Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 3
“I was trying to protect you. You’re our girl; I never imagined he had anything toward you but love. How could I take that away from you?”
“I don’t feel very protected right now.”
Blink.
“I don’t need you.”
He braced his hands on each arm of the hospital chair as he leaned over her. She gazed up, not missing the flash of hurt in his eyes. He informed her, “But I need you.” He leaned in even closer and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You know how to hurt a man, love.”
Brit couldn’t meet his gaze when he straightened. He walked over to the door and took up his duffel, where he had dropped it hours earlier. The evening of day two, and he’d finally had clothes delivered—she wondered what that meant as far as the length of her stay.
He turned and looked back at her; she watched him from lowered lashes. “Alive never looked better on a person.” He walked out the door.
Blink.
“Can I get a different doctor?”
“The man saved your life.” He sat back in the chair, raising a foot into the seat with him to rest his elbow on his knee; he was beginning to take on her habits.
“His instructions are draconian, saying I need home care for so long. And his bedside manner is lacking.” She fell back against the elevated pillow of the hospital bed.
“Another doctor would say the same regarding your home care. Your injuries, Brit… you need to let your body heal.”
“My flight—”
“You’ve missed it,” he pointed out.
Right. It’d been days. She had a vague memory of Ferris dropping by to see her, forcing joviality out from behind a mask of concern.
Sean regarded her steadily, his head resting back on the overstuffed chair. Her eyes flicked down over his body, her gaze skating over his t-shirt clad chest, flat stomach, and the noticeable bulge in his sweatpants; her eyes lingered there before chasing back up his torso. When she lifted her gaze back to his, she found him watching her with a steady stare. She gave a small roll of her eyes and turned her head away.
“That’s not… I’m an American. His recommendation doesn’t work there, right?”
“You think you can hop a plane and get a different protocol in America?” Sean asked skeptically. “Livers and ribs heal at the same rate on either side of the Atlantic. A different location doesn’t change what happened to you.”
“It at least puts distance to it,” she said quietly.
Blink.
“I have been giving you my best cheer-up stories, and you’ve been angry eye-fucking that man for the past fifteen minutes.” Ferris leaned on his elbows on the side of the bed as he regarded her with amusement.
Now Ferris was the recipient of her glare. “I have not! Well, I am angry, yes.”
Ferris smiled. “Maybe I’m projecting. He’s a fine man, though, Peanut Brittle. I could think of worse nursemaids.”
“You both decided for me like I’m a child.”
“Then I deserve some of your angry eye-fucking looks, too,” he said sarcastically. “Act like a child; you get treated like a child. You’re hurt. You need someone. He’s your person. Stop being a bitch and let him be your person. There’s no other option for you right now. Do you want to go to a nursing home in the States? Because you don’t have anyone there, and we both know it.”
Blink.
“Mo chroí, it feels like this is the first time we’ve been alone for days.” He sat on the side of the bed, smiling down at her.
Not entirely accurate, but there was no chance of interruption now: it was evening, Evie had already been by, and Ferris had returned to the hotel.
“I don’t want to be alone with you right now.” That wasn’t entirely accurate, either. Seeing him sitting in the chair earlier that day watching her, his brown hair slightly tousled from what she imagined was awkward sleeping on the fold-out—she’d wanted to crawl into his lap and draw comfort from him. He’d looked so handsome; his jaw had a few days’ growth, which gave him a rakish appearance and made his blue eyes stand out even more. His posture in the chair had lent him the air of devil-may-care, but she knew he was anything but relaxed; his jaw had been clenched tight with tension.
She was fighting him so hard because his care of her was a reminder of how she got here. But knowing that didn’t change anything.
“Why’re you angry with me?”
“Because you aren’t giving me a say in my own life.”
“I’m not taking away your right to say anything about it, but you need—”
“But you have!” she demanded, tilting her head back and looking up at him. “You’re making me stay. You’re taking me back to Lis Manor, like it or not. Where is my say in that?”
“This is sorted. You want to have this discussion again?” he asked forcefully, frustrated. “You want to tell me about how your family in DC will care for you?”
“Sean…” she said in a slight rebuke.
“Go ahead, I’ll listen to you,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “We’ll ring them up right now, ask them why I haven’t heard from them yet.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand instead of getting angry with me,” he implored.
With a slight frown, searching his blue eyes, wishing he could just read what was in her mind, she said, “It’s Lis Manor.”
“It is.”
“It’s his home,” she said quietly.
“It’s my home, too. It was yours.”
She dropped her gaze; he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand that it had been more her battleground than her home. He didn’t understand that going back there, she would see Jasper. Why didn’t he understand that? He should know it. She turned her head. “Let me sleep?”
As she lay back, he adjusted her legs on the bed as he sat at the end; they were bare, the boxer shorts Evie had provided her only covering so much. He ran his hand along her outer thigh. She sucked in a breath at his unexpected caress. He commented, “Your legs are cold.”
“I don’t feel it,” she answered. It was true; she didn’t. She felt his hand. Was he supposed to be touching her like this? Was she supposed to want it? Was it normal to have these reactions after being so brutally attacked by your best friend? When breathing itself created an avalanche of pain? Was it appropriate for her to feel this way after someone had tried to kill her?
The jolt that pulsed through her was tantalizing and made her more aware of every wound on and in her body. The throbbing between her legs was becoming unbearable, but for him to appease it, her pain would be heightened unbearably everywhere else. It was a physical reminder that wanting him would be punished.
She’d been punished enough.
He slipped a hand beneath her knees and raised them, pulling them to him as he leaned over and hugged them, his rough cheek on her kneecaps. His warm blue eyes sought out her startled gaze. “It’s the only place I can hug you without hurting you.”
Brit’s brows creased, trying to calm her breathing and ignore her suddenly thumping heart at the look in his eyes, the tenor of his voice; with the pounding came the heightened awareness of her sutures, the tearing within. He was wrong; it hurt.
“We were to be on the coast.” One hand slid down the length of her thigh toward the end of the boy shorts; he watched the path his hand took, lingering just above the juncture of hip and thigh, clearly contemplating—or considering—moving his hand further. But he dragged his hand back up, and then he raised his eyes back to hers, and he grinned. “You’d’ve been dragged to caves and ruins; been turned into a proper woman on holiday. I’d’ve bought you an Aran jumper.”
She tore her gaze from his. The sensation… The sensation was one of disappointment. Disappointment because that had been robbed from them. Because of something she did—a choice she’d made.
He sat up. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”
She tilted her head and asked evenly, “Lose me? Like I somehow belong to you?”
“You do,” he said confidently. “Just as I’m yours. It’s been that way since we were young.”
Brit could only stare at him. The words hung unspoken between them: the three of us. Jasper had thought she belonged to him, too. They’d been hers: her boys. She gave a slight shake of her head and whispered, “I’m no one’s.”
“I know you feel like you were hit by a lorry, but—”
Brit interrupted without looking at him, “I wasn’t hit by a truck, Sean.”
He sighed and caressed her thigh. “I know, love; I do, sure.”
“Do you?” she challenged.
Frustrated, he answered, “I do know it. And I know you’re confused and scared and angry about it, and I’ll take your abuse to a point because I know it comes from pain.”
She countered, “To what point?”
He chuckled. “Challenge accepted, eh? I won’t let you do it.” He patted her legs as he moved off the bed, bending toward her, an eyebrow lifted. “I’m as stubborn as you are.” He kissed her firmly and soundly.
Brit didn’t have a choice but to allow the quick kiss; she was already as far back against the raised bed as she could go—at least, that’s what she told herself. But she gave him a hard look to hopefully distract him from the other telltale signs her body presented. It didn’t work; she knew he was fully aware of what he did to her.
When he laid the blanket over her, she pulled it up to her chin; he glanced at the placement with amusement but didn’t comment. He moved to the loveseat and proceeded to unfold it with a resigned sigh.
Brit asked, “Do you have to sleep there?”
Sean glanced over at her mischievously. “Are you inviting me into the bed?”
“Why don’t you just go home? You must be tired.”
He answered, “I’ll go when you go yourself.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need you here,” she said.
“I know you are, I know you don’t, but it isn’t always about you, now is it?”
She rolled her eyes as he threw back words she’d used on him once before. She smacked the back of her hand against the side rail and lowered the bed. It was a humiliating way to exit a conversation.
Chapter five
SEAN
Sean understood why Brit was fighting to leave Ireland. He understood why she didn’t want to be cared for… but only to a point. She was accustomed to taking care of herself, being independent, subjected to perils he could only imagine. And now, she had to feel as though everyone other than herself had control of her life.
And Brit loved control; it was how she managed to maneuver through her world. Control meant protecting herself. To allow someone else to make decisions for her, even with the best of intentions, had to make her feel… well, vulnerable to everything she’d worked so hard to protect herself from.
She’d told him as much; been honest with him. She had trusted him with that. But even though he understood, he couldn’t relinquish her care. This was a matter of practicality, not control. He hoped it wasn’t about manipulation, though he knew Brit saw it that way.
Now, Sean was finally fulfilling Ferris Grant’s request for a beer. When the man had appeared in the wee hours after the attack, jet-lagged and pissed off, Sean had blown him off. He was still raw from everything himself, and he didn’t need some irritated American tromping through Brit’s room, making the space even smaller.
But Ferris had made a point of committing him to a conversation. “Not right now,” he had said at the time, “but before I leave.”
Of course, the man had questions, it was understandable. Sean had a few himself.
At a nearby pub, Sean led the way to a round table with rounded chairs. It was off by itself near a fireplace with a cast-iron stove inside. He waited for Ferris to remove his suit jacket and take a seat in one of the chairs before taking a seat himself.
Ferris rubbed his bald head. He looked across the small table at Sean. “How do we do this?”
Sean raised a brow, unsure of the question.
“Ordering a beer, how is it done here? I’ve been eating hospital or hotel food. This is my first authentic Irish pub.”
“Oh.” Smiling, Sean handed him a menu. “Pick what you want, and I’ll order at the bar.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Murphy’s for beer; their steaks are good.”
Ferris nodded. “And what are you getting?”
“Murphy’s and the chowder.”
“Get me the same.”
Sean placed the order and brought back two beers for the table. He lifted his glass and tapped Ferris’s with a “Sláinte.” He leaned back in his seat and considered the man.
Ferris watched him back with equally assessing dark blue eyes as he drank his beer. When he set the glass down, he pointed out, “That’s a thoughtful look.”
“I’m after wondering why you beat her family here, why there’s been no word from them yet.”
Ferris’s brows raised then lowered. “How close did you say you two were?”
“We grew up together, but we hadn’t seen each other for years.”
“Huh.” The word was drawn out. “What makes you think she has family?”
Sean let out a half-laugh. “Because she does; they live in DC. She’s living with them now; it’s where she goes between assignments.”
“Ohhh, you mean those people in Georgetown.”
Sean felt a sense of relief. “You had me worrying, but those are the ones.”
Ferris shook his head. “No, they aren’t her family. I mean, technically, they are, but they don’t act like family. And she doesn’t live there. I don’t think she’s seen them for years. I mean, maybe she does, off and on, but I wouldn’t know that. I know she doesn’t live there.”
Sean just stared at him; this wasn’t what Brit had told him, told Jasper. “Where does she live?”
“Out of her duffel; she doesn’t have a house. She’s never in town long enough. When she is in town, she crashes at the office or an extended stay hotel. She’s a nomad.”
“Why do you keep sending her out?”
“Keep sending her…?” Ferris parroted incredulously. He leaned forward. “I don’t keep sending her out. She goes. The only way I could keep her in town would be to nail her feet down. Do I mind if she goes? No. She’s an incredible talent—all of my photojournalists are incredible talents. But if she doesn’t want to sit her ass in an apartment for three months at a stretch, who am I to tell her she has to? I’m her editor, not her daddy.”
Sean took up his beer, his eyes still on Ferris. After a healthy draw, he set it back down. “If you’re just her editor, why’re you here? You sent the paperwork. Paperwork, I’m curious about, by the way.”
Ferris smiled. “Mmm, yeah. Well, Brit’s my mystery. I hired her after I saw photos she took of a shooting in DC. I’ve worked with her for years. I thought I knew her—we all did. Brit’s one of those people who is one hundred percent present and at the same time a fucking ghost.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve been with her—others of us have been with her, or others have told me they’ve been in the field with her—and we’re all convinced that we’ve bonded and shared and gotten to know each other. And three seconds after she’s out the door, you realize you don’t know a damn thing about her.
“And so the next time you see her, you think—yeah, this is it, this is the time you’re going to catch her out. And it’s the same thing, man. She’s a hundred percent right there with you, giving you her all, and you’re so happy that she’s giving it to you; you broke through. And again, five minutes later, you’re like, ‘what the fuck?’” He took up his beer. “It’s a conundrum. So, I’m here; call it curiosity, but I care about all of my photographers.”
Sean appreciated the insight. He offered, “But you knew about her family.”
“Only because she was still living there when the DC shooting happened; otherwise, I wouldn’t have known.” Ferris nodded toward him. “You were just a name on a piece of paper until you came to life a few days ago. I half suspected she made up some bullshit names just to satisfy our HR department.”
“You went through her papers before yesterday then,” Sean pointed out.
“Yeah, she and KitKat—we use food nicknames—went missing about three years ago; we thought we were going to have to notify next of kin, so I had their files pulled. I looked through them. I mean, two random names in Ireland; that can’t be real. I was a little sad that I would be the only one to miss her.”
“You remembered our names.”
Ferris nodded. “I wanted you to be real. For her, I wanted you to be real. I wanted her to have people, you know?”
Sean nodded; he knew.
Ferris smiled. “And not only does she have people, she has people,” he said with emphasis. “You are her person. I never imagined she’d have a person.”
Sean smiled distantly and informed him, “I’ve always been her person. The relationship has just... progressed.” He wondered how he would have reacted if Ferris had called out of the blue to tell him that she had gone missing. He’d had no idea that she’d named him and Jasper as her emergency contacts. He asked out of curiosity, “When they went missing, what happened?”
“Oh! Um, they’d hitched a ride with some locals, and the vehicle broke down. They had to walk for several days to get to the nearest town. It happens.”
Sean frowned. “Don’t tell me where.”
Ferris smiled. “I wasn’t going to tell you where. But if you Google her name, you can find her pictures and probably guess.”
After a few minutes of silence, Sean informed him, “She can’t go back to work immediately.”
“I’ve figured that out. How long do you think?”
“Up to four months.”
Ferris sat back with a whistle, shaking his head. “Well, she certainly has the leave time built up, and there’s short-term disability. She takes the time she needs.”
Sean nodded in appreciation.
