AMAZING HEART (Broken Bottles Series Book 4)

by Pamela Taeuffer

  "Do you have any coffee?" I visibly ignored him. Internally I took in every word.

  "Absolutely." He reached for a mug. "We don't want a crabby Nicky."

  Cute boy. He remembered our first trip to Yountville when I told him I need my coffee in the morning so I don't get crabby.

  "Thanks, but I'd never be crabby to someone as kind as you were last night. When I got here, I wanted to kick your ass, though." I sat down on one of the stools. "And I fully intended to do it as soon as I felt better."

  "I know." He poured my coffee and placed the mug in front of me. "You were steaming when you came out of the guest bedroom even though you were sick. When I put my arm around you to bring you to Dr. Welluck, your whole body tensed."

  "Yeah, well, you took all my steam away with the things you did for me." I poured some cream in the mug and stirred it. “In fact, the way you say things, what you do . . . they take, um, took, all of the ager—shit, shoot, I mean, anger away. You know what?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "When you asked me to let go so you could get me some soup? I hadn't realized I was still holding onto you."

  "Guess we fit together pretty well." He put two plates on the island counter for us.

  "This is so strange." I blew into my mug.

  "What is?" He sat down next to me.

  "So many weeks ago I visualized sitting here with you and now—"

  "Here we are," he smiled.

  "Here we are," I repeated. "Breakfast looks delicious."

  "Here." He poured apple juice in my glass and put a multi-vitamin and mineral tablet on my napkin. "Be sure and take the vitamin after you eat a few bites of food."

  "I will." Count to three and say it. "Ryan, I'm sorry to be so touchy about your past. I feel terrible that you gave those art pieces away. They really were beautiful."

  "It's done. I told you they didn't mean anything. Don't stress over them; I'm not."

  He can't keep doing this for you. You need to understand and trust he loves you. Things, people, places from his past are just that—his past. He's allowed to buy art or any other item from a woman, former lover or not."You can't know, well obviously you know, because you gave them away, it means a lot to me you did that. I'll try not to freak out so badly. Otherwise, you might have to refurnish your whole place," I laughed nervously. "Anyway, thank you. Hey, Ryan?"

  "Hey, Nicky?"

  "How did Dr. Welluck have the right medicine for me? Usually you have to go to the pharmacy and get it." I ate a forkful of eggs.

  "He checked with Graciela at the ballpark." Ryan's face turned red. "She told him about your headache and blood pressure."

  "No, that can't be right. I never told her about my headache." Caught you, Ryan Tilton! "I lied about it when Graciela asked me how I felt so I could get out of there."

  He slid off the stool and gathered me in his arms.

  "That's why I had Manny go with you so he could assess your condition. I was so worried."

  "Dr. Welluck called in the prescription and you went to the pharmacy, didn't you?" I cupped his cheek. "That's why you couldn't be at the apartment when I got here. Now I get it."

  "When I saw you fall, all I wanted to do was take care of you. It was hell knowing there was nothing I could do. Please don't shut me out again. I've never felt more helpless in my life. Even when Dad died, at least it was final. I had to adjust and grieve, but this . . ." His eyes moistened as he released his hold. Once again he sat next to me.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't handle any of it well." I lifted a strawberry from his plate and ate it. With the assurance of his smile, I relaxed and continued. "Everything was wonderful when you left and then Jesse's text . . . I've never experienced behavior like that." I paused. "And I sure hope I don't ever again."

  "You won't," he put his hand on top of mine.

  "I have a lot of feelings making me crazy. Everything seems serious and important to me and I end up overanalyzing the meaning behind our words. I dissect them a hundred different ways. When it comes right down to it, I'm kind of a mess." I shook my head. "Well, not kind of, I definitely am a mess when it comes to everything about us."

  "I know, sweetheart." He ran his finger around the rim of his coffee mug. "Don't forget, being committed to a woman is new for me, too. Learning to nurture that love in ways that work for each of us is something we'll figure out together. I don't have all the answers."

  "Most of them," I teased.

  "Hardly," he replied in clipped tone.

  "Hardly anything you don't know when it comes to relationships, you mean." I tried to get the last word.

  "No," he countered. "It's all new with you."

  I give.

  We held hands off and on during breakfast. I ate everything he put out for me. I got up from the table and kissed his cheek.

  "Thank you for taking care of me." I got up from the table, kissed his cheek and gave him a gigantic hug. "I know I don't accept help easily. I'll do those dishes after you leave."

  "You go ahead and relax." He lifted me to his lap. We held onto our new moments. There was a note of aching in his voice. "I have a few hundred TV channels, plenty of CDs, On Demand, Streaming, and lots of books in the library. You've never been in that room and you could explore it while I'm gone—especially now that you don't have to worry about my bathroom products."

  "Okay," I knew I showed the obvious embarrassment of Ryan catching me going through his nightstand. I started to get off his lap. His arms tightened around my stomach.

  "Feeling you shift your butt to get off my lap . . ." He took a deep breath. "What that thing does to me."

  "What time do you have to go?" I tried to keep his sex-demon from taking complete possession of him—of us.

  "I should get to the ballpark by two so I can start my workout." We walked to the sofa and sat down. "I'll stay close to you until I have to go. In fact, maybe I'll call in sick."

  "I'm sure. Wouldn't that be so naughty of you?" I relished the thought of watching the game together and the announcers reporting, Ryan Tilton is out sick tonight.

  "Just rest your head on my lap." His voice sounded happy and light.

  I lay down, my head resting on his thigh as he massaged my scalp and neck, rubbing along my arms and back. Every so often, he took my hands in his and kissed them.

  "Ryan, did you really carry me all the way to the medical office?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry for your little arms." I kissed his right forearm. "You're strong to be able to lift me. I'm not petite."

  "Yeah, you were pretty heavy. I struggled all the way while trying to hold you. I hope I didn't blow out my pitching arm."

  "Sorry about that." I was certain my face had turned cherry red.

  "You're always joking about your big, tree trunk of a body but all I felt was my sick little sweetheart in my arms. You have it in all the right places, Nicky. And I mean all the right places."

  "And then there's that side of you that insists on rising up. Sometimes my chest gets so tight I can hardly breathe." I closed my eyes, making every attempt to hide my smile.

  "Well, I do have, uh, something that rises up pretty consistently when I'm around you." All it took was his voice to unlock the secret places in my body.

  "How come you have all those women's clothes in your closet?" I tried to shift gears.

  "You know they're for you." He continued to play with my hair. "When you're here you don't have to use my clothes anymore—unless you want to."

  "I like your clothes. In fact, I put aside one of your T-shirts to have all for myself. Then I can sleep in it and keep you close to me all night even when you're on the road. Can I keep it?"

  "Knowing my shirt is against your breasts? Yes. Most definitely, yes."

  "You know . . . it's a lot bigger than the one you gave me to wear after Pismo. The other one was so tight," I probed. "It must have shrunk and you didn't realize it."

  "Huh . . . wonder how that could be?" His luscious laug
h and soft seduction sung me to sleep while he gently rubbed my body. Peaceful dreams fell with his gold dust. Each time I awoke, I was treated to Ryan's hands running through my hair, or rubbing my shoulders.

  "I'll see you after the game tonight. I'll try and hurry home." Of course, the time for him to leave came much too soon. He had a blanket and pillow to tuck me in.

  "Mm-hmm." I kept my eyes closed.

  Even in his quiet moments I felt his power gathering.

  "Nicky?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You must know how much I love you."

  "Yes," I admitted. "I do."

  "You must know I'm serious."

  "Yes."

  "We go on another road trip tomorrow. Even now I'm having a tough time as I think about not having you with me. I want you to come. Please think about it."

  "I'd love to go with you. Thanks for inviting me. You're not the only one who dreads being apart from each other." My heart ached with worry. "I think about it all the time. Do you really think we could make a long-term relationship work?"

  He immediately sat down and lifted me to his chest.

  His arms surrounded me.

  "I don't know why I keep crying when I'm with you." My tears dampened his shirt and the bare skin of his neck was wet. "I'm sorry to be so wimpy. I told you I'm a mess, and—"

  "You can say anything," he offered. "I want all of you, whatever that means for us. Each day the longing will be a little less and our intense emotions will even out."

  "I hope so." I twisted some of the blanket into a winding peak. "Otherwise I know I'll die from internal combustion before we're together for even a few months."

  "I'll see you tonight," he chuckled. "There's more food in the refrigerator if you get hungry."

  He was almost out the door.

  "Ryan, I hate to see you go. I know you have to, but the thing is, I never could have imagined I'd love anyone so quickly. I was afraid of my feelings and confess I still am in some ways. Still, I'm sorry it took me all these weeks to sort it out."

  He walked over to me and wrapped my entire body in the blanket, carried me into the bedroom, and put me down on the bed.

  "I think we'll find out that it's really not so difficult." His eyes softened. "Don't forget, I'll be home all winter and you'll be available all summer. What I wouldn't give to take you right here and sail through the game with your feminine scent all over me. You'd turn on the TV and when you watched me come in to pitch, it would be our secret you were on my fingers, legs and belly. Mmm, I can't wait for that."

  "Guess you'd better get going." I took a deep breath.

  "Bye, Nicky Nick." He looked completely satisfied with himself. After giving me a kiss, he left for the game.

  Once he was gone, I considered all that had happened that morning.

  I knew I was in luscious trouble.

  Important decisions knocked.

  Ryan's love stood at the door.

  Chapter 34

  Christopher Tilton Senior

  When I opened my eyes again, it was almost four. I stretched, feeling Ryan's shirt against my skin and smiled remembering our bathroom scene. Grabbing his pillow, I couldn't help but give it a big squeeze.

  Ooh, Ryan—my juicy, juicy man.

  Reluctantly, I pushed away my cocoon of blankets. I needed to write down the details of the prior night before its vivid colors faded. After taking my blood pressure and getting another normal reading, I walked into Ryan's library looking for a pen and some paper. I was careful to take things slow and easy.

  The library was also his office. It had dark, hardwood floors. Wooden bookshelves were built into two of the four walls. Instead of the blacks and greens of the living area, chocolate browns and velvet reds brushed the room. The décor reflected a masculine style. This was definitely his hangout.

  Filled with mostly memoirs, historical novels, and sports books, I ran my fingers over the shelves of bound wisdom. As I perused them I came across a small, tattered book with a worn, brown leather cover. Written on the inside page was the name, Christopher Tilton Senior. I quickly thumbed through the book and realized this was the journal of Ryan's father.

  He said go through everything, but would he want me to read this?

  While holding it carefully, I flattened my hand on its cover and said a prayer for Ryan and his dad. Opened it. Closed it. Ran my hand across its face once again. Weighed my decision for several minutes. Decided to read it.

  The journal began with his father describing an assignment to the Middle East. He admitted that this time, his fear was sharpened and this tour was different than all the previous ones. Only thirty-six, he began describing his fourth assignment overseas, having eleven months left of the twelve. He'd been there a little more than a week when his journal took a different turn. At first he wrote about the basic introductions: the terrain, food, culture, the weather and the various exploits of his fellow marines. Turning the pages, the words filling them turned dark. Quickly.

  Ryan's father and the other men and women in his unit set up a base in what they called, "valley of death." He'd written, fear can reveal itself as anger and contempt. I fear it is what we've stepped into here.

  Immediately after that entry, he speculated how the people in the surrounding villages weren't the same as on previous assignments. Christopher Sr. sought and felt comfort among his family and as I continued to read, it was evident how much he loved them. Love filled the pages of his journal.

  Among his last entries were these:

  July 9th

  Everything scattered. The assault came quickly. Frantic. They move fast. The mountains around us give them the cover they need. We can't seem to hone in on the direction. They echo from all sides. May, Chris, Ryan—I love you.

  July 11th

  Finally zoned in on the enemy's hiding place. Tonight we flush them out. Frank is such a fucking moron—he sprained his ankle. No sympathy for that, buddy. Wrap it up and prepare yourself.

  Goodnight family.

  July 12th

  Good mission last night. Think we pushed them back. They'll regroup, but we cleared the area pretty damn well. No one hurt here. That's success. Love you guys. Stay strong. Only ten months until I see you again.

  Feels like forever.

  July 15th

  Settled down. On patrol. Hot—burning hot. Summer is brutal. One hundred degrees + every day. Humidity makes us feel like we're under water.

  Wait—is a fire—burning? No, okay.

  I love you May. Chris, Ryan, I love you. I've decided not to reenlist. Why didn't I tell you all how much I love you? When I get back, promise not to take you for granted. Didn't appreciate what I had. Not nearly enough. Promise I'll tell you all every day.

  I thought we'd have forever.

  July 16th

  All of us warned the C.O. The location too narrow, no cover, mountains on all sides. Deadly. Heard the stories from the guys who already served, they feel surrounded. Eyes watching, all the time. They all knew—some outfit would be sitting ducks.

  God, please don't let it be us.

  We know they're hiding up there.

  Pech Valley. That's what they call this place. For us? We name it, "Valley of Death." Sam, Ted and Carp—they all told me. Yet here I am. Why did I go again? Why did I go again? Fuck. WHY did I go again?

  Your birthday is coming, Ryan, I haven't forgotten. If I can't talk to you, know that I haven't forgotten. I hope you and your friends have a good time. I wonder if there's a girl you like at school yet. I miss those talks. Have mom make one of her legendary cheesecakes. I can taste it now.

  July 18th

  All day in the middle of hell. Explosions. Screaming. Confusion. Shattered bodies. Fractured confidence, I'm suddenly aware of my own mortality. The bullets make sickening sounds as they whiz by. It's as if they're alive and searching for a kill.

  Threatening.

  Close.

  Barely missed.

  My ears feel the diseased air as t
hey go by.

  Love you, my family.

  July 20th

  Silence all day. Are they pressing their bodies to the ground? Are they struggling to survive like we are? No, not like we are. Desperate. Brainwashed. No way out. But they're afraid like we are.

  All of us pieces in a chess game. Suddenly, it doesn't make any sense.

  Thinking of an ice-cold beer and a hot dog at one of your games, Ryan. You're a damn good pitcher. Should have told you that more often. When I get back, I'll coach you and your team.

  Chris, I hope you pursue your music. Know how you love it. Can't wait to get your letters and hear about college.

  We can't call out yet. Only a few more days and I'll talk to you guys. Can't be soon enough.

  Love you all.

  July 21st

  Too quiet. The enemy let us take patrol today. I have a strange feeling. A gut feeling, they're trying to make us feel secure. They're not fooling us.

  We all know they're out there—hiding, watching, waiting under a sky of shadows. The confusion is coming again. I hate the swarming . . . like bees. Shouting. Horns blaring. Shooting . . . the bullets ready to penetrate, ticking around our heads; I hate it. I hate it all.

  July 25th

  Tough night.

  So much gunfire. Couldn't find an opening. Hard to target. Rockets. Machine gun fire. Didn't think it would end. Awful sounds—that whistle of death. Fireballs exploded from their launchers. Roared through the mess tent. The camp burned.

  Faro's head exploded as a bullet ripped through it. Limbs were blown apart. An arm and leg were only a few feet away from me. Bodies burned, skin melted off of them like wax—I think Cole's spine was severed. Crawled out to get him but haven't seen him since medics took him away. Couldn't move. Had that vacant stare in his eyes.

  That stare.

  That vacant stare that says, "My soul is gone."

  July 27th

  Wish I were home for your birthday, Ryan. With you in spirit, Son. Have a happy fourteenth birthday. I can only imagine you celebrating, playing baseball. Having a party—that's how I'll remember you and your brother always—my sons—the musician and the baseball player.