Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(70)

oOo



When they were alone again, Badger sat at her right side and held her hand, which had survived the fire unscathed. “How’re you doing, babe? You okay?”

“No, I’m not.”

His forehead creased. “I know it’s hard. I really do. But I love you. I want you. I mean it. I’ve never meant anything more. I want you so bad. You are beautiful. Nothing could ever change that. Damn sure not some stupid scars.”

“I know. I believe you. I love you like that, too. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what? What can I do to make you okay?”

“I need you to hold me. Really hold me. I need to put my head on your chest. God, Badge, I need that so much.”

“But—won’t that hurt? Your shoulder, or your leg or your arm or…”

Probably it would. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She scooted over to make room. “Please, Badge. I’m so lonely.”

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you, babe. I never want to hurt you.

I’m right here.”

“It’s not enough. No matter how it’ll feel to lie on that side, it hurts more inside.” She laughed sadly. “I need a hug. Please.”

Without further argument, he got up very carefully onto her bed, and she settled in at his side. It did hurt some, the wounds so recently healed protesting the pressure of her body, and her collarbone unhappy with the position, too, but she didn’t care. She eased her head onto his chest and felt and heard his heartbeat. He curled his arm under her braced shoulder, resting his hand lightly on her left hip, above the new scar. She was enfolded in love for the first time in weeks.

“This okay?” His voice was soft and concerned; she heard it thrum deeply in his chest.

Overwhelmed with relief and love, she nodded.

“Adrienne?”

Lest he worry that she’d lost her words again, she whispered, “Better than okay. Perfect.”




CHAPTER SIXTEEN



Badger came out of the bathroom to find Adrienne out of bed. She’d been sleeping when he got up, and he’d hoped to be able to jump in for a quick shower before she woke. He didn’t like her moving around too much on her own, especially in the morning. She was stiff and a little shaky when she first got out of bed. She’d only been home for a few days.

Home.

Badger had brought her home. To their home. As he pulled on a clean pair of jeans, he looked around the bedroom that was theirs—the bed he shared with Adrienne, in the room he shared with Adrienne, in the house he shared with Adrienne.

Len had handled most of the arrangements for them while Badger spent the bulk of his time at the hospital. They were renting a little bungalow a couple of blocks off Main Street. Nothing special, just a little two-bedroom house. It had been vacant a long time and was pretty seedy, actually. But Len had had the club girls clean it up and then sent the Prospects in to buy and build a houseful of the kind of furniture that came in flat boxes with instructions translated into terrible English.

It was all very cheap, but he didn’t care. He lived with Adrienne. Really lived with her.

She had nothing, though. Her father had brought all of her things and then abandoned her, and then, only days later, she’d lost it all. Everything she owned. Even her car. Only her photos, stored online, survived.

The entire time she was in the hospital, she’d never once asked about her things. Even after she’d begun to talk again, she never asked. He hadn’t offered the information, because he hadn’t been sure how to bring it up.

The day she was discharged, as he was helping her into Lilli’s SUV, which he’d borrowed for the trip, not wanting her to ride home in his shitty old pickup, she stopped and asked where they were going. He’d told her then that he’d rented them a house. She’d been glad.

On the ride back to Signal Bend, though, she’d begun to think about her things. Glancing at her now and then as he drove, he’d seen it happen. As they were on the road that would lead them into town, to their new home, she’d finally asked what she’d lost, and he’d had to tell her that she’d lost everything she owned. Except for those digital photos, her loss was total.

Her homecoming had, thus, been subdued. So caught up in her physical condition, Badger had not really spent much time contemplating all the ways that her life had been demolished since March, when she’d come to town for a visit and decided to stay. But when he helped her into their tiny house with its Walmart furnishings, the closets, drawers, and cupboards nearly empty, and she’d looked silently around and then sat silently down on the flimsy futon that served as their couch, he’d seen her life through her eyes. And he’d worried, briefly, that she’d gone quiet again.

He’d hated her silence in the hospital. He thought he understood it, at least a little, but it had made him feel distant from her, unable to help her. He’d felt useless. He’d been useless. So when she sat in their living room, staring quietly at nothing, he’d felt a little jolt of fear.

But then she’d turned to him, as he sat next to her, and said, “Clean slate, I guess. New start.”

He’d pulled her close, mindful of her tender, still-healing body. A new start for both of them, really.