Page 44 of Baby Take Me Home

And then the whirlwind that was my sister-in-law set off to take her own advice and mingle with their guests, several of whom were wealthy collectors who loved Tony’s work.

“You heard the boss,” Tony said and shooed at us.

“First, I was hoping I could show Ashley some of your older work,” I said.

From the look that crossed his face, I realized he knew the rest of Ashlee’s story, too, that she had been kidnapped and traumatized.

“You’re sure?” he asked. He looked at Ashlee. “My early work was pretty dark. I was working through some stuff.”

“Oh.” Ashlee glanced at me, then nodded. “That’s okay. I think I’d like to see it.”

“Door’s unlocked,” he told me. “Just don’t let any collectors in there. They’re vultures, and those early paintings are not for sale.”

I led Ashlee through the gallery and to a small black door at the back of the main room. Glancing around to make sure none of the vultures were watching us, we slipped into the back store room. Inside were rows of tarped sculptures and boxed paintings. I walked past them, to the back of the space, where several unwrapped canvases were propped on easels, against the wall, and leaning on each other.

“Tony did these paintings in his first year back from Afghanistan,” I explained.

Ashlee walked reverently among the works, pausing at each one. The images were full of fire and death, screaming faces and dismembered limbs, ghostly apparitions and ghoulish monsters.

“So much pain,” she said.

“Yes. I didn’t understand how much he was suffering until I saw these. I mean, I knew intellectually what he’d lost, and I’d lived through some harrowing shit over there. We all had. But the day he lost his leg, he watched three buddies, all the other people who were in the Humvee with him, die in front of his eyes while he nearly bled out himself.”

She turned away from the paintings and walked quickly to the other side of the room, where she leaned with one hand against the wall.

“Ash, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know, I see you. I know you have so much pain you hide, and even if you don’t show it to the world, I know you’re suffering. And I’m here for you. Day or night. Anything you need.”

“I know.” She drew in a steadying breath. “I’m glad you showed me these. I am. But most of the time, I just need you to hold me at night. I need to fall asleep and wake up beside you. And to hear your voice. That calms me.”

“Most of the time. But a lot of nights, you still have nightmares.”

“Do I?”

I nodded.

“I don’t remember them,” she said. “And when I’m staying with you, in your bed, I’m able to sleep through the night, so I assumed... I do know that sometimes I have strange thoughts. Weird urges. Things I never thought about before the kidnapping.”

I braced myself, hoping she wasn’t having suicidal ideations. But if she was, I knew how to find help for her, and I’d be with her through that, too. “Tell me.”

She stared at the floor and I thought I saw a blush on her cheeks. “Well, for example, I’ve been thinking about inappropriate places to have sex with you all day. When we stopped at the bathrooms after we had ice cream, I took off my panties so I’d be ready for you anytime, anywhere.”

A wave of hot need crashed over me. Fuck me, if I’d known that, I would have found a secluded spot for us and—

“When we came into the gallery,” she continued, “I noticed an empty pedestal in the front corner.”

“For large sculptures,” I said

“I wanted to climb up there with you and rip off all our clothes and have sex in front of a room full of strangers.” She pressed her hand to her belly. “or when we were on the street, to slip into a side alley and fuck you just feet away from crowds of people. I never thought about things like this before... Before last February. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

I didn’t tell her those fantasies were pretty tame, even if she—or we—ever acted on them. She’d changed and she didn’t recognize this part of herself. All I could do was help her come to terms with the part of her that wanted an adrenaline rush to counter the fear and pain.

I pulled her into my arms. “You don’t have to explain it,” I whispered. “I understand the feeling. The need for fear or pain or danger. The drive for something to push you to the edge. Because the moment after the danger passes, the pain ends, or you step away from the precipice, you’re back in control.”

“Yes, that’s it. I don’t want to go over the edge, but I want to stand right up against it.”

I kissed her, stroking my tongue between her plump, soft lips as I slid my hand up her thigh. I could help her live out a fantasy and hope it helped her accept a part of herself she didn’t need to fear. I slid one finger and then another inside her. She was already wet for me.

“There are fifty people on the other side of that unlocked door,” I said. “Someone could walk in any minute.” At which point I would hear them and have plenty of time to cover the evidence of what we were doing, but I didn’t tell her that. She wanted the fantasy of risqué sex, and I wanted to give her the full experience.