The Winner Takes It All. Alison Roberts
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out of bounds after I scored a goal. I landed wrong and fractured my arm in two places.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s all I could say in between grimacing and crying.” She drew back, as if horror. “You cry?”
“Past tense. I was eleven.”
“I’m teasing,” she said. “Nothing wrong with crying, no matter what your age.”
“Only if you’re an emotional, overwrought sissy man.”
“Wouldn’t want someone to take away your man card.”
“Damn straight.”
She sipped her cider. “Tell me more about your broken arm.”
He patted his mouth with a napkin. “Not much more to tell. It happened in early July, so I spent the rest of my summer in a cast. It sucked.”
“You do know how I feel.”
He nodded. “I couldn’t swim or go in the sprinklers. I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike or skateboard. No going on rides at the county fair, either. Casts weren’t allowed.”
“That must have been the worst summer of your life.”
Nope. That was a toss-up between last summer when he was trying to get over her and the summer after his brother died. But her rejection had hurt lots more than his arm fracture. He was relieved he’d moved past that. “It wasn’t fun, but I survived. So will you.”
His tone came out harsh, without an ounce of sympathy or compassion. He needed to try harder. Apologize. Being with Sarah brought out strong feelings and emotions, ones he would rather forget existed. He’d seen what losing control had done to Blaine. Cullen wouldn’t allow the same thing to happen to him.
Forks scraped against plates. Glasses were raised and returned to the table. The lack of conversation was awkward. But Cullen didn’t know what to do about it. He’d never known what to do with Sarah except kiss her and take her to bed.
Not an option. Even if a part of him wished it were.
As Cullen loaded the dishwasher, Sarah sat at the table with a plate of cookies within arm’s reach. Medication dulled the pain, but made her feel as if she’d drunk one beer too many. Maybe that was why dinner with Cullen had seemed so weird. Forget walking on eggshells—the floor was covered in shattered glass and she kept stepping on the shards.
An uncomfortable silence had enveloped them during the meal. The same unsettling quiet had consumed their marriage. If Sarah could have made it to the guest bedroom on her own, she would have bolted after she’d finished eating. But, since she couldn’t, death by chocolate chips sounded like the best alternative.
She bit into a cookie. The sweet flavor exploded in her mouth. “Great cookie.”
Cullen glanced over his shoulder. “Carly is known for her baking skills.”
“I can see why.” Sarah had been surprised about Cullen’s broken arm. She wondered what else she didn’t know about him. Sex had been the way they’d been able to communicate best. But even that hadn’t been enough after a while. Uh-oh. Thinking about sex and Cullen wasn’t going to help matters. “I think I’ll have another cookie.”
“Save me one.”
She held her left hand above the plate. “There are over a dozen.”
Cullen glanced over his shoulder. Amusement—at least that was what she hoped it was—flashed in his eyes. “I know how much you love cookies.”
“You gave me a cookie bouquet for my birthday.” That had been five months into their marriage. He’d also covered their bed with rose petals. A romantic gesture when romance had been nonexistent. “They were tasty.”
“I never got one.”
“That’s because you left for your shift at the hospital and I didn’t hear from you for two days.”
Cullen gave her one of those you-have-to-be-kidding looks. “I had to work.”
By the time he’d returned, the cookies had been eaten and the rose petals had wilted. “You never called or texted. Not even during breaks.”
He tugged at his collar. “I need to concentrate when I’m at the hospital.”
He had never owned up to his behavior in the past. Why had she expected anything different now? Best to forget everything that had happened between them. Good or bad. She pushed the plate of cookies away. “Help yourself. You’ll have to roll me back to my room if I eat any more.”
“Roll you, carry you.” He bent to put something in the dishwasher. “Not much difference.”
Maybe not for him.
A wave of helplessness washed over her, threatening to drown her. She hated not being able to do anything on her own. She hated being at someone else’s mercy. She hated relying on anybody. Oh-so-familiar disappointment pressed down on her. She had finally been getting everything on track when life threw a rock at her. She didn’t want to have to depend on Cullen. She didn’t want to end up needing him.
The tight ball of emotion in her belly unraveled like yarn, sending pent-up feelings rolling through her.
She couldn’t unsnap her bra or button her jeans or be the kind of wife a man would love forever.
Tears stung her eyes.
Oh, no. Sarah didn’t want him to see her like this. She was independent and strong, not needy and emotional. Except, the only thing she felt like doing right now was crying.
She blinked. She looked up. Drops still fell. She dabbed her eyes with the napkin.
Time to get out of here.
Without Cullen’s help.
Using her left hand, she pushed against the table. Mantling had always been a favorite climbing move, but this took more effort than she was used to exerting. Her muscles protested. Her abdomen ached. Still she managed to stand, scooting the chair back in the process.
Cullen looked at her. Forks clattered into the sink. He rushed to her side. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t need to be rolled or carried.” Her voice cracked. “I can do it myself.”
Except she couldn’t. All she wanted to do was sit. Pride kept her standing.
“I was kidding.” He didn’t sound amused. His dark eyes looked annoyed. “Like old times.”
She raised her chin, but that didn’t make up the difference in height. The top of her head came to his nose. She reminded herself that in every other way they were equals. And an underground city of elves lived inside Mount Shasta, too. “The old times weren’t that great.”
He flinched. “They weren’t that bad.”
She shrugged, hoping the gesture hid the hurt she was feeling. “I’m used to taking care of myself. I can do this.”
But if she didn’t get moving she would be flat on her butt in about ten seconds.
“Tomorrow—” he scooped her into his arms “—not tonight. Time to get you into your jammies and into bed.”
Cradled against his strong, wide chest, she struggled to breathe. Her muscles tensed. Her senses reeled.
What was happening to her?
Sarah wanted to be strong, but she also wanted to collapse against him and forget everything in the past and what would happen in the future. But she couldn’t. Not when the feel of his heartbeat sent hers into a frenetic rhythm. Or when the musky scent of him made her want to take another sniff.
“You don’t have to do this.” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “I’m okay.”
Or would