CHAPTER 50 BROKEN BOY SOLDIER
brOKEN BOY SOLDIER
Phoenix
Aww, shit. This was going to be a bad one. It’s all in your head. Just get up and get the meds.
As he forced himself to a seated position, groaning, he caught sight of a figure peering through the faintly lighted doorway.
“Who’s there?” he asked, doubling over in pain.
The figure flew to his side. “Phoenix, are you hurt? What do you need?” asked a familiar voice, strangely soothing even while its honey-sweetness brought the bitter taste of betrayal to the back of his mouth.
He squeezed hard, trying to replace the feeling of a bulldozer grinding his missing toes into concrete with the more manageable pain of his hand kneading the hell out of his leg.
“Phantom pain?” Orchid asked.
Her knowing and saying the phrase with composure surprised him long enough that he was able to pause. “Meds. In my bag. In the closet,” he said, spitting the words out between the throbbing.
She ran over and then back to his side within the space of two spasms. “How many?” she asked mid-stride, the bottle already open.
“Two,” he said, though part of his brain screamed for the whole container.
She wrapped his hand around two oblong pills then sprinted to the bathroom. He’d already swallowed them by the time she’d returned with a glass half full of tap water. He drank it anyway.
“What else can I do? Can I massage you?”
Rina would never baby me. She’d tell me to take my meds and suck it up.
His pain steepened, exploding through his mind. He couldn’t speak. He fell back onto the mattress, banging his leg, praying for relief.
Orchid’s hand, smooth and cool, found his leg and rubbed, tentatively at first, then firmly, rhythmically. He resisted, pulling away a little. I don’t need anyone. Then, though he hadn’t asked for it, touch by touch, her caress comforted.
With time, his pain eased until he returned from pure feral animal instincts to human sized agony.
Orchid was grateful that Phoenix could communicate what he needed.
Fetching the pills was something she could do in the face of his pain.
His expression twisted her gut as if pain were winding its way through her own body.
She’d read about massage therapy, and so she pressed her fingers to his skin, trying different angles and pressure to ease the agony.
The strong muscle reminded her of his performance at the triathlon, running out of the water, leaping onto his bike, sprinting along the final stretches of the race.
The sweetness of those memories overshadowed the flashes from her parents’ car crash.
Beneath her hand, his writhing slowly calmed.
After long rhythmic minutes massaging his leg, she felt him relax under her touch.
She didn’t know if the improvement was due to her efforts, or the medicine she’d run to get for him.
So she traced her movement again. She smoothed her thumb and palm from below his knee, down the side of his calf and under the rounded bottom.
When she ran a finger along the crooked path of his scars, she could feel the fine, thin skin where his wound had grown together.
Phoenix lay heavy and asleep, eyes closed, breathing calm.
He’d ignored her for six hellish months.
Now he was before her, at least, without him yelling in her face or with another woman wrapped around him.
Perhaps if he’d been awake, she’d give him a piece of her mind instead of sitting so close.
Her hip rested against one leg while she caressed the other. Were these precious minutes stolen?
She daren’t shift her weight, lest she wake him. Drawing warm air in through her nose, Orchid savored the faint scent uniquely Phoenix. A clean male and spice scent.
Outside, the world stilled in the night air. Only the insistent thump of the ocean pounding against sand accompanied their middle of the night quietude.
Ghostly rays from the moon whitewashed Phoenix’s face.
She studied his strong brow, straight nose and full lips.
Sitting so close, she saw new lines had formed in the past six months.
The hollows beneath his eyes shadowed darker, with a hint of tightness.
The fine crease between his brows had deepened. Asleep, he looked vulnerable.
Her hand had stilled, so deep was her concentration on his features. He lay limp, one arm across his chest, the other above his head. She’d often wondered how he slept. Orchid reached forward, drawn to the silky waves of hair. She let his smooth locks slip through her fingers.
It was late.
Her eyes wanted to shut with fatigue. Her chin nodded towards her chest. She was worn out, not only physically, but also with highs and lows of the day’s emotions. Yet, she didn’t want to go.
She pictured the Phoenix she’d first met, confident and capable.
He was still those things, yet he had changed, and not just physically.
He seemed more mature, less boyish, with a tinge of resignation.
Of course he’d changed. She had no idea the adaptations he made on a daily basis.
She’d changed, too. The knowledge of what he’d been through made her stronger.
She could do that for him, be that for him.
Orchid eased up from the bed. Her gaze swung around the room.
It landed on a leather club chair by the window.
Orchid padded over and sank onto the cold, smooth surface.
Phoenix, now half a room away, seemed too far.
She sprang up. Determined, Orchid gripped one slippery arm, and pushed the furniture until she’d shoved it right next to his bed.
She covered him with the sheet and thin blanket.
Morning would give them an opportunity to talk, for her to correct misperceptions.
Then, comforted by the sound of Phoenix’s deep, even breathing, Orchid dropped into the chair and into slumber.
Phoenix had no sense for how long she stayed like that, ministering to him. Sometime later, with only pale moonlight to sepia-tone the room, Phoenix woke with the relief of feeling no pain. He must’ve dozed off. The meds numbed everything.
Glancing over to see the time, he saw Orchid asleep in an armchair pushed beside his bed.
Though his first inclination was to dredge up anger, he found her presence strangely comforting.
A truth struck him. There was no way that she and Caleb would date and then flaunt it in front of him. Neither of them was cruel.
Seeing her delicate features, luminescent skin and smooth hair, peaceful in repose, filled him with a different kind of pang from the one that had filled his consciousness earlier.
A faint scent of her rose soap wafted from her skin.
He found himself examining his feelings, turning them over like discovering a long-lost beloved object.
The truth was, he’d missed her. Her face angled towards her chest, relaxed, sweet.
An impulse bubbled up to take her in his arms. He knew her expressions, the way her brows knit when she was cross, the way her cheek dimpled just before she was about to be mischievous.
Tonight, she cared for him in his vulnerable state. In every stroke, she imparted affection. What if? The thought hung in the air above his semi-conscious state. What if we can build more memories together, new moments? What if we can reclaim a little of the tenderness?
He became aware of the starfish clock at his bedside.
The silver arm ticked forward like a sentinel that was never off duty.
Its cold glint reminded him of the solid, concrete world beyond the walls that enveloped them.
Only in the darkness of night could all outcomes seem possible.
He looked down at himself and a clearer thought came to him, ethereal, floating before him like pure truth.
Broken.
He’d spared Orchid disappointments, limitations and nights of pain. Come morning, in the unflinching daylight, his constraints would lock back in place. He was an idiot to think otherwise. He’d made the right call. The clarity of his logic narrowed to that one conviction.