Page 6 of You Can Make Me (Carnival of Mysteries #28)

Headaches

Vision disturbances

Mood swings

Oh , that last one. It had gotten so bad a few times, I’d lashed out at Denny until his cheeks grew mottled red, and he ceased speaking until I ran out of gas. I’d made messes, thrown things—though never at him. No, as awful as I’d been, I’d never physically harmed him.

We came to a few agreements, but I resisted most of his suggestions.

I knew he’d fished my phone out of the trash, and that he spoke to my parents and Sam and Gene, but I avoided discussing it with him.

I knew he was in touch with my assistant, Ginny, and my editors and agents.

He handled my finances, took care of my bills, handled all the paperwork for my victim’s assistance payments and medical and disability insurance.

He was my guardian angel, my savior…and I’d treated him horribly.

I needed to get well and then let him go, only I wasn’t sure if he would leave, and I was terrified of what would happen if he stayed and ended up hating me.

I entered the living room-slash-office and sat at the dining table, listening to him putter around in the kitchen, plating out meals.

The man could cook . Mostly he made simple dishes and comfort foods, and he followed the doctor’s recommendations, as I’d struggled to eat for a while.

Soft foods were important, and low-spice and low-acid dishes were important to avoid further complications with the wound on my cheek.

Tonight’s dinner was one of his specialties: chicken pot pie made with fresh vegetables and organic chicken. He even made the crust from scratch. I loved it so much I’d eaten it all without complaint, which he took to mean it was acceptable, and he made several more and froze them.

Dennis Hamilton was a true gift. One I didn’t deserve. One I’d be giving back just as soon as I could convince him it was in his best interest.

“Your parents said to tell you they love you. Sam and Gene are good, they miss you. Gene said he’s tired of being pissed at me, so that’s something.” He chuckled softly before taking a bite of his pie, which he washed down with a sip of milk.

He’d often try to bait me into talking, which I’d derail by stubbornly refusing to speak, but tonight I was feeling…restless. Quitting the drugs had lifted the fog, and I was in a mood. Denny would probably regret speaking to me.

“They shouldn’t be angry with you. I’m the one who cut off contact. They need to let it go.”

He set his fork down and stared at me, probably as shocked as I was that I’d spoken three whole sentences.

“I think that if the tables were turned, you wouldn’t let anyone keep you away.

You practically lived at the Ochoas’ for a month after their miscarriage.

Gene was snippy with you, but you held your ground, and they’re both better off for it.

” He shook his head. “None of the people who love you are going to give up on you, so if that’s what you’re hoping for, forget it. ”

He spoke all of this in an infuriatingly calm voice.

I kept eating with my face down so he wouldn’t see the frustration in my expression. I didn’t know why I was picking a fight with him. I couldn’t help myself.

“I talked to my buddy again, the physical therapist I told you about? I want you to consider letting me bring him out here to work with you, now that your pain is less and the dizziness is better. At the very least, let me get some exercises going for you. I think it would help your mobility a great deal.”

I refused to look at him. I rubbed at my now thick beard.

The wound on my left cheek had made it nearly impossible to shave, and when the hair grew in thicker than I’d ever had it before, it made the scar less jarring.

My top lip still moved funny when I talked—I could tell, though I hadn’t seen my face since the hospital—and my smile would never be the same, but at least with a beard, the scar wouldn’t be the first thing people noticed…

that is, if I ever went out in public again.

“I can get around fine.” Besides, if I tried physical therapy and it didn’t work, I’d be even more frustrated.

“Fine. Okay.” Denny sat back against the dining room chair.

I felt his gaze on me, and I knew he wanted to say more.

He’d been so careful with me. I was waiting for him to get fed up.

I’d been preparing for it. Cracks were showing.

He was getting impatient. The thought terrified me, but I knew it would be better for him to leave.

I pushed back from the table and reached for my plate.

“I’ll clean up,” Denny said with a sigh.

“I can do it.”

I did manage to get my dish into the kitchen, but it tipped as I was setting it down and the leftover pieces of crust slid onto the counter. I was cursing under my breath as I attempted to clean the mess one-handed with a paper towel.

The floor creaked, letting me know he was right behind me.

“I think you’d be safe to finally try the hot spring out back. It will help with your pain and stiffness. The doctor said it was okay as long as you didn’t have any more open wounds, and all of yours have healed over. Want to?”

“Healed,” I muttered under my breath. Right . “No thanks.”

Denny moved past me and set about washing the dishes. I leaned heavily on the counter, grieving the loss of our physical intimacy with such force that I couldn’t inhale deeply. I longed to run my hands over his corded forearms and press up against his back. That thought nearly buckled my knees.

I’d never have him like that again. I mourned that loss more than my looks, more than my body, more than my mind.

“Suit yourself,” he finally said. “I’m going out there if you change your mind.”

He was so matter-of-fact about it.

“Thank you for dinner.” I wasn’t a total troll. I had a manner or two left.

I moved to leave the kitchen, and Denny cleared his throat.

When I turned around, he leveled me with his expression.

There was no pity there, which was part of the reason I’d wanted Denny when it was time to leave the hospital.

But there was a smoldering anguish that he was so careful not to let boil over into anger.

Why was he being so good to me when I’d been so awful? I was afraid to ask. Maybe if I voiced my worry, I’d manifest it and he’d leave. While I wanted him to, I was terrified of what would happen to me without him.

“You’re welcome.”

His face softened around his eyes, and he lifted his lips not quite to a grin, but nearly.

He went into the hallway, where I heard him open a cabinet.

A few moments later, the cabinet shut, and I heard the floorboards creak slightly as he walked toward the back door.

He moved through the house so stealthily, unlike me, with my shuffling footsteps and the clunk of my cane hitting the wood floor. I’d been graceful once.

I hobbled over to my makeshift desk by the back window and looked outside.

Denny lit a cigarette at the bottom step of the deck and stood looking out over the wooded area around the house and the river.

A whoosh of air left my lungs, and I steadied myself on the table’s surface as memories assaulted me of the night I’d met the intriguing detective.

I’d been invited to go up to Bakersfield to celebrate Gene’s promotion, and thanks to SoCal traffic, I was late.

I walked in and greeted the folks I knew.

Once I found Gene, he introduced me to Dennis, his coworker.

The man was all hard angles and intensity in a high-strung, muscular body.

He hadn’t said much when we shook hands, but his confused gaze struck a chord with me.

He’d gone out back after we were introduced, and I’d spotted him standing on the back deck in exactly the same pose, only that time he’d had a beer bottle between his fingers, not a cigarette. That bad habit, apparently, had resumed right before we’d been reunited in the worst possible way.

Gene warned me that Dennis was as straight as they came, but I’d been arrogant.

Whatever . My pushy nature got me a pizza at midnight with the clever detective.

But at the end of that first night, he’d given me the most peculiar sendoff.

He didn’t want me to drive him the rest of the way home.

He didn’t want to invite me in. He was conflicted.

And all of those confessions turned up the volume of my curiosity to eleven.

Now, instead of being curious about who he was, I was curious as to why he stayed.

The cherry on his cigarette glowed in the dusky light and then he put it out on the heel of his boot.

A moment later, he stepped down to the path and followed it over to the private hot spring on the property, which was surrounded by large boulders and hedges on three sides, keeping it hidden from all except the residents of this cabin.

He stopped in front of the hot spring, crouched down and set something on the ground, dipped his fingers in the water before standing back up.

I’d seen Denny naked before. Several times.

The first was in Vegas after my award luncheon at the Paris, where we’d explored our off-the-charts chemistry, and he’d enjoyed it thoroughly.

Next was in my apartment in Hollywood two months later, after he’d closed a particularly difficult case.

He’d asked if he could come down for a weekend since our schedules had kept us apart, and we’d spent the whole time naked in my bed.

He’d been such an attentive and eager lover, which for me was so flattering, such a turn-on.

Over the next year, there was the Padres vs. Angels in San Diego, where we enjoyed the game, got drunk while bar hopping in the Gaslamp District, and spent the rest of the night having clumsy but enthusiastic sex in the Hard Rock Hotel.