To Each Her Own

by Molly Mirren

  “Mmm,” she said with a perfunctory nod.

  “What? You don't think that's what he deserves?”

  Her pale green-gold eyes, framed by dark lashes and soft black eyeliner, met his, and he felt a stir of attraction. Jesus, her eyes were incredible. She didn't wear much makeup that he could tell, aside from the eye makeup, and she didn't need it. Even if she was a freak, she was a beautiful one, and he was a red-blooded American male. A crippled one, yeah, but sure as hell not blind.

  Luckily, she didn’t seem aware of the effect she was having on him. She grimaced in a rueful sort of way. “I actually kind of feel sorry for the guy.”

  Jay raised his brows. “Erin, he was trying to steal your wallet.”

  “I know.”

  “And you feel sorry for him? I would think you'd be pissed.”

  “Oh, I was at first, and I hate that he hit you,” she stressed, “but . . . ”

  “But what?”

  She gave a little shrug and traced the rim of her bottle again. “I just think—I mean, there has to be something that drives someone to do that, you know? Like, maybe his family is poor and his little sister has cancer and he needs the money to take care of her. Or maybe he lost his job, can't find another one, and is having a hard time supporting his three small kids. Or maybe both his parents are in prison, and he was in the foster care system his whole life and never had anyone to teach him right from wrong or show him love.”

  Jay admired her capacity for empathy and compassion, but he was more cynical. “Or maybe he's just an asshole who'd rather steal than work for a living.”

  “Or maybe he's just an asshole,” she conceded. “Just sayin'. There's always two sides to every story.”

  “True.” He watched her take another bite. He noticed with amusement that she was already halfway done. The girl could eat. “So, if there's always two sides to everything, why won't you tell me yours?”

  Her brows knit together, partially visible beneath her dark brown bangs. “What do you mean?”

  Jay was taking a risk here, possibly about to piss her off again, but the more he was around her, the more he wanted to know about her. He couldn't reconcile what he'd seen of her so far with what he'd always assumed about devotees.

  He knew the instant she realized what he referred to because her mouth tightened and she put her burger down. “You never learn, do you?”

  He put his hand over her small one and turned it so he could circle his thumb over her palm. Her skin was so soft it made him ache with something he hadn't felt in a long time. He was compelled to touch her, to soothe her. It was like he didn't have a choice. “Maybe I'm wrong about devs. I don't know. You seem like a decent person, Erin. I have a tendency to make judgments and spout off shit before I know all the facts. It's a bad habit, I know.”

  She stared at their hands as if mesmerized, but the delicate, feminine line of her jaw was rigid.

  “Talk to me, Erin,” he urged. “If we're friends, if we understand each other, it'll make this whole living situation a lot better. I want to get rid of this bad blood between us.”

  She yanked her hand out of his and wrapped it around her beer. Her voice was harsh. “If you want us to be friends, don't ever bring up—” She shook her head. “I don't want to talk about it. Especially with you.”

  “Erin, it's okay. I won't judge you. I—”

  “Don't!” She was adamant, her expression stubbornly closed off. “It's not a part of my life anymore. It never really was.” Her eyes darted away and then back. “So don't bring it up again. Do you hear me?”

  He nodded and knew he shouldn't push her any further, although he thought it was bullshit, what she'd said about the dev stuff. She protested too much and wanted to hide it too much for it not to matter. They ate in an awkward silence until Jay hoped it was safe enough to bring up a new topic. “So, you always lived in San Antonio?”

  She took forever to answer. God, maybe he was back to square one. When she started to speak, he was relieved, even if she sounded brusque. “No,” she said. “Zac and I lived in Dallas until we were sixteen. Our parents died in a car wreck, and we moved in with my grandmother and finished high school here in San Antonio.”

  Jay's heart contracted with an old, familiar ache. He nodded and said, “I lost my mom when I was sixteen, too. Cancer.”

  “That sucks. I'm sorry,” Erin said, softening a little. “At least you still had your dad, though, right?”

  Jay's blood went cold at the mention of his old man. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  She looked guilty. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to downplay your mom's death.”

  “I know. It's okay. It's not that.”

  “You don't get along with your dad?”

  Jay let out a long breath, venting out the bad air that thoughts of his dad always caused. “No. I never really got along with him, even before my mom died. After her death, things got worse.”

  “Did he knock you around?”

  Jay arched his brows. “Jesus. Subtle much?”

  “Sorry.” Her eyes flicked down. “You're right. It's none of my business.”

  He shrugged. “It's the same old story, same old shit, you know? Let's just say my old man wasn't into time-outs or grounding.” Jay took a sip of his beer, letting the grim sarcasm of his remark sit for a moment. “My old man was a definite believer in corporal punishment. And I seemed to piss him off a lot more than my little brother, but Chad got some of it, too. We both escaped in our own way. Chad joined the army, made a career of it. He's currently vacationing in Afghanistan.”

  Erin's brow furrowed. “I hope he's okay.”

  “Trust me. He's fine. Don't feel bad for him.” Jay was proud of his little bro. “He thrives on all that crap, the danger, the harsh living conditions. I don't think he could live as a civilian.”

  “Like that guy in The Hurt Locker?”

  “Yeah. Great movie, by the way.”

  She smiled. “I love that movie.”

  Jay liked that they seemed to appreciate the same movies, that they had something in common. “Chad looks more like Dolph Lundgren, though, than Jeremy Renner.”

  “He's a big guy?”

  Jay nodded. “He's taller than me. I'm six-one—or at least I used to be.” It had been a long time since Jay was able to stand and let anyone measure his height. “Chad's about four inches taller.” Hulking his muscles, he added, “He's burly, too, you know?”

  “Wow.” Erin crumpled up her bright yellow burger wrapper into a ball and sat back in her chair.

  Jay's eyes widened. All her fries were gone, too, and the burger hadn't exactly been on the small side. “I can't believe you fit all that food into that little body of yours.”

  She scoffed like that was nothing, then eyed her empty Shiner with a pointed look and smiled. “I'm still thirsty.”

  Jay shook his head, amused, and pushed away from the table, then rolled into the kitchen to get them both another beer. When he got back to the table, he grabbed one of the longnecks resting on his lap, twisted the cap off, and handed it to Erin before taking his place across from her.

  “So how did you escape?” she asked.

  He twisted the cap off his own longneck. “Escape what?”

  “Your dad.”

  He took a sip. “Oh. I got married. Exchanged one ball and chain for another.”

  She lifted her brows so high they completely disappeared under her bangs. “You were married?”

  “Yeah. High school sweetheart.”

  She snorted, looking doubtful. Jay was surprised. “What?”

  “You don't seem like the type.” she said.

  “What type?”

  “The marrying type or the high-school-sweetheart type.”

  “What? Do I seem gay or something?”

  She laughed. “Uh, hardly. You seem like you'd be more of a player.”

  “Nope,” he said with a definitive shake of his head. “I dated Jennifer all through high school and for two years after
. We got married when we were twenty.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Two years.”

  “What happened?”

  Jay shot her a look. “You're sure nosy all of a sudden. I think I liked you better when you were all aloof and pissy.”

  She smiled, unrepentant, showing her pretty, slightly uneven teeth and her almost-dimples. “You said you wanted to be friends.”

  “Yeah, but I didn't realize that meant a session with Dr. Phil.”

  “It does.” Her eyes were bright with curiosity. “So what happened?”

  He sighed, not exactly wanting to relive it all. It had been a shitty, painful time in his life. But he was actually having a civil conversation with Erin, and he didn't want to do anything to ruin it. “About a year into our marriage, I got hurt. Broke my back in a motorcycle accident.”

  “A motorcycle accident?” she repeated. Jay waited for the usual annoying expression of pity, but to his surprise, Erin sat back in her chair and said, “That's so mundane. I was hoping to hear some good war stories.”

  He smiled. He was glad she wasn't afraid to rib him. The veteran thing—that he must have gotten his injury in a war—was an assumption he had to correct a lot. He almost felt like he needed to apologize for not becoming paralyzed in a nobler way. Erin must have picked up on that from the HEB incident.

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry to disappoint you. I'm not a war hero. Just a dumbass on a Harley.”

  She met his gaze and smiled but looked more serious when she said, “So, your injury was the reason your marriage broke up?”

  “Yeah. Jennifer and me—she divorced me six months after I got out of the hospital, almost a year to the day of my accident.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah. It does.” He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. “Apparently marriage to a paraplegic wasn't what she signed up for.”

  Erin had been fiddling with the label on her beer, but she stopped to look him in the eye. “She should have waited. How could she leave you so soon after you got hurt? You must have been going through hell, and she just abandoned you? She should have given it more time, especially with as much history as you guys had together.”

  “It was hell for her, too. And you can't blame her for not wanting to be shackled to a cripple for the rest of her life.”

  Erin's eyes flashed with anger. “Yeah, I can. Your wife was an idiot, Jay, and so are you for letting her off the hook. What a bitch. I never would have left you!”

  He was taken aback by her vehemence and felt the need to explain. “My injury changed everything about our lives, Erin. Everything.” But even as he said it, he wondered why he was defending his ex-wife. Jay understood why she'd left, but that didn't mean it hadn't hurt him beyond belief.

  Erin glanced down, as if embarrassed. “Right,” she murmured. Grabbing her crutches, she pulled herself into a one-legged stand, avoiding his eyes. “I, um”—she looked around, groping for an excuse—“I'm going to take a bath.”

  Disappointment washed through him. “Erin—”

  “It's, you know, hair-washing night.” She gave him a weak smile.

  Jay wasn't sure why she was leaving, and before he could think of some way to convince her to stay, she crutched out of the room and was gone.

  * * *

  Once safely locked inside the hall bath, Erin pressed her forehead against the door. “Freak,” she whispered.

  “I never would have left you!” Her words echoed in her head, mocking her. Why, damn it, why had she said that?

  Things had gotten way too personal with Jay tonight. She'd let herself feel comfortable with him, had let down her guard, and those embarrassing words had just slipped out. Well, not slipped out—burst out. Her reaction had been completely overboard, and she'd seen the bemusement on his face. It wasn't the response of a normal person.

  His ex, Jennifer, was the normal one. The fact she left Jay after his injury was normal, if not commendable. A lot of marriages ended in divorce after SCI. It was a sad fact.

  His injury would have had a huge impact on their marriage, especially the sex. Erin knew all the implications. What sane woman would want to be shackled, as he'd put it, to a paralyzed guy?

  Only someone flawed like Erin. She would never wish a spinal cord injury or any other kind of disability on anyone—ever—but if Jay had been her husband, she wouldn't have left him or loved him any less because of it.

  Something had changed between them tonight. She'd seen a different side of him, and he wasn't as much of a jerk as she'd thought. It was nice to be around him without constantly feeling tense and hostile, but she needed to keep her distance. Much to her chagrin, she was starting to feel a physical attraction to him, blond hair or no. If she wasn't careful, she could end up liking him in a much deeper way, and that would be a disaster.

  She couldn't be normal around Jay, and to be normal was what Erin wanted more than anything. She wanted her self-respect back. He brought out the part of her she was ashamed of, hated, wanted to destroy. She didn't want to get to know him better, and she sure as hell didn't want him to know her better.

  Solution? Stay away from him as much as possible. It was as simple as that.

  Chapter 8

  “So how's Erin?” Luis asked.

  Jay shrugged, feeling a surge of frustration at the mention of her name. “She's fine, I guess. Don't see much of her.” The Tex-Mex place where they were having lunch had a patio that was popular with locals, and so were its margaritas. It was April Fool's Day, sunny and springlike, and Jay was tempted to have one, but it was too early. He still had a lot of work to do. Plus, he felt weird ordering a margarita. It seemed like a girlie drink, although Luis had warned him that just one from this particular hole in the wall could knock him on his ass.

  Luis, who was about to scoop up a bite of cheese enchilada with a fork held in place by a utensil cuff—an adaptive device that strapped onto his hand so he could eat, since he couldn't use his fingers—arched a dark brow. “You live with the girl. How come you don't see her?”

  “She stays closed up in her room or disappears in the evenings. Sometimes she doesn't get home until late.” He couldn't keep the annoyance from his tone when he added, “She's got avoidance down to a science.”

  He didn't want to think about where she might have been or who she was with those times she came home late. She was a big girl. Jay knew that, but it didn't keep him from wondering—or from feeling something damn near jealousy.

  “I would think that would be a good thing,” said Luis. “I thought you weren't that eager to have a roommate, especially one who's a dev. Now it's like you don't have one. You have the house to yourself.”

  “Yeah.” In truth, that wasn't what Jay wanted at all. The less he saw of Erin, the more he wanted to see her. It didn't help that, although she was more aloof and more guarded than ever since the one night they'd said more than three words to each other, she didn't do anything to discourage him from noticing her body.

  In her defense, he didn't think she was aware of the effect she had on him, but it seemed the girl didn't own anything that wasn't tight in all the right places, especially in the neighborhood of her perfectly rounded tits. Jay would have to be a monk not to notice her on the rare occasions he and Erin were both in the same room together. Her small, slender body made his heart race, made him feel tense and restless, made him want to beg her for just a simple touch. He hadn't been this horny since he was fifteen.

  He told himself it was because she ignored him that he couldn't stop thinking about her—the old grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side syndrome. Although he still wasn't sure where he stood on the whole dev thing, he wondered what sex with her would be like. He'd been scornful at the time, but now he felt a stab of envy that Luis had been with her.

  Jay figured just about anything would be better than the times he and Jennifer had tried to make love after his injury. He would never forget the look of pity and
revulsion on his ex-wife's face.

  He'd had other sexual partners since then, but no one he cared about, and those encounters had left a lot to be desired. He knew he could please a woman, but he didn't get much out of it in return, and there was the usual awkwardness that went with it, since the women he'd been with weren't used to his disability and the effects of it. Was there some kind of secret devs knew that could make him feel sexual pleasure again? Were they more open to experimenting, less inhibited?

  He told himself that would be a good thing—a really, really good thing—but he didn’t see how a woman could possibly be attracted to his paralyzed body, one half strong and healthy, the other half atrophied and useless. There was something inherently wrong with getting turned on by that, and he was having a hard time getting past it. He'd always thought he would find someone who was attracted to him despite his disability, not because of it.

  Still, Erin aroused his curiosity. Unfortunately, because of the troublesome talent he seemed to have developed for offending her, she had no interest in him whatsoever. When they were forced to speak to one another, she was polite but distant. He couldn't get past her defenses, couldn't get more than a brief comment from her, usually about paying bills or other household matters.

  “You don't agree?” asked Luis.

  Jay, still absorbed in his thoughts, was lost. “Agree on what?”

  “That it's like you don't even have a roommate,” Luis repeated. “I would think that's how you'd want it.”

  Jay shrugged and took a bite of his taco.

  Luis regarded him for a moment, the sound of utensils clanking and fajitas sizzling at a table in the background, and his eyes widened. “You like her.”

  Jay chewed and swallowed before looking up. “I don't know if you could call it 'like.' I mean, she's pretty, but . . . ”

  “But she's a dev.”

  Jay didn't respond. Instead he took another bite, uncomfortable with this conversation.

  “She's a good person, Jay, and like you said, she's not bad to look at. You're allowed to change your opinion of her, to admit you were wrong.”