Still (19 page)

Wyatt looked up from opening the wine. “You’re a missionary?”

“Hardly. But I did and still do take to heart that lesson. I never feel more alive, more needed than when I’m helping someone…that is except for when I’ve made my sub lose his mind.” Suddenly shy, she pushed away her bowl and tugged her robe closer.

“But why the military? I mean you could have found any of a thousand charities to help at home with your medical degree.”

“Because I couldn’t afford the degree without joining the military.”

The wine gurgled as he carefully poured it into her glass. She was relieved to see that he hadn’t taken down one for himself. “Didn’t you say you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth? And this place ain’t exactly a shack.”

“My grandparents were very wise people. It was from them that we inherited our wealth. Old money and all that nonsense. Anyways, on the day we graduated from high school our parents cut us off financially, just like my father had been cut off financially by his grandfather when he turned eighteen. My brothers were lucky enough to both get sports scholarships, but I had to go a different route. We all knew it was coming so we got summer jobs, but you can only make so much money while still in high school and getting financial aid when your parents are millionaires just doesn’t happen.”

Setting her glass on the table, Wyatt nodded. “So you enlisted after high school?”

“No.” She sighed and fiddled with her wineglass. “See, while my parents wanted me to spend my life doing philanthropic work, the thought of me going to war terrified my mother. Her grandparents had been prisoners of war during World War II and she’d grown up with war being the ultimate boogey man. The thought of her only daughter going off to battle made her sick.”

“Then when did you enlist?”

She avoided his gaze. “My mother told me she would pay for my schooling if I agreed to not go into the military afterwards. My paternal grandfather got wind of this and flipped out. He’d served in World War II, and had risen to the rank of General. He considered it one of the defining pillars of his life. In his opinion, the knowledge and maturity I could potentially gain far outweighed the risk of anything actually happening to me. I think he knew even then that the family’s influences would see me safely stationed in Hawaii if need be. He offered to pay for my schooling, room and board, as well as a healthy allowance if I joined the military after completing my degree.”

“And that’s what you did?”

“Yep.”

“And your mother didn’t disown you?”

“Oh trust me, she had a complete meltdown. Fortunately, I was rather familiar with her acting and could tell a dramatic fit when I saw one. Not to say that she wasn’t genuinely worried, but my mom could have given Scarlett O’Hara's Aunt Pittypat a run for her money when having overblown hysterics. My grandfather had a word with her and she calmed down enough to stop fainting.”

“Lord, that must have been a sight. You told me earlier that you are doing only volunteer work now. How can you afford that?”

“Because when we turned twenty-seven my brothers and I each received an inheritance of sixty-eight million dollars.”

She braced herself for his reaction, but when he recoiled from her it still hurt. “Holy shit, Doc. That’s a lot of green.”

Feeling him distance himself from her, the edge of her temper surfaced. “What? Does that make you think less of me now? Does the fact that I didn’t earn that money disgust you? Am I good enough for you when I’m poor but not when I’m rich?” She took a deep breath, trying to pull back her anger as Wyatt picked at an old wound. “Look, I know how crazy it is, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I enjoyed the freedom it gives me to do what I love.”

Wyatt folded his hands on the table, his shoulders tense and his fingers tightly laced together. “Michelle, it’s not you that’s not good enough, it’s me. I’m not good enough for you.”

“Idiot.” She stood and moved in front of him, pushing his chair back with her foot before straddling his lap. “Don’t you understand? You have the kind of heart and soul that no amount of money can buy. You are a good man, a hero, the real deal, and I admire you more than you’ll ever know.”

He swallowed hard. “Can you really picture me meeting your parents? ‘Cause if this, you know, thing, we have continues eventually I’d like to meet them, but I don’t want to embarrass you. Fuck, look at me right now. I don’t have a job, well the shit with my Dad doesn’t count. I have no education other than what I learned in the Marines, and I have a fucked up mind that keeps trying to tell me I’m going to die any second.”

Stroking his cheek, she shook her head. “Isn’t it funny how distorted our views of you are? When you stare into the mirror you see something totally different than what the rest of the world sees. You are an amazing man, Wyatt, and I’m so very lucky to have you.”

He blew out a low breath, then held her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and hugged him back, his strong body a tranquil island in the bitter swirl of her memories and emotions. It had been so long since she’d felt this good. She almost hated to break the mood but it was time she told him about Owen.

A sour lump formed in her heart, making the words hard to force out. “That’s not the only reason I joined.”

He rubbed his face against her hair. “What do you mean?”

Taking in a deep breath, she tightened her grip on him, afraid that he wouldn’t want her anymore. “A month before I was set to graduate I became engaged to Owen, my boyfriend and longtime submissive.”

He tensed, but didn’t push her away. “Go on, I’m listening.”

Trying to break the tension she said, “Promise?”

Instead of throwing her usual reply back at her he hugged her tighter. “Promise.”

Something inside of her cracked and she clenched her jaw tight enough to ache, willing herself to spit the words out. “Fuck, this is harder than I thought.” She took a breath and it hitched, sticking in her throat like razor wire. “Owen asked me to marry him and I said yes. I was twenty-four, in love, with the world before me. His proposal made me rethink my plans to enlist. I didn’t want to be away from him so early in our marriage.”

“That’s why I never married,” Wyatt said as he slowly began to rock her. “Couldn’t stand the thought of leaving a wife and kids behind. It would hurt them and I couldn’t deal with the guilt.”

“Exactly. Well, I never had a chance to make that decision. Owen….” Wyatt stroked her, held her, gave her the strength to continue. “We had just finished playing at the Velvet Fist, a BDSM club in Chicago, and were on our way home. The club is situated in a really rough part of Chicago, but we’d never really had a problem. The parking lot to the club was fenced in and patrolled by two security officers. Before we left earlier that evening I’d forgotten to put gas in my car. I was too hyped up to really even think about it. That night we told all of our friends that we were engaged.”

Bitter tears burned her throat as she relived the memories of that night, but she swallowed them back. “We stopped at a gas station two blocks from the club at a little after two a.m. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to gas stations in the ghetto, but the person who works there is usually locked inside the building. You have to pay them from the outside, through a little slot in the bulletproof glass.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen that before.”

“So, stupid me goes to pay the cashier and get a bottle of water while Owen pumped the gas. We’d done a lot of playing at the club and I didn’t want him to become dehydrated. He didn’t even want me to get out of the car but I was so damn arrogant back then and I was high. Not on drugs, but on the wave of euphoria from a really good scene and the joy we’d been surrounded with all night. I guess you could say I had my rose colored glasses on and they blinded me to the danger I was in.”

Wyatt didn’t say anything, just shifted her in his arms so that he held her closer. She rubbed her nose with her hand and fought to get the words out, to reveal her sin. “I was on my way back to the car when this kid comes up to me. His name was Terrance and he was thirteen years old. Earlier in the day he’d been beat into a local gang. Robbing me was his final initiation.”

“Shit,” Wyatt murmured.

“He pulled a gun and demanded my purse. At first I thought he was joking and I told him to go home. Owen was always smarter than I was. He recognized the danger even if I was oblivious to it. I mean I looked at Terrance and I saw a kid with a black eye and split lip holding a gun that, at the time, I didn’t even believe was real.” She closed her eyes, trapped in that terrible moment. “Terrance tried to yank my purse away and I jerked back. Owen ran over to help me and Terrance panicked. He shot Owen nine times in the chest.”

The tears came now, she couldn’t stop them but she struggled to speak, to give Owen’s memory its due. “I pulled the gun away from Terrance but it was too late. The clerk inside the gas station had seen what was going on, and cops were on their way, but it was too late. Owen was dead, all because I wouldn’t give a desperate kid my purse. If I had handed it over, if I had pulled my head out of my selfish ass, Owen would be alive today.”

“Michelle, it wasn’t your fault.”

Anger, self-disgust, and grief swelled inside of her heart like a malignant tumor. “Don’t you say that! It was my fault. I did it and I accept responsibility for my actions!”

“Easy, baby. I didn’t meant to upset you.” He began to rock her slowly, the age old rhythm that brought comfort to her body, if not to her soul.

A horrible tightness constricted her chest and she desperately struggled to take another breath, trying to get out the rest of her story. “For around a year after that I drifted through life, like my soul had died with Owen, leaving only a shell behind. I sometimes wished that I would die as well, but if I committed suicide I’d never get to see Owen, for surely he’s in heaven.” She swallowed hard, the admission lifting a weight from her soul. “I spent a lot of time thinking, trying to figure out what I could do as penance for my sin of pride. I needed to do something that would make up for the wonderful person I’d taken away from this world.” She gave a bitter laugh. “One thing the Catholic religion gave me, besides guilt, is the ability to seek forgiveness through penance. I know it sounds weird, but for me doing an act of penance really does help soothe my soul. I knew that the sacrifice I would have to make for Owen’s death would have to be something huge, something that would make a concrete difference.”

The soothing rhythm of Wyatt’s rocking never faltered. “Is that why you enlisted?”

Tears burned her eyes and she fought them, rapidly blinking in a vain effort to keep them from falling. “Yes. My dad tried to pull some strings so I wouldn’t see combat, but I caught wind of it and told him if he didn’t back off I was going to throw a very public shit fit.” She gave a watery chuckle, remembering the epic fight with her poor dad. “It was an election year, so he backed off.”

“Why would you want to see combat so bad?”

A logical question, one she’d been asked many times over the years. She thought about giving him her scripted answer about wanting to serve her country, do something worthwhile with her degree, etc. That usually satisfied anyone, or bored them enough to move onto a different subject.

But it wouldn’t be right to lie to Wyatt.

Not about this.

Even though the memories came rushing in on a tidal wave of grief, she pressed on, forcing her constricted throat to give up the words.

“Because I could save someone else’s Owen.”

That was it, the emotional straw that broke the camel’s back. The sobs she’d been holding back tried to pour out of her, but she kept her lips closed, refusing to let them out. Even to her the sound was horrible, a choking, keening wail that held all the pain she kept inside of her. All the terrible loneliness and guilt over wanting to be with someone, of wanting to love Wyatt with her whole heart when she swore that she would never love again. Up until now it had been an easy promise to keep.

“Oh, honey.” Wyatt pulled her against his chest, smoothing her hair back. His scent filled her nose as she buried her face against the crook of his neck. His voice vibrated her lips when he said, “I’ve got you. Let it out.”

Memories of the good times she’d had with Owen flowed through her mind now that the gates of her past had been opened. She remembered their gaze meeting across the room at a coffee shop, how his auburn hair shone like fire in the sunlight, their first kiss, the way he’d asked her to tie him up the first time, watching him brave a rainstorm to run across the street to the bakery to get her a cookie. Those and a thousand other simple things that made up the ruined tapestry of their life. No, maybe not ruined; there were still bright and beautiful spots, but the pattern ended before it was completed. It wasn’t just missing what they had, but what they might have had.

“Here, blow.” Wyatt pushed a napkin into her hand.

She sniffled and took a breath, or at least tried to take a breath. Her lungs hitched, giving her that he-he-he sound that she always hated from a hard cry. Blowing her nose, she let out a few more low moans, slowly relaxing into Wyatt’s strength. Through it all he’d been there for her and that helped more than she could ever say.

She could only pray that he’d let her do the same for him.

Shit, he needed her to be strong for him and instead here she was, a hot mess of tears in his lap.

His embrace went from comforting to constricting and she suddenly needed space between them. “Excuse me,” she started to get off his lap, but he held her hips. Glaring at him, she snapped, “I’m going to the bathroom, if you don’t mind. So unless you want a puddle on your lap, let me go.”

“Damn stubborn woman.”

He released her and she stood. Reaching across the table, she tossed back the last of her wine with three large gulps. The rich liquid burned away the salt of her tears and soothed her sore throat.

“Take it easy there,” Wyatt said in a low voice. “Don’t use alcohol to try to make the hurt go away. It doesn’t work.”

She felt vulnerable and that made her lash out. “Oh, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”