Aaron's Will

by DawnMarie Richards

  “Would I be asking where she was if she was in her room?”

  “The sarcasm is entirely unnecessary.”

  He’d realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere by antagonizing the woman.

  “I apologize. I’m concerned.” He’d taken another deep breath. “Ms. Shore is not in her room. Would you happen to know where she might be?”

  He’d hoped his tone of voice would be interpreted as anxious, not condescending. He was unsure how long he’d be successful at controlling his growing desire to shake Ms. Fisher until Morgan’s location was rattled from her back teeth and out her thin-lipped mouth.

  “First thing this morning, she asked to see her friend. He’s on the same floor, a Mr. Field. I thought she’d…hey!” Without a word, Dylan had spun around and strode off.

  He’d arrived at Philip’s room in time to see the door slowly closing. Quickly, he’d put the toe of his shoe in the opening stopping the door’ progression. Somehow he’d managed to stay in the hall while Morgan emphatically explained how she had failed Philip. If he hadn’t sounded so completely remorseful and utterly demoralized, Dylan didn’t know if he would have been able to accomplish the task. But he was very glad he did because it quickly became obvious Morgan needed to tell Philip what she had been thinking and feeling. And once again she had surprised Dylan by showing strength of will and depth of character rare in a person of her age, a person of any age if he were to be accurate.

  Her shocked expression turned to distress as she recognized him behind the door.

  “It’s all right,” he reassured her as her took her gently by the elbow and guided her down the hall.

  Pausing briefly at the nurses’ station, he tucked her in close to his side.

  “Ms. Fisher, I found her,” he cheerfully announced.

  Ms. Fisher’s sour expression did not sweeten in the least as she tore her gaze from the charts in front of her.

  “Found? Who? Oh!” she finished on seeing them. “Is there something else you need?”

  “Since you asked,” Dylan rejoined. “Is Doctor Stephans in?”

  Ms. Fisher checked the computer screen in front of her, nodding as she navigated the screens.

  “Yes. She’s on rounds right now, but should be finishing up soon.”

  “Could you send her into Miss Shore’s room when she has a moment? We need to speak with her about getting discharged.”

  “Fine,” Ms. Fisher granted.

  He felt Morgan stiffen next to him.

  “You did say you wished you could go home, didn’t you?” he asked innocently.

  “How much did you hear?” she whispered.

  Pointedly ignoring her question, Dylan spoke to the nurse brightly, “Thank you, Ms. Fisher.”

  “Dylan, I…” Morgan began.

  He stopped her with a light kiss, and they walked the last few steps to her room in silence. He helped her back into bed and pulled the covers around her. She leaned back into her pillows, considering him with rounded eyes.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For not being here when you came back.”

  “I was worried,” he allowed.

  “I knew you would be. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

  “I wish you would have waited for me. I would have gone with you.”

  “No you wouldn’t have!” She looked surprised at her blurted denial. “I’m sorry, Dylan. It’s just, you seem to have run out of patience where Philip is concerned.”

  He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck to ease the tension settling there.

  “Look, I’m not going to fight with you. I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive Philip. If he really is an alcoholic, and he does get help, maybe.”

  “He is, and he will.”

  “I know you believe him, sweet, but it’s going to take a little more than blind faith for me.”

  “It’s not ‘blind faith.’ I know he’ll get himself well.”

  “You almost make me believe it too.”

  He leaned forward touching his lips to hers intending to tell her what else she was making him believe in when, after a perfunctory knock, Doctor Stephans strode into the room.

  “How are you, this morning, Miss Shore? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”

  Dylan straightened and extended his hand.

  “Dylan Drumlin. I’m a close friend of Miss Shore’s.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Doctor Stephans pulled a pair of exam gloves out of a box mounted on the wall near the door. “You’ll have to excuse us for a moment. I need to see how my patient is today.”

  “Of course.” He moved toward the door.

  “No,” Morgan demanded from the bed. “I want him to stay in the room.”

  “Very well,” the doctor assented easily, pulling the privacy curtain around the bed with a practiced flip of her wrist.

  Dylan crossed his arms over his chest and propped his shoulder against the wall. He didn’t even try not to overhear. Apparently, eavesdropping was becoming his thing.

  “How are you feeling?” Doctor Stephans began.

  “I feel fine.”

  “Can you sit up, please?” Dylan heard the rustle of the covers and the creak of the bed as Morgan moved. “Not sore?”

  “Well, a little. My back.”

  “Let’s see.” Dylan closed his eyes against imagining what the doctor saw when she opened the back of Morgan’s johnnie. ”Yes, I can well imagine you might be feeling some discomfort. These types of injuries tend to look and feel worse before getting better. You should be prepared.”

  “I understand.” Morgan sighed loudly. “Doctor Stephans, I’d really like to go home today.”

  It was the doctor’s turn to sigh.

  “Miss Shore, you’ve been through a traumatic experience. Two nights are standard in these cases. I’d really prefer you stay for observation.”

  Silence. Then he heard the crinkle of the plastic lined bedding. He assumed Morgan had laid back in defeat.

  He pushed himself away from the wall, taking two steps forward before asking in a steady voice, “Are you concerned for her physically or psychologically?”

  “Both,” Doctor Stephans explained as she pushed back the curtain. “Although her physical injuries are not severe, Ms. Shore should be monitored. There’s always the possibility there could be complications, but frankly, I’m more concerned she may have a delayed reaction to the emotional trauma…”

  “I assure you…” Dylan looked over at Morgan taking in her defeated posture and pouting mouth. “She will be monitored. She lives with an older couple and I doubt your nursing staff could keep a better eye on her. And I personally guarantee she will be brought back here whether she likes it or not if there is the slightest change in her condition.”

  “Mr. Drumlin, my professional opinion is Ms. Shore should spend one more night here, but there really isn’t anything I can do to keep her here if she insists.”

  “Morgan? Do you insist?” Dylan prompted.

  “Yes.”

  She’d answered confidently, but Dylan saw the pallor beneath her skin and hoped he was doing the right thing giving in to her.

  Dr. Stephans delivered a clipped tutorial on a multitude of warning signs and a prescription for pain medication. Dylan had brought it down to the hospital pharmacy before running out to find some clothes for Morgan to wear home. Less than three hours later, Dylan eased a sweat-suited and ponytailed Morgan into the front seat of his Jaguar. He fussed over her for several minutes, fastening her seatbelt and tucking a throw blanket around her legs. Satisfied, he brushed his lips over hers before carefully pushing her door closed. Then he jogged around the hood and got in beside her.

  “You okay?” he asked impulsively as he started the engine.

  “Mmm.” She kept her face forward, but he could see her lips were pressed tight and her shoulders were high with tension.

  “Sweet,” he inquired softly, plac
ing the crook of his pointer finger beneath her chin and urging her to face him. “I know you want to go home. But I think the doctor might be right. Maybe you should stay one more night.”

  It took some time before she answered.

  “No.” She let out on a breath. “Really, I’m fine. But do you think you could do me a favor and make sure the next vehicle you buy has a backseat?” She offered him a lopsided smile which failed to mask her strain. “I mean, really, if you’re going to rescue broken damsels in distress, you need a bigger car.”

  He laughed, but there was no humor in it. There was nothing funny about her pain. He considered insisting she stay another night, maybe two. But when he saw her trusting look he knew he would be driving Ms. Shore home.

  “This car does have its advantages…” He took his hand from her face to put the car into gear and pull away from the curb.

  “Such as?”

  “What it lacks in roominess…” He accelerated, shifting in quick succession. “It makes up for in speed.”

  “True,” she permitted before turning away from him to look out the side window.

  “I’ll have you home and in your own bed before you know it.” He cupped her knee, briefly, through the blanket over her lap.

  “Oh, I thought you understood. I want to be in your bed.”

  He glanced at her anxiously, trying not to be alarmed by her sleepy words.

  “Morgan? What did you say?” He switched his gaze from the road to her and back again.

  “Dylan.” His name on her lips brought a rush of heat to his groin. “I want to go home with you.”

  “That might be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  “Maybe,” she agreed, plainly. “But it’s what I want. Please.”

  It was the “please” at the end. He couldn’t refuse her.

  “All right, sweet. You’re coming home with me.”

  He felt her relax beside him. He glanced at her noting she had closed her eyes, a contented smile on her lips. Tearing his gaze from her sleeping face, he returned his attention to the road ahead.

  Chapter 14

  Morgan woke to find herself gently cradled in Dylan’s arms. He was studying her so intently it took him several seconds to realize she was awake. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but instead pressed his lips together in a grim line.

  “Dylan? What is it?”

  “The light.” He glanced up at the wall sconce over their heads. “I didn’t really see, in the hospital.”

  She brought her hands to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I must look awful.”

  “No! God, no. I didn’t mean…it’s not looking at you. It’s you’re hurt and I should have…I didn’t…damn it!”

  He stalked down the hall prompting her to link her fingers behind his neck. Shouldering open a half-closed door, he carried her through. Rustic reds, creamy beiges and an impressively large four poster bed blurred in and out of view before she was lowered onto a smooth, cool surface.

  Reaching to the side, he flipped on the lights.

  “Have you seen what he did to you?”

  “Dylan…”

  “Before you start making excuses for him again, look!” Gently, he took her hands away from her face and angled her toward the mirror.

  The last time she had inspected her injuries had been less than twelve hours ago. The angry tangle of colors on the side of her face where Philip had hit her had intensified. Some blood vessels in that eye had burst resulting in three brilliant red pools around her iris. And her lower lip had swollen and split like an overripe melon. She’d iced it frequently taking down most of the swelling, but it was still an angry red.

  “Dr. Stephans said it would look worse before it got better,” she reminded him.

  “Since I can’t imagine a more impressive display, let’s hope this is the worst.” He unzipped her sweatshirt and angled it off her shoulders to expose her upper back.

  Her skin was riddled with raw, gouging scrapes. It looked like what it was, the result of being dragged over broken glass. The damage continued out of view, she knew, feeling the stinging proof of it sitting there on the unyielding granite.

  She sought his gaze in the mirror. When he looked up at her, his pain was plain to see. She turned to him and put her palm to his cheek.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Placing his fists on either side of her hips, he leaned in close.

  “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry to me. You might think you failed Philip, but I won’t let you think you’ve done anything wrong here, with us. This has all been me. Do you understand?”

  “I…I don’t know…”

  He cut her off with a tender kiss which stole her breath as well as her words.

  “I do. I know. What’s happened between us, or not happened, it’s all on me. I began failing you six years ago. Since then, every time I refused to see you, every time I didn’t tell you how I was feeling, every time I didn’t kiss you when I had the opportunity, every time I failed you.” He straightened her top over her shoulders and drew the zipper back up under her chin then took her face between his hands. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, all of it. If you’ll let me.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes,” she whispered overcome by his unexpected outpouring.

  And then he was kissing her, his lips brushing over hers in exquisite caresses. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close for more.

  He laughed quietly and straightened. “The rest of my life, sweet. I promise. Right now, though, I thought you might like a bath.”

  Without waiting for her response, he turned away and Morgan heard the whine of metal on metal and the rush of running water.

  After placing his fingers beneath the spigot and adjusting the faucets, Dylan moved aside, allowing Morgan to see the decadent, burnished copper slipper tub unconventionally positioned in the center of the room. Following its graceful curving lines, her gaze was drawn to the two merging walls of exposed brick which acted as the only hard boundaries for a shower otherwise brazenly delineated merely by its raised-edge, rectangular, black-granite shower pan and oversized rain-shower head. Morgan could easily imagine herself luxuriating in the bath, an unobstructed view of Dylan in the shower, soap bubbles cascading down his body as he washed beneath the spray. The vivid image quickened her breath and brought heat to her cheeks.

  She turned to him fitfully, hoping he hadn’t seen. Fortunately, he was searching the interior of one of the tall cherry cabinets lining the far wall. She let herself be mesmerized by the economic movements of his athletic body. She would never tire of the sight of him.

  With a start, she realized he was facing her now, his hands full of items he’d gathered from the closet.

  “Is the water ready?” she squeaked before looking down self-consciously.

  “I’ll check,” he answered easily nearly successful in hiding his amusement at having caught her staring.

  The silence was jarring when he turned off the taps. The muffled drop of towels was followed by the gentle thuds of one…two…three bottles being placed on a table top. Morgan held her breath at the approaching clip of Dylan’s steps on the hardwood floor. When she saw the tips of his shoes she exhaled slowly, lifting her head to look up at him.

  “The water’s perfect,” he informed her softly.

  She heard the metallic sound of her zipper being undone then felt his hands at her shoulders.

  “Wait,” she insisted nervously putting her hands up to halt him in mid-motion. “I can do it.”

  “I know,” he agreed. “But let me.”

  She looked at him, then, and the pleading vulnerability she saw left her speechless. She lowered her hands and nodded her assent. Without breaking eye contact, he undressed her and caught her up in his arms once more. He carried her to the bath and lowered her into the soothingly warm water.

  He’d added something that turned the water a milky white, giving her a measure of privacy. It also smelled heavenly
. Inhaling appreciatively, Morgan closed her eyes and slid lower. She felt like a storybook princess. It didn’t matter if her journey had been more of a fractured fairy tale. Her prince had brought her home.

  “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes.”

  Opening her eyes, she watched idly as Dylan pushed the sleeves of his lightweight, baby blue sweater up to his biceps and got down on his knees beside her. He took a face cloth off the pile of towels he’d placed on the small table located near her head. He wet it in the space between the tub wall and the indentation of her waist then poured some body wash over it. He rubbed the material between his hands until he’d produced a lush lather. Then he reached beneath the water. Morgan jumped when she felt his fingers encircling her wrist.

  “Relax.”

  Lifting her arm, he tenderly passed the face cloth over her skin from fingertips to shoulder. When he reached across her body to repeat the process with her other arm, he started to talk.

  “There are so many things I want to tell you. Things about who I am and why. Things I want to do with you and,” his voice became seductively low, “do to you.”

  She wriggled against the tub’s metal bottom unable to tear her eyes away from his lips as he spoke.

  “So many things,” he confessed. “But none of them seem as important now as telling you this…” Time stood still for one, two, three heartbeats and Morgan brought her gaze to his. “I love you.”

  She could only stare at him. Although she’d seen him say the words, had heard them with her own ears, it didn’t seem real. He smiled at her then dipped his head to return to bathing her as if nothing more needed to be said.

  He was unerringly gentle and unnervingly thorough. The coarse stroke of the face cloth alternated with the sensuous slip of his bare hands. By the time he had her sit up and hug her knees to her chest, every inch of her was thrumming from his touch.

  And her mind was still spinning from what he’d said. She realized he hadn’t spoken since and a spore of anxiety took hold. Why hadn’t she said it right back to him? She’d wanted to say those words to him for so long. And when he finally, miraculously, said them to her she became mute. Opening her mouth, she looked over her shoulder. Dylan was intent on setting the water temperature of the hand-held shower and didn’t notice her stare. Facing front, she rested her head on her knees. He reached over her and she breathed in the male scent of him. His hand went into the water between her feet and came up with the tub’s stopper.