He turned back to her. “What’s that?”
“The dream. It wasn’t the same one that’s been kicking my butt all week.”
“That’s . . . good. I suppose. Still sounds as if it wasn’t pleasant.”
“It wasn’t, but at least maybe the skipping memories will stop. They might move ahead now.” She could handle being terrified if she got to the truth.
Marcus leaned forward, resting on his elbows as he faced her. The counter separated them, but with him staring so intently, his presence still held her surrounded. “You’ll get there. It will come back. In the meantime, you need to sleep. You can’t keep going on an empty tank.”
“I don’t want to take drugs.” She shivered and wrapped the soft fabric closer around her shoulders. “I did eight weeks of treatment after the accident, and I hated the side effects.”
Marcus nodded. He squeezed her fingers for a second before turning to the cupboards, looking for something. “I hear you. I cut out of my therapies well before they said I was supposed to. Typical of our kind of minds—too stubborn to simply accept the traditional therapies.”
Watching him move around the kitchen was distracting if nothing else, his naked upper body highlighted in the dim lights he’d clicked on in the hall. The resulting shadows and faint glow only highlighted his muscles as he dropped loose leaf tea into a pot, reaching back into the upper shelves to bring out cups. His sweatpants sat low on his hips. Bands of muscle wrapped around his waist, his abdomen flexing as he moved.
He used his left arm as much as his right, comfortably holding items to his body, or clasping the tea jar in the crook of his elbow. For the fiddly work he used his right hand, but other than that, he seemed unaware of the missing portion of his arm.
She’d been oblivious last night. Never once during sex had it registered.
“You’re staring,” he noted. “Do I have something stuck on me I can’t see?”
“I was looking at your arm,” she confessed.
Marcus pushed the teapot to the side and walked around the counter. “Took you long enough.”
He lifted his arm toward her, as he had when she’d checked out his climbing prosthesis. Only now there was his arm and the stump end, nothing covering it. Becki looked up at his face as she laid her hand on his elbow and pressed it down. “I was just noticing you don’t allow it to stop you.”
“Oh God, don’t start that.” He lifted his arm again, nudging her with it until she grabbed on. “I don’t have fingers. I can’t reach out the same way I used to. It’s a royal pain in the ass at times, but mostly it just is. There’s nothing to be admired. I’d prefer you were drooling over my sexual prowess or something I have more control over.”
Becki touched him, wrapping her fingers around his bicep even as she smiled. “Well, there is that as well. Yes, on a scale of one to ten, I admire your cock a whole lot more than your arm.”
He laughed.
She ran her fingers over the four inches or so that remained of his forearm. The dusting of hair was dark against his light tan, the skin smooth. Muscles and tendons flexed under her touch as she worked her way lower until she cupped the end. There the skin was rougher, slightly rumpled in spots.
Marcus shivered.
She jerked her hand away. “Does it hurt?”
“You’re tickling me,” he teased. “Let me grab our tea.”
Becki let him go. He might not want to be admired, but she still did because he had done what she wanted to do. Gone on living. Put his energies into a new direction.
Marcus pressed a cup against her fingers before jerking his head toward the living room. “Come on, curl up on the couch and we’ll get cozy until the tea kicks in.”
“You giving me some patented home remedy?”
“Herbal. Yeah, it’s one of those ‘calms you down, makes you drowsy’ natural Chinese blends.”
He sat first, and she unashamedly crawled right back into his lap as she’d done when she’d woken up. Marcus didn’t say anything at first, just sipped his tea and held her close.
Marcus spoke quietly. “I think it freaks people out.”
“Your arm?”
He paused. “You know, it’s more like they can’t understand why I’m not making a bigger deal of it. Like I’m supposed to be all emo and pissed that I lost a limb. Fuck it—I’d take my life over my hand any day, and that’s about what it came down to. People don’t know the big picture, though. They see what they see, and expectations and assumptions creep in.”
“If you’re handicapped you’re supposed to be a victim, you know.”
“Right,” he drawled, “or admired for doing what simply isn’t a big deal. People need to get real. If we’re honest, everyone deals with physical limitations of some sort, whether they’re too short to reach into high cupboards, or too out of shape to run for the bus. It’s the mental stuff that takes more effort. Takes incredible bravery.”
She fought to keep from whimpering. “I don’t feel very brave at the moment.”
“Oh, Becki. I know.” He put down his drink, rubbing her back gently as she clung to him. His voice carried to her ears, a low whisper, yet full of conviction. “Listen to me. Trust me. You have more than enough courage to face this valley and, in time, climb out the other side.”
She took a deep breath as she let his reassurances settle over her.
Being with him helped. Marcus could truly understand the haunting pain she fought. He still struggled with his own demons—she was sure of it. The days he’d gone missing, his episodes as he called them, had to have a cause. The caress of his hand said this was more than a standard show of sympathy.
Somehow, without another word, she knew he understood her battle. And while the war still raged for him as well, he hadn’t given up. His determination motivated her beyond belief.
The heat of his chest lulled her, as did the warmth of the tea. She finished the mug and he took it from her fingers, nestling in tighter as she wrapped her arms around his torso. It was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the faint pulse of his heart under her ear.
If the nightmares came, he’d chase them away.
Marcus waited until her breathing calmed to a smooth rhythm. Too many emotions waged inside for a simple answer to his current state of mind. He’d given her tea, supported her. Done what he could to ease her fears, all the while not letting her catch a glimpse of what was hiding inside.
When she screamed, he’d been the one frozen in terror.
Memories rushed in, the unanswerable cries that haunted him. The unspeakable pain of being unable to help. But Becki was flesh and blood, and his drive to soothe her had forced his personal demons into retreat.
They returned now to poke him as he lifted her and carried her back to bed. All the while as he slipped off her robe and arranged her limbs on the mattress, his mind raced with unsolvable scenarios.
Becki curled up so sweetly, her fingers clinging to his arm as he touched her. He tugged himself free to strip off his sweatpants then rejoined her. She pressed her body against his, reaching back to pull his arm over her. Her fingers lingered on his stump, running lightly over the sensitive skin on the inside of his elbow. Then she fell fully asleep again, leaving him with his tortured thoughts.
Seeing her struggle with her fears only emphasized his faults. Not his hand—he’d told her the truth when he said he could live without a goddamn hand. It was the pain of what he couldn’t fix that preoccupied his nightmares.
What if he couldn’t do for her? What if somewhere along the road he failed her? He should leave her alone, but he was too damn selfish to want that as an option.
He was still no closer to an answer when they woke the next morning, pissing rain smacking against the windowpane.