Chapter 9
Nine
Gray
I’m right in the middle of correcting myself—or rather adding, “My soon to be ex-wife,” even while knowing that doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of making me sound any better when I hear a strange noise.
I unclench my fists and look up.
Faye has her face averted, her chin lifted so high I can see the outline of the tendons along the column of her throat.
“Red?” I ask.
Her body jerks and terror punches a hole in my middle because at first I think she’s having a seizure or something, like the doctors were right in worrying about her enough to keep her overnight.
Because something has gone seriously wrong.
Then her chest hitches.
And I see a single tear emerge from the corner of her eye, slide down her cheek.
Fuck.
“Baby,” I murmur.
Another hitch, more violent this time, and more tears fall, faster now, cascading down her cheeks, soaking into her pillow.
I reach for her hand, but she seems to anticipate that, yanking her arm away, curling it around her middle and rolling to her side, away from me.
Hiding from me.
But there’s no hiding what’s happening to her.
This isn’t an adrenaline letdown, the events of the last day finally hitting her.
This is…something else.
Something that has nothing to do with me (or Courtney).
Something that has her crying with such intensity—huge, wracking sobs that tear through her slender body, a body that seems all the more fragile and vulnerable lying in that hospital bed.
I’m frozen for a heartbeat.
But I can’t withstand the sounds of her pain.
I react without really thinking, standing and toeing off my shoes, shoving the remote aside, and…
Crawling into bed beside her.
She goes stiff for a moment, the sobs halting.
Then, as though she can only hold them back for a brief blip in time, she curls herself into an even tighter ball and cries. Harder.
“Fuck,” I whisper, carefully slipping an arm under her shoulder and drawing her back against me.
She fights me, but only for a second.
Then she turns and melts against me, pressing her face against my chest.
Tears soak into my shirt, her uninjured hand clenches at the material—no, clawing at it. Scratching my skin through the fabric.
I wince, but don’t let her go.
Instead, I draw her more tightly against me, smoothing a hand lightly up and down her back.
I don’t shush her, don’t tell her to get it all out.
At this point, I don’t think she could even hear me if I did.
So, I just hold her and wish there was something I could do to take this pain away.
Eventually, she quiets, the tears subsiding, her body slumping against mine as though she’s used every bit of energy her body had left and even continuing to breathe takes effort.
I still don’t speak, just keep stroking her back.
Mostly because I don’t know what to say.
Maybe also because if I do say something the spell will be broken and I’ll be forced to release her and get out of this bed.
I like her where she is.
Another reason to stay silent, to pretend she needs me here, right here, that me holding her isn’t about fulfilling some fantasy.
She’s just a woman taking comfort in my arms.
Needing me.
And not for a sick, fucked-up sexual connection, for some weird push-pull power play of a relationship that means neither of us can truly let go. Not for a relationship I ruined, a woman I turned into a monster—
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, shifting as though she’s going to pull out of my arms.
I don’t know why I do it, but I lock them tighter, hold her closer. “It’s okay,” I murmur. “You had a long day and quite a scare,” I add, giving her that out if she wants to take it. “The emotions were sure to hit eventually.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. Another shift, firmer now, and I find that as much as I like her against me, I can’t ignore it.
I release her, crawl out of the bed.
Her face is averted again, body tense.
No more tears.
But clearly ready for me to go.
I should do exactly that.
Should leave.
But I don’t.
“She’s not my wife,” I say and her head pivots back, brows lifting. “I know I said that. I—” I shove a hand through my hair, sigh. “The truth is that she brought me divorce papers yesterday.”
Something happens in Faye’s eyes then she reaches over and takes my hand in her uninjured one. “I’m sorry,” she says again.
“Don’t be.”
“I acted like a psycho,” she whispers. “Yelling at you about a woman when I have no business knowing about your love life then losing it and crying in your arms because I—”
“First,” I tell her, turning my hand over and lacing my fingers through hers when she tries to draw back, “don’t be sorry.
I’ve been trying to get Courtney to agree to a divorce for years now.
We’re…not good together and for a long time I was too young and naive to recognize that.
By the time I did, she decided to hate me and refused to sign the papers I sent her.
Repeatedly. I was actually starting the process for a no-fault divorce when she showed yesterday. ”
“Oh,” she whispers.
“Later, I found out she showed not only with those divorce papers…but also an engagement ring.”
Faye’s fingers tighten around mine.
“I wouldn’t have done”—I wave my free hand, watch her cheeks go pink—“what I did if I knew she was engaged. Hell,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have done what I did in the first place.”
“She’s beautiful,” Faye says softly. “I’m sure that’s irresistible to lots of guys.”
There’s something in her words that prickle through my mind, but when I can’t tease out why, I just say, “Yes, Courtney is beautiful.”
Too bad it’s only on the outside.
Too bad I was dickmerized by her perfect body and shining hair and the way she exudes sex appeal.
Because once again, I had an orgasm, but it wasn’t all that good of one.
Not when she was her usual pillow princess and I was hating myself for being a fucking moron.
Again.
Faye falls quiet.
I squeeze her hand, prompt when her pretty brown eyes come to mine. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“I shared mine, Red. You gonna share yours?”