Page 45 of Speechless
“Is that a problem for you?” He wasn’t abrupt, didn’t snap the question, but he made damn sure it was direct.
“Not for me,” she answered cheerfully. “I think it’s kind of cute, actually. Judging from the happy glaze in her eyes, Jenna’s thrilled by the concept. Are you happy being her Daddy?”
Connor glanced sidelong at the phone. Sarah was a chilled-out person at the best of times, but surely this should be freaking her out at least a little. “Never gave it thought before, but I’m happy if she is.”
“You sound disappointed, Con. Were you waiting for me to get myyou’re a sinnerpanties on and give you a lecture on the sins of BDSM?”
“Now that you mention it…”
She laughed, long and hard. “I’m a big girl, Connor, and I read. A lot. Romance, of all genres, happens to be the sole occupant of my Kindle. Daddy Doms included. You’re both adults, and while Jenna might be…stunted in how to be an adult, she knows her own mind. That doesn’t mean to say I won’t cut your dick off with a stone saw if you upset her.”
Connor winced and cupped a hand over his crown jewels through the towel. Most women would say it threateningly; Sarah would probably come to work one morning with Zeke’s stone saw already revving. “I’d offer to do it myself if I fucked up that badly with her, Sarah. She’s…she’s…”
“Okay, big guy, I get what you’re not saying. But I’ve got my eye on you,” she warned. “Look, I’ve got to go. Jenna’s dead on her feet and she’s not going to go to bed if you’re still on the phone. Don’t give me puppy eyes,” she said firmly, away from the phone, and Connor smiled. “Bed, Jenna. Connor will be here tomorrow.” She came back and sighed. “I’ll see you first thing, boss. Safe travels.”
When the line went dead, Connor stretched out on the mattress and grinned up at the ceiling. Lighter than he’d felt in months, he took a deep breath and blew it out.
This turned out to be one hell of a trip.
*
She couldn’t sleep.
She twisted and turned, tossed and kicked at the covers until Sarah slipped across the room silently and rearranged them. A quick stroke of a small hand over her head, then the nurse retreated back to her own bed in the corner, Connor’s huge reclining armchair.
Sarah had become a…friend.
Jenna hesitated to use the word because, well, she couldn’t remember ever having one and she didn’t really know what having one entailed. She liked the notion of being friends with Sarah. The woman was calm, even when she used bad language, and had firm hands that didn’t hurt if she pushed or pulled Jenna into doing something she didn’t really feel like doing.
The day after Connor left, when Jenna could barely lift her head, Sarah had sat with her on the couch for hours, Jenna’s head in the woman’s lap as she gently combed through her shaggy locks with her fingers and watched TV. She’d talked to her, explained about post-traumatic stress disorder and depression, and told her how she was never alone, even if she believed she was.
Not long after, Sarah had excused herself for a phone call, and minutes later a man she’d introduced as her husband, Zeke, stood awkwardly in the kitchen with a plush toy in his hand.
It shamed Jenna to think she’d taken one look at the massive man in his checked shirt and worn jeans, and urinated before running into the living room, tripping over the coffee table and hitting the floor hard. She’d crawled the last few feet into the corner and rocked herself with her thumb in her mouth, her leg bruised and bleeding, and her palms scuffed with carpet burns.
Sarah had been white when she came in a few minutes later, full of apologies, and began the process of tending to Jenna’s wounds. She’d gotten angry with her when, after Sarah rushed to the exam room for supplies, Jenna gave in to the overpowering need to fix the mess she’d made.
The angry faery had not been pleased to find her charge mopping up urine and scrubbing the kitchen floor like a whirling dervish, as she called it.
Now Jenna had a long scrape and wicked bruise on her left shin—not a prize-winning mark by her standards, Sire often inflicted worse with his eyes shut—and her hands were sore. Again, she’d had worse from scrubbing her hands bloody cleaning up blood, from the chemical burns of bleach.
Sarah had been tight-lipped as she tucked Jenna into her nest on the couch but had presented her with the amazingly soft elephant with velvet fur the color of Connor’s eyes. She’d said how he was hers to keep, a gift from friends, and how no one could take him away from her.
Jenna hugged him close now. His fur was warm and comforting against her cheek and holding him so the empty space inside her wasn’t quite as big quietened her anxiety.
But the darkness seemed huge and shadows from outside drifted over the closed curtains. The wind was picking up and memories of it screaming through the gaps of her shed assailed her. She’d spent many a winter’s night huddling for warmth as icy winds cut through the planks and into her bones. More than once she’d woken with snow flurries and icicles on her numb body.
She supposed it was a miracle she hadn’t suffered any permanent damage from frostbite or hypothermia. Sire probably would have just sliced off the affected areas anyway and slapped her around before she got back to work.
When she got the flu, he’d flogged her through ten days of hell. Sipped hot tea laced with whiskey she’d made for him and forced her body to scrub and clean and polish while she died an inch at a time.
Sarah slipped out of her chair, disappeared down the hall. Uneasy at the sudden isolation, Jenna clutched her nameless plushie and bolted upright. If she’d had long ears, they’d have been pricked and at full alert for danger.
She jumped and cried out when the shadows moved, then dropped her face into the plushie when Sarah sighed and rubbed her back firmly. She looked like an idiot, every damn time. Felt worse than one when Sarah hushed her sympathetically.
Warm fingers brushed her hair away from her ears and the familiar buds popped into place. Music was already playing, the magic voice crooning about muddy waters, and Sarah’s capable hands laid Jenna back into her safe place.
The music box clutched in her hand, Jenna snuggled into the duvet Sarah pulled around her. Lips brushed over her damp forehead, fingers touched her cheek, and the music carried her away.