Imperfect

by Cherry Shephard

  “It’s okay to want a beer,” I say. “You’ve depended on it for so long that it’s only natural.”

  He nods. “I do want a beer,” he admits with a rueful smile. “More than you know. But,” he continues, taking my hand once more, “I want to see this through more than anything.”

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Great,” I say, swallowing a mouthful of my drink. “So, Stone, tell me all about you.”

  He laughs. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.” I grin. “I want to know all there is about Staff Sergeant Ethan Stone. Tell me about your time in the war.”

  I regret my words almost immediately as a dark shadow crosses his features and the smile drops from his face. He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Come on,” I cajole. “Sometimes, it’s good to let it out. I know how long you’ve held onto it, and I’ve witnessed your nightmares first-hand. Why, I’ll bet that—”

  “That’s enough,” he says loudly, slamming his fist down on the table, making me jump. Several customers nearby look at us a little curiously.

  “Stone,” I say in a low voice. “Was that really necessary?”

  He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Look, can we just forget about it and have a nice dinner?”

  “Fine,” I snap, looking away as I pick up my glass.

  “Fine,” he repeats quietly, pouring another glass of water for himself.

  The waiter brings us our meals and we eat in uncomfortable silence. I glance up at him more than once, and his face is carefully stoic.

  After dinner, I order two large mugs of coffee and slices of rich chocolate cake. Stone politely declines his cake and I shrug, digging into his share as well as my own. I’m just swallowing the last mouthful when I hear a voice behind me.

  “Shannon?” a woman calls.

  I close my eyes and groan, the chocolate cake suddenly feeling very dry in my mouth. “Hi, Effie,” I say as politely as I can when she stops next to our table.

  “Miss Harper,” Harold Kensington says. “A pleasure, as always. You disappeared so quickly tonight that I’m afraid we weren’t able to continue our little discussion about Saddles.”

  I cast a glance over at Stone, who’s staring at me curiously. What’s going through his mind right now? I clear my throat and dab the crumbs away from my mouth with a white napkin. “Yes.” I smile up at Kensington. “I apologize for that, but I wasn’t feeling very well.”

  “I trust you’re feeling better,” Harold says magnanimously, indicating the crutches propped against the wall beside us.

  “Yes,” I confirm, nodding. “The bandage will come off in just a couple of weeks.”

  “Wonderful,” Effie exclaims, her large smile both fake and annoying. “And Ethan,” she continues. “You look absolutely smashing in your suit. Harold, dear, doesn’t he look lovely?”

  “Quite so,” Harold agrees, barely giving Stone more than a passing glance before turning his attention back to me. “I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer.”

  “I’m afraid not,” I reply slowly, picking up my glass and swallowing a mouthful. “Saddles is not for sale.”

  “Well then,” he says, shaking his head. “I hope you’re able to come up with the money your daddy owes me in the next two weeks.”

  I gape at him, but Stone speaks before I do. “How much does her father owe you?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Two hundred thousand dollars,” Effie says, looking at him pointedly. “Plus interest.”

  “And what if she doesn’t come up with the money?” Stone asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

  “Oh, let’s not talk about such things,” Harold dismisses, offering his arm to Effie who clutches it with obvious delight. “I’ll leave you two alone to your dinner.”

  I slump in my chair as they walk away to their own table. How the hell am I meant to come up with two hundred thousand dollars in the next two weeks?

  Stone signals the waiter, who hurries over. “Could I get a glass of white wine?” he asks. My head shoots up and I pierce him with a narrow gaze.

  “I thought you agreed not to drink.”

  “It’s for you,” he says gently. “You look like you could use it.”

  “I . . . oh,” I stammer, feeling myself flush. I don’t really know what to say, so I sit in silence until the waiter brings my drink, which I gulp halfway down greedily.

  “Better?” Stone asks quietly when I put the glass down.

  I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good,” he says, looking at me thoughtfully.

  He stares at me for so long I start to shift uncomfortably. “What?” I finally ask.

  “You wouldn’t accept the money from me, would you?” he asks. It’s a rhetorical question.

  “Of course not,” I respond proudly. “I work hard for my money, as did my—”

  “As did your father,” Stone cuts in, holding up his hand. “I know.”

  He continues to stare at me. Finally, he nods, as though coming to some sort of a conclusion. “Then there’s only one thing left to do,” he announces.

  “What’s that?” I ask, not really liking the determination I see all over his face.

  Stone offers a slow, lazy smile. I don’t like it one bit. “The way I see it, if you won’t accept the money from me, then I’ll just have to make sure you get the money another way.”

  “And what way is that?”

  He pauses, watching me. It’s like a scene from a play where you just know a big bombshell is about to hit and no one’s life will ever be the same. I’m not disappointed. “There’s only one way you’ll accept my money, and that’s if it’s yours.”

  I give a short bark of laughter. “And how do you expect it to be mine?” I ask. He’s completely lost his mind. What the hell is he talking about?

  “It’s easy,” Stone says, swallowing a mouthful of water and slowly placing the glass back on the table. “We’ll get married.”

  Shannon’s staring at me as though I’ve grown two heads, and I may very well have. This morning I signed the divorce papers. As Grace and I had been separated for so long it was a simple process, and the standard waiting period to re-marry had been waived.

  What the hell am I thinking? I don’t want to get married again. Although, I can’t deny the idea has a certain appeal.

  “You can’t be fucking serious,” Shannon gasps, letting out a short laugh.

  “I am.” I nod, realizing I really am. “Think about it. You need money. If we’re married, my money becomes our money. Your money.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe I am,” I concede. “But can you think of any other ideas?”

  “I can think of ten!”

  “Let’s hear them then.” I sit back and cross my arms, looking at her expectantly.

  She opens her mouth to say something then snaps it shut and looks away.

  “You’ve got nothing,” I say smugly.

  “I’m still thinking,” she retorts, but I can see the defeated slump of her shoulders. I push the half-empty wine glass over to her and she grabs it without looking at me, draining the last of it.

  I discretely signal to the waiter for the check and take my wallet out of my jacket pocket, flicking my credit card onto the table. I focus back on Shannon, who looks much too pale. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly, touching her hand.

  “Don’t touch me,” she snaps, snatching her hand back and grabbing the crutches that still lean against the wall. I try to hide my smile as she struggles to her feet.

  This is no laughing matter. Not really. “Do you need a hand?” I ask, getting to my feet.

  “No, I don’t need a hand,” she replies sarcastically. “I can manage just fine without you.” She stiffly hobbles out of the restaurant.

  I sit there impatiently, drumming my fingers as I wait to get my credit card back. I have to catch up to her; who
knows what she might try to do if I don’t? She’s so stubborn, she’d likely try to hobble home on those damn crutches.

  The waiter finally returns with my card, and I don’t bother taking the time to put it back in my wallet. I shove it in the pocket of my slacks as I race out of the restaurant, dodging the tables full of couples.

  I glance up and down the street, but I needn’t look far. She’s about a hundred yards down the road, her back to me. I cup my hands around my mouth. “Shannon!”

  She glances over her shoulder, but doesn’t stop walking. Passing under a street light, she disappears from view.

  Cursing savagely under my breath, I pull the keys from my pocket and jog to my truck, yanking the door open with one hand as I loosen my red tie with the other.

  Sliding behind the wheel, I turn on the ignition, pulling out of the parking lot. I drive slowly, using the truck’s headlights to look into the darkness. I finally see her up ahead and pull up, rolling slowly along beside her. “Shannon,” I call through the open passenger window. She glances at me but doesn’t say anything. “Damnit,” I curse, putting the brakes on and jumping out. I jog around the side of the truck and stop directly in front of her. “Will you fucking listen to me?”

  “What?” she yells, finally stopping. She shoots me a glare that’s cold enough to freeze Hell over.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks disbelievingly. “What’s wrong?” She’s yelling again.

  “Shh,” I soothe, glancing at passers-by. “Would you keep it down?”

  “Oh, sure.” She laughs, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “I’ll keep it down just as soon as you stop being a jackass.”

  “What?” I ask, genuinely bewildered. I knew she wouldn’t like the suggestion, but this is ridiculous. I gesture to the truck. “Look, can we just go home and talk about this?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Shannon cries. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to get in that car.”

  “Truck,” I correct her, wincing when she shoots another dagger-filled look at me.

  “Really?” she asks sarcastically. “Really? You think this is the perfect time to make jokes?”

  “It wasn’t a joke,” I say a little defensively. A Texan man is allowed to be pedantic about his vehicle of choice.

  “Whatever,” she snaps.

  “Look,” I start, raking a hand over my head. I’m getting frustrated now. Why the hell does she have to be so damn stubborn? “Just get in the damn truck and let me get you indoors. I promise you can yell at me all you want later, but I’m tired.”

  Shannon glances from me to the truck and back again. Finally, she looks away and lets out a loud sigh. “Fine,” she says. “Let’s go.”

  I expect her to yell at me all the way home, but instead I’m met with stony silence. I glance in the rearview mirror at her at least a dozen times. She’s staring out the window, an ugly scowl marring her beautiful features.

  I can’t believe I suggested we get married. Didn’t I learn my lesson the last time I tried settling down? It didn’t work out so well. But the more I think about it, the more the idea begins to appeal to me. Perhaps being married to Shannon Harper wouldn’t be as bad as all that. We clearly have a lot of sexual chemistry, and our opinionated personalities would certainly keep the relationship interesting.

  Relationship? Who am I kidding? If Shannon agrees to this, it’ll be a marriage in name only; she’ll make sure of that. I’ll be nothing more than a means to an end, a way to pay off her father’s debts.

  I’m surprised by the disappointment that floods through me at that realization, but I quickly brush it off. I’m doing this for Shannon, to help her. I need to remember that before I lose more than just my pants.

  By the time we pull up to the house, I’m a nervous wreck. I wasn’t even this nervous when I proposed to Grace fourteen years ago, but suddenly this little spitfire of a woman’s opinion of me is the most important thing in the world. And I feel like I’m fucking everything up.

  I cut the engine and hop out of the truck, walking around to open the back passenger side to help Shannon to her feet. That’s when I realize why she’s been so quiet. She’s sleeping soundly, her head resting against the back seat as small tendrils of golden hair brush her face. I take a second to move the silky strands and, without much thought, I swoop her into my arms, kicking the truck door closed behind me as I walk up to the front door. Shannon stays asleep the entire time, her head lying comfortably against my chest. I try to ignore how right this feels.

  Unlocking the door, I carry her through to the spare bedroom and place her gently down on top of the covers. She shivers a little in her sleep, and I drag a heavy quilt from the wardrobe and lay it across her, tucking her in. More than anything I want to shake her awake, find out what her answer is to my proposal. But she looks so damn peaceful that I can’t bring myself to do it. I stand there watching her sleep for a few minutes.

  Oh, yeah, I could definitely get used to sleeping next to a woman like Shannon.

  I walk back out to the living room and lock the front door, pausing as I move past the kitchen. The sudden urge for a beer overpowers me, forcing me to clench my fists until my nails dig into the soft flesh. I can’t do it. I’ve already come so far.

  Satisfied by that small victory, I enter my bedroom and strip down to my boxers, leaving the suit on the floor as I slide beneath the covers. I’m surprised by how calm I feel. Normally, I’m worried about going to bed, because that’s when the screaming starts. But tonight, knowing she’s right next door gives me an inner strength that’s both encouraging and surprising.

  I don’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand, I’m happy for the distraction she provides.

  On the other . . . I don’t know how I’ll survive if she leaves.

  “What’s wrong, kitten?” Troy sneers. “Are you scared of something?” He sits at the kitchen table, one leg stretched out as he uses a sharp knife to pick the dirt from beneath his nails.

  I’m cowering in a small ball in the corner of the kitchen, holding my cheek where he punched it. I’m sure there’s already a bruise forming. This morning I’d done the unthinkable. I left the house. Without Troy’s permission. It was just a brief walk down the river, but as I’d been lost in my thoughts I’d almost tripped over her foot. It’s the half-naked young woman I’d seen in the apartment a week ago. At first I thought he’d just been screwing her, but then I’d seen him hold out his hand expectantly. I still remember the terrified look in her eyes as she shook her head and held out her empty hands, trying to explain. I shudder as I recall the fist he’d put into her pretty face. She’d been unrecognizable by the time she dragged herself out of the apartment. And now she’s dead. Somehow, I know Troy’s responsible.

  “You know,” he starts casually. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just listen to me and do as you’re told. You know that, right?”

  I’m too scared to say anything, so I just nod in agreement.

  “I mean,” he says, dropping the knife on the table and standing up, pacing back and forth as though deep in thought. “I told you not to ask about her, didn’t I?” It’s a rhetorical question.

  “But you didn’t listen,” he continues. “You asked anyway, even after I told you not to.”

  “Troy, I didn’t mean to. But I saw you arguing, and now she’s dead, and—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Troy screams, his face flooding with fury as he stops pacing and grabs my upper arm, yanking me to my feet. I cry out, but he doesn’t pay any attention.

  “God, you’re such a fucking whiner,” he says, dragging me down the hall, his fingers biting into my skin where he grabs me. “You’ve got an excuse for everything, don’t you?”

  “Troy, please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. How did the man I love turn into such a monster?

  “Shut up,” he growls, turning into our bedroom and tossing me unceremoniously onto the
bed. I scramble up, my eyes wide as I stare at him, terrified. He opens the top drawer of the dresser, and my stomach turns over. I know what’s coming.

  “Strip and lie down on your stomach,” he demands, producing the thick, black leather belt I’ve grown to hate.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. My hands are trembling so badly as I stretch them out to him, begging for mercy.

  He lifts an eyebrow to me. “Did you just say no?” he asks, almost disbelievingly. I swallow hard and shake my head.

  “That’s right,” he says in a low voice as I reluctantly undress and lie on my stomach on the bed. Struggling is seen as rebellion. Rebellion must be punished.

  “You know what happens when you say no, don’t you?” His voice remains calm as he walks toward the bed, pulling his pants down and folding the belt in half. “I’m forced to punish you.” His cock is hard, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The thing that once gave me so much pleasure now scares the fuck out of me.

  The sharp sting of the belt cuts into my bare buttocks, and I cry out as it hits again and again.

  Troy climbs on top of me, grunting as he stabs his cock into my dry pussy. I scream and lift my head off the bed, struggling to escape. “I did it,” he grunts as he pumps his cock into me. “I screwed her just like this, and then I fucking killed her, imagining she was you.” The belt goes around my neck, and I use one hand to try and pull it away as he chokes me.

  Stars dance in front of my eyes, my pussy and ass are on fire, and the man I love, the man I left home for, is the reason for my pain.

  “You make me do it!” He’s screaming as he chokes me. “Why do you make me do this to you? Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

  I can feel myself slipping away. My hand falls from the belt and my eyes roll back in my head.

  He finishes off inside me and drops the belt. Climbing off me, he stands directly in front of me as he pulls his pants back up. “This is your fault,” he says, spitting into my hair before he turns and leaves the room.