by Harper Sloan
"You really want to go home with that caveman?" she asks with a huge smile on her stunning face.
"Ah, he's nothing but a big teddy bear," I joke.
"Sass, Emersyn," he scolds.
"Over the top, Maddox," I counter.
He grumbles under his breath but steps back and allows the girls to move closer. As he steps in the corner, the guys walk over to speak with him. I remind myself later to ask him what they're talking about.
The conversation flows around the room. My girls--my family--sitting around me on the sides of the bed. All except for Izzy--a very pregnant Izzy--who is sitting in the chair next to us.
They leave an hour later. Exhausted from all the activity plus having my last dose of pain medication before they release me, I crash hard. I get a good nap in before Maddox wakes me up asking if I'm ready to get out of here.
When we finally make it down to the front of the hospital, where Maddox's black Charger is waiting for us, my eyes widen when I see the crunched-up front end. Noticing the question before it's even out, he snaps, "Don't ask," before lifting me out of the wheelchair and carefully placing me in the passenger's seat.
"You ready to go home?" he asks after starting the car.
"I am home," I reply with a smile, and then I lay my head back and close my eyes with a smile on my face.
Chapter 25--Maddox
"I'm going to take a shower. You good?"
Emmy looks up at me from where she's resting in the middle of my bed. The bed I carried her to after I refused to bring her to the guest room when she pitched a mammoth fit. Her argument is that we shouldn't rush things. Mine is that we've wasted enough time.
She's also lost her fucking mind if she thinks I'm letting her out of my sight for a good, long while.
"I'm freaking fine," she huffs.
My lips twitch when she tries to throw her attitude around by crossing her chest with her good arm. "It loses a little of its intimidation factor that way."
Her jaw drops and she throws her book at me. I watch it sail across the room and slap me in the chest before tumbling carelessly to the ground.
I keep my feet planted and let my arms hang relaxed at my sides, but there is no mistaking that she sees my impatience written all over my face. It shouldn't be like this--us arguing. She's frustrated with her inability to care for herself and I'm unwilling to bend on anything. Fuck moving too fast. If I hadn't had my head so far up my ass that I could taste the bullshit I was spewing everywhere, then this whole 'moving too fast' bullshit wouldn't be happening.
Last night, while she slept, I let my mind wander to where we would be had I given in to the drug that is Emmy's love. I let myself picture a future I never thought I would see. Blessings. That's all I saw. A wife, maybe some kids, and more happiness than I imagined possible.
Those are the things I'm fighting for now, and Jesus, I'm not exactly the one to beat around the bush when there is something I want. No, something I need.
"You really want to toss that sass around? It's adding up, baby, and I can't fucking wait."
Her eyes widen and her mouth moves silently.
"Nothing to say?" I ask as I step toward the bed. "I get it, Em. I've given you every single reason to doubt me. I've driven that into you and I'm sorry." I sit on the bed, shift so that I have one hand planted next to her hip, and bring the other up to cup her face, leaning in close enough that our noses touch and our breath mixes together. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere and I'm fighting--for you, for me, for us. Don't give up on me because I took too long."
Her breathing accelerates. I study her face, noticing with great satisfaction that her pulse is going insane. The vein in her neck is pulsing faster with each passing second.
"It's not that I'm giving up on you--or us--Maddox. I just think that we need to talk about things before we jump into bed with each other."
"I'm not going to fuck you," I say. Her eyes narrow at that, and I could kick my own ass for blurting that out. "Yeah, clearly I'm not good at this shit, Em. Cut me some slack. Bottom line, I don't want you away from me. I need you near me. I need to feel your warm skin, smell your intoxicating scent, and hear your sass even when you're silent. I get that we need to hash shit out, but right now, I need to feel that you're still here more than I need to waste time with some pleasantries of separate bedrooms. I need you, Em. Maybe even more than you need me at the moment, and that's a whole fucking lot." I kiss her lightly, breathing her scent in deeply, before taking off to the bathroom to shower.
(EMMY)
"Okay, okay. Get your wits about you, girlfriend," I mumble to myself.
I can hear him moving around in the bathroom, the door cracked I'm sure so he can hear me if I need him. He's humming to himself, the almost upbeat tune so unlike him. I've witnessed the closed-off, hard-around-the-edges, vibrating-with-anger Maddox slowly start to fade away since our time at the cabin. It's hard to pinpoint when I noticed it happen first. But I do remember the exact moment he flipped a switch and the old Maddox came back.
So, yeah--I'm a little hesitant to believe that this is real. I would be stupid not to have my doubts. I also want nothing more than to knock all this stress off my shoulders and believe. I was so ready to just give it all up. To give him up.
If you don't take this opportunity, this second chance, you'll regret it forever. Just put one foot in front of the other. Baby steps... We all have to learn to walk somewhere, right? And then--then, when you get steady on your feet--that's when you gallop with everything you have. The beauty of it all will be that the man by your side has already learned how to walk again once, so he'll be there--ready-- to hold your hand the whole way.
I repeat that over and over. Clearly lost in my head, I missed Maddox walking back into the room. He's standing next to his ridiculously huge bed, a towel hanging low on his hips and water drops still rolling down his chest. I watch as one drops from his chin and lands between his pecs. My hand twitches in my lap as I watch it slowly--so erotically slowly--travel through the dusting of black hair, between the two perfectly sculpted rows of his abs, and then continue its path right between the deep V disappearing between his white towel.
I gulp, the sound so loud that it's like a gunshot blast. At the risk of making myself look like some leacher, I move my eyes back up his torso, shifting the best I can to relieve some of the uncomfortable pressure building between my legs. His tattoos are so vibrant, the red dancing with the black from his wrist to the base of his neck. His chest is bare of ink, but I can see some more red shading on his left side. God, he is delicious.
"You done yet?"
My head snaps up, meeting his laughing eyes. His face completely relaxed and I gasp at his beauty.
Then I stupidly tell him, "You're so beautiful." My cheeks heat instantly.
His lips move, a small twitch, but he doesn't smile. His eyes, however, are bright. The normal hardness has been replaced with contentment.
He's happy.
"I'm not sure that's going to do much for my ego," he laughs.
"You're happy?"
Cue the verbal vomit. It has to be my medication.
"I'm getting there, angel."
I nod and his lips twitch again. I watch, stunned, as he turns and drops his towel before walking into the closet.
Well, fuck me.
Chapter 26--Emmy
Maddox continued to stick close to me as the day faded into night. I slept off and on, the pain and general uncomfortableness of my two broken limbs making it challenging to fall asleep completely. So, naturally, I woke up in a pissy mood. He takes it in stride. And by in stride, I mean he ignores it completely, choosing instead to decide when I need to do certain things.
He forces me to eat dinner by sitting on the side of the bed and holding the fork of chicken to my mouth until I finally give in. Then he decides that I need to use the bathroom, so he carefully carries me into the bathroom, past the huge bathtub and shower area, and into a smaller room just with the toile
t. He is kind enough to leave the room for me to have some privacy, but he still leaves the door open.
I lift up on my ass and pull the hem of my shirt so I'm not sitting on it. The embarrassment of my situation makes me cringe. I know he can hear me relieving myself and I hate being this...weak and out of control.
After wiping, I use the wall to stand and then weakly call out, "I'm done."
He comes in scowling because I'm standing. Then he bends to lift me in his arms.
"Is my weight too much?" I ask, worried about his leg.
I admit that I've known about his amputation for years, known it happened long before I came into the picture, but I know nothing else. The outsider would never know. He doesn't limp. He stands tall and proud. He is always wearing pants; I've never seen him with anything other than pants. Even when he goes to the gym I know that he wears long sweats then too.
"You weigh next to nothing, Em. But even if you didn't, I'm good. I've had a long time to get my body to where it is now. Most days, I don't even notice it."
"Really?" I ask when he gently places me down on the mattress. I use my good arm and my hips to shift my body until I get comfortable.
He doesn't say anything. He just stands there and helps me when I need it, placing a pillow back under my leg, rolling the covers back up to my waist, and setting my book back at my side. I let him fuss. It seems to be helping whatever residual issues he's dealing with from yesterday--the attack.
Thinking that, once he gets me settled, he will answer me, I'm shocked stupid when he walks out of the room.
Goddamn it. Just when I felt like he was letting me in.
I silently stew in my snit and wait for him to come back so I can throw my sass in his face. I hear him moving around farther in the apartment, assuming since it's going on ten at night that he is locking up and shutting everything off. I hear the alarm beep and watch as the keypad next to his bedroom door lights up a few times. I know he has some top-dollar program wired into his place. The touchscreen alone makes my head hurt.
My frustration builds when he still doesn't come back. I wait, listening to him thump around in another room. I can hear things being moved around, but as much as I try, I still can't place the sound.
When I see him walk through the doorway, I'm ready to go all hurt, pissed-off, and sexually frustrated crazy chick on his ass, but when I see him carrying a medium-sized shoebox, I snap my mouth shut and try to calm myself down.
"I imagine, had I walked back in here empty-handed, that you would have been breathing fire in my direction." Obviously not a question since he doesn't let me respond before continuing. "I meant what I said the other day, Em. I'm ready. To let you in. And I'm ready to fight to be worthy of you. In order for me to do that, I need to accept that you want me to let you in--regardless of how much it kills me to show you all the monsters that live inside me. Each and every one of them can be found in this godforsaken box, and I think, at this point, that it will help more than hurt for you to see where I've been coming from. This is that baggage you wanted to help me carry, Em."
When he places the box on my lap, I'm almost afraid to open the top. But afraid or not, this is the moment I've been praying for. The moment when we take another one of our baby steps...together.
His face is soft but slightly worried. My apprehension grows, but I know that, if I don't take this step, we will never move forward. I also know how hard this is for him, and if I reject this simple act, then he might never open up again.
"Okay, baby," I whisper and watch as his body visibly feels the impact of those hushed word.
He sits on the corner of the bed, next to my hip, and faces me. The box light is against my lap. I search his eyes a few more beats before I lift the lid. I'm not sure what I anticipated, but a box with random papers and trinkets definitely wasn't it.
"What--"
"Right. Besides the fact that all of this is worthless junk, to me, it's a reminder of everything I've failed, harmed, or basically touched and fucked up. A physical reminder--something tangible--to remind me what happens when I believe that monsters aren't real. I can't tell you how many times I would come home from denying us--this--and dug this box out. This pile of shit is my pain, the baggage of burdens and ruined pasts that I carry deep within me. I could throw it out tomorrow, but, Emmy, this stuff will always be a part of me."
My heart breaks for him. His pain has always been so obvious. The fact that he holds it even deeper than I ever imagined scares me to death.
"Is this..." I start, picking up the medal thrown carelessly in this mess of junk. If this is what I think it is, there is no way it belongs in here.
He reaches out and gently takes it from my grasp. "Medal of Honor. I never felt like I deserved this--part of the reason that it's in here--but it also didn't seem fair that I came home with this token of valor when it's my fault that two men didn't make it home alive."
"Can I ask how you came to receive this when you claim you aren't worthy of it?"
His eyes never leave the bronze medal resting between his fingertips. He strokes it almost reverently before speaking, "After the explosion, I was the only one of the three of us still conscious. Badly injured, but I was the only chance we had. I'm not going to go into the details. It really isn't something I want to go over, but it was bad--real bad. I don't remember much of it, but when the nightmares come, I'm right back there--dragging my brothers under our enemy's fire while my body slowly gives up--until we're finally picked up. I lost my leg that day and two families lost damn good men."
"I can't even fathom how that equals unworthiness in your eyes, baby," I whisper and reach out with my good hand to clasp his arm. "Look at me," I demand.
He turns his head. His eyes are troubled, but he looks right at me.
"You're a hero, Maddox. You were then and you continued to be even when you didn't believe it yourself. You made sure that their families had their loved ones home and you did that by putting aside your own personal welfare. You could have left them there and gotten out safely, but you didn't. You went above and beyond."
"I'm not worthy, Em, because it never would have happened if my head hadn't been swimming under the shitstorm I'd left brewing at home."
I take a deep breath before speaking; trying to figure out how to express what I feel in a way that he'll believe me. "Do you honestly believe that?" He nods. "I believe that you do and I hate that. I have no doubt in my mind that, if you looked back now with a clear mind, you would see that, even if you'd been your best that day, you still could have missed something. Baby, you don't deserve this burden. I understand that you need someone to blame, but place that on the people who placed the bomb that triggered this all. Do you think every soldier who goes into the battle zone has no stress, no worry, and no distractions? I highly doubt that. You were the sole survivor of a terrible, tragic accident, but you survived. Be proud that you were able to overcome and get your men home."
"I-I don't know if I can do that."
"Well, then, I just have to help you." I give him a small smile and squeeze his arm. "Do you want to keep going?"
When he nods, I return it with my own before bringing my attention back to the box.
The next item I pick up is a letter, and after reading it, my blood is boiling. I understand grief. I've watched it up close and personal within our group, but what I don't understand is using that grief to lash out at those who do not deserve it.
"Good God, Maddox. I'm not going to argue with you. You have believed this for so long, but let me tell you this much. She was hurting, baby. She needed someone to blame, and just like you blame yourself for something that is unjust, so does she. She took the blame out on the only person who made sense to her. I honestly believe that she regrets each of these words now."
He doesn't try to argue with me. He's going to believe it, but I'm going to keep working on him until he understands just how wrong he is.
The more items we go through, the more I look at him in sh
ock as I try to make sense of it all. From the outside, it's so easy for me to see how wrong he is, but I can't wrap my head around it. Not until we get to the bottom.
There, I see a picture of a much younger, happier, Maddox, tattoos missing from his body. He's standing tall with a big smile on his face. And in his arms is a stunning blonde. From just this picture alone, I can see the evil in her eyes. I don't have to know her personally to know that she's rotten to the core.
"That is Mercedes. I had just asked her to marry me before I left. I was young and dumb, blinded by the thought of a pure love. I spent my whole life wishing for just one person who would love me for me, so when she entered my life, I grabbed on and didn't let go."
"What happened?" I ask, not sure that I want to know the answer to that question.
"My mother happened. Well, to be honest, I think it was a fair mix of my mother, brother, and the power that came behind the Locke name. Something I wasn't interested in then and I still have no interest in now. I wanted a life away from them, and even though I couldn't give everything, I foolishly thought that she would be happy with just me."
He goes on to tell me a tale so twisted that it sounds like he pulled it right off the Lifetime Movie Network. He touched on this back when we were at the cabin, but to hear his life up until he became the version of himself I see in front of me now in so much detail is almost too much.
I want to cry for him, hold him, fix him, but standing in the frontline of all those feelings is the rage I feel for three sorry sons of bitches somewhere in the middle of Texas.
Chapter 27--Maddox
What I wouldn't give to be inside her head right now. I expected her disgust when I laid all of my pain on her lap--literally--but I never anticipated her anger for me to become a force to be reckoned with.
"I hate them," she forces through her clenched jaw. "God..." She shakes her head but doesn't finish.
"Hating them doesn't do anything, Em. Trust me. I've been doing it for so long that I should know."
Her gaze burns into my skin as I pack up the box and close the lid. When I go to remove it from her lap, she stops me by slamming her palm down on the top.