Battered Not Broken (11 page)

“Yeah.” He pressed a hand to his temple and massaged it with his fingertips. “Headaches are a bitch.”

He’d barely taken his coffee from the waitress’ hand when he started drinking it, ignoring the packets of sugar and cream she’d set on the table.

Ally took a tentative sip of her own coffee. It was scalding hot. His wasn’t decaf, so maybe it wasn’t the exact same temperature, but visible tendrils of steam were rising from his cup and brushing his lips. However hot it was, he didn’t seem to care.

“Do you have medicine – maybe out in your car?” Elsa always carried medication in her purse as a preemptive measure. “I could go get it for you if you give me the keys.”

“Left it at home.” He stopped drinking for long enough to answer her.

“I won’t keep you, then. I know you must be in a lot of pain – you didn’t even flinch when you were kicked in the ribs tonight. This must be even worse.”

The fact that the headache was prompting him to show more signs of pain than physical blows dealt by a muscled middleweight full-contact fighter set her nerves on edge. He must suffer from killer migraines, like Elsa. She hated the feeling of helplessness that beset her as she studied the fine lines pain had carved around his normally sensual mouth.

He waved a hand. “Take your time finishing your coffee. I plan to have a second cup.”

She sipped her drink quickly anyway, wanting to be ready to leave whenever he was. She felt bad enough knowing he had to make a detour to drop her off at her home before he could get back to his place and take something to ease his pain.

He accepted the offer of a second cup from the waitress.

Ally declined.

He took longer to drink it than the first one, the lines around his mouth becoming more pronounced with each sip.

“Ready to go?” she asked when he finally finished.

“Yeah.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out his wallet.

The waitress had already left them a little black folder with their receipt enclosed.

He stuffed a couple bills inside and rose from his seat.

He didn’t wrap an arm around Ally when they exited the restaurant, or touch a hand to the small of her back.

She felt the absence of his touch, and the night seemed colder as a result.

He unlocked the car but didn’t immediately open the door. Instead, he braced himself with a hand above it, leaning against the vehicle. His head tipped slightly to the left, his cropped hair shining dully in the haze of a nearby streetlight.

A sinking feeling struck Ally as she remembered seeing the same motion twice before. “Are you okay?” Obviously, he wasn’t, but the words tumbled out anyway. “I mean, do you think you should drive?”

Several silent minutes ticked by. “I’ll be all right.” He opened his door and took his seat.

She followed his lead, sliding into the car and pulling the passenger-side door shut.

His keys jingled when he raised them, metal hitting metal.

She reached for him, touching her fingers to the back of his. “Your hands are shaking.” She gripped his hand in a hold that was somewhere between gentle and firm. “Maybe you should just sit back and rest for a minute.” He needed medication, but how could he steer the car when he was trembling just from raising the keys?

He pushed the key into the ignition but lowered his hand into his lap afterward.

She was still touching him. The side of her palm pressed against the inside of his thigh as she maintained a light hold on his hand – a gesture intended to comfort, not tantalize. A little bolt of sensation zipped down her spine anyway. More importantly, the contact allowed her to gauge the shaking in his hand. Moments ticked by, and still it didn’t fade.

“Maybe I should call a cab,” she said. Thanks to Elsa, she knew that headaches were best thwarted if treated early. The longer Ryan waited, the less chance he had of stopping the pain with medication.

“Can’t leave my car here,” he breathed.

Ally glanced guiltily around at the car’s shining chrome and black vinyl surfaces. He obviously was careful to keep the vehicle in perfect condition, and she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to let it sit unsupervised in a diner’s parking lot overnight.

“I don’t want anything to happen to it, and I can’t afford for it to be towed.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“I’ll drive to your place, then,” Ally said, mustering all of her confidence and doing her best to project it into her voice. “I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer.”

“You know how to drive a stick-shift?”

“My father taught me years ago.” Her father’s car had been a stick-shift, and he’d spent hours teaching her to drive it when she’d been a teenager. A few months after he’d gone to prison, her mother, who’d never learned to drive, had been forced to sell the vehicle to scrape by. Which meant that Ally hadn’t driven any vehicle, let alone a stick-shift, in over five years.

“If you’re sure.”

She’d expected him to put up more of a fight – after all, the car seemed to be his prized possession. The fact that he agreed so quickly both scared her and increased her resolve to drive him safely home. “I’m sure. Switch seats with me.”

He didn’t move with his usual fluid grace when he opened the door and climbed out of his seat. Instead, he stumbled a little.

With one tooth buried in the soft flesh of her lower lip, Ally hurried around the other side of the car and slid into the driver’s seat. The leather was still warm from Ryan’s body heat and would have been a source of pleasure if her stomach hadn’t been tied in knots.

“Do you have a license?” Ryan asked as he pulled the passenger-side door shut.

“No,” Ally admitted, biting her lip a little harder.

“Well, don’t speed.”

With those sparse words of wisdom ringing in her ears, she turned the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life. “I’ll be careful. Your place isn’t too far from here, is it?”

“It’s about a ten minute drive. I like coming here because it’s close.”

“Just tell me where to go.” Willing her hand not to tremble like Ryan’s had, she lowered it onto the gear shift.

“Take a right when you leave the parking lot.” He spoke, the only person who’d ever given her driving directions besides her father.

She made it out of the parking lot without incident, but cringed when a loud grinding sound rent the air when she switched gears while increasing her speed. “Sorry,” she breathed. “It’s okay – I’ve got it now.”

Ryan didn’t freak out – fortunately. Instead, he continued to direct her.

The ten minute drive seemed more like twenty as she heeded Ryan’s directions, her every thought focused on not completely messing up the drive and his car. The vehicle was more powerful than her father’s sedan had been by a long shot. Every time she pressed her foot to the pedal, she was surprised by how the car seemed to want to leap forward. At first she tried to drive as smoothly as Ryan did, but that was an impossible goal. After the first few blocks, she settled for not rear-ending anyone or turning onto any one-way streets.

“Turn here,” Ryan instructed, his voice roughened by obvious pain.

The stress of letting her drive his car probably hadn’t helped his headache – a thought that would have inspired guilt if she’d been able to think of another reasonable solution.

“It’s the building on the left.”

Relief washed over her as she laid eyes on a four-story brick apartment building. There was a row of slanted parking spaces in front, two of them open.

She chose one and resolved to guide the car into it without scraping the vehicles on either side or riding up onto the curb.

Slowly but surely, she succeeded. When she’d put the car in park, she didn’t even bother to suppress a sigh of relief.

“Which apartment is yours?” she asked as they exited the vehicle and she surrendered the keys to Ryan.

He locked the car with the push of a button. “Top floor, farthest to the left.”

They’d have to climb four flights of stairs to get there. Ally mentally catalogued the state of Ryan’s body, from his shaking hands to the hard line of his mouth. The sensuality of his full lips wasn’t completely gone, but her enjoyment of the sight of them was diminished by his obvious agony.

“Is it all right if I come inside? I’ll have to call a cab.” She didn’t want to linger alone out on the street, and the thought of Ryan climbing the stairs alone worried her. His gait lacked its usual steadiness and the concrete steps would be unforgiving if he slipped.

“Of course.”

She followed him up the stairs, climbing slightly behind him while mentally grappling with the logistics of how she could best catch him if he fell. Any way she looked at it, it wouldn’t be easy to support his six foot frame. She was over half a foot shorter than him and weighed in at 130 pounds – a frail weight compared to his muscular mass.

When they reached the top of the last flight of stairs without incident, she silently thanked God.

Ryan unlocked his apartment – 401 – and pushed the door wide open.

Though her primary emotion was still concern for Ryan, a small wave of excitement washed over her as she followed him over the threshold. She hadn’t planned on ending up inside his apartment that night, though if she was honest with herself, a part of her had fantasized about it. Of course, she never would have wanted it to be because of their current circumstance.

Ryan closed the door, locked the deadbolt and headed immediately for the half-kitchen. The small entry area opened up into it and a living space. There were two doors along the back wall – one for a bedroom and one for a bathroom, probably. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d called the place Spartan. The living room was dominated by a well-worn couch. A TV sat on a simple stand. There was no other furniture, save for a small wooden table and two chairs in the kitchenette.

He opened two cupboards, pulling a bottle of pills that rattled in his hand from one and a glass tumbler from the other. He filled the latter at the kitchen sink before dumping two pills into his palm and downing them with a mouthful of tap water.

The muscles in his throat flexed and shifted as he swallowed.

Ally watched, her gaze glued to the powerful column of his neck, until the sound of breaking glass shattered her concentration.

“Damn.” He stepped backward, away from the pile of shattered glass at his feet. The tumbler had been reduced to a heap of jagged shards that gleamed dully beneath the overhead lighting.

“Let me get that,” she said, hurrying forward. “Do you have a dustpan?”

He gripped the edge of a nearby counter like he needed it to steady himself. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up later.”

She ignored his protest. It was all too easy to imagine him stumbling back out into the kitchen barefoot in the dead of night for another dose of medication and stepping on the pieces of broken glass. Spotting a broom propped between the refrigerator and the wall, she grabbed it and began sweeping. “Why don’t you go sit down on the couch? I’ve got this.”

He mumbled something about her not being a maid, but started in the direction of the living room anyway.

When she looked up from the pile she’d swept the glass shards into, he was sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over the cushions and his head resting against the back. His eyes were closed and he looked utterly exhausted.

She retrieved the dustpan that rested in the gap between the fridge and the wall and then searched the cabinets under the counter until she found what she was looking for – plastic bags. After sweeping the glass into the dustpan, she dumped it all into one of the bags and then proceeded to quadruple-bag it. “Be careful when you take out the trash,” she called over her shoulder as she stood and dropped the bag into the trashcan at the end of one counter. “There’s broken glass inside.”