by Mia Downing
He embraced her again and made a noise, almost like a sigh, against the top of her head. “You just missed my grandmother and Sarah. Sarah’s taking Nana back to the condo. I have to go to the farmhouse tonight for Sadie. A neighbor fed her.”
“Your sister?”
“Flying out tomorrow, first thing.”
“I can go take care of Sadie, if you want. She can come to my house. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” He drew away and his smile was sad. “Come meet my mother.” He took her hand and drew her behind the curtain. “Mom, this is Megan, the girl I told you about.” He sounded sixteen and his hand gripped hers almost too tightly. She squeezed his hand back, giving him reassurance.
The woman in the bed was frail, her hair the same color as his but peppered with gray. She could see Adam in her thin cheeks, the curve of her jaw. A respirator jutted from her mouth and monitors beeped in their own rhythms, a chorus of life around her still body.
She touched the bed, unsure what to say. “Hi, Mrs. Wentworth. I’m so happy to meet you.”
The monitor beeped and the respirator the woman was on rasped on, helping her to breathe, keeping her alive. She glanced at Adam, unsure what to say, what to do. “Can she hear us?”
“I like to think so.” He touched his mother’s arm, his love for her evident in the stressed lines of his face. “Mom, we’re going down to the cafeteria for a quick cup of coffee. I’m only allowed to be here for a few minutes out of an hour, anyway. We’ll be back.”
Adam took Megan’s hand and they went outside into the hallway, and she tugged him to a stop when the door closed softly behind them. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“She has an infection—thankfully she’s already responding to the antibiotics. She’ll recover.” He glanced away from her, to the nurse’s station. “Rose?”
The younger nurse from before looked up, eager, engaged, and jealousy flooded Megan as the woman stood and leaned over the counter. Even at a time like this, women noticed how incredibly handsome he was. As usual, he was oblivious.
“We’re stepping out. Will you call me if anything changes?”
“Absolutely.”
He turned, taking her elbow, steering her down the hallway. “She gets sick often, but it’s not usually something that sends her to the hospital. She’s here, in ICU, because of the delicacy of her situation.”
“She’ll recover, though?”
“From the infection. Never from the coma. That’s her—that’s my mother.” He pounded his fist against the door as he opened it out into the main hallway. “I love her, but damn it, she doesn’t deserve to be here.”
“She didn’t leave a living will.”
He glanced at her as they moved through the crowd, his face more relieved that she understood. “No, and my grandmother told me she’d use every penny of her money—my inheritance—to sue me if I had her unplugged. No way was I good enough to fight her, she told me. I didn’t give a fuck about the money.”
Of course he didn’t. She tightened her hold on his hand as she fought to keep up with his increasing strides.
“But she wanted her daughter to live, no matter what, and then my sister jumped in, and…” He stopped in a quieter section of the hallway, and it was if he’d removed a mask, the pain naked in his eyes, on his face, his bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. He couldn’t meet her gaze. “She should be with my dad. Please don’t ever do that to me, Megan. Don’t make me live when my soul wants to be somewhere else.”
What did one say to a drowning man? A part of her understood all too well what he was feeling. She’d been there once, many years ago. “I won’t.”
Then the mask returned and the emotions went back into hiding. They went to the cafeteria, and as she poured coffee she thought of the demons he had spoken of. She had seen them, had witnessed how they tortured him. How hard that fight must have been when he had just lost his wife, his father. And now he was reminded of what lengths he had gone to comfort his grandmother, every day.
She didn’t know if she was strong enough for him. God help her, she hoped she was, but they had so much to discuss first. And she doubted he was going to like what she had to say.
****
They returned to a small waiting room outside of the ICU that held only a table and a couple of chairs. Megan had soup, Adam only coffee. He hadn’t wanted the coffee—he felt like he was going to vomit—but he held the cup in his hands, letting the heat ward of the chill in his fingers.
He looked over the table at her, her sweet face, his eyes feeding on what he could see of her body. That she sought him out, here, spoke volumes. Even if it meant nothing to her, it meant the world to introduce her to his mother.
And now he was terrified of what she had to say. He hid everything he felt under his court mask and leaned back into his chair. “Before the elephant in the room tramples us...”
“Are you sure this is the right time?”
“What more can you do to me?”
Megan closed her eyes, her hands wrapped around her own cup of coffee. She drew in a deep breath, moistened her pink lips, and turned to the leather shoulder bag that served as a briefcase. She’d adopted her own court persona, the one that had impressed him so often.
“I had a busy week, thanks to you. And I came to a lot of realizations, thanks to my therapist. I called her to help me work things through.” She placed a stack of materials—books, photos, papers—on the table in front of her. One thing he learned over the years, when opposing counsel dug out a stack like that, it meant he wasn’t going to be happy in any way, shape, or form.
“You said I had to face the demons. Here they are.” She pointed to the stack and then looked up at him. “The only way I’m going to release Mark is to share him with you. I have to tell you what happened, if you’ll listen.”
He looked at the stack and back at her, and she warned, “Remember, we don’t always like the answers we get. You taught me that.”
Adam didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to watch one more human suffer. But he nodded, knowing if she was brave enough, he had to be. For her.
“This is how it started.” She pulled out a yearbook and flipped to marked pages. “This is Justin, my brother.” She pointed to a picture. He was a male version of her, good-looking in a wholesome, innocent way. “This is Mark.”
Adam bristled at that picture. He was blond, rugged, his smile false.
“And this—is me.”
Sweeter, younger, innocence in glasses and a blue blouse under a banner that advertised the debate club. He would have dated that Megan in school.
She closed the book and sat back, staring at her coffee cup. “It started in June. My brother and Mark had a party at the house when my parents were away. I was sixteen, a junior—I skipped a grade—and Mark was my world, only he didn’t know I existed. What girl doesn’t crush on her older brother’s best friend?”
She snuck a glance at him, her smile sad. “Anyway, two beers later and I was in his arms, and he was kissing me. My first real kiss, with tongue, his hands on my breasts. I would have given anything right there for him to take me, and before I knew it, we were in my room, on my bed, another beer in my hand.
“But I didn’t realize what it meant to be taken, you know? I don’t know what I thought would happen, but he ended on top of me, naked, and I didn’t want it anymore.”
She looked at him then, her gaze almost vacant. “It didn’t hurt, not too much, because we’d made out for some time. But I felt dirty, and I screamed at him, hit him. And he told me…” She wiped a tear from her eye. “A skinny hipped thing like me should be happy he took my virginity. Tomorrow at school I’d be the hottest thing, and it was thanks to him.
“And he was right. Every guy wanted to fuck me. Every girl in the junior class hated me. Even my best friend dumped me, she was so jealous. She didn’t believe that I didn’t want it, and he’d raped me. Even Justin didn’t believe me.” She laughed bitterly. “So th
is is what happened next.”
She pulled out the second book from the pile and opened it to a page of headshots. “Pick me out. Don’t cheat.”
He scanned the photos once, twice, then met her gaze with a shrug, any emotion locked away because he didn’t know what to do, other than listen.
Megan tapped a photo at the bottom. “Here.”
Adam sucked in a breath and stared at the transformation, and he felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Innocence turned Goth, her face pale, lips and eyes black. A zillion piercings covered her face, her hair spiked and pink. Eyes vacant.
“It gets worse,” she promised. He wanted her to stop, wanted to shout he was sorry for making her go here. But he didn’t. He sat like stone, trapped, while she leafed through another stack and slapped down another photo.
A mug shot. Her, against the height tape—she was five-nine—holding the card with her name, her eyes foggy in a different way from her yearbook photo.
“Misdemeanor possession. Pot. I was seventeen, so the judge sealed my file at eighteen. I started getting high to escape, and my new friends were happy to have me along.”
She showed him another picture, one of her at a party, laughing, obviously high, but less Goth. This girl made his heart ache.
She leaned forward. “I did it all, Adam. Pot. Coke. Speed. Crack, once. It did its job—it numbed the pain, and somehow I graduated, went to college, passed the first semester.” He met her gaze and she dared him to speak. “How much do you want me now, Adam? How much?”
That wasn’t his Megan, though. That wasn’t who she was. He opened his mouth to tell her that, and she shook her head and found another picture to push to him. The girl was late teens, early twenties, a fake blonde wearing too much makeup.
“This is Kara. She gave me my first orgasm. I told you that I experimented, but I lied. It was more than that. Okay, maybe I refused to remember.”
She spun the photo under her finger. “The therapist reminded me about Kara when I told her how I felt about being submissive with you—I didn’t know what to call her then, but I know what she was, now—she was the female version of you.” She looked up, and he wanted kiss away the pain in her eyes. “What is she called?”
“A Femme Domme.” His voice broke on the last word.
Megan nodded. “I was stoned half the time, and my heart wasn’t in the relationship, and she was a woman. It didn’t feel the same, the submission didn’t feel the same. But it was safe, and I was loved.” Her gaze bore into his, her brow cocked, eyes mocking. “How am I looking, Adam? Still your dream girl? Yes? No? It’s not the end.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“You asked me for this. You told me to set him free.” She found one last set of photos and rolled them in her hands. “I came home for Christmas, late. I went into my room, and suddenly he was there. Mark. They had come home for break, too. I screamed for Justin, but he didn’t hear me.”
She swallowed, hard. “This time it hurt like hell. He hit me, blackened my eyes, broke two ribs. It hurts to breathe remembering that pain, especially after the pleasure under your hands.”
Her trembling fingers went to her throat, pointing to the scar he’d asked about once. “He held a knife to my throat. He raped me on the bed then dragged me to the floor, and when his hand lifted from my mouth after I had bit it, I was able to scream out only once for Justin. He knocked me unconscious, but Justin heard me this time.” She threw the last two pictures at him. “You know the drill from there.”
He didn’t want to look but he did—he’d seen too many shots like this over his years but none were her. Evidence photos. Her face was unrecognizable, swollen, bruised, her body blackened in the next shot, her throat bloody.
The police report followed, thankfully covering her. “I did what they wanted—the hospital, the rape kit, then the police station. Like I said, you know the drill. Then I returned home and slit my wrists.”
She said it so calmly he didn’t catch what she said at first, and a moment later he realized what she had said and fear raced through him. He slapped his hand on the table, startling them both. “Jesus, Megan.”
“Obviously, I lived. I fucked it up. I didn’t have the internet then to teach me the right way. It wasn’t a plea for help, either. I wanted to be dead. I wanted to be gone. I couldn’t take a second more of the pain.” She reached for his hand and touched it with her fingertips. “I understand how you feel, not wanting your soul to be trapped. Because that’s what I felt.”
He closed his eyes on the pain she felt. “And then?”
Her hand left his. “They tossed my ass in the loony bin and loaded me up with really nice, safer drugs, and they began to unravel the knots that bound me. I got clean, took self-defense classes, and went back to school.
“I bought a gun, learned all about using it, practiced, and got the right permits to carry it—don’t ever sneak up on me at night. I’ll kill you and not think twice about it.” She shrugged. “And that’s it. I became a lawyer, wanting to put away the bad guys until I realized I was too damaged to be useful, so I focused on corporate law instead. And then I met you.”
She shuffled the books and papers into a pile and shoved them back into her bag. Then she turned to him and slid her hands wide, open on the table. Palms up. “Those are my demons. Do you understand why I’m not good enough, now?”
So close. Adam swallowed, unable to believe she’d gotten this far and still didn’t get it. She always let him win.
“Bullshit.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “When I see you, I see you for what you are. I love you for who you are. Sweet, beautiful, tortured Megan. That girl,” he pointed to her shoulder bag, “made you who you are today. Without her, you wouldn’t be you.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“Fuck the drugs.” He pounded the table and she jumped. “Fuck the other woman, fuck Mark. God damn, what do I have to do to get through to you? Fuck them all, and tell me you’ll leave them behind.” He jumped to his feet and rounded the table, pulling her up, her chair falling backward. He took her shoulders and shook her once.
“Say it.” He shook her again. “Say it or I’m gone, because I can’t do this. I can’t carry your demons and mine. I’m not strong enough. The rest of mine won’t leave until my mother passes on. Yours can go.”
Megan stared at him, taking in the barely controlled rage, the primal beauty. She should have been afraid, but she realized with a start that she trusted him. He wouldn’t push past that boundary and hurt her.
The other thing she realized was that Adam really didn’t care about her past. She thought he would, would storm out of the room and not look back when he found out what a stoner she’d been, so helpless, so…stupid.
When he’d been a player in her mind, he’d been closer to her lowly status. Now he was too good, too pure, especially after telling her she was his number two, and she expected a holier-than-thou attitude from him. But he’d stayed even though she’d scared the shit out of him—the fear so evident in his face even his mask couldn’t hide it.
And now as she looked at him, felt the tension in his arms, his hands as he held her shoulders at arm’s length, she absorbed the truth. “You don’t care.”
“I don’t care.”
“I did coke, Adam. I was arrested. I attempted suicide. You don’t care?” How could he not?
He closed his eyes. “No. I don’t care. But it kills me to know you do.”
She sagged a little, his hands the only thing keeping her up. Tension fled and she felt deflated, empty. And for the first time, she felt a sense of peace.
He didn’t care.
Finally, she could say it. “I love you.”
His eyes flew open, and he reminded her of a drowning man being shown a life preserver right before he went under one last time. “Say it again,” he commanded, his voice raw, full of hope.
“I love you.”
“Are you sure?” He gestured to t
he hospital. “I come with all of this. This is the worst possible time to fall in love, but I can deal if you can.”
“Yes. I love you.”
“Thank God.” He bent to kiss her then, his mouth possessive, hard. “I’d make love to you, but it’s really not the right time or place.”
“I can wait.”
“How long?”
“As long as you command me to wait.” She slid her hand into his. “I’m yours.”
About the Author
Mia Downing started creating heroes at age four, but her heroes then rode ponies to rescue the princess, and only kissed her on the cheek. Today, Mia's heroes still rescue princesses, but the price of their toys and the expertise of their seduction leads to a lot more than a peck on the cheek.
When Mia isn't busy creating new stories for her readers she fills in as an underwear model for a prestigious lingerie company. She also lives in CT with her family, and enjoys horses and knitting.
Contact Mia at
[email protected]
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To chat with Mia Downing and other Wild Rose Press authors of erotic romance, join us at www.groups.yahoo.com/group/thewilderroses.
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