Over the Fence (18 page)

We were both quiet as we ate. Kourtney picked at her pizza and I refrained from trying to get her to eat more, knowing she was still upset. Her eyes darted around the room, only resting on me occasionally. I could sense she was nervous about me being there with her, but I didn’t quite understand why. I got up and made us both another drink; this time she didn’t object to the amount of vodka I mixed in with the orange juice. I hoped the alcohol would help her relax.

After dinner, we moved to the sofa and she sat in the corner, drawing her legs up to her chest. I sat beside her, tentatively reached over, clasping her hand in mine. She regarded me for a minute, then dropped her gorgeous gaze down.

“So, do you want to talk about what happened?” I asked.

She sighed, the sound filled with pain. “That was my brother.”

“Yeah.” I snorted. “Loved his dumbass truck. What did he want?”

“My father is in a medical care facility and doesn’t like it. He wants to come home, but he needs constant care now. He had a stroke, and never fully recovered.”

“Okay?”

“He and Andy think I should move back there and look after him again.”

“What about your job? Your life?”

She shrugged. “That’s not important, Nathan. To them, anyway. Andy doesn’t want to look after Dad, or give up his life to do so.”

I frowned. “And they think you should?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why?”

“They think I owe them.”

“So the asshole said a couple of times. What exactly does he think you owe them for?”

Her eyes looked at me, wide and unblinking. “Because it was my fault.”

“What was?”

“I was the reason my mother was in a car accident.”

I stared, unsure what to say. She had told me her mother died when she was a child. How could it possibly be her fault? She jerked to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself.

“You should go home now, Nathan.”

“Kourtney . . .”

She shook her head furiously. “I don’t want to talk about it. You don’t need to be worried about this. I’m fine, really. I’m sorry you had to witness that . . .
spectacle
. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you.”

I got to my feet, feeling anger course through me. “He isn’t fucking coming near me—or you.”

“I thought they’d finally left me alone and let me live. He won’t like the fact you interfered, but I’ll talk to him.”

“No, Kourtney.” She stared up at me, her spectacular eyes troubled and damp.

“You don’t need to talk to him. He had no right to come in here and threaten you.”

She rubbed her arms as if trying to get warm. I laid my hands on top of hers. “He isn’t coming back here. He won’t get near you. I won’t let him.” Tenderly, I pressed her hands, still resting on her upper arms, frowning when she grimaced. Ignoring her startled gasp, I pushed her sweater off her shoulders and scowled when I saw the large bruises forming, where he’d been gripping her.

“He hurt you,” I hissed.

“It’s nothing, Nathan.”

“Nothing?
This
is nothing?”

“It’s not the first time.” She began to pull away from me. “It won’t be the last.”

I didn’t give her the chance to step away. I tugged her into my arms, refusing to let her go, despite how stiff she was holding herself. “Yes—it’s the last fucking time.”

She trembled against my chest; reflexively my arms tightened around her. “It is,” I insisted fiercely.

“I can’t ask you to get involved.”

“I am involved.” I stepped back, my hand cupping her chin, and gazed into her weary eyes. “Do you trust me?”

I felt a glimmer of intense satisfaction when she whispered, “Yes,” without hesitating.

“Let me do this. Let me do what I need to do, okay?”

She hesitated, her gaze unsure. “Why?”

I frowned. “I want to do this for you. I
need
to do this. Please.”

“Okay.”

I pulled down her sleeves again, and using my phone, took pictures of the bruises.

“What are you going to do with those?”

“I have a friend who can tell us what you need to do. I’ll show the pictures to him.” I pulled her sleeve back into place. “If you’ll let me?”

“You think he’ll help?”

“I know he will.”

“All right,” she breathed out.

I dropped a kiss onto her head. “Thank you.”

I got some ice and wrapped it in a tea towel, then handed it to her. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes; it’ll help with the pain. I’d give you some Tylenol, but I already gave you alcohol, so it’s not a good idea.” I winked. “Although I’m sure you already knew that, Dr. Whyte.”

Her smile was shaky, her wondrous eyes fatigued and swirling with emotion. I knew she must be exhausted given the traveling and stress she’d been under—speaking at the conference, then coming home to be attacked by her brother.

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You need to go to bed.”

She nodded, looking weary. “Yeah, I’m tired.”

“Okay. You get ready, and I’ll be right back.”

“What?”

“I need to go get a few things and lock up the house. I’ll be right back.”

I took in her stunned expression. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you alone tonight?”

“But . . .”

“No buts. I’ll sleep on the sofa. You’ll be safe.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Nathan.”

“You’re not. And it’s not up for discussion.”

She glanced over my shoulder toward the patio doors. “How did you get here earlier?”

I grinned. “Over the fence.” When I saw her confused face, I shrugged sheepishly. “I, ah, I bought a ladder.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“I wanted to be able to reach your hand easier, Chefgirl. I wasn’t going to come over until you were ready—until you asked me. But when I heard what was happening, I had to.”

Her hand cupped my cheek and I leaned into her touch. “Thank you.”

I lowered down, and kissed her forehead. “I’m here for you. I’ll be right back. You’ll be okay?”

She nodded.

I went outside and climbed her ladder, swinging myself over the top and climbing down my side.

I grabbed some stuff for the morning and my iPad. After locking the door behind me, and grabbing the bottle of wine I’d left on the table, I went back the way I came; over the fence. When I landed back on her side, I found the little bouquet I had bought her lying on the ground. I must have knocked it off in my haste to get to her earlier. I carried it inside and set it on the table, and put the wine on the counter.

In the living room, I found the sofa made up with blankets and a couple pillows and I smiled when I caught Kourtney’s subtle scent on the pillowcase.

She appeared in the doorway, her hair up and dressed in a long baggy T-shirt and leggings. “I left you some towels and a toothbrush in the bathroom,” she offered shyly.

I nodded in gratitude. “Thanks, I forgot that.” Picking up the bouquet, I walked up to her slowly, not wanting to frighten her. “I got you these earlier, to, ah, welcome you home. They fell off the fence,” I explained, handing her the rather wilted-looking flowers.

“Nathan, they’re lovely,” she whispered; her eyes luminous.

“They’re kinda crushed on one side,” I pointed out.

She buried her nose into the small nosegay, inhaling deep. “They’re perfect.”

Her words made my heart beat a little faster. I felt as if I had handed her dozens of roses rather than a simple, somewhat damaged, little bouquet. She filled a small vase with water and placed them into the glass with care, her fingers caressing the blooms. Her reaction filled me with a sense of warmth, and I got the idea getting flowers wasn’t something that happened often, if ever, for her. I would have to change that.

Crossing over, I drew her to me, nuzzling her head. I couldn’t stop myself from touching her. “Do you want to take those with you?”

She nodded, and I guided her down the hall into her room. I smiled as she placed the bouquet on her bedside table and touched the flowers again. I lifted the light blanket and indicated she should get in. She hesitated, then slid in, and I tucked the cover around her body. Leaning down, I stroked her thick hair. “I’m right down the hall, Kourtney, if you need
anything
. You’re safe. Do you understand? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

She grabbed my hand, squeezing tight. “I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t—”

My stomach tightened at the thought of her being hurt. “Don’t think about it. It’s over and he isn’t coming near you again.”

“I want to believe that.”

“Believe it.”

I smiled, hoping to reassure her, dropping one more kiss on her head, turning out the light. I closed her door and waited in silence for a minute.

It took everything I had not to crawl into her bed and pull her into my arms. I wanted to offer her the safety of my embrace for the night, but I wasn’t sure she was ready.

Pushing myself off the door, I sat on the sofa, grabbed my iPad and got to work. Half an hour later I got up, satisfied with what I had accomplished. I got ready to go to bed, using the toothbrush Kourtney had left me. As I was passing her doorway I paused, listening. I could hear something, and when I held my ear to the door, I realized it was the sound of muffled sobs. Sighing, I opened the door and stepped into the room. I could see her curled into a ball, her face buried in a pillow as she cried. My heart clenched at the sounds she was making; without a second thought, I gave into my instincts and slipped in beside her, pulling her into my arms. She stiffened, but I kept my arms around her, tucking her head into my chest as I spoke in a quiet, comforting voice. She began to relax, letting me gather her closer as her tears soaked my shirt.

“Let it out. I have you.” I crooned into her hair. “I won’t let him come near you again.”

She gripped my shirt. “Not . . . me . . .”

I lifted her chin. “What?”

“I couldn’t . . . take it . . . if he came after . . . you . . .” she stuttered out between her tears.

I pulled her back, holding tight. She was worried about
me
. “Ah, Chefgirl, not gonna happen,” I promised her. “I’ve got this. You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re gonna take some precautions for a few days, all right?”

“Pre—precautions?” She hiccupped.

I combed my fingers through her hair in comforting passes. “You’re not going anywhere alone. I’ll go with you on your run in the morning and I’m driving you to work. I’ll pick you up and stay here with you for the next few days.”

“But—”

“He isn’t coming near you again. Trust me on this.”

Her face tilted up. “Why are you doing this?”

Gazing down at her, the dim light from the hall allowed me to make out the look of uncertainty on her face, I said, “I want . . . more, Kourtney.”

“More?”

“Do you consider me a friend?”

“I consider you my best friend,” she whispered in response.

Her words made me beam. “I think of you that way, too. But I want more than friendship with you. I told you I’d be whatever you wanted me to be, and if a friend is all you can do right now, then I’ll be patient.” I took in a deep breath. “But I was hoping you’d want the same thing I want.”

“What do you want?”

“To belong to each other.”

She sounded incredulous. “You want to belong—to me?”

“Yes.”

“Even after this? Even after seeing me?”

I frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean, but yes. This isn’t how I pictured myself telling you how I felt or how I had hoped the evening would happen, but it doesn’t change what I want.”

“You really want . . .
me
?”

“So much.”

The room was silent. I gazed down on her; her incredible eyes were large as she stared back. “Nobody ever wants me.”

“Then they’re fucking idiots. Lucky for me.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

I rubbed small circles on her back. “It’s too complex for right now. We’re both exhausted. We’ll talk about it tomorrow night.” I wanted to make her think of something other than the events of the evening. I wanted her to smile before she fell asleep. “Think of me like a cell phone—you didn’t know you wanted one, but once you got used to having it around, you wondered how you ever did without one.”

She let out a combination giggle-sob and I grinned, continuing to rub her back. I could feel her relax; easing into my chest as her tears stopped and she calmed.

“Do you want me to go to the sofa?”

“No.”

“Good. I like it right here.”

She sighed, and we were silent for a few moments.

“Chefgirl?”

“Hmm.”

“I didn’t see them.”

“See what?”

“Your socks. I was distracted and I forgot to look.”

She giggled. “They’re gray—no designs tonight.”

“Excellent. They match my underwear. The pair that cover my fine ass.”

I was granted another giggle.

Bending my head, I got close to her ear. “Play your cards right and I’ll show you one day soon.”

Her shoulders began to shake in laughter.

Grinning, I kept going.

“You know—I knew I was charming,” I mused. “But even I have surpassed myself.”

Her head tilted up, and her eyes met mine. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but why?”

“You’re not even home a day and we’re already sleeping together,” I teased.

She gasped, then started to laugh, the rich sound filling the room, and I joined in.

“I am goooood.”

As her laughter quieted, I ghosted a kiss on her head. The feeling of her lips, brushing along my jaw, made me sigh; I knew I had made her feel a little better. She had smiled again. I loved making her smile.

“You’re a nut,” she whispered into my neck.

“Just about you, Chefgirl. Just about you.”

I relaxed beside her, content, watching as she fell asleep; one hand curled into mine. A feeling of belonging filled me, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone. My arms tightened, keeping Kourtney close.

I was smiling as I fell asleep.