Pieces of Broken Time (15 page)

“Jenny?”

Her heart skipped. Blake was the only person who had ever called her Jenny and only when he was being playful.

“Yeah, it’s me. Can you please pick me up?”

“I’m coming to get you right . . . now. Sam, let’s go to Jenny . . . she needs me.”

Jennifer heard a click, and the line disconnected. She made as little noise as possible as she rushed out of bed, completely forgetting about her bandaged foot. Yelping in pain, she didn’t waste a minute gathering the bag she had left in the chair and huddled beside the door to wait in the darkness.

The doorbell chimed.

Oh, thank God!

She opened the door to find a man she had never seen before. The scream she had forced down minutes before rushed to her lips, and she dropped everything, fully prepared to bolt in the opposite direction in hopes she could reach the phone before the strange man managed to grab her.

“Jennifer, wait. I’m Sam. Blake’s in the car.”

The hurried explanation halted her. “Sam? What happened to Blake?”

“I’ll explain in the car. Blake wants you out of here.”

Chapter 13

Jennifer, with a little help from Sam, managed to get out to the car.

“Take the backseat with him,” Sam said, climbing behind the wheel and revving the engine.

She peeked through the back window and saw Blake sprawled out and moaning. From the god-awful smell that hit her when she opened the door, it was clear that someone had been puking.

With as much gentleness as she could muster, she lifted Blake’s shoulders, slipped into the seat, and laid his head on her lap. His forehead was warm to touch and his breath reeked of alcohol.

Sam glanced back as he drove and offered an apologetic smile.

“Should I remove his beanie? He’s burning up.”

Sam shook his head vehemently. “No, he wouldn’t like that. He’s just had too much to drink. Don’t worry about him.”

Before she could answer, Blake took her hand from his forehead. “Hey . . .” He drawled the one word into four syllables in full drunken form.

“Hey, you,” she whispered.

Blake gave an innocent smile. His good eye was closed, and in the glow of the little light from the dashboard, he almost looked peaceful. Relaxed.

Forgetting about her own fears became easy as he held her hand for the duration of the short drive back to his place. Even in his inebriated state, he brought her comfort. She felt safe.

Sam eased Blake’s Jeep in the driveway and turned off the engine. “Here, let me help you inside first, and then I’ll come get him.”

She was going to refuse but Blake nudged her, slurring out his order. “
Go
.”

“Going.” Sam grinned, walked around the car, slipped an arm around her waist, and hefted her out of the car.

“This isn’t necessary. I can walk.” Jennifer tried to push off his chest.

“My pal might be out of his mind, but he made it clear that I get you home, safe.” Sam stopped at the front door while he retrieved the keys. “And by the looks of it, your foot isn’t doing great.”

“How can you tell?” she asked.

They headed toward Blake’s bedroom.

“I happen to be familiar with the scent of blood,” Sam said, lowering her on the edge of the bed.

“I should stay in the spare room. He should take his bed—closer to the bathroom.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Knowing that man, he would beat the crap out of me if I put you in the other room. I distinctly remember him mentioning that he had you sleeping in here before you left.”

Jennifer had no idea why she blushed. Trying to cover her discomfort with the arrangement, she made a stupid decision. “Then put him here, too. That way I can take him to the bathroom if he needs to go.”

Yeah, that explains everything.

Sam nodded and left the room only to return moments later with Blake hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Where do you want him?”

There was a hint of humor in the question, but she ignored it. “Here.” She pointed to the right side of the bed, where the clock was more visible to Blake.

Sam eased Blake onto the bed and proceeded to remove Blake’s shoes. “Whatever you do, don’t remove his patch, and leave the beanie alone.” Sam’s warning was clear.

She took advantage of the resource available to find out more about this enigmatic man passed out beside her. “Why?”

“He doesn’t take kindly to pity, sympathy, or whatever it is that most ladies throw his way.” Sam’s gaze traveled down to her injured foot. “I should look at that before I go.”

“It’s okay. I can do it.” Her foot throbbed as though it had a life of its own and made it known that her decision to leave had been childish and stupid.

“I’m afraid I can’t leave until I check it out. Blake has been so worried about you.”

Jennifer peered at Blake’s sleeping form. “He’s been worried?”

“Yep. So let me look at it,” Sam said.

I made him worry?

She blushed, looking away quickly, but nodded, and Sam went to the bathroom. She heard the drawers being opened and he came back with a first aid kit.

Sam pushed a chair at the edge of the bed and laid a clean towel on top. “Prop your foot on this. Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Sam began removing the bandage and she heard him sigh. “Thank your lucky stars it isn’t as bad as I thought. You just seem to be a bleeder.”

Jennifer hissed when Sam applied the antiseptic. In order to get her mind off the burning pain, she focused on the nagging question in her head. “Why was he drinking?”

If Sam wanted to tell her to mind her own business, he didn’t let on. He looked at her and shrugged. When he finished wrapping her foot with a fresh bandage, he inspected his handiwork and grinned. “You should be okay. Just stay off the foot.”

“Thank you so much.”

Sam moved across the room and sat on the swivel chair. Just as she started to get uneasy with the silence, he spoke. “I’ve been inviting him for drinks. You know, to get out of the house and to enjoy life a bit. He loves music, but since the blast, he hasn’t done anything. He hasn’t picked up his guitar. Nothing. Then, this afternoon, I was surprised but took it as a positive sign when he didn’t argue with my invitation . . .” He swirled the chair around like a child trying to stall.

“And?”

“I dropped by to pick him up so we could drive together. He seemed distracted, angry even, but with Blake, there’s no asking him unless you want your head bitten off and served à la carte, so I left it alone. We dropped by your house before we headed to the bar, and still he didn’t say anything. After several drinks, he started unloading. Maybe it was his anxiety that got the best of him, but then out of the blue, he went up to the stage and started playing. He’s good.” Sam shook his head.

Jennifer didn’t know what to say. She vaguely remembered Trent mentioning their group singing while Blake played the guitar occasionally during down time.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you leave?” Sam watched her with intense green eyes that made it difficult to ignore him and his question.

“I left this afternoon and walked home.”

“I didn’t ask
when
. I figured that part out the moment I saw your foot.”

“Blake’s your friend. You know what he’s like . . . how stubborn and rude he can be.”

“I met Blake after his injury so I have no idea what he was like before the blast. One thing I can tell you, though, soldiers coming back from the war aren’t just nursing physical injuries. They are also trying to deal with the emotional issues from what they’ve witnessed. As much as society proclaims support for returning vets, they aren’t sure how to handle the psychological scars.”

She felt silly for walking out and not facing the storm that was Blake. “I understand,” Jennifer said, and she did. “I want to help him if he’ll let me, but he’s built these walls . . . I’m not sure he’ll let anyone in. He’s all over the place. For someone who claims he wanted to keep me safe, his behavior is contradictory.”

Sam nodded. “Well, it takes time. He has to come to terms with his losses before he can accept the life that he has now. Blake is a great guy underneath that abrasive exterior.”

Jennifer glanced at Blake’s face. The harsh lines around his mouth were absent, and he resembled the man she’d met so long ago.

“He talked about you the whole time we were at the bar. ‘Jennifer is brave. Such a pity Trent died. I wish I could find a woman like her. I won’t forgive myself for treating her the way I did.’ ” Sam chuckled. “He’s like a freakin’ tornado when he’s had enough to drink. And he wouldn’t listen when I told him to stop.” Sam shrugged and smiled a little. “That’s when you called, and I kinda did the math.”

“Are you telling me that he got drunk because I—”

Sam suddenly stood and glanced at Blake. “Well, if you think you can handle Romeo here, I’ll lock up and go.” He saluted and walked out, and then she heard the soft click of the front door closing.

Jennifer looked at Blake, and her heart ached. She was torn between wanting to touch him and hoping she had the strength to fight her growing attraction to this infuriating man. He was in a rut and she wasn’t sure how to help him.

Blake stirred and then gurgled. His skin was almost a gray pallor.

Unsure exactly what he needed, she hopped to the bathroom and retrieved the wastebasket and placed it next to the bed.

As though he’d known what she’d done, he lurched to his side and retched.

Still not certain she was helping, she began rubbing his back in soothing circles and hoped for the best.

He flopped back on the mattress, his good eye fluttering and focusing on her. “I’m jus’ glad you’re home, Jenny.”

In normal circumstances, the sight of a drunk-stupid man wouldn’t have alarmed her, but this was Blake.

With all his medical concerns . . .

It was obvious Blake was hurting, and he needed someone with him.

Jennifer moved toward the foot of the bed and started tugging off his socks.

Just when she thought he had fallen asleep, Blake sighed and spoke in that way that was both irritating and comforting at the same time. “I shu’d be takin’ care you, not t’other way around, ya know.”

He’s drunk. Just let him talk it out.

His breathing evened out, and she felt his cheek. Her palm burned on contact.

Not good.

Half running, half hopping, she hobbled to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth, and soaked it with lukewarm water. She returned to find him removing the eye patch and rushed to put a finger on the cover to stop him. “Don’t, Blake,” she whispered.

His eye opened. “You’re . . . skert.” Blake gave a sardonic laugh.

She wasn’t even sure if he knew what he was about to do. Jennifer decided to give a truthful answer even if Blake wouldn’t remember what she said in the morning. It was more for her benefit.

“Never. I want to see you when you’re ready.” She dabbed his cheek with the washrag and worked in slow, soothing strokes on cooling his forehead and neck. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? You had a lot to drink.”

“No, no, no.” Blake waggled his finger at her. “You . . . like that woman, you know, gonna leave, becuz I’m scary.”

The woman Blake was comparing her to seemed to agitate him. He sounded like a man harboring deep emotional wounds.

Her chest constricted. “I’ll be around if you want me,” she said.

“Sleepies . . .” He jabbed the pillow several times. “Stay.”

“Okay,” she murmured, stroking his cheek to calm him down.

For what it was worth, her words seemed to comfort Blake as he relaxed and buried his head.

Once she was sure he was asleep, she snuggled against him. She gasped and sat straight up when she heard him speak.

“Trent, ’m takin’ care of our girl.”

Clear as a bell, he spoke of a promise she had been certain he’d forgotten. Her pride kicked into high gear as she considered being a part of this infuriatingly aggravating man’s life out of some sense of obligation.

She sighed and leaned against the headboard to contemplate her options.

Jennifer woke up sometime in the middle of the night when she felt the bed dip. She glanced at the clock.

Ugh, two hours.

Blake was attempting to get out of bed.

She jumped up when she saw him wobbling. “Where are you going?” she asked, circling an arm around his waist to steady him.

He didn’t even look at her. “I’m gonna sho’r.”

Drunk showering . . . how fun.

“Can’t you wait until morning?” she asked.

Blake heaved and cupped his mouth.

They awkwardly made their way into the bathroom where she guided Blake to the sink.

She turned around to give him a bit of privacy, but nothing came out.

“Sho’r,” Blake said, and swayed toward the bathtub.

“I don’t even think you can stand on your own. How do you figure you’re going to stay upright the whole time?”