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Hell no was her purely female response to encouraging contact between Brick and the gorgeous attorney. But she pushed aside her reaction for the absurdity it was. “Thank you. I wouldn’t mind having that additional insight.”
“Okay. Let’s go pick up your stuff. I didn’t know your mom was making dinner for us. I wouldn’t have eaten any breakfast. In fact, I might have fasted since yesterday.”
“I’m sure she’ll have something in the fridge to heat up if we need it, but I told her I wasn’t sure when we’d get there tonight. I just didn’t feel up to telling Beulah I don’t want to hang around right now.”
“Got it.” He touched her face, then stepped back to close her door. As he moved around to the driver’s side, her thinking about her mother making them dinner, about what had just happened, was apparently a mistake. Because by the time he got in, her chin was trembling.
She turned her head toward the window, and fiercely admonished herself. Hold your shit together.
“Hey.”
She had to prove she wasn’t falling apart. Her breathing was coming short, and she was feeling lightheaded. She’d gotten through some of the toast, none of the egg. She should have eaten more protein. Those cracks ran right into her heart, threatening a full break.
He had his hand on her neck and shoulder, his thumb pressing against her jaw to get her to look up at him. He stroked the sensitive area beneath her ear lobe, a sure way to get her attention. “Breathe, Les. It’s okay.”
She hooked her fingers over his forearm. He worked the comb free that was holding her hair like a smooth bird’s wing. Her eyes fell half shut as he did his soothing, deep scalp stroke, moving down her back and then up, completing the circuit again.
“When I do fire fleshing on you, it will be like this,” he told her. “A warm stroke over your skin from the fire, then my hand following behind, a firmer touch. Over and over.”
With his rough, strong hands. She liked the thought.
“I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t fall apart like this. And not this often. I worked in the ER for two weeks. People came in with bad injuries and illnesses, some of them dying from them, right there.” Adults. But still. “I handled it. I was anxious about getting things wrong, but it wasn’t like this.”
“Les, you’re a trained medical professional. Look at yourself like a patient. Were any of those injuries a car wreck, where the passenger died, but the driver was okay? No matter whose fault it was, what condition was the driver in?”
“Traumatized.” A post-trauma response could go on for a few days after the event. Even longer, depending on the person and the experience. Expected, part of the process.
“Trauma,” he confirmed. “So stop beating yourself up over it.”
Her chin was trembling again. He muttered something, and moved his hands to her waist.
“I’m okay. I—”
With remarkable ease, he plucked her from her seat and onto his lap. She put her arm around his back, the other over his shoulder to loop it around his neck. He held her as close as she held him. A few tears leaked out of her eyes as she pressed her face against his chest, but ironically, the tighter he held her, the more easily she could breathe. With him holding her, her fears and worries couldn’t pull her under.
After a few minutes, the reaction slid away. The ache under her ribs went back to a dull throb, rather than making her feel knifed by a horror show villain.
He pressed his mouth to her temple. “Let’s go get your stuff.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
He shifted her back to her seat, and helped fasten her seatbelt. “Your hunky-assed chauffeur will go through the McDonald’s drive-thru for a soft serve cone.”
“Fudge sundae, with nuts.”
At his look, she managed a weak smile. “It’s been a tough day. I need the hard stuff.”
He squeezed her hand. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Les smoothed her hand over the jacket in her lap, feeling the crackle of the paper in the pocket.
And tried not to think.
Chapter Twenty
Her and Beulah’s condo was rented out to medical students by a cardiothoracic surgeon, a college alumnus. The two flanking it were as well. Because of that, several of her neighbors had a key to her place and vice versa. Just like undergrad dormmates, they borrowed stuff from one another and, if needed, sought out quieter study corners that shared access provided.
Fortunately, with it being early afternoon, her condo was empty. Like Beulah, most of her neighbors would be in class, working rotations, or studying elsewhere.
Beulah liked her coffee, and drank it several times a day, so the scent lingered in the condo. The condos were furnished. There were rules about damages, but she and Beulah were good tenants. Even so, their landlord was smart enough not to put anything in a student-rented condo he would regret losing. The pieces wouldn’t win spots in a home décor magazine, but they were comfortable, sturdy and serviceable. Durham area landscapes and pictures of the university campus broke up the wall space.
