Insult to Injury Page 14

  “So, yes. Let’s go back to the house. You can cook tonight. That is, if you know how to.” I send her a quick glance.

  “I make a mean mac and cheese.”

  “What?” Oh, God. That figures. “Mac and cheese it is, then.” I can’t remember having the iconic comfort-food dish since I was a poor student at Juilliard. Memories of craving any type of comfort food after Professor Blakely’s classes appear out of nowhere. Perhaps mac and cheese is perfect, as we’re going to talk about things that are sensitive to Romi.

  We sit in friendly silence the rest of the way. I suppose Romi feels reassured by my words, and I still need to process what the mere touch of her hand on my gabardine-clad knee does to me. If I’m that affected by such an innocent touch, God help me if she ever decides to place her hands somewhere else.

  I punch in the code to my new alarm system after we’ve climbed the few steps to the front door.

  “I didn’t see that yesterday.” Romi hangs her jacket on one of the hooks inside the door without even looking and places her backpack on the floor.

  “Had it installed a few days ago. Feels better to know that all the doors and windows are secure since the closest neighbor is too far away for me to feel safe. Speaking of that, I think I saw your light go on for the first time last night. Must be since most of the leaves have fallen by now.”

  Romi blinks. “Could be,” she murmurs. “All the doors and windows?” She studies her shoes and then looks up at me.

  “Yes. Especially important with the basement door and the windows down here on this floor. The security company actually found an old key to the basement door above the doorframe. Can you imagine?”

  “Really?” Romi’s voice is weak, and she walks ahead of me into the kitchen. “Good that they were so, um, thorough.”

  “Yes.” I point in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. “I’m just going to grab some painkillers. I’ll join you—”

  “Painkillers?” Romi’s head snaps up, and her voice goes from weak to strong, much like it did when she sang. “Did you overdo? I shouldn’t have asked you to stay the entire session. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “Stop, stop. I always take pills this time of day. Don’t panic.” I smile and shake my head. “We can’t possibly eat yet, so why don’t you make us some tea or coffee?”

  “Sure thing.” Romi nods and begins pulling things from the cabinets.

  After making myself take only one painkiller, instead of the usual two, I hope this will be enough. I don’t want to become all woozy, which I do sometimes after taking two, while talking to Romi.

  I regard my reflection in the mirror above the sink for a moment. I look different. My hair is the same, kept back from my face with a headband. But that’s where it stops. My blue eyes are sparkling, my complexion doesn’t have its usual “always indoors” pallor, and my lips…look fuller? That can’t be right.

  I huff at myself and walk back to the kitchen, where I’m met by the mouthwatering scent of freshly brewed coffee being made. Romi has set a tray with mugs, still the horrendous ones in bright colors, and some biscuits on a plate.

  “I figured we could sit more comfortably in the living room, if that’s all right?” She turns to look at me and stops in midmotion. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” My arm hurts like hell, but I feel finer than I have since the accident. “Living room, it is. To be truthful, I’ve had enough of hard chairs for today.” I smile to show I’m mostly kidding.

  Again, I sit down next to her on the couch. I want to be close, so I don’t miss a thing of what she’s about to tell me. Perhaps I’m pushing it after all, and I know a lot of people who would do a double take if they saw me hang on Romi’s every word. Before the accident, I didn’t really pay attention to anything but my violin, possibly the piano, and Neill.

  Romi sips her coffee after blowing at the hot beverage for a few moments. Then she places it on the rustic coffee table, using one of the coasters that belonged to the previous owner, and pulls both legs up and hugs her knees to her chest. A defensive position. Self-preserving.

  “I ran away when I was sixteen. To New York. Manhattan, mainly. I knew I could sing. I’d been sneaking off to Providence on occasion before then, busking. I hated my life here, so, in my mind, I figured I’d make it in the Big Apple. Someone would hear me sing, realize my potential, and I would make a life for myself.”

  A part of me thinks this is not a very unusual life story. Many young people go to New York and Los Angeles hoping to make it big. Still, at sixteen? I say nothing but keep my eyes locked on Romi’s. I even move closer and place a hand on her knee.

  Romi draws a trembling breath. “You know what’s coming, right? I sang my heart out on the streets, with or without accompaniment from other musicians, but nobody gave a shit. People tossed coins and dollar bills into my box, but no Broadway producer ever passed me by and looked at me that way.” Romi gives an unhappy laugh. “I suppose I’m dense—or just stubborn. I kept doing that for two years, still hoping every day that this is it. With every glance I got from someone who looked well off that lasted more than two seconds, I was certain they’d approach me after the song was over. It never happened.”

  Tears fill Romi’s eyes, but when I raise my hand to her cheek, she shakes her head emphatically. “No. Don’t.” She draws a few more breaths before she continues. “Four more years and I gave up on the dream. Four years, during which I realized it paid better to sing on the subway trains than on the streets. It was actually safer too, to a degree. I even got a bit of a following among the six a.m. commuters on their way to work.” Romi snorts unhappily. “Well. You can say my fifteen minutes of fame were pretty humbling.”

  “Where did you live?” I ask when she doesn’t volunteer any more.

  “If I was there on time, in shelters. Sometimes they were full, and then I’d join a crowd I knew under some overpass or bridge.”

  “And your days, when you weren’t singing?” My voice is husky, I can hear it, and I’m dangerously close to crying as well.

  “Libraries. Always libraries. Or museums. They’re free.” Romi wipes at her cheeks.

  “How long were you homeless?” I ask and immediately realize that I’ve stepped into something even more painful for her. I hate myself for being careless. “You don’t have to—”

  “It’s all right. In a sense, I still am. I mean, I don’t have a place of my own yet.” Romi’s cheeks turn red. “And even if I earn a real part-time salary now, I can’t see that changing.”

  “But you told me you live on some property close to where your relatives live?” I’m confused now, and more than a little concerned.

  “I wasn’t lying. Much.” Romi tips her head back for a moment before she meets my eyes again. “I do live in a house close to my old home. I do. But my relatives are gone.” The last part comes out as a whisper. “I know none of this makes sense, and Manon’s going to realize this when she needs my paperwork and I can’t provide it. My wallet was stolen in New York, and I lost my ID, and somehow it was found at a burglary, but the cops didn’t believe that, and I ran…I ran and…I don’t know what to do now!”

  I can’t take her anguish anymore. I tug at her with my left arm and pull her sideways into my shoulder, holding her closer. “I don’t get much of what you just said, but we’re going to figure it out, Romi.” I kiss the top of her head, inhaling the scent of cheap soap and of what is solely her. “And you’re going to be fine. I promise.” I know I’m probably promising something I can’t be sure about, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow Romi to disappear. Nothing could hurt me more right now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Romi

  That moment. Oh, God. That moment as Gail pulls me close, tucks me into her shoulder, and holds me so tight, I can hardly breathe. I hide my face against her collar, inhale the warm, sweet scent of her…and for the first time in my life, I feel safe.

  Telling her as much as I just did about my past sca
res me to death. Gail didn’t throw me out. Or at least not yet, and that’s a miracle in itself. I sob and tremble and then…her lips against my hair. I lose my breath again. Shifting, I need to feel even closer.

  “I have you,” Gail murmurs and runs her hand up and down my arm.

  Breathing hard, tossed between anxiety and desire to be near her, I press my face into…her neck. Damn. Her skin is so soft and warm, and she smells so good. I hide against her, take shelter in her arms and pray this will last and last…

  “Romi?” Gail whispers, and I realize she’s trembling as well. “Oh.” Her good arm pulls me impossibly closer, and for the first time, I can tell she’s strong. She holds me like she’s not about to let me go any time soon, and I hope I’m right.

  After a few blissful moments, I turn my head, and my lips inadvertently brush against the soft curve of her jawline. I go rigid, because I’m sure I’ve screwed up.

  “Oh, God.” Fine tremors go through Gail’s body as she breathes out the words. She moves her hand up from my shoulder and laces her fingers into my hair. Pulling gently, she tips my head back and looks down at me with large eyes that have gone from piercing blue to the darkness of a deep lagoon. “You must know you’re tempting me.”

  I’m? I’m tempting her? I can’t speak. I’ve grown tongue-tied around her before, but this is beyond those other times. I just stare at her. And then it’s clear that my body has other ideas of what action to take. Somehow my brain sends signals to my left arm to mimic hers and push into her fragrant, silken hair. As if her hair is in on the plan, it curls around my fingers, and I’ve never touched anything so soft before. When my fingertips come across the headband, I remove it, and Gail just keeps looking at me and not objecting.

  I run my fingertips through her hair, gather it up in my palm, squeeze it, and let it fall. The strands behave as if they’re weightless, float for half a second, then tumble against her shoulder and my face. I repeat the motion twice and see a faint smile form on her lips.

  “Like my hair?” Gail moves her fingertips against my scalp, making me shiver.

  “It’s beautiful,” I manage to say, sounding as if I haven’t used my voice in ages.

  “So are you.” Pressing her lips to my forehead, Gail hums quietly against my skin. When she pulls back, I edge closer, and this time I can’t blame my body for acting on its own. I crane my neck and kiss her jawline, gently, but several times, as once would, could, never be enough.

  A soft sound breaks free from Gail’s lips. Tugging gently at my hair again, she kisses my lips. The caress is more of a peck, a soft brush, but it still makes my lips tingle and my arousal spike again. I touch her cheek and pull her face closer, not quite sure what I’m doing, only that I need to taste her so badly, I’m ready to burst.

  Of course, I’ve never truly thought it possible that Gail would ever find me attractive—and how could I even begin to guess if she’s into women at all—I get my first clue to both those things when she’s the one closing the distance and pressing her lips to mine. I, on the other hand, being more than a little inexperienced, am aware just how much I want this woman and how much I care about her. My stomach is in knots, my heartbeat painfully strong and fast, and, which I hope isn’t as readily obvious to Gail as it is to me, I’m so aroused, my panties are soaking wet.

  I part my lips under Gail’s, not confident, or crazy, enough to be more forward than that. As it turns out, I need not have worried. If I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been, Gail seems to be there right along with me. Groaning, she runs the tip of her tongue along my upper lip, tickling me mercilessly before she slips it into my mouth. I meet it with mine, as it’s what I want more than anything. And we go deeper, and it lasts and lasts, until I’m shaking so much, Gail pulls back. Not entirely, but enough for me to miss her lips so much it hurts.

  “Romi. It’s okay. I’m not…I don’t want to stop. Truly. It’s just…my arm.” Gail gazes at me with regret.

  I’m tossed back on earth with a resounding thud. “What? Oh, no!” I’m horrified. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I—”

  “Stop.” Gail gives my hair a gentle tug. “You didn’t hurt me. I managed that on my own.” She’s out of breath, and I can feel her words against my skin. “For the first time since the accident, I forgot completely about my arm. At least until I tried to raise it to pull you closer.” Smiling, Gail shakes her head at herself.

  “And now? Does it hurt very badly?” I look at her hand that is in its usual orthosis, but not in a sling.

  “A bit. But not enough for you to move. Unless you want to.” Gail tilts her head and scans my face, her eyes slowly becoming piercing again.

  “I don’t.” I could sit here with her forever, but my, by now, trained eyes have already spotted the tension around hers, and the faint tremor in her arm. “But I think I should. You’re in more pain than you let on.” I can’t bear to be either the cause, indirect or not, or selfish enough to stay in her arms when I know what I know.

  Gail studies me. Can she tell how much I ache at the idea of leaving this closeness, this unexpected, amazing embrace? She nods slowly. “You have such a strong, protective side. I could tell that today when you worked with the kids, and perhaps I risk sounding completely conceited, but I can see it even clearer now.” Gail runs her blunt nails lightly down the back of my neck as she lowers her left arm. “Can I perhaps persuade you to help me with something? No heavy lifting required.” She smirks as she adds the last part.

  “Anything,” I say readily, meaning it.

  “Of course.” Gail slides back from me, which makes me shiver again, but this time from feeling cold. “I can’t take any painkillers for another four hours, but my muscles are starting to spasm around my shoulder. Normally, my wrist is the biggest problem, but sometimes my elbow or shoulder acts up. Apparently today is such a day. I have an analgesic ointment that helps, but I can never reach as far back toward my shoulder blade as I need on my own. If you don’t mind?” Gail’s cheeks grow pink, that hue I love by now, as it shows she can feel as self-conscious as I so often do.

  “No problem,” I say, aiming for casual but sounding totally out of breath. “Should I fetch it for you?”

  “No. It’s upstairs in the bedroom. It’ll be better if we put a towel on the bed so I can lie on my side.” Now the pink is hinting at crimson. “That way I can rest afterward and not have to move unless I want to.”

  I get up and reach out to her. Is she going to refuse to take my hand? She totally would have only a while ago, but she doesn’t. Pulling her up gently, I step back and let her walk ahead of me toward the stairs. As I climb them behind her, I try to pull my head out of the gutter at the sight of her swaying hips that are pretty much at eye level. Gail is going to get undressed and have me rub ointment on her naked skin. A ridiculous thought hits me. I hope the ointment smells foul, not that this will ultimately mean anything, but still. It can at least help me keep my mind on what matters.

  Gail’s well-being.

  Gail

  Oh, this has got to be the most insane idea I’ve ever had. Romi is standing right next to me with the damn ointment tube in her hands, and I’m unbuttoning my shirt despite trembling fingers. Two buttons open willingly, but after that I can’t manage.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, and I can see Romi’s eyebrows go up.

  “Need help?” Romi bites her lower lip, and I can’t tell if it’s to keep from laughing or for asking in the first place.

  “Let me hold that,” I say and snatch the tube from her.

  “Okay.” Romi’s hands aren’t entirely steady either as she unbuttons the rest of my shirt. She hangs it meticulously on the chair by the little vanity before turning back to me.

  I don’t wear bras anymore as they’re a bitch to put on one-handed. Instead, I’ve found silk camisoles that I can step into and pull the stretchy shoulder straps on one at a time. That has to go as well. Damn, I haven’t thought this through. When I asked Romi to do this downstairs,
all I thought was that she would just see my shoulder and my shoulder blade. Or was my subconscious desire in play and tripped me like this? And what must Romi think? I glance at her, and she’s merely waiting patiently for my next move. Naturally.

  Handing the tube back to her, I walk over to the left side of the bed where Romi placed a towel only moments ago. Keeping my back to her, I push my shoulder straps down and let the camisole fall to the floor. I move as fast as I can, lie down on the bed, and roll over on my left side. As it turns out, I move a little too quickly and forget to keep hold of my right arm. Yes, it’s obvious I’m an idiot. Moaning without meaning to, I clasp my shoulder.

  “Easy,” Romi says behind me and nudges my hand away. She must’ve put the tube down because I feel her hands cup my shoulder lightly, simply warming it. “Just relax.” Still with one hand on my skin, Romi pulls a blanket toward us and spreads it over my legs and up in front of me. “There we go.” Her hand leaves me, and I want to moan again but attempt to let my muscles relax.

  “I’ll start with the shoulder and move down to your back after that.” Romi’s hands are there again as she begins to rub the ointment into my skin. “Let me know if I hurt you, okay?”

  “You won’t,” I say. In fact, her touch is perfect, and I’d give everything I own and then some for her hands to be on me, all over me, for a completely different reason. The way she returned my kisses on the couch, oh, God, she made me want to remove her clothes and devour her then and there. I can safely say that the lovers I’ve had never had that effect on me, and for me to feel like that after a few kisses—not to mention it happening after the accident—is overwhelming. It doesn’t surprise me that Romi is the type of person who doesn’t see someone else’s physical imperfection as a variable when it comes to desire. I may have been such a person once, I’m ashamed to admit, but I hope I’m not anymore.