Handle With Care

by Patrice Wilton

  Nodding with approval, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down at the kitchen table to wait for her son and lover to arrive.

  Lover. It gave her tingles thinking about it.

  She didn’t wait long before they burst through the door. “Hi, Mom.” Josh gave her a big hug. “We had the best day ever. The Dodgers killed them. They only got three runs.” He lifted his fingers. “Three.”

  Lauren glanced over his head at Shane. “Sounds like a great day.”

  “Sure was. The Cardinals didn’t know what hit them.” He sniffed the air. “Something sure smells awfully good around here.” He took a step closer to her and pretended to sniff her neck. “Is it you?”

  “You think I smell fishy?” She teased him with a smile.

  “You smell delicious enough to eat,” he whispered in her ear.

  She bumped hips with him, knowing that the island in the kitchen partially hid them from Josh’s view. “I made bouillabaisse. And chicken fingers for Josh.” She stood still, every nerve in her body aware of him, and eager to keep it that way.

  “What’s bullybase?” Josh asked. “It sure is stinky.”

  Shane laughed. “Maybe for you, but it smells finger-lickin’ good to me.” He leaned closer to her. “Did you go to this trouble for me?”

  “No. Well, maybe. I thought it would be different. I don’t get to show off my culinary talents too often.”

  “I saw some talent the other night,” he said with a sexy smile.

  “What are you guys whispering about?” Josh wanted to know.

  “Nothing, honey. Just grown-up things.”

  “What kind of grown-up things?” Josh tossed a ball against the wall, hitting a picture, nearly sending it crashing to the floor.

  “Don’t do that,” she said automatically. “You know you’re not to throw balls in the house.”

  “Why won’t you tell me what you were talking about?”

  Shane glanced at her, and started to answer, but she put a hand up to stop him. “You have private conversations with Shane, and once in a while, I can too.”

  “I don’t like it.” Josh glared at her.

  “That’s too bad,” she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Come on. Take a seat, boys. Dinner is almost ready.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Josh said.

  “That’s because you ate a hot dog and a whole bag of popcorn.” Shane spoke up. “Told you to leave some for me.”

  “What would you boys like to drink?” She turned around to take the chicken fingers and sweet potato fries out of the oven, and Shane was right behind her.

  “Here. Let me do that.” He put his arms around her, took the oven mitt, and pulled the tray out of the oven. Her body was encased in his. Sweet torture.

  The back of her head was against his chest, and she turned to see him. He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and then spun her around. “Josh, your dinner is looking awfully tasty.”

  Shane opened up the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water, handing one to Josh. “Here ya go, pal.”

  Lauren watched him making himself at home. Not intrusive, but comfortable, the way he was with her son.

  She poured herself a little more wine, cut up some French bread for dipping, then ladled out the fish stew in two big serving bowls. The three of them enjoyed every bite of their meal, and then it was bath time and bed for Josh.

  “Do you have to leave right away?” she asked Shane, who’d insisted on doing the dishes.

  “No, get Josh ready for bed, and then I’ll be in to read him a bedtime story.”

  “You will?” Josh cried, smiling ear to ear. “My favorite’s Dr. Seuss.”

  “Mine too.”

  “Which one? I like The Cat in the Hat.”

  “Me too. Now, no more questions. Have your bath and I’ll be in once I get this load of dishes done.” He sighed. “A woman’s work is never done.”

  Josh giggled. “You’re not a woman.”

  “Oh.” He glanced down at himself. “I forgot.”

  Once the bath and bedtime routine was over, they both kissed Josh good night, closed his door behind them, and returned to the family room. Lauren turned on the TV, and Shane sat next to her on the sofa.

  “Thanks for reading him a story. It meant the world to him.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.” He slipped an arm around her, and pulled her close. “I’m about to make out with his mother.”

  She smiled. “You are?”

  “Unless she objects.” He nibbled on her ear.

  Lauren snuggled into him. “No objection from me.”

  He lifted her chin and kissed her lips. The gentle kiss was sweet, tender, and enough to melt the hardest heart. She would have to be very careful around this man. He was so easy to love, and if she didn’t guard against that, she’d be a goner, so hooked on him she’d never be free.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

  “That you’re a really good kisser. But I guess you hear that all the time.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, all the women in my life tell me that. It gets old.”

  “For me too. All the men, I mean.”

  “There better not be any other men.” He kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging in and capturing her own. He nibbled on her lip, and murmured, “I want you all to myself.”

  A thrill rushed over her. This making out business was intoxicating.

  “I’m rather fond of you too.” She pulled his face down to hers, wanting to taste his lips some more. Kissing was all they could do with her son in the house, but she intended to make the most of the moment and refill the empty well inside her. She’d gone far too long without being loved, or being held, and now she had a lot of making up to do.

  His mouth took hers again, hot moist kisses, their tongues circling each other then mating. It made her hungry for more. She grabbed hold of his hair, holding him so she could take his tongue deep in her throat, wanting every inch that she could get. She moaned with pleasure and whispered his name.

  His busy hands were everywhere, on her neck, in her hair, down her back, pulling her shirt out of her jeans. Their bodies fought to get close. They were feeding off each other, two people who’d been alone too long and were hungering for someone’s touch. But of course it was more than that. She could try to simplify it, but she knew they respected and liked each other, and at the moment, they were both very turned on.

  After a long while, he pulled away. “I better go while I can still walk. But I want you so bad it hurts.”

  “Me too. It’s a nice pain, though, isn’t it?”

  He gazed into her eyes, and she saw the simmering passion that lingered there. “Oh, yeah. But I look forward to your coming back to my place and … tutoring me. You can teach me anything you want.”

  She laughed, but it didn’t sound like herself. It was a husky, sexy laugh, one she’d never heard before. Whoever this woman was inside her, she should stick around some more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The next day started with a drug addict who’d overdosed, moved on to a heart attack victim, followed by a motorcycle accident in which the young man sustained head injuries. After each, the nurses squeezed in a few patients who didn’t have life-threatening injuries but still needed treatment in the ER.

  It was all in a day’s work, but by the time Lauren finished her shift, she was wound up tighter than a drum.

  What she needed was a stiff drink, and a stiff …

  Shane. Sex with Shane, kisses with Shane, and to spend some mellow time in the magic of his arms. But it was not meant to be. Julie’s schedule didn’t allow her to work overtime all that week, and Lauren’s second sitter had jobs lined up too.

  She returned home to Josh, who was having a bad week as well.

  “I don’t like Brad anymore. He called me a sissy and told everyone that I’m a crybaby who’s scared of the dark.” Josh kicked a soccer ball around the narrow confines of the family room.

  Lauren
didn’t normally allow him to play with the ball inside, but she held her tongue. “You’re a very brave boy, and he shouldn’t be saying bad things about you. But kids sometimes trash each other and nobody thinks anything of it, right? I’m sure the other kids make fun of him, too.”

  “No. He’s got lots of friends, but now nobody will sit with me at lunch.”

  “Oh, Josh, I’m sorry. That’s awful.” She tugged him onto her lap, kissed the top of his head, and held him tight. She felt his pain as sharply as if it were her own, perhaps more so. She sucked back tears so he wouldn’t see her cry.

  “Would you like me to talk to your teachers about this?”

  “No. They can’t do anything.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Can’t force the other kids to like me.”

  “There must be something I can do to help.” She tilted his face up and wiped away the tears with her thumb. “I’ll think on this and find a solution. I promise.”

  “Why don’t they like me?” he asked in a small, pitiful voice.

  “I have no idea. You’re a great kid. It’s impossible not to like you.”

  “There’s a father/son day coming up soon. Do you think I could take Shane?” His face became animated. “He could tell us war stories and show off his bionic hand. That would be so cool. Maybe then people would like me.”

  “Well, I could certainly ask him.” She kissed his forehead. “I don’t think he’d object.”

  “Could I tell people that he’s going to be my new dad?”

  “No, hon. No.” She drew in a sharp breath. Had she somehow given Josh this impression? Could he see that Shane and she were growing close? Or was it simply that he wanted it so much, he’d leapt to that conclusion?

  She felt a sharp pain, wishing things could be different. “That wouldn’t be true. But you could tell them that he’s a family friend, and that he takes you to ballgames and teaches you to surf. Stuff like that.”

  “Okay. I guess that would be all right.”

  “What would you like to do this Sunday? Maybe all three of us could do something special.”

  “Yeah.” He jumped up, excitement written all over his face. “Could we go surfing again? Please, please, please?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Ask him, Mom. I like the three of us doing things together.”

  “So do I.” Lauren spoke calmly, hiding her concern. Josh was getting very close to Shane, and he had high hopes that they’d become the family he so desperately wanted. She should warn him not to care so deeply or want so much, because his little heart could so easily be broken, but he couldn’t face another disappointment tonight.

  Shane’s shift had just ended when Lauren called later that night. She quickly told him about the boys at school and how Josh sat alone at lunch, without so much as a friend.

  “There’s a father/son day coming up, and he wanted to know if he could take you.” Lauren hurried on, “I know it’s an imposition and puts you on the spot, so we could easily say that you’re busy working or whatever.”

  “No, don’t be silly. I wouldn’t do that to Josh. Tell him I’ll be there, even if I have to miss a class to do it.” Shane knew from experience how cruel kids could be, and he didn’t want Josh to suffer the same fate he had. When he’d been in grade school some of the bullies had decided that he was an easy target. He was a skinny kid without a father, and they’d enjoyed tormenting him on the back of the bus. They’d flick things at his head, kick the back of his seat, and call him insulting names. He didn’t say anything to the driver or to his mom, because if he did, the bullying would only get worse.

  “You’re such a kind man, Shane. How did we get so lucky?”

  He didn’t bother to answer, since he considered himself the lucky one. If they knew what he was capable of, the way he had caved under pressure simply to save his own skin, they wouldn’t think so damn highly of him.

  But he could pretend to be a hero for just a little longer.

  “You know how I feel about Josh. He’s my buddy, and I’d like to horsewhip the kids at school who make fun of him.”

  She sighed. “Why do they do that?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. But nationwide, bullying is getting out of control—between twittering, Facebook, and text messages, the unpopular kids don’t stand a chance.”

  “I had a patient come into the ER recently. He’d been doused with gasoline and set on fire. By his classmates.”

  “Jesus.” He winced. “Were you able to save him?”

  “Yes, but he has burns over fifty percent of his body, and he’ll never be the same. Why do kids torture each other like this? Why don’t they accept that people are different and embrace that? Not everyone can be the same, and how boring it would be if they were.”

  “You’re asking me this? You should see how it was before I got this prosthetic. I had a plastic hand that didn’t look too bad but was pretty much useless. Tried the hook because it was easier to use, and then I refused to wear it because of the way people looked at me. I was in pain, both physical and mental, and that’s when I started drinking hard, left here and went back to Florida. I was bitter and depressed, and just sunk lower and lower into my own private hell.”

  “How long were you homeless?”

  “Eight, nine months.”

  “Why didn’t you seek help?”

  “I didn’t want any. I was in such a bad mental state that all I wanted was to be left alone.” He was ashamed at the memory, but wanted Lauren to understand him better. “Part of the reason I didn’t want you and me to get close was because I still have nightmares. Wake up screaming, flashbacks. On nights like that, I still feel the need for a drink.” He hated telling her this, but if he slipped again, he wanted her prepared.

  “After my escape from that terrorist camp, you’d think I’d be grateful to be home, but instead I didn’t want to live. Not like this, without a hand. With only pain and memories of torture. Choosing a life on the streets was probably my way of trying to kill myself. Lived in the woods, drinking cheap shit. Hoped I wouldn’t wake up.”

  “Oh, Shane.” Her voice conveyed sympathy. “How awful.”

  “Brent’s brother found me, got me cleaned up. Even went into therapy with me.”

  “Why?” she asked with concern. “Was he messed up too?”

  “Most of us coming home from these recent wars have some kind of issues. Jake’s no different. He fought in Iraq and was in a two-truck convoy when the first one hit a land mine and blew up. He had severe burns, but others in his truck didn’t make it out alive. So when he got back, he had depression and nightmares, and other problems, too.”

  “You’ve never told me, how did you come to lose your hand? Was it an accident like Jake’s or did the terrorists do this to you?”

  “Terrorists. We were ambushed in a busy marketplace, and they found me in the back of a Humvee. When they discovered I was a medic they took me to a guerrilla training camp. I was forced to work for the Iraqis, made to patch up their wounded. When I didn’t comply, they chopped off my left hand, leaving my right until I agreed to do what they asked.” The last part was a little white lie, but he didn’t see any need to tell her the entire ugly truth.

  She let out a shaky breath. “Oh, my God. You were lucky they didn’t leave you to bleed to death.”

  “I wouldn’t have been any use to them if I had.”

  “Thank God, you were rescued,” she whispered. “How did that happen?”

  “A team of SEALS crept into the enemy camp and carried me out. Had to be a couple of weeks after I lost my hand, but those first few days I was floating in and out of consciousness a lot. Lost track of time. I remember hearing gunfire, men shouting, a lot of commotion. Found out later that a couple of members of their team got hit. Took a bullet for me.”

  “Die they die in the rescue mission?”

  “No. But they could have.”

  “I can’t believe how much you’ve gone through. And yet, you’re so posi
tive now, and seem at ease with your new hand.”

  “I’m lucky,” he said lightly. “When I was treated at Walter Reed a team of surgeons amputated a portion of my arm so that a prosthesis could be fitted. But the first couple didn’t work out so well, then this new technology was developed. Once I got back here and found the Wounded Warrior program, things started to look up. Guess I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  “They amputated?”

  “Had to clean up the stump. My terrorist friends weren’t very particular when they sawed off my hand.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I know it now, but I didn’t know it then.” He lifted his hand to admire it. “This changed my life. That’s why when kids stare, I try to amuse them, then come up and talk to them. I think it helps to educate kids early on that being different isn’t something to be sneered at.”

  “That’s nice, Shane. Very admirable of you.”

  “Has to be done. In the next few years more and more disabled vets will be coming home. They’ve suffered enough, and it’s time that the general population show them some respect, no matter how they personally feel about the war.”

  “I agree.”

  “Sometimes I worry that even if I ace all the exams and do everything right, I’ll never make it as an intern. People see my disability first and make their own assumptions from that.”

  “I’m sure the professors don’t look at you that way.”

  “I hope you’re right, but lately, I’ve had a foreboding that something bad is going to happen. And with my history of screwing up, perhaps I’m just waiting for that to happen.”

  “Why do you keep insisting that you screw up? I haven’t seen any evidence of that.”

  “Not lately. Hopefully I’ve learned a few lessons.” He swallowed and continued, “But I didn’t take school seriously, and was a bit of a hell-raiser when I was a kid. Got into trouble a lot, gave my parents grief. Then I talked Brent into coming to California with me, when he was supposed to go to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. Don’t think his father ever forgave me for that.”

  “How did you two end up working for Cal Fire?”