by Angel Smits
He’d barely touched her again when she moved, sliding her hand up his arm, reaching for him. He leaned toward her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face against his neck. He pulled her in tight, rocking her.
Though he knew she couldn’t hear him, he made all the appropriate, soothing sounds. “Shh, I’m here. You’re safe now.”
Lauren shifted, and he took the opportunity to settle next to her on the bed. Curling into him, she laid her head against his chest and pressed against him. What was she doing? Then it dawned on him.
As she’d blared the music in his car, feeling the beat of it, she was feeling his voice. His breath caught. He cleared his throat, struggling to get the words out, words that meant nothing to her, but which connected them. Intimately—closer than if they were lovers.
For the first time in his life, Jason was at a loss for words, but he’d be damned if he’d let her down now. He racked his brain for anything to say. “You know that I saw that last performance you did at the Alex Theatre?” He’d never intended to tell her, mostly because it was something he wanted to tell her, not explain impersonally in a text. “Your father was there. Pal. He came to see you perform. Dozens of times apparently. He was so proud of you.” Someday, he’d have to tell her all of this again. Someday, when he could fully explain, and she could understand.
He felt her relax, though she was no closer to letting go than when she’d first reached for him. They couldn’t sit like this, on the edge of the bed all night. She needed to sleep.
He shifted and her grip tightened. She remained silent and while he longed to hear her voice, he’d take silence forever rather than ever hear her pain again. “Come on, hon.” He shifted her into his arms, closer.
Lifting her, Jason settled back on the mattress, stretching out with her, letting her lay her head in the center of his chest, where she could feel his voice and heartbeat.
“I’m not leaving. Not until you’re ready for me to,” he said then shook his head. “Not leaving,” he signed against her fingers.
Lauren signed her thank you, then something else he couldn’t read, but he wasn’t asking her to repeat it. He could see that the exhaustion, and the pain meds, were starting to take their toll. He closed his eyes, slowly moving his hand over her hair, stroking and soothing.
“My mom used to tell us bedtime stories. There was one I especially loved.” He let his voice lower, speaking slowly as his mother had as a way to coax him to sleep. In his own mind, he heard his mother’s voice, letting that calm permeate him and seep into Lauren. While he held her tight, he felt her breathing even out.
It was working. Peace soon wrapped around them. She’d fallen asleep. Thank God. He might never recover from the horror of tonight. Now that the activity had died down, the responsibilities had slipped away and she was safely asleep in his arms, the memories returned.
Of going to the studio to tell her and Dylan the news he still hadn’t delivered, to pick her up for a music-filled drive—and perhaps pick up where they’d left off the last time they’d been alone—only to find her there in the flames and smoke. A man standing over her, her hair roughly falling from her ponytail, her face soaked with tears and angry red marks—from the smoke? The chemicals? What else had that man done?
The asshole had run as soon as Jason arrived.
If he hadn’t appeared then...what would have happened?
Had the stranger intended more harm? Would they ever know?
The police wanted to question Lauren, but even they knew the futility at this point.
Anger, guilt and pain warred within Jason as he held Lauren.
The night stretched out as his thoughts chased his anger round and round inside his head.
* * *
WITH A SHEAF of discharge papers in her hand, wearing the new set of clothing Maxine had brought for her earlier that day, Lauren settled into the wheelchair. Jason was near—she could smell him—and his warmth settled against her back, reassuring. She’d have to wear the bandages for at least two more days.
Anger and fear choked her. Anger that someone had taken her independence so easily, and fear that she’d never get it back. The logical part of her knew she’d recover. The doctors had explained that—at least that’s what she thought Jason tried so hard to communicate to her in simple sign. She still had to puzzle through it. And while she knew her body would heal, would she heal on the inside as easily?
How did you recover from fear?
Jason touched her shoulder, a signal they’d devised to tell her he was moving. The uneasiness only increased. She couldn’t see where they were going, sensed only movement. She had to force her fingers not to tighten in a death grip on the wheelchair’s arms. She concentrated on breathing evenly, smoothly.
Finally, cool air whooshed over her, and Lauren realized they’d gone outside. Up a slight hill, then down. A ramp. He slowly came to a halt.
Lauren sat still, not quite sure what he expected of her. Carefully, he tapped her knee, indicating she put her feet on the ground. Then he curled his big strong hand beneath her elbow and gently nudged her to stand. Air brushed the back of her legs. The wheelchair was gone. He put her hand on top of solid metal. A car door. She slid her fingers along the top, knowing the feel of his car.
Comfort and familiarity washed over her as she was able to slide into the passenger seat. She knew this car, this seat, this warm interior. She felt the door slam, and held her breath until the car dipped as Jason climbed in on his side. His door settled in place, signaling they were both in. They were here, alone.
Wonderful.
The engine roared beneath her feet, and she leaned her head back on the warm leather headrest.
The first thump of the music surprised her, startled her. Soothed her. The sensory deprivation of the past forty-eight hours had been too much, and Jason somehow knew she needed this.
Just as he’d known she’d found comfort in the vibration of his voice last night.
Bless him. She wanted to reach over and hug him. Instead, she let the beautiful beat move through her, let the music fill her. She ached to dance, to let her feet take her across the floor of her studio—
How badly was it damaged? She hadn’t asked, and no one had told her. Not that it would have been an easy task. They’d had enough trouble just telling her how they were treating her injuries.
Her eyes burned, not from the anger or fear of her injuries. No, these were tears of grief. She knew it was gone. There was no way the old building had survived a fire that hot, that smoky.
Strong thick fingers touched the back of her hand. She hadn’t realized she’d been gripping her own fingers tight. Her knuckles were probably as white as she imagined the bandages covering her eyes were. She forced herself to give in to the comfort of Jason’s fingers gently holding hers.
* * *
JASON DROVE TOWARD his apartment. He knew Lauren would prefer her own place, and Maxine had pointed that out as well. But the town house’s steep stairs and crowded spaces were too risky. Even something as innocuous as a trash can, unexpected at the end of a counter, could be a threat to a person who couldn’t see.
The older woman had also pushed for Lauren to come to her house, but the kids’ school schedule was plenty to keep Maxine and Hudson busy.
Not to mention that “someone” knew where Lauren lived. But Jason wasn’t going into that with Lauren right now. He didn’t want to scare anyone right now.
Somewhere in the middle of last night, when he’d awakened for the dozenth time, he remembered the text Lauren had sent him the night she’d received the flowers.
Had that asshole who attacked her sent them? He’d let the police know about the texts as soon as he could. Since the phone didn’t survive the fire, he hoped the police could get the files from the phone company.
Fi
ghting his frustration and anger, he focused on the road.
When he pulled into his parking spot and killed the engine he saw Lauren momentarily wilt, then go on alert. He didn’t let himself think. If he did, he wasn’t sure he could keep his distance. The need to fix things, the nagging sense of guilt that he should have been at her studio sooner, and the growing feelings he was experiencing toward Lauren would overwhelm him otherwise. She was a strong, independent woman. It was part of what he loved about her.
Loved? He stared at her. Yes.
The rightness of the answer didn’t surprise him as much as he thought it should.
Patiently, she waited for him, and he hated her having to do that. “Come on.” He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. He climbed out and went around the car. She sensed the door opening and turned to climb out. She clung to the door’s frame, hesitant.
Jason cringed, hating her fear and weakness. It was not who she was. He needed to get her back to normal.
Slowly, he led her to the elevator, fighting his own urge—again—to pick her up and carry her safely away from everything.
He put her hand on the keypad, the familiar round buttons, letting her know they were going into an elevator. She leaned against him as they rose up toward the twelfth floor. When they stepped into the hall, he wondered what she’d think if she could actually see this place.
He’d been overwhelmed and impressed when he’d first seen it, moving here from Texas. The chrome-and-blue color scheme was identical on each floor, each apartment a cookie cutter of the next. Some furnished, some, like his, not.
Again, she stood patiently as he unlocked his apartment door and guided her inside. He flipped the light switch, the can lights in the ceiling coming on to splatter pools of gold across the low-pile carpet. He led Lauren to the couch, guiding her around to the coffee table, having her touch the cool chrome and glass so she’d know it was there.
“Where are we?” she signed, facing him. Trusting him.
He paused, then took her hand and made the signs for “My place.” He waited for her reaction. He was pleased when her lips turned up in a faint smile.
“Not fair,” she signed. “I can’t see your secrets.”
He laughed, and too late, realized she still had her hand against his chest and could feel the vibration. He froze. She froze. As if she could actually see, she tilted her face toward him, questioning, inviting?
Disgusted with himself for even considering taking advantage of the situation, and fighting the ache to pull her into his arms and kiss away his own fears, he stepped back.
* * *
LAUREN WAS TIRED. So tired. But falling asleep scared her more than staying awake. Would the darkness still be there, as painful and oppressive when she awoke?
Jason had been wonderful. Last night at the hospital, he’d held her all night. That couldn’t have been comfortable. But even if he’d complained, she couldn’t have heard him, or even seen him sign. She’d missed so much.
She had to keep from crying. Tears burned. The ointment they’d given her helped a bit. Soon she’d have to apply more. Just before she went to bed.
She couldn’t do it alone. The nurse had done it this morning. For a brief instant, she’d seen the blurred, shadowed image of the woman’s kind face.
Tonight she’d need Jason’s help. She dreaded that, too—dread mixed with anticipation.
What a mess.
The rhythm of approaching footsteps vibrated across the floor. He was near. She smelled the faded scent of his cologne. So comforting.
Jason touched her gently on her shoulder. Even with the warning, she jumped. “Sorry,” she signed, knowing he’d want her not to feel sorry, but unable to help herself.
The side of the bed dipped as he settled beside her. Slowly, he took her hand, putting the tube of ointment in her palm, letting her feel the plastic’s coolness. Then he softly tapped her forehead beside the tape. He was letting her know he was ready, letting her know he’d wait for her. Slowly, with her uninjured hand, she reached up and gently pulled at the medical tape, loosening the bandages.
Light stabbed her eyes, burning, painful. The damaged skin around her eyes tingled with the brush of the room’s air. She blinked quickly, tears falling as her body tried to cleanse itself.
Jason had turned off the lights, all except one, clear across the room, but even that was too bright. Still, relief washed over her. Even in the dim light, she could make out his shadowed figure, could see the glow.
She needed to be patient, believing she’d be fine—in time.
Jason reached for the tube and nudged her chin back. She knew the drill, knew he had to help put it in between her lids. It was thick and gooey, and while it eased the pain, it was like looking through Vaseline.
As he lifted his hand to put the first bit on, she reached up and stopped him. She wanted to look at him, just for an instant. She took a moment to catalog his shadowed features. Her heart caught. He was so close, and, though out of focus, she let her hungry gaze drink in everything it could. She tried to put the blurry images together with what she knew. Her mind filled in the pieces, and she let herself savor the relief. She could see him clearly, at least in her mind.
Hesitantly, she reached up, laying her palm against the rough skin of his jaw. Slowly, she slid her fingertips toward his lips, and felt the softer skin move. Was he saying something? Then he paused, taking his hand and covering hers, pressing a gentle kiss to the center of her palm.
She lifted her blurred gaze to look at him, wanting to never stop looking at him...praying she’d be able to see him soon, clearly, in full light.
“Okay,” she signed and tilted her head back. He nodded and moved closer, carefully, taking the tube and tilting it toward her eyes. Then once he’d recapped it and set it down, he took more gauze and tape to make her another mask.
Dread rocked her. The darkness threatened to overwhelm her. This time, he paused. The bandages in his hand, he reached out and cupped her chin, much as she had his. He didn’t stop, however, but instead, leaned closer, closer still, and put his lips to hers. Gently, softly at first, and then with an insistency that thrilled and scared her. She returned his kiss, letting her eyes close naturally as she curled her fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt.
Lauren felt the vibration of him clearing his throat as he moved away. She didn’t open her eyes, wanting to keep the kiss safe inside.
Oh, so gently, Jason put the gauze over her eyes and put the tape in place. The darkness wasn’t quite so frightening this time. Maybe because she knew there was light on the other side of the bandages, light that she would be able to see at some point.
Or maybe it was because Jason slipped onto the bed beside her, fully clothed, and pulled her up against his chest, just as he had last night. She snuggled against him, not needing him as much as she had last night, but still not wanting to be alone.
She let sleep scoot in closer. Then she felt Jason relax and the soft vibration of his snore reassured her. If he was tired enough to sleep like this, he deserved it, and if he was comfortable enough, Lauren could, too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SUNLIGHT POURED IN the windows. Jason had been so tired, and focused on getting Lauren settled last night, he’d forgotten to pull the drapes.
He looked down at her. She was curled up in the center of his bed, the blankets tucked beneath her chin, the bandages still firmly in place. Thank heavens. If she opened her eyes without them, the pain would be awful.
The skin on her forehead had been irritated by the chemicals, but this morning it looked much less angry and red. Hopefully, her eyes were improving as well. He’d take a good look when they put in the next dose of medicine.
It was still early, barely past sunrise, and while Lauren needed to sleep, Jason couldn’t stay here with her. Not withou
t his body betraying the feelings growing between them. He stood and closed the curtains.
Shadows fell over the room with the only remaining light coming from the reflection of the sunlight off the hall floor.
Leaving the bedroom, Jason made coffee and took a steaming cup out to the balcony. The twelfth floor wasn’t up so high that he had an unimpeded view of the city. But between the buildings, he could see the distant hills and the city scattered beyond. The morning light slanted through and glinted off the rows of window glass.
He made a call to the office. His cell phone had perished in the fire, so he’d asked Susan to get him a new one. Thank God, it was company-issued—all he’d had to do was call IT, not deal with a phone company. He let Susan know he wouldn’t be in today—he wasn’t going anywhere, at least not anywhere that didn’t involve Lauren. The idea of leaving her here, alone, made him shudder.
After he’d hung up, he finished his coffee and hustled to the shower. He needed to get ready for the day before Lauren woke up and needed his help.
Minutes later, Jason stepped out of the shower and froze. Lauren stood in the doorway. Slowly, hesitantly, she ran her hands along the door frame. When he’d first brought her into his room last night, he’d walked her around the floor plan. Odds were, she wouldn’t remember much, but there were some essentials she’d needed to know about, a bathroom being one of them.
Lauren couldn’t see him, but he hastily wrapped the towel around his hips anyway. She moved slowly, tentatively, as if trying to remember where everything was. The frown on her brow decided him. He reached out to her, his hand barely touching her elbow. Still, she jumped and hit her shoulder on the frame. Her gasp was soft, but definitely pain filled.
To keep Lauren from stumbling, Jason pulled her back to keep her steady. Lauren froze as her bare shoulder grazed his naked chest. Her sharp intake of breath was loud, vibrating clear through him.
Slowly, Jason put his hands on her shoulders—noting how her cheeks burned bright pink. He smiled. She’d apparently guessed his state of dress—or rather, undress—correctly. Carefully, he turned her in the right direction, and guided her to find what she was looking for. She nodded and closed the small privacy door.
