Chapter Five
Tasha
Over the next week, I spent each day vacillating between euphoric anticipation and paralyzing doubt.
The anticipation was heady and fueled in no small part by the texts that appeared steadily on my phone from one Mac, which was the name Derek had used to enter his information on my phone. He’d sworn that no one would ever be able to figure out that pseudonym. I’d expressed my doubts, but he’d kissed me until I forgot what I’d been protesting.
The man was relentless. He sent me messages each morning, wishing me a good day at work and hoping I didn’t have any ‘surly, uncooperative patients.’ I’d giggled at that and responded that thanks to him, I’d met my quota this year for those kinds of patients.
The texts continued throughout the day, sometimes just checking in, others telling me how he was doing. And every night, he reminded me of how many hours until our Friday night date.
What woman wouldn’t be walking on air with that kind of attention?
But the doubts were strong, too. Of course, I worried about what would happen if something real and lasting developed between Derek and me. I’d have to tell Corinne and the clinic leadership eventually, and things could get messy. There were ethical lines I was skirting here, and others I’d flagrantly crossed. It made me nervous.
I’d known I was treading on dangerous ground when I’d gone to Derek’s house on Sunday. To my credit, I had tried to mitigate the potential complications by getting in touch with Shaw Kincaid, using the number he’d given me that first day, explaining that I’d assigned Derek a task and suggesting that he could stop by to make sure the patient was complying. He’d been easy-going about the idea, telling me he thought he could get all of their buddies together to go over.
I’d breathed a little easier, hearing that. I could stop by Derek’s house so that I didn’t disappoint him, and at the same time, we’d have several chaperones, making sure that we kept everything between us on a professional level only.
But then I’d gotten held up when I’d stopped to see my parents, and by the time I’d arrived, the guys were getting ready to leave. I knew I should have left then, too. And when he’d touched me, I knew I should have gently but firmly shot him down. It might have hurt, but in the long run, it would have been better for both of us.
It had been his words that had seduced me even more than his lips or his hands. What he’d said about exploring possibilities struck a nerve until I knew there was no way I could say no. I had to try. We had to see.
Aside from the complications of work, niggling questions about whether or not I was ready to make this leap now assailed me, usually attacking in the middle of the night, when everything seemed worse. Given my background, it was only natural that I’d move cautiously into any new relationship. I wasn’t sure I could trust my own judgement.
Not for the first time, I wished I had a close girlfriend I could consult. That was one of the downsides of growing up in the Army; while I made friends quickly, I rarely kept in touch beyond social media shout-outs and Christmas cards. The girls I’d gotten to know in high school, when we’d actually stayed at one posting for all four years, had dropped from my life after I’d gotten involved with Wes. Isolating me had been one of his crueler goals.
Of course, there was always my mom, but I knew I couldn’t confide in her. She’d freak out about me being with anyone just now. Or she’d have my dad run a thorough investigation on Derek. She’d end up stressing me out more than I already was.
And so I rode the waves of joy and fear on my own until Friday night. I only saw Derek briefly during the week; given his progress, it was completely appropriate to cut back his therapy times. When he did come in, I reviewed his status, reiterated the importance of easing back into work and recommended that he continue using the essential oils. He’d winked at me and promised that he’d never stop using the oils . . . that he’d gotten completely addicted to them over the past few months.
I was sure my face had gone red; although his words were innocent and in keeping with our therapist-patient relationship, there had been something in the way he’d said them that had lit up parts of my body. I couldn’t help flashing back to how his hands had felt just below my breasts, teasing with his feather-soft touch.
On Friday, I left work right on time and drove home as fast as the speed limit would allow. Derek was picking me up at six, which meant I had about forty-five minutes to get ready. The beauty of having short hair was that I didn’t have to fuss with it, which would help tremendously. I jumped into a fast shower, and washed, shaved and rinsed all the necessary parts. Wrapping myself in a fluffy towel, I rubbed cream into my legs and arms, adding a little bit more for my stomach and breasts. A tingle of excitement sparkled through me; it was as though by paying attention to body parts I’d been neglecting for quite a while, I was giving into the idea that I planned for more than just kissing at the end of tonight’s date.
I wasn’t into heavy makeup at the best of times. I studied my face and ended up dotting on some concealer, dusting on some powder and brushing on a little mascara. It made my skin tone a little more even without overdoing it.
Derek had let me know that the restaurant he’d chosen was, in his words, “nice without being too fancy schmancy.” I’d interpreted that to mean I could wear a dress without feeling out of place. I didn’t have too many date outfits; everything in my closet was geared to comfort for work and the occasional Army dinner or ball when my parents forced the issue of my attendance. But a few months back, on impulse I’d bought a deep green silk dress. It fit me like a glove, hitting just above my knees, and while it was low-cut enough to make it seem I had actual cleavage, it wasn’t too daring. The tiny straps over the shoulders were each adorned with a single bow.
I added strappy silver sandals, some simple jewelry and spritzed on a little bit of perfume . . . and then I was ready. I still had ten minutes to spare, which was just enough time for me to freak out.
My doorbell rang, and dread made my stomach flip over. It had to be my mom, stopping for one of her random drop-ins with her always-impeccable timing. I pressed a hand to my middle to settle the butterflies and yanked open the door, prepared to scold.
On the other side, standing on my small front stoop, Derek McTavis looked a whole hell of a lot better than my mother would have.
He wore gray dress pants that were just snug enough to remind me of that perfect ass without being indecent. His burgundy shirt was open at the collar, and the long sleeves were turned up to show his forearms. God, did forearms turn me on.
And he’d gotten his hair cut—short this time, back to a regulation cut. It made him look like a different man: he wasn’t Derek, my patient anymore; he truly was Captain McTavis.
“Hey, Tasha.” He lifted his left hand, and I realized he was holding red tulips. “You look . . . wow.”
I hardly registered the flowers. “You got your hair cut!” I blurted out.
He grinned at me. “Yes, ma’am, I did. I had to, with going back to work.”
His smile was so familiar that my nerves calmed. He looked different, but he was still Derek. I accepted the flowers and then stood to the side. “Come on in. Let me put these in water.”
He hesitated a moment before stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind him. My heels clicked on the tile as I headed for the kitchen and bent over to retrieve a vase. “You’re early. In the interest of complete disclosure, I thought you were my mom.”
“Sorry.” There was a thread of tension in his voice. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I was just . . . I’ve been thinking about this—about you—all week long.”
I straightened, the glass cylinder in one hand and the flowers in the other. Derek was still just inside the door, and his eyes were burning as they followed my movements.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” I tried to keep my tone light. “But you know, you can come further into the apartment. I won’t bite.”
“Yeah, but I might.” Even from about ten feet away, I could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t trust myself to be alone in here with you right now. If you give me the slightest opening, I just might convince you to say fuck dinner. Let’s skip right to dessert.”
My breathing hitched. “You’re assuming you’d be able to talk me into that.”
He smiled, and his eyes lit up. “Baby, trust me. I’d be able to persuade you.”
Oh, I don’t want to test that claim. I cleared my throat. “Then I’ll take care of the flowers, and we’ll go before we both decide to miss what we know we should do.” I ran water into the vase, not even trying to disguise the fact that my hands were trembling, and slid the flowers into it. “We both know duty comes first, right?”
His brow creased. “How is this duty?”
“Well . . .” I dried my hands, picked up my purse and sweater, and went to stand in front of him. “This dinner . . . it’s about us getting to know each other better.” I paused. “Maybe particularly you getting to know me. I learned a lot about your background when I began working with you at the clinic, but how much do you know about me?”
“I know you grew up in the Army. I know you’re good at your job, and that matters to you—it’s important to you that you’re able to help others. I know that you give all of your heart and then some to your patients. I know that green is your favorite color, you eat pineapple and garlic on your pizza—which, ewww, but whatever—and you’d rather have ice cream than cake.”
My mouth dropped open. “How on earth do you know all that? I mean, the last things.”
Derek tapped my nose, his expression smug. “I pay attention, even when you think I don’t. I listened when you ordered food at the clinic. And you talk more than you think you do, when you’re trying to distract me from doing something hard.”
“Huh.” I ran my tongue across my lips. “I guess I stand corrected. But I still think it’s important that we talk before . . . we do anything else. Before this goes further or deeper.” I leaned up, lowering my voice. “Besides which, getting to know each other is the best kind of foreplay.”
He brushed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Now that’s the kind of duty I can get behind.”
* * *
The restaurant was in downtown Richmond. We talked all the way there, speeding up I-95; Derek filled me in on how he’d done on his return to work, and I chatted about what I’d been up to during the week. He’d reached across the console and threaded our fingers together as he drove, and every now and then, he tightened his grip or traced circles on the back of my hand.
The food was as good as he’d promised me. As we ate, Derek told me about his parents and his two brothers, all of whom still lived in Oregon. His brothers were both in the computer industry, as was his father, and his mother taught ballet. They still lived in the same house in which Derek had grown up.
After I’d enjoyed my filet mignon and Derek had polished off his pork chops, we ordered coffee and cannoli.
“I can’t even imagine it—that you can go back and sit in the same bedroom where you lived when you were eight. I lived in . . .” I thought for a few seconds. “Four different houses between the time I was eight and eighteen. I can’t even remember what my room looked like back then.”
“Did you go away to college?” Derek sipped his coffee.
“No . . . not right away.” I licked a crumb of cannoli from my thumb and took a deep breath. I’d known I was going to have to share some of my past if I had any true intention of moving forward with Derek. And despite all the reasons for us not to be together, I found myself drawn to him, to his steady honesty and straightforward ease. I owed it to him to be just as open.
“Actually, about a month after I graduated from high school, I got married.”
Derek’s eyes widened. “Married? Was he . . . in the Army?”
“Yeah.” I fiddled with my fork, lining up the tines with the edge of my plate. “I met Wes at the start of my junior year. He was an E-5 by the time I was finishing high school, just twenty-two years old, and I was madly in love. We’d snuck around at first, and then Wes said he didn’t think it was right. I was afraid my father would be angry and Wes would lose rank—or worse, because I’d been underage when we’d begun seeing each other, and technically, Wes could’ve gotten kicked out.
“But Daddy agreed to at least meet him and keep an open mind. Wes was very polite and respectful, and my parents said that as long as I followed the rules, we could continue seeing each other. I think they knew I was headstrong and willful, and I’d have found a way around any restrictions. And they probably thought that if they gave me permission, Wes would lose some of his forbidden fruit allure. I don’t know.”
“I’m assuming that plan backfired.” Derek’s eyes held only compassion, and I was grateful.
“It did. Wes asked me to marry him at my prom in senior year, and I said yes. I thought he was my dream come true. My parents asked us to wait until I’d finished college, but I refused. I got so angry at them that I refused to let them have any part of planning the wedding—not that they really wanted to, I guess, but it was my way of shutting them out. We got married at a little chapel in Georgia on the way to Wes’s next duty station, which was Fort Benning.”
“I can’t say I like where this is going.” Derek leaned forward and gripped my hand. “What happened?”
“Well . . . at first, not much. I loved the idea of being a housewife, and my life wasn’t too different, because we were still in the Army, after all. I knew how to play the game. But then I got bored. We lived on post, in a tiny little apartment, and cleaning it took me about an hour. So I decided I’d start taking some classes, thinking I’d earn my degree as my parents had wanted. Wes seemed okay with the idea, and my mom and dad were thrilled, but ten days into the first semester, he began to hit me.”
Derek’s face darkened. “The hell, you say.”
I swallowed over the rising lump in my throat. “Yeah. The first time it happened, I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to do. I just locked myself in our bedroom and cried. And it was just like you hear: the next morning, he apologized, swore he’d never do it again, and I believed him. Then about two weeks later, I was late getting home from class, and the minute I walked in the door, he hauled off and smacked me. Hard. I fell into the wall and cracked my head. That time, I cried, too, but only from the pain. Mostly, I was pissed off.” I licked my lips, which had gone dry from so much talking. “A lot of the time, women who are abused come from origin families where there is some history of abuse. But I hadn’t. I’d been my parents’ spoiled darling. So I didn’t fall into all the stereotypes—not at first. That second time, I got mad and started screaming at him. I got up in his face and said that if he ever laid a hand on me again, he’d be damn sorry. I told him my daddy had taught me how to shoot, and I wouldn’t hesitate to defend myself.”
“Did he back off?” Derek’s fingers had curled into fists. “Tell me he backed the fuck off.”
“That night, I think he was too surprised to do anything but that. Unfortunately, while I slept, he had a lot of time to think about it, and when I came out of our bedroom the next morning, he was waiting. He beat me until I was unconscious.”
“No fucking way.” Derek’s jaw clenched. “That fucking son of a bitch.”
“Exactly my thoughts—now. But then, I was scared. Gradually, over the next year, Wes took away everything that was important to me or anything that connected me to the outside world. He made me drop out of school. He didn’t let me see my parents, and when they came down to visit us, he wouldn’t let me see them without him being there. He took away my phone, saying we couldn’t afford it, and he made sure I couldn’t get in touch with friends. I was alone, I was isolated, and I was terrified.”
“Tell me this fucker is put away somewhere.” Derek’s anger was poised to release, I could tell. I understood that feeling.
“In the end, it wasn’t me who saved myself. One of my mom’s old friends PCS’d to Benning, and I ran into her at the commissary. I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without Wes, but I’d forgotten to buy sour cream for one of his favorite recipes. I was so afraid he’d be mad about that mistake that I scrounged up all the change I could find in the house and walked the whole way to the commissary, praying no one saw me and told Wes.
“When Beatrice saw me, she made a big fuss, saying she’d been planning to come visit me as soon as they got settled. I hadn’t seen her since I was a freshman in high school. She figured out pretty fast what was going on—I begged her not to tell anyone she’d run into me, and then she saw some fading bruises, too. The next day, before Wes left for work, the MPs showed up at our door, along with my parents and Wes’s commanding officer.”
“What did they do to him?”
I closed my eyes. “He was arrested, and then he was given a Bad Conduct Discharge. He went to trial, was found guilty and sentenced to five years in prison. It was a nightmare, though. I had to testify, and living through it all again was brutal.” I straightened my back. “But my parents took me home, and they gave me space to heal. I’ve had a lot of therapy. When I decided to go school to be a physical therapist, they suggested I go nearby and live at home. It made sense, since I didn’t have extra money for room and board. But when I decided to do my clinical residency here, I insisted on moving out.” I hesitated. “We’re still working on my parents—particularly my mom—accepting that I can take care of myself. That year was frightening for them, too, and it’s left its scars on all of us.”
“Tasha, God. I’m sorry.” He slid his hand through mine again. “I can’t imagine how you made it through that in one piece. If you were sitting in the corner sucking your thumb, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“There were days when I thought that would be the rest of my life—hiding in the corner. But I wouldn’t let him win. My victory is in getting out of bed every morning, facing the day . . . and moving on. Survival is a hell of a sweet revenge.”
“It is.” He was quiet for a second, playing his fingers over my smaller ones as he stared down at the table between us. “So since . . . you left him, have you, uh, dated?”
Slowly I shook my head from side to side.
He nodded, his gaze darting to mine. “Do you feel like you’re ready to try?”
I managed a smile. “A week ago, I would’ve said unequivocally no. But then something happened on Sunday. This amazing man whom I’ve seen rise above his own pain and scars and weakness kissed me, and for the first time in years, I want to be brave with someone else. I want to trust someone and see where it takes us. I want to touch someone and be touched.” I tightened my fingers on his. “I want you, Derek. I’m scared, but not of you. I’m scared of losing myself again. But the want is more than the fear. The want is bigger than anything.”
His eyes had dilated again, but this time, I knew it was desire making them dark and heavy.
“I want to touch you, Tasha. I want to be brave with you. I promise that I’ll never hurt you.” A tic jumped in his cheek. “Can I take you home . . . and can I stay with you tonight?”
I didn’t need to hesitate. “Yes. And yes. Please.”
Derek stood up, pulling me with him as he waved to our waiter.
“Check, please.”