Page 67 of Tart
“To have and to hold?” I asked, teasing him a little by licking my lips.
“To have. To hold. To do lots of other naughty things until you can barely walk the next day.”
“Well, that won’t take much. I can barely walk on any given day.”
He dropped his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t be. I was teasing you. I know what you meant. You meant you were going to use this beard between my legs until my thighs were chapped from your whisker rubs,” I said, stroking the hair on his face.
“True, but I also meant I was going to bury my yardstick in you over and over until you came with my name on your lips.”
“Over and over,” I said, rolling on top of him.
“Promises, promises,” he whispered before he captured my lips again.
IHELPED HER INTO THEhouse, and she lowered herself to the couch, sighing heavily and with resignation. I went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water and, at the last second, grabbed a wine cooler, too. She might need something more substantial than water. When I got back to the couch, she was texting on her phone.
“Water or wine?” I asked, holding them up.
She looked up at me and smiled. “Am I supposed to call you Jesus now?”
I snorted and handed her the wine, setting the water on the table for later. “No, but you can cry on my shoulder if you need to.”
She held up her phone. “I was just texting Haylee that I’d be over later to see her. I haven’t even seen their new house yet. I mean, sure, I’m familiar with it since old Mrs. Daniels lived there forever. Did I tell you that we once picked her petunias? I convinced Hay-Hay it would be okay, but man, did we get in trouble. I called her petunia ever si—”
I put my finger to her lips and gazed at her under my brow. “Amber, it’s okay to be upset.”
Her head swung back and forth while she screwed the cap off the wine cooler. I moved my hand, and she took a long drink of it before lowering it to her lap. “I’m not upset.”
“You’re not upset that the nerves in your leg don’t work at all.”
“Some work,” she said defensively.
I held up my hand. “I stand corrected. You’re not upset that the nerves from your knee down don’t work?”
“It’s more like I’m resigned,” she sighed, leaning her head back. “Let’s face facts. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. I can only make it bend at my hip, and even when I do that, the rest of it just flops around. I was hoping there were more treatment options than there are, but all I can do is keep moving forward. Being upset or pissy won’t change anything.”
I tipped my head in acknowledgment of that. “I get what you’re saying, but it’s okay to grieve the loss for a moment. I hope you aren’t just saying this because you think I don’t want to deal with it.”
“I don’t want to deal with it!” she exclaimed before her shoulders sank. “Sorry, you know what I mean. I’ve been doing this so long that I know how to internalize it. Nobody likes a complainer or a Debbie Downer. I just have to move forward like I’ve done all the other times I got a shitty hand. That’s life. Either you live it, or you don’t, but you can’t make other people miserable at the same time.”
“You aren’t making me miserable because you’re upset that your leg is paralyzed, tart. In my opinion, that’s a legitimate reason to let someone comfort you for five minutes without feeling weak.”
She tipped her head to her shoulder and shrugged. “Thanks for going with me today. I know it was boring for you just sitting there.”
I shook my head, and grasped her hand in mine. “I wasn’t bored. I was focused on being there to support you. I know you normally do these things alone, but you don’t have to anymore. You’re not putting me out by asking me to be there to support you, okay?”
She set the bottle down and nodded, rubbing her face with her hands. “Okay.”
I gathered her into me and held her, the resignation in her shoulder blades heartbreaking to me. She was trying so hard to be strong, but the news like she got today would change a person no matter how positive they tried to remain.
“I should go to Hay-Hay’s,” she whispered, grasping my shirt in her hand tightly. “I promised her.”
My hand rubbed her shoulder, and I nodded against the top of her head. “Take some time first. Take some time to accept what happened before you have to tell someone else about it. I love you,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I know you’re a strong woman, but even strong women need a little extra TLC sometimes.”
“I’m angry,” she whispered, the weight of her words pushing hard against me. “I’m angry that everyone else in my family walked away from that night uninjured. They all carry scars, but none of them were physically hurt the way I was. Then I get angry at myself because I lived while other families lost their loved ones. Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t survived—”
“No!” I grasped her shoulders and pushed her out away from me, finding her gaze and holding it. “God, sweetart, don’t ever say that again.”
