“I got it, boss,” he says and sways so hard he automatically reaches out for Reagan but ends up pulling them both to the bed where they land in a tangle of limbs. His food tray goes flying, scattering the dishes and silverware loudly. “Whoa, sorry.”
“It’s ok,” she whispers hoarsely. He’s practically on top of her. His giant leg is draped over both of her bare thighs which pins her down. The coarseness of the hair on his leg tickles her smooth skin as she’s wearing shorts. She can tell by looking at his slightly dilated pupils that he’s unfocused. John shakes his head.
“Sorry, sorry, Reagan,” he apologizes again and presses his fingertips to his forehead. Normally she’d tear into someone for this, but he’s so out of sorts from the pain killers and not enough sleep for two days that she only feels worried about him. He blinks hard two times. His face is only inches from hers when he opens his eyes, and they focus just slightly better on her. Her hand is pressed to his bare chest. It’s very warm, and Reagan is surprised at how small her hand looks against that much bronzed skin. His heart pounds hard under her palm.
John’s breath begins coming quicker as he stares into her eyes intently with his deep blue ones. Her own breath hitches in her chest, and she refuses to exhale, refuses to move. His gaze travels to her mouth, causing him to frown as if contemplating something difficult. Leaning farther over her, he presses his hand into the mattress and lowers his head. What the hell? Is he going to kiss her?
“John? You ok in there, man?” Kelly calls and opens the bedroom door.
Reagan literally pushes John away from her and leaps from the bed as if it is on fire. Kelly stops dead in his tracks like a deer in headlights, his mouth hangs agape.
“Uh... whoa. Um, sorry, bro,” Kelly apologizes, avoids all eye contact with either of them and starts retreating.
“No, it’s not what... it’s... hey, he needs your help,” Reagan blusters and stammers and squeezes past Kelly and flees from the room. She doesn’t stop to give Grandpa a patient update or for anything else. She sprints all the way to her bedroom and shuts and locks the door. Grandpa will figure it out that John’s fine if she doesn’t come to him to report anything negative.
Her heart is pounding out of her chest, but it sure as hell isn’t from the sprint up the three flights of stairs which is nothing for her. Reagan crosses the room, flings off her dirty clothes, throws on a clean tank and shorts and flops onto her bed. What
was
that?
Being analytical, being a scientist, Reagan wants to dissect the situation with John in her head. Had John been about to kiss her? Had she just made that up, read more into it than it was? But his hooded gaze had borne into hers with sensual insinuation. She isn’t stupid. She’s seen this look before in another man. It hadn’t ended well. John’s gaze was different, though. It was warm, soft, kind... sensual. And he had lowered his head toward hers, hadn’t he? Oh what a pain men are!
This and the fact that men were intimidated by her intellect are the exact reasons that she didn’t get involved with them in the first place. Irritating, irrational, testosterone driven men.
She flicks the switch off on the wall beside her bed, killing the sconce lighting. Sometimes it feels like things are moving at such a pace it is too hard to keep up with them.
Reagan crawls under the single sheet, not wanting to sleep on top of them. It is a childish insecurity that leads her to do this every night, even though it is hotter than Hades at this time of summer in Tennessee. She mulls over all of the events of just the past week, boggling her mind. Three of their neighbors, one of whom was a close personal friend of her grandfather’s, are dead. Thugs and criminals had made it so far out into the country that they are now hitting farms on remote roads. She’d been involved in her first military style firefight to defend her family and her neighbors’ family members to the death. Also, that had led to her capture, rescue and having to shower off a dead guy’s brain matter two hours later. Her first patient death had happened. She pushes this one down a little further into the well of her memory banks. John had been stabbed, and it had bothered her more deeply than she’d had time to reason. Down in the well with that one, too.
Her last thought before crashing into a deep slumber is of dark blue eyes that are getting closer and closer to hers and the finely chiseled lips that come with them.
Hannah
The next day is a grievous affair as the family prepares to visit the Reynolds farm for the memorial service of their fallen brother, mother and father. Hannah has stayed behind to take care of the children, who should be spared any death that they can. The world is full of it now and there is no sense in exposing them to even more.
The morning meal has passed quietly with the exception of the children and their usual chatter about the animals and each other. Something is going on between John and Reagan; Hannah is sure of it. They were both even more silent than the rest of the family. Immediately following breakfast, Reagan had high-tailed it from the dining room and gone for her run. John had complained to Kelly about her running by herself, but Kelly had mostly ignored and then placated his friend. Then John had sulked off and disappeared. Grandpa had declared that John’s wound was free of infection, which was apparently a “miracle” in Grandpa’s opinion. So far it is just another bizarre day in the post-apocalyptic world.
Hannah had risen earlier than usual to bake a casserole and a pie for what is left of the Reynolds family. Grams had been surprised to find her in the kitchen already and had said as much. It is what they would have done if it had happened before everything changed. And so Hannah had thought it important to stand on some small semblance of custom for them. Now they are all saying their good-byes in the foyer and promising to be back soon.
“We’ll be fine here, sir,” Kelly reassures her grandfather, who kisses her on the cheek. Hannah hands him the casserole.
“You’re a good girl, Hannah. Always thinking of others. You’re an angel,” Grandpa tells her. She swells with pride under his flattery.
“Tell them how sorry I am, Grandpa,” she says softly.
“I will, sweetie,” he replies before he goes outside. They will take two vehicles: the farm truck and Grandpa’s big oversized SUV which seats nine.
John and Kelly are still in the foyer, and Hannah can barely make out what they are saying because the children are in full swing and begging her to go outside with them.
“I’ll be along shortly, Arianna. Go with the other kids and I’ll be out soon, ok?” she tells her tiny niece.
“Miss Hannah?” Cory asks shyly. It’s always this way with him. He’s very reserved around her. “Is it ok if I borrow a book from your grandpa’s library? I mean he told me I could anytime. I mean... I just didn’t want you to think I was snooping or anything.”
“Cory, you don’t even need to ask,” Hannah explains. “You just go on and take whatever you want. If you could read on the back porch, or from somewhere you can see the kids that would be great because I have some things I need to finish in the kitchen. But I’ll be out shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers and walks away. His footsteps are lighter than his brother’s. Of course, everyone’s footsteps are lighter than Kelly’s.
Hannah strains to hear the tail end of the men’s conversation in the hall.
“You packing?” Kelly asks.
“Yep. Got my sidearm and the rifle’s in the truck. Reagan’s got both of hers, too, and Doc has a pistol. Got two extra shotguns in the SUV,” John answers.
“Good, be careful, bro,” Kelly warns.
They make a sound unfamiliar to Hannah as John leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. The children are long gone, having run out the back screen door in the kitchen and are playing on the swing-set. Hannah can hear the old familiar squeaking of the rusty chains. She and Kelly stand alone in the hall.
“What was that sound? I don’t know it,” she asks curiously.
“What sound? The door?” Kelly responds with another question.
“No, silly, not the door. I think I know that one by now. That click or chucking type sound? Did you punch John?”
“Oh, that. No, it’s a military thing. We bump fists. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess it just means we’re on the same team kinda’ thing,” he tries to explain.
“Show me?” Hannah prompts and steps closer to him.
“Um, sure. You just make a fist,” he explains. She does so which makes him laugh.
“What? What did I do? Did I do it wrong or something? This is how you make a fist, so don’t think you can mess with me, Kelly Alexander. I know how to make a fist,” she insists. Using both his first and last name seems like a more forceful way to speak and so she does.
“No, it wasn’t that. It’s just that your fist is so small,” he chuckles. “I’d feel bad if I fist bumped you. Might break you or something.”
“Hey! I’m tougher than I look, mister,” she corrects. He just chuckles again.
“Really? Hm, I’m not so sure I’d agree with that one,” he teases. “Now, we just hit fists. Like this.” His large hand enwraps her wrist, and he brushes the knuckles of his other hand against hers in a feather light punch. She frowns. That’s not the sound she heard, but she understands why he doesn’t do it harder.
“Ok, now I get it. Thanks. I don’t like to get left out of stuff all the time,” she tells him with a smile. He hasn’t released her wrist yet. He doesn’t say anything, but his thumb rubs against her wrist bone gently. It starts a fire in her belly that spreads throughout her whole body. Hannah is used to people touching her. They touch her shoulder; they touch her hand, her back. These are all the ways her family has to communicate with her to let her know they are standing next to her, or to show her their emotions, or to reassure her. This is not the kind of touch she is used to, and it sends shockwave after shockwave straight through her. It’s disturbing to say the least, especially with the feelings she’s been having toward Kelly. He has not shown any sign of returning those feelings, however.
Because she can’t take the torture a second longer, Hannah removes his hand from her wrist. But instead of releasing it, which was her plan, she turns his hand palm up. His thumb had felt calloused. She runs her fingertips lightly over his palm and the underside of his fingers and frowns.
“Your hands are very rough. You have callouses from hard work, Kelly,” she tells him as if he doesn’t already know. He sucks in a deep breath and blows it out raggedly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers.
Hannah takes up his other hand and does the same, feeling the coarseness there, too. He tries to pull his hand away, but she holds fast.
“There’s a scar here,” Hannah says and traces a long, raised groove that crosses his entire palm and disappears around the side of his hand.
“Knife,” he says simply.
“Was it an accident? Did you accidentally cut yourself?” she inquires. She doesn’t like the idea of him being harmed.
“You don’t need to hear about stuff like that, Hannah,” he tells her. Why does everyone treat her like a child?
“I can handle it, Kelly. People always coddle me, but I’m an adult. So tell me,” she orders. It doesn’t sound the least bit assertive which is what she had been going for. She needs to hang around more with Reagan.
“We were in Syria that time and some Muslim dude tried to gut me. But unfortunately for him, I grabbed the knife instead and shot him with my pistol. I don’t recommend grabbing the sharp end of a knife, but if you don’t have a choice, well then it’s an option. It felt like my hand was on fire,” he explains openly.
“I don’t like you being hurt,” Hannah admits and scowls. She’s never been one to hold back her feelings.
“I’m just fine, but you need to be careful. A big bear like me is hard to take down. But I worry about you,” he says softly.
“I’m just fine, too. I can take care of myself,” Hannah says stubbornly, jutting out her chin. She isn’t a child! She is nearly twenty-one years old!
“Hannah... I can’t explain it to you, but I just, I get...” he hesitates. Why does he not just say what he needs to say? Why do people have to be so complicated all the time? If everyone just said what they felt, the world wouldn’t be in this mess.
“You get what? You’re confusing me,” Hannah blurts. He doesn’t answer, and she can tell he is fighting some inner battle over what he needs to say.
Instead of trying to explain further, Kelly flexes all of his fingers, enfolding her hands in his own. He tugs ever so gently against her grip and pulls Hannah a step closer.
“Kelly?” Hannah murmurs with puzzlement and anticipation.
Frustratingly, he doesn’t answer again but tugs once more until Hannah’s breasts press lightly against Kelly’s hard midsection. Her hands are imprisoned between them. Her pulse is beating a mile a minute, and she prays Kelly can’t tell because he’s surely had more experience with women than she has had with men. His breath sounds uneven, but she’s not entirely sure if it’s for the same reason that hers is. He has not been close to her since before he left for the Reynolds farm when they were alone in the kitchen and she’d hugged him.
“Uncle Kelly! Uncle Kelly!” Arianna screams as she bounds into the house with more energy than ten children. They instantly separate. “Come, Uncle Kelly! I want to show you a new trick I can do!” Hannah can tell she is jumping up and down because the hardwood floor has the slap slapping of naked feet.
Arianna has taken to calling Kelly and Cory by uncle, and nobody corrects it. She is too young to understand not to, and the men think it’s cute. They think pretty much anything she does is cute. There’s a certain leniency that everyone shows toward the children, especially the younger ones in this new age. If she wants to have two more uncles, then so be it.
“Come here, munchkin,” Kelly says and swings a squealing Arianna into his arms and up, up maybe over his shoulder because her squeals come from higher than waist level.
“Now, now, Uncle Kelly, let’s go now! I have to show you, and you said I could help you in the cow barn, ‘member?” the little negotiator bribes. Kelly belly laughs deeply which makes Hannah giggle in response.