Missing Dixie(62)

This is my whole world in my arms right now. All I want is to make her pain go away, the way she’s always done for me.

“Shh,” I say. “Look, I texted Sheila and she texted back. She’s coming to talk with Liam in the morning. She’s good at her job. She’ll ask the right questions without upsetting him. She’ll get Mrs. Lawson approved as his temporary guardian and she’ll get an order of protection against his dad. It’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

Her body relaxes against mine and I notice our reflection in the mirror.

“We look good together,” I whisper to the top of her head.

Desire blooms in her gaze at the memory and I smile.

“Behave yourself, drummer boy,” she mutters as I kiss her forehead and squeeze her tight.

“Working on it.”

“Speaking of that,” she begins, pulling back a bit to look me in the face. “What’s the word on the assault charges? Will Liam’s statement to the social worker help any?”

I sigh because as usual, there’s still always something to deal with, something I royally screwed up that needs to be handled before we can move forward.

“It’s compli—”

“Gavin, so help me—”

“Okay, yeah. Sorry. It’s just kind of up in the air because Carl is still in the hospital and technically they don’t know the extent of his injuries. Ashley said I can plead no contest to the assault and agree to community service, anger management, and extended probation and agree to have no contact with him as long as Carl’s injuries don’t have lasting effects.”

Dixie stiffens at the mention of Ashley, then slumps against me. “Jesus.”

I stroke her hair, enjoying the feel of it against my fingers. Soft and rough. “I know. It doesn’t help that I have prior convictions for the drugs and the accident. Or that my mom has been shacked up with Carl and I might’ve roughed him up at the bar one night not too long ago. Plus, Carl is milking this for all it’s worth in an attempt to remain on a morphine drip.”

“He’s a child abuser,” Dixie argues. “We saw him hitting Liam and you reacted after years of similar abuse. Can’t she do something about that? Make them see why you did what you did?”

I hold her by the shoulders. “What I did isn’t okay, babe. Besides, Ashley has no idea about my childhood. I know you understand because you care about me and you care about Liam, but that’s not how the justice system works. Bottom line is I took matters into my own hands using excessive force. I committed a crime and there will be a punishment. I knew that. I deserve it.” And I don’t actually regret it, even though I know I should.

I don’t discuss my childhood with anyone, so Ashley wouldn’t know to even attempt to use that defense.

“This sucks, Gav. Seriously. Every mark I see on Liam makes me want to murder Carl myself with my bare hands.”

I can’t help but laugh at my sweet girl talking about murdering someone. “You save those hands for playing Oz, okay?”

“How’s your hand?” She uses her delicate fingers to examine my still-battered knuckles. “Will you be ready by Friday, you think? Honestly?”

I cup her chin and kiss her on the nose. “I’ll manage. I’m tough.”

She frowns and I notice how exhausted she looks. “Yeah, but—”

“But nothing. It’s late, Bluebird. Go to bed and get some rest so we can talk to Sheila in the morning.”

She huffs out a breath and gives me one last hug before mumbling something about me being bossy like Dallas.

After she’s gone, I take care of the reason I came to the bathroom in the first place.

When I go back to the couch, Liam is muttering softly in his sleep. I tense, fully expecting something that might trigger a flashback of my own, but all I can make out is “brinner” and “another marshmallow.”

My life is still a mess, one I’ve mostly made myself, but I fall asleep smiling for the first time in a long time.

The knocking seems to be in perfect rhythm with the ringing of my cell phone. I almost reach for my drumsticks to tap it out. Rubbing the hazy blur out of my eyes, I remember I’m in Dixie’s living room. Sitting up quickly, I glance over and see Liam still sleeping in the tent beside me. The knocking grows more persistent and I have a voice mail.

Sheila Montgomery.

I jump up and trip my way across the room to open the door.

Dark eyes narrow at me. “Did I wake you?”

“Hi. I’m sorry. It was a long night.”

She frowns. “I thought you were done with those.”

I nod. “I am. It was, uh, a different kind of long night.” I open the door wider and gesture to the pillow and blanket and tent fortress.

“Ah. I see.” Sheila steps precariously through the room and makes her way to the couch. “So that’s Liam?”

I nod again. “Yeah. He has marks, scars, and sores. My guess is he’s about fifteen pounds underweight and after seeing Carl hit him for myself, I can imagine what a typical day was like for this kid. That plus the fact that he’s skittish, fixated on death, and his house is the local crack den, I’m not thinking the abuse will be hard to prove.” I remember Dixie’s words from the night before. “He didn’t know what scrambled eggs or hash browns were. Ate like he hadn’t seen food in weeks. Said he doesn’t go to school much, which begs the question, how has the state not already gotten involved?”