Chapter 21
Chance had never seen Willie so excited. If two tail swishes and a rub on the leg could qualify as excited. The glass had been removed, and the window boarded up, since he had yet to decide how to replace it. Finding an identical match wouldn’t be easy, nor, as he now knew, was it as safe as going with something new. But that was a decision for another day.
As Naomi and Shelly carried in bags of groceries, Chance sat on the couch obeying the feline’s demands for attention. He’d tried to help unload, but they’d refused to let him lift a thing, bitching about doctor’s orders and stubborn men until he finally gave up and came inside. The doctor had said take it easy. That didn’t mean he couldn’t lift a bag of bread.
“This is the last of it,” Shelly said, kicking the front door closed with her foot. “Now we just have to put it all away.”
While Chance had waited in the car, the two women in his life had ransacked a grocery store, buying enough food to last through an apocalypse. He’d used the time to spread out across the back seat of Shelly’s Lexus and close his eyes behind his shades. Once his IV had been removed, the nurses had no longer been able to force pain meds into him through a tube. As the last dose wore off, he got a good idea of what he was in for.
This was going to suck. But falling back into addiction would suck even more.
His quiet time with Naomi hadn’t lasted long. One visitor after another had paraded through his hospital room. Archie and the guys first, which resulted in several nurses paying unnecessary visits to ask their famous patient if he needed anything. He was pretty sure Louis had finagled two phone numbers in less than thirty minutes.
Harmon had been next. They’d taken a few minutes to discuss the medication issue, and ways around it. Chance had never been one for meditation, but if closing his eyes and breathing steadily would make the thumping in his hand more bearable, then bring on the rubber mat and Zen music.
Shelly returned with the kids once school was out, leaving almost as soon as she’d arrived because Tristan kept wandering off into other people’s rooms. The boy was a social butterfly who would not be contained. Izzy had been her cheerful self, climbing onto the bed and uttering such ancient wisdom as “This sucks” and “I bet that hurts.”
Chance couldn’t say he was sorry to see them go. He loved his niece and nephew, but hospitals weren’t made for keeping kids entertained. To his surprise, Naomi’s friend April, the blonde Amazon who’d greeted him at her door, had agreed to watch the rug rats while Shelly drove Chance home.
“Did you bring in the medications?” Naomi asked Shelly.
“Crap. I forgot.”
“I’ll get them. I have to go back out anyway.”
Tired of feeling helpless, Chance joined Shelly in the kitchen as Naomi hustled back outside.
“She’s pretty awesome,” his sister said. A gallon of milk thumped into the shelf on the fridge door. “How did she know your favorite flavor of doughnut?”
He was hoping she’d missed that. “We hit a shop last week after one of the interviews. I guess she remembered.”
“Uh-huh. Likely story.”
Chance carried a box of cereal to the pantry, realizing too late he couldn’t carry and open the door at the same time. This was going to get old quick.
“You haven’t been involved in anything beyond a one-night stand since you dated Felicity Stone three years ago.” That had been a four-month catastrophe Chance would rather forget. “This thing with Naomi seems a bit . . . sudden. Am I missing something?”
Knowing she’d dig until he answered, Chance didn’t put up a fight. “Naomi and I didn’t just meet. We dated seven years ago.”
Shelly nearly dropped the case of Coke on her foot. “How do I not know about this?”
“We had reasons not to make it public.”
She smacked him on the shoulder. “I’m not the public, you big jerk.” Putting the facts together, she shoved the sodas in the fridge. “Holy ding dongs. She’s the chick who worked for Martha. The one who quit right after you . . . Oh, you are such a dick.”
“Most men are.” Chance knew he’d messed up more than most, but just once he could do without the past being thrown in his face. Setting the slender box on the counter, he swung the pantry open. “At least I didn’t knock her up and walk away.” Leaning his head against the edge of the door, he cursed his stupid temper. “Forget I said that.”
Shelly closed the fridge. “You know, Chance, one of these days, you’re going to lash out like that, and a simple ‘Forget I said that’ isn’t going to work. Also, adding the words I’m sorry to your vocabulary wouldn’t kill you.”
Chance watched her stroll into the living room, knowing she was right. He’d spent so many years perfecting his I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude that turning it off was proving damn near impossible. Leaving the rest of the pantry items on the counter, he headed out of the room to offer a real apology, only to find Naomi dragging a suitcase through the front door.
“What is that?”
Naomi rolled the bag to the bottom of the steps. “It’s my suitcase.”
“I got that. Why is it here?”
She huffed as if out of breath. “I have to have clothes.”
Starting over was one thing. Moving in was another.
“You have clothes at your house.”
“And now some of those clothes are here.” She pointed to the suitcase. “Someone has to take care of you, and Shelly can’t do it. She has the kids.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
Her eyes cut to his bandaged hand. “Clearly, you do.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t. I’ve got one good hand. I’m not helpless.”
Marching past him, she set a bag he hadn’t noticed in her hand on the counter and pulled out two large brown bottles. Setting one on the edge, she said, “Open that.”
Determined to prove her wrong, he reached for the bottle and attempted to spin the lid off with one hand. The damn thing wouldn’t budge. He stuck the bottle in his mouth, but still couldn’t get the angle right to remove the cap. After smacking the bottle on the edge of the counter, he threw it to the floor and stomped on it. Pills spewed in all directions.
“Real mature, buddy,” droned Shelly from behind him.
Naomi didn’t comment. Instead, she stomped to the pantry and returned with a can of cat food.
“Okay. Open that one, smart-ass.” When he fought to pull the tab, she added, “And don’t cut your one good hand in the process.”
Chance hurled the can across the kitchen, where it smacked the far wall and landed on the stove top. “The cat can eat whatever I eat.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked. “And what are you going to eat? Half of what we bought requires two good hands to make.”
“Then I’ll hire a nurse.”
Naomi laughed. “With your temper, you’d go through six in a week. Face it, Colburn. No one is going to put up with your shit but me. So suck it up and deal.” Retrieving a broom from the pantry, she threw it at his feet. “You want to be self-sufficient? Clean up your own mess.”
Like a gust of jasmine wind, she blew past him. Grasping the suitcase with two hands, she hauled it up the steps, grunting all the way.
When she reached the top and disappeared from the landing, Shelly said, “Should we tell her the guest room is down here?”
“Only if you want that suitcase to come flying at your head.” He bent down to grab the broom. “Forget hiring a nurse. I’m going to need a bodyguard to keep her from killing me.”
“I doubt you’ll find one willing to take her on.” Shelly fetched the dustpan. “You do realize any other woman would have walked out that door without a second thought, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” He wedged the broom handle against his shoulder and clumsily worked the pills into a pile. “These are the pain pills, aren’t they?”
Shelly checked what was left of the bottle. “Yep. That is one brilliant woman.” Placing the dustpan in front of the mess, she looked up with a grin. “You’ve met your match, big boy.”
Chance did his best to hide his own smile. “It looks like I have. God help us all.”
The man was impossible. Selfish, obstinate, disrespectful. And if he fired that temper at her one more time, Naomi was going to . . . do something really bad. Breaking stuff. Throwing cans around. She’d like to throw him, right off a dang cliff.
If she had any sense at all, Naomi would drag this suitcase back down those stairs and take her ass home. Instead, she was sitting next to it in a hallway because the only room she could find up here belonged to the blockhead downstairs and she would not be stepping foot in there.
Ever.
He’d love it if she marched out the door. Then he could say, “See? They all leave.” Naomi wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She was going to stay and nurse him back to health if she had to kill him to do it.
“Hey there.”
Naomi tensed at the sound of Chance’s voice. “What do you want?”
“To say I’m sorry.”
Glory be. The end times were nigh. “You never say you’re sorry.”
“Shelly pointed that out to me a little while ago.” With great effort, he lowered himself to the floor without hurting his hand. “I was a pretty big ass down there.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I’m not used to asking for help.”
His leg brushed hers and she pulled away. “That’s no excuse. You threw that can right past my injured ear. I bet poor Willie is hiding under a bed somewhere, scared to death.” And she’d like to know where that bed was, so she could unpack her things.
“I’m sorry for that, too,” he drawled. “If it’ll make you less mad at me, I’ll go down right now and apologize to Willie.”
He was teasing her. Naomi wasn’t in the mood to be teased. “You can’t sweet-talk me out of being mad at you.”
“No?”
“No.”
They sat there together for several minutes, neither saying a word, until Naomi felt her anger ebb.
“I don’t want to fight with you every day, Chance. But I will if I have to. At least until you’re well enough to take care of yourself.”
Chance slid his foot behind hers until their legs were entwined. “You won’t have to. Not every day.”
How did he manage to be so exhausting and sinfully sexy at the same time?
“Where’s the guest room?”
“You don’t want to stay in mine?” he asked, leaning closer.
“Not yet, no.”
His foot toyed with hers. “Yet, huh? Does that mean you might change your mind?”
Too tired to play this game, she turned to face him. “I’m still undecided on that. Now please tell me where I can find my room before I pass out right here in this hallway.”
“Okay. But I have bad news.”
“If you say this is the only bedroom, I may have to punch you.”
Chance chuckled. “No, ma’am. The bad news is you dragged this suitcase up here for nothing. The other bedrooms are downstairs.”
Her head dropped to the wall. “This is not my day.”
Hoisting himself up, Chance offered her his one good hand. “I’ll get it down for you.”
“You aren’t supposed to lift anything.”
Pulling her against his hard body, he brushed his lips across hers, making her reconsider her earlier statement. Giving in, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. His hold tightened in response and Naomi’s back hit the wall. When he pressed a thigh between hers, she ground down with a moan.
“We should wait,” she murmured when his tongue trailed down her neck.
“Wait for what?” he asked, his erection evident against her stomach.
His eyes, dark with desire, met hers, and she nearly surrendered. But despite what her body was telling her, Naomi couldn’t take the next step. She wanted a future with this man, but contrary to what she’d told herself, there could be no moving forward until they’d dealt with the past.
“Why did you sleep with Martha?” she asked, the words barely a whisper.
Chance loosened his hold. If he shut her out again, they would never get beyond this point. Never be able to truly start over. Naomi needed an answer. She deserved that much.
Broad shoulders dropped with a sigh. “I slept with Martha because you’d gotten too close. I wasn’t ready for anyone to know my secrets, but I didn’t have the strength to let you go. So I did the worst thing I could do. The thing you’d never forgive me for.”
Her heart broke all over again. For what they could have been. For what they’d lost.
“You should have trusted me.”
He caressed her cheek. “I wasn’t ready back then.”
His words hung in the dim hallway, begging the obvious question.
“Does that mean you’re ready now?” Chance didn’t answer right away, and Naomi stepped back, body tensing. “I guess that’s my answer.”
“Nay, wait,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’m ready, but I’m not the same man I was. I’m damaged goods, living one day at a time, and I won’t make you promises I can’t back up. You deserve better than that.” He closed the distance between them. “You deserve better than me. But I’m selfish enough to ask you to stay anyway.”
The raw honesty chipped away at the last of her doubts, but Naomi knew better than to make such a life-changing decision while her body screamed with need.
“Will you wait for me?”
She didn’t know how else to say the words. How else to say she wanted him, but didn’t want to want him. Not this much. Not this soon.
Chance ran his fingers through her hair as he nodded. “I’ll wait.” He kissed her forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you set up downstairs.”
Chance had nearly lost her again today, and he wouldn’t have blamed her one bit. Not after the tantrum he’d thrown. Shelly had been right. He’d met his match. Somewhere in his mind, he’d known that seven years ago. That Naomi was the best woman he’d ever find. Perfect for him in every way.
The problem was, he hadn’t been ready to meet her back then. Maybe he’d been too scared or too young or too stupid. Probably all of the above. He’d never expected a round two, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve one, but this time he didn’t have any of those excuses. Sure, she scared the shit out of him. But losing her again scared him more. Not that he had her. Not yet.
Yet.
That word kept coming up today. Three little letters that carried the power of a brick wall, and he always seemed to be on the wrong side of it.
Once they’d gotten Naomi settled in a guest room downstairs, she’d made sure he took the antibiotic without even suggesting he take a pain pill. Shelly hadn’t let him throw the things away. After picking each one out of the dustpan and meticulously cleaning them with a kitchen towel, she’d placed them in a small storage bowl. Just in case, she’d said. Just in case he changed his mind.
Chance wouldn’t be changing his mind.
Naomi had given him the over-the-counter tablets they’d bought with the groceries. Apparently, she’d discussed dosage options with Neal in an effort to provide as much relief as possible within safe limitations. The pills had worked . . . for a while. But between the throbbing in his hand and the thrum in his body from their make-out session in the hallway, he gave up trying to sleep and wandered downstairs around two in the morning.
Like a moth to a flame, he’d crept silently down the hall to Naomi’s room. She slept with her back to him, and when he realized how creepy it was to stand there watching her, he traipsed back down to the main living area. For a few minutes, he contemplated the little storage bowl with the good stuff in it. One of those would bring relief.
Still not worth it.
Crossing to the long dining room table, he found his songwriting notebook and the reality ambushed him like a bad dream. Chance couldn’t imagine his life without the guitar. Hell, there were six of the damn things staring at him right now. Calling to him. Waiting for him to coax a melody from their strings.
Taking a seat, he allowed himself a two-minute pity party. That was it. Two minutes to wallow. To curse the fates. To feel sorry for himself. Any more than that would find him back in the kitchen prying the lid off the little bowl. If that happened, not playing the guitar would be the least of his troubles.
Since screaming profanity would wake his guest, Chance opened the notebook and scribbled down every four-letter word he could think of. At some point, he started rhyming them, which led to rhyming other words, and before he knew it, lyrics were spilling onto the next page.
The crickets are filling up the night
And the stars are shining bright
There’s only me alone out here
Taking in the night
Things weren’t always like this
Times like these are when I miss
The girl with pretty hazel eyes
Whose lips I used to kiss.
And yet, she’s always there inside my mind
And yet, her laughter echoes through the pines
And yet, she’s the peace that I can’t find
So I sit here pouring my heart into these lines
Yeah, I pray that she might hear me across these miles
But she ain’t ready yet.
Chance sat back once the words were written down. He’d never had a song fly onto the page like that before. He’d also never turned out so much at once without writing the music at the same time. Reading the lines over and over, a melody emerged and he ached to play it. To hear it in his ears.
Feeling his temper flare, Chance made a conscious effort to control it. To find another way to deal besides throwing the damn notebook in the trash. His first thought was to call Archie. Chance could give him the chords and he could play them. Sprinting upstairs to fetch the phone off his nightstand, he remembered to slow his steps when he reached the landing.
Naomi’s room was just below and he didn’t want to wake her.
Opening the screen on his way back down, Chance noticed the time: 3:17. Like most musicians, Archie was a night owl, but with the band off the road for so long, he and the other guys had picked up session work. That meant more regular hours.
Plan A shot down, Chance returned to the table and racked his brain for a plan B. Staring at the notebook, he got nothing. Then the phone lit up. He turned on the screen and saw a notification from Instagram, but ignored it. When he couldn’t find paper that day at Archie’s house, he’d found an app on the phone. There was an app for everything, right? Why not one for playing guitar?
Certain he wouldn’t find one on the phone already, he read every little icon until he found one for an app store. A quick search, and bingo. Several options. Picking the one with the most stars, he waited for it to install and then pressed the open button.
Up popped a set of strings. He ran his finger across the screen and an E chord strummed out.
“Hellfire. They’ve thought of everything.”
Learning all the tricks of the app had taken a while, but by four thirty, Chance had written a song, music courtesy of his cell phone.