by Amy Knupp
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly, close to her ear, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
To his surprise—and adding to his concern—Rachel, the woman who seemed determined to handle her personal pain on her own, turned around and curled into him, grasping his shirt as if she were afraid she might sink into quicksand if she let go.
Cale cradled her to his chest and pressed his lips to her temple. “Shh, baby. You need to slow down. It’s okay. I’m here.”
“Can’t...stop...” she said between gasps. “Can’t...stand it... Help...me...”
He pulled her head away from him and forced eye contact. “You’re hyperventilating, Rachel. You need to slow your breathing down. Everything’s okay. Hear me?” He stared into her beautiful blue eyes and saw so much pain and sadness in them his chest constricted with the need to take the bad stuff away. “It’s okay, baby. Shh. Deep breaths.”
She tried to do what he said, nodding her head and inhaling slowly. Her breath hitched a few times. Cale continued to coach her through several slow, counted breaths, and she seemed to calm down a little.
He eased his way farther onto the bed on his side and pulled her with him, keeping his arms around her. She felt so small and vulnerable, her shoulders still jerking periodically as she continued to work to calm her breathing. Holding her tighter, he inhaled deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and felt the softness of her body beneath his fingertips.
He hadn’t held a woman this way for so long. He was supposed to be comforting her, but, God, it felt good. She felt good. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed being this close to another human being.
And it felt twice as good to be needed. Not that he wished whatever Rachel was going through right now on her or anyone, but focusing on what she needed gave him purpose like he hadn’t had in months. It dragged him out of his own problems. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how wrapped up in them he still was, even after all this time.
When Rachel seemed to regain control of her breathing, he squeezed her closer and kissed her forehead. “Tell me what happened,” he said in a gentle voice. He could guess a lot of it but didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusions.
Rachel slowly, stutteringly told him how she’d been trying to keep it together ever since the asthma patient and how coming home to an empty house had magnified everything that she was trying to fight off—the girl’s death, the similarities to Noelle...
“She even kind of looked like her,” Rachel said in a wrung-out voice. “A little bit. Blond hair. Skinny. I bet she had a pretty smile.”
Her breath hitched again and she ducked her head deeper into Cale’s chest. He rubbed her neck. Ran his fingers through her damp hair.
“You know there was no hope for her last night, right?” he asked.
Rachel nodded, her eyes closed tightly. “Just like Noelle...”
“She was too far gone when we got to her.” Cale hated those cases, but over the years, he’d gotten better at accepting them. Generally speaking. Last night’s was tougher.
“After I got out of the shower, it hit me that all the stuff I was bottling up inside since last night was not based on reality,” Rachel said. “I was mixing up Noelle and that girl in my head.”
“Believe me, I had some of the same thoughts.”
“You did?”
He nodded, the sadness intensifying again. “Hard not to.”
“When I realized they were different...” She broke off and shook her head. “This must all sound crazy. When I remembered that Noelle hadn’t just died and I didn’t have a fresh loss to try to handle, I had this overwhelming relief. So I thought I could handle...this.” She flung a hand blindly toward the rest of the room.
“Your first time in?”
As she nodded, she began silently sobbing again, her shoulders heaving. Seconds later, her sobs weren’t silent; they were huge, heartbreaking sounds of grief, as if the levee had busted and there was nothing holding back months’ worth of pain.
Cale felt her bone-deep sadness on every level, had lived it and breathed it for so many months. Even though his grief had lessened with time, as he’d worked through it, now it came back, fresh and raw. He let the moisture in the corners of his eyes gather, refusing to take his hands away from Rachel.
He had no idea how much later it was when her sobs became fewer and further between. Quieter. Her breaths evened out again, though this time, she hadn’t hyperventilated. Cale rubbed light circles on her back.
“S-s-sorry,” she said shakily. “I didn’t mean to cry all over you.”
“Maybe you needed to. How long has it been since you let go like that?”
Rachel pulled a corner of the sheet from between them and wiped her swollen eyes with it. She shook her head.
“No?” he asked, confused.
As she studied the sheet intently, she shook her head again, and he saw her lower lip tremble before she admitted, “I haven’t. Cried. Not since getting the awful news that night...”
Oh, shit. “At all? Or do you mean you just haven’t cried so much?”
“Not at all.” And the tears started again. “It hurts...too much....”
“I know,” he whispered, aching for her. “It’s okay, baby, just get it out. Let it come out. I get it. I understand.”
All of a sudden, Rachel stiffened and rolled away from him. She sat up on the edge of the bed with her back to him.
“Rach? What happened? Come back here.”
He put his hand on her slender waist, but she jumped off the bed, shaking her head and putting distance between them.
“Oh, gaaaawd,” she said, as if she had some new unbearable physical pain. “Nooo. You don’t understand at all.”
He frowned and sat up. “There’s a little difference between being her boyfriend and being her twin, I’m sure. But the sense of loss is similar.”
She took a throw pillow from the other bed and hugged it to her chest desperately. If it had been alive, she would have squeezed the life out of it.
“Rachel, if you haven’t cried until now, you have so much sadness to get out. I know how much I’ve been through since it happened and—”
“Stop it. Cale, just stop,” she said hoarsely. “You can’t begin to understand. It’s not just the wrenching sadness that makes me want to curl up in a ball and die. It’s...” She pulled the pillow up and buried her face in it.
He couldn’t imagine what she was trying to say, but though he wanted to go to her and touch her, reason with her, he sensed that wouldn’t go over well at this particular moment. “What, Rachel? It’s what?”
She lowered the pillow, went to the window and absently turned the stem on the blinds until the slats let in what little bit of clouded-over daylight there was. Shaking her head subtly, slowly, she let the seconds tick by. “Guilt,” she finally choked out. “I have this horrible, awful guilt.”
Cale stood abruptly, because, of all the things he thought she might say, that was absolutely not one of them.
“Why, Rachel? You have nothing to feel guilty for. You weren’t there. You couldn’t have saved her.”
He could just imagine the things that went through her head, back then and now, as someone who was trained to save lives. It was something he’d had to learn to get over when he’d first started going on medical rotations. Being trained to save a life did not equate to being able to save everyone. And Noelle had died alone in her car. Rachel hadn’t ever had the chance. By the time anyone knew Noelle had had an asthma attack, it’d been too late. By hours.
“It was my fault she was by herself,” Rachel said, her voice haunted.
Cale stepped up behind her, stopped six inches away from her. He reached out to touch her shoulder, his hand hovering above it, but she glanced down at it and stepped to the side angrily.
“She ran out of the house because of the argument we had, Cale. Because of...what I told her.” She let out a long, pained groan.
Cale put his hands on her w
aist again with the intent of pulling her to him.
“Come here, Rachel. You don’t have to feel this way by yourself.”
The pillow dropped to the floor but Rachel didn’t move. But she didn’t fight him, either, so he moved to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her obvious pain was killing him. He knew he couldn’t take it away, but he had to do whatever he could to lessen it. Give her some measure of comfort. It wasn’t just that he felt he had to. He wanted to. Like he hadn’t wanted anything for a very long time.
* * *
RACHEL COULDN’T UTTER the rest out loud. She just wanted to wilt and become unconscious so she didn’t have to feel anymore.
Cale’s arms around her, supporting her, were such a relief. He was so strong compared to her. Physically and emotionally. The fact that he was still standing here after she’d cried all over him and made a blubbering fool of herself spoke volumes about the man he was. Not that she had experience with many different men, but she was pretty sure her scene would have sent the vast majority of them running.
But then, she wasn’t at all surprised.
Weakly, she turned around and ducked into his chest, drinking in the security his body and his acceptance afforded her. Her cheek rested on his rigid pectoral muscle as if on a firm pillow. She never wanted to move.
“How are you doing?” he asked a few minutes later in a near whisper. “Any better?”
She didn’t figure she would ever be better. Every inch of her body ached, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to stand much longer if he hadn’t been holding her up. Her head throbbed, and her heart literally hurt. “I’m so tired, Cale.”
“I know. Come here.”
Before she could react, he bent and picked her up, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other one around her shoulders.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
Rachel threw her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, knowing in some tired part of her mind that she should protest but...bed sounded like a gargantuan relief. She only wanted to sleep. For days.
She closed her eyes, oblivious to everything except how heavy her lids were. Her body shifted slightly with every step Cale took. When he lowered her, she blinked open her eyes and saw he was setting her in Sawyer’s bed. The blinds were closed and the room was wonderfully dim. Cool from the air conditioner. So much more comfortable than the other room, with its awful thoughts and agonizing memories, where even the air seemed...tainted. Her lids drifted shut again.
When Cale started to straighten, acute fear jabbed at her, jolting her out of her daze. She tightened her hands around his neck. “Please,” she begged, stunned by the force of yet more emotions when she’d thought she was drained. “Don’t leave me by myself, Cale.”
“You got it, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
He gently pulled the bedding out from under her and crawled up onto the twin-size captain’s bed next to her, covering them both with the lightweight blanket. He drew her close to his body and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“Okay?” he whispered.
“’Kay.” She closed her eyes again and let sleep mercifully drag her under.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CALE AWOKE TO a low-key, drawn-out rumble of thunder. Before his eyes were even open, he breathed in Rachel and moved his hand to her waist, keeping his touch light, cherishing the feel of her skin beneath his fingers where her T-shirt had crept up. Her head was tucked under his chin, and he burrowed into her silky hair.
His first coherent thought was how good it felt to wake up not alone for once. With Rachel.
The sadness from last night and this morning had faded and was reduced to a fuzziness around the edges, a weight that was no longer directly bearing down on him. Contentment had pushed it aside. Contentment and purpose. Usefulness he hadn’t felt for some time.
Rachel had needed him earlier. She likely still would when she woke up and faced the grief she’d only just begun to reckon with. He remembered the raw sensation of that only too well and wished he could alleviate it for her. He couldn’t, he knew. No one could. But the two of them could find comfort in each other—they had already.
He wanted that. Wanted it for her and he wanted it for himself. It was hard to explain, even to himself, but witnessing Rachel this morning, being the one person she turned to, the one she trusted enough to open up and reveal her vulnerable side to... It had affected him on a soul-deep level. The connection between them was like nothing he’d experienced before, and though it’d been initiated with a painful loss, there was more to it than that.
Cale watched her sleep in the dim, rainy afternoon light, studied the way her makeup-free lashes rested on the pale skin of her face. Blond strands fell across her cheek, and he brushed them away. Rachel stirred, inhaling deeply and emitting a soft moan as she breathed out. It twisted something deep inside of him. He kissed her forehead, keeping his touch whisper-soft and allowing his lips to rest on her flesh for several seconds.
She curled into him and ran her hand drowsily, possessively, up his chest without opening her eyes. In that moment, heat began pulsing through his veins, and he was forced to acknowledge that there were more than just platonic feelings going on here. He wanted to do more than hold Rachel, more than assuage her sadness. He wanted...her.
She needed to sleep, though, more than anything. And who knew how she really felt about him? Never mind all the other arguments he could come up with if he gave his brain free rein. He raised his mouth from her forehead and ducked his chin so that their faces were so close he could feel her breath—but not quite touching. He shut his eyes and did his best to ignore the urge to pull her closer.
Rachel moved again, made another sleepy, sexy sound. Nuzzled her nose next to his. Her eyes blinked partially open and he held himself stock-still, knowing if he dropped his guard for a second, his lips would be on hers.
Then they were anyway.
And Cale could swear he wasn’t the one who’d moved that last half inch.
Rachel’s grasp tightened on his shirt, and she pulled him toward her. She moved her other hand to the back of his neck aggressively as they kissed, making it clear she was into this and aware of what was happening, if still drowsy. She wedged her knee between his legs, entwining their bodies intimately.
Within moments, the intensity of the kiss notched up times twenty. Their tongues met. Tangled. Teeth tapped together clumsily as they tried to work themselves closer still, to deepen their connection.
Reason and thought escaped Cale as a primal need like he’d never experienced took over. Yes, it was physical, but it went far beyond. He wanted to climb inside of her and heal her, make everything in her world right and have her do the same for him.
Their bodies aligned, and they rolled so she was beneath him, clinging to him. It was all he could do to support part of his weight with his arms. She seemed so fragile under his body, and yet, in spite of her softness, he knew she had a thread of steel in her that made her stronger than he could ever dream of being.
“Rachel,” he whispered reverently and then crushed their lips together again.
* * *
RACHEL REVELED IN THE storm of delicious physical sensations Cale aroused, in the weight of him on top of her. The feel of his skin as she inched his shirt up and ran her hands over him, his taut abdomen, muscled chest, strong back, broad shoulders.
She shut down the pesky little voice that questioned what she was doing, reassuring herself that there was nothing wrong with a few moments of glorious escape from the shadows that had weighed her down even in sleep. She needed this closeness like she’d never needed anyone before.
He lifted his head, breaking the contact of their mouths, and she pulled him back to her, afraid of losing the link between them, the security, the affection. Being so close to him made her feel safe, as if the horrible stuff she knew hovered just out of her consciousness at the moment couldn’t get to her.
He lifted her T-shirt,
baring her so that they were skin-on-skin from the waist up. The heat of his flesh made her crave even more of him, made her long for him to take her higher, to soothe the hollow ache inside of her.
His hands explored her body, caressing, rubbing, palming her breasts, making her feel so feminine and desirable, she knew she would never get enough of him.
As she pulled his shirt over his head, he leaned to the side to help her. Their eyes met, and his held an unspoken question.
Rachel couldn’t fathom any question, couldn’t imagine letting him walk away now. She wanted all of him, needed him to fill her, make her feel alive, give her hope. There was no thinking of anything else—she couldn’t let herself.
Instead of responding to him with words, she lifted her own shirt the rest of the way off, then reached lower and worked her shorts down her legs, baring herself to him completely.
His gaze shifted to her body, and she felt his eyes burning her up, sharpening the ache low in her abdomen. She lifted one knee and urged him back on top of her, nestling him between her legs and soaking up the gratification of his drawn-out, needy moan.
She slid her hands beneath his waistband in back, kneaded his butt with both hands as she drew him as close to her as physically possible. And yet she still yearned for more, needed more.
All it took was for her to unsnap his shorts. He reached down and took over the task. His zipper lowered with the unmistakable sound of metal letting go, freeing him. In a single motion, he arched himself and slid his shorts to his ankles, kicked them to the floor.
His mouth was on hers again even before his body was, his tongue plunging between her lips, demanding and insistent. He tasted earthy, masculine...safe. Like a refuge.
The sensation of his hardness against her, pressing into the juncture of her thighs where she was damp and throbbing for him, elicited an unfamiliar, lustful sound from deep in her throat. Unable to deny her pulsing need, she opened herself to him, her hands on his beautiful, toned butt again, urging him closer.
