Strong Hold

by Sarah Castille

How can you explain the feeling of your soul pouring out of your body, a pain so fierce, you can barely breathe, a heart shattered beyond repair, the pieces scattered over an ocean of sorrow, lost so deep, they can’t be found? How do you share unstoppable tears, thick with memories, draining you of everything but the barest flicker of life?

  Yes, it was young love, first love, teenage love. But that is the most intense love. The love you remember for the rest of your life, because you know nothing of the world except this one perfect person with whom you connect on a level neither of you understands. Zack was my everlasting light, my sun and stars until he fell from the sky and turned my world to ice.

  I feel that sharp stab in my head again, lift my hand to my temple to try and ward off the pain. Zack wavers in front of me, his eyes growing dark with concern.

  “What’s wrong?” He releases my wrist, takes another step toward me until he is so close, I can feel the delicious heat of his body.

  “Headache. A bad one. I made an appointment with my family doctor for the end of the week, but it’s been getting worse. Doctor Death was going to take me to the hospital to get it checked out. He said subdural—”

  Whoosh. I am off my feet, cradled in Zack’s arms, and it feels like I never left. He smells of the meadows where we lay on lazy summer days, the cinnamon whiskey he sneaked out of the bar and kissed into my mouth, and the pine from the tree he climbed every night so he could lie with me until I fell asleep. He smells of comfort and safety. He smells of home and love and longing and everything I have ached for since we parted.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “I’m okay to drive. Put me down.” My words don’t sound convincing, even to me. And I am torn between forcing him to release me and enjoying the feeling of being cared for after so many years alone.

  Zack stops beside a blue pearl Acura NSX. It’s a beautiful car. Sleek. Powerful. Very him. But… “Seriously? Blue? It’s kind of sedate for you.”

  “It’s a rental.” He pulls out his key fob and unlocks the door, still holding me easily against his chest. “I have a red one at home.”

  “Of course you do.” Zack always drove red vehicles and maintained only a lesser man would drive anything else.

  He chuckles. “I guess some things don’t change.”

  But a lot of things do. I am not the same person I was seven years ago. Trust is a luxury I can no longer afford. I no longer believe in fate or hope or everlasting love, and I don’t take chances.

  I study the sleek, black leather-and-chrome interior as he bends and gently places me on the seat, like I’m a breakable treasure. I’ve never ridden in a vehicle that cost over two hundred thousand dollars. Living paycheck to paycheck, I can’t even imagine having that much money to spend on a car.

  “What do you think?” Zack’s words are almost inaudible over the roar of the motor as he peels out of the parking lot. If we drive at this speed to the hospital, I might make it back to Redemption to pick up my car before the Protein Palaces closes.

  “It’ll do.” I grin and run my hand over the sleek dash. When Zack used to pick me up in his dad’s rusted-out Ford half-ton truck, we loved to talk about the cars we would buy if we won the lottery. He was always partial to the Venom, because it resembled the head of a snake. I wanted the fastest car, which meant my dream car changed every time a manufacturer figured out a way to improve performance.

  “You’re a hard woman to please.”

  I shrug, enjoying the game despite myself. “It can’t go over 190, so really, what’s the point?”

  “Still a speed demon, I see.” He accelerates, only to have to slam on the brakes when we hit a light. “Do you need to drive that fast for your work as a security guard?” He revs up with a squeal of tires when the light turns to green. “Seems kind of dangerous.”

  “I’m dangerous.”

  He laughs out loud, that familiar deep rumble vibrating through my body. “Good thing I wasn’t around when you applied for the job. I might have tried to talk you out of it.”

  “Nobody could have talked me out of it.” I stare out the window, watching the blur of the city. “I wanted to be able to defend myself. I wanted to be strong and capable. If life hadn’t turned out the way it did, I would have become a policeman like my dad. Nobody ever intimidated or pushed him around.”

  “You were strong,” he says quietly.

  “Not strong enough.” I struggle to hold back the memories of the night Damian attacked me, how easily he knocked me to the ground, how it took less than half an hour to destroy everything it had taken me a lifetime to build.

  “Where were you?”

  I startle when I hear Damian’s voice coming from the darkness. With a sigh, I flip on the switch to see him sitting in a chair facing the door, a bottle of vodka in his hand.

  “I told you before I left the studio, and in the many texts I answered over the last few hours. I went for a drink with Stefan and Violet.” I place my handbag on the hall table and pull out my phone. We have been playing out this scene more and more often as my career has taken off. Although Damian gave me my start in the company, he’s become jealous of my success, and our marriage has started to suffer. Caring has become controlling. Protective has become possessive. And once the rumors started that he might be replaced with a younger artistic director, he has become increasingly insecure about our age difference. Now, I can’t meet a friend for a drink without Damian showing up or calling a dozen times to find out where I am or who I’m with. He is obsessed with the idea that I will leave him for a younger man, and his baseless accusations have led to fights that can be heard on the street.

  “You’re lying. You went to see him.”

  “Who?”

  “Your lost love.” He sneers. “The fighter who broke your young heart and left you ripe for the picking. I checked the search history on your computer. You’ve been visiting MMA sites and reading about him.”

  My heart skips a beat. His paranoia is getting out of control if he’s checking my computer. Violet and Stefan were right. I need to leave him before it’s too late. But where will I go? What will I do? Although his influence in the company is slowly fading, Damian is still a powerful person in the ballet world. One word from him and no company on the East Coast will hire me.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I saw an online article in my news feed about a fight in Newark where one of the fighters died. I recognized his name, so I decided to check it out.”

  He lets out a breath. “He’s dead?”

  “No. The other guy died, but Zack was absolved of blame, because his opponent went into the fight knowing he had a life-threatening condition and against doctor’s orders.” After seeing the video, I’d read every article I could find to see what happened to Zack.

  “Zack.” He takes a drink straight from the bottle of vodka he brought home after his last visit to Russia. “You never loved me the way you loved him. If we ended it today, you wouldn’t sob for me alone in a dark room. You wouldn’t pine until you were skin and bone. You wouldn’t break. You’d probably trample me on your rush out the door.”

  “It was just an article, Damian.” Now I’m getting irritated. I’m tired of this. Tired of defending myself. Tired of his suspicions. Tired of his baseless accusations. “You’re reading too much into it.”

  “Am I? Where were you really tonight?” His handsome face curdles. “Did you go to console him because he took another man’s life? Did you make him feel better by spreading your legs?”

  “You’re disgusting.” My stomach clenches even though I’ve done nothing wrong, because I thought about it. After I saw the video of the fight, I could feel Zack’s pain. I could see his devastation. Even though he’d been cleared of wrongdoing, he would never forgive himself. It would destroy him. Despite everything that had happened between us, I wanted t
o be there for him, if only for the memories of all the good things he had done for me. And didn’t that just say everything about the state of my marriage.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Of course I’m drunk,” he shouts. “That’s what you do when you get fired. You drink. But you aren’t supposed to drink alone. Your wife is supposed to be at home waiting for you on the worst day of your life. Not out fucking another man.”

  My heart sinks. We both knew this was coming. Ticket sales were down. Donations were drying up. The board of directors had decided to move in a new direction by hiring two young choreographers, ostensibly to help Damian modernize the company, but we all knew what was coming. Damian, with his traditional background and classical training, struggled to keep up, and I guess today they put him out of his misery.

  “I’m sorry they let you go. I truly am. But don’t take your anger out on me. I’ve never cheated on you. I was with Stefan and Violet since I left the studio. You can ask them about it tomorrow.”

  “Give me your phone.” He holds out his hand. “I’ll ask them now, and then you can answer for your lies.”

  My heart pounds wildly, but I walk over to him. I don’t need to be afraid. We’ve danced this dance before. He’s angry and he’s hurting, but Damian is not a violent man.

  Damian takes the phone from my hand, but instead of calling my friends, he throws it across the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You never loved me,” he snarls, and I realize drink isn’t the only thing clouding his mind. “It was always him. Even though he broke you and I put you back together, you still want him.”

  I take a step back, and he grabs my hand so tight, my fingers squeeze together.

  “Say it.”

  “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  “Say it,” he shouts.

  “What else are you on?” I struggle in his grasp. “You’re acting crazy. I don’t want him. I married you. I’ve been faithful to you. I’ve supported you. What more do you want from me?”

  “Love.” He squeezes my hand so tight, I scream. “You were supposed to love me until death do us part.”

  “Stop, Damian. Let me go.” I slap and punch at his face until he releases me, and then I back up to the door. “I’m done with this. I’m done with your drinking and your jealousy and your inability to believe that I have been faithful to you. I’m sorry they let you go, but maybe now you’ll stop obsessing over what they are going to do. You’re a great choreographer, a great artistic director, and I’m sure you’ll find a company that appreciates your talent, but I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Shayla.” His face falls, and his voice softens. “Baby, I’m sorry. It was a terrible shock. Please. Don’t go.”

  “You hurt me. I think you broke something in my hand.”

  He crosses the room and picks up my phone. “At least take your phone so you can call me and let me know you’re safe. You shouldn’t walk around alone at night without it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Off guard now that he is back to his old self, I reach for the phone, but before my fingers can close around it, he grabs my wrist and twists my arm behind my back.

  “Cunt.” He twists my arm more, forcing me to my knees, and the pain almost blinds me. “You’re running to him, aren’t you? You just can’t get out the door fast enough.”

  “No.” I gasp as he twists my arm again. “I’m going to stay with Violet. She has an extra room.”

  “So you planned it. You were already planning to leave me.” He gives my arm a further wrench, and I hear a crack. Bile rises in my throat, followed by a nauseating wave of pain. A scream pierces the night, and I realize it’s mine.

  “You don’t leave me.” He releases my arm, and I crumple on the floor. “You’re mine. I made you what you are. You don’t get to walk away.”

  I roll to my side, cradling my arm. I just want to lie here and process the pain, but my mind is screaming danger, and I need to get away. Too late, I realize the cost of my hesitation. The blow comes out of nowhere, a thud of his foot against my ribs that takes my breath away.

  “Stop. Please.”

  But he doesn’t stop. He follows me as I scramble away, backing me against the door. With fists and feet, he strikes me everywhere, and I only have one arm to fend off his blows. I scream and wonder why no one comes to save me. Desperate for a weapon, I roll and grasp the umbrella stand. It falls, and Damian stops beating me to laugh.

  “Was he really worth it?” He walks up beside me and carefully rights the umbrella stand, then without warning, he stomps on my outstretched hand. I can hear bones break, but I don’t feel any pain, because I passed that threshold long ago.

  “There is no him. He left me and never came back.”

  “Liar.” He picks up his baseball bat from between the spilled umbrellas. His eyes narrow as he taps it against his palm. I know what’s coming next, but I don’t have the strength to run.

  “Shayla?” The worry in Zack’s voice pulls me out of the memory before it gets to the worst part. I haven’t thought about that night for years. Being around Zack is bringing back a past that I’m just not prepared to deal with again.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just…thinking how different things would be today if I could do the things I can do now way back when.” No way would I have let Damian beat me. One blow and it would have been him bouncing down the stairs that night instead of me.

  “Fighting?” He pulls up at yet another light and drums his thumb on the steering wheel. For some reason, that small, familiar gesture makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

  “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t need to fight when we lived in Glenwood,” Zack says, misunderstanding. “You had me.”

  “And then I didn’t.” I should never have let Zack protect me. I should have learned how to protect myself.

  “And then you found someone to replace me.”

  I’ve never known Zack to obsess about something the way he is obsessing about Damian, and I can’t decide if it’s jealousy or something more. “I never replaced you. No one could replace you. I moved on, and from what I saw in the press, you did, too. You’d probably forgotten about me when you walked into Redemption.”

  Screech. Zack yanks the steering wheel to the side and pulls the car up along the curb. His chest heaves, and tension radiates from every pore. “Did you forget about me?”

  You still love him.

  “No.”

  “Why would you think I could ever forget about you?” His hands curl around the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turn white.

  “Because I never saw you again. You never came to New York to find me.”

  Zack shifts the car into gear and pulls out into the road. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s as angry and frustrated as I am; I can read it in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the fact that we’re driving at least forty miles an hour over the speed limit. We drive in silence until we reach the hospital, and then he turns to me and says, “I did.”

  8

  Shayla

  We don’t get another chance to talk after we reach the hospital, but Zack doesn’t leave my side. After I check in, we wait most of the night in the crowded waiting room, making small talk, mostly about MMA. Zack is still very much a part of the world, and although he doesn’t fight, he still stays up-to-date on all the new developments and trains every day.

  Finally, I see the doctor. After running a few tests, he diagnoses a mild concussion.

  “Ease up on the training for the next four days,” he says, handing me a prescription for painkillers. “Very light exercise only. And since you’re in a high-risk occupation, book that time off work. I didn’t see anything serious on the CT scan, but come back if it gets worse.”

  Zack preens as we leave the hospital in the soft
early-morning light, chest puffed out, a swagger to his stride. I can’t bear to look at him for the smug smile on his face. Finally, I can’t take anymore. When we reach his vehicle, I turn and glare.

  “Say it. I know you’re desperate. So spit it out.”

  He lifts a mock quizzical eyebrow as he opens the door. “Say what?”

  “Don’t even pretend you don’t want to say it, or you’ll force me to go against medical advice. I’ll run around the parking lot, jump up and down, and grapple with the next person who walks out the door.”

  His smile fades. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He’s right. I won’t take the risk. But once upon a time, I would have.

  “Just say it and put me out of my misery.”

  “Told you so,” he says, unable to hide his smirk. “I knew it was a concussion when I held you at Redemption.”

  “Did that feel good?”

  “Yes, it did.” He holds my door open while I climb into his vehicle and leans over to clip my seat belt. His shoulder brushes against my breasts, and we both freeze.

  Zack’s gaze holds mine. He tips his head so our foreheads touch. His eyes close for the briefest moment, and he draws in a shuddering breath. It is the first time he has shown anything but a calm determination to ensure I get proper medical care, and I realize this has taken a toll on him, too.

  “Thank you.” Unable to stop myself, I cup his jaw in my hand. His face is bristly with a five-o’clock shadow, but it is the same beautiful face that has haunted my dreams.

  “Pleasure.” He draws my hand to his lips and kisses my palm.

  My heart flutters in my chest. Zack was a master kisser. We used to take a blanket to the field near his trailer, and he would kiss my fingers one by one, working his way up my arms so slowly, I would feel drugged with pleasure and anticipation by the time he reached my lips. Then he would roll on top of me, blanketing me with his warmth as he plundered my mouth while I ground against the only thing he wouldn’t give me.

  I hear the sound of footsteps, voices heading toward us. Zack moves back, leaving me bereft.