Her feelings for Steve had been akin to fitting a questionable piece into a complicated puzzle. The piece seemed to fit, the edges locking together almost seamlessly, but sometimes you didn’t know for sure until you assembled more of the puzzle. She’d thought she loved Steve. Before “I just didn’t feel it,” imagining a life with him had seemed so natural. They liked the same movies. They were always laughing at something. They loved animals, had been brought up similarly, and had similar career goals.
It wasn’t the same with Kurt. Aside from his love of dogs, he was really nothing like her. Kurt was serious and intense and quiet and an ex-soldier, raised on a military post, with no clue who his father was and a unique mother who could’ve stepped straight out of a movie. It would be impossible to connect the dots from Kurt’s dramatic life to her ordinary, suburban, plain-as-toast upbringing, her over-the-top brothers, and her ordinary but loving parents.
But no matter what their differences were, her feelings for Kurt were clearly “yes, please” and “a bit more, please” and “maybe another spoonful” too.
With all these thoughts rolling around in her head, Kelsey had no idea what to do next. Maybe it would be best to jot a note, sneak out, and deal with everything tomorrow. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help her see things in a clearer light.
Wondering where she might find a notepad, she tiptoed to the table and, as soundlessly as possible, extracted the glass from underneath Mr. Longtail’s draping whiskers. A supply of milk that size and adult cats didn’t mix.
Then, as sudden as last night’s lightning flashes, Kurt was bolting to his feet and slamming her backward against the wall. The back of her head and shoulders smacked against it as his forearm smashed into her collarbone. He pressed against her, larger size and superior strength immediately subduing her. For a split second, Kelsey could swear she grasped how it felt to be a deer facing a set of barreling headlights.
“Shit!” Letting her go almost as quickly as he’d grabbed her, Kurt stepped back, dragging his hands through his hair. “Kelsey, I’m sorry. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. Did I hurt you?”
Her head was ringing, her adrenaline was racing, and everything seemed to be stuck in slow motion. Kurt’s voice carried a touch of grogginess and fear that belied the aggression he’d just exhibited.
He reached across the doorway and flipped on the light. The sky-blue cabinets, matching appliances, and yellow countertops gleamed fluorescent.
Kelsey shook her head, trying to clear it. “Ow.”
“Shit. I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It was stupid to doze off like that.” He opened the freezer and pulled out a frozen-solid package of peas. “Let’s get you to the couch and get some ice on that head of yours.”
Despite the ringing in her ears, Kelsey could hear the drips from the spilt milk hitting the floor. Mr. Longtail was now in the far counter, watching them with a look of immense dissatisfaction. Kurt’s chair was turned over too. She hadn’t heard it fall, but then, she’d been busy being shoved against a wall.
Reality was sinking in as she gingerly fingered the knot forming at the back of her head. She looked from the rock-hard package of peas to the troubled expression on Kurt’s face.
There was another difference between them she’d not been thinking about. She hadn’t spent the better part of the last eight years in one war zone or another.
* * *
He kept hearing it over and over, the thunk of Kelsey’s head slamming into the wall. He’d hurt her. He hadn’t meant to—hell, he’d move mountains to keep her safe—but he’d hurt her all the same.
He’d been sitting at the table, fighting off a wave of exhaustion so deep he’d barely been able to keep his eyes open. Clearly, he dozed off in spite of trying to fight off the urge, because the dream he’d been having while in the light sleep had been too easily confused with reality. If he could separate himself from the awful dreams—dreams of trying helplessly to assist a buddy or one of the dogs in his care who’d been unexpectedly hit by a blast from an IED—if he could stop having these dreams, maybe he’d start believing in miracles.
But that seemed like an impossibility.
It was in that uneasy doze that he’d reacted to Kelsey hovering over him before he could process what he was doing. And even in the darkened kitchen, he’d caught that look of fear and pain in her eyes as he’d jolted fully awake and realized what he’d done.
“Can you stop pacing and come sit by me, please?” Kelsey was curled into the corner of the couch, the bag of peas pressed against her head.
“You could have a concussion,” Kurt repeated. “I think we should get you to an urgent care center to be sure.”
“I don’t have a concussion. I have a contusion. Here, feel.” She reached for his hand as he obliged her request and sank beside her on the couch.
“It feels like a damn egg,” he said. Her touch was more comforting than he expected. And the sensation of his hand in her hair was more than inviting; it was disarming. So was being so close to her remarkable lips again. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry. What a weak, ridiculous word. Sorry never altered the past, no matter how far away or close by that past was.
Kelsey shrugged, a smile playing on her face. “You can stop saying you’re sorry. Twenty times was enough. It hardly hurts anymore, and I should have known better than to sneak up on a sleeping ex-marine. But I will let you clean up the mess in the kitchen later. I think it goes back to my childhood
