Damaged Goods (Don't Call Me Hero Book 2) (19 page)

When the bill had been paid and the last of dessert had been eaten and coffees had been drained, the four of us stood outside waiting for the valet to get our respective cars. My motorcycle was just parked around the corner, but I lingered curbside with the others. The evening air was still warm and the sun had just started to set.

Claire and Julia had paired up in conversation, leaving Pensacola and me to entertain ourselves.

“Man, that Julia is one classy lady,” he remarked.

“I know. So what’s she doing with a schlub like me.”

Pense held up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

His smile was infectious. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself, Cass.”

I glanced over in Julia’s direction. She and Claire talked without regard for us. “I think we’re both pretty damn lucky, buddy.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Julia and I returned to her apartment after dinner with Pense and Claire. I lingered in the threshold of her bedroom and watched as she stood in front of her bureau and removed her jewelry. It was starting to become one of my favorite nightly rituals.

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

I felt appropriately humbled that she’d shown up for dinner despite my embarrassing behavior that morning. If put in her place, I didn’t know if I would have been that generous.

“It was my pleasure,” she said. “I enjoyed meeting your friends.”

I worried my lip. “I didn’t know if you were actually going to show up.”

“Why not?”

“Well, we kind of fought this morning.”

“I would hardly call that a fight, dear.”

I leaned against the doorframe. “What would you call it then?”

“A failure on my part to communicate. I should have told you about the book.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “So you’re taking the blame for this one?”

Julia sat on the edge of the bed and slipped out of her high heels. She crossed one leg over the other and rubbed the arch of her foot. “Don’t get used to it.”

“You were right though,” I was loath to admit. “There’s nothing wrong with educating yourself. I guess I’m still getting used to the idea of not having to take on this thing on my own.”

She smiled, warm and soft. “We’re a team, remember?”

“I remember,” I returned the smile. “Although you’re lucky I’m not a dude.”

“I’m lucky you’re not a ‘dude’ for more than a few reasons,” she remarked. The colloquialism sounded strange coming from her refined mouth. “But what were the reasons you were thinking?”

“I would have felt emasculated tonight when you paid for dinner.”

“Oh, that,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I like to treat. Besides, it was my turn.”

“Your turn?” I echoed. “How do you figure?”

“You bought champagne for my friends the night we met. So now we’re even,” she said with some satisfaction. “Help me with my zipper?”

She stood and turned her back to me. I walked behind her and handled the zipper that bisected the back of her little black dress. I inched the zipper down until it reached the small of her back.

“Are we an old married couple already?”

Julia turned back towards me with her eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“Something that Claire said at dinner tonight. It’s been bugging me, but I don’t know why.”

“Are you upset we haven’t had that second date yet?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure,” I sighed with borderline frustration. “You know I’ve never really dated anyone before.”

“I still find that hard to believe.”

“I was in Bumblefuck, Afghanistan for a third of my life—not exactly a setting for romance. What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t play well with others,” she shrugged. “How long are your friends in town for?” she asked, noticeably changing the subject on me. I didn’t call her out on it though.

“I don’t really know. Until Pense’s clinical trial is done, I guess.”

“Are they staying with family?”

“No. I think both Claire and Pense’s families are still in Detroit.”

“So they’re staying at a hotel the entire time?”

“Yeah, I guess. Why?”

“Clinical trials can last for weeks. Months, even. And if Terrance volunteered instead of being picked, the hospital might not be paying for his room and board. Do they have that kind of money?”

“Not unless Claire does. Pense is just a working-class kid like me.”

“Why don’t you offer to let them stay at my apartment? I’m right across the street from Regions.”

“And where are you gonna stay?”

“With you, obviously.”

“M-me?” I sputtered out, not expecting the answer.

Julia frowned. “Oh, don’t look so horrified, Cassidy. I’m far from suggesting we move in together. It would only be for the duration of Terrance’s clinical trial.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? I’m not the best housekeeper,” I sheepishly admitted.

“Neither am I. Which is why I pay someone to come in every week and clean.”

“You fraud!” I gasped.

“I never told you I do my own cleaning.”

“But you hand-wash your dishes.”

“Because I’m not about to let a week’s worth of dirty dishes fester in my kitchen,” she reasoned. “So will you talk to them about staying at my apartment?”

“Pense will say no.”

“You’re probably right, but you should at least make the offer.”

“Fine,” I relented, knowing that Julia would never let it drop until I’d asked them.

“Now why don’t we table this conversation for the moment and you can let me continue to treat you,” she proposed. “I’m not sure we’re actually even yet.”

“I like the sound of that,” I murmured against her. Our lips lightly brushed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

+++

I had been right; Pense said no. But Claire had said yes. And even I knew you let your pregnant wife have her way. Not soon after I called Pense and offered the use of Julia’s apartment, he and Claire were repacking their luggage at their hotel and getting settled in at Julia’s St. Paul apartment.

Claire, Julia, and I had congregated in the main open-concept room of the apartment. Pensacola was in the bathroom. The longer he failed to reappear, the more uncomfortable I became.

“Does he, uh, need any help in there?” My face warmed in embarrassment. Pense and I might have been inseparable in the military, but we hadn’t been
that
inseparable for me to be offering such assistance.

“He can handle the bathroom on his own,” Claire said. “There was a short period of trial-and-error where I had to help, but thankfully he figured it out.”

Julia shook her head. “I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

“Neither could I,” Claire said wistfully. “He fell out of bed once after we first brought him home,” she revealed. “He woke up in the middle of the night and had to go to the bathroom. I think he forgot he didn’t have legs anymore. Scared me half to death.”

If it had been Pensacola telling the story, we would have laughed about it. But Claire’s version brought me no joy, only guilt.

“And it’s not like he makes it easy on me, either,” she continued. “T’s proud. Stubborn. Likes to do things on his own.”

“Sounds familiar,” Julia clucked. She looked pointedly at me.

“Oh, don’t even start, Counselor,” I protested. “You’re just as hard-headed as me.”

“Julia, I have to thank you again for opening your home to us,” Claire asserted. “I normally would have turned down the offer, but with the baby on the way,” she touched her palm to her stomach, “every little bit helps.”

“It’s nothing really,” Julia insisted. “I’m happy I’m in a position to be able to help.”

“It’ll only be for the week,” Claire promised. “T will be finished with the clinical trial by then, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Take as long as you need,” Julia reassured.

“Speak for yourself,” I couldn’t help but chime in. “I’m gonna need my apartment back eventually. I’d like to avoid becoming a lesbian cliché.”

“What this about lesbians?” Pensacola returned to the room at that moment. “You’d better not be hitting on my wife, Miller.”

“I don’t think I’m her type.”

Pensacola looked around the room. “I don’t think I like this setup. Normally I don’t mind being outnumbered by women, but something about this group makes me feel like I’m in trouble.” He laughed, loud and carefree. “Little man can’t come soon enough.”

“Let’s not put undue pressure on him before he’s even born,” Claire suggested. She set her hand on her swollen belly. “He’ll come out when he’s good and ready.”

+ + +

“Where should I put my things?”

Julia pulled her wheeled suitcase into my apartment and I followed with her second piece of luggage in tow. Claire had promised the clinical trial would only last a week, but Julia had packed as though she was never getting her apartment back. I adored this woman, so why were the walls of my apartment crushing in on me?

“What do you mean?”

“Drawer space, dear. Hangers in a closet,” she clarified. “You can’t expect me to live out of my suitcases.”

“Oh, right. There’s space in the bedroom, I guess.”

She opened up the modest closet in the bedroom. Besides a few uniforms, I had nothing else hanging up. All of my other clothes were either folded up in a drawer or hadn’t yet been unpacked from their moving box.

“I suppose this will do,” she spoke aloud. “Where are all of your things?”

“Still in packing boxes, but I haven’t really lived anywhere long enough to accumulate knick-knacks. I’m more of a minimalist, I guess.”

Julia walked over to the large window that provided ample natural light. Beyond the windowpane was the Mississippi River. It was an obstructed view, but it was nice to be able to see the water from my apartment windows.

She stared out the window in silence. I wondered if she was starting to second-guess her generosity. The suggestion to let Pensacola and Claire stay at her apartment had come late at night and after a string of successive fights—or miscommunications as she referred to them as. My apartment with its sparse furnishings and even fewer amenities was plush by my standards, but certainly not hers.

She turned away from the window. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Cassidy?” she asked. “I’m worried I’ve overstepped my boundaries. I practically invited myself to live with you for the week.”

“Believe me, you won’t hear me complain,” I assured her. “I just hope you don’t pack up your bags and run when you realize what a lazy slob I can be.”

Julia approached the bed and the dream catcher that hung on a single nail above where the headboard should have been. She touched her fingers to the twine that formed the webbing in the middle. The artist who’d fashioned this particular dream catcher had embedded a few large turquoise-color beads in the center to represent memories or bad dreams that had been caught.

“I can’t believe you hung it up,” she murmured.

“What did you expect me to do? Throw it away?”

“No. Of course not,” she said, shaking her head. “I guess I’m just surprised is all. You’ve still got packing boxes all over, no photographs anywhere, and nothing hanging from the walls—except for this.”

“I like it,” I admitted with a slight shrug. “And not just because it came from you. I like the idea of something—someone—watching over me.”

Julia continued to look thoughtfully at the Native American trinket. “Where do the bad dreams go, I wonder?”

“Are you hungry?” I changed the subject.

I didn’t wait for her answer; I left the bedroom in favor of the kitchen. Even though Julia had witnessed the worst of my nightmares and had even been an innocent bystander to one of my waking flashbacks, it was just now hitting me that she was going to have a front row seat to my special brand of crazy. If this week didn’t scare her away, nothing would—but I worried we might not make the week. What if it was too much, too soon? We hadn’t even had a proper second date.

I opened the refrigerator door and stuck my head inside. “What do you want for dinner?” I called out.

“What do you have?” I hadn’t heard her footsteps, but I now felt the heat of her body standing behind me.

“Honestly, nothing.” I shut the refrigerator door. “Sorry,” I frowned. “I’m not very good at this adult stuff.”