Ares (Olympia Alien Mail Order Brides Book 2) Page 8

  That scares me most of all.

  Nine

  I knew things were going too well between me and Ares. To say our relationship becomes strained would be an understatement. He doesn’t bow out or give me the silent treatment, but the tension rides underneath the surface, real and tangible. Neither of us concede.

  I can’t. Ares hates his job at the dealership, which I can easily read in the set of his jaw each day when he comes home, and I am powerless to figure out another suggestion to help. Nor do I want to open up that same can of worms again. So we don’t talk about it. Which should be great in theory except it’s all I think about.

  Distracted might as well be my middle name.

  This is my only excuse for why I run a red light on the way to my annual gyno exam. The crunch of my back bumper reverberates through the car a second before the entire vehicle spins around in the middle of the intersection. My heart climbs into my throat.

  The front end slams into a pole and my head whips around to crack against the window. Pain explodes through my skull at the contact. I sit there whimpering until the ringing in my ears clears enough to see that I have stopped traffic in all directions. Goody. At least no one else will hit me, I think dully.

  I wake up in a hospital, thrilled that my injuries are minimal enough that I recognize where I am. There’s way too much white to mistake my surroundings and everything hurts. No amnesia for me. Still I blink as I catch sight of the person sitting by my bed.

  “Penelope?” My voice sounds weird. Scratchy and thin. I can barely hear it above the beeping noises that seem to surround my hospital bed.

  Her gaze cuts to mine, relief flooding her features as she sits forward on her chair. She’s been here a while, judging by the wrinkles in her dress. “Hey, there. Glad to see you awake.”

  “Um…” My throat hurts and it’s hard to talk. Or ask questions. Like where is the hot but stubborn alien that I happen to be married to? Perhaps that was all a dream, which would make a lot of sense. My love life has never been smooth sailing so of course given the first opportunity to envision one, I conjure up a moody, conflicted alien.

  “You had a car wreck,” Penelope explains and clasps my hand. “Near the mall. Though it wasn’t quite clear if you started out on Harrison or Black Lake, I’m told. The car spun around a few times and ended up on the sidewalk.”

  “I remember.” The accident and the reason I have been distracted lately—Ares. I lick my lips. “Why are you here?”

  “Because I love you and the police took ten years off my life when they called. I had to see for myself that you were okay.” She smiles and squeezes my hand. “Apparently you have me listed as your emergency contact instead of your husband.”

  “Oh.”

  Not imaginary then. My head hurts when I have to think too hard. Or if I breathe. My eyelids drift shut since that seems to be about how much energy I have. But what I really want to know is where Ares is.

  “He’s not coming,” she says.

  I must have asked out loud. Wow, am I on some drugs or something? I float, and my brain does some weird zooming in and out like I’m being dropped into a tunnel and then plucked back out via marionette strings. Somehow I get my mouth to make the word, “Why?”

  “He wouldn’t say. Not to me anyway. Our husbands had quite a chat, though.”

  Must not be too far gone because I can hear the disapproval in her voice. And I am still coherent enough to ask one more foolish question. “But he knows I’m hurt?”

  She nods and I just catch it from my peripheral vision. So that’s it then. He can’t be bothered to come to the hospital. He must be angrier than I thought. Our whole relationship has been built on the premise that we’d find something meaningful with each other. This is the for-worse part. And he can’t cut it, apparently. Nice. At least now I know what I’m dealing with.

  Crushing sadness hitches my lungs because I did find what I was looking for. Clearly, he did not. Is this the part where I lose the best thing that ever happened to me due to whatever is wrong with me that makes me unable to keep my mouth shut? I could have left well enough alone. Right?

  A doctor bustles in and does some hovering, making hmm noises in his throat as he asks me questions. I answer and he seems satisfied with the results of his perusal. “If you can stay awake, that’s better,” he says. “You have a concussion.”

  I raise a hand to the place where my head hurts the worst and I encounter a bandage. I must look like a fright.

  “You also have stitches,” the doctor informs me blandly. “Which will probably itch at some point but you can’t scratch them. That’s why they’re bandaged. But all in all, you’re in pretty good shape and you can go home tomorrow if everything stays the same.”

  Great. Home. Or rather to my apartment, which is likely empty by now. If I were Ares in this situation, I would use the time to clear out. Easier that way than dragging it out.

  Before he leaves the room, the doctor tells Penelope a few things that I miss, likely instructions of some sort. Because he thinks she’ll be the one taking care of me. And maybe that’s the case, I don’t know. I appreciate that she’s here. The gaping hole in my chest may not be physical damage caused by the wreck but it’s definitely there because of it.

  I miss Ares. And I’m mad at him for being so stubborn. I guess I miss the way we were before I made such a big deal out of his ability to heal. That’s when the black mess of emotions wells up and over. Tears cascade down my face and I can’t stop them.

  “Oh, honey.” Penelope rubs my arm. “Is the pain that bad?”

  “Yeah.” But it’s all in my heart. “I don’t understand why Ares doesn’t care enough to come see me. I thought—”

  Well it doesn’t matter what pretty words he said to me or what language they were. He didn’t mean them.

  “Clem. Stop that.” She shakes her head. “You are married to someone who is not human. I know it’s hard to remember that. But you can’t assign normal human emotions to him, especially without getting his side. I saw the look on his face when I told him you were in the hospital. He was destroyed. He talked to Eros about it for a good five minutes while I stood there and watched because I don’t speak Torvian, and trust me, I didn’t need a translator to know he cares.”

  Then why couldn’t he come see me? I’m hurt and in the hospital…

  I groan as my beleaguered brain puts the final piece of that puzzle together.

  Ares couldn’t so much as cross the threshold of a hospital, no way. What is wrong with me that I missed that? I’m selfish, that’s what. Not once did I consider how hard it would be for him to be around hurt and sick people, let alone when one of them is me.

  I don’t deserve a husband like Ares, who’s special and sexy and takes care of me. That’s the problem. Melancholy weighs down my bones and I can’t shake it.

  Penelope fusses over me to the point where I am exhausted. When I next open my eyes, my emergency contact has been replaced by an alien. My alien. I blink but he’s still there.

  Now I know I’m dreaming. He’s big and blond and gorgeous, and he is written across my very soul. I could no more stop loving him than I could stop the blood from flowing through my veins. If he’s mustered up his will to come tell me he’s done with this marriage, I will never recover.

  He can’t be real. Except his chest rises and falls like he can’t catch his breath. His face collapses into a tortured expression and I don’t think I would have imagined that part.

  “What are you doing here?” I croak as I drink him in. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  He doesn’t reach for me and I try to be okay with that when the only thing I want in this world is his touch. But he can’t. Or rather he shouldn’t.

  “I am sorry I did not come immediately,” he murmurs. “I… Sto lottando. My conflict is not important now. You need me.”

  Oh, God, that’s solid truth and the fact that he realizes it slices me open. I only thought the concussion hurt, but
the raw emotion on my husband’s face eclipses any physical pain I might be experiencing. But I can’t tell him that.

  I shake my head. “No. I need you to go home. This is the worst place in the world for you. All these sick and hurt people must be driving you mad.”

  The tender smile he treats me to does a fair job of cauterizing some of the pain. Actually I forgot about everything except him and how warm I feel whenever he’s around. What were we even fighting about before my accident? I mean, yeah, of course I remember the content of the issue, just not why I was so convinced that I’m right and Ares resembles a mule.

  “You must believe me when I say that any madness I am experiencing is due to the threat of losing you.”

  That might be the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me. If I wasn’t already so loopy on drugs, I’d probably dissolve into a big puddle of mushy hearts. “I’m still here.”

  He nods, his expression back to being more on the inscrutable side. “You must be in pain.”

  “Not really,” I lie without a shred of remorse. I can’t let on how my insides have been scraped over a cheese grater. He’s probably got enough crap going on in his head, which I don’t need to add to.

  If nothing else, this accident is teaching me how to be the wife Ares deserves. I can ignore my own needs in favor of his. I want to. That’s the trick. You don’t magically become unselfish. The way you get there is one shaky step at a time as you find opportunity after opportunity to put someone else first.

  But then he shocks the hell out of me by reaching out and grasping my hand. Struck mute, I shake my head, which drives a big wedge of pain through my temple, and I try to pull my hand from his. No dice. The man has grip strength in spades.

  Our gazes lock as the strangest sensation seeps through my palm, like a surge of warm honey is traveling through my veins. And then I realize. This is how Ares heals. He’s doing some kind of diagnostic, I think, judging by the calculating expression on his face.

  “No,” I spit out. “Don’t do this. It’s not worth it.”

  “I have to,” he says simply. “I have fought who I am for too long. This is my gift to you. My gift to us. I am a healer. You need me to use my skills, so I will. If it heals the rift between us, then I will consider my job well done.”

  That rips my heart straight out of my chest, shredding it into a million unrecoverable pieces at his feet. And I stand corrected. That is the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me. “Ares, you can’t. They’ll figure it out and lock you away like an overly intelligent monkey.”

  He links his other hand with mine, the one that has the blood pressure monitor attached, but he just moves the cord out of the way in order to get more of our skin touching. “This is how I find meaning in our marriage. I wish to sacrifice for you.”

  Gah, he internalized my words, only to return them to me at a time when I don’t need them anymore.

  “But you don’t have to.” Desperately, I try to get him to understand. “I love you no matter what. I’ll get better on my own. The doctor even said that I could leave tomorrow. If you truly want to embrace who you are, then just be my husband. That’s all I want. The most important piece of you.”

  He cocks his head. “You do not only love me if I am using my skills?”

  “No! God, no. Why would you think that?” Tears are streaming down my face as I yank my hand free and cup his face, drawing him closer. “Is that what you thought? That my love is conditional on you embracing your genetic deformity? Not even close. I love that you’re principled, that you already sacrifice for me by working at a place that you hate. That you came to me in the hospital despite what it would cost you.”

  The warm honey sensation starts to fade. I don’t miss it. I have Ares and that’s all I need.

  He was going to heal me. The one thing he hates most in the world, and he got up enough gumption to do it for me. If that’s not a demonstration of true love, I don’t know what is.

  Ares tilts his forehead to mine, murmuring in Italian and maybe something else, but I sense the meaning without benefit of having a direct translation. He loves me too. We cling to each other and a few more tears fall. Not all of them are mine. That might be the sweetest part, that my alien can cry unashamedly.

  This is the turning point. I can feel it in the warmth of his fingertips on my face. We’re going to make it. We have stumbled through this thing called marriage, past these initial trials, and found something amazing together.

  And that’s when I realize almost all of the pain in my head is gone. My eyelids flutter closed. Somehow he’s used his powers without me noticing, likely when he was busy seducing me with his pretty Italian. “That’s enough. You can stop now.”

  He pulls back to sweep me with his inscrutable gaze. “You wish me to stop touching you?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. You healed me anyway.” I can’t be mad. That’s the other thing I’m learning—forgiveness can and should be immediate, all the time, no holds barred. Then no one is pissed and driving around in a distracted fog that causes car accidents.

  His smile warms me much faster than his honeyed power. “It is an aspect of myself that I cannot deny. You taught me to embrace who I am and as a result, I wish only to make you happy.”

  “You do.” Especially when he talks like that. It seems he’s found some peace with embracing who he is, and maybe I had something to do with it. I can’t find a reason not to love that about us.

  Epilogue

  I have a few lingering aches from my accident but when I get home from the hospital, Ares takes me to bed and worships me so thoroughly that I forget all about that. And maybe he pushes some of his woo-woo healing power through with each kiss, I don’t know.

  I just know that I have never felt more loved.

  There’s no more tension and Ares tells me on a random Tuesday that he’s happy. Unprompted. I try not to have a heart attack and cover my shock with a smile. We’re figuring out this marriage gig one step at a time and the fact that we’re both trying is the secret sauce that makes me believe we’re going to go the distance.

  A few weeks later, I start cosmetology school, which ends up being the second greatest thing that’s ever happened to me after marrying Ares. Penelope insists that I come by the salon so she can teach me some things that my instructors haven’t gotten to yet, strictly so I can be the star student, or so she says. I think she just wants to hang out, which I appreciate.

  The smell of the salon hits me when I first walk in the door, sharp and familiar. I breathe it in because I’ve always liked the scent of shampoo and hair dye. The hardwood floors have this muted shine that says they are old but still beautiful and everything is pretty much exactly the way I remember it from when I was last here. Except this time, I won’t be entering appointments on the schedule. I get to do the serious work.

  One of Penelope’s appointments is with a chick I vaguely remember from high school. Brooklyn Carter. She’s got this long fall of curly dark hair that I have long envied, but when she sits down in Penelope’s chair, Brooklyn tells her to cut it all off.

  Penelope, who’s just starting to show with the cutest baby bump on record, covers her pregnant stomach with a palm and gasps. “I can’t do that. It would take years to grow back.”

  Even I can see the look on Brooklyn’s pretty face says she means business. She punctuates this with, “I need a change. If you can’t do it, I’ll go somewhere else.”

  That’s my cue to step in since this is Penelope’s place and it would be hard for her to refuse what a customer asks for. But everyone knows I need a change is code for a jackass opened his mouth in my presence. You don’t cut off such gorgeous hair to get over male stupidity. “Maybe the change you’re looking for is a new man. I know just the dating service for you.”

  Torvian mates aren’t for everyone, but there are plenty more of them out there who need the right woman.

  At this, Brooklyn breaks down, her face closing in and h
er shoulders beginning to heave. Penelope hustles her into the back room for some privacy and since it’s my fault she’s crying, I follow them.

  “Sorry,” Brooklyn says and wipes at her swollen eyes—unnecessary since she’s one of those who looks beautiful and tragic when she cries instead of a big mess like moi.

  “For what?” Penelope clucks and shoots me a glance that pretty much says play along. “You’re among friends. If you can’t cry with us, who can you cry with?”

  The brief smile that flashes across Brooklyn’s face has a smidge of reserve. Probably because she’s wondering what fairy tale world she’s stumbled into. We were never friends in high school. She ran with a different crowd.

  But that was a long time ago. More years than I care to count at this moment, so I nod. “Friends who get it when you burst into tears for no reason at the mention of men. We’ve both had our share of losers and broken hearts.”

  “Thanks,” she says and sniffles. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “Trust me.” Penelope and I exchange loaded glances and say at the same time, “We know complicated.”

  Brooklyn hesitates for a brief moment and then spills her guts. Boy, does she spill and an hour later, I am so pissed about what I’ve heard that Penelope almost has to sit on me to stop me from charging out the door after Brooklyn’s ex-boyfriend, who fits the profile of a deranged lunatic. He emotionally and physically abused her and then got really creative with making her life hell.

  That is not okay.

  It’s fine that Penelope has my best interests at heart—probably she’s keeping me out of jail by preventing me from going after the jackass. Instead, I have a better idea. I get Brooklyn’s phone number and jet home.

  Ares sits on the couch watching TV since it’s his day off. The Mariners are playing Houston. He’s been trying to get into baseball but it still confuses him why grown men play sports for a profession, so I don’t worry too much about interrupting the game as I climb into his lap. His gaze snaps to mine and yeah, he’s fine with it. He is the perfect man, after all.