Shatter Me

by Tori St. Claire

  Maybe not grin. He grunted something he hoped was welcoming as the man approached, the dolly parked at the base of the porch. “Mind if I come in and kill the breakers?”

  “Come on inside.” Alex held open the door. “Might keep it down, if you can. Reagan is still sleeping.”

  The man’s face split with a wide grin. “You must be Alex?”

  Alex arched an eyebrow.

  He indicated his clipboard. “Work order has your name on it. Jacob’s my friend. Grew up together.” He stuffed his hand out to shake. “Ron James. Pleased to meet you. Heard you were over there with Sanders.”

  “I was,” he answered more gruffly than he intended.

  Using the clipboard, he tapped his left leg. “Bum knee kept me from basic. Otherwise, I’d have put my time in, too. We need more of you around here in Colton. Give these kids someone to look up to and learn from.”

  Alex clenched his jaw. “You wanted that breaker box?”

  At Alex’s gruff tone, Ron’s expression blanked, then with a blink, he nodded. More subdued, he answered, “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

  With a nod, Alex ushered him through the door and down to the basement. When he’d shown the guy the box, he left him to his work, set his unfinished coffee in the kitchen, and then went outside to deal with the damned broken boards above the front door. He might as well do something useful. Maybe keeping active would keep his mind from blowing a few untimely oddities from Reagan out of proportion.

  …

  Three hours later, Alex had managed to tear a gaping hole in the good roof, smash his thumb in the process, and drop two boards on his foot. All because he couldn’t concentrate. His mind simply wouldn’t leave the incident last night alone.

  Along with doing more damage than help on the porch, he’d managed to catalog every reason why this thing between Reagan and him couldn’t work. Including the undeniable fact that she hadn’t grieved the past enough to move forward.

  As another board he hadn’t intended broke loose, he tossed the hammer onto the porch with a muffled oath. Enough of that shit. He’d end up having to demolish the entire structure at this rate. He was hot, sore, and pissy. He wanted air-conditioning and a shower. But instead of pronouncing that the repairs were all complete, Ron had only brought more bad news while Reagan was still sleeping. A relay and the central switchboard in her inside unit were fried. Likely, they’d taken some sort of power surge when the lightning hit that fucking tree. She didn’t just need a new compressor. She needed a whole new unit, inside and out.

  Not wanting to wake her, Alex took the initiative to set her up with a top-of-the-line system, regardless of expense. Still, it would be close to five before they’d have air. If Ron could track down the unit today. He’d left thirty minutes ago, exactly ten minutes before Reagan stumbled out of bed. Alex hadn’t ventured down from the roof to tell her before now—he hadn’t wanted to infect her with his bad mood. Unfortunately, his annoyance wasn’t fading, and she’d want to know why her house wasn’t cooling down. He needed to chill before he tackled that conversation. She’d likely be annoyed over his making decisions for her.

  He jerked the front door open, stalked past where Reagan sat in the front room, and into the kitchen for something cold to drink.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Alex tugged on the refrigerator door and stuck his head inside. “No,” he snapped.

  “What can I do?” In the corner of his vision, she appeared just behind him, reaching for the fridge door. “Let me get you something. Did you eat anything this morning?”

  Grimacing, he swallowed another short remark. It wasn’t her fault he was in a piss-poor mood. But man, she wasn’t helping. He didn’t need hovering right now. “I’m good,” he answered as levelly as he could. Maybe she’d take the hint he wasn’t in the mood for friendly. Reaching into the fridge, he pulled out a can of iced tea and a package of ham.

  “Sandwich. Here.” Her hands covered his. “Let me get it for you. You sit down, and I’ll take care of it.”

  Alex blinked, then slowly counted to ten. He didn’t let go of the package, though. He wasn’t a kid, and he didn’t need to be waited on. He could make his own damned sandwich. Dropping whatever she’d been doing to see to him only made him more annoyed.

  Reagan gently tugged on the ham. “I’ve got it, Alex. What else would you like? I have some potato salad in there, some fruit I can cut up.”

  For heaven’s sake! He grabbed her gently by both shoulders, lifted her a couple inches off the ground, and set her aside, out of his way. “Would you knock it off? I can do for myself. I don’t need you to wait on me.”

  As his voice sharpened with the frustration he tried to hold in check, Reagan’s face washed ghost white. He froze, his heart pitching down to his toes. Shit, now he’d hurt her. He shook his head and opened his mouth to apologize.

  Before he could get a word out, she backed up a step, a frown pulling at her brow. “Excuse me,” she murmured. “I’ll just…get out of your way.” She pivoted and strode stiffly through the entryway.

  Seconds later, he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  “Fuck,” he muttered as he set the ham on the counter. Way to go, asshole. He’d taken it out on her. Worse, in that split second where her face lost all color, once more he’d witnessed fear shimmering in her eyes.

  …

  Under the cool spray of a shower, Reagan closed her eyes and mentally kicked herself. She’d lost it again. In her defense, she’d never really been around an angry man since Drew’s death. She was programmed to default into self-defense mode, and with Drew, if she didn’t try to soothe the mood, Lord only knew where it might lead. Guaranteed, it would hurt.

  She blew out a hard breath, sending the water that rained down her face scattering. Everything inside her felt shaky. Out of sync. And she was so sick and tired of the reactions she couldn’t control. Sick and tired of hiding and lying and evading. Sick and tired of trying to be normal. When she wasn’t. When she wouldn’t ever again be the innocent nineteen-year-old girl who had no idea how harsh the world could be.

  She spun off the faucets forcefully, yanked the towel off the door, and then whipped it around her body. Damn Drew. Damn him for dying. Damn him for joining the marines in the first place. Damn him for failing her all the way around and leaving her nothing but broken when she finally had an opportunity for the happiness she fucking deserved.

  And yes, she deserved it. She’d forgotten that fact for a while, but relearned it through counseling. She deserved Alex. The way he made her feel. The happiness he brought to her heart.

  Biting back a foul oath, she jerked a brush through her hair, fingered a few daubs of gel through the lengths, and sat down on the toilet, frowning as she considered how to undo the error she’d just made in the kitchen. God, what Alex must think. She didn’t want to face him after that little display. Let me get it for you. What do you need? Reagan wrinkled her nose in distaste. Talk about the epitome of hovering—she’d made a complete fool out of herself.

  The only saving grace was that the damned repairman hadn’t witnessed her little meltdown. Damage control was limited to Alex. And maybe, just maybe, his bad mood would overpower the incident.

  It was time to tell him. Come hell or high water, she couldn’t take this any more. Covering her tracks was beginning to snowball. Sooner or later, some excuse would negate another and she’d get caught.

  Tonight. When he’d calmed down. She’d tell him tonight.

  Meanwhile, she’d keep her distance until he chilled out. If for no other reason than to keep her nerves under control so she didn’t do something stupid before then.

  Standing, she shoved open the bathroom door and marched to her bedroom. There, she pulled open the closet, and annoyance flared all over again. Every article of clothing she owned was more evidence of the many ways she tried to hide what she’d been through simply so people wouldn’t ask. The plain T-shirts, the dresses that covered ever
ything on her backside, the long-sleeved turtlenecks for winter. She jerked one shirt off a hanger and tossed it onto the floor. Then another. And another. She should have cleared them all out months ago, while she was getting rid of the rest of the reminders. Then there wouldn’t be room for her to hide from Alex, and she wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered as she flung another shirt onto the floor. Who cared if no one believed her? It didn’t matter what other people thought—she knew the truth. That was all she needed, and she was done, done covering up for Drew Sanders.

  Fucking done.

  She reached into the shelves along the back wall and pulled out a blue halter top that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. It was a cute little thing—ties around the low-cut neck, pretty sparkles that accented the swell of her breasts, and a deep, bare back.

  Definitely time to stop hiding. Somewhere along the way, she’d allowed protecting Alex to override protecting herself. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, live that way any longer.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Footsteps overhead told Alex that Reagan had retreated to her room. Forty-five minutes after blowing up at her, he felt like an ass. It wasn’t her fault. She’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Normal couple crossings; everyone went through this once in a while. But he sure as hell felt like shit.

  He pushed himself out of the living room chair and headed toward the stairs. From the way she thumped and bumped around, he had a pretty good idea she was pissed off. Not that he blamed her. But he still needed to relay the news about the air-conditioner, and that he’d picked out a new one for her—a decision she’d object to. Before this blew up into a full-scale battle, he intended to cut it off at the pass. Confess his sins, as it were, as opposed to sitting and brooding, waiting for her to come down, her temper worked up in full measure.

  With his luck, she wouldn’t come down when he finished confessing, and the trip tomorrow to the party would be full of tension, instead of the relaxing, fun day at the lake it was supposed to be.

  Idiot. He muttered beneath his breath as he mounted the stairs.

  Still mentally kicking himself, he made his way to Reagan’s room and nudged the partially ajar door. It swung inward on a room that appeared empty at first glance.

  Muffled cursing deeper within, however, drew him inside. The walk-in closet door stood wide open. Gloriously nude, Reagan stood in the middle, fiddling with something in her hands he couldn’t see. His gaze latched onto the sloping curves of her breasts, and his mouth went dry as his cock twitched behind the fly of his jeans. He swallowed hard. Apologize. Can’t touch until you do.

  But damn, it was nice to look. She always kept herself so covered.

  She looked up with a squeak, dropped what she held, and jerked a T-shirt over her head. “Alex,” she said tensely.

  Disappointment swept through him. Her modesty was sweet, in a way, but it drove him nuts. He knew so much about her body, yet she still locked herself away in daylight. Like she locks everything else away.

  He leaned on the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  She nodded and bent to pick up the top she’d dropped. The ties dangled from her hands as she folded it, and he found himself wishing she would have put that on, not the plain, uninspiring T-shirt. Then again, this was Reagan, and he couldn’t recall ever seeing her in anything that showed any significant amount of skin. The perfect elementary school teacher. He chuckled silently.

  “The roof was giving me fits.”

  Once more, she nodded, but the frown didn’t leave her brow. Was she that pissed off? Not good, considering he knew what he had to say next wouldn’t go over well at all.

  “So…” he began hesitantly. “You need a whole new heating and cooling unit.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “’Fraid not.”

  She flung the shirt onto the ground. “Damn it!”

  He pushed off the doorframe, crossed to her, and wrapped his arms around her. “Easy. It will be all right.”

  She pushed at his chest. “No, you don’t understand. It won’t be. I can’t afford thousands of dollars of repairs.”

  Resisting her efforts to break free, Alex held her more securely. They needed to cover this ground, get to the reasons why she couldn’t afford the repairs. But though it would piss her off, he could alleviate her worries to some degree. “I took care of it, sweetheart. Ron’s bringing a top-of-the-line, energy-efficient unit out this evening if he can get a hold of it.”

  Reagan shoved hard against him, slipping out of his hold. “You did what?”

  He blinked. He’d expected annoyance, but not the angry heat flaring in her gaze. “I took care of it. You were asleep.”

  “It’s my air-conditioner.”

  Really? “It’s a damned air-conditioner. Not a couch you look at every day. Not carpeting. Not goddamned wallpaper or the style of your front porch. Did you want me to send him away and let it wait another day? You were sleeping.”

  “You could have woken me!”

  “What the hell is the big deal?” Exasperation hit him like an iron fist to the gut. For Christ’s sake, he was trying to help her out. “You ignore the rest of everything around you—the roof, the porch, the tree, not to mention Drew’s death, but you’re going to take notice of this? What the hell?”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “It’s the principle—this is my house. I appreciate your help, but you can’t come in here and just take over.”

  “It’s my money. If I want to buy you the best system for the cost, that’s my choice, not yours.”

  She shook her head and stormed past him. “No, it’s not. I have a say. And if I want the worst system available, but the cheapest one, then that’s what goes into my house.”

  He followed on her heels as she stalked down the stairs. “That’s absurd.”

  “Maybe. But it’s my decision.”

  As she reached the bottom stair, he caught her wrist and turned her around hastily. She recoiled and jerked free. Alex stared, searching her face for answers. What in the world had gotten into her? It was a box. A simple machine. Why in the hell was she acting like he’d stripped all her control out of her hands?

  …

  Reagan checked herself, stopping the instinctual reaction to duck as her shoulders tensed. She would not cower. No more than she would allow a man to run her life. Alex might not understand because he lacked the greater perspective, but now, in the heat of this argument, wasn’t the time to drop that bomb on him. She stood still, her body as unyielding as her position. “I need to run my own life.”

  His mouth pursed as he closed his eyes. Then, whatever he tried to bite back exploded free. “Then do so!”

  ”What?” she cried. “I am.”

  “No, you’re not.” He strode across the living room to the bare place on the wall where Drew’s flag had hung. “Where is the flag, Reagan? Where is Drew? You’re avoiding everything. Ignoring it like the box of clothes you packed away.”

  She stared, speechless. That’s what he thought? That she couldn’t acknowledge Drew’s death? She shook off her shock. “He’s dead. In the ground. I’m moving forward.” Damned if that didn’t sound cold, but there was no way around the truth of it. “You’re the one who can’t let go. You cling to his memory like you can wish him back.”

  “If I could, I would. He saved my life! But you wouldn’t wish him back, would you?”

  Pain sliced at her. If Drew were here, Alex and she would have never discovered what they had between them. Did he really regret their involvement so much?

  She couldn’t answer his question, not without destroying him, as well as what he thought of her, completely. Instead, she bit down on her lower lip and turned for the kitchen. “I can’t wish him back, Alex. Neither can you.”

  “Fuck!” His oath echoed from the other room, followed by a muffled thump. Had he just hit
something?

  Illogical fear raced down her spine. Had he wanted to hit her? Like Drew, had he been stripped of his decency in the marines? He’d assumed she wanted the best air-conditioner available. On the surface, it was a small thing. But he’d taken the control out of her hands, made decisions for her, and that was no little detail. Maybe he was more like Drew than she’d recognized. After all, birds of a feather…

  Footsteps announced his presence in the doorway. She yanked open the fridge for a beer, jerked the cap off, and chugged down a deep gulp.

  “Reagan,” he said more calmly. “This is crazy. We don’t need to fight about this.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care if it sounds crazy, if I sound crazy. It matters to me. Don’t you dare come here and try to take control of my life. Despite how you see it, that’s what you did.”

  He spluttered something nonsensical and clenched a hand at his thigh. Reagan’s eyes locked on that tight fist. Her stomach quivered. He won’t hit you. He’s not Drew. And if he does, you can send him to jail. You don’t have to defend him. She inhaled deeply, set her beer on the counter. Before she completely lost it, she needed space.

  She stalked to the back door. “I’m going to Desi’s. We both need to cool off.”

  Not giving him time to protest, she stormed out the door and pulled it shut behind her. Maybe she did sound a bit insane—to someone who hadn’t suffered what she had, who didn’t even know, she likely would. All the more reason to tell him the truth. She could deal with Shelley thinking she was crazy—Shelley wasn’t part of her life anymore. But not Alex. Alex meant too much. And right now, she was too wound up to delve into that conversation. Once she’d gathered her thoughts, once she’d chased back the irrational fear skittering through her veins, they’d talk.