Page 56 of Wounded Dance
“Probably tomorrow,” she said. “She’s a minor. Are you sure you should leave her?”
“She’s old enough to get in this situation,” he said. “She’s old enough to get through it on her own.”
The aide bit her lip and flashed me a sympathetic glance. “We’ll keep an eye on her.”
My mom hadn’t moved from the chair, her face grave. “Ray, are you sure? She’s our daughter, alone in a hospital.”
“You will obey me,” my father said. “Not a lick of you in this family knows how to handle themselves.”
“A social worker will be coming,” the aide said. “Standard procedure when a girl this young has a child.”
My father turned to her. “I do NOT consent to anyone talking to her. Do you hear me? Nobody.”
The aide bit her lip again, but didn’t say a word.
“Come on, Dorothy,” Dad said. He took Andy from her. “It’s late and we need to get our son to bed.”
Mom picked up her sweater and purse. “Your overnight bag is here,” she said, patting the red duffel. “I’ll call later and see how you are.”
Dad grunted at that, striding for the door without a backward glance. Mom gave me a quick hug and followed him out.
When they were gone, the aide turned to me and helped me change into a new gown. “The social worker is required by law to come. If you’ve been abused or harmed, that would be the time to speak up.”
When I was dressed again, I sank down in the bed. They were worried the baby was my father’s, I guessed. I would assure them that wasn’t true, and that everything that happened was my own decision.
But I would never ever tell them the truth. That part of the secret was something I agreed with my dad about. No one needed to know about Denham.
Chapter 20
Blitz and I wake up Tuesday morning with groans and whimpers.
“I can’t move my arms,” Blitz says with a laugh. “Jenica killed me.”
“My butt will never be the same,” I tell him. “We did too manyarabesquesfor a week, much less a day.”
Blitz turns to me and rolls me onto my belly. “Well, rubbing your butt with my sore hands should help both of us, right?”
I laugh. “Maybe. Wait. Oww!” The pressure is like a bruise being punched. I reach and grab his upper arm and squeeze. “How is that?”
“Hurts so good,” he says, collapsing back down on the bed. “We need a hot tub in our room.”
I lean up on one elbow. Even that sends a howl through my midsection. “Why don’t we have a hot tub in our room? Did you get cheap on me?”
His chest rumbles with a throaty chuckle. “I think there are jets in the bathtub, actually.”
I drop back on the pillow. “Then call somebody to come fill it,” I say.
Blitz drops a kiss on my forehead. “Being spoiled agrees with you,” he says. “How about I go get a steaming, jet-powered bath going for us?”
I drag myself to sitting. “I’ll help,” I say, grimacing at all the places that hurt. “Are we really going back to Jenica’s today?”
“It was fun,” Blitz says. “But it didn’t feel quite right. Did it for you?”
I want to collapse with relief. “No. I missed Betsy something awful.”
“They were killing each other for the sake of doing it,” Blitz says. “I’ve had trainers like that. They think it’s noble to sacrifice your body.” He stretches his arms and winces. “I’m the first to want a hard, solid workout, but being unable to function the next day is no good in my business.”
“Or getting injured,” I say. “That would be the worst.”
