To Each Her Own Read online

  Maybe, whispered the paranoid part of her brain, Panhead and Jay were one and the same. Was it a coincidence Panhead had gone missing at the same time Jay started treating Erin like the plague?

  She propped her elbows on her desk and rested her head in her hands. God, please don't let it be that. Please don't let Jay turn out to be Panhead. She didn't want to angst over that again right now, not when she was already so raw and upset about everything else. Surely the universe wouldn't kick her while she was down.

  She hoped something bad hadn't happened to Panhead. Her imagination, combined with a knowledge of what could go wrong when someone had paraplegia—urinary tract infections and pressure sores, to name a couple—had her worried.

  Sighing, she lifted her head to look at her screen and decided to leave Panhead another message.

  emanomaly: Hope the reason you're MIA has something to do with that hot dev you wrote about, or else you're marooned on a tropical island with a bunch of virgin bikini models.

  She paused, wondering if she should keep it light or say something that would let him know all was not right with her world. She settled on something in between.

  emanomaly: Seriously, hope you're okay. If you can fit in a chat, I could really use a friend.

  * * *

  Jay stared at his laptop screen, at emanomaly's message.

  “If you can fit in a chat, I could really use a friend.”

  Guilt gnawed at his belly, a nice addition to the chronic pain in his back and the annoying, jiggling spasticity in his legs. He'd been buried in work for days now, using that as an excuse for not talking to Erin, but burning the midnight oil had taken its toll on his body. He hardly ever had spasticity. Its appearance was a sign he'd been overdoing it. The back pain, however, was always present and had plateaued at “extremely painful ninety-five percent of the time.”

  He inhaled a deep breath and then exhaled, trying to breathe through a particularly vicious pang, and resisted the temptation to hold down his left leg, which was jiggling worse than the right. It kept working itself off the footplate of his chair. Holding on to it wouldn't make it stop, though. Lying down might help, but he didn't have time for that.

  He'd seen the hurt in Erin's eyes every time he dodged her, but he wasn't lying to her when he told her he was swamped. Daniel, one of the other guys he worked with, was on vacation, so Jay had volunteered to cover Daniel's on-call shifts for help-desk. The extra work was a welcome distraction because none of Jay's confusion over his feelings for Erin had been resolved. He still needed time. One minute he missed her and thought he could get past the dev thing; the next, he didn't want to think about any of it because the whole situation made him want to punch a wall.

  It all came back to one thing: How could she even want to touch his sticklike paralyzed legs, let alone be turned on by them? He just couldn't wrap his head around that. It had taken him years before he could touch his floppy, cold legs and feet without cringing. There was no getting around it: Erin was a freak.

  And how could it not matter to her whether he could get a boner or not? He was insulted by that. It was just wrong. For the record, he could get an erection without taking Cialis, but it was unpredictable. With the pill, he could go for hours, but it took twenty minutes or so to kick in, which could seem like forever when things were hot and heavy. It was why he'd wanted to show Erin how good it could be in other ways, but no. She'd had to go and ruin everything.

  He kept having this conversation with himself. It was on a continuous loop, going round and round in his head.

  To make things more confusing, he kept remembering the things that were good about her, like the way she loved Chopper. Most people wanted to run when they encountered his diabolical-looking dog, but not Erin. She only saw the loveable, gentle dog beneath the scary exterior. She'd even called Chopper cute. Chopper was Jay's best bud, but he'd never in a million years describe the canine as cute.

  Another case in point: the compassion she'd shown that shithead who'd tried to steal her wallet at HEB. She'd made up elaborate backstories to justify his actions because she didn't want to believe he was inherently bad.

  Erin saw the beauty in things others couldn't see and always looked for the good in people—in everyone except herself. Jay had never known anyone with such a self-destructive streak. Now he fully understood what she'd been trying to destroy.

  The cursor blinked on his screen, accusing and insistent. He should respond to her, if for no other reason than it might be suspicious that Panhead had disappeared at the same time he and Erin started having problems—and because he did still care about her.

  He couldn't erase the past few weeks he'd spent with her. They had been good—really good—and no matter what his feelings for her were now, there was no reason for Panhead to reject her, too.

  He started typing.

  Panhead: What's up?

  emanomaly: Oh. You're there.

  Panhead: Yep.

  emanomaly: You have no idea how glad I am to hear from you.

  Panhead: Sorry I didn't respond earlier. I've been busy with those virgins . . .

  emanomaly: Right.

  Panhead: I wish. Just been busy with work.

  emanomaly: With the restaurant?

  Panhead: Yeah.

  It wasn't technically a lie, only he'd been busy with lots of restaurants, not just one.

  He and Erin had talked about his work. She knew he supported restaurant computer systems, but she hadn't made the connection between Panhead's involvement with restaurants and Jay's. Yes. Panhead had mislead her by being intentionally vague, but it still wasn't exactly lying.

  Ironically, her next sentence echoed what was in his head.

  emanomaly: You never told me exactly what you do in the restaurant business.

  Panhead: Not much to tell. It's boring. Just management.

  Again, not quite a lie. He helped manage technology. Still, it was time to steer the conversation to something else, even if that meant jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.

  Panhead: So why did you say you could use a friend?

  emanomaly: Um, long story. Speaking of stories, did you have a chance to read the ones I sent you?

  Panhead: Yes. I've been meaning to e-mail my comments but got sidetracked. I liked them. You should finish them. I even liked the romance.

  emanomaly: Are you just being nice?

  Panhead: No. I want to find out what happens. Especially in the romance.

  emanomaly: I sense some sarcasm there.

  Panhead: No, really. I want to know.

  emanomaly: It's a romance. It's kind of a given what's going to happen.

  Panhead: Let me guess: The dude believes his girl is dead so he drinks poison, then she wakes up, sees that he's dead, and stabs herself?

  emanomaly: Ha. Uh, no. My novel is no Romeo and Juliet. It's a category romance, written for a certain type of readership. It's supposed to have a happy ending.

  Panhead: Supposed to?

  emanomaly: Not sure I know how to write one.

  Panhead: Why do I get the feeling you're talking about something else besides your book?

  emanomaly: Because, as usual, my love life is in the crapper.

  Panhead: Does this have to do with your roommate?

  emanomaly: Yes.

  What was he doing? He shouldn't be encouraging her to confide in him, but he could ask her things as Panhead he couldn't as Jay and maybe get some answers without the awkwardness of having to look her in the eye.

  Still, what he was doing didn't sit well with him, and he felt agitated. He pressed his palms into his seat cushion, doing a quick pressure lift. It didn't help, so he rolled his head on his shoulders to release the tension in his neck and the pain in his back. That didn't help either.

  He knew he was about to dig himself in deeper, but it didn't stop him from typing a response.

  Panhead: What happened?

  emanomaly: Things were going great until I freaked him out.r />
  Panhead: How?

  emanomaly: I'm afraid to tell you.

  Panhead: Why?

  emanomaly: Because I don't want to lose your friendship, too.

  Panhead: You won't. You can tell me anything, remember?

  Yep. It was official: He was Satan.

  emanomaly: Like I said, it's a long story, but the gist of it is, I admitted I thought the paralyzed part of his body was hot, his legs and everything, and that I want to touch them and see them. He thinks I'm a perv now, and I guess he's right.

  Panhead: Wait a minute. Didn't you tell me you weren't into that, that you were attracted to a wheeler's inner strength or whatever and not the physical side of his disability?

  emanomaly: Yeah, I did. When I told you that, though, I believed it myself. I think it made what I am easier for me to accept. And it's true. I think the strength of character a guy with a disability exhibits is very attractive, the way he deals with it is cool, but I'm attracted to the physical aspects, too. I used to tell myself I wasn't necessarily attracted to the paralyzed parts but wasn't repulsed by them either. But with my roommate, it's more than that, more than just being able to overlook them. I can't lie to myself anymore. I am so physically drawn to him, to every molecule of him. My attraction to him is a compulsion. I can't get enough of him.

  Jay could at least understand that. He'd felt the same way about her, but that was different. She was physically perfect. Her body was a work of art. His was far from it.

  Panhead: Are you sure your fascination with his paralysis isn't more of a morbid thing, like rubbernecking a bad car wreck?

  emanomaly: No. Absolutely not. When I look at him, I see nothing morbid or pitiful. All I see is perfection.

  Jay was trying hard to let that sink in and not be biased, but he was having a hard time. How could she see perfection where all he saw was a reminder of loss, of weakness—that he would never again be what he once was?

  Panhead: When did you realize you were attracted to the physical stuff?

  emanomaly: When I saw my roommate out walking his dog one day. I know it's weird, but it just clicked for me. He looked so powerful, so full of life. His paralyzed legs, neatly contained by his chair, underscored his virility instead of detracting from it. They were beautiful because he was beautiful. He personified ability—not disability—and it was a huge turn-on for me. I couldn't deny any longer that I wanted to touch him, every single part of him. Later, I even fantasized about what it would be like to sit on his lap, to feel his legs beneath me.

  Jay raised his brows. He didn't know what to think of that, let alone what to say. He noticed his legs had finally stopped jiggling, but he barely acknowledged it. He was more absorbed in what Erin had just told him. She'd fantasized about sitting on his lap? It was weird, yes; but, if he was honest with himself, it was kind of kinky, too.

  emanomaly: You still there?

  Panhead: Yeah.

  emanomaly: It's disturbing, I know. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't be telling you any of this, but I feel so isolated. I just need someone to talk to.

  Panhead: No. It's okay. It's just a lot to take in.

  emanomaly: I know. Thanks for at least hearing me out.

  Panhead: Sure. It's just not what I expected.

  emanomaly: I know. It obviously wasn't what my roommate expected either. I knew things wouldn't work out with him. It was too good to be true. I never should have let things go so far. I knew I was setting myself up for heartbreak, but, again, the physical attraction alone was too strong to deny. I think, judging by the way he used to kiss me, it was the same for him, too.

  Panhead: Yeah, that’s kind of hard to fake.

  emanomaly: When I got to know him better, the physical attraction turned into something much deeper, something much more important. There's so much I like about him. He's so strong. I feel safe and protected when I'm with him. He's the perfect guy—thoughtful, affectionate, funny, smart, honest—and he even cooks. He deserves someone better than me, someone who's normal. It's probably best that he learned the truth now, before things went any further.

  Jay sat there staring at the screen, rocked by all the things she'd said about him. She kept saying he was perfect, but he was far from it.

  He was racking his brain for an appropriate response when another message popped up from her.

  emanomaly: Losing him is so painful. I'm in love with him, and I'm such an idiot for letting that happen. I feel like I can't breathe, like my insides are being crushed.

  Jay could identify with that. She was killing him. Leaning his elbows on either side of his laptop, he grabbed his hair with both fists and squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus Christ. She'd just said she loved him. But if she did, then why . . .

  He opened his eyes and started typing.

  Panhead: Why did you admit that stuff to him about perving on his legs in the first place, especially if you knew it might end things?

  emanomaly: We were in an intimate moment, and he seemed so scornful of his body. I couldn't stand that. I wanted him to see himself the way I see him. I thought I could make him understand. And I think maybe I was tired of pretending. I wanted to be honest with him, so I gambled that I could trust him.

  Panhead: And you lost.

  emanomaly: Yes.

  Neither of them typed anything for what seemed like several minutes. Jay could sense her anguish, and he hated himself for causing it. She loved him, even the ugly parts. He should have seen that for the gift it was instead of being such a jackass. His own deep-seated hang-ups—things he'd thought he'd dealt with long ago—had blinded him.

  He was about to go to Erin, confess he was Panhead, and grovel for her forgiveness when she wrote something else.

  emanomaly: He hasn't talked to me in days, and it hurts. You'd think I would have learned my lesson. He's always provoked intense emotions in me, even in the beginning. I mean, my God, I almost offed myself because of him.

  Jay's heart stopped and he went cold. What the hell was she talking about?

  And then he knew.

  Chapter 24

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Erin muttered to herself, wiping tears from her eyes with the Kleenex she'd grabbed from her nightstand. She hated crying, and she was glad Panhead couldn't see her. Talking with him about Jay had brought everything home, and the tears had started gushing. She hadn't cried this hard since Nana died.

  And what the hell was she thinking, mentioning her pathetic suicide attempt to Panhead? She was distraught, and it had just come out.

  She was dreading Panhead's inevitable response and trying to think how she'd explain when a knock on the door made her start.

  “Erin,” came Jay's deep, gravelly voice through the door, “we need to talk.”

  Tentative hope bubbled within her. Maybe he was going to give her another chance after all. Or—and this possibility squeezed her heart—maybe he was going to officially end things.

  “Erin?” he called again.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “Just a second,” then hastily wiped her face and blew her nose with another tissue. She wished she had a bathroom connected to her room so she could wash her face, but only the master bedroom, which was Jay's room, had its own bath. She didn't want Jay to know she'd been crying, but there was no way her blotchy skin and swollen eyes wouldn't give her away.

  Another knock. “Erin, please.”

  She closed out of the messenger program with Panhead and opened the window of the eMusic website. The last thing she needed was Jay inadvertently reading her chat with Panhead.

  Smoothing an errant lock of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and tucking it behind her ear, she said, “Come in.”

  The doorknob clicked, and Jay pushed the door open and rolled through. Erin was still sitting in her blue secretary-style desk chair and hardly glanced at him, trying to look engrossed in the music site. She wanted it to appear she hadn't been pining away for him for four days, which was probably ridiculous. One look at her face and he'd
know she'd been crying. She wondered if he could also tell that her heart was about to beat itself out of her chest.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him push himself up next to her. He was wearing one of his pale-blue oxford work shirts with Luis's company logo embroidered on it in dark blue and a pair of nicer jeans that weren't as faded as usual.

  At some point, Luis must have relaxed the dress code for his technicians because Erin hadn't seen Jay wear khakis since those first few weeks he'd lived with her. She tried not to admire how the pale blue of his shirt contrasted nicely with the tan coloring of his skin, and she refused to feel shabby in her well-worn Pixies T-shirt and black yoga pants. It was Wednesday, her night off, so she was in full-on lounge gear.

  “Erin?”

  There was such grief and urgency in the way Jay said her name that she forgot to be absorbed in her computer screen and turned her head sharply to look at him. When she did, she saw his face was tinged with red and his jaw was rigid, as if he was trying to control an intense emotion. Something that looked suspiciously like moisture made his eyes too bright, turning them a truer, more brilliant shade of blue.

  His intensity disconcerted her. Another round of tears tried to surface, but she swallowed hard, willing them away. If he was about to permanently end things, she'd be damned before she would cry in front of him.

  He held on to the edge of her desk with one hand for leverage. With his other hand, he grabbed the arm of her desk chair, which had casters, and swiveled her around so she was facing him, knee to knee. Then he leaned toward her, using one hand to brace himself on his thigh, and cupped her face with his other hand. “I'm sorry,” he said, his tone grim.

  He was like one of those giant magnets in a junkyard, and she was like a piece of scrap metal. Her body didn't have any choice but to gravitate toward him, bringing them close enough for him to kiss her forehead, then her eyes, then her lips. The pleasant tickle of his ever-present stubble against her skin made her stomach flutter.