Finding Our Reality (The Reality Duet #2)

Chapter 11

ELLA

“Nancy needs to buy you some new socks. How can you stand to walk around with holes in your socks?” Leary frowns, pointing at Marcum’s dress socks, where a hole shows the pale skin of his ankle beneath the cuff of his dress slacks.

“Well, hopefully, the crowd will be looking at my face when I give the presentation, not my ankles. And if you’re really that concerned about it, come with me tonight. They’ll be too busy looking at the stain on your shirt to notice the hole in my sock.”

I bite my lip, trying not laugh. They act more and more like an old married couple, every single day.

Leary scoffs, “It’s Friday night, I have a life. Watching you give a speech at the assisted living facility is not my idea of a good time.”

“You’re forgetting the Bingo. It’s a speech, followed by Bingo.”

I doodle on a notepad, drawing a house. “Why did you even wear a suit? I didn’t know Bingo had a dress code.”

He pouts, looking down at his tie. “Nancy made me dress me up.”

Leary and I break out into stitches, laughing until my side hurts. After we calm down, Leary says goodbye, leaving me alone with Marcum. Colson is in the file room, finishing up some paperwork with a patrol deputy, and Ry is over in the gym.

Marcum leans back, rocking in his chair. “So, how are things going?”

Tossing my doodle to him, I cross my legs. “Meaning, personally? Professionally? Or both?”

“Both. All of it. But I’m more curious about how things are going with Carrie’s case. And Crutch?”

“Well, I haven’t killed him yet. That should tell you something.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I do find that promising, especially considering the line of work he’s in.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I never thought I would see him again. And here I am spending hours a day with him a couple of days a week. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it all. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate him for what he did to me, but every once in a while, I find myself not completely disgusted to be working with him. I’d never admit that to him, though.”

He chuckles. “Of course, you wouldn’t. You’ve never made it easy on me.”

“Easy on you? You really think I should take it easy on you? I know Nancy told you on more than one occasion to tell me that Ry was your new work boyfriend these past few years.”

He grumbles. “I’m gonna drown Nancy’s cell phone in the toilet.”

Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “You’re the one who wanted me to branch out, make more friends now that I’m back in town.”

“Friends your own age, Ella. Not a bunch of geriatrics like me and Nancy.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you called her geriatric. Maybe I should call and tell her to meet you for Bingo.”

“Alright. It’s time to stop aggravating me. I have to go to this thing. Seriously, what’s happening on the case?”

“I think it’s time to start interviewing, but it feels like Ry is delaying it. I don’t like it. I hope he isn’t trying to protect Trash.”

Marcum shakes his head. “Trust me, he’s not protecting his brother.”

“How do you know?”

“Just ask him. Let him tell you.”

I stand, grabbing my purse and work bag. “Fine. I’ll go find him and talk to him before I leave. I’m supposed to meet Holt and Uncle Ray at the bar for a drink.”

He snickers, knowing I don’t drink. He graciously keeps his comment to himself.

I meander down the halls, making my way to the state-of-the-art gym. You need key card entry to get in, and I don’t have one of those. Fortunately, I’m not standing there for too long when someone walks out. The deputy smiles, silently flirting with me. I quickly dart inside, waving goodbye.

I scan the mountain of machines trying to find Ry. There are not too many people in here—just five or six. It’s the start of the weekend, everybody is out, doing something fun, not working on their physiques. Although I must say, memories of Ry’s own hard body have gotten me through many cold winter nights over the years.

I finally spot him against the far wall, running on an elliptical machine.

And of course, he’s shirtless.

I should do this another time. I turn to walk away, but quickly change my mind. I tell myself that it all has to do with work. But really, I want to remind myself what he looks like.

Shirtless.

Naked from the waist up.

Sweaty.

Twelve years later.

His wireless earbuds are in his ears so he doesn’t hear me approach from behind. I turn, walking up the row of treadmills and ellipticals to his right. My mouth turns dry and a century- old heat stirs low in my stomach. My breath quickens. His body glistens with sweat. His muscles are larger, firmer than they were twelve years ago. He’s thick with masculinity and maturity. The taut muscles of his waist are even more defined, etched into the stone of his body. The curve of his back is delicious. My tongue tingles, wanting to reach out and trace the beads of sweat along his spine, licking him clean.

And then, I walk close enough to see his left side.

His scarred left side.

His mutilated left side.

The area all around his shoulder blade is tainted with deep, jagged scars. Not long scars like cuts, but circles, holes, and divots. Some skin is white, some is pink, some is tan like him. And other parts of his skin look almost burnt. Singed, stained. I take a step to the side, watching the flex of his arm. The movement makes the large circle of fresh, waxy pink skin on the ball of his shoulder stretch and scream. It’s larger than a silver dollar. Smaller scars run down his bicep, just a couple of inches. Not far enough to be seen, even when wearing a short-sleeve shirt.

I can’t breathe. My vision blurs, blackening around the edges. My heart isn’t even beating any more. It feels like one long continuous rattle in my chest, like a never-ending roll of thunder during a summer storm.

What the hell happened to him?

It looks like someone tried to kill him. With a thousand ice picks.

Marcum’s words play in my mind. Medical discharge . Someone did try to kill him. They tried to kill My Ry. Take him away from me.

For twelve years, he’s been away from me. But not gone . Not gone from this world. I’ve already lost too much, and the world nearly snatched the life away from him too? And I had no idea. Why does everyone I love get taken away from me? I can’t even bear the thought of it.

My purse and work bag slip from my limp arm, drawing his attention. He turns his head, ready to ignore the possible distraction at his side when he sees me. I’m too upset to even dissect the small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Yanking his earbuds out, he turns off the machine and carefully steps down.

“I thought you left already. What’s going…” His voice immediately trails off when we lock eyes. Swooping in front of me, his massive frame shadows my own. He grabs my upper arms. Firmly. Almost too firmly. Just like how he used to hug me. Nearly too firmly.

“Lulu, what’s wrong. Did something happen? Is it Marcum? Ray or Teresa? What’s wrong?”

My gaze falls to his chest. His perfectly unscathed, beautiful, strong chest. From the front, you’d never know anything was wrong. But all you have to do is look at his upper left shoulder to see the damage. Knowing it’s there is almost too much to bear. It has me closing my eyes, begging my tears to stay in. I hate crying in front of people.

“Okay, Lulu, now you’re scaring the shit out of me. Talk to me.”

Taking several deep breaths, I open my eyes and swallow against the basketball-size lump in my throat. I make some kind of weird gulping noise. He follows my line of sight to his upper arm and the nasty scar that’s on display. “You’re hurt. Someone tried to kill you, didn’t they? How could you do that to me?”

His face falls into a look of utter despair. His heart is breaking because mine is breaking. Well, I mean, if he still had a heart, that is. “Oh, Lulu. It’s okay. I’m okay.” His hands travel to my face, cupping my cheeks. “It doesn’t hurt that much anymore, I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

Don’t worry about him? Has he lost his mind?

I have despised him ever since I got that letter, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t worry about him. I’ve worried about him and his welfare every single day since then. Hell, he’s probably the reason I had to start using anti-wrinkle cream at the age of twenty.

Visions of him lying in a street somewhere covered in blood consume my mind. I feel like I’m about to have convulsions. And he wants me to chill out? Not worry? Pretend like the entire half of his upper back doesn’t look like a shark tried to eat him as an appetizer?

I press my hand into my sternum. Hard.

He is utterly insane.

I need to get out of here before I burst into sobs. And on top of everything, he’s still got his hands planted lovingly against my cheeks. Like we’re still ‘Ry and Lulu’ and nothing has changed. Well, we aren’t them anymore, despite the names that fall from our lips. “You have to stop touching me. I can’t think.”

“What if I don’t wanna stop touching you?”

I bore a hole into his pale green eyes. “But you did. Nearly twelve years ago you wanted to stop. And instead, you went and got…” What did he get? Shot? Blown up? Chopped up with a samurai sword? I don’t even know how to describe his injury, so I just nod at it, jiggling his fingers against my skin. I add a layer of disgust to my voice. “Now, get your hands off me.”

He doesn’t like to be reminded of the rights he gave up all those years ago. He drops his hands and steps to the side.

I scoop up my purse and work bag and race from the gym. I’m fast, but not fast enough to escape my tears. Not fast enough to escape my anger. Not fast enough to escape the pain of Ry leaving me behind.

Not fast enough to escape that reality.