Pulled Within (19 page)

The name just stuck after that.

There were a few times Saint had completely freaked out on meth, so he ended up switching to opiates. He thought those would
give him more control over his mind. So instead of tweaking, he nodded out. That phase didn’t last long. And afterward, he quit using everything. He didn’t even drink anymore.

I hoped Brady could do that.

I hoped he’d never come back to this house after he got out of
rehab. I hoped I’d never see him bent over a toilet, dry heaving and jerking off at the same time.

I hoped he’d leave his demons behind without having them
follow him home.

I didn’t bother saying good-bye to Jeremy; I figured he was occupied enough as it was. I didn’t see Caleb in the living room or
kitchen, so I didn’t say bye to him either. I went straight out to my
car,
threw my bag in the passenger seat and pulled out my phone to send them both texts. The screen was black. I’d forgotten to charge it before my nap.

I couldn’t call Hart and let him know I was on my way over.

He’d know soon enough when I showed up.

But that also meant I couldn’t see if there were any other calls from
unknown
since the last time I’d checked. The thought made my heart shudder.

Before I started the engine, before I even put on my seatbelt, I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, wrapped my hands
around it,
closed my eyes and breathed. Shane was right: I didn’t need any
more shit right now.

Not with only
twenty-three days
.

Hart had asked me to move in, and I knew then that I would. I wasn’t running to him as much as I was escaping the mess in Caleb’s house. I didn’t know how long I’d stay, or if it was even the right
place for me to live.

But anything was better than Caleb’s.

I LEFT MY THINGS
on the passenger seat of the car and walked up
the path to Hart’s front door. My knuckles had barely touched the wood before it flew open. He stood on the other side, leaning into
the frame with his feet crossed, wearing only a pair of jeans. He took a sip from the mug he held. “Where the hell have you been?”

I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until that very moment. The last few hours had caught up to me; the sights, the sounds, the
smells…I just wanted to sit somewhere clean.

“I…came. Like I said I would. Didn’t you want me to?”

“It’s seven in the morning. I haven’t heard from you since I
dropped
you off at your car almost twenty-four hours ago.” He didn’t step
back to let me in.

I pulled my phone from the pocket of the hoodie and held it up for him to see. “It’s dead. I had no way to call you.”

His face told me he wasn’t convinced. “That’s the best excuse you’ve got?”

I couldn’t tell if he was more worried or angry. But I could tell he definitely cared about where I’d been.

“I have puke on my breath,” I explained, “and probably on my face…and most definitely in my hair. I need a shower so badly…and I’m afraid to close my eyes.” I didn’t know why I included that last
part. It would only lead to questions. There was no way I could tell him about my nightmares just yet.

But maybe I wanted him to ask why I was afraid.

“I should have called you, Hart. It was just…a mess.”

“What was a mess, Rae?” His tone had softened.

“Nothing…everything. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I didn’t know what was coming out of me, but I couldn’t stop it. Hart didn’t try to make me either. He set the mug on the floor and reached for me, gently slipping one arm around my waist and another
behind my knees as he picked me up and carried me through the
house.
He took me into his bathroom and sat me on the edge of his jetted
tub, turning the nozzle to fill it. He disappeared and returned with my toothbrush and toothpaste. I brushed my teeth at the sink.

His hands held my waist the whole time. When I was finished, he
pulled me toward him. I smelled the scent of his skin. His flesh was smooth, almost glossy as it rounded the hard contours of his muscled chest. A simple silver rod ran horizontally through his nipple. I had stood as close as this when he’d gotten it pierced; he’d done the same only minutes later when my belly button was pierced. I
remembered
the look on his face when the needle punctured that sensitive spot,
the breath he held in, the way his exhale blanketed me. I could feel that same breath now as his hand traveled up to the zipper of my hoodie
and slowly pulled it down. I wore only a bra underneath. It was the
one
Christy had given me on my first night at the casino and it pushed
my breasts high onto my chest.

They heaved as the sweatshirt fell open.

The sound of the heavy fabric hitting the tile floor was the only other noise besides the flow of water and the rush of our breath. His hands clasped my hips, pushing the sweatpants down my thighs
and past my knees. I felt his air once more, a sharp, hot exhale that came when he realized I wasn’t wearing any panties.

His eyes found mine again, and he unhooked the clasp of my
bra, setting my breasts free. Then he carefully lifted me and placed me in
the bubbling water. There were jets on both sides of the tub, behind me and all around. They massaged everything that hurt…on the outside, at least.

They weren’t able to touch anything that hurt within.

Hart sat on the tile base that framed the tub. He squeezed a dab of soap over a coral-like sponge and mashed it between his hands until it was a sudsy ball. Starting at my feet, he rubbed the soft scrubber over my toes and up my calves, massaging with each pass.
He moved to the outside of my thighs, slowly working his way to the inside before sliding back up.

He hovered over my navel and caressed the rod that hung from my belly button.

“It’s even sexier now than when you first got it,” he said.

The sound of him surprised me. It wasn’t his usual tone. It was
deeper, more seductive…a morning voice, a mix of coffee and need
that translated all the way to his fingers.

He was caring for me, cleansing me, trying to help me close my
eyes again. I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than his voice…and his hands. They were everywhere, slowly moving closer
to my neck.

My scar suddenly felt like it had ripped open, like rain was
pouring out of its jagged edges. Ironically, my skin felt like it was on fire, a blaze that spread across the surface of my entire cheek.

I flinched.

“Rae, what’s wrong?” Hart’s voice took on a new tone. It was
soft and tender, full of concern again. “Am I hurting you?”

I was holding my breath. My lids were squeezed shut; my
stomach was queasy, even though there was nothing in it.

All I could picture were Gerald’s hands.

I couldn’t get them out of my head. What those hands had
done…
what they had taken from me. It was so fresh
—
too fresh from my
nightmare. And yet, I knew the difference between his hands and Hart’s. They weren’t similar in any way, not their touch or their
scent.

So why did I fear Hart touching my cheek, or my hair? Why was the thought of that making it so hard to find my breath again?

“Rae, talk to me.”

My eyes burst open. I pulled my legs up to my chest and
wrapped my arms around them. And I rocked.

Back and forth
.

The waves I created splashed over the sides of the tub and
soaked his jeans. He dropped the sponge in the water. It floated over the top of the pool as his hands moved up my arms and stopped at the base of my shoulders.

“Please,” I begged, “don’t go any higher.” I tucked my chin
against my chest, pressed my forehead to my knees and hid my face.

“I won’t,” he assured me.

“Keep your hands right there, okay?” It was softer than a
whisper. A nearly-silent plea that I wasn’t sure he heard, but I hoped he had.

I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he made sure I felt his presence. The tips of his toes touched mine first, then his legs
surrounded both
sides of me. His arms slid around my back, the strength of them
pulling
me into his lap. He’d left his jeans on when he’d climbed into the
tub. They rubbed over my ass as he hugged me.

I was still in a ball, pushed into his chest, and his lips pressed against my knees. “I want to help you.”

“You can’t.”

“Yes, I can.” His hands pressed harder. “But you have to let me. You have to tell me how I can make this better for you.”

My arms carefully unfolded; my legs separated to spread over
him. My fingers drew to his shoulders. The sun was rising, the
added light
glistening over his chest and neck and face. My eyes skimmed all of him as my fingers traced his shape. When I reached his shoulder, I felt something bumpy and slightly rough. I moved my hand away and felt the scar underneath, starting at the corner of his shoulder
and stopping at the top of his bicep. With his skin still holding its summer tan, the white line was even more noticeable. It was thick and dotted on both sides where the stitches had once weaved through his flesh.

So similar to mine, and yet so different.

I met his stare as my fingers drew over his scar again. And
again. “You’re healed.”

He searched my eyes. I knew it was impossible, but I could feel
him looking inside me, into the space where I kept my fears and my
past and my scars. They were all so deeply pulled within. He was
trying his best to read them all and understand me. His face told me that suddenly he did.

“You can be healed, too,” he said.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to know that I could gaze at
myself
in the mirror and not think of that night in the storm, and of
everything I had lost. With my scar, my memories and my nightmares unwilling to let go, I just didn’t know how it would be possible.

“Is that what you really believe?” Maybe he knew something I
didn’t.

It probably meant I’d have to give him more…tell him more. I couldn’t do that now.

Shit, I hadn’t even been able to reply when he’d asked to have coffee
with my mom and me. How much longer would I be able to avoid
discussing my family?

And if I did finally tell him the truth, would he still look at me the way he did now?

“Of course I do,” he said. “Everyone has a chance to heal. Some people choose to stay in the past and let their scars define them. Others choose to let it be nothing more than a mark on their body.
That’s what
I’ve done. It doesn’t define me. It sure as fuck doesn’t determine
where I’m going.”

My scar had done just that. But his was hidden, and mine
tattooed more than just my skin.

My scar was everywhere.

I broke away from his silvery gaze and tried to fill my lungs with air. He knew I’d needed his encouragement, and I knew I did, too. But it was all too real, too fast.

“Hey…come back to me.” He wrapped me into his chest, his
hands
pressing even harder. “You’re freezing. Let me get you out of here.” He stood in the tub, my legs crossed around his waist, my arms
clinging to
his neck. I could hear the water falling from his jeans onto the tile
when he stepped out.

It sounded like rain.

He reached for a towel and spread its soft warmth around me,
tucking it into my chest and under my butt. I watched as he carefully
kept away from my neck and anything above it without realizing
how much that meant. “You’ll be warm in a minute.”

I wasn’t shaking because of the air temperature, though I didn’t tell him that.

He carried me into his room, pulling back the sheet and blankets
as he placed me under both. Once I was settled, he went into his
closet
and returned wearing dry clothes. Then he sat next to me on the bed, rubbing my blanket-covered limbs as if he were trying to warm them.

“I know you have to go,” I said. “Don’t stay because of me. I’ll be fine here alone.” I tucked the blanket around my head. The only
thing
uncovered now was my face. The shaking was starting to settle
down.

His fingers ran up and down my thigh, staying on the outside,
never coming close to the inside. “There’s nowhere I need to be. I
just had to get out of those wet jeans.”

I didn’t want him to leave the house, necessarily. But I needed some time to clear my head of everything that had happened in the last few hours. And to do that, I needed his hands off me. “That’s not
true. I know you have to work today. You should have already been there.”

His stare moved to my lips. “You need me more than my job does.”

That was probably the truest thing he’d said.

“I do need you, but I’m willing to share you right now. I promise I’ll be okay.” My hand snuck out of the blanket. I clutched his fingers
and pulled them to my lips. I kissed each one softly. “I need to get
some sleep. If you’re here, that won’t happen.” I nipped his knuckle.

His eyes narrowed, and the corners of his lips pointed upward.
He enjoyed the sharp little blast of pain as much as I thought he
would. “For wanting me gone, you’re making it difficult for me to leave…”

I laughed, dropping his hand and covering mine with the
blanket again. “Go,” I teased. “Before I change my mind.” His lips weren’t
far. It would have been so easy to lean forward and taste them. “You
have to go.” If he stayed one minute longer, I would be popping off
every button on his shirt, and then there really would be nothing separating us. When he didn’t budge, I tried again, “Hart, right now. I’m not kidding.”