Page 49 of Rescuing Mary

Standing, Truck put his hand on her elbow to help her off the stool. “Do you need to tell your friends where you’re going?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s none of their business.”

Truck’s lips twitched. “I think Ghost and the others would disagree.”

Mary stepped close and tilted her head back so she could look up at him. It made Truck feel ten feet tall, and that was saying something, considering he was already so much taller than she was. She was jostled again, and Truck put his arm around her back to steady her.

“Ghost is like a brother to me. The others too. They should know that I’d never do anything to hurt you, and that you’d never hurt me. But at the moment, I don’t give a shit what they think. Your head is bothering you, it’s loud in here, and you and I need to start getting to know each other.”

“My place or yours?” Truck asked. He knew it sounded presumptuous, but he’d already told her that he wasn’t going to sleep with her. Besides, she was right, his head was pounding, and he wanted to get to know her without watchful eyes on them.

“Mine,” she said immediately.

“Did you drive?”

Mary shook her head. “No. I came with Rayne.”

“Do you trust me enough to come with me?”

Then she blew his mind. She put her hands on his chest and stood on her tiptoes. Truck instinctively leaned down and she put her lips over the scar near his mouth. She kissed him gently and said softly, “More than I trust myself.” Then she took a step back, smiled at him, took his hand in hers, and started for the door.

Truck looked over at the table where his friends were sitting—and almost laughed out loud at the eight pairs of shocked eyes watching him and Mary walk toward the door. He gave Ghost a chin lift and then turned his attention back to the woman walking in front of him. He was sure he’d get the third degree later, but for now, he was going to enjoy being in Mary’s presence.

Chapter Nine

“It’s nothing fancy,” Mary said as they entered her apartment. And it wasn’t. She hadn’t bothered to empty the boxes the guys had helped her pack at Truck’s place. Her heart wasn’t in it, and she knew that every time she saw something that had been displayed at Truck’s, it would hurt. So she’d left everything in the boxes.

“Are you moving?” Truck asked.

Mary wrinkled her nose. “No.”

To his credit, he didn’t push, but merely shrugged and headed for her couch. It was the one thing that Mary had regretted leaving behind when she’d all but moved in with him. It was brown suede and the most comfortable thing she’d ever owned. It had cost a fortune, but was worth every penny. It had huge cushions, and even Truck’s feet almost didn’t touch the floor when he sat on it.

“Want something to drink?” she asked, standing next to the couch.

“No. Sit, Mary.”

Loving the bossiness in his tone, and realizing for the first time how much she’d missed it, Mary kicked off her shoes and went over to the other side of the couch. She curled her jean-clad legs under her and leaned against the back cushions, facing Truck. He scooted over until he was within touching distance and sat sideways to face her.

“Does your head feel better?” Mary asked.

Truck nodded. “Now that we’re out of the noise, yeah.”

“Does it always hurt?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“What did the doctor say about it? You did tell him, right?”

“Of course. He said it was normal. My brain was knocked around quite a bit when I fell and it’s bruised and swollen. He says that’s why I can’t remember the last three years. He’s hoping that when the swelling goes down and my brain heals completely, my memory will return.”

“Is there anything you can take for it?” Mary asked. She didn’t even want to talk about the possibility of Truck not remembering. She wasn’t being selfish either…okay, a little. But she couldn’t imagine losing that much of her life. Although, forgetting the hell she went through while she was fighting cancer might be a blessing, but then she’d also have forgotten Truck. And she’d take the awful memories of the cancer if it meant she could have memories of how amazing Truck had been.

At least it wasn’t worse. She supposed Truck could’ve lost all his memory and not even remembered that he was a soldier, or that Ghost and the others were his friends. That would’ve been tragic, and would be a lot harder to come back from.

“I don’t like painkillers,” Truck said. “I’d rather deal with the slight headache than take something that makes me tired or crabby.”

Mary smiled. She knew that. She’d also tried to put off taking the painkillers and anti-nausea pills for as long as possible when she was sick because they made her feel as if she was out of it, and she didn’t want to get addicted, but Truck wouldn’t let her. They’d argued about it, with Mary declaring that if Truck could decide not to take drugs when he got hurt on a mission, she could make the same decision in regards to her cancer treatment. He’d agreed to her point—then pleaded with her to take them, since seeing her in so much pain hurt him. She’d relented.