Rescue Me: A Bad Boy Military Romance (11 page)

She pushes past me into the grand entryway. Most everything is covered in layers of drywall dust, but I pat myself on the back mentally for at least getting the massive chandelier hooked up to electric. I flip the switch by the door and the foyer is bathed in light. Ella gasps. “It’s so weird to see this place with the lights on,” she says quietly.

I laugh. “Must also be weird to see it with your clothes on.”

She punches my arm. “Shut up,” she says playfully. I can tell she’s excited for a tour.

“Let’s eat and I’ll show you around,” I say, the pain in my leg diminishing in light of her excitement.

I walk into the decrepit kitchen and hit the lights. The countertops are plywood and I only have a hotplate and a small dorm-sized refrigerator along with an old, rusting sink. “Sorry this place isn’t great yet,” I say, walking across creaking floorboards and pulling two Big Reds out of the refrigerator. I pop the bottle caps off and they let out a satisfying hiss. I pass one to Ella, who is standing at the bar. She takes it gratefully.

“You should get off your leg,” she says, finally shaken out of her reverie.

“Being here with you, I’m miraculously healed,” I say with a smile that makes her blush. I open the paper bag and distribute our food. “It’s almost like we’ve gone on two dates today,” I say as we dig into the meal with relish.

Ella rolls her eyes. “Two little picnics is not a date, Luke.”

I shrug. “Suit yourself,” I reply. Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she groans, sliding it out to silence it. I catch a glimpse of the screen and see the same name from earlier. “Who’s Jason?”

She shakes her head. “This asshole I broke up with in California. He keeps calling me.”

I feel a foreboding in my stomach. “Ah. Were you serious?”

“Not really. But he doesn’t take rejection that well, as it turns out.”

“You tend to leave an impression on people, Ella. I’m not surprised he doesn’t want to let you go.”

She bites her lip and I can tell it’s to keep from grinning. “Hurry up and finish eating,” she says to me, polishing off the last of her chili dog. “I want to get the grand tour.”

We walk through the echoing, dusty hallways of the mansion, me describing in excited detail how I’m going to be fixing this place up. “So I’ve had it for about a year now, and I’ve managed to get most of the old electrical rewired. But only one space is totally finished.” I step down the hallway of the west wing of the house and open up the doors to the master bedroom. “This is where the magic happens.”

Ella rolls her eyes but still looks excited. She steps into the space and I have to reach around her for the light switch, our skin brushing up against one another. She’s breathing hard, and I take my time before hitting the lights.

She gasps again, the same way that she did in the entrance. “Oh my,” she whispers. This room is the architectural crown jewel of the house. It was the one space that I was most looking forward to working on when I bought it. The room is an octagon, with one-hundred-and-eighty-degree windows set into the walls. It looks out onto the backyard, which is several acres of sweeping vista. My four-poster, king-sized bed sits in the middle of parquet hardwood flooring that I hand-sanded, stained, and refinished. The pattern of the boards is concentric circles emanating from the center.

“It’s amazing,” she says. “This is your bedroom?”

I nod. “The one and only.” I put my hand on her waist and steer her toward the bathroom. “This is the other space I’ve finished.”

She sees the claw foot tub and looks back at me. “You didn’t,” she whispers.

I laugh. “You inspired me, what can I say?”

She rushes over and hops into it, clothing and all. She leans back and moans with pleasure. “It’s perfect. I’d never leave this tub if I were you.” Her eyes meet mine and there are more unsaid words that pass between us in that moment than we’ve said all week to one another.

“I made it for you, Ella,” I say.

Her face softens and then goes dark. She climbs out of the tub. “I should get going,” she says. “I can get your truck back to you tomorrow. I’ll pick my bike up from the bar and-“

I grab her arm. “Don’t leave,” I say to her. “Spend the night.”

Her eyes are filling with tears. “Luke, I can’t.”

“I want you, Ella. It’s always been you. Always,” I say, pleading.

She shakes her head. “I have to be at the school tomorrow first thing, so I’ll be dropping it off early. I’ve gotta go. You rest that leg, alright? Doctor’s orders.”

She leaves me standing in my own bedroom, completely alone.

Suddenly my leg hurts more than it did at the bar.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ELLA

I pull up to Luke’s bright and early the next morning. It still seems like a dream that he lives here, in this place where so much happened between us. I can still smell the old, wet wood scent in my memory, feel the softness of the blanket he used to lay me upon so tenderly. The memory is so visceral I half expect an eighteen-year-old me to be staring back in the mirror as I check my lip gloss. But the Ella of a decade ago is dead.

It’s just me. Here. Now.

I climb out of the truck just as Luke is opening the front door. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and dress pants, his dressy black cowboy boots peeking out from under the hem of his pants.

“We sure are seeing a lot of each other, aren’t we?” he asks me with a smile, locking the door behind him. He’s not limping as much today.

“I was just bringing the truck back,” I say.

He walks past me and I shiver as I smell him. “Get in the truck, Ella.”

“I need to get to-“

“Just get in the truck,” he says.

I follow his orders, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling the safety belt across my chest, pushing it into place with a click. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going to the school as well,” he says.

“For what?”

“Work,” he replies simply.

“You’re doing repairs wearing
that
?” I ask him, incredulous.

He laughs. “Again, you haven’t really gotten to know me yet, Ella.”

“I am so confused right now,” I say.

“I know you hate being in the dark like this,” he says, turning on his blinker and spinning the steering wheel. “Which is exactly why I’m keeping you there. It’s fun for me.”

I grimace and cross my arms over my chest. “Just drive,” I say.

I can out-silent-treatment anyone, and this time is no exception. Luke starts threads of conversation that I handily ignore. “Fine,” he says. “It’s radio time.” He fiddles with the knobs and turns on screaming hard rock music that makes my ears ring.

I slap his hand away and turn it to one of the half-dozen country stations. Keith Urban streams through the car and I sigh contentedly, leaning back in my seat. I’m no sooner relaxing than Luke has his hands on the station again and flips it back to where it was.

“My truck, my rules, my music, Ella,” he says definitively.

“I drove you home last night. You owe me.”

“AHA!” he says. “I got you to talk. I win.”

We finally pull up to the school and I am out of the truck before it’s even come to a complete stop. “Your taste in music is terrible. That much hasn’t changed,” I hiss at him before slamming the door.

I march into the school and walk toward the principal’s office. The smell of chemical carpet cleaner, construction paper, crayons, glue, and wood polish hits me with a slap of nostalgia that nearly knocks me over. I pause with my hand on the door.

“Do you need help, miss?” says the voice of a little old lady. I turn to face her and see the wrinkled face of Miss Holly, the ancient secretary.

“Um, Miss Holly?”

She pulls off her reading glasses and wipes them on her floor-length broom skirt. “Is that you? Ella Hanover?”

I smile. “It is indeed. I’m checking in to get the clinic set up today? I’m supposed to be putting in a few hours this morning.”

Miss Holly claps her hands together and shuffles forward, opening the door to the office. “Come in, come in. Principal Sykes will be in here in a few minutes. He’s running late today.”

I pull my purse onto my lap and sit down on the pilling wool-covered chairs. I rest my elbow on the worn wooden arms. I feel like a little kid again and cross my ankles, smoothing out my skirt. The door opens and I look up to see a smiling Luke standing there. He crosses the office in a few strides.

“Miss Holly,” he says, nodding at her.

She blushes a little. “Good to see you here, Luke. The kids missed you last week. You’ve got quite a roster piled up this afternoon for counseling. Oh, and Miss Seborne called in sick, so is there any way you could look after the little ones this morning?”

Luke pours coffee into a foam mug and nods at her. “I’d be happy to. I think I can handle some coloring and little rascals for a morning.”

“No cursing in front of them,” Miss Holly intones.

I’m sitting there, silent and gobsmacked. “You’re a teacher?” I ask.

Luke laughs. “Counselor, actually. But I substitute teach when it’s needed, which isn’t too often.” He leans back against the counter, sipping his coffee. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, Ella.”

And with that, he takes his coffee and wanders out of the office. Miss Holly sighs as he leaves. “He’s quite a man, isn’t he?”

I don’t answer. I’m still processing how football-throwing, calculus-exam-failing, cheats-on-tests-and-hates-kids Luke Davis is suddenly a teacher. I’m mercifully cut off from wondering by the arrival of Principal Sykes. He was the gym teacher when I was here. I stand up and shake his hand.

“Well, well, well. I had a feeling Ella Hanover would be back here eventually,” he says with a smile. He’s shorter than I am, with a small paunch sticking out of his cowboy-belt-buckled dark jeans. His bald spot shines in the light. “We are just so, so relieved to have you here.”

“Well, here I am. I’d love to get set up, take a look at the little clinic here, see how it’s faring-“

“Actually, we need you to give a speech today to the kids.”

My stomach plummets. “A speech?”

He nods. “We’re having a health assembly. First with the younger kids – just say some things about germs and hand washing and the importance of veggies, you know. Then the high schoolers are going to be assembling this afternoon. We’re just so, so glad you’re here. Did I say that already?”

I nod. “Yeah, you did, but I can’t really give a speech, I didn’t prepare or anything. And I don’t know what you expect me to talk to a group of high school students-“ I stop mid-sentence. Between his enthusiasm over my being here and his unwillingness to confess the proposed topic for this afternoon, I connect the dots. “You need me to teach them sex ed. Oh. Okay.”

I fall back down into my chair, feeling flush.

“You won’t be up there alone. You and Mr. Davis will be co-presenting to the high school students.”

“Oh. Okay,” I say again. “What a relief.” Sarcasm falls out of my mouth along with those words.

I’ll be teaching sex education. With Luke Davis. In front of a group of moody high schoolers.

***

I pace the old, bowing wooden stage. This room smells like dust, old books, and lemon wood polish. I look at the back row and remember sitting there next to Luke during school assemblies, him trying to sneak his hand up my skirt. I’m lost in this daydream when I hear the back doors squeak open and the sounds of little kids rush in.

Suddenly, I’m standing in front of fifty kids aged fourteen and under. The tiniest ones sit in the front row, the folding seats sandwiching their little bodies because they don’t weigh enough. Then Luke walks in carrying a little girl with pigtails, and my knees shake.

You know how people talk about women’s ovaries aching when they see a man with a baby? I’ve never experienced that. Until right now.

The little girl is wearing pink shorts and a white t-shirt and she’s sniffling into the crook of his neck. In his other hand is the tiny, pudgy palm of a little boy who’s also crying. Neither one of them can be much older than four years old. I suddenly realize the entire room is waiting for me to speak as Luke takes a seat in the front row with each little kid on his knee. He’s smirking at me and I’ve completely lost the thread of my speech somewhere in his dimples.

“Um, hello,” I say.

“Hello,” a handful of kids chorus back. I can tell most of them are getting antsy already. That’s not a good sign.

The back row of middle schoolers is snickering, which makes me feel like I’m sixteen and failing my public speaking course miserably.

Luke hands off the two kids to a teacher behind him and jumps onstage, clapping his hands together. “Sorry, y’all. Where are my manners? This right here is Miss Ella. Everybody say hello to Miss Ella and I want to hear it like you mean it. Ready? Three, two, one!”

The entire auditorium rumbles to life. “HELLO, MISS ELLA!”

“That’s much, much better,” Luke says with a smile. “Now, she’s going to teach you about health.” He turns to face me, giving me a small, questioning nod.

I nod back, feeling braver now. “Today, we’re going to talk about hand washing!” I say, and go off into the content of my speech.

Twenty minutes later I’ve managed to do it. I take a deep breath and exhale with my eyes closed. My hands are shaking as the kids leave the auditorium and the lunch bell rings. Luke is talking to one of the other young, woman teachers and I feel a surge of jealousy as he pats her arm and she laughs. Then he has his hands in his pockets and he’s climbing the stairs to the stage.

“I’m off for lunch,” he says. “Pawned my class of kids off to another teacher. I was thinking we could-“

“Get lunch? Drive into town real quick?” I ask breathlessly.

He looks shocked. “Actually, I was going to say we could work on our presentation for this afternoon. Winging it in front of little kids is a lot easier to pull off than winging it in front of a bunch of high schoolers. Ask me how I know?”

I scowl. “I wasn’t
winging it
,” I say, feeling hurt. “I don’t
wing
things.”

Luke chuckles. “Right. I’m sorry to accuse the valedictorian of not being thoroughly prepared for something.”