At Close Range

“Mmm. I can see I’m going to like getting back to the business of fully living,” he murmured, his body stirring at the unmistakable darkening of her eyes.

The sound of Joseph’s crayon dropping in his box, little fingers rummaging for a different color, reminded Brian that he was not alone with his beautiful housemate. His lover.

“More later,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her behind her ear. Cynthia tilted her head back and emitted a soft moan that would keep his blood boiling, he was sure, until bedtime.

The woman was very, very good for him. And to him.

As good as he wanted to be for her. And her troubled son.

“Did you see this?” He held out the drawing.

Tending to her rice, she nodded, her expression not quite steady. She was obviously no more immune to him than he was to her. “He has a fascination with circles,” she said.

“It’s not a circle, Mommy, it’s the earth,” Joseph said from the table.

So much for the boy tuning out their world.

Note to self, Brian thought, chuckling as he went upstairs to change. Little pitchers have big ears. Save coming on to the mama until the child is in bed.

Much later that night, Brian stared at the ceiling. He had a woman in his arms, her head on his chest. In his bedroom. At home. A woman whose scant collection of clothes hung in the closet next to his. Whose toothbrush was in the ensuite bathroom.

He didn’t regret having her there. He’d made the right decision. Moments like these, moments of discomfort, when he didn’t feel like himself, were to be expected. Living with a woman again was a huge change. There were bound to be adjustments.

“The hospital didn’t phone.” Cynthia’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“I know,” he said, holding her closer. “Which should be good news.”

Her palm rested, unmoving, on his chest. “Did you hear from the parents of the little leukemia girl today?”

“No. I’m planning to do a follow-up call tomorrow. Sometimes when people hear bad news like this, especially about a small child, they go into denial. Their defense mechanisms don’t allow them to believe it and they fail to get the proper treatment. In Felicia’s case, immediate treatment is critical.”

As she did many times, she asked about his caseload that day. And the next. She asked about a couple of kids, cases she knew from doing his accounts, who’d been in for tests, about a ten-year-old who’d been burned, a twelve-year-old future professional baseball player who’d broken his collarbone.

And, telling himself that he was lucky to have a woman who listened, one who cared enough to remember what he did with his days and wanted to share them with him, Brian answered her.

But shouldn’t they be making love instead of talking about work? This was their first official night of living together and he was staring at the ceiling.

When silence fell, her lips planted gentle kisses around his nipple, but she didn’t push him for more—almost as though her heart wasn’t into love-making, either. He settled her more deeply into the crook of his arm, liking her weight against him.

And tried to drift off to sleep.

Eventually, when her breathing didn’t deepen and he could feel her eyelashes blinking against his skin, he gave up.

“Why’d you hide the paper?” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. They needed to discuss the ludicrousness of the reporter’s comments; he needed to assure her of his innocence. She’d just moved her son into his home. She deserved at least that. But he’d wanted her to bring up the article.

She needed to know that if she had concerns, she could come to him. She had to come to him. Or they would never work. Never be a real couple.

“I…What paper?”

Disappointed, Brian took a deep breath. Tried to put himself in her shoes. She was a young woman with few resources and a troubled four-year-old to raise. She’d just taken one of the biggest risks of her life, moving the two of them into his home. And he’d sort of, been accused of murder.

She deserved his patience, if nothing else.

“I saw you reading the article in the Sun News when I came in,” he told her, resolving to take care of her, instead of holding her up to unspoken expectations.

“Oh.” That was all. No questions. No accusations. No rambling fears. As if she was unaware, half dead, although he knew her to be a multidimensional, occasionally intense human being.

“It’s okay, Cyn,” he said softly. “You don’t have to take me at face value. You can have doubts. You can ask questions.”

He wasn’t sure she was going to respond even then, she lay so still against him. But then, lifting her head to rest her chin on his chest, she stared up at him in the dim light coming in from the window. “I want to take you at face value.” Her voice was sweet, tender—and also laced with conviction. “I just can’t seem to do it. Every single time I’ve trusted someone, I’ve been hurt. And my son has been hurt. I can’t let that happen again.”

He wanted to interrupt, to reassure her. But knew he had to hear her out. No matter where she was going with this.

If she left before they’d really begun, he’d survive. He didn’t want her to go, but he’d survive.

And he’d watch out for her, too. He’d show her, one way or another, that she wasn’t alone anymore. He’d committed himself to this small family. For good or bad.

“I’m all he’s got,” she said with that hint of intensity that always drew him to her. “He has to come first.”

“Of course he does.”

Shaking her head, Cynthia sat up, adjusting her nightgown and hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s more than that,” she said now, her eyes wide as she met his gaze. “He doesn’t just come first, he comes only. I will do anything for Joseph. Sacrifice anything for him.”

“As would most mothers for their children,” Brian said. He heard the doctor tone enter his voice, but couldn’t seem to stop it. “Where do you think the saying ‘mother bear with her cubs’ came from? It’s true. Mothers are infused with a need to give up their own lives, to kill if necessary—in a symbolic sense—to protect their young. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“I just…” He could see in her eyes that she was trying to tell him something vital. But he couldn’t quite figure it out.

“I love you, Brian.”

There were those words again. And the timing was critical.

He couldn’t keep running and expect her to stay.

“I love you, too.” There. Offering the proclamation hadn’t been as hard as he’d expected. There were many ways to love a person. Many ways to love a woman.

“I mean it. I really, really love you.”

Brian stroked her hair, caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Okay.”

He was a lucky man.

“I realize now that I’ve never really loved a man before.”

God, she was lovely. He was going to do everything in his power to be worthy of her. To give her everything he had left to give.

Lord knew he wanted to. Brian just wasn’t sure it would be enough.

Because he didn’t have more words, Brian kissed her. Once. Softly. And then again. His hand at the back of her neck, he guided her lips against his, opening to her, coaxing her to open to him.