Confessions in the Dark Page 4

  “All right, then.” The doctor stood and gestured at the sheet. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

  Serena hadn’t been wrong about the firm shapes of his thighs. As he hiked the fabric up, he revealed more of himself to her. The doctor undid the fastenings of the brace, and Cole sucked in a tight breath.

  Serena let out one of her own. The whole area around his knee was flushed and angry, the joint swollen. A dark, purple bruise went green around the edges across the side of his leg, and his skin bore red lines from the constriction of the brace.

  Whistling, the doctor leaned in to touch, and Cole’s hands clenched into fists at the first hint of contact.

  “Tender?”

  “You could say that.”

  The doctor chuckled but kept going. When she was satisfied, she stepped back. “Believe it or not, the swelling is pretty much what I would expect at this stage. Keep up with the anti-inflammatories, and no weight on it for at least another few days. Maybe a week.”

  His shoulders stayed stiff as ever, his posture as closed, but the way his eyes shuttered and his head bowed belied that show of stoicism. “Then what?”

  “Start playing with how much pressure you can tolerate. Do not push it. Until the soft tissue heals up, you’re more likely to reinjure yourself. We’ll see you back here in a couple of weeks.”

  “And until then there’s nothing I can do?”

  The doctor hesitated, maybe hearing the same low thread of desperation Serena did. “Well. There are some exercises to work on range of motion and preserve muscle mass, but I’d be very conservative this soon after the injury.”

  “Show me.”

  The stretches she walked him through were simple in the extreme, but even gently bending his knee made him wince. “That’s plenty,” she said, stepping away. Then she turned to Serena. “Are you his wife?”

  And Serena would have missed it completely if she hadn’t been looking at him at the time. The way his face, already drawn, flashed white, his hold on the edge of the table going punishing. “No,” he said, like it were impossible, repulsive.

  It stung. But she recovered quickly enough. Looking away, she even managed a smile. “Just a friend.” Not even that, honestly.

  Oblivious to the moment’s drama, the doctor nodded. “It’s your job to keep him from overexerting himself.”

  “I don’t—” She started to protest. She wasn’t his wife and she certainly wasn’t his keeper.

  He interrupted. “I can manage myself.”

  The doctor’s skeptical glance showed just how much she thought of that. She looked to Serena again. “Watch him.”

  The weight of the responsibility settled over her shoulders like an old sweater, all frayed but worn in. Her mother had given her the same directive often enough, and who was she to refuse? She was the one who was well. She could handle it.

  Weakly, she nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Great.” She clicked at her touchpad a few times before closing the computer and tucking it under her arm. “Schedule a follow-up for a couple of weeks, and then we’ll probably be ready to get you into physical therapy. Until then, take it easy. Heal. Doctor’s orders.”

  Cole nodded, but it was all rippling, barely contained dissent in those broad shoulders of his. The doctor left, and Cole reached for the brace. He leaned forward to slip it over his foot and bit off a curse.

  And Serena had half a mind to let him struggle, humiliated heat still bubbling away in her chest from his dismissal. But after another try and another fail, she stepped in, taking the thing from him.

  “I can—”

  She cut him off. “But you don’t have to.”

  The brace was a heavy fabric tube, like a dive suit, reinforced with boning along the sides of an opening that seemed made to fit around his kneecap. She played with the Velcro straps meant to hold it secure around the joint before grasping it by the top. Ducking to hold it open by his foot, she paused, cocking a brow at him.

  “May I?”

  But he looked so sour about it all. “It’s just the angle. I managed fine this morning.”

  Proud, proud, stubborn man. “Good for you.” Then, again, she asked, “May I?”

  He gave a curt nod. Together, they managed to get it onto his leg. His throat bobbed, his jaw going hard when she helped him drag it past his calf, over the angry shadow of that bruise. She muttered a quiet apology as she fastened the straps, pulling them tight across the wound.

  “There.” She smoothed the Velcro down.

  And there wasn’t any explaining it. The job was done, his brace in place. But she couldn’t seem to step away. Couldn’t take her hand back.

  The skin of his thigh was smooth and warm, the muscle jumping as she traced her fingertips across it. A low hum of heat zipped down the center of her chest to settle lower in her belly, and her heart pounded behind her ribs.

  Then his hand was on hers. Stilling it. She looked up into eyes so deep she could’ve fallen into them. Grasping her palm, he stroked her knuckles with his thumb, gaze darkening, breath halting.

  He blinked. When he looked to her again, it was with a ragged inhalation. The haze in his eyes bled away, leaving behind something she could only categorize as pain.

  He pushed her away.

  She didn’t hesitate this time to turn around when he reached for his pants. Arms crossed over her chest, indignation and anger and embarrassment all twisting together in her lungs, she waited until she heard the clinking of his crutches. She avoided his gaze as she helped him get his shoes. Once he had his crutches under him, she moved toward the door, only to feel the warm grasp of his palm around her wrist.

  She waited, heart thundering.

  Low and quiet, he said simply, “Thank you.”

  And she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but those two words—they were exactly what she’d wanted and a crushing disappointment all at once.

  “You’re welcome.” She tugged her arm away and headed for the door. As she waited for him to cross the space, she checked the time on her phone. Damn. “Come on,” she said, ushering him out. “We’re going to be late.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It probably said a lot about Cole’s day that the best thing to happen to him in it so far was being allowed to wait in a car.

  It wasn’t even a particularly nice car. Ten years old if it was a day, rattly and rusting on the outside, though at least the interior was clean. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, but it wasn’t much use. He’d already slid the seat back as far as it would go, and he still had to hold his blasted leg at this precarious angle if he wanted to keep it straight.

  He took a deep breath. Everything would be fine. Serena would return with the tiny human he was supposed to make nice with and train to do tricks, and then she’d take him home. Back to the silence that sometimes threatened to suffocate him but that he’d give just about anything for right now.

  Silence and solitude. No doctors belittling him or women railroading him. No one touching him. Placing the softest of hands on the bare flesh of his thigh, setting off sparks beneath his skin, making him reach out. God, she’d felt so good inside his grasp. It’d been the most fleeting moment of contact, and yet his flesh burned hot at the very memory.

  He should’ve shut it down much sooner.

  Rapping his knuckles against the window, he stared off into the distance at the field they were parked in front of. Children of all sizes stood around, some of them tossing balls back and forth, and his throat went tight.

  If she’d told him her nephew was an athlete from the outset, he could’ve avoided this whole ridiculous excuse of a farce.

  He squeezed his eyes shut hard against the flash of a boy twice his size standing over him. A rugby player, that one, though all the imbeciles from the clubs were the same. Muscle-headed tormentors, and he’d been easy pickings then. Too small and too smart and entirely too keen on making certain everybody knew it.

  Already inc
apable of walking away from a fight.

  He rubbed at the jagged line across his upper lip and exhaled long and low. The hundred agitations of the day had his blood up, but he could keep it under control. He could come across as civilized for however long this took, no matter what this child looked like or how he acted—

  His eyes snapped open at the sound of the car door opening. Serena slid into the driver’s seat, mid-conversation with the boy currently getting in behind her.

  And Cole’s breath got stuck in the back of his throat.

  This wasn’t the hooligan he’d been imagining, wasn’t one of the bullies who still plagued his nervous, sweating dreams some nights. It was a boy. Clear green eyes the same shade as Serena’s staring out at him from behind Coke-bottle glasses, the thick plastic frames resting on ears that stuck out just a little too far from a narrow head. Pale skin and freckles and braces, blond hair with a fringe that was a hint too long.

  The blooming blush of what would be one hell of a bruise on his arm.

  Forget Cole’s blood being up. It sang in his veins, memories of impact playing out across his ribs, of being down on the ground, his glasses shattered on the pavement, and his vision went red.

  “What. Happened.”

  Whatever Serena had been saying cut off abruptly, her head whipping around. The boy’s eyes went wide, and that was fear there. Fear Cole knew entirely too well.

  Serena followed Cole’s gaze, then scowled. “Max. You’re supposed to keep ice on that thing.”

  Max looked away, reaching for an ice pack Cole hadn’t seen and holding it to his arm.

  “It’s nothing,” Serena said. “Just a new pitcher throwing a little wild.”

  But Cole watched the boy’s face. The way his skin pinkened and his mouth went tight. “Is that so?”

  Max nodded, but he wouldn’t meet Cole’s eyes.

  “Come on.” Serena put the keys in the ignition. “Buckle up, or your grandma’s going to blame me for getting you home late for dinner.”

  Cole kept watching the boy as he did as he was told. Serena put the car into gear and backed them out of their space. As she turned to check over her shoulder, she caught Cole’s gaze. Her brows furrowed.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Cole drew out the word. He twisted to sit facing forward again, cracking his knuckles in front of him.

  A wild pitch, his arse. Even if the story wasn’t a complete fabrication, the throw had been intentional. And Max was pretending it hadn’t been.

  Cole’s lungs pressed hot against his rib cage, the violence that lived in his bones changing and shifting. Howling to be let out.

  It was all he could do just to keep it in.

  Silence hung heavily in the air of the car as Serena steered them through the nightmare of minivans clogging the exit to the parking lot. She checked the rearview mirror before casting a glance at Cole and easing over a lane.

  “Cole,” she said, “this is my nephew, Max.”

  He released his breath and his grip on the seat. He could pretend to be under control. Twisting in his seat, he extended his hand toward the boy. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  Max nodded and dropped the ice pack long enough to return the gesture, frigid fingers clasping Cole’s palm with a surprising grip. He looked up, not the meek child he’d been a second ago, but one with challenge in his eyes.

  He knew that Cole knew, and he wanted to know what Cole would do about it.

  Cole stared at him steadily, giving his answer. Nothing. Not yet. Letting out a sigh of relief, Max pulled his hand away.

  Serena smiled, utterly oblivious to the conversation they’d carried out in gestures and looks. “Cole’s offered to help us out, Max. He’s going to be your new tutor.”

  Max’s focus shifted in an instant. “Aunt Rena!”

  “Uh-uh. This car is a no-whining zone. I’ve given you plenty of time to find one on your own.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to go to Upton next year or not?”

  Sulkily, Max redirected his glare out the window. “Yeah.”

  “Then we need to get those math scores up. Just a couple of afternoons a week, right, Cole?”

  But Cole was distracted. He’d idolized going off to university when he was Max’s age, probably for the same sorts of reasons. He would’ve done anything for the chance to change schools right then and there.

  And now he’d do anything to help this boy have the chance he hadn’t. To avoid what had happened to him...

  “Cole?” Serena said again, prompting him.

  “Yes.” The affirmation came out too strong, his throat rough with the weight of it all. “Yes, of course.” He managed a tight smile, his lips scarcely remembering how.

  Her shoulders more relaxed after his agreement, Serena started negotiating schedules, but it wasn’t anything he had to pay much mind to. His weekly pilgrimages aside, he was at his leisure, nothing but time.

  And now this boy. This woman. This circling tide of memories. Of chances that maybe, for once, he could make right.

  It was some kind of minor miracle that Serena found a parking spot right outside their apartment building. She’d dropped Max off at her mom’s already, declining the typical invitation to stay for dinner for once in favor of getting home. She glanced over at the man in the passenger seat and sighed.

  He better appreciate her giving up her mom’s meat loaf for him.

  Checking her mirrors, she managed to parallel park with only a little bit of curb-scraping, then turned the engine off.

  “Well. Here we are.” She mentally shook her head at her own nattering.

  “Indeed.”

  To his credit, he only put up token protests when she insisted on giving him a hand pulling his crutches out of the car. Holding the door to their building for him and pacing him on the stairs.

  As they passed her door, he shook his head. “I can manage...”

  “I never said you couldn’t.” But she kept going with him all the same.

  By the time they reached the second floor, a fine sheen of sweat had broken out around his temples, making the dark tangle of his hair look black in the dim hall light. His jaw clenched, the point of it hard beneath the cover of his stubble, and the muscles in his shoulders bulged. She licked her lips before she made herself look away.

  She was doing him a favor here, was all. Being neighborly and being nice. She’d help anyone in his situation, attractiveness aside.

  But she wasn’t sure she’d have quite the same buzzing under her skin as she did. The same temptation to reach out a hand toward his arm to steady him.

  In the end, she couldn’t resist.

  If anything, his biceps tensed harder as her palm settled on that warm muscle through the fabric of his shirt. Her heart pounded. But he didn’t push her off. Just mashed his lips together and kept his gaze directed straight ahead.

  At the top of the stairs, she was perfectly prepared for a polite dismissal. She pulled her hand away and stepped aside. A low shiver worked its way along his spine, and he turned to look at her, the full power of those dark, piercing eyes pressing down on her, making her breathing speed.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  She boggled, blinking hard, snapped from her reverie. If it was possible, he seemed as surprised by his invitation as she was. The lines around his mouth pinched, lips parting as if to say something else. To take it back, perhaps, but after a silent moment, he squared his jaw, looking to her in expectation. Challenging.

  She probably would’ve said yes regardless, too curious about this man to miss the opportunity, but the dare in his eyes was what clinched it.

  “Sure. For a minute.”

  With a sharp nod, he turned his head and advanced on the door. He got it unlocked and pushed it open, holding out his crutch as an extension of his arm, motioning for her to go first.

  It was dark within, only thin gaps in thick curtains allowing any of the twilight glow from beyond the
windows to seep in. She took a bare handful of steps, afraid to bump into anything or trip. Closing the door behind himself, he turned, and then his whole body was coming into contact with hers, hot and hard against her spine, and her breathing sped, while his seemed to stop. The wet sound of his throat swallowing echoed in her ears, so close, and she shut her eyes, tempted to lean back into him.

  But then there was rustling, the hollow sweep of a hand across plaster. The metallic thunk of his crutch tumbling to the floor and a click.

  And all at once, the place flooded with light. Warm brilliance bloomed from behind her lids, and she snapped her eyes open, suddenly aware of herself again. Of the awkwardness of how they were standing, pressed together like this. She sprang forward, and he swayed, like he’d been leaning into her, too.

  Or maybe like he’d dropped his crutch in his hurry to get the light.

  “Oh.” She scrambled, embarrassed heat spreading over her cheeks. She dipped to pick up his crutch. It left her still too close to him, and her face was even with his hips now, and—

  A strangled sound erupted from his throat, making her face flare even hotter. God. Could she make any more of a fool of herself? Practically coming on to him in his doctor’s office, and now this? What was she thinking?

  “Sorry, sorry.” She got his crutch and stood, too fast, looking everywhere except at him as she passed it back to him.

  But then his hand brushed hers as he accepted it, long fingers overlapping her knuckles. Stilling her.

  “Serena.”

  His voice was rough and low, and her name sounded way too good in it. She jerked her gaze to meet his. His eyes had gone even darker, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, and she stopped.

  Maybe she hadn’t made such a fool of herself after all.

  This was insane. She’d only just met this man, and he was hot and cold in turns. He didn’t meet any of the many, many standards she’d set for if she ever did get around to dating again. But there was something in his gaze and in his tone, in the way his body did things to hers.