Snow Angels (4 page)

This one was only five feet deep, so probably not a death sentence, but an annoyance. If she hadn’t been there to rescue him he could have spent the night—or longer—in a freezing well.

And how glorious it was, to rescue him. Wiped that supercilious expression right off his face.

By the time she hauled him out, they were both panting and pale.

He, because it was clear he was in extreme pain, and she because she had touched him.

She’d had to. Had to grab his arm and steady him, bolster him, and yank him out of the hole. It hadn’t been skin to skin, but it hadn’t mattered.

The connection resonated through her like a live wire. Images, thoughts, voices, and ghosts flickered through her consciousness. The power of his emotions and the depth of his ache, nearly shattered her.

She let go as soon as he was clear of the well.

They both lay in the snow, breathing heavily as they recovered.

It’s not his fault
.

Lyssa squeezed her eyes closed. Tried to shake off the flurry of whispers.

It’s not his fault
.

“Shit.” Wade levered up into a sitting position and rubbed his thigh. “I think I ripped something.” He glanced back in the direction of the cabin. She knew what he was thinking. Could he make it back?

She whipped off her glove and set her bare hand on his thigh.

His eyes widened, and he almost flinched away. It was clear what was running through his mind. But it didn’t matter. Sometimes it didn’t matter what people thought of you, you just had to do what was right.

“You pulled a muscle,” she said. “You shouldn’t try to walk.”

His eyes narrowed. “How can you tell that by touching my leg?”

She dipped her head. “I’m…a therapist.”

“A physical therapist?”

“Hmmm.” Before he could ask any more probing questions, she stood and grabbed the sled, eyeing the track they’d created on their way here. She turned it around, facing back to the house. “Get on the sled, and I’ll pull you back.”

He snorted.

She frowned. “Why did you snort like that?”

“I’m heavy.”

“And?”

“You’re tiny.”

“You said that before,” she bristled. “I may be small, but that does not mean I am helpless. Now get your ass on the sled. We need to get back. It’s snowing again, and I’m getting cold. I know you must be cold.”

Her tone must have been adequately severe, because he did as she commanded, and damn…he was right. He was heavy. The sled dug down deeper into the snow as she plodded slowly, diligently, and determinedly toward the cabin.

Dusk was falling by the time they finally reached shelter, which surprised Lyssa. The short trek had taken the entire day. Granted, the sun set early in the winter, but the day was gone. She steeled herself for the ordeal to come. Judging from what she’d felt when she’d laid her palm on his thigh, there was no way he’d be able to get inside without her help.

And that meant more touching.

She did a quick meditation, asking only the best for all and surrounding herself with a protective light, just as she did with all her clients. Still, it was a shock when he took her hand and struggled to his feet. When he draped his arm over her shoulder and pressed his body flush against hers, she nearly lost consciousness.

In fact, she stumbled on the first step, which almost sent him tumbling as well.

“Stop thinking about it,” she grumbled.

He stilled. Fixed her with a dark look. “Stop thinking about what?”

“You’re not paralyzed. You’re walking just fine. It’s just a torn muscle.”

He paled. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“Come on. Move. We need to get inside.” She frowned at him. “You’re heavy.”

He didn’t budge. “What did you mean? Why did you say I’m not paralyzed?”

“Tell me about the wind chimes instead.”

He stared at her. Adam’s apple bobbed. “Jesus. Are you reading my mind?”

Lyssa wrinkled her nose. “Only a little.”

“Don’t read my mind!”

She firmed her chin. “You are kind of shouting. Focus on the wind chimes again. That was nice.”

He did. Even though she could feel his shock and horror, and downright disbelief, of her abilities. He focused on the wind chimes and a lovely peace filtered through her mind.

“Up one step.” Slowly, he lifted his leg.

A memory. Of a time before. On another porch. Wind chimes hung from the rafters. Hundreds of them, dancing in the breeze and creating a delightful, healing cacophony
.

“Another step.”

Wade on that porch with Bo by his side. Struggling with a pair of crutches, willing his legs to work. “One step. Just one fucking step.”

“Last step.”

He sucked in a deep breath and, through the sheer force of will, made his leg move. One step.

One step and then another. That’s all it takes
.

Lyssa glanced up at him as he relived one of the darkest moments of his life. She could see it, etched on his features. His fear, his panic. “You did it,” she whispered, more to that wretched man in the past than the one who stood by her side right now—though they both needed affirmation. “You did it.”

He’d walked again. Then, and now.

Slowly, she guided him through the door and to the chair by the fire where he collapsed. She pulled the ottoman closer and lifted his leg. Before he had time to offer a denial, and before she had time to rethink this insanity, she went to work.

The injury was high on his thigh. She tried not to think about how close it was to…something else. She blew into her palms and rubbed her hands together until they heated and then set them on the spot—that glowing wound in his aura—and began to work.

Wade winced as this delicate, diminutive creature ripped into him. Damn, her hands were strong. But she knew just where it hurt and her massage, while exceedingly firm, gave him almost immediate relief. He groaned as she hit a tender spot. She lightened her touch and worked around the sensitive area. When it was warmed up, she moved back in, smoothing out the kinks and soothing the screaming muscle.

Amazingly, the pain waned. Agony became a dull throb, then a slight ache, and then a tingle.

She seemed to know when the worst of it was gone and stopped. She drew back, sat on her haunches, and peered up at him. “Better?” she asked through tight lips.

“Yes. Thank—”

Before the word was out of his mouth, she was on her feet and sprinting for the kitchen. He gaped at her as she turned on the water and furiously scrubbed her hands.

And then she threw up. In wrenching heaves.

He struggled to his feet and hobbled across the room. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern rippling through him. She was as pale as a ghost.

She whirled on him. “Sit down,” she snapped. “I don’t want to have to do that again.”

He sat. Stared at her. His lips worked.

What the hell had just happened?

She wet a paper towel and mopped her face. He noticed the sweat beading on her forehead, as though she had been the one in piercing pain—

“Lyssa?”

“Give me a minute.” She shook as she braced herself against the counter, gulping in deep draws of air. After a minute or two, she stumbled to the table and pulled out a chair. She nearly missed as she fell into it.

Still, he waited.

And waited.

Until she peeped up at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry for yelling,” she said. “That was worse than I expected.”

He shook his head. “What was worse than you expected? What did you do? I thought you said you were a therapist.” He’d encountered many physical therapists in his recovery, and none of them, not one, had done anything at all like this. And his leg hadn’t felt this…renewed in years.

She put her shoulders back and crossed her arms. “I
am
a therapist.”

“But not a physical therapist.”

She shrugged.

“What kind of therapist are you?”

Her nose wrinkled. “You don’t want to know.”

“What did you do to me?”

She nibbled on her cheek, shrugged, and glanced around the room. “Are you hungry? Because I’m hungry. It’s too bad we didn’t get the bacon, but I can make something else. I saw burgers in the fridge. Do you want—”

“Lyssa.” A growl.

Silence bubbled between them.

“What did you do?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I gave you a massage. It’s very simple really.” She stood with a great scraping of the chair against the floor, and went over to troll the fridge.

“I’ve never had a massage like that.”

She winked at him over her shoulder, but he could tell her insouciance was forced. “I’m very good.”

He decided to circle back to an earlier befuddlement. “Were you reading my mind before?”

She froze. Then reached in the fridge and brought out a plate of hamburger patties. “How about I cook these up? I won’t make fries, though. Too many carbs. Maybe a salad?”

“You were. Weren’t you? How else would you have known about the wind chimes?” It was his place. Where he went when he was in pain.

It didn’t exist in the real world. No one knew about it but him.

“Do you like tomatoes?”

“Can you read my mind right now? What am I thinking?”

She fixed him with a somber look, tipped her head to the side and said, in a very mystical voice, “You hate tomatoes.”

“I love tomatoes. Answer the question.”

She blew out a breath. “You don’t want to know, Wade.”

“I do.”

“Nobody does.” Her dispassionate scales flaked away and her fierceness rose to the fore. “Nobody wants to hear about it. Nobody wants to talk about it. No one wants to
know
. I’m a freak, Wade. Pure and simple.”

“You’re not a freak.” He would have thought so yesterday. This morning…an hour ago. Now he saw her for what she was. “You’re a healer.”

“Yes. I heal people. By reading their energy. Does that freak you out?”

“That you can read my mind whenever you want? Maybe a little—”

“I can’t read your mind whenever I want. And it’s only flashes. And only when I touch you.…” Her voice petered out, ended softly on that word.

“But that you can take away the pain? Hell, no.”

“I don’t take it away. I take it.”

He stared at her, processing her meaning. He glanced at the sink.
Oh
. That’s what that had been. The pain. His pain. The shock of it. He knew the force and weight of it well. But it had been too much for her slight frame and—

“Shit Lyssa. You’re not doing that again.”

Where it came from, this rising, raging urge to protect her, he didn’t know. That she had taken his pain and lived it for him, was humbling. And mortifying.

“You needed it.”

Simple words, but they devastated him.

She pressed her lips together. “And while we’re on the subject of mind reading….”

“Were we on the subject of mind reading?”

She ignored him. “Who’s Sam?”

His heart stopped. Right there in his chest.

“Sam?”

A blast echoed in his head and his heart, as it always did when he heard that name. “No-no one.”

“Liar.” Lyssa pulled out a pan and turned on the gas. “It’s burgers for dinner.” She shot him a glare. “And when you’re ready, Sam has something to say to you.”

Fuck
.

Acid roiled in his gut. The last thing—the very last thing he wanted to know—was what Sam had to say to him. He didn’t think he could bear the condemnation. The confirmation of the bitter truth.

Because it was his fault Sam was dead.

He’d killed her.

***

Dinner was kind of dismal.

Wade was in a sour mood and sat across from her wolfing down his burgers, and occasionally shooting surly looks in her direction. She tried to tune out his bristling energy, but had little success. It felt as though he’d crawled inside her brain and wouldn’t leave.

The only ones who enjoyed the meal were Biby and Bo—though on opposite sides of the room, each vying for their share of the last burger. Bo was brave enough to inch over when Biby didn’t eat fast enough, sniffing at the air as though he could draw the chunk closer with the strength of his indrawn breath. He received a swat for his trouble.

He didn’t try it again.

“So.” Wade pushed his plate away and cleared his throat, the first sound he’d made since she’d dropped her bombshell. She understood his reticence. Knowing about her healing ability was one thing, and the mind reading, yeah, still another. But the fact that dead people chatted with her on a regular basis was probably more than he could accept.

Sometimes it was hard for her to even accept. Like now. Since she’d touched him, since she’d walked through the pain with him, and since their physical connection had opened the door…Sam wouldn’t shut up.

She was almost as annoying as Jax.

It didn’t help that Jax kept raving about how cute Sam was.

Funny thing was, Lyssa wasn’t jealous of Sam because Jax thought she was a stone hottie floating around on the other side. She was jealous of Sam because Wade loved her.

Which was stupid.

Super stupid.

Because she knew what Wade thought of her as well. She couldn’t help but know. She’d
seen
it.

“So? What?” The bitterness curling through her probably accounted for the sharpness in her tone.

“Do you see dead people?” He tried to make it a joke. She could tell by the lame lift of his lips. It wasn’t funny, but for some people, jokes were the only way they could handle things they didn’t understand.

“No.”

He nearly collapsed in his chair. Until she continued.

“I hear them.” She winced at his expression, “I told you, I was weird.”

“What do they say to you?”

“Stuff.” She shrugged. “Usually stupid stuff.”

“Like?”

“Like when I was shopping for groceries yesterday, Jax told me to get two slabs of bacon.”

“Jax?”

She nodded. “My boyfriend.”

“He’s…?”

“Yeah. He’s…passed over.” Jax didn’t like the term ‘dead.’