Broken Hero

“The robes for Lucy’s spa day with the bridesmaids arrived, too. I think we should make sure they’re delivered to her. I can do-oh!”

“What?””I forgot to put the ice sculpture in the freezer. It was the only thing the caterers asked me to do.” She tosses a branch to the side and runs to the door. “You had one job, Sarah.”

“Go. I’ll take the robes to the spa.”

“They’re by reception, in a large blue box!”

I head out to grab the robes and shake my head at her disorganized genius. Sarah might be scatterbrained, but these weddings inevitably turn out amazing, and it’s all because of her.

I head to the spa with the box under my arm. Lucy doesn’t have any treatments scheduled today, but she told me she’d been there since morning to make sure everything was perfect. Apparently, she’d even planned a bridesmaid yoga session, whatever that was. She’d smiled when she announced it, all sunshine and excitement, and I’d had to stop myself from kissing her right then and there-the staff be damned.

I knock on the half-open door. “Luce? You have a delivery!”

“I do?” She rises from her cross-legged position on the floor, a notebook next to her. “Is it you?”

“Would you object if it were?”

She stands on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips. As if on cue, my body responds, warmth spreading through me. I’ll never get enough of her. “Not at all,” she says. “Where do I sign?”

I hand her the box. “Your robes arrived.”

“Already? That’s great! Oh, Oliver… I really think this will be a great thing for the ranch. They’ll pose in these robes, and it’ll say bride and bridesmaid on the back. I’m sure they’ll share them on their social media, too, and hopefully tag the ranch.”

I have a seat on the waiting sofa. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Again? You’re insatiable.”

“When it comes to you, yes.”

“What do you have to offer?”

“Take-out from Ricky’s. A view of the sunset. A large, king-sized bed.” I pull her down into my lap and sweep the hair back from her neck. She loves kisses there, I’ve learned. It’s something I’m going to exploit. “A man who wants you.”

Lucy gives a soft sigh. “Is it Brad Pitt?”

“Very funny.”

“I’ll stay.”

“Mmm?”

“Mmm. You’re not the only one who’s feeling a bit insatiable.”

Later that night, she has me sprawled on the bed. I don’t follow her instructions and her laughter rings out, pealing and glorious. I can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Just stop arguing and lie down! Yes, like that. Put your head on this.”

I grab the pillow she hands me and stuff it under my head. Lucy sits on the side, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re handsome.”

I snort. Right. I’m only in my boxers, lying face-down. My scars will be on full display in this well-lit room, but she’s seen them before. I might as well take the plunge.

Lucy straddles me. The warm weight of her is pleasant, and I can’t help but tease her a little. “Are you sure I shouldn’t turn around for this?”

She puts an admonishing hand on my back. “No. Lie still.”

“Fine.”Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

But as soon as she starts touching me, all thoughts of mutiny leave me. I wouldn’t move from this position for all the riches in the world. Her hands are magic as they work across my skin. She finds my pressure points within seconds, the knots and sore areas I’ve been neglecting for years. When she pushes against a tender spot between my shoulder-blades, I can’t help but groan.

She sighs. “When was the last time you took care of yourself?”

It’s clearly a rhetorical question, and I’m thankful for that, because I don’t have an answer.

Her hands soften when she reaches my injured shoulder. From her vantage point, I’m sure she can see the bullet wound and the puckered skin from the resulting infection. The wound has long since healed, but the muscles and tendons underneath aren’t what they used to be. My last physical therapist gave me a booklet with exercises to do daily, which I promptly forgot. I have no idea where the booklet ended up.

Lucy’s fingers trace the outline of the scar. “You have to tell me what you feel. If it hurts or if it doesn’t feel okay.”

I nod into the pillow.

“I mean it, Oliver. Slight pain is good, but sharp, shooting pains are not.”

I can’t help but smile at her tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Strong, slim hands grow bolder over my shoulder. It doesn’t take long until she’s working deep into my muscles. She manipulates them slowly, the scarred parts that never really regained full motion. It hurts, but it’s good pain.

“You lied to me earlier,” she says. Her voice is deceptively soft in contrast to her strong hands. “When I asked you if your shoulder hurts sometimes.”

Lying beneath her hands, subject to her ministrations, half-naked… what’s the point in denying?

“Yes.”She sighs, as if that clarifies everything, and bends down to kiss my shoulder. “Will you let me do this weekly?”

“Weekly? You can do it daily.”

Lucy laughs. “It won’t always be this nice, not if it’s going to be effective.”

I feel her stretch out, hands still working into my back. Her body is draped along the length of mine. I can feel the curve of her hip, one of her slender legs thrown over mine.

Her hands knead into the sore muscles of my shoulders, and I can’t help my reaction. It’s instinctual. I groan into her neck and throw an arm around her waist. I flip us over so I’m half-lying on her like a pillow, her hands in my hair and on my muscles.

It’s been an eternity since I’ve been cared for like this, touched for longer stretches of time than just for a casual sexual encounter. Touched simply for the joy to run your hands over someone else’s skin.

Lucy runs her nails lightly over my back and I shiver. “Oliver?”

“Yes?””Do you talk to someone? About the PTSD?” Her voice is hesitant and smooth, as if she’s afraid of my reaction. But for the first time in a long while, the word doesn’t make me recoil.