Shatter Me

by Tori St. Claire

  When the doorknob rattled, she resumed her work. Playing it cool. As she had this morning. Ignoring the elephant in the room.

  “Hey, I found some shingles,” he said as he shut the door behind him.

  Evidently, he was ignoring it, too. She nodded, biting back the immediate retort that he hadn’t asked for her input. “What kind?”

  He blinked. “Asphalt for the moment. It’s just a temporary patch.”

  “Oh.” So maybe he wasn’t taking control, just doing what he was able, when she clearly couldn’t. “Thank you.”

  He held up a gallon of milk. “You want this in the fridge?”

  The milk. At that insignificant little detail, her heart melted into a puddle at his feet. No, he certainly wasn’t Drew. She could count on one hand the number of times Drew had picked up something she needed, much less something she wanted. She gave Alex a smile. “Please.”

  Bending over the couch again, she looked up through the tops of her lashes, trying not to make it evident that she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The man had a damn fine backside. Not just his tight ass but the whole picture—broad shoulders, narrow waist, perfect butt, and muscular legs. He was a walking embodiment of strength and confidence.

  When he disappeared into the kitchen, she stuffed the opposite corner of the couch cushion into the elastic that held the fabric in place. The side she’d already affixed popped free. It was going to be one of those days. She sighed and went back to the opposite end.

  “You want some help with that?”

  Help? She almost didn’t know what to do with the offer. It took a minute, but she managed to nod. “Th-thanks,” she stammered.

  He arched an eyebrow but said nothing as he grabbed the opposite corner. Quietly, they worked together, cramming the poufy cushions into the tight covering. When she’d smoothed out the last of the wrinkles, Alex gestured at the remaining pile of sheets and blankets. “Can I help with that?”

  Entirely unaccustomed to his charming offers of assistance, she floundered for a moment, and merely blinked. “Um.”

  “Are you okay?” Concern reflected in his fathomless green eyes.

  “I’m fine.” Just a little off-kilter. Like she’d stepped into some alternate reality. “I can get it.”

  “I’m sure you can. But I’m standing right here, and it’s still sprinkling. Might as well lend a hand.”

  “In that case…” She tossed him a pillowcase. “Can you fold?”

  He caught it with a swipe of his arm. “Did I spend six years in the marines?”

  Reagan grinned. “I bet your corners put mine to shame.”

  “Guaranteed.” He tossed her a wink, a welcome glimpse of the lighthearted man she’d always known.

  “I thought I’d wash some blankets, in case you want to crash again.”

  Nodding, he continued to fold, but remained conspicuously silent. Her gut twisted. Instinctually, she knew he wasn’t planning to stay. She shouldn’t care—it was better if he left. Better for both of them.

  Yet, she couldn’t ignore the disappointment that shot through her nor the little voice that continually asked, “What if?” Surely, he wouldn’t react like Drew’s sister and believe she’d made the abuse up, especially now that she had the scars to prove it. When Drew wasn’t in the middle of them, they were remarkable together.

  He was worth the chance. She couldn’t just let him walk away. If she did, she’d regret it the rest of her life. If she could just puncture his barriers, she might be able to make him see they might really amount to something. But…how? His walls were impenetrable. His honor nothing less than a ten-inch-thick steel barricade.

  “I had a chat with Don at the hardware store,” Alex said after a few minutes.

  “Oh?” Uh-oh. That couldn’t be good. Don’s wife was one of those people who asked questions. Too many. And Reagan’s attempts at hiding Drew’s secrets only resulted in the nosy woman’s condemnation. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

  Alex smoothed the crisp folds on the pillowcase and set it on the arm of the couch. He grabbed a fluffy red blanket and passed her two corners. “He said Drew’s a hero around here.”

  Reagan’s hands faltered, and she dropped one corner. Hero. Damn it. The subject pained her more than any gaping wound. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Colton has a Purple Heart hero.” Watch the sarcasm.

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “Tell you what?” She caught the sharp edge to her voice and drew in a steady breath.

  “That they thought so highly of him.”

  With a wary glance his way, she replied, “I didn’t think it was necessary. He died for his country. This is Colton. I figured you’d already know. Have you thought about what you might want to do for dinner tonight?”

  Alex stilled, mid-fold. His gaze narrowed.

  Crap.

  “How come every time he comes up, you dodge the subject?”

  The words came out before she could stop them. “Because he’s in the middle of us.”

  …

  Alex blinked. Hard. He stared at Reagan, trying to process her statement. She was Drew’s widow. How in the world could she be so…cold? It was like she didn’t even miss him. Like he never existed.

  As annoyance flickered, he gritted his teeth. “There isn’t an us, Reagan.”

  “Maybe there would be.” Her voice flat and even, she continued to sift through the laundry, as if she were talking about something as mundane as the weather.

  “No, there can’t be.” Shaking his head, he let out a hiss. Then, more calmly, he said, “I’m not going to be the man everyone sees as poaching in Drew Sanders’s backyard. Don’t you get it?”

  “Get what, exactly? That you’re too wrapped up in guilt to enjoy something that’s right here? Or that you’re determined to punish us both?”

  He balled the washcloth and pitched it on the ground. “Damn it, no! It’s about honor. And it’s like we’re cheating on him.”

  She stuffed her hands on her hips. “Are we supposed to die along with him? Is that how honor works?”

  He looked away, unable to face her. The idea of accepting that logic filled him with shame. It was true, and yet, some part of him he didn’t understand couldn’t admit it.

  “The last time I checked, neither you nor I was in the grave. We didn’t cheat on Drew. We aren’t cheating on him now.”

  “We’re cheating on his memory,” he murmured.

  “Bullshit. Do you expect me to never be in a relationship again? To honor his memory by living like a nun?”

  He gritted his teeth and lifted his gaze, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t twist this.”

  “Twist it?” she scoffed. “You’re too afraid to live. Too afraid you might find some happiness. Which was why he threw himself on that grenade, by the way, because he wanted you to go on living.” She glared at him, challenge glinting in her eyes. Daring him to deny it.

  “And he damn sure didn’t expect me to do that with you!”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know half of what you think you do about him. He—” She snapped her mouth shut, and her eyes widened, and then she shook her head and snatched another sheet out of the pile. More calmly, she continued, “You’re making assumptions.”

  Oh, no. No way was she getting out of that so easily. “What the hell do you mean, I only know half of what I think I do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s something, Reagan.”

  “It’s nothing,” she gritted out tightly.

  “You know what? Forget it. You might be able to pretend he didn’t exist, but he was like my brother.” His anger got the better of him, and words came out in a furious bellow. “I got shot at beside him. I watched men die—our friends—beside him. I watched him put everything on the line to protect them time and again. Damn it, I held him as he bled out. Don’t you dare tell me I didn’t know him! He was a fucking hero, and his wife can’t even give him the loyalty and respect he deserves.”


  Alex spun on his heel and stormed to the door. That sealed it; he was out of here. He’d fulfill his promise to Drew, and he was done. Done with the guilt. Done with the arguing, and done with the fucking temptation of Reagan.

  Chapter Nine

  Reagan sat on the couch, staring at the broken front window, half listening to the rhythmic hammering overhead. It was more of a monotonous cadence that kept her thoughts from spinning out of control, as opposed to a conscious sound. Alex’s parting words, though he’d spewed them a couple hours ago, still cut deeply.

  His wife can’t even give him the loyalty and respect he deserves.

  Loyalty…she knew the meaning. And if Alex had half an idea of the kind of loyalty she’d shown Drew by keeping his darker side quiet, he’d come apart at the seams. More than anything, she wanted to tell him the truth about her marriage. But doing so would be selfish. It would only be a means to ending her pain, a way of correcting his false perception of her. She’d rather be the heartless bitch he thought she was than hurt him.

  At the same time, the guilt he wore so obviously nagged her to come clean. It was even less fair to let him berate himself needlessly when she could put an end to it. Maybe then, what divided them would draw them together.

  But what if he didn’t believe her? What if, like Drew’s sister, Alex thought she’d concocted the whole story? At one time, Shelley and she had been like sisters. Close enough that Reagan had felt comfortable taking her into confidence in hopes there was something that might help Drew. Like a rabid dog, she’d turned on Reagan viciously.

  Or would Alex react like the townspeople, pulling back when they couldn’t make sense of her reactions. Would he, too, distance himself and treat her like some sort of…freak? She’d learned how to cope with the less-informed, and she wasn’t willing to run away from Colton as if she had something to be ashamed of. But if Alex reacted the same way, Reagan didn’t trust that she wouldn’t end up right back in her counselor’s chair. She’d come so far from that place of hopelessness and despair she couldn’t risk falling back into the patterns.

  Then there was the matter of Drew’s hero status. Alex was right—he’d died for others. She’d been told the entire story: the unit drew heavy fire on a surprise attack. Alex and Drew became separated from the others. Stuck in a hut while the rest of their team was in the hot seat on the rooftop overhead. When a grenade sailed through an open doorway, Drew jumped on it to spare the entire unit. Not many soldiers would have done that, she had to admit. She even had to admit it had bothered her for a while that strangers could provoke such kindnesses from him, when she, his wife, couldn’t.

  But she’d come to accept that the soldier had been different from the man. And while the soldier might deserve a hero’s memory, the man had been a piece of shit.

  Unconsciously, she ran a hand over the back of her shoulder, fingering the unmistakable proof. She wasn’t even aware she was doing so until a tingle shot down her arm. Annoyed by the habit, Reagan dropped her hand to her lap and wedged it under her thigh. One of these days, the subconscious part of her brain would accept the scars weren’t going away, and disbelief would fade.

  How the hell had she gotten into this situation with Alex? And how the hell did she make it right?

  You have to tell him.

  But wasn’t it kinder to leave him to his illusions? Let him go on believing the man he regarded so highly was honorable and noble?

  No, he needed to know.

  The hammering overhead stopped, an irregular break in the noise. She glanced at the ceiling, picturing Alex on the roof, hammer in one hand, sweat glistening on his bare shoulders. If she didn’t find a solution quick, the only thing she’d end up accomplishing was his hating her.

  She pushed off the couch, driven to restlessness by the constant thrum of questions in her head and the oppressive humidity in her house. Morning rain had given way to scorching afternoon heat. A shower would work wonders on her mind.

  And maybe, just maybe, if she cooled off, she’d find the right words to explain.

  …

  Alex thumped the hammer against the roof and rocked onto his heels, stretching his back. The physical labor had gone far in diffusing his anger. He shouldn’t have yelled at Reagan. For all he knew, avoidance was her coping mechanism. Instead, he’d pressed her. Worse, he’d flat-out insulted her.

  But what the hell had she meant that he didn’t know Drew?

  He scowled. Something wasn’t right. Reagan and Drew had been the happiest couple he’d ever seen. They had the perfect marriage, so long as he didn’t think too hard about the way she’d looked at him in stolen, fleeting moments. Sure, Drew had the normal complaints about Reagan spending too much money, but he’d never voiced anything more serious, never truly bitched, never expressed any sort of unhappiness.

  So why was she bottled up so tight? What was she hiding?

  And where the hell was her life insurance money? With her salary and the death benefits the marines provided, she should have been able to find a reputable roofer. And the house—how had it come to this? Surely, she and Drew had credit she could have used for the air-conditioning.

  Come to think of it, where was Drew’s family? Reagan had cut all ties with hers before she married—evidently her parents had been a half step up from junkies on the street—but she’d been close to the Sanders clan. Sure, they were farther north, closer to the lake, but not so far they couldn’t help.

  Yeah, something was definitely not right. Maybe her spending habits were more of a problem than Drew let on. Maybe that’s why she’d sold his tools. Maybe that’s why his family and the town distanced themselves.

  Time for some answers.

  He set the hammer aside, dumped a handful of nails into a plastic pail, and then crawled down the ladder. As soon as his foot touched the grass, the one remark she’d made that he couldn’t shut out drifted through his mind again. Are we supposed to die along with him?

  He gripped the ladder tight, squeezing his eyes shut as something foreign and uncomfortable kinked behind his ribs. She was absolutely right—they weren’t dead. Life couldn’t come to a stop because Drew had passed. They—he—couldn’t stop functioning, and it would be natural for Reagan and him to come together as they had. Were they really cheating on his memory?

  He couldn’t answer.

  Besides, once she learned he was responsible for Drew’s death, all this would come to a shattering end. She’d recognize she’d already had the better man and wash her hands of him. He’d let her too far under his skin already to think her rejection wouldn’t tear him to pieces.

  Shaking off the discomfort, he pushed aside the intense attraction between them and focused on the tangible issues—answers. If some red tape issue had locked up the insurance and put Reagan in this position, Alex could make some phone calls and likely have it cleared up in a short while. If she’d run through the money…well, he’d figure out a solution.

  He strode to the door, more calm and relaxed than he’d felt since his arrival. This he could navigate. This wasn’t threatening. This didn’t make him feel like he’d just climbed on a roller coaster and pitched down a towering hill at mach speed.

  Alex wiped the sweat off his brow on his sleeve and opened the rickety front door. He stopped, dead in his tracks, halfway inside.

  Reagan sat in the armchair facing the door, dressed in only a plain white bra and a pair of loose cotton shorts. Her wet hair hung over her shoulder in clumps, and she flipped through a magazine. She’d moved a fan into the room, positioning it so it circulated on her. From the way she focused on the ruffling pages in her hand, he got the distinct impression she wasn’t expecting him to come inside any time soon.

  “Ah…” He stumbled for words. Little rivulets from her hair trickled down her collarbone, over the high swell of her breasts, and into her bra. The wet material clung to her skin, molding around a tight nipple. The memory of that little bud rolling beneath his tongue slammed into him. Her sexy littl
e whimpers ricocheted through his head.

  She looked up without the faintest trace of surprise, blowing his suspicion he’d caught her off guard.

  “We should talk.” She tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “There are…things…you should know.” Shifting position in her chair, she stared down at her hands, rubbed the back of her knuckles, and paused a long moment. Then, shaking her head as if arguing with herself, she looked up, her expression determined. “I avoided any close encounter with you for years. I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to my husband’s best friend. Part of me was ashamed I was.”

  Alex recovered enough to close the door. He remained in the entryway, though, arms folded across his chest, gaze narrowed as he tried to piece together her angle of approach. If she was out to prove how easily his body responded to her, she’d accomplished that mission. The way the damp, flimsy satin hugged her breasts had lust stirring to life. Her exposed skin wreaked havoc on his ability to focus. He ached to touch her again, to explore every inch of her delectable body until he had each curve, each valley, each unique little freckle memorized.

  His head swam as her words conjured vivid images of the previous night. The sweetness of her scent as he lapped between her legs. The catlike way she arched her back, silently demanding more. Desire surged through his system like fire put to sagebrush, and he pulled in a deep, fortifying breath. The subject had to change before he forgot why he’d come inside. “Reagan—”

  “This isn’t wrong, Alex. Last night was everything I imagined…and more. I dare you to tell me it wasn’t incredible for you.”

  “I…” He couldn’t. It had been amazing. And the traitorous part of his soul that didn’t give a damn about guilt, honor, or loyalty wanted her splayed out beneath him all over again. Right fucking now.

  “That’s what I thought.” She gave him a sad smile. “Can’t we just pretend for a little while?”

  Like a stupid fish, he opened and shut his mouth. Twice. Just like that, she short-circuited his brain. Pretend. Could he just enjoy her, no strings attached, no questions asked?