Growling, I sag against the shower wall, closing my eyes and just letting the rush bleed out of me, gasping for breath.
Fuck, that felt good.
And now I feel even guiltier.
After the way I snapped at her?
I got no damn right to have her in my thoughts if I don’t make things right.
I wonder at all the things I don’t know.
Do I have it in me to try for someone like her?
What do I have to offer her besides stress, an angry kid, and a whole lot of pain?
She keeps wanting to see me like Warren and Leo and Doc.
I ain’t no hero.
I’m damaged goods, trying to be useful while I’m still here, while people can figure out what they can use me for.
That’s why I push myself so hard on my leg.
I know I only got so long with it. One day, it might give out on me for good.
When that day comes, I won’t be able to do much.
I’ll end up like Ma.
In a wheelchair or something, with my poor kid looking after me.
You can’t do that to Andrea, this furious voice in the back of my head whispers. You can’t turn bitter and ugly like Ma did to you, and the only thing you got left when you’re stuck and lonely and helpless and hateful is fucking with people just to feel a little bit of power again.
I used to go to physical therapy.
Years ago, I’d drive all the way to Missoula to see this quack who’d always tell me I was never gonna get better, but I could figure out how to live.
I didn’t want to hear never gonna get better, so I didn’t listen.
I just walked out and didn’t look back, then tried to act like I wasn’t hurt at all.
Maybe it’s time for me to admit I need Peace’s hands.
No, not to do the unspeakable shit I just imagined in the shower.
I’m starting to think I need her light, too.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed the way I did when I went crashing down that dumb old hill on a sled five sizes too small for me.
I’d wound up right on top of her, pressed in close and gasping and wanting to just grind my entire body against that pixie girl trapped under me.
Ow.
I can’t be thinking about her under me now. Not again.
My cock’s still too sensitive, and dirty thoughts like to chase each other.
If I have another go with her dancing around naked in my head like that, might just give myself a stroke.
At least my thigh ain’t feeling too bad anymore.
I reach to turn the water off—then freeze as the doorbell rings, echoing through the house.
What the hell?
Who’s here this late?
Whoever it is, they get to deal with me stark fucking buff.
I’ll put a towel on. Fine.
But I ain’t hurting myself wrestling into jeans when I just got the pain to subside.
I grab a towel off the rack and drag it around my hips, knotting it on one side, then limp out of the shower. My leg still can’t handle my full weight, but it holds up all right as I stagger to the door and yank it open, growling “What?” before I even see who it is.
Only to find myself looking into glacial green eyes, blinking up at me, a little too wide. Peace’s cheeks are almost as red as her hair as she stares.
She’s got her big folding table balanced under her arm.
And a bag slung over her shoulder, standing there like she means business.
I blink at her.
She blinks back at me.
“What’re you doing here?” I blurt, wondering for a second if she’s even real.
Not the first words I wanted coming out of my mouth when I spoke to her again.
Ain’t I smooth?
Peace cocks her head, eyes flashing for a moment before her mouth sets. “You have an appointment.”
“Huh?” I scratch the back of my head. “We didn’t schedule nothing.”
And I’m pretty sure last time we talked was a pretty clear “fuck off,” not that I meant it but...well, damn.
And well damn again as she gives me an up-and-down look before marching right past me, her thick coat brushing against my naked, still too-sensitive skin, making my stomach jump hard as she struts her way into my house like she belongs here.
Girl’s got stones. Lady stones. I’ll give her that.
And she’s flexing them at me right now. She nudges my coffee table aside with her calf and then snaps her folding table open, plunking it down with a decisive thump.
“Since you’re already kind enough to be dressed down for the occasion,” she says, stripping those ridiculous purple gloves off and lifting her chin, “you can just set yourself right down on the table. And don’t even try to hide your limp. You’re only standing on one leg right now.”
She’s got me.
And after I got my head all turned around and confused, I’m a little too flustered to deal with this hurricane standing here, staring at me like she’ll fight if I argue.
You know what?
I think she just might.
And I’m not gonna risk getting knocked out by someone I could pick up with one hand and palm like a basketball in my bewildered state.
That’s how I find myself on her table five minutes later, lying on my back, adjusting my towel.
Trying real frigging hard not to think about the fact that I just got off to this woman.
At least it means I got maybe ten minutes or so before I have to worry about embarrassing myself under her hands.
She busies herself setting her bag down on the coffee table, then shrugs out of her coat and drapes it over the couch. She glances around the living room, taking my place in.
Whatever, I ain’t worried about her judging my house. I keep it tidy to set an example for Andrea.
But there’s still something about having this woman up in my life that makes me feel a little too naked, y’know?
I keep it to myself, though.
She drifts closer to the big glass aquarium against the wall. Inside, under the heat lamp that keeps him alive during winter, Mr. Hissyfit coils in miles and miles of pale ivory and yellow scales, lazy on the branches Andrea had meticulously arranged inside.
Peace makes an appreciative sound, whistling under her breath. “Whoa. That’s one big snake.”
“That’s what she said,” I say, before I can stop myself—and she laughs, her eyes brightening as she glances over her shoulder at me.
“Yeah? You got a lot of shes saying that to you?” Her smile is coy, teasing, and I’m amazed she’s not holding a grudge for what a Hissyfit-sized dick I was the other night. “All those ladies calling in to see if they can tap into your heart line?”
I roll my eyes. “Listen, don’t you start with that too. My fucking brother told my daughter about all the girls I dated in high school not too long ago, and now you’re acting like I’m some kinda player?”
She turns to face me, sauntering playfully with a little skip of one step, lacing her hands together behind her back.
Tonight she’s wearing a filmy, almost fluffy off-the-shoulder top in some kind of lilac fabric. The material floats around her with her every step.
Instead of hiding her body, it just teases.
The shirt wafts against the curve of her waist, the swell of her chest, their curves pushing up against that plunging neckline I could bite.
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the way it lifts over a thin strip of her stomach, above jeans so low they’re damn near obscene.