Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
MCGREGOR
“ W as that wild enough for you?” I ask with a lopsided grin, grabbing a strand of her ebony hair that’s fallen lose, stroking it between my fingertips and feeling its silkiness.
“That was …” She looks away, her chin trembling.
I’m still buried to the hilt inside her, my big hands gripping her ass. I lean her against the boulder again, bringing my hand up to snag her chin and turn her gaze toward me.
She bites her thick bottom lip, eyes swimming.
What in the hell have I done wrong?
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Calliope.”
She sniffles, eyes raging as she looks at me long and hard.
“Come on, Shivers. Where’s that honest streak of yours?” My heart thuds behind my ribcage as regret seizes me, though I don’t even know what I’m regretting.
Her face fractures. “None of this is what I expected. What we talked about in our letters and emails. I know, I know. I’m not supposed to bring those up. But, God, Mack …”
Fury courses through my veins at that name. If I never hear that one syllable again, it’ll be too soon.
“I told you, Calliope. I’m not the guy who wrote those letters or emails. Why do you keep bringing them up?”
Her eyes round as she stares at me, her face twisting. “What is wrong with you?” she whispers.
“Wrong with me? Nothing,” I answer, letting her down until her feet touch the bottom of the lake. I take a step back, running my fingers through my wet hair. Callie leans forward, smacking my shoulder and bringing my alarmed eyes to hers.
She buries her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Now, I’ve really done it.
“Calliope, please,” I beg, stepping forward to hug her. But she pulls away. “What did I do wrong?”
“Everything.” She gasps. “From the first moment I got here.”
“What?”
Her fierce stare meets mine. “From breaking up with me before even saying hello to being a grumpy asshole, and how you just took me. I mean, I don’t know if you could have made it more painful if you tried.”
“What?” I ask, face scrunching. “You were wet and ready for me. On the porch, you said you wanted something feral and primitive. What did I do wrong?”
“None of this is what I expected. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I need to go … now.”
“But what did I do? Whatever it is, I’ll make it right,” I plead. I’ve never done this before for any woman, but I’m in love with Calliope. I realize it at the exact moment she’s slipping through my fingers.
“You said you’d be gentle. Take your time and not hurt me the first time.”
“The first time?”
“Yes, Mack. We discussed it in our last few emails.”
“So, you were a virgin?” My brows furrow, my heart dying.
“Yes, and you hurt me. You didn’t even try to be careful.”
“Goddammit!” I scream, punching the rock next to me twice in quick succession.
My fist makes a sickening cracking noise, and pain sears through my hand.
About a second too late, I realize my idiocy.
This entire situation has me so damn pissed, all I see is red.
“Fuck!” I hiss, looking at my battered fist, already swelling and bleeding.
Calliope steps forward, grabbing my hand and examining the knuckles. I pull my hand away, not interested in her sympathy. This situation is fucking impossible … all thanks to Mack.
She grabs my hand more firmly, a frown on her face as she examines the knuckles. “Oh, you stupid man,” she sighs, shaking her head. “You’ve broken your hand.”
I grunt, anger stealing words from my mouth. How could I have been any plainer in my confession about not being Mack? I spelled it out to her. But if she’s going to turn around and say she fucked me, thinking I was somebody else. God, it’ll destroy me.
Fury courses through me. But I know what the feeling’s really masking—total heartbreak. I thought what she and I just did in the lake was amazing, wonderful. A memory I’ll cherish until the day I die. The last thing I think about on my deathbed as I whisper her name before expiring.
Okay, maybe that’s a little melodramatic. But I would have classified it as the hottest, most amazing sex of my life until she threw it back in my face.
I pull my hand away again. “What do you care?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously. “You don’t want me anyway. You want that goddamned letter writer.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now. I want you, Mateo. Could I have made it any clearer?” she asks, motioning between us. “But you’re so rough and unhinged and wild.” She shakes her head.
“You said you wanted that,” I remind, dipping my hand to numb it in the cool waves of the lake. It already throbs like a motherfucker. I can’t believe I just punched a rock … twice. Talk about a rookie move.
“I did want it. But I still thought for the first time, you’d be gentle. Like you said you would?—”
“In my emails.” I groan. I can’t ignore the pain in my hand any longer. The cold water might be slightly soothing, but the pulsing of blood as it pools in the extremity is too much. I grimace, pulling my hand from the water.
“Look, we can talk about this at the hospital,” she says.
“Hospital? I’m an Army Ranger. I don’t go to the hospital, especially for stupid shit like this.”
“Look at your knuckles,” she says, eyes mastering mine. I look down, watching them swell like an angry toad. “We’re going to the hospital, and we’re going now. End of story.”
“No—”
“Don’t you ‘no’ me,” she says, shaking her head. “You’ve shattered your knuckles, and you’re probably going to need surgery.”
I growl low in my throat, angry at her declaration.
But too in love with her to deny her demand.
Her concern over my hurt hand is so damn sexy, what I want in a woman, even though I just messed everything up against my will and my knowledge, thanks to Mack.
I bring my other hand up, an unexpected wave of tenderness seizing me as I palm her cheek.
Her eyes fill with trepidation before her body relaxes again, my thumb stroking gently over her cheek. “You may hate me right now, Calliope. But please give me another chance. I never meant to hurt you. I would never do that … ever. Please, please, please give me a chance to explain myself.”
I feel like a complete and utter pussy begging her like this. But if she walks away from me now, I’ll never forgive myself.
Conflict swirls in her eyes. She inhales slowly, her countenance guarded. “We can talk about this after we figure out what’s going on with your hand.”
The backs of my eyes sting dangerously at the mercy in her words.
There has to be a way to figure this out …
to fix things between us. A sickening realization hits me.
While I could obviously live without this woman and have up to this point, it would fucking suck.
I need her like I need air, water. I may hate Mack, but his words are spot-on.
After dressing and locking up the cabin, Calliope drives, though I insist I should. But she won’t hear any of it, somehow knowing my hand hurts far worse than I’ll ever admit.
We take her black Honda Civic, driving in silence, apart from the muted tones of the radio.
Fuel’s “Hemorrhage” rages, sounding distant.
The Goo Goo Doll’s “Iris” comes next, and I’m starting to think it’s an alternative rock radio station until Prince’s “Purple Rain” comes on. No song better fits my current mood.
I side-eye Calliope, wondering if she’ll ever forgive me. The throb in my hand feels like a fitting punishment for what I unknowingly did to her.
But my head still spins, unable to understand why she thinks I’m Mack, even after my confession. And why didn’t she tell me she was a virgin before I wrecked her pussy? Shit, I feel awful. Like I should grovel. I’m pretty sure I’m going to before this is over.
We wait in the hospital’s emergency room for about half an hour before we get ushered back and into a room.
The silence continues between us, long and heavy, though I can’t help myself, grabbing a strand of the glossy black hair she’s unpinned again, playing with it.
I need her to forgive me, understand what happened, and let down her guard.
The coldness of her current demeanor feels like death after her previous affectionate warmth.
I’ve never been good with words, which makes the situation even worse. Maybe that’s what scares me the most—knowing I could never write a love letter like Mack, even though my words would come straight from the heart.
A nurse walks into the room, her face freezing as she stares at me. “Mack,” she says, her voice ferocious.
For God’s sake! It takes me a moment to realize what’s going on, the incessant throb in my hand making me feel dull and foggy. But then, I remember where I’ve seen her before: Mountain Mates.
“Cindy.” I frown. Another one of Mack’s female correspondents. Great.
The brunette’s eyes narrow jealously as she regards Calliope. “Well, you work quickly. Don’t you?”
Calliope’s head bobs from me to Cindy.
“Can we please keep things professional?” I ask, certain this will be the final straw that makes Callie walk out of my life for good.
“Sure,” she hisses. “I’m here to get your IV going. I’ll try to be gentle.” Her voice sounds ominous. I’m ready to sprint for the hospital main entrance. The last thing I need is one of Mack’s jilted lovers “caring” for me.
She digs the IV needle into my arm, moving it around. I grimace, my good hand forming a fist.
“Hey, be careful. You’re hurting him,” Calliope scolds. God, I love this woman, thinking about my comfort even when I look like the biggest douchebag on the planet.
“He deserves it,” Cindy declares.
Calliope bites her lip, her face hardening. “Maybe. But you deserve a strongly worded complaint to the hospital administration. Or maybe an investigation by law enforcement.”
Cindy laughs. “Please.”
“My dad is a detective in San Francisco County, and he’s got plenty of connections across Northern California.”
The nurse frowns. “They make them dumber and more loyal every day, don’t they?” she barks. Unceremoniously, she leaves the room as I string together a thread of four-letter words, unable to do any better as the pain meds start kicking in.
Calliope’s mouth hangs open. “What was that all about?” she asks, voice raw.
“It has to do with Mack?—”
“The guy you’re not.”
“Exactly.”
She shoots me a skeptical look.
Before I can explain, a middle-aged man with short, graying brown hair enters, wearing a lab coat with a label that reads “Dr. Alan Fitzsimmons.”
“Good evening, Mr. McGregor.”
“Good evening,” I reply.
The doctor eyes Calliope, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m Callie,” she says, standing to shake his hand.
“And you are?”
She looks at me, face conflicted. “I’m his fiancée.” Her voice sounds thin, watery, and dejected. I’ve done this to her.
“So, I can speak freely about your medical condition in front of her?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I say, eyeing her warmly as she sits back down in the chair next to my hospital bed.
“Alright, Mr. McGregor, you have a comminuted fracture.”
“And that means?” I grumble.
“You’ve shattered your hand. Your injuries are serious, and you’ll need to go into surgery to stabilize your bones. Kind of like putting a jigsaw puzzle back together.”
“Great.” I shake my head, anger filling me.
It’s not the searing, explosive kind that made me punch the rock.
Instead, it simmers, slow and achingly, haunting me because it comes with regrets I can’t correct.
I look away from Calliope, unable to make eye contact.
I feel ashamed of myself, though she sits next to me as the doctor talks, her hand resting comfortingly on my knee.
With or without Mack in the picture, one thing’s clear. I’ve ruined everything with this woman.
The beauty eyes me, concern washing over her face. “So, what are next steps?” she asks, advocating for me because I’m past words.
“We’ll get Mr. McGregor checked in and prepped for surgery in the morning. Fortunately, our on-call orthopedic surgeon has nothing scheduled for tomorrow, so you’re at the top of the roster. Will you be taking care of him post-op?” He eyes Calliope, and my heart stops.
I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to, but she cuts me off.
“Yes, of course,” she says, her silky, sweet voice putting tears in my eyes.
Never have three words evoked a greater mixture of emotions in me.
I don’t deserve her, that’s for sure. But if there’s even a glimmer of hope for turning this around, I’ll take it.
I don’t look at her because my eyes are swimming, my throat tight.
But my good hand comes up to cover hers, trying to convey through touch the tenderness burgeoning inside.
Time slips past, silence festering between Calliope and me, before hospital staff get us settled in a room upstairs.
She stays by my side the whole time, unspeaking beyond the most simple politeness.
Her face is ambivalent, refusing to betray the disappointment she alluded to earlier. But I still sense it, and it kills me.
“You can leave if you want,” I say. “I can give you the key to the cabin, and you can stay there without any pressure or worry.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“But you’re mad at me?”
She nods, wiping her hand quickly over her eyes.
“If you’re determined to stay here tonight, then I want you to climb into this bed next to me.”
“But there’s no room,” she protests.
“I can move over. See?” I scooch my body as far to the side as possible, trying not to jar my aching hand. “We can both fit. Unless you don’t want me touching you anymore?” The words come out raw and hopeless. This woman has brought me to my knees, and she doesn’t even know it.
“I don’t know what I want,” she says, her inhale shuddering.
“Please give me a chance to explain myself.”
The corners of her mouth turn down.
“Calliope, you came all the way here to see me. To find out if we could be a love match. Don’t you want to know for sure?”
“I feel like I already know. I’m just too much of a fool to leave.”
“Please,” I plead, voice trembling with emotion as I pat the spot next to me.