"This was really nice of you. I don't know how to—"
"Don't. You don't need to. Just being a decent human being, Holly."
"Still. I really appreciate it," she said, offering me a small smile as I pulled into the diner parking lot.
Everything was dark since they'd obviously needed to close down for the night.
Beside me, Holly stiffened.
"I'm right here," I reminded her. "I'm not going anywhere until you are on your way," I assured her. "Here," I said, going into the center console, pulling out a pad and pen, jotting down my number. "Take this," I demanded, putting it into her bag. "I want you to call me if you need anything. I mean it. Anything."
"Thank you," she said, and her eye was starting to get glassy.
"While we're at it, take these," I told her, going back in the console, pulling out a bottle of pepper spray and an eye-gouger. "Keep these with you. I'm sure the danger has passed, but having these on you will make you feel better."
To that, she took a long, deep breath as she slipped her fingers into the holes of the eye-gouger. "You're a really good man, Malcolm," she said a second before opening her door, and moving outside.
I watched as she hobbled her way over to her car with tense shoulders. As she struggled to get her seatbelt on without making her ribs scream. As she turned over her car and tried to look over her shoulder to back out, her face twisting in pain while she did so.
I had no idea how she thought she was going to be able to work the next night.
But I was going to find out for myself.
Because until I was sure that whoever had done this was caught, I figured I was going to be spending a lot of time eating diner food.
Chapter Four
Holly
I knew the police were frustrated with me. They tried not to show it, of course. It would be pretty awful to let a woman who'd just been beaten know that you were annoyed with her for not having a better grasp on how she came to be unconscious behind a dumpster.
But I knew it.
It was in their deep breaths that came out like sighs and their increasingly tight voices as they fished for more information.
I just didn't have it for them.
I'd been trying to lift the bag full of old, wet coffee grounds—a bag that I'd swear weighed more than I did—up over my head into the dumpster.
And the first blow had come from behind.
I had vivid memories of falling forward on my hands and knees, of the pain from the pavement scratching my palms.
But everything after that was a blur.
I didn't see anyone's face.
They didn't say anything to me.
All I knew was the feel of their fists and feet on me for what felt like forever until, finally, unconsciousness claimed me.
Waking up had been startling.
Because every square inch of my body seemed to be crying out in pain. Because it took me a couple seconds to realize where I was, and what had happened. And because, and I hate even thinking this in retrospect, when I saw Malcolm beside me, I had a couple seconds of terror that he was the one who'd hurt me.
I figured that maybe once I got to the hospital, once I knew what was wrong with me, and once I had some pain medicine to ease the aches, I might be able to remember some more details to give the police.
Only, there was nothing.
I had nothing.
Except the pain.
And the unexpected kindness of a practical stranger.
I'd always been someone who was comfortable being on her own, but I'd never felt quite as alone as I did in that emergency room, confused and in pain.
I knew I should have called Shep.
But he would only feel badly about himself because he couldn't come, couldn't be of any help to me like I'd been to him.
It wasn't worth upsetting him ahead of time about the whole situation.
So I sat there alone.
I tried to remind myself that it was useless to cry.
And I refused to let myself fall into the seeming hopelessness of it all.
Not only did I feel like crap, and not only did work feel less safe, but the diner didn't offer health insurance, which meant I had none. And I'd gotten to know a thing or two about hospital bills in the past several months with my brother, so I knew a hefty bill was going to come my way.
I wouldn't have the money to pay it.
But I would need to find that money somehow.
Maybe there was something I could do on the side for some extra cash.
Personal shopping or food delivery or house cleaning. Something flexible.
Ugh.
Who was I kidding?
The only job I could get that would pay off the steadily growing bills from both Shep and myself was if I became some sort of phone sex operator or cam girl.
Which, well, that wasn't going to happen.
I was drowning in that misery when Malcolm came into the room, helping to distract me. But more so than that, just being there, easing some of the loneliness.
Then this man drove me to the pharmacy, bought me supplies I needed but couldn't afford, gave me his number, and made sure I got into my car and on my way home before he finally went back to his life.
Which left me no choice but to go back to mine.
My stomach was in knots as I made my way into the house.
It was earlier than usual, and I was debating going and getting myself cleaned up and a little rested before letting my brother in on what was happening.
But I heard him jiggling his pill bottle in his room, likely needing his sleep medicine to get through the rest of the night.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to get it over with, or I would just make myself sick over the whole thing.
I moved down the hall, knocking gently on his door.
"Shep?" I called, not wanting to freak him out since he wasn't expecting me.
"Holl? What's wrong? Why are you home?"
"Don't freak out," I demanded, reaching for the handle. "I'm okay, so don't freak out," I said again, moving inside, flicking on the light.
It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, but when they did, his face fell, his eyes bulged.
"Jesus Christ, Holl..."
"I'm okay."
"The fuck you are," he said, trying to sit up in bed.
"No, stop. Use the button," I demanded, knowing his wrist was weak, not wanting him to break it a second time.
"Don't worry about me for fuck's sake," he said, but he reached for the button as I moved closer. "What happened? Who did this to you?"
"I don't know," I said, shaking my head as I sat down on the edge of his bed. "I was taking out the trash and then someone attacked me. The next thing I know, I was waking up behind the dumpster. My regular, the one you tease me about, sat with me and came to the hospital. I'm okay, really," I assured him, trying to reach out, but my ribs screamed when I tried to stretch forward.
"Holl, Jesus," he said, reaching out toward me, putting his hand over the top of mine. "What did the doctor say?"
"It's not too bad. I have a concussion. My ribs are bruised. I have a lot of scrapes and bruises and this," I said, motioning to my eye. "But I'll be okay in a few days. Don't worry about me."