You Matter

by Jazzy Mitchell

  Kisses are scattered over her chest and neck as Reggie continues to swipe through her weeping center, and it takes only a moment to realize Reggie has removed the loofah and is using her fingers. Chrissy whimpers. Fingers explore her so carefully, so gently.

  “You feel incredible.” Reggie’s voice is low and shaky. It vibrates through Chrissy deliciously. With obvious reluctance, Reggie removes her fingers and turns Chrissy toward the water to rinse off the soap from her body.

  Once Reggie places more soap on the loofah to clean her own body, Chrissy takes it from her. “Allow me,” she breathes, wanting so badly to touch Reggie, to explore her wet, slippery skin.

  A noise in the back of Reggie’s throat makes Chrissy smile. She runs the loofah over Reggie’s body, starting at her neck and stalling over her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples. She can see how aroused Reggie is, her body flushed. She holds her close as she moves the loofah over Reggie’s shoulders and around to her back. Reggie’s muscles flex, and Chrissy kisses the top of Reggie’s wet tresses.

  After washing Reggie’s torso, Chrissy meets Reggie’s intense stare and lowers her hand to the juncture of her legs. She can’t bend to taste Reggie’s breasts, can’t bend to wash Reggie’s legs, can’t make love to her, but she can easily reach the place where Reggie’s desire flows. Not bothering with any pretense, Chrissy slides her fingers through Reggie’s folds, humming at the viscous fluid coating them. Her shoulder wound twinges when she moves her arm too much, and with a grimace, Chrissy pulls back.

  “To be continued,” she says.

  Reggie smiles, her exhale shaky. She rinses and turns off the water, toweling herself before moving toward Chrissy with another towel. And if her hands stall over certain areas teasingly, Chrissy’s not complaining. She changes the gauze on Chrissy’s wounds before helping her dress in a pair of warm flannel pajamas, a matching set she’s never seen before. “Where’d these come from?”

  “I thought you might like them.” Reggie buttons the top.

  “Thank you.” These little things Reggie does are so thoughtful. She’s never had anyone besides Ben treat her this way, think of her comfort, her happiness.

  “You’re welcome.” Reggie looks at Chrissy with a critical eye, and Chrissy’s eyebrows rise. Before she can ask, Reggie says, “Let me dry your hair.”

  “Um, yeah, okay,” Chrissy stutters. Reggie grabs the blow dryer, a comb, and a brush before leading her to an antique vanity in the bedroom and helping her sit. Chrissy’s getting tired fast, and she leans against the back of the chair with a grateful sigh. The vanity’s dark wood matches the hardwood floor, and the ornate carvings on it are elegant. Chrissy watches the play of emotions cross Reggie’s face as her hands rifle through Chrissy’s wet tresses. She wonders what she’s thinking. Does she regret what we did in the shower?

  As if Chrissy voiced her fears, Reggie’s eyes, light and warm, connect with hers through the mirror, and gentle fingers massage Chrissy’s neck. “That was the best shower I’ve ever experienced in my life,” she says with a smirk. Chrissy grins, relieved.

  It doesn’t take long for Reggie to dry Chrissy’s hair. She spends much more time brushing it to a luscious shine, curls bouncing around Chrissy’s face and on her shoulders. “I’ve never had anyone brush my hair before.” Chrissy’s eyes close while she enjoys the care infused in every stroke.

  “Your hair is lovely. I’ve wanted to run my fingers through it for nearly as long as I’ve known you,” Reggie says, kissing behind Chrissy’s ear. “Let me help you back into bed. You look like you could do with a nap.”

  Without complaint, Chrissy accepts her drink and a pain pill. The shower brought out more of the bruises, and she aches. Not that she could ever regret taking that shower. Touching Reggie was magical.

  Chrissy accepts the kiss Reggie delivers with a happy sigh. Their faces remain close together, eyes locked, and all Chrissy can do is trace every inch of Reggie’s visage with her fingers, eyes, and moments later, lips. “I have a hard time believing that I’m kissing you, that I have the privilege of kissing you.”

  “Anytime you want,” Reggie says, their lips meshing delightfully before she straightens up. “I’ll get an ice pack for you. Get some rest, dear. Believe me…I would join you if I had the time.”

  Chrissy yawns. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.” Long fingers ghost down Chrissy’s arm before grasping Chrissy’s hand and squeezing. “You have bewitched me, Christina Kramer. Now, sleep.”

  “Mm, ’kay,” Chrissy slurs, eyes closing. As she succumbs to sleep, she grins at the thought of dreaming about Reggie.

  Chapter Eleven

  A buzzing fills Chrissy’s ears. As consciousness returns to her, she becomes aware of female voices. Unfamiliar female voices. Remaining still with her eyes closed, Chrissy tries to make sense of what she’s hearing.

  “She’s pretty.”

  “Nice chiseled facial features. Looks like she has muscles, too.”

  “Do you think she’ll sleep all day?”

  “I hope not. I need to know what she can possibly see in Reggie.”

  “Maybe it’s a type of Stockholm’s syndrome.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  Hearing enough, Chrissy opens her eyes. Two women stare at her from the end of the bed. One is a tall, striking woman with short black hair and light eyes, and next to her is a brunette woman with dark eyes. They have the same cheekbones and forehead as Reggie. Where’s Reggie? Or Ben?

  “Ah, you’re awake. We wondered whether you would continue to sleep away the hours.” The taller woman smiles. “I’m Tracy. That’s my sister, Maria. How are you feeling?”

  “Sore. What has Reggie told you?” Every part of Chrissy hurts.

  “You saved our sister’s life. Went above and beyond what an employee normally would do for her boss, I must point out.” Maria smirks.

  “Well, she’s worth saving,” Chrissy mutters. She’s propped up by several pillows and afraid to move. The last thing she wants to do is reveal her discomfort. It’s hard enough overcoming her reservations to allow Reggie and Ben to see her vulnerable. She doesn’t know these people.

  “If you ever tell Reggie this, I’ll deny it with my last breath, but I’m glad you were there to save her. She’s lucky to have you,” Tracy says, all humor gone from her expression.

  “Yeah. That was brave,” Maria adds.

  “Not really. It wasn’t even a choice…more like a necessary action, like breathing. Besides, her life’s much more important than mine.” She watches as they share a look of confusion.

  “Don’t let her hear you say that,” Maria says. “Our sis is totally gaga over you, and she’s not the type who falls in love every other week.”

  Tracy nods. “And she did everything she could for that guy. He’s the one who decided to go psycho. I’d ask you what your intentions are, but throwing yourself in front of a crazy gunman makes it pretty obvious.”

  Chrissy stares at them, her lips quirking. I like them. They have Reggie’s back.

  “I should have known,” Reggie growls from the doorway, marching into the room with a tray of food. Chrissy looks over with relief. The meat smells heavenly. She places it aside and comes over to the bed, leaning down to kiss Chrissy before removing the warm ice pack from her ribs. Chrissy forgets about everything except Reggie as she brushes back Chrissy’s hair with gentle fingers. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. I could use some more pain meds.”

  Reggie places the tray on her lap before handing her a pill and glass of water. Once Chrissy swallows the medication, Reggie places the glass on the bedside table.

  “God, it’s all so sickeningly sweet. The white knight saves the queen. The queen nurses her knight back to health,” Tracy sneers, although her eyes sparkle with mirth.

  “She does look rather at home in Reggie’s bed.” Maria tilts her head while studying Chrissy.

  “Shut it, both of you. Do you nee
d anything else, love?” Chrissy’s brows shoot up with the endearment, and Reggie smirks.

  “N…no. This looks delicious, but why don’t I come downstairs and join everyone?”

  “I’d rather you stay in bed—”

  “I bet you do,” Tracy says, and Reggie turns a nasty glower on her.

  “The doctor wants you to rest the first few days and ice your ribs as often as possible.” Reggie grabs the fresh ice pack from the tray and places it over Chrissy’s ribs. “Please humor me. I know this is boring, but your body needs to recover before you start walking up and down the stairs.”

  With a sigh, Chrissy nods. She looks down at the bounty before her and decides to make the best of her situation. “Ben doing okay?”

  “Yes. He’s downstairs charming Mother, but he’ll be coming up in a few minutes with dessert for both of you.” Reggie grins. “If you want more of anything, send Ben down for it.” Reggie leans in to deliver another kiss. She turns to her sisters. “All out. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to see her in the future.”

  “When you’re better we’re all going out for drinks,” Tracy says.

  “Oh, I can hardly wait.” Maria smirks, one similar to Reggie’s well-loved one.

  Chrissy wonders how much grilling she’ll have to endure. Then again, she’ll be able to ask questions about Reggie, too. She listens to their good-natured bickering fade. “They don’t seem so bad.”

  “Give it more time and you’ll change your mind. Trust me. They’re insufferable.” Reggie rises from the bed, a small smile on her face. “Eat your food so you can get stronger. I have plans for you.” Her face turns sultry. “Big plans.” She walks toward the door, hips swishing in a mesmerizing fashion. When she gets to it, she looks back over her shoulder and winks.

  Smelling spiced meat, Chrissy redirects her attention to the food heaped on her plate. She digs in, appreciating the explosion of flavors each bite produces. The medium-rare beef tenderloin has a tangy, thick sauce on it. Whipped potatoes, fresh bread, and a broccoli dish with pecans and cranberries round it out, and Chrissy wishes she were well enough to show Reggie how appreciative she is of the Christmas meal. She wolfs it down quick enough that it’s empty by the time Ben enters with two plates laden with desserts.

  He hands her one with a lopsided grin and sits on the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better than yesterday.” Chrissy takes a bite of the apple pie and hums. Not that she’ll ever say it, but it may be better than her own recipe. The flaky, buttery crust practically melts in her mouth. Chrissy scoops up a large dollop of whipped cream with the next forkful of pie and looks up to see Ben still grinning. “What?”

  “Nothing. Reggie will be glad you like the pie.”

  “I do. What’s her family like? I met her sisters when I woke up, but Reggie ran them off before I could say much.”

  Ben swipes some whipped cream off Chrissy’s plate. “I was talking with Tracy’s son, Ethan. He’s eleven and plays the violin with the Boston Philharmonic Youth Orchestra. Reggie’s other sister has two daughters. They both dance, I guess.”

  “Anyone else down there?”

  “Well, yeah. Their husbands and Reggie’s mom.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Her mom? Stern. She frowns like she ate something sour. I could tell she was trying to be nice, but she’s not good at it.” He swallows the last of his pie and shrugs. “Really, she looks sad.”

  Chrissy places her empty plate on her lap. “I hear she warmed up to you.”

  “Well, I did get her to laugh.” He puffs out his chest and gives her a cocky smirk.

  “There’s that Kramer charm. Can you hand me my cup?” She sips the water, wondering how long it will take before she can twist to pick up the glass from the bedside table without suffering a sharp pain. “Thanks.” She hands the empty glass to him.

  “Want some more water? Or something else? Do you want your computer?”

  “Water sounds good and yeah. Might as well see what I’ve been sleeping through.”

  “Reggie said the articles on the shooting are examples of shoddy journalism, but some of them aren’t bad. They don’t have interviews with anyone important. I guess Mr. Hawk and the police gave official statements, but no one else.” Ben takes the tray and places it on the dresser before giving her the laptop.

  “That reminds me. I want to find out the names of the five people who were shot.”

  “That’s in the articles. So is your name. Want me to pull them up?”

  “No, I’ve got it.” She boots up the computer after Ben leaves the room, surprised to see so many emails in her personal account. Several are from parents of Ben’s friends and some from his teachers. Although she hasn’t spoken to some of these people before, the school has an updated contact list with parents’ information on it. She types out replies, touched they took the time to reach out. That reminds her that she wants to check her phone, too. She’s sure some answered her texts.

  The next email she opens makes her pause. It’s from a journalist at The Boston Globe. He wants to interview her. Chrissy finds several other emails asking for interviews from radio, television, podcasts, blogs, newspapers, and magazines personalities. Every form of media wants to discuss what happened, and Chrissy’s stomach churns. She’s been a nobody all her life, and now everyone wants to talk to her. She closes her eyes and concentrates on her breathing. She doesn’t want to deal with this, doesn’t want to be interviewed, doesn’t want to talk about Frank Hogan or his dead-eyed stare or his bloodied pants or his goal to kill Reggie. She doesn’t want to talk about what she did or what she felt while she threw herself at him or all the reasons why she isn’t really a hero. She doesn’t want to talk about the pain she’s feeling or the insecurities she battles every day or the reasons why Reggie deserves better than what she can give her.

  “Mom, are you okay?” The worry in Ben’s voice matches the concern in his light eyes, and Chrissy automatically tries to soothe him.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Did one of the articles upset you?” He walks over to deliver the water before sitting down next to her hip.

  “I haven’t even gotten that far. I was reading my emails. Everyone wants an interview, and I just, I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Then don’t. You don’t have to talk to anyone. I mean the police, yeah, but no one else.” He leans in to hug her, and Chrissy breathes in his scent. She smiles when she recognizes the smell as Reggie’s shampoo.

  “I know, but maybe I should grant one interview. Then it’s done. Not TV. I don’t want to be seen like this. Maybe for the newspaper, though. I’ll talk to Reggie about it. I got some messages from some of your friends’ parents. I wrote to let them know I’m okay.”

  “Who?”

  “Leroy, Billy, Eileen, and Ryan. I got some texts, too.” She lifts up the phone to take a look. “Mark and Sammy’s moms asked if I needed anything.” She stops talking when she hears familiar voices. Cocking her head, she recognizes them as Cathy and David right before they saunter into the room.

  “Hey there, hero. How are you feeling?” David smiles, squeezing her blanket-covered foot. Before she can answer, Cathy swoops in to kiss her cheek.

  “I’m sore, but I got to eat some fabulous food.”

  “I bet. We knew better than to try to compete with Reggie’s holiday cooking. I made scones for breakfast instead. Cranberry and orange.”

  “That sounds great. Thanks.” Chrissy takes a good look at the couple. “Those are good-looking sweaters you’re wearing.”

  She hears Ben snicker, and Chrissy bites back her own chuckle. Cathy wears a green sweater with Rudolph on it. Around his antlers are a string of colored lights, and elves hang off him. David wears a cardigan with red and green stripes. Dancing gingerbread men and decorated Christmas trees are slotted between the stripes. They look ridiculous and quirky.

  “Each year we
pick out each other’s Christmas sweater and donate the ones we wore the year before.” David rubs the back of his neck, a chagrined look on his face. “It’s hard for me to give them away. I really like them.”

  “Oh, honey. We want others to enjoy them, too.” Cathy kisses him on the cheek.

  “I’m sure everyone who sees them does,” Reggie says. Chrissy looks over their shoulders to see Reggie leaning against the doorjamb, lips upturned. Although Reggie’s voice reflects sarcasm, Cathy’s face brightens.

  “Of course, they do. They’re so much fun, and that’s what the holidays are all about.”

  “So, any leftovers?” David asks, rubbing his hands together.

  “Yes. Ben, I’m sure you’re ready for another round. Would you mind taking David down to the kitchen?” Reggie asks.

  “Sure. Do you want anything else, Mom?”

  “I’m good.” Chrissy watches Ben lead David out of the room, smiling when Reggie takes his place on the bed. “Is everyone still downstairs?”

  “No. There was a mass exodus once dessert was consumed. Now I can relax.”

  “Was your mother giving you a hard time again?” Cathy asks, her nose crinkling as if she’s smelled something unpleasant.

  Reggie’s lips pucker and her eyes go distant before she shakes her head. “Not so bad this time. I think having Ben and Christina here gave her something else to focus on.” She lays a hand over Chrissy’s and squeezes it, eyes softening when their gazes connect. “Another way you’ve saved me.”

  “Afanc is going to the arraignment tomorrow morning. He’s planning to talk to the DA to see what they need to make sure that guy isn’t released,” Cathy says.

  “Is there a chance he will be?” Chrissy asks.

  She remembers the hatred darkening Hogan’s face, the blood, and she swallows several times. She can’t hear anyone, can’t see anyone, everything fades out except her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She tastes some of the food she ate, burning its way up the back of her throat, and coughs. A sharp pain rips through her, and Chrissy moves her hand to her ribs.