Текст книги "Imperfect"
Автор книги: Cherry Shephard
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
“Her leg’s hurt,” Keets says, kneeling beside me and touching it gently. She cries out and her face screws up in pain, but her eyes remain closed. “She’s passed out.” He leans forward, scrunching his nose. “She reeks of alcohol.”
“So call an ambulance,” I respond gruffly.
Keets pulls out his cell phone and shakes his head. “No reception. Storm must be screwing it up.”
“We can’t just leave her here,” I tell him, gently stroking her hair.
“Come on,” he says, getting to his feet. “Help me get her to the truck.”
I gently place her head down on the ground and stand. The grass is slippery, but between the two of us, we get her into the back seat of the truck. Thankfully, she stays passed out the whole time. I climb into the back of the truck with her, cradling her head on my lap. Keets starts the engine and slowly backs away from the stables. I’m overcome with guilt. This is all my fault. I never should have left her alone in the bar. I should have told her about Grace. I stroke Shannon’s hair off her pale face, willing her to be okay. “The road’s blocked,” Keets calls over his shoulder. “We can’t get into town to get to the hospital.” I look up and out the windshield. Keets is right—the road is completely flooded.
“Take us back to my place,” I say in a gruff voice. “We’ll call the doctor.”
Keets maneuvers the truck around and heads back toward my house. My eyes never stray from Shannon’s face as my trembling fingers brush her cheek, shocked by the cold. I carefully fumble around on the floor of the truck until I find a well-worn, dark blue blanket. I carefully tuck it around her and lean my head back against the seat. Today has been such a long day. I feel drained, exhausted. But more than anything, I’m worried. I’m so fucking worried. How do I begin to help Grace? How do I get through to my son? I feel as though the weight of the world is settling squarely on my shoulders, and I have no idea how to solve my problems. I wish Grandma were here. That tough old bird would’ve known exactly what to say, what to do. I could really use her advice right now.
But I’m alone. It’s a cold, empty feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach, making me nauseous. I find myself second-guessing everything. Am I doing the right thing, bringing a woman and child into my fucked-up life? I need help, but who can help me? Certainly not my friends. The only person who knows everything is Keets, and that’s only because he was there in Afghanistan with me. He knows all of my inner demons. He knows the source of my nightmares.
Right now, though, my focus is on the woman still passed out in my arms. I don’t know how she came to be this way, but I know that somehow it’s my fault. A plan starts formulating in my mind, one I know she’ll hate. Shannon is strong, independent. The last thing she’s going to want is to stay with Zeke and me until her leg is healed.
Unfortunately for Shannon, I can be just as stubborn when I have to be. She’s about to learn that the hard way.
My head is killing me, and there’s an intense burning sensation in my right leg.
I let a small groan escape my lips as I slowly crack open my eyes. I’m in Stone’s room. How the hell did I end up here? I know I drank a lot last night, but surely I’d remember hooking up with the handsome soldier again. I try to sit up, but it’s difficult. My right leg is completely immobilized in a tight bandage that stops just below my knee. What the fuck?
I carefully ease my left leg over the edge of the bed and sit up slowly. My hand goes immediately to my forehead as I feel the blood rush to my temples. The headache intensifies, and I stifle a small sob. I quickly give up trying to stand and settle back against the headboard, staring at the opposite wall.
Bits and pieces of last night start coming back to me: Effie and the Monopoly Man in the bar, Daddy’s debt, Grace and Zeke . . . Stone.
Stone’s married. I groan as I close my eyes. A part of me had hoped it was all just a bad dream, that I’d wake up and things would be back to normal. Unfortunately, the daylight only makes it worse. Stone is married to a dying woman, and I slept with him. Could it get any worse than this? I feel like such a bitch. I like to think Grace was quickly becoming someone I might have called a friend, and I royally screwed her over. I slept with her husband. And what about their son? Zeke had no part in this, but I still slept with his father. Great, I’m nothing more than a miserable home wrecker.
The bedroom door opens and I open my eyes, narrowing them as Stone cautiously pokes his head around the corner. Anger bubbles inside me like a volcano, ready to erupt.
“Hey, Shan,” he says softly, a sheepish smile on his handsome face. Somehow, that makes me even angrier. My hand reaches down and grabs the first thing I feel. It’s a lamp on the bedside table. I yank the cord out and throw it as hard as I can at the door, narrowly missing his head as he ducks back around the corner. “What the hell?” he shouts from his hiding place, but I’m in no mood for his shit.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I yell as he opens the door and cautiously steps into the room. Tears immediately start to pour down my cheeks, and I angrily dash them away.
“I don’t know,” he admits. But that’s not a good enough reason.
“You’re married!” I scream, not caring if anyone else hears me. “You’re fucking married.”
“I know,” he says, his features pinched.
“How could you not tell me you’re married?”
“I forgot, okay?” he yells. He sounds tired.
“You forgot?” I laugh in a strange, high-pitched voice. “What the hell do you mean, you forgot? I suppose you forgot you had a son, too.”
“I didn’t know about him,” Stone says, holding his hands out helplessly.
“How convenient,” I snort.
“Look,” he starts, sitting on the edge of the bed. I cross my arms and turn my head away. I can’t even look at him right now. “Listen to me,” he says. “I was barely married before I enlisted in the Army. My daddy served, and his daddy before him. It’s in my blood. But Grace didn’t see it that way. She gave me an ultimatum: The Army or her.”
I don’t look at him, but I’m listening.
“I tried to curb my desire for battle.” I see him stand out of the corner of my eye, start pacing back and forth across the room. “For a while it worked,” he continues. “I was a doting husband and a hard worker. But then the World Trade Center was attacked. That morning, I was too far away to help, but I saw it. I sat glued to the TV, my hands clenched into fists by my sides, my blood boiling. I’m a proud American, damnit; I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while innocent people were being killed right in front of me.”
My heart aches as I remember that day so vividly. Troy was passed out on the floor as I sat on the couch, my knees pulled up to my chest as day-old mascara streaked across my cheeks, cutting through the tears as I watched the men and women jumping out of the burning buildings to escape the hot flames . . . only to be greeted by the cold, hard pavement below. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the sight of that one falling man. The one who has never been officially identified, but who became a beacon of peace among the chaos. The man who’d accepted his fate, almost greeting death like an old friend.
I finally turn my head toward him, watching as he continues to pace back and forth at the end of the bed. “I packed my bag that same morning,” Stone continues. “Grace begged me not to go, told me she’d divorce me if I left. But how could I stay? My country, my men, they needed me more than she did. So I did what I had to do.” He pauses his pacing and stands facing me, his eyes glazed over with sorrow. “I left,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. “I left my wife and the son I didn’t know she was carrying. My son. Two months later, I got the notice of intent to divorce. In my pain, I tore it up and vowed to never think of it again. When I was injured they looked for her, but she never responded to their messages. Then when I came back this time I was so fucking messed up that I just started drinking, and I’ve never stopped. I didn’t hear from Grace until yesterday, I think she just wanted to forget I existed. I knew I’d hurt her, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I had no idea she was fighting cancer.”
My heart is breaking for him. Tears fill my eyes, making him appear blurred. I blindly reach out my hand for him, offering him a small amount of comfort. But I’m the one who receives the comfort when he accepts my hand and sits beside me on the edge of the bed. We say nothing, just sit, our hands clasped tightly together as we are both lost in our memories. Eventually, he places my hand gently back down on the bed and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
I wipe my eyes and lean my head back against the headboard, but the tears won’t stop falling. I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, stomped on and pushed through a meat grinder. It hurts so fucking bad. I can’t begin to imagine Stone’s pain . . . the pain of losing his wife, finding out she kept a son from him for fourteen years. I have so many questions, like why didn’t she tell him about Zeke? Why was she so against him joining the Army? I know in my heart I’ll never get the answers to these questions, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I want to hate Grace. How dare she keep Zeke away from his father! My breath catches on a small sob as my tears finally slow then stop. I’m exhausted all over again. I can’t hate Grace, as much as I want to. Yes, she did the wrong thing, but she did it for the right reason – to protect her child. Wouldn’t I have done the same? I have to get out of here. I need time to think. Summoning my strength, I call out to Stone. But there’s no answer. I huff angrily and blow the hair out of my face. As I glance down, my hand brushes against a piece of paper I hadn’t noticed before, sitting next to me on the bed. I pick it up and unfold it, my eyes widening as I read:
Shan,
I know you won’t like this, and to be honest, I’m too gutless to tell you to your face. Last night, you took a pretty bad fall, and your leg is pretty badly damaged.
The doctor says you’ll be fine, but you’ll be unable to walk properly for the next 6-8 weeks. Sucks, I know.
Don’t worry about Saddles. You’ll be able to get back to it as soon as you’ve learned to use crutches. Ruth, Keets and I will run the front for you.
There’s something else. The doctor said you’ll need help with everyday activities like bathing. So you’re staying with me until the bandage comes off.
Please don’t argue with me on this. You have no idea how terrified I was, seeing you lying in the rain unconscious like that.
I’ll send Zeke in with some food for you soon. Don’t try to get out of bed. I know how stubborn you are, but just don’t, ok? I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Stone
I snort and suppress a short bark of laughter at his note. Me, stay here with him? He’s crazy! Of course I can look after myself. I’ve never needed anyone before but myself, and that’s not about to change just because of a stupid injured leg.
I call out to Zeke, looking at the door expectantly. It doesn’t open. I call out again and again, until my throat is dry and hoarse. Where the hell is that kid? I sigh and glance down. My eyes widen when I see a wheelchair positioned next to me. Surely that can’t be a coincidence? Zeke must be out, must have left it there for me so I could get out of here. I must remember to give him an extra-large strawberry shake and fries the next time he’s in Saddles. I carefully ease the blankets back and swing both legs over the side of the bed. I grip one handle of the wheelchair and pull myself up from the bed, grinning in triumph.
Pity the brakes aren’t on.
The wheelchair shifts and rolls backwards. My face changes from smug pleasure to terror as I fall, face planting in the carpet. I groan in pain as my leg throbs and my hangover seems to increase tenfold. I’m pissed off, hurting, I have to pee, and I’m sure my face is red from embarrassment.
The last thing I want right now is that bedroom door to open.
I’m sitting in Saddles, nursing a beer and a massive headache.
It sucked, leaving Shannon like that. I feel like such an idiot for bearing my soul that way. Shannon is injured; the last thing she needs or wants is my fucked-up baggage. How does she keep doing this to me? She’s tearing down every barrier I put up. Like a thief in the night, she’s sneaking in, undoing the lock around my heart and worm-crawling her way inside.
And what about Zeke? He’d watched with wide eyes last night when Keets helped me carry Shannon inside. The poor kid has dealt with so much over the past twenty-four hours; another woman in his life is the last thing he needs. I swallow the last mouthful of beer in my glass and look over at the bar, catching Ruth’s eye as I hold up the empty glass. She grins and nods and I lower my arm, putting the glass back on the table. It’s only around 4 p.m. on a Thursday, but regulars are already starting to trickle into the bar, ready for a night of music and fun. I have to say, I’m impressed with the way Shannon runs the place. Everyone seems to know everyone else, and they look out for one another as only true friends can do.
The door of the bar opens and I glance up to see an absurdly dressed woman enter, bringing with her a cloud of sickly sweet perfume that has me ducking my head to avoid the smell, making my headache worse. My face is tilted down toward my empty glass, but my eyes are raised as she saunters over to the bar. The hot pink leggings she’s wearing are stretched impossibly thin across her large ass.
Ruth walks over with a fresh beer, putting the glass down on the table with a small smile. “How’s Shannon?” she asks. I pick up the glass and swallow about half of the beer, putting it back down on the table as I wipe my mouth with the back of my free hand. “She’s all right,” I answer, still looking over at the woman by the bar. She’s laughing at something Keets is saying, but he looks mighty uncomfortable. He points in our direction and the woman turns, a huge smile covering her face as she walks our way. I indicate toward the bar with my head. “Who’s that?” I ask.
Ruth follows my gaze. “Urgh,” she groans. “That’s Effie. The town gossip. Brace yourself.”
“Why?” I ask, an amused grin on my face. But she doesn’t get the chance to answer.
“Ethan,” Effie purrs. I look up and see the hot-pink lady standing directly in front of me. I give her a smile and gesture to the seat next to her. She leans over as she sits, and her large breasts almost spill out of her white tank top. I’m not certain, but I suspect she meant for it to happen. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she says, flashing me a grin. I grin back, but it’s not for the reason she thinks. Her teeth are smeared with bright pink lipstick.
“I wish I could say the same,” I respond graciously, glancing up at Ruth who’s standing there with an ‘I told you so’ smirk on her face. Effie notices me looking at Ruth and turns her face up toward the young bartender. “Can I help you?” she asks coldly, gesturing toward me. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.” Ruth raises her eyebrows at me, and I give her a gentle smile and nod my head.
“All right, I can take a hint,” she says with a laugh. “My shift is over, anyway. I might head on over and check on Shan, if that’s all right?”
“Of course.” Why wouldn’t I say yes?
“Great.” She smiles, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder as she passes behind me. “See you later, Effie,” she calls over her shoulder as she opens the front door and exits the bar.
I turn back to Effie with a smile. “Effie, is it?” I ask, raising my glass to her. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh, no thank you, sugar,” she gushes. “I just wanted to meet the handsome soldier who bedded our little Shannon.”
I almost spit out my beer. My eyebrows shoot up toward my hairline and I quickly put down my glass as a coughing fit overcomes me for a moment. “E-excuse me?” I ask. My chest burns and tears fill my eyes as I continue coughing.
“Oh, come on now, honey,” Effie says, ignoring my discomfort. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. We’re all friends here.”
I reach desperately for my glass and swallow a few mouthfuls of beer. By the time I pull it away from my mouth, I’m gasping for breath, but the coughing has stopped. “I’m not sure it’s really any of your business,” I tell her, still gasping.
Effie grins. That damn lipstick stain is so distracting. “Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong.”
I don’t particularly like the way she says that. “What do you mean?”
“We’re a small town,” Effie says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “News travels fast around here. Now, what you do in your own home is your own business, but word is you have a wife and a brat. Let’s face it; Shannon’s ex-boyfriend left a bad taste in all our mouths. She’s a pretty little thing, but not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean.”
If this were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of my ears, I’m that angry. I slowly rise from the table, being careful to keep my voice low as I lean over it, looking her straight in the eye. “Listen,” I start, enjoying a brief moment of satisfaction as she recoils from my venomous look. “You’re right. What I do in my own home is my own business. My personal life is just that – personal. So I’ll thank you to stay out of it.”
“Well,” Effie sputters indignantly, getting clumsily to her feet. “There’s no need to be rude about it. Just remember, it’s not just your reputation at stake here. Maybe you should ask Shannon about her father.” I watch as she makes her way out of the bar, my hands clenched into fists by my sides.
“Are you okay?” Keets asks, magically appearing next to me, a new beer in his hand. I gratefully accept it and take a long swallow before I speak. “Is she always like that?” I ask, slowly sitting back down, shaking my head in amazement.
“Pretty much.” Keets laughs, sitting backwards on the seat opposite me, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair. “How’s Shannon feeling?”
I groan and swallow another mouthful of beer before placing the glass down on the table. “I don’t know,” I state, my brow creasing. “I can only assume she wasn’t exactly pleased by the situation.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Keets says with a grin, picking my beer up and swallowing a mouthful. I wait for him to place it back on the table, but it remains in his hand as he sits there staring at the wall behind me, seemingly deep in thought.
“What?” I grumble, staring at my beer. My fingers itch to snatch it back, and I curl them into my hand hard enough to feel the nails pierce the skin of my palm.
“I need to ask you something, but you have to promise not to get upset or hit me.”
I raise my eyebrows, a small smile appearing on my face. “Go on.”
“Why didn’t you sign the divorce papers?”
I let out a loud sigh and slump against the table, resting on my forearms. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I wish I did, but . . .”
“But?” Keets prompts.
“I guess I was just so angry that I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I kept telling myself it wasn’t true, that my wife wouldn’t leave me just for trying to keep my country safe . . . for trying to keep her safe.” I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat, and Keets finally hands back my beer. I gulp a mouthful and put the glass down on the table, clearing my throat.
“I guess she didn’t see it that way. I tore the divorce papers up and promised myself I’d work on my marriage when I got home.
“And you never saw her again, until yesterday,” Keets says.
“Until yesterday,” I repeat miserably, lifting my glass once more, draining the last of the beer.
“So, what are you going to do now?”
I let out a whoosh of air between my teeth. “I wish I fucking knew. But I’ll start with another beer.”
“Well,” Keets says, standing up and turning the chair around, tucking it back in under the table. “I don’t know what to tell you about Shannon, but I do know that another beer won’t make the issue go away.”
“Keets,” I warn with a low growl. “Don’t start.” I’m not in the mood for his shit.
“Look.” He presses his palms flat against the table top as he leans over it to glare down at me. “All I’m saying is don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
I nod mutely at him.
“Good.” Keets smiles, pushing himself away from the table. “I’ll go get you that beer.”
I smile weakly and watch him walk away. I know he’s right, of course. Getting drunk will solve nothing. But at least it’ll help me forget . . . for a while.
