“That’s a lot to deal with.”
“It’s time-consuming.” He knew she wasn’t talking about the time it took, but he was done getting in touch with his feelings. He navigated to the recording and pressed “play.” “It’s August twenty-seventh. Dawn. For the third day in a row, my unit is conducting a KLE operation in the Wataphur District, Konar Province, Afghanistan . . .”
He stopped it after the first line. It was strange, playing that for her. The memory wasn’t one he’d shared with anyone except Dr. Patel, but his gut was telling him that Marlena needed to understand that she wasn’t the only one with traumatic memories, and that her method of ignoring those memories wasn’t the brightest way—or the only way—to deal with them.
“What happened to you that day?” she said.
“That’s the complicated part. It’s not about what happened to me, ever, in any of my trigger memories. It’s what happened to the people I was treating—the soldiers I was embedded with as a medic, the Afghan civilians and soldiers.” He tapped the phone. “This memory I’m working on now is a bad one. With a kid and his mom who both died on my watch.”
She rested her cheek on his shoulder. “And you have to relive it five times a day?”
“Yeah.”
“How many times have you listened to it today so far?”
“Four.”
He didn’t think he had it in him to think any more about the kid and still play a decent game of hockey, so he navigated on his phone to his photographs and scrolled through until he’d found the pictures of her new apartment. “Look. ‘Celery Green.’ I found the color. It definitely makes the apartment less creepy.”
She looked from him to the photograph, then back again as though she was struggling with the topic change. Too bad, because he was done with the pain and the heart-to-heart.
Then she picked up the phone and took a closer look, a forced smile on her lips. “It doesn’t look creepy at all anymore. It looks bright and sunny and lovely. Is that crown molding? I don’t remember that during my walk-through.”
“I added it yesterday. I thought it’d be a nice touch. There’s a little more I want to do to fix it up, make it nice enough for you, but whenever you want to start moving things in is fine. I can work around it.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
He turned his face in and kissed her hair, then inhaled deeply. He loved the way her hair smelled like flowers, and the way it felt against his lips. “You told Olivia we slept together.”
She straightened up, which was a shame. He’d liked her resting against him. “I had to. She’s my best friend and I won’t lie to her, even lies of omission. But I didn’t tell her about the dancing.”
That struck him as an illogical line in the sand, even as he took relief in it. His enjoyment of dancing was not Olivia’s business. “That’s our secret or something?”
She reached over again, this time squeezing his hand. “That’s your secret; you just let me in on it for a night.”
“I hope that won’t be the only time.”
She smiled at him, a real smile this time. “Me, too.”
He stood and retrieved his shirt from the bench next to the table. “I should have reached out to you this week. I know I already said that, but I mean it.”
“It’s okay. I get it. I was busy, too.”
“Yeah, with what? Extra navel-gazing?”
She hugged herself, her mood turning dark again. “My brother stopped taking his meds and had an episode last weekend, so I drove to the hospital in Rochester to support my parents.”
He stopped with his shirt halfway on. “Your brother, as in the one who attacked you?”
“He’s a real person. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t define him solely on one incident nearly twenty years ago.”
As far as Liam was concerned, that incident was the only part of Michael he cared about. The part that had traumatized Marlena so much that it had left her with twenty-year-old scars. “What kind of episode?”
“He was hording knives in his room, stealing them from the group home.”
Holy crap.
Someone banged on the back side of the lockers. “Hey, Liam, don’t hog all her time,” Gabe called. “I’m waiting for my turn.”
“Give us a minute,” Liam barked. Lowering his voice, he said to Marlena, “Knives?”
“I know what you’re thinking, that he’s dangerous, but it’s not the first time he’s hoarded knives, and it’s not unusual for schizophrenics to take over-the-top self-protection measures like that. Michael has always been paranoid that he’s in danger.”
“Did the police get involved?”
He was asking all the right questions, judging by the way that one made her squirm. “Yes, but not because he attacked anyone or made threats. He was upset and wouldn’t calm down, so the man who runs the group home called the cops. He called my parents, too. Michael ended up in the emergency room so they could sedate him. That’s when my parents called me.”
“Were you okay, seeing him?”
“Yes, of course. He’s just my brother.”
“He’s not just your brother. Stop bullshitting me.”
After a long, annoyed look at him for calling her out, she dropped her gaze to the floor and rubbed her upper arms. “He was in a drugged stupor and restrained for the first few hours I was there. But it was still hard to be around him. He’s not stable again and every time that happens, it makes me anxious. It’s hard. I love him, but . . .” She shook her head. “It’s overwhelming. I’m used to only seeing him a few times a year, but now that he’s been kicked out of the home, he’s back to living with our parents.”
Liam wasn’t getting a good feeling about this guy or the situation, not after witnessing the magnitude of Marlena’s trigger response. “When is that happening?”
“It already happened. The home wouldn’t take him back, and the hospital kicked him out that night.”
“Well, damn.”
“Tell me about it. My mom keeps calling me with daily updates and to vent. Michael isn’t an easy person to be around. He can be funny and sweet, but he’s bipolar, too, which is pretty common for schizophrenics, and when he’s depressed and hasn’t been taking medication regularly, like how he is now, there’s no reasoning with him when he gets an idea in his head.”
She was going to hate this question, but it had to be asked. “Are your parents safe?”
“Yes. He’s not dangerous to others, only to himself, if anything.”
“He hurt you.”
“Yes, twenty years ago,” she said. “That was the only incident like that he’s ever had.”
“Come on, McAllister!” Gabe hollered again, banging on the lockers. “I’m starting to wonder what you two are up to in there.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter and show the lady some respect,” he heard Will call from somewhere else in the locker room.
Liam glanced at the clock on his phone. Forty-five minutes until game time.
“I really need to get back to work,” Marlena said.
“Give us five more minutes,” Liam called to Gabe. To Marlena, he said, “You keep calling it an incident like it was nothing. He put you in the hospital.”
Her eyes filled with distress. She touched Liam’s arm, tracing her finger around the edge of his skull tattoo. “He’s back on his medication, so he and my parents are as safe as they can be, but really, there’s no choice. There’s nowhere else for him to go.”
“Does he know where you live and work?” Just saying it, thinking that Marlena might be in physical danger, put him in a fighting mood.
“I don’t think so. I mean, it wouldn’t be too hard to find out from my parents or look in their address book, but he won’t bother me. He barely acknowledges my existence.”
“Sounds like it’s time for you to move into your new apartment and forget to give your parents the address. Like, tomorrow. I’ve got time and a truck.”
The shadow
over her features deepened. She pushed away from the massage table and walked to the lockers. “I refuse to live in fear of something that happened when I was a kid. My lease isn’t up for another two weeks, so I’d rather move my belongings in gradually and set the new apartment up exactly how I want it.”
That was a nice sentiment and all, but Liam knew the truth about her and her memory triggers. He knew there was more to the situation than she was willing to acknowledge.
“You refuse to live in fear?”
“That’s right. You, of all people, should know what I mean.”
He did, which meant he saw right through the holes in her logic. Holes that had the potential to keep hurting her over and over, the longer she ignored them. Taking no pleasure in what he was about to do, he strode to her, getting right in her personal space, trapping her in the corner of the lockers.
He wrapped a hand around her neck and the other around her hair, then tugged on her hair, not too aggressively, but hard enough that he knew he was triggering her issues.
She drew a sharp breath, her eyes shifty with panic. Her hands fluttered up to touch his arms, but she didn’t fight him off.
He gave her neck the slightest squeeze. “How do you feel right now? Hmm? You feel all that past rushing up and demanding that you deal with it?”
Her breath trembled. “Stop it, Liam.”
No always meant no to him—without exception. He opened his hands and backed up, giving her space. She gasped, a hand at her throat as though he’d really tried to strangle her, her expression one of pain and betrayal. He hated that he’d made her feel that way, but he couldn’t regret it if it helped her face the truth.
He wiped his palms on his shorts. “You talk a good game, but if you keep refusing to deal with your fears, you’ll be living with them for the rest of your life. Take it from someone who’s been there, done that.”
She stared at the ground, her eyes filled with stubborn tears.
He sidled next to her and kissed her temple. “I would never hurt you,” he said.
She pushed against his chest. He let her shove him away. “Then how about you get out of my grill?”
He’d stay out of her grill, physically, but he had one last point to make before he left her alone emotionally. “Dealing with it might be as easy as telling me or Olivia or somebody. Or it might take some therapy, but it’d be worth it.”
She rubbed her wrist as though he’d been holding that, too. “Worth it for you because you want to rough-fuck me,” she said in a harsh whisper.
She was feeling defensive and lashing out, so he wasn’t going to get wound up taking the barb personally. Yes, he wished he could get rougher with her in bed, but not if it was no fun for her. “No. That’s not what it’s about for me anymore with you.”
She sniffed, her eyes still averted. “There’s a line of guys waiting for pregame massages. I have work to do.”
He’d earned that cold shoulder from her, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. “When are you going to see your brother next?”
“Dinner on Sunday.”
“I’ll be there.” He wasn’t sure what made him offer, but he knew it was the right move. He wanted to size up this Michael guy for himself and assess his risk to Marlena.
“I don’t want you there.”
“Well, I’ll be there anyway. And to sweeten the deal, I’ll pick you up early and take you out for a drink first.”
Her shoulders dropped an inch and she finally met his gaze again. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s the only way to roll. Being around family while stone sober should be illegal.”
“I meant, why would you go to my family dinner with me? It’s going to be a long night of awkward small talk, and you hate that.”
Yeah, it was going to be torture, but his own peace of mind and, potentially, Marlena’s safety were at stake. “Because you need somebody, and I’m somebody.” After a brief internal debate, he decided to push his luck. “Tonight after the game, I’m going to a club in Syracuse. You in?”
To his shock, she actually seemed to be considering his offer right up until she shook her head. “I’m not dressed for it.”
He swaggered closer and lowered his voice. “So we stop by your place. I fuck you. Then we go dancing.”
Not the most poetic words, but dirty talking turned him on, and he had the sneaking suspicion it was the same for Marlena, even though, physically, he had to treat her as gently as glass. Because why else would a put-together, independent woman like her be into a junkyard dog like him if she didn’t have a weakness for his rough edges?
“So romantic.” She rolled her eyes, but he could tell he’d reeled her in by the way she was sneaking glances at his body.
“I know, right? I’m a real Romeo. Are you in or out?”
“If I don’t go, you’ll go anyway?”
“Yeah. I go out dancing all the time.”
“Grinding up against girls on the dance floor, you mean?”
“Absolutely. That piss you off?”
“No. It kind of turns me on, picturing you dancing with someone else while I watch.”
He’d been right. Marlena was a kinky girl in spirit, even if she couldn’t yet translate that in the bedroom. He pressed his lips together, fighting a grin, his imagination running wild. “Now you have to come dancing with me tonight because you’ve got me thinking some very depraved thoughts that we’re going to need to act on.”
She bit her lip against a smile and turned away, as though she didn’t want him to see her in that flustered state. “Good luck in the game tonight. You’re going to do great. Remember, your stats against Puck Norris are highest when you pass to Theo, not Brandon.”
How the hell had she figured that out? He’d never made that connection before, and he was pretty sure Duke hadn’t, either, or he would’ve mentioned it. “You’re such a know-it-all.”
With a shake of that perfect mane of red hair, she looked his way again, even more beautiful now that she was back to looking confident, without even the slightest shade of the fearful, triggered victim she’d been a few moments earlier. “Oh please, coming from you? Pot and kettle, McAllister.”
“Don’t I know it, Brodie. You and me, we’re two of a kind.”
Chapter Ten
Sunday morning, Marlena slid sunglasses over her eyes, not only because it was a cloudless, sunny day, but also to hide the dark circles left over from her hedonistic weekend with Liam. She unfolded from her car, then reached back in for the cardboard carrying case with two fruit smoothies she’d purchased on her way to Locks, Olivia’s requested meeting place.
Olivia had pulled into the parking lot ahead of Marlena and was fiddling with something in the hatchback trunk of her station wagon, which she insisted wasn’t a station wagon but a luxury sedan with extra trunk space. Lock, Stock, & Barrel sat at the edge of the canal’s pedestrian path a couple blocks from Main Street. Since the tavern didn’t open until lunch, Marlena or Olivia mooched free parking from Harper anytime they were downtown or meeting for a walk.
“It’s a beautiful morning for science!” Marlena said with a forced dose of pluck while hoisting the smoothies.
Olivia poked her head around the corner of her trunk. “I love it when you pretend to be a science geek. It’s entertaining.”
“One of these days, maybe watching you do science-y things will rub off on me. Like osmosis.”
Olivia grinned and pulled a two-wheeled hand truck from her trunk. “That’s not how osmosis works, but nice try.”
Marlena didn’t figure so because osmosis had something to do with water, but she got a kick out of lobbing random science terms at Olivia so she could enjoy Olivia’s dry-wit response.
Next, Olivia pulled a massive wooden contraption from her trunk that was at least three feet tall and two feet wide.
“So, that’s this year’s ticket to fame and fortune?”
They’d forgone their usual Sunday brunch so Olivia could gi
ve Marlena a preview of her science project for the annual science competition at Destiny Falls High. It was a huge, school-wide event, with both teacher and student winners crowned. Every year the competition objective changed to something completely new, but Olivia was undefeated for six years running. She took it very, very, seriously.
“This is it. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Marlena didn’t recall seeing it at Olivia’s apartment the previous weekend; nevertheless, beautiful wasn’t a term she would assign to the untreated, splintering wood. “It’s so beautiful. Tell me more.”
“First, you’re a terrible liar. Second, this is the cool part: it’s a Gondorian-style trebuchet.”
Olivia’s awed, excited tone was the only part of the description she understood. Whatever a Gondo tribute thingy was must be a huge deal. “A tribute what? And is Gondorian a Spanish term?”
“Gondor is the greatest kingdom in Middle-earth.” At Marlena’s baffled head shake, she added, “From Lord of the Rings.”
Ah. She vaguely remembered hearing that title before. One of those geek references, probably some ultraviolent comic book about bachelors ready to get hitched or something. “Lord of the Rings, er, totally. So, uh, what’s a tribute thingy?”
Olivia grabbed a reusable grocery bag brimming with odds and ends from her car, then locked up. Olivia shook her head. “You’re lucky that our bond runs deeper than J.R.R. Tolkien.”
“You’re right, I am.”
“A trebuchet is a type of catapult. And I need it to be perfect because Jesse Church, the shop teacher, has been talking smack about how he’s going to beat me this year. The word around campus is that he has a great shot at it. Definitely no pun intended.” With a muttered curse about the evils of Jesse Church, she tipped the hand truck on its two wheels and started marching through the parking lot toward the canal.
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