Page 28 of View from Above
“Give me thirty minutes, and I’m yours,” she said.
“Take your time.” Payton broke the all-too-tempting circle of his arms and set her free.
She made her own way down the hall, bypassing her guest room, and crossed the threshold into the main bedroom. Despite the back and forth between them, she needed every minute he’d offered to herself. The emotional armor she’d clung to since waking in the hospital room had started getting heavy, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it together.
Maple hardwood flooring directed her across the room. A forest green dresser, the same color as the desk they’d occupied two nights ago, sat along one wall with a thin but large TV installed overhead. Payton’s room matched the brightness and seemingly professional design of all the others, only this one had seen more use. A stack of books with sticky notes and bookmarks poking out of each waited for attention on the nightstand beside the king-size bed. Shutters limited her view of the backyard, but a two-bladed fan was enough to bring the feel of the outdoors inside.
Skimming her fingers over the end of his bed, she moved into the bathroom attached at the far end, and a moan rumbled through her sore chest. It was beautiful. He hadn’t lied about the size of the freestanding tub, but he’d left out the spa-like feeling beckoning her forward. The same hardwoods drew her past the custom vanity to the oversized tiled shower at the far end. She twisted the tub’s nozzle to hot and let the water run free to warm up. Closing the door, she closed her eyes as the steam built. The burn of exhaust, disinfectant, and something familiar vacated her lungs the longer she let her mind settle.
She untied the scrub bottoms the hospital had lent her after Payton had taken her clothing as evidence, followed by the top. Then opened her eyes. Centered in front of one of two vanity mirrors hanging over the sinks, she nearly lost her footing at the sight.
Dozens of short cuts peppered her face, neck, and chest. Bruises ranging from purple to dark blue stretched across her midsection where she’d cracked two ribs. The swelling in her lips had gone down, leaving them dry and cracked and scabbed. Her throat burned. She’d aged in a matter of days with no memory to tell her why. She’d spent so many years of her life following someone else’s orders, but when she’d finally taken control, this was the result.
You can’t be trusted to run your life. I’ve given you everything. You think you’re some shrink solving the world’s problems? You can’t even help yourself. You’re nothing without me. Her father’s voice drowned the white noise of the tub filling. Mallory traced one of the lacerations across her collarbone. Of all the things the sedative had stolen from her mind the past few weeks, why did it have to leave her final argument with her father? “You can’t even help yourself.”
“Is that what he told you?” Payton’s voice ripped her from the comfortable chaos she’d accepted as her life and into the moment. He moved to turn off the tub’s water.
She hadn’t heard him come in, and awareness of how… broken she must’ve looked without clothing to hide the bruises and cuts shifted her hands across her body. She tried to send a bit of stiffness into her shoulders, support from within, but she was just so tired. Fury at her own inability to hold her head high added bite to her voice. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I’ve been trying to get you to answer for about five minutes.” He leaned against the lip of the tub. “You’ve been in here a while. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her gaze slid to the small clock in the corner of the vanity. More than forty minutes had slipped by since she’d closed the bathroom door. Mallory flinched against the loss of time—again. “I… I didn’t realize how much time had passed. Hope I didn’t keep you and the food waiting too long.”
“Is that what your father told you?” Something along the lines of violence dipped his voice into dangerous territory as he drew nearer. “That you can’t help yourself?”
She couldn’t have this conversation half naked. Mallory grabbed for the scrub top, but the break in her ribcage reminded her real fast she wasn’t going to get what she wanted.
Payton collected her clothes from the floor but pulled them back as she reached to take them from him. He righted her top, turning it right side out and lowered one sleeve to her hand. The fabric brushed against her palm and forearm as he focused on the other side. Goose pimples trailed behind calloused knuckles connecting with her heated skin.
“He said a lot of things. Most of which were designed to manipulate me into doing what he wanted.” The story wasn’t new. At this point, she would’ve shrugged it off and pretended Roland Kotite hadn’t devastated her mental health and that his treatment hadn’t torn her down. Matter of fact. But she didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore. “Worked for a while.”
He fit her head through the shirt’s collar, one-hundred percent focused on her. “How did you manage to get out from under his thumb?”
“Self-help books.” It sounded ridiculous, but she couldn’t deny the pivot her entire life had taken because of them.
Disbelief slowed his work with her scrub bottoms. “You’re joking.”
“No. During my last semester at Stanford, my roommate was a psychology major. Unfortunately for her, she got the opportunity to meet my father during an obligatory visit as one of the school’s board members. Five seconds after he’d walked out the door of our dorm, she handed me a book about children of emotionally immature parents.” Why was she telling him this? Why, of all people, did she trust him when she knew he’d never return the sentiment? She clamped her hands on his broad shoulders and threaded her feet through her scrubs. Less than an hour ago, she’d wanted nothing more than for him to strip her bare and wipe away the fear. How the hell was he achieving the same thing by getting her dressed? “There were all these stories of people who had parents just like him. They shouldered years of abuse—mentally, physically, emotionally, verbally—and I knew I couldn’t live like that for the rest of my life. After that, I knew exactly who he was and what I needed to do.”
“If you know what kind of person he was and how far he was willing to go to get you under his control, why are you letting him in your head now?” Payton tied the drawstring at her waist, gently, counter to his pointed verbal assault on her already fragile psyche.
“I’m not letting… I’m…” She didn’t know what to say to that.
“Let me make one thing very clear, Mallory. You might not remember what happened on the side of that building, but I do. I saw you jump from one ledge to the other. I saw the determination in your face to live.” He released his hold on her scrub bottoms, sweeping her hair back behind her ear. “You did more than help yourself out there. You showed me exactly how far I was willing to go to make sure I didn’t lose you. I was ready to tear through any wall in that building to get to you. I haven’t felt that way about anything or anyone in a long time.”
Her breath shuddered in her chest then quaked down through her arms and legs. She couldn’t stop the relief he imbued with every word, and Mallory twisted her arms around his neck. He was right. She’d let her father and everything he stood for push her to the edge—even after his death—but where he’d expected her to fail, she’d held strong. She’d risen above his attempt to undermine this new life she’d created for herself and had finally showed him she wouldn’t break. The pain in her ribs flared, but it meant nothing compared to the release of years of pain, betrayal, and broken promises. Payton’s hands snaked around her middle, securing her to his chest, and she tightened her hold on him when the world she knew finally ripped out from under her. Leaving nothing but him. “Thank you.”
He smoothed her hair down her back. “Anytime.”
She pressed her mouth into the crook of his neck and inhaled the grounding scent his skin gave off. She planted a kiss there. Payton’s fingers fisted in her scrub top, but he didn’t move to stop her this time. Following the tendon along his neck, she kissed her way below his earlobe and pulled the tender flesh into her mouth.
A moan vibrated up his throat. His voice graveled under her touch. “You sure you want to go down this path, Doc? There might not be a way back.”
“Do you see breadcrumbs anywhere in this outfit?” Mallory clutched a section of his hair in one hand and dragged him toward the vanity. She shoved him back, shaking the length of wood and granite. Before he had a chance to recover, her mouth was on his. This wasn’t about comfort or lust anymore. This was something more. Something powerful and raw and burning. Something only he could elicit from her and only he could satisfy. “I’m not looking for a way back.”
He met her sweep for sweep in challenge, and her pulse spiked. Arcing her head back with the pad of his thumb, he followed the curve of her neck and outlined her collarbone. His exhale skimmed along oversensitive skin and rocketed her blood pressure into dangerous territory. “Your two broken ribs and my cracked left side might have a different story.”
Mallory smiled against his mouth as she popped the button on his jeans and pressed the zipper down. “You solve homicide cases for a living. I’m sure you’re more than capable of figuring out a creative solution we can both agree on.”