Screw It Page 10

  My gut pulls together tight. It kills me to see her like this.

  “Jesus, Becca.” I walk over and pull her hair back. Half of it is wet, and some of it has vomit.

  “Dead,” she whispers, the sound echoing in the porcelain.

  My eyebrows pull together. Her back moves as she heaves again.

  “Fuck, sweetheart.” I rub her back with my other hand. “You sick?”

  “Dead.” Her voice is only just audible.

  “What, baby?” I keep my voice as soft as possible.

  “Dead.” She sits back on her heels, and she does it so fast that I let go of her hair. Nearly as swiftly, she scuttles backward until her back hits the tub. “Dead.”

  The adrenaline surges back from seeing my fiery, sweet, funny, tough-as-nails Becca trembling and white as a fucking ghost, her eyes unfocused with tears streaming down her face.

  PTSD.

  “Jesus.” I crawl up in front of her, thanking everything that is holy that she doesn’t resist when I cradle her into my arms. Thinking on the other side of that coin, I wish she were spitting, fighting, arguing, reaming my ass out.

  “Sweetheart,” I whisper, my voice broken up, as I rub circles on her back. “Shh…I got you.”

  “Dead.”

  Christ.

  I don’t feel alone with you.

  Fuck.

  “Dead.”

  The flash of pain on her face when I told her to call somebody showed clear as day that she has nobody to call.

  Pieces are fitting together. My Becca knows loss, and it’s killing her.

  Did she have this pain in her before? Did I spark this relapse? Did Brian? Did something else?

  I don’t know her well enough to know, and not having the answers strikes deep.

  Who did she lose?

  It tears me up inside that I never even asked about her family.

  Does she work so much, so she doesn’t think about it? Is that why it took so much effort to get in there before?

  Dead, she mouths the word, her tremors not as violent, her body softening, her eyes drifting shut.

  “Who’s dead, sweetheart?”

  She says nothing, her body growing softer, giving me more of her weight until there’s nothing left to give. When she’s asleep, I let out air, my shoulders relaxing. With my throat tight, I let my eyes rake over her face. There’s snot everywhere, puke all over the place, tear tracks making a path down her cheeks.

  She’s a fucking beautiful mess.

  I take my time laying her on the bathroom floor, and I head out into the living room to secure the front door. It ticks me off that a unit hasn’t been called. There was a terrified shriek and a loud bang when I kicked in her door. It speaks volumes about her neighbors and the area she lives in. The fastest and easiest solution to the busted door is pushing her dresser in front of it. Careful to keep the noise low, I move her furniture to make the place somewhat safe.

  I head back into the bathroom where Becca’s still out. I go in search of a washcloth. Finding one in the cabinet, I wet it down and then move to her. I start on drying the slime in her hair. It takes a while, but I get the red strands separated and wiped down.

  Before I clean her face, I take her in again. Tightening my lips, I shake my head. This is a woman who cooks great food, is the opposite of lazy, likes fucking all the time, and is girl-next-door smoking hot. I didn’t just let her go. I walked the fuck out.

  The second the cloth hits her face, her eyes drift open. After her initial jerk of surprise, her face blanks, but she still sees me. I’m guessing she’s not happy with sitting in my arms and having me look after her, but her expression gives nothing away. I don’t know when I’m gonna get angry, pissed off Becca again, but I figure I should handle her with a clean face. Halfway through cleaning the tears, puke, and snot off her face, her face crinkles, and she bursts into tears.

  “Sweetheart.”

  She grabs my tee and shoves her face in my chest, and she motherfucking wails. It’s tearing me up, eating me, gutting me.

  “Baby.”

  She sobs for a long time, and I hold her close. My eyes ache, and I’m light-headed with exhaustion, but I cradle her as she cries. It means the fucking world that she’s giving me her pain. And I absorb up her grief, letting it flow into me.

  When her sobs turn to whimpers, I carry her to her bed. Early dawn light is already seeping in from behind the shades. After I lay her down, she rolls over immediately, giving me her back. I pull up the blanket and tuck it over her shoulder.

  By the time I turn off the lights, she’s out—or at least, she appears to be. Looking at the couch and then the spot beside her in bed, I weigh my options—give her comfort or give her space. Knowing she’ll put enough space between us in the morning, I tuck in behind her, fully clothed. As gently as I can, I curl her into me, offering her comfort in sleep.

  But tomorrow, we’re talking.

  Stubborn

  When I open my eyes, they’re hot and swollen, but they’re also aimed at a gray shirt. Inside that gray shirt is a hard chest and abs. I know they’re solid because my cheek is pressed against his chest, and my arm is slung across his abs.

  What the heck?

  The memories slam into my head like they’ve been blasted with a fire hose—my horrific nightmare, my frantic dash to the bathroom, puking my guts out, and then…nothing. Now, I’m awake, safe and cocooned, in Zach’s arms. Never in my entire life, have I had a person take care of me like that—so gentle, so comforting. Not once has anyone seen that ugliness so raw and unshielded.

  Oh. My. God.

  Mortification, hot and heavy, fills every cell of my body, starting in my heart and radiating out.

  The second I tense for flight, Zach’s arm clamps down on me. “Sweets.”

  My eyes stay glued to his chest, but my pulse quickens. “Let me up.”

  “We gotta talk.” He gives me a reassuring squeeze.

  “Let me up.” My voice is flat despite my heart tripping over itself.

  He hesitates. “I promise, I’ll let you up if you promise to talk before we leave your apartment.”

  I’m having trouble controlling my heart rate and sweaty palms, so I stay silent.

  “Promise, Becca.” Zach’s voice holds a determined edge.

  “No. Let me up.” My body is so tight that it’s a wonder I don’t shatter.

  “Becca—”

  “Let. Me. Up!” I shove against his chest, but he grips me close. My ears ring, and my eyes sting.

  “My brother was shot.”

  I freeze and then glance up at him, thinking this isn’t the direction I expected our conversation to go. “What?”

  He closes his eyes, pulls in a breath, and slowly lets it out as his eyes drift back open. “My brother was shot.”

  I search his eyes as he keeps his tight expression. My mind races, trying to grasp control of what’s happening.

  “It changed my life.”

  “Um…”

  He rolls, so he’s braced on his forearms above me.

  “Zach, get off—”

  He ignores me. “Before that, I was selfish and lazy. I did the bare minimum to get through college and work.” He pauses. “And I dated a lot.”

  My body locks. “Zach—”

  “It was always somewhat casual, and it was never monogamous. I don’t know if the other women were, but I never made any promises.” He breathes deeply, and I open my mouth to tell him that I don’t give a shit, but he gets there first. “I know that’s not how you were, but with a lot of adults, especially when living in a populated area, it’s the way it is.”

  My pulse throbs in my temples. “Zach—”

  “When I met you, I was also dating two other people.”

  I grit my teeth. “I don’t—”

  “By the time you gave me your gift, it was only you. I don’t know how it happened. I just stopped seeing the other women, and I didn’t care about meeting anyone else.”

 
; I roll my eyes, knowing he’s lying. “Yeah, right.”

  “Sweets, I don’t have your trust, I know that, but that doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth.”

  I look past him.

  “First time you said you loved me, I was scared out of my skull.”

  I shoot my eyes back to him, and my brows furrow.

  He continues, “There’s a whole shitload to discuss about that, but for now, I’ll explain why that made me flip my shit.”

  I sigh, giving up.

  He wants to get this off his chest, then…whatever.

  “My parents married at nineteen and had three kids within four years. They were blissfully happy when I was growing up, and after being married for thirty-four years, they’re even happier.”

  That kind of sweet story about his parents hits me in the heart.

  “My sister found a forever love. He’s a good man, and they have two kids. They’re ridiculously happy. My brother found a good woman and tied her to him, and they also have two kids. He was shot while protecting her. They survived, and their love rivals the one my parents share.”

  I lick my lips, thinking he should stop talking.

  “My brother always knew he wanted to find the one. I didn’t.”

  My forehead creases.

  “I don’t know why. It could’ve been because I wasn’t ready, could’ve been that I didn’t think I could find something like that, but my reaction to what you said makes me think it was the first.”

  I push down the urge to give a shit. “That’s wonderful, but I don’t care.”

  “Never been happier with a woman than when I was with you.”

  Direct hit to my armor, but I huff, “That was six years ago.”

  “Right. I know, but it doesn’t change the facts.”

  I fight rolling my eyes. “If that’s true, then why—”

  “Remember when you pushed about seeing my apartment?”

  I shut down. I remember how much courage it took for me to ask him. It wasn’t about seeing his apartment. It was about moving us deeper. I also remember the promise he made and broke.

  He scans my face and sighs. Then, his eyes soften. “Yeah, I’m sorry, but I freaked. I know that sounds nuts, seeing as you said you loved me before, but when you wanted to see my place, see my life, I told myself that I was getting too deep.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” I clip out the words.

  “We have to, so we can move past it. It’s been a long time, and I get why you’re holding on to it.”

  “I’m not holding on!”

  “Then, why are you so angry about it?”

  I snap my mouth shut.

  “So, I met a nice girl and took her out. It felt wrong. I told her I was sorry, but my head wasn’t in it. She said she understood, and she kissed my neck. Then, I came to you. I didn’t have a plan, but when you saw the lipstick, I saw an out, and I took it.”

  I pull in air, filling my lungs, before slowly letting it out as what he said sinks in. I’m not sure I believe him, but if it’s true, it does soothe the crookedly healed wound. “Fine, okay, but it still doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  “No, Zach, it doesn’t.”

  “I’m not that man anymore.”

  “I get it. You weren’t as big of a dick as I thought. Super. Your brother got shot, and I’m sorry about that. You changed. Great. Wonderful. Yada, yada. But that doesn’t change anything about the here and now. You can’t unfix shit. That’s done and over.” My voice is firm.

  His lips twitch.

  My eyes narrow on his mouth. “What’s funny?”

  He drops his face in my neck and bursts out laughing.

  “Zach, seriously?” My words come out high-pitched.

  He lifts his head to look at me with dancing eyes. “Becca, seriously?”

  Confused, I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “Why did you say seriously?”

  “Sweets, the seriously is that you said yada, yada, all pissed off. Fucking sweet. I knew that was still there.”

  “Stop being funny when I’m being serious!”

  He grins wide. It’s blinding and beautiful. “Best time to be funny is when shit gets too serious.”

  I sigh huge and roll my eyes. When they land back on him, his grin has vanished, and his jaw is set and determined.

  “What happened after I left on Friday?”

  I press my lips together. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  “Why?”

  He slides his knuckles across my cheekbone. It’s something he used to do a lot, something that gives me a feeling in my stomach that’s not entirely bad.

  “I’m gonna be here to take care of you. I’ll take care of you when you are lying on the bathroom floor, crying, and I’ll take care of you when someone you want gone doesn’t want to be gone. He said he’s gone, but I’m not sure he means it. I need to know what I’m working with here, so I need to be in the know.”

  I swallow and look away, struggling against what he said. “I don’t need to be taken care of, Zach. I can take care of myself.”

  “Know that, sweets.”

  I look back at him.

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have someone at your back to help.”

  This conversation needed to end before it started. He needs to stop talking. He’s getting to me. He’s the only fucking man on the planet that can get to me, and I need to put a stop to him worming his way under my skin.

  “If I tell you what happened, can we end this conversation?”

  His eyes drift over my expression while I try to keep it blank, but I know I’m not succeeding.

  “Sure.”

  I huff a breath through my nose, and my sight floats to the ceiling. “He came back while I was sleeping. He was banging on the door and shouting. I opened the door, thinking I could get rid of him quickly, but he barged in. He freaked me out ’cause he had a gun—”

  Zach stills. “A gun?”

  I swing my gaze back to him. “Yeah, it was strapped to his hip. Found out later that he’s a PI, so I guess that makes sense. I just didn’t know it at the time.”

  His body doesn’t relax. “Right. Then, what?”

  “He was desperate, but then he got angry and said not to make him do something he’d regret. Freaked me way the heck out.”

  His stiff body tightens more. “Why the fuck didn’t you make a statement last night?”

  “Chill out. Yes, he freaked me out on Friday, but he always does what he says. Twice before, he said it wasn’t over, and he went through with that. Every time he said he’d be there to walk me home, he was. A few other things, but honest to God, I was there, you were there, and he finally got it. So, I’m not wasting money on a taxi and wasting time I don’t have to drag my ass to the station to make a statement I don’t need to make. If something happens again, I’ll do it. Right now, no.”

  “Sweets—”

  I lift my head, so I’m nose-to-nose with him. “No.”

  His eyes tense. “I don’t like this.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I drop my head back on the pillow.

  His jaw is working back and forth. “Stubborn.”

  “Seriously? You take stubborn to a whole new level.”

  His lip twitches, and then his expression sobers. “You think I’m like him?”

  My eyebrows pull together. “What?”

  “Last night, you said I was acting like him. Did you mean it?”

  “Well…” I hesitate. “No. You’re not scaring me.”

  His lips split slowly, and soon, he’s grinning down at me. “So, you want me pursuing you?”

  My eyes get huge. “No!”

  The grin deepens. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much!”

  “Arg!” I push against his chest. “Let me up.”

  “Sweets, you’re pushing me away while you’re lying under me, giving me sass, and your eyes keep going soft. I’m getting
somewhere.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Bullshit. You’re pushing away, sure, and I get why, but you’re not fighting me any harder than last time. You’re not spitting fire. You’re not running scared. You’re not even indifferent. And I will point out, you cried yourself to sleep in my arms.”

  With every word he utters, my body grows tighter. “So, you’re telling me,” I say, my voice steely, “I need to fight you.”

  “Woman, was that seriously what you heard?”

  “I—”

  “Honey, I’m not sitting here, telling you that I love you or that I’m pining for you or that we’ll grow old together. All I’m saying is, my head is at a place where I want to get serious about a woman. I know what I like. I know what I don’t like. I like the you I had then, and I like the woman I’m getting now. You’re single. I’m single. I know you’re feeling me. There’s no reason we can’t see if we can get back what we had and more, much more.”

  “I’m not feeling you!” I spit my words at him.

  “Wanna explain why you let me hold you last night then?”

  My eyes widen, and my body tenses.

  His expression gentles. “You don’t have to talk about it, sweetheart. I don’t have your trust. I don’t get that piece of you yet. All I’m saying is, we’ve danced this dance before. I move left, you move right, I step up, you step back, but we still end up doing the two-step together.” He leans closer. “Or the horizontal mambo.”

  My pulse picks up. It’s mostly due to anger, but even though I won’t admit it, part of it is from having a dark-haired, whiskey-eyed, woodsy-smelling, hard-bodied Zach lying on top of me, talking about an activity that I know he’s a master at.

  I settle on anger. “You did not just say that.”

  “Give me a shot, baby.”

  I shake my head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a dick. Because you broke my heart. And even if I forgive you, I just can’t. I have too much shit going on.”

  “You had shit going on last time.”

  I set my jaw. “Are we done now?”