I sighed again.
“You Nightingale boys are hard to shake.”
“Remember that,” Hank murmured and wrapped his arm around my waist as if to prove the point.
Chapter Thirteen
This Is Gonna Be Fun
The next morning Hank woke me up and made love to me, catching further at my heart by paying special attention with his mouth and hands to the fading bruises on my neck, arms, hips, even my wrists, like he could erase them and their memory with his touch.
Man, was I in trouble or what?
When we were done, both of us stil breathing heavy, Shamus gave a whine and moved up and down the side of the bed, not taking his eyes off Hank.
“I gotta let him out,” Hank said, giving me a light kiss on the mouth and moving gently away from me.
I nodded and rol ed onto my side, pul ing the pil ow to my middle.
I watched Hank tug on his henley and jeans and walk barefoot out of the room.
I heard a door open and close.
Then something weird happened.
I closed my eyes slowly, languidly, coming down from the high that was Hank’s lovemaking and when I opened them, Bil y’s face was right in mine.
I jerked straight up in bed, stil holding the pil ow to my middle and screamed Hank’s name. The scream was loud, it was shril and it echoed through the house like a gunshot.
I scooted up the bed, clutching the pil ow and getting to my knees. My back hit the headboard when Hank ran into the room.
“Jesus Roxie,” he said, looking at me. I had no idea I was deathly pale and as wild-eyed as Uncle Tex was last night.
I was staring at nothing. Bil y wasn’t there. My eyes moved to Hank and he sat on the bed, his arms coming to me, taking the pil ow away and pul ing me into his warm, solid body.
“Holy fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m seeing things. I could swear Bil y was right here,” I told him and I could feel my body trembling.
He swore under his breath and pul ed me across his lap, wrapping the sheet around me and tucking my head in his neck.
“I’m going crazy, or crazier. God, I swear he was right here. I could see him plain as day,” I whispered against his neck, twining my arms around his middle.
“It was a flashback, sweetheart. Victims of violence get them al time.”
I was stil shaking and I felt the tears crawling up my throat.
“Dammit,” I choked, burrowing into him, trying to get him to absorb me or trying to absorb some of his strength into me, I didn’t know which. I felt the wetness on my cheeks transferring itself to his skin. “I’m so fucking weak.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you back here. I was worried about that.”
I shook my head, tears stil coming. “It’s me, I’m weak.”
“It isn’t you, it could happen to anyone.” I knew it wouldn’t happen to Indy or Al y or Daisy or anyone he knew. They were made of sterner stuff than me.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“Why?”
“I feel stupid.”
“Christ, Sunshine, give yourself a break.” I nodded but didn’t agree.
He held me until I quit shaking, his arms tight around me.
Then he stood up, taking me with him and set me on my feet. He bent and picked my panties up from the floor, silently handing them to me. I put them on while he dug in his drawer and pul ed out an olive-drab thermal, long sleeve shirt with a kickass skul in tan emblazoned on the back. It was a Lucky thermal and it was sweet. He yanked it over my head, I shoved my arms through and it fel over my hips.
“Let’s go get Shamus,” he said.
He guided me to the backdoor, holding my hand the whole time, and opened it. Shamus bolted inside. Then he walked me to the kitchen and let go of my hand and started to make coffee.
“Feed Shamus, wil you?” Hank asked.
He told me where to find the stuff. The sleeves of the Lucky thermal went over my hands and I wiped the remains of the tears off my face with them. Then I pushed them back up my forearms and looked around the living room.
It was tidy. The Fat Tire print was gone, the Skinny Dip print had been repositioned to center over the couch.
Everything was where it was supposed to be; the broken lamp hadn’t been replaced but any remnants of it were swept away. It was like Bil y hadn’t even been there.
Instead, it looked like when I first walked in after Hank’s and my date.
I looked away before I started decorating again, took a deep breath and made Shamus his breakfast. While I did this, Shamus jumped around me in happy anticipation of being fed. When I set his bowl on the floor, he shoved his face into the wet food, his body stil moving with his wagging tail.
“He’s a happy dog,” I told Hank, staring down at Shamus and wishing my life could be as simple as his. Food, happy.
Walk, happy. Hank, happy.
Okay, maybe my life could be like that, or a version of that, but I wasn’t going to go there.