Battered Not Broken Page 12

  Melissa shot Ally a sardonic expression as her mother handed her a package of the stuff. “It’s true.”

  When Ally was given her own package, she tucked it under her arm and filed out of the bathroom behind the other two women. She was nearly to the end of the hallway when she glimpsed movement beyond an open bedroom door – Trisha.

  She was sitting on the edge of what seemed to be her bed, her back to the door.

  “Hey, Trisha.” Ally ducked inside the room, balancing her triple-ply burden against her hip like she would a laundry basket. “What are you doing in here? We’re getting ready to play a game.”

  “Huh?” Trisha turned, seemingly snapping out of her own little world. There was a half-finished plate of food beside her on the bed – she must have slipped into her room after visiting the buffet. “Oh, are we getting ready for the toilet paper wedding dress competition?” A brief glimmer of something – competitiveness, maybe – passed through her eyes, but her expression was unusually somber.

  “Yeah. And I’ve been told the paper is triple-ply this year.”

  “Good. Last year we had the thin economy stuff and my cousin pulled a cheap trick – stepped on the hem of my team’s dress accidentally.” She used one hand to make air quotes, rolling her eyes and smiling as she placed emphasis on the last word. She clutched something else in her other hand, her brightly-lacquered nails practically glowing against the duller colors of glossy pamphlets.

  Trisha rose, laying them down on the bed and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Is everything all right?” Trisha was shorter than her little sister – just an inch or so taller than Ally. As they stood nearly eye-to-eye, it was easy to see that Trisha’s expression wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as it had been at the beginning of the party.

  Trisha shrugged and waved one hand, gesturing toward the bed. “I guess I picked a bad time to take a look at those pamphlets. They’ve got me a little nervous.”

  Ally’s gaze drifted toward the pamphlets. One featured a picture of a man in desert camo fatigues – an army uniform, it looked like. On impulse, Ally picked it up, her thoughts skipping instantly to Ryan and what he might have looked like in a similar uniform.

  “Someone gave those to me the other day – the wife of one of Mike’s buddies. I guess things might be harder than I thought. I mean, not that I didn’t know, but… I guess I’m just not sure what to expect.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I came in here to grab something and ended up reading instead.”

  Ally scanned the title emblazoned across the top of the pamphlet. Understanding TBI: Mild Traumatic Brain Injury and Postconcussion Syndrome.

  Trisha tapped a toe, her eyes glued to the literature Ally was holding.

  What was there to say? The title sounded kind of ominous, but Ally didn’t know enough to really comment. She settled for flipping the pamphlet open, hoping it would clue her in on an appropriate response.

  The first page featured an illustrated diagram of a person’s head. The brain was outlined in red inside the skull, a military helmet in black around the outside. Phrases like blast wave and energy pulse stood out in bold text, followed by arrows that seemed to convey a sense of sweeping motion moving through the illustrated soldier’s neck and head.

  Ally scanned the actual text, trying her best to glean basic info from the type below the bolded headlines. TBI is an injury that results from an external force traumatically injuring the brain. Common causes of TBI during military deployment are exposure to IED and other explosives blasts, motor vehicle accidents, shrapnel… The list went on.

  Ally’s fingertips tingled with the sudden memory of raised scar tissue, then turned semi-numb and clumsy as she turned the page, barely managing to grip the glossy paper between her thumb and forefinger. The next panel was devoted entirely to a list of symptoms. It was too much to absorb all at once, but certain words stood out. Headaches. Vertigo. Sensitivity to light and sound.

  “Mike is suffering from TBI?” The words felt strange on the tip of Ally’s tongue.

  Trisha nodded. “He was exposed to an IED blast. It’s supposed to be a mild case, but it sounds pretty serious to me. He’s been diagnosed with PTSD, too.”

  Ally’s mouth was strangely dry as she tried to conjure something that might be construed as comforting. It was difficult to do when she felt like she’d swallowed a lead weight. “How long have you and Mike been together?”

  “Almost four years.”

  “I don’t think anyone really knows what to expect at first with something like this. But you’re sitting here reading up on it during your own party – that’s serious dedication, coming from you. If you’re this committed to understanding what he’s going through and supporting him, I’m sure you two will make it through this.”

  A grin spread its way slowly across Trisha’s face. “Thanks. You’re right – I wouldn’t sit around and study during a party for just anyone.”

  A ripple of relief coursed through Ally at the sight of Trisha’s smile, but a hollow sensation in her middle left her feeling uneasy, even hypocritical. Some of the symptoms listed in the pamphlet had been alarmingly familiar, and the words I’m glad it wasn’t worse kept echoing through her mind.

  Chapter 10

  “Hey, you two.” Melissa appeared in the doorway. “The cousins are going to get a head start if you don’t get out here.”

  “I thought we lost you somewhere in the living room,” Melissa said to Ally when she emerged into the hallway.

  “I saw Trisha in her room and went in to tell her we were ready for the next game. Then we sort of just started talking.”

  Ally and Melissa were recruited onto an enthusiastic team before Melissa had time to ask what exactly Ally and Trisha had talked about. Ally welcomed the distraction, though her heart wasn’t really in it as she and three other women worked to design and construct a toilet paper wedding gown for Melissa – the group’s chosen model – in hopes of it being judged the best.

  As they worked, draping Melissa’s raven waves in a triple-ply veil, everyone seemed to be laughing so loudly that the sound drowned out even the music. The happy noise was at odds with the thoughts that kept plaguing Ally – memories of Ryan’s violent migraine and battle scars. He didn’t have anyone to pour over pamphlets, trying their best to understand what had happened to him. He’d had her for one miserable night, and she hadn’t even realized what he’d actually been suffering from.

  * * * * *

  Ally clutched the DVD case to her belly like it was a lifeline as Ryan’s electric-blue mustang pulled up to the curb in front of her house. “See you later, mamá.” She zipped up her jacket and stepped out the door, willing her limbs to carry her smoothly toward the idling vehicle, betraying no sign of her inward nervousness.

  Ryan didn’t wait inside the car. Instead, he exited it and walked around the front, opening the passenger-side door for Ally. “Hey.”

  The sound of his simple greeting sent sensation roaring down her spine and spreading into every last inch of her body. “Hey.” It was Tuesday – four nights had passed since the one she’d spent with him after his fight on Friday. She’d passed almost the entire next day with him, first that morning at his apartment, then at the gym as he’d coached her kicks and then later watched her compete. After winning all three of her fights, she’d gone home, not wanting to leave her mother alone for a second night in a row after the prison visitation.

  Then she’d gone to Trisha’s bridal shower on Sunday. She’d seen Ryan since then at the gym, but this was the first time they’d been alone together since they’d had sex on Saturday morning.

  He touched the small of her back as she approached the car, making her reluctant to climb inside. She did anyway, thinking of an evening spent at his place with equal parts excitement and nervousness. “I brought the movie.”

  They’d decided on a casual movie night date at his place – that way they could spend several hours alone together even
though they both had work in the morning. She’d brought a favorite movie from home that he’d never seen before.

  “Great.” He slid into his seat, smoothly inserting his keys into the ignition. Unlike during their last date, his hands didn’t tremble and the lines of pain around his mouth were gone. When he guided the car away from the curb, it was with confidence and competence.

  Still, it was impossible not to think about him shaking, his head bloodied. The fresh butterfly bandage near his hairline reminded her of what had happened and how unaware she’d been.

  They spent the drive talking about Knockout and Cameron’s plans for expanding his weekend fights. Ryan was still obviously excited about his starring role in the next night’s events.

  Ally could no longer share his enthusiasm for his impending face-off with the undefeated fighter from Philly. After speaking with Trisha and scanning her TBI literature, she’d gone home and researched the condition online, trying her best to gain a basic understanding of what it was and how it affected a person.

  Each click had sent her heart sinking a little deeper. Not just because of the harshness of what she strongly suspected Ryan was suffering from, but because of the fact that if the IED blast he’d been caught in really had left him with TBI, he was endangering himself every day by doing what he loved – fighting.

  She’d spent long hours at work mindlessly styling nails while mentally exhausting the various ways she might bring the subject up and discuss it with him. None of them seemed right. But neither did the idea of continuing to cheer on the man she was dating while he placed himself in the line of unnecessary danger. Her stomach had been in knots ever since her conversation with Trisha.

  “Here we are.” Ryan pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of his apartment building.

  Just like the first time, she worried about him as they climbed the stairs. Not because she was afraid he’d fall – this time, his stride was strong, infused with his usual grace.

  They’d just stepped through the door when he laid hands on her, gripping her hips and drawing her close. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since Saturday morning. I’m going to show you a much better night here than last time. Promise.” His lips brushed her hair, then her forehead and cheek, gradually finding her mouth and settling there.

  “It’s okay,” she said, still tasting him on her tongue when the searing kiss ended. “About last time, I mean.”

  “I wanted to give you a fun time, not force you into taking care of me. I made you act like a chauffeur, maid and nurse all in one night.”

  “I’m glad I was here.”

  He gave her a distinct you don’t have to try to humor me look.

  “I mean it. I don’t like to think about what would’ve happened to you if you’d been alone.”

  He frowned. “Yeah, well—”

  “And,” she interjected, feeling as if she were standing on thin ice instead of on the carpeted floor just inside his front door, “whatever you think about that night, it led to the morning after. I don’t regret that, do you?”

  “No.” His voice dipped lower and his eyes flashed bright blue as he reached around her and finally pushed the door all the way shut, locking it.

  “Then please don’t feel like you need to apologize to me for that night. You would’ve done the same thing for me if the situation had been reversed, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there you go. It just happened. Anyone would’ve done the same thing. It’s not something you need to feel guilty over.”

  He reached out, plucking the DVD case from her hands. “I said I would’ve done the same for you, not that anyone would have. Lots of people wouldn’t have done what you did. You’re better than most people, and that’s why I want more than ever to give you a romantic night, not bleed on you.”

  His words sent a little ripple of stunned pleasure through her, but the tense set of his shoulders as he turned away, making his way into the living area, kept it from dominating her feelings.

  She followed him toward the couch, feeling partially as if she were a piece of iron being drawn toward a magnet and partially as if she were following someone out into the middle of an iced-over lake. She wanted – craved – the feeling of connection that had filled her when he’d kissed her. But she feared saying the wrong thing and unintentionally pushing him away, especially when she wanted to ask him about TBI at some point before the night was over.

  When he rose from inserting the disc into the DVD player built into his TV, she’d already settled in the middle of the small couch. “I’m ready for you to romance me,” she said, unable to fight a small smile.

  He returned the smile, some of the tenseness going out of his shoulders as he sank down beside her on the couch, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close as the movie began. By the time the previews ended, she was in his lap.

  She normally thought of herself as physically strong. Not tall like Melissa, but fit and more powerful than the average female, both because of the knowledge her training had granted her and the muscle it had built, a firm foundation beneath curves she was genetically destined to maintain.

  However, sitting in Ryan’s lap made her feel soft. He was hard everywhere, from his abs to his thighs and the firm rod of his erection, which pressed into her hip as he trailed kisses down the arch of her neck. Feeling soft was nicer than she would have guessed.

  By the time the movie was halfway over, her panties were damp.

  He’d never let her out of his lap and had never stopped kissing her. For at least half an hour, he’d teased her with his lips, occasionally locking them with hers but mostly applying them to other areas of her body – her ears, neck and the little bit of cleavage her V-neck sweater exposed. Below the dipping collar, her nipples were tingling, her breasts aching.

  She released a little sigh when he slipped a hand beneath the hem of her sweater and camisole, delving beneath both layers at once to warm her belly with his palm and tease the lower curve of one breast with his fingertips. She arched her back when he cupped the mound beneath her bra, sending a surge of desire straight through her core. She hadn’t forgotten what his lips had felt like latched around her nipples – not for a single second since it had happened.

  He gripped her sweater and cami in both hands, then slipped them over her head, sending her hair sweeping over her shoulders as he set the garments aside on the arm of the couch. Afterward he made short work of her bra, unhooking the clasp and sliding the straps over her shoulders. When her breasts bounced free, an answering throb in her core tightened her pussy.

  He cupped both her breasts, palming, caressing and squeezing until her clit swelled against her panties and the seam of her jeans, the little bit of friction her clothing provided a distinct but inadequate source of pleasure.

  She straddled him fully, facing him as he sat on the couch, the movie forgotten.

  He cradled one breast and lifted it, simultaneously lowering his head so that her nipple brushed his lips. It shrank, the areola pebbling as her nipple stood hard and ready for the demanding heat of his mouth.

  He drew it past his lips and teeth, simultaneously caressing her other breast with his free hand, teasing her nipple with his fingers to the same rhythm he sucked the other.

  She leaned into him, letting his cock press against the apex of her thighs, teasing her clit from beneath several interrupting layers of clothing. She rocked her hips, stirring up enough friction to make her core pull tight again.

  He leaned back, releasing the nipple he’d had in his mouth and moaning, sliding a hand between their bodies.

  In what seemed like less than a minute, she was naked, the jeans she’d wriggled out of with his help draped over the arm of the couch with her other clothing. Her panties rested on top of them, the soft lace wetted, temporarily stained a darker pink where the fabric had touched the lips of her pussy.

  He cupped both her ass cheeks, urging her to straddle him again.

  She
complied, relishing the feel of his firm thighs beneath hers and the kiss of room-temperature air against her sex. It felt cool in comparison to her heated skin, a marked contrast to the wet heat that was escaping her, threatening to slicken the insides of her thighs.

  He leaned back against the couch, his gaze trained on her breasts as he exhaled and pulled his jeans zipper down. After a moment of repositioning denim and cotton, his cock was free, the wide head peeking from above his fingers as he gripped his underwear in his fist, pulling it down. The sight of his knuckles scraping his shaft held Ally spellbound.

  “Damn,” he breathed, one hand in his lap and the other on her hip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to do the last thing I actually want you to do – let me up.”

  She slid from his lap, unable to resist letting her fingers trail across the exposed tip of his erection.

  “Be right back.” He rose and started toward the door to the right – his bedroom door. As he walked, his jeans rode sinfully low on his hips, threatening to slip below the muscled curve of his ass, exposing the untouched skin beneath the lower border of his tattoo.

  When he returned, he held a small square package.

  He sank onto the couch, taking the seat he’d so recently left. When he finished sheathing his cock in the tight, transparent sleeve, he reached for her. “Just like before,” he said, caressing the swell of one of her breasts. “I want to see and feel you come while you sit in my lap.”

  She straddled him again, her nerves humming with satisfaction as she resumed their earlier position. Her inner walls quivered as she anticipated the girth of his shaft stretching them.

  He was still dressed, the parted zipper of his jeans exposing his cock, but nothing else. The contrast of the raw erotic view and the fully-clad rest of his body prompted Ally to sink lower, widening her thighs so she could claim those thick, veined inches of exposed flesh with her own body.