Chapter Eight
Meredith woke in a fetal position, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle.
She often dreamed of the final fight with Tripp, the one that had left her broken. But bad dreams hadn’t roused her tonight. It was something even more common, and quite mundane. A familiar pain radiated from her lower abdomen.
Stifling a groan, she rose from the bed and tiptoed to the bathroom.
She always had mild cramps on the first day of her period, with more intense symptoms midcycle.
The medicine cabinet was stocked with over-the-counter painkillers, so she helped herself before she ventured into the kitchen for a hot water bottle.
There would be no sleep until the discomfort abated.
She found the receptacle, filled it with water, and stuck it in the microwave.
She also took down a mug and a box of tea from the cabinet.
As she waited for the bottle to heat, a sharp cramp made her double over.
She pressed a palm to her stomach, gripping the countertop with her other hand.
When the microwave emitted three beeps, she removed the water bottle and shuffled toward the kitchen table.
A large, looming figure emerged from the living room like an apparition from a nightmare. If she’d had the breath to scream, she would have. Wade entered the kitchen, his fine eyes bloodshot and his thick hair disheveled.
Not Tripp. Wade.
Meredith collapsed into the closest chair, laughing weakly. Somehow, she’d forgotten he was here.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She tucked the water bottle into her waistband. “Cramps.”
He didn’t flinch at the mention of female problems. He just nodded. He was wearing sweatpants again, with a University of Texas, Austin T-shirt. Tonight, her attire was more revealing than his. She wore loose pajama pants and a ribbed tank top that left very little to the imagination.
“Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I was going to make a cup of tea.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Don’t you have to be up early?”
“No. I’m not on until ten tomorrow.”
She watched him heat water for two cups of tea. When he asked if she wanted honey, she murmured an assent. Her pain receded, then intensified in waves. She breathed through it, eyes closed. As the chamomile steeped, he joined her at the table.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Of course.”
“You don’t have to stay up with me.”
“You look pale.”
She offered a tense smile. It felt like a grimace and made her think about the grinning skull he’d uncovered earlier today. She placed a hand over her abdomen and waited for the pain to fade.
“I had a girlfriend in college who got cramps every month,” he said. “She said massages helped.”
Meredith took a shallow breath. “Foot massages?”
“Neck massages, mostly. Do you want me to try it?”
She wasn’t in any position to argue. The pain meds would kick in soon, and the tea offered comfort, but she was desperate for relief right now.
He took her nonresponse as a yes and rose from his chair.
She lifted her limp hair off her neck and tied it in a messy bun atop her head.
He rested his palms on her bare shoulders and pressed his thumbs into the tender flesh at her nape.
His touch was firm, but gentle. He kneaded in circular motions.
She felt an immediate release of tension, an easing of muscles she hadn’t known were sore.
Pleasure unraveled in spools, making her skin tingle with warmth.
When he reached a sensitive spot on her shoulder, she gasped out loud.
He stilled. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s good.”
He kept going, his fingers working magic along her spine.
His hands were big and strong, the span wide across her slender back.
The pain in her abdomen lessoned with every sweep of his thumbs.
He worked out some kinks in her shoulder blades and continued south.
Her head fell forward in surrender. For the next ten minutes, she reveled in the glory of his touch.
His hands slipped under her tank top, which ratcheted up the intimacy several notches.
It was easier for him to massage bare skin than clothed, and it felt incredible.
Sensual awareness shivered through her body.
His fingertips rested on her rib cage, very close to the undersides of her breasts.
Her nipples tightened into stiff points.
Meredith couldn’t identify the strongest sensation she was experiencing.
Pain, relief, and pleasure all mixed together, along with something even more basic—the joy of human contact.
She hadn’t been embraced, or touched with kindness, or taken care of by anyone in so long.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, embarrassing her.
She blinked the moisture away and stilled his hands.
When she hazarded a glance upward, she saw that he’d noticed her body’s reaction to his touch.
He was staring at her breasts, and the jut of her nipples against the thin tank top.
He backed away from her abruptly. Instead of returning to his seat, he strode toward the sink.
Ducking his head, he splashed his face with water, then drank straight from the tap.
She suspected he was struggling to control his own arousal.
Meredith hunched over her teacup, which had cooled enough to drink. He joined her a moment later.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes. Much. Thank you.”
After drinking half her tea, she summoned up the nerve to look at him. He met her gaze boldly, unfazed by whatever had passed between them. Tears, periods, desire—he took it all in stride.
“Tell me about your girlfriend,” she said, on impulse.
“My college girlfriend?”
“The one who called yesterday.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Who is she?”
“Just a friend. She was married to a buddy of mine.”
Meredith took another sip of tea. “They split up?”
“No. He died two and a half years ago, in Afghanistan.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“So am I.”
“Did you work together?”
“No.”
“How did you meet him?”
Wade shifted in his seat. “He lived across the street from me. I was obsessed with sports as a kid, maybe because my home life was … not ideal. I played outside from dawn until dusk, and so did he. I’d never met anyone as competitive as I was, who played as hard as I did. He was, like, my soul mate.”
She smiled at the phrase, which men rarely used to refer to each other.
“He enlisted right out of high school. Then he met Natalie and fell hard for her. By the time I graduated from UT, he was married with a baby on the way.”
“Were they happy?”
Wade nodded, his expression bleak. “Before he left, he asked me to take care of Natalie and Marcus. I agreed, of course. I never thought he wouldn’t come back.”
“When did you fall in love with her?”
His gaze sharpened. “Why do you think I fell in love with her?”
“Did you?” she pressed.
Instead of denying it, he shrugged. “We became friends after Mike died. For me, it grew into something else.”
“Not for her?”
“Not for her.”
“Did you tell her how you felt?”
His mouth twisted wryly. “I did, but it was too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of Mike’s comrades came to Texas to pay his respects, and they ended up together. She’s engaged to him now.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Is he a good man?”
“He’s okay,” Wade said begrudgingly.
Meredith fell silent, trying not to be fascinated by Wade Hendricks. She failed miserably.
“So, what’s your story?” he asked.
“My story?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t have one.”
She pulled her gaze from his. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’ve lived thirty-five uneventful years?” he said in a mocking tone.
Meredith set down her teacup, conflicted. He’d just opened up to her about his dead best friend and an unrequited love. She felt guilty for lying to him about her age, among other things. “I ran away from home when I was seventeen.”
His brows rose with surprise.
“I grew up on a farm, the oldest of four children. I’d been taking care of my siblings and mucking out stalls for as long as I could remember. My parents were staunchly religious, and incredibly strict. I felt like a servant. I couldn’t wait to leave.”
“Where did you go?”
“A bunch of different places. Tulsa, Kansas City, Nashville. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the great escape I’d envisioned.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I got married too young. I broke free of one cage and flew right into another.” Tripp had been far more controlling than her parents. He’d grown crueler over time, tightening his grip on her.
Wade’s brows rose. “How long were you married?”
“Long enough to regret it.”
“Was he a good man?”
She avoided the question. It felt like a bad omen to discuss Tripp, as if speaking his name aloud would summon his demon.
“How old are you, really?”
Meredith rose to her feet, and the water bottle fell out of her waistband.
It flopped on the kitchen floor with a heavy slosh.
Wade followed the trajectory before making his way back up, examining her soft pajamas and thin top.
Her breasts were nothing spectacular, but he appeared transfixed by them.
“You said you didn’t want to start anything,” she reminded him.
He looked away, his neck flushed.
Butterflies swarmed her stomach as she picked up the water bottle and set it near the sink. She didn’t turn around for several seconds; she was afraid he’d see the longing on her face. “Your mother told me about Billy.”
He went quiet for a moment. “What did she say?”
“That he died in November.”
Wade didn’t respond to this statement.
“She’s grieving.”
“She drinks too much. She always has.”
“What’s your goal for her, Wade? Do you expect her to get sober?”
“She needs to take better care of herself.”
“And how will you make her do that?”
His gaze narrowed. “I’ll find a way.”
“Do you support her financially?”
“You know I don’t.”
She gave him a measured look.
“What do you suggest? Patting her on the head and partying with her?”
“I suggest talking to her. Connecting with her.”