Finally Mine: A Small Town Love Story

by Lucy Score

  “Look,” she said. “I’d hate to see you screw up my very fine life-saving work by ignoring the most important part of recovery. Think about it, talk it out, do the damn work.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Aldo shot back.

  She jerked a thumb in the direction of the water. “I come here for mental health breaks. Otherwise I’d crack under the pressure. Find your blue water, lieutenant, and keep working.”

  He was embarrassed, annoyed to know that he hadn’t been hiding his struggle as well as he thought he’d been. “Will do, Doc. Will do.”

  “Good. I gotta go. I’ve got a rum punch with an umbrella headed my way.”

  “Enjoy, Doc. And thanks for everything.”

  She threw him a salute and clicked off.

  Gloria was singing in the kitchen, giving him his space while she ran interference on his life.

  The laptop lit up again, signaling another video call.

  “Can you get that?” his interfering girlfriend called sweetly.

  “We need to have a talk about boundaries, Gloria.”

  “After you answer the call,” she said flippantly.

  Stephanie Oluo’s face popped up. “LT!” she crowed.

  “Oluo! What the hell are you doing calling my girlfriend? Are you trying to steal her away?”

  Steph laughed. “Gloria is a lovely woman, but I’ve got my hands full.” She tugged another woman on screen. “Meet Mrs. Oluo.” They held up matching wedding bands.

  “No shit? Congratulations!” It did his heart good to see his friend, his fellow wounded compatriot, so happy.

  “Life’s too short not to go for it, man,” Steph said, watching as her wife walked off screen. “She’s pregnant. Four weeks. We’re keeping it quiet for a while, but I wanted you to know you’re going to be an uncle.”

  “Shit, Steph. That’s amazing.”

  “Not too shabby for lying in the dirt bleeding a few months ago, eh?”

  “Not at all,” Aldo agreed.

  “So how are you? You sleeping yet?”

  Of course she’d know. She’d been there, lived it. Survived it.

  He glanced toward the kitchen where Gloria was disentangling Ivan from a dish towel he’d tried to steal. “Not great,” he admitted.

  “Been there.”

  “You sleeping?” he asked.

  She flashed that white-toothed, shit-eating grin through the screen. “Like a baby. Now.”

  Aldo sighed. She was going to make him ask. “How’d you do it?”

  “So glad you asked,” she smirked. “I talked to someone. I was rattling around feeling like a skeleton among the living. Little things setting me off, scaring the hell out of me, not sleeping. And when I did sleep—”

  “Nightmares,” Aldo filled in.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Still have them sometimes. But not as bad. Talk to someone. Get it out. If you keep it in, it’ll eat at you from the inside out.”

  It was something he’d planned to avoid. He could power through this on his own like he did everything else. Only this time it wasn’t working.

  They chatted for a few more minutes about old wounds and new plans. When they disconnected, Aldo stared at the desktop wallpaper on the screen and drummed his fingers on his knees. It was a picture of him and Gloria out to dinner. The waiter had taken it, and they were both grinning at each other like idiots over gyros.

  Didn’t he owe it to them both to get all the way better? To give it his all?

  He stood up, stretched, and ambled into the kitchen where the scents of caramel and apples and home wafted.

  He wrapped his arms around Gloria from behind and nuzzled into her neck.

  “You can lecture me about boundaries now,” she said, sunnily.

  “Thank you for not respecting mine.”

  She laughed lightly and turned in his arms. “I want things to be good for you. As good as they can be.”

  “With you here, making—what the hell is that?”

  “Caramel apple pie.”

  “With you here, making caramel apple pie, and this furry little asshole climbing up my leg, things are pretty damn good.”

  58

  I don’t really know how this works. It was Gloria’s suggestion. I get that you have to look at me blankly like that when I say her name because of HIPAA bullshit. But I know you know who I mean when I say Gloria.

  I’d do anything for that woman, including spill my guts to a complete stranger. Lucky you.

  How am I doing? I could have lost her. I don’t know how I’m dealing with it. I guess not well. I wasn’t in the best place before this. It was better but still not normal.

  I think Gloria’s worried that this whole thing with that asshole is making me backslide. She got me a kitten. Or a monster that looks like a kitten. But it’s nice to have something else in the house with me. It’s nice not being alone.

  I had… I don’t know. Something like a panic attack right after Diller broke in.

  I wasn’t there when she needed me. And don’t give me any of the “how could I have known she was in danger?” I should have known. I should have been there. I wasn’t. I failed her. Again. I failed her when she was sixteen years old, and I failed her again now.

  But she saved herself. She didn’t need me.

  And that makes me so fucking proud of her. Sorry.

  I’m all mixed up about it. I wasn’t there. I failed her. In the end, she didn’t need me.

  It still hurts. My leg. I’m tired. I used to never get tired. I get that it’s going to take time, but I don’t know if I’m ever going to feel normal again. I don’t know if I’m going to ever pull on a pair of shorts without thinking that I used to have two legs. Or not be exhausted after a full day of work. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to close my eyes and not see that explosion or Gloria holding a fucking frying pan with eyes as big as coasters.

  Life feels…darker. Less certain. Everything feels vaguely unsettling. Except for Gloria. She’s like this beautiful bright spot in my day. There are things I want to give her…but I don’t know if I’m ready. And if I’m not ready, if I fail her again…

  I’m pushing myself physically because it’s what I do. I’m making progress there. But maybe not so much emotionally. I have a closet full of left and right shoes and only one foot. I can still feel my toes that aren’t there. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between real pain and ghost pain. And that’s what’s going on in my brain. I can’t tell the difference between real fear and ghost fear.

  I don’t feel strong, and I was always strong. I was always the best. The hardest worker. I don’t know if I can get back to that. What am I if I’m not the strongest? The best?

  I want to move forward with Gloria. But I’m stuck in this valley of fear, paralyzed.

  I wasn’t there. But she didn’t need me.

  If she doesn’t need a hero, what can I be to her? If I’m not a hero, what am I?

  59

  “What is so important that you dragged me away from my very boring life of missing my deployed boyfriend?” Harper asked, skipping into Gloria’s apartment on a Saturday morning. Lola and Max, leashes tangled, stampeded inside and made a dive for Gloria’s couch.

  “I need your help seducing Aldo.”

  Harper’s iced coffee slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. “Shit! Shit! Sorry!” She scrambled for the cup. “You were saying?”

  “We haven’t had sex yet.”

  “But all the smoldering! You two practically set things on fire when you’re together.”

  “I know! But I can’t get him to pull the metaphorical trigger,” Gloria lamented, grabbing paper towels to clean up the spill.

  “I seriously thought you guys were basically naked at all times.” Harper flopped down on the couch next to Lola and gave the dog a face squish. “Can you believe Auntie Gloria and Uncle Aldo aren’t banging like bunnies? Lola can’t believe it either.”

  Max, sensing a human without a dog, launched himself off the
couch and danced at Gloria’s feet. She picked him up and snuggled the little dog to her chest.

  “I think he’s scared,” Gloria confessed.

  Harper blinked. “Aldo? Aldo Moretta?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Well, knock me over with a feather and call me Sally.”

  “Well, Sally. I put my ex-abuser in prison for the next twenty years or so—with a stop off at the hospital for a concussion. I’m renowned through town for being a goddamn hero. I just got a raise at work for completing my probationary period. So, I’m ready for my happily ever after. And that involves orgasms. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Thousands. For that to happen, we need to move Aldo off of first base.”

  “Have you done anything?” Harper asked looking morbidly curious.

  “Oh, yeah. And it was magnificent. And he immediately shut down. And I want more. I’m seeing him tonight, and if he doesn’t end up naked and spread eagle on my bed, I. Will. Die.”

  “Got it. Okay. What time’s he coming over?”

  “Six.”

  “So we’ve got eight hours to destroy Aldo’s vow of chastity,” Harper mused.

  Gloria chewed on her lip. “Can it be done?”

  “G, I’ve seen the way he looks at you like you’re the last cupcake on the buffet. He wants to devour that cupcake. We’re going to push him over the edge.”

  Seven hours and thirty-two minutes later, Gloria was ready for battle. She was wearing a tight black blouse that was unbuttoned low enough to show a peek of new and very flattering black lace beneath, cropped pants that made her ass “look like its begging to be bitten” as Harper promised, and red, sky-high heels.

  Her nails were done a deep red that matched her lipstick. She’d gone smoky on the eyes and light on the perfume.

  She poured herself a glass of wine and surveyed the space. Dinner was ready. Grilled chicken, Caesar salads, and oven-roasted vegetables. And for dessert: whipped cream.

  Aldo Moretta didn’t stand a chance.

  She hit play on her phone, and low, bluesy music played softly through the little wireless speaker she’d borrowed from Harper. The sheets on the bed were freshly laundered. She’d even sprung for new pillows in case dessert turned into an all-night feeding frenzy.

  There were candles ready for lighting if the mood needed a little boost and more wine for nerves.

  Harper was a diabolical genius. Gloria had no problem seeing how she’d landed the reluctant, reclusive Luke. No one could withstand her. She was glad Harper was on her side.

  The knock at her door startled her, stirring up her nerves again. It was showtime. Aldo Moretta had no idea how lucky he was about to get.

  She opened the door with a flirty smile. “Hi, handsome. Right on time.”

  “Wow.”

  That was exactly the right reaction, she decided, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you hungry?”

  She watched his eyes dip into her underwire-aided cleavage.

  “Aldo?”

  “Huh? I mean, yeah?” He already looked dazed, and Gloria hadn’t even gotten started. Whew. Okay. She could do this. She could seduce a man for the first time in her life.

  “Listen, about tonight,” she began. “I have an ulterior motive for asking you to dinner.” She turned away from him. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  She could feel his gaze on her butt and resisted the embarrassing urge to shake it.

  “Wine would be good. What’s your ulterior motive?” he called after her.

  “Have a seat,” she told him from the kitchen and then took her time pouring him a glass. When she returned to where he sat nervously on the couch, doing her best saunter, he licked his lips.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She handed him the wine. “I’m seducing you.”

  He went rigid. Gloria thought about straddling him but decided she should get his consent loud and clear without physical coercion. She sat next to him and smiled.

  “Gloria. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he began nervously. She was surprised he didn’t start inching away from her on the couch. “This relationship is so new.”

  “Ten years is a long time to wait for anything, don’t you think?” she asked conversationally.

  “Yeah. But this is moving pretty fast, and I want us both to be sure.”

  Gloria rolled her eyes. If she got any more sure, her pants would catch fire from the smoldering happening down below. “Is this an ‘I don’t find you attractive’ rejection or an ‘I have a legitimate concern about moving our relationship forward’ rejection?”

  “It’s not a rejection,” he said, putting his wine down abruptly and wiping his hands on his shorts. “It’s not. I swear.”

  “Aldo. I want to have sex with you. I don’t know how to be more clear than that. If we don’t have sex tonight, it’s because one of us—you—didn’t want to.”

  “Jesus. Of course, I want to!”

  “I feel compelled to remind you that we promised to be honest with each other at all times.”

  “I am being honest. I want to be with you. I want to make love to you until neither one of us can walk or move or breathe.”

  “That sounds like a good start. Let’s do that.” She unbuttoned the first button on her blouse and watched Aldo’s pupils dilate.

  “I want it to be right,” he said, wetting his lips again in a gesture she found ridiculously sexy.

  “Are you still worried about your…function?” she asked. He’d proven exactly how well his talented cock worked up against the back of Harper’s house. If that hadn’t reassured him, Gloria—with her limited sexual experience—wasn’t sure she could help him with whatever was bothering him. “Or do you just not want to function with me?”

  He grabbed his wine and took a fortifying gulp. “I’m making a mess of this. Gloria, I swear I used to be smoother, more confident. I would have walked in here and rocked your world and never had an ounce of self-doubt.”

  “What’s different from that Aldo to this one?” she asked.

  “I’m terrified of letting you down. Yeah, my cock worked. Yeah, I had a wicked orgasm wrapped in your sexy fist. And yeah, I’ve gotten myself off every fucking night since then thinking about that moment when you came on my fingers.”

  Gloria wasn’t sure if she was still seated or if she’d melted into a puddle of gooey lust on her rug. Never had sexier sentences been strung together.

  Her eyes were at half-mast imagining him gripping his raging hard cock. Fuck.

  “But there’s a lot more to sex than just my dick doing its job.”

  “Care to demonstrate?”

  “Gloria! Sweetheart, I want everything to be perfect for you. I want you to have the most amazing sexual experience of your life, and I want to be responsible for it.”

  She undid another button. Slid another inch closer. “The way I look at it, you already did give me the most amazing sexual experience of my life, and we haven’t even had sex yet.”

  “I’m scarred, Gloria. Hideous, ugly scars. How are you supposed to look at my fucking leg and stay in the goddamn mood?”

  “Oh, baby,” Gloria breathed at the vulnerability, the pain, laced in his words. “Is that what this is?”

  He stared at his glass of wine, jaw tight. “You might not know this, but I’m a vain, shallow excuse of a man.”

  She slid off the couch and knelt between his legs. “Look at me, handsome.”

  It took him a moment, but he did as he was told.

  “Most of my ugly scars are on the inside, and I’ve presented every last one of them to you. You’re still here. I think you owe me the same chance. Show me your scars, Aldo.”

  60

  She didn’t know what she was asking for, Aldo told himself. This beautiful creature should never be touched by violence again. And that’s exactly what was branded onto his skin, into his DNA. A permanent, physical reminder of the sins human beings were capable of inflicting on each other.

  He wanted nothin
g but beauty and softness and perfection for Gloria.

  But she begged for the brutal truth.

  Ever so gently, she skimmed her palms under the hem of his shorts and stroked his thighs. “Show me, Aldo. Please?”

  It was her plea that he was powerless against. He’d give Gloria anything, anything in this world. Even if it broke his own heart.

  Silently, he rose. She stayed where she was on her knees in front of him. Slowly, he slid his shorts down. Eagerly, Gloria helped him step out of them. He sat again, thumbs slipping into the compression sleeve that covered his stump just below the knee. He closed his eyes, teetering on the edge of doing what she wanted and being a complete coward.

  Then her hands were on his, and together, they carefully worked the sleeve down his skin.

  He didn’t want to look at his leg. He’d already seen it a few hundred times, and it still jarred him sometimes. The brutality that was so far from ‘normal.’ He watched her face instead, studying it for any signs of revulsion, rejection.

  But she merely set his prosthesis aside and returned her gaze to the very worst part of him.

  Then she was touching him, so gently. Like the rush of air beneath a bird in flight. Those lovely, capable hands skimming scar tissue and pain. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes burned.

  “Is this okay?” she whispered.

  Never had he felt more vulnerable. He was ripped open, stripped bare, and the woman he loved was staring into his soul.

  Terror. Lust. Need. It all rolled through him.

  He was rock hard and careening toward a breakdown or a breakthrough. Words failed him. Gloria leaned forward and pressed her lips to the worst of the scars, jagged and nasty beneath the sweetness of her mouth.

  He didn’t want to taint that. Didn’t want his ugliness leaving its stain on her.

  She looked up at him, but it wasn’t pity or fear that he saw in those golden-brown depths. It was glassy lust. Could she possibly want him like this? Scarred and broken. Damaged.

  Yet she was worshipping him. With lips and tongue. Tasting his scars.