Day Three

by Patricia Spencer

  “All right.” Reluctantly, he stood up. “Come sit with me when you’re ready.”

  He went to the table and pulled out his chair. Dinner was baked chicken breast, wild rice, and fresh green beans. Gary and James took their now-customary places even though they weren’t eating.

  Daniel took a calming breath. “So,” he asked. “Who cooked?”

  She stared at her lap. She had clung to Daniel like a jabbering idiot. She wasn’t even sure what she’d said. Her innards were gone. She was just a hollow form, unable to control her behavior.

  Daniel sliced off a piece of the chicken and chewed. “Mm. Nice glaze. Lemony.”

  The men talked about cooking, which nearby market had the best produce, the best free-range chicken, where to get desserts. Just normal, banal stuff. Nothing about the elephant she had conjured in the room. James and Gary were good men, doing what she had failed to do—help ease Daniel home.

  When Daniel’s plate was clean, he dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin. “Great meal, guys. Thanks.” He hesitated, glanced across the room at her. “Uh…a…situation…has arisen at work. I’ll be needing to put in a lot of hours. I was wondering how long you guys are going to be sticking around.”

  She stiffened. Was this it? Coolness? Distancing? Daniel being true to his promise to stay out of her business? She shrugged. Who could blame him—especially after the welcome home she just gave him? Staring at her hands in her lap, she rubbed her thumb over her left wrist. Daniel Loves Me. The ink was fading. Soon it would become invisible.

  “I can stay ’til Friday midday,” Gary said, “but I have a weekend skills workshop I have to attend to keep my RN license current.”

  “If you two can hold the fort until Friday,” Daniel said, “I can set things up to work mostly from home. James, you could go back with Gary, if you need to check in on the clinic. Friday evening, my folks will be here for a six-day visit, and if I have to run in to work, one of them could cover for a couple hours.”

  James cast a glance in Brenna’s direction. Frowned. “Let’s see how the week goes. If it’s inconvenient, with your parents—”

  “My upstairs office has a fold-out couch. It’s not a problem if you want to stay, James.”

  The conversation shifted to logistics. Daniel would take the Metro on days when Brenna had physiotherapy at the Naval Medical Center so the guys could take her in his car. Gary would begin pre-screening psychologists on the list she had received at discharge.

  She hung her head lower and lower. The details flowed around her. Everyone was attached to her life except her.

  Gary appeared, squatted beside the couch and gave her his expert-nurse-assessment look. “Aw, Bear,” he murmured, rubbing her knee.

  “I want to go to my room.”

  “You want to hold my elbow, like we were practicing today?”

  She had been doing laps around the ground floor today, leaning on Gary, not using the walker. She had wanted to surprise Daniel with her progress. Now, she felt as if Gary were suggesting a walk across a ship’s deck in Force Twelve seas. “No.”

  He patted her knee, and got the walker for her.

  “Goodnight,” she muttered, so softly James and Daniel barely heard, and clumped her way to her room.

  Daniel turned in his seat, watched her labored effort, and swore he felt his heart break.

  “What the hell triggered it?” James asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “I dunno. I just asked her if she had a good day.”

  “What did she say?”

  Daniel considered the question. What did she say?

  All during dinner, Brenna’s words had kept tumbling through his head, so disjointed he couldn’t make sense of them. She had been terrified for him, only that much was clear.

  Maric mustn’t get you.

  First there had been Aleksandar. Then Dragoslav. Now Maric? Who the hell was Maric? How many men had come into that apartment after he was knocked out? Who were they? What had they done?

  No, Maric. I beg you. Don’t shoot! I trade you!

  Shoot whom? Him? Had this guy Maric been about to shoot him? Was that what Brenna begged for—his life?

  And then—she’d…traded?

  Come with me, I’ve paid for you.

  What the hell did she trade him for? Did they rape her? He had a thousand questions, none of which could be asked, for fear of pushing her into a spiral that could permanently damage her.

  He was desperate for answers. But self-control was paramount. He held her psychological well-being in his hands. When she was in his arms it took all his self-restraint not to shake her, not to demand: What do you mean, you paid for me? What did you do?

  He had watched her covertly during dinner. She looked so despondent. Her head so low, her thumb brushing over his writing on her wrist, looking like she wanted to disappear. Not once had she met his glance since she’d broken down. If she could have willed herself away, she would have. She was ill, but felt shame. Her brain chemistry—her dreadful memories—were sucking her down.

  Tonight, those sharp scissors in Aya’s desk drawer would beckon as never before. The question was, given her inability to even look at him, how could he get close enough to safeguard her?

  “Daniel,” James insisted. “What did she say?”

  “My beloved Daniel,” he replied. My beloved Daniel. He took his napkin off his lap and pulled his chair back.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To send an e-mail.” He couldn’t ask Brenna who Maric was, but Luc might know. While he was at it, he’d prod about Jasha. He still hadn’t heard back. “Keep an eye on her, would you? I’ll be a few minutes.”

  And when he came back, he was going to do what he should have done all along. Bow out of writing the documentary. Assure her that her work would be shaped by someone who had the talent to match hers. Her work was central to who she was. She needed something to cling to when chasms opened at her feet.

  Chapter 24

  When Daniel came back downstairs, Gary and James were keeping Brenna company in her room. They looked up, worried expressions on their faces.

  He tipped his head, wordlessly requesting they leave him alone with her.

  They gave their goodnights and left.

  He entered, hesitated, glanced at Aya’s picture on the shelf. She’d always been so proud of him. What would she think now, if she could see the shadow he’d become?

  “What happened to you today, Daniel?”

  Brenna’s question caught him by surprise. Remembering his encounter with Sam, he felt the shame. Heat surged to his ears. He lifted a shoulder imperceptibly. “A bump.”

  “No.”

  “About the documentary,” he continued, “I wanted to let you know…”

  “Who was in the office on a Sunday?”

  My successor, he thought sardonically. “I wanted to reassure you that—”

  “Sam Chisolm?”

  He faltered. “Brenna, I’m trying to tell you—”

  “What did Sam want?”

  A winning horse.

  She waited for an answer.

  He ran his hand over his five-o’clock stubble. He didn’t want to go into it.

  “It’s great, isn’t it? To still have the filters? To be able to control what you say, and not just have it shoot out of your mouth?” she said bitterly. “Gives a man an advantage in a relationship. Lets him hide the parts of himself he doesn’t want revealed, so he can always be the strong one.”

  “Bren.”

  She hid her face in her hands, immediately regretful, and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Ah, fuck, he thought. Brenna deserved the truth. He took an edge of the bed, cupped her head, and drew her against his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, thinking about Sam’s visit, about Driscoll waiting in the wings, about how unequal he felt to the task of writing the script. “The past two years of my life caught up with me today,” he said.

  She slid her hand onto his w
aist.

  “You know how you say I’m like a bower bird—setting out shiny stuff, trying to seduce you? You’re right. I have been. I wanted you to see me as someone who’s not—” an also-ran. He shrugged. “Truth is, I haven’t done anything particularly worthy since Aya died. My heart’s gone out of it.”

  He plowed on, before he could change his mind and try to maintain the façade of being an heir-apparent. “I was looking at your footage today, sweetheart. It’s—spectacular. Extraordinary. I’m going to hire someone who can write the script. I want you to feel confident the writing will do your pictures justice.”

  Brenna sat up, a storm gathering behind her green eyes. Fury at his misrepresenting himself. Anger that she’d had to drag him around, keep him alive, for nothing.

  “I know talented people—” he said quickly, forestalling her. “Good enough to honor what you’ve done. I’ll still manage the project. I’m just going to get myself out of the way so… With a writer, I can pay more attention to—” He found himself talking faster, trying to make his case. Once she thought about it, she’d be relieved. Grateful that he was going to hand it off, to hire the talent it merited.

  “Did Sam order this?” Her voice was so controlled, so uninflected that if she’d dropped it in a lake, it wouldn’t have caused a ripple.

  “No! It’s just… What could I possibly write, Brenna? I have no great insights. I’m just some guy. Not Plato or Socrates. Kavsak was chaos. All I did was follow you. Try to stay alive. That’s why I figure—”

  “You saw what I—”

  He cut her off. “Brenna. You’re out of my league.”

  Whatever retort was on her lips, died.

  He bowed his head, saw her wrist, the love he’d declared on her delicate flesh. Jesus. He’d overstepped himself in every category. He closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would face Sam. Admit he wasn’t up to writing the documentary. Ask to stay on to see Brenna’s work to completion. Promise his resignation in exchange. He was done. Finished.

  Her weight shifted in front of him. He felt her hands on his shoulders, the gentle pressure as she drew him toward herself. “Come here to me,” she whispered at his ear.

  She drew his forehead down to her shoulder and held him silently, her breath soft against his neck, her arms enfolding him with so much tenderness, her body so yielding that he felt he had fallen into the center of her unguarded soul.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish…” He shook his head. Couldn’t finish the thought. He was too disappointed in himself.

  She hushed him gently, held him closer, pulled him down on the bed beside her. He stretched out beside her, torso aligned with hers. She turned to him, her knees and feet brushing his. Her eyes and her fingertips eased over his face. Her lips sweetly kissed the regret from his brow and the corners of his mouth.

  “Sleep,” she said. “Just let everything go, Daniel, and leave it be for now, okay?”

  He nodded. Couldn’t not. He had nothing left with which to resist the messy reality that his life had become. He closed his eyes and let her fingers drift through his hair, his thoughts, until he found the respite of oblivion.

  Midway through the night, his body woke, hyper-alert, rocking against Brenna. Her bottom was curved like a half-moon, pressed against his groin.

  Ah, Christ. He groaned inwardly. He had to get out of this bed, and fast before he woke her.

  “Daniel—” she said softly.

  Yeah, I know.

  “I don’t suppose you have condoms in the house.”

  “What?” He didn’t expect a call for them. She was convalescing. “No.”

  “James’ jacket is hanging on a hook in the foyer. Go rifle the pockets. He’ll have condoms and packets of K-Y. He holds a lot of safe-sex workshops,” she explained. “Hands them out like candy. Go. Bring one of each.”

  “Wait. Are you—”

  She rolled over to face him. “I’m saying I want to make love to you.”

  “But. You’re. We’re—?”

  “Are you saying you don’t?”

  “No!” He flicked the switch on the night light. In the glow of it, he sprang from the bed and headed for the door. He found the packets, just like she said, and was back in a trice. He closed the bedroom door, lingered near it. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Get back here.”

  He tossed the packets on the quilt. Ripped his polo shirt out of his pants, yanked it over his head, and hung it over the desk chair.

  “Slower,” she said.

  He stopped, feeling as naked as if he had already stripped. He had to remember she was a visual person, a photographer. Slowly, he pulled the buckle, unzipped, dropped his pants and boxer shorts. Her eyes roamed over him. Thoroughly. Without circumspection or demureness. Self-conscious, he fought the urge to cover his arousal.

  Her eyebrows rose, irises dilated, breath deepened.

  He felt his ears burning, saw her notice them. Enjoyed the slow smile that lit her face. Watched her tuck in her bottom lip.

  “Now, you,” he said.

  She pulled her pajamas off over her head, down her legs.

  “A little fast there, Ms. Rease.”

  She flushed. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It’s not as easy as you made it look.”

  He studied her, smiling. “You’re blushing.”

  She lifted the quilt, tipped her head in invitation and watched him move toward her.

  He got in, eased his body alongside hers, and groaned with delight. She was so soft, so warm. He propped his head up on one elbow. He trailed the fingers of his free hand over her face, the hollows of her neck, the rising curve of her breasts. He circled one nipple, then the other, with his fingertips. Leaned forward to make lazy circles around them with his tongue until she moaned. Let his hand meander down her belly.

  He lost himself in kisses, in fondling and arousing her.

  “Bren—” God, he needed her.

  “Where is it?”

  “The usual place.” He chuckled. “Very firmly attached.”

  “The condom, you goof. I know where you are.” She found the crinkly packet in the bedcovers, put a tooth to the crimp and tore it open.

  He found the K-Y, though he wasn’t clear why she wanted it. She was slick enough without it. “Do we need this?”

  “It’s not for me.”

  It wasn’t?

  She gave him a look.

  Truth was, last time he used a condom, the results hadn’t been especially spectacular. He was a kid, an unseasoned lover. “I’m…er… Aya took the Pill.”

  “Go on. Tear off a corner.” She held the condom by the tip. “Squeeze in a little dab. Not too much or it’ll slide off you.”

  “Really?” Not the sliding off part, but the lube in the condom.

  “Yeah. Makes it feel good. You’ll see.” She grasped him, sheathed him in one smooth motion.

  He hissed. Sex suffused him in a heady rush. “Oh, Christ,” he moaned. “Good thing I’m in bed. You do that to me when I’m standing, I’ll fall over.”

  She tugged a bit, hitching up on him. “Want to make sure this is snug,” she said, chuckling.

  “You’re wicked, Ms. Rease. Taking advantage of a man like that.”

  She rolled off her side onto her back. She drew her left ankle up, carefully slid her injured leg aside and opened herself to him. “Gently,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he replied, settling over her. Gentle he could be.

  Gentle he was.

  He lay beside her afterward, sighing, spent and content. “Bren?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are my eyes rolled up in my head?”

  She laughed, got up on her elbow, inspected him. “Well… Don’t operate any heavy machinery for a while.”

  He pulled her onto his chest and caressed the silky naked slope of her back and hips. “God, I love you.”

  She kissed his cheek, held his face against hers with her hand, but said nothing.

&n
bsp; Brenna rested fitfully, unwilling to give herself to deep sleep. She hadn’t taken her knock-out pills. Without them, she woke to nightmares, screaming, disorientation. She’d already put Daniel through one melt-down. He needed his rest so he could face tomorrow.

  Lying beside him in the shadows, her head cradled in his shoulder, her hand resting over his heart, she felt comforted by the steady beat. Maybe it was good after all, that she wasn’t crazy all the time. She could see when he was in trouble and give him what she could.

  She drifted in and out of light sleep, woke just before sunrise when the birds were starting to clear their throats for the day. Daniel was behind her now, the length of his body curved against her, probably still asleep, but rigid, ready for more sex.

  Her leg was throbbing, the gauze dressing on the larger of the two injuries felt moist. She’d probably cracked the healing surface, and now it was suppurating. The wound care nurse was coming today. Soon enough, Brenna would see what happened when a land mine victim forgot herself and rocked her pelvis against her lover’s in the throes of passion.

  She reached behind her, cupped Daniel with her hand. Intercourse wasn’t the only way to make a man feel good, and there was nothing wrong with her hands. She stroked him slowly. Thoroughly. Felt him responding.

  “Ohh,” he groaned. “Brenna.”

  He was up now.

  And wide awake. Soon, he was also very happy.

  Once he could breathe again, his hand came around her waist and crept lower. She covered it with hers, captured it, and brought it up against her breasts. “Rain check.”

  He got up on his elbow, leaned forward and kissed her neck. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. My leg hurts.”

  He sat up, pulled the quilt off her hip and exposed the dressings. “Shit.”

  She pulled the cover over herself again. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s soaked.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Shit.”

  She sat up, pulled the quilt around her waist, hogging it. “Okay. Let’s start over. Good morning, Daniel. Sleep well?”

  “I can wait, you know.”