Ravel

by Ryan, Shari J.

  ***

  I’ve never been at Beer Bellies this early in the morning, but I park around back behind a dumpster before letting myself in through the back door. I lock the door securely and curl up in a ball behind the bar, hidden from the world.

  I wish I could sleep, but my eyes are wide open, burning from dryness, as I don’t think I’ve blinked in a couple of hours.

  Achingly peeling myself off the floor, I look around the bar in search of a newspaper, which I spot on one of the small tables in the corner. Thumbing through it, I stop when I get to the classifieds. I see a bunch of apartments I can’t afford before I finally see one that might be within my budget. It’s a small one bedroom near the base. God, it’ll be tight. I flip a few more pages until I find the jobs section, and I drag my finger down the center of the page, checking out the listings from people looking for contractors, bartenders, and landscapers. Oh. Hmm. The commissary is looking for a civilian store clerk…full-time, too. That’s kind of perfect. I tear the ads out of the paper and shove them into my back pocket.

  Sun filters in through the windows and my Jeep would be spotted too easily in the daylight, even behind the dumpster, so I head for a place I know Trent would never go–The Waffle House.

  It’s seven, and I’m surprised the place is already open and full of people. I stand behind a couple in line waiting for a table, nervously checking behind me every few seconds. He won’t come here. He would never…. Please, don’t come here. After a couple of minutes, a heavy-set woman with an apron and two menus looks at me, then behind me. “Just one?” she asks.

  “Yes, ma’am. Just me today.” Just me every day from now on.

  “Would you like to sit at the bar-top?” She points to an empty seat between two men with a number of plates surrounding them. My heart speeds up a bit, telling me I need some space.

  “Is it okay if I sit at a table?” I ask.

  “Well, of course. If that’s where you will be most comfortable, sweetheart.” She places my menu down on a table toward the far end of the narrow restaurant. I slide into the bench facing away from the door so I can sink down and be hidden by the people behind me.

  I flip over the menu, carefully inspecting each option. There are so many and I’m starved like I’ve never eaten before. I know no one will be inspecting my weight, asking me if I gained a pound, or wondering if my pants are a bit tight. I won’t get a raised brow when I order something with carbs and sugar. Then it hits me again; I’ve let someone control every part of me for years. I let him tell me what I can and can’t eat. I should have run sooner.

  A lady comes up to the end of my table holding a pad out in front of her. “What can I get for ya, honey?”

  I bite on my lip, feeling like I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but the hell with it. “I’ll have the pancakes—make them the chocolate chip pancakes—a waffle, bacon and eggs and—“

  “Holy shit, girl. Where you puttin’ all that?” a voice booms from behind me, and I jump. “Add a hash—smothered, covered, chunked, topped and diced to go with that.”

  I slowly turn my head, shocked to hear his voice. Thankful to hear his voice. I may have melted at the sound of it. More than six feet of rock hard muscle, deep dimples, and a wide white smile that makes my heart race, stands beside me.

  “Hi,” I say, sounding a bit mousy. I can’t help it, though. Going a few days without seeing those sea-green eyes and crooked grin has made me forget how amazingly gorgeous he is.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  I shake my head and turn back around to face the bench he’s sliding into. I squeeze my own hands tightly under the table, feeling anxious for whatever conversation might happen. I mean, he sort of told me to leave the other day, which was for the best. I needed to do what I just did for me. On my terms.

  I realize it’s been at least thirty seconds since he sat down as I’ve done everything I can think of to avoid looking at him. “I’m not sorry,” he says.

  My eyebrows pucker and I look up at him. “Why would you be?”

  “I know what I did was rude, but, you have to understand—“ His fingers pinch around his chin as he struggles with whatever he’s trying to say. “Besides what I have going on, I didn’t want to—Daphne, I couldn’t look at you anymore, knowing what you were living with, knowing I couldn’t do a thing about it. I’ve seen enough violence over the past several years, but there’s something different about knowing a dude is doing that to a woman I really care about, here, where this shit isn’t supposed to happen.” He sighs loudly and presses his fingers through his hair. “Between that and Rex—it was too much at one time. It’s still too much.”

  Between the several moments of quiet mixed with heart-pumping gazing looks, I try to understand how I became his problem. I’m not sure when I became his anything. I know he’s trained to protect, but he shouldn’t have to protect me. “You don’t need to worry about me,” I say, trying to keep my voice low as the waitress places the loads of food down on the table. After she places the last plate down, she asks us if she can get us anything else. Kemper looks at me for a response. “No, thank you. We’re all set.”

  “How can you say I don’t need to worry about you?” he says in a soft, low voice. Why does he look angry? He has no right to be.

  “I hardly know you.” I laugh softly because I don’t think I actually mean that. I probably know him pretty well after spending an entire night swapping life stories with him, but it was only one night.

  “You, Daphne, have been living in the dark. I had you figured out within hours, and I don’t mean that as an insult, but it was easy to see how much living you need to do. I felt the need to—“ He laughs at whatever he was about to say and it embarrasses me because I wish I could be in on his private joke.

  “Felt the need to do what?” I grasp my glass of orange juice and clutch it between my hands, holding it against my chest. “Just tell me.”

  “Protect you.”

  “I need to be protected?” I do need to be protected. I’m in danger.

  “You’re like this little butterfly emerging from her cocoon. You don’t know which direction to fly or what’s good and what’s bad, so you stay where you’re comfortable and with what you know. I think it’s time to peek out above those beautiful wings of yours to see that there’s so much more out there. You’re missing out, Daphne.”

  Each one of his words feels like a tiny punch to my gut. He’s right, but he’s wrong. But he’s mostly right—or wrong. I know what’s out there, I think.

  “What’s so good about out there?” I ask, arching my brow, as I stab the center of my pancakes with my fork. I cut several large pieces, looking to fill my mouth with this buttery goodness in hopes of stopping the pains in my stomach and the ache in my chest.

  There’s a heavy look in his eyes and he’s watching the way he’d watch a starving child get their first meal in days. I don’t like this. I want it to stop. I’ve worked hard at not feeling sorry for myself. I’ve worked hard to convince myself that everything in my life is normal and everyone else lives the way I do. Now I’m seeing that it’s not the bruises on the outside that define me and cause me to stand out, it’s the bruises on the inside that are clear as day. It’s mortifying.

  After I push the lump of food down my throat, I take a sip of my juice and blot a napkin over my lips. “I ended things with him, so…looks like I’m free to see what else is out there now.”

  He doesn’t say a word, but the dimples on his cheeks deepen as he lifts his fork and eagerly shovels the rest of his hash into his mouth, chewing quickly, and somehow maintaining the slight grin stretched across his tanned cheeks.

  He places a napkin down over his cleaned plate and weaves his fingers together, resting his wrists on the table. “Are you okay?” No. I’m scared to death. The dimples are gone and so is his smile. “When did you—“

  “Last night.” I take another sip of my juice, but the tangy liquid feels like it’s getting gummy in my t
hroat.

  “What made you do it?” He reaches across the table and places his hand over mine—probably because I’m not looking at him. I can’t…not when I say what I’m about to say. Now his fingers are interlocking with mine. My heart is pounding and my chest feels tight. It’s hard to breathe. “Tell me,” he presses.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to look up at him. I want to say it was all because of me, but it was a little bit because of—“You.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CURRENT DAY

  KEMPER

  SHE DID IT. I KNOW I kind of didn’t want it to be because of me, but I sort of did want it to be because of me. Fuck yeah, it was because of me! I need to play it cool and not act like a little boy and start jumping up and down screaming, “I won!”

  As she places her napkin over her half-eaten food—she ordered enough to feed three large men, which is adorable—I drop enough cash down on the table to cover her buffet for one, then pull the coat off the bench I’m sitting on and hand it to her. “It’s eight-thirty. That’s when you go to the rink. Take me with you.”

  Her flushed cheeks warm and her lips curl slightly into a tiny grin. She takes another sip of her juice and slides out of the booth, taking her coat from my hand. “Okay then,” she says.

  I follow her out of the restaurant and into the blinding sun, noticing the glow of last night’s moon still bright in the sky. I silently thank Rex for this chance with Daphne. “Jeep or Bike?” I ask her.

  “You won’t want to ride your bike after we get off the ice,” she laughs softly, and grabs me by the arm, yanking me toward the Jeep.

  “Wait,” I say, pulling out of her grasp. “You’re not one of those crazy drivers are you? I mean, I saw the way you followed me to my apartment the other day.” I give her a wink and nudge my elbow into her arm.

  “Just get in,” she huffs.

  “Well okay. I’ll just—you have seatbelts right?”

  “Nope. I had them removed. People still use those things?” Jesus. This girl is awesome—beautiful, smart, and witty. I pull myself into her Jeep, curling my hand around the rollover bar. “I was kidding.” She reaches across me and grabs the seatbelt out from behind the seat.

  “And here I thought you were serious.” Or I just wanted to feel her hand sweep against my chest and smell the flowery scent wafting from her hair.

  She peels out of the lot with a lead foot, the one I figured she had, and then slows down to the speed limit as she hits the main road. “Just kidding,” she smirks. I press the power button on her radio, happy to hear one of my favorite songs playing, Amber by 311. “Oh! I love this song. You like 311? This song is kind of old-school now I guess, but it’s totally a classic,” she says.

  No way. “You kidding me? They’re my favorite,” I laugh.

  “Looks like we have something in common,” she grins. “Although, my favorite piece of music is by Ravel.”

  “Ravel?” Never heard of him or her.

  “I’ll show you,” she says.

  After driving through a couple of small towns, she pulls into a lot and drives around to the back of the dome-shaped arena, parking between two large trucks. She’s hiding. “You always park back here?” She reaches into the backseat and retrieves a pair of ice skates and a bag.

  “Not always.” Hmm.

  “You know I don’t have skates, right?” I ask, laughing softly. I’ve never been skating, so this should be interesting.

  “You can rent them—borrow them at this hour. Jesse will hook you up.”

  “Jesse?” We both hop out of the Jeep and she wraps her hand around half of my bicep, pulling me along with her and through the back doors. She leads us up to this guy doing paperwork behind a glass window—I’m guessing this is Jesse.

  “Jesse! This is Kemper. He needs a pair of skates.”

  The guy reaches his hand out for me to shake, looks between the two of us, and then wiggles his eyebrows at Daphne. I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”

  “Same to you. What size shoe?” he asks.

  “Twelve.” He reaches under the counter and drops a pair of hockey skates in front of me. “Thanks again.”

  “Thanks, Jesse,” Daphne sings.

  “Have fun, you crazy kids.”

  Daphne wraps her hand back around my arm and drags me toward the rink. “Go sit in there, I’ll be out in one second. I can’t skate in these pants.” I do as she asks and press through the glass doors into the freezing cold rink where I take a seat on the closest set of bleachers.

  She only makes me wait a couple of minutes before meeting back up with me, now wearing a pair of skintight pants and a tank top. Damn. I suddenly don’t feel the cold so much anymore.

  She plops down beside me, trying to show me a thing or two on the proper way to lace skates. I’m thinking it may be a bit different for hockey skates, but I’ll let her show me on her cute figure skates. I finish tying mine up the way I think they should be tied and pull myself up against the guardrail. Dammit. It’s hard to stand up straight on rubber, never mind ice. “Why don’t you do a few laps and let me watch your technique, then I’ll come out with you.” Yup, I’m stalling.

  “Sure,” she squeaks, as she bounces out onto the ice as if she were jumping out into a field with cleats.

  She does a couple of graceful laps around the rink at high-speed and I hear the radio static sound over the speakers, followed by a classical song. She stops in the middle of the rink and looks up into a window above the bleachers. Jesse’s up there now, waving at her with a goofy smile. She’s shaking her head at him, mouthing the word “no”, but he shoos her off. Not sure what that’s all about, but I don’t care. I’m sort of in awe just watching her skate around. Her hands slap over her face and her chest heaves heavily as I hear a knock on the window above. I see Jesse mouthing, “Do it!”

  I cup my hands around my mouth, needing to add to whatever it is Jesse is making her do. “Yeah, Daphne. Do it,” I shout.

  “Fine,” she whines. The music starts again from the beginning. She looks at me once more and then pushes off the ice, one leg slowly lifting behind her. She places it back down and nearly flies across the ice backwards, her arms spread out by her sides like wings. She’s focused and the smile on her face lights up the entire rink. Her backward strides lead her into one of those crazy spins I always see the skaters doing in the Olympics. I can’t believe she can do that. Watching her and listening to this music sort of shakes me up a bit. It’s overwhelming. The music rises in volume and the heaviness of the beat forces her into another backwards stride across the ice. Her back leg lifts again and this time when she places it down, she leaps off the ice and into a spin before landing back into her glide. Holy crap. Each moment is incomprehensible. I can feel the music in my chest—it feels like someone banging on my ribs as if they were a pair of conga drums. When the music softens, I hear ice being slashed and see the tip of her blade pound into the ice. Snow flurries around her as if she were the stunning object in the center of a glass snow-globe.

  I want to run out on the ice, grab her and dance with her, but that would require me making it one step onto the slick surface. Oh, the hell with it. I walk to the entrance and place my hands on the inside of the wall, pulling myself carefully out onto the ice. Oh Jesus. I’m white-knuckling it over here, trying not to look like a complete moron, which ironically makes me look like a bigger moron. A smile finds her lips when she sees me. She glides over, reaching her hands out in front of her, and of course like the tough guy I am, I grab her hands, gripping them like I need her to hold me up. “You’re quite talented, Miss Daphne. You make it look so easy.”

  “It’s not that hard,” she gleams. Her fingers interlace with mine and she pulls me away from the wall. Her confidence is sexy. My confidence…not so much. I don’t move my feet since they seem to be gliding just fine on their own, but I do know I must look like the biggest doof in the world.

  It takes me a few minutes, but
I gain a bit of confidence and chance moving my feet—like fractions of inches—but I’m doing it. And I haven’t fallen. “Daphne?” I call over to her, realizing I’m out of breath from moving my feet inches across the ice.

  She stops and looks up at me. “Yeah?”

  I take one step forward; thankful it’s all I need to reach her. This is really happening. I cup my hands around her cheeks, feeling the warmth seep back into my skin. I’m trying not to lose my balance because there’s a chance I’d fall right now even if I were on solid, non-slippery ground. I hear her swallow as her eyes open wide. I pull her in against me, feeling her heart pounding against my chest. I bring my lips closer to hers, but still far enough away that she could break free if she’s not ready for this. “I know you’ve only been single for ten hours, but, can I —”

  She bites down on her bottom lip and looks down between us, breaking our gaze. “Please,” she whispers. I don’t know if the volume of the music changes, but right this second, it’s all I can hear. With her chest against mine, I feel her heart speed up along with the song and when I feel the burst of music within my chest, I tighten my hands around her face and crash my lips against hers, feeling the music blend between us. The music is leading our lips together in a rhythm I have no control over. Her mouth is warm against mine and the sensation makes my stomach feel hollow, but full. I wrap my arms completely around her, holding her even tighter against my chest, but I’ve lost my balance. My feet and legs go out from below me and I accidentally pull her down with me, hitting the ice hard. She falls gracefully, somehow landing with her legs on either side of me.

  She scoots herself in closer as her hands wrench around the collar of my shirt. “I thought fairy tales weren’t real,” she says. I don’t know what she means by that, but her doll-like eyes go wide and she closes her lips back over mine. She wraps her arms around my neck and holds me against her like she needs my air to breathe. I need hers too. Her hands tremble behind my neck as I sweep my tongue across her bottom lip, begging for her mouth to part. She complies, twisting her tongue around mine and allowing me to taste a hint of maple syrup and orange juice. Dammit to all hell, I’m a goner. I don’t know what to call this kiss other than the best thing that’s ever happened to me.