Unknown - Driven_589066

closed, she was soon deeply asleep.

“Are you sure she’s going to be okay?” Dylan asked, concerned.

“Yes. She’s a very lucky woman. Just keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t try to get up on her own in the middle of the night. The drug I just gave

her is pretty potent stuff.” From the pocket of her lab coat, Norton retrieved a bottle of pills. “Give her one of these with water no sooner than every four

hours if she complains of pain.”

Dylan took the pills and pocketed them. “Will do. Anything else?”

“No. You have my number in case anything comes up, but it shouldn’t. As I said, she’s very lucky.”

“I don’t know if I’d call what happened to her ‘lucky’, my friend,” Dylan softly commented, looking down at Catherine’s bruised and swollen face. Rage once

again flared through her, but she clamped down on it with savage intent.

Time enough for anger later, when it would do some good.

Dylan unlocked the door with one hand while holding Cat up with the other arm securely wrapped around the young woman’s waist. “You might be small,

but you’re packed,” she grumbled as she attempted to move the heavily sedated woman inside.

Hodge roused a bit at the sound of Dylan’s voice, and giggled at what she thought—in her drugged stupor—she’d heard. “Stacked?” She giggled again. “I

didn’t think you’d noticed.” She tried to get a peek down her own cleavage, but for some reason, her arms weren’t cooperating. Nor were her eyes, which

seemed to be content right where they were, staring at Dylan’s beautiful face in profile.

“Oh believe me,” Dylan mumbled, half under her breath, “I noticed.” The words came out without her permission, but strangely, it didn’t feel as out of place

as it should. She’d have to think about that later, too.

“I heard that,” Cat replied in a sing-song voice. “Pallas Dylan The Goddess Lambert thinks I’m stacked.” That came out a little louder than Dylan expected.

A lot louder, actually, and she found herself looking up and down the hallway, praying she was the only one who’d overheard the declaration.

An empty hallway answered her prayers, and she looked down at the young woman again, finding her deeply asleep and all but lounging on Dylan’s tall,

strong form. “Oh boy,” Dylan breathed, shifting her body and pulling the limp young woman into her arms once again.

Flipping a switch right next to the door, Dylan prayed for light and was rewarded. It was just an entry light but it was enough so she could see into the loft

apartment. If the situation hadn’t been so serious Dylan probably would have been impressed with Cat’s taste and her level of organization. As it was, all

she wanted to do was get the young woman to bed.

She took a better hold on Cat, who groaned at the stronger contact. “Sorry,” she whispered as they made their way into the large living room. Very gingerly

she lowered her battered player to the sofa, taking care to arrange her position as gently as possible.

Reaching over to the end table she clicked on the lamp that sent more soft light into the well-kept living space. She noticed the bedroom on the second

floor, seen easily through the loft railing, and trudged up the steps. Approaching the large bed, she stripped back the comforter and took the blanket

underneath and grabbed a pillow before heading back down the stairs and into the living room.

Returning to Cat, she placed the items on the back of the couch and then took a deep breath as she prepared for what she knew she had to do next. First

she removed the player’s sneakers and tossed them to the floor. Then she reached for the snap of her jeans. Slowly and very carefully she undressed the

young woman, leaving her clad in her panties, sports bra and socks. Once Cat was covered with the blanket, Dylan released a breath she wasn’t aware she

had been holding.

“I don’t think you’re gonna want these anymore,” she whispered, holding the ripped and bloodied clothes in her hands. Looking around, she spied a tall

garbage can in the kitchen and disposed of the clothing promptly, shoving it down far so that it wouldn’t be the first thing Cat saw when she entered.

She leaned against the counter, wondering what she should do next. It had been a long time since she’d had to care for anyone but herself. The rustiness

showed itself as indecision.

Long fingers taped repeatedly against the Formica counter top as she pondered. Calling Cat’s parents seemed to be the next logical step, but she had the

feeling that Catherine wouldn’t appreciate that.

She’s an adult, Dylan. Let her make up her own mind about it. No sense butting in where you’re not needed. If she wants to call, she’ll call.

That settled, at least for the time being, Dylan opened the fridge door, pleased to find both water and various juices. She also grinned when she saw a bag

of Oreo’s tucked lovingly in a zip lock bag. Apparently Cat had one or two bad habits and a few weaknesses for junk food. Dylan smiled at that as she

grabbed a bottle of water and went back into the living room. She looked at the young woman, who appeared to be in pain even as she slept. “I’m so sorry

Cat,” she whispered as she knelt near Cat’s head and gently brushed her hair from her forehead. “If I could make it go away, I would.”

The gentle touch felt nice; more soothing to her, she suspected, than to the pain-wracked woman lying so small and so fragile on the large couch. She

smiled, then, as she noticed the tense muscles of Cat’s face relax just slightly under her gently stroking fingers. “I’m here,” she whispered, knowing it for

the promise it was.

Tearing her gaze, and her fingers, away, she lowered herself to the floor beside the couch and picked up the remote to the television. The TV flickered to

life, and she changed the channel from ESPN to the local news to see if the attack had been able to avoid publicity. She kept the volume low, took a drink

of the water, and closed her eyes, allowing her head to rest back against the couch. She listened to the news with one ear and Cat with the other. A long

groan made her sit up and turn quickly toward the couch.

“Coach. . . .”

“I’m right here.”

Green eyes opened slowly and she tried to smile, but it hurt too much. “This sucks.”

“I know. How do you feel?”

“Like every team in the league has run over my butt.” She licked her lips, grimacing at the action. “Twice.”

Dylan chuckled. The night’s stress had just about gotten to her and she was glad to see that Cat still managed to joke. “Bet the other guys don’t look too

good either,” she commented, looking down at the swollen hand lying atop Cat’s abdomen.

Cat curled her fist reflexively, then winced. “Bastards.”

Dylan sat quietly for a moment, unsure what to say. Words of sorrow mixed with feelings of rage against the so-called “men” who did this, and she wasn’t

sure how to express herself without it all boiling over and scaring her younger charge.

Cat seemed to understand, though, and smiled. “Thanks for being here. With me.”

Dylan returned the smile. “Anytime.”

Green eyes slid closed again, and within moments, Cat was asleep.

Sighing softly, Dylan turned back toward the television and pulled her cell phone from her pocket pressing the button that would connect her to Mac.

“Hey, D,” Mac’s soft, sleepy voice comes over the phone. “How’s Cat?”

“Sleeping. Listen we’re gonna have to take her off the roster for awhile. Put her on injured reserve. It probably won’t be any longer than a game.”