14
14
SHATTERED
I drove back, not in a daze, but in a haze of anger. It was like a red mist so thick I needed to turn on my windshield wipers. The way Pete put those moves on her. The same ones he’d used on me—signature moves. I wondered if he’d picked them up from “The Art of Seduction.” No way was I gonna put up with another cheater.
No telling where he had parked, but no doubt I would beat him back by a mile. I’m sure that security cop would head him off. I made it back in less than half the time it took me to get there, announcing my arrival by jerking into the driveway and stomping on the brake, screeching to a black stop. I followed this abuse up by slamming the door on the poor beaten-up Buick.
Oh gah ! I could not face sweet Ruthie with my own face. I’d likely scare the poor woman half to death. I decided the best course of action was a cowardly note left on the counter in the laundry room, along with her keys. And that’s just what I did, flipping over a tutoring ad to scrawl a half-legible note of thanks to one of the sweetest people I’d ever met. May not have been my finest moment.
Then I decided Pete-the-cheat would get the same treatment. And there it was—that pang. I stomped it down by stomping up the stairs, my feet tingles running up my legs and into the core of me. I needed all my anger to keep the despair at bay. Arm around her shoulder . . . relieving her of her backpack . . . a squeezing hug. Arg!
I screamed in rage, grabbing the first offending object I saw, which just so happened to be that dang Stanford coffee mug I’d seen him sipping from the first morning I’d arrived here. It was sitting innocently on the counter, until I smashed it to smithereens. Not so innocent. I only felt marginally better so I ran for the tequila bottle in the cupboard and reached for a shot glass. I poured myself a stiff one, not even bothering to chase it down with something sweet or sour. It went down in flames—fire putting out fire.
I scanned wildly around our love nest for clues I’d missed on account of me wearing love goggles. My eyes zeroed in on the nightstand, focusing on the tiny aperture of the lock—the only thing keeping me out. Well, shoot. I’d taken a six-week course on lock-picking, code-breaking, and general breaking and entering techniques. What was one tiny little lock against all that know how?
I ran to the kitchen, dumping out drawers to find the kind of tools I needed. His lock pick and rake were in the back of his Jeep, presumably careening this way. Two minutes and a long, angry scratch down the front of the wood finish later, and I’d pried it open. Not my best time, but my hands were atremble.
I opened her up and pulled out a snaking roll of condoms, hitherto hidden from my innocent eyes. Proof. He was a womanizing lothario. I looked at our denim duvet and pictured other girls writhing beneath the sheets, panting and sweating and crying out in pleasure.
I stopped there, crying out in pain. I remembered him admitting to sleeping around, but I’d kind of just brushed it under the rug. I felt violently sick. It turns out—I was the type of person who blissfully preferred to live in ignorance about life’s darker sides. I wished I didn’t know. Again.
I sat there a long time on our love sheets, moaning and clutching my stomach, undecided on my next move. And then I heard his Jeep skidding to a halt on the gravel. The thick thunk of a slammed door instantly followed. I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Ha! That three-letter word.
I sprang up to lock the deadbolt before whirling back around on impulse to snatch the mile-long roll of rubbers. I wrenched open the door to hurl them down at him while he jetted up the stairs three at a time. I just had time to slam the door and snap the deadbolt in place before the pounding started.
“Open the door, Kate!” he bellowed, followed by the kinds of sounds that roused sleeping dogs.
Pound. Pound. Pound. This was followed by a cacophony of barking and expletives. The door sounded surprisingly solid, no splintering wood giving way to the forceful hits. A kick followed by a growling acknowledgement of pain, followed by more excited dog barking. I heard footsteps retreating down the stairs.
Decided it was time to make my next move—moving out.
This had gone on long enough. My life break had broke my heart. I had broken my brother’s heart. I had . . . made my new husband very, very angry. I withdrew the expensive, embossed luggage he bought me as a wedding present from beneath the bed. As soon as I snapped it open, I began pouring the contents of my closet inside.
A short minute into this task, and I saw movement outside the window. Pete was standing in the tree, leaning against the glass. Our eyes met. My eyes narrowed while his went wide. Really ? What did he expect? I’d stick around happy just to be Brunette-Number-One?
I saw his own eyes narrow as he watched me dump the contents of my T-shirt drawer into my suitcase. His jaw clenched, then he leaned forward even more, bent his elbow into a sharp ninety-degree angle, and shattered the glass.
My mouth popped open, and I stood stock still while he removed the screen and reached around to unlock the window. He slid it open and crawled inside, hands crunching to the floor, furious face forward, followed by torso and legs wiggling their way in until a whole human being plopped onto the shattered glass.
I pretended I didn’t hear his curse, or see the bloody cut on his palm, or the fact that he just wrapped the towel I’d used to clean the counters around his hand. Or that he just used my used shot-glass to down some tequila. No siree, I was too busy packing to notice. I moved along to the bathroom to retrieve my toiletries. My spine stiffening when I heard the tinkling sound of a shattered shot glass join the fun on the floor. We were creating a mosaic of pain.
When I came out, Pete was waiting for me, his face the same color as the fragments of his favorite coffee mug.
“Kathryn Lee Connelly,” he uttered in a low, shaking voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He was clearly shaken up.
He wasn’t the only one. I was physically shaking. I was so mad I could barely unlock my jaw to speak. “Packing.” Once again, I decided to be straightforward rather than glib.
“I can see that. But don’t you rather think you’re jumping the gun a little? You haven’t even heard my explanation yet.”
Yet. I stopped cramming stuff in long enough to pin him with a look. “I believe, in this case, actions speak louder than words.”
I threw in my toiletries and zipped it up, lugging the stuffed case off the bed. That move seemed to do him in. He strode forward to snatch my wrist from the handle I’d just yanked up.
“You’re not going anywhere until you listen to me.” His wet eyes bored into mine.
We wrestled a hilarious and fruitless moment over the suitcase, until he yanked it away from me one-handed and held me back with the other.
“I’m outta here, Pete . . . thanks for the memories.” My voice wobbled a little at the end, taking the sting out of my zinger.
He heaved a sigh. “It’s not what it looked like. If you’d just sit down, I’ll tell you everything.”
“I think all those condoms tell it all.” I wrestled my suitcase back and headed for the door.
He quick-stepped in front of me to block my exit. “ Where is it that you think you’re going?”
“Home.”
Pete’s face went dark again. “And where would that be exactly? Back to your father and the trailer house? Not an option and you know it. Back to The Academy and the waiting arms of your lunatic ex-husband?” he spat. “Pretty sure he’ll crush you with those arms the second you step into them.”
I opened my mouth to speak. No words came out at the very accurate mental picture. I ignored his goading to goad him back. “Your greater concern should be whether or not the first place I go to is the police . . . you did abduct me, remember?”
He snorted at that one. “As I recall, you didn’t try very hard to stop me and you haven’t tried to escape since.”
“Well, I didn’t know I was going with a low-down cheater at the time!”
Pete’s face turned the same shade as his smashed coffee cup again. I thought he might start boiling next because sweat just popped from the pores on his face. I knew he was close to snapping, so I went for it.
“Liar, con-artist, deserter, kidnapper, and now cheater,” I counted out, making a point of running out of fingers. “That’s quite a resume you have going on for yourself, Pete. Congratulations . . . your parents must be so proud.”
Yep, that did it. He tore from his spot on the floor. I screamed before he even grabbed me his face was so bad. He hoisted me up, kicking and screaming, and threw me down on the bed, where I clawed and scratched and battered my whirlpool of emotions out on his body. Tears flowed down my face.
“How could you do this to me?” I huffed. “I was fine!” I puffed. “We were fine,” I blasted at him. “How could you bring me here and cheat on me before the first month is even up?” My voice cracked, so I began beating on him again.
He snatched my pummeling fists and smashed my wrists together, pinning them above my head with one hand while holding my writhing torso down with his other. He used his own legs to subdue my thrashing ones, then just stared me down, not saying a word to defend himself.
“I even saw you check out another girl while you were with the first one,” I barreled on, tears be damned. “Right after making it with me this morning. What are you . . . some kinda sicko or somethin’? I can’t believe it!”
“Would you listen to me?” he finally cut in. “It’s not true!” He shook me a little, while I commenced to trying to free myself again.
“I even made you eggs before you left!” I wailed.
After a minute more of useless struggling, I collapsed like a resigned bug trapped in a spider’s web and started crying.
“Look at me, Kate.”
“No.” I refused to open my eyes as tears flowed down my face. I was too scared of what I’d see. It would likely kill me.
“Use your gift on me,” he challenged. “I’m not concerned at all, because I know as bad as it looks, there really, truly is a very good explanation. If you’ll just look at me, you’ll see.”
I knew what he was going to say. His excuse. After all, I did bust him red-handed, so he’d have to cop to it now. He made a living off seducing women. A necessary evil he’d say. How he paid for everything—off of all those rich, well-bred girls who probably didn’t even need a tutor, just an excuse to spend time with him. If I were in their flip-flops, I’d probably do the same thing.
A drug. That’s what Pete Davenport was. A nirvana-inducing narcotic. And I was completely addicted. I wanted to be convinced, so I could stay.
“Please, Kate. Open your eyes.” He was breathing all over me, weakening my defenses. “Let me explain. If you still think I’m lying, I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go.”
I clicked my eyes open; they were in lie-detection mode. I stared into the shiny wet pupils of the man I loved, bracing for it.
He surprised me by asking a question: “Did you notice anything those two girls had in common?”
“They were both pretty !” Actual spittle came flying out my mouth.
That didn’t faze him. He even quirked his lip up a bit. I didn’t find anything humorous about this.
“That’s right,” he agreed as though I were a pupil calling out the right answer.
My eyes became snake slits. His lips definitely quirked up now. “Think, Kate. Use those Academy skills. Anything else they had in common?”
I forced some air through my stopped-up nose, expelling some rage in a long stream. I didn’t feel like playing I-spy the brunette babes. “You have a definite type,” I spat. “. . . Poor Reese. She didn’t realize her only problem was she’s got the wrong hair color.”
He ignored my off-topic comment. His lips curled with something other than fury. “That’s right. Very good. They both have brown hair. They’re both about your height and weight. And they were both pretty . . . not nearly as pretty as you. That would be impossible to find.” His eyes smoldered down at me with something other than anger, while my heart did a little leap of faith in my chest.
Then it dawned on me what he was doing. His excuse.
And then he said, “I was working on getting you a new ID.”
Even though I realized what he was going to say, my eyes shot wide with the knowledge. I narrowed them again.
“Then what was with all the condoms?”
“I was planning on having a lot of sex . . . with you .” He pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile. “That reminds me . . . we’ll have to start using those as soon as you run out of pills.”
“Then why hide them?” I persisted.
“Because I didn’t want to seem too presumptuous when you got here.”
I was quiet a long moment, my chest heaving, my body coming down from its anger high.
We were pupil to pupil, staring into each other’s souls. “I would never cheat on you, Kate.”
Pete was telling the truth. My heart flipped in my chest.
“And honestly . . . where would I find the energy?” His lips quirked up again. “We’ve been doing two-a-days, sometimes three-a-days since the day we started.”
Fresh tears sprang to my eyes, relief washing over me, along with desire—the way he was looking at me, the way his groin was pressed against mine, the way his heart was pounding into my chest. All the churning emotions needing a release.
“Pete,” I breathed when I could find my voice. “God. When I saw you like that . . . I just snapped. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight.”
Pete still held my wrists pinned above my head, staring me down. “Imagine how I felt, finding you and Ranger . . . ”—I glanced away, and he squeezed my wrists tighter until I returned my gaze—“sharing a shower together on your honeymoon .” His voice got thick and guttural. “After viewing those bloody sheets.”
“I’m sorry, Pete. I should’ve trusted you. It’s just . . . sometimes I just positively lose it. I can’t think. Can’t use my intuition.”
“What I want to know is why you were following me in the first place?” Pause to peer at me with chastising eyes. “Because you broke into my stash of condoms this morning out of boredom?”
I shook my head, trying to free my wrists. He released them, and I immediately wrapped my arms around his back, pulling him to me. But he resisted me.
“So . . . Nancy Drew strikes again,” he said, and a ghost of a smile lifted his lips at the memory of me snooping in his wallet to find his age. “You never bothered to explain why you were following me today.”
“I wasn’t following you. I had no idea where you were.”
“But I told you I was headed to The Farm, so you knew I was on campus. Did you just accidentally-on-purpose bump into me?”
I huffed out some aggravation. “How would I know what that means? You have all kinds of weird lingo that you use all the time, and I don’t understand half of it. When you say ‘I’m leaving for Coho’. . . what’s that even mean?”
“Coffee House.”
“Oh.”
“You really had no idea I was on campus today?”
I shook my head. “No, I mean . . . I realize if you’re a tutor, you’re probably goin’ there somewhere from time to time. But I pictured quiet libraries or boring desks in common rooms.”
“Hmmm.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Then what were you doing there today? And why the hell were you driving without a license ?” His tone let me know I wasn’t forgiven yet.
“I . . . I had to do somethin’ to help out, Pete. Sittin’ around all day watchin’ TV isn’t what I call a life. Since you seem to think I’m too good to clean houses, I decided that I could try my hand at tutorin’ too.”
Pete rolled off me, sat up, and raked his hand through his hair. “Let me guess . . . you decided to risk getting caught out without any ID, never mind a driver’s license, so you drove up to Stanford with a stack of flyers you typed up today with Ruthie to staple all over campus advertising your tutoring services?”
I swallowed down a knot of hurt and nodded. He made it sound so childish and stupid when he said it that way. “I even added some clip art. It looked pretty professional.” I know I sounded pretty pathetic.
He snorted rudely. “Kate, you’ve got to be patient. Remain a ghost a while longer. Or you will get us caught . . . I had to answer a lot of questions today that I’d really rather not have.”
I swallowed again. This time it was guilt that went down.
“What number did you use for contact?” he demanded.
“Ty Jennings.”
He nodded, looking both pissed and relieved. I didn’t know what number he thought I’d leave. I didn’t own a cell phone. Well, I did, but it was MIA since Mexico.
“I’m sorry, Pete. I didn’t get a chance to put that many up before . . . I, uh, got that tingle up my spine, so you probably won’t get many calls.”
Pete looked at me for a hard second. “You’re telling me your intuition alerted you to my presence?”
I nodded. “I didn’t see you before I, uh . . . felt you,” I confessed.
He arched a brow. “ Felt me?”
I nodded my head, flushing at the admission.
He shook his head, looking like some internal debating was going on. “I doubt if I get any.” My forehead knitted, and he said, “Phone calls.”
“Oh.” I deflated further. “Surely someone will need a tutor for something. I put a lot of things down: English, Spanish, Russian. Even Biology.” I shrugged around that one.
He rubbed at his forehead and half smiled. “Kate . . . this is Stanford University,” he said in the most patronizing tone he’d used with me thus far. “Palo Alto is among the most educated places on earth. I think you need to up your game if you want any hits.”
This time I swallowed down anger, and tried to sit up, but he wouldn’t allow it, so I propped up on my elbows to sear him with my eyes. “Are you sayin’ I’m not smart enough to tutor Stanford students?”
“Don’t get your dander up, Kate. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Just that these kids—”
I cringed because they were my age.
“—need more high-level, specialized tutoring than conjugating verbs in Spanish or essay writing. They’re the tops of their classes.”
“Well, how would I know that?” I was choked up with emotion now. “I went straight from the real farm to The Academy with no stops between. And I went straight from no boyfriend to you to Ranger and back to you with no stops in between. What do I know about anything in the real world?” I exploded, throwing my hands out in frustration. “All I know is I wanted to help, so you wouldn’t have all the burden all by yourself.”
Pete’s face melted. “I know that, and I love you for it. But.” He paused to give me a hard smile. “It takes a while to set up. Word of mouth is the only way to go. Not an app or a website. No kind of advertising. It’s too risky. I’ve already burned one ID getting you out,” he reminded me with a stern look.
Great. Another guilt-punch.
“The reason we’re not scrambling now is because I’ve been able to remain a ghost. And we have it so good here: I’m not on a lease, the Jeep is registered to Robert Henry, I’ve even acquired a credit card in his name now that Ty Jennings is no longer around. I owe that man my life.”
My eyes widened in understanding. “I’m sorry, Pete. I didn’t know. You make it look so easy.”
He sighed, forgiveness softening his eyes instantly. “Don’t apologize. How could you? It’s like you said—straight from the farm to a high-class prison. Then straight from a control freak to . . .” He paused to think.
Another control freak I wanted to supply but didn’t want to fight anymore.
“. . . me,” he finished. “Your world view is understandably skewed. There’s a learning curve, Kate, that has nothing to do with your intelligence.”
We stared for a moment, and I watched as his soft brown eyes hardened again. Uh-oh. I knew what was coming and was hoping to avoid it, bask in his forgiveness a while longer.
“But what you do need to apologize for, young lady, is putting your life in danger today.” His dark eyes bored into mine. He shook my shoulder when I closed my eyes against the accusation. “Jesus God in heaven, Kate! You almost gave me a heart attack. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared or so livid in all my life!”
My eyes pulled down at the corners, pleading.
“Don’t pull the hangdog eyes on me, Katie-Kat. It won’t work.”
“I wasn’t thinkin’,” I said, using my best little-girl voice.
“The thought of those cars running into you, breaking bones, crushing you.” He shook me again. “You could’ve been killed! Or paralyzed!”
“But I wasn’t. And I’m really, really sorry, Pete.” I pouted up at him while urging him down for some warm comfort. I couldn’t bear to be out of his circle of love for another second. But he wasn’t budging, arms bulging, propping himself off me.
“You’re going to have to work harder than that,” he said. “I’m really thoroughly pissed.”
I put on my temptress smile, running my hand over his head and down his back, wriggling closer.
“You locked me out of the house,” he reminded me. “Then you top it off by threatening to run off on me!” His voice got thick at the end. He was really upset.
I rubbed at his back, enticing him closer, trying to get him to hug me.
“Uh-uh.” He shook his golden head. “Pissed as hell, Kate.”
I tried wrapping one leg around him to force him to me, but it’s like he was made of steel.
“And then I cut my hand breaking into my own place,” he went on. “Am bleeding all over our love sheets.” He glowered at me while I suppressed a smile. His eyes were starting to tell a different story.
Mine already felt heavy lidded with lust. I sighed, an aching need for him had been building up inside me and it reflected from my face. I could feel myself flush. “I said I was sorry. Do you want me to kiss it and make it feel all better?” I cooed, still trying to press myself into him.
He nodded, committed to withholding himself from me until I worked for his absolution. But he did offer me a peace offering—his hurt hand. His palm was still bleeding. I took it in my hand, holding his gaze for a heavy moment. I closed my eyes and brought my lips to his palm, kissing it gently right on the oozing cut. After I came back from that endeavor, my eyes clicked back open to find his . . . and then I licked some of his blood off my lips with my tongue.
Pete’s eyes were intense and interested, staring hypnotically back at me with desire. And desire for me to continue my quest for his forgiveness. I watched his pupils dilate until his eyes were almost as black as mine. His jaw went slack. His breath hitched as he stared at his blood staining my lips.
I smiled. “Is that better?”
He nodded, staring at me with a strange assortment of emotions flickering in those deep dark eyes. I thought he was about to cave, because he cradled my face and leaned in closer, but it was only to brush his thumb across my lips. He wiped the stain of blood on my arm, a sloppy smile upon his lips.
A bigger smile curved my lips. I sighed, pulling him to me, yearning for his hardness. But he wasn’t caving . . . yet .
“I think you still need to work a little harder to get back into my good graces.” He spoke in a low, husky tone.
I pouted and whimpered, running my hands along the length of his back.
“Always so impatient,” he chastised me.
“Fine” growled from my throat. I dropped my arms and laid back down with a harsh sigh.
I looked at his face and finally caught onto the spirit of things. It might be fun to seduce him for once. And then I frowned, remembering this not going so well with Ranger. Ranger. I was surprised he jumped into my mind at all; it was usually so easy to think only of Pete when I was with Pete. But it was hard not to recall how that humiliating first time went down. Even though I knew I was sabotaged, I was bound and determined to seduce the literal pants off Pete. That thought transformed my lips into a seductive smile.
He smiled back before rolling onto his back, waiting for my next move.
I leaned over him, running my hand from the top of his head down the length of his chest until I found the hem of his t-shirt. I pulled it up to reveal that awesome V. I ran teasing fingers along the shape before moving south to play with him for a moment. His breath hitched. I cupped him in my hand, feeling the force of his need. This resulted in a pleasure groan from him.
I crawled on top of him, straddling him. I kissed his neck and took a selfish moment to breathe him in. I sat up to remove my T-shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it to the floor. This summoned a smile of approval, so I unhooked my bra and tossed it aside too. I had him where I wanted him—mesmerized. Keeping my eyes on his, I played with myself a bit, a move I’d never thought to try and one that summoned a burn to my face, but I was determined to be a good sport.
It went over well. Pete sucked in a breath. His face darkening with desire; his features going slack before my eyes. We had to do something about his clothes and my shorts, so I slid off long enough to work his shirt up and off. After this endeavor, I ran my nails back up the length of him, from his navel to his throat. Then I shimmied my shorts off, debating about my G-string for a moment. He gave me an encouraging smile, and I went for it, sliding them off too. His smile grew. I leaned over and ran a palm, in one long line from the top of his chest to the bottom of his navel, following the trail of golden hair. I cupped his swollen fullness again, and he groaned. I smiled.
This was fun.
He was making it too easy for me. I unbuckled his belt and slowly unzipped his jeans, teasing him with my hand. I moved to the end of the bed to tug his jeans and boxer briefs down, with a little help from him. I came back around and crawled back on him, finally leaning over to claim his lips. We passionately kissed for a long, luxurious moment. My throat hummed with approval. I got a little lost from our kiss before I remembered myself. So I lowered my lips, licking and sucking my way down to find a nipple. I hesitated before teasing it with my tongue, in the same manner he did mine.
Another satisfying groan escaped him. Who knew ? I was really liking this seducing thing. Usually, I just laid back and let him lead me whichever way he wanted to go—it was always a marvelous destination. But today, I was in the driver’s seat and was enjoying the ride.
I continued my journey south, licking and sucking my way down past the ripples of his stomach, my hair trailing behind me like a veil. He shuddered with pleasure, his hand stroking my head when I took him in my hand. And then I took him in my mouth. He sucked a sharp intake of breath and stiffened up, then groaned and fell back again as I licked my way up and down the shaft. I paused to run my tongue around the tip to elicit another well-deserved groan.
He’d only allowed me to go down on him the one time. I think I must’ve botched it so had been studying up on technique. This time I made sure to follow the guidelines, while still letting him know the depth of my feelings for him through my eyes. How sorry I was that I put him through hell. I was enthusiastic, if still inexperienced. But no longer fumbling my way through, more confident in my moves. He seemed to appreciate all my effort and was watching my every move, eyes half closed with desire, an addled half-smile on his lips.
I smiled with the knowledge I could make him look like that—spun out, delirious with pleasure. I closed my eyes, intent on finishing the job when he stopped me, pulling me off him with one arm. Our eyes met as if in silent agreement, and we shared a smile. I straddled him again, easing myself into him. The delicious full feeling of him pushing into me, elicited my own groan of satisfaction. I threw my head back in pleasure.
His hands cupped my breasts, kneading them and brushing thumbs over both nipples until I groaned again. I felt a warm trickle down my left breast and realized it was blood from his cut. I was rising higher and higher, reaching closer to the finish line, when he surprised me by flipping me over with a growl to take me from behind. He thrust into me, grasping my shoulder and really ramming into me until it became that fine line between pleasure and pain.
“Don’t ever leave me!” he begged in my ear.
My breath was pushed from my body with each thrust. A stinging palm hit my backside. A strangled cry escaped me.
“Say it, Kate. You. Are. Not. Leaving.” Harsh, ragged breaths punctuated each thrust.
I cried out with something other than passion as he shocked me with another spank, followed closely by a corresponding sting. It didn’t hurt much physically. Mentally . . . was a different story.
He pushed harder and faster, until I cried out.
“Say it,” he hissed in my ear.
“I won’t.” I choked out, knowing it was open to interpretation: I won’t say it; I won’t leave.
He pushed a final hard thrust into me, shaking and groaning. I could feel the release of pent-up anger and frustration pool into me before he shuttered to a stop and collapsed over me.
I was shaken up a little but completely aware Pete wasn’t really trying to hurt me—he was the hurt one, physically venting his fear that I would leave him. It was something I could see in his eyes. He was always trying too hard, as if he had to. He could try half as hard, and I still wouldn’t leave him. Didn’t he know that?
I buried my face in the covers, trying to put my face back into some semblance of together. He’d really stirred up those dormant memories I was trying so hard to suppress.
Pete was stroking my head with his uninjured hand, murmuring in my ear little soothing sounds. After I didn’t rouse for a while, he used words: “God.” Big sigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I got carried away. Did I scare you?”
I shook my head. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel guilty. It was my mental problem to solve. I was sure his actions were completely within the range of normal. I was no longer that na?ve. I’d been living at The Academy a while. Had heard stories. Had already experienced a similar bout of explosive anger with my husband on my honeymoon. Gah! That was twice in one setting I’d thought of Ranger (in the bedroom no less).
“Good.” Pete kissed my shoulder, slipping out of me to roll over. I just remained face down until I could rebury all those memories that stinging palm drudged back up.
He leaned over me, running a finger down my back, dredging up goosebumps now. His hand formed a palm to cup my bottom. He placed a kiss on the sensitive spot where he spanked me. He ran his finger across to the other side, to the small, raised scar that was the only surviving physical reminder of that thing I was suppressing. A fresh batch of tears pricked my eyes as he rearranged the tumbled sheets and duvet over me, pulling them up to my neck to cover my chill.
He got up and left me, and I could hear the rustle of jeans and a zip. A short moment later, I felt the springs move beneath his weight as he sat next to me. He was quiet so long, I took a breath and peeked through my hair. His head was hanging between his legs. The bowed arch of his proud back looked all wrong. I saw him run a hand up the back of his neck, revealing a peek of the ugly scar I’d left behind.
I loved him so much it hurt.
As if reading my mind, he turned to face me. “It’s fucked-up, bat-shit crazy love I have for you.” A rueful smile followed this.
His eyes were pleading with mine, knowing he’d pushed me too far. It was a lot to have happen in one day. A lot of emotions to sort out. I smiled at him, reaching out to pull him in for a hug. He let me, and we spooned together, him in front, me with my arms wrapped around him, pulling him into my blood-stained chest.
We stayed like that for a while until we got up to shower. It was the first time that we showered together. I guess we mutually decided the honeymoon shower fiasco was no longer an impediment. Pete lathered me up first and washed his blood off me. Then I got out to get dressed. A while later, when he got out, I was waiting for him with antibiotic cream, some gauze, and a bandage. He allowed me to tend his wound, and then I wordlessly cleaned up the broken glass, while he measured the window and ran down to the garage to cut some plywood.
After the clean-up, he poured cereal into bowls while I peeled a banana. We hadn’t spoken for a while, working in companionable silence. He paused suddenly, and I glanced up to see his lips twitch with humor.
“Have you been using these bananas for anything else lately?” he asked.
I automatically smiled with his droopy mouth. “What?”
He laughed. “Nothing,” he said, shoving the bowls at me to slice the bananas over. He searched my face, and I searched his eyes for the hidden meaning. He laughed again, then hid his head in the fridge to get milk.
“What are you laughin’ at?”
He poured milk for us both, leaning on the counter to take a wolfish bite. His eyes were sparkling mischief while he chewed and stared at my face.
“Pete?”
He swallowed. “Have you been . . . er, practicing your technique?”
“Oh.” I blushed tomato red and busied myself wiping the counter. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
He threw his head back, laughing. “Man. I wish you would’ve let me watch you abuse those poor bananas.”
I bapped him with a dishtowel. “I didn’t use bananas, you dork.”
“What?” Pete looked scandalized. “Where’s Ducky Bob? I’m gonna go kick his old ass right now!” He pretended to storm off when I caught him by the arm.
I shook my head, laughing. “ Not Bob.”
“Then whom do I have to thank?”
I huffed out a laugh and grabbed my cereal, heading to the couch. “You can thank Cosmo for that one,” I tossed over my shoulder.
“I’m ordering a subscription today!”
We ended the afternoon laughing over our bowls of cereal, sitting on the couch watching TV.