by Bijou Hunter
“I’m too old to live at home.”
“Not really.”
“You moved out.”
“To the driveway,” I mumble, missing my RV.
“You wanted privacy.”
“No, I wanted a trailer after seeing a woman living in one on ‘House Hunters.’ I don’t care about privacy. I like living near Mom and Pop. If they let me, I’ll build my yurt next to their house.”
“Well, then I need privacy.”
“For what?”
“I’m almost twenty-seven. I should be able to walk around the house naked if I want.”
“But do you want that?”
“Sure,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
“Why?”
“I just want it.”
Studying her face, I narrow my eyes. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You want privacy for another reason. Are you on drugs?” I ask, studying her eyes. “I notice how you’re always talking about pills.”
“I work in the pharmacy,” Lily says, giving me one of her “I don’t approve of you young people” looks.
“Is that how you got hooked?”
“The only things we ever fill are prescriptions for diabetes, cholesterol, and birth control.”
I sense her voice rise ever so slightly with the last two words. “Oh, so, it’s a man.”
Lily waves off my question while refusing to look me in the eyes. She reaches for the door and flat-out lies, “I think I hear someone in the room. I’ll check.”
“What if it’s a killer?”
More terrified of my questions regarding her secret lover than a possible killer, Lily bails on me. The bathroom door closes behind her, and I realize I’m stuck on the toilet.
I lean my head back and think about Quaid. His scruffy beard tickled my throat when we kissed at the river. I imagine the feel of it against my stomach and then my thighs. Pain medication always makes me especially frisky. She-bopping will have to wait, though, because I eventually hear Quaid talking to Lily.
“MJ, I’m back,” Quaid says through the door.
The sound of his voice makes my heart beat faster, and I instantly smile. Quaid left only an hour ago, but his absence dragged my mood into the crapper. Only tormenting Lily provided me any relief. Now he’s back, and I can’t wait to return to his arms.
I open the door to find Quaid waiting for me. His gaze feasts on my face, and I get the incredible urge to rip off my gown. I need his hands on my tender flesh and his smiling lips on mine. Hot friction with this man is my only goal in life.
Our afternoon delight gets a shot of reality from my grumpy father, pregnant little sister, and her giant man.
Drawn to Audrey’s baby bump, I make the mistake of lifting my injured arm. The shock of pain sends my head spinning. I feel the bullet tear through my flesh again. The bright, cold hospital room turns dark and humid like the woods, leaving me unable to breathe. My heart beats so fast I nearly scream to make it stop.
“Why is it so hot?” I ask in a voice that doesn’t belong to me.
My ears ring, feeling full of water like after I swim too long. Glancing around frantically, I no longer know where I am.
“You’re having a panic attack,” Quaid says and sweeps me off my feet. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
“It’s too hot,” I whimper, hoping he’ll understand the world’s gone mad. “I don’t want to be here. I need to go home.”
Quaid rests me on the bed. I study his face, desperate for the safety in his blue eyes. My vision shrinks to a pinprick, though, and he feels so far away. The voices around me echo, making no sense.
“Why is Mom not here?” I ask, choking on my shallow breathing.
“I’ll call her!” Lily screams somewhere far off.
Why is she yelling? Where is Pop? Did Quaid leave me? Am I back in the woods? Did I die without realizing it? Is this Hell?
A powerful hand presses against the center of my chest, and Quaid’s gruff voice tells me to breathe in through my nose. Then he says to breathe out through my mouth. I can’t concentrate on such complicated instructions. Instead, I grab his hand with both of mine, sending pain through my arm and throwing me deeper down the rabbit hole.
The tears on my cheeks burn as blazing hot as the summer heat. “I can’t do this,” I mumble, seeing the outline of Quaid’s face through my fog of panic.
“It sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?” he whispers in my ear. I hear him speak again, but his words now sound farther away. “She won’t be able to calm down on her own. The doctor needs to give her something.”
“What if he shot me in the face?” I ask, gripping Quaid’s hand. “My arm hurts so much. How much would my face hurt? Or my stomach with all the gross parts falling out?”
“MJ,” Lily says from somewhere in the darkness. “Talk to Mom.”
“Rando, can you hear me,” a tiny voice asks from the darkness.
“I want to go home, Mom.”
“I promise we’ll bring you home in the morning, baby.”
“I need you to be here when I get dressed,” I cry. “I can’t dress myself. I didn’t shoot the man fast enough, and my arm hurts like it’ll fall off.”
“I’ll be there to help you.”
“And you’ll make fried chicken for dinner too, right? Then I’ll sit next to you and Pop, and it’ll be like normal.”
“We’ll watch ‘Sixteen Candles’ and make fun of your brother by calling him Farmer Ted.”
I think I smile, but I’m so scared that my chest aches. Quaid whispers in my ear, reminding me to breathe. Inhaling, I try to regain control. Quaid promises I’ll be okay if I stay here with him.
Sensing movement, I hear an unfamiliar voice. Quaid tells me to ignore the others.
“They don’t understand the fear,” he whispers. “They don’t know how the pain hides everything else. You’ll be okay in a few minutes. Keep breathing and listening to my voice. Do you hear me?”
Despite wanting to believe him, I feel as if I’ll faint. I still mumble, “yes” for Quaid. I trust him to help me. He once got hurt so badly that he left the Army. He was alone back then, but I’m not alone now. I have Quaid. I hear Pop’s voice somewhere, and Mom’s tiny voice from the phone.
“I shouldn’t have been on the road,” I tell Quaid. “I was stupid. I failed. I let him hurt me, and I didn’t hurt him back. I fucked up so much, and I’m going to die now.”
“No,” he says in the calmest voice. “The doctor is giving you medicine. It’ll flow through the IV into your body and through your veins. Soon the pain and fear will disappear. You’re going to feel better, and you’ll go home tomorrow and eat fried chicken.”
Maybe I smile at his words. I feel detached from my body. I’m lost, and only Quaid’s hand resting on my chest keeps me from disappearing altogether.
Though the next few minutes are a blur, I finally focus on Pop’s voice. He’s on the opposite side of the bed as Quaid. Struggling against the panic, I notice my breathing slow a little. And then a little more. The pinpoint of light widens into a round ball until I see everyone in the room including an unfamiliar doctor talking to a nurse by the bathroom.
“Pop,” I say and scan for his face. Finding him watching me grimly, I ask, “Can I build my yurt next to your house?”
“What’s a yurt?”
“You remember the house I showed you.”
“Like the teepee?”
Smiling slightly, I sense he’s messing with me. “No, that’s a triangle shape. A yurt is a circle.”
“I’ve never been good with my shapes.”
Mom laughs nervously on the phone, and I turn my gaze to Quaid. Unlike the other faces in the room, his expression remains tranquil. I wish I could swim in the calm of his blue eyes.
“Are you feeling a little better?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
“Did the pain trigger your panic?”
“I felt like I was back in the woods,” I mumble and begin to cry. “It was different this time. I was going to die there, and I fucked up so much.”
Pop can’t let Quaid comfort me any longer. He needs to stop my crying or else the world will know he failed as a father. Tugging me against him, he rests my head on his chest. His heart beats too fast, and I think he might be grinding his teeth. I flash my gaze to Quaid and smile slightly through my tears.
Despite my father’s reassuring embrace, I wish Quaid was the one holding me. He never panicked when I did. While I cry, he watches me with a calm expression. I trust him right now more than I’ve ever trusted anyone ever. My parents had no choice but to love me. Even if they hated me, they’d give me everything they could because they can’t help themselves. Quaid has a choice to be here. No one would blame him for wanting to step back during this stressful time. After all, he and I are basically strangers. What kind of man wants to put up with all this drama?
Quaid won’t walk away, though. I know he won’t even without him saying a word. When his clear blue eyes stare into the darkness where I’m treading water, he refuses to flinch. No matter what else happens between us for the rest of our lives, I will be forever grateful for him keeping me from drowning in a terror I never saw coming.
THE OUTSIDER
For nearly twenty-four hours, MJ reacted way too fucking casually about a man trying to kill her. A sneaky suspicion told me that her smiles and jokes would eventually fall away, leaving her with only the panic and fear of nearly dying.
As she cries with her face pressed against her father’s chest, I hold her gaze. She might cling to him, but she only sees me. We stare at each other for so long that I nearly forget other people are in the room. Then I overhear the doctor bitching how he warned the patient about lowering her pain medication.
“Some people just need to learn the hard way,” he whispers so loudly I assume he wants to be heard.
Cooper doesn’t react to the man’s words, likely unable to hear them over MJ’s quiet crying and his wife’s soothing humming on the phone. Before I can make a move, Cap steps closer to the doctor and nurse. His size startles them, and they both step back instinctively.
“Sorry. I didn’t catch that,” he says as his six-foot-five-plus size shadows them. “Did you say something?”
The smug doctor nearly pisses himself in horror when gawking at the giant. I imagine Cap using his massive fists to pound the doctor through the floor. Of course, that doesn’t happen. The arrogant son of a bitch—who works in a small Kentucky hospital, so I’m guessing he wasn’t at the head of his class—sputters something about having rounds, and then he hurries out of the room. The nurse hightails it too.
Audrey gives her man an appreciative smile, but her dark eyes—so similar to her mother’s and sisters’—remain worried.
“Did I do something wrong?” Audrey finally asks.
“No,” I answer when no one else does. “The pain triggered it, not you. After a traumatic event, a person is bound to have flashbacks and panic attacks.”
“So she needs therapy?”
I cock an eyebrow, curious by their shock at her reaction. Like MJ, they viewed the shooting as an annoyance rather than a long-term injury.
“She’ll feel better when she’s home,” I lie, having no idea how she’ll react when she’s back at home. Will she spiral again when her body doesn’t do what she expects?
Sitting up, MJ exhales in a loud, dramatic, and slightly animalistic manner. “I don’t want everyone staring at me. Go away and don’t come back.”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” her father says instantly.
“Pop, go home and take care of Mom. Lily go home and take care of Pop. Audrey, go to Mom and Pop’s home and take care of your belly. Giant man, go somewhere and do something. Quaid, stay with me.”
“No,” Cooper says instantly.
MJ’s blank expression never wavers. “Tomorrow, I need Pop and Mom to come here and get me. If they’re not here, I will use my fork from breakfast to take hostages. Probably two of them. Possibly more. If there’s a problem, Quaid will help me grab a few more.”
Clearly losing track of what her point might be, MJ just stops talking and wiggles free from her father’s embrace. She rests on her back and stares at me with her glossy eyes. When I give her a smile, she mimics it.
Cooper doesn’t like having someone boss him around even if it’s his daughter. MJ never reacts to his attempts to rekindle a conversation. She stares at me and then looks at her IV and then closes her eyes for about five minutes before opening them and staring at me again.
I don’t acknowledge the older man’s anger or the Johansson sisters’ uncertainty. The giant man is the only one not wearing a frown. He nudges his wife toward the door, and Audrey reaches for Lily. Then it’s me, Cooper, and a dozing MJ.
“I don’t like this,” Cooper grumbles.
“Someone nearly killed your daughter. So, no, you shouldn’t like this. After tonight, she’ll be back where you can keep an eye on her.”
Cooper glares at me because I’m the only one in the room to hate. I know he isn’t angry as much as scared. Watching MJ cry isn’t something I can stomach easily, and I view her as an adult woman rather than a little girl.
“If she so much as farts too much, you will call me.”
“What?” I ask, frowning at his example. “So if she has gas, you want me to call?”
“I want to know if she is in pain or unhappy or scared or anything. Do you understand, asshole?”
“Gotcha, boss.”
Cooper gives me a comically evil glare, and I’m proud of myself for not laughing. As soon as he leaves the room, I stand and do a little jig. “We’re finally alone again,” I tell a dozing MJ who opens her eyes long enough to call me “Blanche.”
Once she returns to dozing, I sit back down and get comfortable. The TV only has twenty channels, and half are from the hospital, but I find something to watch. Kicking off my shoes, I rest my feet on the bed. My gun remains snug against the small of my back as a constant reminder of how I’ll kill any threat. I have no idea if Dylan is still keeping watch or if someone else took over. I don’t particularly care. I’m locked and loaded if anyone’s stupid enough to mess with a now very relaxed MJ.
An hour later when the nurse enters the room to check on her vitals and get our lunch orders, I’m struck by the oddest sensation. Fuck, if I don’t feel at home in this sterile environment lacking any hope of privacy.
But of course, I do. Wherever MJ rests her head is where I belong. If we were at a hotel or her RV or my tent, I’d feel at home as long as she’s at my side. When she needed me earlier, I knew what to do. When she needs someone to keep watch so she can lower her guard, I’m her guy. When the time comes to wake her to eat, I own the voice she hears.
MJ is my responsibility now. If she’s happy, I’ve done my job. If she’s miserable, I need to figure shit out. This job fits me in a way none has before.
THE ODDBALL
Iwake up with the sensation that someone painted over the world with a thin veneer. Everything looks almost the same, yet a little off-kilter. Next to the bed, Quaid sits in a chair with his feet up. His arms are linked behind his head, and he stares casually bored at the TV set on the wall.
Watching him for the longest time, I admire the man who came looking for the girl who fed geese potato salad. Even from such a simple beginning, he understood we could be something special. I’d been blind to him and the very possibility of finding a man worth letting into my life. And what a man he is.
“I’m unsure I’d want you so much if it weren’t for your wavy hair and blue eyes,” I tell Quaid. “Does that make my feelings shallow?”
Anyone else might be startled to hear a voice after so long in silence, but Quaid only glances slightly in my direction and smirks. “My charms would be lost on most women.”
“Since I have good taste, I get to keep you?”
&
nbsp; “Seems that way.”
“Most men don’t appreciate my charms,” I mumble while carefully stretching in bed.
“Oh, they notice the outside stuff. It’s all your quirky inner goodness that fucks them up.”
“I’ve been feeling especially randy today. Is that normal after an injury?”
“Randy?” he asks. When I wiggle my brows at him, he smiles. “No, I wouldn’t think that’s normal, but it could be the meds.”
“I want you to do things to me.”
“Of course, you do,” he says, turning his gaze to the TV and smiling wider. “And I will when we don’t have to worry about an audience.”
“Shove the bed against the door and satisfy my needs.”
“I’d take you more seriously if you weren’t yawning when you said that.”
“I’m sorry. They drugged me up.”
Quaid stops pretending to care about the TV and gives me a slight frown. “And good thing too. You got off the pain meds too quickly. When did you make that decision anyway?”
“While you were sleeping,” I say, unimpressed with his down vote on my medical choice. “I didn’t like the fuzz in my head.”
“You underestimated how much pain you’d be in.”
“No,” I say, glaring at him.
“You need to heal the right way, so your arm doesn’t give you trouble for the rest of your life.”
“No.”
“I rushed myself too,” he says, changing the channel. “I thought I was indestructible. It was quite a fucking shock to learn I bleed and break like everyone else.”
“How long did it take for you to heal?”
“Physically, six months before I could move without feeling a pinch of pain from my side. Mentally, I took a lot longer. It’s one reason I didn’t have a taste for working as a military contractor. They put us in some shady fucking situations, and I didn’t want to die for a paycheck. In the Army, I had a purpose, and I never feared dying. I still don’t fear dying, but I do fear pain. Not even the actual pain as much as the weakness that comes from being in pain.”
