My hands move to the bottom of his black tank top, and I suck in a breath as my fingertips connect with rock-hard muscle. For an alcoholic, he sure has an amazing body. I silently remove his tank top, my heart breaking all over again as I see the scars that mar his upper torso. My fingers stretch out and lightly trace one, pulling back when he flinches. What horrors has he faced to receive those scars? I wrestle off the remainder of his clothes and lay him back against the pillows with the quilt pulled up to his waist. It’s kind of ironic; I’ve just stripped off the clothes of an incredibly sexy man, yet I feel no desire churning in my gut. Instead, it’s a nurturing, almost motherly sensation. I want to protect him, take care of him.
I grip the edge of the bed for support and carefully stand up, keeping the pressure off my injured leg. I grab one of the crutches and brace it under my arm. But instead of leaving right away, I pause, staring down at Stone. He’s fallen asleep, the stain of hours’ worth of tears still evident on his cheeks. It breaks my heart. I can’t stand to see him this way.
I turn to leave when he grabs my free hand, almost toppling me over. I glance over my shoulder, and my heart skips a beat at the intense stare he’s giving me. He says just one word.
“Stay.”
Swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat, I mutely nod in agreement. Carefully moving around to the other side of the bed, I sit on the edge and strip off my own wet clothes, pulling on one of his long t-shirts I find on the ground. My hair is soaked, sticking to the back of my neck, and I quickly pull it up into a bun, securing it with the tie I always keep around my wrist. I can feel his eyes watching me, but I can’t bring myself to turn around. Propping the crutch against the nightstand, I slide carefully beneath the quilt with my back to him. It’s a little difficult with my injured leg, but I manage to position myself somewhat comfortably on the bed.
Just as I’m drifting off to sleep Stone rolls over, draping his large arm heavily across my waist, pulling my back into his chest. I freeze, holding my breath as he mumbles something unintelligent in his sleep. I expect him to wake up any second, but he doesn’t and I slowly relax into his arms. I don’t sleep. Even though I’m exhausted, my eyes remain wide open, staring into the dark of the bedroom. The rain continues to fall outside, the howl of the wind echoing the cries in my heart. Everything is screaming at me to leave, get out now. He’s too broken, too damaged. He can never care for me the way I . . .
The way I do for him.
I jerk at the realization and Stone turns over in his sleep, his back now to me. I immediately miss the warmth of his chest against my back. I care for him. I almost hate to admit it, but it’s true. When did it happen? How? We barely know one another, and yet he’s managed to completely turn my life upside-down.
And poor Zeke. I can only imagine what he must be going through right now. Torn from the arms of his mother, placed with a father who never knew he existed until recently. Who’s so fucked-up that he can barely look after himself, let alone a kid. Tears form in my eyes and I quickly brush them away as I take a deep, shuddering breath. Stone can never know how I feel. He needs help, not a woman.
I sit up straight in bed, a thought occurring to me. Stone mumbles again, but stays asleep. Glancing down at him as a flash of lightning lights up the room, I flinch when I see the long, jagged scars across his back. Grabbing the crutch next to the bed, I carefully maneuver my way around the dark room, exiting into the living room where I left my bag. I flip on the lamp as I sit on the couch and rummage through my handbag, searching for my purse. I pull it out and sort through the numerous cards until I find the one I’m looking for.
Dr. Evelyn James
Psychologist of alcoholism and treatment
I check the time on the small digital clock next to the lamp: 8 p.m. It may not be too late yet.
I had first met Dr. James when I dated Troy. I’d been in one of the local homeless shelters, escaping his fists, when she’d found me crying into a bowl of vegetable soup. She’d been the first person to listen to me in such a long time that I found myself unburdening ten years’ worth of despair right there at the table. She’d never judged me, simply gave me her card and told me to call if I ever needed her.
Well, I need her.
Grabbing the cordless phone next to the clock, I punch in the number and wait as it rings. I’m just about to give up when she answers. “Hello?” a polite, yet tired woman answers. Hope blooms inside me as I recognize her voice.
“Dr. James?” I say breathlessly. “I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but my name is Shannon Harper. We met a few years ago at a soup kitchen.”
“Shannon,” Dr. James says, sounding surprised. “It’s such a pleasure to hear from you again. Of course I remember you.”
Tears immediately well up in my eyes as I hear her friendly voice. It’s not likely that she really does remember me, but the fact that she’s pretending warms my heart. It’s not long before I find myself pouring my heart out once again. Only this time, there’s no vegetable soup.
“Dear me,” Dr. James says gently once I’m finished speaking and the tears have dried up. “It sounds like you’ve got yourself in quite a situation.”
“I know.” I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “But what can I do about it?”
“This Stone,” Dr. James says. “Do you think he wants to be helped?”
“I don’t know if he wants help,” I admit, shaking my head even though she can’t actually see me. “But I know he needs it.”
“Then you need to help him,” Dr. James says matter-of-factly.
“How?” I ask. How do you even begin to help a man as damaged as Ethan Stone? I stay on the phone with Dr. James for another hour as she helps me understand a little more about what Stone might be going through.
By the time I hang up, I know what I have to do.
I groan as Shannon opens the curtains, throwing a hand over my eyes to block the sudden light.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she sings as she moves around the room, albeit a little slowly in the wheelchair.
“What time is it?” I ask, cracking open my eyes as I lower my arm to watch her. She’s wearing one of my long shirts with no pants. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. I have the feeling that twinkle will be trouble.
“It’s almost noon.” She smiles brightly, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. She’s so damn beautiful. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up. My head is pounding and as beautiful as Shannon is, her happy mood is starting to grate on my nerves just a little bit.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching as she wheels around the room, grabbing my clothes off the floor. I glance down and feel my face flush. “Did you undress me?”
“Of course,” she replies, glancing at me in surprise. “You couldn’t expect me to let you sleep in wet clothes, could you?”
“Of course not,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Great.” She smiles, her arms full of dirty clothes. “Where’s your washing machine?”
“Um, it’s out the back on the porch,” I answer, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “But leave it; I’ll get it later.”
“It’s fine,” Shannon says, turning the wheelchair around. “I’ll be right back.”
She leaves the room, and I pull on a pair of black shorts and walk out into the living room, but I stop dead when I see it. The whole room is spotless. All the beer bottles have been cleared away, the empty takeaway containers thrown out. She’s even cleaned the couch and scrubbed the coffee table. The whole room smells like a combination of flowers and bleach. It hasn’t looked this way in months.