Chapter Fourteen
F ully cognizant, fighting pain-induced nausea, Scott did what he could. He’d been going for ice. The bandage had been a better option to slow the immediate flow of blood. He’d hoped the situation wasn’t serious, figured himself for an uncomfortable night fighting fresh pain.
He’d made it through the worst. Knew he’d get through the night the same way.
Then he’d heard Iris gasp when she’d gotten a look at his dressing.
And knew.
If the sight of the dressing caused that much distress, he was in far worse shape than he’d thought. Was doing everything he could to stay conscious so he could assist her in getting him help as efficiently, as urgently as possible.
Approving of her choice to drive him the ten or so minutes to the hospital herself, rather than waiting for an emergency vehicle—the call for and arrival of which would take about equal time—he wanted to offer his praise. To thank her.
But needed all his lung capacity focused on controlling his breathing. Which helped ease the threat of stomach revolt.
And, he wanted to believe, helped relax the pain a bit, too.
He held his head up, and kept his eyes opened as Iris wheeled him into the emergency room. And while he let her do the talking, when the nurse said, “I’ll take him from here,” and moved to grab the push handles of his chair from Iris, Scott spoke up.
“She comes with me.” His words were firm. Clear. “If I have to sign to that effect, I will.”
The effort cost him. Nausea was pushing at his esophagus again. He closed his eyes. Breathed. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Steady.
He didn’t even try to open his eyes as he was lifted onto a bed. Didn’t know who was lifting him. He heard Iris, talking to everyone who was there, answering questions, talking as they unwound first the compression wrap and then his bandage. While he breathed.
That was his job.
To stay the course. Endure the hard work it took to be a success.
Right up until he heard the doctor, who’d introduced himself when he’d come in, say something about needing to put in a couple of stiches to repair the tear in his wound. Just as soon as he was under.
“No.” Only one word. But filled with the strength of his conviction. “Local anesthetic only.”
The doctor argued. Clearly speaking to Iris. Scott was there. Waited.
“No.” Iris’s tone seemed to Scott to mimic his. In a very good way. “Unless his life is in immediate danger, like the pain is causing his blood pressure to soar, no pain medication.”
He heard more. The doctor, in a very convincing tone. Iris’s “I know” replies. Four of them.
And then she was touching his forehead. Rubbing her hand up it, brushing the short strands of his hair. And returned to start again. Slowly. Over and over.
He breathed with the touch. Like keeping time with a soft slow melody.
Even as the pain in his lower leg went from excruciating to off the charts.
His vitals were steady. His life was in no immediate danger from the pain.
And Iris’s tender hand against his skin was a constant.
Scott figured life could be one hell of a lot worse.
* * *
Dawn was breaking by the time they got back to Ocean Breeze. Scott allowed her to help him from the car to the house, but then wheeled himself off to bed. The man was stubborn as hell.
Her heart ached for him, reaching toward him even as he rejected any hint of sympathy. She had to let him go. To fend for himself per their agreement. To respect his choice. Doing what was right didn’t take away the sting.
What was up with that? With the over-the-top emotions she was feeling around him since the wedding?
If she didn’t care so much about Sage, and treasure her friendships with the twins, she’d head home right that minute, just to get herself back in sync again. But if experiencing vicarious emotion was the price she had to pay to have them in her life, she’d do so.
It was a whole lot less than Scott was paying for his own personal choices, that was for sure.
He’d left his door open, per protocol, and once she saw him settled in bed, she took the girls and went out to the beach. He had his phone within reach. And her number on speed dial. Only for the moment.
She didn’t go anywhere. Joel would be arriving in a few hours and that would be her chance to head home. To get back into her real life for an hour or so to get herself on track.
To rid herself of the shards of fear that were still reverberating through her—the replay of that first second she’d seen the blood soaking Scott’s bandage, her frantic drive to the hospital—and get back into the peace that defined the new life she’d invented for herself.
She walked down to the water with Morgan and Angel. Talking to them. Conversation between her and Angel was a norm in their home, and Morgan had been with them often enough over the years that the corgi showed no surprise when Iris started in with “The good news is—well, first, that aside from two ripped stitches, there was no other damage.” Morgan seemed to glance her way at that.
“I don’t know yet what happened,” she told the girl. “He was too busy getting himself through everything to talk much, but I know for certain that if you had anything to do with what happened, it wasn’t intentional.”
The girls, side by side, on her right, kept on walking. They might not understand her exact words. Or even what had happened. But they knew that things weren’t right. That Scott was down. That she was bothered. They weren’t running and playing. Or even exploring the sand with their noses as they usually did. They weren’t watching the water.
They were keeping their eyes on her. Staying beside her.
“And the other good news…” She took a breath. Sighed. Then finished with “The sex thing, it’s not a thing thing. Not a real thing. Or even a thing at all. It’s just a symptom of whatever has me off-kilter, because it’s not just attraction, it’s all my emotions.”
Right. The words rang completely true. Even aloud. Talking to beings who didn’t hear lies, but knew the truth behind them. She was on the right track.
She wasn’t suddenly desiring Scott Martin. She was just suffering an influx of all emotion, which would include sexual emotions, and Scott was just the guy who happened to have been there before she’d figured out what was going on and could do something to stop it.
It explained the almost debilitating fear for Scott’s life. The bouts of anger.
And his bouts? Well, those were easy to explain, too, since she understood the source. He’d merely been reacting to things she’d been inadvertently sending out.
Angel glanced up at her. Iris felt like her girl had just sent a frown her way. Knew that the possibility didn’t exist. But felt it anyway.
She knew the problem. What was the solution?
First, she was going to call the psychologist who’d been her sounding board through the worst days of her life. Just to hear the good doctor tell her that a sudden flare-up of intense emotions was not an uncommon response to an emotional trigger.
Which Sage’s wedding had most definitely been.
As the maid of honor, and hearing Sage whisper that she was like a sister to her…the trigger was about as obvious as it could get.
She’d grown up expecting to stand up with her own twin at Ivy’s wedding someday. To have to accept that her sister would be sharing everything in her life with the partner she’d chosen and that while Iris would always be a big part of her life, Iris would no longer come first.
Instead, she’d stood up with Scott’s twin—with much the same change coming as a result. Iris and Scott were no longer going to be the adults that came first in Sage’s life.
Their threesome had irrevocably changed with Sage’s vows to Gray.
All good stuff. Great stuff.
And, as with all change, there was a subconscious leaning toward wanting to hold on to what was. Simply because it was familiar. Normal.
Easy, even.
Finally, she had everything worked out.
“It all makes sense,” she said aloud to the girls as she started back up to Scott’s cottage with them right beside her. “My psyche is acting out. That’s all. As soon as Sage, Leigh and Gray get back, everything will return to normal.”
In the meantime, she had a very dear friend who posed no sexual concern in his current state, who needed her whether he liked it or not.
And she felt right about being there for him.
* * *
Scott heard Iris come in. He’d heard her leave before, too. Had spent the entire time she’d been on the beach with the girls figuring out a way to get her to go home.
It was either that or lose the battle of his life.
He couldn’t have her around. Not when he was physically at a low point. And man, was his point low. He’d savored the touch of Iris’s hand on his brow as though she was his own personal angel.
Or…someone to whom he was heart connected.
He knew the feeling. His heart wasn’t dead. It just didn’t get to involve other hearts. Because his need to succeed, his self-respect, his sense of right and wrong, all beat it out every time.
He wasn’t kidding himself that he was falling for Iris. If that had been going to happen, it would have. Three years before when Angel and Morgan had introduced them on the beach. Iris had just adopted the miniature collie and had apologized for the fact that the little one hadn’t yet learned beach manners.
Or even that it was necessary to pee outside.
No, he wasn’t falling for her, but he was definitely falling into her. Wanting to be with her. To have her in his daily life. To be in hers.
On more than just a casual level.
The casual thing had gone out the window the moment she’d handed him the urinal in the hospital.
With the local anesthetic still easing some of the pain in his knee, giving the rest of his leg some peace from the shooting electrical currents of shock, he figured there was no time like the present to take care of the situation.
Where there was a will, there was a way.
Getting himself off the bed and into his chair, he noticed the leg of his pajama pant, cut up almost to his groin. Saw his dark hairy thigh sitting there far too naked for the confrontation he knew was coming.
But had to get out to Iris before Sage reached her.
He’d tried to go the twin route while Iris was out on the beach. Hadn’t worked.
It was like the two women were ganging up on him. The time had come to put an end to it.
Wheeling himself out to the living room, bare leg and all, he thought, too late, about a stop at the bathroom first. Peeing could wait.
He had other more pressing business.
Iris was giving the girls their treats and stood when she saw him coming. “You feeling better?”
She’d changed into jeans and a button-down blouse. Before she went out to the beach? Or after she’d come in?
He’d thought he’d lain in bed, fully conscious, ever since they’d been home. Maybe he’d drifted some.
No matter.
Irrelevant.
“Fine,” he told her, coming to a stop a few feet from her.
He looked up, met her gaze. “I called Sage.”
“I know.”
His slight nod was acknowledgment to himself. Not meant for her. He’d drifted off. Her coming in with the dogs…they’d obviously been on a different trip outside. He was too late for the offense route. “What time is it?”
“Two.”
“Two? In the afternoon?” He was putting a clock in the spare bedroom. And needed his phone and smartwatch back on and glued to him nonstop. As was his norm.
“Mmm-hmm. Joel called to say PT was cancelled for today.” She sat in the damned chair-morphed-into-bedroom that she’d ruined for life. He was going to have to donate the thing and get another. Shame, too. It had been his father’s.
She’d ruined his father’s chair. Was changing Scott into some sort of emotional being he didn’t recognize. She had to go.
And was sitting there watching him as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Sage had called her. She knew he’d called in his twin card, preying on his connection with Sage to get her to feel how important it was that she change her stipulation to remain on her honeymoon. In an attempt to get her to take down her threat to return home, he’d offered to agree to hired help for injury-related physical items, but he could not have anyone staying in his house with him.
Of course, anyone meant Iris. Which Sage had immediately pointed out. By suggesting that maybe he ask Dale. Or Harper. Or any number of other casual friends he had in his life.
He was pretty sure he’d hung up with Sage pointing out that Iris was the only one he could even halfway tolerate.
That she was better than anyone else.
His twin knew he wouldn’t tolerate anyone else. If push came to absolute shove, he’d put up with Iris.
Sage probably also figured that no one else would put up with him.
She’d gotten the best of him.
Which only proved her point that he shouldn’t be staying alone. Something the doctor had apparently reiterated when Sage, who had his medical power of attorney, had called after Iris had texted about the night’s drama.
The whole thing was making him tired. Irritable.
Slowing down his ability to process as efficiently as possible.
He suddenly remembered what he’d come out of his room to say. “Sage is missing one key piece of information,” he told her. “The one that would convince her that I’m thinking clearly. And am right.”
Iris didn’t grin, but she sure looked to him as though she was holding one back.
Spurred on by a healthy dose of irritation-laced frustration, he said, “I haven’t told her that we had sex. That if you stay, one of us is bound to get hurt and she’ll come home to a hole in the family she left behind.”
He was standing before the judge unprepared. But had won cases with spitballing, too. Because he was that good at what he did.
Morgan, finished with her treat, came bounding toward him. Scott jerked his leg away instinctively. And winced as he bent his damned left knee and then twisted it in his attempt to ease the pain, all while watching Morgan ready to launch and preparing himself to catch her.
Preparing for the next wrench of pain.
But before the girl landed, Iris was there, catching Morgan, crooning to her, calming her and then placing her on Scott’s lap.
She’d seen him shy away from his own dog. How humiliating was that?
And how in the hell was he ever going to succeed at getting them back on an even keel if she didn’t get the hell out?
“She ripped your stitches, didn’t she?” Sage’s voice reached him, even though he was refusing to look in her direction. Giving his attention, instead, to the faithful friend who only had expectations he could meet.
Even if it meant a couple of extra stitches.
“She doesn’t sleep on the bed,” he said, hearing his sullen tone and not giving a damn. Or trying not to. “But I’m out of whack. Our house is out of whack. She was whining. I lifted her up. She was nervous, wanted back down. I put her on my stomach. Fell asleep. And the next thing I knew, I was waking up on my side and she was launching herself off the bed, pushing off from my bandage. I jerked away so hard, I tore the stitches.”
There. Apparently, he couldn’t even be trusted to sleep without supervision.
“I’m guessing she wasn’t trying to get off the bed, but get at your wound,” Iris said softly. “Her instinct would be to lick it. To heal you.”
Maybe. That made more sense than his own take on what had happened. All he knew was he’d woken up with Morgan’s paw at his leg and he’d jerked so hard he’d felt the searing wrench to his wound.
He was tired. And tired of being tired.
Even without pain medication he was somewhat foggy headed.
But he remained adamantly clear on one point. Iris had to go. And there was no way he was going to hurt her by having anyone else in, taking her place. Or something to that effect.
Lucidity came and went. Determination, the one staple he could count on, did not.
“And the other…you worrying about our friendship…it’s a moot point.”
His gaze shot over to her, alarm wrenching through him. She was done with him? With them? “What?”
“It’s not you, Scott. Which is why you’re struggling so much with it. You can’t make sense of your actions/reactions because they don’t have a basis in you. I figured it out this morning.”
She’d lost him. As in, them being from two different planets. “What?” he asked again, for want of anything more intelligent to say.
“I…had some struggles…a traumatic time…more than a decade ago. It took me a while to be okay again. To get over the emotional overload and get on with my life. Sage’s wedding triggered a blast to the past. You know, kind of PTSD. I see it all so clearly now. The sex…it was all just part of an uncontrollable surge from my emotional cortex. When that happens, all emotions are over-the-top. It first hit up at the altar, that I was aware of, but I know now that it had been building that whole week. Then, the whole weird thing of us being forced into a date-like situation at the most romantic event ever… But the sex…my overly heightened emotions…sent out an overload of pheromones, to which, biologically, you couldn’t help but react. The sex was only a symptom of my relapse. Along with the surges of fear I’ve felt that are so unlike me…”
He had to blow by most of what she was saying. Hearing her. Not analyzing as was his usual way. Or even fully comprehending at the moment. But that last… “You’re afraid? Of what?” He wanted to help.
The way she threw up her hand, as though she was on stage, struck him hard. Iris wasn’t into bold demonstrations of any kind. She was always the one who melded into the background. They’d be on the beach, in the midst of a group of residents, and she was the one on the outer edge of the gathering.
“Well…” she finally started when he kept staring at her. He didn’t know what to do until he knew who or what was scaring her. “First when Sage called to tell me you’d been in an accident.”
Her face went white, but she licked her lips and continued, “And then this morning, when I saw your soaked bandage, and on the way to the hospital, too. That’s what opened my eyes to the truth.” Her face cleared as her tone gained momentum. “So, anyway, you can relax. I’ve already put in a call to Dr. Livingston, but I know I’m on track.”
Dr. Livingston? He had another doctor other than the ones who saw him at his two hospital visits? For follow-up? He had no memory of being told.
“Who’s Dr. Livingston?”
“The psychologist who helped me in the past.” She said the words as though they were supposed to give him confidence.
She’d suffered some kind of serious incident more than a decade ago. And she and her counselor were still in touch? Must have been some trauma. And…more than a decade ago? Iris was only twenty-eight. She had to have been a teenager.
None of which added up. At all. As close as they all were, he and Sage would know about a tragic history. He sat still, seeming to watch her, he hoped. Feeling completely unprepared for the conversation he’d somehow launched himself into.
As it dawned on him that he couldn’t think of anything he’d heard about Iris’s past. No, wait, she’d taken photography in high school. And her mom had died. He remembered Sage mentioning that she and Iris had that in common.
But what about siblings? A father? Aunts, uncles, grandparents? For the past three years she’d spent Christmas with him and Sage, as the three of them spoiled Leigh with tales of Santa and surprises.
“Anyway—” she stood, startling him “—the only thing that matters here is that you can relax, okay? Accept my help, because we all know you need it…”
“We all?” He interrupted because he couldn’t just sit there and listen to her spout things that were counterproductive to his mission.
“You, me, Sage, Gray, Joel, the medical professionals at the hospital tending to you…”
Damn! That was a lot of opinion stacking up against him.
“And now you have no reason to worry about us. We aren’t changing at all. It was just my subconscious reaction to Sage getting married.”
He didn’t follow that part. But, maybe if he knew what she was talking about…
She looked so…happy, standing there, meeting his gaze head-on. Smiling. That grin…it looked good on her. Great. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?
“So…we’re good?” Her tone pushed him to agree.
Tired of questions that came with no answers, and certain that he didn’t want to be the one to wipe that look off from Iris’s face, Scott did the only thing he could do. He nodded.
But he didn’t believe himself.
Or her.
Unless she could find a way to convince him that the touch of her hand on his forehead had somehow transfused her “surge” of emotions into him.
Because he was feeling a whole lot more than sexual desire for the woman.
He might be foggy, but even in his current state, he knew that pheromones didn’t pour compassion through skin.
Stuff like that came from the heart.
And matters of the heart—his twin and her daughter withstanding—were off-limits to him.
Other than the twin thing that had been formed at conception and permanently solidified in the womb, the heart was where he faltered.
And there would not be another failure.