Page 19

“Back then, it seemed like a good idea. I’d always been good with computers, and I thought…

Well. I thought it would be a good fit. I even took a job in Burlington doing programming for a few years.

But I hated it. It felt… empty. Then I started volunteering at the local shelter, and something just clicked. ”

“So you moved here to start Barks n’ Bliss.”

“I looked around for places in Vermont that didn’t have shelters nearby. And for a location that fit my needs—lots of property, a building to turn into a kennel, not too expensive… and I found it here. In Bliss.”

My heart lurches as I think about how easily Rory could have moved someplace else. She could have ended up in some other town, and I’d never have met her. “But your sister doesn’t approve?”

With a rueful smile, Rory replies, “No. Not at all. And I’m used to it. But today… I had to tell her about what happened. We might not be close, but she’s still my sister.”

“Of course.” I can’t resist touching her knee, a small but hopefully acceptable gesture of support.

Her gaze flickers to my hand. Then she shifts a few inches closer to me.

“Well, she really got on a roll this morning. Saying how I should sell, close the shelter, move to the city so I can live in a fancy apartment with a doorman and lots of security. And when I told her I’m staying in Bliss, she… ”

Trailing off, Rory’s gaze drops to her lap. “She said I’m wasting my money. Wasting my life. That our parents would be disappointed in me.”

“What?” Forget the unanswered questions spinning in my head, like what happened to her parents and how much money she’s talking about. “No one would be disappointed in you, Ror. It’s not possible.”

“I don’t think she’s right. I know she isn’t. But it’s still… Once we get onto the topic of money, it always goes downhill from there. Emily… she’s not a bad person. But…”

“What, Ror?”

Rory lifts her head to meet my gaze. Indecision wars in her eyes.

Then she exhales. “I haven’t told you how my parents died.”

Everything in my body stills. “You don’t have to tell me. If you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s time. I mean—” She touches the scar on her jaw. “You must be curious. How I got these.”

“Not curious. If you want to tell me, that’s one thing. But I don’t think about it.”

She lets out a little laugh. “Everyone wonders. Some even come right out and ask.”

My jaw clenches. “They have no right.”

“Maybe not. But they do, anyway.” A beat, and then, “When kids ask, I don’t mind much. Adults… it’s kind of rude. But—” She shrugs. “It is what it is.”

I want to disagree. Loudly. Adamantly. It’s no one’s business but her own. And the idea of some stranger being so insensitive to Rory…

In a monotone, she continues, “It was my junior year in high school. We—me and my parents—were on vacation in Maine. Emily didn’t come. She wanted to stay home to hang out with her friends. I think… she feels guilty. That she wasn’t there.”

“Why, Ror?”

“Because that’s where my parents died.” She swallows.

“We took a charter boat up along the southern coast, past Ogunquit and Kennebunk. My dad loved the water. We even had a boat—just a small one—that he used to take out on Lake Champlain. He was so careful. Always made us wear our life vests, took all the safety precautions…”

Rather than say anything, I just nod.

“But the company that owned that boat didn’t take precautions like my dad did. The engine malfunctioned. Exploded. My parents were both killed. Drowned, actually. And there I was, floating in the water, bleeding, and I couldn’t help them. I… I…”

“Ror.”

Tears stand in her eyes. “I survived. Obviously. But the debris… all the metal and plastic… I was cut. Badly. That’s why I have all these scars. Not just on my face. My arms. My legs. I went to plastic surgeons, but there was only so much they could do.”

Shit.

I knew it had to be bad, but this? Watching her parents die? Terribly injured and facing a long recovery alone?

“That’s where the money came from,” Rory explains. “My aunt and uncle—they’re the ones I went to stay with—insisted on suing. Not because they’re greedy, but they wanted me to have money for the surgeries. For college.”

The need to hold Rory is a physical pain. My heart feels torn open. Raw. Aching.

“The company lost the lawsuit. And because I was still a minor, my aunt and uncle pushed for it to be paid out in a structured settlement. So I’d be covered for years.

Now I get a big check every year. Hundreds of thousands.

In the beginning, I didn’t want to spend it.

It felt like blood money. But then I got the idea of the shelter, and I just knew my parents would approve. So that’s how I pay for everything.”

“Rory.”

She lifts her chin as she looks at me. “I’ve come to terms with it. Mostly. I mean, it’s been twenty years. More than enough time. But I’ll never forget. Not when I’m reminded every time I look in the mirror and see how ugly?—”

“What?”

How could she think that?

“I know how I look. And it’s okay.”

But it’s not okay. Not what happened to her parents, or her. And definitely not that she thinks she’s ugly when she’s the furthest thing from it.

“You’re not ugly.” My voice is hoarse with emotion. “You’re beautiful, Ror.”

“I’m not, Gage. You don’t know?—”

“You are.” Throwing caution to the side, I pull Rory onto my lap. I brush at the tears trickling down her cheeks. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Inside and outside. I wish you could see what I see.”

“Gage. You don’t have to say that.”

“But you are.” I’ve never meant anything more. As I look at her face, the fine lines of her features, her flushed cheeks and expressive eyes shining with tears, I don’t see anything but her beauty.

“Then why—” Red spreads down her neck and she ducks her head. “Nevermind.”

Realization slams into me with the force of a tank.

All this time I’ve been thinking I could never be enough for a woman like Rory. But maybe she was thinking the same about me. And my stubborn pride let her believe it.

“Ror.” I jostle her on my lap, encouraging her to look up at me. “It wasn’t you. Ever.”

“It’s okay, Gage. I wasn’t telling you to make you feel guilty. Or—crap. Now things are going to be weird. Can we just forget?—”

“No. I don’t want to forget it.”

And I know it’s far past time.

So I set Rory to the side of me and start pulling up my pant leg. “It’s never been you. It’s me. I didn’t want you to know…”

“Gage?” A moment later, her confusion turns to understanding as she sees the black carbon fiber emerge from my pants. “Oh?—”

I rap the hard material for emphasis before releasing the fabric to cover it again. “ This is why I left the Army. Or, rather, I had to leave. Medically retired, they call it. Not fit to serve.”

“Gage.” More tears escape. Her voice wobbles. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” I take her hands between mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I could say there was a good reason, but really… I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

“I wouldn’t. How could I?”

How do I explain without sounding pathetic? Like a coward?

Maybe if I start at the beginning?

“I was on an op in Syria. An in and out, rescue a GB team that had gotten trapped. But we were shot down. Out of the ten of us, six didn’t make it. Two of them were my teammates.”

“Gage.” Rory’s fingers convulse around mine.

“I didn’t even know until after. When I woke up in the hospital with my right foot gone. It was hard. Everything I’d known for the last sixteen years was over. And my friends… I felt like I’d failed them.”

“You didn’t.” It’s quick. Fierce.

“I know that now. But back then, I felt guilty. Ashamed.” I stroke my thumb across the back of her hand, focusing on the velvety softness of her skin.

“Once I was stable, they sent me back to the States. I spent months doing rehab at Walter Reed, trying to learn how to walk again. It was a blow. Going from this guy who could do anything to one who couldn’t even run. ”

“Gage.” She leans against my side. Twines her fingers between mine. “You had nothing to feel ashamed about.”

Rather than respond with an answer she probably wouldn’t like, I continue with my story. “After Walter Reed, I moved back to Vermont. Bought a house in the middle of nowhere. Got a job that didn’t require me to go anywhere. And honestly, I’d probably still be there if not for Enzo and GMG.”

Rory stares at me, her brows pulled into a puzzled V. “I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been. And I’m so sorry. But why didn’t you want me to know?”

I could come up with something to save face. To protect my pride. But if I want any chance of something with Rory—if she could possibly forgive me for my silence—I have to tell her everything.

“Because I liked you from the first day,” I admit. “When I saw you with the dogs, laughing, playing with them… You didn’t care about getting dirty, or one of them licking your face. You were so… genuine. Kind.”

“But—”

“That’s not all. It was the way you smiled at me. The way your face lit up. It was how welcoming you were, even though I could tell you weren’t sure about me yet. And yes, I thought you were beautiful. Beyond that, really. From that first day, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“You really thought that? That I was beautiful?”

The cautious hope in Rory’s eyes is nearly my undoing. “Yes.” I brush a strand of hair back from her face, letting my fingers trail along her jaw before pulling them away. “I told myself I wasn’t good enough for you. That you’d be disappointed if you knew I wasn’t whole?—”

“Gage!” She shoves my shoulder. “How can you even say that? You’re the best man I know. You’re brave. Smart. Generous. Funny. Nothing— nothing —about you is lacking.”

“I didn’t want you to pity me,” I admit quietly, baring the rest of my heart to her. “The way you looked at me, like I was something special… I didn’t want that to change.”

“It couldn’t.” Rory blinks, bringing fresh tears to her eyes. “You are special. Knowing what you went through, how much courage it must have taken to get through it, only makes me admire you more. It makes me like you more. I’m sorry?—”

“But it’s the same,” I interject. “Your scars? Honestly, I don’t even see them.

But if I look… They aren’t ugly, Ror. They’re badges that show you survived.

This mark”—I trace the one on her forehead—“is beautiful. Because it’s a part of you.

” I touch the raised line on her jaw, trailing my finger gently along it. “Just like this one.”

“But I have more scars. Because it was summer. And I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. So I got all cut up on my arms and legs. This guy in college, he said they were…” Her voice trails off. Then in a whisper, she finishes, “He said they were disgusting.”

For the first time in four years, tears burn my eyes. “No, baby. Nothing about you is disgusting. I don’t care how many scars you have. You’re my Rory. Beautiful just as you are.”

Chin quivering, Rory stares at me. “Your Rory?”

Oops.

“Not mine. Not like that. But?—”

“I like it,” she says quietly. “Your Rory.” Her cheeks go pink. “But does that mean… How do you feel about me?”

Everything narrows to this moment. When things could go the way I hope they do, or I find out it’s too late. Heart pounding, I say, “I think… that I want to be more than friends. I hope you’ll forgive me for keeping this a secret. And I really hope you’ll give me a chance.”

“A chance?”

“A chance to take you on a date. See where things between us go. And”—I cup her cheek as I lean in—“I’m hoping maybe I could kiss you. Like I’ve been thinking about doing for months.”

Rory leans her cheek into my hand. Her eyes close for a moment. When they reopen, they’re soft with affection. “I would really like that, too.”

My heart jumps. “The date? Seeing where things go?”

“All of it.” She edges closer to me, resting her hands on my thighs for balance. “And I’m thinking, maybe we could start with that kiss?”

“Yes.” My voice is rough. Laced with need. “I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

“So do I,” she breathes.

I bring my other hand to her face, framing it. On a held breath, I move in. Closer. But still with my eyes open, memorizing each perfect detail.

Her gorgeous eyes, pale green threaded with blue and emerald and silver.

Her lips, full and rosy, parted in anticipation.

The satin of her skin beneath my fingers.

The rapid rise and fall of her chest, showing off the lush swell of her breasts.

The flush of excitement spreading across her cheeks.

And the look she gives me, hope and joy and something so much deeper than friendship.

My heart swells with a happiness I didn’t know I could feel.

We draw closer. Just a whisper away.

And then.

We kiss.

Her lips are soft. Salty. A perfect fit to mine.

As our mouths meet, Rory lets out a small sigh. Her eyes flutter shut. One small hand moves from my leg to my shoulder.

At first it’s tender. Slow. I nip at her lower lip, then stroke away the tiny sting with my tongue.

A little moan sounds in the back of her throat. Her fingers clutch at my shirt.

Though my body wants to do more, to rush in, taste everything I’ve been fantasizing about for months, I force myself to go slow.

To take my time with it.

After all, how many times do you get your first kiss?

So I tease at Rory’s lips, caressing them with my tongue, until she opens for me and invites me in.

Our tongues move together, tentatively at first, then more bravely. Exploring. Tasting. Showing a hint of the longing built up for months.

With each perfect sound, each brush of her fingers, the slight pain of her nails digging in, I absorb it. Commit each perfect sensation to memory.

In my life, I’ve never had a kiss like this.

When we finally break apart, it’s with a reluctant sigh.

Rory gazes at me, her expression unreadable.

“Was that okay?” I ask. It felt more than okay to me, but that doesn’t mean Rory?—

She laughs. “Gage. That wasn’t okay .”

Damn. “It wasn’t?”

“No.” She leans in to brush her mouth across mine. “It was amazing. Even better than I imagined.”

“In that case,” I reply, matching her smile with one of my own. “How about if we try it again?”

She grins. “I think that’s a great idea.”