Between Here and the Horizon (24 page)

“Mmm. Yes, I’m sure it was. A terrible thing, by the sounds of it.”

Ahh, the soft, coddling tone of a therapist. He managed to sound deeply wounded by the tragedy, and completely insincere at the same time. I wanted to slam the laptop closed and cut him off, but that would have made next week’s session really awkward. For Connor’s sake, I managed not to snap at him.
 

“What about you, Ophelia? How did the event affect you?
Mentally
?”

Oh, absolutely not. I wasn’t going to be psychoanalyzed by Fielding. No way, no how. It was one thing being here because it was the right thing to do for a child in my care, and another altogether to be stripped down and assessed, to have him making notes about me in his little book.
 

I gave him my most steely, cold smile. “I’m fine, Doctor. Thank you for your concern.”

“You didn’t know any of the deceased men that were brought in from the wreckage?”

“No. I didn’t. The only person I knew was Sully, and—”

Fielding sat back in his seat, like I’d reached through the computer screen and slapped him across the face. “I’m sorry? Did you just say
Sully
?”

“I did. Is there a problem?” There definitely looked like there was a problem.
 

“Sully Fletcher? Ronan’s brother?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Right. I see.”

“What do you see, Dr. Fielding? I’m confused.”

“Ronan mentioned his brother many times in his own personal therapy sessions.” He looked uncomfortable, brow furrowed, as if he were hunting for what to say next and coming up short. In the hallway, the clock on the wall started chiming midday. The fifth hour had been struck by the time he continued. “Of course, patient confidentiality is still a legally binding contract, even after a patient’s death, Miss Lang, so I’m not obliged to go into any sort of detail about what passed between Ronan and me in our sessions, however I will say this. From what I was lead to believe, Sully is a courageous, very brave man who has suffered through a number of traumatic experiences in his lifetime. And when people experience all the things Sully has experienced, Ophelia, they leave a mark. An indelible one that doesn’t rub off too easily. Not without the desire to want to heal, anyway. Ronan told me often about the dangerous stunts his brother would pull. Really reckless, hair-raising stuff. His appetite for throwing himself into the mouth of hell so frequently, while commendable, could also mean that he’s putting those around him in danger at the same time. And if he’s spending time around you? Around the children?” He fell silent.

“He saved three men. No one got hurt because he reacted in a tough situation. And you speak as though Ronan wasn’t the same, Dr. Fielding. He was the one awarded the Purple Heart, remember? I’m sure he didn’t get that handing out ice cream at Kabul airport.”

“Yes, well. The situation’s complicated, whichever way you look at it. I just thought it might be prudent to give you a
heads up
, if you will. A friendly warning from me to you.” Here was a man who’d never had cause to use the phrase “heads up” before. He was way too proper, too refined for such things.
 

“Well, thank you, Doctor, for looking out for me, and for the children, but you really have nothing to worry about, I promise you.”

******

Rose came straight by after work. I’d already given the kids their dinners and both of them were bathed, so all she needed to do was sit with them for a couple of hours, watching Marvel Action Hour reruns (which Amie loved).

I was late arriving to Sully’s place. When I let myself into the lighthouse, juggling Tupperware containers of homemade Bolognese sauce and chicken casserole I’d made that afternoon, I stumbled into Sully’s living room to find him braced against a wall with a towel wrapped around his waist, water running down his torso, and a look of agony on his face.
 

“Jesus, Sully, what the hell are you doing?”

“Initially, I was trying to shower,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now I’m just trying not to pass out.”

“What happened? Damn it, why is there blood all over the floor?” A huge patch of carpet was soaked bright red next to the stairwell, and smaller patches were dotted between there and the point where Sully was now leaning up against the wall.
 

“I opened up some stitches,” he said, wincing. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Where? And why did you even need stitches in the first place?” I put down the tubs of food I was carrying, wriggled out of my jacket, then hurried to check him over. At first I didn’t see the long, jagged slice down his right side, because he was cradling his arms around his body, however the source of the bleeding became all too apparent as I got closer.
 

“The ship,” Sully said. “The rocks out in the bay gutted her. Tore up the underside of the hull. All twisted metal and sharp edges. I saw one of the guys sink below the water, so I dived in to get him. The waves were so big out there. Linneman did his best to keep the Zodiac steady but a big one hit. Nearly took him out. It smashed the Zodiac into the Sea King. I was in between the two at the time. I got pinned. Crushed my ribs. The warped steel from the hull got me pretty good.”

“I can see that. God, Sully. Let me take a look.” He was shielding his side, body bowed over a little, making it hard for me to survey how bad the damage was.
 

“It’s okay. Lang, seriously. Just sit down and let me catch my breath for a second, damn it.”

“Sully, I’m not joking. Move!”

He straightened, sighing in frustration, his arms dropping loose to his sides. The cut was deep and raw, eight inches long, and it looked angry. I lifted Sully’s arm out of the way entirely, trying to get a better look, to see if it was infected, which is when I saw the beginnings of the scar. Red, mottled, violent-looking: it started at his hip and run upwards over his side, and then onto his back. I turned him, mouth hanging open, eyes growing wider by the second.
 

“Turn around,” I told him.
 

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“My back’s just fine. There’s nothing there you need to concern yourself with,” he said in a hard tone.
 

“Sully. I mean it. Turn around.” Lord knows I sounded ready to do him some damage myself. It could have been the determination in my voice, or it could have been the fact that he’d lost a lot of blood and he didn’t have the energy to argue, but Sully actually did as I told him, slowly turning to face the wall he’d been leaning against, bracing both hands against the plasterwork so I could see the magnitude of the scar that spread up and onto his back, sweeping up almost to his shoulder. Twisted, puckered skin. Brilliant red and dark pink. It was healed, quite an old injury, but it looked like it had caused him a great deal of pain at one point.
 

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Sully asked. He didn’t sound bitter, or angry. He sounded resigned. Empty.
 

“Damn, Sully. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Good. Then how about you don’t say anything, and we move on.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “An accident.”

“What kind of an accident?”

Sully leaned forward even further, until his forehead was pressed up against the wall. His eyes closed. He seemed so tired. “One that involved fire, obviously.”

“How old were you?”

A long silence. And then, softly: “Old enough to know better.”

He clearly didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but I couldn’t let it go. Not without a proper explanation. Fielding’s words were still ringing in my ears, and I couldn’t help but panic. Was this a prime example of Sully trying to throw his life away, or was it something else entirely? “Was it your fault?” I asked. “Could you have prevented this, if you’d wanted to?”

Sully looked back at me sharply. He didn’t reply straight away. “I might have been able to. But the cost of preventing this injury would have been far greater than a few inches of burned skin.”

“It’s more than a few inches, Sully. It’s your whole side. Nearly all of your back. It would have been—”

“Painful? Yeah, it smarted a little. Right now, I’m far more preoccupied by the pain in my ribcage and the open wound I’m holding together with my bare hands than something that took place years ago, though. Can you go into the kitchen and find me some alcohol?”

“Drinking probably isn’t the best option at the moment.”

“Not to drink. To sterilize this cut again.”

“Ahh, right. Sorry.” I rushed into the kitchen and started flinging open cupboard doors, trying to remember where he’d produced the whiskey from last night. It took forever to find the shelf where Sully stashed his booze. Grabbing a small, unopened bottle of vodka, I also snatched up a cloth from under the sink, brand new, straight out of the packaging, and took that with me too.

“Here. Will this do?” I showed him what I’d found.
 

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” Taking both items from me, he cracked the cap off the vodka bottle and poured a liberal amount of the alcohol all over the clean cloth. “If I squeal, don’t think any less of me,” he quipped.

“It’s impossible for me to think any less of you than I already do,” I informed him, pulling a face.
 

He pulled one back. The second he planted the alcohol soaked material against his side, his eyes looked like they were about to roll back into his head. “Ah, shit. Goddamn it, that stings.”

“Don’t be such a wimp. Here, let me do it.” I took the cloth from him. Sully grumbled, but he didn’t stop me; he placed his hands on the wall again, arching so that his back was curved up toward the ceiling, and he grimaced.

“Make it quick.”

“If I were a cold hearted kind of person who enjoyed seeing others suffer, I might take as much time as possible in this situation. Lucky for you I’m more
Maria
than
sadomasochist
, huh?” The sarcasm was thick in my voice as I dabbed efficiently at his bleeding side. Sully closed his eyes and bore it. His body slumped a little, so his head was hanging down in between his arms, but other than that he kept perfectly still while I worked. When I was done, he let go of a shaky, uneven breath and turned to look at me.
 

“A sadomasochist derives
sexual
pleasure from inflicting pain on others, Lang.”

Oh, god. Fire exploded in my cheeks, undoubtedly turning them bright red.
Perfect
. Why was the way he said sexual so, well,
sexual
? It made me feel like I was squirming inside my own skin.
 

“Good thing this moment couldn’t be any
less
sexual, then,” I answered. Was I doing a decent job of acting cool? It was highly unlikely, given the burning, hot spots on my cheeks, high up, by my cheekbones.
 

“It couldn’t?” Sully spoke slowly. His head was still hanging low between his braced arms, hands planted high over his head. He was scrutinizing me, cutting a glance at me out of the corner of his eye, and the next few seconds that passed were so intense they damn near sucked the air right out of my lungs. Why was he looking at me like that? And what the hell was he trying to imply? Taking a deep breath, he blinked those long dark eyelashes of his, so fucking perfect, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Because, if you asked me, this moment could definitely be less sexual.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I balled up the vodka and now blood-soaked cloth into my hand, ready to run away with it into the kitchen, but Sully stood up straight, towering over me with a bemused look on his face.

“Yes, you do. I’m standing here in a towel, covered in water, and you’re playing nursemaid, tending to my injuries, your hands on my bare skin… If this were a porno, we’d basically be fucking by now.”

“I’m gonna have to take your word for that. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never watched porn.”

Amusement flickered across his features, lighting them up in an expected, warm way. “You’ve
never
watched porn? Not ever?”

“That’s what never means.”

“Not even when you’re turned on?”

“No. Not even when I’m turned on.”

“What do you do to take the pressure off, then? Do you just…take care of it all by yourself? No outside input? Just your fingers and your imagination?”

Hot damn. I couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer. The words coming out of his mouth were enough to make me avert my eyes to the floor. My cheeks weren’t the only things flushed red now. I was the color of a beet from my hairline down.
 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said quietly.
 

“I don’t suppose it is. But you can still tell me.”

“Just put some clothes on, Sully. God.” I tried to slip around him into the kitchen, but the moment I moved Sully was moving too, sliding along the wall to block the entrance to the other room. It was surprising he could move so quickly, given how much pain he was in.

“Remember my no bullshit policy, Lang? Well, I’m calling bullshit. Right now.
On you.”

“You can’t.” I tried to duck under his arm, but again he saw where I was headed and blocked my route.
 

“Why not?” he asked.
 

“Because. I’m not lying to you, am I? I’m just not giving in to what you want.”

He looked up at the ceiling for a second. “I’d call that pretty bullshitty.”

“I’d just call it tough luck. Now get your ass out of my way before I knock you down on it.”

He grinned—beautiful white teeth, beautiful pout to his lips. “Think you could?”

“Right now I do, yeah. In a couple of weeks maybe not, but you’re more fragile than a ninety-year-old man at the moment.”

“I could still take you, Lang. Don’t tempt me.”

The way he said
take you
sent shivers down my spine. I was way out of my depth here. It occurred to me that somehow, out of the blue, Sully and I were flirting, and I was neither equipped nor prepared for such a dangerous undertaking. I backed away, hands held up. “No need. How about I just leave you to your own devices and head on home? You know how to work a microwave, right?”