Truth

the door and kissed her cheek, “I’d gladly carry you to my suite, but I’m afraid we’d attract more attention than either of us wants.”
    Despite the stress of the day and of the past few days, his sensitive smile and tender tone made her anxious expression morph into a smile. “I’m pretty sure I can walk.” She stood sorely and melted against his chest. “I could do this alone, but I’m so thankful I don’t have to.” She brushed her lips against his. “Thank you.”
    When they reached the suite, Claire looked around at the modern furnishings and beautiful view. The living room had lovely glass doors leading to a balcony, an archway leading to a dining room, and a doorway she assumed lead to a bedroom.
    Tony offered, “Perhaps we should order some food?”
    “ I just want a shower and some sleep,” Claire said as she walked toward the bedroom.
    The warm water assaulted her bruised skin and at the same time felt wonderfully refreshing. She towel dried and combed her hair and brushed her teeth (if they could share a bed and a baby, why not a toothbrush?). She turned off the lights and settled into the large king sized bed wearing one of Tony’s t-shirts. She’d seen her reflection in the bathroom mirror and didn’t want Tony to see the large bruises on her ribs. Although sleep loomed, she yearned to feel his embrace. The last few days left her anxious and Tony’s presence reassured her. Closing her eyes, she realized how safe she felt near him. Thinking about the stories she’d recently recounted to Meredith, Claire knew that hadn’t always been the case, but now she longed for his presence.
    As she was about to drift away, she heard a knock at the door. Claire assumed Tony must have ordered dinner. She rolled over, wincing from her sore ribs, cradled a pillow, and drifted away.
    Sometime later, Claire woke with a start. She’d been dreaming, no, not dreaming – it was a nightmare: darkness, Chester, gun shots... She reached for Tony, but his side of the bed was cool.
    His t-shirt fell to her thighs as she quietly walked toward the living room. Her bare feet silently made their way down the hall. In the near darkness she saw the back of Tony’s head, bobbing in silence. The sofa where he sat was made up like a bed, complete with sheets, blankets, and pillows.
    Claire walked around the sofa and met his gaze, “Tony? Are you all right?”
    She saw the amber liquid in his glass, his vacant expression, and smelled the bourbon in the air. After his dark eyes looked her up and down, he finally replied, “No.”
    “ What’s this?” She motioned toward the sofa. “Why aren’t you in bed with me?”
    “ I don’t trust myself.”
    Claire tilted her head sideways, “I trust you...”
    His stare looked through her, “I went in there and kissed you. You were sound asleep.” Claire smiled, he continued, “I watched you, saw your expression and your bruises.” Claire flinched; she didn’t like her appearance. He grasped her dangling hand. “Stop that.”
    “ What?”
    “ You’re beautiful!”
    She pulled her hand away, “I’ve seen me. Beautiful isn’t a word I’d use.”
    Tony leaned back and rubbed his face. With a new focus, he demanded, “Take off my t-shirt.”
    Claire stood taller. Her chin rose indignantly. “Excuse me?”
    He stood. His body towered over her as his voice hardened, “Take off my shirt.”
    “ Tony, I didn’t bring any night clothes... I didn’t think you’d ...”
    “ I don’t give a damn about the shirt. I want to see you.”
    Claire stammered. It’d been a while since she’d experienced this domineering personality. “See me?”
    “ I can see your face and your legs... I want to see what that bastard did to you.”
    She reached for his hand and kept her voice steady, “I’m fine, but I want you to come to bed...with me.”
    His stoic expression remained, “I planned to call for dinner. Instead, I found the bar. It’s been a rather stressful few days.” Claire inched closer. His sudden grasp on her shoulders stopped her progress. “I should never have let you return to California.” Shaking his head, he released her, and stepped backward. In a tone she remembered, he commanded, “I believe I’ve said this more than once... take off the damn t-shirt.”
    Her innate training prevailed; disobeying wasn’t an option. She reached for the hem. Trembling, she lifted the cotton above her head and exposed her battered body, covered only by a