God, the pounding!
Nearly stumbling, I escape into a place that’s…carpeted?
Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. I scream, covering my ears.
Aspen! Aspen! Open the door!
Aspen.
My name is Garnet. Who’s Aspen?
Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. Against the door. Water drips from my body, and I…
I open the door.
And I remember.
Pictures hurl back to me. Images. Feelings.
I’m at the Four Seasons Hotel. And Buck. Good, strong Buck. He stands in front of me.
And I fall into his hard body.
“Easy, honey. Easy.” He lifts me, takes me to the bed, and lays me down. Then he goes to the bathroom, brings back a towel, and wraps me in it.
Did he see the scars on my body? Did he see that I have only one nipple?
If he did, he didn’t show it on his face. He showed no signs of being surprised. No signs of being disgusted.
He pushes my hair back off my forehead. “Okay. I’m here, honey. I’m here.”
Tears squeeze out of my eyes.
Freaking tears. I never let myself cry on that damned island. I couldn’t. Crying is weakness, and I couldn’t be weak.
I had to be strong. I had to push back the pain, just like all those times on the volleyball court when I played with injuries because my team needed me.
I pushed through, and I pushed through on that island.
Now? In a soft and glorious bed in a five-star hotel, with the handsomest man in the universe taking care of me?
I can no longer push.
I sob. Soul-racking sobs. As if all the sobs I held inside during the last six years come tumbling out of me.
It’s weak. I’m weak. I know this, but I can’t bring myself to care enough to stop.
Okay, honey. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.
Buck’s voice. Buck’s strong, deep, masculine voice.
So comforting, and damned if I know why.
Being comforted by a man is not something I ever imagined. Not after what I’ve been through.
He sits on the bed next to me. He doesn’t try to gather me in his arms, though part of me really wants him to.
The other part of me? That part wants to run screaming from him.
He doesn’t force it. He just sits with me. At one point, he takes my hand, rubs his fingers in my palm, but then, as if he thinks better of it, he puts my hand down.
“I’m going to get you some clothes. You should be dry by now. I’ll put you to bed. In my bed in my room. I’ll sleep in here, on this wet stuff.”
I open my mouth to tell him no, that’s not necessary, but all that comes out is more sobbing.
Damn. I thought I was done.
But I cry and I cry.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be done again.
He lets me cry.
He helps me sit up so I can blow my nose. Pats my back when I hiccup from the crying.
And then…I finally stop. No more tears. They just stop.
A few moments later, Buck rises, walks to the minibar, and comes back with a bottle of water. He opens it for me. “You need to drink this. You’re dehydrated. From all the crying.”
The word crying almost makes me start up again, but I choke it back. I take the water from him and drink half of it in the first sip.
“The rest,” he says. “All of it.”
Two more gulps and I drain the bottle.
“In half an hour I want you to drink another bottle. Okay?”
I nod. I’m not sure I trust myself to speak yet.
“I’m going to get you some pajamas. Are they in your bag?
I don’t wear pajamas. I wear underwear and a T-shirt. But still, I say nothing. I’m still afraid to speak.
He gets into my suitcase, ravages through my belongings, and then rises. “I’ll be back. I’m going to get you one of my T-shirts.”
He returns with a large white T-shirt. Just a basic undershirt. But it’s huge, and even at six feet, I know it will hang on me.
He turns his head. “Put it on.”
I can’t. I just sit there, still wrapped in the towel.
“Aspen?”
“I’m fine.”
The first words I’ve dared to speak. It’s a lie. He and I both know that. All I need to do now is muster the strength to put on the T-shirt and then snuggle into his nice, warm bed while he sleeps here in my soaking one.
That’s hardly fair.
But what the hell is fair about this life? Precious little from what I’ve seen.
I drop my towel just as he turns to meet my gaze.
His jaw drops. “I’m sorry.”
For a moment I think he’s going to turn around again, give me my privacy.
But instead— “Baby, I’m so, so sorry.”
My scars.
He sees I have only one nipple. Only one nipple to feed a baby in the future, if I’m ever whole enough to be a mother.
Something that will always remind me.
Something that will always remind him.