the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  I sniffled as tears formed. “Maybe I’m being given a second chance to make things different.”

  Sophie shifted in her seat, turning toward me. “Bryson, you know I love you and your happiness means the world to me.”

  “But . . .?”

  “You’re gonna make me say it?”

  “I think you’re going to have to.”

  She took in a deep breath. “You need to leave Hart alone.”

  “You were the one touting what a good candidate he’d be for my transition guy.” I tried to keep my voice steady.

  “That was before seeing the way you look at him and before I knew he was . . .”

  My throat thickened as a few tears spilled over. “Say it.”

  Sophie blew out a loud breath. “Before I knew he was disabled. Happy?”

  I dug my fingers into the steering wheel. My pulse went from normal to warp speed as heat flushed through my body. Sophie wasn’t a cruel person but there was a patronizing and dismissive tone in her voice when she said the word disabled. What infuriated me the most was her lack of effort to see the man in the chair.

  “I never thought of you as being close-minded. There’s so much more to Hart.” I choked back a sob.

  Sophie placed her hand gently on my shoulder, causing a stream of tears to run down my cheeks. “I know there is but it’s a big part of him.” She paused. “You’re vulnerable right now. He’s given you some much needed attention and he’s safe.”

  “Safe? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her hand dropped. “Not many women want the added pressure of being a nurse to a guy like Hart.”

  I pulled into my driveway and jerked the car into park. My blood boiled at Sophie’s assumptions.

  “You are so out of line right now,” I growled through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound harsh.”

  “Hart appreciates me and encourages me. I feel worthwhile when I’m around him.”

  Sophie brushed the hair back from the side of my face. “Don’t lose yourself in this guy just because you’re scared to be alone.”

  A mix of angry, hurt, and disappointed tears ran down my cheeks.

  Whipping my head around, my gaze seared into her. “Scared to be alone? I’ve been alone for the last year. Wait, I take that back. I’ve been alone for the last ten years. Every time Will left me at a party or forgot about me all together.” I paused, took a deep breath, and tried to compose myself. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to watch him go in his office each night knowing he’d rather spend time with a stranger than me? Every time that door closed I was alone. And I was alone throughout our entire relationship because I was the only one in it. So don’t you dare insinuate that the only reason I’m drawn to Hart is because he’s safe and I’m scared.”

  Sophie wiped away the tears that had trickled down her face. “You need to think clearly about the good and the bad of the situation. I just want you to be happy.”

  “Then be a friend and let me figure out what makes me happy. Hart and I just got reacquainted. We’re friends. Period.”

  “That’s not how it looked to me.”

  “It doesn’t matter how it looked. I’m well aware of my situation. Besides, Hart doesn’t do romantic relationships.”

  Cupping the side of my face, she said, “Why do I get the feeling he’d make an exception for you? Bryson, I’m afraid you’re going to fall hard and hurt yourself.”

  Sophie and I hugged before she left. The pain from her words was still fresh but I knew deep down they were coming from a place of love and concern. She had much more experience when it came to dealing with men and the potential feelings involved. She’d seen firsthand how this past year affected me and was trying to protect my heart.

  I headed to my bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. As I pulled on the black yoga pants, my mind floated to the conversation with Colin. I couldn’t decide if he was for or against my friendship with Hart. But his concern was clearly evident. I shoved my arms into the long sleeves of the white T-shirt Sophie’s brutal honesty echoed in my ears. As I slipped into my socks, I thought about Hart dealing with all the obstacles and pain he’s had to endure for most of his life. I’m sure he had lots of people over the years telling him he wouldn’t achieve his goals and dreams because of the wheelchair. He stayed true to himself and created a life worth the effort.

  I was a grown-ass woman and tired of others dictating what I should and shouldn’t do. Making me feel guilty for taking a stand, telling me my dream was stupid, that I didn’t have enough experience, or that I should give up the one positive thing in my life.

  Fuck that.

  I went downstairs to Will’s office, sat at the desk, and fired up my laptop. I revised my resume, wrote a new cover letter, and googled Charleston caterers. It didn’t matter whether or not they were looking to hire. What mattered was that they knew I was ready to take hold of my dream and just needed a chance. Most of the resumes were sent via email while a few others were slipped into envelopes. By the end of the night every caterer in the Lowcountry had been checked off my list. Tilting back in the brown leather chair, I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over me. And I couldn’t wait to share it with Hart the next day.

  “Lunch is awesome today, babe.” Will shoveled another forkful of red rice and sausage into his mouth.

  Sitting in the chair next to the bed, I looked at my phone while halfway listening to him. I’d been checking my emails all morning. More than half of the resumes I sent out last night already had responses. All the emails basically said they were fully staffed at the present time but would keep my resume on file for the future. I tried not to get too disappointed. It was a shot in the dark. Besides I still had the resumes I’d sent through regular mail. I probably wouldn’t hear anything back from them until next week at the earliest. The point was, I was taking action, making my own decisions, and moving toward something I wanted. All I needed was for that one person to give me a chance.

  “Babe!”

  My head popped up at the sound of Will’s voice. “What?”

  “I was giving you a compliment.”

  “Oh . . . thanks.” My gaze and voice lowered a bit. “And by the way, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to call me babe.”

  Tensing my muscles, I braced myself for his reaction. When it didn’t come, I looked back at Will eating.

  “Did you hear me?”

  He swallowed his mouthful of food. “No.”

  I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat. “I said, stop calling me babe.”

  “I’ve called you babe the entire time we’ve been together.”

  “We’re not together anymore.”

  He dropped his fork and pushed the hospital bed table away. “That’s not my fault.”

  My shoulders slumped forward as I tried to hide my eye roll. “Will, let’s not do this, please. When are you going to accept the fact that we’re done?”

  Will raked both hands over his face and into his hair and linked them behind his head. “I’ll give up porn and go to counseling with you. And I’ll limit my time on Virtual Life. You might even want to try it. We could do it together.”

  “My god, are you that afraid of disappointing your parents?”

  He let out an exacerbated huff as his hands fell to the bed. “It’s embarrassing.”

  I nodded. “It’s also too late.”

  Will’s dark brown eyes appeared even darker when he stared at me. “You’ll lose everything. The house, the car, the savings. There’s no way my parents’ lawyers will let you get your hands on any of it. They’ll have you out of the house so quick it’ll make your head spin.”

  His words came out in a matter-of-fact tone. I knew a long time ago I wouldn’t be able to stay in the home I helped create and loved. I’d come to terms with that. What surprised me was how willing he was to step aside, let his parents take over, and leave me with nothing. I’d been with him every d
ay since the accident. I’d hoped when the time came to do the paperwork, Will would remember that I kept my end of the promise. I put my life on hold and kept secrets from my family thinking it would make the whole process go smoothly. But Will wasn’t a man of character or integrity. He was a little boy who packed up his toys and left when he didn’t get his way.

  I stood, yanked my purse over my shoulder, and walked out of the room without saying another word.

  Once in the hallway I shut my eyes and took in several deep breaths. I was angry at myself, at Will, and at the complete loss of control I felt in the moment. Will had the upper hand. He caused the downfall of our marriage and I was going to be paying for it. Tears pricked behind my eyes. I hated that whenever I got angry the tears flowed. And I had already passed furious. I needed to hold it together at least until I was safe in my car.

  I’d just turned the first corner when I heard my name.

  “Bryson.”

  I teetered on whether to stop or pick up my pace. Not wanting to weigh Hart down with my problems, I decided getting to my car was the best course of action.

  My feet moved faster. I wanted it to seem as if I hadn’t heard Hart call my name, not that I was running away from him. Before I knew it he was by my side, keeping the pace. He weaved through three wheelchair patients parked in the middle of the hall and swerved around a couple of nurses to avoid any casualties.

  Hart’s gaze swung from me to the route ahead. “I looked for you after the game.”

  “I had to run some errands. By the way, congratulations. You were incredible.” There was an obvious quiver in my voice.

  The traffic was lighter as we headed down the last hallway before the exit.

  Hart’s arms and chest were pumping hard. “You think you could slow down a little?”

  I shook my head. “I have to go.”

  Reaching out, his warm hand captured mine, stopping me in my tracks. “Hey, look at me.”

  My chin was already trembling as I looked down at his concerned blue-gray eyes.

  “Let’s go to my office,” he said, not letting go of my hand.

  “Hart, I don’t want to bother you.”

  He didn’t respond. He just kept guiding me toward his office. Once inside, he closed the door, rolled to his desk, and pressed the intercom. Hart continued to hold my hand and gaze.

  “Trish.”

  “Yes, Hart?”

  “Hold my calls and I’m not to be disturbed until I give you the word.”

  “Will do.”

  With his other hand, Hart angled one of the chairs in front of his desk toward me. “Sit down and talk to me.”

  My chin lowered. “I should go and let you get back to work.”

  The slight squeeze of my hand caused my eyes to shoot up. Without another word, Hart led me to the chair and I sat.

  Facing me, he positioned himself to the side of the chair, bringing us less than a foot apart. I took a deep breath, inhaling his spiciness. The first week around Hart I noticed how his eye color changed from blue to gray depending on the color shirt he wore. The heather gray dress shirt he had on today made his eyes appear smoky gray.

  “What or who made you cry?” His deep voice vibrated from the back of his throat, sending chills through my body.

  I looked down at the armrest where our hands were still joined together. Hart mindlessly laced his fingers through mine.

  I sniffled as my other hand fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “It’s stupid but when I get angry the floodgates open.”

  Keeping my hand hostage, he shifted, pulling a handkerchief from the front pocket of his black dress pants. It was such a gentlemanly move that you didn’t see often practiced in my generation. Just like using the word ‘lovely’. Raising his hand, Hart dabbed my cheeks before turning the cloth over to me.

  “Okay, what or who pissed you off?”

  My lips turned up into a weak smile. “Have you ever given someone the benefit of the doubt and then realized they never deserved it?”

  “Will?”

  I gave a slight nod and pulled my hand away. “I don’t want to waste your time whining about what an asshole my soon-to-be ex is being.”

  Hart glanced down at his lonely hand. When he looked up there was a hint of disappointment in his expression.

  “Bryson, any time spent with you is not a waste.”

  Hart’s sweet words caused more tears to flow, which I quickly wiped away with his handkerchief.

  “Besides, friends are supposed to be there for one another. I consider us friends.”

  “Yeah . . . friends,” I whispered.

  We stared at each other for . . .

  One Mississippi.

  Two Mississippi.

  Suddenly, my cellphone blared to life, breaking the Mississippi spell. Shoving my hand inside my purse, I pulled out the phone and turned down the volume. I didn’t recognize the number that appeared on the screen.

  I flashed another shy smile and said, “Excuse me for a second.”

  A small grin ghosted over Hart’s lips as he nodded.

  I clicked to answer the call and brought the phone to my ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Bryson Walker?” The bluntness of the gruff voice took me off guard.

  It then occurred to me that they used my maiden name. All the resumes I’d sent out I used Walker instead of Forsyth. More than likely the call was another rejection but I was excited to get it anyway.

  “This is she.”

  “My name is Nancy Baldwin. I own and operate Good Eats Catering. You emailed me a resume.”

  With wide open eyes I looked at Hart. “Yes.”

  “Can you come in this afternoon for an interview?”

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins. “Yes.”

  “Around three?”

  My hand trembled. “Yes.”

  “You know where we’re located?”

  The tremble migrated to my chest. “Yes.”

  Hart’s grin grew with each yes.

  “Do you know any other words beside yes?”

  I tried to keep my voice steady. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, I know lots of other words.”

  “Good to hear. I’ll see you at three.”

  “Thank you so much for calling.”

  Click.

  I lowered the shaking phone. “I got an interview . . . with a catering company . . . today.”

  Hart’s face lit up. “Congratulations!”

  “I’d been thinking about those questions you asked me. Yesterday when I got home, I revised my resume. Then sent one to every caterer in town. I wanted to tell you . . . I was going to tell you today but then Will happened and . . .”

  He touched my chin with the tip of his index finger. “Don’t talk about him right now. Enjoy your moment.”

  The simple gesture got me lightheaded. I wasn’t sure if Hart moved or if it was me leaning in but we seemed closer than before.

  “I’m so proud of you, Bryson.”

  Those few words coming from Hart were all it took for my brain to take a hike. Scooting to the edge of the chair, I flung myself at him, my hands slipping around his neck. Hart’s strong arms wrapped around my torso. His large hands skimmed up my back and pulled me against his chest. I wanted to saw the stupid armrest off the chair so I could get even closer to him. Holding on tight, I melted into the sensation of his body.

  The rough prickle of his beard grazed my neck as he angled his head toward me. If his scruff was that close then his lips couldn’t have been far behind. My body was firing on all cylinders with just the thought of Hart mouth touching my skin. Inhaling a slow deep breath, he pressed his chest against mine.

  Was he smelling my hair?

  There was a slight groan in the back of Hart’s throat before he lifted his head and pulled away.

  He was so smelling my hair.

  Leaning back, I let my hands slide over his shoulders and down his toned chest. We were almost nose-to-nose. Our eyes locked. Hart’s left hand c
ame into view and gently brushed the hair off my cheek. His fingertips took their time outlining the shell of my ear as he tucked the strands behind it. His gaze dropped and lingered on my lips while his fingers traveled down my jaw. Working overtime, my lungs tried to grab what little oxygen was left in the room. I didn’t want him to stop touching me. In fact, I wanted more of him touching more of me.

  The tip of Hart’s tongue rolled over his bottom lip before his hand fell away. When his gaze worked its way back up to mine there was a look of surprise mixed with caution.

  With a husky voice, Hart said, “You better go get ready for your interview.”

  “I guess so.” The words came out all breathy.

  Sitting all the way back in his chair, Hart pushed away from me, putting more distance between us. As I was wiping away a few stray tears, I heard a beep and then Hart’s voice.

  “Trish, I’m taking calls and my door is open.”

  “Got it,” she responded.

  Clutching my purse in one hand and Hart’s handkerchief in the other, I stood and walked toward the door.

  “Bryson.”

  I turned to face him. “Yeah?”

  “You’re going to do fantastic at the interview.”

  We exchanged smiles. I held up his handkerchief. “I’ll wash this and bring it back tomorrow.”

  “No rush.”

  Pausing, I took a deep breath. “Hart, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For today and . . . um . . . I wouldn’t have this interview if you hadn’t . . .”

  He raised his hand, interrupting me. “I believe in you, which is the easy part. You’re the one who had the courage to take the first step.”

  I had to get out of there before the tears cranked back up or I crawled in his lap and kissed him unconscious. Luckily, Hart’s intercom beeped, snapping some sense into my head.

  “Hart, you have a call on line two.”

  With my hand on the doorknob, I said, “I’ll see you later.”

  “I want a full report on the interview.”

  We swapped smiles one more time just before Hart picked up his phone and I walked out the door.

  On the drive home I made a concerted effort not to overthink the moment in Hart’s office . . . or the way he looked at me . . . or how his body felt . . . or that he smelled my hair. Instead, I was going to soak up the feeling of the moment and the excitement of getting the interview.