Pieces of Broken Time (23 page)

What do you want from him?

The answer came back in a rush. She wanted more, but her pride wouldn’t let her ask. She knew she wouldn’t be able to the handle rejection . . . not again.

Distracted, she reached into her duffel bag and retrieved a pair of denim pants and a pink cotton T-shirt.

If Blake didn’t want her to see the eye specialist, then she’d ask him to drop her off at a hotspot for a better Internet reception. It was a lie, but time away from him, no matter how short, would give her an opportunity to sort her head out.

When she stepped out, all dressed and carrying her laptop bag, the inviting aroma of coffee wafted from the kitchen.

“Jenny, a healthy breakfast is waiting for you.”

Kill me now!

Trent had been around all her life and he was predictable, in a good and comfortable way. This situation with Blake was complicated. With limited knowledge about the man and what he’d gone through, she was scared this was heartbreak waiting to happen.

Jennifer placed her laptop bag on the table and went to the kitchen, where a bowl of cereal topped with slices of bananas and strawberries was waiting.

Blake turned, smiling. “If we eat fast enough, we can still make it on time.” He gestured to her chair, sat down with two cups of coffee, and slid one in front of her.

Death by whiplash.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked.

“Milk?”

She nodded. “Are you ignoring my question?”

“I want to,” he said, while pouring the milk onto her cereal. “Say when.”

“When.”

He filled his bowl and began eating, seemingly oblivious to the expectant look on her face.

“We have ten minutes left,” he mumbled between bites.

Exasperated, she ate as fast as she could. As she nursed her coffee, Blake broke the thick silence.

“I figured I should go. I don’t have to wear it if I don’t like it. It can be sort of a special occasion accessory.” The smile he gave her failed to reach his eye.

Jennifer kept checking on Blake, gauging his mood. He’d been quiet since they’d left, and the silence made her jittery. To calm her nerves, she concentrated on the rock music playing on the radio and the air brushing the soft cover of the Jeep. The problem of knowing only bits and pieces about his life made it difficult to guess how he’d react to certain questions or even ideas.

He gave her a quick sideways glance. “You can quit staring at me. I’m fine, if that’s what you’re wondering about.”

“How can you tell I’m looking at you?” She scrutinized him.

“You may be in my blind spot, but my hearing is pretty damn good. I can hear your slightest movement, your body shifting, and your back rubbing the upholstery while you twitch around over there watching me. Not to mention, the gears turning in your head. You’re squeaking.” He chuckled.

Unbelievable.

She turned to face the windshield and stared straight ahead. Blake was going to test her patience, and he’d be surprised to find out that she wouldn’t be easily put off.

They arrived for his appointment with plenty of time to spare. The receptionist greeted them with a cursory smile and handed Blake a clipboard of papers.

Jennifer glanced around the room.

A few of the patients waiting seemed to have similar ailments as Blake. Although most of them wore dark sunglasses, Blake seemed to be the only one who preferred an eye patch.

After he finished filling out the necessary paperwork, they sat in silence.

Who am I kidding?

The more he picked on Jennifer, teasing her, criticizing her for caring, the more he fell in love with her. He wasn’t good at expressing his feelings, and he’d ended up looking like an ass anyway.

Then why am I so anxious?

The clear answer was his inability to believe that it wasn’t pity that drove her closer to him. He would rather stick to his silly notions than admit to himself that there was a spark between them. The changes in his appearance and the uncertainty of his future crippled his belief that a woman would ever be interested in him. And this visit to the doctor had been more for her sake than his.

“Mr. Connor?” the receptionist called out his name.

Blake stood, the thought of someone poking his sightless eye and fitting him with a cosmetic replacement causing his steps to falter. He left Jennifer without saying a word, intent on keeping the mask on to salvage his flagging pride.

The receptionist led Blake to a nondescript room with nothing but posters of satisfied patients in their before and after pictures. He kept a stony face as he raked his lone eye over each and every poster.

“Please have a seat, and the doctor will be right in,” the woman said.

Blake nodded and moved toward the chair to wait.

A fake eye so I can be a fake normal guy? This is a mistake.

The door opened and a gruff looking gentleman entered carrying a large briefcase.

Blake eyed the attaché and wondered what it contained.

“Mr. Connor, I’m Dr. Dent.”

Blake grunted a response, not certain he was up to a full-blown conversation, but shook the man’s hand anyway.

Besides, I’m not here to talk but to get a goddamn eyeball.

The doctor sat on a round black stool and scooted it close to Blake’s chair. His expression was inscrutable as he assessed Blake’s eye patch. “I see you prefer the patch to wearing sunglasses. I like that.”

Blake stared at the man, unsure how to interpret the unsolicited comment. “Excuse me?”

The doctor chuckled and without any warning, he reached for his right eye and removed the shell.

Blake jumped out of his chair and slammed into the wall. “What the hell?” he asked, feeling like he was in some sort of twilight zone. The doctor gestured for him to sit, but Blake remained standing, ready to bolt if the weirdness scale tipped any farther.

“I felt the same way when I lost mine from eye disease. I refused to hide under dark-colored lenses. I wanted everyone to know that I was missing an eye. Besides, my girlfriend thought it was sexy. Sexy enough she agreed to be my wife.” Dr. Dent replaced the shell, smiled, and winked.

Jennifer’s face when she’d mentioned the patch being sexy over dinner flashed before Blake.

Man, I’m not even going there.

He slid back into the chair, still smarting from the shock. “I bet that gets your patients climbing the wall every time you pull that stunt.”

Dr. Dent laughed and urged him closer. “It works all the time. It lets my patients know I can relate.”

The doctor appeared to be in his midfifties, with a potbelly and receding hairline. It was hard not to warm to his unorthodox manner. Blake found himself easing up a little, but still on guard should Dent decide to do another striptease on him.

“Relax, my boy.” Dr. Dent said, as if reading his mind. “I understand that the circumstance surrounding your eye loss is somewhat different from mine. I won’t nag you for details, but I do want to know why you refuse to wear one.”

Blake thought about the question.

In a way, the patch had become his badge of honor and showed that he had done what had been asked of him and that everything he had seen and endured had been real, not just a figment of his imagination. If there was a precious lesson the war had taught him, it was that he was as good as the next soldier, injured or not. The rest was up to him to try and fit back into the society he’d bled for.

“I don’t need an accessory,” Blake said.

“And yet you’re here,” the doctor said in a kind voice. “Something or someone must have inspired you.” It wasn’t a question but an observation from a man who had likely heard every possible excuse there was from his patients.

“You could say that,” he admitted, thinking of Jennifer.

“What’s important is that you’re here.” The doctor gave him a triumphant smile before scooting over to open the briefcase and reveal a wide array of prosthetic shells in different sizes and colors of irises.

Blake felt sick to his stomach. The idea of fitting something foreign into his body seemed so wrong.

Dr. Dent glanced at his disgusted face and offered a reassuring smile. “All I ask is that you adopt a sense of humor. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

“You aren’t the first to ask,” he muttered, eyeing the shell the man had picked out. It was slightly smaller than the others, with a blue iris painted on it.

“This is one of my favorite jokes. When your children are in another room, and you want them to behave, leave the prosthetic eye on the table and tell them you’re watching them.” Dr. Dent laughed.

Blake lifted an eyebrow and shrugged. He couldn’t imagine ever having kids. Not because he didn’t want kids, but his appearance would scare his future ex-wife away.

You have Jennifer.

He shook his head at the thought.

“I need you to remove the patch so I can see which of these fits best.”

Reluctantly, Blake slipped the patch off his head but kept his eyes closed. There was no gaping hole where his eye had been. Instead, a pink piece of flesh was in place. It wasn’t horrifying to look at, but it wasn’t a sight to behold either.

“I need to check your socket in order to find the right fit for you.” Dr. Dent’s voice nudged him from the sea of awkwardness he was swimming in.

Blake opened his eye and stared straight ahead, unable to meet the doctor’s gaze. There was a slight pressure as Dr. Dent fitted the first one then tried another. Through the next several minutes, Blake kept his expression stoic.

The doctor recited the process of creating his prosthetic eye, while jotting down some notes and measurements.

After the procedure was over, the doctor asked him to come back for another fitting of the new shell.

His anxiety began to diminish when he stepped into the waiting room and Jennifer looked up from her magazine.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

Blake responded with a curt nod, walked straight to the door, and held it open for her.

Jennifer gathered her crutches from the floor and followed him.

He maintained a faster pace, not interested in discussing the appointment or his concerns.

An uncomfortable silence lingered during the drive back, but Jennifer seemed to be respecting his unspoken request for quiet.

He glanced at her, only to find her staring into space and chewing her bottom lip, and his mouth watered at the memory of tasting her sweet mouth again.

Damn, Connor! Get your thoughts out of your pants.

When he turned on the deserted stretch of his street, he saw an unfamiliar car parked by his house. Slowing down as they passed the black luxury sports car, he took note of the car’s license plate before easing into the driveway.

“Stay here,” he said, and slid out the driver’s seat.

“What’s going on?”

“Just stay here and lock the doors.”

Blake approached the car with caution and tried to see who was driving, but the glare of the sun reflecting off the windshield made it impossible to see inside. With prudence, he tapped on the glass on the driver’s side.

The window rolled down and a man stuck his head out. “Hi, is that Jennifer with you?”

The man wasn’t your average guy-next-door type. This one was wearing a dark suit, a pretty boy smile, and had sparkling blue eyes.

And Blake instantly disliked him. “Who wants to know?”

The door opened and the man stood up, towering over him. “I’m Matt. I’m here to check on her.” Matt offered his hand.

Blake ignored the outstretched hand and turned around.

Here to check on her?

He heard footsteps behind him but he kept walking.

“Is she all right?” Matt asked.

“See for yourself.”

“Matthew!” Jennifer’s muffled voice from the confines of the Jeep made his blood boil. She waved at Matt.

Rushing past him, Matt scuttled to the passenger side and wrapped an arm around Jennifer’s waist. “Hey! I’ve missed you,” Matt said.