Gen slid into her seat and turned on the ignition. She drove carefully back home to her bungalow, focused on the road in front. She parked at the curb, noting Wolfe’s car was gone. Good. He had done as she requested. Grabbing her purse, she let herself into the silent house and flicked on a few lights. Looked around. And wondered why she couldn’t seem to feel a thing.
She stood by the door for a long time. An empty beer bottle lay on the counter. Wolfe had a terrible habit of forgetting to clean up after himself. He’d make an awful husband, probably driving his wife insane, nagging him to put his clothes in the hamper, the wet towels on the rack, and his dirty dishes in the sink. Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen, rinsing out the bottle and putting it into the recycling bin. She wiped down the counters and loaded a few stray dishes in the washer. Maybe she’d have a nice glass of wine and relax. There was a lot on her DVR to watch.
Gen pulled out a wineglass, filled it with the leftover white she had in the fridge, and sipped it. Maybe a book. She had a huge stack and tons on her Kindle, just waiting to be read. She stood in the silence, wondering again why her mind felt so empty. Odd. Usually she had a train of thoughts mingling in chaos, except when she was in the OR. Maybe that’s why being a doctor was such a turn-on. To finally turn off all those thoughts was such a relief.
David had told her many times she was too impulsive and needed to approach the world with more rational, logical thoughts. She’d tried many times to tell him when she surrendered to her gut the voices stopped and everything slid into place, but he disagreed. She’d tried so very hard to change. She had loved David, respected him, and wanted to be worthy. Never got there though.
How long were they together before they lost their way? How had he turned so cold and vicious? She did remember hours spent in the bedroom in the beginning, but had he been faking it even then? Was he intrigued by her, but not attracted in that primitive, masculine way men needed to be truly in love? Maybe she couldn’t inspire that type of lust.
Gen set the glass down carefully on the counter. Her heels clicked as she walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She stared at the wall for a while. Such a pretty soft blue. But Mrs. Blackfire was right. Lots of work to do on the house. It really needed a painting and some handiwork. She had time now. Wasn’t a doctor. Didn’t have a relationship. And no crazy one-night stands for her. She just wasn’t the type, whether or not she got a Brazilian wax or a tattoo or spent hours in the bathroom trying to inspire men and their sexual hunger.
A yawning despair yanked her down hard, into the pit of depression she’d fought on and off over the past year. The realization she might never find what she longed for—a love that was whole and beautiful. A passion that transcended reality and grasped the physical body in a merciless grip of abandon. Kate had. Kennedy, too. Alexa. Lance. It was out there.
Not for her though.
Gen looked down at her sexy dress, and fuck-me heels. The generous curves that exploded out of the fabric. She touched her curls, which were already springing crazily around her head. Funny, she hadn’t realized she was crying until her fingers came away wet. There went the eye makeup. She imagined streaks of mascara, giving her a raccoonlike appearance.
She battled the raging storm, but it was too much. The emotions swept over her like a tsunami, pulling her under, pieces of debris poking and shredding flesh, and then the sobs broke from her chest and she let herself go.
Gen ducked her head and cried. She cried for the loss of David. For the constant doubts that had plagued her ever since she’d given her heart to another for care, and limped away halfway broken. For her confusion, her weakness, her doubts.
For the awful, real feelings she had for her best friend.
She didn’t know how much time passed, but slowly the tears stopped and the tiny piece of calm grew. Gulping in deep breaths, she allowed the last of her grief and anger and sadness to spill out of her body.
Gen never heard him.
Like the knight he was, Wolfe appeared. He sat down next to her on the bed and wrapped her in his strong, familiar arms. His blistering body heat melted Gen’s ice and stiffness, and she relaxed into him, still sniffling, burying her face into soft, fragrant cotton. His lips pressed the top of her head, and his voice murmured sweet, soothing words until her gulping sobs finally calmed. For a little while, she surrendered, giving it all over to him, and in doing so, was able to let it go completely.
The lightness returned. Peace. He hugged her against his rock-hard chest, his arms bands of steel refusing to soften. She’d never felt so protected and cherished, and she fell quiet, completely drained.
“Sweetheart, are you hurt? Please tell me.”
She shook her head against him, refusing to look up.
“Did he do something to you? Touch you? Hurt you?”
She shook her head hard again.
“I’m trying not to lose it and go completely apeshit, sweetheart.” His body began to shake, and Gen finally realized he was barely holding on to his control. “Just tell me who did this and I’ll take care of it. Give me a name.”
She sniffed. “No one. I’m not hurt. Why are you here? You promised.”
He let out a strangled laugh. “I tried. I got halfway home, then turned back around. Figured I’d park down the street and sleep in the car. I needed to be sure you were okay.”
Her heart tore. He was so good to her, so sweet and kind, and all she wanted was for him to crave her in a crazy, primal way, to strip her, fuck her, bite her, claim her.
Gen slowly pushed him away and looked up. She probably looked scary. Ugly. Broken. Hot anger chopped through her in ragged waves. Screw this. Screw him. Screw them all.