A Christmas Miracle brings them together.
by horny pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
Carter has been in love with Mia for years, but it takes a Christmas miracle to throw them together.
Carter stood by his window, one eye on the watch on his wrist. It was just after eleven, that magical hour when most of the traffic died down and the neighborhood in the old downtown area settled in for the night, the quiet creeping through the air with the mist from the small stream to the west of his apartment. Across the road he could see some early Christmas decorations, but he knew that the real lighting up would start in about two weeks.
She would be along soon.
He shifted the threadbare curtain a little to the side and tried to peer down the street, attempting to see her approach sooner, but he knew she would appear around the corner as always, and that he would have no chance to look at her neat little form until she does. He looked at his watch. Another minute had passed.
She would be along soon.
He fretted restlessly when the minutes continued to trickle away, like the incessant dripping of droplets in the back of his mind; a tap that didn’t quite close all the way.
She would be along soon.
And then, finally, she was there. His hands tightened around the folds of the curtain as he watched her round the corner, his very being tightening up in anticipation as his eyes followed her hungrily. She was wearing her dark, mid-thigh-length coat, and he could see her shapely leg taking carefully measured steps.
Her head was bent down, as always, obscuring her features, and he wondered once again what he would see if she looked up. He knew a little about her, her skin was milky pale in comparison to her dark coat. Her hair was also dark, cut in a straight, no-frills bob that reached her chin and was usually tucked away behind her ear. Her arms were always folded across her chest, as if she was trying to get away from her surroundings by climbing into herself. She was a picture of despondency and hopelessness as she walked down the pavement, the mist from the river swirling around her legs with ghostlike tendrils.
She was breaking his heart.
He followed her with his eyes, knowing her pattern well. Under the next streetlamp she would stop, bend over to adjust her shoe in the weak glow, and then continue around the corner to wherever she was going. And he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her again. What did it say about him, about how low he’d sunk, that these two minutes of watching an unknown girl walk down the street was the culmination of all his hopes and dreams? That his every day was spent in a state of endless waiting, waiting? He was forever waiting for something, for the night to be over so he can get up, for the shops to open so he can struggle down the stairs with his bad knee screaming in protest to buy coffee and a microwave dinner. For the afternoon to pass so he could sit on the small little balcony his apartment was outfitted with and watch the sun set over the dingy part of the city horizon he was privy to.
He watched her as she stopped on cue, her fingers busily tweaking at the straps of her shoes. More than anything, he was always, always waiting for her.
She got up after a few seconds and his eyes followed her as she proceeded down the street, her pace a little faster now, as if she was suddenly aware of the hour and the fact that she was a pretty girl, walking alone. When he could no longer see her, he pulled the curtains in place and turned around, facing the dingy apartment he owned.
And deep down, he knew, the longest wait of all was the countdown of years that would mark the end of his miserable existence.
The Waitress
“What can I get for you?” Mia asked the two men who were sitting in a booth in the back. They were both dressed in similar casual attire, jeans, dark jackets, sneakers, but she knew without asking that they were cops. They had that shrewd look in their eyes, the restless air of inquisitive minds.
Her shoulders tingled and she forced herself not to twitch nervously. They were just out for a meal, maybe discussing a breakthrough or a dead-end in a recent case. Nothing to worry about. Cops and officers came in here all the time for coffee and doughnuts and meals.
They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you.
She chanted her mantra repeatedly in her mind as her fingers scribbled down their order. It was never wise to allow cops, or anybody else, for that matter, to sense your fear. It gave them reason to start questioning things she preferred to remain unquestioned, what’s your name? Where are you from?
Her feet were killing her. Her swollen ankle was throbbing from her earlier slip on a wet floor, and she wanted nothing more than for the day to end so she could go home to Nikita. Her back was no longer aching as much as burning from carrying the heavy trays back and forth, the pain a constant companion in her lower back. She shot a quick glance at the clock on the wall behind the counter as she unloaded dirty dishes in the sink and swiped her tray down where a cup had left a ring. It was a few minutes to ten, closing time was ten thirty, so she had a while to go yet. Angelo had gotten one of the girls to wrap threadbare tinsel around the clock and cash register. Despite the fact that it was clearly older than the shop, it was still ugly and gaudy, a glittery, cheap string of false cheer that did nothing but highlight the shop’s worn-down visage.
She ended her shift at ten thirty with an argument with Angelo, the owner and manager, who wanted her to stay for ‘stock taking’, his term for sexually harassing the girls when there was nobody around to help them. She refused and, as a result, lost her job.
Her heart sank at the idea of finding something new, again. How much longer? she wondered as she packed the things from her locker, over into her bag. How much longer was she going to struggle through life like this? Every day was a fight to survive. There were bills to be paid, a house to clean, a little sister to care for. Somebody needed to put food on the table, needed to make sure the police didn’t discover them and send them back to;
Not going to happen, she thought. No matter what happened, they were never going back to that dark, dark place they’d escaped from six years ago. She was twenty-three now, old enough by law to become her sister’s legal guardian, if they needed to take a legal route for any reason. She could only hope that would never happen. If there was ever any questions, any queries, she would pack up their things and they would leave. Again. They’d done it before, when it seemed necessary, it was so easy to disappear into the night, after all.
She clutched the black carry-all that held an extra shirt, some clean socks, a comb and a few tampons in case she ever needed them unexpectedly. The cheap second-hand cell phone was stashed in the pocket of her coat, where she could feel it vibrate if Nikita phoned her.
She was in a bigger hurry than usual, walking as fast as she could on her sore ankle, and looking around her edgily. The shadows seemed denser, the streetlights dimmer, the air quieter.
She hated this part of the city during the night. It was dark and it smelled like old trash and the murky, filthy water of the little stream on the other side of the dilapidated railing.
She was being stupid, Mia decided. She has been walking this route every night for the past three years, and nothing has ever happened to her before.
She swallowed her fear and walked out from under the tree. The rest had not done her ankle good. It was cooling down and stiffening up and she winced each time she stepped on it. She limped around the corner that would take her down the semi-nice street with the old buildings. Most of them had been townhouses in their hey-days, but they had fallen into slight disrepair since. She imagined living in one of them. It would be warm, and the roof wouldn’t leak in eleven places every time it rained. In the winter, she would light a fire in the living room, and she and Nikita would sit in front of it.
And maybe the sky would rain money and Unicorns soon.
Carter’s 3-Year Dilemma
Carter managed to convince himself not to watch for her again. How much longer was he going to wait for a miracle that was not going to happen? His dark-haired girl was never going to do anything else except walk past his building. He’d considered going downstairs at eleven more times than he could count, but three guesses as to how she would react to a man waiting to talk to her at that time of night. He had tried to follow her a few times, but his knee was so bad that he couldn’t keep up, not without being seen. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her into taking a different route. She was his fantasy, his perfect vision of innocence and beauty and hope. No matter how the weather looked, whether it was a balmy spring evening, or an icy cold snowing one, she walked down his street every single night. He’d been watching her for close to three years now, and he knew that she was off one Sunday a month, always the last one.
He wished, for the hundredth time, that he knew more about her. He wanted to know where she worked, wanted to know her name. Was she married, maybe, with a kid?
It was a moot point, in any case. Even if she wasn’t married, she wouldn’t waste her time on somebody like him, jobless and injured beyond repair, with nothing to give her but his name and an old apartment that used to belong to his grandmother.
He forced himself to stay seated as the clock ticked closer to eleven. It was ridiculous, this fascination of his with a girl he’s never even met. He spent his time building fantasies around her in which she needed his help, and in his dream world, his knee was still in its pre-explosion condition. He was still fit and strong, a Navy Seal who could do anything he set his mind to.
Forcing himself to be realistic, he took a swallow from the beer he rarely indulged in. She was probably married, or living with somebody. Probably had a kid, and took a night job so that she could spend time with the little one during the day. She was probably perfectly happy with her life, and this desire to rescue her was a left-over emotion from his SEAL days where being a hero was part of the job description.
He missed his team.
And there it was, the crux of the matter. He missed his team, his friends, almost more than he missed the mobility that had been stolen from him in that awful explosion four years ago. So far, he’d beaten the odds, but for the past couple years, he hadn’t made any progress beyond walking with the help of a crutch. After his time in the hospital and physiotherapy rehab center ran out, he moved back to the city where he had grown up. It was as far away from the base as he could find, and he had needed the distance at the time, not to mention the rent-free apartment his grandmother had lived in until she passed away.
But now, after months of seclusion, the truth was finally sinking in. He was never going to be able to run through jungles and over desert dunes again. His days of scaling mountains and hiding out yards away from the enemy camps were over. No matter how hard he worked, his leg was never going to be up to it again. He was going to have to consider those options the psychologist had tried to talk to him about.
His mouth thinned. Private security: where SEAL careers go to die.
He managed to avoid the window until just after eleven, when he couldn’t take it anymore and he stood up, cursing himself for his weakness.
A few minutes later, the girl came around the corner. Carter felt the familiar constriction of his heart as the streetlight casted a dull glow around her dark hair. She was limping tonight, favoring her right leg, and carrying a black bag in one hand. He frowned, watching her progress with concern. She was definitely stepping gingerly, and she was moving much slower than usual. So much so that he would probably be able to keep up with her if he followed her.
Carter made the decision in less than a second. Grabbing his crutch and a jacket, he left his apartment.
On the street
It happened in the darkness under the overhanging branches of a gnarled old tree, where the searching fingers of light could not reach. The gap in the pavement where two slabs of concrete had pulled away from each other snagged at the sneaker on her injured foot and she pitched forward with a sharp cry of pain. She landed awkwardly on all fours, and the sting of scraped palms joined the pain in her foot. She gave a tearless sob and uttered a few choice swearwords. She must look a sight indeed, down on all fours with one leg elevated in the air behind her at an awkward and unattractive angle.
“Are you all right?”
The voice behind her came from absolutely nowhere. Mia swung around as much as was possible for a human in the dog-near-a-fire-hydrant-position and ended up landing on her ass. She scrambled back and saw the man limping closer. From her position on the ground, it seemed as if he was a giant, rising out from the mist, leaning heavily on a crutch and yet managing to walk without making a sound.
“I don’t have a lot of money on me,” she said, holding her black carry-all up like an offering. “But take what I have. Just please don’t hurt me.” Panic tightened her voice.
“I don’t want you money,” he said, stopping at a safe distance from her and holding out his hands to show he was unarmed. “And I’m not going to hurt you.”
His voice was deep and soothing, somehow managing to calm her nerves.
“Let me help you up,” the stranger continued. He came closer and held his hand out. She hesitated a few seconds before letting him haul her up. She dusted her palms on her jacket, felt the sting of asphalt cutting into her skin like pieces of brittle glass. The enormous man held onto her elbow as she balanced on one leg.
“Thanks,” she said stiffly. “I hurt my ankle earlier tonight and I tripped on the pavement. I’m fine now, thank you.”
He didn’t reply and for the first time, she looked at his face. The faded street lights were casting mysterious planes over his face, highlighting his features. He had dark hair about a week overdue for a cut, and from what she could see, a strong nose and chin. His eyes appeared to be dark and intense, and his cheekbones were just high enough to make him handsome. His lips, however, looked soft and full and like an exotic dish, one you needed to serve up with strawberries and chocolate sauce and whipped cream and what on earth was she doing, thinking about his mouth like she wanted a taste?
A sudden, unexpected dimple made its way to surface when he gave a small crooked smile, and suddenly he looked much younger.
“My name is Carter,” he said, as if it was important to him that she knew who he was. “I live in that building over there. See the balcony? That’s my apartment. I hurt my knee a few years back and it was bothering me tonight, so I decided to take a short stroll around the block. Saw you falling down. Why don’t you let me have a look at your ankle? What’s your name?”
“Mia,” she said.
“Mia,” he murmured, and for a single moment, it seemed as if he was tasting her name on his tongue, rolling it around his palate like a fine wine he wanted savor and appreciate. He led her over to the railing, and she balanced against it as he got down with some difficulty to examine her foot.
“Do you have first aid experience?” she asked when he started to prod lightly at her swollen ankle. He held her heel and rotated her foot slightly. She gasped, instinctively yanking back when pain shot through her leg.
“Easy,” he soothed, softly stroking. “It’s a really bad sprain. I used to be a hospital corpsman for the Navy SEALS, so I’ve seen my fair share of injuries.”
“You were a SEAL?” she asked and closed her eyes as the touch of his fingers on her leg sent tingles dancing over her skin. His hands were so soft, so gentle, as he tested the tightness of her shoe around the swelling.
“Yeah, but I screwed up my knee in an explosion so I’m no longer active. Listen, you need to get off your foot. It must be killing you.”
“It’s painful,” she admitted. “But I’m not too far from home.”
“Is there anybody who can fetch you?”
“No, only my sister and she’s too young to drive. Not to mention that we don’t own a car. Ouch, dammit, that hurt!”
“Sorry,” he said and got up. “Look, how far do you live?”
Mia looked at him. How far could she trust this man? She didn’t know him, but he seemed; kind, somehow. Gentle.
“About two miles,’ she admitted, and at his glower, looked down at her hands. She got the sense he was angry with her for some reason.
“I’m not letting you walk that far on an injury like that. Why don’t you let me drive you home?”
Trusting somebody to help you up after a fall was one thing, but getting into a car with a stranger, leading him to her sister; that would be stupid, and reckless, and many other things she couldn’t afford to be.
“Thank you, but I’ll just call a cab.”
He nodded once. “Come wait inside, at least,” he said. “I’ll give you some ice and painkillers.”
She hesitated as the logical part of her mind warred with the part that was in pain and wanted nothing more than to get off her foot, have some painkillers and let somebody else make the decisions for once.
“All right,” she said after a few seconds. “Thank you very much.”
He tried to see his apartment through her eyes, and wasn’t sure what to think. It was small, with an open plan kitchen and living room that was separated by a breakfast counter that held stacks of books on the one side. There were three doors leading from the sitting room. Though it was reasonably clean and neat and didn’t scream ‘poverty,’ it was a clear exhibit of his lack of funds.
She was glancing around anxiously, her eyes darting from his TV to the front door and back to the kitchen, where the dishes were piled neatly in the sink. He saw them linger for a few seconds on the three doors that lead out of the living room and sensed her fear of being trapped. She reminded him of a little animal, cornered and shivering, waiting to be attacked by a predator.
“The bathroom’s through there,’ he said, pointing. “Those two doors lead to the bedrooms. Don’t worry, I set up the torture chamber in the basement.”
He expected her to laugh at his lame joke, wanted to lift her mood, but she just gave a small, tight smile and clutched her tote bag closer to her body.
“Sit here,” he said, cupping one hand under her elbow and leading her to a comfortable wingback chair. “You have an interesting accent,” he said as he went into the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine that was his only indulgence. “It’s very faint, but I have an ear for languages. Are you from Europe?”
She was silent for a few seconds before replying. “My family came to America when I was very young. But yes, I was born in Europe.”
“Your accent is almost Slavic,” he said. “But not Russian. Not quite.”
She didn’t offer any further information, so he pressed. “Are you from Poland?”
“No,” she said, reluctantly. “Georgia.”
“It borders Russia and Turkey, doesn’t it?”
“I; yes. Yes, it does. You’re good with this.”
“Simple matter of geography. So how old were you when you left?”
“I was five.”
He did the quick math. “So you must have left in the time of the civil war in the early nineties.”
She nodded her head and he watched the movement play with her hair. “We first went to Poland, and from there made our way here. My stepfather had some; business associates that helped us.”
He could read between the lines as well as anybody, and guessed it to mean they didn’t follow the legal route. Which probably meant she was still an illegal immigrant.
It explained a lot, but he wasn't going to call her out on it.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked as the rich scent filled the apartment. “To take the painkillers.”
“I would love coffee, thank you,” she said. He poured her a cup and added sugar generously. He handed it to her with an unopened bottle of strong pain medication.
“You can have that,” he said. “It’s prescription. It’s what I drink for my knee, but I try to avoid it over the long term because it can be addictive. But you should be fine for a few weeks. Just take one now, and another before you go to sleep. These pills will make you sleepy, but it should help for your ankle. Will you let me put a bandage on?”
She looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “I will, thank you.”
Off into the night.
Carter stood on the pavement, watching the taxi’s red taillights disappear around the corner. It felt all wrong, letting her drive off after finally meeting her. He pressed the heel of his hand against his chest, as if he wanted to rub away an ache. He’d given her his number, but what were his chances of getting a call?
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself before turning around and limping up the stairs. Why on earth would she call him? Even if she was the type of damsel in distress who called for help, he was probably the last person she would ask. What kind of help could he offer her, in any case? Without his mobility, who was he?
No-one. He was no-one.
Carter’s life now had new hope. He began taking better care of himself, his home, and his diet. He found his grandmother’s box of holiday decorations and began a makeover of the home he now felt happy living in. He played Christmas music because of the joy he associated with childhood visits to grandma. His personal grooming and daily wardrobe now looked different. He started each morning with stretches, pushups, sit-ups, and gutt-busters.
Why? He’d had a lovely interaction with a beautiful woman. If it could happen once, it might happen again.
Sadly, he never saw Mia again. He struggled to keep his focus on his new disciplines. He felt better about himself, and what he was able to re-awaken about himself, his strict mental and physical regimen, and his sense of purpose.
The call came three weeks later, after he had finally given up hope. He still waited by his window every night, and though the disappointment was no less intense each time she didn’t show up, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted her to see the new ‘Carter’.
When his phone rang, he was halfway through a brutal workout on his living room floor. For a moment he considered letting the call go to voicemail, but his muscles were burning in protest and he hardly had enough breath to put the weights in the holder. His heart was beating furiously, trying to escape the torture through his rib cage.
He answered the call; “Carter,” he said, his voice sounding like it had been through a cheese grater.
“Carter?” The voice on the other end sounded very young and scared. “This is; you don’t know me, but; My name is Nikita. You met my sister a few weeks ago. I don’t know if you remember her. Mia.”
Carter sat up, his heart stopping for a second before pounding even faster than before.
“I remember her. Is everything all right?”
There was a muffled sob. “I; I don’t know. Mia told me somebody has been following her home from work for a few days, so I’m not allowed to leave the apartment, but now she’s over four hours late and I am really scared something happened to her. She told me you helped her last time and I don’t know who else to call.”
Ah, hell. Carter pressed his palm on the floor and pushed himself up. “You did the right thing,” he said. “Exactly the right thing. Where do you live, Nikita? I’m coming over there to see what we can do. I’m going to help you, okay? You can trust me.”
The apartment was about the size of his living room. It had one room that functioned as bedroom, living room and kitchen. He felt appalled when he looked around at the obvious poverty around him. There was on small twin bed against the one wall, with a mattress on the floor. Since the little girl with the same dark hair as her sister headed right back to the bed after opening the door for him, Carter could guess easily where Mia slept. It was also freezing cold. Winter had finally set in, but they clearly didn’t have extra money to heat the small place up. The bed was piled high with blankets, and Carter was willing to bet that not many of them ended up on Mia during the night. He took in the water-stained walls and dingy linoleum floor, the meagre contents on the grocery shelf. Mia had tried to cheer the room up with some homemade Christmas decorations, but it was about as effective as putting jewelry on a pig and calling it a bride.
A small radio on the bedside table was blaring out equal amounts of ‘Frosty the Snowman’ and static buzz. The girl, she looked about eight and if she was healthy, he was a horse, was reading a book that had clearly been through the mill a few times. The lighting was very poor, and the small window across the room over the kitchen sink would probably not let in a lot of light, even during the day. Now, at nearly eleven in the evening, it was pitch black outside, except for the sycophantic blinking of a red ‘motel’ sign across the alley. It was close enough to the window to light up the room with a faint crimson glow every few seconds.
Nikita gave him a wary, distrustful look so like her sister’s that his heart clenched in his chest.
“Where does Mia work?” he asked her, sitting down carefully on the only chair in the room. Nikita sat up, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders and covering the sweater she wore over her nightgown.
“At a restaurant. She used to work at another one that was closer, but she hurt her ankle and the boss fired her ‘cause she couldn’t walk as fast as he wanted her to.”
So she had stopped walking past his house because she’d lost her job, not because she was avoiding him. Carter didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset about that.
“Do you know the address of her job?” he asked the little girl who didn’t look old enough to be left alone for an hour, let alone a day.
Nikita shrugged. “There’s a number against the fridge. I didn’t want to call it. Mia said I must not phone her at work unless there’s something wrong here or I get sick.”
He watched the tears brimming in her eyes.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t know why she’s so late. She’s never this late.”
“I’m going to find her,” he said, fear clenching in his gut. What if something had happened to her? She walked alone in the dark, through a very unpleasant part of the city. The mere thought was harrowing. “Let me phone the restaurant. Perhaps she just needed to stay late today.”
Half an hour Carter had worn a path through the linoleum floor from his pacing.
Nikita had fallen asleep about ten minutes ago, but he was still trying to find out where Mia was. The diner’s owner said she had left around six, when her shift ended. It was nearing midnight, and there was still no sign of her. And to make matters worse, Nikita said she mentioned somebody following her a few times.
He had phoned the police, and the all the hospitals in the area, but with no luck. Nobody had seen her. He thrust the phone in his pocket and buttoned up his coat, winding his scarf around his neck as he looked for a piece of paper to write a note for Nikita. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he needed to go look for Mia.
Just then there was the sound of footsteps outside the door, and a key jingling in the lock. Carter put his hand on the buttstock of the gun he carried in a hip holster under his coat. The door opened slowly, and relief made him breathless when he recognized Mia in the low light. She looked up, saw him, and gave an involuntary gasp and a step back.
For a moment, it was Mia’s worst nightmare, come to life. There was a man in her apartment; a big, hulking shape of a man standing between her and the bed where her sister was lying motionless. Fear clawed its way into her throat and stole her breath.
They found Nikita.
And then she recognized the man who had been haunting her dreams for three weeks.
“Carter?”
“Yeah,” he said, holding his one hand up in a non-threatening position and taking a step back, using his crutch to help him keep his balance. “It’s me.”
“What are you; ? How did you know?”
“You’re sister phoned me when you didn’t come home. She was scared and she didn’t know who else to call.”
“Thank you for staying with her,” Mia said. “I appreciate it. I was; mugged, and the man got away with my phone and my bag. I couldn’t call her to let her know I’d be late, and I took a different route home.”
Carter didn’t say anything, but his silence was unnerving, so she hurried through the story she’d fabricated on her way home to placate her sister.
“I was halfway home when he grabbed my tote bag. I let him have it since it doesn’t have much in it. He ran away with it, but I was scared, so I took a long way home. I didn’t want him to come after me when he realized it was pretty much empty. “
“I call bullshit,” Carter said calmly. “I don’t think it was a grab and run at all. Tell me, was it the same man you told your sister was following you?”
Mia could feel the last blood leave her cheeks. Fooling a sick thirteen-year-old was one thing, but then, he wasn’t a sick thirteen-year-old, was he?
“Yes,” she said, sticking as close to the truth as she could. “But in the end, I’m fine. I got away, and he got nothing. There’s no ID or address or anything in my tote, so;”
“How much pain are you in?” he asked brusquely. “And please don’t try to lie to me again,” he added.
“He kicked me in the side,” she said, touching her hip where one of the smaller bruises sat, aching. She didn’t need a mirror to know she was a mess of blue and black. The three men had spent about an hour, slowly making sure she remembered exactly who was in charge.
She might not have been living with her father anymore, but he still controlled her life. She had a bitter taste in her mouth. For six years she had been thinking she was clever enough to outwit her him. She had taken such pride in the fact that she could live without him, had drawn so much inner strength from the knowledge that she managed to evade him.
And now?
Now she realized, anew, how very useless it was too fight against him. He would always find her, always remind her of the power he had over her. The only reason she was alive and unraped after the beating she’d taken tonight was because her father had wanted to send her a message.
Next time, she knew, she would not be so lucky.
A small sound made her look up. Carter was still standing there, his eye on her face, his brows furrowed as if he had been reading her mind.
“You should;” her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “You should go home. I thank you for looking after my sister, but we’ll be alright now.”
“Like hell you will,” he said. “Pack some things. You can come stay at my place. Even if it’s just for the night. I’m not letting you stay here alone. And for the last time, where did he hurt you?”
She stared at him and let her stubborn streak kick in, tired as she was. “That’s really none of your business,” she said. “And thank you for the offer, but we’ll stay here. We’re perfectly safe.”
He pointed his finger at the bed. “What would have happened if I wasn't the one to come to Nikita? What if it was some rapist, or a thief, or a murderer? You say you took a long way home. Can you be sure you weren’t followed? What if they come back during the night and rape her? If you don’t want to come for yourself, at least come for her. She’ll be safer with me, and you know that.”
“You son of a bitch,” Mia said softly. “Don’t tell me what’s best for my sister. I’ve been looking after her for thirteen years.”
“I thought she was about eight,” he said, surprised. Mia shook her head. “She’s thirteen, but she; she has cancer. The last doctor I took her to told me she’s not going to see the next spring. She has gone into remission twice, but her body simply can’t take another round of Chemo. He said she’d probably be more comfortable at home.”
She looked around her at the shabby disrepair and shook her head. “He was wrong, wasn't he? I can’t even give her a warm room.”
Carter held out his arms and like a kid, Mia stood up and walked into his embrace. He said nothing as he held her, stroking her back with one big palm. Mia allowed herself to lean into him, to take the comfort he was offering her, to draw some strength from his closeness.
Finally she stepped away. Carter had no idea how right he was, how risky it would be to stay where they were. He knew only that she’d been mugged, not that the men had been hired by her father, or that her body was covered in bruises that ached as if she’d been in a train accident.
To be continued, by horny pixy.