by Various
Camilla had also stood her ground against a nurse and a security guard a few minutes ago, and she’d done it on his behalf. That meant even though she was giving him a hard time, she still loved him. The knowledge made a permanent smile stick on his soul.
“What I dreamt?” he prodded.
A pleat appeared between her brows. She was so expressive, just like he remembered.
“Yes, what I dreamt.” Her raised eyebrows broadcast her annoyance. He was getting to her.
“What we dreamt,” he corrected.
She shook her head.
He breathed a little easier, seeing the movement didn’t pain her. That morphine was good stuff.
“That’s impossible,” she said.
“I made love to you, Camilla.” He refused to let her shut him out. He caged her with his arms as she paled. Her eyes went as big as the ocean. “That should be impossible, too, but it happened. Don’t you dare deny it.”
Her lips parted in surprise. Then she snapped her mouth shut, but her tongue darted out and wet her lips. Damn, but she had a beautiful mouth.
When she didn’t deny it, he went on, because he figured no one in Camilla’s life ever pushed her, and this woman desperately needed a push to get out of the rut of insecurity she was stuck in. “You remember,” he said, closing the distance between them and putting his mouth near her ear. Strands of her hair peeked from under the bandage. The strands were darker than he remembered, as if they missed the sun. “You remember waking me up from a bad dream with that gorgeous mouth on me. You remember me inside you, making you come, losing my mind because you felt so amazing.”
She moved her hands up his back and curled them into his t-shirt below his shoulder blades. He hadn’t moved, but her breasts smooshed against his chest. She had to be arching her back to get closer to him. “You remember what you said to me that night. I know you do. Because I remember. I will never forget. You told me you loved me.”
“Derek.”
“I’m here, sweetheart. I said it earlier, and I’ll say it again. I’m not going anywhere. Not even if you push. I’ll push back, Camilla. I’ll always push back.” He stroked her throat with his nose as he gathered her close. She smelled a little sweaty and like a hospital, but with the faintest trace of melon. He inhaled it greedily.
When she didn’t shy from his caress, he pushed a little more. “I’m glad you’re not on a breathing tube,” he said, and he kissed her.
She released his shirt to dig her fingers into his back, like before, when she’d first woken up. Her lips responded to his so sweetly, and she moaned into his mouth as he opened her up and swept his tongue inside. Ah, yes. He remembered this. She was his DG, his Camilla. His.
He wanted the moment to last forever, but he backed off just enough to say, “Tell me you remember.”
“I remember,” she breathed against his lips.
Before she could take her next breath, he took her mouth again. And again. He kissed her until he had her panting, until he was hard as a rock behind his zipper and aching.
Shit. He had to remember where they were. In her hospital room. Where she was healing from horrendous injuries. Being with her felt so amazing it was easy to forget. He made himself stop and just hold her.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I put you in here.” He smoothed his hand over her bandages, cringing inside.
She rocked her forehead on his shoulder, no longer trying to pulling away. His heart swelled to feel her relax against him, trusting him with her fragile body. “I had no business being on the freeway,” she said.
“Hey.” He made her look at him. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Understand?”
She ducked his gaze.
“Camilla.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “I knew better than to—”
“Hush. None of that.”
“But—”
“I said, none of that.” He silenced her with a soft peck to the corner of her mouth. He’d meet resistance with what he said next, but he’d never avoided confrontation in his life. Or stood by doing nothing while someone he loved suffered needlessly. “And that night with your father, you didn’t do anything wrong then either.”
She went still in his arms.
“Say something, sweetheart.”
She leaned out of his embrace, and he let her go, content to sit near her and talk with her now that he knew he had her back.
“You can’t know that,” she said. “And you don’t know me. This—” She motioned between them. “This isn’t going to work. I think you should go. Please.”
“No.”
She hugged herself and frowned, like his refusal caused her physical pain. Her thumb absently stroked the inside of her arm, where her pale skin peeked from under the ill-fitting short sleeves of the hospital gown. Up and down, over and over again. She searched his face, her expression wounded. She didn’t even realize she was comforting herself with that touch on her arm. He’d done that to her, hurt her, made her feel uncertain and insecure, made her need comfort. Shit.
He made his voice gentle. “A few minutes ago, you were arguing for me to stay.”
She didn’t disagree. She didn’t continue to insist he leave. She did something worse. She shut down, shut him out. He saw it happen. The light went out of her eyes as she diverted her gaze to the window, the message clear. You won’t leave, so I will.
Damn it. He’d pushed too hard too fast. He was losing her.
* * * *
Cami felt like a balloon, drifting up on a current of happiness one second then yanked down by a string of reality the next. Just when she had herself convinced she and Derek could never work, he would set her body aflame and make her believe she could have her heart’s deepest desire, complete acceptance. Then he would force her to think about something that hurt worse than getting hit in the head with accident debris, the possibility Cade might have been responsible for what had happened eight years ago, that her brother had let her think it was her fault all this time.
Up down, up down. That’s what Derek did to her. She couldn’t take it anymore.
She’d just woken from her second coma in a week. She’d recently been reunited with Cade after years of estrangement. Now was not the time to jeopardize her fragile new relationship with him by crediting insignificant dreams with meaning. She ought to be focusing on healing. In body and heart.
Thinking about the dream Derek claimed to have shared with her wouldn’t do an ounce of good. Entertaining the delusion that she belonged with this gruff, pushy man? That would damage her beyond repair.
He refused to leave. Fine. She’d close herself off from him. For good. She forced her thoughts to work, to her mother, to Cade, to anything but the way Derek threatened her carefully-constructed life of caution and avoidance.
He kept talking. She shut him out, his words as meaningless as her tinnitus. He still crowded her bed, but he’d moved a little away from her, relinquishing his claim on her personal space. It didn’t leave her feeling bereft. She wanted the space. In fact, she’d be happy to have all the space in her room. He could leave any time, and she would not feel a thousand times more alone than she’d felt when she’d thought Cade had left.
Something Derek said bypassed her brain and shot an arrow straight through her heart. She began listening against her will.
“—wouldn’t have changed anything. You know how I know? Because I tried. I pulled him out of the car and laid him on the ground. I threw your phone down in the mud and thought, to hell with the operator. I gave your father CPR the way you wanted to, flat on his back, and it didn’t change a frigging thing. You didn’t fail him. We know now your brother caused the accident. And I know from those nightmares—the nightmares you comforted me through—that nothing you could have done would have brought him back.”
He was telling her things he had no business knowing. “How do you know about that night?”
“You asked me once what I dreamt that made me lose it lik
e I did. That’s what. I watched you try to save your father a dozen times. I lived your sorrow, carried your guilt. I felt you turn on yourself, and I grieved.” There he was, back in her personal space, challenging her with his iron-hard gaze.
“The tears you wiped away, they were your tears. The pain you comforted me through, that was your pain. I lived what you lived, Camilla. And I saw it for what it was. A tragedy. Not your father dying, but him having a fucking heart attack at the exact moment that would ensure you’d blame yourself for it. And your brother abandoned you to that.”
His tone made her mentally recoil, but her body pressed into his. No matter how hard she pulled away, he always yanked her back. She would have to find a way to survive Derek, because she’d given it her best shot and hadn’t been able to deny her love for him.
She fit herself against his chest. The security of his arms coming around her brought tears to her eyes.
Her acquiescence seemed to soothe him. His fists became gently-stroking hands. His neck went from veiny to pliable and warm under her cheek. His kiss on her temple soothed the sting of his words. His voice turned as tender as his embrace. “He never would have wished that on you. You have to know he wouldn’t. No part of that night was your fault, sweetheart.”
He was fighting for her, trying to absolve her. But he was wrong.
“I’m not the only one who thinks it was my fault,” she said. His words carried hope and healing, but they couldn’t match the destructive power of the words that had broken her.
“Fuck what anyone else thinks.” He held her tighter. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that word with you, but I get so angry when I think about you blaming yourself all this time. It’s not your fault, Camilla. It’s. Not. Your. Fault.” He rubbed her back, stroked the hair making a limp trail between her shoulder blades.
“I don’t think I can ever truly believe that. I want to, but you have no idea what it’s like. I looked so far up to him. When he blamed me—I don’t think I can ever truly recover from it.”
“When who blamed you?”
“Cade.”
Cami told him what Cade had said to her. The instant the words escaped her mouth, she regretted it. Derek’s entire body went taut. She heard his teeth grinding. She let go, knowing he’d get up and rage, pace the room like a furious lion, bellow his anger at Cade like he’d verbally slain his ex-wife the night he’d hung curtains.
He did none of those things. He closed his eyes. Air burst from his nostrils, searing her neck. Under his breath, he was counting. To ten. Over and over again. His shoulders loosened in stages. The tight muscle in his jaw unwound.
“You’ve got to forgive him,” he said at last.
She pulled away to gape at him. “Forgive him?” She didn’t need to forgive Cade. Cade needed to forgive her.
“He did wrong by you.” He rolled his shoulders like he needed to loosen a painful knot. His lower lip curled between his teeth like he wanted to spew the F word again, but he held it in. “He did wrong by you a lot. And you should probably talk to him about it. But he’s always going to be your brother. He’s been trying these last few days. Even a total stranger can see that.”
Her heart melted. Cade wasn’t the only one trying. Derek was bringing his anger under control. Maybe she’d be able to survive him, after all. Maybe she’d do better than just survive.
“I don’t see any strangers here,” she said, and for the first time since he’d walked into her conscious life, a spark of confidence made her hold her head up a little higher. It drove her to trace her fingers over his face. He needed to shave. His hair grew over his ears, desperately needing a trim. His brown eyes had their usual serious intensity. He looked angry. But his anger was on her behalf, not against her, and he had control over it. He was changing. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “I see the man I love.”
His eyes became liquid. His mouth relaxed. “I love you too,” he said, and he kissed her.
Chapter 21
“Are you sure about this, sweetheart? Once we go there, there’s no going back.” Derek knelt between Cami’s legs, his face as serious and handsome as ever. He’d come straight to her apartment after work, like he had every day this week except yesterday, Wednesday, when they’d gone out for a celebratory dinner with Cade after his court appearance.
She nodded. “I’m sure.” She was beyond ready for this. Had, in fact, intentionally put off sharing this with him until after his court date as a statement of her certainty he wouldn’t get thrown in jail. Cade had assured her he would only get a slap on the wrist, and, as proof positive of Derek’s claim that Cade was trying, her brother had volunteered to defend Derek pro bono, and got him off with a thousand dollar fine.
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times. There’s no rush. We can wait.” His work-roughened hands rubbed up and down her thighs, lightly abrading her skin. She’d spent enough time in the sun the past few days to get some of her color back, but she was still pale from being inside so long. His hands looked dark against her legs. The contrast made her bite her bottom lip to suppress a moan. She couldn’t imagine ever getting her fill of his touch.
“I’ll go crazy if we wait any longer. Do it. Have no mercy.”
“Alright, sweetheart. Here we go.” He stood up and unbuckled her helmet, a lightweight, beige, contoured thing that reminded her of a roller-derby helmet. Haley had insisted on decorating it with glitter and stickers—Cami had nixed the streamers. It was cheerfully gaudy but still a definite step up from the oversized atrocity Alejandro had put on her in the ICU.
The straps tickled her cheeks as Derek lifted it carefully off her head. He treated her as if she were made of eggshells. Not far from the truth considering she had a roughly three-by-five-inch piece of her skull soaking in a refrigerator in the hospital. It would remain there until her CAT Scan showed the swelling in her brain had gone down enough to have the piece screwed in, along with a metal plate that would be part of her for the rest of her life.
She winced at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. She still had some yellow bruising around her eye, but the worst part of looking in the mirror was seeing her patchy, black-and-blue, stitched-up scalp. Her thick auburn hair shone with health after numerous shampooings, and looked completely normal from the top of her ears down, but above her ears, she’d been shaved bald except for a half-inch swath of scraggy chin-length hair. One might loosely call the limp patch of hair bangs, but she hadn’t worn bangs. When it had fallen in with the rest of her artfully-layered, seventy-five-dollar haircut, the strip had helped frame her face. Now it just looked like a sad comb-over.
“Last chance,” he warned, moving behind her perch on the stool he’d dragged in from her breakfast bar. He plugged in the electric hair trimmer he’d brought over for the occasion.
“Do it,” she said. “Put me out of my misery. I’d rather look like a chemo patient than a friar who likes to use his head as a battering ram.”
She watched a smile tug at his lips in the mirror, but behind his valiant attempt to appreciate her humor, a haunted solemnity lurked in his eyes. She’d been hoping that look would go away after his court date. No such luck.
“I’m so sorry,” he said for the hundredth time.
She snaked an arm behind her to pat his denim-clad hip. “We’ve been over this,” she reminded him.
“I know. It’s just—” He cleared his throat. “It’s going to take some time to get over the constant urge to kick my own ass.”
She reached behind her with both hands to pull him tight against her back. She’d already told him countless times she knew what he was going through; she didn’t need to say it again. So she just held him, letting her hands smooth down to squeeze his outer thighs. She leaned her head on his chest, showing him how much she trusted and loved him.
Holding her gaze in the mirror, he blew out a long breath. She’d gotten familiar with this expression, the way his eyes went unfocused, as if he’d turned his
attention inward. This was his silently-counting-to-ten expression.
She waited patiently while he did what he needed to do.
Finally, he offered a chagrined smile. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
He reached for the scissors on the counter and began snipping through her remaining locks, cutting close to her scalp. As her hair fell in clumps to her bathroom floor, she blew out her breath and did her own counting.
After replacing the scissors on the counter, he flicked on the trimmer. A high-pitched hum filled her cramped apartment bathroom. He steadied her chin with one hand, and the trimmer met her temple with delicate pressure. He did the scrawny patch of bangs first, taking care of it in three swipes. While her lip quivered at the sight of her face with no hair around it, he started on the back of her head. In two minutes, she had nothing but an eighth-inch of auburn peach fuzz and a severe line of black stitches decorating her head.
“You’re beautiful,” he said as he moved in front of her, blocking her view of the mirror.
“I’m hideous.” The moment she’d said it, she wished she could take it back. Mortified, she searched his face for any sign she’d upset him, but his eyes had those little crinkles at the corners. His expression was soft with affection.
“Beautiful,” he repeated, dipping his head until his mouth covered hers.
When Derek kissed her, her world exploded with light and joy. He nipped at her lips with unquestionable devotion. He sent his hands roaming over her back like confident explorers. How could she not feel special when he gave his soul to her in the tender, serious way he touched her?
Missing her hair was a mere drop of sadness in the swimming pool full of happiness she’d plunged into with him.
