Rough Around the Edges

by Ranae Rose

  Throughout his thirteen weeks of training, he’d told himself not to expect them to show up at his graduation. They’d been so dead-set against him going, so angry that he’d enlisted. He’d tried his best to resign himself to the fact that no one would come to watch him in the ceremony. Still, deep-down, he’d thought – or at least hoped – that they’d attend.

  A week before the ceremony they’d written to tell him that they’d bought tickets, that they’d be there. He’d saved the letter and had re-read it often, scanning the promises his parents had put in writing. A dozen weeks on Parris Island had made him crazy enough to actually miss his family, and the few letters he’d received had been like manna from heaven, even if they hadn’t said much.

  Graduation day had been the light at the end of a long tunnel – light he’d sweated for, bled and blistered for and aspired to during every single miserable day that had led up to it. And when the ceremony had arrived, his parents had been there.

  His brother had stayed behind, claiming he couldn’t afford to miss several days of college, but his parents had been there. When he’d faced them after the ceremony, approval of his career choice had been a distant hope, but he’d expected recognition and some appreciation, if not outright approval, of his achievement.

  His father had stood sweating in a designer suit, looking around like he couldn’t figure out why he was standing on Parris Island instead of in New York. He’d looked Ryan up and down for half a second, the bored expression never leaving his face. “So,” he’d said, “it’s official. Thought maybe you’d come to your senses and come home.”

  Ryan had stood stock-still and numb with disbelief as other families had milled around them, hugging and talking, even crying. The haze of bittersweet emotion hadn’t touched his parents, and so he’d resolved not to let it touch him, either.

  Thought maybe you’d come to your senses and come home. Like Marine Corps Recruit Training was some sort of fucking summer camp that he could abandon at will like a bored kid shipped off for a few weeks of camping and crafts.

  “It’s official,” he’d said, sweating in the uniform he’d ironed to perfection. That had been the moment when his feelings of homesickness had evaporated, just like the moisture on the back of his neck had when a ghost of a breeze had blown by.

  His father had moved his head slightly, and Ryan still didn’t know whether he’d been nodding or shaking his head. “What’s done is done,” he’d said, like Ryan’s successful completion of his training had been an unfortunate mistake. “Maybe after all this is over you’ll come back to New York.”

  Like fucking hell I will. Ryan had thought it but hadn’t said it. In that moment, not making an ass out of himself had seemed like the most effective way to separate himself from his father, which had made it vitally important.

  “Like fucking hell I will.” He said it out loud now, letting his hoarse voice carry though the apartment. Saying it to no one in particular still felt good.

  The momentary pleasure dwindled quickly, like a suffocating flame. When it was gone, he stood empty and quiet, breathing in the mingled stink of unwanted flowers, decaying produce and old coffee grounds. When being still became more than he could bear, he picked up the pieces of his broken phone and threw them into the trash, too.

  * * * * *

  On Sunday evening, opening the door to find Ally standing in the hall outside the apartment left Ryan frozen in shock. A fiercely selfish sort of hope gripped him by the throat while sharp slivers of guilt sliced through him like swords through a basket, defying him to somehow magically survive the assault.

  “Can I come in?” She stood clinging to her purse’s strap, her knuckles white.

  “Yeah.” He stepped backward, bare feet scraping against the worn carpet. Turning her away wasn’t within his power.

  His heart slammed against his ribs as she set her purse down on the kitchen island countertop, like she planned to stay a while.

  He should’ve said something, should’ve told her not to bother. But he didn’t.

  “I sent you a text this morning. Did you see it?” She turned to him, her lower lip dented where she had to be biting it from the inside. “It’s not a big deal if you didn’t. I just—”

  “I didn’t see it. My phone is broken.” Another stab of guilt, though he knew it was best if he didn’t text her or talk to her on the phone.

  “Oh. The message I sent – it was just to tell you happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.” The mundanely cheerful sentiment didn’t sit well with him; her well-wishes skittered down his spine in the form of a shiver, prompting him to raise a hand to the back of his neck. Who was he that she should be wishing him a happy birthday? After the way he’d wasted her time and emotions, he didn’t deserve a good day.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice was softer as she stood in front of the counter, hands clasped together in front of her hips. “About last time. I didn’t mean to be so pushy.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” His voice continued to embarrass him, the grit and scrape of sleep and raw emotion lingering in his vocal cords. “There’s no reason for you to be sorry.”

  “No, I mean it. You didn’t even want me to come to the hospital and I ignored that – I didn’t listen and now that I look back on it, I didn’t have any right to force my presence on you like that.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh, though it was completely joyless. “You didn’t force yourself on me – you were just being kind. That’s the thing, Ally – you’re so damn nice and self-sacrificing, sometimes it makes me feel like shit.”

  She stood still, but tensed visibly beneath the shelter of her jacket. “Sorry.”

  “No, I mean – it shouldn’t make me feel that way.” He hated himself for getting mad at her, for showing her the ugliest side of his inadequacies. “But it does because you’re always worrying over me, always trying to help. And it’s nice of you and everything, but it makes me feel pathetic. I wanted to take you on dates, wanted to make you happy and have a romantic goddamn time – not sit around in my apartment or a hospital room thinking things like fuck, I hope I’m not going to puke from the pain, because that would be fucking gross and she might leave then.”

  The words were out before he knew it, so true he didn’t even try to take them back.

  “I wouldn’t leave because of that.” Her tone was sure as she looked at him, her eyes wide as if she was surprised that he’d imagined she would.

  He pulled his hand from his neck and gestured, his exasperation defying words. “See what I mean?”

  “Once, at the gym, Melissa nailed me in the solar-plexus with a really beautiful kick. I puked right there on the mat, in front of her and half a dozen guys. We were in the ring – everyone saw. It was humiliating.”

  Surprise rippled over the surface of his mind as she stood in front of him, reciting the story matter-of-factly.

  “Melissa felt bad and insisted on cleaning it up while I rested. I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t listen. And then Cameron came out with some janitorial supplies, freaking out over his precious mat. And so he and Melissa cleaned it up right in front of me and everyone. I felt pathetic.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “So if one of your migraines ever makes you puke in front of me, just think of me sitting there on the floor next to the ring like an idiot while Cameron and Melissa talk about whether the mat will be slippery where I threw up my lunch on it and everyone stares at me while pretending to work the bags.”

  He could see why the incident had embarrassed her – he did have some capacity for empathy, at least, and it was easy to imagine Cameron freaking out in the face of such an event. If he hadn’t been so miserable, he might’ve found himself torn between feeling sorry for her and trying not to laugh at the idea of Cameron frantically scrubbing puke off the mat.

  He shook his head. “I know I’ve been a dick. Sorry. I just… I was already pissed at myself for fucking up half our other dates, and I wanted to make up for it. T
hen I fell at work and now I can’t.” He lifted his right arm, holding the bulky cast aloft and forcing himself to look at it. “I can’t do the things I need to do to be with you and that makes me so mad I can’t stand it.”

  “There’s nothing a broken bone prevents you from doing that you need to do in order to be with me.”

  “It’s not just my arm. It’s everything. I’m just… I’m fucking broken. There are all these things that are wrong and I can’t fix them. Maybe time will make a difference – I don’t know. But you know now and the act is over.” A sense of sick finality washed over him, settling deep into the core of his being. It really was over – as many times as he’d told himself that over the past couple days, it hadn’t really sunk in until now.

  She moved, crossing the space between them and gently pressing a hand to his jaw. The heat of her palm and fingers against his skin was like a drug; her touch stupefied him, and he liked the feeling even though he knew it was wrong. “You’re not broken. Maybe a little battered, but definitely not broken.”

  Regardless of how good it felt to be touched by her, he knew the truth. He shook his head. “I know what I was like before and I know what I’m like now.”

  “I didn’t know you before. I know you now. And I really like being around you. I think about it all the time – when I’m not with you, I wish I was.”

  He forced himself to shake his head again, trying not to savor her words, struggling to shut them out before they could drop him to his knees. “Someone as nice as you deserves someone they don’t have to be nice to all the time. Going on a date should never be a charitable act.”

  “Going out with you is not a charitable act.” A defiant note resounded in her voice – one that was so familiar it seemed like an integral part of her identity.

  “It may not start out as one, but it ends up that way when you spend the night at my house trying to take care of me because I can’t even walk straight.” Even his best efforts to sweep her off her feet had ended in him slumped in a daze, bleeding and left with little choice but to accept her help.

  She straightened, squaring her shapely shoulders and filling his head with a flash-fantasy of them bare, her loose, dark hair tumbling against her light caramel skin. “I mean it when I say I don’t mind. So we do more than just have fun and sex when we’re together – so what? When you’re hurting, I’d rather be with you than not. Because I care about you, and if I can make you feel even a little bit better, that makes me feel better.”

  He raised his good hand to grip hers, lowered it from his jaw and couldn’t bring himself to let go. “You’ll get tired of it – you’ll get tired of me. We haven’t known each other very long. If we keep seeing each other, one day you’ll realize that you’ve really gotten to know me and that the good times aren’t worth the bad times.”

  “If you didn’t believe that was true, would you want me around?”

  Chapter 17

  “Yes.” The truth leapt to his lips, and finally, his voice came out clearly. “Hell yes. I still want you around – I can’t stop wanting you, even if I don’t deserve you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, then. After Saturday I was afraid you really didn’t want to be around me. Now that I know the truth, I want to keep seeing you.” That stubborn note was still ringing in her voice, heaping agony upon him like hot coals. It was so hard to deny her, to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her so fucking close they’d practically become the same person.

  “Ally—”

  “Don’t! I know what I want.” She placed a hand against his chest, heating his bare skin as his heart beat against her palm. “I know we haven’t known each other very long. But if we keep seeing each other, one day you’ll realize that you’ve really gotten to know me and that I’d never leave you because of your injury and the things it does to you.”

  His pulse rang in his ears, keeping time with her words. The things she said … they held him captive, shook him to his core because they were exactly what a part of him wanted to hear. Her words would’ve been perfect if he could’ve accepted them. The desire to do so was maddening, so strong he physically ached with it.

  With her other hand, she squeezed his good hand tightly. “You wouldn’t even think that way if you knew how you make me feel. Being with you is so unlike being with anyone else I’ve ever known. You’re the first guy I’ve ever even felt comfortable enough to spend the night with.”

  Shock hit him like lightning as the possible implications of her statement dawned on him. “You mean—”

  “Not the first guy I’ve willingly had sex with,” she said, “but the first I’ve ever actually spent the night with. You know, in the same bed – I’ve never done that with anyone else. That was a big deal to me.”

  For some reason, at that moment, it seemed like a bigger deal than sex. The look in her eyes squeezed his heart like a vice, sending a crack right down the center and breaking his resolve to refuse her. “Then spend the night with me again.”

  “Tonight?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Yeah. Tonight. I can only pretend to be selfless for so long. If you really want to be with me, I can’t say no. I want you too bad to do that.” He wrapped her in a one-armed embrace that sent the breath rushing out of her lungs.

  “Okay. My things are in one of your drawers, right?”

  “Yeah. Second one down.” He’d longed to open the drawer during the past couple days but had forced himself to leave it closed, knowing he couldn’t let his desire for her take control.

  “Then I don’t need to go anywhere. I can just stay.”

  It was already dark outside.

  He held her tight, unable to resist thinking of the nightmares he’d had – the ones where he’d lost her. “Don’t leave, Ally. I’ve been hating myself for making you leave on Saturday. It’s fucking miserable here without you.”

  “I’ll stay. I don’t have work tomorrow. We can spend the day together.”

  He forced himself to lean back just a little. “I can’t really take you out. I won’t be able to go back to work for weeks, maybe months. I’m planning to file a claim for worker’s comp, but even if I’m successful it will be less than my regular wages.” It wasn’t something he enjoyed confessing, but she needed to know – he couldn’t give her all the things she deserved.

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s not important to me. I just want to spend time with you.”

  He knew she was being honest, and that was exactly what made him want to give her more than he could.

  Eventually he sighed. “I’m going to take a shower. God knows I need one and I can’t put it off any longer now that you’re here.” Beneath the haze of his relief, he was ashamed of the way he’d answered the door – in nothing but jeans he’d been wearing for a couple days, during which he’d done little more than sleep, hating the misery of being awake.

  “Do you need any help with your arm?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I could help you wrap it in plastic – maybe a trash bag or something, that way your cast won’t get wet.”

  “All right.”

  She retrieved a trash bag from below the kitchen sink. “Do you have tape?”

  “Yeah.” He reached for a nearby drawer, pulled it open and began rifling through the odds and ends that had accumulated there. There were only a few things, really – his life in Baltimore had been so boring he hadn’t even acquired much in the way of junk.

  “Here.” He held up a roll of packing tape. He’d brought it from North Carolina, where he’d used it to box up his few belongings.

  She wrapped his cast in the plastic bag, securing it with tape. “Good luck getting out of that, let alone getting your cast wet.”

  He took a moment to study her handiwork. “Yeah, this should do the trick. Thanks.” He made sure to thank her. She deserved that at the very least.

  A part of him hated to leave her alone, even to shower. Still, as soon as he stepped beneath the spray, i
t was hard to imagine ever moving. The liquid rushed over his shoulders and back, so hot it almost burnt. He didn’t change the temperature – it was a welcome, cleansing heat. He’d endure it until it felt like the past couple days were gone from his skin.

  Drops of water hit the plastic wrap Ally had made him, some bouncing off while others beaded there, harmless. He wouldn’t have been able to make such an effective wrap one-handedly, but thanks to her work, he was able to stand directly beneath the shower head without worrying about soaking his cast.

  By the time he stepped out of the shower, the entire bathroom was filled with a dense cloud of steam. It surrounded him and clung to him, thwarting his efforts to rub dry with a towel. Eventually he gave up, slung the towel around his hips, brushed his teeth and exited the room.

  The steam billowed around him as he stepped out into the living area, where the air was cool and dry.

  Ally was waiting on the couch. He got rid of his towel and his wrap and pulled on a pair of jeans before going to her. When he reached her, he embraced her.

  The moisture lingering on his lips was transferred to the delicate shell of her outer ear when he pressed his mouth there. The hot shower had softened his rough, healing skin, and she didn’t seem to mind the contact. In fact, she curled against him, breathing a light sigh as she turned her head so that her lips brushed his jaw.

  It had been three days since he’d last shaved. The stubble on his face dulled the sensation of her mouth against his cheek, but only a little. Savoring the feeling, he reached below and unzipped her jacket.

  Her grey sweater was soft and thin and didn’t quite hide the double-pinpricks of her nipples beneath. A heat that had nothing to do with the water clinging to his skin swept over him at the sight.