Chapter 11 #2
“Let me get some of the guys in here to . . .”
“No!” he barked. He took a deep, steadying breath and said more evenly, “No one needs to know I’m here.”
“My name’s not ‘no one.’ It’s Starla. And I’m pretty sure at least five men know you’re here.”
“They don’t count.”
“Why not?” I asked as I squeezed through the door and knelt beside him. “What’s your name?”
“Why?”
“That’s your name?” He frowned, and I shrugged.
“Hey, I’ve got no room to make fun. Believe me, I understand catching shit for a name.
I’ve dealt with it my whole life.” I reached for a large bath towel hanging on the rack behind him, snapped it open, and laid it flat on the floor beside him. “Roll over onto this.”
“Why?”
“Okay. Why, roll over. Damn, all this formality is getting tiresome, don’t you think?”
“What are you doing?”
“Are you going to do what I say so I can drag your ass back to the couch, or are you going to lie there naked on the floor until you fucking freeze to death?”
“Bossy.” It didn’t sound like an insult. As a matter of fact, it sounded a little like a compliment, which I found bizarre. I grew even more confused when he added, “Sassy too.”
I started to stand. When he realized I was serious, the man rolled onto the towel. Once he settled, I stood, grabbed the corners, and dragged him away from the door. When I finally got it open all the way, I put my back into it and hauled him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
“Do you want to go to the bed or back to the couch?”
“How do you know I was sleeping on the couch?”
“Because if you’re any kind of man at all, you wouldn’t force a woman Ma’s age to sleep on the couch in her own house.”
He smiled sleepily and said, “Couch.”
“Sir! Yessir!” He smiled again as I started dragging him. Looking down at him, I smiled and said, “You’re not as heavy as I thought you were.”
“Give me another day or two and I’ll be back in fighting shape.”
“You think so, huh?” I asked as I pulled him into the sitting room. “I’d say more like a month or two.”
“Nope. A week at most.”
“Wanna bet?”
“You don’t know me, Starla.”
“Not yet. But since the secret of your visit is out of the bag, I’ll have a chance to.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll grow on you slowly but surely, and the next thing you know, we’ll be besties.”
The man wasn’t going to argue because he was already asleep. I tugged him as close to the couch as possible and covered him with the blanket I’d seen earlier. Leaving him on the floor felt horrible, but at least he was warm.
I couldn’t resist brushing his hair off his forehead, but I squealed when his hand shot up and grabbed mine.
He moved so fast I never saw it coming, and I gasped when I tried to yank my hand away and he tightened his grip.
His eyes flew open. The second he saw it was me, he let go and whispered, “Sorry.”
I knew without a doubt that this poor man had been through something horrible.
I knew it not just because of his gaunt frame, the dark circles beneath his eyes, or the bruises on his ribs and legs, but by his reaction to being touched.
I wanted to wrap him in a hug, but after what had just happened, I knew better than to try.
“Do you want me to lift you onto the couch, Mr. Why?”
“You can’t do it.”
“Like every other man I’ve known in my time here on Earth, you underestimate what I can do when I put my mind to it.”
“I almost want to say yes just so I can watch you try.”
He hadn’t even finished his sentence before I slid my arms under his back and knees and lifted him onto the couch. It wasn’t a smooth transition, but it was quick and hopefully painless. I felt a little proud of myself because I didn’t even grunt under his weight.
Hell, I impressed myself. Imagine what I could do if I made an effort to work out regularly, which I swore I was going to do . . . someday.
“Damn, girl. Color me impressed.”
“Is that your last name?”
His chuckle came out more like a wheeze before he said, “My name’s Lurk.”
“I’d have stuck with Why if I were you,” I mumbled as I slowly extended my arm and did what I’d tried earlier. I brushed his hair off his forehead, let my fingers trail over his scalp, and used my nails to scratch lightly–something Ma used to do when I had nightmares. “What happened to you, Lurk?”
“Bad people do bad things.”
“I hope those bad people experience a hundred times the pain they inflicted on you.”
“What makes you so sure I’m not the bad guy?”
Lurk’s eyes fluttered shut, blinked open a few times, and then closed for good. I relaxed back on my feet, propping my free arm on the edge of the couch as I slowly massaged his scalp until he let out a soft snore.
I wasn’t sure why or what made me think so, but Lurk needed some softness in his life. Luckily, I didn’t have many pressing things on my agenda for the next hour or so. Since the scratching seemed to calm him, I was content to sit right here as long as he needed me to.
This was the friend Sarge had mentioned, and I couldn’t imagine what he’d endured before he got here. The poor man looked like someone had beaten him repeatedly–some bruises already fading, others still fresh and angry.
Somehow I knew that he was a lot like Sarge. Without thinking, I whispered, “I have a feeling you’re only bad when you have to be.”
Lurk was sleeping soundly, so he didn’t argue. Instead, he snored again and shifted his head so my nails scratched a new spot. After a few minutes, he did it again, like a cat moving around to ensure whoever was petting it hit all the right places.
I was almost positive that whatever had kept Sarge out all night had something to do with the condition this man was in, and I hoped that he’d taken care of it in a way that made sure no one else would ever experience what Lurk must have.
And if Sarge hadn’t accomplished that task, I had a few ideas to make it happen.