Page 76 of Past Due

He let that comment go and closed the door of the suite. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, you want to talk now?” She looked at him as if he were crazy. “But not last night, right? Not when you accused me of being a cheating whore and let your crazy housekeeper strip me like a criminal in the driveway?”

He cringed. “Marley, I had no idea Drita would do that.”

“Bullshit,” she hissed. “You sent me back there to humiliate me the way you thought I humiliated you.”

“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Really? Because I seem to remember you telling me to pack my shit,” she reminded him.

“I didn’t mean it! I wasn’t going to actually send you away!”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” she demanded furiously.

He sagged against the wall for support and scrubbed his face. “I fucked up. Okay? I fucked everything up.”

“Do you expect me to comfort you? To make you feel better?”

“No,” he lied even as he desperately wished she would.

“Good because it will be a cold day in hell before I ever forgive you!” Marley dropped her backpack and dragged her suitcase across the floor toward the bedroom. She slammed the door, and he flinched at the finality of it.

With his head tipped back against the wall, he tried to swallow the thick ball of emotion choking him. He hadn’t ever had a panic attack, but he suspected this was the beginning of one. Maybe it was a heart attack. Dying had to be easier than living with this agony, this horrible regret and shame.

Suddenly, Marley cried out in pain, and his self-pity vanished. He rushed to the door, shoving it open and running to the bedroom. He found her sitting on the bed, sobbing as she tried to peel a bloody, dried sock from her foot. Horrified, he dropped to his knees in front of her and gently pushed her hand away. “Baby, what happened?”

“The shoes,” she wept pitifully. “They gave me blisters.”

“The heels,” he said, as understanding dawned. He winced in sympathy as he examined her feet. Both of them were in terrible shape. Removing the socks when they were dry like this would be absolute hell. “Wait here.”

She didn’t argue. He suspected she was too drained to even care anymore. He made his way to the bathroom and started a bath, filling the tub with hot water. He started to add some of the bubble bath or salts from the toiletry basket, but he decided against it. He wasn’t sure how sensitive her skin was, and the last thing she needed was a rash to compound her misery.

Back in the bedroom, he knelt down in front of her. Carefully, he asked, “May I help you undress?”

She nodded, and he cautiously helped her stand on her sore feet. He pulled off her shirt, making sure to touch her as little as possible. Whatever they had shared before no longer mattered. The enthusiastic consent she had given didn’t count now, and he no right to touch her.

She wore no bra, probably because it wouldn’t have been easy to find one when digging through her luggage in the dark. Her worn, faded jeans peeled away easily, and he glanced at her for permission before gently removing her underwear. The socks he left on for now.

“May I carry you?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

He swept her up in his arms. The image of carrying her like this as his bride, his wife, tormented him. With the utmost care, he let her test the water with her good hand before lowering her into the bath. She relaxed into the water, leaning her head back against the rim of the tub and closing her eyes. She held her feet and bandaged hand out of the water.

“If you soak your feet, it will be easier for me to get the socks off.”

She opened her eyes and seemed nervous. “It’s going to hurt.”

“Yes.” He wasn’t going to lie to her. “For a bit.”

Marley sighed and finally worked up the courage to dip first one foot and then the other into the water. She whimpered at the pain, and the sound slashed at his already injured heart like a razor. If she started crying again, he was going to crumble.

Desperate to make himself useful, he asked, “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“In my backpack,” she said, sinking lower in the water.

“May I get it?”

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