He picked up the tall, red glass holder with the remnants of a mostly burned candle inside, remembering how she’d written:
Since we’ve met I find myself searching out news about the war. I watched a video of some fierce battle on YouTube. It was so graphic, so horrible. I can’t imagine what it must be like to actually be there, to smell the fire, to hear the bombs and guns, knowing they’re being aimed in your direction, to be scared for your life every day of your life for as long as you’re there. I’m not a very religious person, but I’ve started saying a little prayer for your safety every night before I go to sleep. Maybe it will help. It certainly can’t hurt.
Later on, before a very dangerous mission that he didn’t think he’d be returning from, he’d sent off a quickie request:
If you could say an extra-long, extra-special prayer for my safety before you go to bed tonight, and every night for the next week or so, I’d really appreciate it.
Of course Neve had done that and more, responding:
You know I will do whatever I can to send some luck your way. You want extra-long and extra-special nightly prayers? Done. For some added oomph, I’ve researched good-luck superstitions, because hey, I’ll try anything! Too much snow for a four-leaf clover hunt, but did you know you can buy them online, and that there’s such a thing as a five-leaf clover? I ordered both with rush shipping. For the rest of the week I will be wearing pajamas to bed—inside out, just for you—and sleeping with an old rabbit’s foot I happened to have stuffed in a box with medals and other assorted crap from my days of competitive collegiate gymnastics. Nate had a lucky horseshoe in his condo. Not anymore! It’s now a part of the good luck shrine I’ve got going. At the center there’s your bio and picture propped up. Next to that I’ve got a seven-day prayer candle burning.
Did you know having a cricket in the house is considered good luck? But a live one? No can do, sorry. I’m hoping twelve ounces of dead crickets—and that’s a lot of disgusting-looking crickets—carry the same luck capacity as one live one. (And they’re a lot quieter!) Anyway, I’m doing all I can from here in the United States. Please do all you can to stay safe.
He put down the candle and picked up the plastic container of crickets. “Where did you get these?”
She came to stand beside him. “The pet store.”
“This looks like one of the bulk spice containers in my dad’s kitchen at the pub.” The right size and shape to blend in on the shelf above the stove, perfect to freak out his bug-phobic brother, Derry. “Do you think I could…?”
“Take it.” She waved her hand. “You’re home safe. I don’t need them anymore.”
He counted, “Fourteen heads-up pennies.”
“I don’t want to tell you how much time I spent scouring local parking lots and stores for that last one.” She laughed.
“All for me.”
She shrugged, wouldn’t look at him. “Thirteen is an unlucky number. Having thirteen heads-up pennies might have messed with the good luck energy. I couldn’t risk it.”
He thought about taking her into his arms, hugging her close, and squeezing her tight to show how much he appreciated all the time, effort, and care she’d put into praying for his safety. But the two of them alone in her bedroom for the first time felt strangely intimate. And he didn’t want her thinking he was the kind of guy who’d make a move on a woman fresh out of the hospital. So instead he asked, “Are you still sleeping in inside-out pajamas?”
She looked away, as he’d noticed she did every time she didn’t want to discuss something. Okay. He had his answer. “Bet you’re happy I’m home, if for no other reason than you can now go back to sleeping in the nude.” Thinking about that had given him many nice visuals during his long months at war.
She gave him a sideways glare. “How about I wait until you leave?”
Too bad. He’d do anything for a chance to see her beautiful body naked, at least once, before he had to head home. But he didn’t let on. “Your call.” It took a lot of effort to get his words to sound like he didn’t give a damn, but in his opinion he’d nailed it.
Rory stood there, trying to get rid of the vision of a naked Neve that’d popped into his head by focusing in on the other items on the table. The purple rabbit’s foot, the old iron horseshoe, four- and five-leaf clovers packaged in clear plastic, all there, just as she’d told him they were.
And he got a little choked up, that she’d gone to such lengths for someone she hardly knew. While he felt the hug should wait, the thank-you didn’t have to. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said quietly, appearing uncomfortable with his appreciation.
To break the awkwardness of the moment Rory turned to scope out the rest of Neve’s bedroom, which turned out to be a fusion of contrasts. To the left she displayed her inner girly-girl in the form of a cream-colored comforter with delicate-looking light and dark purple flowers, maybe lilacs, covering her full-size bed, which had lots of ruffled pillows piled on top. And in the center was a light brown teddy bear wearing a lavender tutu and matching ballet slippers.
She saw him staring and said, “Nate must have made up the bed like that, because it sure didn’t look that way on the day you took me to the hospital.” She almost sounded embarrassed.
Above the bed were about a dozen cartoon caricatures—hand-drawn with black marker on white, maybe ten-by-thirteen-inch paper—resembling Neve, with the headings “Love Is…” across the tops and various sayings across the bottoms. Lower down, above her nightstand, hung five pieces of lined notebook paper with actual images from the Love Is…comic strip she’d cut from the newspaper, many of them discolored from age, all taped in neat little rows. His tough girl had a fixation on love and had provided all the room’s visitors with a guide to winning her heart. Yet it seemed no one had taken the time to look closely, or cared enough to try.
“A friend made those. They’re stupid,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to take them down.”
Yet she hadn’t.
To the right, in a corner with mirrored walls, Neve showed off her sexy. “You have a stripper pole in your bedroom.” A solid, silver-colored metal pole anchored to the ceiling shot up through an opening in a round, red mat, maybe five feet in diameter, on the floor.
“It’s not a stripper pole,” she said defensively. “It’s an exercise pole.”
He noted its proximity to the bed. “But you’ve used it as a stripper pole, to perform for some of those guys who would have hit their heads if you didn’t warn them about the pull-up bar.” He shouldn’t have said that, but he had a sick need to know.
Right before his eyes she went rigid, straightened to her full height, and looked him directly in the eyes. “Yes. If a guy asked me real nice, I’d give him a little show.”
To his ears her words sounded like a challenge, like she dared him to make a comment, like she’d fight anything he had to say. So he didn’t say anything.
“I’ve never lied to you about who I am, or rather, who I was. I will not apologize for my past, nor do I regret it. I had a lot of fun. And yes, on some nights, lots of nights, that fun included bringing a guy back here for sex…until it stopped being fun.”
Right. “When does sex stop being fun?”
She walked to the bed, unzipped her bag from the hospital, and started to unpack, keeping her back to him. “When guys start to think sex is all I’m good for, when they think it’s okay to lie to me about not having wives, girlfriends, or fiancées for a night in my bed, when they want to share me with their friends. When they come banging on my door in the middle of the night, drunk and horny. When they stand on my front porch, yelling for me to let them in, and when I don’t, offering to pay me, loud enough for my neighbors to hear. When I have to go in front of my condo association’s board of directors to answer a complaint accusing me of running a prostitution business from my home.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “That is when sex stops being fun.” Then she went back to her unpacking.
Holy shit. Okay, after seeing her smokin’ hot body in that figure-hugging purple tube dress and viewing her sexy pictures on Instagram—after overhearing her mention her account there—he could get how some guys might see her and think sex, nothing but sex. Yet anyone who took the time to talk to her and get to know her would have to see the caring, thoughtful, smart person beneath her sexy exterior.
If they could see her right now, in a baggy oversized sweatshirt, loose-fitting black workout pants, with no makeup and her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, they’d see more innocent college co-ed than sexy seductress. “You never told me about any of that.”
She went still for a few seconds, toothpaste in one hand, toothbrush in the other, staring down. Then she let out a breath. “Because it’s a part of my past I would have preferred you didn’t know about. And now you do.”
“How far in the past?” he wondered out loud, because she still seemed pretty bothered by it.
“Let it go, Rory.”
“I will, as soon as you tell me Nate beat the shit out of those assholes.”
She separated her toiletries into a pile beside her dirty clothes. “I’m sure he would have…if I’d told him. But it wasn’t worth him possibly losing his job over.”
“What about letting him do his job? You were real quick to call your brother to have me arrested. Why not them?”
She went quiet again, looked out the window, and Rory figured it out—because she didn’t want Nate to know.
The urge to fight started to throb to life inside of him. “Give me their names and tell me where to find them.” Let him avenge the insult, be Neve’s champion, and show her that he cared, and that she was in fact worth fighting for. He wanted to bounce around the room on the balls of his feet, like a fighter warming up in the ring, taking a few swings, getting ready.
But one look at her face and he knew that would not go over well.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want you getting in trouble either.”
“Getting in trouble?” Did she honestly think he’d get caught? “Are you serious? I’m a trained professional. Let me put the skills the United States Army taught me to work. I promise you I’ll be in and out without anyone but the asshole targets knowing I was there.” At least not until afterward, when someone would have to haul their bloody bodies to the Emergency Room.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles.” She looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “I realize my past actions have consequences. I’m dealing with them. But thank you.”
She almost sounded as if she thought she deserved what had happened, and what might still be happening, but she most certainly did not.
Before he could figure out the right thing to say, Neve pushed her bag and everything she’d just unpacked onto the floor with one big swipe of her hand. “I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap.” She lifted the covers to move the pillows against the wall, then slid beneath them, sounding so sad, so defeated, his heart ached for her. He hated the idea that he’d initiated this conversation, and now she’d be drifting off to sleep thinking upsetting thoughts, because of him.
“It’s true,” he blurted out. She lay on her right side, keeping her back to him. “I told you it wasn’t because I was embarrassed, but yes, a lot of guys, myself included, jerked off, for lack of a better term, in the port-a-potties on base, over in Afghanistan.” She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He took that as an invitation to go on. “Sometimes at night they appeared to glow from so many guys having their iPads and laptops in with them so they could watch porn.”
She stared at him intently.
“When you joked around about sending me a flashlight that fastens to my head so my hands would be free to take care of business as I read your letters, I made a big deal of telling you I didn’t need one. That was because I already had one.”
She turned over to face him.
He interlocked his fingers by his crotch, looked down, and admitted, “And yes, I did take your ‘Read when you’re alone’ letters in there with me.” A lot more often than he’d ever admit. “With the lotion and baby wipes you sent.”
She smiled.
He continued. “I didn’t tell you the truth because it’s embarrassing and, let’s face it, disgusting, and I didn’t want you picturing me like that.” Although right now he’d rather she think about him whacking off in a smelly port-a-potty than all the assholes who’d disrespected her.
“I read somewhere,” Neve said, “how a soldier confided in his friend that after returning home from deployment he wasn’t as attracted to his wife, but every time he saw a port-a-potty he got a hard-on.” She got a teasing glint in her eyes. “That going to be you, Rory?”
He laughed. “I hope not.” Definitely not, because he was so attracted to Neve he ached for her. “But maybe when you’re feeling up to it, if you know where one is, we can take a drive by and see what happens.”
She was so exceptionally beautiful when she smiled. “Nice diversionary tactic.” She scooted over in the bed and patted the top of the comforter. “Come sit.” He did, and she turned onto her left side, facing him, her head resting on a pillow. “You’re a good man, Rory McRoy.” She took his hand between hers. “Thank you for staying with me in the hospital. You really didn’t have to do that.”
No, he didn’t. “But I wanted to.”
“And thank you for learning more than you ever wanted to know about PICC lines and pretending to be interested so Dr. Glassman would let me out of the hospital.”
He was glad she couldn’t come up with any friends who’d be available and reliable enough to visit her home on a set schedule, twice a day, for a few days at minimum, possibly for as long as six weeks. And that Nate had just rotated to evening shift and couldn’t guarantee his availability to help with administration of the evening dose.
So what if he’d been her last choice. Here he was, right where he wanted to be. “I wasn’t pretending.” He’d been paying close attention to learn “PICC” stands for Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter—which really meant a big-ass intravenous line inserted in the inner part of the upper arm, then advanced through a large vein in the chest and positioned just above the heart. Scary shit.
If Neve ran into any trouble accessing or flushing it on her own, which was her preference, and he needed to assist, he damn well was going to do it step by step, exactly as the expert had showed them, no room for error. Luckily a home care nurse would be coming over this evening for backup in case either of them ran into trouble. “And you’re very welcome.”
She ran a finger along his thigh. “How about you tell me all about Mary. Then we can decide where you’ll be sleeping while you’re here.”
He grabbed her hand to stop its movement and swallowed. “I’m fine with the couch.” No you’re not! his body screamed. But sleeping on the couch was the right thing to do. Yes, she looked much better and had recovered from the flu, but Neve was still fighting a debilitating infection that caused her pain. And even though her baggy sweatshirt covered it, she had an intravenous line in her arm, with a plastic tubing pigtail thingy hanging down. What if he accidently pulled on it or did some other fool thing to dislodge it? Frankly, he was scared to touch her. And if he slid beneath those covers, wanting her as bad as he did, he didn’t trust himself not to. Once he felt that soft, warm skin, those full breasts, her ass…well, there’d be no stopping him from taking her hard and fast until he landed in paradise. And she wasn’t ready for that.
She followed up with, “Don’t you think you’d be happier stretching out right here beside me instead of trying to find a comfortable position on that narrow couch? I mean, assuming you’re not engaged.”
Damn right he would. If his commanding officer had offered him a choice between returning home from deployment one month early or adding one full month of combat duty in exchange for a night in Neve’s bed, he’d have extended his tour of duty, without hesitation, without a second thought.
But now, after hearing how some dirtbags had treated her, like she was only good for sex, he planned to go out of his way to not be anything like them. “I’ve slept in a lot worse places over the past year. Your couch will be a nice upgrade.” Not that he’d be able to sleep anyway, no matter how much he needed to.
Chapter 7
Great move, Neve. Tell him about all the guys who’ve visited your bed, then invite him in. Of course he doesn’t want to join you now. Stupid!
Her left arm hurt where the physician’s assistant had inserted the PICC line that morning. Her right pelvis throbbed into her lower back. But she did her best to give Rory her full attention.
“Mary’s mom and my mom are best friends.”
Yippee…the story was off to a great start. For sure by now his mother knew about her impulsive stunt. A year ago it wouldn’t have mattered to her. Today it did.
“They used to live next doah to us in the apahtments above the bah.” Sometimes, especially when tired, she had to pay close attention when he spoke to make sense of his accent, “door” sounding like doah, “apartments” sounding like apahtments, and “bar” sounding like bah.
He sat with one foot on the floor, the other knee bent on the bed with his boot hanging off, his thick, manly fingers resting on his muscular thighs. Having him so close made it difficult to concentrate, especially when, even as tired as she felt, she’d much rather be touching him than listening to him. “At least until my parents bought the building a few years back and moved them up to the third floor. Mary’s dad left when she was just a babe, and we kind of adopted her as our own, the kid sister we never had.”
Goodie. Neve was personally responsible for breaking the heart of a young woman his parents and brothers considered family. So much for a warm welcome should she ever show up at the pub again.
Not that the greeting or lack of greeting she’d receive should matter, because she had no intention of ever going back. When making a fresh start one did not revisit the past. And as soon as she got the call from Cirque du Soleil she’d be moving on. Leaving the mess she’d made of this life behind and starting fresh somewhere new.
All I Need Is You Page 8