by Deanna Roy
His guttural groan precedes the pressure as he lets loose inside me. I cling to his head and shoulders, holding on as his body goes tense and gradually relaxes.
He breathes against my neck, holding on tightly. When he finally lets go and sets me back on the counter, he says, “Can we just sneak out the window and blow off the rest of this dinner?”
My mouth forms a smile as I straighten my skirt and hop down to retrieve my panties. “We’ll just decide that every time your father gets testy, we’ll come back here and make them wait on us again.”
“He’s totally going to figure out what we’re doing,” Blitz says as he buttons his jeans.
“Let him,” I say. “Maybe he’ll decide I’m as much of a tramp as Giselle and like me as much as her.”
Blitz takes my hand. “What did I do to deserve you?”
I kiss his knuckles. “Absolutely nothing. So start earning it.”
He laughs as he opens the door. “I will endeavor to do exactly that.”
Chapter 8
On Friday morning, we head to the academy for my own dance class. I only earned my pointe shoes a month ago, and I still have a long way to go before I can dance in them for any length of time. This is no time to slack off.
My original toe shoes were sprayed blue to match a costume for my surprise appearance on Dance Blitz, but I have several pairs now to match my new leotards. Blitz has spoiled me since I moved into the hotel suite with him.
As so often happens in Texas, the weather took a dramatic turn overnight, the cold replaced with warmth. I can wear my leotard without a jacket, and Blitz is back in the sleeveless dance shirts I remember from our first days together.
He’s been taking my ballet class with Betsy, finally learning all the basics he skipped early in his training due to his father’s disapproval. It’s fun being there with him, especially now that the other girls are used to him. They’ve stopped giggling the whole time.
But when we approach the Dreamcatcher Dance Academy, we see something we didn’t expect.
Denham’s green truck.
“Shit,” Blitz says. “We should have known.” He stops the car a couple blocks away.
“Do we go on in?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“I can pummel him again,” Blitz says.
“No, no,” I say. “Isn’t he trespassing?”
“Not parked on the street,” Blitz says. “He’s wised up.”
His truck is faced away from us, but Blitz’s Ferrari is bright red and easy to spot. All Denham has to do is turn around and he’ll see us.
“What do we do?” I ask. I don’t want another confrontation, or for Blitz to hit him again. Why can’t Denham just go away?
“We call in reinforcements,” Blitz says. He presses a button on the dash screen. The sound of a phone dialing fills the car.
“Cushman and Rowe,” a female voice says. “How may I help you?”
“Alicia, this is Blitz Craven. Is Jeff around?”
“Hello, Blitz,” she says. “Let me see if he’s still in a meeting.”
The call goes quiet a moment.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“My lawyer,” Blitz says.
Alicia comes back on. “If you can hang on just a sec, he’ll pick up,” she says.
“That’s fine,” Blitz says. He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Jeff is good. He’ll give us some sound advice.”
We wait, watching the green truck ahead of us. I can see the back of Denham’s head through his window. He hasn’t turned around, but he might notice the car in his rearview mirror eventually. It’s so flashy. I wish we had a plain car.
“He’ll see us any second,” I say.
“I’ll get a rental,” Blitz says. “Something very plain.”
I try to relax against the seat. The truck is pretty far away still. We’re a couple blocks back and under a tree. Maybe he won’t notice.
“I can back away if you want,” Blitz says. “We can park around a corner.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I want to see what he does.” I’m deathly afraid he’ll go into the academy and make a scene.
A deep male voice pipes into the car. “Blitz! To what new debauchery of yours do I owe this surprise?”
Blitz laughs. “I’m not in trouble again. Yet.”
“Only a matter of time,” Jeff says. “I’ll name my next office building after you.”
I glance over at Blitz. They find the oddest things funny.
“So I have a situation. An old flame of Livia’s spotted her on the show and now is camping out on the street in front of our dance school. You should know I did try to knock a little sense into him yesterday when he tried to grab her, but he’s come back for more of the same.”
“So you assaulted him?” I can hear the tapping of keys. I guess Jeff is taking notes.
Blitz laughs again. “We’ll call it self-defense. I don’t think that part is going to be an issue. But I don’t like that he’s keeping Livia from dancing. What are our options?”
“We can apply for a restraining order, but unfortunately, that will reveal even more data, plus it becomes public record. Right now I’m guessing the rest of the world doesn’t know who Livia is. Just this guy because he already knew her.”
“We can’t have everyone camping out here,” I say quickly. “I won’t be able to come at all.”
“What else?” Blitz asks.
“Can someone reason with him? Can you keep this out of the public record?” Jeff asks.
Blitz looks over at me.
“He is the outlaw type,” I say shakily. “I think he feels like he doesn’t have much to lose.”
“What’s he after?” Jeff asks. “Is he trying to get Livia to see him?”
Blitz frowns and raises his eyebrows at me. “Should we tell him?”
“I’m sitting down,” Jeff says. “And Livia, confidentiality is what we are all about here. Nothing we discuss here is ever shared.”
I look down at my tightly laced fingers. This is where my shame has brought me. Except, it’s not shame anymore. It’s just my history.
“I had a baby,” I say. “This man’s baby. I gave it up for adoption. He never knew about it.” I hesitate. “But now he does.”
I expect Jeff to be surprised by all this, but his voice is the same steady baritone as he asks, “Is he named on the birth certificate?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m pretty sure my father made up the name.”
The key taps are fast now. “How old were you?”
I don’t want to say it, but I have to. “Fifteen.”
“Do you have a copy of the adoption contract?” he asks.
“No, but there is one up at my church.”
“Who handled the adoption?” Jeff asks.
“The church. It’s Catholic. There is some organization that does the legal stuff.”
“Have Blitz send me all the information on the church, and we’ll start digging for that contract.”
I’m terrified to ask this question, but I do. “Can he get the baby?”
“Not easily,” Jeff says. “He has to be able to fight, find a lawyer, get a judge to order a DNA test. That’s lots of hoops to jump through and lots of expense. Is the baby in a good home?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “And it would be terrible for her to be taken away. She has no idea who her birth family is.”
“I understand,” Jeff says. “We’ll protect her as best we can. Blitz, while I have you, let’s chat about the court date coming up with the production company.”
They start talking about something businesslike, as if this life-shattering event for me is just another case in his files.
I stare out the windshield at the green truck, petrified Denham’s going to see us and come out. I picture him with a bat, bashing the Ferrari. Why did he have to see me on the show? Why did he have to come?
I want to undo so many things now. The calendar pages in my mind start to flip, h
urtling back in time. If only I’d resisted him.
But there had been no way to do that then.
After the sunbathing moment, I was very aware of Denham watching me. Paula and my friends might have been giggly and silly around him, but when his eyes clashed with mine, I didn’t feel like laughing. Something unfurled in me, something dark and intense. I wanted to feel more of it and see where it led.
Even Denham had to give in to the weather at times. Dad insisted he help out a little around the house, and one day the two of them set out in the backyard to replace some rotted fence posts.
Denham began the work in his jeans and boots, but as the day wore on, and the digging and hacking to get the old posts out got to him, he gave in and put on shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, then eventually got down to just the shorts.
Andy was three and wanted to go watch, but I had to keep him away or he’d get in the path of their swinging axe and shovel. So I sat in the shade with Andy on my lap, getting a front and center view of each rivulet of sweat that flowed down Denham’s back and into the waistband of his shorts.
I really didn’t know a lot then. Just shy of fifteen, I ran with a quiet crowd who didn’t chase boys, at least not with the intent of actually catching them. Most of the boys we knew were immature and silly, popping bra straps and not really trying to get too close to us either.
But high school was coming. My September birthday meant I was a little older than many of my friends from middle school, and it showed. Back then, Mom wasn’t super conservative on what I could wear. She thought of me as a little girl still, so I had a lot of little tank tops and sundresses with spaghetti straps even though I filled them out in ways that weren’t simply cute anymore.
So I might have been wearing too little, a stretchy tank without a bra. And he kept looking at me between swings of his axe. And every flex of his muscles made something in me ache.
In that backyard with my brother in my lap and my father close by, it felt safe enough to really pay attention to this boy who’d arrived in our home. He was a mystery, and gorgeous, and my empathy was high for him. I wanted him to feel welcome here. I wanted to know him better. I tried to tell myself I wanted to be like a sister, but I wasn’t one. And as his muscles worked the shovel, I realized sisterly was not how I was feeling at all.
There was this moment that day that I remember well. And if I really thought about when things changed, it might have been right then. At one point, he turned around and caught me staring at him.
He must have recognized something in my look, because he didn’t smile or say anything. He just held my gaze. It seared me, his brooding expression, and it seemed to promise me — we’re going to deal with this.
There was nothing tender about that part of it. It was raw and powerful and full of intense yearning. Later that night, when I went to bed, I kept picturing his face, his body, the sweat, his muscled arms. And my body reacted in ways I couldn’t explain. But it all promised so much more to come.
“Livia?”
I realize Blitz has been calling my name. I glance at the dash screen. It’s back to the radio. The phone call is over.
“Sorry, lost in thought,” I say.
“Do you want to try and go in?” he asks, pointing at the academy.
I stare at Denham’s truck. That boy who sweated in my backyard and gave me that hungry look is right there, just a couple blocks away. And now he wants Gabriella.
“No,” I say. “I can’t risk it.”
“Do you want to tell Danika what is happening?” Danika is the owner of Dreamcatcher Academy and a personal friend.
“Not yet. Maybe he’ll give up. And we can get a rental and park behind the building.”
Blitz nods and we start backing away from the school. “I’d much rather bash in his skull,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “But we don’t want the news involved. Or the police.”
Blitz backs onto another street, and we turn toward the hotel. We’ll work out there today. No barre or dance floor, but we’ll figure out a way to get around Denham. I can’t let him derail my life. And I won’t let him keep me from Gabriella forever.
Chapter 9
It’s the weekend, so we don’t hear back from Blitz’s lawyer about his progress in finding the adoption contract and figuring out Gabriella’s legal status with Denham.
On Sunday morning, we sit out on the balcony of the hotel room, and I realize the church is open. I could probably go into the office during the service, when everyone is occupied, and find that adoption contract. I know where the files are.
I also know where they keep the keys. I volunteered there for years.
Blitz sits next to me, his feet propped up on the rail, sunglasses obscuring his face. The weather is still warm, so we’re in lightweight track suits, enjoying the January sunshine.
“Can you take me to my old church?” I ask him.
Blitz slides his sunglasses up on his head to peer at me. “You need to confess something? Because that thing you did last night might have been a crime against the Good Book.”
I kick his leg so that his foot comes off the rail and lands on the floor with a thud. He laughs and reaches across the glass table between us to take my hand. “You want to see your brother again?” he asks.
We did go there once a few weeks back so I could get a quick hug from Andy. My parents won’t let me see him otherwise.
“Actually, I would probably avoid my parents,” I say. “I think I can get that adoption contract quickly and spare your lawyer trying to track it down.”
“You sure you want to do all that cloak-and-dagger stuff?” Blitz says. “Jeff can get it.”
“Yes, but we can do it faster. And I’m terribly curious about what my father put on the birth certificate. I remember there was a name, but not what it was.”
Blitz sits up, both feet down. “All right, let’s hit it. Should we put on our ninja warrior clothes?”
“I think you’re enjoying this a little bit too much,” I say.
“You keep my life very interesting, Princess,” he says. “I like it.”
We head inside. I want to blend in as we walk into the church, so I switch to a simple skirt and light sweater. Blitz puts on khakis and the purple shirt I rejected before the parent dinner. He hasn’t mentioned when we might see his mom and dad again, but I’m guessing it won’t be soon.
“Let’s get our church on!” he says.
We head down to the lobby. This time, a plain silver Mazda waits for us with the valet.
“Your rental?” I ask.
“Boring as I could get it,” he says. “If you like it, I’ll buy you one.”
“I can’t even drive,” I tell him. My parents never let me have that freedom.
“Right,” he says. “We need to fix that.”
We take off down the sunny streets. I try to steady my nerves.
The last time I showed up at church, we waited in the parking lot for my parents to come out. So I didn’t see anyone else or revisit the places I once knew. This time, we have to actually go in.
We arrive just as the service begins. A few latecomers hurry across the lot. “Park on the curb,” I say.
“Your wish is my command,” Blitz says. “I’m just the getaway driver.”
His light manner helps calm me. “I’m going in alone,” I say. “You might be recognized and attract attention.”
“I would never jeopardize the mission,” he says with a wink. “I’ll just sit here with my best movie mafia look.” He smacks the steering wheel. “I knew I should have brought my mustache collection from LA.”
“Oh, Blitz,” I say.
“What? You don’t think I’d look sexy with a mustache?”
I stare out the window. The parking lot is empty now. It’s five after the hour. My stomach flutters with nerves.
Which is ridiculous. I know everybody here. But I’m going in to steal something. I don’t think I can risk the time it would take to make a copy
at the ancient machine behind Irma’s desk.
Actually, I have my phone. I can just take a picture of the documents.
“I’m going in,” I say. “I’ll text you if anything goes wrong.”
Blitz grips the steering wheel and hunkers down low. “I’ll be ready.”
This makes me laugh as I open the door. Blitz helps, always.
One more latecomer parks as I cross the lot, and I feel anxious that it might be someone who knows my family well enough to approach them about seeing me. I don’t want anyone to tip Dad off that I am here.
I try to surreptitiously glance at the car as an elderly husband and wife get out. We know them, but not well. I can’t think of their names. Should be safe enough.
They will go through the main door to the sanctuary. I’ll be going in the side to the office.
I pass Mom’s white minivan and run my fingers through the dirt on the side. They are here, of course. They never miss a Sunday.
The couple moves toward the front of the building. I approach the side and take a deep breath. The office should be deserted. If it’s not, I’ll think of something.
My hand tugs the handle forward. When the door swings open, I peek in. Irma’s desk is just inside, her seat vacant. I feel a pang as I look around the room I used to work in every week.
It’s empty.
My shoes are silent on the wood floor as I cross the office. The muffled sound of the organ assures me that the service is underway. This should go just fine.
I head straight for the closet at the back of the room where I know the private forms are kept. When I tug on the handle, it doesn’t budge. Of course. It’s locked. I knew that.
I hurry to Irma’s desk and open the drawer where she keeps the keys. They are there, as always. The ring jingles as I lift it out and hurry back to the door.
I’m familiar with the keys and pull out the correct one on the first try. The closet swings open. There is a tall file cabinet and I try to remember which drawer has the adoption files. It was low, not high. I remember that.
I try the second from the bottom. It’s filled with tax forms and payment slips for the employees of the church for the past couple of decades. No adoption records.
