Page 3 of Healed By Doc
Samantha steps forward, her eyes bright with concern as she takes my hand. “Doc? Did he hurt you?” Her voice is hard and vengeful. “I don’t care if the Steel Rebels own this place, I will kick him out if he hurt—”
“No,” I hurry to say, cutting her off. “James…I mean, Doc never hurt me. He’s the only person from my past who’s ever tried to help me, and I rewarded that by betraying him.”
The fire in her eyes wanes but doesn’t completely disappear. “Tell me.”
I release her grip to grab the water, something to wet my dry mouth. “I’ve told you about my stepfather and how I left home the second I turned eighteen, but I never told you about my stepbrother,” I murmur, looking down at the water bottle. “He died nine years ago. He was older than me by a decade, and he was much crueler than my stepfather, if you can believe that.” The sound that escapes my lips could be called a laugh, but there is nothing funny about my past. “Eric, my stepbrother, saw me as his little servant. By the time I was twelve, I was cooking, cleaning, and doing all the household chores. As long as I kept the place clean and stayed out of his way, it was usually fine. But I messed up one night after Eric had his friends over for a party while his dad was gone.”
My mind drifts to that night, and I remember the pungent smell of stale cigarette smoke and the living room cluttered with beer bottles and empty food containers. Well, I’d thought they were all empty.
“Cara.”
I look up at Samantha again. “I fell asleep before his friends left. Usually, I’d stay in my room with the door locked and listen for them to leave so I could clean up before bed. But I was so tired that night, I fell asleep. Eric was passed out on the couch and my stepfather was still gone when I woke up in the morning. I rushed to get everything cleaned up before I had to leave for school, but I ran out of time. I should have stayed home from school to finish, but I had a test that day, so I gatheredwhat I could of the trash and left. It was the wrong thing to do. Eric was waiting for me when I got home from school, and he was furious. Apparently, in my rush to collect as much of the mess as I could, I threw out his drug stash. It was in some box or something that I’d grabbed. I thought everything I threw away was trash, but I guess one of the boxes held the coke he and his friends used to get high.” I look down at the water bottle again and pick at the label, unable to meet Sam’s eyes as memories of that night threaten to overwhelm me. “He attacked me.”
“Cara…”
“It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten physical with me, but it was the angriest I’d ever seen him. He’d left the front left the door open, and someone heard me scream and rushed in to help. I’d never seen the man before, but the stranger punched Eric to get him away from me. He only hit him once, but Eric tripped on a beer can and hit his head on the table.” I shudder at the memory, wanting to erase it from my mind, but it’s something I have to live with. “There was so much blood… Eric died that night, and my savior…”
“Doc?”
I nod. “He was arrested,” I whisper, ashamed that I had no control over that. “My stepfather forced me to make a statement against him, so I told the cops that he had attacked my stepbrother without provocation.”
I wait for Sam’s condemnation, and I realize that I prefer it to the pity I read in her eyes. “How old were you?”
“Twelve.” Samantha steps forward and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I sniff back the tears. God knows I don’t deserve to cry. “He doesn’t recognize me. I…I don’t know if I should tell him, apologize for it, or just hide until he leaves.”
“You don’t have to talk to him if you’re not ready,” Samantha says, pulling back from the hug, but keeping her hands on my shoulders. “You were just a child, Cara. One who was traumatized and abused. Don’t blame yourself for a past that was out of your control.”
I nod.
A part of me wants to lean into this woman for the affection I was denied as a child, but I am reminded that mine is not the biggest problem at the moment. Samantha shouldn’t be here with me when there’s another woman who needs her more. “You should go back to Abby,” I say, taking a step back. “I’ll…um, I guess I’ll go do something else until they leave.”
She nods, and we both step into the hallway just as the two men exit the medical room. “There you are. I was wondering where you ran off to,” Saint says when he spots us. “Miss Dupree, could you stay with Abby while I talk to Sam for a moment?”
At the mention of my name, Doc looks up sharply, and when his eyes lock on mine, I see it this time. By the way, his eyes darken and his face goes carefully blank, there is no doubt that he remembers.
Chapter Two
Doc
Cara Dupree.
Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in nine years. I’ve thought about it every day though, tried and failed miserably to forget what happened the night I met her, but it’s ingrained so deeply in my mind that forgetting it has never been an option for me.
I’ve tried to block out memories of the one incident that changed my life. I carried resentment for so long that it nearly turned me into a bitter, vengeful man, and perhaps I would have become that if I hadn’t joined the Steel Rebels. What it did, however, was turn me into a cold man. One who is worlds apart from the twenty-seven-year-old military field medic who believed the system would protect me as long as I did the right thing.
That was all I was trying to do that night, and it cost me my freedom.
Five years. That’s how long I spent in that fucking hole, fighting for my sanity every single day. Perhaps I would have lost myself if I hadn’t earned respect from the inmates who preferred seeking treatment from me rather than the correctionalphysicians. I made more friends than enemies, got myself recruited into the Steel Rebels MC by one of their members who happened to be my cellmate. Those five years shaped me, and I’m no longer the man I was when I went in.
And by the looks of it, she has changed too.
Cara Dupree is no longer a young girl with big haunted green eyes, too large for her small face and malnourished body that made her look small for her age. I thought she was at most eight when I first saw her, and it was only after my arrest that I found out she was actually four years older. I’ve blamed many people for the life I’ve led—myself included—but never the innocent girl who was used as a pawn to punish me.
Never her.
The girl…no, woman standing before me is miles from the tortured child I met that night. She’s pretty, stunning even. Her hair is the color of ripening wheat, tied at her nape to expose her beautiful face. Her skin is pale as milk, and I can’t tell if it’s natural or a result of her running into a ghost of her past. Her pink lips are full and lush, complimenting a nose specked lightly with freckles. Beneath those perfect brows are stunning emerald green eyes, ones that send my pulse quickening with something akin to desire. I shake off these unbidden feelings to focus on the woman and notice that traces of that girl from my past still remain. She’s thin, but no longer too skinny, and those green eyes aren’t as full of fear, but there is such vulnerability and uncertainty in them that it sends a storm of fury burning inside of me.
I want to calm them—her.
