Page 53 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

A soft knock sounded at the door and they pulled apart. “Come in,” Rosie said when she realized William opted for silence. She kept an eye on him, trying to follow his signals. What he needed from her. She felt like he needed her to lead and him follow close behind her. Be his shield.

“I was just checking on your both … if you needed anything,” she said. “Will you be going home, Josh?”

“Yes,” he said, raising his gaze but seeming to have trouble meeting hers. Rosie sensed his shame and laced her fingers in his.

“I’m a big baby at night. I don’t like sleeping alone,” she said, smiling at Carly who gave her a wink.

“Josh, you can call me tomorrow when you’re feeling better? Let me know how you’re doing?” Carly said as she turned to make her way out.

Rosie pulled William with her as she followed Carly. “Thank you,” he said as they went. “For everything.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Rosie added at hearing his need to compensate. “How can I repay you? I would offer you to come over for a home cooked meal, but I’m afraid I’m only good at burning them.”

She laughed lightly when they stood at the door. “No payment necessary, although I would love to visit sometimes. Oh,” she said as though remembering. “Let me get his clothes. I washed and dried them but you can keep those. My brother won’t miss them.”

Rosie waited as she fetched a bag from the counter and handed it to her with a smile. She went to shake her hand and decided she wanted to hug her instead. “Thank you. Very much,” she whispered.

“Of course,” Carly said, the words a caress. “You have my number. If you ever need anything, promise you’ll call.”

Rosie nodded. “And I’m sure Will—we’ll want you over for a visit soon. Right Josh?” she asked, her heart pounding at the near slip.

“Right, of course. I’ll cook. Save the house.”

Rosie laughed, but in the quiet space it came out like a hillbilly guffaw. “Save the house. Good one. Save a house, cook for Rosie. We should make t-shirts. Americans plus cooking equals disaster,” she said, unable to shut her mouth up.

Carly laughed kindly as she helped them to the door with the practiced ease of patient and therapist. She was quite a natural and Rosie was so grateful. She was having one of her awkward moments where everything she did to fix it made it worse.

“Don’t forget to tend to your bandages,” she called out to William.

“I won’t,” he said, before Rosie could decide if she should answer that. She didn’t want to nanny him. “Thank you for everything, Carly.”

The first name basis again stole a punch at the green-eyed monster, but Rosie smiled and waved, happy to be leaving. She was an amazing person. Beautiful, sweet, smart, perfect. Rosie should be glad he had her to come to his rescue. Glad he had somebody with a lick of sense in his life.

But she was more glad that he was now in the car, just the two of them.

“You sound exhausted,” she said, putting the key in the ignition and starting the engine.

“Mostly relieved,” he murmured.

She glanced at him every few seconds as she drove, feeling the burn of his gaze locked on her. She reached out and took his hand in hers. “Do I need to stop and get you anything? Food? Drink?”

“I just need you. In my arms.”

Her tummy tickled with thoughts of having him in that way, like her body had never before. Then it hit her as she drove. The house. What she’d done to it.

Fears began to nag her as she went. His need for order. His need for particulars. And finally, her severe ignorance of what all those particulars were and how many she’d likely violated in her stupid fix-a-fuckup.

“What’s wrong Rosie,” he whispered with tender concern, reading her like a book.

“Oh,” she said, then remembered her pledge to be transparent about everything as much as she could. “Well, I …” The urge to play it down, to spin it, to justify it, all fought for use of her tongue. “I’m scared,” she finally managed.

He lifted her hand and placed soft kisses on the back of it. “Tell me,” he said, in light curiosity.

She swallowed and nodded. “I’ll just … say it. Right out.” The feel of his warm lips on her skin was beginning to distract her. “I … I cleaned up a little. I believe I texted you and let you know.”

“My phone died,” he whispered, releasing her hand when she needed to shift gears then pulling it back to his mouth again.

“And thankfully you didn’t,” she blurted, tears springing forth with the words. “Sorry,” she quipped, blinking rapidly.

---