Insult to Injury

by Gun Brooke

  “You were out on bail?” Manon asks kindly.

  “What? No.” How the hell do I explain this? “I was about to get cuffed to the desk…” I free my right hand and touch the side of Manon’s dark-wood desk. Whereas the cop’s work station had been scratched and cluttered, Manon’s is polished and organized, and smells of citrus. And nowhere to cuff anyone, naturally.

  “Romi? Go on,” Manon says, squeezing my other hand.

  “There was a fight when they brought some guys into the police station. The cop in charge of me didn’t have time to cuff me to the desk—and I saw my chance. My only chance, as I considered it. They had my stolen wallet. She said they found it at the scene of a burglary at some super-rich person’s house. I was never there. I’m not a criminal.” Tears overflow and I can’t help but sob, despite hating my outburst. “I can’t prove it, but it wasn’t me.”

  “I see.” Manon sounds noncommittal and keeps taking notes. I can’t decipher her expression. “And where were you staying? Your New York address, is that your latest before you came here?”

  “No.” I pull myself together by pinching my thigh. “Shelters.” I hear my voice, so flat and yet echoing in my head, give the information required. “Under overpasses or bridges. Public restrooms.”

  Manon lowers the pen. “In other words, you were homeless.” Compassion, but not pity, thank God, shines in her eyes. “For how long?”

  “More than six years. Ever since I left East Quay.” There. It’s out in the open. I can’t imagine what’s going to happen now. Not because there aren’t obvious courses of action for Manon, but because my brain just can’t process it. I wipe at my wet cheeks, and Manon pushes a box of tissues toward me.

  “Let me make a phone call.” Manon stands and pours two glasses of mineral water. “Here you go.”

  I sip the carbonated water and cough when it tickles my clenched throat. I can’t imagine who she’s going to call. The authorities? Gail? No, why would she? She knows nothing of the complicated feelings Gail and I have tried to navigate—with varying results. Is she calling someone in New York? I careen from sheer panic to this strange, unexpected calm in mere moments. So, this is it. My past, which really isn’t that far away, catches up with me, and my very short stint as a person with a future comes to an end.

  “Romi? Romi.” Before dialing, Manon puts down her phone again. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?” Taking the hand not clutching the glass in hers again, she squeezes it firmly. Her warm skin feels so hot against my icy fingers. “Hey. Listen to me. I know you have very little reason to trust anyone after having been on your own for so long, but here’s the deal. No matter what, the Belmont Foundation won’t abandon you. If you need legal representation, we’ll provide it. You’re valuable to us.”

  I can only stare at her. What is she talking about? Why won’t the foundation just drop me like hot potato if they think I may be a criminal? “Surely I can’t be around the kids when—”

  “Romi, I’ve been doing this type of work for a very long time. I’ve met people from all walks of life, some of them with a record and some just down on their luck. Some have struggled with substance abuse, and others have been homeless or suffered abuse. When you tell me you’re innocent of what you were accused of, I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. And I’m not the only one who has faith in you. Eryn, my wife, is an even better judge of character than I am. If either of us had the slightest, and I mean that literally, feeling you weren’t good for the kids in the choir, we’d find another way to help you.”

  This doesn’t make sense. The kids in the choir are children. “You owe more to those kids than you can ever give to me,” I say, squaring my shoulders to find the strength to argue. “If any of them were my child, I’d be very concerned if the foundation didn’t do their best to run a background check on the adult in charge of their well-being.”

  Manon smiles broadly.

  “What?” I’m starting to get annoyed. What’s going on here? Why do I feel I’m the only one making any sort of sense?

  “You just proved my point. If you were actually guilty of anything, I don’t think you’d push for a background check.”

  I scoff. “Unless I was trying to blow smoke up your…” I stop myself in time, which is a good thing as I don’t want to shock the posh Manon.

  “Oh, plenty of people have tried to blow smoke up my ass, trust me. Rarely works.” Manon waves her hand dismissively at me and picks up her phone again. “Now. Just sit there and try to relax.” She browses her cell and then taps the screen. “Manon Belmont for Detective Flynn, please.”

  Shit. Here we go. Either I’m toast or I’ll be able to breathe deeply for the first time in ages. Perhaps ever.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Gail

  I see Romi walking up my driveway, but when she veers off toward her usual shortcut, I act fast and open the front door.

  “Romi?”

  “Oh, hi.” Romi stops but seems to hesitate. “Long day. On my way, um, home.”

  “So I see. I thought you might join me, but perhaps you’re too tired or…busy?” Now why do I have to sound so peeved? Damn, I know why. Fear of rejection.

  Romi shakes her head. “I…I just had a long day, that’s all. And I saw Manon.” Romi’s shoulders slump. “I suppose I need to process everything.”

  That does it. “Please come inside. I really want to hear what you talked about.”

  Romi remains where she is for a few moments, but then nods and walk up the stairs. “Yes, of course. You deserve to know.”

  That remark gives me pause. I wait until she’s inside and has removed her jacket. “You don’t owe me any explanations whatsoever, Romi,” I say quietly. “I’m merely interested because you’re important to me. Ever since you spent the night, you must know that, right?”

  Romi runs a hand over her face. “I know. I didn’t mean it that way. The truth is, if I can’t share it with you, then who can I tell?” She steps closer and caresses my cheek. “I’ve been on my own so long. Not used to sharing.”

  “You and me both,” I say and hold her hand against me. “Hungry?”

  “You’re always trying to feed me.” Romi’s smile is one of those rare ones that engages her eyes, when she lets her guard down.

  “Purely for selfish reasons,” I say lightly. “I hate eating alone.”

  “Well, I like eating, period, so I’m game. Want me to cook?”

  “As much as I liked your mac and cheese,” I say, hoping she won’t see through the lie too easily, “I’ve made use of the old, but functioning, slow cooker that came with the house.”

  Romi’s smile fades. “Yeah? Sounds amazing.” Clearly her guard’s back up, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what I said to cause it to happen.

  As we sit down to eat, Romi clears her throat, sips her water, and grips her utensils harder. Oh, yes. She’s nervous.

  “Manon’s called a local cop she knows, a detective, to look into what charges New York has on me. Apparently, and this threw me for a loop, trust me, Manon is set on helping me no matter what. I mean, I know I’m not guilty of robbing some rich guy’s place.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty.” I tilt my head. “And since you weren’t present during the burglary, your prints can’t be there, nor any other forensic evidence.”

  Romi draws a trembling breath. “But my wallet was.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say with confidence. “Just because something belonging to you was there, that doesn’t prove you were. I’m glad Manon’s foundation is helping you with this—but if they weren’t, I would.”

  Romi’s eyes grow dark, and a new shininess shows she’s not far from crying. “Really?”

  “Yes.” I shove my fork through an innocent piece of mushroom. “I’ve lived a very privileged existence for the main part of my life. That doesn’t mean I don’t realize how differently the justice system works for someone like me than it does for you, who has had t
o fight to stay alive—and who is without the power that comes with money and connections. I don’t blame you for panicking when you realized the police were convinced you were in on the burglary.”

  “If I’d lucked out and gotten a decent public defender, fine,” Romi says slowly. “But I know of people who got public defenders who couldn’t care less what happened to them. And since I was homeless, they would’ve kept me locked up. Or, at least, I was sure they would.”

  “And while Manon’s contact checks out your situation, what happens in the meantime?” I ask carefully.

  “You mean, with my job?” Romi brightens. “Business as usual, pretty much. Carrie will oversee as much as she can, as she’s not doing well, nor is her husband, but I’ll be overseeing the rehearsals. Unless I misunderstood, Manon hopes I can take over completely—if all goes well.”

  “Manon’s an insightful woman. She found someone special in you, and she knows it.” I look at my plate, which to my surprise is empty. My appetite certainly has improved lately.

  “Thank you.” Romi finishes the last of her plate as well.

  “As have I.” I’m not sure where the words come from, but they contain the truth after all.

  “You done?” Taking her plate and mine, Romi rinses them off and places them in the dishwasher. “Wait. What have you done?” She returns for the condiments and carries them to the fridge.

  “Found someone special in you.” I get up and take our glasses to the sink.

  Romi stops, ending up with her back to the fridge. “Oh.”

  I smile. I can’t help it, because Romi’s lips form a perfect O, and it makes her look so damn cute. Stepping well within her personal space, I place my left hand next to her head against the refrigerator door. “Yes. Oh.”

  I bend my head and brush my lips against her cheek. Her breath catches, and then her hands come up and around my neck. Romi looks up at me, her amazing eyes searching mine, for what, I have no idea. The truth perhaps? Or something else, maybe something normally not found in a person’s eyes.

  “I found a miracle in you,” Romi whispers. “It thrills me, it scares me, and, God, I think of you all the time.”

  A molten heat spreads from my abdomen down between my legs. Pressing the length of my body against Romi’s, I feel every contour of her petite frame. Small pointy breasts rub against me, and since I’m wearing only a silk shirt, I feel as if I’m naked.

  “You’re not wearing…your sling?” Romi gasps as I let my lips move from her jawline to her neck.

  “Observant.” I nip at the smooth skin just inside her collar.

  “Oh. Gail…” Arching, Romi whimpers and tips her head back farther. “Gail…”

  I kiss her. She parts her lips under mine, and I explore her mouth with my tongue, eager to taste her and know every part of her. Romi’s hands are in my hair, pulling me closer.

  Eventually, I need oxygen. I reluctantly pull back. “Couch?”

  “Sounds good,” Romi says, as out of breath as I am. As we separate, which hurts, as I want nothing more than to hold her like this forever, her eyes fall to my injured hand.

  “No orthosis?”

  “Yes, but a new, smaller one. I’m told I’m making progress.” I make a left-shoulder shrug. “I’m cautiously optimistic since my physiotherapist is pleased with me.”

  “Are you pleased?” Gently, with whisper-light fingertips, Romi caresses my right arm.

  “I am, actually. I hated PT in New York. Tried several and nobody was half as good as the one I’m seeing here. Who would’ve guessed?”

  Romi takes my hand, and we walk into the living room. “Perhaps it’s more to do with your frame of mind than the expertise of the PT?”

  “What do you mean?” Not sure if I’m being criticized, I sit down next to her on the couch.

  “I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you, but the way I see it, you were dealing with something worse than the injury after the accident. More than losing your livelihood, you lost your music.” Romi raises my hand to her lips and kisses my palm. “How were you supposed to feel motivated to put your heart and soul into your training when you were dealing with such heartache?”

  I can’t find the words at first. “Where were you when I needed that explained to me?” I blurt out.

  “Right there, in Manhattan,” Romi says, smiling authentically. “Though I doubt you would have been ready for any advice from anyone. You needed to mourn.”

  “I didn’t mourn. I raged. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but I threw a tray of medical supplies across the room once. The poor nurses feared me enough to draw straws about whose turn it was to tend to me, I’m sure.”

  “If that’s true, I’d say that hospital employs some thin-skinned nurses. I’m sure they understood better than you realized at the time.” Sliding closer, Romi pulls me closer, mimicking how we sat that night, but this time with my head on her shoulder.

  “I’m starting to realize you’re even smarter than I thought, if possible, as I already have such a high opinion of you.” I press my lips to Romi’s neck. “And this couch is starting to become my favorite place in this entire house.”

  “The couch is okay, but the company is stellar.” Romi chuckles, which makes me feel happier than I have in a long time.

  “May I be bold and ask you to spend the night again? You can have the guest room if you want, or…” Suddenly feeling uncharacteristically bashful, I don’t know how to phrase my question without sounding like I’m being presumptuous. Trying to slow my breath, I wish I knew what Romi was thinking.

  “Or in your room?” Romi asks, sounding cautious.

  “Only if you want to. And I’m not saying we have to, you know…I mean I don’t presume…” Oh, God. I sound like a horny teenager navigating the unknown with the girl she’s hot for.

  “Your room sounds nice.” Romi sounds relieved, but I also detect nerves beneath her words.

  “Romi?” I sit up to look into her eyes. “I haven’t had a lover for quite some time. Too caught up in my career, and then the accident. I’m in no position to pretend to be the most experienced one, even if I’m older.” Great. That sounds even more stupid.

  “Oh, trust me. You’re the more experienced one.” Romi sighs. “Living in shelters and under overpasses isn’t a great way to find romance. I mean, I saw those who did, some even successfully so, but I was never able to let anyone in that way. That, and the fact that I’m attracted to girls, I mean, women, and I always dreamed of it being special. Does that sound totally naïve?”

  I wrap my arm around Romi and kiss her lightly on the lips. “It doesn’t. It sounds as if you had envisioned a relationship as being meaningful and with someone you felt something for. The fact that you allow me to hold you like this, no matter how far we let it go, or not go, makes me feel special.”

  Romi smiles carefully, and I slide my hand up into her hair. “I can safely say that I’ve never felt anything like I do for you, for anyone else. Do you have even an inkling of how unique you are? We’re very different, but I feel more in tune with you than anyone I can think of.”

  Romi tilts her head and runs a fingertip along my nose and around my mouth, and traces my jawline back and forth. I tip my head back, and adding more fingers, Romi seeks out the indentation just below my neck. I shiver, and goose bumps erupt along my arms and legs. “For not having practiced a lot, you sure seem to know just how to touch me,” I say, out of breath.

  “Only because I want to touch you everywhere,” Romi says, her tone dreamy. “You’re so beautiful, but it’s more than that.” She gently takes my chin between her index finger and thumb, meeting my eyes. “You’ve been on my mind ever since I saw you that first day when you moved in. Of course, I had no way of knowing I’d feel like I do now, but I could tell you affected me in ways that were so very new to me.”

  “You speak my mind,” I murmur and pull her in for a proper kiss. Her tongue flickers against mine, and I gratefully give her entrance to my mouth. Romi�
�s exploration of me is not confined to just my lips and tongue. Her hand caresses me everywhere within reach, and when it finds its way under my shirt, I moan out loud. I want that hand in all the places that ache.

  “Unbutton my shirt,” I say.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Romi

  I’m not sure how we made it upstairs without falling over each other. Somehow, I think I’ve planted a warning in the back of my head to not jeopardize Gail’s healing arm, but even that’s fuzzy. It’s already dark outside, and her bedroom is lit only by two dim bedside lamps. Gail stops in the middle of the floor, turning toward me. She looks so damn sexy with her unbuttoned cotton shirt and rumpled tank top underneath. Her slacks are unfastened and pushed down on her hips.

  “You’re overdressed,” Gail says huskily.

  “Mmm?” I’m too busy taking in the sight of her. Her hair is disheveled in the way I’ve seen in commercials for “bed hair” styling products, her blue eyes are nearly black, and the best part—she’s reaching for me.

  “Mind getting rid of your shirt? To put us on an even keel, so to speak?” Gail smiles and lets her shirt slip down her arms and onto the floor. I know from the other night that she’s slender, but compared to me, Gail’s voluptuous. Each of her breasts is a perfect handful, and I can feel the sensation of them through the tank top. The thought of holding them, caressing them without a fabric barrier, makes me want to howl. I unbutton my own shirt and let it fall like Gail just did. And like her, I’m down to a cotton tank top.

  “Damn. That might have been a mistake.” Gail steps closer but doesn’t touch me. “You look amazing.”

  The hoarse undertone to her voice makes me bolder. I unzip my jeans and slide them off, along with my socks. I read once that keeping socks on is a big no-no. Better not take any chances. A tiny, threatening voice that I keep pushing back insists that this might be my only opportunity to be this close to Gail. If I don’t allow myself to know her intimately in whatever capacity she’ll allow me, I’ll never forgive myself. I can live a long time on the memory of making love with Gail.