Part 9 (1/2)

It was a mistake, what you did with Tessa. A big f.u.c.king mistake, and if you don't stop things now, it's only going to get worse. You're going to end up disappointing her, hurting her-just like you did with Irene. Do you really think you could ever make someone like Tessa happy? You couldn't with Irene. Do you really think someone like Tessa would ever love you? Half a man-that's all you'll ever be. Damaged goods, Rene. You're as f.u.c.ked up in the head as you are everywhere else.

”No, I'm not,” Rene seethed.

No? his brain quipped back. Then why the h.e.l.l are you sitting here arguing with yourself?

He opened his eyes. ”G.o.dd.a.m.n it.”

His cell phone sat beside him on a small table. He reached for it, flipped back the cover, then cradled it in his hand for a long, uncertain moment, staring at the small, glowing display screen, his thumb hovering above the keypad. You won't do it. Not sober anyway. You don't have the b.a.l.l.s.

At this, Rene defiantly punched the redial b.u.t.ton and drew the phone to his ear. f.u.c.k you, he said to that little inner voice as he sat in rigid silence, his jaw locked at so stern an angle, his back teeth hit together, nearly grinding. He listened to the phone ring once, then again, then a third time.

Maybe she's not home. Maybe she's out on a date with her husband.

Several years ago, he'd hired a private investigator to track down Irene. He'd learned that she had remarried several years after leaving him, some college-educated accountant type Rene was sure her father had approved of. They'd moved to California in the early 1980s, when her husband had taken a job with some multibillion-dollar tech firm in Silicon Valley. He was now the chief financial officer of the company, or some such bulls.h.i.+t, and they lived in a posh Victorian mansion in the exclusive Pacific Heights area of San Francisco. They'd had two children, both of whom were grown. She lived the proverbial life of Riley.

She probably never even thinks of me at all.

”h.e.l.lo?” Irene's voice was sleepy; he'd roused her from bed again.

Rene closed his eyes and remembered the day forty years ago when he'd first set eyes on her, the way she'd smiled, the sweet fragrance that had surrounded her, the way sunlight dappling down through magnolia limbs had fallen against her face and s.h.i.+ned in her hair.

”h.e.l.lo?” she said again, this time the tone of her voice lending itself to a frown.

She'd never known about Rene's money. By the time Arnaud Morin had found him, Irene was long gone, moving on with her life.

She didn't know that in one fell swoop, he'd acquired a hundred times the fortune her husband had spent years to earn; that he could have bought the sprawling house she called home a thousand times over and still have spent little more than pocket change to him.She'd only known him dirt d.a.m.n poor, and it had never mattered to her. She'd been one of the few people he'd ever known in his entire life who had loved him simply as he was, with no expectations, no demands. Lina was one of the others.

And now Tessa, he thought, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Tessa is falling in love with me like that, and oh, sweet Christ, I don't know what to do, because I'm falling in love with her, too.

”Is somebody there?” Irene asked.

”No, chere,” Rene said softly, lowering the phone from his ear as he hung up. ”n.o.body at all.”

He slept for a couple of hours, waking some time just before dawn. Tessa was still sleeping, and his leg had charged, so he pulled it on long enough to get up off the recliner and duck into the bathroom. He needed a shower. Taking one involved removing his leg again, and he wanted to get a quick one in before Tessa roused just to avoid the risk of her seeing him. He needed to shave, too, but figured that would wait; the buzz of his electric razor as he stood over the vanity sink would have disturbed Tessa.

Once safely behind the closed bathroom door, Rene sat down against the side of the tub and removed his clothes and leg, propping the prosthetic within his reach in the corner near the toilet. He turned the hot water tap open wide, watching it splash down against the tub drain, sending steam curling up in thick tendrils that quickly filled the small room.

He had a folding shower chair in the trunk of the car, but didn't want to risk waking Tessa by going outside to get it. At home, as a general rule, he simply stood in the shower; he had a large, walk-in stall instead of a tub and could balance himself by leaning against the wall. The floor of his shower was some kind of special, nonskid surface, while the basin of the motel's porcelain tub was glossy and potentially slippery. That, combined with the fact he'd need to avoid getting his hand wet, if possible, meant he was going to have to be really careful. If he fell, he'd have a h.e.l.l of a time getting up on his own, because the bathroom wasn't handicapped equipped; there were no bars or rails for him to grab hold of for leverage. As he turned the showerhead on, Rene frowned, again toying with the idea of going to get the bath chair.

”f.u.c.k it,” he muttered, swinging himself around on the edge of the tub. Resting most of his weight on his leg, he shoved his good hand against the shower wall and stood. Once upright, he leaned his shoulder against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling the spray of hot water stinging his chest, peppering his face. Heaven, he thought.

Within moments, the cotton gauze wrapped around his left hand was soaked. He'd had to force his fingers into reluctant movement in order to unwrap the little bar of motel soap, something he'd not thought to do before getting into the shower. The wound had healed considerably since the day before, but was still incredibly sore, and trying to manage something that had required at least some modic.u.m of dexterity had left his hand throbbing and aching.

He wound up using the soap to wash his hair, because he'd also forgotten to grab one of the miniature bottles of shampoo from the corner of the tub. Since bending over to get it was pretty much out of the question, he was stuck with what he had on hand.

Literally.

And when the little bar of soap slipped out from between his fingers, clattering to the floor of the tub and skittering about like a runaway hockey puck, Rene stared down at it with a frown. ”G.o.dd.a.m.n it.”

He had the urge to reach out with his right foot and poke it with his toes as it came to a rest against the chrome-plated tub drain.

Which was odd considering he had no right foot anymore, no toes with which to poke anything.

He glanced at the far corner of the tub, where the edge of the white nylon shower curtain was plastered against the wall with moisture. There was another bar of soap there, and the little bottle of shampoo, as well. If I just lean over a little bit, I can reach it.

Ordinarily, he might not have bothered. He wasn't particular or picky about his appearance, but yesterday had been hot, and he'd also torn open the kid's throat at the rest stop. Even though he'd washed in the bathroom there, he'd still felt kind of grimy and unclean ever since, if only in the Lady Macbeth guilt-ridden sort of way. And messing around with Tessa last night sure as h.e.l.l didn't help any. Out, out, d.a.m.n spot-and all of that.

He s.h.i.+fted his weight slightly, blinking against water droplets beading in his eyelashes as he reached out, his fingers splayed for the soap. You're not going to make it. Now the mean little niggling voice in his head had turned into an annoying little nagging one.

You're going to slip and fall and wind up stuck in this G.o.dd.a.m.n tub like a turtle turned up on its back.

”I am not,” Rene muttered, leaning over, arm outstretched. All at once, he lost his balance, and he had a wide-eyed, startled moment to realize that nagging voice had been right after all before he crashed down into the tub, dragging the shower curtain with him. It ripped loose of the thin metal loops holding it onto the curtain rod and came spilling down atop him like a sopping, cream- colored shroud. He landed hard, catching the brunt of the blow with his right side and sending a bright spear of pain shooting up from his stump. He tried to catch himself reflexively-and put too much weight down on his injured hand, causing him more pain.

His chin smacked the lip of the tub so hard, his back teeth clamped down against his tongue, drawing blood.

”G.o.dd.a.m.n it!” he cried, swatting the curtain off his face. The shower was still going full blast; now the water pelted down on the top of his head, and he sputtered, choking for breath, spitting out a bitter mouthful of blood.

”G.o.dd.a.m.n it!” he gasped, struggling to push the soaked shower curtain away from him. Oh, viens m'enculer, that hurt like a son of a b.i.t.c.h!

”Rene?” He heard a light but urgent rapping against the bathroom door. ”Are you all right?”

Terrific. So Tessa was awake now. His humiliation was complete.

”I'm fine.” He grimaced as he shoved his good hand against the side of the tub and tried to sit up.

”I heard a big crash...” she said, sounding uncertain.

”Yeah, pischouette. That was me.” He couldn't stand up. Not on his own, he realized to his dismay. He might have been able to somehow struggle upright if he'd been able to use both of his hands, but with his left one injured, there'd be no way.

Viens m'enculer. f.u.c.k me.

Rene saw the doork.n.o.b start to turn and his eyes widened in alarm. ”It's all right,” he called out, but it wasn't all right of course. He was stuck in the tub for all practical purposes, and if he didn't want to spend the rest of his life there, he'd need Tessa's help.

”Just...just give me a minute, pischouette.”

If she'd walked in on him jerking off, he wouldn't have been as mortified. He shoved his dripping hair back out of his face and struggled not to laugh. If he didn't laugh, he'd probably burst into tears. Just bring me my pistol, Tessa, and slide it through the G.o.dd.a.m.n door. Let me kill myself, for Christ's sake.

”Are you hurt, Rene?” Tessa asked, turning the doork.n.o.b again. ”I'm coming in. What happened?”

”Tessa, don't-” he began, but it was too late; she was already through the door. He grabbed a wadded handful of shower curtain and jerked it over his midriff, struggling to hide both his crotch and stump from view.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” she exclaimed as she rushed over to the tub, wide-eyed and reaching for him. ”What happened?”

”What the h.e.l.l does it look like?” he growled, embarra.s.sed. ”I fell down.”