Battered Not Broken (49 page)

He groaned too, like he usually did when she came, as if her pleasure pushed him to the edge, too. Still, he maintained his focus, fucking and touching her with such astonishing precision that her pleasure went on and on, eventually waning to a trickle of ecstasy that kept her tense on the edge of the counter, her breath coming in short bursts.

After withdrawing his hand, he slowed his pace, rocking in and out of her in a gentler but purposeful way. “Are you okay?” he asked, cupping the back of her skull and threading his fingers through her hair as he met her eyes.

“Yes.” She was still gripping a handful of his ass – something she’d all but forgotten about in the frenzy of her climax. The hard countertop might not have been the most traditionally comfortable surface in the world, but the way it allowed him to penetrate her was so distracting that she couldn’t have cared less.

“Good. I want to keep going.” He used his hold on her hair to guide her mouth to his. After a deep kiss, she was breathless again. “I want to keep going for a while – I want to stay inside you until it hurts not to come.”

She rocked her hips in reply, adding her energy to his in an effort to show, not tell, that she was more than willing. The fact that being inside her combated his pain was something she couldn’t forget and would never regret. She’d started glowing on the inside the first time he’d told her and she hadn’t stopped since. Maybe it was a sort of medicine, but it was much more than physical.

They broke in the new kitchen in a way that a hundred meals cooked within its walls wouldn’t have done. By the time Ryan swore, said her name and came with a groan that echoed off the walls of their mostly-empty home, it had become Ally’s favorite room in the apartment.

Chapter 26

The panoramic windows in the living room framed the city lights beyond their panes like an ever-moving and flashing picture. Curled on the couch, Ally let the sea of darkness, shadow and illumination dazzle her tired eyes. There were buildings she’d never looked at before and cars going to places she didn’t know, their taillights red dots in the night. Everything was new, as were some of the feelings swirling inside her. Others were old, the emotional detritus of the past six years.

“Hey.”

Ally jumped, though the voice calling to her from the center of the room was very familiar.

Ryan had entered the room as silently as a ghost. It was the first time he’d left the bedroom for hours. The bed and linens his parents had chosen had proven useful after he and Ally had finished making love on the kitchen counter earlier that afternoon. In an effort to dodge the worst of his migraine, he’d passed out in the bed while he’d still been feeling the natural high of extremely satisfying sex.

“Hey.” Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that she could see him fairly well, though none of the apartment lights were turned on. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty good.” He crossed the space between them and settled down on the couch. “What are you thinking about?” He met her gaze in the darkness, proving that his eyes had adjusted just as well to the lack of light.

“Manny,” she said, because it was true. She’d called her mother and Melissa that afternoon and let them know that she and Ryan had arrived safely, that their apartment was great and even furnished already, so on and so on. But there was no getting in touch with Manny, even for a quick word, nor would there ever be again. Her mind hadn’t quite adjusted to the fact yet, and kept balking at the notion every time she remembered that he was dead, her thoughts automatically flashing back to his funeral.

“Mmm.” Ryan’s reply was a wordless sound that managed to imply both understanding and concern.

Carlos had attended the funeral, too. Seeing him there had been the closest Ally had been to him in years. She’d expected to be enraged at the sight of him, but by the time the service had actually occurred, she’d clung fiercely to the emotional shock that had beset her, using it as a shield against strong emotion. Days and hours away, in New York City, the shock was fading.

Ryan placed a hand on her shoulder, a comforting gesture that held an edge of sensuality simply because it was always that way when he touched her. “I hope you’re not still beating yourself up over what happened to him. You’re not to blame for the way he chose to live his life or the way it ended.”

“I know that. Consciously, I know that. But subconsciously, it’s a different story.” Doubt had a way of weaving through her mind unnoticed, like a ghost that lingered undetected and leapt out during the darkest times, scaring the hell out of her. “Sometimes I feel guilty, even when I know I shouldn’t.” The battle between knowing and feeling was one she’d first become acquainted with six years ago. It was an old fight, and one she was tired of.

He rubbed his hand across her back, his fingertips caressing the bumps of each vertebra.

“You know what I mean, don’t you?” She continued to stare out the window. “You said something to me not long ago about feeling guilty over how your time in the military ended and the fact that you couldn’t go back. But it ended because of an explosion. You didn’t have any control over that. It just happened to you, and you couldn’t have stopped it. It’s not your fault that you were hurt, or that you weren’t hurt as badly as some of the others.” Survivor’s guilt – she’d realized that he had it during their visit to Quantico. “And you know that it doesn’t make any sense to feel guilty, right?”

He continued to rub her back, slipping into a massage that eased the tension out of her shoulders and spine. “Yeah. I guess I know what you mean.”

He dreamed like she did – at night, his mind refused to rest, turning instead to memories of the past, which it shattered and distorted before attempting to reassemble the pieces into a more acceptable version of reality. He knew, and she knew he knew. In a way, that was deeply comforting.

“Tell you what, though.” His voice glided over her like his hand, the sound as welcome as his touch was soothing. “I’ll give this fresh start my best try if you will. It might not be easy, but things worth doing usually aren’t. Maybe in time the things that happened in other places – Baltimore, Afghanistan, wherever – won’t be something we think about every day.”

“Deal.” She leaned back into him, resting against his chest. He couldn’t continue the massage in that position, but that was okay. Things might not be easy the next day, or the next, but resting against him in that moment felt easy, felt right.

“You ready to come to bed?” he asked, stroking a lock of hair away from her cheek. “Or is this your subtle way of telling me that you want to break in the living room like we broke in the kitchen?”

She smiled despite the things she’d been contemplating only minutes ago. “That’s up to you. If we don’t do it tonight, I’m sure we’ll get around to it tomorrow.”

He slid a hand lower, cupping one of her breasts through the t-shirt she’d donned for sleep. “Who knows, maybe we’ll even make it to the bed at some point.”

* * * * *

The movers had delivered boxes of Ryan and Ally’s belongings to their Brooklyn apartment that morning. There weren’t that many of them, really. Neither of them had many things. Mostly, the boxes contained clothing. Ally had rooted through one of her own until she’d found something that looked semi-presentable but didn’t need to be ironed. And then, clad in a jersey knit dress, leggings and boots, she’d descended from the apartment to await the arrival of a town car.

Ryan had already left for his meeting with his father.  A few minutes after his departure, Ally’s phone had rung with a call from Cecilia, who’d suggested that she and Ally have a lunchtime meeting of their own.

Though it was doubtful that Cecilia’s timing – which had been just late enough that she could contact Ally without Ryan knowing and objecting to their meeting – had been a coincidence, Ally hadn’t had the heart to disagree.

Sleek and black, the town car was much like the one that had been sent for them the day before. Ryan might not like the idea of his parents providing upscale transportation, but faced with the prospect of her first solo outing in the new city, Ally wasn’t about to object.

And as it turned out, she wouldn’t even have to ride alone. Cecilia was already in the car, looking polished in a long coat that belted around her waist, covering all but her slender legs, which were hugged by dark hosiery that nearly blended in with the black leather seats.

“I hope your first night in your new apartment went well,” Cecilia said as Ally climbed in beside her.

Ally had spent half the night on the couch and half the night in bed, completely entangled with Ryan in both locations. As she leaned back against the seat, her skin tingled where he’d rubbed her back the night before, the memory a phantom touch that sent a potent bolt of emotion straight to her core. The deal she’d made with him echoed through her mind.

“It did. The bed you chose is wonderful. We both slept well.” Ryan had woken once from nightmares, but given the fact that waking several times a night wasn’t unusual, the night hadn’t been a bad one.

Cecilia smiled. “I have the same sort of mattress at home for myself. It’s the most comfortable one I’ve ever owned.”

They spoke a little longer about the bed, Cecilia rattling off something about the thread count of the sheets and the towels she’d chosen for the bathroom. She’d picked out everything that was in the apartment herself. She’d started shopping the day Ryan had called and said he wanted to return to New York. As she spoke about her selections and why’d she’d made them, it was hard to suspect her of any other motivation than wanting her son to be comfortable. Which was nice, even if the gifts had actually made him uncomfortable.

The driver took them to a café that was more laid back than Ally would have guessed their destination would be. The décor was chic and even the name was stylish, but the atmosphere inside was a combination of relaxed and fashionable. Ally didn’t even feel out of place in the outfit she’d dug out of a moving box just an hour ago – a welcome surprise.

“I discovered this place a few weeks ago,” Cecilia said. “I thought it seemed like a good place to have lunch with a friend.”

The smile she flashed over the top of her menu had Ally’s stomach fluttering. Cecilia seemed nice – nicer than she’d expected. Though she felt a little ashamed at the thought, Ally was sure that Cecilia’s lunch invitation had come with an ulterior motive, and couldn’t help but wonder if it was something that would make her regret having come to the stylish little café with her.

They didn’t progress past small talk until they’d already started on their lunches. Unlike her husband, Cecilia seemed to take a gradual approach to conversation. But as she laid down her spoon beside her soup bowl after only two bites, there was no question that something was on her mind.

“Look, Ally,” Cecilia said. “I asked you to have lunch with me because I’d like to get to know you better, but also because there’s something I’m hoping you’ll help me with.”

Ally sat frozen with her own spoon gripped in one hand. “What is it?”

Cecilia glanced down at her virtually untouched meal, then back up at Ally. Her eyes really were a lot like her son’s, though the table put too much distance between them for Ally to determine whether they had the golden-orange rings that Ryan’s did. “I want to get to know Ryan again. I – I realize that he’s changed since he last lived in New York. But he’s still my son, and I don’t want him to keep me at an arm’s length now that he’s back.”

Ally met Cecilia’s blue-eyed stare with what was hopefully a neutral expression. What the heck was she supposed to say to that?
Gee, maybe you could go back in time and not reject your own son for becoming a marine instead of a corporate clone of his father
? Their lack of support had carved trenches of mistrust that would be very, very hard to fill again.

Not for the first time, Ally tried to imagine Ryan in Afghanistan, his name never coming up at mail call, the absence of envelopes from home a constant reminder of the fact that besides the company of his fellow marines, he was alone not only actually, but in spirit.