What's Left Of Me (The Firebird Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

“Did you hurt anything else?”

He snatched the front of her shirt and pulled her to him. “I bit my lip when I fell. See?” He pouted. Two bloody indentations marred his bottom lip where his teeth had sunk in. “Maybe a little kiss would help.”

“I don’t know,” she said, drawn to those lips like a magnet.

“It’s a terrible idea, of course. You’re checking into the hospital today. And you’ll be recovering for weeks.”

“On the other hand, my husband is hurt.” She sifted his wet hair through her fingers. Tiny droplets sparkled in his lashes.

“You’re going to catch cold in those wet clothes.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“We find a sunny spot off the trail.” Alex tipped up her chin. “I take them off you. And”—he grazed his lips over her ear, her neck, skimmed them along her jaw—“I make love to you until they dry.”

A shiver swept through her. Equipped with the fresh memories of their kitchen encounter, her body was already in supplication. “That’s awfully tempting.”

“Good.” Alex led the way back to the motorcycle. Rather than get on the interstate, he hooked a right onto another park road and drove until they reached a large, tree-lined pond. A deserted cabin sat at the end of the road. The fishing pier stood empty. Sunlight coaxed out the herbaceous aromas of fresh grass and damp earth, of lemon zest from the hemlocks and algae from the motionless water. Birds trilled and squawked in the trees and over the pond as they plucked water striders from the surface. A bullfrog rumbled in the reeds and mannagrass, through which the wind whisked unseen fingers, at the water’s muddy edge. Each detail crisp and vivid as if frozen in time, meaning everything and nothing. A memory through which some future version of herself—assuming there would be a future version after tomorrow—was walking.

Alex doffed every stitch of his clothing. Tattoos and bitterly acquired scars combined to express his story in the language of pain. Stephanie, entranced by the interaction of light and shadow on his skin and the contours of his muscles, absorbed the sight for the simple, stunning marvel it was. How fragile and grand everything had become when confronted with life’s transience. How inconsequential and ultimately heartbreaking. But she had been here, she had lived, and it didn’t have to signify anything to anyone but her. Her moment with the world had granted her many things, this man and their daughter above all. That was value enough.

Alex hung his damp clothing over the pier’s railing and held out his hand. A blue dasher dragonfly alighted on his arm. He let his smile speak for him as he cocked his head, encouraging Stephanie to join him. The dragonfly flitted away. She shed her clothes and stood with him on the edge of the pier, the wood warm beneath her feet. The possibility that someone might catch them imbued the environment with an even deeper lushness, connecting them to each leaf, each water droplet, each shaft of sunlight.

She twined her fingers in his hair, drawing him closer. His eyes already half-closed, he smiled and tilted his head, bit his lip. Stephanie kissed his eyelashes first, tiny, feathery kisses she fluttered down to the corner of his mouth, over his bristly jaw, his collarbone. She traced the shape of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. Trembling, Alex gasped softly and lunged forward as if to gobble her up; she laid a finger over his lips, then awarded him an open-mouthed kiss. He roamed his hands from her hair to her cheeks to her breasts, whose nipples his skillful fingers pinched just short of painfully, and back again. When he sneaked his tongue between her lips, she pulled away and gave him a playful slap on the chest.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll behave.”

His burgeoning erection said otherwise. In between kisses, she interspersed gentle sucks and nibbles on his lower lip, which he enthusiastically returned. He glided his hands down her back, her ass, bringing her close to him. His body, her wondrous shelter.

Empty space opened beneath her. Tangled together, they toppled off the pier and into the water, the cold sting slapping her back into reality. So did a fish slipping past her thigh. “Ew!” Stephanie smacked at the water and frog-legged to reduce the chances of further contact. “You did that on purpose.”

Alex’s rich, resonant laugh pealed bell-like across the pond, and her heart expanded, if it were possible, with even more love for him. “We haven’t gone skinny-dipping in a long time.”

She flicked a spray of water at him. 

“
Ey!
” He scrubbed a hand over his face then splashed her. “I will win this battle. I’m bigger than you.”

She laughed and leapt onto him, dunking him. He popped back up and pushed his hair back, his teeth gleaming in the dazzling sunlight. Water droplets glittered on his sun-dappled chest and arms.

“You cheated.” He looped his arms around her.

She let her feet sink back to the earth, muck squishing between her toes. She knew she would return to this moment often, if surgery granted her the gift of more time. To his wet, sensual mouth and the way it edged up at the corners before straddling hers, the way his tongue toyed with hers. To his rough, ragged breaths and the pucker of his lips during each kiss. How warmth engulfed her despite the cool water. How each touch, each movement of his mouth and the sensation of his tongue sliding along hers stirred her nerve endings, quickened her pulse, and awakened a different kind of appetite deep in her belly.

“I love you,” she said. “I need you to know that.”

Alex pressed his brow to hers. “I do, baby.” He closed his eyes, but the yearning expression remained. “As much as I want this to last all day, let’s get you back so you can spend a few hours with Anya.”

“Our clothes still look damp.”

He grinned and, tangling his fingers in her hair, brought her mouth to his. “I’ll definitely make it up to you.”

They dressed and mounted the motorcycle. The wind whipped them as they raced along the highway and she clung to Alex. She wished they could pick up Anya and keep going.

Half an hour later, however, Alex was walking her to the Whites’ front door. “Call me when you’re ready.”

“Thank you. Again.”

Alex clasped her chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted it up. “You’re my wife. I would never let you do this alone.”

“I know.” Stephanie gripped his sturdy hands, kissed his scraped palms again. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“I’ll bring the car this time.” He smiled and let go of her, finger by finger, until only their pinkies remained joined. “I love you. Always.”

“Always,” she whispered.

Chapter Fifteen

Alex

His heart was a bird thrashing against a window it had mistaken for an open space; to keep beating like this surely meant death. Anxiety sizzled in his chest and stomach, butter in a hot skillet. He hated being afraid, and that Stephanie was afraid, hated that she was lying in this hospital bed and he was powerless to make it better. She wasn’t allowed any makeup, not that she wore much anyway, and the freckles normally subdued by foundation spattered her pale face like paint flecks. Her blond lashes, unadorned with mascara, framed eyes more fulgent for their tears.

She couldn’t eat after eleven, so Alex ordered her favorites to keep her sated until after the surgery: creamy macaroni and cheese, garlic butter breadsticks, black cherry soda, and molten chocolate cake. The feeling that it resembled a condemned inmate’s last meal, and the ancillary queasiness, put him off his own dinner.

He bought a bouquet of the brightest, happiest flowers in the gift shop, and set on her bed tray her Surface Pro and the book she’d packed. She was staying for about a week. Hospital protocol dictated that no children under sixteen could visit, and she was allowed only one visitor at a time. She might not even wake up; to deny her the right to see her child beforehand was a bureaucratic cruelty.

“We should write the book,” she said as she opened the computer. “Like we talked about. What do you think?”

The media had laid him bare so many times already, a book could hardly damage him more. And Stephanie’s writing of it wouldn’t be a mélange of rumors, half-truths, and outright lies. The funny thing was his reality trumped the lies, as truth usually did. His summers in Ibiza alone strained credibility, and yet not one printed or spoken word meant to paint him as a villain remotely resembled his actual life. Catharsis, maybe, but one Stephanie shouldn’t have to endure. He
had
been a villain, the worst kind, so lost in his own misery that it compelled him to contaminate anyone associated with him.

Alex pasted on a halcyon smile. “We’ll see.” He pulled out his phone to find two missed calls. A voicemail from Ed immediately followed one from the cops, both with the same message.
More questions, call us at your earliest convenience.

“What’s wrong, Alex? And don’t bullshit me. I think we’re a bit past that.”

He smirked. “
Da.
I’m sorry. The cops want to interview me again. So, you’re losing a lobe of your lung. Are you going to be okay?”

“My lung function tests were all right. I should be able to get enough oxygen for most things, but I might get short of breath now and then. I’m more worried about the surgery itself. I’ve never had surgery before.” Stephanie nibbled at her fingernails. “I’m scared.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? They said they’d bring in a bed.”

“Be with Anya. One of us should be tonight.”

Alex rose from the chair. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” He stooped to kiss her sweaty forehead. She whimpered, expelled a pained breath, and tears rolled down her cheeks. He folded his hands around hers. “No. Please,
milaya
. Don’t cry. You’ll be fine, and I’ll be waiting for you. Call me if you can’t sleep, all right? But please try to rest.”

“We get through one thing, and something else happens. When does it stop?”

“It stops now. Everything will be different now.”

“I want to come home,” she whispered.

Alex smoothed back her hair. “You never had to ask.” He laid their clutched hands over her heart and sang:

“‘
My love is like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June

My love is like the melody

That’s sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my beautiful girl,

o deep in love am I

And I will love thee still, my dear,

’Til all the seas run dry.

’Til all the seas run dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt with the sun

And I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only love,

And fare thee well a while!

And I will come again, my love,

Thou’ t’were ten thousand mile.
’”

Stephanie tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “You always know exactly what I need.”

If only.
“Try to sleep, baby.” He kissed the back of her hand, then walked to the door.

“Alex?”

He paused in the doorway.

“Thank you for everything.”

He smiled for real this time and tried for her sake not to fly apart like glass at high impact. Only once before had he ever felt so ineffective. He had no desire to return to that dark place, not with Stephanie and Anya depending on him. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

***

This was not how he ever wished to spend time alone with Anya.

Alex picked her up from the Whites. Already knowing sleep plotted to evade him that night, he heated a bottle for her and brewed a pot of tea. “Mama is going to be fine,” he told her, because the assurance spoken aloud convinced him more. She had to be. They had promised to be together forever.

He could not become a widower, a single father, at twenty-seven years old.

His phone rang, and he seriously contemplated smashing it to pieces with the nearest heavy object. Maybe if it wasn’t his only connection to Stephanie until he saw her in the morning.

“Hi, Ed.”

“Sasha. Catch you at a good time?”

“Not really. My wife is having major surgery tomorrow. I’m taking care of our daughter. And a good friend of mine died recently. ”

“Yeah, I know. You realize that going to her hotel was one of the dumbest things you could have possibly done, right? You’re making this harder on yourself.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. His arms and legs twitched, and he tapped his fingers on the kitchen counter to discharge some of the energy. “Ed, my wife and I were unofficially separated for about a month. I was not in the best frame of mind; I admit that. And now she has lung cancer, and…” He gulped air and wilted against the counter.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sasha. Really.”

“
Spasibo
,” he rasped. He thirsted for a drink so badly, though he’d emptied every bottle of alcohol down the sink last night.

“Anyway, the cops have interviewed everyone they could track down who was at the club that night and remember you being there. Everyone says the same thing—Katherine was sexually aggressive and left with you willingly.”

“We were both drunk. She couldn’t consent even if she did go willingly. That’s second-degree rape in this state,
da
?” Seven-year prison sentence. At least twenty additional years as a registered sex offender. Anya growing up believing her father was a criminal and a pervert. Justifiably amputated from her and Stephanie’s lives like a gangrenous limb.

“No way would a jury convict based on a complete lack of evidence. She claims there’s a rape kit? Not one hospital in the county has a record of her being there at any time within the week following the alleged incident. This isn’t even going to get to a grand jury, I assure you. They don’t have even circumstantial evidence.
Nothing.
You’ve settled down, started a family. She spent six months last year in a psych ward.”

“My defense is nothing but a character assassination.”

“Sasha, listen to me. Sixty percent of rapes are never even reported. Do you know why? Because this is what happens. The accuser becomes the bad guy, especially when a celebrity’s involved. Am I happy about that? No. But she’s not my client; you are. And my job is to prevent this case from ever going to trial.”

He heard Stephanie’s voice in his head, telling the entire viewing area and anyone who watched the episode online that no one would have believed her because of her father’s status. Shame that he was the reason she’d felt compelled to share her secret in the first place devastated him, and that hadn’t even been the worst of it. He blinked back tears. He would not become that man. He would not betray her, not to save his own skin.

“She can’t even file a civil suit against you—the statute of limitations for assault expired a year ago.”

“So what do we do now?”

“You keep cooperating with the investigation, but you make no public statements. She wants the attention, Sasha. Don’t give it to her.”

“Can’t we do a financial settlement and make her go away?” It had worked with Courtney. Alex tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could test Anya’s bottle. Perfect. He angled her in one arm and nudged her lips with the rubber nipple.

“She’s going away no matter what. It’s just a matter of time. So be patient, all right? No media statements; just cooperate with the investigation and keep living your life.”

“All right. Thank you, Ed.” Alex leaned over the counter and let the phone tumble onto it.

Anya had emptied her bottle. He rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher, then carried her into the great room and sat on the couch with her against his chest, her chin on his shoulder. Supporting her with one hand, he rubbed her back with gentle strokes until she issued a tiny burp.

“Good girl. Time for a bath and bed.”

In the en suite, Alex gathered the bottle of baby bubble bath, a washcloth, and a plastic cup, and laid out a towel, a clean diaper, and a sleeper. He filled the tub with about three inches of warm water, then undressed a squalling, thrashing Anya. She did not love bath time the way her mother did.

“Shh. I know Mama usually does this, and we both miss her. She’ll be home soon,
moy angel
.” Alex lowered her into the tub feet first, using one hand to brace her neck and head. He poured cupfuls of water over her to prevent her getting cold, and washed her scalp. After rinsing soap from the cloth, he gently cleaned her eyes and face, dabbing the dried mucus in her nostrils to soften it before removal.

She quieted a little, contented by the soap’s tangerine scent, and bestowed on him her precious, toothless grin. He pursed his lips, bit them, battling to keep the tears at bay. “Mama’s going to be okay,” he whispered. Alex rinsed her thoroughly and wiped her with a clean washcloth. Then he lifted her from the tub with one hand propping her neck and head and the other her bottom, wrapping his fingers around one slippery thigh. He swaddled her in a towel and patted her dry. A fresh diaper, into the sleeper, and a kiss on her lightly fragranced head.

Alex moved her bassinet into the master, for his solace as much as Anya’s, and placed her in it. “Good night, baby girl.” He kissed each plump cheek. She had already fallen asleep.

He never did.

***

Stephanie

A nurse escorted Stephanie to the Pre-Anesthesia Unit. She had given Alex her rings and necklace for safekeeping. More paperwork to sign, then the nurse took her temperature, blood pressure, and pulse, and reviewed her medications.

“All right, Stephanie, we’re going to insert the IV now. You may feel a little pinch.”

Compared to what she’d already endured, and what was coming next, the IV didn’t scare her. She barely noticed the needle sliding into her arm.

The anesthesia provider arrived next to examine her and check her medical and anesthesia history. She tried to ignore the significance of Alex’s posture, the curled shoulders and concave chest, the tightly clasped knees. The paling face. He’d been through all this, except he’d been unconscious already. Lucky him.

“We’ll be giving you general anesthesia,” the provider said, “which is injected in your IV. We’ll also give you a mixture of gases with oxygen to breathe. You won’t be aware of anything happening during the operation. We’ll place a breathing tube into your windpipe to help you breathe during your surgery, which may cause some soreness in your throat afterward. Do you have any questions?”

“No.” Her throat, however, ached at the thought of the tube.

Now her surgeon’s turn to ask if she had any questions.
Only one: Can I leave?
She shook her head. Her mouth tasted sour.

The surgeon asked her to turn over so he could mark her surgical site, then left to prepare in the operating room. The nurse reviewed her information one more time before instructing her to slide onto the stretcher.

She gazed up at Alex, who was squeezing her hand. His fingers were cold and trembling. “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you,” she whispered.

“It won’t be. They’re taking good care of you, and I’ll be waiting. I love you.” He kissed her forehead, her lips.

“I don’t want to let go.” She let out a soft whimper. Tears spilled into her hairline. “I don’t want to do this.”