relishing the closeness and the cosiness. Reluctantly, I had to extract myself from her comfortable sleepy warmth. Kissing her temple, I reminded her that I was going to the gym as I tucked her in. Moving my pillow close to her side, she murmured with a little nod and snuggled in the comfort of my lingering warmth.

All through my gym routine images of Stephanie made me smile. I made sure we had photos of her current condition so she could see her daily improvement. Hector had captured some photos of her before the accident and since then too. Mi hermano is very observant as he captured the both of us, eyes locked, smiling, completely oblivious to the three photo bombers behind us. It made me grin. As I stepped off the treadmill, Tank looked at me, assessing. So, I showed him. His hearty laugh made everyone look our way.

"Man, you got it bad. That's a classic be aware of your surroundings shot. Let me guess … Hector?" I nodded as he chuckled after a second glance. There were three more photos with the same idiots behind us in different poses. I shook my head. After weights we sparred for a while before I decided to go upstairs to shower and check on Stephanie.

Bringing in some coffee to the bedroom, she smiled as she just woke up stretching languidly, with a winning smile. Undoing the sling for her and the cervical collar, she went into the bathroom for her morning routine and to shower.

After a breakfast of fruit and pancakes with her coffee, Stephanie capitulated, deciding it would be better to get the rest of it off her chest. I knew there had to be more to her story than just the need for doughnuts. But what actually was the catalyst for said dire need of doughnuts? That had my curiosity piqued. Sitting on the couch together, again, with her back to my chest, her hips nestled comfortably between my thighs, she began to relate the build up to that momentous morning.

"It was a couple of weeks prior to the accident that I noticed things. You know, little things at first. I didn't think much of it but then, when I put them all together, it made me question what the hell I was doing here.

We'd been living together barely a couple of weeks now, Morelli and I. For me it was an alternative, more for the convenience, just a temporary thing until my apartment was assessed and finally repaired. However, I got the impression that for Joe it was much more. I overheard him telling the guys, when we went to Pino's for lunch, that I had moved in with him, with a few nudges and knowing looks. Hm. I didn't really like the insinuations. It's not the first time we had shared his house. Things usually went smoothly until we had a row and I moved back to my apartment. That back-up option no longer existed at the present and it made me a tad nervous. Having that safety net was important as a fall back option.

All was fine and relaxed, especially the first week. When I went to check my apartment, I was unable to get any of my possessions back because of the fire and water damage, and that awful lingering smell of acrid smoke. Sadly, there was barely anything left worth retrieving. One pair of shoes survived and my CAT boots. My only saving grace was that I had a full laundry basket which I had dropped off at Mum's for washing and ironing the day before.

We had one of those on again-off again relationships. I know. I should have made my mind up. I should have been stronger. I … See? That's the crux of it all. I wasn't completely convinced, nor was he, so neither one of us was fully committed. However, he was fixated on me quitting my job, getting married, and me being a stay at home mum, with dinner on the table at six o'clock sharp, in true Burg fashion. That's not the reason I moved in this time, but Joe seemed to think this time was about a more permanent relationship. We did not share the same vision. That's usually where we came undone, especially with his attitude towards my friendships, namely you, Ranger, and the Rangeman guys and my job."

I silently scoffed at that but didn't interrupt her open disclosure. I was intrigued. There had to be more. She needed to unburden and clear the crap. I could tell. There was no doubt in her own actions, just an increasing annoyance with the fucker Joe.

"He expected me to make all these changes to my life, but was he prepared to make any himself? Hell no. His comeback? He sneered at that suggestion mocking me for even having the audacity to think that. I really don't like that sort of comeback.

Mary Lou had reminded me warily, "It's like gaslighting, putting you down all the time by making you doubt your self-worth. He's trying to control you, just like your mother. You know they are working together to wear you down, manipulating you. Be careful, Stephanie."

Note to self: hold tightly onto that thought. Be aware of your surroundings. Move forward.

"Look around you. I've settled down. That's what you need to do." That was his retaliation.

"What? The house? You inherited it from your Aunt Rose. It is an improvement on your Bergen Court apartment off Route 1. Your sister Cathy got the furniture. It's got all the boy's toys. Yeah, including a pool table! But what are you going to change, Joe? What about you?"

"So? What? You're my girlfriend."

"Am I? Pfft. Whatever. I have to go to work. I'm out of here." I had enough. Girlfriend? Not at the moment. Not even friends with benefits.

I didn't have time to argue. I had to go to work, sort of. I just left. I was angry. It was unfinished business. Inside I was fuming. Why do I have to make all the changes? He always twists the argument like it's all my fault. I can't even ask a simple question to get a straight answer. He keeps dodging the issue. Yeah, like that enormous elephant in the room. But that was all my fault again – add plenty of Morelli sarcasm.

Is this really what I want? The thought of marriage never really sat easy with me, especially after Dickie Orr's cheating ass. Divorcing him was the smartest thing I did. How did I get into that situation? My mother. I did it to please my mother. I'm done with that. It's time I do things to please me.

Joe doesn't make me feel like life would be any different. We get together. Things go well. We argue. Make up sex is, well, is good. But I'm beginning to wonder about that. The whole make up sex seemed like a ploy for him and it's making me suspicious. I hate that he calls it gorilla sex. Eeuw. I overheard that comment being shared when they were playing pool. Yeah. The dirty leers made me sick. This is not how I envisage my future. Discussing my sex life is personal and private. Deep down, I really didn't like him calling me Cupcake. He sees it as an endearment. I see it as a reminder of an unpleasant experience when I was at my most vulnerable."

She sighed despondently. I squeezed her gently to show my support and that I was listening to her.

"I drove over to my childhood home. It was uncanny, there they were, Mum and Grandma, like some mystical Hungarian radar had been activated, waiting expectantly for me on the front porch. News had spread through the Burg Grapevine that my apartment was once again the target of a firebomb. Old news now. Despite the invitation to stay in my childhood bedroom I had declined again. She pursed her lips in that severe way she does. Coffee and cake on the table kept me distracted, wanting to ignore her predictable reaction. I knew she was already plotting in the kitchen.

It wasn't a hard decision to make. Considering the morning drama, every day, of getting to the bathroom, with Dad and Grandma and their loud arguments, I decided I had enough to deal with.

"Loretta Buzick's daughter Eloise, said she saw your car parked at Joseph's house this week."

Here we go. I really wanted to roll my eyes, but I resisted, but only just.

When I confirmed that Morelli offered to have me move in with him, my mother's entire demeanour changed. Inwardly I rolled my eyes. Uh oh.

"It's just until my apartment is renovated and cleared. Just temporary."

"Oh. That's wonderful. Have some more cake. I'll pack a bag of some lunch things for you both and you can take this tin of our freshly baked biscuits. I'm sure Joseph will love the shortbread biscuits and the chocolate chip cookies too." She was humming happily.

Oh, God help me. I facepalmed. Grandma grinned at me, while patting my hand, but she understood my despair. I shook my head. We both knew what was on my mother's mind. Wedding plans. I crossed my arms over my chest in the negative sign, and Grandma nodded at me in approval. While Mum was humming happily in the kitchen, Grandma whispered a warning.

"Just be careful, Baby Granddaughter. Reminding Helen that this is just a temporary stay over hasn't hit her at all. Before you know it, she'll be on the phone booking the VFW Hall and making wedding arrangements with Angie Morelli. I'll watch your back from this end. I don't see a future for you and Morelli, never have. He's a horse's patootie. Sorry, but I have to be honest with you. Nor does your father. Helen seems to be so infatuated with the idea. You know … Burg girl weds Burg man, then babies."

I choked on my coffee. Grandma patted me on the back. Oh, hell no. A shudder went up my spine. Morelli spawn. I left with my goodies soon after that. Before I was even out of the door with my laundry hamper, Mum was already fielding calls on the phone. Oh, maybe this was not such a good idea. I had a bad feeling about this. I left the other laundry hamper behind, grabbing my toiletries off the top. Grandma took it into the laundry after a quick kiss goodbye and a fist pump for strength. Mum likes to wash and iron. She likes to feel helpful. Pfft."

Placing my hand on hers, encouragingly, I could tell the need to get it all out was necessary. I kissed her temple. Stephanie has been keeping these thoughts and concerns all bottled up. I opened a bottle of water for her and she sipped before continuing.

"Anyway, the second week together was noticeably different as the week progressed. My monthly visitor made things worse. He kept making issues about his needs, and that I was PMSing. Talk about snarky. Do men get PMS? Around this time Joe was working longer hours and being evasive. His mother had cooked his favourite manicotti but even that didn't draw him home earlier. So, I plated up both serves and put his in the fridge. I sat alone and ate mine, doing my research on my laptop while I charged my phone.

Here we go again. The vibes were getting shaky. I sensed a change in the universe. The novelty had worn off. When he was home, he complained bitterly about me still working for Rangeman, especially when I had a surveillance shift."

I like how defensive she gets when she mentions me or Rangeman. She is a woman who likes to make choices. The asshole is trying to clip her wings while justifying that he can still be free to roam himself. Just like old times. I wonder if she knows?

"Then I discovered some hard home truths. Infidelity is something I won't tolerate. I'm still reeling about Dickie and his constant cheating and disparagement, blaming me for his need to seek release, elsewhere! Really? He couldn't keep it in his pants. First class philandering asshole! With Joyce Barnyard, the poaching skanky bitch! On my dining room table! Gross. But, in a strange way, that divorce was very liberating.

Now this. What do they say … reality check? Yep. I got that this week in spades. I underestimated him, as in taking things too lightly. I trusted him. I believed him. I was gullible. He cajoled me and tried to sweet talk me, amongst other things, as a distraction with those bedroom eyes and bedroom hands. Nope. I decided to be evasive as well. Two can play at that game. I had not been sleeping with him during this time, well, not indulging in sexual activities. It felt off. I sensed it."

Oh. I really don't want to know about their sexual interaction, so I hid the grimace and relaxed my posture. She was sure to sense my tension. I maintained an open and receptive expression. Her jiggling when she was angry was so tantalising, but I had to tamp down my own reactions. Down boy!

"One morning I discover he had thrown away my peanut butter! Half a jar! Damnit! He'd already left early before I could have a go at him. Grr. I went to the fridge, and tossed the left over manicotti in the trash. There were two beers left from his six pack. I smiled wickedly. I opened them one after the other and smiled as I poured the contents down the sink. I rinsed the sink and put the bottles in the trash. I know. Childish. But it felt good. Fucking-A."

I grinned as she high-fived my proffered hand.

"During this last week I saw him four times, FOUR times, getting his rocks off. And I'm not talking about a kiss or anything. That's not to say he was not giving someone a tonsillectomy.

I had enough. Eyes wide open now. Call it a turning point. I sort of suspected, but I had been giving him the benefit of the doubt. He always had a seemingly genuine and plausible reason or excuse for his timing and lateness. I know. Denial. With my crappy apartment still being reviewed by the insurance company, I couldn't move back while they were finally doing the repairs. But that was now no longer an excuse. Yes. Denial became a Reality Check. I was seeing things with eyes unclouded. A true perspective. No more rose coloured glasses.

One encounter was easily recognisable. He was with that dirty poacher-skank Joyce Barn-fucking-yard, coming out of a cheap motel in Bordentown when I was driving along route 206, near the driving school. I was furious. No. I was livid! My skip du jour, Oscar Onslow, finally shut up with his moaning and bitter complaints when he heard me going off about Joseph-fucking-can't-keep-his-dick-in-his-pants Morelli. The skip just clammed up, until I finished my rant. Then, he tells me how he often sees him on Stark, pulling favours from the working girls for "a-quick-blowjob-and-I-won't-charge-you-for-soliciting" routine. Fucking asshole. By the time I reached the TPD with my skip, much to everyone's surprise, I brought the huge man in without issue. I whispered to him how much I appreciated his cooperative and helpful manner, after apologising for having to stun him in the first place. "De nada," Oscar waved off. "Not many of us like that cop. He treats the girls like shit. He's got dirty and complacent. He's an arrogant son of a bitch." How right he was."

"Proud of you, Babe." She smiled at my praise, snuggled in to my body and pulled my arms around her as we sat on the couch, her eyes looking off into space.

"The second time, I happened to be cruising down Stark having just captured another skip, Leonard Malinowski, and there he was in the alley getting his rocks off. I was disgusted. It was so dirty and perverse. Two girls!

"Do you like to watch?" Leonard asked lecherously as he noticed my scowl through my rear vision mirror. Perhaps it was because I had stopped in the middle of the road, about three car lengths short of the traffic lights. The growling might have been a tell.

He cowered quickly under my glare. "That motherfucking asshole is supposedly claiming to be my boyfriend. Correction, now clearly my ex-boyfriend!"

Upon entering the TPD, another round of stunned looks tracked my approach to the booking desk, as Leonard Malinowski walked compliantly with me. Maybe they recognised the steam coming out of my ears. Maybe it was my "don't-fuck-with-me" look. Whatever. As I handcuffed him to the bench, Leonard whispered, "You can do better than that cheating fucker. He doesn't deserve you." I nodded. Damn Skippy! He was right.

As I drove back to the house, I realised Morelli was coming home later each time, always with some lame excuse that he had to work late, or he was coming from across town. Sometimes he smelled of cigarettes and beer. He'd be dressed differently, not in his usual jeans and t-shirt, a bit more upmarket, with a denim jacket or that nice Ducati leather jacket. That's when I remembered the perfume a couple of times. Now I figured the expensive perfume must be his little mob princess, Terry Gilman. I remember at dinner one time, Grandma saying how one of her friends saw him crawling out of Terry Gilman's upper window one night, and she was only wearing a very sheer negligee.

When I asked him about the perfume, he said it was part of his cover, and he smugly crooned how the ladies found him irresistible. Yeah right. What a sick arrogant, macho ego. Come in sucker. Pull the other one. He said he had to play along as part of his cover. I just filed that. I know the perfume was YSL Opium. It wasn't just a random time either. He'd hooked up with her another time."

I didn't say anything, but we were well aware about Morelli's frequent liaisons with the Mob Principessa. Stephanie took a sip of her water bottle and then continued, with a sigh.

"On the third encounter, I was on a Rangeman surveillance shift with Hal, watching and waiting for movement at the current girlfriend's house of our skip, Martin Frischer. We saw the inside lights dim, then, from the laneway, a hooded figure emerged around the corner, checking both ways. Hal thought it might be our skip. I disagreed. I knew instantly it wasn't. I was seething. I knew that walk. When I pointed that out to Hal he agreed. Morelli didn't see us. After a block, he jogged around the corner and drove off in his green SUV. Hal sensed my rage. As our shift ended, Hal drove straight to the supermarket and bought me two tubs of my besties: Ben and Jerry, and a spoon.

"I love you Hal. You're my hero."

He smiled with a blush. "You looked like you needed that. It was either Maccas or B&J. I took a punt."

Hm. I remember that Hal did come back to Rangeman with some anger, going straight to the gym. We sparred. He didn't elaborate but I sensed his need. I did wonder at the time if Stephanie had any bearing on his mood. But, I know he adores her. At the time I thought, when the time is right, he might share, if it is important.

"That evening Joe read me the riot act. Why? Because I was on night surveillance. He said he didn't trust me. Same old, same old. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! He didn't like me working with those "thugs and criminals". Pfft. I was tempted to call him on all his deceitful ways that he got his jollies. You know, like that night, smelling of cheap perfume. But I kept that as a trump card up my sleeve. The time was not right. I ignored him and had a shower. I slept in the spare room again that night. I knew he was picking a fight and wanted some make up sex. He would get rough. Fuck no! After what I had seen lately. Ick! So, I took my time. When I emerged from the bathroom, he was fuming, having waited impatiently. Just as he was about to wind up in one of his rants his phone rang. Saved by the bell. He was pissed off, leaving in a hurry, in a foul mood. It was an all-nighter. Next morning, making sure I was up early, as I was leaving, he was just returning, looking haggard and strained. He muttered something about a messy gang war in Slayerland. I didn't hang around for details. I had no more fucks to give."

I wanted to embrace her need to expel these disgusting revelations, but really, I wanted to exact some revenge on her behalf. That fucker doesn't appreciate what a gift she is. Idiot motherfucker! Maintaining my control was important, now more than ever. Reining in my desire to chuckle at having 'no more fucks to give' was essential. However, I sensed there was more to come. Her fury was escalating. I could tell this was not the ultimate moment where she reached that critical epiphany, the turning point.

oOoOo

TBC