Frayed Rope (7 page)

I can’t stand the scent of antiseptic and sick people stuck on me from the Doc’s office.

“Alright honey, I think it’s our best option, at this point we’re already two hours behind schedule. Your Dad is going nuts. Well, not more nuts than when we were ten minutes late, but you know what he’s like. Call me when you leave the house to let me know you’re on your way.”

God bless my mother. My father has probably been in the truck for two hours waiting for me to show up. He’s a planner, very on schedule. Mom has kept him balanced with her sharp attitude and fly by the seat of your pants attitude. It’s what's kept them together for over thirty years.

“I will mom, and thanks. Give Lil’ some love for me. I’ll meet you all at the hotel.”

“Alright, drive safe.”

“You too, Mom.”

I’m woken up by the sounds of deep male laughter in the distance. I sit up on the couch and stretch the aches out of my body. I might need a soak in the tub later to ease my muscles after this morning’s jog.

I slowly make my way to the kitchen and look out the side window toward Ryder’s home, noticing a few extra trucks in the driveway. A quick scan of the property shows Ryder and three other men out on his back deck, standing around a smoking barbecue with beers in their hand. My rumbling stomach reminds me of the steak I planned to cook, so I head to my room to get dressed before starting dinner.

I take the steak out of the fridge and season it, leaving it on the counter to get to room temperature while I wash up some new potatoes and asparagus. I layer the vegetables separately in tin foil with sea salt and pepper before carrying it all out to the barbecue. I don't always cook dinner; I usually eat a late big lunch and finger foods later in the evening. Tonight however calls for a hearty meal and kicking my feet up.

After successfully grilling my dinner, I choose to eat on the deck and listen to the men next door. There’s at least an acre separating our properties, with some random trees in between but it doesn’t stop the sounds of hearty male voices making it to my porch. I have a sense of longing listening to their laughter, which most likely comes after some good natured ribbing and inside jokes.

It’s been well over a year since I experienced something similar. Mostly due to my own selfish reasons but the later part of the year was to ensure other peoples’ safety. Doing what's right doesn’t always make you happy. But sometimes it’s a necessity to protect those you love, regardless of how much you want to stay close to them.

I miss my weekly dinners with close friends. I stare out at the water and recall the last meal I got to experience with them.

“Hey hooker, what do you want Brad and I to bring tonight?”

This is from Laura; her mouth is almost as filthy as mine. She’s been my rock for the past thirteen years, ever since we met in high school.

“You’ve been into the tequila already haven’t you?”

She’s snickering and I can only guess it’s because Brad can’t keep his hands off her. She met him last year. Single mom with two six-year-old twins and Brad took them all on, while treating them like the true treasures they are. I couldn’t be happier my best friend has such a great man in her life to support her and her children.

“Why yes, my beautiful bitch, I have. The kids have been with their Grandma since noon so I figured I’d get an early start!”

This is no surprise to me only because I’d probably do the exact same thing, minus the Brad in my life. That man is a keeper, but I have not quite found where the rest of the ‘Brads’ of the world are hiding. That's the downside to small town living. Either someone has already found them, or they’ve slept with someone you know.

“Of course you did you sloppy slut. However if you hadn’t started your protest to prohibition so early you’d recall telling me you were bringing the buns.”

Fuck, she’s forgetful. She’s lucky I love her.

“I already had me some buns today sister, and they were nice and firm!”

She’s still laughing. I hear Brad holler in the background regarding what he’ll be sticking between her buns later tonight, and since I need to finish prepping for dinner I speed this along.

“Alright, you’re in charge of nothing but yourself. Not because I don't think you can manage something so simple, but more because I’m concerned of whether or not you’ve washed your hands after all that ‘bun’ business you had going on today.”

She’s still cackling so I tell her I’ll see her soon and finish with getting things ready.

This is normal, weekly dinners with friends. Sometimes it happens on a Tuesday, sometimes we manage it on the weekend. But no matter what, we always make time for each other—and wine.

I pull myself out of memory lane and clean up my dinner mess. The sun’s beginning to set and I decide it’s a good time to soak in the tub. I grab the half-drunk bottle of wine from the counter and plug my iPod into the stereo. I bring up my playlist which is a mix of the blues and bands like CCR.

My bath time tunes.

I pin my brown locks on top of my head; I don’t flat iron my hair when it’s just me at home. When I go out I stick to the pin straight look that’s so far off from my appearance before that nobody should ever recognize me. My usual is what I like to call an untamed riot act of hair. It sticks in every which direction and I always make sure to keep a hair tie in my pocket.

I settle myself down into the coconut scented water. I always add coconut oil to my skin in hopes it’ll tone down the appearance of my scars. A little in the tub adds a great fragrance to the room as well.

My favorite scent used to be anything with the scent of lily in it. Then the smell became too much, and the word
lily
became unbearable to hear.

Enter coconut. The good Doc recommended it for the marks on my skin. The scent has stuck without triggering the memories from my past that lily does.

Creedence begins singing about the rain when I hear a knock at my back door. Since I spend the majority of my time on the waterside of the house, my front door is always shut and the lights at that end of the house are usually off. I hear Norm scratching at the door to get out as I wrap my robe around myself and head for the door. As per usual my gun is not far so I grab it off the bathroom counter and put in the pocket of my robe.

I holler from the hallway before I round the corner.

“Who is it?”

The whiskey voice from next door greets me.

“Ryder.”

The porch light illuminates him, like a halo on his body. He’s wearing dark jeans with a black t-shirt and flip-flops on his feet. His chest looks about three feet wide and he practically fills out the door with his hands resting on the frame, arms spread wide. I’m sure he could plow through with little effort.

He doesn’t scare me, not really. His size is intimidating, but in a good way that makes me feel like he could toss me over his shoulder and carry me to safety if need be.

Jesus Elle, focus.

“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to ask after some well deserved ogling.

His black eyes stare back at me through the screen as I wait for his answer. I stand stupidly with a birds nest piled on top of my head, my black and red silk kimono doing little for his imagination.

He clears his throat before speaking.

“Me and some of the guys from work are having a barbecue. You’re new, not sure if you’ve met anyone around here yet but you’re more than welcome to join us.”

I have to give him credit; his eyes have remained mostly on mine throughout the conversation. Mostly.

He’s not making this easy on me. I’m a thirty-year-old woman for shit’s sake and I feel like a damn teenager when he’s around. Time to get my shit together. I cross my arms over my chest and lean my hip against the wall.

“Thanks, but I noticed the smoke earlier so I think I’ll pass.”

A deep rumbling laugh greets my ears and I can’t believe how warm it makes me feel. The wind from the water blows his scent through my door. Damn he smells good.

Jesus, now I sound like a romantic.

Following his laughter he shakes his head.

“Not what you’re thinking. I hadn’t used it in a while and there was a bee’s nest built under the grill lid. Apparently it was flammable.”

He gives me a half-grin while his eyes wander down to my legs.

“Well thank you for the offer, but I cooked a steak earlier and I planned on staying in tonight.”

His eyes are still glued to my legs before they slowly make their way back up.

I begin ogling the tattoos on his arms; I consider the tribal art on his body beautiful. The lines are clean, the detail in them are exceptional from what I can see at five feet away. I’d love to read what's written among the beautiful designs but I’m not willing to get that close to him yet.

The silence has grown long so I glance up to his face and notice him staring at my chest.

Typical man!

Or maybe it’s my neck. Shit!

I grab the top of my robe and pull it tighter around me before I speak.

“Maybe some other time. Thanks though.”

My voice is weak. Ryder seeing marks on my body makes me feel a kind of vulnerability I don’t like and am completely unfamiliar with.

I reach over to close the main door, since he can see all of me through the screen one. Norma tries to push it open to head out to the porch.

“Norm, inside. Now.”

He holds the door for her while she mopes back into the house and I resume closing up.

“Sure, Elle. Maybe some other time,” he says with an edge to his tone.

Either he’s genuinely upset I said no, or he did get a good look at the marks on my body. Either way I breathe out a sigh of relief once I get the door shut.

Chapter Seven

“SHIT!”

I fall to the sand on my hands and knees and roll over onto my ass, grasping my leg. I’ve pushed myself too hard this morning and now I’m paying for it.

I haven’t gotten much sleep the past few days. Ryder’s bonfire the other night seemed to turn into a whole weekend booze fest. Judging by the man hugs I witnessed from afar the next day, I’d say his friends are happy he’s home.

The happiest of all would most likely be the trio of whores that showed up yesterday with their tits overflowing out of their halter-tops, ass cheeks on display for all to see. It must’ve been a warm welcome home for him.

The silver lining for me was that most of the women seemed to be permanently attached to a few of the other men hanging around, and other than a ginger haired looking hooker who followed him around like a lost puppy, I didn’t witness any dry humping or naked body parts.

Not that I should care.

I tell myself that this must be some kind of attraction by proximity. That’s the only thing I can think to call it. Ryder is the first man that has entered my life in the past year that I’ve been attracted to and now he’s got some kind of hold on me.

I hate to admit it intrigues me because my libido has been virtually nonexistent for what feels like a century. It also frightens me because all I can think is ‘why him?’

Perhaps it’s because not only is he attractive, but he also seems kind and incredibly intelligent. It’s not often a woman finds all those qualities in the same man.

I assess my left leg and note the tenderness from knee to ankle. This is what you get when you’re sexually frustrated, therefore you try to burn off your pent up energy by pushing yourself too hard. Combine that with a lack of sleep and it’s a recipe for disaster.

I ease up from the ground so I can walk the rest of the way to the house. I barely make it into a standing position before I give up.

“Aaaarrrgghhhh, fuck!”

I wail as the pain shoots through my leg. I sit my ass back down to rest for a minute. I’m not far. I can see Ryder’s house from where I’m sitting. I’ll rest for a little while and then crawl my ass back if I have to.

I lie back on the sand and close my eyes, taking in a few deep breaths while stretching out my leg. It feels like if I push it out all the way, a rubber band will snap.  I stare up at the sky for a while, watching the dark clouds slowly move toward my location on the beach before I hear footsteps. Then a familiar shadow looms overhead.

“You alright?”

Ryder’s deep voice washes over me. Shit. It’s eight in the morning on a quiet Sunday. He’s not in jogging gear so that means he probably heard me wail when I tried to stand up.

“Fucking peachy, neighbor,” I say in my most sarcastic voice.

Surely he notices the expression of pain on my face, and my arms around my leg. He moves in front of me and bends down to a squat.

He begins reaching out for my bum leg. I’m going to boot him with my good one if he touches it.

“What are you doing?”

“I spent some time in the service as a medic.”

Of course he fucking did. My pissy mood assumes he also fixes random broken down cars on the freeway, rescues wildlife on the weekends and probably volunteers his spare time at his Nan’s nursing home.

Bastard.

“I won’t tell you I’m a doctor that was a long time ago. But let me see if I can help you out.”

He goes to remove my shoe. I wonder why until I notice the cankle that’s developed. My leg is swelling so fast I now have proof as to why my ankle sock feels so tight.

Strong looking hands remove my shoe and move toward my calf.

“Neighbor, you touch that fucking leg you’re going to know what the other one feels like planted up your ass.” I hiss through clenched teeth.

It fucking hurts. Not a lot hurts me anymore but Jesus Christ this doesn’t tickle. He removes his hat and scrubs a hand down his face before settling those angry blacks on me.

“Tell you what,
Elle.
You have two options. Fucking sit here, or let me help you back to your house. It’s going to storm soon and I’m looking forward to spending the day on my couch, in peace after all the company that came here over the weekend. So, you want to sit here in a storm? Or do you want me to get you home?”

He already knows the answer, so do I. I’m a grown woman and, pride set aside, crawling home proves nothing right now other than the fact it would make me look like an idiot.

I give him the go ahead with a nod and notice him staring at my neck again. It’s not hideous anymore, but purplish colored marks still mar the side of it.

I always figured if anyone asked I could say it was from a seat belt in a car accident, but in light of what happened to my family, that would make me feel like an ungrateful lying bitch. I don’t bother to explain and Ryder doesn’t bother to ask.

He moves to my side and puts one arm around my back and one under my legs before lifting me up. An ugly grunt sounds through my gritted teeth at the shock of pain that runs through my leg. I wasn’t expecting the bridal carry, but damn if I can walk on one leg and use him as a human crutch.

“Sorry,” he says as he stands up.

His morning scruff is in front of my face. He smells freshly showered so I’m assuming he chose to bypass the shaving part. Not that I mind. It suits him. He takes a deep breath that I assume is from exertion, but I quickly realize he’s inhaling my hair that’s in its usual untamed bird’s nest atop my head with wisps flying in every which direction.

I reach my hand up to smooth my hair back from blowing in his face.

“Coconut,” he says.

I don’t answer or play dumb because I know what he’s referring to. I simply hold onto his arms and try to stare at the water instead of his handsome face. It’s times like this when I miss my old self.

The old me.

Jayne.

She wouldn’t think twice about kissing him right now, flirting back or making the first move.

She’d dive in head first, going after what she wanted, not looking back.

Unfortunately Elle Davidson has too many telling marks on her body, so she needs to stay under the radar for as long as possible instead of shedding her clothes with the good looking man next door.

We reach my deck and he carries me up the steps. Norm is wagging her tail with lips curled up in that sweet smile only dogs can do.

“Hold on,” his whiskey voice says from above me.

I reach my arms around his wide shoulders and do as he says.

He moves his arm away from my back. I reach up to put my arms around his neck so I don't fall. He uses his free hand to pull the screen door open and carries me into the house. I loosen my arms as he squeezes me tighter, leaning down to put me on the sofa.

He lingers for a moment but not in a creepy way. More so in a way that if I were more open he would no doubt be following me down on said couch right now. Reluctantly he slowly releases his arms from their hold and stands.

“I’ll get you some ice.”

He turns away from me and heads toward the kitchen.

“Any zip lock bags?”

Those black eyes staring back at me from the other side of the island are wreaking havoc on my womanhood.

“To your right, second drawer from the top.”

He busies himself in the freezer and comes back with the ice-filled bag wrapped in a dishtowel. His hands move toward my foot to remove my shoe again. The marks left on my ankles aren’t nearly as bad as my wrists. They’re barely noticeable, and with the grey sky and lack of lights on in the house I doubt he’ll notice.

My shoe comes off, followed by my sock. I’d object to his help but the thought of leaning forward to ice my own ankle and calf, let alone getting the damn shoe off, is painful to even think about.

“I’d suggest seeing a Doctor to get it x-rayed and wrapped, but I have a feeling you’d decline.”

He draws his eyes up from my foot to look at me.

I regard him with what I hope is a sincerity before I reply.

“We both know nothing’s broken. And aside from pain medication that I would refuse to take, I’m sure it’s nothing a few days of rest won’t cure.”

“Your probably right Elle, but it should still be wrapped up so you don't strain the muscles any more than you need to. I have some at my house I can grab for you.”

I cut him off before he can leave. If he leaves, I don't know if I’ll let him back in the house.

“I have some in the closet in my bathroom, no worries. I need a shower anyway so it hits two birds with one stone.”

His eyes turn dark and I now realize he may have taken that the wrong way.

“Thank you for the help,” I say, quickly cutting off his wayward thoughts.

“Woman, you can’t walk, how do you suppose you’re going to make it to the bathroom?”

He has a good point, although I’m not about to let him bathe me—as tempting as that sounds.

“Tell you what, I’ll carry you to the bathroom and you can see how well you make out from there. Not that I’m declining any offer to help you.”

Fuck, do I want him to.

He lifts me back up with ease and heads toward the hallway.

“First door on the left please,” I start to say, but he’s already reaching for the handle.

“May was like a second mother to me, so I’ve been in the bathroom here before.”

He answers my unasked question. It’s the first mention of Tom’s late wife. I can relate to the sense of longing in his voice in regard to losing someone close to you. His deep voice brings me out of my head.

“Although I have to say, it didn't look like this when she lived here. I guess you could say she preferred the brighter colors.”

He’s referring to the new slate grey walls and dark vanity I installed. It’s more modern, not that I needed it but if I don't keep busy my mind takes over.

“Yes, I guess I spruced it up a little. Or drabbed it down, however you want to look at it.”

His deep chuckle vibrates through my body as he sets me down on the edge of the tub. His face is less than a foot from mine as he reaches down to remove my other shoe.

My black painted toenails stand out against the white tiled floor as he sets my foot down. He lifts his head to look into my eyes and the heat in them does not go unnoticed. He truly is one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.

This close to him I can make out a few faint small scars around his hairline, and one on the lower portion of his jaw. A warm hand squeezes my thigh before he breaks the silence.

“I’ll be back in twenty. I have some salve for muscle aches that should numb up your leg for a while.”

He gives me one last look before he stands and leaves the bathroom. I say nothing as he closes the door. The attraction spoke for itself and I’m nowhere near ready to acknowledge it.