Impossible Choice

by Sybil Bartel

  “That’s not what I’m frightened of.”

  “I’m not going to let this take me down.”

  What if it’s beyond his control? “What if he has incriminating evidence?”

  “He doesn’t,” he said confidently.

  “But what if he does?”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  Then it clicked. I’d never asked Buck what happened that night, but now I had to know. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  Buck stared at me but he didn’t reply.

  The air left my lungs, my shoulders slumped and my stomach knotted. “Talon,” I whispered, looking away. When it happened, I didn’t care. I didn’t think about it past that night. In fact, I didn’t think about it at all. Stupid. So fucking stupid. Because now the reality was that someone I loved could go to jail, or worse. Because of me.

  Buck gripped my chin and brought my face back to his. “Stop,” he commanded.

  “This is bad.” The words barely disturbed the air, I was so afraid to speak them.

  “Five links in the chain. Only one I’m worried about.”

  Buck, Talon, me, Neil...her. “Ariel.” Fuck.

  “She has something to lose.”

  A big something—a two-year-old son, but I didn’t say that because we both knew it. “Do you think Shorty knows it was her on the yacht?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Wouldn’t they have gone to her first if they did? She’d be an easier target than you or Talon.”

  “I haven’t kept tabs on her, so I don’t know if they’ve gotten to her. But even if they did, they wouldn’t get anything out of it. She doesn’t have the kind of money they’re asking for.”

  Oh God. “How much?”

  “Two million.”

  “What?” I practically levitated off the couch.

  Buck put a firm hand on my thigh. “That’s another reason why I think they’re bluffing. Two million is amateur hour, it’s not a big enough payout for the risk involved but more importantly, it tells me he doesn’t know everything that went down between Miami and your father. He could’ve asked for six, or more, but he didn’t. He’s desperate for cash and I intend to find out why.”

  I didn’t care who you were, when you started talking millions instead of thousands, it was a big deal. “Two million is a lot of money.”

  Buck watched me with shrewd blue eyes. “Eighteen million is a lot. They’re amateurs.”

  Amateurs who hadn’t figured out that I was a better target than Buck...yet. “You think they’re going to come after me?”

  “They already have. Being a marine isn’t a lucrative career.”

  Shit. I dropped my face to my hands. “I’m nothing but trouble for you.”

  The hard strength of his arms curled around me. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, come on, I want you to lie down.”

  “I’m not taking one of those pain pills, they make me float.”

  “Your choice, but you need to rest.” He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom.

  “I don’t want to sleep. I have so little time with you before you have to go back.”

  “You’re going to have a lifetime of me. One nap won’t kill you.”

  Despite everything, I melted in his arms. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” He gently set me on the bed but he didn’t let go.

  I fingered the scar on his head. “Does it still hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Honestly?”

  Sighing, he picked me up, scooted me over then lay down next to me. “The range of motion in my arm is still shit, my leg gets sore toward the end of the day and I get headaches now.”

  That didn’t sound good. In fact, it sounded bad. “What about emotionally?”

  He stiffened slightly. “Under control.”

  “You were different when you came home. More...intense. There was something just under the surface, but now it seems like it’s gone.”

  His clear eyes met mine. “Seeing you in a hospital bed put a lot of things in perspective.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “Is it safe for you to go back?”

  He brushed my hair off my shoulder and traced my collarbone. “I had football injuries that hurt worse and I still played.”

  Not really what I asked. “You got injured playing football?”

  He smirked. “Every player gets injured in football.” His fingers traveled down my arm in a slow caress.

  It felt so good having him touch me, I almost forgot what we were talking about. “What happened?”

  “Torn ACL was the worst. Hurt like a bitch. The broken ribs weren’t fun.” His hand moved to my stomach.

  Jesus. “Football sounds brutal.” I stared as he made a slow circle around my belly.

  “Do you want to try again?” he asked softly.

  The abrupt change of subject surprised me so my answer wasn’t immediate. “Yes.”

  “You hesitated.”

  “I was taken off guard by the question.”

  His hand stilled and he looked up at me. “I want to do it right this time.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I waited but he didn’t say anything. His eyes dropped and he resumed the slow, gentle circles. My eyes drifted shut.

  “Are you bleeding?” he asked.

  Heat flushed my face. This was the part they didn’t show in movies or tell you about in books. The doctor had said it was normal, but it still hadn’t prepared me for how much I would bleed. “Yes,” I whispered, too chickenshit to ask why he was asking.

  “A lot?”

  Embarrassed by this whole conversation, I peeked at him.

  “I want to give you a bath,” he explained.

  The corner of my mouth curved up. “You just want me naked.”

  His smile was slow and lazy. “Yeah, that too.”

  Tired, I closed my eyes again and snuggled into him.

  “So, bath?”

  I shook my head, then I felt him get off the bed a second before his lips touched my forehead.

  “I’ll get the shower ready, then. You smell like hospital.”

  I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but a shower suddenly sounded really good. “Okay.”

  I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I was being lifted and carried. He hadn’t turned on the fan, so hot steam filled the bathroom and made it feel like a rain forest.

  “I know you’re tired, but this’ll make you feel better.”

  “Okay,” I said dreamily. I didn’t care. I was in his arms and it felt good. Then he set me on my feet. “Now I’m rethinking this whole shower thing,” I complained as he tugged my shirt off and unfastened my bra, tossing them on the floor.

  He reached for my pants but I pulled back, conscious of the giant pad they’d sent me home from the hospital with.

  “Just the pants, baby.” His smile was patient as he slid down my leggings, leaving my underwear on. He stood and pulled his shirt off.

  Buck was sexy as hell shirtless—perfectly defined six-pack, ripped muscles and scars I was beginning to love because it meant he was alive. “Okay, maybe a shower isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

  “You just want me naked,” he teased as he stepped out of his pants.

  Holy wow, just, wooow. “Can you blame me?” I couldn’t stop myself. I ran a finger down his stomach, over the impossibly sexy V of his hips and touched the scar on his thigh.

  His eyes darkened and he stood stock-still but when I moved to brush my fingers over the hard length barely contained by his boxers, he caught my hand. “I’ll give you a minute to use the bathroom then I’ll wash your hair.”

  “Um.” Heat hit my face again as I realized exactly what
a shower with him right now would be like.

  Buck stepped up to me and wove his fingers through my hair. “I know you’re bleeding, it’s okay.”

  Logically I knew that if we’d had a baby, he would have seen a lot more than some blood, but this just seemed like a really intimate situation and I didn’t know whether I was ready for it.

  He smoothed his fingers across my forehead. “Why are you frowning?”

  After everything we’d been through, it seemed silly to be stressing about this but I was. “Nothing.”

  “Layna,” he warned.

  “We’ve never talked about anything like this, other than when I took the pregnancy test, and that didn’t count.” That was a shit day and obviously the stupid test had been wrong or I had taken it too early, or whatever, but still. I hadn’t been around Buck enough for this kind of stuff to come up, and it just felt weird, personal weird. I averted my eyes. “I’ve never talked about this kind of stuff. With anyone.”

  “First off, you can talk to me about anything. Second, women bleed. It’s a fact of nature and it doesn’t bother me. Under normal circumstances, if you had your period, I’d still want to be inside you. I’m giving you a moment of privacy right now for you, not me. I know you’re shy. I’m not. Understand?”

  His reassurance eased some of my hesitation, but I felt like I needed to warn him before I got in the shower with him. “My periods are really light, but...this is different—more.”

  “I know. I spoke with the doctor about it.”

  My head popped up. “You did?” That surprised the hell out of me.

  “After what happened at Talon’s, I needed to know what to expect. Neither of us have dealt with this before and I didn’t want to be caught off guard.”

  I fell in love with him all over again. “Thank you,” I breathed.

  He nodded. “Always talk to me, okay?”

  “Okay,” I whispered. Then, as if he’d commanded me to release all my fears, the words came out. “I’m worried I don’t deserve you. Sometimes I look at you and I can’t believe—” I took a sharp breath and said the rest, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

  A ghost of a smile touched his mouth and his hand fisted in my hair. He pulled me against his hard body and whispered against my lips, “Believe it.”

  “I love you.”

  “I feel it.” He kissed me, soulful and deep. His tongue overpowering mine, he took control and claimed me.

  The moan crawled out of my chest and up my throat, electrifying every nerve along the way, before Buck swallowed it and returned with a groan of his own. His hands cupped my face and he pulled back just enough to focus his stormy, hooded eyes on me. “I feel you,” he said, in a sexy-rough voice that I wanted to hear forever. Then he stepped out of the bathroom.

  I stood for a moment, holding on to the sink, trying to catch my breath. Bending to shed my underwear, I felt the twinge of pain that was both familiar and unexpected. Sucking in a breath, I took care of business then got in the shower and let the hot water wash over me.

  My face in the spray, my hands braced against the tile, strong arms wrapped around me from behind.

  I let out a surprised gasp. “I didn’t hear you.”

  Buck’s lips trailed kisses along my shoulder. “Turn, baby.”

  I was getting used to him calling me baby. Now? I couldn’t imagine not hearing it. And there was something about the dichotomy of six feet four inches of hard-muscled marine using a term of endearment that made me melt.

  “Lean your head back,” he commanded softly.

  I closed my eyes, held on to his arms and let the water fall over my head. A second later, his large hands were tangled in my hair and he was massaging shampoo into my scalp. After three days in the hospital, it felt amazing.

  His thumbs swept across my cheekbones as he rinsed my hair. “You’re so beautiful.”

  His hands moved across my face, over my shoulders and down my arms. His fingers entwined with mine and he squeezed once. My eyes closed, water running down my face, I committed every second of his caress to memory.

  When his hands swept over my hips, I moved my face out of the spray and opened my eyes. With an expression of concentration, Buck gently traced one finger over my two incisions. “Did it hurt, when it happened?”

  My mind went to Talon’s bed three days ago and grief pierced my heart. I shrugged and looked down. Bright pink water was running down my legs in a steady stream.

  Buck silently put two fingers against my thigh. The bloody water momentarily changed course and spread over him. He turned his hand and his palm filled up with the blood-tinged water.

  His forehead came to mine, and his eyes were pained and raw as he cupped my sex. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears pooled and ran down my face. I swallowed past the lump on my throat and tried to push his hand away. “I’m bleeding.”

  Holding my face, his hand still between my thighs, he brushed his lips across mine. “Don’t hide from me.”

  A sob escaped and I buried my face against his chest. “I lost her,” I cried, because in my mind, that’s all I kept seeing—my marine holding a baby girl.

  He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in tight. “I should’ve been there.”

  “This isn’t your fault.” The doctor, the nurse, they’d explained it was just something that happens, but I’d been drinking. “If it was anyone’s fault...”

  He didn’t let me get the rest of the words out. “Stop it.”

  “I was drinking,” I confessed, the burden almost too much to bear.

  He pulled back just enough to look down at me. “You know that had nothing to do with it.”

  “But—”

  “Listen to me.” Determination settled around him like a second skin. “If we’d known you were pregnant, we both would’ve done things differently, but we didn’t. We’re going to accept that and move on.”

  Staring at his resolve, pulling from his strength, some of the tightness in my chest eased. I nodded.

  “We won’t be careless again, okay?”

  “Okay,” I breathed.

  He studied me then the backs of his fingers caressed my cheek. “It’s going to be alright.”

  I couldn’t speak past the sudden swell of emotions.

  He reached around me and turned off the water. “Let’s get you dried off.”

  His hands caught my face and the intensity I’d grown to love roared back. “Mine,” he whispered fiercely.

  Then he kissed me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I picked up my hairbrush but when I reached up to my hair, I felt the now-familiar twinge in my lower abdomen.

  “Do you need help?”

  I wiped the strain off my face and smiled. “No, thank you. I got it.”

  He looked at me like he saw right through me. I half-expected him to take the brush out of my hand and do it for me. The Buck I’d met that first night, the one who’d tossed my apartment, that Buck would have. But tonight, he wasn’t that Buck. In fact, I’d been seeing a different side of him since the hospital.

  He kissed my shoulder. “I’ll be in the bedroom.” His eyes met mine in the mirror. “Call if you need me.”

  I watched the strong, graceful lines of his back and the bunch and pull of his muscles as he disappeared into the bedroom without a whisper of sound. I dragged the brush through my wet hair and twisted it into a knot so it would have some wave to it when it dried. Purposely not looking at my two incisions, I pulled on a tank top and leggings and headed into the bedroom. Buck was lying on the bed, barefoot but dressed, with dark circles under his eyes.

  “You’re tired.” He’d barely slept at the hospital. Every time I opened my eyes, he’d been watching me. A pang of guilt settled in.

  �
��Come here,” he said, low and husky.

  Slow, careful, I crawled to him.

  He tucked my back into his chest and buried his face in my neck as his fingers skimmed my thigh. “Close your eyes.”

  “I don’t want to sleep.” I wanted every minute with him I could get.

  “I know, baby. Just close your eyes and we’ll catch a nap together.” He gently wrapped an arm around me. “Are you hurting?”

  “Just a little sore.” But there was no way I was going to take one of the pain pills and drift off for hours.

  He kissed my hair. “I don’t want you driving for a couple of weeks and no running or swimming. Doc said four weeks.”

  He would be gone in a day. I’d have to get around somehow, but I was too tired to argue the point. “Okay.”

  He stilled. “Shit.”

  I tensed. “What?”

  “You’re lying.”

  For some reason, I smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re going to drive the second I leave, and I bet ten grand you’re swimming by the end of the week.”

  He was right. “You think you know me that well?”

  “I know everything about you.”

  I turned and looked up at him. “Bullshit.”

  Buck stared at me with a blank expression for two heartbeats. “You have a birthmark on your left shoulder blade and a faint one on your right hip. Your left arm is scarred from a jacketed hollow point, and now you have two more scars to add to the mix on your left abdomen. You hate mornings and you run and swim every day to keep the demons at bay. When that doesn’t work, you watch cable and if that doesn’t work, you reach for the tequila. You can walk in five-inch heels like a model but you prefer to be barefoot. You’d run barefoot if you could. You miss your mom every day but you’re still pissed at your dad. When you’re nervous, you start talking. When you’re really nervous, you wring your hands. When you’re sad, you wear your mom’s jewelry. When you’re mad at me, you stare me down, but when you’re really pissed, you won’t even look at me. You think chocolate is a food group and you like Mexican above all other cuisines. You’re five-four and you were a hundred and twenty pounds when I first met you but now you’re a buck ten soaking wet with all your clothes on.” He glanced down at me. “You need to eat more.” Then he looked at the ceiling again. “You’re gorgeous when you’re all dolled up but you’re stunning when you first get out of the shower or the pool with your hair all wet and no makeup on. Your smile is a sight to behold and not quite as rare as when I first met you. You use sarcasm as a defense. You’re smart as hell. I’m not talking book smart, I’m talking naturally smart, instinctual, perceptive, practical—it’s rare. It’s why you were able to completely compartmentalize Miami and move past him. I know you still look over your shoulder every other second but with time, that’ll ease.” He inhaled but he wasn’t finished.