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I start in what has become my bathroom then move to what is my clothing room but does happen to have a bed I’m supposed to sleep in. I should probably do that and stop sleeping on the couch.
He’s moving around more on his own. Having one-on-one therapy has made his progress go a lot more smoothly than a patient in-group therapy or rehab. He’s stable enough that I don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Plus, it would give us both some space if I can go in the bedroom and put a closed door between us. I also worry my continued nightmares might wake him. So far, I have managed to wake myself up before I start screaming, but there is no telling when my luck will end. With my decision made, I move to the kitchen and continue my cleaning.
Hours pass with no noise from Hammer’s room, so I decide to clean in there. This may be a bad idea since he has a lady who comes once a week. I feel like I’m invading his privacy, but I can’t turn my brain off, and I can’t slow down.
Ice and his ol’ lady Morgan have come by as well as other Regulator members. Hammer doesn’t allow anyone to stay long, but Morgan gave me her number and said she was here if I need her. I should probably call her instead of going into his personal space.
I can’t help being drawn to him. Whatever it is, where Ethan “Hammer” McCoy is concerned, he turns me on, up, down, left, and right about everything.
Entering his room fully for the first time since I have been here, I inhale, smelling him in the space. My body comes alive with the knowledge I have entered the cave of the bear—well, that’s how it feels.
It doesn’t take me long to realize his poor maid must work overtime to get this mess cleaned on a weekly basis. Either she does a shit job, or he is a slob between cleanings. Clothes are thrown against walls on all sides, piling up in heaps, which is ridiculous since he has a large, empty laundry hamper next to his bathroom door. At least he left the pathways clear for his wheelchair.
Looking around, I shake my head. Now I don’t care if I piss him off or not. Doesn’t he realize he is a freak accident away from hurting himself again or getting his chair stuck with a room like this?
Moving forward, I start to pick up all of his clothes first. You wouldn’t think a man has more clothes than a woman, but there is enough piled on the floor to support more than a week’s worth. That is crazy since I know the maid cleaned this room just four days ago!
After the laundry is where it should be—in the blasted hamper—I start picking up the empty beer bottles and other trash. This shit is just ridiculous didn’t someone tell me Hammer served in the military? I thought they taught their soldiers to be clean and neat.
An hour later, I’m on my hands and knees, cleaning the grout on the tile floor in his bathroom, when I hear the laugh of a woman and the deep growl of Hammer’s voice.
Looking at the window, I see it’s pitch black outside. I light my watch to check the time and see it’s a little after midnight.
“You know better than to take a man’s bottle away,” he states gruffly at his companion.
Great, he is drunk. That’s so healthy for him … not.
Tomorrow—well, I should say today—he is going to be even harder to handle while I push him to the limits with a hangover.
Not sure how drunk he is or how he will feel about me being in his space, I lean against the bathroom wall and pray he doesn’t come in here.
I can hear the sounds of them kissing, sloppy lips slapping together. At first, I want to run out there, scream, and maybe throw some shit. Then I stop myself and think I want space. I want this to be professional, even if every part of me wants to give life a chance.
Since Suzie died, I haven’t lived. I have merely existed. Hammer challenges me, makes me wonder if we could have something, and it gives me the possibility of a future.
Then again, the asshole has some stranger in his bedroom right now, so what future could he see with me?
God, can I get any more twisted internally? I mean, with one hand, I push Hammer away, trying to keep a professional distance between us. On the other, I’m disappointed as hell that he has brought another woman to his bedroom. It’s irrational, but I can’t stop myself from wishing it was me making him feel good right now.
