To Each Her Own

by Molly Mirren

  “Erin—”

  “Fuck you, Jay.” So much for not being juvenile.

  Steadying her crutches, she found her balance and hobbled around him. When she was almost to the living room, she stopped and, not quite looking at him over her shoulder, said, “I don't give second chances.”

  Chapter 5

  Christ. Could that have gone any worse?

  Jay watched Erin crutch out of the kitchen and gritted his teeth. What was wrong with him? He couldn't say anything right to her. He'd wanted to at least establish a truce between them, but instead he'd threatened her with blackmail, not to mention the asinine assumption he'd made that she'd modified her house for wheelers. Of course it was for her grandmother. He'd stuck a gigantic foot in his mouth and was still choking on it.

  And where had that burst of self-pity come from? He'd broken his back eight years ago. He had his bad days, but he'd long since moved past the grief and anger stages of dealing with his SCI. He'd accepted it, or so he'd thought, and he was embarrassed to have played the cripple card with her, even it had been in the heat of the moment.

  Erin, on the other hand, obviously felt no pity for him. She hated him as much as she would any AB guy who was putting the screws to her. Jay wasn't used to that. Most people gave him a free pass whenever he was a dick, the same way they would treat a small child who didn't know any better, chalking it up to what they figured must be a dismal existence in a wheelchair.

  “Of course he's a jerk sometimes. Wouldn't you be if you were like him?”

  Erin had given him the gift of equality and held him accountable, and he realized, as a small smile played across his face, that he respected her for that.

  A few hours later, Jay found himself outside Erin's door. She hadn't responded to his knock, and he wondered if she was asleep or if she was just not answering. Given their stormy relationship, it probably wasn't smart to go in without her permission. He didn't want to make things worse with her than they already were, but she hated him anyway. What was one more transgression in a list of many?

  She hadn't had a decent meal since Zac left. Jay knew because he'd been keeping track. Other than to take a bath or get coffee, Erin hardly left her room, at least from what Jay had seen when he wasn't at work. He was feeling guilty about everything that had gone down, and he didn't want her to starve to death on top of everything else. So he'd brought a peace offering.

  He knocked one more time. No answer.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered, and let himself quietly into her room. He stopped just inside the doorway and watched her for a moment, trying to see whether she was truly sleeping. She was lying on her side, her back to him, legs bent at the knees and bulky ankle splint propped on a pillow.

  The wooden tray on Jay’s lap held a turkey sandwich, a glass of iced water, and a napkin, and as he wheeled around to her side of the bed, he was careful not to spill any of it. Now face-to-face with her, he saw that she was asleep for real and not playing possum like she did whenever he let Chopper into her room in the mornings. Her dark brown hair was still a mess, but at least her bangs were straight and hid the giant green-gold bruise on her forehead. That thing seemed to get uglier and scarier by the day as it healed.

  She looked almost childlike when she slept, innocent and vulnerable, with long dark lashes fanning over her cheeks and the lips of her expressive mouth parted into a tiny O. Actually, in a quirky sort of way, she was really beautiful.

  She was wearing the same tight pink pajama tank and black cotton drawstring pants she'd had on since yesterday evening, the fabric of one leg bunched up where it met her splint. He could see a small section of her taut stomach just above the top of the pants. It was soft-looking and pale, and it never seemed to be covered, no matter what pajamas she wore. It tantalized him, and for a second he forgot to breathe.

  Her breath was slow and steady, in the rhythm of a deep sleep. He could see her ribs expand and contract with each easy inhale and exhale. The thin cotton of the tank top did nothing to hide the peaks of her nipples; it was clear that she wasn't wearing a bra.

  He was breathing again, but his breath was stilted, kind of like a phone stalker’s, and he felt too warm. He had the urge to do a pressure lift, but the laden tray on his lap kept him from it. What he really wanted was to put a hand on her small rib cage just for the simple pleasure of feeling her breathe. A nice squeeze of one of her round, perky tits would be nice, too. He had to grip his wheels until the tires dug into his palms to keep from doing either one.

  Jesus. He needed to find a woman. It had obviously been too long since he'd had a date, but things hadn't gotten so desperate yet that he was ready to cop a feel from a sleeping dev.

  He cleared his throat, then said gently, “Erin?”

  She wrinkled her nose for a second but didn't wake up.

  “Erin,” he said a little louder, “I need you to wake up.”

  Lashes fluttered, and then her eyelids rose, revealing the startling light hazel of her eyes. With a surly groan, she squinted and said, “Oh, God. It's you. Go away,” and then her eyelids slid down again.

  “You gotta wake up, darlin'.”

  “Go . . . away." This time, she said it slowly and succinctly, like he was a knuckle-dragger.

  In an exaggerated monotone, he said, “I brought you a delicious sandwich.” It was a play on a line from Napoleon Dynamite, but he didn't really expect her to get the reference. He didn't even know why he'd said it.

  He was surprised when her eyes popped open and made contact with his. Her mouth twitched, and a flash of recognition, a fleeting moment of shared humor, passed between the two of them before her face reverted to the usual expression of dislike she reserved for him.

  Still, it was cool she'd gotten the movie reference, and he almost smiled.

  “I'm not hungry,” she said, eyeing the sandwich with disdain.

  Jay liked her voice. It was a mixture of baby doll and smokiness that was enhanced by her sleepiness, and it was sexy as hell.

  She yawned and snuggled into her pillow, closing her eyes again. “I'm going back to sleep.”

  “Sorry, darlin'. You need to eat, and you've got a doctor's appointment soon.”

  Her eyes flipped open. “Don't call me darlin', and how do you know that?”

  “Your brother told me. He asked me to look out for you.”

  She rose up on one elbow. “What?”

  “He asked me to look out for you, and I promised him I would. That's the main reason I decided to work from home today.”

  “I thought you wanted to fix the hinges.”

  “That too.”

  She looked skeptical. “Why would you want to do my brother a favor?”

  “I'm not as heartless as you think, darlin'. Your brother seems like a decent guy. I don't mind helping him out.”

  She searched his face, appearing to mull that over, and added absently, “Stop calling me darlin'.”

  Jay smiled. “Zac made sure I knew you had a follow-up doctor's appointment today at four. I'm your ride.”

  “Uh, no, you're not.”

  “Hate to point it out, dar—Erin, but you don't have a car.”

  She grimaced. Her car had been totaled in the wreck.

  “Face it,” said Jay. “You need me.”

  She snorted. “Hardly. I have friends I can call.”

  “It's kind of short notice,” he countered.

  “If no one can take me, I'll call a taxi.”

  “I'm already here and willing, and I'm free.”

  “I don't care. I'm not riding anywhere with you.”

  Stubborn. No other word for it. Jay rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to get the tension out of his neck. “Do you think we could find something not to argue about?”

  She sat up fully, scooting herself back against the headboard, and gave him a level stare, a challenge. “Doesn't look like it.”

  He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I said. I'
m sorry for . . . ” He searched for the right words.

  Her brows went up, disappearing beneath her bangs, and she picked up where he left off. “Worming, conning, manipulating, lying, inveigling, blackmailing your way into my home?”

  “That's not how I'd put it,” he said, not wanting to admit those words were pretty close to true.

  “Just trying to be helpful."

  “I needed a place to live,” he said with growing irritation. “Your brother needed a renter. Problem solved. It's basic economics.”

  “He had a renter! You didn't fight fair, and you know it!”

  Jay wanted to strangle her. “I offered double the rent! Most people would think that's a good thing!”

  Erin's cheeks were flushed with the heat of anger, her chest heaving. “Yeah. But most people wouldn't be called pervs and bottom-feeders by their prospective roomies, now, would they? How many of those people do you think would want to live with someone who is repulsed by them?”

  Jay was breathing hard too, frustrated because she was right. Their gazes caught and held, and the animosity coming from Erin pierced him. Forcing his voice to sound calmer than he felt, he said, “Help me to understand it, then, the devoteeism. I want to understand it.”

  She stared at him for another moment. “I don't need to justify who or what I am to you. I'm not some zoo animal here for you to study and stare at.”

  “Oh, come on, Erin! I don't think of you as a fucking zoo animal. But how do you expect me to accept what you are if you won't explain it?”

  She glared at him, those amazing eyes of hers bright and intense. “I don't expect you to accept anything. What part of 'Get the fuck out of my house and my life' do you not understand? I don't care if I ever earn your respect, and I don't owe you any explanations. I just want you gone.”

  Jay wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but he couldn't stop. He was consumed with a relentless, driving need to know what made her tick. “Is it a dominant/submissive thing?” he asked.

  She steepled her hands over her mouth and shook her head. “Oh, my God. You are such an asshole.”

  “I think that's been established.”

  “I'm not having this discussion with you.”

  “Are you attracted to me?” Jay looked down at himself. “Are you attracted to my chair? To my paralyzed legs?”

  Tears were gathering in her eyes, and her chin was starting to tremble. He felt like a bastard for pushing her, but he didn't stop. “Do you like it when you see crippled guys like Luis and me struggling with things that able-bodied guys don't think twice about? Do you get pleasure from our pain? Do you get off on our humiliation?”

  “Get out,” she hissed.

  Jay was gripping his wheels, his shoulders tense, his voice deliberate and maybe too harsh, but he didn't hold back. “Goddammit. If I'm wrong, Erin, tell me.”

  She swallowed hard. “Get out,” she repeated.

  “I just want to know . . . ,” he began, almost pleading. “I just want to know what makes you attracted to someone like me.”

  “What, are you afraid of me? You afraid of getting my taint? You want to know how to ward me off, how to protect yourself?”

  Of course that wasn't what he'd meant, but before he could deny it, the full force of her gaze zeroed in on him, and the stark loneliness and despair in it stunned him speechless.

  “Well, rest assured, Jay," she said darkly, "you're safe from me.”

  He closed his eyes, knowing he'd fully fucked up this time. “Erin, I didn't mean—”

  “I'm not attracted to you,” she went on vehemently, talking over him. “And I won't ever be. Ever.”

  Her declaration felt like a blow to the stomach, bothering Jay more than he would've thought. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. It was time to quit before he made things worse.

  Grabbing a wheel with one hand for leverage to maintain his balance, he reached over with his other hand and set the tray of food next to Erin on the bed, even though he knew there was a good chance she would dump it all on his head. Then he looked her in the eye. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry. And I'm not afraid of you. That wasn't what I meant.”

  “Get out.” She didn't acknowledge the tray, just stared at him stonily.

  He nodded and started to wheel toward the door, but halfway there he stopped. "My offer of a ride still stands."

  She scoffed. “Really? I think you can guess my answer to that.”

  Yes, he could. It was a resounding “Fuck off.”

  Chapter 6

  Pride goeth before a fall, and Erin was about to fall hard. It rankled, but she really had no choice. She was in desperate need of a trip to the grocery store, and it was either get Jay to take her or starve. She hobbled on her crutches to the large kitchen window next to the back door, trying to ignore the incessant itching of her broken right ankle, which was now encased in a hard, waterproof, dark blue fiberglass cast.

  She could see Jay in the driveway in front of the old-fashioned detached garage working on his motorcycle, which he'd been doing more often lately since the weather was getting warmer. Winter only lasted about two months in San Antonio, usually January through February, and spring usually came early. It was March now, and some days—like today—got up into the seventies and were gorgeous.

  For four weeks, Erin had been bumming rides or calling taxis when she needed to go somewhere, and it was getting old, not to mention expensive. Angie, the girl she worked with as a waitress at Lars Bar, was willing to help her out, but Angie worked a lot and wasn't always available. Plus, Angie and Erin weren't really that close—not close enough that Erin felt comfortable hitching rides for who knew how long.

  Insurance was covering her totaled car, but the deductible was huge. It would be a while before she could afford to replace it, even after her right ankle healed enough for her to drive.

  So, despite what she'd told Jay, Erin was short on people she could call. With Zac and her other two close friends from the band, Michelle and Norf, all gone on the band's road trip, it looked like Jay was her last resort.

  As he'd made clear every time he'd seen her waiting at the front door, watching for a ride, he was willing to take her wherever she needed to go. She'd always refused him on principle—and because he was a constant reminder she was defective. He made her feel base and dirty in her own skin, which wasn't conducive to achieving the self-respect Erin so desperately craved.

  She tried to avoid him as much as possible, but Jay was kind of hard to ignore. He'd started working at the house more, usually at the kitchen table on his laptop, which Erin figured he did just to annoy her.

  He exuded a charisma and physical arrogance that was distracting, that made any room he was in seem smaller. When he talked to customers on the phone, his rich voice permeated the room and wrapped itself around Erin like a hypnotic male vapor. If he was around, it was impossible to concentrate on whatever she was doing—which, okay, was pretty much just watching TV, but that wasn't the point. He was an intruder.

  An intruder with a car.

  Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Erin steeled herself and crutched out the door. When she made it to Jay, his back was to her, and he was intent on installing some shiny new chrome thing on his Harley. He'd somehow gotten the motorcycle mounted and secured up on an old worktable that rolled so he could reach the bike better and move it back into the garage when he was done.

  Why he was restoring a motorcycle, she had no idea. How would he be able to ride it? She was curious, but she'd never wanted to have an actual conversation with him enough to ask.

  He didn't seem to notice she was standing behind him. He was sitting in his wheelchair, shirtless. His broad shoulders had already soaked in some sun and were turning brown. He had the coloring of someone with Scandinavian ancestry—blue eyes, blond hair, and a natural bronze skin tone that tanned easily—and Erin decided there must be some Viking mixed in with his German blood. Erin, with her fair skin, was the antithesis of that. Thirty minutes in the
sun without protection, and she was a boiled lobster.

  He was wearing the faded black baseball cap with the gold Oakland A's emblem on it Erin had first seen that fateful morning at Luis's apartment. Jay wore it a lot, and, as usual, it was on backward. His long hair brushed his shoulders as he leaned toward his bike, and the ends of it flipped up slightly—but not in a girlie way.

  His appearance and the easy, confident way he moved, especially considering he had paraplegia, didn't fit his nerdy profession. He had a working-class vibe, seemed more blue collar, more rugged. She had visions of IT guys wearing polos, khakis, and loafers, but she rarely saw Jay dressed like that. Then again, most of his work was done over the phone, so he didn't need to dress professionally very often.

  On the nicely defined deltoid muscle of his right shoulder, he had a badass tattoo of an archaic-style compass in black ink. There were no letters designating directions, just the spikes of the compass making what sort of resembled a star.

  Another tattoo on his left shoulder was also done in black ink. It was a word or a name, but the scrolled lettering was so elaborate Erin couldn't make out what it was. The tats seemed to come alive as Jay moved, the sinew of his arm and back muscles rippling under his golden skin.

  Because he was leaning forward a bit, Erin also had a good view of the long, vertical surgical scar that ran about ten inches along his spine. The scar looked silvery and well-healed, and Erin wondered how long ago he'd been injured.

  A pang of empathy tightened her belly. She didn't want to feel compassion for him, but the scar was a reminder of all the pain and heartache he must have been through at some point. No one deserved a spinal cord injury, no matter how much of a scrote they were.

  Erin was pulled out of her musings by Chopper, who'd been lying on his side in the sun but heaved his great body up as soon as he saw her. She leaned down to pet his large, gargoyle-like head, trying not to lose her balance on her crutches. Chopper soaked in her affection like a sponge, and she couldn't help but smile at the dog's sweet, gentle nature, which was so contrary to his ferocious appearance.