The Difference a Day Makes (Perfect, Indiana: Book Two) (25 page)

Ryan strode around the bed and grabbed his phone from the table. Scrolling through his contacts, he found Noah’s number. The phone rang and rang, finally taking him to voice mail. He ended the call.

Eyeing the jeans he’d dropped on the floor, he calculated how long it would take to get to the bar on the west side of Perfect. He had around two hours till closing time. More than enough time for a couple of shots. Just enough to take the edge off and help him sleep. He took a step toward his discarded clothing. Guilt and shame burned its way up to his face. Was he so weak he couldn’t even make it two weeks without a drink?

He sat on the wire edge of a crisis, and one wrong move would cut him deep. Left with only one thing to do, he pushed number one on his speed dial and plastered the phone to his ear. With each unanswered ring, he bargained: If she didn’t answer, he’d head for the bar. If she did, he’d—

“Ryan?” Paige’s sleepy voice filled his ear. She yawned into her phone.

The bones in his body turned to rubber, and his muscles went slack with relief. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing?”
Stupid thing to say
. He smacked his palm against his forehead as she made an incredulous snorting noise. Imagining she wore her
You’re an idiot
face, he smiled stupidly into the darkness.

“Well…”

A long silent pause followed.

“I
was
sleeping. It’s after midnight.” She yawned again. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m having some trouble here. Talk to me.” He shut his eyes tight and leaned his head back. One messed-up wreck, that’s what he was.

“Is it the booze?”

“No…Yes. It’s complicated.” He swallowed hard. “It’s the ghosts, not the alcohol. The drinking has always been about the ghosts and the nightmares, Paige. Whisky shuts it all out…so I can sleep.”

Another long silence stretched between them. She didn’t understand. How could she? Only someone who’d been through what he had, seen the things he’d seen, would get it. “Look, I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” He started to take the phone away from his ear so he could end this mistake before things went from bad to worse.

“Wait.”

His heart raced, and he brought the phone back. “Yeah?”

“What can I do to help?”

“Talk to me.” His legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. He sank to the edge of his bed and flopped back, pinching the inside corners of his eyes. “I don’t care what we talk about. As long as I hear your voice, it’ll help.”

“Hold on. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Wait.” He sat up fast. “You don’t have to…”
Shit
. She’d already ended the call. Paige was on her way. Not what he’d intended at all—another meltdown witnessed by the woman of his dreams.
Great.

Ryan turned on his bedroom lamp, snatched up the clothing littered all over his bedroom floor, and tossed the heap into the closet. He opened his dresser drawer and dug through his stuff
for a pair of cutoff sweats, slipping into them just as her knock sounded on his door. Grabbing a T-shirt, he tugged it on as he hurried down the hall.

He opened the door and took her in, from her sleep-tousled hair to her slippered feet. She wore a tattered old flannel thing with a distinctively masculine print. “Nice robe. Sexy.” He smirked, while the sight of her filled him with achy tenderness.

“I know, huh?” She tightened the frayed belt. “I took it out of Ceejay’s rag bag. It used to belong to my brother.”

Ryan opened the door wider to let her in. “You didn’t need to get out of bed. We could’ve talked on the phone.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Lifting her chin, she laid whatever happened next at his feet.

“Hell no.”

“Good. Come with me.” She took him by the hand and led him toward his bedroom.
Hoh, boy.
“What do you have in mind, darlin’?”

She chuffed out another snort. “Not what you’re thinking,
darlin’.
I’m going to give you a back massage, and you’re going to introduce me to your ghosts. I’m not the one who needs to talk. You are. I’ll stay until you talk yourself out and fall asleep.”

“It’s generally
after
I fall asleep that the trouble starts.”

“Then I’ll stay a while longer to make sure your ghosts don’t come back tonight.”

Even all business and bossy Paige turned him on. “My own personal superhero, guarding me from my demons.”

“Something like that.” She chuckled. “Take off that T-shirt, and lie down on your stomach.”

He froze. Heat suffused his face. He hadn’t bared his scars to anyone other than doctors and nurses. The way she’d reacted the first time she touched them came back in a hot mess of
mortification. “I’ll leave the shirt on, if it’s all the same to you.” His voice sounded terse, even to him.

“No, you won’t. This is part of the deal, cowboy.” Paige stepped closer, jutting out her chin. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.” She tugged at the hem of the cotton shirt.

He stopped her, his heart thundering and his mouth dry as desert wind. “No.”

“Ryan,” she cajoled. “Do you remember the day you bought the quilt?” Her hands snuck past his and slid up his bare chest.

A slice of pleasure penetrated his defenses and fogged his brain. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory, Paige. I have PTSD, not traumatic brain injury.” His response elicited a low chuckle, weakening his resolve a smidge more.

“I didn’t stop touching you that day because I found your scars repulsive. I stopped because…”

Where his heart thundered a second ago, now it came to a complete standstill. He held his breath, his attention riveted on the tenderness filling her eyes. “Because why?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of the pain those burns caused you. I…” Her voice broke. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt.” She tugged at the hem of his shirt again, and he let her take it from him.

“Your scars don’t bother me the way you think they do.” She kissed the center of his chest and ran her hands over his shoulders and down the tight, twisted skin on his back. Her touch went straight through him, all the way to his battered soul.

“Are we clear on that?” She searched his face.

All he could manage was a mute nod.

“Good. Lie facedown on the bed.”

Yes, ma’am.
Facedown was a good idea, because his dick had no qualms about letting her know how he felt about her. “You’re
bossy.” He lay down on his stomach, propping his chin on his fists.

“So?”

Laughter vibrated through him. “So I like it.” The bed creaked and the mattress dipped as she perched on the edge, nudging him with her hip.

“Scoot over.”

He did as he was told, making room for her to sit beside him. Her warm hands settled on the knotted muscles where his neck met his shoulders—scars and all. Digging in with her fingers and thumbs, she kneaded, poked, and prodded until the knots untied.

“You might relax more if you put your arms down by your sides,” she suggested, moving along his spine, using her knuckles to loosen him up.

Again, he did as he was told. Finding her bare knee, he draped his arm over it and hugged it closer to his side. A long sigh slid out as the tension melted away bit by bit.

“Tell me about your ghosts,” she whispered.

He groaned and shook his head.

She stopped massaging.

“Not fair,” he muttered.

“I’m not trying to be fair.” She brushed the hair from his face and teased him with a kiss. “If you want me to continue, you have to give me something in return.”

“The more I tell, the more you’ll do?” The lustful optimist in him soared…

“We’ll see.”

…and crashed. “You’re a cold, hard woman,” he teased.

“Ha!” She resumed her ministrations. “We both know who’s hard right now, and it’s not me.” Leaning down, she kissed his back and ran her hands along his sides.

He grunted. “All right. Paige, meet my best friend Lance Corporal Benjamin Jackson, soldier, husband, and father.” His throat tightened. “He drove the Humvee your brother and I were in the day we got hit, and he’s the one who first spotted the civilian truck heading straight for us. Ben had a wife and a kid to get home to. He…He didn’t make it. I did.”

“You must’ve been a better friend to him than he was to you.”

“What are you talking about?” He jerked out of her reach. “Jackson was a great guy, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

She followed him across the bed and pushed him back down. “Good friends don’t punish each other, Ryan. Do you believe he’s spiteful enough to haunt you? Do you really think a great guy like Ben Jackson would blame his best friend for what the enemy did to him?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Fine.” She massaged his shoulders. “Explain it to me.”

“Noah ordered me to fire a round into the dirt to warn those Iraqis off. I could’ve aimed my machine gun into the payload of that truck while it was still out in the desert. If I had—”

“So let me get this straight. You plan to second-guess yourself for the rest of your life? You’re going to shoulder the blame and punish yourself for a split-second decision that wasn’t even yours to make?”

“Yes,” he snapped.

“I see. All hail the what-if game.” She dug the heels of her palms into the tight spots below his shoulder blades. “Introduce me to another ghost.”

“Besides Jackson, four other soldiers died that day. They like to make their presence known.”

“Were the four of them close to you?”

“No. We were in the same platoon, but none of them were in my squad. I didn’t know any of them personally.”

“And these soldiers you hardly knew, and who hardly knew you, are somewhere right now thinking, ‘If only that schmuck had aimed for the payload…’” She huffed out a breath. “Really, Ryan? I’m sure these spirits have better things to do with their time than to blame you for what happened that day. Maybe they’re somewhere right now wondering why the hell you won’t let them go in peace. Did you ever think of that?”

“No. I never did.” He couldn’t help the flicker of a grin that broke out. What she said was so ridiculous. “They aren’t
real
ghosts, Paige. They’re memories and nightmares concocted by my fractured psyche.”

“I know. That’s exactly my point.” She pinched him. “You’ve concocted the whole scenario so that you can punish yourself forever for something completely out of your control.”

“Ouch.” He flipped over onto his back, wrestled her down beside him on the mattress, and covered her legs with one of his. “After all this torture, I should at least be allowed to cop a feel.”

She burst out laughing. “Feeling better?”

“I will in a minute.” He kissed her, running his tongue along the side of hers while he untied the ugly robe. “Let’s get rid of this old thing.”

“Let’s not.” She caught his hands. “We have one more concoction to address.” Biting her lower lip, she glanced at him. “Theresa.”

“I already told you about her.” He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his forearm. “What more is there to say?”

“From everything you’ve told me, I’m guessing Theresa was a wonderful person with a big heart. How do you think she’d feel if she knew you blamed yourself for her accident?”

He made a growling sound from behind his hands. “You aren’t going to cut me any slack tonight, are you?”

“Nope.” Paige pried his arm from his face, brushing her lips across his closed eyes once she’d accomplished the task. “If your roles were reversed, would you want Theresa carrying around all that guilt weighing you down? Would you want her life to remain stuck in the past while any chance at a great future passed her by?”

“No, of course not. I’d want her to be happy.” His chest tightened, and his eyes stung.

“Let me be sure I have this right. You’d want her to move on, love again, and find happiness, but you don’t believe she’d want the same for you? Is that how it is?” Paige stroked his forehead and stared into his soul. “She loved you, Ryan. I can’t believe Theresa would want you to continue holding on to all this emotional baggage.”

His breath caught, and her words hit the bull’s-eye in the deadened center of his heart. Blinking against the tears in his eyes, Ryan’s jaw tightened. Breaking down in front of Paige was such a bitch. She must see him as a complete wuss.

She slid her mouth across his and nipped at his bottom lip. “You still want to see me naked?”

His eyes widened. “Hell yes.”
Lust. Instant tears-be-gone remedy.
“But not if you’re offering because you feel sorry for me or out of—”

“I don’t pity you, Ryan. Your stubborn refusal to give up the load you insist on dragging around like a cinder block and chain mostly just ticks me off.”

“Of course.” He chuckled. “I should’ve known better.”

“That’s right. You should’ve.” She untied her robe and shucked it, revealing an old faded Harvard T-shirt and a pair of matching boxers.

“Wow, Paige. Sexy robe and even
sexier
pajamas.”

Her throaty chuckle filled him. She pulled off her shirt, revealing her perfect, lush breasts with their dusky-rose nipples, exactly as he’d imagined.
Oh, Lord.
He reached out to test their warm, soft weight against his palms, running his thumbs over those perfect nipples until they peaked for him. “You are one beautiful woman. I hope you know that.”

She sighed, arching into him. “Do you have protection, cowboy? Because after watching all those bronc and bull riders tonight, I could really go for a good, long ride myself.”

“Are you saying this is going to happen because of the rodeo? Shoot. We’re going to find a new rodeo every week from here on in.” God, he loved the way she could be shy one minute and bold as brass the next. He loved her intelligence, wit, the way she looked—everything about her. Ryan sat up, holding her around the waist as he rose. He reached for the bedside table and pulled the brand-spanking-new box of condoms from the drawer. “It just so happens, I do have protection.”