Pulse

Chapter 15

Dahlia

“Is this everything you thought it would be?” Troy asks, splashing warm water gently onto my chest.

He sits behind me in the tub, his front to my back, and holds me like we’ve done this a hundred times.

I lean my head on his chest and poke my toes out of the bubbles, thinking about my mom’s thoughts on baths being the epitome of sophistication. This is decadent, but more because of the man holding me and less about the bathtub.

“No,” I say.

“No?”

“No. It’s not everything I thought it would be.”

“Why? I want this to meet your expectations. I can’t fail you now.”

I laugh. “When I dreamed of this bathtub experience, it didn’t have a gorgeous man who has a bit of an attitude problem from time to time but can also be pretty damn sweet when he wants to be, sitting with his arms around me.” I tilt my head back so I can see his face. “This is so much better than I thought it would be.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I all but swoon.

We’ve sat here for a long time—long enough for the hot water to cool twice. Troy ran downstairs during the second refill and got us water and a bag of Doritos that he found in the pantry.

The bathroom is humid. Steam fogs the vanity mirrors. It’s cozy and warm … and wonderful.

“This is a new experience for me, you know,” I say, drawing circles onto Troy’s muscled forearms.

“What? Taking a bath with someone?”

“Um, no. I’ve done that.”

He bristles. “Let’s move this conversation along.”

I laugh again, my damp hair sticking to his chest. “I don’t normally feel this relaxed around someone. I usually make them work for it.”

“You don’t think I worked for it?”

“No.”

“Okay. Do you have any idea how hard it has been to work with you every motherfucking day for the past two years and try to pretend you’re just another girl?”

I scoff. “That’s not working for it. That’s working not for it or something.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yes, it does,” I say. “You were actively working on not hooking up with me. That’s not working for it, Castelli.”

His chest rises and falls, moving me with it.

“I want to be clear about something,” he says, his tone somber.

“What?”

“This wasn’t a hookup.”

My chest fills with a warmth that’s so unexpected that I squirm.

“I warned you. I?—”

“Oh, I remember. I wanted fucked, and you wanted to have a conversation about condoms, and work complications, and sexually transmitted diseases, and?—”

“It’s called being responsible.”

I look back at him and smile. “I know. And, honestly, I love that you did all those things. It makes me feel …”

He pulls me snugly against him again. “It makes you feel what?”

Loved.

The word echoes through my brain, but I know I can’t say it. It’s ridiculous to think it. Saying it would be asinine. I’m not the kind of girl who thinks she loves a guy the first time they have sex. I didn’t tell Freddy I loved him, and we dated for months.

Besides, I don’t love Troy. I can’t love Troy. I don’t know him well enough to love him.

Don’t be stupid, Dahlia.

“Valued,” I say, plucking a word out of the air. “It makes me feel valued.”

“You should always feel valued.”

I grin. “I really felt valued when you had your fist in my hair and was railing me from behind.”

He chuckles. The sound makes my grin grow even bigger.

“What do you mean when you say this wasn’t a hookup?” I ask, my stomach fluttering. “What does that look like?”

“It looks like if Theo calls you again to chitchat about Wednesday office snacks, he’ll be eating his food through a fucking straw.”

“Stop it,” I say, laughing.

“I fucking mean it.”

I lean up and scoot around so my back is on the other side of the tub and I’m facing Troy. He’s not smiling, or laughing, or at all amused. And, my lord, it’s hot.

“You can’t do that,” I say. “We work together. He’s probably going to call me sometimes.”

“And once he finds out you’re mine, he better choose those calls carefully.”

“And once he finds out that you’re mine …”

I shiver despite the warm water.

“What are we going to do about work?” I ask. “All joking aside. I haven’t exactly read the employee handbook about fraternization, but I’m assuming in our line of work, it’s a no-no.”

He scoops up a handful of water and douses his face with it. I wonder if he’s even considered it.

It’s a huge potential problem, one I don’t know how to manage. I know his loyalty lies with our boss, and I would never come between them. But I don’t know where this leaves me. Where does that leave … this?

Us?

The thought of having this time with Troy and returning to how we were is unbearable. Not when I’ve seen this side of him. Not when I’ve had him like this.

“I’m not putting you on the spot,” I say. “I know this just happened, and we didn’t plan it. I don’t expect you to have all the answers because I sure as hell don’t. But I think it would behoove us to figure it out as soon as possible.”

He grins.

“What?” I ask.

“It behooves us. Who says that?”

I splash him. “Me, asshole.”

He laughs, resting his arms along the sides of the tub. “I don’t know what happens next. We’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to Ford. He may want to split us up or give me a more permanent position around the office.”

“What if he splits us up and Theo is my new guy?”

He smirks. “Theo will never be your guy. I can promise you that.”

“You’re awfully cocky, Mr. Castelli.”

“Only when I know I’m right.”

I move across the tub, planting my hands on the edge of the tub on either side of him, and kiss him. He wraps his arms around me, gripping my ass, and holds me in place.

Our mouths move effortlessly in sync.

I settle back between his legs again, my back to his front.

“So I can consider myself your girlfriend now? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask cheekily.

“You can consider yourself whatever you want as long as it means no one else gets to have you.”

“What if you decide a few days from now you aren’t into this?”

“Doll, I’ve already been into you for two years. This just sealed the deal.”

My cheeks ache from smiling. “So, boyfriend, tell me something about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

I shrug. “Something I don’t know. Something that will help me understand the enigma that is Troy Castelli.”

“An enigma, huh?”

“I don’t even know your middle name.”

“Lucas. What’s yours?”

“Penelope. It was my mom’s name.”

He kisses the top of my head. “It’s beautiful, just like you.”

I settle against him, relishing the contact.

We sit quietly for a long time, swaying in the water. A comfortable silence settles over the room.

I have so many questions for Troy Lucas Castelli. Where does he see himself in five years? What did he love to do as a child? Does he want children? But I don’t want to push my luck—and I’ve been very lucky lately.

He bends his leg, exposing his knee through the water. I grab it to sit up when I notice a curious mark on his leg. I follow the raised scar with my fingertip.

“What’s this from?” I ask. “Some kind of battle wound.”

“You could say that.”

“Is there a story behind it? Usually, guys have a legendary tale about these things. Like they found a lion or killed a shark.”

“That’s pretty accurate.”

I laugh. “I figured.”

“Only the monster was named my dad.”

I freeze, replaying that again. “Only the monster was named my dad.”

My throat tightens while my brain kicks into high gear. What does that mean?

“Well, I guess I know about your family, so you should know about mine,” he says, the words flat and hollow.

He laces our fingers together and sighs.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” I say, squeezing his hand.

He sighs again, longer this time, and rests his head against the wall.

“The day my parents brought Travis home from the hospital … I was so excited,” he says. “I was five. I just got home from kindergarten. I’d walked the half mile in the pouring rain. Well, I ran the last half of it because Mom and the baby were supposed to be there, and I couldn’t wait to see them. I had this idea in my head that when they got home, everything would be better.”

I bring his arms around me and pin them to my chest. “You walked half of a mile by yourself as a five-year-old?”

“Crazy, huh?”

“I … don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything yet because things did not get better,” he says with a sad laugh. “As a matter of fact, they got worse. They fought constantly. These screaming arguments that resulted in something being thrown. I was always happy when it was a lamp or picture, not Dad’s fists.”

Oh, my God.

“Of course, the screaming would wake the baby, and then he’d start crying. And the crying would set my father off about how he didn’t want fucking kids, and he’d flip furniture or throw a beer bottle across the room. I learned pretty quickly how to make a bottle and change diapers because I was scared to death that Dad was going to hurt Trav. And Trav didn’t deserve it.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Just like I didn’t deserve it.”

Tears pool in my eyes as I imagine what that must’ve been like. How scared he must have been. The thought of a baby Troy … I can’t.

Emotions clog my throat as I wait for him to continue. I can’t ask questions because, if I do, I’ll cry. And I’m pretty sure if I cry, he’ll shut down. Instead, I squeeze his arms as tightly as possible to let him know I’m here.

I don’t know what else to do.

“I took a lot of fucking beatings for that boy,” he says, chuckling angrily. “It got worse as we got older. Dad would come home high as fuck or drunk or both and just hit the first thing he saw, which was usually me. Because if it was me, it wasn’t my mom or little brother.”

“Troy …” Tears stream down my face as my heart breaks. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“He tore Mom down until she was a shell of a human being. She just stayed in her room most of my childhood. We had a neighbor, Mrs. Autumn, who would leave sandwiches on her porch for me and Travis. She’d visit her sister for a couple of weeks every summer. Those were some hungry fucking weeks, let me tell you.”

My body shakes as I hiccup back sobs.

“To this day, Travis gulps his food down.” He laughs softly. “It’s incredibly disgusting. Once, our house got stormed by … hell, I don’t know who it was. But Dad owed them money. That was the first time I had a gun held to my head. I was fourteen.”

I don’t know what to say. Nothing I can say will make it better. And the feeling of helplessness is overwhelming.

“Then, one day, it was late summer and school was about to start. I had just turned seventeen.”

His words are too careful, too hollow. I brace myself for whatever’s about to come.

“Travis and I had been fishing with some friends. We pulled in the driveway and could hear them fighting. We go on in because there’s no telling when it would end. You couldn’t base your life around their fights. And it was … bad.”

He tightens his arms around me.

“Mom was bleeding from her nose. She had a cut down the side of her face. Dad had a broken beer bottle in his hand like he was going to slice her with it.” His breathing grows rapidly. “I told Travis to go…to get outside and stay there. There was a look in Dad’s eye that just … it was like he was gone. They were vacant. There was no sense of humanity or connection. It was the coldest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He swallows hard.

“I was scared that day. Mom looked at me with just … terror on her face. It was like she regretted every decision she’d ever made at that moment. And she told me to get out. To go with Trav.”

“Did you?” I whisper, my tears dripping into the water.

“I think I knew what was going to happen,” he says. “I don’t know if it had been building up to that or if it was just the look on his face. But I knew he was going to kill her.”

“Troy.”

“I jumped in front of her. He swung the bottle over me somehow and it sliced her. Blood went everywhere,” he says, his voice void of emotion. “I wrestled Dad to the ground. But he was over two hundred pounds, and I probably weighed a buck fifty. There wasn’t a lot I could do.”

I cover my mouth to keep the gasp on my tongue from escaping. He doesn’t need my dramatics right now. He needs me to be strong for him.

“Travis came in at some point and grabbed a dumbbell off the floor and smashed Dad with it.” He pauses. “It probably saved my life.”

“What happened?”

“Travis needed therapy. I got a scar and probably need therapy, too. Dad went to prison, where he sits, rotting away in a cell.” His voice cracks. “And my mother died in a pool of blood in my lap that day. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”

“Oh, my God.”

I break free of his grip and turn to face him. Tears stream down his face. I wipe them away with my thumbs.

My heart shatters into a million pieces at the sight of this strong, beautiful, amazing man crying because of something so incredibly unfair.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, through my own tears. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into me. “I am so sorry.”

He presses a kiss below my ear and holds me tight.

We sit that way until the water grows cold—until my teeth chatter from the chill.

“There you go,” he says, pulling away. He tries to laugh to make light of the situation, but nothing is light about it. “Now you know a lot about me you didn’t know before.”

“I know that was hard for you. It means a lot that you shared that with me.”

“Even though I made you cry?”

I smile at him, touching the side of his face. “What do you say we get out of this water and back into bed? I saw you got a frozen pizza in your grocery order. Let’s put that in the oven and watch a movie.”

He kisses me softly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

We climb out of the water, and he wraps me in a fluffy towel. He holds my gaze as he fashions one around his waist.

No words are exchanged, but none are required.

Troy just trusted me. That says it all.