A Lovely Shade of Ouch by Tymber Dalton
He pulled a couple of pieces of romaine out and walked over to where George was now futilely trying to climb up the slick, sloped side of the plastic kiddie pool.
“Here you go, buddy,” he whispered to him as he handed him a small piece.
To his delight, the tortoise nosed at it, then opened his mouth and took it from him, dropping back down onto all fours while munching it.
He would have sat there feeding George all night if it hadn’t been for the soft sound of Abbey’s voice a few minutes later. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. The pain had returned to her eyes. “That’s because I was trying not to wake you up.”
“What smells so good?”
“Chicken.”
She didn’t sit up. He wondered if she even could. “Thank you for giving him that. I just…I’m a horrible mommy. I got home and took a pill and sat down for a minute to try to rest and…”
“It’s okay. George and I have it covered.”
“He can’t have spinach.”
“I know. I looked it up. I gave him romaine from the tub.”
“You looked it up?”
“Guilty. I spent my lunch hour giving myself a crash course in Russian tortoises. But I still want you to go through stuff with me.”
He couldn’t interpret the expression on her face. “How long have you been home?” she asked.
“About a half hour.”
“You’re still in your work clothes.”
He hoped his smirk looked playful and not lecherous. “Someone said something about a suit fetish. I don’t have a problem being objectified.”
And there came a soft, pained laugh. “How do you normally dress after you get home?”
“I don’t. But I figured instead of shocking you by you waking up to a naked guy running around here, I’d go for titillation.” He flapped his tie at her.
That coaxed a genuine laugh from her. When she winced as she tried to sit up, he hurried over to help her. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
“I was going to help you with dinner.”
“Uh-uh. You’re sitting here on this couch and chilling out. I’ll bring you your dinner when it’s ready. I eat on the couch all the time.”
“I hurt so bad and I’m so tired I won’t even argue with you tonight.”
“Good.”
“Did Tilly tell you to take care of me?”
He smiled. “She didn’t have to. Remember, I like to fix things and be helpful. That’s my fetish.”
* * * *
Tilly called Abbey a little after eight that evening. Abbey had just gotten herself into a comfortable position on the couch and didn’t feel like moving to grab her phone from the coffee table. John, however, lunged for it and handed it to her without looking at the screen.
“Thank you,” she said, mentally filing that away.
Tom had always looked at the screen before handing her phone over, something that had annoyed the crap out of her but she’d never brought up, thinking it was just her hang-up.
“Hey,” Abbey answered.
“Do I need to come kill him yet?”
She managed a laugh as she looked across the table at John, where he was settling back into her recliner. “No, we’re fine. He’s been super sweet. Thank you for all the times you didn’t kill him.”
He grinned.
“Yeah,” Tilly said, “well, most of those times you can thank Cris or Landry for holding me back.” Her tone turned serious. “But…really? Everything’s okay? I’m ten minutes away.”
“I’m fine. I took a pain pill after I got home and he made me dinner.”
“Aww. I mean, oh, okay. Good.”
Abbey did her best not to laugh at Tilly. She knew her friend put on a really good act in public for everyone, but had a soft heart well-protected inside that spiked exterior shell. “So promise me you won’t hurt him unless I tell you to.”
Here came the exaggerated sigh of aggravation. “Okay, fine. Be that way.” Abbey could hear the smile on her friend’s face.
“You can hurt Tom if he shows back up. How’s that sound?”
“Like a damn fine plan. I’ll even let John help hold him down.”
“I’m sure he’d enjoy that.” She glanced over at him, smiling at his furrowed brow.
“Okay. I’ll check on you tomorrow. If you need me to go with you to your doctor appointments, let me know. I’ll clear my schedule for you.”
“Thanks, Til. Love ya.”
“Love ya, too, sweetie.”
Abbey ended the call. “Tilly said she’d let you help hold Tom down.”
“Ah. You’re right. I would enjoy that.”
“See? I figured as much.”
“Did you find out about your surgery yet?”
“Aw, dammit.” She punched a reminder into her phone. “I was so busy I forgot to call them.”
“You realize how much trouble you’re in right now, right?” He wore a playful smile.
“What’d I do?” she asked.
“You’ve got not just Tilly riding your ass, but me, too.”
I wouldn’t mind him riding my ass.
She shoved that thought out of the way. Yes, he was a handsome man. No, right now was not the time to think lecherous thoughts about him.
“I’m not complaining,” she said.
“Yet.” He grinned.
She had just enough energy in her to toss a playful comment at him. “Are you trying to earn cane strokes for after I’m better?”
His smile widened. “Oooh. Want me to start a chart?”
It felt comfortable bantering with him. Playful.
Right.
Like she knew she could banter with him without it suddenly turning into him pressing her for more, and then getting petulant when it didn’t.
Like…
Shit.
Like with Tom.
There would be some deep soul-searching in her immediate future. She needed to take a long, hard, honest look at her dynamic and relationship with Tom. To see what problems lay there, what she’d overlooked at the time and what—if anything—she was exaggerating now because of her raw and angry heart.
Already she knew the picture wasn’t pretty. She’d let Tom walk all over her in many ways. Early on, Tilly had made a couple of roundabout comments on the subject, then dropped it. Abbey had assumed if it really was a problem, Tilly would have hounded her.
Tilly was many things. Shy about voicing her opinion when she worried about her friends was not one of them.
“Sure,” Abbey said. “If you feel like it. Be careful what you wish for.”
He laughed and settled back in the recliner. Yes, easy and peaceful.
Not hovering in the bad way, as if expecting her to follow through on the banter right that second.
After sending herself the reminder to check in with the doctor, she settled back to finish watching the TV show they’d turned on.
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday morning, Abbey placed her call to the doctor’s office and found out her surgery was scheduled for two weeks from tomorrow. They’d had a cancellation and were able to fit her in sooner than they’d originally thought. It’d be on a Wednesday.
Greeaaat.
After ending the call, she looked at the sticky note where she’d jotted the information. She’d have a pre-surgical consult appointment a week from Wednesday to have bloodwork done and for them to go over the pre-op procedure with her. She’d have a special soap she’d have to scrub with, and of course she wouldn’t be able to eat or drink after midnight the night before.
It also meant she wouldn’t be able to clear all her current projects before taking time off for the surgery.
Dammit.
With the note in hand, she headed to her supervisor’s office to go over everything with him and make the arrangements. She’d have to scramble and put in more hours than she was technically supposed to if she didn’t want to leave
At least I’ll still have a job when I come back in a few weeks.
That was something. She’d been with the company for over eleven years. Other than this whole incident, she had an unblemished record, rarely took a sick day, and had a personnel folder filled with glowing annual reviews and client reports.
By the time she slowly made her way downstairs early that afternoon, once the hectic day had been put behind her, she felt more sadness settle over her like an itchy, heavy, wet, smelly blanket. She liked to work, loved her job, enjoyed the majority of her coworkers.
Being forced to slow down not only pinched her pride, it made her realize she didn’t have much of a life outside of work.
Other than her BDSM pursuits.
Well, and George, but he didn’t count. He was her baby, not a hobby.
She got into the car and had already started driving toward Tom’s house before she realized what she was doing.
Dammit.
Well, she did need to go there, to check the mail.
When she pulled into the driveway, she sat there for a moment and stared at the house. Already it felt…strange to her. Different.
Not as if she’d spent the past four years living there, and a frequent visitor even before that.
John had made her feel at home immediately.
What the hell have I been doing with my life?
Using her cane, she checked the mailbox and added a few more things to her mental list. In addition to forwarding her mail and getting a PO Box, she’d need to change the address on her auto insurance, her driver’s license, and her car registration. Her voter ID.
Dammit.
More money, at least for the registration and license changes. Not to mention aggravation over wasted time at the DMV.
When she walked in, she realized she hadn’t set the AC to a higher temp when she left on Sunday. Rectifying that, she grabbed a couple of plastic grocery bags and started emptying stuff from the fridge and freezer to take to John’s.
While they were moving stuff on Sunday, someone had taken the time to clean up in their wake, vacuuming and sweeping and scrubbing so at least it didn’t look like a hurricane had hit the place. One less thing she had to worry about.
The master bedroom looked empty, the bathroom spotless. All that was left in the master bedroom was the unplugged cable box, sitting on the floor where the TV had been on the dresser, and a few of Tom’s things still in the closet.
She left the closet door standing open so he wouldn’t overlook the items still in there.
The house didn’t have an attic. But even in the garage, as she’d pointed out what was hers and what wasn’t, things had been shifted over to one side, Tom’s things, leaving no trace behind of her presence.
Tilly and Clarisse had helped her go through Christmas and other holiday decorations, too. Everything.
Her friends were thorough. A job she’d dreaded had been accomplished in a few hours. Had Tom done it, it would have—
She cut off that line of thinking. Yes, she would have had to double- and triple-check Tom’s work, knowing he would have screwed stuff up. Things overlooked.
She probably would have been getting calls right up until his own move date that he’d found something else of hers.
In this house, there was nothing remaining of her except her memories and her pain.
God, I’m depressing.
She still felt bad about George. The poor guy had been upended from his happy home and forced to downsize, too. Through no fault of his own.
Enough whining, girl.
She loaded the groceries into her car and this time got it pointed in the direction she intended to go, with a brief stop by the local PO first. She filled out a mail forwarding request to send everything to John’s house for now, not wanting to wait in line to get a PO Box today.
All she wanted to do was take a pain pill and lie down.
George was doing laps in his enclosure when she returned home. “I know, buddy. I’m sorry.” She put the groceries away, took a pain pill, then grabbed some romaine and sat in the chair next to his enclosure.
He cut across the middle of the kiddie pool and straight to her when he realized what she had in her hand.
“Just a few weeks, dude,” she said, feeding him his daily treat. “Then we’ll figure out what to do from there.” The thought of finding an apartment was daunting enough. She knew most places would waive a pet fee for a tortoise. It wasn’t like a cat or a dog. No noise, no destruction, no disturbance, no fur or dander.
But the thought of having to find a new apartment…
Maybe the pain pill had already started kicking in, but just thinking about the process made her want to cry. A house on her own was out of the question. She could probably swing the expense, but the maintenance was beyond her. She’d lived in her apartment before she’d met Tom for six years, with no problems. She wasn’t a nomadic kind of person. Once she settled into a place, she didn’t want to move. She needed to make sure she found a place she’d be happy in.
That was why her next move had to be carefully researched, studied, the costs tallied…
Sigh.
I wonder if they have any openings at the place I rented from before.
Okay, so yes, there was a good reason she was successful at her job. Her analytical mind made her a damn good operations research analyst.
So why the hell was she in the fix she found herself in?
After George finished his treat, she washed her hands, changed into comfy clothes, and let the pain pill’s effects lull her into a nap on the sofa in front of the TV.
* * * *
John managed to get out of work early Tuesday, hoping to beat Abbey home and get a look at the pieces of George’s large enclosure to see what he could figure out without her protesting that she didn’t want him going through the trouble.
But when he made the final turn onto his street, he spotted her car in the drive.
Dang.
When he pulled in, he let the car run and turned off the radio. Then he used his work cell to call his supervisor and ask for the day off tomorrow. He used Abbey as an excuse, that she had a doctor’s appointment.
It wasn’t a problem, because he didn’t have any meetings on the calendar and plenty of PTO time he hadn’t even dipped into yet. He could cover his e-mail from home, and they could call him if they needed something.
He wanted to surprise her, to get George settled into a new lanai enclosure. John knew he might be jumping the gun, but he wanted to give Abbey every reason not to want to move again after she healed from her surgery. At least, not immediately.
That maybe, once she’d healed and could focus on something else, maybe she’d want to focus on him. On seeing if there was a chance for them to have a relationship.
He had kicked himself in the ass for the past four years, that he’d taken time away from Venture and ended up losing a chance to build something with Abbey. But at the time, work had been crazy, a series of public incidents, as well as hearings and protests on rate hikes, and he hadn’t wanted to tempt fate and risk exposure.
By the time he’d made it back to the club, she was an item with Tom and his chance had passed.
This time, he wouldn’t give up without a fight.
And if part of that fight was building the best damned tortoise enclosure in the state of Florida, he’d gladly roll up his sleeves and do it.
* * * *
Wednesday afternoon, Abbey sat in her car after leaving work and cried. With the AC blowing in her face, and her head resting on her hands on the steering wheel, she sobbed her heart out. Over her pain, over her situation…
Over the fact that a man who claimed to love her could so easily turn his back on her and walk away, while a man who was almost a stranger could open his home to her and suddenly become akin to family.
And she wasn’t even sure what to do with that, with the conflicted
She wanted this out of her system now, before John got home later. Her emotions had hit critical mass in her brain when one of the administrative assistants, who hadn’t heard about her sudden life change, asked how Tom was when Abbey was in HR and filling out change of address paperwork.
It’d taken every ounce of will she’d had not to burst into screaming tears right there.
Sitting there, it took Abbey a good fifteen minutes to get it out of her system. She knew if she went home and broke down crying and John was home that he would hear her and want to fix it for her.
And likely tell Tilly.
Which might mean interstate felony assault charges for Tilly if she hunted Tom down in Dallas and ripped his balls off over it.
Prison orange is not Tilly’s color.
That was something Abbey had to keep reminding herself when she questioned why, exactly, she was holding her friend back from extracting revenge on Tom.
She stopped by Tom’s house first—she couldn’t think of it as her house anymore—and checked the mail. She took his inside and left it on the counter, where she’d left his other mail, and didn’t linger.
There was no reason to.
When she returned to John’s, she pulled into the driveway, into her now-usual spot, and shut the car off.
Home.
Maybe she’d even have a little energy to try to cook dinner for John. He’d texted her during the morning to check on her.
Nothing from Tom.
Then again, why would she expect anything from Tom? Why did she even want him to text her? So she could delight in not wanting to text him back?
Man, I have issues.
She went inside, took a pain pill, and changed clothes. Before she settled herself on the couch, she grabbed some romaine and headed for George’s enclosure.
At first, she thought he was in his house. She called for him, but he didn’t come out. When she gritted her teeth and leaned in to lift the house, he wasn’t there.
“George?” She started digging through the substrate, raking it with her fingers, thinking maybe he’d dug himself in or something, but he wasn’t there.