28
28
MORNING AFTER DISASTER
I awoke with a heavy arm thrown across my shoulder—possessive even in sleep. I let out a little groan, slipping out from under him. I rose to my feet, searching for something to cover my nakedness with. I felt very aware of myself down there. Like I’d been riding bareback up and down hills all day yesterday. I spied his shirt carelessly tossed against a straight-backed chair. It was weirdly holding its form like a black ghost. I yanked it off to throw on. It smelled like him. I took a moment to breathe it the sweet musky scent while I stared at its owner, sleeping.
You hear people say you look younger in sleep, the troubled creases smoothing out, softening your features. Not so in regards to my husband. He still looked intense, troubled even. A slight furrow jutted between his thick brows, his lips pushed out, a fan of dark lashes shut tight against his bronze cheek. Another swell of emotion—I didn’t want to feel—moved my chest. I escaped to the bathroom before it could crash over me, drowning out my burgeoning grudge.
I hadn’t failed to notice the blood on the sheets. Was it from me? Was it from him? I felt too shell-shocked to know.
The urge to wash off last night’s honeymoon mishap beat out the urge not to wake him. I squeaked on the shower, pinning my hair into a messy bun before stepping into the soothing steam. It was one of those outrageous spa affairs with his and her showerheads. An aqua tile platform displayed expensive shampoos and soaps. I reached for a heart-shaped soap, testing its smell—vanilla mixed with something earthy I couldn’t identify. An unoffending clean smell, so I set to work lathering up.
So intent was I on scouring every square inch of my body, that I didn’t hear the pop of the lock. I was unaware he was even in the bathroom until the cold rush of air-conditioned air hit me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Nealson. Do you mind if I join you?”
I jumped and gasped at the same time. “How did you get in here?” Duh.
“I picked the lock.” Ranger laughed deep in his throat at my exasperation. Then he, and his very naked maleness, had the audacity to come at me.
I turned around while red splotches stained my newly cleaned chest, neck, and face. I turned down the temperature of the water, while he turned on his own showerhead. He reached around my shoulder to pluck the heart out of my hand. “Here . . . allow me.”
My face was positively tingling without the dulling effects of alcohol to keep the worst of my shyness at bay. I cleared my throat. “Um, that’s not really necessary . . .” I petered out because my words were fillers he patently ignored. He’d already come up behind me and began massaging soap into my breasts.
“I think we should get one of these outfits for our house,” he informed me. “I kind of like the idea of showering with my wife every morning.” He ducked his head sideways to flash his dimples at me.
I felt my hard heart go soft. He turned me around in his arms and hugged me to him, so that our wet skin sucked together. I braved a peek at his eyes. He let me in for the beat of a second. What I saw there had things swishing around my chest.
“So whatd’ya want for breakfast this morning?” The tender moment he purposefully shoved aside.
I went with it, not ready to get heavy either. “Pancakes sound good.”
He barked out a laugh. “I was afraid you’d say that. I was hoping you’d say scrambled eggs and toast . . . or just toast.”
I had to smile at this.
“Pancakes sound a bit complicated for my culinary skills,” he continued.
I laughed a little.
“We might have to go into town for pancakes, since I scared off the help. And I’m not ready to leave yet.” He kissed behind my ear.
“That’s okay,” I murmured. “I can do it.”
“I don’t want you to have to work on your honeymoon.”
“I don’t mind—if you don’t have to do somethin’, it’s a lot easier to want to do it.” I braved another peek at his face.
His eyes stared into mine. He set the soap down to cup my buttocks, hitching me up to him. He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “It won’t be like last night again.” My lips trembled a little before he brought his lips to mine in a tender kiss. “I promise,” he said, nipping my shoulder and dropping me back down. Then he bent his head down to suck on my breast. Funny feelings swirled in my stomach—some of it was clenching.
Oh no. Not already! I was way sore and didn’t relish a redo so soon.
I cleared my throat. “Maybe we could do other things this morning,” I pleaded, hesitantly reaching for him.
He smiled down at me wolfishly. “Great idea.” He dropped to his knees, kissing my belly while my hands strayed to the top of his head. His hot mouth was heading south while I tried to remain in upright position. I held onto his head for support. It was too soon for this sort of thing after last night. It was too bright. I was too sober. Trust would have to be built back up.
“Ranger. I . . . not yet. Please .” My voice was a plea. Then I thought to plea bargain my way out of this; he’d taught me well. “I’ll do you.”
He looked up at me for a moment while warm water pelted us, running down my body and dripping onto his upturned face. He sighed and complied for once in his dadgum life, standing back up.
“Fine. I’ll let you do my back.” He placed the heart-shaped soap in my hand.
I laughed, relief washing over me . . . until I saw the large and varied assortment of claw marks and pulpy divots marring his back. I sucked in a sharp breath. “Ranger,” I cried, shocked at the damage I’d done. “I’m so sorry.” My heart squeezed with regret.
He turned to peek at me over his shoulder. “It’s okay, Shorty. Nothing a little soap won’t clean.”
I nodded at him and tried a wobbly smile. A thorough cleansing was happening here. “Okay. But I’m warnin’ you . . . I give killer back rubs. You might even fall in—”
I’m not sure what alerted me. There was no audible sound, no vibration or noise. It was that tingling feeling along my spine that had me turning around. I saw him slip in. Whatever color was on my face drained. For a brief, suspended moment our eyes met. His were burning, mine—disbelieving. The heart-shaped soap fell from my hand. That move might’ve been my husband’s undoing, because he bent down to retrieve it.
I moved my mouth to scream, to warn—who? I wasn’t sure, but no sound came out. The door yanked open. I stepped aside as a pair of muscled arms crawled in with us, hauling my husband out and almost knocking me over. It was like I was stunned, standing stupid in the shower while the love of my life commenced to beating the crap out of my naked husband.
Pete wasn’t fooling around this time. This time he was uninjured, uninhibited by drugs, the one to catch us by surprise—literally with our pants down. Terrible blows were happening, mostly one-sided, while I stood passively by and watched.
I. Could. Not. Believe. My. Eyes.
An ear-piercing crash, followed by a shattering mirror brought me round. I ran from the shower naked, feeling immediately like some kind of terrible sin was happening. Which one, I wasn’t sure of. I threw a towel around myself, feeling a bit like Eve getting caught out cavorting around with a snake, or else cheating on Adam, or something I didn’t have time to focus on.
Ranger was down now, while blow after blow rained down on his face. I finally found my voice at the same time I thrust myself between my husband and Pete’s fist. “ Stop !” I screamed. “Pete, stop! That’s enough !” I flinched as he reared back again. Pete stopped long enough to stare me down, with pain in his eyes and fury on his face. He shoved me aside and began pounding again with renewed energy.
Oh. My. God! It’s like the monster jumped bodies.
I lurched and grabbed ahold of his wrist, pulling it back, but it was like holding back a steel-armed machine. This caught me by surprise but didn’t deter me from my mission. “ STOP! ” I shrieked at the mad man. “For God’s sake stop! You’ll kill him!”
That got his attention. He flung his golden hair, flecked with sweat and blood, out of his eyes—a move I used to find so sexy, but now was forevermore tainted with violence.
“ So? ” he snarled. “He deserves it. I saw the blood on the sheets.” Pete was looking for a reason to finish him off, quivering with anger, violence surging through his veins unchecked.
My God. What’s happened to him?
“N-no,” I stammered, panic setting in. “We’re m-married.”
A feint groan issued from the floor. I was sick to my stomach, afraid to even look. Sure enough, blood was pooling next to Ranger’s mouth. One eye was already closed up, a cut on the opposite cheek, revealing pulpy cheek meat.
“Oh my God! Pete!” I gasped. “What have you done?”
I made to dive for Ranger, but he caught me around the waist. “Don’t you mean what am I doing? In case you haven’t figured it out, this is a rescue mission.”
I yanked my arm away. “Seems like more of an assassin to me. Is this really about me or evening the score with Ranger?”
He blinked, automatically answering the question in my favor. “I’m here for you, of course, but a chance to kick this worthless bastard’s ass is just icing on the cake.”
“Well, mission accomplished, former Cadet Davenport.” I shoved him aside to kneel down and see about my husband.
To say my mind was reeling was putting it mildly. Because lying amongst the concern and outrage the humiliation and surprise . . . was joy . Poking its head up like a bright yellow daisy at a funeral. I wondered if that could be the sin I was feeling earlier.
While I checked my husband’s vitals, Pete got to work packing my things for me. That I wanted to leave with him was no question. If I would leave with him was quite another.
I set this aside to concentrate on Ranger’s injuries. For some—God only knows—reason I felt the way to help him first was by covering him up. So I took a towel and laid it across his nakedness like a loincloth. “Ranger?” I gently cradled his face in my hands. “Can you hear me?”
One icy blue eye slit open to stare at me accusingly. This took me aback, that immediate coldness. Does he think I’m a part of this? His eye already slammed shut as if too tired to open. Or not wanting to see his traitorous wife.
A gurgling noise was going on in his throat now. I think he was choking on his own blood. I rolled up a towel and propped it under his head so the blood wouldn’t roll down the back of his throat. He hacked and coughed up some red splatters. I nabbed another towel and wiped some blood off his mouth and nose. His face was already swelling into a misshapen mask. I was horrified already.
Oh my God. I guess it’s true what they say: The bigger they are, the harder they fall, because Ranger looked like he might not ever get up. I squeezed his hand. His eyes flickered open to look at me, but I could see he was having trouble focusing. So was I. My heart seized in my chest.
“Hang on, Ranger. Okay?” I squeezed his hand again.
I went to leave, but he held onto my hand. I hovered back over his face. It seemed like he was trying to convey something of vital importance, but I didn’t have time to figure out what it was. I removed my hand from his and brushed it over the small piece of his face that wasn’t pulverized. I scrambled to my feet, praying through all the thoughts scrambling my brain.
I ran from the scene of the crime, with one hand holding my pathetic towel, bypassing the focused tornado still doing a room sweep, and bolted down the stairs. I ended up in the kitchen to get some ice. Where’s the first aid-kit? I was sure there would be one in a house like this. I’m ashamed to admit that I’d become so accustomed to all the nuts and bolts of life being taken care of by Ranger or The Academy that I hadn’t even packed so much as a Band-Aid.
“Pete!” I called out, trying to pack ice into a plastic bag one-handed. Doesn’t he have some kind of M.D. starter-kit going? “Pete!” The panic in my voice was unmistakable. He appeared at the top of the stairs just as I was running up them one-handed with my ice pack.
Something that more resembled his normal face met my pleading eyes. “Pete! You have to help him.” I watched as he set his jaw against this idea. “ Please !” I begged.
Anger, irritation, and pain were warring it out with wanting to do the right thing. “You’ve graduated from the CAP program, Kate,” Pete replied tersely. “You have as much training as me. You do it. I don’t want to.”
I stared at him as he talked, transfixed. Oh God . It was so good to see him. Selfishness, giddiness, and instant love were warring it out with wanting to do the right thing.
“No.” I shook my head. “They bypassed that for me. I only know basic stuff like CPR. I-I think his cheekbone might be sh-shattered, his nose is definitely broken.” My voice hitched, knowing I was the cause of this. “Please, Pete . . . for me. Just check him over. It’s the right thing to do.”
Something passed between us—a kind of realigning of ourselves on to the same team. He sighed. “How long do we have before the help comes back?”
“I-I think they’re coming back around n-nine or m-maybe ten.” Gulp. “I’m not sure.”
He nodded and expelled some air before disappearing down the hall. I dashed after him and found him already rudely probing my husband’s head and face. The pain brought the dead man back around. A terrible groan and some coughing and spitting out of blood ensued. I was beginning to feel hysteria bubbling up inside me.
There was so much blood pooling beneath him, it looked like he was taking a blood bath. I felt sick to my stomach, but just stood there clutching my towel and holding a pitiful bag of ice. “M-maybe we should call 911?” Would that even work here?
Pete let out a sigh, ignoring my small voice to lift up Ranger’s shoulder to check behind the puddle of blood. He’d found the source of all that leakage—a shard of broken glass had impaled itself into the back of his arm, and was currently oozing red.
My hand flew to my mouth. I stifled a sob. This snapped Pete’s sharp gaze back to mine. Something akin to regret passed over his features.
“Do you have tweezers?” He kept his voice low and calm.
I nodded my head.
“Do you know where the first-aid kit is?
I shook my head.
He sighed again. “He’s going to live, Kate.”
A sob broke from my throat—some of the hysteria bubbling over. Isn’t that what doctors tell you after a terrible car crash? Like, even though he’s hooked up to life support, at least he’s going to live.
“Get your tweezers, then get your clothes on while I remove the glass and make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding,” Pete directed in business mode.
I was trembling up and down, a shaken bottle of champagne just ready to explode. But still, I was unable to move my feet. I could tell Pete was ready to leave. I wasn’t sure I was going with him. I wasn’t sure I could let him go.
“ Now !” he hissed. “We don’t have all the time in the world here. I didn’t factor in administering first aid to the guy I just pounded.”
I ran to my toiletries, digging through them wildly with one hand before running pink tweezers over to Pete. I resolutely kept one hand clutching the top of my towel. He grabbed them from me while I hovered over his shoulder, feeling like I owed it to my semi-conscious husband to oversee the extraction.
Pete looked irritated but resigned. “If you really want to help, go put some damned clothes on first. I need both your hands.”
I nodded, tears spilling from my eyes. Even through the shock, his curt tone hurt me. I ran back to the bedroom where a pair of shorts and a top, that didn’t remotely go together, were left out for me. I put them on with shaking hands before running back.
Pete had made use of the time and the icepack I made. It was lying over Ranger’s mangled face. That was an immediate relief to my system—that I had been able to offer something of use to my husband, besides the covering up of his privates. Pete had already removed the largest shard of glass and was probing around for the bits and pieces. All done with that, he applied pressure to the wound with one of the towels that was already soaked crimson.
“Here,” he said, checking the seeping going on around the wound. “Hold this.”
I was there in half a second with a fresh towel under Ranger’s arm, applying pressure to stave his blood flow. I did this while keeping his shoulder lifted, not the easiest thing with the hunk of man that was my husband. Pete was back in a flash with one of Ranger’s T-shirts (we were fresh out of towels). He grabbed the black linen shirt—I borrowed from Ranger—off the floor. Then set to work, placing the T-shirt down first and wrapping the sleeve around his upper arm above the wound and tying the sleeve in a quick overhand knot.
Ranger let out a sudden groan. I started hyperventilating.
“Go see if you can find some alcohol or antibiotic cream and bandages . . . and a Sharpie.” He darted me a lip twitch as though I would find the reminder of his chip extraction amusing.
I. Did. Not.
I nodded, lurching myself out the door, only to come back in a short moment later, carrying the blood-stained comforter that Ranger had placed over me last night. I tucked it around him, hoping it gave him the same comfort it did me. Pete didn’t look at me, so I left to scour the mansion for supplies. I came back a few minutes later with a box of Band Aids I knew would be useless, some type of anointment I was unsure of but found next to the bandages, and a black pen I’d found in one of the spare bedrooms.
Pete grabbed my sparse supplies, briefly scanning the cream before quickly smearing it on. “I know Ranger has a kit. Think, Kate. Where is it?”
My mind was racing. It wasn’t like I’d rummaged through his things. And then it dawned on me. “In the Escalade,” I breathed. Before Pete could say anything, I darted out the door, bounded down empty hallways, flew down tile stairs before bursting through the garage door. I ran full out to the blinged-out SUV, only to find it locked. Of course, it was. And I had no idea where Ranger kept the key. It could be anywhere—in his pants, the nightstand, on a hook, locked in the safe . . . the possibilities were endless. Did not have time for that.
I manically eyed a fat golf bag, stuffed with silver sticks with fuzzy animal heads attached. I ran over and yanked one out, coming away with a nine iron. Good enough. Ran back over to the back window and whacked it a couple of good times, setting off the alarm. Of course, I did. I smashed the splintered window a few more times, creating a large enough hole to stick my arm through. I reached around and grabbed the kit from the back.
I flew back to the master bath with it in my hand and was as met by: “Kate, shoes on. We’ve gotta go.” This, while he was penning 7:43 across my unconscious husband’s forehead in black ink.
My heart soared and seized on me in the very same second. Go? How could I possibly go? How could I not? Different scenarios were whirling around in my mind as I watched Pete administer to Ranger. He had taken a pillow and propped it under his head and removed the icepack from his face long enough to reposition it over a washcloth. Then he got to work bandaging up his arm wound. After a quick minute of me staring at him tearing neat strips with his teeth and pasting them over Ranger’s torn skin, he looked up at me. Déjà vu.
“That should do it.” He stood up, eyeing me warily, while I stared back at him forlornly. “Ready to go?”
I shook my head. “Pete, I . . .” I glanced down at my new husband. “We can’t leave him like this. What if he dies?”
“He’s not going to die, Kate. It looks like a lot of blood, but it’s not.”
“His face, Pete,” I whimpered. “It’s a mess.”
Pete breathed in deeply through his nose. “Not much we can do other than the ice. He has a nondisplaced zygoma.”
“A what?”
“His cheek bone is fractured, but it will most likely heal on its own. There hasn’t been a dislocation that I can tell. One more hit, and it would’ve been a different story . . . he was lucky you were here to stop me.”
I clapped my face with my hands. “What else?”
Pete sighed. “His nose is broken. There’s nothing I can do for that. They’ll have to reset it for him at the hospital.”
I was barely breathing. “He has a concussion.”
One curt nod. “Probably.”
“Well, we can’t leave very well leave him like this,” I reasoned. “We have to get him to a hospital.”
“He’ll be fine, Kate. Trust me—he’s tough enough to take a beating and live to see another day. I know . . . I did.” Pete grabbed my hand. “Come on.” He nodded to the doorway. “It’s time to go.”
I allowed him to tug me forward a few steps but didn’t keep following. He turned back around, his eyes searching mine. “Unless . . . unless you don’t want to come with me.” His voice turned husky at the end.
“I want to!” I pleaded with my eyes. “But I can’t .”
“You can . . . just walk out the door with me.”
A couple of groans were going on from the floor that wasn’t helping Pete’s case for me fleeing the scene. My face crumpled. Everything I was feeling must’ve been written on there, because Pete grabbed my arm and ushered me out of the bathroom, closing the door on the moaning man. “Kate, listen to me.”
I noticed, for the first time, that Pete’s face was starting to swell on one side. I reached up to touch him, afraid this was the last time I would ever see him again. I felt like moaning.
“A plan is in the works.” His dark eyes pleaded with me.
I knew his words were false. I don’t even know why he bothered trying to lie to me. I reached up to wipe some blood from his split lip. I wanted to go with him so badly I could die with the want of it.
What kind of a monster leaves her husband on her honeymoon—bleeding and unconscious on the bathroom floor—to run off with another man?
He gripped my arms. “ Please, Kate. It was a mistake—you not coming with me last time. My mother says Mikey has adjusted very well to The Academy. Some people do.”
Tears were leaking from my eyes. “Pete, I can’t leave him.”
“Mikey or Ranger?”
I sighed, placing my hand over his chest to feel the hard, sure heartbeat. I didn’t answer him.
“You don’t owe him anything, Kate.”
“I do.”
“Goddammit!” he blasted, making me wince. “Can’t you see he’s a master manipulator?”
I was a pillar of silent misery.
“He’s got you right where he wants you.”
“What can I do?”
“Come with me.”
I stared up at him until he blurred. I swiped at my eyes. If only it could be that easy.
“Don’t you want to?”
I stared into those liquid brown eyes I found so hypnotizing. Nodded miserably.
He set his jaw. “Well then—you’re coming with.”
He walked over to pick up a backpack I hadn’t noticed propped up against the wall. A funny feeling hit my gut one second before he removed a syringe. He walked back over to me with a determined look upon his face. Déjà vu. “Looks like I’m going to put this to good use after all,” he said.
“Whoa.” I backed up a couple of steps, hands out. “Hold on, Pete. Let’s talk about this.”
“Nothing to talk about, Kate. You love me, I love you. It’s time we were together.”
I continued to stumble backwards. Pete just said he loved me. A little dance was going on in my soul even as my heart plummeted. My brother. My baby brother. My injured husband. “Sure there is,” I countered. “Logistics for one.”
Pete looked both irritated and amused. “Your Academy is showing . . . I can see I came just in time.”
“What about my passport? Ranger has it locked in the safe, but I don’t know the code. And we don’t have the time or the tools to break into a safe.” I was still walking backwards.
“Do you hear yourself, Kate?” Pete was still advancing forward with each step I retreated. “You don’t know the code. Do you think that’s an accident? He has you right where he wants you. He’s in control of everything. Is this really the way you want to live your life? . . . Doing what he tells you to do? No say whatsoever. Did you even pick out your own clothes?”
My silence spoke volumes.
“And how about those goddamned Missions? Huh? Using your body to entice men—your sweet face to manipulate and lie to people.”
“I don’t have to do them anymore,” I squeaked.
“Ah. The perk of being Mrs. Ranger, I suppose. Is that why you married him?” he accused, his disdain somehow not uglying his beauty. “He’ll only use you to play with for a while before he gets bored and throws you away. That’s what he’s like.”
He had me backed up against the wall. “M-Mikey,” I said.
He held up the syringe. “It’s time to let big brother take care of him for a while.”
“You know about that?” Silence was his answer. Did Dr. D know he was here? Did she help him? “I promised Mama I would always look after him.” This was my final card.
“An unrealistic burden for a . . .”—he mentally calculated—“fourteen year-old-girl to take on. One you’ve been living with for far too long.”
“B-but it’s my responsibility. I promised .”
“I’m here to relieve you of your responsibility.” He caught me by the arm, and I yelped. He removed the plastic sheath with his teeth, uncovering the silver needle while holding me down with one arm. “This is for your own good, Kate,” he announced right before jabbing me in the thigh.
I yelped again, then watched, with fascinated disbelief, as he plunged about half the liquid inside. It wasn’t an immediate slump this time, more of a slow awareness of loosening control. He held me to him as I slowly stopped fighting.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured into my ear as I melted into him. “Let’s get you to the car. That alarm you set off might rouse the neighbors, and we’ve got to get that chip out while you’re still under, and he’s still out.”
A sudden heaviness began creeping over me. I slow-blinked as I allowed myself to be guided down the stairs. “Mikey,” I said, crying a little as I shuffled along beside him.
“He’s got big brother now,” Pete reminded me.
He led me out the front door and helped me stand as I was beginning to sway. “No, Pete . . . Mikey . . . gotta say g’bye. Call am’lance.” I tried to turn back, but he pulled me down the steps, walking backwards in front of me so I wouldn’t fall on my face. My uncoordinated steps could no longer be counted on, so he wrapped his arm around my waist and ushered me into the backseat of a nondescript car. I laid across the backseat, closing my eyes from it all. I really was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of doing the right thing. Tired of thinking.
But my mind couldn’t be stilled. So much had happened in such a small span of time. Blurred images flickered through my mind, my life flashing before my eyes: my beautiful mother taking care of everything, my dying mother making me make promises I could only try to keep, my brothers and I surviving together at the ranch, my father’s stern sunburnt face, Pete and Ranger’s crashing entrance into my life, the showdown in my trailer, hell week, Pete’s father slapping my face, Dr. D’s crinkled smile, training, Ranger’s disapproval, training, Ranger’s approval, Mikey and I at GAP, Ranger and I on a date.
It was clear to me, even in my fuzzy state, that Ranger was a dominating force in my life. I recalled him busting through emergency doors with me in his arms, me trying to seduce him. I saw him staring down at me at the altar. The words that stuck in my throat seemed to flow so easily from Ranger’s lips. Things were jumbling about, pivotal turning points in our relationship. Like when he presented me with the cross necklace—wait a minute. I paused my mind projector there. My cross necklace was still hanging around my neck. Oh God . If Ranger found us, I knew he wouldn’t stop just short of killing Pete.
“Pete,” I moaned, struggling to get up.
“It’s okay, Kate. Just go to sleep. Everything’s all taken care of.”
That sounded nice. I closed my eyes only to pick back up where I left off. “No, necklace.”
“Go to sleep, honey. It’s okay. You still have it on.”
That’s what I was afraid of. I growled. He wasn’t listening to me, and I was falling rapidly, no longer watching the movie. It was over and the curtains were closing. I fought hard. But the humming engine of the car was lulling me to sleep.
“Pete, my necklace . . .” I tried a tug, but couldn’t move my hand. Deep, drugged sleep was calling.
“Is hanging around your neck,” he finished for me, and I moaned. “Shhh, Kate. We’re almost there. When you wake up, you’ll be free.”
Free . I had to smile at that one. That was the last thing I remember before sweet oblivion took me away.