Driven, page 9
“I’m never getting out,” Oliver mumbled. “The car is my new best friend.”
Richards came around and opened the door for him. “Come on, kid, we’ll get you some ice. That’ll help with the swelling… everywhere.”
Oliver allowed himself to be dragged from the car but kept one hand over his crotch. He really didn’t want to make an… upstanding first impression.
Chapter Twenty
THANKFULLY, OFFICER Richards’s wife, Janette, was kind enough not to comment on Oliver’s affliction below the belt. She tsked over his wounds and made him sit at the kitchen table while she gathered her supplies.
Oliver took the time to glance around. There were colorful, childish drawings stuck on the fridge with alphabet magnets. The kitchen was bright and cheery. It looked well lived-in but not messy. It was an organized kind of chaos. It flowed into a family room that boasted plush, comfortable-looking couches, a bin of toys, and a gigantic television. Oliver imagined watching that TV would be like having your own personal movie theater. There were pictures of the kids printed on large canvases hung over the biggest couch. Cute. On the other wall was a wedding photo. Oliver grinned at the young, happy image of Richards.
“What’s so funny?” the man himself asked.
“Not funny, I was just admiring your pictures. It’s nice to see you were young once,” Oliver joked.
“Did you think I was hatched this age?”
Oliver grinned. “Of course not, but it’s hard to imagine a younger version of some people. I feel like you were born with all those muscles and a badass attitude. I imagine the other toddlers steered clear and elementary school kids gave you their lunches before you even asked.”
“He was an adorable cherub of a child,” Janette said as she walked back in with a first aid kit.
Her husband groaned. “Don’t tell him that! He’ll do better if he stays scared of me. I’m still his parole officer.”
Janette rolled her eyes before leaning toward Oliver, a hand next to her mouth. “I’ve even got naked baby bathtub pictures his mother gave me. Wanna see?”
“Don’t you dare,” Richards warned his wife.
“It will be our little secret, Ollie,” she said, ignoring her husband.
Oliver surprised himself by laughing at their antics. “I’ll call you if I ever need to blackmail him.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” Richards said. “You’re going to get me fired.”
Janette laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband on the cheek. “Why don’t you go check on the kids while I get Oliver cleaned up,” she suggested. He was smart enough to know his wife was kicking him out, so he left without an argument.
Oliver studied the petite woman as she opened the first aid kit and started laying things out. She was tiny all over. Small boned, he guessed they’d call her. Her dark hair was pin straight and cut in a smart bob. She wore funky glasses that very few could pull off. Even though it was the middle of the night, she was dressed as if she had just come home from work. Black slacks and a silky kind of blouse. The slippers on her feet didn’t seem to go with the outfit, but he imagined the first thing she did when she stepped into the house was kick off uncomfortable shoes and slide into the fluffy things.
“This might sting a little,” she said, interrupting his musings. She dabbed at his knee with a damp cotton ball. It stung more than a little, but he tried not to move. If she was nice enough to patch him up, he’d do his best at being a decent patient. She continued to clean all the wounds, a tedious job due to having to pull out little pieces of gravel with tweezers. After, she applied some ointment that soothed, taking the sting away. Finally, she covered his wounds with colorful children’s Band-Aids that sported cartoon characters.
“Sorry, we obviously need some adult ones added to the first aid kit,” she said when she noticed him checking them out.
“Nahh,” he said, “these are more fun.”
“I think so too,” she agreed, smiling at him. She straightened up to her full height, which wasn’t very tall at all, and started putting things away. “All done here, but I’d like to check them in a couple days to make sure they’re healing okay. The one on your knee probably could have used a stitch or two, but I’m guessing you don’t agree with hospitals.”
“You guess right,” Oliver said, unsuccessfully suppressing a shudder.
“You can crash on the couch the rest of the night,” Richards said from the doorway. Oliver hadn’t seen nor heard him come back.
“I couldn’t…. Won’t you get in trouble?” Oliver said, concerned for the man who was looking out for him.
“Not if no one knows,” Richards said. “I’ll call the twins first thing in the morning and let them know where you are so they don’t worry.”
Oliver scratched his head, careful to avoid the wound. “If they don’t know I’m here, how did you know I had left their house?”
Richards sighed and stepped into the kitchen. He pulled out the chair opposite of Oliver and collapsed into it. “Do you think I don’t know what day it is? What happened on this date three years ago?”
Oliver hung his head. “I didn’t think they gave you that kind of information.”
“Well, your situation was a little different. I always felt like you got a harsh sentence, even though you were young and an accessory… of sorts. I guess they thought they were trying to teach you a lesson so you wouldn’t get yourself into trouble again. I had followed your case when it was going on and was surprised you didn’t fight for community service or something along those lines.”
Oliver’s thin shoulders moved up and down. “I may not have physically gone into the house or had a hand in what went on, but I could have prevented them from doing it in the first place. I deserved what I got.”
Richards shook his head. “I’m not so sure of that. I think you harbored a lot of guilt, both from your part in the crime and from the accident and felt you deserved to be so harshly punished. You were just a child. A grieving child at that.”
“Old enough to know better,” Oliver argued.
“Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong,” Janette agreed, speaking up for the first time since their conversation started, “but you weren’t in a good place mentally or emotionally and no one could blame you for that. Perception gets skewed on emotional highs and lows. That’s not to say there shouldn’t have been any retribution for your role in it all, but to put you in prison with adults that were killers, molesters, and mobsters was uncalled for. A gross abuse of the judicial system just because someone wanted to make an example out of you. Thinking about it all still makes my blood boil. Your attorney should be shot for not fighting harder for you.”
“Well, disbarred perhaps,” Richards said with a grin for his wife. “We don’t talk about shooting other people in front of our cop spouse, right, dear?”
She just shook her head and rolled her eyes. Placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, she looked down on him. “We would have taken you in ourselves if it wasn’t a conflict of interest on John’s part. We both know, deep down, you’re a good kid, Ollie, who was dealt a bad hand.” She squeezed his shoulder and left the kitchen claiming she needed to hunt down bedding for the couch.
Oliver looked down at his feet, slightly uncomfortable with all the attention. “I… had no idea you even knew what went on.”
John leaned forward, hands folded on the table. “When you were released, I went to go to your house and talk with your mother.”
Oliver felt the blood drain from his face. He could only imagine what she had said to him, officer or not.
“It was probably the most infuriating and heartbreaking conversation I’ve ever had with anyone. Her blatant disregard for you and the situation made me want to shake her. I tried to stay calm and tell her that she wasn’t the only one grieving and that you needed her to help get through and get back on track. She responded by telling me you deserved worse and she no longer had a son. Then she slammed the door in my face.”
Oliver’s head dropped. He knew what his mother thought. She had pretty much said the same to him, adding that she had her own issues to deal with and couldn’t be bothered to care for him, that he was selfish and thought the world revolved around him and his problems. She finished by telling him that she wished it had been him that died that day and then slammed the door in his face. Seemed like she gave that door treatment to everyone.
“I tried to do what I could for you, but my hands were tied in a lot of aspects,” Richards said. “I always had an eye out, but you would disappear during the week, only turning up when it was time to check in. I had hoped I could keep you out of certain situations, but when I saw you talking with Marcus the other day, I realized I had probably failed you there as well.”
His head shot up, eyes wide. Did Richards know the kinds of things he had resorted to? Oliver was so ashamed. “Maybe I should go,” he said, pushing his chair back.
Richards followed suit, ready to stand. “Why?”
Oliver stood, eyes flashing. “Because you shouldn’t have someone like me in the same house as your wife and kids. Some dirty, thieving, murderer-turned-prostitute.”
“If I thought you a threat, do you think you’d be here? Do you think I would have let my wife come within ten feet of you?”
“I… I don’t know,” Oliver said, sliding back down into the chair, all his energy gone.
“You know. You just don’t want to admit it because that would mean you’re the only one who thinks of yourself that way.”
Oliver mumbled something. Richards leaned in close. “What was that?”
“I said, Marcus thinks of me that way.”
“Yeah, well, his opinion holds no weight with me. It shouldn’t with you either. In fact, you ought to stay far, far away from him. He’s involved in some serious shit that I don’t want to see you caught up in.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t you arrest him when you saw him?”
Richards sighed. “Still gathering evidence. It’s so huge, we can’t afford to go in too soon and fuc—ahh, mess things up. Anyway, I shouldn’t be talking to you about it. Just stay away from him because if you get caught up in his trouble, I don’t think even my pull could work you free.”
Chapter Twenty-one
AT THE insistence of both Richardses, Oliver crashed on their couch. When the sun rose, it wasn’t the light but the sound of whispering voices that woke him.
“We wake him now?”
“Daddy said let him sleep.”
“He’s got bwood on his head.”
“Gross, it’s a scab.”
“I wanna give him Teddy. He would like Teddy.”
“But then Teddy might get blood on him.”
“Ew. He no can get Teddy dirty!”
Oliver cracked his eyes open to see two adorable kids arguing with each other, the blood-covered boy sleeping on the couch obviously forgotten. They looked to be about three and maybe six. The older was missing a front tooth while the younger had a head full of braids. They turned and saw his eyes open.
“Daddy! Boy awake!” the younger one yelled loud enough to make Oliver cringe.
“Well, thanks for letting the whole neighborhood know, Missy.” Richards stood in the kitchen, sweats on and a cup of coffee in his hand. “There’s plenty if you want some,” he said, holding the cup in Oliver’s direction.
Oliver swung his legs over the edge of the couch and sat up. There was a pounding in his head that he wasn’t expecting.
“There’s aspirin too. Come on, I’ll set you up. Girls, give Oliver some room.” Obediently, the girls moved away to dig in to their toy bin.
Pushing off the edge of the couch, Oliver got to his feet, surprised at how sore his body felt. He wasn’t sure if it was due to his injuries and the emotional roller coaster of the night before or if his traitorous body had just gotten used to sleeping on a comfy bed again at the twins’. He groaned as he stood, causing both kids to stop and look at him.
“Hi,” he said softly, grinning sheepishly at their wide-eyed stares. They just continued to stare back, mouths gaped. He left them to their toys as he headed toward the kitchen, the smell of coffee tickling his nose.
Richards handed him a mug and motioned for him to sit down at the table. “Bacon and eggs okay?”
“Uh, sure,” Oliver said, looking around for Janette.
“She had an emergency and had to go back to the hospital,” Richards said, reading Oliver’s mind. “She said to say you are welcome back anytime and she’s going to stop by the twins’ place in a couple days to check your injuries.”
Oliver was touched. “She doesn’t have to do that. I’ll keep them clean.”
“I could tell her that, but then she’ll just be annoyed and show up anyway. Women…,” Richards joked. It was obvious, from the pride shining in his eyes, he loved and appreciated his wife and the type of woman she was.
Oliver watched Richards effortlessly crack and whisk eggs, dumping them into a pan while bacon sizzled. He seemed at home in the domestic role. Oliver was surprised, presuming the man with the hard-cop persona wouldn’t be caught dead in a frilly apron cooking for his family.
Richards slid a plate in front of him, telling him to eat, before calling to the girls to wash their hands. Four little feet came stomping in. The older of the two dragged a little stool in front of the sink and climbed up, expertly pumping soap into her hands and turning on the water to just the right temperature. When she was done she helped her little sister, Missy, do the same. After an exceedingly long time making sure hands were absolutely, completely dry, the girls ran to the table. Richards swung around and grabbed Missy, plunking her down into a high chair while the older girl clambered into her “big girl” chair. They sat quietly waiting for their food. Oliver was impressed by their manners and told them so.
“Missy is still a baby so she eats messy,” the older daughter said.
“Am not baby!” Missy complained, banging a small fist on the tabletop.
“Melly, you ate messy at that age too, so leave your sister alone,” Richards said, before sliding a bowl of scrambled eggs and bacon bits in front of each them. The girls ceased arguing in order to feed their faces. Richards watched them for a moment, a smile on his face, before grabbing his own plate and sitting at the table next to Oliver.
“Dig in,” the cook said.
Oliver didn’t need to be told twice. Even though he had been eating well for a couple of weeks now, he still savored every meal as if he didn’t know where his next would be coming from. He figured there were no guarantees in life except that everyone was going to die someday, so he might as well eat like there’s no tomorrow. At least he had learned to control himself a bit so it wasn’t like throwing a starving dog a bone. He took small bites and used his napkin like any other civilized person.
The silence in the room—short of the sounds of clinking silverware and beverages being gulped—was a testament to the quality of the food. The eggs had a surprisingly spicy flavor to them that Oliver had never associated with eggs before.
“What’s on this?” he asked between bites.
“Hot sauce,” Melly responded for her dad.
“Yeah, hot sauce,” Missy echoed.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “You guys like hot sauce?”
“It’s de-lish-ous,” Melly said, closing her eyes as if it were the most heavenly substance on Earth.
“Yeah, de-wish-us,” Missy parroted again.
“Impressive,” Oliver responded in appreciation.
“What can I say, they’re daring like their mother,” Richards said, taking obvious pride in his family.
“I was a super picky eater as a child,” Oliver mused. “My mother and I fought over it all the time… now that I think about it, we fought over most things, but that was the most frequent battle.”
“Sometimes people argue about the little things because it’s all they can control in life,” Richards said quietly.
“Perhaps,” Oliver answered.
Richards stood and picked up the girls’ now-empty bowls. Oliver grabbed his stuff to follow suit, but Richards waved him off and took his dishes as well, telling him not to worry about it.
“Girls, go get your shoes on, we are going to give Oliver a ride home.”
“Aww, does he hafta go?” Melly asked.
Oliver smiled and patted her on the head. “Sorry, short stuff. I’ve got some apologies to make and some errands to run.”
“Saying sowwy is ’portant,” Missy said, nodding her head wisely.
“Yes, it is,” Oliver agreed.
The girls ran off to get ready while Richards threw everything in the dishwasher and turned it on.
“Umm…,” Oliver started.
“Umm, what?” Richards asked, turning around to face him. He leaned against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle.
“I’m not sure I can do the car ride back. What if I freak out? Won’t it scare the girls? I don’t want to scare them…,” Oliver spewed quickly before the girls made it back into the kitchen.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to work hard at keeping it together so you don’t frighten them.”
Oliver frowned. “That’s harsh, man.”
Richards grinned. “I know, but I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
The sigh Oliver let out was monumental. “I’ll do my best….”
Richards pushed off the counter and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “I know you will.”
Oliver followed him out of the kitchen, praying he wouldn’t add scarring children for life to his list of atrocities.
Chapter Twenty-two
IT WAS torture, unadulterated torture. Oliver didn’t know how he had managed it the night before. It must have had something to do with the late hour and his emotional state of mind. In the bright daylight, where he could see every other car coming too close, where he could see Richards taking turns too fast, where all the trees looked as if they would jump out in front of them—it was anxiety induced agony.
