That Man 3

by Nelle L’Amour

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

  “Making a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.”

  “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “Boy Scouts.”

  I almost snorted, but he handed me the floral sundress before I could utter a sound.

  “I thought you might want to put this on. Do you need any help?” His forlorn eyes searched mine.

  “No.” After my snippy one-word reply, I slipped the dress over my head and my two arms through the spaghetti straps. I shimmied the skirt of the dress past my thighs. Though the temperature was mild, I began to shiver. The loss of blood was wreaking havoc on my body. I felt cold, broken, and empty. Teeth chattering, I folded my arms across my chest.

  “Geez. You’re fucking freezing,” breathed out Blake. Not wasting a second, he grabbed an ocean-blue afghan folded over an adjacent chaise and wrapped it around me. The next thing I knew, I was in his arms, cradled like a baby.

  “There’s an urgent care center a few miles down on PCH. We’ll be there in no time.”

  Wearily, I rested my head against his chest as we headed to his car. I wanted no part of him, yet here I was all his.

  Chapter 13

  Blake

  It took us a short fifteen minutes to get to the urgent care center. The drive had been as painful for me as it was for her. We were steeped in cold silence, fighting our emotions. Jennifer kept her pale face turned away from me, staring out at the ocean on her right. I wondered what was going through her mind. For sure, nothing good. What had started out as a glorious romantic weekend had ended up in disaster.

  I parked my car in the first spot available outside the cookie cutter cement structure. There were only a few other cars, all parked in reserved spaces—obviously for the doctors, nurses, and paramedics who worked here. It appeared we were the only ones here with a New Year’s Day emergency. I hopped out of the car and rounded it to help Jen out of her seat and carry her into the center.

  “What can I do for you?” asked a plump redheaded receptionist. Smoothing her Minnie Mouse print nurse’s smock, she eyed Jennifer. “Food poisoning? There’s been a lot of that going around. People must be eating some bad fish.”

  “No. My girlfr—” I stopped myself just in time. “She stepped on a piece of glass; I think she needs stitches.”

  The receptionist lowered her eyes to Jennifer’s foot. “We get a lot of that too. Damn those bums who litter our beaches.”

  It was unlikely that a bum—or anyone for that matter—had been trespassing on the Zanders’s private beachfront property. Most likely, the glass had gotten there during the construction of their house. It wasn’t, however, worth explaining to this pigheaded woman.

  “She needs to fill out some forms. I assume she has insurance.”

  “Yes. ” Jennifer nodded.

  The receptionist pulled out a clipboard with some forms and a pen attached to it. She stood up and handed it to Jennifer. “Take a seat somewhere, and when you’re done filling out the paperwork, I’ll call someone to wheel you back to see the doctor on duty.”

  Jennifer quirked a faint smile. I got us settled into two armchairs. She kept her foot up on the coffee table in front of us as she filled out the forms.

  “Done,” said Jennifer. Obviously, the lazy receptionist bitch wasn’t going to leave her throne, so I took the liberty of handing them over to her. She perused them quickly and then called for a wheelchair. An attendant arrived right away, pushing one. I helped Jennifer stand up and situate herself in the chair.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” I asked.

  “I want you to leave.” Her voice was as cold as dry ice.

  My heart ached as she was wheeled away. There was no way I was leaving her here by herself, whether she liked it or not. I sunk back into my chair and pulled out my iPhone to check my e-mails and texts. But there was something I needed to do first. Delete the video. With an indignant press of my finger, I made it disappear.

  Fuck this phone! Fuck Operation Dickwick! How could I have been so stupid to have not erased the video? Stupid, stupid me. Maybe what made me fucking stupid in the first place was taking it. Sending it to her under a false identity was a shit-ass thing to do. I wasn’t just fucking stupid. I was a fucking stupid asshole! I’d fucked up big time. I’d succeeded in prying her away from Dickwick, but now I was the dick with a price to pay. I knew she’d never want to see me again, and I had no clue how we were going to work together. Was she going to say good-bye to her job as well?

  While Jennifer was being treated, I beat up on myself. I had no solution to the damage I’d caused. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you wasn’t going to cut it. Not with someone like Jennifer. I was going to be her forever bastard.

  Forty-five long minutes and twenty stitches later, Jennifer re-emerged from the emergency room. Her foot was mummified in bandages, and she was on crutches. I stood up as she hobbled my way. Her face was still pale and pained.

  “I’ll take you home,” I said quietly, longing to take her into my arms, crutches and all.

  “No need. I had a nurse call Lip Service. A car should be here any minute.”

  I was taken aback. “Are you sure? Seriously, it’s not out of my way.”

  “There’s no discussion.” Her voice was still frosty.

  “At least let me pay for it,” I pleaded.

  “No need,” she repeated. “I put it on my credit card.”

  A heavyset foreign-looking man entered through the automatic doors.

  “Ms. McCoy?” he asked, searching Jennifer’s forlorn eyes. Obviously, he was the Lip Service dude.

  Jennifer nodded and followed him out, struggling on her crutches. My eyes never left her, the crutches and bandage a reminder of all the pain I had caused her. Goddamn it. For the first time in my life, I hated myself.

  Chapter 14

  Jennifer

  Thank goodness, I had a Lip Service account—an online alternative taxi service that was quickly becoming one of he best ways to get around in LA if you didn’t have a car or were unable to drive one. My credit card was on file. I made it home.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” asked Libby, her eyes wide, as I stood at the front door on my crutches. It was just a little after five. It was a good thing she was home because I’d left my bag with my wallet and keys at the beach house. She continued to rant.

  “And why haven’t I heard from you? When did you get back from Boise?”

  In retrospect, I should have let Libby know what was happening. I hadn’t spoken or texted her during the break. I took a deep breath.

  “I have a lot to tell you,” I muttered as I hobbled into the living room. I still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of getting around on crutches, and they moreover made my armpits ache. Fortunately, the kindly doctor who had stitched up my foot said I would only need to be on them for a week. By then, the pain would subside and there would be little chance for infection, as long as I kept the gash well covered.

  I collapsed onto the couch, leaning my crutches against the armrest. I propped my bandaged foot on the coffee table, remembering the doctor wanted me to keep it elevated as much as possible for the next twenty-four hours. I reached for one of the decorative pillows gracing the couch, but Libby got to it before me.

  “Here, let me help you,” she said, placing the pillow under my heel. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend than Libby.

  “Anything else I can do?”

  “A glass of wine would be great.” I rarely drank before six o’clock, but today warranted an exception. My head was pounding with sorrow and regret.

  “You got it.” My bestie scurried out of the room and returned quickly with two glasses of white wine, one for her, one for me.

  After handing me a glass, Libby sunk into her favorite armchair. “Now tell me everything.”

  So much had gone down in the last week, I didn’t know where to begin. After a sip of the chilled wine, I tea
rfully blurted out, “Blake Burns and I fell in love, and now it’s over.”

  Libby’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets and her jaw dropped to the floor. I’d never seen her so stunned. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t know, Lib. I’m sorry. It all just happened so fast.”

  She glanced down at my bandaged foot. “Rough sex?”

  I shook my head again. “No, rough weekend.”

  “Well, you’d better start explaining.”

  With a heavy sigh, I took a long sip of my wine and started from the beginning. How Blake Burns was the man I’d kissed and fallen for when I’d play that game of Truth or Dare, blindfolded, on the night of my engagement party.

  Libby gulped her wine and fluttered her eyes with shock. “Holy Fuck! How did you find out?”

  I told her about the kiss under the mistletoe at the office party and then how we’d fucked our brains out in his fuck pad.

  “Holy Shit!” She guzzled her wine. “I may have to open another bottle. Keep talking.”

  I told her about everything that had happened back home—his surprise visit, his declaration of love, our first night together in my bedroom, and even our enchanted fuck in the snow. Rivulets of tears poured down my face as I recounted and relived all these magical moments.

  Libby was all ears. “Wow! I hate to admit it, but he sounds amazing. I don’t get it. What happened?”

  Skimming over the Springer stuff, I launched into our New Year’s weekend in Malibu. I could no longer hold back. I burst into hysterical sobs. “Libby, he did something terrible.”

  She eyed my bandaged foot and her eyes widened. “He hurt you?”

  I nodded. “He hurt me. But not physically.” I took a break to brush away my tears. “Libby, I found out he was the one who took and sent that video of Bradley and Candace.” I tearfully told her how.

  Libby gasped. “No way. I mean, I never liked Bradley, but that’s totally creepy. What a fucking lowlife bastard!”

  “I know. I couldn’t believe it. I split as fast I could but stepped on a piece of glass.” I adjusted my bandaged foot on the pillow. “Twenty fucking stitches.”

  “You poor thing,” consoled Libby as she reached to dab my tears with a paper cocktail napkin. “I can’t believe this has all happened.”

  “Lib, you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone at work about Blake and me.”

  “I promise.” My big-mouthed friend glanced down again at my foot. “Does your foot hurt?”

  “Right now, it’s numb. The doctor gave me some painkillers. I probably shouldn’t be drinking, but fuck it.”

  “What are you going to do about Blake?”

  I bit down on my lip. “I don’t want to see him again.”

  “What about your job?”

  I heaved a breath. That was the big question. How could I continue to work with the bastard? Face him every day? Deal with the pain? Get through the rage? Yet, I loved my job. And wanted so badly to see the block of women’s programming I was developing come to fruition. Fuck, what was I going to do? I was too hurt and confused to think straight. I swiped at my tears and shrugged my shoulders.

  “I don’t know, Lib. What would you do?” I croaked, my voice hoarse. “No one from Nick or Disney is going to hire me with SIN-TV on my resumé.”

  My friend, the analyst, knitted her unruly brows in deep thought. “Don’t quit. It’s a great job and you’re doing great things. The company is going to recognize you. And when they do, you’ll be able to move up wherever you want. So, I know it’s going to be hard, but hang in there.”

  I digested Libby’s words. She was right as usual. Except it wasn’t going to be hard to hang in there. It was going to be next to impossible. I sipped more wine.

  A loud knock-knock-knock at the front door caught us both by surprise. Puzzled, Libby jumped up from her chair and headed toward it. “Did you order a pizza?” I asked as she peered through the peephole.

  Not answering me, she unbolted the door and bent down to retrieve something. Slamming the door closed, she stood up and turned to face me. Two familiar objects were dangling from her hands: My purse and my suitcase. And tucked under an arm was Blake’s white tiger.

  My mouth fell open and my heart thudded. “Is he out there?”

  Libby shook her head. “I saw him drive off.”

  I sighed with relief, yet a dagger of disappointment dug into my gut. My stomach twisted painfully.

  Grabbing my crutches, I lifted myself off the couch. My foot throbbed. The pain medicine the doctor had given me must be wearing off. Maybe later, Libby would go out and pick up the prescription the doctor called in for me at our local CVS. Yes. That’s what I needed. Pain pills. They might alleviate the pain in my foot, but the pain in my heart was mine to bear.

  I hopped in the direction of my bedroom. “Lib, could you do me a big favor and bring my things to my room?”

  “Sure,” my bestie said brightly. Wheeling the suitcase, she followed me down the narrow hallway that led to my room.

  “Where do you want everything?” she asked.

  “On my bed would be fine.”

  She complied. “Cute tiger,” she said as she propped it against my pillow. “A Christmas present from your parents?”

  “Yes,” I stuttered. For some reason, I didn’t want to share the fact it was from Blake. Fighting back tears, I eyed the plush toy wistfully. And then I glanced down at my chest. A little gasp escaped my throat. I was missing the pendant necklace with the tourmaline heart that Blake had given me along with the tiger. I must have lost it in the ocean or maybe the sand. Another wave of sadness swept over me. It stood for everything that was Blake. Everything that was us. Something rare and beautiful. And now, it was forever gone.

  I was on the verge of crying when Libby’s voice sounded. “Want me to help you unpack?”

  “Thanks, but I think I can manage.” My room was small, so it wouldn’t be that big a deal to hang up the stuff I’d brought to Boise or tuck it away in my armoire. Even on crutches. I probably could just hop around on one foot and use a single crutch for support if I had to. Plus, I needed some alone time.

  “Is there anything else you need me to do?” There was genuine compassion in Libby’s voice.

  With a tearful voice, I asked if she could bring me some saran wrap or a plastic garbage bag so I could wrap my foot up and take a much needed shower; I was still covered all over with sand and salt. I also asked if she didn’t mind going to the pharmacy to pick up my pain pills. I was quickly discovering that being on crutches was ridiculously humbling. Lucky for me, my best friend couldn’t be more obliging. God, I loved Libby!

  When Libby returned with a roll of saran wrap, I thanked her and asked her a few questions about her holiday, realizing I’d so selfishly only talked about myself. She told me she’d had a relaxing week and a blast at the Chorus Line-themed New Year’s Eve party her twin brother Chaz had thrown. Eager to get to the pharmacy before it closed, she told me she’d tell me more when she got back. After a hug, she took off to pick up my meds as well as some Chinese take-out. It didn’t matter to me what kind of food she brought back. Nauseated and terribly saddened, I had no appetite.

  I decided to take a shower first. After securely wrapping up my bandaged foot with the entire roll of saran wrap, I hobbled down the hall to the bathroom we shared. Luckily, we had a stall shower that was easy to step into, and it even had a handicap rail left behind by the elderly tenant who’d inhabited this house before us.

  I debated whether I should take my crutches into the shower, but ultimately left them against the glass shower door. On one foot, I hopped into the shower and turned it on.

  Holding on to the handicap rail, my bad foot raised, I let the hot water pound on my head. I soaped up the large sponge and began to wash the memories of today away. Granules of sand laced the tiled floor. I softly brushed the sponge over my bre
asts and then moved it to the delicate folds between my legs. I couldn’t wash the throbbing away. Damn it! He was still with me. The memory of taking a shower with Blake this morning filled my head. How sensual it had been—first that mind-blowing finger fuck and then fucking me against the wall in a steamy haze until I fell apart. I could feel him now. His mouth on my wet flesh, his magnificent cock thrusting against my own wet walls, my pussy throbbing. My breathing grew shallow. I was masturbating, rubbing the sponge against my clit to bring myself to a climax of despair. Tears seared my eyes as I came.

  Hastily, I washed my hair. The scent of the shampoo aroused yet more memories. The Very Cherry Vanilla shampoo was from Gloria’s Secret. A little got in my eyes. It stung like the memories the shampoo brought back.

  Not bothering to condition my hair, I carefully hopped out of the shower. After towel drying myself, I wrapped myself in the fluffy bathrobe I always kept on a nearby hook, and then palmed the shower door for balance as I removed the saran wrap from my injured foot. Success. The bandage had remained dry. But the throbbing in my foot had intensified. I hoped Libby would hurry back soon with my meds.

  I grabbed my crutches and hobbled over to the sink. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My reflection shocked me. Even after the shower, I looked drawn and drained. My eyes were swollen-red and my lips puffy—all from crying. Fuck that man! He had turned me into a heartbroken, blubbering mess. With more tears threatening to fall, I quickly brushed my hair and teeth and headed back to my room.

  I was beat, physically and emotionally. And my foot hurt like fucking hell. But I was determined to unpack. To put away the memories of today once and for all. I lowered myself to my bed, leaning the crutches against it, and zipped open my suitcase. My eyes widened and my heart stammered. Neatly packed on top of my belongings was all the Gloria’s Secret lingerie I’d worn with Blake. And there was something else—Blake’s collarless shirt. I reached for the shirt and put it to my nose. It smelled of him. It smelled of me. It smelled of us.