Page 22 of Bruise Me Tenderly

I’m grateful for that, but it’s still hard to hear. So many things were stolen from River because of Ian, and this is just one more.

“Don’t look so sad,” River says, reaching across the table to touch my hand. “I’m happy now, Judson. I really am. And I’m really happy that I’m here with you right now.”

The honesty in his voice is the only thing that soothes me. But I try to let go of it. I don’t want those memories here.

Instead, I focus on the feel of River’s hand against mine, the warmth of his skin. The sparkle in his eye as he talks about one of his young patients drawing him a picture to thank him for saving his life in the ER one night. It’s clear River loves what he does.

When we leave the restaurant, River keeps his hand in mine. His fingers are interlocked loosely with mine, as if he’s waiting to see if I’ll pull away from him. I really don’t know how he could think I’d ever pull away from his hold. It’s all I wanted for so long.

I pause on the sidewalk and start to lift his hand, to kiss the back of it, but something catches my eye.

There, behind a hot dog stand parked on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street is Ian. Watching us.

Twelve

River

Judson stops with our hands partially raised toward his lips. His body is tight with tension. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. When he doesn’t answer, I follow his gaze across the street to see a man selling hot dogs at one of the vendor carts. But Judson doesn’t look hungry; he looks terrified.

It takes me a second to realize the guy looks eerily similar to Ian. My heart jumps into my throat, and it’s suddenly hard to swallow. Hard to breathe.

I close my eyes and focus on Judson’s hand in mine. Focus on the heat of the sun I can feel on my skin. Focus on the smell of the restaurant we just walked out of.

We’re not trapped in Ian’s house. We’re free. Judson killed him. He can’t hurt us anymore.

“Judson, it’s not him.”

Judson has my hand in a death grip. “It looks like him.”

“I know. But it’s not him. Ian’s dead, remember?”

“Yeah.” His voice is strangled. “Yeah, I know.”

I pull on his hand, tugging him toward the curb where he parked his Jeep. “Let’s go. It’s getting dark, and I want to get home.”

We’ve still got at least another two hours of sunlight left, but my need does the trick. Judson shakes his head and follows me across the street. He doesn’t let go of my hand until we have to climb in the car.

“You okay?” I ask as he starts the engine.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He pulls out onto the street, and I’m debating on whether or not to take his hand again when he reaches over and puts his on my thigh.

“I’m glad we’re going back to your place,” he says, his voice back to that carefree way it always sounds when he’s trying not to show he’s upset about something. “I’ve pretty much been thinking about you nonstop since the last time I was inside you.”

Even though his words have heat flooding my veins, I try to push it down. We’ve had sex more than once since the time he sucked me off on the sofa after talking about Ian, and it’s been fine. Almost enough to make me start to think I’d been mistaken about him using sex to cope with everything. But looking at him now, I know I wasn’t wrong. He’s scared; seeing that man who resembled Ian brought things back for both of us, but it was obviously worse for him.

I wait until we’re in my apartment before bringing it up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” he asks, closing and locking the door behind us. “Usually this doesn’t require too many words.”

“I’m talking about the guy you saw on the street who looked like Ian.”

Judson’s face clouds over for a second before he clears it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“But—”

He reaches out and pulls me close. “I’d really rather not talk anyway. I have other things I want to do with my mouth.”