“Campus is only an hour’s drive from there. I figured I could hang out with you, drive to the stadium around three, be on the field by the time practice starts, and head back to you when I’m done. If you don’t think that would work, I can make other arrangements.”
She was quick to dispel his doubts. “No, no, that sounds like an excellent idea. Coach Randall is in agreement?”
“He is. I don’t see a problem unless you don’t feel comfortable having me gone in the afternoons. I should be back by eight. I’m aware it’s already getting dark by then. Will you be afraid to be alone? I can adjust the practice schedule, if need be. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Don’t change anything. Can we play it by ear? If I start having problems, we can come back to the city. But I don’t anticipate a major meltdown, Brodie. I know what I’m dealing with. Yes, it was a shock. Yes, I needed this time to get myself together. I even anticipate a few flashbacks, maybe a nightmare or two. But I’m a survivor. You forget I’ve been through this before.”
He ran his hands through his dark hair, and shook his head in disbelief. “Lady, you are amazing.”
She lifted her arms to him. Right now, what she needed more than anything was the feel of him holding her close, sharing his warmth, stealing a kiss or two, drawing comfort from his strength. Scooting over as far as she could, she pulled him down.
“This bed wasn’t made for two. I’m going to push you over the edge.” He eyed the available space on the mattress.
Sitting up, she moved down on the bed. “Climb in behind me.”
He shot her a questioning look that ended in a wide smile. “I could get in trouble for this.”
“Do you care?” she asked, surprised. “That’s not the Brodie I know and love.”
He paused, considering. Then he straddled her body and cradled her between his long legs. She lay back against his chest and sighed. “That’s more like it. I’ve missed you.”
His breath teased tendrils of her hair. She could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart against her back. Her hips rested against his groin, the beginnings of his arousal making itself known, hot and firm. She bit her lip, and tried to suppress a smile.
As if he could see her face, he asked, “What? I can’t help it. You turn me on.”
“In a hospital bed? Dressed in an ugly, flowered gown that barely covers my body?”
“Wish you hadn’t said that.” He squirmed, and they adjusted their position again.
He held her, and she gradually quieted. Her breathing evened out, and the tension left her body. Dusk gave way to night, and still he stayed. She slept.
Taking great care not to disturb her, Brodie maneuvered out of the narrow bed.
Allison stirred, her eyelids fluttered, and her gaze following every move he made, watching every motion of his body.
Brodie rolled his shoulders free of the stiffness, glancing at her motionless figure.
She lay on her side, curled in a ball. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” Her voice was soft and dreamy. “I love you, Brodie,” she whispered, as he reached the door. She turned on her back and brought the blanket up under her chin. He hoped she would get more sleep.
As he walked down the hall, Brodie broke out in a cold sweat. His stomach pitched with dread. Her reactions didn’t fit. He’d expected her to be catatonic or hysterical, at least upset, crying. Not composed, even hopeful.
It was way too soon, and far too easy. No one went through an experience like Allison had had and recovered in the space of twenty-four hours. No one was that strong. She’d made it through the initial shock; she had yet to crash and burn. First Brett, now Sam. It was worse than he’d thought—she was in total denial.
The only thing he could do was be there for her when it hit and catch her when she fell.
He called for backup.
“Dr. Leo, Brodie here. I just left Ally’s room. I’m concerned. Something’s off. I’m not sure what to do.”
“I’ve told you to call me Mary. We’re friends and colleagues, no more formality. Now, what’s going on? She seemed all right when I left her today.”
“That’s just it. She’s too much all right. It’s like Sam happened years ago instead of hours. I’m afraid she’s headed for a fall, and I don’t know what to do for her. I don’t want to take her back to my house. Police and CSU are still coming and going, and I’m afraid of her reaction when she sees her house. I’m taking her up to Logan Martin Lake for a few days of rest. Give her some time to get her bearings.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. Some sun and the water may be just the ticket. You know the symptoms as well as I. You’ve lived them. Watch her, feed her, just take care of her. At this point, that’s all we can do. And Brodie, don’t underestimate her. She’s a strong woman. If anyone can deal with a tragedy such as this, it’s Allison. It’s only natural you want to spare her, but there are some roads a person has to walk alone. You can’t wave a magic wand and make it all go away. It takes time.”
“She’s not alone,” he said.
“That’s not what I meant. Of course you won’t leave her. But she’ll have to come to terms with what Sam did—and probably with what her brother did—in her own way. You can’t do it for her. All you can do is support her and be there for her. You understand?”
“God, I wish I could make this go away.”
“It will in due time, but you have to let it run its course. There are stages of healing, just as there are stages of grief. We can’t help her heal until she faces her demons, and she will. When? I can’t say, but it won’t be rushed. I’m here for you both. Keep me in the loop.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Brodie picked Allison up at noon after the doctors checked her over and the discharge papers were completed. They headed east on I-20 toward the lake. Miles passed, and she didn’t have much to say. She looked out the window and watched the parade of trees and wildflowers, apparently lost in thought. The silence lengthened. He began to worry.
“You okay?” he asked, and reached across the console to grasp her cold hand. “Hungry? We’ll be there in about twenty minutes, and I’ll make you one of my special grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwiches.”
She smiled. “Why does every man I know think food with bacon is the solution to every problem?”
“Because it tastes good?” He squeezed her hand.
She laughed. “You’re such a guy. But you’re right, it does taste good. I don’t have much of an appetite, but if you’re going to cook, I’ll give it a try.” She returned to staring out the window but left her hand in his.
“I was just thinking about all the times we used to come out here. I had such a crush on you, and you totally ignored me,” she said.
“I was an idiot back then. If I’d known you would grow up so pretty, I’d have paid more attention.” He flirted, took her hand, and nibbled on her knuckles. He dropped their linked hands to his thigh and winked. Her laugh was full of sass.
“No, you wouldn’t have. The time wasn’t right. No, you had your mind on football while I had my mind on you.”
“And your music. You drove everyone nuts playing that damn piano. And in those days, it didn’t sound nearly as good as it does now. Scales! God, I hated to come home from school. I can still hear you going up and down the keyboard day and night. It paid off, though. You’re magnificent.”
Damn, Miller, you’re so stupid! He shouldn’t have mentioned the piano. Her face paled, and she seemed to draw up in a ball. Should have kept his mouth shut.
It scared the shit out of him to think she might have difficulty playing again. It was obvious there were associations going on in her mind. Mary had cautioned him to let it work itself out. He suspected music had been the key in her healing from Brett. Maybe it would work its magic in helping her deal with what happened to Sam.
He pulled up the long drive leading to the cottage. The three-bedroom A-frame sat on a peninsula surrounded by Carte
r’s Slough, a branch of the sluggish, muddy waters of Alabama Power’s Coosa River hydroelectric project. If water traffic was light, the water settled and was clear and beautiful. But with power boats and water skiers stirring the bottom, it was often clouded by sediment. Typical of many southern waters, the lake was always warm except for the coldest months of winter. The setting was inviting and beautiful in its own particular way.
Brodie parked his truck in the attached garage, and Ally hopped out to walk to the water’s edge as he unlocked the entrance, flipped on the air conditioning to cut the oppressive southern heat, and put their bags in the master bedroom off the great room.
The house was simply designed, a master bedroom and bath on one side, a central living area with kitchen and dining room, and two other bedrooms with bath on the far side of the house.
A deck surrounded the entire structure, with part of the porch enclosed and the rest exposed to the elements. The best of both worlds. Sun, and an escape from the mosquitoes. A glass wall framed the picturesque view of water, trees, and lawn. A pier jutted from the shoreline.
Brodie watched from the windows as Allison strolled the perimeter of the shoreline. She looked small and sad and very alone out there next to the yellow-tinged water. His heart turned over in his chest, and he wished for the hundredth time he could ease some of the burden from her fragile shoulders. Bending to the ground, she picked up a rock and skimmed it out over the lake. It skipped across the surface, and he smiled as she pumped her fists in victory.
God, he loved that woman. He was in this relationship for the long haul; he wasn’t going anywhere. Mary had said all he could do was support her and be there for her. And that’s what he’d do. But he wished he could do more, take away all her pain, erase the horror of the dual tragedies.
A part of him wondered when the axe would fall. He didn’t have long to wait.
Putting away the few groceries they’d brought, he put the cheese and bread on the countertop next to the bacon. Hinges on the side door squeaked. He swiveled in her direction, and she stepped into the room with a smile on her face and the windblown kiss of summer wind in her hair.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked.
“Starving,” she said and turned to go into the living room.
And froze.
Alarmed, he dropped the knife in his hand and came up behind her. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he followed her line of sight. Next to the glass wall stood an ebony baby grand piano.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Her body stiffened, then started to tremble, and a choked whimper escaped her lips. A dark, guttural sound from somewhere deep inside erupted from her throat and she leaned down into herself.
The sound scared the shit out of him. “Baby?”
He tightened his grip on her shoulders to steady her, straighten her up, and turn her into his arms. His eyes searched her face. Her head twisted on her shoulders as if drawn to the instrument, and she stared at the piano as if it were a snake.
“Ally? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He shook her gently, stooping to stare into her eyes.
Her mouth twisted in a bleak grimace. A lost and tortured expression filled her eyes. She trembled in his grasp. He sensed a cataclysmic break coming and pulled her into his arms, wanting to protect her, shield her from what he knew was happening. The axe fell, and she splintered.
Her pain devastated him. Lead settled in his belly as he realized the one thing that identified her, that made her who and what she was, had become her enemy. She’d been at a keyboard when Sam put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. She’d wanted to play for him, to do what she’d been trained to do: help him; heal him. It hadn’t worked. He’d killed himself anyway, right in front of her. In her house, the heart of where she lived, with her at the piano. Of course she would associate his tragic act with the instrument that should have been his lifeline and failed.
What were the odds he would rent a place with a piano? He should have asked. He should have been more careful. It was a gigantic mistake to bring her here. Or was it?
The tears began softly, gently. They wet the front of his shirt as he crooned to her and rubbed her shoulders and back. Her agitation escalated with every breath she took. Her fingers dug into his muscles as her legs gave way and she sought an anchor. The harder she cried, the deeper she dug, until her grip penetrated his sleeve and he could feel the half-moons of her nails imprinted on his skin.
He held her while she broke. All the years of coping with Brett’s suicide, the changing of her career path, the hours of study and practice—sheer bravado. It didn’t take a genius to deduce she was reliving the last five years, second by second, burden by burden, pain by pain, in a diorama flashing behind her eyes, from her first realization that Brett was suffering right through to the tragedy of Sam two days before. By now Brodie was familiar with the terminology and symptoms. Classic flashback. Classic PTSD.
Ah, Ally! He ached for her.
Clenched white fists pounded his chest until the skin felt raw. Gut-wrenching cries from the pit of horror spit from her mouth.
How long they stood there, he couldn’t say. He held her tightly and let her get the poison out. Before she was spent, every emotion, every doubt, every regret, every empty day and lonely night poured from her.
Outside, the sky darkened and brief flashes of light preceded a low, incessant rumbling. A storm was coming from the west. Occasionally the house vibrated with thunder, but the storm raging inside claimed all his attention.
“Let it out, baby. I’m right here. Give it to me, Ally. I can take it. Don’t hold back.”
He stood there and took it, letting her pound her pain into his chest and scream her agony against his body, his own heart breaking in the process.
Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Stripping back the covers, he sat her on the edge and took off her shoes. She whispered his name over and over, and when he asked what she wanted, all she did was whisper it some more. Mary had warned him this might happen. A cathartic crisis. Thank God he was with her when it hit.
He lay beside her and pulled her close, arms banding her torso, his knees cradling her bottom, spooning her. Doing the only thing he could think of…holding her and loving her until she sighed in exhaustion and slept.
The rain came down in sheets torn from the heavens by a buttressing wind, pelting the glass doors with big, hard drops. Lightning flashed through the windows, electric current sizzled in the air, and a loud boom of thunder shook the foundations of the house.
Illuminated by the flickering lightning of the storm, her glittering gaze locked onto his, grasping fingers tangled in his shirt. Without saying a word, she rolled over him, and straddled his hips. Wild hair framed her tense face, and a feral growl hissed through clenched teeth. She wrapped her nails in the closure of his shirt and ripped. The buttons from his shirt scattered, the sound mimicking the beating hail as it scratched against the windows. She pushed the sleeves from his shoulders, and pressed fevered kisses over his chest.
Wind and rain bowed the glass in the sliding doors as Allison nibbled and bit across the ridges of his chest. A banshee sound whirled through the room. She lifted her head and laughed, a witch casting a spell, forcing him to join her in her quest. The moment was both eerie and exhilarating. Other-worldly, not quite fantasy, not quite reality. He gave up trying to understand it and surrendered. It was too hard to fight.
Brodie held her tightly as the storm outside and the storm inside became as one. Beyond the house, nature itself raged a protest at her agony. The lightning flashes bolted through the windows and illuminated her body, lit her anguish that burned her, engulfed her. The thunder raged against the heavens, and she raged with it as it rumbled an ominous timbre through her body. She left marks on his skin as she railed against the injustice of death, sorrow, and loss.
He didn’t move, didn’t know what to do. He lay there, a little bewildered, a lot turned on, and let her kiss him, her teeth leav
ing stinging bites along his neck and shoulders, chin and mouth.
“I need you, Brodie. Make love to me. Make me lose myself in you tonight, I need to feel alive.” Her legs tightened against his hips, her breath urgent, demanding, fanning him with spurts of heat, oxygen to kindling, flaming, blazing into an inferno.
“What do you want me to do?” he ground out as her eyes shone like raw diamonds piercing the darkness in the eerie light.
“Make me forget. Use me until you are all that’s left—nothing else. I want you to do everything. No holding back. I want everything you’ve got to give. And I want it long and hard and fast. Take my body and my mind so that all I can feel is you; all I can think of is you and your touch, your smell, your sex. And when you’re done, do it again. Wipe everything else in this screwed-up world from my head so I can face the next sixty years of my life without this agony.” She grabbed his bottom lip with her teeth and bit, hard. “Please…please.”
She trusted him this much?
Lust and fire and primal male need exploded through his veins, and he rolled her roughly beneath him. His gaze searched hers, seeking permission. What he read in those midnight depths frightened him and excited him. No holding back tonight. No making love with tender words and stolen kisses. Tonight she wanted release from her loss and pain. She wanted to forget. She wanted him to wipe the slate clean, and obliterate the memories until nothing remained.
She trusted him to do this for her.
He could take her where she needed to go. He’d been there, knew what she needed. Tonight was about sex—not emotional but physical, pure and simple. Taking her to ground zero. This wasn’t about love or tenderness or sharing but about erasing the ghosts of the past, clearing out the hidden darkness. Without destroying the old, there could be no forgiveness, no resurrection. Without his dominance searing her, refining her, she didn’t stand a chance. Nor did he.
If this was what she wanted, what she needed…
The storm raged in violence all around them, the rampage outside, the tumult within. Their sounds imitated the furor of the storm that pounded against the house.
Sonata by Moonlight Page 20
