Hell Without You (8 page)

“You hid the knife last night.”

“Still. I have to leave eventually.” That she was even considering staying was absurd.

“You don’t have to stay at a shithole like the ones you’re talking about. Just stay here. No bill, no bedbugs. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I’m going to lie awake worrying about you.”

He arched a brow, half-sneering. “Yeah? That bothers you, but you’re okay with
me
lying awake worrying about
you
?”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay until the townhouse repairs are finished, or until you admit that you’re tired of having me around – whichever comes first.”

He strode to the hall closet, plucked a backpack from a hook on the inside of the door and walked back into the kitchen. “See you at a quarter ‘till nine.”

When she couldn’t hear his truck’s tires crunching on the gravel driveway anymore, she retreated upstairs, crawling into bed. She might as well get some rest now – she wasn’t going to get any that night.

* * * * *

“I forgot to tell you – a man stopped by earlier today, when you were in the shower. He said he had a question about the house. I asked him to come by again later.”

Donovan slung his backpack onto a chair at the kitchen table. “He give you a name?”

“Hugh Jeffrey. Is he someone you know?”

“Never heard of him.”

“He came by again while you were at class. I’d forgotten all about him. He seemed annoyed, though he said he’d try again later.”

Donovan shrugged and dropped a textbook on the table.

She retreated upstairs, dug her e-reader out of her suitcase and settled on the couch in the living room. It’d been forever since she’d downloaded anything new, and without an internet connection in the house, she didn’t have that option now. Still, she’d had her fill of TV – re-reading an old book would be better.

An hour crept by, then another. Halfway through a mystery she’d first finished six months before, she realized that it was late. As if on cue, the sound of a heavy book closing came from the kitchen.

She strolled into the room, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the tap. Being in the house felt so easy, so familiar – even with Donovan there.
Especially
with Donovan there. “Heading to bed?” She tried to sound casual.

“Yeah. You planning to join me at the garage tomorrow?”

“Yes. Is that all right?”

“Fine with me. Goodnight.”

He strode upstairs without another word, pausing only to hang his backpack in the hall closet.

Alone in the kitchen, she finished her water, hyper-aware of its coolness pooling in the center of her being.

What now? Bed? Yes. But not sleep. Feeling the effects of her ultra-early morning and knowing that real rest would be impossible, she climbed the stairs too.

In the fleur-de-lis room, she took as long as possible changing into her pajamas, then checking her e-mail on her phone. The 3G connection in Willow Heights was pitiful and it took forever, but that was the point.

No replies to her job e-mails yet. Maybe someone would call the next day. Breathing a sigh, she turned over in bed, letting her phone rest on the silver-grey carpet, where a nightstand had once stood. The lights were out, but she was on, anxiety and expectation zipping through her veins like electricity.

After an eternity, she slipped into a state of half-sleep, one where she listened and waited, breathing lightly. Maybe it was the same way Donovan had slept in Afghanistan when “outside the wire”, as he’d put it. It was a terrible excuse for rest.

The subtle creak of a door hinge drew her out of purgatory, jolting her back to full awareness.

She threw off the covers and went to her own door, lurking cautiously behind its cover.

Donovan shuffled down the hall, weak moonlight highlighting the muscular planes of his back as he reached for the bannister.

Her heart seized up as he took the first step. God, what if he fell? She hadn’t thought of that before.

She didn’t dare startle him while he was on the stairs. Frozen in place, she waited, following only when he’d made it safely to the landing.

She wasn’t surprised when he headed for the kitchen, but she was ready. As he crossed the tile in the dark, she flipped on the light and headed for the sink.

From a safe distance, she doused him with a glass of water before he could touch anything.

He didn’t come out of it as cleanly as he had the last time. Mumbling and swearing, he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and shook his head.

It was agony to stand there and watch, afraid to reach out, afraid to lend a hand even though her fingers tingled, aching for contact with his skin.

This time, the fact that he was naked hardly fazed her. She was too worried to be turned on, so no harm done.

“Donovan, you’ve been sleepwalking again,” she said when his cursing trickled down to a few choice words. “You’re in the kitchen.”

He didn’t remove his hands from his eyes, and the sight of him with his head in his hands made her stomach shrivel up with doubt.

What was she doing? Throwing water on someone who wandered in the dark, thinking he was in a war zone on the other side of the planet?

She might be fucking things up even more spectacularly than his experiences there had. She might be doing it all wrong, and still, she didn’t have a clue what she could do differently. Her strategies had all been born of desperation, tempered by that first night, when she’d first realized that he could be dangerous.

“Damn it.” He finally dropped his arms to his sides. His eyes were red around the edges, slightly puffy after the way he’d rubbed them.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to bed. There’s still plenty of time for sleep.” It wasn’t even one in the morning yet.

Shoulders taut with tension, he strode forward. No reaching for the checkered towel that hung on the front of the stove, no offers for coffee or jokes about loincloths. Not even an argument.

She followed in his wake, feeling useless. Wasn’t there anything she could do besides throw water at him when he wandered off in his sleep? As a kid, she’d used the same strategy to punish the family cat. When the tabby had climbed on the screens, she’d misted it with water from a spray bottle.

It didn’t feel right, doing it to Donovan.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she followed him to his room, so wired with worry that she needed to see him climb back into bed.

“Clementine…” He paused in the doorway, silhouetted by the weak sickle moonlight that drifted through the window.

“What?”

Silent seconds ticked by. “Get some sleep. We’ve… We’ve got an early morning coming up.”

The scrape in his voice rooted her in place.

“Okay,” she lied, fearing rest more than ever.

In the darkness, something hot and rough closed around her fingers.

One of his hands. Fighting a wave of nerves, she looked up, seeking out his gaze even though it was a useless effort.

His palm was more calloused than it had been before, the pads of his fingers rougher. The feel of his callouses against her flesh made the skin on her arms pebble and her nipples shrink to pinpricks.

“Is everything all right?” She spoke into the darkness, knowing it wasn’t, feeling a familiar sadness deep in her bones.

He let go of her hand just as abruptly as he’d taken it. “Yeah.”

He climbed into bed, and then there was nothing for her to do but retreat back to her room, where she reclined against the pillows, listening for the creak of door hinges.

The noise came within minutes. Had he really started sleepwalking again already?

She’d barely swung her legs over the edge of the mattress when another sound stopped her just as her toes brushed the carpet.

Her own bedroom door creaked faintly, shuddering in its frame as if it’d been bumped.

Carefully, she approached it, her heartbeat ringing in her ears as she opened the door an inch, then another.

Donovan was in the hallway, but he wasn’t sleepwalking. Instead, he lay in front of the door, curled at the threshold with a pillow tucked under his head. He’d put on jeans.

“What in the world are you doing?” She swung the door all the way open.

“I can’t sleep in there. This is the only way I’m going to get any rest. Just go back to bed.”

“Are you
guarding
me?”

Silence.

“Yeah,” he said eventually.

There was no reason why his reply should’ve been a surprise – after all, he didn’t lie.

“Why?”

“I can’t sleep knowing you might run away. This way…”

This way she was trapped in her room. “No way, Donovan. You can’t sleep there like a watch dog. And I’m not going anywhere, by the way. I’m worried that
you’ll
wander off, remember?”

“Now you can check on me if you want. It’s a win-win situation.”

“No, it’s crazy.” In the span of a single moment, fatigue crashed down on her, tangling with pure exasperation and rushing through her system. She was so tired – physically and mentally. She couldn’t argue anymore, couldn’t lie awake all night thinking neurotic thoughts. “Get in here.”

Slowly, he raised his head from his pillow.

“You can sleep in your room, or you can sleep in mine. You can’t sleep in the hall.”

He stood, tucking his pillow under his arm and striding into the room like she’d just suggested the most reasonable thing in the world.

Given the circumstances, maybe she had.

“Don’t even think of curling up on the floor. Get in bed.” Mustering all the bravado her tired body possessed, she peeled back the blankets and slipped into bed, careful to keep to one side.

He climbed in, apparently possessing no more qualms over the sleeping arrangement than he did over wandering the house naked in her presence.

“Just don’t take off your pants,” she said. “I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Deal.” He turned onto one side, his weight causing the entire mattress to shift.

Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she squeezed her eyes shut, resigned to the fact that she’d be breathing in his scent and basking in his body heat all night.

 “Yes. God, yes!” Clementine clutched her cellphone, abandoning the job listings she’d been perusing so intensely just ten minutes ago.

Leaving her laptop on the counter in the reception area of the garage, she strode into the work area, where Donovan lay on a wheel board, half his body under an old El Camino.

The garage was divided into two halves – Donovan’s half, where he did repair and body work, and Mike’s half, where a paint booth served as his main work space. According to Donovan, his garage was the only one in Willow Heights to offer painting services. Mike wasn’t really an employee, but a specialist who worked in Donovan’s garage and therefore surrendered a portion of his proceeds to the shop. They had their own spaces, their own tools, and Clementine had to admit that Donovan seemed to be running a pretty smart operation – there didn’t seem to be any lack of work, anyway.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked, shoving her phone into her jeans pocket.

He pushed himself out from under the car, a wrench in hand.

Her body temperature rose by a few degrees at the sight of his fist wrapped around steel, grease stripes black and familiar against his skin. For a second, she could almost taste Dr. Pepper on the tip of her tongue, then – even more disturbingly – could almost taste
him.

“What is it?”

“I just got a call from a firm I applied to. They gave me an interview for Friday – that’s two days from now, and they’re in DC. Do you think my new tires will be in by then?”

“You got an interview already?” His dark brows knit together.

“Yes. I’m surprised too, to be honest. If I managed to land this job… Let’s just say it’s really important that I make it to the interview.” She wriggled her toes inside her flats, willing him to understand. True, if worse came to worst, she could rent a car, but given her financial situation, she was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary.

“Your tires should be in by tomorrow.” With a boot against the concrete, he shoved himself back under the car.

“Are we doing lunch again?” she asked after a minute or so of silence that was interrupted only by the noise his wrench made against the car’s undercarriage.

“Mike just went out. He’s picking up something for all of us.”

“Oh. Okay. I’d better get back to my search then – you know, in case this interview doesn’t work out.”

“Right.”

As she retreated to her place behind the counter, the high the phone call had given her faded rapidly, though she couldn’t say exactly why.

* * * * *

Hugh Jeffries stood on the front porch, sounding even more agitated than he had when he’d come by the evening before and Clementine had told him that Donovan was unavailable – again.

“I’m not interested,” Donovan said, his solid body blocking most of the doorframe.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Clementine could just barely make out the top of Hugh’s balding head peeking over one of Donovan’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you take some time to consider? I assure you, my offer is serious. I’ve seen the deed, and I know how much you paid for this place. It was a spectacular deal. Most owners would be interested in selling again at a profit.”

“I’m not. The house isn’t for sale.”

“Mr. Kemp, like I asked, please take time to consider. This is a beautiful property – a historic property. I think it would be best to preserve it and offer others a chance to enjoy it, don’t you?”

“No.”

Hugh sputtered. “Well – I’ll be in contact again at some point. Maybe you’ll change your mind. A place like this requires a lot of upkeep, and if it’s just you and your wife…”

Donovan said nothing.

“Goodbye.” Hugh backed toward the stairs. “Thank you for your time. You know where you can reach me.”

Donovan pulled the door shut with more force than was strictly necessary.

“I told him I wasn’t your wife,” Clementine said. “Yesterday, when he stopped by the first time. He asked me if I was Mrs. Kemp.”

More silence.

“I’m not surprised that someone is interested in turning this place into a bed and breakfast,” she continued. “It was the first thing that occurred to me when I heard the house had sold.” With its strong sense of antique Victorian charm, the house was undeniably appealing in a cozy, days-gone-by kind of way. With the weeping willow out front and the pear trees and tire swing in the backyard, it seemed like a house out of a novel – or a tourism brochure.

“Mmph.” Donovan approached the fridge and pulled out a Dr. Pepper. “Want one?”

“No thanks.” She was already nervous enough without caffeine. Donovan had been in a weird mood all day. Well, maybe not all day – at least since that afternoon. She’d first noticed the change in his attitude when she’d told him about her upcoming interview.

“Suit yourself.” He popped the tab on his own can, taking a long drink.

“Something’s bothering you,” she said. “What is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I want to know. You’ve been in a bad mood all day, and now that I have to share a bed with you, I think I have a right to know why you’re being such a grump.”

He seemed to consider her words. “Your interview.”

“I’ll have a brand new set of tires by the time I hit the road on Friday, so don’t tell me you’re getting all worried again.”

“It’s not your car. Earlier, you said you were staying overnight in the city.”

“So?” She’d mentioned to him that she’d be spending the night with an old friend from college, and she was looking forward to it. At least, part of her was. Another part of her had been on edge all day, wondering how Donovan would spend that night.

It was stupid – crazy – that after seven years of estrangement, she was worrying about how a grown man would get through the night without her.

“So, I think it fucking sucks, all right?”

“Why? My friend has a nice apartment. I’ll have to sleep on her couch, but I’ll be perfectly fine.” Maybe it was equally crazy that she felt the need to explain herself, to reassure him.

But if it’d keep him from getting bent out of shape and endangering himself… Yeah, she’d explain.

“I told you it didn’t matter. I know you’re going to go. I know you’re going to stay the night. I couldn’t stop you from leaving before and I sure as hell can’t stop you from leaving now, so let’s just drop it.”

She sucked in a breath, mouth suddenly dry, wishing she’d accepted when he’d offered her a soda. “It’s just one night – my friend is married and has a baby, so it’s not like she’s going to invite me to move into her small apartment. I’ll infringe on their privacy a little and then I’ll be back to stepping on your toes until the townhouse is fixed.”

“Yeah. All right.” He set down his soda on the countertop, hard. Drops of cola dotted the laminate. “Then you’ll be gone for good.”

“Yes, I will. Donovan, what’s wrong with you?”

Her pulse fluttered and sped as she asked. She had every right to the question, but at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking of him sitting across from her at the table and telling her that his soul had been trapped outside his body for the past ten years, that it’d been sitting right across from him…

What had she gotten herself into by agreeing to stay? Damn it, she’d seen him naked several times over the past few days, had slept in the same bed as him. Suddenly, everything seemed crazier than it had at the time.

“You’re what’s wrong with me. Everything is just … wrong. What are you doing here, Clementine? What’s going on?”

She recoiled. “I’m here because you practically blackmailed me to stay, remember? What else was I supposed to do with you twisting my arm?”

“Leave,” he said, something dark flashing in his eyes. “You could’ve left anyway. I expected you to.”

“I was worried about you!”

“Why? After all this time – why? You never worried before – not when you ran away, not when I was getting shot at in Afghanistan. Why now?”

“I worried
all the time
,” she half-shouted, rising from her chair. “You have no idea!”

“No,
you
have no idea. You’re cold, Clementine. I don’t know why you’re still here. I keep asking myself, and the only explanation I can come up with is that you want it to hurt more when you leave – again.”

She crossed the space between them, drawn to him by the gravity-like pull he exerted on her, by sheer indignation. “I can’t believe you think that about me. You know me better than anyone else. Or at least, I thought you did. What you’re saying is insane. It’s so insane that I think you might finally be lying to me.”

He stared down at her, eyes as intense and grey as storm clouds. “I’ve never lied to you. I’m not the liar in this room.”

“Then you must just be crazy, because that’s the only explanation I can come up with for the bullshit that’s coming out of your mouth.”

“I wish I believed you.” His voice was lower and softer, but with a steel edge. “I wish I knew I was crazy.”

“Why?”

“Because you can get away with anything when you’re crazy.” He took half a step toward her, putting them so close that her breasts brushed his chest.

“What are you—” Her words died on the tip of her tongue as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her up hard against his body.

His other hand went behind her head, slipping against the curve of her skull, his fingers combing through her loose hair.

Every muscle in her body trembled, suffused with heat. This was closer than she’d been to him in seven years, even counting the night before, which they’d spent in the same bed. He hadn’t embraced her then, hadn’t even purposely touched her.

“Remember, you think I’m crazy.” He pressed – no, crushed – his mouth against hers.

Being caught beneath the pressure of his body, hands and mouth was like being pulled under a wave. Overwhelming force crashed down on her from all sides, forcing the air out of her lungs and reducing her to her most basic instincts. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Couldn’t resist.

He tasted like Dr. Pepper, and the flavor was as familiar as the press of his lips, the feeling of being pulled under and swept away. Being pressed flush against the front of his hard body was familiar too, though it all sent a thrill through her like it was new. Like it had been seven years. Like she’d gone comatose the day she’d left Willow Heights and had just now come gasping back to life.

She shifted against him, her core drawing tight as the stiff rod of his obvious erection rubbed against her belly, easily felt beneath his jeans. Images from the night before – him in nothing but his jeans, beside her in bed – flooded her mind with suggestions and her body with searing heat.

How had she spent the better part of three days in the house with him without this happening before? How had—

He pulled back suddenly, withdrawing his tongue from her mouth and his body from against hers.

“You’re going to leave,” he said, holding her from a distance, his arms loose around her waist. “This doesn’t mean anything to you.”

It meant something. It meant she hadn’t shed the past like she’d thought, hadn’t risen up from the ashes of her pathetic adolescence as a new woman.