A Lovely Shade of Ouch [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations)

by Tymber Dalton

  After the surgery, the doctor told her to expect to be out of work a minimum of four weeks, more likely six to eight weeks. Even then, when she returned to work, she’d be on restricted hours again for several more weeks.

  Meaning even more of a hit to her wallet. Hits she couldn’t afford right now. Not with her boyfriend, Tom, unable to find another decent job in the area after the local hardware store chain he’d worked for had sold out to a national chain. He’d been half of their in-house IT department, which was phased out and taken over by the new, larger corporate owner.

  Laid off, no one in the area wanted to touch the previous salary he’d made, and his unemployment was close to running out. At least her job as a senior operations research analyst was secure. The firm she worked for had steadily grown over the eleven years she’d been there, with a bright future on the horizon. She managed ten people on two different teams. That was in addition to handling a couple of accounts personally, clients who’d started with her and had requested she remain in charge of their ongoing projects following her promotions.

  Deep breaths, Abbey. Deep breaths.

  They were renting the house they lived in. Technically, it was Tom’s house, because she’d moved in with him four years earlier and had given up her apartment. Her car was paid for. She had practically no credit card debt.

  Yet.

  She pulled herself together and winced as she moved her seat forward a little to make it easier to drive. She could have asked Tom to bring her, but he’d been going out on another round of interviews today and she didn’t want to do anything to ruin that for him.

  Maybe I should have gotten the script for painkillers filled.

  She’d been getting by on over-the-counter painkillers, a heating pad, homeopathic salves, and her TENS unit. The TENS unit had never been used for nonkinky play before her back injury.

  Now, it proved a godsend. The pain relief it gave her, while temporary, was better than anything else.

  She’d had a bad reaction to painkillers in college, when she’d needed a root canal after a tooth abscessed. Since then, she’d sworn never to take them again.

  The pain she’d experienced since her fall had nearly been enough to make her rethink her pledge about painkillers, but not quite. Even though she was used to doling out pain, not experiencing it, she was tough. She’d had her fair share of canings and paddlings over the years until she realized she was a Dominant, not a bottom.

  Tom had been sympathetic and doing his best to take up the slack around the house, but she felt badly that she hadn’t had the energy or the desire to play with him at all since her fall. The last thing she’d felt was sexy or dominant.

  There were times it’d been all she could do to not burst into tears in front of him.

  Carefully, she made her way home, taking a moment in the driveway before pulling herself out of the car.

  I’m forty-one and I feel like I’m eighty-one.

  Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yes, Tom’s unexpected career derailment had proven to be a bump in the road, but shit happened. She still had her job, a good job, and she had faith he’d find something else. Things had been going fairly well between them even though their sex life had dwindled. She attributed it to the stress he felt over his job loss. Understandable.

  And then her stupid accident.

  They’d never talked marriage. When they first got together, Tom was recovering from a wicked divorce from a woman who’d cheated on him and driven him into credit card debt behind his back.

  Abbey had decided long ago she wasn’t exactly the marrying kind. Not that she had anything against it in theory, but between her parents’ nasty divorce, and her brother and sister both going through nasty divorces, she decided it was easier not to have that entanglement.

  In the almost five years she’d been with Tom, counting the time before they moved in together, the topic of marriage had never come up beyond her telling him she didn’t want that, and him agreeing. They didn’t even have a joint bank account.

  She slowly walked into the house, setting her purse on the table in the front hall, and then made her way out onto the lanai.

  “Hey, George.” Carefully lowering herself into a chair on the screened-in lanai, she stared at the large enclosure for her Russian tortoise. “How was your day, buddy?”

  He’d completely muddied his water dish, but she wasn’t sure if she could bend down to pick it up right then. Sometimes she could, and sometimes she had to have Tom do it. Since this was Sarasota, George could live in his lanai enclosure most of the year. Four feet wide and eight feet long, it was made from two-by-eight planks, two planks high, with mesh weed-barrier fabric stapled to the bottom of it so the dirt—and George—couldn’t get out. Also, rainwater could drain out. It was positioned half under the roof’s overhang so there was shelter and shade from the sun, in addition to his cozy tortoise house. She’d planted sod, as well as tortoise-safe plants, inside the enclosure for him to graze on.

  She also had a small plastic kiddie pool she used for him as an inside enclosure when it was too chilly or otherwise inclement for him to be outside.

  George—named for her crush on George Clooney when she was in college—was twenty-one years old, and probably the closest thing she’d ever have to a baby.

  Well, scratch that, George was her baby. Her college roommate had been allergic to dogs and cats, and Abbey had wanted a pet. A friend told her about another friend, whose parents raised tortoises and turtles…

  And she’d fallen in love with the little hatchling.

  Now he was about ten inches long, as large as he’d ever get.

  Tom hadn’t been too thrilled with George, but had agreed with little complaint. He’d even helped her put together the enclosure, something she’d not been able to do for George before with apartment living. He’d spent his days in his kiddie pool on her screened balcony while she was at work, and she let him roam the apartment in the evening when she returned home.

  George had lifted his head when he heard her speak to him and was now slowly shambling toward where she sat at the shaded end of the enclosure.

  “You’re kind of walking the way I’m feeling,” she joked. “Just shuffling along, sort of slow.”

  The tortoise made his way to the corner closest to her, craning his neck as he looked up expectantly.

  “Oh, dang it. Sorry, buddy. Hold on.” Wincing, she pushed up and out of the chair and went inside to the fridge, pulling out a few pieces of baby romaine lettuce. His enclosure had enough established plants in it that she didn’t have to supplement his food during the summer months.

  But every tortoise loves their treats, and in her pain, and her self-pity over finding out about needing surgery, she’d forgotten their daily ritual.

  She returned to the lanai, pulled the chair over to the side of the enclosure, and heavily sat again. “Okay, buddy. Here you go.” She ripped off small pieces of romaine and held them out for George to nibble on.

  George was always a calming influence on her, very Zen. Whenever she felt stressed, or overwhelmed, or frantic, all she had to do was spend some time contemplating the little guy’s peaceful existence.

  Which was something few people knew about her.

  I’m the Tortoise Talker.

  She chuckled a little at that thought. “I guess you and I will be spending some quality time together after my surgery.”

  Inside the house, she heard the front door open and close. She hadn’t been paying attention, had missed the sound of Tom’s car pulling into the driveway out front. When she saw him round the corner, she waved to him through the sliders.

  He stepped outside to join her.

  From the look on his face, she could tell things hadn’t gone well. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he pulled another chair over to where she sat feeding George. “His water’s muddy.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but can you please—”

>   “Yeah.” He stood, reached into the enclosure, grabbed the large terra cotta plant dish, and carried it outside to the spigot. There he rinsed it out, refilled it, and brought it back, replacing it in the enclosure.

  “Thank you,” she quietly said.

  “Yeah. No problem.” He wouldn’t make eye contact with her as he returned to the other chair.

  Something deep inside her twisted in a bad way.

  Worse, she didn’t know what to say to break the tension.

  She handed George another piece of romaine.

  Tom finally took a deep breath. “What’d the doctor say?”

  She felt bad about saddling Tom with this, too. “Surgery. The MRIs were pretty conclusive.”

  “But workman’s comp pays all that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He slowly nodded. “Okay. That’s good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long will you be laid up after?”

  “Depends on how I heal. Anywhere from four to eight weeks.”

  “Is it scheduled yet?”

  She handed George another piece of lettuce. That twisting sensation deep inside her was about to snap her nerves clean off. Tom seemed to be building up to something but she wasn’t sure what.

  “They’re going to call me. The woman who sets up his surgical schedule was out today. Probably at least three weeks or so before they do it. He wasn’t sure.”

  Tom still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Yeah.”

  After a couple of minutes, just when she thought she’d have to outright ask him what was going on, he spoke again. “Do you want the good news, or the bad news?”

  Despite the heat of the day, a chill settled inside her. “You pick.” She kept her focus on George, unable to look at Tom.

  “Ab, there’s no way to say this other than to say it. This isn’t working out for me. I was hoping to stick around until after you were back on your feet, but I got a job offer today. It’s out in Dallas.”

  The chill turned into a full-blown blizzard as she sensed her emotions getting just as lost in the white-out. “Okay?”

  “I already called the landlord, told him what’s up. He said he’d let me out of the lease early.”

  She didn’t answer. She wanted him to get all the way through it. She’d hoped this wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, but her common sense told her otherwise.

  Ever since her accident, she’d felt Tom pulling away from her. Maybe even before that, but especially since. She’d offered to help him get off in bed despite her own lack of desire due to her pain. He’d rebuffed her efforts, their intimacy dropping to nil as he rolled over with his back to her every night after coming to bed late.

  She hadn’t snooped, thought it beneath her.

  Still, inside, she’d suspected.

  Things had changed ever since her accident, and it wasn’t just because she could barely function through her vanilla life. Their kinky life was totally nonexistent at this point even though he had hinted at playing a couple of times despite refusing sex.

  “I’m going to fly out on Monday to go through training and stuff and find a place to live. I’ll be back next Friday night.”

  George was being a little piggy with his lettuce today. She ripped off another small piece and handed it to him.

  “I’m going to need you to move out, Abbey. I know you can’t afford to live here by yourself. Unless you get a roommate or something, and if you want to do that, then let me know and we’ll go transfer the lease into your name with the landlord and handle the utilities and stuff.”

  “Who is she?” Abbey didn’t realize she’d actually whispered the words out loud until she finally looked at Tom again and saw his shock. Like she’d slapped him.

  That he didn’t immediately deny it told her all she needed to know. She wasn’t going to interrogate him if he wouldn’t answer, but he surprised her again and volunteered the details.

  “You don’t know her. I met her on FetLife. She lives out there. I haven’t met her in real life yet, don’t even know if there will be anything between us. But I was looking through job listings and stuff out there while she and I were messaging back and forth. I applied to a couple of places and a recruiter called me. I did a Skype interview with their HR department the other day and they made me an offer today. The starting salary is only five thousand less than what I was making, full benefits, retirement plan, every—”

  “How long until I have to be out?” she quietly asked, hating that this had been going on for a while and she’d been so out of it she hadn’t even been able to pick up on it.

  “Look, yes, I love you, and I’m sorry as hell to have to do this to you, but I can’t handle this. I thought I could, and maybe it makes me a shit to bail, but I need to do what’s best for me. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I’ll always love and care about you, but it’s time for me to move on.”

  “You’re right.” She returned her focus to George. It stung more that he said he loved her. She would have preferred it if he’d told her he’d fallen out of love with her. Would have made the news easier to take.

  “As soon as you find a place, I’ll help you move,” he quickly continued. “I’ll do all the packing for you. I’ll pay for a truck, everything. I know I owe you that much. It’s just that between the job situation, and now your health, you know as well as I do that part of your life is over. I need a strong Dominant. It’s not your fault and I’m not blaming you, but people change. You’ve changed, and you’re not the person I need. I need to start over. If Dallas is where I need to do it, okay, then that’s where I’ll do it. Life is short. Damn short.”

  “Yeah.”

  Thank god I’m not married to him.

  That irony slammed home hard, nearly starting her tears.

  She dug the nails of her right hand into her palm, trying to shut off the waterworks. No way in hell would she do that, cry in front of him.

  Nope.

  No way she’d give him the satisfaction.

  He’d never once mentioned job hunting outside of Florida. Sure, they’d discussed what might have to happen if he found a good-paying job, say over on the east coast, or south in Naples or something.

  But not out of state.

  She couldn’t, wouldn’t uproot herself. She had too many years invested in her job, had too many friends here. Even her family, as whacked-out and dysfunctional as they were, had remained tethered to the Sarasota area.

  “Do I need to get tested?” she asked.

  “No, I swear, I haven’t slept with anyone but you since we’ve been together. And I don’t know if it’ll work out with her, anyway. We haven’t even met yet. I never cheated on you.”

  It took every last ounce of willpower for her not to laugh in his face. He hadn’t cheated on her?

  Suuure.

  Cheating took many forms, not just physical.

  That he didn’t understand that basic principle drove home how incompatible they were.

  Maybe this is for the best, before I wasted more time with him.

  “Okay,” she quietly said.

  He finally went inside. After she finished feeding George his treat, she regretted she couldn’t get down on her hands and knees to play with him, to tidy up his enclosure, to lay eye-to-eye with him on the ground while she stroked his head with her finger, something he loved when she did it.

  It took her a good twenty minutes or so to finally be sure she wouldn’t break down into tears. Then she slowly stood and went into the kitchen to wash her hands. Without knowing exactly where she was going to go, she made her way to the foyer, grabbed her purse and her keys, and left the house.

  Chapter Three

  John unlocked his front door, switched off the alarm, and went inside. Locking the door behind him, he resisted the urge to go straight to the fridge and pull out a bottle of beer.

  He hadn’t yet decided how to handle Nancy. He’d called her again before leaving work early. Her eldest son, Paul, had answered th
e phone and assured John he was welcome to come over if he wanted to. But upon pressing a little further, John also found out she had a house full of people at that time.

  Personally, he didn’t want to intrude.

  And he wasn’t sure how to handle his grief around a bunch of people he didn’t know.

  Isn’t that why I became a freak to begin with?

  Okay, no, not a freak. But it didn’t take a psychiatrist to tell him that his masochism stemmed from his childhood trauma, of being unable to process and openly express emotions in a safe place at a time when he most needed to.

  Yet if pressed, he also wouldn’t call himself broken. People had dealt with worse than he had and come out even better than him. All things considered, he was a well-adjusted, successful, self-supporting, financially stable person.

  That he liked to get the crap beaten out of him to help get rid of emotions he didn’t want to deal with was a nontraditional coping mechanism, sure, but it worked even if he sometimes wished he didn’t need it.

  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, I guess.

  If he didn’t go visit her today, he’d likely feel guilty as hell over it. And if she did want him there, he’d feel even guiltier about it in retrospect.

  Guilt…or grief?

  It was a tough call to make, but he finally settled on grief. He changed out of his work clothes into jeans and a button up shirt and headed out again.

  On the way, he stopped at a Publix to pick up a condolence card and a sandwich platter. He didn’t know if they’d need the food or not, but at least it was something.

  As he passed one aisle, he stopped. Turning, he went down it and scooped six boxes of tissues into his cart.

  They would definitely need those. After a little more thought, he picked up plastic cups, paper plates, and paper towels. And a package of garbage bags. With the inundation of visitors, it’d be easier on them to not have to wash dishes every time they turned around. Large numbers of people always meant large numbers of trash.