He scrubbed both hands over his face. “Fuck. I’m an idiot. I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying.” He dropped his hands and Allie’s breath was stolen away by the sight of those piercing, world-weary eyes. “Allie. I love you.”
Chapter twenty-seven
So . . . heavy. . .
Where am I? Allie blinked heavy eyes and tried to figure out what was crushing her chest. As the room came into focus through her sleepy haze, she locked her gaze with the rhinestone travesty that was Matthew’s scrapbook sprawled out at the base of his bed.
Oh. That’s right. They’d spent the night going through his old navy pictures. But . . .
“Oh, shit.” They’d fallen asleep.
Together. And for the whole night.
Shit, shit, shit!
She looked up and met a bright, bronze crop of beard that was coating Matthew’s square jaw. His head was burrowed into her throat, his thigh wrapped around hers, his body creeping half-way on top of hers, his hand curled possessively around her breast.
This was so not good. She went as still as possible, praying he’d stay asleep until she could figure out a way to get herself untangled. He was going to hit the roof when he realized they’d slept in the same bed all night.
What if he’d tried to strangle her again?
He’d never have forgiven himself.
Slipping her shoulders to the side an inch at a time, she held her breath. When she’d gotten her upper half free, Matthew’s lips tightened and he muttered something that Allie couldn’t make out. Brows pulling together, he let out a loud sigh as his arm constricted and she was dragged against him again.
Well, shit on a turtle.
Her shoulders were now hanging halfway off the bed while the rest of her body was obviously not going anywhere. Now what? Giving up on ever getting free, Allie mashed her head back in one of the pillows and released a heavy sigh.
She looked down at their tangled limbs. They were both still fully clothed, other than their shoes, which had been discarded when they’d first gotten home inside the garage. Matthew was still shirtless, of course, wearing just socks and his jeans. There was something so adorable about the sight of him like that: his hair mashed up on one side where he’d been laying on Allie, it all sticking up at wild angles across his head; his eyelashes a dark set of brown crescents against a pale, scruffy cheek.
Allie pursed her lips.
There was an innocence to him.
Asleep, right in this moment, Matthew carried none of the hell that was his constant companion. But why now? Sleep seemed to be the fiercest time for his PTSD, where his nightmares were able to freely torment him.
Allie froze as Matthew stirred again and his arm wrapped even tighter around her body.
Oh . . . boy.
Can’t breathe, Matthew, her thoughts gasped.
Matthew half-growled, half-mumbled and rocked against her. She’d never woken up to horny-as-hell Matthew. Regular horny-as-hell Matthew was always a treat, but there was something so domestically appealing about the idea of waking up to a man making love to you in the morning. It would have been hot, had she not been terrified about the actual Matthew-waking-up part. Once his brain caught up with what his libido already had registered, she was done for.
Long fingers traced the sensitive skin of her stomach and outlined the rim of her belly button, before heading to other parts.
Oh, she moaned internally. She had to stop this.
Damn it. Weren’t military guys supposed to wake up at the drop of a pin?
With a gulp, she pulled Matthew’s hand up into hers. “Matthew?” she squeaked.
Uh, oh, that did it. A pair of sharp, green eyes popped open and her heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach.
All color drained from his face and he threw himself off the other side of the bed.
“Son of a bitch.” Wild eyes met hers, stretched open with terror as they ran over Allie’s body, probably surveying for bruises or broken bones. “Allie. Oh, shit. Shit.” His hands scrubbed over his face and he looked like he was going to be sick. “What are you doing here?”
Allie pulled herself up into a sitting position better equipped for bracing against the explosion that was just now beginning to mushroom around the room.
“We fell asleep.” She swallowed, refusing to balk beneath the icy gaze that was trying to bore her into the ground. “It was an accident. It got late and we must have dozed off; but, I’m fine.” She raised her arms to demonstrate that all her limbs were still in working order.
Matthew just scrubbed his hands over his face, glanced at her, and then repeated the scrubbing again. “I can’t believe I”— cold, angry eyes met hers —“you have to go. Now.”
“But—”
“Are you kidding me? No buts, Allie. I am gonna fucking lose it and I don’t want you in here right now. Just. Give me some space for a minute. I need to cool off.” With that, he stalked into his bathroom and slammed the door.
Allie’s shoulders slumped forward as she dropped her head. She was sensing a pattern here with the whole get out stuff. Sleeping over at Matthew’s house was certainly an interesting experience. This whole relationship thing was not going to be an easy road with this man. Ever, she had the feeling. They were going to have a lot of work to do if they were ever going to get to some kind of . . . what was she even expecting from him?
A non-screwed up happily ever after with her completely screwed up boyfriend.
Oh, right.
Of course.
Hands rubbing the rest of the sleep from her eyes, she ignored how amazing it had felt waking up with Matthew, regardless of his python tendencies. Sleeping together long term was probably a way yet down the road to recovery for them.
But, oh, how she hoped.
Yesterday had been so incredible; they’d made such strides it had been easy to fall into the trap of thinking things would be doable. Not like she didn’t still think that they were doable; she’d just kind of forgotten how hard an uphill battle they faced. And now that she knew exactly what demons were in Matthew’s past. . . .
Last night had been . . . indescribable.
Allie couldn’t even think about what he’d told her without tears burning. Simply too horrifying to be reality. No one person should have gone through what Matthew had. Mental toughness was one thing, but that was . . . a nightmare in every sense of the word.
She tiptoed to the bathroom door and paused to listen.
Nothing.
Awe, crap. She knew how this was going to play out. “Matthew?” She tapped light knuckles over the door and then waited for a response.
Nothing.
Damn it, Matthew! “I’ll just be downstairs. Okay? Love you.”
When she heard the shower turn on, she decided, rather than going in after him and tackling him to the floor, she should probably give him his space, and so she trudged down to the main floor bathroom to freshen up. When she flipped on the light and looked around, she noticed the bathroom was pretty much the same as every other room in Matthew’s house. All white walls, matching white cultured marble countertops, and beige tiles, with a small set of white towels, folded neatly over a silver towel rack behind her. Geeze, this place could seriously use a woman’s touch. Wonder how the merc would feel about her showing up with a few gallons of paint and some live plants? Maybe if she painted the walls gunmetal grey he’d be cool with her taking over?
Allie splashed some water on her face and tucked in the edges of her very rumpled t-shirt. When she glanced back at herself in the mirror, she cringed. Why had she been cursed with such pale skin? She pinched her cheeks to add some color, wishing she had her makeup bag with her, and leaned in to scrutinize her reflection again. Well, she wasn’t going to win Top Model or anything, but it was at least a little better. Though, the Einstein hairdo she was rocking was in desperate need of some TLC. She fished an elastic out of her pocket and finger-combed the wild tresses into submission best she could.
&nb
sp; Feeling a little more human, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice, impressed that Matthew actually stocked his fridge with something other than beer.
The dog-eared, brown, faux-leather handle of her purse slumped over the edge of Matthew’s kitchen island and she walked over to it to check her messages. Then she fished her phone out from between the wads of discarded receipts and gum wrappers.
The battery was dead, and so she had to go fishing once again through her purse for her charger so she could plug the thing in. When she turned the phone on the screen lit up with several early morning, missed phone calls from Adam, and a few, “where r u,” and “call me ASAP,” text messages.
She quickly dialed him back.
“Allie?” Adam’s voice was higher than normal.
“Hey, Adam. Sorry. Haven’t been by my phone.” She started walking circles around the kitchen island.
“Where are you? I’ve been trying like crazy to get a hold of you.”
“Oh,” Allie blushed as she looked around Matthew’s house. “I, erm, spent the night at Matthew’s last night.”
“I’m at your place now with Lainie. How far is it to Matthew’s?”
Allie held the phone a little tighter while warning bells clamored all through her head. “’Bout twenty minutes away. Why? What’s going on?”
“Give me the address. I’m getting in my truck right now.”
“Adam, you’re worrying me. Is everything alright?”
“No, Allie. It’s not.”
Allie clenched the phone a little tighter. “Mom?” she whispered as her heart crumbled to ash in her chest.
Chapter twenty-eight
Allie dropped her phone in her purse like it was a fifty pound stone she could no longer hold, before falling into one of Matthew’s couches. Then she just sat there, the plush cushions rising up to cradle around her while she stared forward, blind to the empty wall ahead.
Mom was dead.
Had to be. She had—
Why else would Adam insist on seeing Allie in person before he’d tell her anything? Damn him. . . She couldn’t stand the waiting.
Damn her heart, and the empty, gaping hole that was all that remained of it.
Damn. . .
She was breathing too hard through her nose, her chest burning for the air she couldn’t get. Her whole body was shaking, trying to shatter apart beneath her.
Oh, no, she was going to be sick.
She looked down and forced her breath to slow, sucked a real good, long breath into her lungs as she dug her nails into her thighs. When her throat tightened up around the mewl of agony that had just crawled out of it, she dug her nails in harder.
Pain was good.
Centering.
Helped her keep focused on one thing at a time, mainly the crescent-shape gouges she was digging into her skin.
Now all she had to do was to keep from hyperventilating.
The sound of the upstairs bedroom door opening and closing startled her; knocked a stream of tears loose from her eyes so they ran down her face and she had to fight to rein it all in again.
Damn it, she did not know for sure that her mom was truly dead.
Oh . . . she crumbled in on herself. Don’t use that word. It was too real. And she didn’t know for sure, besides. Her mom could be just getting up to go in the cafeteria for morning oatmeal and juice, or maybe getting her vitals taken since she’d had such a rough day yesterday.
A small voice inside the barren wasteland that was now residing inside her chest whispered, liar, and she was forced to add, you’re fooling yourself, Allie. You know.
She crumpled up tighter, arms wrapped around her legs as she pressed the side of her cheek into the top of her knees. Hot tears sent warm trickles down the curve of her thigh and onto the floor.
She needed to go up to Matthew. Tell him his favorite person was coming to invade his house and bring along with him the Angel of Death.
She nodded to herself.
Okay. Get up. Go tell him the sitch.
She’d managed to push up from the couch when pounding footsteps across the second floor preceded Matthew’s appearance at the top of the stairs. His eyes were wide as they locked onto hers. She just blinked stupidly back.
“Allie. I thought you’d left.”
“I . . .” she turned, not sure if the tight expression he wore meant he was angry that she was still hanging around, or relieved.
He padded on light, quick feet down the staircase and over to her. His hair was slicked back from his face, dark brown and still wet from his shower. The smell of clean soap filled the air around him. A towel hung low around his hips.
“I thought I’d scared you off.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That you’d called a cab or something.” He raked his fingers through his hair again.
“No. I’m here,” she added woodenly. Obviously, Allie, she snarked back at herself.
Matthew’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her face. “You’re grey. What’s wrong?” His hands curled around the nape of her neck and tipped her face up to him. “I was an asshole this morning. I’m sorry. I just . . . freaked.”
“No”— she shook her head and a fresh rivulet of moisture ran down the side of her cheek —“it’s not that at all. It’s—”
A knock at the front door made her jump.
Shoot. Adam.
Matthew twisted toward the sound, still holding Allie in place, and snarled, “Who the hell comes to someone’s house at six-thirty in the morning!” But then he turned to Allie, face falling as his anger was replaced with realization. “Oh,” his voice softened, “You did call someone to come get you.”
Teeth sank into her quivering bottom lip. “No. That’s Adam.” Before Matthew could go all caveman—tear the front door off its hinges and beat the ever-loving shit out of him—she hurried on with her explanation. “He’s here about my mom.” Another tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “Oh, Matthew, I think . . .” her voice caught and she had to clear it. “I think something bad happened to her.”
“Baby.” Allie was pulled into a warm, damp chest as strong arms wrapped around her. “I’m sorry. Shit, baby. Real sorry.” A soft thumb ran over her cheek and came away glossy with her tears.
Another knock came from the front door. He clutched her hand in his and started towing her with him toward it; carefully, like he was afraid to break her.
When they got to the front room, Allie dug her heels in and faced off with him. “I don’t know anything.” She looked at the door and her stomach clenched. She couldn’t walk that last bit. It would kill her. “Adam didn’t want to say anything.”
Matthew’s face filled with sympathy, his eyes mossy green and crinkled up at the corners. “Of course, baby. Let’s just see what’s doin’, huh?” Aware that Allie’s feet were rooted in place and not going anywhere anytime soon, he broke off and headed to a small coat closet. After a few seconds of rummaging through a duffle bag for a pair of running shorts and then slipping into them, he headed for the front door alone.
Allie just stood there, arms wrapped tight around her hollow chest.
When the door pulled open, there were a few awkward hellos, and then Adam was ushered into the front room. He looked like hell. All stooped shoulders, and still wearing his scrubs from work. His cheeks seemed to have sunk into his skull.
It was all the confirmation Allie needed.
Oh . . . she tried to suck air into a set of lungs that had somehow collapsed in on themselves. I can’t breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut and worked on another breath, and another.
Oh. Oh, no. No . . .
The room was starting to spin around her head, little black dots swirled around her vision with a centrifugal force that threatened to suck her under. She watched in horror as her view of Adam and Matthew rushing toward her slid from their worried faces down to their sprinting feet, which were now running sideways up the wall.
“Allie!” Matthew’s deep voic
e sounded in her ear. Just as her knees buckled, his arm was there beneath her legs, the other behind her shoulders, lifting her up into his body. Adam’s worried expression filled her vision as Matthew took her over to the couch.
“Mom’s gone, right?” she whispered, “That’s why you’re here. Mom’s dead.”
Adam’s face was ash. “Yeah, Allie girl. Early this morning.”
She took a moment to focus on some more deep breathing and forced her eyes tight shut; hoping while they were closed this would all go away.
Matthew’s hand wrapped around hers and she slowly opened them again. Adam was still there, his eyes tight with anxiety and etched in sorrow.
Why? She asked with her eyes what she could not yet put into words.
How could this happen so quickly? Why Mary? There were plenty of ladies in their seventies and even eighties who’d managed to stay in the ward for years. Why her mom?
“How . . . how did it happen?” she said, unable to look up at Adam; to see so much hard reality slicing through his face. Agony flared in her chest and she curled into Matthew.
Adam’s voice rumbled, “You know she hadn’t been feeling very well yesterday?”
Allie nodded.
“She’d had heartburn all morning and her back was bothering her, so we kept her in her room to relax. We’d been worried about it. Took her vitals on and off all damn day. And she was already on blood thinners”—his voice quivered—“We kept checking on her, Allie. We did our best.”
Matthew’s arm curled a little tighter around Allie’s shoulders. She tried not to be accusatory, but she had to know. “Sybil said it wasn’t anything to worry about.” She couldn’t hide the venom that fell from that sentence.
Adam cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Allie, truly. We had no idea. I mean, we take precautions for this kind of situation. I know it’s not comforting, but this stuff really does happen all the time. We didn’t want you to freak out if it was nothing. Mary has bad days all the time. It’s part of it.” He shrugged, head bobbing down on his neck. “We thought that was all it was.”
Captured at Nightfall (Capture My Heart Love Story) Page 24