Walk For Me: Club Avalon Book 4

by Kay Elle Parker

  “Ready to go inside, princess?”

  Her insides fluttered whenever he called her that. Stupidly, it made her feel pretty and normal, like she could put on a nice dress and twirl around a dance floor in his arms. Such a ridiculous notion. She could no more twirl than she could stand, and Atticus could never be interested in a girl so broken, she didn’t know where the shattered pieces of herself had gone.

  The man had to be in his forties, for God’s sake. He was in his prime, virile, healthy. Strong enough to lift and carry her effortlessly. What would he want with someone half his age whose spine was broken, whose legs dangled uselessly?

  Nothing. His truck was of more use to a man like him than she would ever be.

  Regardless, that hadn’t stopped her crush from sparking to life the first time she’d seen him, the night he came into her hospital room to see how she was doing after she’d shot her parents and killed them both.

  That crush had grown just a little more every time she’d seen him, slowly building into a fantasy that would never come true. It hurt to acknowledge the truth, especially when those silly dreams had been a godsend, spiriting her away when she was left on her bed in the facility, ignored by the orderlies.

  Hunger hadn’t mattered. She hadn’t counted the number of times she wet herself or soiled the sheets, because in her head, she’d been somewhere where her legs worked, and her body obeyed commands. She’d lost herself in daydreams of being held in those powerful arms, of being cuddled on his lap.

  “Alicia.” The rumbling concern in his voice brought her back to the conversation. “Should I be taking you to the doctor?”

  “No!” The vehemence of her reply shocked them both.

  “Are you sure?”

  She swallowed hard and forced a smile to crack her sore lips. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “Tired, stressed, and hungry,” he corrected, opening his door. His expression resembled that of an unhappy bear as he stepped from the truck and closed the door.

  Well, that went well, she thought, twisting her head to see where he’d gone. Her mouth lost the rest of its moisture as she watched him remove the strap from around her wheelchair and lift it with one freaking hand from the truck bed.

  She was such an idiot, pining after him. Now she was going to be stuck with him, in his house, breathing in his scent, sneaking glances of him as he prowled around in that—

  Alicia’s head snapped around when her door opened, her neck cracking with the sharp movement. Fuck, she hadn’t even heard him come up on her side of the damn truck. Being here with him was going to be the death of her.

  “Steady, princess. It’s just me.”

  Yeah, she knew it was just him. He was just everything.

  Her fingers fumbled with the catch of the seatbelt, releasing herself.

  “Got you.” Atticus was already gathering her up, lifting her out of the truck with those impressive guns he called arms. “If you need any equipment that makes your day easier and gives you some independence, you tell me. Same with food—hell, with anything.”

  Anything was a dangerous word.

  With her sore ass back in the wheelchair, settling into the worn seat, Alicia blinked up at him, lost for words. Asking for something at the facility usually resulted in being laughed at, and an insult or two thrown her way. Asking her parents for the essentials had only brought pain. And Connie…she loved that woman for what she’d done, but Alicia had grown enough over the last few months to realize she’d been in a bad place emotionally, and she’d sucked Connie down with her.

  Asking Connie for anything had been out of the question when she’d already given Alicia everything she could afford to give.

  Changing the subject, she forced herself to look away from beautiful green eyes to the landscape beyond. “Y-you live here?”

  Atticus chuckled and ran his hand over her stubbled head. “Welcome to the kingdom, princess.”

  She’d never been this far outside of Phoenix before, and the view took her breath away. He’d brought her to the mountains above the city, where the desert rocks and wilderness stretched for what seemed like forever until it touched encroaching civilization.

  The sun beat down on the single-story ranch house built to fit into the environment like camouflage. Atticus’s truck was parked up on a small area of smooth asphalt that trailed away back down the mountain, while another narrow black ribbon of road appeared to wind around the back of the house.

  The front of the house looked out over the city, making the most of that incredible view with huge panes of glass stretching the length of the building. They must have been treated with something, because she couldn’t see through them into the interior of Atticus’s home, and the sun didn’t glint off them the way she thought it should.

  “It’s not the biggest,” Atticus told her, “but it suits what I need it for. Most of it has been left for the wildlife and nature to do what they want with it.”

  “Most of it? How much is there?”

  “Fifty acres, give or take a few feet. The land came up for sale in five lots of ten acres, and I decided neighbors weren’t on my priority list, so I snapped up all five. Built this for myself, gave the rest back to nature.” Slowly, he pushed the chair around and headed for the house that almost seemed too small and simplistic for a man like him. “There’s a steep incline around the back. If you like watching birds, we have everything from hummingbirds to vultures out there.”

  Birds? All she knew about birds was that they had feathers, they could fly, and they literally put that power to use by crapping on everything from high places.

  Atticus’s phone rang as they reached the glass door. The wheelchair stopped, and she heard the familiar pop of the aging brake kick in when Atticus stepped on it. Probably didn’t want her rolling off backwards down the mountainside just yet—not until he got tired of her depression and mood swings, anyway.

  When he did, he might give her a helpful shove to see her on her way.

  He glanced at the phone screen as he unlocked the front door, and he shook his head as he answered the call. “Everything okay with Bodie?”

  Alicia shrank back at the mention of her sister. Boadicea was a sore point, she could admit that. She loved her, was glad she’d been reunited with the woman Abraham had told her over and over again hated her. Finding out the exact opposite was true had lifted a lot of weight off Alicia’s shoulders—but the sore point was still there.

  Atticus grunted as he pinned the door open, then paused, obviously listening to whoever was on the other end. Braun, most likely, she thought. Her future brother-in-law, the businessman who owned a sex club, and the man who was responsible for the baby growing inside her sister.

  As she mulled over the prospect of having a niece or nephew, Alicia used the hand pull on the side of the chair to release the brake and gripped the handrims with a weak grasp. It had been three weeks since she’d lost the privilege of using her chair, and she noticed the loss of strength and muscle immediately.

  With effort, she shoved the wheels forward, moving them inch by inch toward the threshold. Her palms felt too sensitive as the rims bit into them, but that would change once she used them more.

  “I didn’t have a choice, Braun. I wasn’t going to leave her there, and my conscience wouldn’t have allowed me to walk away from the other poor bastards trapped in that hell.” Atticus turned and his eyebrows slammed down into a fierce scowl as Alicia rolled toward him.

  He jabbed a finger at her, telling her to wait, but she was too busy enjoying yet another jolt of forgotten freedom as she traveled under her own power. “I’ll call you back, Braun. Let me get her settled in before you send the troops, okay?”

  The wheelchair stopped as he propped his boot under the wheel closest to him. Green eyes bore into hers when she glanced up, torn between annoyance and amusement. “Yeah. Give me an hour and I’ll call you back.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call and pocketed his phone, then fisted his hands
on his hips. “Going somewhere?”

  “I forgot what it’s like to be able to do this.”

  His expression gentled. “How long has it been?”

  “Three weeks. I asked one of the orderlies to take a look at the brakes because they were sticking, and he took away my chair privileges.” She tried to shrug casually.

  “And your hair?” he demanded.

  She didn’t want to talk about her hair. The loss of that had wounded her so badly, her throat closed up tight even talking about the circumstances that led to the orderlies shaving her bald. So she gave another shrug, and looked down at her lap so Atticus wouldn’t see the tears forming.

  It didn’t deter him.

  Crouching in front of her, he laid those big hands on her knees and sighed. “For the rest of today, I’m asking that you let me take care of you, Alicia. Let me push you around, feed you, level the playing field so you don’t trip over a rough patch. Tomorrow, you can do some exploring.”

  She wanted to rest her hands on top of his. Through the dirty cotton of her pants, his touch burned. But the fact she was as dirty as the cotton, that he knew the state of her, dampened any hint of courage she had left. He was just pitying her, she reminded herself sternly, because she looked and smelled like a hairless ragdoll yanked out of a sewerage system.

  It was easier to say yes than it was to delve deeper into feelings she had no control over.

  So she concentrated on his voice as he steered her through his home, starting with the kitchen big enough to cook for a football team or two. Stainless steel appliances, a six-burner stove, expensive-looking pots and pans. Stuff she assumed people who knew what they were doing in the kitchen used.

  From there, they continued down a wide hallway. Two bedrooms were on the left; the master suite with its attached bathroom, and a guest bedroom next to it. Both had glass as the outside wall, with the same view as the kitchen.

  “We can see out,” Atticus explained, “but no one can see in.”

  Atticus’ room was warm, using darker tones on the other three walls to match the massive four poster bed, drawers, and wardrobe. The covers on the bed were an earthy red, like terracotta, which surprised her. She almost expected them to be black.

  Oh, she was aware of where he spent his time, just as she’d known where Connie had gone most nights.

  The guest bedroom was sparser. A double bed—metal framed, not four poster—with plain blue covers. Bedside drawers and a dresser, a smaller wardrobe. Pretty blue carpet instead of the hardwood floor in Atticus’s room.

  It looked as though someone had recently knocked a door through into the bathroom beside it, and when Alicia gauged the width of the doorway, she found it was more than adequate to fit a wheelchair through.

  “This is your room, for as long as you want it. I had a friend come in and make some changes to make the bathroom more accessible for you.” He took her through into the gleaming, white-tiled space, and she almost choked on tears she fought to hold back. “The chairlift will work for either showers or baths, although I’d prefer to be in the vicinity until I know you have the hang of it. The sink should be the right height for you, and I had safety handles installed on either side of the toilet. Tell me if anything doesn’t work for you.”

  Goddamn him, he’d changed his entire bathroom for her, and he wasn’t even preening about it. He wasn’t asking for praise, he was just…being Atticus, the man Connie swore would hang the moon for anyone who needed him to.

  She began to shake.

  Hating the thought of being seen as weak in his eyes—weaker, she corrected, after what he’d already seen today—she blamed it on hunger and stress, tiredness and relief. After all, she had survived what should have killed her, more than once. Her life was a tapestry of scars and pain, experiences no one person should go through in the space of a lifetime.

  Trying to breathe in quietly, she failed. Her breath hitched noisily, constricted by the thick knot of pressure in her throat. Fisting her hands on the armrests, she made a valiant second attempt to bring herself to heel, but Atticus was already on his knees in front of her.

  His six-six frame loomed over her, even with him at a disadvantage.

  “What is it, princess? Is something wrong? I can change it, just say the word.” For the first time, his palm cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that slid past her defenses. He peered at her, tilting her head back so he could see what she was reduced to.

  It was the final straw of the day.

  Alicia broke.

  Sobbing exhales wrenched horrible sounds from her chest, followed by wheezing inhales strong enough to burn her throat. Someone slashed at the ties holding her tears back, and they leaked from her eyes in a deluge that quickly soaked the filthy T-shirt she wore.

  “Was wondering when it would hit you,” Atticus murmured, hauling her out of the chair and into his lap as he sat on the floor. “All right, then, princess, give it all to me.”

  Chapter Two

  The McGee women were made of stronger stuff than he imagined, Atticus thought as he cradled Alicia close. He’d been waiting for her to shatter since the moment in the Handicapable Rehabilitation parking lot, but she’d held on like a fucking champ.

  He hated the fact she weighed nothing, that he barely registered she was on his lap. That would change, rapidly. The Daddy Dom in him was stretching, coming alive again, and already plotting schedules and routines to mend what should never have been broken.

  It was strange not to feel her legs moving, disconcerting even. He didn’t say anything, because it would only knock her confidence further, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. But it hurt to understand that they were essentially deadweight for her, and if it hurt him, what did it do to Alicia on a daily basis?

  “Don’t!” She sobbed harder when he cuddled her tighter, struggling in his arms. “I stink!”

  Disapproval rumbled in his chest. He didn’t care if she smelled like fucking apple pie or a damned decaying corpse—right now, his only goal was comforting her. “Sit still, Lisha. Just sit still and let all this shit out.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head, fury boiling in his blood at the thought of some asshole shearing her down to the skin. “Things are gonna be different here. I won’t give you room to lock yourself away to drown in depression. If this is the road we’re heading down, we’re going hand in hand.”

  Her little hands kept pushing at his chest. Humming under his breath, he stroked up and down her back until the pushing became almost cat-like kneading. The frail body in his arms relaxed, tension seeping out of her a lot slower than the tears soaking her T-shirt.

  “It’s time you understand something, princess. When you need me, I don’t give a fuck if you smell to high heaven. It doesn’t matter if you’re covered in mud and look like the Loch Ness monster. You’re not alone, haven’t been in a long time, but neglect and cruelty has taken its toll on you.” Her spine bumped under his palm as he continued to rub gently. “You have to trust us, Alicia. You have to let us in. Let us love you.”

  “What is there to love?” she whispered.

  He tried—oh, he tried so hard—not to grind his teeth. It wasn’t Lisha’s fault she’d struck one of his pet peeves—she’d been practically beaten into believing she was worth nothing. But she wasn’t his little girl, and he was not her Daddy, so he couldn’t show her exactly what there was to love about her in the way he wanted.

  “So much, princess.” Changing positions, Atticus shifted onto his knees and deposited her back in the chair. “Precious and perfect, every inch.” He rose and, deciding to forgo the rest of the house tour for now, turned to plug the bath and set the water running. “This is your choice, Alicia. In this house, with me, you will always have a choice. I can leave you to get undressed and bathed, or I can help you.”

  Goddamn it, sitting in her wheelchair, looking small and alone, she was a temptation. With a word, she could control him. He had an urge to wrap her up in blankets, ca
rry her through to the rocking chair in the room across the hall, and just rock with her until she fell asleep.

  Tuck her into bed with a teddy bear, climb in behind her, and guard her from the nightmares he had no doubt she suffered through.

  Big blue eyes, swollen and reddened, looked up at him. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, and there was a lone droplet dangling on her chin. She was well and truly exhausted, not even fumes left in her tank. “Help me. Please.”

  The plaintive please made him hard in seconds. Shaking it off, Atticus busied himself with little tasks—pouring bubble bath into the water, retrieving a towel from the cupboard and hanging it on the heating rack, checking the temperature of the water. He made sure there was a clean washcloth and a bottle of orchid-scented shower gel at hand, then turned the taps off when the bath was two-thirds full.

  Rolling up his sleeves to the elbow, he steeled himself for what came next, returning to Alicia as she dozed in the wheelchair. After her bath, he would make sure she was fed, then she was damn well going to take an afternoon nap. “All right, princess, you’ve been in these for far too long. Arms up.”

  She obeyed sleepily, her skinny arms raising as high as she could manage. The T-shirt peeled off easily enough, releasing the unsettling scent of body odor, and Att tossed it aside to dispose of later. All the washing detergent in the county couldn’t save it.

  He had to take a moment to calm himself as he stared at her exposed flesh. Hunger had eaten away at her, leaving pale skin stretched taut over her bones. Her collarbone, the ridges of her upper ribcage, and her ribs were all starkly exhibited. What was left of her breasts wouldn’t begin to fill his palm.

  “Pants next, Lisha. Can you lift yourself up?”

  It pained him to see the weak muscles in her arms tremble as she gripped the armrests and eased herself a couple of inches off the seat. He moved quickly, snagging the baggy waistband of the jogging pants and whisking them down to her knees before her strength petered out and she collapsed back down.