by Marci Bolden
“Hopefully you didn’t get rid of all my clothes when you moved in.”
“I left a few.”
She hugged him back to her. “You should talk to someone.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She sighed. “Marcus. You’re clearly having a difficult time processing what happened.”
“Yes, but like you, I just need some time to fully recover. Then I’ll be fine.”
“You’ve had five months.” She dragged her hand over his back. “If not a professional, then Jenna—or maybe Paul or Matt. They’ve been here, too.”
“I didn’t want to dump on them. We were all going through so much.”
“Well, maybe now’s the time to do that, hmm?”
Tilting his head back, he kissed her. “Maybe.”
She kissed him again. Then again. The third time, she slid her tongue over his lips, and his nerves jumped to life. It’d been a long time, too damn long, since she’d kissed him like that. His body reacted, came to life, but he pulled back, brushed his nose to hers, and sighed. God, he wanted her, but he didn’t feel like it was appropriate to take her. Not now. Not yet. She was still recovering.
Instead, he hugged her close and rolled them over so they were in the middle of the bed, with him back on his side. Kissing her forehead, he exhaled loudly. “Thank you for listening.”
“Always.”
He pulled her to him and closed his eyes. “Let’s get some sleep, hmm?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Normally, Annie would hate the whole girly day thing, but her first trip to the salon after having her head shaved seemed like a big deal, and she couldn’t quite face it alone. Dianna and Donna were all over it. They helped her pick out a pixie cut with highlights and a few outfits for Kara to alter.
They’d wanted to make a whole day of it and go out for dinner as well, but Annie had other plans. She never had been very domestic, but even she could see that Marcus needed someone to take care of him. He’d been putting up a strong front for far too long. She suspected last night was just the tip of the emotional turmoil he was hiding.
Instead of spending time with Dianna and Donna, she asked them to invite Mallory out so she could have quiet time. Her real motive, however, was to surprise Marcus with dinner. Granted, she wasn’t the most accomplished chef even before the shooting, but standing in the kitchen with chicken burning in one skillet and foamy pasta water boiling over in another pan while sauce splattered in yet another was an all-time low for her culinary attempts. Opening the oven, she pulled burned garlic bread out and tossed the cookie sheet and all into the sink.
Seconds later, the smoke alarm blared, startling her. A wave of panic, not unlike what had rolled through her at the sound of Sean popping the balloon, consumed her. Putting her hands to her ears, she sank to the floor, taking slow breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control.
She should know how to handle this. She should know what to do, but it was all so overwhelming. The smells. The smoke. The shrill beeping assaulting her ears. It was like a whirlwind of colors, making it impossible to know where to look first. Her panic wasn’t easing. Instead, it seemed to be increasing with each deafening blare of the smoke alarm. She sat, hands over ears, trying to focus, trying to remember what to do.
“What the hell is going on?”
Annie looked up from where she was sitting against the cabinet in front of the sink. Marcus was turning off burners and moving pans.
“Watch out,” he called.
She scooted out of the way as he carried the skillet to the sink. Then he had the broom, waving it in front of the smoke alarm. After several seconds, he tossed the broom aside and grabbed a chair. Climbing up, he jerked the alarm free and tore the battery out. Silence filled the room, and Annie suddenly remembered how to breathe.
Hopping off the chair, he squatted in front of her, pulling her hands from her ears. “You okay?”
She bit her lip and inhaled slowly. “I cooked for you.”
He chuckled. “Is that what this is? I thought maybe you were practicing your arson techniques for houses that won’t sell.”
She closed her eyes and laughed. “I could probably get away with that right now. Plead brain damage and constant confusion.”
“Come here.” He pulled her from the floor and into his arms. Holding her, he kissed her head before leaning back. “Sit at the table. Let me open some windows.”
Once the airflow was pushing the smoke outside, he sat next to her at the kitchen table and took her hands. “Where’s Mallory?”
“I sent her to dinner with Donna and Dianna. I told them I wanted to be with you.”
“Honey, I-I don’t think you’re ready to be left on your own yet.”
“I’m not a child, Marcus.”
“I know, but… Want to tell me what happened?”
“I just…” She sat up straight but then sagged again. “I couldn’t remember what to do. I started out okay, but then… I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t remember what I was doing or how to do it, and then the alarm went off and… I froze.” She closed her eyes. “God, I can’t even cook.”
“Well, honey, you never could.”
“Jerk,” she said but couldn’t help smiling. “Not funny.”
“Jenna sent over plenty of food that just needs to be reheated. Why didn’t you make some of that?”
Sitting back in the chair, she pulled her hands from his and twisted them in her lap as she looked at them. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nodded. “I ruined it.”
“No, you didn’t.” He brushed his hand over her hair. “You didn’t. Let’s check.” He pulled her to the sink. “Okay, the chicken and the bread are toast.” He grinned at her. “See what I did there? The bread is toast.”
She rolled her eyes, despite her amused grin. “You should have gone into stand-up.”
“Let’s check the pasta.” He scooped out a few noodles and blew on them before putting them into his mouth. “A little soft but not ruined. The sauce?” He stirred it then licked the spoon. “Tastes like it came straight from a jar. Grab me a strainer.”
She did. He poured the pasta in and then served two plates and covered the overdone noodles in alfredo sauce before carrying them to the table. She sat as he put a bowl of salad in front of her and squirted it with French dressing. He dug into dinner, making a show of how much he was enjoying it. She wasn’t buying his act, though. He was trying too hard.
“You don’t have to eat it.”
“I want to. I like it. I like your hair, too. Very sexy.”
She gave him a weak smile as she touched the short strands at her temple. She still wasn’t used to the cut. “Thanks.”
He stopped before adding more fettuccine to his mouth. “You don’t?”
“I liked it long.”
“Well, if you hadn’t made the doctors remove a chunk of your skull, they wouldn’t have had to shave it.”
“They could have just taken my face off to get the bullet out.”
“I suggested that. Asked if they could get rid of some of those wrinkles while they were at it, but they said it would cost extra.”
She playfully glared at him. “You are so rotten.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. “You love that about me. Thanks for dinner.”
“Sure.”
“I notice you’re not eating.”
She frowned and shrugged. “I really just wanted the bread.”
Marcus laughed. So did Annie.
“I’m such a mess,” she said after a minute.
He nodded. “But a conscious mess. Which is a step in the right direction.”
Picking up her fork, she twisted pasta onto the prongs and managed to get food into her mouth with some effort. For a moment, as she chewed her food and Marcus smiled at her, she almost felt normal.
Which was also a step in the right direction.
Chapter Fourteen
“What are you doing?” Mallory asked cautiously.
Annie hesitated in turning her attention away from the pan on the stove. “Cooking.”
“You’ve been staring at that pan for like three minutes, Mom.”
She sighed. “Well, you missed my attempt at dinner the other night. It was a disaster.”
“Marcus said it wasn’t that bad.”
She frowned and turned her attention back to the chicken in the pan. “I can’t multitask anymore. I completely freaked out. My occupational therapist wants me to try again. But only do one thing at a time. Then two. Then three. And so on. Until I can cook a meal without curling up in a ball and crying like a toddler.”
Mallory stared at her with that damned sorrow filling her eyes. Annie didn’t want to see pity in her daughter’s eyes, so she returned her attention to the pan.
“Mom, I can—”
Annie put up her hand when Mallory started to reach for the pan. “Stop. Mallory, I have to learn how to do this.”
“But I can help.”
“Not always. Not forever. You’re not going to live with me the rest of your life, cooking my dinner and cutting my food. No. I have to learn. You and Marcus. You have to let me learn.”
She lifted her hands in defeat. “Okay.”
Annie gestured to the table. “You can put the plates out. God knows I’ve broken enough of those since I’ve been home.” Turning her attention to the chicken, she poked at a breast with a fork and frowned. “I’m not going to lie. This is a bit like watching paint dry. I used to be all over the place when I was cooking.”
She turned when Mallory didn’t respond. Annie’s heart sagged when she noticed her wiping a tear from her face. She tried to remember what she’d said, tried to pinpoint what she’d done wrong, but she couldn’t recall snapping at Mallory.
Setting her fork down, she moved to the table, her brow creased with concern. “What’d I say?”
Mallory offered her a weak smile. “Nothing.”
“You’re crying.”
“I know. I just… You didn’t do anything. I was thinking. That’s all.”
“About?”
She lowered her face, and her cheeks turned bright red.
“About when I didn’t have to stare at chicken to cook it?”
Mallory’s face scrunched, and she nodded. “I’m sorry. That’s really shitty of me.”
“No, it’s not. I think about it all the time. I used to be able to cut my own food, Mallory. I used to be able to articulate my words. I used to be able to cook a simple pasta dinner without fear of burning down the house. It’s okay to miss those things. I sure as hell do.”
“It’s not right of me to think like that. You’re here, and that’s what matters.”
“For the most part. But it’d be great if I were here and could still do all the things I used to do. It’s okay to miss the old me, honey. I do, too. And I cry for what I’ve lost. So can you.”
“I feel like an ass doing that, Mom.”
“Don’t. But understand that jumping in and rescuing me from every little thing isn’t going to help me. If I’m ever going to be anything like I was before, you have to let me struggle.”
Mallory sniffed as she wiped her cheeks. “Remember when I was dating Tommy Ballard in high school?”
Annie moaned. “I hated that kid.”
“I was convinced that he was the love of my life and we could overcome whatever came our way. No matter how many times you told me I deserved better, I had to learn on my own. When I came home from the prom crying because I caught him kissing another girl and I finally broke up with him, you said the hardest thing you ever had to do was stand back and watch me get hurt.”
Annie nodded.
“I totally get that now. Because I just want to make things right for you. I see you struggling, and I just want to make it better.”
“But you can’t. You can’t protect me from having to relearn basic things any more than I could protect you from getting your heart broken. The only thing you can do is be there for me when I need your support.”
Mallory smiled. “Well, that’s a given.” Her lips fell and her eyes widened. “Oh, no. Your chicken.”
Annie gasped and rushed to the stove. Using the fork, she flipped the meat over and frowned at the black surface. “This time, the burned chicken is on you.”
“I completely take the blame.”
Turning off the burner, Annie moved the skillet and grasped the handle of a saucepan between both palms.
“What now?”
“Now I’m going to fill this with water and watch it until it boils so I can make mashed potatoes. Don’t you dare distract me this time.”
“You just stand there and stare at that pot, Mom. Let me know if you need anything.”
Annie nodded as she set the water on the stove. Taking a breath, she focused all her attention on waiting for it to boil, determined that she wasn’t going to let the boxed potatoes get ruined.
Marcus lifted his gaze from the book he was reading when the bathroom door opened. He’d given up trying to help Annie get ready for bed. It just made her mad, and that wasn’t his intent. She was right; she had to do things on her own, but just like Mallory, he wanted to jump in and help with every little thing. Not because he didn’t think she could handle it but because he could make it easier for her, and at this moment in his life, that seemed to be all he could do.
Even so, he was doing his best to step back and let her do things on her own—even if it did take her twice as long to get ready for bed.
He smiled as she walked to bed in the satin two-piece pajamas that had been altered to make it easier for her to get into.
“You know,” she said, pulling the covers back on her side of the bed, “that isn’t the same look you used to give me in the bedroom.”
“Oh, no?”
She shook her head. “I liked the other look better.”
“What’s wrong with this look?”
“With the thank-God-she’s-still-alive look?” She eased into the bed and leaned against the headboard. “Everybody gives me that look. It’s old, Marcus.”
“Well, we are very thankful that you’re still alive.”
She nodded. “I know. Me too. But it’d be nice if you could get over it and start looking at me like you used to.”
“Just in the bedroom or everywhere?”
She smirked. “Everywhere would be good.”
“You’ve only been out of the hospital for two weeks, Annie. We still need some time to stop being amazed by your incredible awesomeness.”
“Well, that will never happen. But at least Donna and Dianna have stopped crying all the time, and Mallory almost knows how to act around me.”
“And your brothers?”
She laughed softly. “They still hover.”
“And how are you feeling? You made some progress today, I think. Cooking dinner.”
“And with minimal incident. One of these days, I’m going to be able to cook two things at once without being a serious hazard to my own safety.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
She laughed, and his heart swelled with love for her. The sound of her laughter wasn’t quite the same as it used to be, but he still thought it sounded like beautiful music. She tilted her head, and her smile softened. It was her way of letting him know he was staring at her—something that wasn’t new but seemed to hold a different meaning these days.
He used to get caught up in the magic of her, mesmerized by her. Now it was more amazement that she was there. Sitting with him, talking to him, laughing. It was less a feeling of awe at his love for her and more a feeling of awe that he hadn’t lost her. He tended to get lost in those thoughts as easily as she got lost in whatever thoughts made her eyes glaze over.
“Stop,” she said.
“What?”
“You always get tha
t sad look in your eyes whenever we have a moment of normalcy. I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?”
“That you’re lucky I’m still alive.”
He smiled. “I do think that quite a bit.”
Reaching for his hand, she covered it with hers. “I feel like we’ve switched roles.”
“No, you’re still the cranky one.”
She grinned. “You always told me to talk about my feelings, and I always evaded. Now I tell you to talk to me, and you shrug everything off and make a stupid joke. That’s my trick.”
“You taught me well.”
“Marcus.”
Closing his book, he set it aside and lifted his arm, signaling for her to scoot closer. She did, and he cuddled her against him, putting what was now his customary kiss on the top of her head.
“I want to talk,” she said quietly. “A real conversation, Marcus. Not you reassuring me that I’m going to get better and us making lame jokes to skim the surface. Nobody talks to me anymore.”
“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“Us.”
His heart skipped a few beats. “We’re fine, Annie.”
Sitting back, she turned to look up at him. “We were just getting started before this happened. We don’t have years’ worth of foundation to build on, Marcus.”
“Stop right there. We may not have spent the last five years dating, Annie, but we were friends, and I loved you for a hell of a long time before you finally realized I was the best thing that ever happened to you.” He chuckled when she smiled. “I like to believe that you loved me, too. So maybe we weren’t together in the traditional sense, but we do have a foundation. A damned strong one.”
“But we only spent one week of that as a couple.”
“And now we’ve got the rest of our lives.”
She stared at him, as if trying to figure out how to say what was on her mind. “Is this what you want, Marcus? Me? Like this?”
Damn it. He’d known this was coming. Eventually—if not tonight then another night—she was going to try to give him an out, and it pissed him the hell off. “Yes, it is.”