“Later.” Rick said to an empty room.
His head dropped into his hands. Raking them down his scratchy, unshaven face, Rick exhaled deeply enough to feel a twinge in his side. He’d been shot before, but never gut-shot. Well, more like “hip-shot” actually, since the bullet skated in just below his body armor at the waist. It probably hurt more than almost every other injury he’d ever sustained simply because of its central location in his abdominal core. Every movement he made flexed the wound, sending fire ripping through his side.
After getting shot, Dane had somehow managed to haul Rick’s limping ass the remaining half-mile to the helo. He was flown back to the amphibious battleship for emergency surgery, and then to the U.S. once he was deemed stable forty-eight hours later.
Sitting in a hospital room in Atlanta, with nothing but his own thoughts for the last three days, had just about tipped Rick’s patience over the edge. He felt decent. Not great, better than he should but he was twitchy as fuck. The bullet didn’t pierce anything vital and only nicked his small intestine, which was easily fixed. It was the entry and exit wound in the front and back that needed to heal, plus the doctors were monitoring for infection from the surgery.
Being stuck in bed was the worst kind of torture he could imagine. Rick used it to replay his time with Quinn over and over until his heart and head ached nearly as much as his wound. Maybe when Mack cleared him to come back to work he would talk to Quinn, try and get a better explanation for her behavior, because damn that fucker, Clint was right.
Rick wanted this one to stick.
“Three weeks, Mara! Three! It’s like he just… disappeared!” Quinn shouted across the pub table to her friend, the loud Friday night crowd making conversation near impossible. “I even drove to his condo. He’s not there, he’s not at work, he’s gone!”
Mara’s eyes narrowed, focusing in on Quinn with an air of seriousness. One brow arched up in accusation as she tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the edge of her glass.
Quinn felt the heat spread up her neck when she realized what a hypocrite she was being. “Okay, fine. So I left Rick hanging for six weeks. You’re right. Is that what he’s doing? Tit for tat? Out getting laid left and right while I suffer with not knowing? You know why I had to leave, Mar. I had things to get done and loose ends to take care of.” Quinn’s hands flew through the air rapidly to emphasize her point.
“I know that, Quinn. Rick doesn’t.” Mara’s beautiful features softened towards her distressed friend.
“And he won’t know if he won’t talk to me!” Needing something to occupy her nervous energy, Quinn twisted her unused straw around in her hands until it resembled a pretzel.
“He’s a man, Quinn. That means he’s stubborn and has an ego as big as this city, with an equal amount of pride. You hurt him.” She shook her head. “I can hardly believe it, but somehow you got through that tough as nails exterior of his and hurt him.”
“I’m trying to fix things, Mara. He needs to meet me halfway.” Quinn glanced around the room before landing back on Mara. Nervousness flooded her system as she realized she might have screwed up everything with Rick beyond repair. “We—we shouldn’t be together, I messed it up, but we can still be friends. If only I could see him.”
Mara sighed, as if resigned to do something she didn’t want to do. She bent down, reaching by her legs for her purse. “You didn’t get this from me, understand?” She tapped on her phone for a moment before dropping it back in her bag. Quinn saw her own phone light up on the table. “I just texted you Dane’s address. Rick should be there.”
“He’s with Dane? All this time he’s been hiding at Dane’s house to avoid me?” Quinn’s eyes bulged at the news, but hope surged through her body. If she could confront him, she could make him see that she didn’t leave him, she left to fix herself. Maybe they could still have some semblance of a relationship, as friends since he’d clearly moved on to other women.
The corners of Mara’s mouth pulled down slightly. “No, Quinn, he’s not hiding. I’ll let Rick tell you what happened, why he’s at Dane’s. It’s not my business to tell.” She picked up her margarita and held it up. “Now, we drink and forget all about men and their dicks!”
Confused and upset, Quinn mimicked Mara, clinking glasses with her before downing half of her glass of wine.
Quinn could hardly put on a happy face, when all she wanted to do was drive right over to Dane’s house and see Rick. Steeling herself, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. Screw him! Tonight, I’m having fun. She gulped down her drink and smiled at Mara, who was pleased to see her letting loose.
Tomorrow. I’ll see him tomorrow.
Rick sat on Dane’s back patio, staring off into space. He couldn’t remember ever being this bored in his life. Even the Braves game he was listening to couldn’t hold his interest. The doctor would only release him from the hospital on the promise that he would stay with a friend for at least a couple more days until his stitches came out. Ready to leave the torture of sitting in a hospital bed day after day—and the recurring nightmares from his time in the Marines each night—Rick eagerly agreed to whatever the doctor said.
Now, with Dane at work, Rick realized he wasn’t that much better off here than he had been at the hospital, alone all day with only his torturous thoughts to occupy his time. At least the hospital had people coming in and out of his room that he could talk to.
Rick tried to stay busy so he wouldn’t obsess over Quinn. He did his first brief workout that morning, walking some and attempting to strengthen his core. It was painful and frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t work out the way he wanted. He wouldn’t really be able to get back in shape until the stitches came out. They pulled too much when he moved around.
“Rick?”
His head snapped up at the faint sound of Quinn’s voice coming from somewhere. He had sworn once he stopped the painkillers that the strange dreams would go away.
Am I so fucked up that now I’m imagining things while I’m awake and unmedicated?
“Rick?”
The second time he heard his name, it was louder and now he knew it wasn’t his mind playing tricks. Quinn was here. Rick chewed on his lip, deciding if he should man up and face her now, or stay quiet and put it off indefinitely.
Rubbing his tired eyes, Rick decided that if nothing else, he wasn’t a coward. Dodging her at the gym had been a mistake. He might be a glutton for punishment when it came to Quinn, but he wouldn’t be a coward.
“I’m in the back!” He hoped his voice was loud enough for her to find him. Walking to the front door sounded exhausting at this point, and frankly, he didn’t really feel like getting up.
Quinn’s slender frame came around the corner of Dane’s house. Rick swallowed, his heart going a mile a minute at the sight of her. She was just as beautiful as always. Her long hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, her cheekbones were flushed with a hint of pink, and her amber eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight of the hot summer afternoon. She stopped when she saw him on the patio, watching him warily. His gaze zeroed in on her long, tan legs, bared to mid-thigh by her short skirt.
“What are you doing here?” Rick asked, finally getting his brain to function beyond gawking at Quinn’s exposed skin. His resolve to keep from flat out begging her to be with him was already crumbling just from the sight of her.
Quinn’s eyes darted off nervously and she twisted her hands together. “I—I wanted to talk to you. You haven’t been at work. I thought you were avoiding me.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you, Quinn. I’ve been… busy.” Not a complete lie, but not the entire truth either. Rick couldn’t tell Quinn what he really did for a living, what Mack was running behind the scenes at the gym. He tried to sound unaffected by her presence, not wanting her to know how badly she hurt him when she disappeared that night.
“Busy?” Quinn looked around the yard, noting Rick in his casual T-shirt and shorts, his feet bare, looking the very p
icture of relaxation. He knew she didn’t buy his pathetic excuse, not for a single second. “You don’t seem very busy.”
She knows you’re lying. Distract her!
“I’m getting a drink, would you like one?”
Rick moved to stand up and twisted too far, too fast, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath at the discomfort.
Way to distract her, dumbass. Bring attention to the injury you can’t explain.
Rick heard her gasp and saw Quinn’s eyes zero in on his face as it contorted in pain. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She crossed the patio quickly. Her hands reached out, hesitating in the air between them. It made Rick sad that she wanted to help but was hesitant to touch him. Rick visibly deflated when her hands fell back down to her sides. He wanted those hands on him so badly that his skin tingled in anticipation.
“No. Yes—I mean, yes, I’m fine.” He winced as he opened the patio door.
I’d be better if you’d touch me.
Rick sighed. He’d have to make something up. It wasn’t as if he could tell her what happened on his mission. Were he not in so much pain, physically from the bullet wound and mentally from Quinn’s presence, he’d laugh at the thought of explaining his injury. “Oh, this? It’s just a through and through from a covert mission I was doing for Mack, who runs a secret mercenary for hire organization out of the gym doing off the books government black ops. No biggie.”
“Let me get a drink and I’ll explain.”
Still suspicious, and now actively hovering close enough that he could smell her intoxicating scent, Quinn followed him inside. “I’ll get the drinks. You should be sitting.”
“I’m tired of sitting,” Rick lied as he grabbed two bottles of water out of his fridge, handing one to Quinn. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. He inhaled at the spark that zapped between them, yanked his hand away, and took a step back—needing to put some distance there or he’d do something stupid. Like maybe rip her clothes off and worship every inch of her right here on Dane’s kitchen counter.
He went back outside and could hear Quinn following close behind. “It’s better for me to move around every once in a while.” Rick collapsed back into his seat, sweat beading on his brow from the pain and effort of so much activity. He watched cautiously as Quinn dragged over a chair, flopping down in it, her knees close enough to brush against his. He flinched at her hot touch, and then hissed through his teeth when the quick movement pulled at his stitches.
Quinn pulled a face. “Yeah, I can see how much better it is for you when you move.” Her face softened. Showing… concern? Rick was thoroughly confused. She left him in her bed. Vanished for a month and a half. Now she’s here… worried about his well-being? It didn’t make sense. If she gave a shit, she wouldn’t have taken off without explaining. “Tell me,” she urged kindly.
“Yeah, I just don’t really know where to start,” Rick admitted. He didn’t want to go there with Quinn, he couldn’t tell her everything even if he wanted to. Plus, Rick had to keep his emotions in check in order to protect himself from letting her rip out his heart again.
Who are you kidding? You still have frighteningly deep feelings for her that you don’t understand. You know you’d willingly offer up your heart again—even if it meant getting it shredded over and over.
“Okay. Let’s start here.” Quinn reached out and gently touched above his knee, right at the hem of his cargo shorts, running a finger across the puckered, scarred flesh. “Why don’t you tell me about this? I noticed it… that night.” Her pale skin blushed crimson from the reference to their very hot, yet way too short, time together.
Rick’s muscle twitched from the contact, a warm, tingling sensation spread out from where her hand connected with his marbled skin. Her voice was soothing, comforting as she skimmed her fingers over his leg. She made Rick want to confide in her, to spill all of his secrets and unburden himself.
Why was she doing this to him?
He cleared his throat, knowing he needed to at least attempt to control himself around Quinn, even when every cell in his body screamed at him to grab her and sink into her warm depths. Rick grabbed his water and took a deep swig, hoping it would give him the time he needed to compose his thoughts. He didn’t know how much to tell her. He didn’t want to lay himself bare for her, yet he wanted her to know everything about him. The warring feelings inside of him had his heart racing in his chest.
“Shit.” He rubbed a hand over his disheveled hair, not believing he was actually going to tell her about that night in Iraq. “I was in the Marines. Recon. Enlisted when I was eighteen. They’re—”
“I know what they are. My dad was Force Recon, remember?
Rick didn’t think she had ever divulged that information about her dad. He knew her father served in the Corps, but not that he was Recon. “Oh. Then you know what we do. What I did.”
“Yes.” Quinn bit her bottom lip. “Well, no, not really. Dad wasn’t allowed to discuss anything specific and I was too young.”
“Right. He wouldn’t have discussed it.” Rick squirmed uncomfortably. It was really hot out now, more so than earlier. Or maybe it was the fact that Quinn was still touching his thigh, her small hand only inches from his traitorous half-hard cock. A bead of sweat formed behind his ear and he could feel it slowly trickling down into the back of his shirt. The heat, her touch, her scent, the fact that he couldn’t move without hurting—he was going to go insane.
If only she would move that hand an inch or two higher… Shit!
He knew she was only touching him to get him to open up, but his dick didn’t get the message. Rick decided that talking might redirect the blood away from his crotch and back to his brain.
“I was burned.”
“Burned?” Her voice wavered. Quinn was probably imagining how it happened. He would spare her those horrific details, besides it was classified.
“It was a few years ago. I had to have skin grafts. That’s what the scars on the front are from. They had to harvest skin to use on the back of my leg where the fire damaged it beyond repair.” Discussing the old injuries was making them itch, a psychological reaction he had whenever he paid it too much attention.
Rick wanted to reach out and scratch his leg, but he didn’t want Quinn to move her hand, despite the fact that his logical side was telling him to back away, to put some space between them. He literally couldn’t will himself to do it. Her touch was soothing, even though it was beginning to arouse him to the point of discomfort. He couldn’t deny that he still wanted her, no matter what she had put him through.
It was only part of the twisted enigma of feelings rushing through him. Rick warred between the urge to push Quinn away so he could protect his heart, to yank her onto his lap and press her body down onto his throbbing cock, to clutch her face and force her to tell him why she left him hanging for six weeks. But most confusing of all, was his desire to tell Quinn how deeply he felt for her.
Fuck, don’t get involved Rick. Remember mom? Dad never let you forget it.
“That’s awful, Rick. Is that why you left the Marines?” Quinn’s hand lightly squeezed his thigh in a move meant to be soothing. His cock twitched in his cargo shorts, begging to be set free from its now painfully tight confines.
Goddamn dick!
Despite his overwhelming need, or maybe because of his overwhelming need, Rick shoved his chair back until he was out of reach. Quinn’s hand fell and she quickly pulled it to her lap. He caught the flash of disappointment in her eyes, the quick show of vulnerability. But the need to protect his heart overrode any hurt feelings and that made Rick feel like a selfish bastard.
“Yes. Since I was overseas, I was taken to a hospital in Germany where they did the surgeries.”
“Surgeries? More than one?” Quinn’s mouth dropped open in shock.
Rick shrugged, trying to make it seem as though he was unaffected by his past when it was far from the truth. “Five, actually. The damaged area was pretty large. Th
en I returned to Georgia and spent time in Augusta where they have a burn unit. They helped with the rehab and monitored the grafts. By the time everything was done, I wasn’t fit to go back into the field, so I took a medical discharge.”
Rick looked up at Quinn, their eyes meeting again. The way she looked at him, combined with the memory of her touch, sent electric pulses over his skin, the nerves ultra-sensitized from his increased level of desire and six weeks without sex. He balled his hands into fists, willing his body to resist.
“It’s hard to have your choices taken away from you, to not be able to decide for yourself what your life is going to be or where it’s going to go. I’m sorry you lost that, Rick. I understand that better than you would think.”
Rick stared at Quinn, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. She sounded… well, sad.
All these fucking secrets…
Rick’s head was really throbbing now. His instinct was to ask her what she meant, why she would understand what it was like to have no options, to have your future snatched away. But he couldn’t worry about her, wouldn’t let himself get in deeper. Rick didn’t know if he could do what his brother did, if he could dive in headfirst and put himself out there for another rejection.
Panicking, he ignored Quinn’s desolate tone and pretended she didn’t say anything meaningful, pretended he didn’t want to comfort her and ask what had happened to make her sound so hopeless. Instead, he pushed her away by acting like Ricochet, the asshole player most women saw when they met him.
“So— why are you here anyway? I thought your previous actions pretty much said what you wanted from me. Which was nothing.”
Chapter 5
Quinn’s head was spinning with so fast she couldn’t process what just happened. Unable to hide it, she winced at the verbal slap Rick had used to backhand her. In the span of a single heartbeat, he had gone from kind to cruel. With her hopes that Rick could forgive her ruined, Quinn simply nodded. She understood that she had hurt his ego, she just hadn’t realized how much until he coldly threw it back at her.
Ricochet: Friendly Fire Page 4