The Broken One

by Cardello, Ruth

  He paused, mid stride. “Is that an imminent possibility?”

  I breathed in his scent and weighed his question. “I don’t think so. It’s been a little while, and as long as I don’t eat anything, I should be fine.”

  “You need to stay hydrated.”

  “Shh,” I said, closing my eyes. “In my fantasy of this moment, you weren’t nagging me.”

  I felt, as well as heard, his chuckle. “Well, when you feel better you can tell me about any and all fantasies you have. I’ll do my best to live up to them. For now, you need to get into dry pajamas, and I’ll get you some ice chips.”

  “Ice chips. Your mother’s advice?”

  “Mothers always know the best cure.”

  My arms tightened around his neck. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember mine.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be; I’m not.” I sighed. “It used to really bother me, but then I decided that I wouldn’t be who I am today if she hadn’t left me. I’m pretty incredible.”

  He gently deposited me on my feet near my bed. “Where do you keep your pajamas?”

  “You’re not dressing me.”

  “My fantasy of how it would be between us isn’t exactly this, either, but how about I put some clothes on your bed, and you just call me if you need me?”

  I sank to a seated position on the edge of the bed. “Top drawer on the left.”

  As he set a fresh pair of my pajamas beside me, I blushed because he’d just gotten an up-close look at exactly how unsexy the rest of my sleepwear was. He paused before turning away, and I was struck again by the beauty of his eyes. So intense. Too bad I’d probably never look into them again. I couldn’t imagine him wanting to come back.

  “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

  I nodded and slumped as soon as I was alone. I hesitated before removing my top. I had a man I didn’t know in my home. He could be dangerous.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror. My hair had dried in all directions but how I would have styled it. Dark circles under my eyes. Pale, like I was as close to death as I felt. God bless any man this turns on. I’m sure I’m safe.

  I stripped, put my fresh pajamas on, and stood.

  Then a thought came to me.

  A slightly wicked, impulsive thought that had me sitting back down on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t every day that I found myself alone with a man who wanted to take care of me. Was there any harm in letting him do it for just a little longer?

  “Sebastian?”

  He opened the door and returned to my side.

  “Could you get me a brush from my bathroom?”

  He was back a moment later, settling himself beside me on the bed. “Turn and I’ll brush your hair.”

  He was so gentle, so careful, I started to wonder if I was actually still asleep on the couch waiting for him to arrive. This wasn’t the man who’d dismissed me so completely the first day. It wasn’t the harsh man who’d interrogated me on how I was caring for my child.

  I made a sound that revealed my pleasure and didn’t even care if he heard. I would use that moment, that feeling of being cared for so tenderly, as a standard for how I wanted to be treated. I didn’t trust easily and always felt bad about asking anyone for anything. I naturally fell into the role of caretaker, but it felt good to not be the strong one.

  When he stopped brushing my hair, I turned around and looked into his eyes. Despite how shitty I felt, there was an intimacy I couldn’t deny. Under any other circumstance, I would have kissed him, and he looked as if he was thinking the same.

  “I should go back to the couch,” I whispered.

  “I’ll carry you there,” he said with enough fire in his eyes that I felt sexy. He lifted me into his arms again. Strong arms. Rock-hard chest. The world would be a much happier place if we all traveled around in this man’s arms.

  I must have been smiling, because he said, “Feeling a little better?”

  I laid my head back on his shoulder without answering. If admitting that I was meant he would put me down, I was prepared to milk my illness for a moment more.

  We were just entering the living room when I heard Erica say, “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I thought you were alone.”

  Sebastian stopped, just holding me in his arms.

  I raised my head. “Erica, you remember Sebastian. He came over to make sure I was okay.”

  She’d pay for that grin later. “As did I, but it looks like you’re in good hands . . . literally.” She winked.

  Sebastian lowered me onto the couch. “Are you the one watching Ava tonight?”

  “I am,” Erica said, looking back and forth between us.

  He walked over and shook her hand. “Sebastian Romano.”

  “Erica Hood. We met the other night. My children nearly mowed you down.”

  “I’m sure I’ll see you and them again.”

  Erica gave me a pleased look. “I’m sure you will. Heather, do you need anything, or are you all set?”

  “I’m good,” I said, shoving my empty barf bowl beneath the end table with my foot.

  “I’m sure you are,” she joked as she walked toward the door. “I’ll drop Ava off at school tomorrow morning. Call me if you need me to pick her up in the afternoon.”

  After she left, Sebastian headed to the kitchen, and I quickly tidied the area around the couch. He returned with a bowl of ice chips. I accepted it and placed it on the table beside me.

  We looked at each other awkwardly for a moment.

  “I’m fine if you want to go,” I said.

  “Do you want me to?” he asked.

  “No,” I admitted huskily.

  He sat in the chair beside the couch. “I enjoy sci-fi movies.”

  “I do too,” I said in all sincerity.

  He picked up the remote for my television and said, “Want to?”

  “Yes.” Yes. Yes. Yes.

  Now that he was there and not glaring at me, there were only about a thousand things I wanted to ask him. Sadly, though, my body had other plans. Five minutes into the movie, and before I had a chance to wow him with my wit, I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  SEBASTIAN

  And she’s out.

  Once again she’d delivered an entirely different experience than I’d imagined, but it was actually refreshing. Heather was real in a way many of the women I’d dated hadn’t been. Was that why it’d been so easy to move on from one to another?

  None of the women I’d spent time with after Therese would have worn matching flannel tops and bottoms. Their drawers were full of slips of lace designed to entice, some bought by me, some bought by the men before me. I felt no guilt when our time together ended—my gifts were likely still being worn by them while they enjoyed their next partner.

  I’d have to be more careful with someone like Heather. Had she been joking about never having showered with a man before? There was very little chance that she was still a virgin, somewhere in her late twenties.

  Thank God.

  I wasn’t looking for that kind of innocence. I didn’t want someone who looked to me to have all the answers or make all the decisions. Been there, done that, and it wasn’t a role I played well. I wanted someone who would challenge me, go toe to toe with me when I was wrong. My parents argued, but they made up and seemed stronger from it.

  My mother was a sweet woman, but she had a temper. I don’t think a man in my family would ever forget the day we’d all been so wrapped up in whatever we were doing that not one of us had called to tell her we’d be late for Sunday dinner.

  When we’d finally gathered, oblivious and hungry, she’d walked out of the kitchen with a full tray of food and dumped it right on the floor of the dining room. She’d said only one word, “Respect,” before she’d walked out of the room.

  My father had sprinted after her.

  Message received.

  The following Sunday had gon
e more smoothly. My family didn’t keep grudges. We said how we felt, yelled it sometimes, but we always came back to each other.

  Heather seemed like a woman who could handle us. Restless, I tapped my hand on the arm of the chair. I hardly knew her. Was there actually a need for me to weigh how well she would or wouldn’t fit in with my family?

  I stood and retrieved a blanket from her bed, laying it over her as she slept. Even sick as she was, there was something about her I couldn’t resist. I didn’t belong there—but taking care of her felt right.

  For just a moment, after I’d brushed her hair, I’d forgotten how sick she was and almost kissed her. Crazy. Impulsive in a way that didn’t fit my personality.

  And carrying her, I’d done it the first time out of real concern and the second time simply because she’d felt good in my arms. I settled back into the chair beside where Heather slept and decided I would give this—whatever this was—a chance.

  Even if it meant I might not hear the end of it from my mother if it worked out. She already thought this woman was damn near perfect.

  No one was, though.

  Heather had shared that she’d never known her mother. That couldn’t have been easy for her. Was her father dead? Did he live too far away to have been able to come care for her? No distance would have kept my own father from my side had I been in need.

  With that thought fresh in my head, I sent a text to my father with a quick update that Heather seemed past the worst of it and was sleeping. No need to respond. Talk to you tomorrow.

  I settled myself deeper in the chair and remembered that Heather had said she’d lost someone too. Had she been referring to her mother? Ava was adopted—had she been close to her biological parents?

  There was so much I wanted to know about her.

  She had her own business. What did she do? Was it a source of enjoyment for her or something she endured to support herself and Ava?

  Her home was comfortably furnished and in a nice, suburban neighborhood. Whatever her occupation, she was good enough at it to make a decent income.

  Independent.

  Proud.

  Says it as it is.

  Not afraid to share she’d had fantasies about being with me.

  Sexy as hell.

  I closed my eyes and imagined how differently that night would have gone if she’d felt better and had waited to take a shower. It was a thought that had me smiling and forgetting how uncomfortable the chair was as I slipped into a light sleep.

  The sky was still dark when the sound of Heather moving around woke me. Her blanket had fallen to the floor beside her, and her top had ridden up to reveal a delicate rib cage. Women revealed a hell of a lot more out in public, but that unexpected flash of skin was enough to fill my mind with all sorts of activities she wasn’t healthy enough for yet.

  I smiled as I remembered when Gian had first discovered how to surf the internet unfiltered by parental controls and had come to me with what he’d considered a serious question. I was twenty-seven at the time; he was eight. He’d just read an article that said men thought about sex eight thousand times a day and wanted to know if that was going to happen to him.

  “Sounds about right,” I’d joked.

  He’d been horrified.

  I made a mental note to bring that up the next time he gave me grief about something. A smart brother kept an arsenal of shit like that.

  Eight thousand times?

  There were only one thousand four hundred and forty minutes in a day. So what was that? One sexual thought about every ten seconds or so? That might be true of a teenager, but no man would ever get anything done if he only existed in that state.

  At thirty-eight, I still had a good sexual appetite, but it had become more discerning. Like with beer, I still enjoyed a good one now and then, but I’d outgrown any desire to tap a keg. Quality over quantity.

  Marriage had taught me how to take my time and that my partner’s pleasure increased my own. Five years of playing the field had enhanced the variety in my skill set, but I couldn’t say I’d had mind-blowing sex since Therese.

  Sex could be good with a woman I wasn’t in love with—but earth shattering? That required more.

  Could I have that with Heather?

  She rolled again, swatting at a curl of hair that tickled her nose. She was the first woman who made me think it was a possibility.

  Her eyes flew open. “Sebastian?”

  “How do you feel?”

  She sat up, adjusted her shirt, and rubbed a hand over her face. “A little better.” After taking a sip of water from the glass that had been full of ice chips, she looked at me and winced. “I wasn’t sure if you were actually here or if I’d dreamed the whole thing.”

  “No, I’m here.”

  “And Godzilla? Because he was here too.”

  I smiled and turned the television off. “Sorry, I fell asleep with it on.”

  She lifted the blanket off the floor and hugged it to her stomach. “You didn’t have to stay. What time is it?”

  I glanced at the clock near the television. “Five thirty. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t go there.”

  She cocked her head to the side in confusion.

  “Every time you thank me, I say something stupid, and you either slam the door in my face or hang up on me. It’s a pattern I’d like to break.”

  She looked exhausted, but when she smiled her eyes did as well. “Well, then stop saying stupid shit.”

  I chuckled. “I suppose I could try that.”

  Her subsequent laugh ended with tired, slow blinking.

  “You should try to get some more sleep.”

  She nodded and gave me a look I understood. With the crisis over, my presence was . . . awkward.

  I stood and straightened my tie. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

  The look she gave me had me wondering if I was reading more into the moment than there was. I did something else that was out of character for me—I hovered over her, unsure if I should stay or go.

  Finally, she said, “No, I’m fine. Thank—”

  “I thought we’d agreed not to go there again.”

  She laughed. “Right.”

  I told myself that was my cue to go, but I stayed rooted where I was. “I’d like to see you again.”

  Her mouth rounded in surprise. “Really?”

  I fought an urge to kiss those sweet lips of hers. Like the shower, though, there would be a better time and place for it. I raised and lowered a shoulder. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a woman with a good snore.”

  She gave me a long look. “I didn’t take you for someone with a sense of humor.”

  “I’m fucking hilarious once you get to know me.”

  She laughed. “I would call you on having an inflated opinion of yourself, but I believe I’ve already told you I’m incredible.”

  “That you did. And I’m inclined to agree. My productivity at work has significantly decreased recently. Your fault.”

  Her hand went to her adorably mussed hair. “Is someone paying you to say this?”

  I took in the image of her, all eyes, feet tucked up beneath her, color back in her cheeks. Beautiful. “How have you never showered with a man?”

  The question hung in the air.

  I’d thought it but hadn’t meant to voice it.

  “I’ve had sex,” she declared in a burst.

  I laughed.

  She groaned and smacked her forehead. “I can’t believe I just said that. Why are you not running away?”

  I leaned down until our eyes were level, bracing myself with one hand on the arm of her couch. “I like you.” With that, I kissed the red mark on her forehead and stepped back. “I am going to head out, but I’ll call you.”

  “Okay” was all she said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  HEATHER

  I’ve had sex.

 
; Brilliant, stunning comeback.

  “I’ll call you,” he’d said.

  And what had I left him with? “Okay.”

  Okay.

  I deserve celibacy.

  I checked the time. Another shower was not out of the question, and then, if I could pull myself together, I just might be able to get some work done that day. Phone calls could be made from anywhere.

  I went to stand up, but my legs were shaky, so I sat back down. It was still early. A short nap wouldn’t hurt. I lay back, pulled the comforter over me, and closed my eyes.

  I woke to the sound of someone moving around my house and the smell of Lysol.

  “She’s alive,” Erica said cheerfully as soon as she realized I was awake.

  I pushed myself into a seated position. “What time is it?”

  “Noonish. When I drove the kids to school, I noticed a certain car was no longer parked out front, so I figured it was safe to come in.”

  The kids . . . I groaned. “I meant to call Ava before she went to school. How was she?”

  Lysol can still in hand, Erica sat on the arm of a chair across the room. “She was fine. She always is for me. She slept in Charlotte’s room with her. Who, by the way, is now convinced that she wants a sister, so thanks for that.”

  “Sorry?” I looked around. My living room and kitchen counter were sparkling. “You’re a saint, Erica. I will babysit for you anytime. Just drop your crew off. I owe you.”

  She dismissed my gratitude with a shrug. “It was nothing. What you owe me is every last juicy detail about last night.” She frowned as she looked at me. “I’m assuming you didn’t get laid, but you two were looking pretty cozy when I walked in.”

  I chuckled and covered my face with my hands. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  “Wait. You did have sex?”

  I lowered my hands. “No. No. After what came out of my mouth yesterday, I’m sure there wasn’t a part of him he wanted near it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’d be surprised, but go on. What did happen?”

  I took a sip of water, enjoyed that my body didn’t immediately send it back up, and started from our phone call and how we’d shared a beautiful moment during it.