Frank Brodie awoke with a desperate desire to go to the bathroom. His body hurt, his leg was on fire, and his bladder was stretched to the point of great discomfort. He looked at the dial of his battered travel alarm sitting on his bedside table. Just after four in the morning. God, he needed a drink!
He lay for long moments trying to decide how the hell he was going to get out of bed. His old bed was not as high as the ones at the hospital, and it didn't have those useful rails at the side either, so hauling himself upright was going to be damned hard work … and painful too, if the ache in his body was anything to go by. Those damn' pills had knocked him out for seven hours, letting him get some much-needed relief from the pain, but now he had to get up and go to the can.
Tara. She must be around somewhere. Brodie cleared his dry throat and called her name softy in the dark. Nothing. Not a sound came in answer. Where the hell was she?? Brodie swore unhappily.
"TARA!!"
His voice was louder this time, the irritation rife in the hoarse baritone. Still nothing.
Shit!! She's gone!
The muscles jumped along Brodie's tense jaw as he realised he was alone. Alone, and unable to take care of himself.
Well, Frank Brodie, you ain't beat yet, you old warhorse - get your ass outta this goddamn bed and go to the goddamn can, you fool …
Mentally berating Tara for letting him down and making him think she actually gave a damn about him, he gritted his teeth and began to lever his battered body out of bed.
Ten minutes later, he was soaked in sweat. His boxer shorts and tee-shirt clung damply to his shaking body, and he sat on the edge of the bed, his heavily strapped left leg stretched out in front of him, its inability to even take a fraction of his weight mocking him unmercifully.
Now all he had to do was stand up and walk to the bathroom. No problem. He was a big, tough ex-soldier who had once cleared the bar in a Filipino whore-house full of drunken sailors single-handed. No sir, standing up and going to the john would not be a problem for Frank Brodie.
After a couple of abortive attempts to get to his feet, his broken ribs screaming objections and his wounds on fire, he decided that just this once he might have to use the walking stick. No matter how much he hated the thing, he knew he would have to use it for just a little while until the leg healed up. And then the contraption was going to get thrown into the garbage at the earliest opportunity if Frank Brodie had anything to do with it.
Grabbing the stick from its resting place beside the bed, he managed to slip his arm through the brace and began to lever himself to his feet, his other hand pushing against the bed as he attempted to get his left leg under him. Once upright, he shifted his free hand to the wall to support him and gingerly put pressure on the ball of his left foot, hoping desperately that the leg didn't buckle. It held. It hurt like wildfire, the pain flashing all the way up his body into his jaw and sending lights flashing before his eyes … but it held. He leaned on it a little more and managed a short, limping hop … his first real step since becoming conscious in the hospital. He grinned painfully, his breathing coming in short gasps and his body protesting at the movement. He tried another step, his weight leaning on the stick and the wall, and he shifted his body sideways a little, trying not to put too much weight on the damaged leg, and chuckled to himself through the pain. He'd done it.
Now then, perhaps he could try without leaning on the wall and just using the despised stick. This was going to be easier than he thought, and to hell with the doctors who reckoned he was going to be a crippled, useless sonofabitch -
The leg gave way.
Brodie felt the tendons weaken, and the strained muscles in the irreparably damaged leg couldn't hold him. He collapsed like a deck of cards, the yelp of agony that was torn from him as he crumpled on the floor waking Tara from her deep, dreamless sleep on the couch in the living room.
"Frank?" Tara was disorientated, her eyes blinking in the subdued light. Then she remembered where she was and why she was there. And hadn't she just heard a cry of pain? What the hell was going on?
She pulled herself out of the battered but now thankfully pizza-free couch and headed at a stumbling run into the bedroom, only to find a cursing and agony-ridden Frank Brodie trying to shift his body upright so he could lean back against the wall. Once there, he caught the stick from where it lay on the floor beside him and he threw it with such anger against the opposite wall one of the brace supports broke.
"Useless!" Brodie's voice broke with fury and despair. "I'm so goddamned, fuckin' useless!!"
Tara dropped to her knees beside him, concern making her eyes seem like velvet pools.
"Frank! What the hell are you trying to do? Why didn't you yell - "
Brodie turned furious eyes to her.
"Where the hell have you been?? I tried yelling, but Miss High-and-Mighty-goddamn' Tara Matthews wasn't the hell around when all I wanted to do was go to the fuckin' john!!"
Tara frowned. She must have been exhausted not to have heard him call.
"Hey, Frank … I was asleep on the couch! I must've just been too knocked out to have heard you, okay? I'm pretty tired too y'know - you've slept for hours, and I've been trying to find a clean enough space so I can lie down and get a couple of hours shut-eye! Is that all right with you, Mr goddamn' pain-in-the-ass Frank Brodie?"
Brodie glared at her, azure eyes blazing with pain and embarrassment. She had been asleep on his old, battered couch. She hadn't left after all. She was still around, trying to take care of him and making sure he was all right. The anger dwindled a little.
The pair of them sat on the floor, Brodie cradling his broken ribs with his arm, neither one looking at the other. Tara finally broke the silence.
"Well?"
Brodie cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Well, what?"
Tara sighed.
"Now I'm here, where is it you were wanting to go?"
Brodie grinned.
"The john. I gotta go pee. Then I want to get back into bed with a bottle of good tequila and a packet of cigarettes. Is that okay with you?" He gazed at her quizzically.
"I could bring you a bedpan." Tara's face was deadly serious.
"No way." Brodie was determined. "I want to go to the john. All right?"
They looked at each other intently, each trying to gauge the other's determination,
and Brodie could contain himself no longer. A soft chuckle worked its
way from his chest. Tara gazed at him, confused, as a white grin began to spread across Brodie's battered features. An infectious laugh began to bubble from him as
Tara's face became even more confused.
"What the hell's so funny?"
Brodie studied her through bemused blue eyes … and the laugh became deeper, softer.
"Me," he said, the words making it through the uncontrolled humour in him, "I'm what's so funny - my life is so full of shit …"
Now Tara was mystified. Why the hell was he laughing about it?
Brodie grinned at her, the anger momentarily washing out of him.
"C'mon girl - help me up. This ol' wreck needs to go take a leak …"
Smiling but confused, Tara helped a painfully uncomfortable Brodie get to his feet, and between them managed to get him to the bathroom, where he groaned with relief as he fulfilled his mission, Tara standing with her back to the open door, crimson with embarrassment.
The struggle back to the bed was harder. Brodie's body was protesting desperately against the pain, and he was tremendously happy to get back into his bed, the over-stretched muscles aching with tiredness. He slumped back into the pillows, Tara helping him ease his legs into the warmth of the bed.
Brodie sighed grumpily, the discomfort and sheer effort of just going for a short trip to the bathroom leaving him completely disheartened. He watched as Tara busied herself tucking in sheets and making sure he had a glass of water to hand if he needed it. There was no tequila, he noticed. She was obviously unshakeable in her intent of keeping him off the booze, at least for a short while. He snorted in amusement.
"What's wrong?" Tara watched him, concerned.
Brodie smiled bitterly.
"Nothin' you can cure." He looked at the multitude of pill bottles and packets on the bedside table. Jeez, he was a drunk already, and the damn docs were turnin' him into a pill-popper.
"Do you need a painkiller?" Velvet brown eyes watched him closely.
Brodie knew he should take a couple. He was hurting more than he liked to admit, but he decided he would be stubborn and leave them until the pain was getting really bad. Happier for making the decision, he studied the young woman sitting beside him on the bed. He had to admit she was an eyeful, her hair fetchingly dishevelled, dressed only in a loose sleeveless tee-shirt and a pair of light, lacy panties, she looked warm and desirable.
Tara saw the look of appreciation on his tired face, and had to smile. He was beaten, bruised and battered, but his body drew her, desire for him kindling within even as she studied his broad frame. Before she could stop herself she leaned forward and kissed his brow, her hand reaching to brush back the soft curls.
Brodie's eyes widened at her kiss, and he looked up into the soft pools of her dark eyes. His hand reached out and touched theoutline of her jaw and chin, then long fingers stroked downwards, tracing the line of her slender neck until he cupped the outline of her breast. His fingers tugged gently at the material of the shirt.
"Take it off …" the words were husky with need, rumbling low and urgent from Brodie's chest. His penis lifted and stirred, then stiffened, readying him for Tara's body. He wanted her. He wanted her to take the pain in him away, he wanted to lose himself in the depths of her, helping him forget the reality of his situation. She would love him until he could feel nothing but the shuddering joy of emptying himself in her welcoming body.
Tara watched his face as she raised herself to her knees and slowly peeled the shirt from her upper body, hearing the groan of desire from him as her breasts swung free, pert and firm in the half-light, her ribs curving downwards to the hollows of her flanks. His hand stroked the soft satin skin of her belly, then reached down to hook in the edge of the panties, tugging them downwards.
"These too … now … I want you …"
Tara smiled and stood, slipping the panties off and kicking them away from her. She stood long moments, knowing Brodie needed her this way, knowing he needed some semblance of normality in a life which up until now was unrelenting pain and self-loathing. Her body and her loving would help keep the demons at bay, and, in truth, she wanted him too. She needed to feel his length inside her, needed to feel his big body strive against hers and hear his moans of pleasure as she held him to her.
She let him look his fill, and then slid into the bed beside him, her naked body warm against him. Brodie felt small hands reach under his tee-shirt, touching his belly and teasing his skin with feathered caresses.
His body arched as she suddenly slipped her hand inside his shorts, rubbing the sensitive skin of his hip and thigh. He gripped the sheet in ecstasy as she moved teasingly upward, closer, closer …
"God! Tara … please … touch me … yes … yes, right … right there … ahhhh!!!!"
His long drawn-out groan sent shivers through her loins as she worked the boxer shorts down over his hips and took him in her hand, his penis straining upwards, the silky smoothness of it making her fingers work faster and firmer. She found the slick crown and began a swirl of sensation around the sensitive tip, his hips beginning to thrust helplessly, his own hand reaching out to curl around his manhood. He showed her the places he loved her to touch, his body beginning to shake with the pleasure as she worked on him, wanting him, needing him …
But Brodie's hand shifted and caught her thigh, urging her astride him. God, he needed to be inside her! He wanted to feel her body moving on him, riding him, her lust driving both of them over the edge. Tara shifted her hand and leaned over him, kissing his neck and easing up his tee-shirt, baring his belly and lower ribcage.
"Now? Do you want me now? Are you sure, Frank?" her voice was almost breathless with desire, desperate to feel his thick maleness slide into her. "I want to feel you in me, I want to feel the heat of you as you come …"
The thought of it just about brought her to a spontaneous orgasm, eager for the pulse and shudder of Brodie's powerful body as he came in her moist, tight depths, and she cradled his face in her hands, careful of his bruises, and kissed him deeply.
He caught her hips in both hands now, easing one leg over him until she sat astride his eager body, his gentle pushing urging her hips downwards until she was nearly within reach of his manhood, her damp curls against his belly.
"Easy now, Frank … be still … let me take care of you … please … I can help take the hurt away …"
Brodie was gasping now, his body yearning for relief within hers.
"Please, Tara …"
"Shhh … lie still, Frank … that's why I'm here … to help you through this … let me take care of you, let me take away the pain for a little while…"
But her words struck a chord in Brodie, even as his body shook with the pleasure of feeling her astride him. He lay on the point of ecstasy even before he entered her. What was she saying? She was here to help him? Well, yes, there was truth in that, but surely … no. He couldn't think that way. She wanted him … she liked him, dammit! She was loving him with her body because it gave her pleasure … wasn't she??
He looked up into the liquid pools of her dark, dark eyes … and saw pity. She pitied him. He was an object of concern … maybe she even thought she owed him something for keeping her alive on that goddamn island.
Even as his body drove him to fill her, his mind saw the real reason for her
loving. She wanted to ease the fear from him, help him come to terms with his
situation. He was a cripple. No more, no less. And Tara wanted nothing other
than to make him forget for a little while.
Brodie felt his erection begin to fade as the reality of the encounter percolated through to his mind, setting him aflame with despair. His hands dropped from her hips and he turned from her face, eyes closing in regret and frustration.
"I can't …"
Tara went cold with shock. The tone in Brodie's voice and the sudden stillness of his eager body confused her.
"What? What's wrong, Frank? Are you in pain? Did I do something wrong in some way? Hurt you? If I did, I'm so sorry!!!" Tara stroked the line of his jaw, seeing the muscles there jump with tension. His body had stopped responding to her caresses, and she couldn't help her face flushing in confusion and embarrassment. She eased off his supine frame and sat beside him, completely mystified as to why he was reacting this way.
"Frank … what did I do wrong? Please - "
"Nothing." The baritone was low and controlled. "I'm just tired, is all. Just need some rest." Brodie turned expressionless blue eyes to hers. "Maybe I should take a couple of pain pills … help me get some sleep …"
Tara stared at him for long moments, but getting no inkling as to what was going on, nodded.
"Sure. Sure, Frank … I'll get them for you …"
She slid from underneath the covers and hurriedly dressed, her awkwardness in the face of Brodie's sudden change of heart making her fumble and drop her vest.
By the time she had returned from retrieving his pills Brodie had eased his boxers over still-sensitive flesh and pulled down his tee-shirt, and was now lying quietly under the sheets. He was exhausted she could tell, his face lined and worn with pain. Perhaps their lovemaking was just too much, too soon, she thought. Yes, that was it.
She helped him take his pills, his body flinching from the tenderness of her touch as Tara helped Brodie get more comfortable and relax. But she saw the deadness in his eyes. Whatever was going on in that screwed-up mind of his, it had stopped what would have been a very pleasurable and satisfying bout of lovemaking between them.
Tara watched as he began to doze, the pills swiftly and efficiently dulling the pain in his body, and wondered silently what was going on in the deep recesses of Brodie's mind. He was a difficult man at the best of times and his present situation would knock back anyone, let alone a man as scarred inside as Frank Brodie.
She sighed.
Well, it'll just have to wait until morning … I'm just too beat to think about it. Get some sleep, Tara girl, and talk about it later.
She sat and watched Brodie for a few moments more as sleep took him, then wandered back to her own bed on the beat-up couch in Brodie's disreputable living room, frustrated, sad and a little disconcerted. She fell asleep minutes later thinking of how on earth Brodie was ever going to accept the fact that he would never walk unaided again.
*************
Brodie slept through the following morning and finally awoke somewhere around mid-day. He was more or less back to his old grouchy self, but Tara didn't miss the flinch of his body as she tenderly changed the dressings on his wounds. It wasn't pain, she knew. It was merely the fact that it was her touch he was trying to avoid.
He nagged until she allowed him out of bed, helping him change into comfortable cut-offs and a tee-shirt, the material loose enough so as not to catch on the bandages and dressings on his battered frame. He hobbled outside and slumped into his old recliner, his left leg stretched out in front of him elevated on a low, cushion-covered stool.
He sat back with a glass of soda water and a plate of sandwiches and watched Tara grumpily try to clean up his yard. Broken glass littered the corner by the wall, and she swept it up complaining bitterly about his lack of housekeeping skills.
Brodie just grinned and munched on a sandwich.
"Hell, I just love watchin' women work."
Tara scowled in anger.
"Frank Brodie, if you weren't laid up I'd wrap this broom around your head and wipe that grin off your face so goddamn fast - "
Her tirade was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Brodie watched her disappear into the house and he took a slug of the soda. Damn, he wished it was a shot of good tequila …
Voices echoed in the shadowed rooms, and footsteps came from within. Tara emerged into the sunlight, a breezy smile on her face.
"We have a visitor, Frank. Look who's here!"
Brodie squinted upwards, a hand shielding his face from the sun.
"Hey, Brodie. How're you doing?"
Scott Davis' bemused face resolved out of the glare.
Brodie gave a wry smile.
"Davis. Damn, son, you look worse'n I do!"
Davis held out his good right hand to shake Brodie's. His other arm was in a sling, and his face was covered in bruises. Brodie grasped the hand in a firm grip and shook it. It was good to see the man, even though they hadn't seen eye to eye for most of their time on San Miguel Island. He gestured to Davis, indicating one of the other chairs Tara had unearthed from his shed.
Tara came to sit beside them after handing Davis a glass of lemonade, and the three of them sat silently for a moment. Davis finally spoke.
"I'm here not just to see how you're doing, Frank. I know things aren't as good as they could be, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got you involved."
Brodie swirled the remaining soda around in his glass, watching the sunlight glint off the liquid as it moved and frothed. He looked over at Davis' taut face.
"Shit happens. Don't worry about it." Brodie took a deep breath, not wanting to linger on the finer points of his physical wellbeing - or lack of it, as the case may be, he thought. "So, what else is it? Who do I owe money to?"
Davis grinned, his handsome face lighting up for a brief moment, but the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.
"I've got a job for you, if you want it."
Brodie's eyebrows hitched in surprise. That was the last thing he had expected. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who the hell would hire a cripple?
Davis shifted, as though in discomfort. Brodie just waited, curious to find out what he had to say.
"It's not exactly the kind of job I'd be asking you to do, but we don't know anyone else with your knowledge."
Brodie felt a lump of ice form in the pit of his stomach.
"What knowledge would that be, Davis?"
Davis swallowed nervously, then decided the words were best out than in.
"Kelsey's old man bought the island. He's sending in men to clear out the baboons, and he wants a man who knows the island and its background to tell them where to find 'em."
Davis' expressive eyes fixed on the cold blue of Brodie's shocked gaze.
"He wants you, Frank. He wants you to go back to San Miguel Island."
*******************