Five Days Grace (27 page)

"Maybe because I think I'm a lot more messed up than you. And I say that, not to belittle at all what you're going through. I say it because I don't want to drag you down to where I am. I don't think it's fair of me, and I won't do it to you."

"Do we really need to try to measure whose mess is worse than the other's? Because I don't. Both of us are going through bad things. It's knocked us sideways and upside-down, and it just sucks, but there it is. It's just what happened to us. And it doesn't matter so much, the degree of badness. It's what we do afterward. What we do now. I'm a mess right now, and I like it here with you. This is where I want to be. It's so much better than anyplace else I've been lately."

He sighed, feeling about a million years old and completely undeserving of her. Still, he admitted, "I want to be here with you, too."

"Well, there you go." She looked much happier.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's okay. Bad day, you know?"

"I really don't know what to do with you, Grace."

"You don't have to decide right now. You just have to row the boat and think about whatever you need to think about, and I'll be there. I'm going to grab a jacket, and we can go."

Just like that.

Whatever he needed.

She blew him away, time and again. He even liked it when she stood up to him and dared him to try to get her to do something she didn't want to do, like leave him and never look back, never give him another thought.

* * *

A few minutes later, they took off for the lake, and the dog followed. He bounded down the path, not showing any reservations until Aidan turned the boat over and pushed it halfway into the water. Tink looked back at Grace, then went to sniff at the edge of the lake, then started crying.

"You think he'll do it?" Grace asked.

"I think he'll cry if he comes with us and cry if he doesn't." Aidan turned to the dog. "What do you say? Gonna man up?"

Tink went to the boat, sniffed a bit, then backed up like he was afraid it would bite him.

"You really want to take him?" Aidan asked.

"Well, I don't want him crying and scared at the cabin without us."

"Okay, we'll try it. Why don't you climb in," he told Grace. "Go all the way to the back of the boat, and call him."

Grace did, staying low as the boat rocked from side to side while she stepped into the back of it and sat down. When she called Tink, he cocked his head to the side and cried some more.

"Come on, baby. We won't let anything hurt you," Grace said.

The instant Tink put his front paws on the edge of the boat, Aidan gave him a little push and the dog half stumbled in and bounded over to Grace's side, huddling close and whining even more.

"Okay, here we go," Aidan said, pushing the boat all the way into the lake and climbing aboard himself.

Tink looked like he was in a complete panic at first, like he might jump for shore any second.

Then Aidan got worried. "You know if he gets too scared, he might be heavy enough to tip us over. "

"I guess so."

"Please tell me you know how to swim, because this boat didn't come with life vests, and I haven't bothered to get any."

"Of course, I do," she said. The dog huddled between Grace's legs, and she wrapped her arms around him. He seemed happy one minute and terrified the next.

"If we end up in the water, get yourself to shore," he told her. "I'll take care of the dog."

"I'm a great swimmer," she insisted.

"I'm career Navy and a trained rescue swimmer. Tell me you'll leave the dog to me."

"Oh. Okay," she said.

He nodded, as he pulled on one oar to turn the boat around, so his back was to the main body of water and he could row them out into it.

"How many years have you served?"

"Twelve."

"After college?"

He nodded.

"So, you're thirty-four?" she guessed. "You and Tommy are only a year apart?"

"Barely. I don't know how my mom did it. And we've always been insanely competitive with each other, but in the fun way brothers are. In high school, he kept talking about law school and how hard it was to get into a good one. Then I heard someone talking about the Naval Academy. It's a helluva lot harder to get into the Naval Academy than law school. I think I applied just for the chance to one-up him. Plus our grandfather was on a ship at Pearl Harbor when in it was bombed."

"Did he survive?"

Aidan nodded. "And was an incredible story-teller. We grew up listening to his stories about World War II and Korea. I thought it was great, how much of the world he'd seen, all the people he'd met. He was thrilled to see me get into the Academy, and even more thrilled when I got a slot in Naval Intelligence."

"Which sounds like it could mean sitting in front of a computer screen at a desk in a nice, safe office, picking through reports or bits of information. But it isn't, is it?"

"Computer, quite often. Desk, maybe. Nice, safe office, sometimes," he admitted.

"Sorry. I forgot I wasn't supposed to talk."

"It's okay. This isn't the conversation I was trying to avoid."

But she got quiet then, seeming to know he was trying to wear himself out on the lake and maybe that he was trying to calm himself down. It was nice out there, quiet and peaceful, except for the dog's fussing every now and then. He was practically sitting in Grace's lap.

Grace soaked up the sunshine and took in the scenery. The trees had a lot of fall color now, which even Aidan noticed as he rowed them in a big circle around the perimeter of the lake. Off-season, there were still people, and smoke from fires coming out of chimneys here and there on the shore, but the water was deserted.

He pulled on the oars, liking the way it got the muscles in his arms and shoulders, even his legs, warmed up as he rowed, and that knot of excess energy in his body eased, that anxious feeling unfurled. Still, he kept going, kept it up until his injured shoulder started protesting, which wasn't smart of him. But he'd actually gotten to the point where he was enjoying being out there, the clean air, the quiet, the sunshine. Even the dog had settled down, his chin resting on one of Grace's legs, while she closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the sun.

God, she was so beautiful. It just struck him anew at times. Not just beautiful, but kind, funny, hurting but trying to be so brave and meet it head on. How could a man help but admire her? And want her? What in the world was she doing here with him?

His shoulder started a strong protest to the rowing, so he headed for the dock. The dog, in his eagerness to get to dry ground, almost knocked Aidan over as they reached the shore. Grace helped him pull the boat out of the water, stow the oars and flip the boat over to shield the inside from the elements.

"Thank you. I needed that," he said, putting an arm around her as they walked up the sloped ground to the cabin, Tink bounding ahead.

"To keep going until your shoulder hurt?"

"You caught that, huh?"

She nodded.

"I was going to say, thank you for the company and the quiet."

"You're welcome. But tonight, I get to work on that shoulder. No arguments allowed."

Work on it?

As in, have her hands all over him?

He wanted that, and at the same time, he didn't.

He wanted her, period. She wanted him, and she didn't seem that concerned about exactly what they might be able to do, given the limits imposed by his own body. And he supposed he should be grateful to find a woman willing to put up with that. No, he was sure he should be grateful. But it meant he could have her, anytime he wanted, if she still meant what she'd said that afternoon and if his conscience would let him.

It would put them even more firmly in each other's lives. He wanted that desperately, and at the same time, didn't want to do that to her. Didn't want to ever make her life harder.

For about the millionth time, he thought about the absurdities of the universe, bringing her to him now, when his whole life was shit, to show him the best life had to offer—her—and that he couldn't have her.

* * *

Grace pieced together a salad for an early dinner, while Aidan cooked steaks on the grill. After they ate, she got a few things ready to work on his shoulder and he took a quick shower, saying he'd worked up a sweat on the lake.

He walked out of the bathroom in a fragrant cloud of steam, sweatpants riding low on his lean hips, looking sleek and powerful despite the scars and injuries on his body. Grace sat at one of the kitchen chairs while he stood in front of her so she could re-bandage the incision on his right side. She tried to be gentle and thorough, all the while thinking of what a luxury it was to be able to touch him this way, appreciating the wealth of warm, male skin in front of her. When that was done, she got up and motioned for him to take the chair. She was ready to have her hands all over him.

When she pulled a hand towel out of a pot of hot water on the grill, he said, "You're cooking towels?"

She nodded, wringing much of the water out of the towel. "Just wait. They feel great. Something about them being both hot and wet and conforming perfectly to the curve of your body."

She tested the towel on his skin, to make sure it wasn't too hot, then draped it over the shoulder and covered the wet towel with a big dry one, to hold in the heat. He eased back in his chair, because the heat was starting to sink in, no doubt, and he might have actually started to relax. Good. That's what she wanted.

Grace picked up some lotion and smoothed it over his other arm and shoulder, slowly warming up the muscles.

"Honey, I don't want you to stop, but you know that's not the sore shoulder, right?" he asked.

"I know. While the hot towel loosens up the sore shoulder, I'll work this one, then switch."

She used long, slow strokes, kneading on occasion, taking her time, working from his fingertips all the way up the arm to the shoulder. He had such strength, such power. His skin was warm and inviting, such a pleasure to touch. He stayed still and quiet, letting her work. His breathing slowed, and every now and then, he made a quiet sound of appreciation.

She put a fresh hot towel on the left and then went to work on the sore side, kneading it through the cooling towel and then removing it, working straight on the skin. She kept going until her hands had no strength left. By the time she finished, he was sitting there, eyes closed still, more relaxed than she'd ever seen him.

Finally, he opened his eyes, smiled at her. "That was amazing. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"How do you know how to do that?"

"My mother's a stained-glass artist. It's hard on her hands and wrists. Any kind of repetitive motion over time is. We took some self-help classes in massage so we could work on each other from time to time. I don't know who told her about the towel trick, but she wraps her hands and wrists sometimes, when they're really sore, and she's always after me to take good care of my own hands and wrists. An artist has to."

"Good trick. I've had a lot of hands on me, Grace, between the time in the hospital and rehab." He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips for a kiss. "Yours are the best."

She felt a silly flash of tears at the compliment. She'd tried hard to put everything she felt for him, all the kindness and caring she had, into the way she touched him, wanting him to feel it through her hands.

"Ahh, honey. Don't do that. Don't cry—"

"I know. I promised I wouldn't. It's just... You've been through so much, and it was so hard."

"Grace, you asked me not to treat you differently, after I found out your husband just died."

She nodded, knowing where this was headed.

"Please don't do that to me, either—"

"I'm not sure I can." Because she ached for him and what he'd endured. "I hate thinking of you going through anything like that—"

"Then don't. Don't think about it." He gave her something close to a real smile, the first she'd seen since he told her what had happened to him. "The last few months, I was in a hospital full of wounded soldiers, wounded so badly I don't know how they survived. I know some of them weren't sure they wanted to survive. I was there or in rehab, and rehab hurts like a son of a bitch. That's been my world. But now I'm here with you, and that's been amazing—"

"I've been whining about my sad, little life—"

"No, baby. You're laughter and beautiful smiles and soft, sweet-smelling skin. You actually made me laugh when I hadn't in months, when I wasn't sure I could. You made me happy to be alive, for the first time in a long time. You are pure sunshine. Don't stop. Don't change."

"Okay. I won't." If that was what he needed from her, she'd do it.

She wrapped her arms around him and just held on, because she wanted to. Because there was no place she knew that felt as good as being in his arms, and she hoped he felt the same way. Grace wanted him to be happy. No, not just happy. She wanted him to feel safe and needed and loved.