Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.
Warning: Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.
Chapter 27
Early Monday Morning
Stephanie's POV
Awareness returns as a churning confusion of reality and memory. Like the swirl of tepid dishwater racing down the drain, snippets of fear, my desperate desire to live, and the deep need to be okay, things I haven't felt through my emotional numbness of the past year, flow into my heart and consciousness. A tear escapes, slowly trailing down the contours of my jawline, but before it drops off the edge, a calloused thumb wipes it away. My eyes fly open with a start that causes my breathing to hitch.
"Hector," I whisper, almost to myself as I sit up and look around the room. He moves to give me space as Bobby sits on my other side.
"How are you feeling, Steph?" he asks sincerely, taking the oxygen mask from me.
Suddenly, I feel very overwhelmed with trying to respond to all this attention while struggling to pull my emotions, still raw from waking up, together, and I look down at the clenched hands in my lap.
"Fine," I say, staring at the mole above my left wrist, my eyes tracking from each slight sun freckle to the next.
"To be sure, I'm going to do a round of vitals," Bobby says in the same professionally warm tone. As he goes about the work, I continue to stare at my left wrist, tracking dot to dot. Funny, I never realized how many freckles I had before. Then Bobby stands to stow his equipment away in his bag, and the light from the lamp shifts so that it shines on me directly.
My freckles have a dark reddish tinge to them. Oh, God.
"Thanks, guys," I mumble, coming to my feet. "I need a minute." And I walk as quickly and evenly as I can towards Ranger's bathroom, closing doors behind me but never taking my eyes off my wrist. The longer I look, the more dots I see, crusted and splayed across my front.
I'm covered in death. A death I caused.
It's with only a vague sense of reality as I turn the water on hot and rip off the clothes that have his blood on them. I immediately grab a loofa and fill it with an obscene quantity of Bulgari. I frantically scrub at the first spot and then the next and the next, doing my damndest to remove every trace of this hellacious evening from my body.
"No!" I yell in surprise and frustration when a hand is firmly placed over mine. I attempt to jerk my arm free and, in the process, lose my balance and begin to topple backward. My eyes prick with tears when instead of landing on the hard tile, I remain upright in firm arms.
My heart is pounding relentlessly, and when those arms loosen slightly, I step back with my arms, now loofa free, wrapped around my chest. All I hear is a roaring, ringing in my ears as I work to take stock of my situation, sighing in relief and confusion when I realize Ranger is my unexpected company. He's standing, dripping wet in his cargo pants and t-shirt and looking at me with an emotion I can't quite place since an expression so open seems misplaced on his usually impassive face.
I suddenly feel exhausted as my body seems to recognize before my mind how safe I am with him here, and I take a step to the side and sag onto the shower bench, head down with my hair dripping in front of my eyes. I wrap my arms around my torso tighter as a cool breeze causes goosebumps to prickle across my skin only to disappear just as quickly when a large, plush bath sheet is wrapped around me. I feel Ranger rub a reassuring circle on my back before the hand is gone just as quickly as it surprised me with its comfort.
Before this week, I would have characterized my relationship with Ranger as physical, but not so much physical comfort. This slight touch, meant to give me peace without the slightest hint of sexual innuendo even though I'm naked in his shower, gives me a flood of security.
A shadow crosses my path, and I glance up to see Ranger, now in dry clothes, though how he changed so quickly, I'll never know, crouched in front of me. My eyes slowly scan his face, and it occurs to me he's talking, but I still can't quite make out what he's saying. I use one hand to keep the towel pulled tightly around me and use the other to massage my ear. Ranger's lips set, and he holds out a hand towards me. I look at it and then him in a slow pantomime of acceptance as I allow my overtaxed system to catch up.
He gently leads me to the closet and gives me a clean set of sweatpants, a black t-shirt, sweatshirt, socks, and panties before turning to give me some privacy, but he does not leave the space. I'm again flooded by the sudden sense of security his caring actions show. When dressed, I take a few steps forward and place my fingertips on Ranger's back, who immediately turns around.
"Babe," I hear distantly, and I wrap my arms around his torso, needing nothing more than Ranger's comfort as I find my grounding again. At the edge of my anxiety, where the boundaries of my world blend with memory, reality, and sensation in a haze, the only thing I can focus on is Ranger. I take deep breaths, finding the comfort I need in the strength of his embrace, and when he asks if he can pick me up, I nod yes and rest my head in the crook of his shoulder as he takes us to the bed.
"Querida," Ranger says soothingly, placing a chaste kiss on my head.
"He's dead, isn't he," I state, knowing the answer already. I knew it the moment I took aim. "There was so much blood on me..." I trail off.
"Yes," Ranger says solemnly, "And I'll thank God every day that it wasn't you." Ranger's hand tightens slightly over mine as he takes a steadying breath.
My eyes widen slightly in response, and I sit up straighter. "Even now that I've brought my reign of terror to your work?" I spit out in a tone reminiscent of my mother. "The Bombshell Bounty Hunter strikes again, causing disaster and mayhem everywhere she goes. Wouldn't you be more thankful if you hadn't brought me here to create this mess out of your life? I bet you're regretting asking me to be a partner now. It's a good thing I haven't signed anything yet. How can you be thankful that I killed someone at Rangeman?"
Ranger looks at me thoughtfully for several long seconds as my words hang in the air between us. It's a look of contemplation absent of any condemnation. "Do you know that I like you?" he says, his expression tender. He waits as I consider the question. "I do. I like you. You, for being precisely and absolutely you, are someone I am thankful for. I will never regret the day I agreed to help Connie train a new bounty hunter. They only thing I will ever regret is not being a better friend before now. You never should have felt so alone in the world, and I am sorry for my part in that. But I am here now, and I will thank God every day that I have another chance to be a better friend to you."
"You like me?" I say, my words as unsteady as my heart.
"Yes," Ranger says, giving his head a firm nod. "You say disaster and mayhem; I say resourceful and persistent. You say 'reign of terror'; I say determined and passionate. You are the only you, and I will always want you to survive, no matter what."
"But why? I'm broken. I'm trying, but it doesn't seem to matter. I'm a person marked by death," I manage to choke out as tears pool in my eyes.
"You're not broken, Babe. You're human. Being human means you may be feeling angry, sad, or afraid, but that doesn't mean you are broken. It means you are living. And you, living, is a gift," Ranger says thickly. "You did the right thing, and you are not alone in this. You took a life tonight in defense of your own. I'm proud of you, and your goodness is in no way diminished. Be human, Babe. Feel. I am here for you."
"Okay," I respond softly as the pools of tears overflow, and I let out a long, ragged breath before leaning on Ranger and letting his strength join my own. I cry long and quietly as equal parts of grief and relief pour through me. He rubs my back in slow circles, but I feel no hurriedness to just pull myself together and stop crying already. He's here with me, and in that rawest moment of humanity, I feel myself begin to heal. And when the tears dry up, I stay in Ranger's arms.
It occurs to me how little I've been touched in the past year, and certainly not with gentleness or compassion when I have. I isolated myself completely, and now, surrounded by the warmth of Ranger's body, I feel that heat begin to spread through my heart as well.
I killed someone tonight, but for the first time in my life, I don't feel alone. I'm not fine, and I'm not okay, but I am loved.
Wait. I did something that cost someone his life. Whenever things happen, I'm always the target of all manner of vitriol. Why do I feel loved? I was raised on the mantra that sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Well, bullshit. Words and actions can injure a heart just as much, or more I decide than a bullet or beating. Gossip and lies. My family's rejection. Morelli's sexual and emotional abuse. The night I can't remember but can't forget in college. Dickie fucking Joyce. The bathroom bastard. The harm I inflicted on myself. I've spent my entire life wanting to be loved, sins, and all. I've had a taste of it this week, and it is so sweet and so amazing, and I don't want to lose it. I want more. Even right now, with the blood of another human being freshly scrubbed off my skin, all I want is to not be alone. I want to feel this unconditional love for the rest of my life.
"You love me," I say, blurting the words out in surprise as I sit up, clenching my hands so tightly my nails dig into my palms.
"Querida," Ranger says softly, as a large, warm hand gently works to relax my fingers. "I do," Ranger affirms when I focus my gaze on his impenetrably deep brown eyes. As I look into them, my breath catches as my gut clenches, and my heart swells. "I love you," Ranger states with such absolute sincerity that the heat growing inside me pulses an intense flare.
Home. That's where I find it. Ranger's eyes, his hands, the soft tone along with the small smiles meant only for me.
"Thank you," I whisper, knowing the words are wholly inadequate but possibly never meaning it more. By the slight upturn of Ranger's lips, I think he gets it.
"Who did I shoot? Do you know why he was there?" I ask, trying to get a handle on everything.
Ranger, with poise and self-control I'll never possess, calmly tells me what they learned about Tank's two hires. When Ranger introduced the settlement, Martin and Jones took it and intended to leave the company. Tank poisoned their minds against Ranger and bribed them to be his hired mercenaries. I felt a clench of fear in my belly when Ranger reports that they attempted to arrest Tank this morning but that he was already gone. Rangeman and TPD fear he was tipped off. Vinnie and Lula will be apprehended at the Bond's office later this morning.
I sigh heavily at the report but say nothing.
"I'm sorry, Babe," Ranger says, and I look up in time to see his shoulders sag slightly. "My building should have been a safe haven for you, and I feel like I failed you and am continuing to fail you every second that Tank is a free man."
I quickly shake my head no several times. "It's not your fault, Ricardo Carlos Manoso, and I don't blame you. You've done so much to help me and to keep me safe. You did not let me down," I state emphatically.
"Okay, Babe," he says eventually, his hand giving mine a squeeze. "I do wonder, though. Where did you get the weapon? I thought we had confiscated all of them."
I quirk my lips in a near smile. "Hector brought over everything from my apartment. I'm better at hiding things than you give me credit for," I state, lifting my chin defiantly. Then my eyes widen as a thought takes hold. "But I didn't have my weapon available because I don't trust you or think you can keep me safe. I swear. I just," I trail off, hoping against hope Ranger gives me the benefit of the doubt.
Ranger sits there quietly, his gaze unwavering.
"Please don't be mad at me," I whisper, tears threatening to fill my eyes.
"No, Babe, I'm not mad at you. I'm a little mad at myself, but I only feel relief, pride, and love towards you," Ranger says, turning slightly so that he can place his other hand on my shoulder.
"What else is bothering you, Babe?" he questions when I don't look up at him.
"I'm scared," I confess, and Ranger freezes. "But I'm not scared of the Tanks, Farros, and Martins of this world, though I'm not thrilled about them either. I'm scared of," and I stop, gathering my courage. Ranger gathers me against his chest and patiently waits for me.
I take several deep breaths, and my senses are assaulted again. Bulgari. Ranger. Leather. Home.
"I love you," I say quietly, and the hand on my back stills. I lift my chin, and my breath is taken away again by the tender affection and fierce passion I see looking back at me. "I just," I start, taking a second to fill my lungs and collect my thoughts. "I need you to know that. I've only said that little phrase to two other people, and they, well, they weren't the people I wanted them to be. I think I know who you are, and I've never felt this way before. I'm terrified, elated, needy, desperate, and possibly okay, and it doesn't make any sense," I continue, shaking my head slightly as I do. "But Ranger, if hearing me say it now, you don't think you love me the same, please tell me. I'm afraid that you will grow tired of me, that you will find me inadequate when we make love. You are such a perfect specimen of a man, and I'm, well, I'm me. I need to be certain that you mean what you said because you alone have the power to destroy me if you don't," I finish in quiet warning, giving Ranger my greatest vulnerability.
Ranger gently brushes an errant curl behind my ear before cupping my chin with his hands. "Querida, my dear," he finally says, his voice deep and his Cuban-American accent overtaking his usual speech. "Te quiero. It's ironic, because 'te quiero' directly translates into 'I want you.' I need you to know that the sentiment we use for love in Spanish is how I feel about you. I want you. I love you. I've felt all those things, and you are the one thing that makes sense in my life. I want to spend every day being a better man than the man you think I am, earning those words again and again. I will always be beside you, and when you need it, I'll be there to help you carry your load. I already know you've been there all along for me, and my life is forever better," he says, carefully choosing his words, and I feel as though he is struggling to translate his Spanish thoughts into English for me.
My eyes flood with happiness as I nuzzle my cheek against his calloused hand. "Then I'll repeat it," I murmur before pulling away and taking Ranger's hands into my own. "I love you," I say clearly, proudly, and with a confident smile. I'm vulnerable but strong and assured.
"Te quiero," Ranger replies, giving me a thousand-watt smile that makes my heart glow.
In a flash, I place my hands onto Ranger's face and pull his lips to mine, needing this intimacy more than I ever have before. I press hard against him, and when the tip of my tongue seeks entrance to his mouth, he willingly allows me access. The kiss is unrestrained, unadulterated, filled with passion, and promise. It's a kiss that feels endless, and my heart feels stronger somehow.
"Lay with me?" I ask. Wordlessly, Ranger tucks the blanket around me before laying back on the pillow beside me, his arm snaked under my shoulders. He positions himself so that our bodies are flushed parallel to the other. My head quickly finds the soft spot of his shoulder that seems made for me, and I give a quiet sigh of contentment as I breathe his distinctive scent.
Home. I reconsider the events of the night again in the safety of Ranger's embrace, and it occurs to me that once again, I'm homeless. There is no way I'll ever sleep in the apartment on four again.
"I'm having a hard time making a decision I know probably seems obvious to everyone else," I say, my fingernail tracing under the hem of Ranger's cargo pocket.
"Tell me about it," Ranger responds, his tone kind but directive, and rather than be appalled at being told what to do, I feel calmer under the umbrella of his strength.
"Do you know why I refused to move from my old apartment?" I inquire.
"It was yours," Ranger states immediately, and I'm taken aback by his answer. Most people I know would have said stubborn, stupid, or foolish.
"Yes," I sigh, my body melting against his. And then I tell him my complete relationship life story. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I'd never told anyone any of this, and yet with Ranger, it seemed as natural as breathing. I need him to know me, all of me. I need him to understand why living with him this time, for what I hope is forever, is such a monumental step for me.
As I speak, the hand that was fidgeting outside of Ranger's pocket found its way inside. I press my fingertips into the hard thigh muscle, almost as though I am trying to convey what my halting words are struggling to do telepathically. "So, this is my problem. I need a place to live, and I want to live with you if you'll have me. But please understand, I really have changed this past year. I need alone time to recharge, and I've grown accustomed to it, but I don't see myself feeling at ease, or even all that safe on four, let alone like the apartment is a home. At the same time, I'm afraid of moving in with you on seven. We are very new as a 'we,' and while we've danced around a relationship for years, neither one of us is into this baggage-free. Every time I've given up an element of my physical or financial independence, I have been left in a weaker position because of it. I also don't want to rush us. A lot has happened over the past week, even if the buildup was years in the making. It's too much, and if I'm honest, no matter how much I trust you, this step is illogically petrifying. In the words of Kermit the Frog, 'I can't live with you, and I can't live without you,'" I push out. I adjust my body so that I can see Ranger's eyes, often the only clue I have as to what he is thinking.
"Ranger, being here in your arms is the only place I have ever felt home. It's why I steal your t-shirts and shower gel. I'm trying to take that sense of lust and passion, sure, but also safety and belonging with me. The only place I really want to be is home with you. I just don't know how to do that," I say with complete openness. In his eyes, I only see acceptance, and it makes me feel like the effort to explain myself is entirely worth it.
"I love you, Babe, and wherever you are, there I will also be. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I'm so sorry you've been hurt by so many people who should have loved and cherished you for the great person you are," Ranger says, rolling me towards him so that his arms protectively wrap around me. "I respect all of your concerns, and I agree that we need to take things slowly between us to give our relationship a solid foundation. What's mine is yours, but I understand your financial hesitancies. I won't pressure you in any way to use my resources and nor will I take from you. If you would like to draft a relationship prenup, as it were, I'd be happy to have Pete draw one up. The bottom line is that I'm not pressuring you, and I want you to be in a place where you can heal, and we can grow," Ranger says, offering more than I expected.
"Thank you," I say softly, pushing my body somehow closer to his. "A prenup isn't necessary so long as you don't pressure me to take from or use your resources, and I trust you when you say you won't. I need to take this slowly, but I do want there to be an us."
"I couldn't ask for more."
A/N: Thank you, everyone, for your patience and support. We are now in the home stretch, and I'm so excited to share these final chapters with you over the next couple of weeks. While Coronavirus gave me the time at home I needed to finish this story, there is a very serious impact in our global community due to this pandemic. It is my sincerest prayer that all of you and yours are well and continue to be so.
Misty23y is my beta and friend. She has helped encourage me, nudged me, and waited patiently when I was too overwhelmed with life to finish this before now. Thank you for being there.
