Healed by Love

by Ami LeCoeur

  “You are hardly an old spinster lady, MISS Maria,” he said with the same twinkle that brought the blue of his eyes to life. “But maybe I like watching you get your hackles up.”

  I glared at him in mock anger. “That’s so unfair. If I wasn’t in this wheelchair, I’d get you in a headlock!”

  “Ha! You and what army,” he challenged, the words soft, delivered slowly. My breath caught at the look he gave me. My stomach twisted at the promise his eyes contained.

  I met his gaze. “Just me,” I said defiantly, lifting my chin with a grin. “You didn’t know me before…” I paused for a moment, realizing how easy it was to talk to this man, even about things that I normally kept to myself. I smiled even bigger inside, realizing how good it felt for me to share my past like this. When I was with him I hardly ever thought about how things ‘used to be’—it didn’t seem to matter, it just wasn’t important.

  I smiled shyly and he raised his eyebrow. “I’m waiting,” was all he said.

  “I used to be a gymnast. And I was really good at it. Like every little girl in the world, I had my own dreams of Olympic greatness. But then I got a little too tall, so I turned to dance instead. Now, of course,” I waved at my legs. “At least the gymnastics gave me the upper body strength I need to compensate for not being able to use these.”

  He nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. He raised his beer and tipped his head towards me, “Well, here’s to learning how to compensate—and how to make the best of a bad situation.”

  “And not letting it hold you back,” I replied, my own eyes locked on his, shining with appreciation at his attitude. Losing my mother had been the worst part of the accident that left me without my legs. Thank goodness my sister Angela had been able to come home to help with me and Dad. But I was even more grateful this lovely giant had come into the picture, a surprising and welcome bonus.

  Chapter 3 — Thompson

  I didn’t feel pity for Maria. What I felt was deeper than that, a soul deep sympathy that only comes from experiencing similar pain. Everyone’s story was different. Everyone’s acceptance of their story was different, too. But the pain… pain is universal and whether your legs are broken or it’s the place in your mind that no longer trusts… it can slice deep, take out a piece of you you’ll never get back.

  Surprising myself, I stood up and walked over to Maria’s stereo. She was old school, still had music on CDs. I liked that about her. No pretension, no need to impress. I flipped through the stack—there was everything from country music to rap.

  “50 Cents?” I held up the CD case and she giggled, crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a gansta look, two fingers up in a ‘peace’ sign.

  “Heck yeah… find me In Da Club.” Then she started tapping out the rap beat on the arms of her wheelchair. I shook my head. What an adorable goofball. But I was pretty impressed with her rapping skills. Who would have thunk it?

  The Righteous Brothers caught my eye and I popped the CD into her ancient stereo. Soon, Unchained Melody was filling the room. Turning, I almost changed my mind, knowing this could go one of two ways.

  One, I could help Maria create a beautiful memory. Two, we’d both fall on our faces. I looked over at her. Her eyes were closed as she hummed along to the iconic song. Swallowing hard, I made my move.

  “Shall we?”

  Her eyes opened in surprise to find me standing in front of her, hand out. She looked from my beefy paw to my face and back to my hand. Finally, she looked down at her damaged legs. As I stood there waiting, she shifted, obviously deciding not to question my motives, to simply trust. She placed her hand in mine.

  Leaning down, I lifted her from the wheelchair and stood her bare feet on my shoes. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her body flush against mine, a perfect fit. I grasped her tiny waist, my hand nearly spanning its width. Then I gave her a moment to settle before I began to move in time to the music.

  One. Two. Three.

  One. Two. Three.

  The voice of Ms. Tilly filled my head and I remembered when she tried to instruct us boys to be proper and learn to dance. She was the best of the foster moms I lived with; my time with her was too short. Although I was only eleven at the time, I could still hear her voice.

  “Thompson, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” She never yelled at me when I lost control, or when my bumbling boy feet broke something she treasured. “You can talk to me,” Ms. Tilly would say. “You don’t have to keep all those emotions bottled up.”

  I wondered, for the millionth time, if my life would have been different if they’d let me stay with her instead of pushing me over to Canon Street and the indifference that lived on the corner.

  “Mmm… this is so nice,” Maria murmured against my chest, breaking me from those silent reflections. I kissed the top of her head. Even though she was tall for a woman, about five feet nine or so, she still barely came up to my chin.

  “Just think, you’ll be dancing on your own in a few months.”

  She looked up at me, those expressive eyes filled with hope and a hint of fear. “Do you really think so?”

  God, that mouth. Those lips. I felt my dick twitch as she gently sank her teeth into her bottom lip. I changed my focus and looked at the smooth patch of skin between her eyes, willing my cock to settle down and behave.

  “Of course I think so. By sheer determination if nothing else. I have no doubt that you’ll walk again one day soon.”

  She leaned her cheek into my chest again and the movement sent another waft of fragrance from her hair. A mixture of vanilla and something I couldn’t quite place. Lavender? I leaned down to bury my nose in the smell, just as Maria looked up.

  Face to face, just inches apart, I froze. God, how I wanted to crush her to me, take those lips, drop us both to the floor. I stayed frozen. I’m not that man anymore. She deserved better than that. Better than me.

  Maria seemed to think otherwise. With the upper arm strength of the gymnast she once was, she curled herself up, her hands locked behind my neck for leverage. Her belly grazed over my cock as she ascended. When there was nothing but a whisper between us, my lips touched hers. I nearly growled as they melted together in the softness of shared kisses. Then the months of longing, the weeks of suffered silence between us broke apart… I took her mouth fiercely, licking and sucking on her tongue.

  She moaned into my mouth, pure pleasure, no pain, and kissed me back with a primal urgency I could only match. Lifting her higher onto my chest, her toes no longer touching my shoes, I walked us to the sofa, my lips never leaving hers.

  Her fingernails raked into my scalp as she tried to draw us closer together. I couldn’t tell if I was the devourer or the one being devoured. But none of that mattered.

  Maria groaned and I pulled away, afraid I’d hurt her. “Let me straddle you, please, help me sit…”

  She didn’t even have to finish the sentence before I was sitting on the sofa, pulling her onto my lap. Helping move her legs in place, a knee beside each of my hips, I could now touch her the way I’d longed to.

  Hand in her hair, I pulled her head back and kissed her neck, stroking my tongue across her soft skin. Her fingers tightened on my shoulders, and she pressed her sex down into mine. Even through our clothes I could feel her heat.

  I needed her. I wanted her. I had since the moment I first saw her that day when I’d first come to pick up her sister Angela for the Boss. The way she’d flirted with me while we waited. I loved her spirit then, and I loved it even more now.

  Chapter 4 — Maria

  I groaned, gazing at Thompson through the narrow slit of my eyes, barely open. Waves of pleasure swept over me, chasing out nearly all remaining coherent thought.

  I opened my eyes wider. Where was my gentle giant? When did he change into this ravenous hunk of lust? I had dreamed about this—fantasized in my private thoughts about this, but now… Holy Christ! This was even more intense than I could hope for.

  The heat spiraling through
my body threatened to push me over the edge. Need coiled hot and tight in my belly.

  “Sweet Maria,” came the whisper. I strained to hear it—hoping it wasn’t just my imagination. Was it simply his breath slipping out between those luscious lips pressed so hard against mine?

  Mmmmm, I moaned again opening my lips to capture his wandering tongue.

  Brinnnng, Brrrinnng.

  “Damn!” I muttered at the phone, wishing I could just ignore it.

  BRRINNNNG, BRRRINNNNG came the insistent and demanding tone.

  Thompson peeled himself away from me.

  “Shouldn’t you get that?”

  “No.” I pressed my lips to his again, but the shrill ringing persisted.

  Pulling away again, I said in a small voice, “Do I have to?” I sighed, leaning back to look at this man who was turning me on beyond all words or senses.

  He cocked an eyebrow—reminding me somehow of Antonio—and I knew that if the call was from Angela, she would be needlessly worried by an unanswered phone. I reached for the table beside us, grabbing the phone I’d dropped there earlier in the day.

  Yep, Angela.

  “Hey, Sis.” I scrunched up my nose and stuck out my tongue at Thompson while managing to sound sweet to my sister. He retaliated by nuzzling my ear, licking down the lobe.

  “I’m sorry, Angela, could you repeat that.”

  I gave Thompson a ‘knock that off’ look. I couldn’t think when he was touching me that way. I twirled my finger in a circle, wanting him to sit me on the couch. Instead he picked me up and spun me around, sitting me firmly on his lap, where I could still feel his erection pushing against me from behind. I almost gulped into the phone.

  “Sure, everything here is fine.” I told Angela. “Thompson came by and I insisted he stay for dinner.”

  “Maria! I hope you’re behaving yourself,” she said, her words filled with laughter. My face felt warm and I was sure my cheeks were flushed bright pink, but I didn’t want Thompson to notice, so I did my best to keep the conversation light and brushed off her comments.

  “Well someone has too,” I answered, matching her tone. “Realistically, I should be the one checking up on you. After all, I’m sitting here at home while you’re hidden away in a secret cabin with your lover-boy boss.”

  She laughed. “Makes me sound like a cheap gold-digger.”

  “No way. An upscale gold-digger, if anything,” I teased. Then I grew serious. “Enjoy it, Angela. After everything you’ve been through, the two of you deserve some quiet time together to figure out where your relationship is going.”

  She chuckled at that. “Believe me, we’ve been checking that one out pretty thoroughly! But what about you?”

  Uh oh—there it was again.

  “We’re enjoying a quiet evening, listening to music.” I hoped I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt.

  She was obviously in a teasing mood. “Sis, you better be careful. You know those strong, silent types are the most dangerous. You’d better watch yourself.”

  Little does she know, I thought, biting my lower lip. It’s too late for warnings.

  I almost hung up the phone. Recognizing how smitten I was with this man—much more than I had realized—threw me right back into confusion.

  “Really, Sis, everything here is cool. Thanks for checking in. I’m going to assume you two are busy having such a great time that checking up on me is just an afterthought. Besides, you don’t want me to be rude to my guest. We can catch up on everything when you get home.” I knew I was blathering, but honestly, I couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.

  We said goodbyes and I hung up. But, unfortunately, by then the sweet and steamy mood was broken. Thompson picked me up and set me on the couch, draping his arm over my shoulders and asking how Angela and Antonio were faring.

  Seriously? He was being formal? After the heat and intensity we’d generated before the interruption of the call?

  I stared at his face, calm and remote. And, full of the tumultuous feelings dancing around inside me, I wanted to cry. Damn. I loved my sister, but at that moment I was feeling less than happy about her checking up on me.

  Chapter 5 — Thompson

  Saved by the bell. Damn. I’d never lost control like that with a woman. Now that the fire had a bucket of cold water dumped on it, I was going to control my dick and make sure it behaved itself in my pants.

  My whatever-this-is with Maria was too new, too special to fuck it up yet. Calm. Control. I picked up the TV remote and handed it to her. “Want anything to drink? Popcorn and a movie?”

  I felt her disappointment the moment she surrendered to us just being ‘friends’ again. She pointed the remote at the TV and it came to life. Damn. A chick flick? Thankfully she kept clicking. Nightmare on Elm Street. Click. Bridesmaids. Click. “But wait, if you call within the next hour…” Fuckin’ infomercials. Click. 40-Year-Old Virgin.

  “Stop me when you see something interesting,” she said. She clicked the remote again.

  Full Metal Jacket...

  Bam. Bam.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  And bam… just like that… I’m back in Afghanistan.

  Boom!

  The explosion comes out of nowhere, followed by the distinct sound of AK-47s.

  Men scatter, one goes down. An uneventful six hour patrol turns into a baptism of fire.

  “Contact. Three and nine o’clock,” I shout, lifting my M4 to return fire to the enemy on my right.

  The ra-tat-tat of gunfire is all around me. Enemy fire is coming in from both sides. Our mission was to scout out a valley in search of the enemy. The enemy found us first. We’re wedged in, essentially trapped.

  “We gotta move,” I yell as I maneuver to our JTAC Rob, who’s manning communications.

  “CAS,” I shout at Rob to call in air support, but he’s already reporting our status and position. “Men down. We need immediate Medivac.”

  “Roger that. Apache’s in route. ETA eight minutes.”

  I begin firing again at the dark shadows above us. People fall. Not people… the enemy. It’s the enemy, I keep telling myself. Not human beings. Not even animals. Enemy. I keep firing, dropping them one by one.

  Hours seem to go by and another of my men is down. I yell at Rob, “Where’s air?”

  Rob raises three fingers. Fuck.

  “We won’t be here in three minutes,” I yell at no one in particular. Rob nods. He knows it too.

  Enraged at this feeling of impotence, I reload and lift my gun. I can’t control time, I can only take these mothers out. I begin firing again, at the left side of the ridge this time.

  Woosh. Fuck. I hear it before I see it. “RPG!” I yell and dive for cover. Boom. The world explodes and then turns dark as the dust from the blast settles around me. More fire follows, there’s no time to maneuver. I turn to find Rob… but he’s lying on the ground, staring sightlessly in my direction. He’s gone. There’s no doubt.

  My best friend is dead.

  “No!” I roar. I dive for him and the dirt around his body peppers with the spray of bullets. Pain takes a bite at me and...

  “Thompson! Thompson! What’s wrong?” A woman’s voice echoes around me.

  Wrong? Everything’s wrong. I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t get them out. Rob. Nick. Steven. All gone in a blink of my fuckin’ eyes. I could do nothing to stop it. And I walked out of that deathtrap. Why me? Why not them? It didn’t make sense.

  “Thompson! It’s me, Maria. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

  Where am I? I’m on my feet. Someone’s pulling on my arm, I snatch it away.

  “Thompson. Thompson!”

  I’m back in the present. Oh my god, what have I done?

  “It’s okay. You’re okay.” It was Maria, sitting on the sofa and reaching for me again. Her eyes are huge, her mouth turned down in a grimace. I did that. I’d never seen anyone look that terrified.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.”
I was already backing away. I’d fucked up. I’d ruined everything, again.

  “No,” she cried, reaching for me. “Don’t go. Please. Stay.”

  I shook my head, my heart still hammering in my chest, sweat pouring from my face, my throat tight from the breath ripping through it. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “You aren’t safe with me.” I’ve got to get out of here. I turned to leave, but there’s a loud thump and a cry of pain. I turned back and she’s lying on the floor.

  Oh my god. I ran to where she lay, kneeling next to her. She grabbed my wrists, holding tight and looking into my face. She was pleading with me, but not for help. What?

  I exhaled, and understanding dawned. She was pleading for me to not leave.

  “I’m not hurt,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t leave me. I need you. Here. Stay.”

  Her words were a sedative, she repeated them over and over and over. “I need you. Don’t leave. Stay.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I pulled her onto my lap, my hands testing the bones in her legs, making sure nothing was out of place. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” I touched her arms, her face, her ribs. I’d never forgive myself if she even had a scratch.

  “Ssshhh.” The soft, soothing words fell from her lips. Not anger, or even upset. Instead, her hands were on my face, swiping the sweat from my forehead, pushing my hair back, then cupping my jaw. She leaned into my chest and held me close. I wrapped her up, my face in her hair. We sat like that for forever.

  Finally, she stirred and looked up at me. “Well… chick flicks for you from now on. Sleepless in Seattle or Devil Wears Prada…. your choice.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, and pulled her tighter to my chest. She wasn’t disgusted by me or afraid of me. She wasn’t judging or telling me how weak I was for allowing memories to invade my reality.

  My ex hated my nightmares, she hated the moments I turned quiet. She was merciless in her taunts. “Big bad Thomcat turns into a shivering little kitten in the blink of an eye. How can I ever trust you? One day you’re going to hurt Emily. You’re going to think she’s a grenade and toss her through the window.”