Elizabeth Finn - Brother's Keeper

And as she finally allows her shy eyes to drift back to mine, she catches the sly, and somewhat hungry, look in my eyes. But her gaze is uncertain, and I’m left reassuring her. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of taking advantage of you in your current state. I think your doctor might kill me if I did.”

“Yes, she would. She likes me, after all.”

“Who wouldn’t?” And at that, I give her a wry smile and a wink. I’m glad, at least, that this conversation is looking up, so I decide to test it once again. “You’re not … um … pregnant are you?” I ask with a raised eyebrow and a grimace. The question has popped into my mind on more than one occasion over the last month. And now seems as good a time as any to get it out—not that Rowan carrying my child isn’t a complete rush, but it’s just a rush better saved for later in her life.

“No! No! I’m not. Not! Not at all, not.”

Well, just in case that wasn’t clear enough, I decide clarification is in order. “You’re sure? It’s just, I didn’t use any protection and…”

“I promise. I started my period the day after you left and again when I was in the hospital. I’m definitely not. Not. Not. Not.”

And relief floods over me. “I mean, talk about screwing up your scholarship. I’m sorry. It was so reckless of me. I just couldn’t stop—couldn’t think at all really.” I have a slight smile on my face at the memory. And the smile reaches her face, too.

“Speaking of your scholarship, though, what has the doctor said about this fall?”

“She’s giving me a good prognosis. She thinks with enough physical therapy, strength training, and easing back into my routine, I can be ready to go by this fall.” But her expression shifts as the idea processes in her mind. “I’m worried about it, though. What if I can’t keep up or get back to the place I was before this happened? I mean, I can barely move, I hurt all the time. It’s hard to imagine doing the things I did before this happened. I’m just not sure I can be ready by fall.” She worries out loud, and I reach for the soft skin of her cheek, hoping to make her feel better. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears, and I can tell just how worried she is about this.

“Row, you’re going to be fine. I know you. And I know you can do this. It’s going to be hard work, but you do hard work better than anyone I know.” She doesn’t look convinced, so I lay down next to her with my head propped up on my elbow and my other arm draped low on her stomach where I think it’s safe to touch her. “I know you hurt right now, but you have to give yourself time. You will feel better. It might be slow, but it will happen. So I’m sure it feels bad right now, but you can’t apply the way you feel right now to the next two months or your life.” She nods slowly. Maybe I’m getting through to her. And as her eyes linger on mine, I slowly reach for the top button of the pajama shirt that she’s wearing. She watches me but doesn’t stop me. And as I slowly undo the buttons, the first signs of her bruised flesh show in the parting fabric. When all of the buttons of her shirt are undone, I pull open the top and take in the mess her father has left—beautiful but painful to see. I’m once again fighting back the tears that are suddenly threatening to spill.

Her skin is smattered with bruises from her stomach up to her chest, and the angry and pinched skin of her incisions is knotted and red under the staples. Her neck is still bruised in that horrific pattern that shows exactly where his hand choked her. Her breasts were spared from most of the kicks, and they are as beautiful and pale as ever, save for the small pink nipples that are taught and hard as her body responds to my intrusive gaze. Her lower abdomen was saved as well from most of the abuse and is trim and flat down to the pajama pants that she wears.

I want to touch her so desperately, and if the look on her face is any indication, she wants me to touch her, too, but there is no way for me to do this and not hurt her. I reach out to the soft skin of her belly and caress it for a moment before buttoning her shirt back up. She lets out a long and somewhat defeated sigh as I work my way up her buttons. I know exactly what frustration she feels. She would probably accept my touch right now in her aroused state, painful as it might be, but I can’t stand to do that to her. So we’re back to abstinence once again. I lay my head next to hers as she drifts off to sleep, and I listen to her deep relaxed breathing, letting my own body relax for the first time in a very, very long time.

When I wake, it is to a slight rapping on the door as Ronnie enters. Logan is gone, and I’m alone on the bed.

“Time to get up, dear. It’s dinnertime. Sara and I got take out from Gino’s on the way back, and Marcus will be here any minute.”

Ronnie gives me one final appraising look, worry etching her usually vibrant face. She must decide I’m okay as she finally gives me a gentle smile before leaving. As I wash up for dinner, I look myself over in the mirror. The hair is growing on me, not literally… It’s easy to take care of, which is good considering raising my arms too high always sends sharp pain through my side where my ribs are healing. My skin is always pale, but it is nearly drained of all color right now. My eyes have dark circles under them, and I’m more exhausted than any eighteen-year-old should be. Lip gloss does nothing to improve my state, so I give up and slowly make my way downstairs to the dining room.

As I enter, I see I’m the last to arrive, and everyone watches me with sympathetic looks on their faces as I move slowly to my place at the table. I’m directly across from Logan, and he gives me an intimate, warm smile without hesitation or restraint. I can feel the warmth of my cheeks as a sudden blush takes them over but quickly realize no one is paying us much attention.

Marcus and Sara spend the better part of the meal in a heated, albeit good-natured, debate about politics, while Ronnie referees. Sara is a chip off the Ronnie block, which means she is passionate, vibrant, and loud when she wants to be. Marcus is strong willed and level headed. Neither ever gets offended or upset, and you can tell they thoroughly enjoy these sparring matches. Logan is known to go his rounds with his father, too, but on this night he’s very content just watching me.

He does little to hide his attentiveness to me, filling my water glass so I don’t have to get up from the table and grabbing what bowls I need so I don’t have to reach too far. Ronnie is the only one who seems to notice his attention, but he doesn't seem to care at all that she is watching him closely with an intrigued and subtle smile on her face. Instead, his gaze remains on me, waiting patiently for me to meet his eyes whenever I can bear it.

When Marcus and Sara finally call a truce, Marcus asks Logan when he’ll be headed back to Denver. My gaze snaps unwittingly up to Logan’s as he looks back at me with concern. In barely a whisper, he responds. “Tomorrow morning.” But as he sees my face drop instantly, he continues quickly. “I’ll be back in a few weeks, perhaps a month. I have to be back in Detroit soon, so I won’t be away for long.”

He’s looking intently and reassuringly at me when his father asks, “Something interesting going on in Detroit then, I take it; a big case?”

“Something like that.” Logan returns his attention to me. “I’ll talk to you about it soon. Once I know more about it.”

Marcus nods in agreement before letting the conversation drop. We end up playing Scrabble for a couple of hours before Sara finally stands to leave for the night. She’s taking me to my first physical therapy appointment tomorrow, and after confirming when she should pick me up, she gives me a quick kiss on my cheek, elbows Logan in the shoulder, and hollers her good-byes over her shoulder.