Breaking Skin

by Debra Doxer

  His brows arch up. “If you’re injured, maybe you shouldn’t. Not until it’s better.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t not dance.”

  “Why?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Oh no? You’re afraid you’ll be replaced. Maybe you’re afraid the replacement will be better than you. And you don’t want to be seen as weak or you may fall a few notches in their eyes, whoever they are.”

  I just blink at him, speechless because he does understand.

  He nods. “I get it, Nikki. It’s how I felt when I played hockey. I don’t know how many times I played injured because I didn’t want to be seen as weak.” He places his hand lightly on my jean-covered knee. “Trust me when I tell you it isn’t worth it. Everyone has a breaking point, a place there’s no coming back from. Don’t push yourself so hard that you reach that point.”

  I wonder how anyone could see Cole Dempsey as weak. “Dancing is different. It’s a form of artistic expression. When you dance, you use every part of yourself. The physical and the emotional, your strengths and your weaknesses. My first dance teacher, Miss Emily, used to say if you don’t leave the stage a little broken, you’re not doing it right.”

  He smiles. “I’m sure your dance teacher didn’t mean it literally.”

  “I’m not.”

  His hand leaves my knee. “Look, you’re already a great dancer. Think how much better you could be if you weren’t in pain. I know a good orthopedist in San Francisco. Our team doctor used to send guys to him. He’ll be honest with you. He knows how high the stakes are for professional athletes.”

  His determined expression tells me he’s not going to drop this so easily, and I wonder if there’s something more behind it.

  “Did you reach that place? Your breaking point? Is that why you don’t play hockey anymore?”

  Cole sits back in his chair. “I got checked hard my last season. Laid me out on the ice for seven minutes. When I finally got up, I wouldn’t let my coach take me out. I played the rest of the game with a concussion. It wasn’t my first.”

  I recall the terrifying video I watched of Cole lying unconscious after being slammed against the glass. “They let you play after that?”

  His gaze sharpens curiously.

  My cheeks warm because I’ve given myself away. “I saw a video of it. After that man recognized you in the grocery store, I was curious.”

  To his credit, Cole doesn’t comment or try to embarrass me for looking him up. He simply continues his story.

  “I should have let them take me out, but in those days, no one argued with me. I told them I was fine, and they wanted to believe it because they needed me. We won that game, and I finished out the season before I finally admitted there was something wrong, something serious, more than just a concussion.” He pauses and watches me carefully as he continues. “It’s still wrong. It hasn’t gotten better.”

  Deep lines etch into his forehead and along the sides of his mouth. His tone is so serious, it scares me. But he looks fine, better than fine. He looks capable and strong.

  “What’s wrong? What do you mean?”

  He shifts in the chair, his posture tense and uneasy. “I have trouble remembering some things. Like I can’t remember appointments if I don’t write them down, and I forget the names of people and places. I can get irritable for no reason and I lose my temper too fast. The doctors say I have post-concussion syndrome, and they don’t know if it’s ever going to get better. All they know is if I suffer any more concussions, it could get a lot worse.”

  Looking at Cole, it’s hard to believe he has any dents in his armor. But I think about his behavior at dinner the other night, and wonder if that was a symptom of what he’s talking about. The way he’s watching me, it’s as if he’s bracing himself for a reaction of some kind, a negative one.

  “How many concussions have you had?”

  “I don’t know. More than a few.”

  My forehead wrinkles. He doesn’t know or he doesn’t want to say? “Is that why you retired early?”

  He nods. “After eleven great years in the NHL.”

  “You didn’t want to retire.”

  His eyes close as if he’s remembering. “Playing hockey is all I ever wanted to do.” When they open again, there’s both pain and determination there. “But I love my son. I want to be whole for him, or at least as whole as I can be.”

  Emotion tugs at my chest. I had no idea Cole was grappling with something like this, but I was right. He has changed. The man I saw in those videos and photographs is still there, but if I look closely enough, the dents are apparent too, in the slight hesitation of his voice and the way he occasionally lowers his eyes when he speaks. The predator in him has been tempered by one too many battles.

  “So, what do you think?” he asks. “Will you see my doctor?”

  He is persuasive, and his story has rendered me unable to refuse. I nod my head and the left side of his mouth hitches up.

  “Good. How does the knee feel now?”

  I carefully straighten my leg and bend it again. “Better.”

  He gives me a skeptical look.

  “Really.” I push myself up from the chair and stand on it to prove it to him. “See?”

  Cole stands too and looks down on me. “I’ll get you an appointment for next week when you’re back in the city.”

  “Thanks.” As nervous as I am to see a doctor, it’s nice to have someone care enough to lecture me about it and want to help me. It’s a feeling I’m unaccustomed to.

  “Is Renee still coming back this weekend?” he asks.

  I nod my head with confidence I don’t feel.

  Cole scratches his cheek and glances out the window. “I’m taking Derek camping.”

  I smile. “That’s nice.”

  He looks at me again. “I mean this weekend. I promised him. We leave in the morning and we’ll be gone until Sunday night.”

  “Oh.” My eyes widen but my stomach sinks with understanding. He’s saying good-bye. I won’t see him again before I go home.

  “If you want to give me your number, I could text you the information about the appointment.”

  “Sure.” Foolishly, I wonder if he wants my number for another reason too.

  After he enters it into his phone, he moves toward the door, and a moment of panic makes my heart pound harder because I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. I’ll be gone when he gets back, and all I can hope for after this is a friendly hello from him when I come to visit Renee. As my thoughts race, he looks fine, like this moment has no undercurrent or significance beyond the obvious.

  “Send Langley home, okay?” I ask, trying to appear unaffected the way he does, and not like this good-bye is anything more, because it isn’t. Why would it be?

  He nods and pauses in the open doorway. Our eyes hold for a beat, and his gaze feels heavier than it did before. He looks at my lips and my breathing slows.

  What’s he thinking? Why isn’t he leaving? It’s as if something is holding him there, and I hope it’s the unwelcome thought of never seeing me again.

  Abruptly, he steps back into the kitchen and doesn’t stop until he’s directly in front of me. His hand comes up to cradle my cheek and I hold myself very still, bracing for the feel of his lips, anticipating it, wanting it, but it doesn’t come. His mouth brushes over my forehead instead, and his soft lips linger there.

  “Take care of yourself, Nikki.” After he utters those words, his hand falls back to his side. Then he turns and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

  I lean back against the counter for support, disappointed, maybe even crushed. I know there are good reasons why we shouldn’t happen, but I can’t think of a single one right now.

  I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, growing the distance between me and Nikki, but I may as well be walking through mud. She’s the one who got away, and I’m letting her slip away again. I have to let
her go for her own sake. She doesn’t need my bullshit, and she doesn’t want it either. Why would she? I’ve been a first-class asshole to her.

  I don’t know what the gripe is between her and Renee, but I picked the wrong side, and deep down I knew that from the first moment I saw Nikki again. There’s something dark inside Renee, something that’s missing in Nikki. That kind of darkness would be as foreign to her as the sun is to midnight.

  I scan the yard for Langley. Derek’s got her playing goalie now. “Langley! Your aunt says it’s time to go home.”

  “Okay!” she calls back. She hands her stick to Derek and waves in my direction as she sprints across the grass.

  As she makes her way home, I want to go with her. I want to turn around and tell Nikki I still want her. I want her even more now than I did the first time.

  I remember how it felt two years ago when I lost the battle with myself and finally admitted I needed to see her again. It was more of a compulsion than a decision, and once I gave in to it, I was euphoric. I couldn’t wait to touch her, hold her, sink inside her. But it was too late, and I wasn’t surprised. My life was a series of disappointments then. If felt as if I’d fallen into a pit and the harder I tried to climb out, the deeper I sank.

  But things are different now. Slowly, I’ve managed to pull myself out of that place, even though it keeps trying to drag me back down.

  How long will it take to stop thinking about Nikki this time? I almost wish I could forget that night with her two years ago so the memory would stop following me into every other woman’s bed. But those aren’t the types of things I forget. It’s the small stuff I lose, insignificant things, not the pivotal moments. Not yet, thank God.

  As the sun sets, the game breaks up. The neighborhood kids head home and the parents say good-bye. Except for Tara, who has been coming on to me all afternoon. Her son is Derek’s age, and he’s still here helping Derek put away the hockey gear.

  “Thanks for having us,” Tara says. Her hand brushes over my arm as she talks.

  With her Lycra-covered curves, I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t hot. But I can’t get big brown eyes and long dark hair out of my mind.

  “Do you let Derek play with the Taylor girl often?” she asks.

  “You mean Langley? Sure. They hang out sometimes.” I bend down to pick up some plastic cups the kids left lying on the grass.

  “You’ve heard about the family, haven’t you?”

  I straighten. “Heard what?”

  She looks around and leans in closer. “There are rumors about who the girl’s father is.” She pauses for effect. “Rumors of incest.”

  My thoughts screech to a halt. “What?”

  Tara nods gravely.

  I knew there were rumors circulating about Renee, but I never tuned into them. I figured they were the usual small-town bullshit, nothing like this.

  Tara puts a hand to her chest. “Normally I would never repeat gossip, but if your son is associating with that family, I thought you should know.”

  She’s lying through her teeth. I can tell by the spark in her eyes that she’s dying to gossip, and I don’t stop her. Not because I’m interested in gossip, but because I want to protect Langley from whatever it is.

  Tara lowers her head and moves in closer. “They say the father sexually abused the two girls and that the older one’s daughter is his. She was only seventeen when she got pregnant, and she would never say who the father was.”

  I grimace at the rumor and at the way Tara relishes telling it. “You’re spreading these lies? Langley is only eight years old, for Christ’s sake.”

  She gives me a measured look. “I didn’t start the rumors, and how do you know they’re lies?”

  It takes all my self-control not to shout at her. “I don’t know what the hell they are, but you need to stop saying shit like that and pretending you’re doing it as a public service to the community. We both know that’s a lie.”

  Tara’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

  I take a breath to keep control of my temper. “The Taylors are friends of ours and that’s not going to change. Anyone who spreads nasty rumors about them is not welcome at my home.

  She rears her head back, insulted. Her eyes narrow and spark with anger as she calls her son over. Tara never looks my way again before she leaves.

  “Good riddance,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What was that about?”

  I turn to see Lily walk down the steps from the deck. Derek runs by her on his way inside and tosses out a quick hello.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She puts a hand on her hip. “Nice to see you too. I told you I would come by to pick up those bags of clothes for the clothing drive.”

  Clothing drive? I rack my brain, sift through the cobwebs, but come up empty.

  “You forgot,” she says softly. “It’s my fault. I meant to put it on your calendar.”

  “It’s not your fault.” A familiar sense of frustration comes over me.

  “I’m sorry, Cole.”

  Great. Now she’s apologizing because I forgot. “I told you it’s not your fault.”

  Lily tilts her head and looks at me for a long time. “What is it? You were upset before I even mentioned the clothes.”

  Tara’s malicious gossip still rings in my ears. Langley a product of incest? Does Renee realize this is what people are saying? Just the thought of Langley overhearing this somewhere makes me sick.

  “Cole?” Lily’s hand is on my arm.

  “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Is it Langley’s aunt? The one who came to dinner the other night?”

  I eye her sharply. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you weren’t yourself that night either. You were rude to her, and that’s not like you.”

  I sigh and rub my forehead.

  “Do you have a headache coming on?” Her expression creases with concern. “You have too much stress in your life, Cole.”

  Her mothering grates on me, but I know her intentions are good. She’s right about the headache. The pain started in my temples a few hours ago and now it’s radiating down my neck.

  “Do you have your medicine?” she asks.

  “It’s inside.”

  “Go take it. Before the pain gets any worse. Do you need me to watch Derek for the night? I could bring him home with me.”

  “No. I don’t want to miss any of my time with him.”

  I only have Derek for two weeks. There’s no way a headache is going to take one of those nights away. I start for the house, then something makes me stop and turn back.

  “Remember the day Celeste served me with divorce papers? I told you I went out that night and met someone.”

  She shrugs a shoulder. “You picked up a girl in a bar. I remember.”

  “She wasn’t just a girl.”

  Lily shakes her head and laughs softly. “That’s right. You said she was an angel or something. I figured you’d had a few drinks by then.”

  “It was Nikki I met that night. Renee’s sister.”

  Lily stares at me. “Nikki?”

  I nod.

  “Wow. That’s quite a coincidence. She’s the angel you were talking about?”

  “Stop saying it like it’s ridiculous.”

  Her lips press together. “Sorry. I never said it was ridiculous. But if she’s your angel, why were you so rude to her?”

  “It’s complicated.” I exhale in frustration.

  “What’s complicated about it?”

  I give her a hard look because her skeptical tone doesn’t exactly invite an explanation, but she must see something in my expression that hints at what I’m feeling.

  “You’re interested in her.” Lily’s mouth forms a straight line and her eyes fill with worry. “Oh, Cole. She’s so young.”

  “It doesn’t matter how I feel since I’m not going to do anything about it.” I turn for the house.

  She says my name again but my back
is already to her, and the pity in her voice doesn’t make me want to turn around. Lily knows what I know. When I want something, I go after it, and I don’t stop until I get it. I’ve been that way my whole life.

  But not this time. This time I have to be selfless enough to let go of what I want. I just don’t know how I’m going to do that.

  “Can I lick the spoon?” Langley asks with lips already lined in chocolate.

  “Sure, sweetie.”

  She grins and runs her tongue through the thick coating of batter on the wooden spoon.

  “Will Mom be home soon?” she asks as she smacks her lips together.

  It’s the third or fourth time she’s asked that question in the past two days. She knows Renee said a week and that this weekend marks the end of that time. But there’s still no word from her and no sign of her either. I’ve left more texts and messages, but she remains silent.

  As I smile at Langley, I work hard to hide my concern.

  A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s after eight. The last bus leaves for San Francisco at nine and I won’t be on it. Each time my anger at Renee flares, it’s tempered by guilt. If she’s staying away on purpose, I’m furious. If she hasn’t come home because she’s hurt or something happened to her, I’m terrified and guilt-ridden for being so angry.

  Where is she, and how long should I wait before I do something more than just wait? Should I call the police? When Langley asks about her mother, what do I say?

  And what do I tell Dennis? I can’t spend another week trying to milk the family emergency excuse, even if it is true. If I miss any more days of rehearsal, my odds for dancing in our next performance are zilch. Forget getting a solo, I won’t get anything at all.

  “All set,” Langley announces after she pours what’s left of the batter into the pan. Siegfried, who has been dozing in a corner of the kitchen most of the night, lifts his head to watch as I slide the pan into the oven.

  “You’ll have just enough time for a brownie before bed.”

  Langley frowns. “Can I stay up late? I want to see Mom when she gets home.”

  “Afraid not. It’s a school night.”

  Her frown deepens. “She is coming home tonight, right?”