Orchidwas grateful that Phoenix could communicate what he needed. Fetching the pills was something she could do in the face of his pain. His expression twisted her gut as if pain were winding its way through her own body. She’d read about massage therapy, and so she pressed her fingers to his skin, trying different angles and pressure to ease the agony. The strong muscle reminded her of his performance at the triathlon, running out of the water, leaping onto his bike, sprinting along the final stretches of the race. The sweetness of those memories overshadowed the flashes from her parents’ car crash.
Beneath her hand, his writhing slowly calmed. After long rhythmic minutes massaging his leg, she felt him relax under her touch. She didn’t know if the improvement was due to her efforts, or the medicine she’d run to get for him. So she traced her movement again. She smoothed her thumb and palm from below his knee, down the side of his calf and under the rounded bottom. When she ran a finger along the crooked path of his scars, she could feel the fine, thin skin where his wound had grown together.
Phoenix lay heavy and asleep, eyesclosed, breathing calm.
He’d ignored her for six hellish months. Now he was before her, at least, without him yelling in her face or with another woman wrapped around him. Perhaps if he’d been awake, she’d give him a piece of her mind instead of sitting so close. Her hip rested against one leg while she caressed the other. Were these precious minutes stolen?
She daren’t shift her weight, lest she wake him. Drawing warm air in through her nose, Orchid savored the faint scent uniquely Phoenix. A clean male and spice scent.
Outside, the world stilled in the night air. Only the insistent thump of the ocean pounding against sand accompanied their middle of the night quietude.
Ghostly rays from the moon whitewashed Phoenix’s face. She studied his strong brow, straight nose and full lips. Sitting so close, she saw new lines had formed in the past six months. The hollows beneath his eyes shadowed darker, with a hint of tightness. The fine crease between his brows had deepened. Asleep, he looked vulnerable.
Her hand had stilled, so deep was her concentration on his features. He lay limp, one arm across his chest, the other above his head. She’d often wondered how he slept. Orchid reached forward, drawn to the silky waves of hair. She let his smooth locks slip through her fingers.
It was late.
Her eyes wanted to shut with fatigue. Her chin nodded towards her chest. She was worn out, not only physically, but also with highs and lows of the day’s emotions. Yet, she didn’t want to go.
She pictured the Phoenix she’d first met, confident and capable. He was still those things, yet he had changed, and not just physically. He seemed more mature, less boyish, with a tinge of resignation. Of course he’d changed. She had no idea the adaptations he made on a daily basis. She’d changed, too. The knowledge of what he’d been through made her stronger. She could do that for him, be that for him.
Orchid eased up from the bed. Her gaze swung around the room. It landed on a leather club chair by the window. Orchid padded over and sank onto the cold, smooth surface. Phoenix, now half a room away, seemed too far. She sprang up. Determined, Orchid gripped one slippery arm, and pushed the furniture until she’d shoved it right next to his bed. She covered him with the sheet and thin blanket. Morning would give them an opportunity to talk, for her to correct misperceptions. Then, comforted by the sound of Phoenix’s deep, even breathing, Orchid dropped into the chair and into slumber.
Phoenix had nosensefor how long she stayed like that, ministering to him. Sometime later, with only pale moonlight to sepia-tone the room, Phoenix woke with the relief of feeling no pain. He must’ve dozed off. The meds numbed everything.
Glancing over to see the time, he saw Orchid asleep in an armchair pushed beside his bed. Though his first inclination was to dredge up anger, he found her presence strangely comforting. A truth struck him. There was no way that she and Caleb would date and then flaunt it in front of him. Neither of them was cruel.
Seeing her delicate features, luminescent skin and smooth hair, peaceful in repose, filled him with a different kind of pang from the one that had filled his consciousness earlier. A faint scent of her rose soap wafted from her skin. He found himself examining his feelings, turning them over like discovering a long-lost beloved object. The truth was, he’d missed her. Her face angled towards her chest, relaxed, sweet. An impulse bubbled up to take her in his arms. He knew her expressions, the way her brows knit when she was cross, the way her cheek dimpled just before she was about to be mischievous.
Tonight, she cared for him in his vulnerable state. In every stroke, she imparted affection. What if? The thought hung in the air above his semi-conscious state.What if we can build more memories together, new moments? What if we can reclaim a little of the tenderness?
He became aware of the starfish clock at his bedside. The silver arm ticked forward like a sentinel that was never off duty. Its cold glint reminded him of the solid, concrete world beyond the walls that enveloped them. Only in the darkness of night could all outcomes seem possible. He looked down at himself and a clearer thought came to him, ethereal, floating before him like pure truth.
Broken.
He’d spared Orchid disappointments, limitations and nights of pain. Come morning, in the unflinching daylight, his constraints would lock back in place. He was an idiot to think otherwise. He’d made the right call. The clarity of his logic narrowed to that one conviction.
CHAPTER 51
PRICKLY THORN BUT SWEETLY WORN
Orchid
With little sense of time passing, bright sunshine filled the room, lightening the whitewashed walls, indicating that it was no longer early morning. Orchid stretched, trying to straighten the kinks in her back. The starfish-shaped clock ticked past eight.
Peeved at her stiff joints, Orchid turned to check on Phoenix. He must’ve heard her stir because he pushed up to a sitting position. He looked at her and scooted back, levering with one hand to situate his rear against a pillow.
Despite knowing that a prosthesis supported his six-foot stature the day before, and massaging his leg in the darkness, the sight of him sent a shock through her. Sheets kicked off during the night, he sat in shorts and a T-shirt, gorgeously carved like a Greek statue, every muscle etched and strong, pale ends of limbs against burnished copper linens. One well-shaped foot gone, his form ended bluntly beneath his knee, lines of scars visible. A flash of a speeding train’s metal rims crushing his flesh whipped through her mind, like a slap in the face. The way he maneuvered on the bed hinted at the everyday challenges he must face.
The fraction of an instant flash-froze, as if captured on film. Her mouth open, back bent on her way to standing upright, her eyes affixed on Phoenix. She was unable to move, like a department store mannequin left contorted in an awkward position.
Then the pain in his eyes as he watched her reached down her throat to rattle her from the inside.
He yanked the sheet over to cover his legs.
She was not going to let him think that she judged the way he looked and found him lacking. She snapped her jaw shut and straightened. Her trembling legs were the only deficit in her composure.
“Hey there, how are you feeling?” she asked, perching on the edge of his bed. He was so close. Just lean forward and she could press a cheek to his. Then, just a turn and she could caress his full lips. The indentation her weight made caused him to roll towards her, his leg coming to rest against hers. She looked down, smoothing the sheet over the muscular thigh nearest to her, wanting to comfort away the distrust in the furrow of his brow. “All better?”
