Perfectly Toxic (The Sterling Shore Series Book 9) (17 page)

“So the last girl you dated was Star?”

He stiffens, but he nods.

“And she and Maverick…” Things slowly click into place. “Which is why you and Maverick don’t spend long hours on the phone.”

“Star and I were pretty serious, and she was slipping off with Maverick. I had no idea, and he had no clue she and I were a thing. I’m usually pretty private about my shit. He didn’t care enough about her to fight over her, but we came to blows because I lost my cool.”

“She was that important? Are… Um… Did you get over her?”

He grunts. “I got over her the second I found out she was having sex with Mav. I don’t like being played. But there’s something you should know.”

“Which is?” I ask, trying and failing to sit up again.

“Star was the first person to touch me that I ever felt without being surprised.”

I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, and I blame it on the virus.

“Huh?”

He looks so vulnerable right now as he brushes a piece of hair away from my face.

“When I was twelve, I lost all feeling in my body.”

I’m so confused.

“How?”

“The docs said I mentally blocked it out. Your brain is what actually delivers the message to the rest of your body to feel. The sensory nerves deliver the message to the brain when part of your body is in distress or anything else. But it’s your brain’s responsibility to send that message out to your body to actually
feel
it. When you block it out, it’s harder to get that message through with clarity.”

I’m positively, one hundred percent dumbfounded.

“But why?”

“The
why
has nothing to do with this conversation. The point is, I lost all feeling young in life. The only thing I could feel was severe pain, which resulted in a lot of stupid decisions. At least, until Star.”

Yeah, it’s like a punch to the gut. “She was special.”

He nods slowly. “I thought so. I felt her touch me. Usually, I could only feel something as simple as a touch when someone surprised me. But with her, I could feel a touch that didn’t have to be laced with pain. And, well, you can figure out the rest. After her, I learned I could feel sex, even though it took a while to get going. My guard slowly lowers during that, and I can feel everything during that time. I sort of made a lot of bad decisions with that too. But since it was the easiest way to feel, I took what I could get.”

I’m not so sure I want to hear anymore.

“Then you fucking patted my cheek in that damn emergency room.”

I frown in confusion as he groans.

“Sorry,” I say, only because I’m not sure what the big deal is.

“Don’t be. Because I felt it when you touched my cheek, and it wasn’t because you surprised me.”

My eyes widen, and I can’t help but smile. “So you can’t feel anything, but you felt me?”

Chapter 34

ETHAN

I really, really fucking hate this line of questioning, but I knew it was coming the second I started telling her ancient shit.

“Yeah, but I can feel things now.”

She frowns, which confuses me. “But you felt Star and only Star?”

“I felt her when she touched me, and being young like I was, I thought it meant something special.”

“But it doesn’t?” Bella asks. “Because you also felt me, and now you can feel everything.”

Why does she look disappointed?

I really suck at this.

“Yeah, I started feeling again little by little after that day you patted my cheek. The shrinks told my parents it would happen one day when I felt secure with myself and my surroundings.”

“You felt insecure?” she asks, probing a little too far.

“Focus on the part where I could feel again, Bella. Nothing else.”

She sighs harshly while studying me. “So it was just a coincidence that I patted your cheek that day and your feeling came back. And you stalked me because you thought I was special, only to learn that your feeling was back for everything and not just me. How am I doing?”

“Considering you aren’t questioning the mental block thing, pretty well. And yes, I did stalk you
a little
because of it.”

Why does she look so damn deflated?

“I’ve seen a lot of traumatized patients deal with things by using mental resources in a way I never thought possible. We’ll discuss how you got there when you feel comfortable.”

Shit. I forget she works in a hospital. Thankfully she isn’t pushing, because I don’t want to have this discussion when she’s barely coherent and fighting to stay awake.

“So Star was special, because you
only
felt her,” she goes on, snapping me out of my thoughts.

It dawns on me as to why she’s acting like this, and I resist the urge to smirk. “Star fucked Maverick while we were serious. So no, she wasn’t too special.”

“But she would have been if she hadn’t been a cheater.”

“It’s really important that you’re special, isn’t it?” I muse, watching as her eyebrows knit together. She doesn’t look embarrassed though. Hell, she doesn’t even look insecure.

“What girl doesn’t want the magic touch?” she asks flatly, as though that’s the obvious answer.

Laughing under my breath, I lean back, confused about how easy this conversation has gone in comparison to how I thought it would go.

“Bella, I don’t know if you have a magic touch or not, but I do know I slowly started feeling again after that day. The numbness came and went—still does—but if it makes you feel any better, I’ve felt you touch me every time you have. It’s one of the many reasons I can’t be around you for five seconds without stripping you naked. Unless you’re sick and hating me, of course.”

She fights a smile as her eyes close.

“I guess that’s close enough.” She sighs with a content smile on her lips.

“Oh? You feel special enough now?” I ask, hoping to tease her a little and get back to how we were, but… she doesn’t answer. In fact, her entire body goes limp as a light snoring sound starts coming from her.

My body shakes with silent laughter at how quickly she’s out, and I snatch her untouched, disgusting bowl of soup. After wrapping it up and putting it in the fridge to be reheated later, I head back toward the living room and change the channel off her damn chick show.

While Bella sleeps, Allie calls numerous times to check in on her, and I’m using a damn weird thermometer on her head like she’s a baby while she sleeps just so I can update Nurse Allie.

My phone buzzes on the table, and I grab it when I see my father’s name flash across the screen. There had so better not be another work thing.

“Hello?”

“Ethan, sorry to bother you so late,” he says, though we both know he doesn’t mind calling me no matter what time it is. “But your mother insists on finding out if you’re coming to dinner next week. She had to reschedule your Welcome Home dinner because of the business deal you needed to take care of, but she’s got it all planned out once again.”

Propping up against the wall, I watch as Bella sleeps and mutters something about magic pussy and fairy boob implants. It’s impossible not to laugh a little, wishing I could see a projection screen of whatever she’s dreaming.

“Ethan?” Dad prompts, reminding me he’s waiting.

“Yeah. I’ll be there. I’ll also be bringing someone with me.”

“Someone as in Wren? Or someone special?” he asks, intrigued.

“I’m bringing someone special,” I tell him, smirking at how Bella will be pleased to hear that.

“Alright then. I’ll have your mother text you with all the details, and I’ll let her know you have someone coming.”

I hang up and head to Bella’s room, pulling the covers down.

Even though I’ve been in here a lot, I haven’t taken a chance to really soak it in. My eyes flit around her girly-as-fuck room, and I take in the fact she doesn’t have any pictures up like most chicks. At least not of herself. All her pictures are of Angel or Allie or… Is there really a picture of a hamburger hanging up? But no pictures of her.

When I head back into the living room, Bella is muttering about “those damn hippos.” Laughing again, I scoop her up, trying not to think of the fact she’s wearing my t-shirt. I’m almost positive she’s not wearing any shorts under it when I cradle her to me and the shirt rides up on her legs.

She nestles into me as I carry her to the bedroom, and I swallow down the knot in my throat when I put her in the bed and look at her. Weird as it sounds, I don’t think any girl has ever worn my shirt before. It’s not like I leave my stuff lying around too often.

“Magic touch,” she mutters in her sleep, grinning as she does, and I shake my head.

If she doesn’t kill me in the morning, she might actually give me another shot.

Suddenly, Bella is bolting upright, and I’m cursing as she falls out of the bed.

“What the—”

“Trashcan!” she yelps, and then makes some really weird, somewhat scary sound.

I dive, grab the trashcan from the corner of the room, and shove it toward her. She pretty much tears it out of my hands, and starts heaving.

Good thing I have an iron-clad stomach right now, because that’s brutal.

Grabbing her hair, I pull it back, keeping it far away from her mouth as she heaves and heaves and… Is this ever going to stop? She has to be hurting by now.

“Oh damn. Just kill me. Please just kill me,” she whimpers as she finally backs away from the trashcan.

Instead of granting her request, I go turn on the shower, because it’s a little bit of everywhere. As soon as the water is right, I strip out of my clothes and head back into the bedroom.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “I just hurled until my guts turned inside out, and you take that as a cue to get naked?”

She loves to paint a vivid imagery.

Instead of speaking, I reach down and grab the bottom of my shirt that she’s wearing and pull it over her head. She grumbles, but lets me do it.

“I’m not having sex in the shower with you,” she mumbles.

I don’t speak, and she doesn’t fight me as I pull her panties down her legs, forcing myself to not get turned on. The smell coming from that trashcan helps out.

She’s limp in my arms when I pick her up, letting her head loll against my chest, and I carry her into the shower. She doesn’t even react when the water hits her skin, and I slowly lower her to the seat made on the side.

“I’ve never done this before, so bear with me,” I tell her as I grab the shampoo.

She looks up at me and swallows hard, but before I can put the shampoo in her hair, she kisses my stomach. It’s a chaste kiss not meant for seduction, and she props her head against me as I go to work.

Chapter 35

BELLA

My finger stabs into the hard chest next to me, and Ethan jerks awake. Apparently he felt that.

He groggily blinks a few times, as though he’s forgotten where he’s at, but he gives me a lazy grin when he sees me. I’m naked, and so is he. Because every time I hurled, he carried me into the shower and cleaned me up. I bathed more in one night than I thought possible.

It was total overkill, but hella sweet, so I let it happen.

Now it’s noon, and I don’t feel the urge to spray my guts all over the walls, so there’s progress.

“Allie called into work for you,” he says in a deep, sleepy tone.

“I know. I saw the message on my phone.”

He lifts his head and looks at the clock before frowning over at me. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to do a full inspection of your very naked body. I can’t believe I haven’t taken a closer inventory sooner.”

His lips twitch, and he tucks his hands behind his head before kicking the sheet off of him completely, baring his divine body for my eyes to soak in.

“Inspect all you want.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, joking around, but I have a million questions. Like why he has tattoos over all his scars, and how he managed to tattoo over them so thoroughly.

“All of your tattoos mark scars, but I thought it was hard to tattoo over scars because of the scar tissue.”

He doesn’t act affected, but I notice the subtle way he tenses. “Ruby’s dad is one hell of a tattoo artist, and after several, long, tedious sessions, he managed to cover them all. I flew out to his shop in Vegas when I wanted ink.”

“And that didn’t hurt to do because you couldn’t feel,” I surmise.

His lips thin, but he finally shrugs. “I can—and could—feel extreme pain. But the tattoos weren’t extreme enough for me to even feel very much.”

My finger runs along the oddest scar—the one that looks like spider web. He watches me trace the outlines, and I slide in closer to him. It makes sense that he tattooed a spider web over it.

“What’s this one from?”

“It’s one of my bad decisions I told you about last night. Until I realized I could find pleasure from sex—sorry, but you’re asking—I thought could only feel extreme pain. So I found ways to inflict that pain just so I could feel something. That’s from a cattle brander that was heated. It looks a lot like a spider web, but it’s actually some weird symbol my mother’s rancher friend had. I did this to myself, so stop looking at me like someone marked me for life.”

My heart hurts, because feeling things is just something someone takes for granted.

He points to the snake head on his side. “That covers a jagged scar from a motorcycle accident.” He moves his hand to another spot on his stomach that is tattooed with some weird symbol similar to Egyptian hieroglyphics. “Roughly translated, this means ‘one who can’t feel.’ It covers another spot where I burned myself with a pan.”

He stops explaining the marks, shrugging as if it’s not a big deal. It’s obvious he doesn’t want pity.

Leaning down, I run my lips over the spider web scar that hides behind the ink. His breath hitches just enough to draw my attention, and I look up as I kiss around the web, making sure my lips hit every bit of it.

His hand slides up my bare side as I settle in closer, pushing my front against him, and his lips press against my forehead.

“So you can feel that?” I ask him, kissing the scar again.

“I can feel everything you do.”

“And you can feel other things too?”

“It comes and goes, but yeah. I can feel a fucking breeze most days,” he says with a boyish grin that turns me into mush.

He strokes my cheek with his thumb, a simple show of affection that conflicts with his usual, aggressive style.

“How good are you feeling?” he asks me.

“Good enough that I can take care of myself now. Not good enough to take advantage of the naked boy on my bed.”

“Man,” he states randomly, causing my eyebrows to knit together. “Naked
man
on your bed. I haven’t been a boy since I hit puberty.”

He flexes as though I need a demonstration or proof, and I roll my eyes while smiling.

“So… About that second chance,” he drawls, smirking at me. “Have I earned one?”

I absently stroke my finger all over his chest. Now that I know he’s struggled to feel touch most of his life, it’s like I can’t stop touching him.

“On one condition,” I say around a sigh, watching as his cockiness falls and seriousness takes over.

“What’s that?”

I try to think of the best way to word it.

“Actually two conditions,” I amend, kissing the side of his chest again. “I get that you’ve only had one real relationship and it ended with her playing you. I’ve had a lot of relationships end that way.
But
we can’t punish each other for their mistakes,” I explain, dropping my eyes from his to stare at where my fingers are on the center of his chest.

“We have to trust each other until we give each other a reason not to trust,” I add.

His hand runs down my back, tugging me closer. “Yeah. I’ve learned my lesson. Sorry I lost it a little.”

In a way, it’s good that he did lose it, because it lets me know he cares about me for more than just sex. However, I don’t want to deal with a crazy, jealous guy who drops me for nothing.

“What’s that second condition?” he asks as his hand settles on my hip, pulling my leg across his waist.

I look up again. “Communication.”

To this, he looks confused.

“Misunderstandings are for high school,” I go on. “Misunderstandings can be easily resolved with communication. All healthy relationships have open communication. When something is bothering you, you have to tell me. And the other way around.”

A small smile tilts at his lips as he pulls an arm behind his head.

“That sounds very mature of you,” he taunts, causing me to shove ineffectively at his wall he calls a chest.

He grunts out a laugh, then a playful smile tugs at his lips.

“I have conditions too,” he says.

“And what would those be?” I muse.

“Compromise.”

This time, I’m the one confused.

“All healthy relationships are based on the ability for each person to compromise. It’s why my parents are still married and happy.”

Little butterflies rattle around in my stomach, but I don’t know why.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not done having fun,” he goes on, and those butterflies burst into flames as my body tenses.

I’m so not sharing him with other women, so that had better not be where this is going.

“Oh?” I prompt as he stares at me with a knowing grin.

“Yeah. While I like hanging around your place with you on occasion, I’m not quite ready to be a Netflix and chill couple all the time. I want you to start coming to my parties and having fun with me.”

Ah hell. Frat parties are so not my thing anymore.

But he’s right about compromising, and so far he’s only been doing things on my comfort level. And going to a party is definitely better than him wanting other women, which is where I thought this was going.

“Deal,” I finally say, watching as his grin spreads.

“After you’re completely better,” he goes on.

At least there’s that.

“And wild bathroom sex,” he adds, causing me to laugh. “I’ve never had wild bathroom sex, and it’s on my list of things to do.”

“That I can handle,” I tell him, sighing as my eyelids start growing heavy.

“You want your soup?” he asks as I get comfortable.

“I’ll make it in a second,” I mumble, getting sleepier by the second.

His lips brush my forehead, and he lifts away from me. I feel the bed jostle as he gets up, but my eyes are too heavy to open to investigate. It feels like a second later he’s rolling me onto my back, and I open my eyes to see a steaming bowl of soup in his hands, letting me know it was much longer than a second.

A naked caretaker who looks like him is definitely better than Allie.

Ethan Noles is nothing like I ever expected.

“What happened?” I ask as I sip my soup.

“What do you mean?” he asks as he stands up and walks over to pull on his boxers.

“To you. What happened to make your mind shut down the response to feel?”

His lips thin as he studies me.

“Communication,” I remind him. “I know something happened, and I want you to be able to talk to me about it. You can trust me, Ethan.”

He groans while sitting down. “It’s not like that. It doesn’t bother me to talk about it, but it usually upsets someone when they finally hear it.”

Putting my soup down, I sit up a little better in bed, pulling my knees to my chest. He grabs the shirt he wore last night from the floor and hands it to me.

“I can’t tell you this while you’re naked. It’s distracting enough as it is.”

“You’re the one who made me naked,” I remind him, pulling on his shirt.

His eyes rake over me, taking in the way his shirt swallows me. At least I have another shirt to add to my Ethan-Collection now.

He shakes his head as though to clear it, then he drops back to the bed, lying across the bottom of it as he stares up at my ceiling, keeping his feet on the floor.

“I was five when my father’s company split. He spent his summers in Chicago and the rest of the year in Sterling Shore at that time. During the summer, I stayed with my grandfather, because I was already playing every sport I could, including baseball. I was a big five-year-old, so I was playing with the age group ahead of me. But there was one big problem.”

“What?” I prompt when he hesitates.

He doesn’t look at me. “I was a big fucking crybaby.”

My brow furrows. “You were five. Most kids tend to cry a lot at that age.”

“My father has never cried in his life,” he says immediately, then clears his throat. “Anyway, my grandfather doesn’t handle crybabies too well, so every time I got hurt and cried, he punished me.”

My heartbeat speeds up, and I inch down the bed to be closer to him.

“He beat you?” I whisper, practically hearing my heart start to break.

He shakes his head slowly. “Not in a conventional way. If I fell down on the rocks and cried, he would shove me down in the rocks over and over again until my body was scraped to pieces. He wouldn’t stop until I stopped crying.”

I don’t even know what to say about something like that. Working in the hospital, especially when I help in the ER, I’ve seen so many horrible things parents have done to the one precious person—or persons—they’re supposed to protect. I’ve seen grandparents in that scenario too.

“If I was hit with a baseball during a game and cried, he’d throw a ball at me as hard as he could when we got home. And he’d do it until I quit crying.” He absently rubs his side, as though there’s a phantom pain there at the moment. “One time he cracked two ribs from throwing it so hard. When he took me to the hospital, I wasn’t crying. I couldn’t even speak without it hurting. He told them I got in a fight with some kids from school to explain all the bruising. Then said, ‘boys will be boys,’ when the girl offered to call the police.”

My jaw tics as I thread my fingers with his, holding his hand like I can somehow pull him out of the memories.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed for this. But how the hell could your father let you go there knowing he was a monster like that? I mean, there’s no way your grandfather didn’t abuse him if he abused you.”

“Like I said, my dad has never cried. He had a heart attack, and he never cried. In truth, my grandfather was always a little terrified of my father, even though I didn’t realize it early enough to use it against him. My dad was a mean son of a bitch when he was a kid. He’d have pulverized anyone who laid a hand on him. He never had a clue his dad was capable of that.”

“But your dad wasn’t like that?” I ask, given the ‘mean son of a bitch’ comment.

“Hell no. He never physically punished me. Dad was more the type to take everything out of my room for three weeks when I was grounded. Then let me earn it back.”

I swallow down the knot in my throat as he blows out another reluctant breath, still staring at our hands as he rubs a circle on the side of my hand with his thumb.

“Anyway, every single summer it got worse. Soon my pain tolerance was so high that I could handle anything that came at me. At some point, I pretty much stopped feeling anything except for surprise contact. My grandfather never snuck up on me. I always saw him coming, so I think that’s why I could feel surprise contact. My guard was lowered.”

“And you never told anyone,” I surmise, letting go of a heavy breath.

The protocol is to always report any and all suspicious activity involving children, but most of those children go along with whatever story their abusers have concocted, because they’re afraid.