Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! This is a big climax chapter. :)
The visit with her parents came and went without a glitch. Mr. Port had given them a general overview of the attack, which spared her from having to retell it when she didn't want to. It didn't seem like he'd given many details, leaving them to her to fill in what she wanted. How had he known she wasn't ready to retell it all? Or that Prince would help keep her from holing up in the bedroom?
Trudy and Pete got along fabulously with her parents and even received invitations to stop out for a visit if they were ever near Chicago.
She worked in the study the next day. Now where did he keep extra staples? Pulling open the drawers, she dug around. A paper stuck out of the track from the drawer above. She tugged it out. An unopened piece of mail to Dr. Jason Port. She frowned. If he had a doctor in philosophy, shouldn't Trudy and Pete be calling him Dr. Port? He seemed like the type to have excelled in academics. Had he gone into the Navy SEALS to pay for college? What did he have a degree in that was this lucrative for him? More pieces kept overturning, creating a bigger and bigger puzzle.
Six days after Mr. Port had left, she scrubbed the kitchen floor one evening with Trudy. Again. Pete came through the back door with Prince. "I think he's on empty," he sighed with relief.
"You scrub the floor the next time," Trudy grumbled.
"I say you need a new vet," he said and put up a babygate he'd bought that afternoon to block Prince in the kitchen.
"It is kind of a big thing to not say to gradually transition dog foods so he doesn't get diarrhea," she admitted.
They sat on stools around the solid wood kitchen table afterwards and played cards because Prince cried if he was gated alone.
Footsteps echoed in the foyer. They all looked at each other.
Mr. Port stepped up to the gate and looked down at it in confusion. He wore the mask, but his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, the tie hung loose, and his suit was a bit rumpled. He looked tired and unusually untidy.
"You're home early, sir. I thought you were going to call tomorrow." Pete stood up quickly.
Mr. Port's eye transferred to look at them. "I finished early, and it was faster to take a cab than wait for the car. Why is there a baby gate?" He didn't look pleased.
She bit her lip.
"Ms. Hoplin's baby whines if we leave him alone, don'tcha know," Trudy said.
His eye nearly popped out of his head. "What baby?"
Prince whined and scrambled for the back door. But he didn't make it in time. He squatted and made a mess.
"What. Is wrong. With him?" Mr. Port demanded.
She jumped up for the cleaner while Pete and Trudy grabbed the papertowels and a trashbag. "The vet didn't tell us to slowly transition to new food. The food he was on is really fattening, so he's on something healthier now. He cries if we leave him out here alone."
"No. Absolutely not." He stepped over the gate and marched to the back door. He opened it, and Prince ran outside. Then he shut the door and turned, looking none too pleased. "He stays outside until this passes."
"But-"
His eye silenced her instantly. Then he stormed to the doorway and stopped at the gate. Jerking it excessively hard, he took it down and jammed it behind a chair.
Prince pawed at the door and whined.
It must have been a bad trip. She limped out after him. He headed toward the stairs. And straight for the bannister. "Mr. Port!" But she was too late.
He slammed right into it, taking the punch to the gut. A grunt escaped him, and he doubled over with a curse.
She hurried over and set a hand on his back. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," he gasped and straightened, still holding his stomach. Then he pulled away, gripping the railing as if to stay upright.
"What's wrong?"
"Get Stevens." He sank onto the stairs.
She ran into the kitchen. "Pete, something's wrong with Mr. Port." She waved for him to hurry.
He darted out and knelt beside Mr. Port, speaking quietly.
Mr. Port nodded and Pete helped him up, wrapping an arm around his waist. He set his arm around Pete's shoulders as they turned to go up the stairs.
"Mr. Port?" She wrung her hands and then limped up the stairs to his other side, slipping her hand into his.
They stopped and he looked in her direction but not at her. "Go back to the kitchen." He gave a slight squeeze to her hand and let go.
She stared. He acted like he was suddenly...blind. "I want to help," she said carefully, not wanting him to push her away again.
"Just a migraine." He gave a slight nod for Pete to continue.
She watched them go. Worry gnawed at her. Plus, he'd done so much for her that she should be there for him.
Trudy came out. "Come, let's start dinner," she urged.
Her eyes remained on the stairs where the men had disappeared down the hall. "Do these migraines inflict him often?" Silence. She looked at Trudy to see the woman reluctant to say anything. So, she climbed the stairs and paced outside his closed door.
Pete came out and shut the door behind himself.
"Is he alright?"
"He's just resting."
She wrung her hands. "Is it truly a migraine? He doesn't seem like himself." Something felt wrong. Something nagged in her stomach.
"Wait here a moment." He disappeared inside the softly lit room and then stepped out. The room was dark now. "He said you can go in."
She stepped in, the only light a small electric candle far from the bed. It offered enough of a glow to outline furniture but nothing else.
"Stevens says you're turning yourself gray out there." He sounded tired.
Walking over, she felt the edge of the bed and trailed her hand along until she brushed his hip and encountered his hand. "There's something more to it than a migraine." She took his hand and held tight. He didn't hold very tight.
A soft sigh filled the air. "Everything's alright now, and it is just a migraine."
Her hand slowly went limp in his. "What did Trudy and Stevens do to earn your trust?" she whispered, losing hope that he'd ever confide in her.
"They knew my secrets before I could buffer them from the burdens that come with it. I only want to protect you, Emma."
She knelt beside the bed and cradled his hand to her cheek, letting the tears wash over his hand. "I wish you wouldn't," she whispered. It hurt so much to see him suffering but unable to help him. She let go of his hand and walked to the door.
"Emma?" He sounded so unsure, so nervous, so unlike himself.
She stopped.
"I can't tell you everything. Don't ask questions about what I will say."
Walking back over to him, she sat on the edge of the bed when he scooted over slightly.
His hand slipped into hers. "The doctor said to expect migraines." He trembled.
"It's alright," she whispered. "I promise whatever it is, it won't change what I think of you." She held his hand to her cheek so he could feel her expression wouldn't turn into revulsion. Her heart raced, scared of what had happened that made him so afraid to be seen.
"There was an accident a few years ago." He audibly swallowed hard. "One of the damages was my..." He took a deep, shakey breath. "My eyeball had to be removed."
She stroked his arm through his shirt and nodded slightly. That certainly wasn't worth being this scared to tell. But he said 'one of the damages.' She waited for him to continue.
"I had several plastic surgeries to salvage...pieces. The surgeons thought I could eventually have a prosthetic eye." His voice quivered. "A cyst formed in the eye socket, making a prostethic impossible. It became painful over the past year to the point of taking asprin daily." His hand turned over to clasp hers tight, and his breathing picked up so much that it sounded like he struggled to not weep.
His pain brought tears to her eyes. She climbed on the bed on his good side and curled up to him. Her hand slipped into his and held tight. "Stop," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. You don't have to tell me." She brought his hand to her lips.
"I've wanted to, but I've been so scared. Don't search my name on the Internet." His voice cracked, and his hand clasped hers as if seeking strength.
"I promise." She frowned. "Are there pictures you don't want me to see? Something about the accident you don't want me to know?"
He sniffled. "The paparazzi got into the hospital and splashed pictures on the Internet. I don't want you to see them or the the names tagged to them."
"I won't. But the names aren't true. Anyone who knows you sees a heart bigger than this house." She rested a hand on his chest and gently stroked. Now Trudy's words made sense: a rose has no eyes to see the beast. He had called her the rose. And himself the beast. What other horrid names had they given him? No wonder why he lived on the top of a mountain away from everyone. "Is the cyst giving you the migraine?"
His chest heaved under her hand. "I had to leave to have surgery."
She blinked and her hand stilled. Nausea made her stomach churn. He couldn't possibly be talking about this past week. No one should have to endure surgery alone, much less one that would cause disfigurement and so much emotional trauma.
"They..." His voice cracked. "They did exenteration thinking the cyst would turn into cancer otherwise." He breathed so fast he'd make himself hyperventilate.
She couldn't handle seeing him so upset. "Shhhh, slow down. It's alright. I don't know what exenteration means, and I don't have to know if you don't want." She stroked his chest. "I suspected something was wrong with your eye because what other reason to sew the ski mask shut? This doesn't shock me, Jason. Even so, why would I think less of you?" His fear sliced through her heart like a knife.
He captured her hand on his chest, his voice still quivering. "Exenteration is the removal of the eyelids and muscles in the socket. They took a skin graft from my thigh to cover the bone."
That made more sense why he was worried to tell her. But what had been so terrible about the accident? An eyeball removal wasn't as disfiguring as an exenteration. A sick feeling in her stomach grew. She leaned up on her elbow to look down at him in the darkness. "Jason? Was it a car accident?"
Silence. He swallowed hard, his heart slamming under her hand. "A fire," he whispered.
She closed her eyes and swallowed back the bile. Those horrid people. His face was probably terribly burned, which accounted for the multiple plastic surgeries he'd had to 'salvage' the pieces. His ear might be gone or part of his nose. Or maybe the skin was bubbled and warped. It explained the other 'damages.' And now he had to deal with further disfigurement to his face. Tears ran down her face. "You were in the hospital for surgery this week?"
"Y..." He cleared the lump from his throat. "Yes. I wouldn't have left you, but it would've been three more months to reschedule. The doctors argued that it would have probably turned into cancer by then. I came back as soon as I could. I didn't want to leave when you were so scared. I hoped the dog and your parents' visit would help."
She broke down in tears. He must have been so frightened, and she'd had no idea. Despite the pain and emotional torture he knew he'd face, he'd still been thinking about someone else. This kind, gentle man didn't deserve so much suffering. She only loved him more for his strength and beautiful heart. "I don't care about me. Why would you go through that all alone? If you didn't want me, why not take Trudy or Stevens?"
He voice was thick. "You needed them more than I did." His hand brushed away her tears. "I wanted you, but I was scared for you to see me. Especially now." He sniffled.
Her lip quivered. "Damn you and your big heart. Don't ever do something like that again." She sniffled. "In time you'll believe that scars don't matter to me. You have to remember that you already don't have a face to me, simply a blue eye and a hint of lips." She laid her hand over his heart. "This is what I've come to trust and see."
He drew a shakey breath. "Don't look up pictures. Even from before the accident. I don't want you to know what is gone."
She brought his hand to her lips. "Something tells me that what's gone wasn't nearly as beautiful as what is here." I love you. She wanted to say the words, but it might be too much and spook him. He'd just begun to trust her enough to speak about his face. She didn't care if he reciprocated, she simply wanted him to know he still deserved love.
His hand cupped her face, and she leaned into it, basking in his touch. He cleared his throat. "Enough about me. How have you been faring?" His fingers traveled around her head to comb through her hair.
"One more question. Do you have stitches or bandages that need tending?"
"Both, but-"
"I know not by me. I just want to know. The migraines will happen for awhile?"
"That's more than one question." He sounded calm and patient, more like himself.
"So sue me."
He chuckled, the sound so wonderful given everything he'd been through the last few days. "I get migraines if I'm severely stressed. I've been agonizing over you finding out about the surgery. I made myself sick."
"Was it worth it?" She laid back down and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Not so far." His arm wrapped around her to rest on her hip.
She gave his chest a soft swat. "Wretch."
He laughed and shifted as if he held his face. "Ow. Don't make me smile."
"Ohh." She started to reach up but remembered he probably wasn't wearing the mask. "Is it really painful?"
"Not as much as two days ago. Now, how have you been?"
She updated him on the past week. "Trudy and Pete are very good company. I see why you have them."
"Pete?"
"Stevens. There is far too much formality around here."
He chuckled. "Clearly." He squeezed her gently. "Climbing in bed during the night with an employer is far too formal."
Her face burned hot with embarrassment, and she started to pull away.
His arm tightened around her. "I'm teasing, Emma."
She decided to ignore that comment. "Your migraine must be fading," she mumbled.
A very faint glow of teeth flashed in a smile.
"And I got rid of the crutches," she grinned in the dark.
"Did you now? I didn't pay attention when I got home."
Prince barked faintly.
"I told Stevens to stick him in the basement. I won't have diarrhea smell all over the house." Disapproval came through in his voice.
"He's scared," she frowned.
"No."
"Are you going to throw your kids in the basement when they get the flu?"
"He's a dog," he said pointedly.
"Please?" she pouted.
"Why does it seem like a good thing that I can't see that pout?" He groaned. "Fine. But I'm not cleaning up the kitchen in the morning."
She got up and headed for the door. "Not with fresh surgical wounds you aren't!" Then she popped her head around the door again. "Convenient to have surgery when the dog has diarrhea. I've cleaned it six times today," she smiled in the dark.
That elicited a laugh from him, as hoped. "What can I say? I have good timing."
She smiled. "Do you have pain meds or anything?"
"Tramadol at seven o'clock. I think I left my bag at the front door."
She glanced at her watch in the hallway light. "Ten minutes. I'll get the dog and then bring it up." She took a step to go.
"Emma?"
Backtracking, she stepped into the doorway. The hall light only cast enough light to see his outline on the bed and the glow of a large bandage on the right side of his face. It broke her heart to see him like that.
"Thank you," he said, his voice slightly thick with emotion.
"I wouldn't be anywhere else," she replied softly. Then she went downstairs, nibbling a nail. Things had just officially changed between them. They'd crossed the line past employer/employee, but how far had they crossed? Misreading things as too far could damage it all irreparably. Thank heavens she hadn't opened her big mouth and professed her love. Getting away from him and thinking things through, it was clear he hadn't done anything a friend wouldn't. Males were males and flirted even with female friends. He had her in the 'friend zone.' Everyone knew that no one ever came out of that zone. She'd been the one to be too familiar with him and needed to be more careful. Having him as a friend was better than not having him at all, and she couldn't risk damaging that.
She found his suitcase sitting near the front door. A pill bottle was tucked in the front. Reading the directions, she dumped two pills in her hand and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.
"How is he?" Trudy asked from where she made supper at the counter.
Looking from her to Pete at the kitchen table, she sighed. "You both knew about the surgery, didn't you?"
They nodded. "He asked us to not go or say anything," Pete said in an apologetic tone.
"He seems more at ease now that it's out in the open, but he won't say anything about the accident other than there was a fire." Her eyes searched their faces. How much did they know about it? They kept their eyes diverted. "He said to let Prince in the kitchen. Would you bring him up? I'll take Mr. Port his meds." She had more questions than ever, but tonight was not the night for them.