Wounded Dance

by Deanna Roy

  I bring it up now. I still haven’t started an account under my real name, and given my recent bout of fame on Blitz’s show, plus Denham stalking me, it’s probably not the right time to do it.

  But I could friend-request Mindy with the fake one. Then send her a private message saying it is me. She doesn’t know I have the account because it is tied to Gwen. But the profile has fifteen or so random strangers as friends, so it wouldn’t be obvious right away why I set it up. I want to save the bombshell about Gabriella for when I see her in person.

  Facebook pops up. I’m about to search for Mindy when I see something interesting.

  Gwen has added a new picture. It’s her, Gabriella, and a man I’ve never seen on her profile before.

  He’s tall and handsome and has his arm around Gwen. Gabriella is reaching up from her wheelchair and holding his hand.

  Gwen has met someone.

  I’m so glad for her. It’s been well over a year since her husband died. And Gabriella seems to like him.

  I flip through her pictures to see if there are any others, but this is the only one. Then I click to her profile to see if there are any mentions. I find one from a few days earlier.

  I didn’t say anything sooner because I didn’t want to jinx it, but I’ve been dating a wonderful man. Gabby seems to love him and I think he’s healing both our hearts.

  My breath catches. This is wonderful! I click back to the picture and scan the comments below it. Lots of happy well-wishes.

  I roll back the chair and turn to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Gabriella will have a dad again!

  Except…her birth father is looking for her.

  I stand up and press my fingers to the glass. Denham has a very strong will. He will keep trying. He never gives up.

  There was only one time that he faltered in his resolve. And that was in his determination to stay away from me.

  After that first kiss behind my father’s car, Denham did manage to keep himself out of my way for a while. We only saw each other at dinnertime, and he kept his head down.

  He took an interest in my little brother Andy, who was three and had a serious case of hero worship. Andy was delighted that Denham had dropped the brooding act and actually started carrying him around and having wrestling matches. They were always together, playing with action figures or having tickle fights.

  Dad was pretty strict, wanting his kids to be quiet and obey. Denham took on the roughhousing and piggyback rides that Andy had been missing.

  I, however, wanted more kisses. I’d felt the thrill of it, and now there was no stopping me. As I tried to orchestrate moments to get Denham alone, I found he always brought Andy along. My little brother became Denham’s mini-chaperone.

  But it couldn’t last forever. Andy’s bedtime was way before ours, and it was only a week after that first kiss, the night before high school began, that Mom and Dad headed to the store for last-minute supplies and left Denham and me home alone.

  I was determined to figure out a way to wrangle another kiss. I still had this vision of us walking down the halls at school together. Even though I could agree on a thinking level that it wasn’t right, not with the two of us living together, my body was driving the cause.

  As soon as my parents’ car left the driveway, I tried to convince Denham I needed some help organizing my things for the first day of school.

  A buzz went through my body just talking to him. I felt driven by the need.

  Denham said he wanted to hit the hay early since it was the first day, but his eyes weren’t agreeing with his words. Us being alone was having an effect on him too. I knew it. He knew it.

  “It’s only eight o’clock,” I said. “You don’t need that much sleep.”

  We stood in the living room, him near the door as if he needed an escape route. I leaned against the back of the sofa, just a few feet away.

  It had been unbearably hot that day, and I wore shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank. Denham had shorts on too, and a plain T-shirt. We were both barefoot and the air-conditioning ruffled his hair, since he was standing right in front of the window unit.

  “You have the cool spot,” I said, walking up to turn my face to the blast of cold air. “It’s insufferably hot in my bedroom. Is it in yours?”

  Now we were almost touching, the air cutting a channel between us, my long black hair blowing. I shifted and the tip of my breast brushed against his arm.

  He leaped back as if he’d been burned. “Livia,” he said. “I have to stay away from you.”

  I took up his space, turning to fully face the blast of air. I felt like a supermodel on a photo shoot, the wind making my hair fly away from my face, my shirt plastered against my body.

  When I looked at Denham again, he was staring at me, his Adam’s apple working up and down. Then his eyes met mine, and that was it, everything changed.

  He came at me like a bull charging. His hands cupped my head, pulling me to him. This kiss was like an explosion, his mouth opening mine, deep and passionate. It put every movie kiss I’d seen to shame.

  My body pressed against his. His hands roamed down my back and cupped my bottom. He pushed me against him and I felt something shift against my belly. He was growing down there, and I could picture it like the drawing from health class, only getting bigger and harder against me.

  He wanted me. This was what happened. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back with all my might. The world was tilting, like I couldn’t figure out where the ground was anymore.

  The air blasted one side of us, and Denham moved us away to escape the cold. We walked across the room until we backed against the sofa.

  We had separated a bit, but he kept kissing me, now letting his hands run along my sides and ribs.

  He was going to touch my body, I just knew it, and I couldn’t bear the wait. I wanted him to do it now, to feel what it would be like. His mouth was hot on mine and my jaw ached. I was ready to do anything he wanted.

  But then he did something unexpected and thrilling, breaking the kiss and trailing his mouth down my neck and along my shoulder. He slipped a finger beneath the strap of my tank and tugged it aside.

  He wasn’t really exposing anything new, as thin as that strap was, but it sent a flood of excitement through me. When his lips touched the spot that he’d bared, I thought I’d melt from the heat down below.

  Then his other hand came up, just like I wanted, and cupped my breast. My knees felt wobbly and weak. I wasn’t sure I could keep standing. His thumb crossed my nipple and the movement created a flash fire through my body. I was addicted, so completely erased by these feelings. I never ever wanted them to stop.

  His fingers flirted with the top of my shirt, like he might pull it down and look at me. I wanted him to. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to kiss me there. My breathing was crazy fast, like I’d run a marathon. Denham seemed controlled and focused.

  Out on the street, a car door slammed, and Denham startled. He lifted his head from my shoulder, listening.

  I managed to find my voice. “It’s just a neighbor. They haven’t been gone very long.” Please don’t stop, I thought. I can’t bear it if you stop.

  But he did. He pulled back, tugging my strap back into place.

  “Shit, Livia,” he said. “We can’t do this. We can’t.”

  Before I could say anything at all, before I could stop him, he was gone.

  ~*´`*~

  I open my eyes and look out the hotel window. It’s painful to compare the boy Denham once was to the grim, hardened man sitting out in front of the academy in his broken-down truck.

  I don’t know if what we did sent him on that trajectory, or if he was already on it. But once we got started, there was no way to go back.

  School started. I didn’t get to walk the halls with Denham, and in fact, I rarely saw him there. He was a junior to my freshman, so it made sense. But it still felt like a slight.

  The first few mornings, we rode the bu
s together. But after that, he made friends and hitched rides. I was never invited to go along. As the first week passed, I felt abandoned by him. He avoided me at home more than ever.

  School was hard. While I had friends from middle school, our schedules were all different and sitting at lunch wasn’t easy, as I scarcely knew the people at my table. Denham had the same lunch period as me, I knew this from stealing a glance in his binder, but I never saw him. I don’t know where he went.

  I talked very little. Despite being surrounded by people, I felt alone.

  One conversation I do remember during lunch, though, was between three girls talking about love. They argued about how you knew if you were in love with someone.

  One said it was when you got mad if they talked to another girl.

  The second said it was when you couldn’t think about anything else.

  The third said it was when you knew you wanted to have sex with them.

  I sat there listening, and realized all three of those things were how I felt about Denham.

  I was in love.

  This made me bolder. I felt justified in everything I did. It was love! That weekend, I convinced Mom and Dad to go see a movie and have dinner.

  Denham had friends now and protested having to stick around and help me with Andy, but Dad insisted that his obedience was what allowed him to live with us. As soon as they were out the door, Denham stalked to his and Andy’s room and slammed the door.

  I got Andy fed and ready for bed as early as I dared and lightly knocked on the door. Denham didn’t answer. I was feeling bad about Denham getting stuck there because of my idea, but when I opened the door, that evaporated.

  He wasn’t there.

  “Where’s Denum?” Andy asked.

  I hurried to the window. It was closed but unlocked.

  I could rock his world by latching it, leaving him no way to get in. But I didn’t.

  “He just went outside for a little while,” I said. “Let’s read a book.”

  My mind definitely wasn’t on the shark story as I read. I was disappointed and a little angry. He was breaking the rules, assuming I would lie for him.

  And why was he so desperate to leave me? We were just kissing. There was no harm in it.

  But I did know. My feelings ran strong. My parents wouldn’t approve. Denham’s ability to live here was at risk.

  I should leave him alone too.

  By the time Andy was asleep, I felt like crying. I had all this emotion inside and I didn’t know what to do with it. I played sappy love songs on my iPod and wandered the house in a miserable daze.

  My parents came home, and I said both boys were asleep. Mom popped her head in the room, but I guess she didn’t really notice from the doorway that Denham wasn’t in the snarl of bedding. Or maybe he actually was home by then. I hadn’t been brave enough to check.

  I confined myself to my room, my window open a few inches since it faced the backyard, same as Andy’s. I might catch him sneaking back in if he was still out. The night was hot, and I had a fan blowing on me, so I almost missed it when he slid his window up.

  I leaned out. “Denham,” I whispered.

  He saw me and turned. “What?”

  “Don’t wake up Andy. Mom thinks you’re in there.”

  He stumbled back a step, and I realized, he’s not all right.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a little drunk.”

  “Drunk!”

  “Yeah, you should try it. If you aren’t scared.” His face was twisted in the moonlight.

  My anger flared up. I wasn’t the one who was afraid!

  “That’s rich coming from a boy who’s too scared to even kiss me properly.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he headed my way. “Am I?”

  I ducked back through my window. Denham seemed different, really different, with the alcohol. My pulse sped up.

  He stuck his leg in my window and stepped in. He glanced at my closed door and down at the fan, which whirred noisily by our feet.

  “Is this more of what you were aiming for?” he asked, and snatched me close to him.

  His mouth was hot and hard against mine, and he tasted like nothing I recognized, sweet and strong. But it was what I wanted, and I relaxed into it. His hands weren’t slow to respond this time. They moved to the bottom of my pajama top and slid beneath to surround my bare waist.

  His touch on my skin ignited me. I gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t slow down the kiss.

  Everything was on fire. I was desperate for him to touch me more, everywhere. I remembered what the girl said at lunch. You know you’re in love when you want to have sex with him.

  And I did. I knew I was young, but all the girls were talking about it. Some of them had already done it, or at least said they had.

  His hands moved up and cupped both my breasts at the same time. I wanted to lie down then, to give in, to let him do whatever he wanted.

  I found a belt loop on his jeans and tugged him toward the bed. I could picture myself sprawled across it, my hair everywhere, and him looking at me. I wanted this.

  We moved together, his hands roaming my body. I fell back on the bed, and Denham just stood there a moment, looking at me. I could feel him hesitating, breaking away from how he felt and thinking about it too hard.

  “We don’t have to go all the way,” I whispered. “Just show me things. You know things, right?”

  He let out a long exhale. The bed shifted as he lay next to me. “We’re playing with fire, Livia,” he whispered. “Once we go down this path, there’s a point of no return.”

  “We won’t go there,” I said. “Just close to it. Okay?”

  He shook his head. “It’s a bad idea, but damn it if I can’t resist you at all.” He leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on my mouth. “I’m all sobered up now.”

  “Good,” I said. “I want you to remember everything.” I hesitated, my heart hammering. “Because I’m in love with you.”

  His eyes glittered as he searched my face. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I think I have been for a while.”

  His smile was lazy and irresistible. “You’re one crazy kid.”

  I thought I might cry. I wasn’t a kid! I would show him that. “Kiss me some more,” I said.

  Denham watched me, his breath coming fast. I knew it was working. We were beating the obstacles, knocking them down. Nobody knew what we felt. Nobody had to know.

  “No way I can resist you,” he said. “No way.”

  And he kissed me again, not just my mouth, not just my skin, but every sensitive place, inside and out. He showed me the things he knew, and I felt like a flower opening its petals to the sun.

  We were careful then, not going too far, learning each other, taking no risks.

  But he was right. Once we started, there was no going back.

  Chapter 14

  I never did write Mindy. The shame came over me again. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know who Denham was then, or that in the end he wasn’t my half-brother. The shadow that darkened those years crossed over me and I couldn’t talk to anyone, not even in messages.

  I was glad I was alone.

  For an hour or so, I distracted myself by poring over Gwen’s Facebook page, saving photos of Gabriella to my iPad. Then I felt guilty for stalking her without her knowing and shut it down. My life was a mess. So many lies and half-truths. I thought about this woman who was Denham’s mother and the Aunt Didi who dumped him on us. But they were dead.

  I wondered if Denham knew his father by now. That would be Gabriella’s grandfather. He might be alive. Another person cheated from knowing her.

  I stood up and changed from my dance clothes into sweatpants. The loneliness began to pierce me. I needed to do something useful so I could get my mind off these thoughts of Denham and Gabriella.

  But I had loved Denham. And eventually, he had loved me.

  That first month of high school w
as amazing.

  We knew our limits. Now that the floodgates were open, Denham and I sneaked around any time we could. After Mom and Dad had gone to bed, he would come to my room, and we would push the envelopes of touching, tasting, and teasing each other.

  I wanted more, but Denham was dead set against it. And we were careful not to be seen together too much. There was this glow about us that would be so easy to spot.

  Denham quit sneaking out. He still wore boots and leather, but he was softer now, less angry and bitter. He even stopped smoking. Most nights he played with Andy, and he and I stole happy glances at each other from across the room.

  One night at dinner, Mom remarked that Denham sure was fitting in well with us.

  “I like playing with Andy,” Denham said carefully. “He’s a great kid.”

  Andy leaned over in his chair to rest his head on Denham’s shoulder. “I love Denum.”

  My dad grunted, but I could see he was pleased with how it was all working out. Later, I wondered why he hadn’t gone ahead and told us that night that Denham was his son. If he had, he could have saved our family so much heartache.

  With two seemingly responsible teenagers at home now, Mom and Dad decided to go to San Antonio overnight for their anniversary. I thought about having an entire night to be with Denham, going anywhere we wanted in the house, and felt flushed with anticipation.

  We put Andy to bed as usual, and waited a solid hour to make sure he was sound asleep before crashing into each other.

  “On the sofa,” Denham said. “And the kitchen table.”

  “Backyard?” I asked. October was still warm in Houston.

  “Anywhere you want,” he said.

  And we did, wearing as little as possible, teasing each other, kissing and touching and doing all the things we’d figured out over the past two months.

  When we got into the backyard, Denham dropped the reclining lawn chair down into the position I used when I would get sun over the summer.

  “I want you here,” he said. “Like that first time I got a good look at you.”