by Raina Lynn
“Where are you going?” he murmured, making a sleepy attempt to pull her back to him.
“As much as I hate to, I have to go upstairs.”
His eyes snapped open. “Why?”
“If I spend the night with you, Rick’s going to know more than I’m comfortable with. He’s sixteen, not six.”
Incoherent muttering was his first response. Then he sat up, looking patiently amused. “There’s going to be a first morning after,” he said tenderly. “Facing our son over breakfast won’t be a picnic, especially if he grins like a village idiot.”
Maggie groaned.
“Babe, you know this is what he wants.”
She wanted to disappear. “Any chance you’d let me sneak upstairs before dawn?”
“Nope.” He patted the mattress. “Lie back down.”
She sat there, wishing he was as miserable as she. “You don’t understand at all.”
“Yes, I do, but dwelling on it won’t change anything.”
She crossed her arms over her naked breasts and stood up. “It’s not that simple.”
He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Yes, it is. Now, as much as I’m enjoying the view, are you coming back here, or do I have to tackle you again?”
Still deeply rattled, she couldn’t take any more. “I see. It’s okay for you to badger me into talking when I don’t want to, but there are different rules when you’re on the hot seat.”
“Maggie,” he ground out in exasperation. “You’re trying to pick a fight because you don’t want to face our son.”
That struck home, and she flinched. Her gaze skittered to his legs, then to his wheelchair.
Garrett scowled, patience strained. “What I lack in speed, I make up for in persistence.”
She stood there, suspended in time, sorting through the scrambled mess in her brain. He draped the sheet haphazardly across his lap, his aggravation melting away.
“Aren’t we worth fighting for?” he asked, softly repeating her own words.
“You fight dirty,” she groaned.
“No, I don’t. I fight to win.”
She crawled back between the sheets. The kiss was a mutual endeavor, as were the flames that followed.
Garrett decided Maggie had been right about the morning after. He’d never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Despite the rather explicit talks with Rick about sex, it was still hard to think of his child as a sexual being, particularly one entirely too happy about what he guessed had gone on between his parents the night before. Garrett would have preferred the village idiot over what he and Maggie got. Every time he looked over the rim of his coffee cup, he saw sparkling green eyes and a too knowing smile. He supposed the lack of verbal comment was a teenager’s idea of subtlety. Maggie inhaled her food and vanished for the day. Garrett wished he had a job and could have done the same.
The door had scarcely closed behind her when Rick turned hopeful eyes on his father. “Well?”
Garrett wiped his mouth on a napkin.
“Well?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Yes!” He practically leaped off the floor.
Garrett gave him a cautionary glance. “No guarantees. I’m still not convinced this was the right decision.” Rick looked crestfallen, and Garrett held up a soothing hand. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
“One day at a time, right, Dad?”
Garrett nodded, unsettled, and watched his son head off for school. Waking with Maggie curled up at his side had been paradise. For a moment, half-asleep, he’d even forgotten the mountain of problems they had to dig through, and he lost himself in gathering her back into his arms and kissing the sleep from her eyes.
The jealousy had nailed him again, but he’d managed to keep his mouth shut this time. He had no right to grill her about anything. She’d had every legal right to start over with someone new. Somehow he needed to learn to live with that truth. There’d been no marriage, so there’d been no betrayal. He knew that, but he prayed that in time he’d believe it, too.
Her arguments for a reconciliation made sense, but would they hold up to the daily brutalities? Granted, he didn’t need the care many spinal patients did. Once he could afford a van, he’d be more self-reliant and could find work. With his coming settlement, he didn’t need to, but if he didn’t find something, they’d haul him off in a rubber truck before too long. He just wished the career options held more appeal.
I’m a cop. It’s not a job. It’s who I am. How can I ever be anything else? He propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. And Maggie can’t live with it.
That afternoon, after he’d recovered from Mike the Wonder Boy’s therapy session, Garrett took the exercise ball outside in the fresh air and worked on his grip. It would be another several days before the doctor took out the stitches in his wrist, and the joint had stiffened up after the surgery. Maggie had told him that was to be expected, but it was frustrating. Before, he’d at least had a clawlike range of motion. Now he could hardly keep the ball centered in his palm.
He overcorrected, the ball bounced on the concrete, then rolled out onto the lawn. Maneuvering a wheelchair across grass wasn’t his favorite pastime.
Hairy, asleep at his feet, had lifted his head, watched the ball roll away, then laid his head back onto his paws.
“If I promise never to ask again, will you get it?” Garrett asked. Hairy ignored him. He was a Frisbee dog. Period.
“Need some help, Dad?”
Garrett looked up, surprised to see Rick in the doorway. The teen’s euphoria was only slightly more restrained than it had been at breakfast. Not for the first time, Garrett wished Rick was still six.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” The ball had rolled a surprising distance out in the yard.
Pride was particularly noticeable today. If Maggie had been watching, she’d have made one of her absurd comments about his testosterone level. Despite his new resolve not to let his limitations victimize him, Garrett still found himself embarrassed over his son seeing how difficult picking up a rubber ball from the grass really was.
Rick was suddenly by his side. “Anything I can do?”
Yes, son, stop hovering. I finally broke your mother of it, now please don’t pick up where she left off. “I’ve got it.”
“But I want to help.” Challenge bordering on insolence lashed out, and Garrett whipped his head around. Rick stood there looking helpless and hostile.
Now what? “I know, and I appreciate it, but I don’t need—”
“I understand, Dad.” The challenge darkened. “You still don’t need me for anything.”
Garrett froze. Surely, they couldn’t possibly be back to square one.
Rick turned to go, and a new truth hit Garrett, one he’d completely overlooked. He’d been wrapped up in his own desperate need to be needed, and in his fears that the people he loved would turn into drudges. He hadn’t stopped to consider perhaps they might need to be needed, too. So obvious, yet he’d missed it.
“Rick, wait.”
The boy stopped but didn’t turn back around.
“There’s a group at RPI called Whole Family.”
Rick turned, hurt accusation still in his eyes.
“I think all of us should go.”
“Whatever.” There was no inflection to his voice at all.
“Right now, though, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d get more done if I didn’t have to chase down the ball every time I drop it.”
A half smile tugged at the corner of the teenager’s lips.
Garrett smiled self-consciously. “While we’re at it, we’ll talk about my hang-ups on that subject, too.”
In two long strides, Rick reached him, pushed the chair back to the patio. Garrett would have preferred to get there himself, but Rick’s needs were more important.
Friday after work, Maggie walked into the house, feeling as if her bulging purse was extremely conspicuous. The black leather bag wasn’t designed to hold all her reg
ular junk, plus a home pregnancy test and a new box of condoms.
The joy of falling asleep in Garrett’s arms every night all week had made breakfasts tolerable. Rick had settled down some since that first horrible morning, but not by much. Garrett’s approach to therapy had changed as dramatically as he had. Gone was the desperation to succeed. He was quiet, methodical, a man with a purpose. She’d heard about this side of him from other cops on the force. This was the Garrett Hughes who got the job done. No frills. No excuses. It scared the hell out of her.
Hairy’s muffled barking and human laughter drew her outside. Rick tossed the Frisbee, both dog and boy providing entertainment for Garrett, Patrick and Laverne.
The three adults sat together around the patio table. Patrick was animated, using the familiar hand gestures that had always accompanied his speech. Maggie’s heart skipped lightly. Dad was having one of his rare good days.
Garrett listening attentively, a sad introspective look in his eyes. Laverne looked exhausted to the point of collapse, her spine ramrod straight with commitment to care for her husband. Deliberately, Maggie didn’t look at Garrett until she’d given the elder Hugheses a hug. Long suppressed hormones had been unleashed, and she didn’t know how successful she’d be at hiding the hunger she felt every time she came near him.
She bent to Garrett and gave him what she intended to be a fleeting kiss. Desire flared in his eyes. The moment their lips touched, sparks ignited, sending a fiery chain reaction throughout her body. He reached up to tunnel his fingers deep into the hair at her nape to hold her close for a more lingering, second kiss. Maggie’s knees went weak.
“That’s enough,” Patrick teased, feigning a grumpy air. “You can kiss each other anytime you want.” He turned to Laverne. “Seventeen years and they still act like newlyweds.”
Heart-weary, Maggie sagged into the chair. “Tell me, Dad. What’s new with you?”
“My boy’s been setting my thinking straight on a few things,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh?”
“Yep.” He cast a fond look at his wife of forty-seven years. “I put in forty years with the railroad and got to retire. But my Vernie is still working, what with cooking, taking care of the house and all. It’s time she retired, too. Come Monday, we’ll be looking into a part-time cook and housekeeper. Maybe a college girl who needs a job that’ll fit around classes.”
Maggie shared a look with Garrett. Or a nurse who knows to keep her mouth shut. For all her and Blake’s arguing with Mom, neither had ever thought to go to Patrick, the one person she’d never refuse. You’ve been busy today, my heart.
Garrett interlaced his fingers with hers. Surely nothing could go wrong now. The moment the thought formed, she wished she could have killed it. A mindless foreboding came over her strong enough to take her breath away. She squeezed Garrett’s hand a little tighter. He frowned a question at her, but she wouldn’t look back, afraid he’d see foolishness in her eyes.
“Phone for you, Dad,” Rick called, poking his head out the garage door. She hadn’t heard it ring.
Garrett pulled his hand away, and Maggie sucked in her breath. The broken contact left her drowning in irrational terror.
“Are you okay, babe?” he asked, frowning.
She nodded, unable to speak. He shot her a skeptical look.
“Are you coming, Dad, or should I take a message?”
“Be right there.” Garrett gave her another worried glance, then turned toward the garage.
Once inside, he took the receiver. What was wrong with Maggie? She looked about ready to faint. “Hello?”
“Garrett? It’s me, Tom White.”
His partner on that case at the DEA. Worry about Maggie was pushed to the side. “Tom! Where are you?”
“D.C. I just called to see how you’re doing.”
“More complaints than I’d like,” he quipped. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. Then Tom dropped the bomb.
“I started back to work last week.”
Garrett’s stomach knotted. “Oh?”
“Yeah, my doctors had a fit. They wanted to do another round of skin grafts on these damn burn scars first, but I couldn’t stand sitting around anymore. It’s not like they’re on my face or anything. So I’m back in harness.”
Each word hit Garrett with sledgehammer force.
“I miss you, partner. They’ve got me paired up with a real pain in the backside. No finesse. I’m sure he’s got redeeming qualities somewhere, but I haven’t found any yet.”
Envy screamed through Garrett, making speech impossible. Tom had his life back. His life back! Garrett looked down at his legs, legs that had betrayed him, locking him in a prison called paraplegia. He reeled under the weight of it.
“You there, partner?”
He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. “Yeah, you working a case I’d know about, or something new?”
“Oh, you’d know this one,” he drawled, smug. “The name DeWitt ring any bells?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” He laughed. “You were right. That slime bag kept records. File boxes full. He got himself blown away yesterday. Sorting through this stuff is better than Christmas.”
“That’s great.” Garrett thought the envy might strangle him. He bluffed and fumbled his way through the conversation for another few minutes before he found a way to end it When he hung up he was as drained and breathless as if he’d run a marathon. He didn’t want to resent Tom’s good fortune, but he resented it so deeply, he nearly hated the man.
DeWitt only rubbed salt into it. Three years ago, Garrett had used every argument he could think of to convince the higher ups that DeWitt had been worth going after. He hadn’t established himself yet, and nobody listened. Pointlessly, he ran through the old arguments again. How many of the records Tom found justified them? Garrett’s mind whirled with details, one case spilling over into another.
“Garrett, are you okay?” came Maggie’s worried voice behind him. “You’ve been in here a long time.”
Had he? How long had he sat staring at the phone, his guts churning? Tom had picked up the pieces, all of them. Garrett’s breathing sounded unnaturally harsh in his ears. All he could see was his wheelchair.
Maggie had debated long and hard before following Garrett into the garage. Now that she had, her apprehension went into overdrive. He looked wired enough to chew steel.
“I almost hate to ask,” she said, “but what’s wrong?”
The explosion came trip-wire fast. “Maggie, would you marry me again if I could return to the DEA? Or are you only interested because I’ll be the nice stay-at-home husband you always wanted?”
“Who was that on the phone?” she demanded.
“Tom.” He glowered at the exercise equipment that surrounded him. “He’s working the DeWitt case.”
“The what?”
“I wanted it, Maggie. Wanted it bad. Instead, I got stuck with that import cartel. I shouldn’t have been on that plane.”
Maggie didn’t have an immediate answer. He’d hit on one of her deepest worries. Would she take him back if he were still a cop? She wanted to say, yes. She wanted to believe that she’d overcome the fear that one day he wouldn’t come home, but it still lurked just below the surface, waiting to shred her.
Focusing on Garrett’s turmoil instead of her own, she knelt beside him. Whatever buttons Tom White had pushed, she’d be the one to clean up the mess. “Garrett, I take it Tom returned to work and you’re not handling it well.”
He glared at her. “Would you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Women don’t wrap so much of their self-identity into their careers. From what I understand, cops are more prone to what you’re feeling than most professions.”
“You sound like a shrink,” he bit out under his breath.
She ached for him and slid her arms around his rigid shoulders. “Please, Garrett, let the past go. What matters is how we live the rest of
our lives.”
He didn’t answer. Had he even heard?
“Don’t lock me out,” she pleaded.
Dispassionately, he peeled her arms off him. “Go back to Mom and Dad. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Every fiber of her being said to stay, to ride out the storm with him, but he didn’t want her. Deep down where it mattered, she knew that this crisis would have a shattering effect on their chances to reunite forever. And he locked me out.
For the next two days, Maggie walked a fragile tightrope between control and insane worry. Never, in all the years of their relationship, had she seen Garrett brood like this. At night, his need for her didn’t diminish, but she sensed that part of him was closed to her.
“Are we going to figure out a wedding date?” she asked when the languor of lovemaking had worn off. He hadn’t specifically stated that he again wanted to marry her, but she thought it was a safe assumption and she needed the security of solid plans.
He stroked her hair and held her close. “Not for a while, babe. Not until I get a few things settled.”
Disappointment set a choking knot in her throat.
The next night at quarter to eleven, Garrett still hadn’t come in from the garage. Worried, she went looking for him.
The sight that greeted her was both glorious and horrifying. Garrett had parked his wheelchair at the end of the newly installed parallel bars, his back to her, and levered himself upright. His feet were planted squarely on the floor, but she couldn’t tell how much weight, if any, rested on them.
“I told you to stay away from those things without me!” she shrieked. Her gaze latched onto his right hand. The steel pipes were wide enough in diameter for him to close his fingers around, but what kind of a grip did he have? Dr. KeHy believed the surgery would eventually give Garrett seventy percent or better function in that hand, but that didn’t mean he had anywhere near that much now.
