Whole Again (Hometown Hero's Book 1)

by Colleen S. Myers

  She reeled off the names and numbers and tried not to tense as John got up and moved in behind her to rub her shoulders. “Do you have many more questions, detective? We are both tired.”

  Vicki glared up at John, shrugging off his hands, though the massage felt good.

  Bentley glanced up at John. “Yes, actually, I do. For you.”

  Vicki’s heart jumped. She glanced at John. His shoulders squared off. “I figured you would.”

  John sat down next to her at the table. It had never occurred to her that John could be a suspect. Naive of her, maybe, but she’d bet everything she had it was not him. John would never hurt her. Not physically, anyway.

  Vicki protested. “Detective. This is unnecessary. John did not do this.”

  Bentley sighed, pulled his glasses off, and proceeded to clean the lenses. “All women say that, and then boohoo later when their lovebug ends up being a freak.” Lovebug? “Let me do my job, ma’am.”

  John’s hand settled on Vicki’s shoulder. “He has to ask, Vee. It’s his job. He’d be remiss if he didn’t look at me.”

  The detective nodded and started his questions. “So how long have you known Ms. Masterson?”

  “All my life. We were friends in high school.” She remembered him swaggering down the hallway in front of her, tight jeans, drool-worthy ass. She missed high school sometimes for that very reason.

  “Did you two ever date?” Bentley asked.

  “Not then, no.” His gaze skimmed her warmly.

  She flushed. “Not now, either,” she muttered, and crossed her arms, eyeing him. Just because he’d told her and seemed to feel everything was out in the open now did not mean they were dating. She was still mad.

  Both men drilled her with the glances. “But you came here when you got the threat,” Bentley said.

  “Because my grandmother made me.”

  John’s expression fell.

  Vicki shifted. She would not feel guilty about putting that look on his face. The detective’s questions bothered her. “I know John would never hurt me. Hell, he used to beat up bullies who pulled my pigtails in the school yard. He’s a marine.”

  Bentley’s eyebrows rose. “That so. What unit?”

  “The Fifth. Out of Iraq. What about you?”

  How did John know he was a marine? Must be a guy thing.

  The detective smiled. “The Eighth. I was in Korea.”

  “Bosnia and Iraq here.”

  Vicki rolled her eyes as the men exchanged manly nods.

  “When did you separate?”

  “Last month.”

  “Honorable discharge?”

  “Yes, medical.” He lifted up his pants. Vicki and the detective craned to look at his leg. The cloth exposed a thick plastic leg, shiny, like a mannequin’s, that ended in a shoe. “Insurgent.”

  Bentley appeared duly impressed.

  Vicki resisted the urge to poke it. What did it feel like? He’d said stump. Did that mean it was an actual stump? Her hand settled on his knee. His arm brushed the back of her neck, raising goose bumps.

  After clearing his throat, the detective continued. “So when did you come back and meet Ms. Masterson here again?”

  “This weekend. I was applying for a job at the same place she was. We went for dinner on Saturday.” John cut his gaze to her. Vicki shifted away, but his fingers still reached.

  “Do you wish to harm Ms. Masterson?” Bentley asked.

  John played with her hair, making her shiver. “Absolutely not.”

  Vicki’s cheeks flushed, and she sat back.

  “Can you account for your whereabouts at these times?” He held up his list.

  John pointed to the slashed tires. “I was with my mother and my best friend and his parents. There were five of us. As for when the sugar was put in her car, no. As you can see, I live here, so I could have done it. I didn’t, but I could have. Check my phone though. No call. You can look around. No burner. She came down right after the call. No time to get rid of it.”

  “Don’t you worry. We’ll check. Something interesting, though. Right after your call to the precinct this morning, ma’am, we received a tip. Someone reported to the police that Mr. Lawrence here was a threat to you.”

  “What?” they echoed. Vicki exchanged a meaningful look with John. “Did you review the tape?”

  “Why, yes, I did. It was an androgynous voice, and the caller refused to give their name. There were some birds in the background. It was odd.”

  Birds? Vicki’s shoulders stiffened “It was David. That asshole.”

  “David. Who is this David?” Bentley asked.

  “Her ex.” John turned her to face him. “Why do you think it was David?”

  “It happened right after we saw him at the restaurant. And he said we’d pay, remember? Then I saw his mother on Sunday, and my tires get slashed. We have dinner, and I get threats. He always was a bit unstable. Possessive. He used to get so pissed if men hit on me. But at the same time, he cheated. Plus, the birds. He has a flock of birds he keeps on his property.”

  “Birds? That’s a weird hobby.”

  “I know. It’s called hawking. He keeps some peregrine falcons. Trains them, and they hunt down prey on his land. He has a farm out in Clinton.”

  Bentley laughed. “That sounds like a keeper right there.”

  John grinned at him.

  “I was eighteen!” She didn’t know any better, thank you very much.

  After the detective left, John insisted Vicki stay the rest of the night. He slept on the couch. She took the bed. Unfortunately. Or not. He was still an ass. She watched said buttocks pull down the covers, rippling before her, making her mouth water. It was so unfair how attractive she found him still. She should be mad but couldn’t maintain it. And the crack about David was below the belt. Yet she understood why he hesitated. That didn’t mean she would accept such behavior in the future.

  Given the night’s events, she hadn’t expected to sleep, but she dropped right off.

  Fourteen

  Maybe it was all the talking about his prosthetic, but that night, John dreamed about waking up after that fateful day.

  He’d woken to beeping.

  With a weary sigh, he opened his eyes. A white tile ceiling faded in and out. An antiseptic smell burned his nostrils. He blinked and turned his head. Brae sat sideways in a chair next to him reading a book. He saw the outline of a busty woman sitting at the knees of a pirate. Ha. A smut novel. Brae was never going to live this down.

  John’s mouth twitched. His tongue felt dry. He licked his lips and gritted out, “What ya reading?”

  Brae’s head jerked up. He dropped his paperback and dragged his chair closer. “Hey, man, about time you joined the land of the living. Scared the piss out of me, dude.”

  “What happened?” he asked slowly.

  “What do you remember?”

  “Ambush.” Flames filled his mind and screams. He flinched.

  “Yeah. They set explosives in the road. Jameson’s truck got hit. Stewie and Eddie got out, but Jameson died.”

  “Damn.” Stewie had been a cool dude. He loved cello and German rock—such a weird combination. He’d blasted it all the time. John’s eyes burned. “Did he have any family?”

  “Yeah, a little girl.” That sucked. Brae crossed himself.

  “I will have to send them something.”

  “Yeah.”

  Damn, why were they out there? He braced himself on his elbows and shifted. The IV taped to his wrist snagged on the sheets. He yanked and adjusted the back of his gown. An ache spread up his back. And his mouth was still dry. “Can I get some water?”

  “Oh yeah, sure.” Brae grabbed the nearby pitcher and poured him a glass. “Here.”

  John took a sip. “What about everyone else?”

  “The rest of the team made it. Benny got wounded. He caught a passing ricochet to the arm. We got out, and you ran into your guy. You remember that?”

  Dark eyes, dust, and g
unpowder flashed in John’s mind. “I get the fucker?”

  “Yeah.” Brae glanced down. “But not before the fucker winged you.”

  John followed Brae’s glance. His outline under the hospital sheet didn’t appear right. What the fuck?

  He pushed down the blanket and peered at his legs. His left leg ended at a raw stump. His foot was gone.

  What? There was nothing anymore. Nothing. “What the hell happened?” Why did they take his leg? What was he supposed to do now?

  He wiggled his toes. Funny, he could swear he felt them moving, but no.

  Huh.

  He lay back. Brae didn’t say a word as he looked at him, pity in his eyes.

  John screamed out. “This isn’t possible. He winged me, man. What is this shit?” He gestured at his leg. This couldn’t be real. Just a dream. He closed his eyes. Wake up, man. Wake up. His breath grew ragged.

  “I had to apply a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. It took support about twenty, thirty minutes to get there. There was too much damage. They took most of the distal aspect of your leg. They state it’s good though, a stable joint and healing well. You should be able to get a good prosthetic, and most people won’t even realize.”

  “But no more beach or shorts. What the fuck is this? This is bullshit. Nope. My leg is fine. I need to walk on it. Watch.” John staggered up. Brae hovered nearby as he placed the stump on the ground. He had to stoop to the left. The stump added a decided lean to his gait. The first pressure along the wound caused agony to pour up his leg. His knee buckled, and he fell into the IV pole.

  Brae caught him and deposited him on the bed. “I don’t think walking is your thing right now. They said you need a pin, and you can attach a prosthetic ankle and foot. It will appear natural. It shouldn’t throw off your gait after you get used to it. It will be awesome. Harder to play basketball, but you can walk, buddy. It will be okay.”

  No, it will not be fucking okay. This was not okay.

  John threw his head back, his jaw tense. “I’m a marine. I can’t be that and be a cripple. What does that mean for Mom?”

  “Settle down now, John. You got several months to recover. They are still cutting to make the best stump possible for you. You have a few weeks of surgeries and meds. Then they start fitting you for the prosthetic. And then the real training begins. It will make boot camp look like cake. And since this was directly war-related, they will take care of it all. You will be retired with a full pension.”

  “A full pension, but not a marine.” He felt like the blue-eyed guy they ate in Sin City. His shoulders slumped. His head fell into his hands. “What is my mom going to say?”

  “She will say that she is so happy her baby is alive.”

  “Those fucking insurgents. This stupid war. What the hell were we doing out there anyway? It wasn’t safe. What were the commanders thinking?” John covered his face. Retired at twenty-five, go me. Too bad he didn’t have any start-up companies to sell. Then he’d be rich and retired, hitting the islands.

  His stomach sank. God. He’d anticipated doing another tour before heading home. Now what the hell was he going to do?

  He kept his arm over his face and focused on the beeping.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  ***

  Needless to say, when John woke up, he didn’t feel well rested.

  Vicki breezed out of the bedroom, perky as can be. Damn morning person. Damn sexy morning person, wearing one of his T-shirts and sweats. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and her smile gleamed. He glanced over at the TV display. Wait. Damn afternoon person. He sat up and rubbed his hands through his hair. “What about your job?”

  “My boss let me have the day off, given all that’s going on.”

  She grabbed her phone from the coffee table in front of him and scooted onto the couch. John stretched his legs out. “No more calls, right?”

  “I got a text from my grandma. You didn’t hear it beep?”

  That made sense. “Nah. At least I don’t think so. I’ve been whipped lately, though.”

  Vicki turned and faced him. “Let me see it.”

  And like that, his mind sank into the gutter. “See what exactly.”

  She couldn’t be talking about his penis, right? That was a little too direct for his princess, but maybe . . . The aforementioned body part started to rise at the mention of his name.

  “Your leg.” Vicki pointed at his limb.

  And said body part fell at the mention of his leg. “Right now? Not very romantic.”

  “I don’t want romantic. I want real. And I’m still pissed at you.”

  John pushed himself up on the cushions. Then he pulled up his pant leg. Twisting the prostethic. He detached the leg, wiggled the liner off, and there it was, in all its stunted glory.

  Vicki’s fingers skimmed his scar. The bandage was still on. He’d change it today. Those suckers stayed on for three days. Her fingers poked the bandage. “Is this where you got hurt the other day? Why you fell?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t only David. I’d been moving for two days prior to seeing him and then tried running. The area was already red and sore. His push was the cherry on top of my wound.”

  Her thumb stroked around the bandage. “Does it hurt?”

  John’s skin tingled in the wake of her touch. “It’s weird sometimes. I can almost feel my toes wiggling, but when I look down, nothing. No pain. I get some weird sensations now and then. Makes it hard to sleep at night sometimes.”

  “And of course, you won’t take any pills.”

  Of course not. He’d seen too many of his buddies fall to the allure of easy pain relief. Vikes, Roxies, Xanies. Not for him. John lifted his shoulders. “I don’t like how they make me feel.”

  “Do you need to go to the doctor for this?”

  Phhtt. “Nah. I’m used to small sores and how to treat them now.”

  “Does this, uh, affect . . . um, other things?”

  Her words pissed him off, so he responded crudely. He grabbed her hand and rubbed it along his stirring cock. “Does this feel like it was affected?”

  She gasped, her fingers involuntarily flexing on his shaft. “No, it feels great.” Her head lifted, and her hand remained exactly where he placed it.

  Big Al came to attention in her hands. The stroke of her fingers caused him to clench his thighs. God, it had been way too long since he’d gotten laid, long before his injury, and now here, with Vicki . . .

  ****

  Vicki left her hand where it was. And was impressed by the size of his growing arousal. It filled her palm. She ran her thumb over the burgeoning tip through his boxers.

  His eyes gleamed at her as she tightened her grip. “Do you work for UPS?”

  “What?” Vicki blinked.

  “I could have sworn you were just checking out my package.”

  Ack. Vicki yanked her hand away, cheeks burning. “Hey!”

  “Sorry, it was one of the pickup lines! You said you liked them!” John reached and grabbed her hand, holding it, tugging her into his side. “Sorry.”

  Her lips twisted in a half smile. “Given what I was doing, we’ve already gone past that stage.” She twisted to look at him. Their lips were a few inches apart. She inched upward.

  “I know.” John leaned down. “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Your penis?” She watched his mouth. The corners tilted up. Her panties grew wet.

  He licked his lips while she watched. “No, dummy, the prosthesis.”

  She reached out and squeezed his member again, eliciting a groan. Ha. That’s what he got for asking a stupid question. From the twinkle in his eyes, he hadn’t quite learned his lesson. “The prosthesis doesn’t bother me at all. It’s a part of you. And as long as this”—she rubbed once more and left her hand cupping him—“works well, we should be fine.” Her face heated at her bold words. She didn’t know where the words came from. But she liked it. It made her feel alive.

  John lifted his knee and flexed into th
e motion of her hand. His hand reached out and gripped her neck, pulling her the last few inches toward him. He rubbed his nose along hers. His lips grazed hers in passing.

  Her breath shuddered out. Holy heck. Her lips tingled, and she swept her tongue along them.

  John growled and watched the motion, pulling her all the way across him so that she straddled his lap.

  She put both hands on the back of the couch, bracing herself. Every part of him pressed against her. If he pulled back now, she’d kill him.

  His expression was serious as his fingers skimmed down her cheek.

  Vicki turned her head and nipped his index finger.

  He grinned. “Oh, no, no biting now.”

  Ha, oh, yes, more biting. “Little nips and sucks.” Vicki’s heart thrilled at John’s following moan.

  “No man is going to say no to sucking. Have you noticed how our conversation has devolved into the gutter?”

  “Have you noticed that I am currently resting on top of you and you aren’t doing anything about it?”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, abruptly serious. His hand brushed the blonde hair back from her face.

  She chewed her lip and contemplated him spread out before her. And never had she been more positive of her choice. She pressed against him, chest to chest, winding her arms around his neck. “What do you think? Do I feel sure?” Her hips rocked his.

  “You sure feel good to me. Were you rolling in a pile of sugar?” Her eyebrows rose. “’Cause you got a sweet ass.” She gagged. He laughed. “Another line. I can’t stop it when I’m around you. It’s a compulsion.”

  “How about this one for you?” Vicki said, turning the tables. “Do you have a bandage? ’Cause I just scraped my knees falling for you.”

  “Oh really. Did you fall hard? Any boo-boos you want me to pay special attention to?”

  Hmm. Vicki drew her hand along her left breast. “Here is sore.” Her fingernails grazed the nipple. “And here.” She repeated her caress on the other breast.

  “Well, I’m going to have to check closer for injuries, aren’t I?”

  He sat up so she scooted across his lap. His hands rose and took her tank top up and over her head.

  She felt a rush of air as the air conditioner kicked on above them. Her nipples pebbled in response through the lacy white cups.