Page 43 of Narrow Margins
“Please, baby, I just got worked up. Fuck! Please, Corr, I’m sorry.” I reach out to capture his arm but he moves out of my reach.
“But, think about this, Griff, if you’d answered my call, if you’d told the police and Reynolds about me, there never would have been a court case. You would never have been dropped from your team, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be here with me now. So maybe, just maybe, the person who set you up, who let you lose your job and your life, is actually you. This is your fault, Griff Broderick.”
I watch as the man I have fallen in love with stalk past me, his back straight and his face rigid. I want to rip my tongue out. I want to follow him and beg him to forgive me. I can’t believe what I said, fuck! He lost his brothers in arms in a foreign land, blown to pieces because of some crazy, false religious belief. He lost a part of his body, he has fought and struggled with the pain of loss as well as the painful journey of recovery. He watched his father be incarcerated for life because of his hatred of men like him and his brother.
He is right. Everything that happened to me is my fault. How can I make it better? What do I do now? Looking around the room, I see my cell phone and grab it but the thought of calling Manny, or anyone else, has fled. My hand tightens around the metal, then, with a howl, I throw the phone against the wall.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” I can’t hold the cry inside me anymore. Spinning on my heels, I head for the stairs and, taking them three at a time, I bound up the steps and down to Corrie’s bedroom.
Pushing the door open, my eyes flit around the room as I search for him, he’s not here. The bathroom door is shut but I hear a noise and a shuffle on the other side of the door. Frozen where I stand, I wait for it to open.
I tense as the door swings open and steam from the shower billows around him. Motionless, I wait as Corrie walks through, the towel wrapped around his waist the only thing he wears. When his eyes glance up from the floor, he halts as he sees me, but then carries on as if I’m not here. Apart from the heaving in my chest, I remain still, watching as he removes a pair of soft, worn cotton, sleep shorts from his dresser. Fuck, they look like army issue shorts.
I wonder for a fleeting moment if Corrie has chosen those in particular because of my callous words but I hate myself as soon as I think it. He doesn’t have a calculating bone in his body, he’s a good man, way too good for me. But I can’t pull myself away, he is my man. I plainly don’t deserve him. It takes a few seconds before he pulls them on and makes his way to his bed. The crutches go up against the wall, next to his prosthesis and the bed, easily reached if he needs them in the night.
My heart beats so rapidly and forcefully in my chest, I look down, expecting to see the pulse against my rib cage. But Corrie stays silent and I watch as he clambers into his bed and immediately turns his back to me. I wait for his breathing to regulate and even out as sleep takes over his body but there is no change.
“Go away, Griff, I don’t want you here.” His voice is low but definite, my breath hitches in my throat as I stifle a groan but I stay where I am, rooted to the spot, unable to move.
Eventually, Corrie does succumb to sleep and I move against the wall and slide down, my arms cross over my knees and my head clunks back against the plaster. I stay and I wait, there is nowhere else for me to go. Right now, I don’t give a fuck if I ever see a motorcycle again, I only want to redeem myself, to prove I am the man for Corrie. That I am worthy of him. That thought keeps me awake for the night. I sit, watching him sleep; he murmurs and twitches restlessly as dreams take over his mind. These aren’t good dreams as he cries out names of men unknown to me, but then my name is called out. Painfully, in the dark, I hear him call for me. But, is he going to remember this dream in the morning? Is he going to ask me to go away again? Will my heart bear it, if he does?
My hand reaches across the bed to find Griff but the space is cold and empty, then the events of last night flood my brain and I can’t help but moan. The pain of his selfish words cut me again. I screw my eyes up tight, trying to shut the images out. Moments later though, the rest of my body wakes up and I need to go to the bathroom. Rolling over, I blink twice as I see Griff sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees bent, and he looks terrible.
His eyes are red-rimmed from lack of sleep, or, maybe, tears. Fuck, I hope it’s not from tears. He watches me; like a rabbit caught in the headlights, his eyes widen but he doesn’t move. Christ, I still want him, my body calls for his but I don’t know what his plans are. I don’t know if he will be staying here anymore. The thought of him leaving me hurts, it hurts so much more than the thoughtless words he spewed last night. I swallow hard a couple of times before I can find words or the voice to speak them.
“Have you been there all night?” What a stupid fucking question! Of course, he has: he’s got the same clothes on and the same broken expression on his face.
But he doesn’t move or even blink, he merely looks, damn, he just looks broken. I push against the mattress and sit up, swinging my legs out of bed before reaching for my crutches. My hand shakes as I reach over to grab my crutches but the tremor in my fingers causes one to crash to the floor. Griff is off the floor and over to me before I can reach for the second one.
My fingers skate over the top of his as we reach out at the same time and the bolt of electricity I first felt from him is back. Yanking his hand away, Griff reaches for the fallen stick and bends to pick it up.
“Here you go.” Griff’s voice sounds rough, like sandpaper or broken glass.
Our eyes meet as I take the crutch from him. “Thank you.” I manage to whisper.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes flick from mine down to my mouth and, nervously, I lick my bottom lip. Griff’s eyes darken but he steps away from me.
I don’t think I can bear this anymore, it hurts too much. I look up and catch him chewing his bottom lip. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t do that, you’ll make it sore.” I shove off the bed and reach over to his face and, with the pad of my thumb, tease his bottom lip from his teeth.
Griff’s tongue slips out and slides over the top of my thumb, the gesture making us moan. Which of us makes the next move is anyone’s guess but my hands are in his messy hair as his hold my waist. The crutches clash to the floor but we pay them no mind.
When our mouths touch, I feel Griff’s body shudder as pleasure runs through him. Sensing his need and his nerves dueling each other, I take control and part his lips with my tongue before sweeping it across his.
Moments later, I feel Griff start to pull away, and I know his apologies are going to start again but I don’t want to hear them. I only want us to be together again. I know he is sorry, I know he didn’t mean to hurt me and I know he wishes he had never said them. Every one of those feelings was etched across his broken features when he faced me earlier.
“Don’t, Griff, it’s okay; I know.” I continue to hold his face close to mine, “It’s okay.”
“I don’t know what to do, Corrie, I don’t know how to go forward now.” His eyes drill into mine, his pain echoing in his voice. “I hurt you so much, I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Let’s move past this, Griff, I’m in too deep to let you go.” Briefly, I touch his lips with mine then pull away. With his hands still holding me upright I reach for my crutches to move away.
“Don’t go, Corr, not yet.” He whispers.
“I have to, I really need to pee.”
His burst of laughter breaks the tension and he lets go of me. “Okay, you go deal with that then.”
My room is empty when I step out of the bathroom so, I grab some clothes and quickly get dressed. Once I’m on my feet, I make my way to his room.