Chapter 29
I’m not dead.
Every time I wake up from sleep now, that’s my first recognition. As if my mind can’t recall that the bullet that penetrated my flesh between my shoulder and chest didn’t rip my body apart completely.
It didn’t.
A month later, and I’m still alive. And opening my eyes to the wooden ceiling of Ben’s parents’ tiny guest cottage.
It was touch and go for days, and I wouldn’t have survived had it not been for the expertise of Robin’s medic.
With a lot of herbal remedies and the skill of her hands in removing the bullet and stitching the wound inside and out, she saved me.
She treated me so persistently for so many days that I can still picture her face leaning over me—pale skin, faint freckles on her nose, the wild, wavy disarray of her bronze-colored hair.
If it wasn’t her peering down at me, it was Ben. He didn’t leave my side until I was out of danger. Even then, I’d wake up to see him sound asleep, leaning over with his head on the edge of my mattress because he couldn’t manage to sit up anymore.
He didn’t say much. Just got me anything I needed and a lot I didn’t. And sat beside me as if he could make me live with nothing but the power of his will.
Maybe that’s what he did.
I don’t know how or why it happened, but I beat all the odds and pulled through.
And now that the wound has closed and I’ve regained strength, the main thing still troubling me is that my range of motion in that shoulder has significantly declined.
Ben keeps making me stretch and rotate the shoulder so maybe even that will eventually come back.
Either way, I’m not going to complain.
I thought my chance to love Ben and fight in this world was over, but it’s not.
Blinking to clear my vision, I lift my head from the pillow.
The cottage is tiny—a small bedroom and minimal bathroom—but it’s as comfortable a room as I’ve had for years.
I lift my head to look around, but it’s empty except for the pile of Ben’s stuff in one corner and my own small collection of clothes and necessities neatly organized on a shelf.
Typical. Ben keeps my possessions perfectly tidy but tosses his own on the floor.
It makes me laugh silently. And that gives me energy enough to get up to go to the bathroom and wash up before returning to the bedroom.
I kneel down carefully and start sorting Ben’s heap of clothes and other belongings.
There’s a whole array of tools he keeps in pouches and holsters on his belt when he’s on the move.
Two knives. A multi-tool. A flashlight. A compass.
A water canteen. With all this in addition to his guns, he carries a whole arsenal with him everywhere he goes.
The thought amuses me as I divide the very dirty clothes from the ones that are clean or at least wearable again.
Then I bring everything over to organize on the shelf next to mine, pleased with the result.
When I hear Ben’s muffled voice from outside—he must be calling out something to one of his parents—a flash of whimsy hits me and I climb back under the covers in bed, settling myself and closing my eyes.
I hear the door open and Ben step in. I’d know it was him even if I hadn’t heard him approaching.
I’d know him in the dark just from breathing him in.
He must be standing still, probably sensing something has changed and trying to figure out what it is.
“What is this? Fairies come in just now and clean up my shit while you’re lyin’ in bed there pretendin’ to sleep?”
I try—I really do—to hide my fond amusement, but I can’t. Laughter bubbles out of me and I open my eyes.
He’s wearing beat-up trousers and a white undershirt. His hair needs a trim, and he’s growing out a beard. His shoulders are relaxed, and his face is soft.
I love him so much. I stretch my arms out toward him, and he toes off his shoes quickly before he climbs onto the bed.
“You can get on top,” I say as he rolls on his side and stretches over to kiss me.
“Nope. Not yet.”
“I’m fine. Totally healed.”
“When you’re back to full strength, I’ll get on top of you again. Until then, you’ll have to make do with this.”
I’m anxious to feel the weight of him on top of me again, but I’m not going to complain about his carefulness. We’re both well aware we almost lost each other, and we’re not going to do anything foolish that might put my recovery at risk.
So I comb my fingers through his hair as he kisses me, one of my hands trailing down to stroke his beard.
He tries to keep the kiss slow and intentional, but he gets excited almost immediately. Soon his tongue is all the way in my mouth, and I’m eagerly trying to pull him closer. He almost lets me but then huffs and draws back, glaring at me with playful disapproval. “That’s cheatin’.”
“It is not cheating. I was kissing you.”
“You were takin’ advantage of how much I always want you.”
“Maybe I want you too.”
“Do you?” His eyes are warm, still teasing. But there’s a hint of a real question underlying it.
“Of course I do. How can you even ask?”
He clears his throat, his mood shifting as he does.
“I’ve been wantin’ to, but I didn’t want to put pressure on you when you were still so sick.
All I know is that I fucked up big time, and you let it slide because we had to move on the Arsenal and then you were so close to dyin’.
” He stiffens the way he always does when he gets earnest. “But that doesn’t make my fuck-up go away.
” He’s bracing his upper body on one arm so he can look down at me.
“No,” I say, playing with his beard again. I like the texture of it. Rough and soft at the same time. Just like Ben. “It doesn’t. But the problem wasn’t that you messed up. Everyone does that. The problem was that I was so scared you’d keep doing it and I could never… never be who I want to be.”
“I get that. I understood it then and now.”
“But I’m not scared about that anymore. I saw exactly who you are and what you’re willing to do—what you’re willing to sacrifice—in order to let me be me.
Because you love me. I know how hard it was for you, and I’m never going to forget it.
I’m not scared anymore. I know it for sure now.
I can be me and still live a life with you. ”
He makes a rough sound and lowers his head to kiss me again, careful and passionate both. “Forever?” he murmurs against my mouth after a minute.
“Forever.”
He lets out a sigh and flops over onto his back beside me, grabbing and holding my hand tight. After a minute, he turns his head to look at me. “I wouldn’t’ve thought doin’ nothin’ was the hardest thing I ever did, but it sure fuckin’ was.”
“I know it was. I saw it. I knew it then, and I know it now. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He’s a little gruff. He’s getting embarrassed by the praise.
So to shift directions and because I really want to, I say, “So now do you think you might be able to figure out a way to fuck me without putting my health at risk?”
He chuckles and lifts himself up again, pulling down the covers and eyeing my body dressed in nothing but one of his T-shirts. “I think I can prob’ly manage.”
He does.
He kisses his way down my body until his face is between my thighs. There, he uses his lips and tongue to bring me to orgasm over and over again.
At the end, with both my legs hooked over his shoulders and my ass up off the mattress, I’m not convinced this position is any safer for a healing gunshot wound than regular man-on-top fucking would be.
But I’m having the best morning I can remember, so I don’t mention it.
We stay in bed for over an hour since he spends a long time on oral and then I’m inspired to reciprocate. Then we have to collapse for a while to catch our breath and enjoy the aftermath.
But we finally get up after that. I soak in the luxury of taking a warm shower since the cottage is equipped with indoor plumbing and a small water heater. I dress in jeans and a clean top, pulling my hair back in one thick braid and checking the mirror to make sure I look all right.
I normally don’t pay much attention to my appearance, but I want Ben’s parents to think of me as kind and brave and pretty—a good match for their beloved son.
“They love you,” Ben says, standing in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom and watching me smooth down some flyaways in my hair.
“What?” I meet his eyes in the mirror.
“They love you. My mom and dad.”
“I hope so. But I’m sure I’m not who they were hoping for you. Didn’t they want you to find a sweet woman to settle down with around here?”
His older sister, Abigail, married young to a boy from their hometown.
They already have four children ranging from ages fifteen to twenty-one and a one-year-old granddaughter.
His older brother, Michael, is living in a neighboring town with two teenage children.
His younger sister, Maria, has three children under twelve.
Ben is the only one of his siblings to leave the region where they were born and the only one without children.
“They used to think I probably would, but they never pressured me. When I never found a job or a person I wanted to settle with here, they understood my life would look different. They’re gonna be happy if I’m happy.
And anyway, they love you. And they’d love you even if I weren’t totally besotted. ”
“Besotted?” I giggle.
“That’s my mom’s word.”
“She said that about you?”
“Oh yeah.”
“When did she say that?”
“Way too many times. First time was back when we were here years ago. I told ’em I was goin’ back to the Central Cities with you, worried they’d be upset.
They weren’t. They expected it. When I asked why, my mom said something like, well, of course you’re goin’ with her.
That’s what you do when you’re totally besotted. ”
I’m snickering and blushing both. I turn around to look at him directly, leaning against the sink counter. “And what did you say?”
He steps over and takes both my hands, stretching his head down to give me a light kiss. “I said it wasn’t like that. I actually believed it wasn’t back then.”
“When did that change?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t really know.
Sometime in the past seven and a half years.
First I thought you were amazin’ and I wanted to be part of this fight.
Then I tried to convince myself you were just my best friend.
Then I started to resent every other man who ever got your attention.
Then I stopped wantin’ to fuck anyone else, anyone but you.
Then ’bout a year ago I finally admitted the truth to myself.
I’ve loved you all along. And if I can’t have you, I don’t want anyone else. ”
I’m not a swooner, and I never will be. But at this moment I can understand the temptation to swoon. I smile up at him. “It kind of was like that for me too.”
“Except I got there first.” He gives me another quick kiss.
“Yes. You got there first.”