Behind the Mask

Mellanie Szereto

About the Story

His scars run deeper than his skin…

Contents

Behind the Mask

Behind the Mask

A groan summoned Russell James Adams to his bedroom, but first, he stopped outside the doorway and donned the mask dangling from his left ear. Despite the stranger’s lack of fever and cough, he wasn’t about to risk exposure to a deadly virus, not when he’d finally found some relative peace in his life.

The woman lay tangled in the blanket he’d draped over her, the mask he’d straightened prior to assessing her condition still in place and her dark hair forming a halo on the white pillow. A flash of lightning illuminated a few silver strands at her temples, much like the gray starting to make an appearance in his own hair.

Forty wasn’t old, even if his body felt like it had aged that many years since the day he’d nearly died.

With another groan, she lifted her hand to her forehead and blinked. “Ouch. What happened? Where am I?”

“A tree fell across the road in front of your car.” The tightness in his neck and shoulders eased somewhat now that she’d regained consciousness. He leaned against the jamb instead of limping any closer, despite not being able to see her eyes well enough in the dim light to check for pupil dilation. The weather had aggravated his permanently impaired hip all damn day. “The impact of the airbag probably knocked you out. I’m a— I used to be a paramedic. Your vitals were normal, and you didn’t have any obvious injuries, so I carried you to my cabin. Broken windshield. You were getting wet, and emergency services aren’t getting through anytime soon.”

“The storm. I slammed on the brakes.” She looked toward the window, tensing when the wind whipped a flurry of raindrops against the glass. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Are you hungry? I’m making lunch.”

“Maybe…?” Pushing away the blanket, she scooted to the edge of the bed, her gaze sweeping the room. “Did you bring in my purse? I was supposed to check in with a friend when I got to my cabin. She’ll be worried.”

The not-so-subtle hint that somebody would come looking for her if she disappeared would have been laughable, if he’d meant her any harm.

He aimed his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s on the end table by the couch. Cell signal’s spotty on a good day, though, and the satellite internet is out until the storm system passes.”

Her eyebrows dipped into a vee above her downcast eyes. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” Hoping she wasn’t foolish enough to try to sneak out the window, he stepped into the hall. “You’re smart not to trust me, but I’m not going to hurt you. The only thing I want from you is for you to keep your mask on.”

“Are you sick? Did you test positive?” The panic in her voice almost lured him into turning around.

“No symptoms. No test. And you’re the only person I’ve been within six feet of since the start of the pandemic. Come on out to the kitchen when you’re ready for lunch.” He made his escape before she could ask him why he’d spent the last year—that she knew of—alone.

As the griddle heated on the stove, he buttered four more slices of bread and grabbed a second set of dishes from the cupboard. Light footsteps joined the sizzle of the cooking sandwiches while he divvied up leftover vegetable soup between the two bowls.

His guest stared at him from across the wide counter that separated them. With only her eyes and forehead visible, he couldn’t read her expression. At least her pupils didn’t appear to be dilated.

She slipped an elastic band from her wrist and gathered her hair into a ponytail. “Can I help with something?”

“Nope. Do you need ibuprofen? Airbags can cause a hell of a headache.” He flipped the sandwiches and then pivoted to open the fridge for the milk. The motion amplified the dull ache creeping into his thigh, making him wish he’d taken a dose of pain meds before he’d gone to check on his patient. “Of course, that’s better than brain damage or a cracked skull.”

“True. I have some in my purse.” She glanced behind her to the living room, presumably looking for the leather handbag he’d found on the floor in front of her passenger seat.

“I didn’t open it. I figured I’d check for ID if you didn’t wake up in a few hours.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Her relieved tone made him wonder if she had a concealed-carry weapon hidden inside an inner pocket.

The pill bottle rattled while he transferred the grilled cheese to the plates, but he focused on pouring drinks and moving her lunch to the dinette. Getting shot couldn’t be any worse than having a brick wall collapse on him. “You can sit at the table.”

“Where will you eat?” Her eyebrows dipped again, reminding him of someone he couldn’t quite place.

The doctors had warned him his memory might never be the same as it had been before the accident.

“I can stand here at the counter. The farther, the better.” He slid his meal closer to the sink, putting his back to her before removing his mask. The less she knew about his scars, the better.

A soft clink suggested she’d eaten a bite of soup. “I appreciate all you’re doing for me, considering…you know. How long are the storms supposed to last?”

“Until about midnight. The road might be cleared in a day or two.” A faint rumble of thunder triggered a replay in his head of the earth-shaking tremor from the tree uprooting and the crunch of metal that followed almost immediately afterward. She was lucky he’d been hauling in the last load of groceries from his biweekly pickup. I’m lucky I got home five minutes earlier, or it could’ve been me trapped under that tree.

Her breathy sigh suggested she’d expected to be on her way in the morning. “It looks like I’m going to be stuck here for a while, so I guess we should at least introduce ourselves. What’s your name?”

“Ru— RJ. RJ Adams.” He blew on a spoonful of steaming soup and prayed she hadn’t caught his near slip-up. Russ is dead.

“Nice to meet you, RJ. I’m Dana.”

“Dana.” A twinge in his gut came and went in the blink of an eye. What were the odds of him saving a woman with the same name as his wife? Ex-wife. Fifteen years ago next month. Man, did I screw that up.

That memory had remained unaffected by the severe concussion and subsequent complications.

He stuffed the last quarter of the first sandwich in his mouth and picked up the second. Rehashing that part of his past dozens of times hadn’t changed a damn thing. If anything, his mistakes had become more obvious. His Dana had deserved better.

“How far away is my car? Any chance of getting my suitcase from the hatch?” The chair creaked, warning him she might be carrying her dishes to the sink, but another clink of spoon to bowl sounded instead of footsteps.

“Hmm? Um, yeah. It’s not far from the end of the lane. A few hundred yards from the house. I’ll go as soon as I’m done eating.” Grateful for the chance to clear his head and self-isolate again, if only for a little while, he shoveled in another big bite.

“Should I go with you? I also have a cooler and a bag of groceries. You won’t be able to carry it all in one trip.”

“You’re staying put. I have a four-wheeler with a cart.” At her intake of breath, he cut her off before she could argue. “You can be awake and feeling mostly okay and still have a concussion. Former paramedic talking. Chill on the couch or go back to bed if you need something to do, but you’re staying inside. End of discussion.”

Her abrupt silence assured him she didn’t like that he’d shut down her attempt to survey the damage to her car—and that had clearly been her goal. The mangled hunk of metal needed to be hauled away before she saw she’d come within inches of being crushed.

He gulped the entire glass of milk to wash the last of his sandwich past the hard lump in his throat. Not being able to save people was the only part of his job he didn’t miss, and death had come too damn close to claiming her.

He retrieved half a pain pill from the cabinet in front of him, dry-swallowed it, and hooked the mask on his ears again, careful that the cloth covered him from cheekbones to chin. “You should rest. I’ll wash dishes when I get back.”

“Okay.”

Surprised by her easy acceptance, he rinsed his dishes and headed to the mudroom, where his boots, rain gear, and keys waited for him. He paused at the doorway to glance back at her. “I’m sorry if I sounded bossy, but you’re under my care, and I’m worried you might have other injuries I didn’t find.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I can be a little stubborn sometimes.” Her chair scraped across the floor as she stood, with only her eyes visible to reveal her feelings—not that he could read them. “Be careful out there, RJ.”

An involuntary smile formed behind his mask, a first since the accident that had ended his career. “I will, Dana.”

Wind yanked at his raincoat’s hood when he stepped off the back porch, but it stayed in place through his quick hobble to the garage. He swiped at the wetness running down his forehead as he unlocked the side door and pushed inside. Sifting through the keys for the one that started the four-wheeler, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

The tarp and bungee cords on the shelf finally came into focus, and he placed the bundle in the storage compartment behind the seat. With the spare garage opener tucked into his pocket, he climbed onto the vehicle and ventured into the monsoon.

Rain blew into his face as he accelerated, but he ducked his head and followed the worn tracks leading through the woods. The drenched ground muffled the bumps and rattles of the empty cart along the leaf-carpeted path, creating an almost eerie calm in the chaos. Although not large enough to slow his progress, branches littered the forest floor when he neared the road. Then the top of the fallen tree lay like an enormous disfigured bush among several trunks. A patch of red stood out beyond it.

He shook off the prickly sensation of knowing his visitor had escaped death by a mere second or two. Like me.

Fate had a damn sick sense of humor.

With his senses on high alert, he stopped near the undamaged backend of her car, transferred the contents to the cart, and tied down the tarp over top. The return trip forced him off the trail to avoid getting mired in the muck with the extra weight, and he finally parked next to the porch to unload. One by one, he stacked her belongings on the lone dry patch beside the door.

As he climbed on the four-wheeler to return to the garage, dark lettering on the side of the cooler grabbed his attention.

Dana Adams.

* * *

RJ scrubbed the rain from his eyes, sure he’d read the name on the cooler wrong.

Wishful thinking after hearing her name. It can’t be her.

Regrets aside, he didn’t want his Dana Adams to see him this way.

Another look confirmed his eyes hadn’t deceived him, but he finished his task instead of rushing inside. His guest couldn’t possibly be his Dana. So what if the women were about the same height and had the same eye color. Lots of people fit that physical description. Besides, his wife had never worn her hair past her shoulders. He couldn’t allow himself to hope, not when he still bore the scars from his final day on the job—scars that would never fade.

At the house, he moved the stack of her belongings into the mudroom and closed out the storm. Footsteps announced his guest’s arrival in the kitchen doorway, if not closer.

“I put a towel there by the door. Toss me your raingear, and I’ll hang it up.”

Her voice could pass for his ex-wife’s—one that had invaded his dreams too often lately—with its slight husky tone that reminded him of making love to her into the night and waking beside her in the morning. It brought comfort and the pain of knowing he couldn’t fix the past. Or maybe it was more wishful thinking.

He cleared his throat as he unzipped his jacket. “Thanks. Your stuff’s a little wet, so you’ll probably want to leave it out here to unpack.”

“Good idea. Do you have room in your fridge for a few things? If not, I’ll probably need to add some ice to the cooler later.”

Enduring the feeling of being watched, he balled up his gear and tossed it toward the coatrack. “There should be plenty of room.”

“Okay.” After some rustling and the metallic clank of hangers on the rack, Dana sighed. “So, I was wondering… Not to be nosy or anything, but… The picture on your nightstand. Who’s the woman with you?”

See? I knew it wasn’t her. Disappointment drowned out relief, even though reconciliation wasn’t even a remote possibility. His back still toward her, he removed his soaked mask and rubbed the towel over his face. “My ex-wife.”

“How long have you been divorced?” The question held far more sympathy than curiosity.

“A long time.”

“Do you still love her?”

He shrugged and grabbed a clean mask from the hook by the door. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Seems like it does, at least to you. What went wrong?” The softness of the question suggested this Dana had experienced at least one failed relationship in her life.

Hiding behind the new face covering, he spared her a glance. “I was an immature jerk who didn’t deserve her. My insecurities ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Most marriages take mistakes by both partners to fail. I’m sure she wasn’t perfect, either.”

The distance between his guest and the door probably measured only about four feet, but he limped past her into the kitchen to escape the conversation. “I’ll stay out of your way so you can unpack.”

“Thanks for everything, Russ.”

Her use of the name he no longer went by stopped him in his tracks, and he spun around in time to see her wince. “What did you call me?”

She blinked at him, clearly recognizing she’d been caught. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to slip up? Didn’t mean to lie to me about who you are?” Emotion and logic battling in a tug of war, he braced his hands on the counter and turned his head away to keep from letting what he wanted rule the reality of what had to be.

A sigh came from the direction of the doorway. “I admit I purposely omitted some information, but I didn’t lie to you.”

“Why did you come here?”

The floor creaked a few feet away, warning him she’d moved closer. “Your mom told me about the accident when I saw her last month. She wouldn’t say where you were or how you were doing, only that you’d almost died and you were trying to heal. I had to do a lot of digging to find you. I needed to find you.”

He grasped at the straw she offered, desperate to push her away for good. “So I’m some sort of project for you? Is that it? Save the poor invalid from becoming a hermit? And now you can psychoanalyze all my baggage from our marriage, along with the fact that I can’t do my job anymore.”

Her fingers caressed his where he gripped the counter, weakening him with his first human touch in nearly fourteen months. “This is as much about me as it is you. I’ve been unhappy with my life for so long, just going through the motions, and I figured out what’s missing. You. I gave up on us too easily. I had this ridiculous idea that marriage shouldn’t be bumpy if you love each other enough.”

He tried and failed to pull his hand away. She soothed the ache inside him he hadn’t been able to ignore. “I’m damaged, Dana. Nothing can change that.”

“I don’t care.” She stripped off her mask and set it on the counter, revealing the face in his dreams. The laugh lines at the corners of her eyes had deepened, but age had only made her more beautiful, too beautiful for a scarred, half-crippled man. “Will you let me take off yours? I self-quarantined for four weeks to be absolutely sure I wouldn’t make you sick.”

“My face—”

“I love you, not how you look.” Unhooking the loop from his ear, she exposed his left cheek and jaw. Then she gently pressed her lips to the ugly scars, the crisscrossing tracks that would never go away.

Her words and touch healed him in a way time and isolation hadn’t, but he didn’t dare surrender to hope. “How can you be sure?”

“I just am. I know how I feel, and I think we both survived for a reason.” She rested her hand over his heart, amplifying his hope. “It’s time for us to try again.”

Her decisive words threatened to destroy every wall he’d built around himself since he’d awakened in intensive care with more stitches than Frankenstein’s monster. “I love you, but I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t.” She smiled, a breathtaking sight that promised to make his heart, if not the rest of his body, whole again. “You’re the same selfless man I fell in love with. You put the wellbeing of others ahead of your own, without any thought or hesitation. Like when you risked your life eighteen months ago and like you did for me today. I loved that about you when we met, but I had a hard time sharing that part when we got married. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Old guilt gnawed at his insides like their breakup had happened last week or last month. “I shouldn’t have accused you of cheating, especially when I was the reason you started spending more time with your friends.”

“I wanted all of your attention, even when you came home mentally and physically exhausted. That wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I wanted you to be jealous because I thought it would make me your top priority. But it was childish and selfish.” She cupped his face in her warm palms, chasing away the chill from his trek to her car. “I’m so sorry, Russ. I asked for more than I gave you in return, and our relationship paid the price. I’m older and wiser now. After all that’s happened, I have to believe we belong together. How can we not try again?”

The pull of her touch, her voice, her plea crumbled his resolve to spend the rest of his life isolated from humanity. Months of lying in a hospital bed, struggling through physical therapy, and trying to build a new life without the career he’d loved had given him too much time to think. Almost all of his thoughts had centered on her, more so in the three weeks since the sixteenth anniversary of the day two strangers had ended up in the river after an accidental kayak collision. He’d fallen in love with her before their clothes had dried, but he had also expected marriage to be that simple.

Were their brushes with death meant to bring them back together? To offer them a second chance?

Turning his head, he kissed her wrist. The softness of her skin and subtle hints of vanilla and strawberries dissolved his lingering doubts. Everything about her conjured memories that took him back to the moment they’d met, to their first kiss, and to the oneness of making love with her—all the good things in their relationship. His throat tightened with the rush of emotion. “We have to make it work this time.”

“I think we’re in the right place in our lives to do that.” She pressed her lips to his, reigniting embers that should’ve burned out long ago. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He wrapped his arms around her and immediately had to grasp the counter again when his leg threatened to buckle beneath his weight. “Damn hip. Can you help me to the couch?”

“Are you okay?” Her arm tightened at his waist, and she glanced toward the living room before she took a small step. “Does it hurt? I can get you some pain medication if you need it.”

“I already took half a dose to handle the ache from the weather. I’ve just been on my feet more than usual today.” Hobbling along beside her, he willed his left side to cooperate for a few more feet.

“You should’ve let me go to my car with you.” She guided him onto the near end of the sofa after a dozen slow shuffling steps.

“I didn’t—don’t—want you to see your car. It’s in really bad shape. The kind of damage where you’re incredibly lucky to have only a concussion.” A stitch of pain rippled along his hip as he shifted on the cushion, but it faded once he found a comfortable position. “How’s the headache?”

“Better.” She stood near his feet, her gaze locked on his for several long seconds before she glanced away. “You should rest, and I need to empty the cooler and unpack my suitcase.”

Fairly certain he’d shaken her with his perspective on her car, he reached for her hand. “Sit with me for a while. I want to hold you to make sure you’re real.”

“Are you sure I won’t hurt you?” Her voice broke over the last word, all but confirming reality had finally sunk in.

He stretched out his left leg along the length of the couch and leaned against the pillow wedged between his back and the armrest. “Yes. Holding you will make everything okay.”

She sank onto the couch and into his arms, giving him back the pieces he’d been missing for a decade and a half. Her breath tickled his chin on a whisper. “If…”

At her first sob, he pulled her tighter to his chest and savored the softness of her curves and the physical reaction they created. Letting her go again wasn’t a possibility. “No ifs. You’re here, and I’m here. Everything’s going to be fine now.”

Her warm lips caressed his neck and followed his jaw to his chin. Then her mouth covered his, inciting the same feelings he’d experienced the first time they’d kissed. Their chemistry hadn’t waned. The fire still burned as hot as it had from day one. That night of passionate lovemaking had been his benchmark in the years after their divorce, but sex had never come close to that level of pleasure with any other woman.

She tugged at his T-shirt while her tongue slow-danced with his, and he let go of her only long enough for her to strip off his shirt and sweatpants. Her clothing landed in the pile with his, revealing a slightly curvier but no less beautiful version of his twenty-four-year-old bride.

Although her gaze dropped toward the scars on his hip, she didn’t wince or frown as she straddled his lap. “You’ll tell me if it hurts? We can stop or try a different position.”

He nodded and grasped her waist to slow her descent. “Do we need a condom? I’m safe.”

“Me, too, and I’m on the pill.” Bringing her body flush against his, she guided his erection to her slick opening. Then she welcomed him inside—inch by inch, slow and torturous but a thousand times more satisfying than a rush to the end.

The hitch in her breath matched his as her muscles flexed around him and pulled him deeper. Their bodies were in sync, like they’d been from the beginning. The years fell away as she gently rocked back and forth, taking away the incessant sense of loss and all the pain that went with it. He gave in to the draw of complete surrender, the chance to finally feel whole again.

Her hair feathered along his skin, amplifying the sensations, and he channeled all the physical and emotional energy coursing through his veins into a kiss. A rush of pure pleasure forced a groan from his throat, but he fought to prolong the delicious friction when the love of his life trembled in his arms and tensed around him.

She cried out and dragged him into the sensual gratification of release. Tremor after tremor rippled through her body into his until she melted against him. The past faded away, leaving only healing and their future together.

His heart thumped in his ears for several minutes, making him feel more alive than he had in fifteen years. I’m thankful to be alive.

She raised her head to look him in the eye and smile. “It’s so good to be home.”

About Mellanie Szereto

When her fingers aren't attached to her keyboard, Mellanie Szereto enjoys hiking, Pilates, cooking, gardening, and researching for her stories. Many times, the research partners with her other hobbies, taking her from the Hocking Hills region in Ohio to the Colorado Rockies and the Adirondacks of New York. Sometimes, the trip is no farther than her garden for ingredients and her kitchen to test recipes for her latest steamy tale. Mellanie makes her home in rural Indiana with her husband of thirty-four years and their son.

She greatly appreciates reviews and loves to hear from her readers! You can contact her at: mellanie@mellanieszereto.com