Page 115 of Dead Serious with Benefits
“I’m recovering. I don’t have the energy to deal with her right now,” he said with a scowl, then squeezed my hand. “But I’m guessing from the conversation that you aren’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon.”
“I think that is a safe assumption, yes,” I said with a smile.
“Well, since you’re not going anywhere, how do you feel about lying down here with me real quick? I still need a rest. At some point, a nurse or doctor is going to realize I’m awake, come in here and start poking and prodding to make sure I’m notgoing to keel over on them in the middle of the night,” he said, tugging at my hand.
I had no reason to deny him; it was as though I’d been waiting for him to say something. I lay beside him, careful not to put too much weight on his side or chest as I tried to take up the little space left. His arm came around my neck so his hand could rest on my chest, his fingers stroking back and forth. For the first time, since I took the butt of a gun to my face, I felt a sense of contentment.
Actually, now I was paying attention, that contentment had been following me around for a few weeks. I never thought someone like Ward would bring peace and security to my life, but here we were. The rich playboy had been seduced by the normal life, and I hadn’t even been trying to do that, and now I was excited for what was to come in our future. What I had said to his mother had been true, and I had every intention of sticking by him as long as possible, whether that was until we found we couldn’t work together or if death took one of us.
“What an interesting month I’ve had,” he said in a sleepy, thick voice as his fingers began to slow.
I chuckled as I lay my face into his arm and kissed it. “Let’s make the next one a little less interesting, shall we?”
“Deal.”
EPILOGUE
Two years later
I wincedat the banging from the other side of the thick door. The clatter and shouting of the inmates further inside the building wasn’t what I would call calming. It sounded like the sort of place where it would be easy to lose your mind from the chaos alone, let alone having to live with so many other potentially violent people. Other people were in the room with me, looking around, unfazed by all the noise. I was glad I had listened and chose to leave anything that looked expensive back in the room and had come plainly dressed. One could almost mistake me for a normal person and not some rich asshole who had more money than they knew what to do with.
“First time?” someone asked softly, and I turned in one of the god awful plastic chairs they forced people to sit in. There was even a sign that said people had to stay seated at all times. I didn’t know what was worse, the hard plastic or the hideous faded orange color, which made me think of a bus station. The smell of mold and piss didn’t help the bus station comparison,any more than the flickering lights overhead and the dirty floors that I didn’t think had seen clean water and soap for years.
I smiled at the woman; she had deep lines in her face, but the warmth in her eyes made her look younger. She had probably led a hard life, but I would bet she had the same heart and soul as a certain fiancé of mine. “Sitting here? No, it’s not. I always sit out here.”
“You’re not visiting?” she asked curiously.
“No, my partner is the one doing the visiting,” I explained, uncurling my legs from under the chair and stretching them. “I won’t.”
“Oh,” she said in understanding, and in some strange way, I bet she did understand, at least a little. “Here to support the visitor but not the visited?”
“My partner is visiting the man who tried to kill us a couple of years ago. Along with our parents,” I explained with a twitch in my nose. “So no, I don’t think I’ll be supporting the guy who beat the hell out of us and nearly killed me.”
“But your partner?—”
“Is a far better, kinder, more forgiving person than I want to be, let alone could be.”
“I understand.”
“Same boat then?”
“A little, and not. I’m visiting my former son-in-law. He killed my daughter five years ago.”
My eyes widened. “Jesus Chr… ahem. Sorry.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be the first person to have that reaction, and you won’t be the last, I’m sure.”
“It was your daughter,” I said as if she didn’t know that herself. “How can you?—”
“Forgiveness is like faith; you can’t explain why you have it or feel it, you simply do. Or love, if you prefer. I’m sure you’re nothappy being here, knowing your partner is visiting the person who almost did so much damage to your lives.”
“I can’t say I’m throwing a party over it,” I said, a little uncomfortable.
“But you’re here.”
“I guess I am.”
“Then that’s enough,” she said, reaching over and patting my hand. “Forgive me for asking, but your partner...you said his, correct?”
