The Hard Truth About Sunshine

by Sawyer Bennett

  Steps up really, really close to me. I want to take a step backward because I have no clue what she's doing, and I'm even more confused when she pulls a condom from the side pocket. Just as I start an internal freak-out and try to come up with a good excuse to put Barb's advances off, she slaps the condom to my chest and says, "You can stay the night. I'll go bunk in the Suburban or on the other bed in your room."

  "What?" I ask as my hand comes up to take the condom. I stare down at it in horror. This was not in my game plan tonight, but fuck if I don't like the possibility of what she's suggesting.

  "Fuck her, dude," Barb says as she zips the pocket back up. "You two are making goo-goo eyes at each other, and it's nauseating. Bang her, get it out of your system, or take it to a deeper level, but don't tell me you don't want it."

  I lean in toward Barb, jerk my head toward the bathroom, and mutter, "Yeah... but does she want it?"

  Barb snorts, steps back, and points a mocking finger at me. "Do you really think I talk to Jillian about shit like that?"

  Not really, but I still ask, "Has she said anything?"

  Barb smirks at me. "You'll figure it out, champ. See you in the morning."

  What a bitch.

  Sort of.

  She gave me a condom, which is something I do not have nor considered buying. Never thought I'd get an opportunity with Jillian. Not sure either of us is ready.

  The bathroom door opens, and I hurriedly shove the condom in the pocket of my jeans. Jillian steps out dressed in what I think are pajamas. The bottoms are loose and flowing with blue and silver stripes, she's wearing a navy-blue V-neck t-shirt, and it's completely obvious to my pervy eyes with just a quick glance... no bra.

  She jolts when she sees me, but then immediately relaxes. Tilting her head, she asks, "What are you doing here?"

  "Came to see if you wanted to take a walk, but it looks like you're ready for bed," I tell her.

  Immediately, I correlate that she's ready for bed and I've got a condom in my pocket, and I suddenly realize I probably should get the hell out of here.

  "Where's Barb?" Jillian asks.

  "She... um... she... well..." I stammer, the collar of my long sleeve shirt suddenly feeling tight around my neck.

  "What's wrong with you?" Jillian asks as she walks toward me, and my mind races with a million lies that will get me safely out of here without embarrassing myself. But as she comes to stop in front of me, I take in her curious expression and her easy smile as she waits for me to answer. The knowledge that she's one of the nicest people I know prompts me to give into the crazy situation.

  "I came over to see if you wanted to go for a walk, but Barb shoved a condom at me and told me to have fun with you. That she was going to bunk in either the Suburban or over in Connor's room so I could stay all night," I blurt out.

  I expect some or all of that to offend Jillian, but her eyelids merely droop a little more as her lips curve into a bigger smile. It's sexy amusement at its finest, and the sexy part is confirmed by the husky tone of her voice. "So my choices are to go for a walk or to stay in here with you and a condom?"

  Christ.

  Be a good guy, be a good guy, be a good guy.

  "My only hope was for a walk," I say neutrally. "The condom was all Barb."

  "But you didn't refuse it, right?"

  I swallow hard. "It's in my back pocket," I tell her in a low tone.

  She leans slightly toward me, and I can smell whatever shampoo she used. I can't quite identify it, but it smells fruity. Sunshiny. It smells like Jillian.

  Holding a hand out, palm up, she says, "Let me see the condom."

  Reaching into my back pocket, I hold her gaze as I grab the foil packet. I place it in her palm and watch as she looks at it briefly before saying to me, "I think we should stay in."

  "Jillian," I rasp out, completely turned on and ready to hop in bed, but equally ready to jet out in fear. I don't know if I'm ready for this, and that sounds like such a pussy thing to say even inside my head, but I'm freaked out about her seeing... well, all of me.

  "Unless you're not attracted to me," she says as her smile falters.

  I roll my eyes. "I'm totally attracted to you, and you know that."

  "Then what's the problem?" she asks.

  Reaching out, I take a lock of her blonde hair and rub it between my thumb and forefinger. The skin there was also burned in the explosion, and I only have nominal feeling. Still, I like being able to touch her without her flinching or pulling away.

  Raising my gaze to hers, I try to protect my man card and deflect my insecurities at her. "I'm not sure you're ready for this."

  A rich, husky laugh emanates from those beautiful lips as she places the hand not holding the condom to my chest. "Christopher, just because I've been heavily sheltered by my parents the last few years doesn't mean I'm naive or innocent. I'm a big girl, and I can make my own decisions."

  "That's not what I'm--"

  "Unless you're not ready for this," she guesses... a little too accurately. "In that case, we can wait."

  "I'm ready," I snap at her, the words harsh as she's just uncovered my vulnerability. I pull back from her, then immediately close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out. When I open my eyes again, I look at her and in a softer voice, I repeat, "I'm ready."

  Typical Jillian, her eyes warm with empathy for my struggles. Proving that she's astute as well as intuitive, she murmurs, "Tell me what your true hesitation is, Christopher."

  Christ, I'm turning into a woman, I think. "Jillian... we've known each other for five days--"

  "No, we've known each other for seven weeks," she counters.

  "No," I say with a shake of my head. "You didn't know me and I didn't know you prior to this trip. And truth be told, I'm not sure we really know each other all that well now, or you'd realize we both should be having some reservations about this."

  "What reservations?" she asks innocently.

  "Jesus," I mutter as I rake both hands through my hair. I keep them gripped at the top of my head and bore my eyes into her. "You get I'm an asshole, right? I'm broken. I don't care about anyone or anything but myself. If we fuck, that's all it will be... a fuck."

  "Now that's a lie, Christopher Barlow," she interrupts, chastising me. "It would not just be a fuck."

  "Fine," I say in exasperation as I throw my hands into the air. "It would be more than a fuck, but goddamn it, Jillian... I don't know if I can do that. Open myself up to that."

  "Because you're scared," she surmises in a gentle tone.

  "Yeah," I admit with a huff of breath, defeated by her constant poking at me. "I'm scared."

  "Of what?" Her eyes watch me carefully, perhaps wondering if I'll just bolt the hell out of here.

  "Of freaking you out," I mutter, dropping my gaze to my feet. That's fucking embarrassing as hell to admit.

  "How would you freak me out?" she asks, and now she sounds genuinely confused.

  My eyes snap back up to her, and I scowl. "Come on, Jillian... I have a stump for a leg. It's ugly. Just like my hand." To prove that point, I hold it up before her face, but she's seen it before. She doesn't even give it a glance when she puts her fingers around my wrist and lowers my arm.

  "You don't give me enough credit," she whispers, and I can see the hurt in her eyes.

  I try hard not to roll my eyes and succeed before I say, "Sure... I know you can look past that and all, and that you're not worried about looks--"

  "Christopher," Jillian says with a sharp bite to her voice. "I don't look past that. I look right at it. I see your gorgeous face, I see your scars, and I'd like to see your leg. When I do, I will think it's beautiful because it's what makes you who you are. It's what helped to shape you into the person you are today--"

  "An asshole," I blurt out.

  "An individual who has been hurt, let down, abandoned, and betrayed. Suffered immense pain and now lives in a world of doubt. But you're also an adventurer and a risk taker. Underneath tha
t gruff exterior, you're kind, thoughtful, and accommodating. Your eyes are angelic, your mouth devilish, and you are without a doubt the best kisser I've ever had the pleasure of trying. Assuming what's down below is in working order and wasn't injured, then I'm going to guess you're probably really damn good in bed even if you do only have one leg."

  "Well, truth be told, I have like one and one-third of a leg," I tell her. As expected, she bursts out laughing. I grin at her, feeling a great deal of weight floating off my shoulders. My main concern has been addressed, and I feel better about the prospect of intimacy with this gorgeous creature. She's actually made me feel somewhat safe.

  Jillian's eyes go soft, droop a bit more, and her voice is husky again. My entire body tightens when she says, "So... my suggestion is we go lay on the bed and make out for a bit. Let's see where this goes."

  "Let's just see where this goes?" I ask, making sure there's no pressure on either one of us for it to go anywhere we don't want it to. I mean, I know where I want it to go. I want a used condom to be in the bottom of the trash can by night's end, but at least I know she can stop if she wants. If I want to stop, I can too, not that I would.

  Jillian merely answers me by turning and walking to the bed closest to the bathroom, which I'm guessing is hers. With her back to me, she reaches down to the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it over her head. Her hair disappears for a moment. When the shirt is pulled free, it falls in a glorious golden cascade over her smooth, tanned back.

  I walk toward her, more hopeful than I've ever been in my entire life.

  Chapter 24

  The room is dark and I wake up disoriented, confused, and with a full bladder. Not confused about the full bladder, but I am slightly unsure about the soft, naked body pressed up against mine. Or rather, why I'm spooned around a warm, silky skinned, luscious, and clearly female body. Then it comes back to me all at once.

  Beautiful images of what we did last night...

  Made out forever.

  Fondled.

  Stripped clothing.

  Traced skin.

  Struggled out of a prosthetic.

  Kissed scars.

  Bold touches.

  Tongue on tongue.

  Awkward handling of a condom.

  Making love.

  Phenomenal.

  Gasps.

  Shuddering cries.

  Feeling like my heart would explode.

  Sleep.

  With a glance at the bedside clock, I see it's just past one in the morning. I push my nose into Jillian's hair, listening to her deep, even breaths. The entire front of my body is plastered to her back. We're laying on our right sides, my legs split with my stump cocked back and away from her and my whole leg wrapped up in hers. I didn't do that intentionally; it's just the position I woke up in.

  Perhaps it was a subconscious thing--to keep my deformed leg from her--but I don't think so. Jillian spent a great deal of time last night looking at my C-leg, watching how I took it off and asking questions about the liner. When it was bare to her, she ran her hands over my skin from my hipbone to the scar where the flaps of my skin were stapled together after the amputation. She did all of this while I laid on the bed in my boxer briefs, and I was so nervous about it I didn't think there was any way I'd be turned on. Yet, the minute her fingers touched my skin, I got a huge boner that was painfully obvious.

  The fear I'd had that she would be turned off or grossed out completely evaporated when she leaned over and kissed me right in the center of what was left of my thigh.

  She'd looked up at me. "You know what I hate most about this?" she asked with a hand stroking my stump.

  I looked down my body, past my hard dick, and to her eyes, shaking my head.

  "I hate to think of the pain you were in," she murmured. "I honestly hate it for you so much."

  "It's over," I told her. I suppose, much like childbirth... that my memories of it had dulled somewhat. I could still recall with brutal clarity my wanting to die and how those emotions felt, but the actual memories of the physical pain had definitely diminished.

  Her face told me she seriously doubted my claim, but I didn't want her feeling sad for me anymore. She'd seen the worst my body had to offer her, but there was more she hadn't seen. I gave a pointed look down to my erection and then back to her with a lazy smile. "There's more of me to touch if you're up for it. I know I am."

  "Hah-hah," she teased with an eye roll, but then her hand was on the part of me that was clearly up for her touch, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

  Thereafter, I had the most amazing sexual experience of my life. Based on the noises and cries Jillian made, I was pretty sure she felt the same. I imagine, in my case, it was because I hadn't had sex in so long and I'd been rejected for my shortcomings, so when Jillian made it clear that she liked and was attracted to every single inch of me, it gave me the freedom to open up and enjoy the experience without any self-doubts clouding over me.

  Right now, I want to wake her up, push her on her back, and start all over again with her. I don't think my mouth had nearly enough time exploring her body, but the pressure on my bladder takes precedence. Carefully extracting myself from Jillian's body, I scoot to the edge of the bed and swing my legs over. Pushing up easily to my left leg, I brace my hand on the wall and take a few short hops to the bathroom. I never bother with my prosthetic for short trips like this. In fact, there was a time early on in my rehab that hopping was just so much easier than using a prosthetic that I considered just hopping around everywhere for the rest of my life.

  Stupid as fuck, I know.

  I do my business in the bathroom, wash my hands, and then quickly brush my teeth. When I head back into the bedroom, I'm surprised to see the bedside lamp on and Jillian sitting up in bed. She's got the sheet pulled up to her armpits, modestly covering her body, and her hands clasped over her belly.

  "You okay?" she asks as I balance myself against the wall on one leg.

  "Um, yeah," I say as I take the two most awkward hops in my entire life to the bed, because hopping while butt naked causes things to flop around. Jillian watches me with interest, completely unrepentant in doing so. And when I say she watches me, I mean the bouncing parts.

  My ears burning, I play it off by grinning at her as I slide under the covers, turn on my right side, and face her. She places a palm to my cheek, her eyes darkening somberly. "Another nightmare wake you up?"

  "Nightmare?"

  "You had one about an hour ago," she says. "Sort of jerking around in your sleep and moaning."

  I cock at eyebrow at her. "How do you know that wasn't a sex dream?"

  I expect her to laugh, roll her eyes, or punch me playfully in the shoulder. Instead, her look turns more worried. "It wasn't a sex dream. You were really scared... distressed. I tried to shake you a bit to wake you up. You never did, but the dream apparently stopped because you went quiet."

  "Huh," I say, my eyes drifting past Jillian to look at the far wall. I've certainly had my share of nightmares, but I don't remember one tonight. Or a sex dream for that matter.

  "Do you get nightmares?" she asks.

  My gaze comes back to hers. I shrug. "Yeah... I guess. I mean, they don't come as frequently now, but..."

  With a trailing voice, I turn on my back, put my hands under my head, and stare at the ceiling. What in the fuck was I dreaming about? And worse, I hate that Jillian saw it. It conveys a weakness I don't want her to see. Fuck knows she's seen enough of my shortcomings.

  "Tell me about some of your nightmares," Jillian whispers as she scoots over to me and lays her head on my chest. She wiggles her body into me, pressing her leg against my stump and wrapping an arm over my stomach. It's secure and comforting, and my arm immediately goes around her waist to hold her tightly to me.

  "They were no big deal," I tell her.

  "Then tell me about them," she persists.

  "Why?"

  "Because I want to know everything about you," she says qui
etly. "Everything."

  I let out a sigh of defeat because Jillian will never be satisfied with just looking at my scars or picking at my scabs. She wants to rip the hurt away, understand it, and then help me try to feel better. I know this because I've watched her do it for weeks with Connor. I've also seen her do it for the past several days with Barb and me.

  "I don't get them often anymore. Apparently, I don't remember the ones I do get," I tell her, brushing off the whole thing. "But it's mostly of the explosion and when I got injured. Sometimes I'll have a nightmare where they go in to amputate my leg, but they can't get it off so I'm stuck with the rotting thing."

  "Oh, God," Jillian practically whimpers as her hand slides up my stomach to my chest. She presses her palm over my heart. "I can't even imagine."

  I shrug. "Like I said... doesn't happen often. I'm mostly over it."

  "Not true," she says, calling me out and then telling me why. "You're not over it and may never be. But I do think you're trying to deal with it for maybe the first time, and I think it's important to talk about it."

  "Let me guess," I say dryly. "You have a psychology degree too?"

  "Nope. Just an art history degree, but come on, Christopher... you know letting it out is the way to heal. I know you're smart enough to get that. You would never share in group, and you haven't shared much on the trip, but here I am... lying naked beside you, wanting to get naked with you more often in the future, and I want you to know you're safe with me. You can tell me anything, and I don't even have to say anything in return if you don't want me to. You can just talk and vent, and I'll listen. I promise you'll never be judged by me."

  I lift my head from the pillow slightly to look down at Jillian as she rests on my chest. She tilts her head to look at me. Her eyes are clear pools of determination, reflecting a promise that she'll do exactly what she just said she'd do.

  My head falls back to the pillow and my hand squeezes her waist. "I was just a few short weeks away from returning home when I ran over the explosive device. So fucking close to making it out unscathed. I was there almost a year, saw a thousand different things. Had some good days and some bad ones. Had great friends and a girl back home waiting for me who wrote me sexy letters, but that was all tempered by a constant, nagging anxiety that I could be killed on any given day. And yet, I really don't ever think about that stuff. I don't dream about it. The one thing I keep remembering over and over again, when I'm awake and in my nightmares, was my buddy Jelonek who was in the passenger seat. I mean... I was literally just talking to him. Right in the middle of a conversation. He was there one minute, and then the next... poof... he was just gone."