“But who was that and why would they come at well after midnight without any real explanation from you?”
He looks down at his hands and appears to be carefully choosing his words. “I’ve known Matt for about ten years. He’s a good friend and just happens to be a surgeon.”
“And he agreed to help me, just like that?” I ask incredulously.
Looking solemn, he says, “I’m not the type of man who asks for many favors, Rose, so Matt knows this must be important.”
I glance around me, seeing the knife still sitting on the floor. “Um, do you think we could move to another room before he gets here?”
He surprises me by leaning forward to drop a kiss on my forehead. “Of course. Hold tight to the towel,” he instructs as he gets to his knees before sliding his arms under my knees. I don’t even think to protest. Instead, I wrap my free arm around his neck and hang on as he swings me easily into his arms and gets to his feet. “We’ll go to the kitchen. The light is probably best there. Do you—need some underwear?”
Is it my imagination or is his neck slightly red? It’s hard to believe that anything would embarrass the tough lawyer. I’m happy for the distraction, though, as my leg continues to throb. “Do you have a supply of women’s panties?” I ask, trying to sound playful, even though I’m strangely jealous at the thought.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No. Sorry, honey. I was thinking more along the lines of a pair of my boxer briefs. They’ll be too big, but it’ll give you some … covering for now.”
Then it hits me. My bare ass is resting on his arm. Holy shit. I’m freaking out over that when he caught me cutting my leg? Unreal. My face is hot as I mumble, “Oh, um, that would be great.”
He lowers me gently onto a chair, then leaves to find some underwear. He comes back, handing me a pair of blue boxers that are silky soft to the touch. “Wow, these feel better than mine.” My gaze automatically drops to his crotch area as I imagine him wearing them. I have no idea how it’s even possible for me to have such thoughts after everything that has transpired in the last eight hours, but something about Max makes me forget about how screwed up I am. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to him. My father uses his strength to intimidate and control, but instinctively, I know Max is different. He’s every bit as strong and determined, but he would bring out the best in the woman by his side, not attempt to crush everything that she is. Have I inherited my weakness from my mother? Or has my father crushed me too?
Max turns his back while I gingerly put my feet in the boxers before standing awkwardly to pull them up. They are big but comfortable. I fold the fabric back to expose my wound before sitting back down. We both jerk when the doorbell rings. “That’ll be Matt,” Max says before going to escort his friend in. I find myself cringing when Max returns with a man who could pass for Brad Pitt. I attempt to smooth my hair down self-consciously before I realize it will hardly matter. He’s going to see the mess I’ve made of my legs. I doubt seriously he’ll give a damn if I’m disheveled. He’ll probably think it goes with the disaster that I am inside. Max comes to stand behind me, putting a supporting hand on my shoulder. “Rose, this is Matt Foster.” We shake hands briefly as Matt stares at me with eyes that seem to see into my very soul. Something about him says he’s seen too much. Energy literally flows off him in waves, but there is also world-weariness in his expression that makes him just as human as the rest of us.
He pulls a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket, and I can’t stop the grin that briefly curves my lips. He gives me a wry smile in return. “One of the many downsides of getting old,” he says lightly. I would estimate he is no more than forty, but he could easily pass for someone younger. Like Max, the hint of muscle flexing as he moves says that he takes care of his body. I wonder idly if there is a Mrs. Foster and think that if so, she’s a lucky woman. He goes to the sink and washes his hands before coming back to where I’m sitting. “Now, let’s see the cut that Max spoke of.”
Dear God, I don’t want to show this stunning man what I’ve done. My knees clamp together, and Max, as if feeling the tension in my body, steps closer and takes over. His hand grips mine and moves it away from my injury. After Matt moves another chair in front of me, he pulls a pair of gloves from the black bag he brought and puts them on. In a clinically detached way that makes me absurdly grateful, he eases my legs apart to get a better look. The cut is still seeping blood as he probes it with his fingers. I see the moment he takes stock of the plethora of silvery scars below it. A glance so quick that I wonder if I’ve imagined it passes between the two men before Max clears his throat and asks, “What do you need me to do?”
Matt gets back to his feet and throws his gloves in the trash can. He rummages through his bag, bringing a vial and a syringe out first then something that looks like a staple gun, as well as a couple of sealed packets. He puts on another pair of gloves before quickly cleaning the cut and the surrounding area. The sting of pain is strangely welcome, yet it’s odd to be experiencing that minor rush with an audience. I swallow audibly as he approaches me again with the now-filled syringe. “I’m not going to lie, Rose, this will hurt. But the area will numb quickly and should stay that way for several hours.”
I squeeze Max’s hand tightly and nod for him to go ahead. When the needle makes contact with my skin, I hiss. Why is it that I can cut my own skin and only feel relief, but when someone else dares to do something similar, there is only pain? Possibly because I’m not the one in control of what’s happening to my body? Is it as simple as the need to be in charge? “Ouch,” I whimper, as the sharp point seems to go straight through to the bone.
“Just breathe, baby,” Max instructs, and that’s what I do. Listening to his calm voice, I disconnect from what Matt is doing and focus on the man at my side. I feel pressure on my leg as Matt holds the wound together and the staple gun hovers above it. “Look at me,” Max says, and I turn to face him once again. I’m so distracted by the warm tenderness in his eyes that I am almost surprised when I hear the click as Matt begins. True to his word, the shot has done as he promised and the staples don’t really hurt.
In a surprisingly short amount of time, I hear Matt say, “There. All done.” He’s even covered the area with a bandage at some point. I thank him before Max follows him out of the room.
When they’re gone, I stare down at the white gauze now covering a section of my thigh. I’m so sleepy that I can barely remain upright. The secret I’ve kept for all of these years is out. I feel so exposed. Physically, I am covered, yet emotionally, I’m exposed. Two people now know that Rose Madden is a cutter. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find enough energy to care, but for now, I want nothing more than the sweet oblivion that sleep can bring. While most people might be afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark, the things that haunt me rarely wait until nighttime.
* * *
“Who is she?” Matt asks me tiredly as we step out the front door. Matt is a good friend, but I knew there was no way he would leave without wanting to know more.
“It’s complicated,” I reply, thinking that about sums it up exactly.
Matt shakes his head. “Don’t give me that line, man. This woman is hurting herself. You know that, right? Some of those scars on her are years old. This isn’t something she just started experimenting with.”
“I know,” I admit. “I mean I didn’t know until tonight, but I saw the same thing you did. I’d just—shit, I’d never have imagined her doing something like that. She has always seemed so happy and carefree. A little nuts sometimes,” I laugh, “but still it shocks the fuck out of me.”
Matt puts a hand on my arm and gives me a level stare. “She’s in crisis, Max. She needs help. Are you in a relationship with her?”
“No,” I say as I try not to panic at his words. “Until tonight, I hadn’t seen her in a while. She’s best friends with Luc’s wife.” Lucian and Matt aren’t friends, but they do know each other socially. “We’ve danced around something more
than a few times, but it hasn’t gone further than that, and I have no intention of allowing anything to happen in the future.”
In the glow of the porch light, I see the concern on Matt’s face. “You need to be very careful with her. I’ll email you some information later on physicians I know who deal with this type of thing. She was just inches away from hitting a major artery tonight, and she may have bled out before you could have stopped it.”
My gut clenches as I voice my biggest fear. “Has she been attempting to kill herself?”
“No, generally it’s just a very bad way of dealing with stress, emotional pain, or even trauma.” Before I can feel relief, he adds, “But it can escalate over time, and it’s possible that she could kill herself by accident.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, shaken to the core. “I can’t believe this. I have no idea what to do, other than to watch her every minute of the day. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll allow that, though.”
“Probably not,” Matt agrees. “Understand that it’s an attempt to be in control of something and while that may happen while she’s doing it, afterward, it generally brings feelings of shame. So not only is she dealing with whatever caused her to start cutting in the first place, but she’s also more than likely deeply embarrassed by what she’s doing. I would be surprised if anyone else in her life knows about it. If they don’t, this could go two ways. She may be relieved that someone has finally found out … or she may be afraid of what you’ll think of her now that you know. So be as supportive as you can and try to encourage her to speak with a professional or someone in her life who she trusts.”
“Thanks, Matt,” I say as I give him a one-armed hug. “I appreciate you coming over.”
“I’m here for you,” he says sincerely, “and I’m here for Rose. Call me at any time if you have concerns.” I walk back into the house and close the door behind me. This whole evening seems like some kind of dream to me. Was it mere hours ago that I received the call from Rose? Everything since has been a blur.
Instead of returning right away to Rose, I make a quick detour to clean the mess from the guest bathroom so that she won’t be faced with it when she does go back into her room. I’ve just set the trash bag in the laundry room when I look up to see Rose standing uncertainly in the hallway. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I fight the urge to laugh, even though it’s not funny. Shouldn’t I be the one checking on her?
I give her a wry smile and walk to where she is standing. “I’m fine, sweetheart. What do you say we call it a night—or a morning? I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”
She drops her head, refusing to make eye contact as she says, “Yeah, I’m tired.” I automatically place a hand on her lower back and lead her back toward the guest room. She stands in the doorway looking very young and uncertain. “So—um, I guess I’ll see you in a bit.”
I pull her into a brief hug because she looks as if she needs it as much as I do. “I’m just down the hallway. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll leave my door open.” She pulls away and I try not to feel like I abandoning her as I continue to my own bed. As exhausted as I am, though, I have to wonder if I’ll be able to sleep knowing that Rose is lying next door, possibly even more broken than I am.
4
Rose
I stare at the ceiling and attempt to will my exhausted body to sleep. That Max knows my secret is something I couldn’t have imagined happening. In all the months that I teased and flirted with him, I never gave serious thought to what would occur if we ever had sex. Maybe I secretly believed I could hide it all from him in the dark of the night.
He’s been incredibly supportive and nonjudgmental since he walked in on me bleeding in his bathroom earlier. I knew he had questions; I could see them in his eyes. But to give him credit, he had yet to make me feel like the freak I obviously am. He has to be thinking in the back of his mind that he really dodged a bullet by not getting involved with someone as messed up as me. No doubt, his doctor friend would have pointed that out to him. Matt Foster had been polite and professional, but there was a weariness to him that was impossible to miss. Like Max, Matt was also a very handsome man. I didn’t feel the attraction to him, though, that I do to his friend. Of course, the fact that I was sitting before him looking like a train wreck while he stitched up my leg might have had something to do with it. It’s a little hard to admire someone knowing they must think you’re a complete nut job.
My hands twist in the cotton material of Max’s shirt as thoughts of my father fill my head. What am I going to do? I’m homeless. I have no apartment, nor can I afford a hotel. I can’t even afford the necessities. If not for Max, I would still be on the street.
I burrow more deeply under the covers as shivers begin wracking my body. Dammit, not again! I know another panic attack is just around the corner, and I have no way of coping with it. Then I remember the bag that I had used earlier to breathe in. I scramble from the bed and flip the lamp on. A soft glow fills the room as I look around. It’s not here. Shit, Max must have picked it up. I pace the floor, feeling my chest grow tighter.
Before I am even conscious of moving, I’m walking down the hallway until I reach an open door. I stand just inside until my eyes become accustomed to the inky blackness. I can make out a shape on the bed as I creep toward it. I stand there silently, wringing my hands. I desperately need someone to hold me tonight, but I’m incapable of asking. I turn away, not willing to let him see that I’m falling apart yet again.
I’ve barely made it a few steps when he rears up in the bed, looking around wildly. I may not have been able to fall asleep, but it appears he didn’t suffer from the same problem. I see him jerk as he notices me standing there. His arm reaches toward the lamp but freezes as I say quickly, “Please. Don’t! I’ll go, just don’t turn that on.” I have no idea why, but I don’t want him to see me right now. Some part of me hopes that his mind will conjure up the image that I normally present—not this pathetic women nearly hyperventilating before him. Then as if things couldn’t get any more awkward, I blurt out, “Can I sleep with you?” Oh my God, why did I say that? I’m so embarrassed; I don’t wait for his reply.
I’m almost back to my room when he grabs my elbow, halting me in my tracks. “Why are you running?” he asks, sounding adorably confused.
“I—shouldn’t have put you on the spot. I couldn’t sleep and ... I didn’t know what else to do.”
He is silent for a moment before using the hand he still has on my elbow to propel me back to his bedroom and through the door. Despite my earlier plea, he turns the lamp on before turning the comforter on his bed back and motioning me in. As my pride is already in tatters, I waste no time accepting what he’s offering. I crawl across the soft mattress until I reach the other side. When I’ve stopped moving, he gets in as well and turns the light off.
I begin to think I’ve made a big mistake as I lie rigidly with only inches separating us. I have the closeness I was craving, but it’s still not what I need. I want to feel his arms around me, but there is no way I can ask anything more of him. Truthfully, we’re not even friends in the real world, so this is awkward. My skin feels tight. My chest even tighter. Come on, Rose. Breathe.
I hear him sigh before he asks, “How can I help you? I can sense your fear from here, sweetheart, and I want nothing more than to hold you until you feel safe enough to sleep.” I take a deep breath and wiggle my way back to his side. Why bother to worry about rejection at this point? While it might not be pleasant, it could in no way compare to him finding me in the bathroom with a knife on the floor beside me.
He lifts his arm as I reach him and I duck under it, laying my head on his chest. There is no hair there, and I wonder fleetingly if he shaves or waxes. His muscles flex as he begins rubbing my back, lulling me into an almost trance-like state. Then he shocks me further by humming. I don’t recognize the tune, but his husky, masculine voice fills the silence, and I find I’m incapable of thinking of anything else. I want to
remain awake, just to hear him, but the pull to sleep is too strong. It’s been months since I’ve slept beside a man. Don’t think of that douche now, Rose. You don’t need that additional pain and embarrassment. So warm. So comfortable in Max’s arms. This may be the only night he allows this. I drift away, secure in the protective circle of his embrace. Tomorrow, I’ll be alone again, but this is what I’ll miss the most.
* * *
I wake disoriented as something brushes against me. Even though it’s been a long time, I still remember the unmistakable feel of a woman in my arms. Sunlight streams through the partially closed blinds as I take a moment to get my bearings. The previous night comes flooding back, and I glance down to see a cascade of red hair sprayed across my chest. After months of avoidance and denial, Rose Madden is in my arms—although certainly not in the way I’ve fantasized about. Darkness exists inside her that I never would have guessed.
Possibly, her obsession with firearms and revenge upon her ex-boyfriend should have clued me in, but both were presented in such a lighthearted manner that I hadn’t a clue. Matt says that she harms herself by cutting to have some sense of control over her life, which surprises me. If there is one woman who I would have said was in command of the world around her, it’s Rose. I’ll admit that knowing I’ve read her completely wrong is unsettling. As a lawyer, I literally make a living being able to figure out what makes someone tick. Now, I find that there is yet another facet to her I never expected. She’s a beautiful, intriguing, and troubled puzzle I need to solve, if for no other reason than to help her. Now that I know what she’s been doing, I can’t turn my back. I’d never forgive myself if something happened and I wasn’t there. Does Lia know? I wonder, thinking if she’d confided in anyone, it would be her friend.
Rose Page 5