by Jessi Gage
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 like 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.
Things weren’t perfect, of course. Cade had returned to LA on the red-eye the night before, but between dinner with him and Derek and his flight, she’d had him over for a private talk. She’d taken Derek’s advice and told him how much he’d hurt her with his words all those years ago.
He’d said, “I was upset, Cams. I don’t even remember saying that.” But she’d noticed him fidgeting in his chair, which suggested he had more going on in his head than he let on.
She didn’t want to trust the dream she and Derek had shared. Maybe it had shown them the truth. Maybe it hadn’t. But Derek’s love gave her the confidence to forgive Cade, whatever the extent of his involvement, and to forgive herself. She and Cade hadn’t become bosom buddies after their talk, but Cade had left her with a hug, and she’d be willing to bet she’d get a birthday card from him this year. They had a long way to go, but the journey to reconciliation had begun.
Having a modicum of success being honest with Cade inspired Cami to talk to her mother about her fear that her mother had never truly forgiven her. They’d gone out for coffee this morning. Cami had attracted some stares with her helmet and the cane she used while rebuilding the strength in her legs, but the awkwardness had nothing on the way she’d felt challenging her mother’s love the past eight years. She hadn’t thought anything could be said to erase her certainty that their relationship was a facade, but her mother had proven her wrong. “Your father would have forgiven you in an instant, sweetheart,” she had said. “How could I not do the same?”
If only she had the courage to tell her mother Derek wasn’t just a serious boyfriend who had materialized out of nowhere when she’d been in the hospital, but also the man who had cut her off two weeks ago. Then again, maybe it could wait. About two seconds after meeting Derek in the hospital, her mother had started dropping hints that she’d been Cami’s age when she and Cami’s father got married. She’d never asked the name of the person who’d cut her off on the road that day. Maybe she never would.
Things could be better—maybe someday they would be—but for the first time in a long time, she had more dreams than doubts, more love in her heart than guilt. And she had Derek to thank.
She locked her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss. Pushing off from the stool, she tried to stand and lean into her man, but his strong hands pressed her down.
Pulling back from the kiss, he reached toward the counter for her helmet, then lowered it onto her head so carefully she felt like a precious treasure. He had strong broad fingers well suited to working with unforgiving construction materials, but as he fastened the helmet under her chin, his touch was incredibly soft.
Only after he nodded with satisfaction at the perfect fit did he take her hands and help her from the stool. Thick clumps of her hair compressed under her flip-flops as he pressed the cane into her hand and led her from the bathroom. She refused to look down. With the helmet on, she could look in the mirror and almost imagine she had hair like a normal person. Seeing her lush locks on the bathroom tile would ruin the illusion.
When he turned her toward her living room instead of where she really wanted him to take her, where she’d been waiting for him to take her for days now, she dug in her heels.
“Derek.” She made her voice firm, proving how much she’d taken to heart his encouragement to be more confident.
He stopped and raised his eyebrows in question.
“You’re going the wrong way. Bedroom’s this way.” She took one step back, then two, dragging out his arm by their linked fingers. But his feet remained planted.
His face turned to stone, soft affection sheered away by something dark and serious. “I know where I’m going, sweetheart.”
She had no doubt about that. He never made a move without projecting absolute confidence. Derek always knew exactly where he was going and what he wanted. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to want her in a physical sense, not since she’d been DG. He kissed her like he loved her, but never took things any further. The rough-around-the-edges guy pushing her to toughen up mentally had been tiptoeing around her physically. She’d had enough. Her libido demanded some rough treatment.
“And I know where I’m going.” She let his hand go and turned her back on him to face her harvest-gold bedroom with its lace curtains and
girlie-girl wicker furniture. It was tidy for a change, thanks to her mother’s obsessive cleaning. Derek had never set foot in it, even though he’d been to her apartment every day this week. She couldn’t wait to see her big, tough man laid out for her on her brass, full-size bed with its frilly skirt and floral-print shams. His naked skin would look deliciously tan against her white down comforter. She would stop at nothing to achieve that sight. Tonight.
Sashaying with a cane wasn’t easy, but she did her best. Tossing what she hoped was a come-hither look over her shoulder, she said, “Join me, if you’re man enough.”
Pretending not to care if he followed or not, she propped her cane against her glass-topped bedside table and sank into her comforter. When she glanced down the short hall connecting her bedroom to the apartment’s living area, she saw Derek standing with hands on hips, his eyes turned up to the ceiling as if praying for strength.
Acting the seductress strained the boundaries of her comfort zone, but seemed to be working. Her discomfort would be worth it once he gave in and gave her what she wanted more than anything: him. All of him.
She’d driven herself crazy, remembering their one time together. It couldn’t have been that good. Nothing outside of dreams could be that good. She had to satisfy her curiosity, find out if making love with Derek could make her see stars, or if that had been her imagination. Had he really flooded her with more love than her body could hold? Had a few magical nights in his bed really been worth going into a coma for?
She toyed with the flimsy collar of her button-up shirt. “You think it’s warm in here?” she asked, tracing her finger along her collarbone.
