Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) Page 5

  “I’m sorry,” I relented. “I’m just stressed out and right now you’re the only one around for me to take it out on. I wish you were here.” So badly.

  “This can’t go on forever, Ho. You’ll get to come home soon I promise.”

  “I hope so.” Wow. I didn’t realise how well I’d been holding it together until I called Rachel. Hearing her voice reminded me how uncomplicated life was back in England… and yet I never appreciated it. So what if my mum barely spoke to me? At least I’ve got one. So what if my dad just floats around life being indifferent to everyone and everything? At least he’d never hurt me. And so what if I didn’t have many friends? At least the few I do have would walk (or wheel) over hot coals to protect me.

  Following the serious stuff we chatted regular nonsense for a few minutes. She told me all about her Christmas with her parents and that she’d gone and gotten the lip ring we talked about while I was packing to come here. That seems like a lifetime ago – so much has happened since then. Then she told me about a book we’ve both been dying to read and apparently I will fall completely in love with Woods Kerrington.

  Like everything else lately, even that made me want to cry. Books have always been my ‘go to’. If I’m happy I’ll celebrate with a new book. If I’m sad I’ll comfort myself with a new book. If I’m stressed out I’ll calm myself down with a new book. If I’m… well you get the idea. But at the minute, picking up my Kindle just seems like an insignificant waste of time.

  “I’ve got to go, Rach. This call is probably costing the earth,” I lied. Suddenly I didn’t care about the money – it seemed so insignificant. The only reason I wanted to get off the phone so desperately was so I could curl my body up into a tight ball and ugly cry into my pillow.

  **********

  Two weeks passed before Martin Michaels contacted Sarah again. It was intentional I’m certain – dragging out the worry and uncertainty he knew damn well we were all feeling. He didn’t come alone this time either. He brought his wife, Patricia – the lieutenant in charge of Deborah’s case after she was shot. The same lieutenant who convinced Sarah to lie and say Martin’s finger was behind the trigger. And the same lieutenant who pretended to understand the pain that family had been through while secretly sleeping with the man who destroyed Dexter’s whole life.

  She is a full on police commissioner now – the best of the best. The second Martin so proudly announced that little titbit of information was the second my heart slithered into the pit of my stomach. We can’t take on someone of her standing – her power and influence. We all know it, but Dexter is the only one who won’t admit it.

  Just like Martin warned, some men in a big white van came to erect a for sale sign outside the house. Dexter had kicked it down before their van had even left the end of the street. This little scenario has played out three times so far. The last being a week ago and so I’m starting to think they’ve given up now. A man in cheap suit with a fancy looking professional camera hanging around his neck came to take interior photographs one day, but Dexter locked the door and threatened him. It went something like, ‘knock one more time and I’ll rip off your balls and shove them down your throat’. The suit turned sharply and disappeared down the path faster than he arrived. He’s not been back since.

  That was two weeks ago now – since Martin’s last ‘visit’. We’ve been here over a month and nothing is moving in any kind of direction. Sarah has been looking into the what’s and how’s of working in the UK – visas, working permits, that kind of thing. She also went back to Deborah’s solicitor but being afraid to open any cans of worms that could incriminate Dexter, she tried to find out where she stood in regards to the house without revealing the fact Martin was in fact well and truly alive.

  Needless to say she didn’t get very far. She could only ask vague questions which in return got her even vaguer answers. The whole situation seems surreal. All this talk of prison, faking deaths and corrupt cops… It’s like a bloody movie or something. I never know what to say or how to make people feel better so I’ve spent the last few weeks being pretty quiet. I’m good at that though – I had years of practice growing up.

  “I’m heading out to the grocery store, honey. You need anything while I’m there?” Sarah asked, popping her head around the doorframe to the living room where I was sprawled out on the couch.

  “Umm, chocolate?” I said with my best ‘pretty please’ smile.

  “No problem. When Dex gets home, tell him I’m going to have a go at that famous shepherd’s pie of yours for supper,” she added, rubbing her hands together. Since my arrival here Sarah is a shepherd’s pie convert. I’ve made it several times and she has watched over me prepare it enough times to give it a bash herself.

  “Sure will,” I answered. Sarah gave me her usual wave – the clamp your fingers down, not flutter your hand around type – and then left for the supermarket.

  After hearing Dexter’s name I looked at my watch, suddenly eager for him to get home. His friend Jaxon has gotten him a job in his father’s garage to help tide us over while we’re here. Apparently Dexter used to spend a lot of time there hiding out when he was young – watching, learning and helping out whenever he was either kicked out, or couldn’t bear being in, his own house. ‘I know my way around cars almost as well as I know my way around your delicious body, doll,’ he said to me just last week.

  God, just thinking about the way his raspy voice growled those words into my ear makes my insides shiver.

  So anyway, that’s where he was. Working. And I was left at home with nothing to do but stuff my face with chocolate and watch crappy daytime TV. I was bored senseless after having cleaned the house from top to bottom then back to top again, ironing two giant baskets of clothes and peeling the vegetables for dinner. It felt like my brain was rotting…

  Obviously I’m not permitted to work over here but I’m going to have to find something to occupy my mind pretty soon before my rapidly dwindling brain cells dry up altogether. Maybe I could get involved in some kind of charity? Or maybe I could go and watch Dexter getting hot and greasy over the bonnet of a car all day instead?

  Hmm. Yeah, I like that idea.

  But for now, turning the TV off and deciding to whip out my Kindle for the first time since I got here, I snuggled down on the couch and settled in for an afternoon with Gideon Cross.

  **********

  The front door slamming against the wall startled my eyes open. I must’ve fallen asleep. Dexter stalked straight through to the kitchen without even looking at me, and my belly flipped over with nerves. He must’ve seen his father – only he could provoke this kind of reaction from him. Closing the cover on my Kindle and placing it back on the coffee table, I followed him hesitantly into the small kitchen.

  “Dexter?” I pressed gently, placing my hand on one of his hunched shoulders and smoothing my fingers over the grease-stained fabric of his blue coveralls. He immediately shrugged away from me.

  “I’m tired, doll. I’m going to bed,” he muttered emotionlessly. It was as I opened my mouth to speak I noticed the grazes wrapping around his knuckles.

  “What are these?” I asked, confused and concerned as I picked up his hand and traced his sore knuckles with the pad of my thumb.

  “They’re nothing. Just leave it,” he snapped, pulling his hand away.

  “Have you seen your father?” I questioned, seeing no other reason for his abrupt hostility.

  “Not everything revolves around that bastard,” he spat, snatching his hand out of my fingers. Instinctively I shrank back a step. I felt… I’m not actually sure what I felt. I want to say fear but that sounds ridiculous. I could never be scared of Dexter… right?

  “Please, Dexter… what’s wrong? Talk to me,” I pleaded.

  “I said I’m tired,” he repeated sternly as he brushed past me and headed straight for the stairs. I started to follow him and was taking my first step on the stairs by the time he reached the top. It was only when he da
rted into the bathroom and slammed the door so forcefully behind him the walls of the entire house rattled, that I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and retreated back to the couch.

  Sinking my face into one of the fluffy cream cushions, the tears burned the back of my eyes as they escaped to form a shallow pool in the crook of my neck. I still don’t know if they were tears of worry or anger. I knew whatever was going on in Dexter’s head right now wasn’t my fault and I couldn’t help agonising over what might’ve happened to him.

  But a stronger part of me just wanted to slap him. How dare he push me away? Again! How dare he make me feel like an interfering nobody and not the woman he’s pledged his life to?

  Actually, the more I thought about it, the more certain I was it wasn’t fear or worry making me cry – it was pure, unadulterated anger.

  Dexter came crawling back down the stairs after twenty-or-so minutes. I looked him up and down, hoping the irritation I felt inside was showing on my face, when he propped himself against the doorframe to the living room.

  “I’m sorry, doll,” he muttered, sweeping the floor with his eyes. I simply shrugged. If my face wasn’t portraying how annoyed I was, my body language certainly was. “It’s been a tough day. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  “It’s not just about you, you know?” I spat sharply – ignoring his attempted apology completely. “All this crap with your dad? It’s affecting all of us. Sarah especially. Yet you’re the only one skulking around here feeling sorry for yourself.”

  You think I was being too hard on him? Hmmm, maybe. But I was so mad with him.

  “When you pushed me away before, I felt like some nosey busybody you barely knew. For a moment I felt guilty for being worried about you – like you saw it as none of my business. Bloody hell, Dex, we’re supposed to love each other! Surely that means I have a right to know what’s going on in that head of yours!”

  Dexter was in front of me before I’d even finished talking. Placing his hands on my shoulders he gently pushed me down onto the couch before kneeling himself in front of me.

  “We do love each other,” he corrected, cupping my face in his hands. “I’ve told you before, doll, even when I’m not showing it – don’t ever forget how much I love you.” Oh crap. I made the mistake of looking into his deep blue eyes. I was such a gonner. “I’m trying so hard not to fuck this up. It’s just difficult when I’ve spent my whole life ruining everyone and everything in my path. But I don’t want to ruin us, doll. I won’t ruin us. I’ll try harder, I promise you. I really am sorry.”

  Suddenly, with his forehead pressed against mine, I struggled to remember why I was even cross with him. Whatever it was couldn’t have been that big a deal. He’s my Dexter. He’s not perfect – who is? But he’s mine and I love him.

  “So… does that mean you’ll tell me what happened now? How you bust your knuckles?” Dexter’s hands dropped from my face and he stared down at my knees.

  “A customer at the garage accused me of leaving a cigarette burn in the leather.” He drew in a deep breath and looked up at me without moving his head. “So I hit him.”

  “Why? I croaked, utterly bewildered. “If you lose that job we’re screwed, Dex. Why would you risk that? And over a misunderstanding?”

  “An accusation,” he corrected – as if that made it okay. “I don’t know… I just lost it. I have no explanation and I can’t justify my behaviour,” he admitted. Genuine remorse saturated his husky voice and I covered his hands, which were still cupping my cheeks, with mine. We stayed like that - staring at each other, breathing deeply into one another, holding each other - for several minutes.

  “Are you poorly?” I asked, concerned when he started rubbing at his nose for the third time. It was beginning to look a little red around the edges and I assumed he was coming down with a cold.

  “I’m fine. Just a head cold,” he replied, sniffling.

  “You want some medicine? Or water?” He shook his head and I stroked along his cheek with the back of my hand. It was baby-smooth and I decided he must’ve shaved while he was hiding out upstairs. It was also a little warm, presumably from whatever illness he was coming down with, so I gave it a peck with my puckered lips.

  “Better already,” he said with a warm smile that set my insides on fire. “I know I seem to be saying it a lot lately, but I really am sorry.” I smiled reassuringly but I couldn’t leave it at that. Not again.

  “I know this is hard for you, baby,” I began. “Probably harder for you than any of us. But you need to talk to me. You wouldn’t have just hit that guy today if your head wasn’t messed up about everything that’s going on. And maybe if you’d told me how you were feeling… released some of the pressure… it might never have gotten to the point where you snapped like you did.”

  “I know,” he breathed. “I know.”

  “Oops sorry!” Sarah sang, appearing from nowhere. Closing his eyes and sighing silently, Dexter shook his head and turned to face her.

  “Don’t be,” he assured with a smile. “You’re not interrupting anything,” he added, jumping to his feet. Sarah flashed him a dubious look which was so brief I’m not sure Dexter even caught it. “Where’s the rest?” he asked, taking the bags of food from Sarah’s hands.

  “Still in the trunk.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Sarah patted Dexter gratefully on the back and then waited until he’d disappeared outside to come and join me on the couch. She sat beside me, smoothed out the kinks in her floor-length tie-dye skirt and then rested her hand on my knee.

  “Is everything okay between you two? You’ve seemed a little… I don’t know… off, the last few days.”

  “We’re good,” I assured her. But then she cocked an eyebrow at me, just like the one Rachel’s mum used to flash us if she caught us stealing from the sweetie cupboard before dinner. “I think Dex is just struggling. Just as he was starting to come to terms with everything, to try and move on, he shows up and ruins it. He’s been so snappy and withdrawn and I don’t know how to help him. If I try and encourage him to talk to me, he pushes me away. But if I just leave him to it, he might think I don’t care. And I do care. I care so much, watching him struggle like this is breaking my heart.”

  “Honey, no one can deny how much you love my boy.” I think my heart just melted a little. Her boy… “Dexter is such a complex young man,” she continued, sounding almost regretful. “But there’s so much love inside of him and I just wish life would give him a break so he could learn to embrace it. It saddens me that this is happening right now. It’s still so early for the two of you and I wish you’d had more time to enjoy one another, get to know one another…” Sarah trailed off and I soon realised it was because Dexter had returned with an armful of shopping bags.

  “I know it’s early,” I said quietly when Dexter disappeared into the kitchen. “And maybe it is turning out tougher than I anticipated. But I won’t give up on him, Sarah. I’ll earn his trust, just like you did. I’m just not sure how to go about it yet.”

  “No, honey, that’s not the problem. Dexter trusts you. He doesn’t trust himself. I know you think I know how to handle him when he’s slipping, but believe me it’s hit and miss whether I actually get through to him. Whenever I see even the slightest glimpse of sadness in those beautiful blue eyes of his, I feel like I’m failing him. I still believe if anyone was born to make my boy happy then that person is you. But sometimes… no, I shouldn’t think like this…”

  “Go on,” I urged gently - clasping her hand, which still rested on my knee.

  “Well sometimes I wonder if he’s too damaged to ever be truly happy.” Sarah squeezed her eyes closed and bit down on her bottom lip. She seemed ashamed of what she’d just said, and although I couldn’t possibly judge her – I disagreed with her wholeheartedly. I had to. Even considering her words to be the truth for just a fraction of a second, caused painful spasms to erupt inside my chest.

  “You pick up milk wh
ile you were there?” Dexter hollered from the kitchen, interrupting us. I can’t say I was disappointed. Unshed tears were clawing at the back of my eyes – stinging like grains of salt.

  “Damn,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll go back out!” she called back to him. Standing up quickly, grateful for the excuse to leave the house for the first time in three days, I waved her off with my hand.

  “I’ll go,” I offered. Dexter appeared in the doorway then, cocking his head to the side as if to ask what was happening. “I’m just nipping out for milk,” I told him.

  “I’ll come with you,” he suggested, striding up beside me.

  “No. You stay and help Sarah get dinner ready. I won’t be long. I’ll just nip to that little shop you took me to last week.” There was a mini supermarket a couple of streets away and to be honest I needed to be alone. I needed some cool air to clear my head and I needed the silence along with it so I could put my thoughts in some kind of order.

  “Okay, doll,” he agreed reluctantly. Then he bent down to kiss the top of my head. “I love you,” he whispered into my ear. “Never forget.” My heart melted, trickling into my stomach and settling into a shallow puddle.

  “I won’t,” I breathed, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of his warm breath coating my neck.

  “Um, still here…” Sarah called out in mock disgust. Giggling softly, I returned Dexter’s peck on the side of his smooth cheek, grabbed my bag and jacket from the hook behind the door, and headed outside.

  I felt instantly refreshed when the cold December air whipped my face. After zipping my jacket up to the top I pulled it right up beneath my chin and then crossed my bag strap over my body. By the time I reached the end of the street none of the problems gate-crashing our lives seemed so intense anymore. It was then I realised being held up indoors for so long was probably the catalyst behind me feeling like I’m crumbling.

  I’m not used to such an inactive life, or such a lonely one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware I’m no Mrs Popular, but since arriving here I’ve literally only spoken to the same two people. Unless you count Dexter’s father, but personally, I refuse to count him as a ‘person’.