Ravel

by Ryan, Shari J.

  Dammit. I pull a stool up to the bar in front of her. She’s not going to make this easy on me. “I need to quit,” I come right out with it. “It’s not safe here. I can’t risk Trent coming after me again.”

  “Honey, why don’t you just have him arrested or whatever you’re supposed to do? It’s domestic violence. You know that, right?”

  I’m defending myself to everyone, so I’m starting to wonder if maybe I am wrong; although, the cop did say it’s a toss up on what his conviction would be. “I don’t know. I feel like I’d just be aggravating the situation.” I look down and away from her ice-cold stare. Everyone keeps looking at me the same way. “Trust me, I’m scared of him, but I don’t think sending the cops after him is going to remove any of that fear. He most likely wouldn’t go to jail for an extended period of time. Then what? Where does that leave me when he gets out?”

  She throws the dishrag down on the bar top and presses her hands into the counter. “Daphne, you’re a smart girl, but you’re making a stupid decision right now. You’re letting him win.” She sounds like the rest of my friends—or rather, the ones who have disappeared over the past two years. I think I fell so far into a hole that I lost sight of the light that could lead me back out.

  “Am I wrong to think pushing the law on him wouldn’t agitate him enough to really do something horrible once the cuffs are removed?” It could really happen. I’ve read the stories.

  “If you’re not going to get that asshole put away, you need some kind of protection program,” she says. She’s the first person to say that out loud to me. I can either have him put away, move away, join some kind of protection program, or let him continue to hunt me down and do what he wants with me. Do I even have enough proof if I were to go forward and press charges? I have the injuries, but there were no cameras anywhere to prove he inflicted them. He was gone before the cops showed up. How much will I have to go through to prove he’s guilty? I just want him to leave me alone.

  “I’ve considered it.”

  “Look, Daph, I’ve done some research for you.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her back pocket. “I know it’s none of my business, but I care about you.”

  I open the paper to find the phone number for a Domestic Violence Outreach Organization. Seeing it written in print makes this whole thing sound far more real than I’ve ever made it out to be in my head. “Well, you’ll always have a job here if you want it. I understand why you can’t stay right now, though.” She snatches the dishrag back up and continues wiping the bar down. “Let me tell you, though, if that boy walks his ass into this bar when I’m here...he will leave ball-less. That’s no threat. It’s a guarantee.” I’m pretty sure I believe every word she just said. I’ve seen her break up bar fights as if she were some two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bouncer, even though she’s hardly five feet tall and likely weighs no more than a hundred and ten pounds. I envy her strength and courage. I need some of that.

  “If that happens, give me a call. I’d love to hear about it.” I lean over the bar and wrap my arms around her neck. “Thanks for everything, Jacey. You’ve been a good friend to me.”

  “Take care of yourself, girl.” I hop down off the stool and take a few steps toward the front door. “Oh hey.” I turn around to her holding out a piece of cardboard. “Hang this up on the window on your way out.” It’s a “Help Wanted” sign. I feel bad, as it is also a sign of another piece of my former life I’m leaving behind. At least I still have the ice. No one can take that away from me.

  I unlock the door to my apartment and kick my shoes off, dropping my stuff on the side table. As I close the door, I hear a noise, and my heart stills. I slowly turn the corner into my living room, finding Kemper sitting on the couch in his cammies with his head in his hands. Thank God. Although, whatever the hell is going on, it isn’t good.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask. I would so much rather him be at work because it would mean that nothing is wrong. He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me. He still hasn’t said a word. “What is this?” I don’t want to open it without knowing what it is. I already have a knot in my stomach. Regardless, I unfold the paper and straighten it out, trying to focus on the print in bold. I read it over and over in an attempt to make sure I understand it correctly. “I don’t understand this,” I say. I read it one more time. It says zero percent chance of Kemper being Emmie’s father. Below it says: Kemper Anderson is excluded as the biological father. It’s all I have to read to feel confused as to why he’s slouched down on my couch looking as miserable as he does. Is he disappointed? I look back over at him and now he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. I throw the paper at him, jump on top of him and punch him in the chest until I go weak. He pulls me into him and our lips do most of the communicating until I need air. When I pull away, I punch him once more. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to walk through that door for three hours, so it was only fair.”

  “Have you spoken to Tara?” I have to know. I have to know what her reaction was and if she’s going to leave him alone now.

  “Yeah. I called her and wished her luck. She was crying, which tells me she honestly thought Emmie was mine. I felt bad for a split second and then I realized that meant she was cheating on me even before I left for Afghanistan.”

  “You’re a good person,” I tell him.

  “A good person who’s going to get my ass kicked if I don’t get on base.” He stands up from the couch and shoves the paper into his pocket. “What happened with Jacey?”

  “She told me to join a protection program.” I laugh as if it were a joke. It’s not and he’s not laughing. Instead, he sits back down.

  He looks at me for a long minute without saying anything, but his eyebrows crunch together as if he were having an internal debate. “What are you doing tonight?” Hopefully not going into a protection program.

  “Nothing...”

  “I’m taking you somewhere,” he says, standing back up.

  “Where?” I ask, turning around to see his back as he walks toward the door.

  “Until tonight, Miss Daphne.” He blows me a kiss and walks out.

  What the heck?

  ***

  Now being in between jobs and home alone, I’ve had time to hit the rink and write a bit today. Pretty much anything I could do to keep my mind off of a protection program.

  “You think you’re okay to get on the bike tonight?” Kemper asks, walking through my front door.

  “Yeah, but—“ I look down at my sundress, “hold on.” I run to my bedroom and lift my dress over my head. Blinded by the fabric for a quick second, I jump when I feel Kemper’s cold fingertips skating across my bare waist as he pulls my dress off the rest of the way.

  “You were just going to leave me in the living room while you’re in here doing this?”

  He pushes me backwards until my knees buckle at the edge of my bed. I can’t resist him in his cammies. At some point between the living room and here, he’s taken off his shirt and boots. “I thought we had to go?” I ask as I run my hands down the center of his chest until I reach the button on his pants. I undo it and push his pants down to his ankles.

  “Everything can wait,” he breathes into my ear. He pushes me higher up on the bed as he climbs over me, hovering like low hanging fruit. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down so I can touch his lips to mine. I can’t get over how big his hands feel on my body and how they cover so much of my skin at the same time. I enjoy how they feel cold at first, yet instantly heat my skin, but what’s best is that he knows how to use his hands like no one has ever used them on me before. Everything he does is slow and meticulous, like he knows how to work me—he knows the right buttons, the right order to push them in and when to press a little harder. His trigger finger, though, that’s my favorite finger. He knows how to use that best. It has the ability to fire me off, causing a fury of heat to rush through every nerve in my body. I reach
into my drawer for a condom and he takes it from me, tearing the packet open quickly, never taking his eyes off of me. I love how he bites down on his bottom lip when he puts it on, and how he releases that lip when he slips inside of me. Then there’s the way he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw as he thrusts in and out. I don’t feel any sort of pain with him, and it’s amazing.

  With the rhythm of our movements controlled, his lips fall to my neck where he sucks, bites and licks—each contact driving a new sensation through my body. While there was a time when I dreaded hands touching me anywhere, I have a hard time making it a day without wanting to feel his hands everywhere. Getting a taste of what this is supposed to feel like makes me realize how much I’ve been missing out on.

  His hands tighten around my thighs as he sits up, pulling me to him. I get a better view of every one of his expressions, thoughts, and sensations, and I feel like I’m in his head.

  “I’m not going to make it much longer,” I cry.

  “Finish for me,” he growls.

  That’s all it takes. I grip my hands around the bed frame, needing something to hold tightly as my body completely unravels and melts into the bed. When I go limp, he plunges into me a few more times, allowing me to watch him in that moment. The look on his face is one only for me. It’s like he just experienced heaven for the first time. Except it’s the same look every time and I love that look. I love what I do to him. I love what he does to me. I think I might love him. Is this what love is?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CURRENT DAY

  KEMPER

  THIS DOESN’T GET OLD. Her arms wrap around my waist and her cheek presses up against my back as I rev the engine. I’ll remember this too—the moment before I step on the gas I inhale sharply, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla from her hair. “Ready?”

  While she says, “Yes,” I’m not sure if she’s truly ready for what I have planned tonight. I’ve been thinking about this a lot and it seems like the best and most simple solution. It’s almost like this is the only option. I’m usually really bad at making big decisions. Every time I end up at a crossroad, I think everything through thoroughly and weigh all of my options before deciding, but this time it seems pretty clear and I couldn’t be surer of it. I just don’t know how she’ll feel.

  “Where are we going?” she yells over the wind.

  “Base,” I yell back. She might think I’m showing her how she’s going to get to work tomorrow, but that’s not the case.

  The night is perfect. I just hope I don’t ruin it.

  I drive up to the beach where I took her the first night we were both running away from life, which is ironic since I’m in a mad dash to the life I want us to have now. She hops off the bike and grabs my hand. “I love it here,” she says, pulling me toward the beach. We drop down into the sand in front of the same lifeguard hut from last time. “But what’s the big secret about coming here?”

  I look out to the water, wishing I could drag this out until the moon takes its place because I need my wingman more than ever right now. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” I begin.

  I can tell my words are worrying her. She swallows hard and clasps her hands together. Looking down toward her feet, she says, “About what?” Maybe she’s thinking I’m about to end things, but what kind of asshole would I be to sleep with her, then screw her over at the beach of all places? Her past might dictate that being a plausible outcome, though.

  “Us.” I realize that word isn’t helping. This part might make her feel worse than if I were actually breaking things off with her. “I’m getting redeployed...”

  I’ve never seen anyone actually turn green, but her pale skin is definitely taking on that color. She looks up at me with torment swimming through her pretty blue eyes. I’ve known for the last few weeks, but I wanted to wait a little while to tell her. My original orders were to deploy in four months, but that changed.

  “When?” she breathes.

  “I have four weeks.”

  “That’s why you’ve been training so hard for the past few weeks?”

  “You knew?” I didn’t tell her about the extra PT and drills.

  “I knew you were more tired at the end of the day and a little stinkier,” she crinkles her nose and it gives me the slightest impression that she might take this better than I thought. “How long will you be gone?” Now the worry is back and she’s clutching her arms around her stomach. I’m causing her pain and it’s the last thing I wanted to do. I don’t want to hurt her.

  “Nine months at best,” I say.

  “Could be longer?” she asks.

  “Can’t ever say for sure, Daph.” The crossroads I was worried about isn’t up to me right now. I have to give her the option of letting go or staying with me—I’m at her mercy. “This isn’t exactly why I brought you here, but I need to give you the option to say you can’t do this, because it isn’t going to be easy for either of us. Life would be a hell of a lot easier for you if you told me you couldn’t do it, but trust me when I tell you, it’s the last thing I want to hear.” When you love someone, you set them free and if they come back, blah, blah, blah...but dammit to hell, I love this girl and I don’t want to let her go.

  “I’m not that girl, Kemper.” I have no idea what that means, but I hope it doesn’t mean she can’t do this military life thing.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, sounding way less confident than I did a few minutes ago.

  “I mean, if I love someone, I will go to the ends of the Earth for them, even if that means they’re going to the other end of the Earth.” Did she just say she loves me? Is this real?

  “You love me?” I need clarification. And I want to hear it again. And again.

  “You’re my hero,” she says. “Wasn’t hard to fall in love with the man who saved me. The man who spent one night showing me that love and hate mean two very different things and there is no gray area between them. I don’t have to really think about the fact that I’d wait forever for you.”

  I pinch her chin between my fingers and close my lips softly over hers. She’s trembling and I’m not sure if it’s from what she just said or from what I just told her. Maybe it’s both. I pull away slightly, keeping very little space between us. “And because I love you too, I want to ask you something. Something incredibly crazy and stupid—but I need you to be safe when I’m not here.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks. Her voice is so soft and honeyed, like she’d agree to anything I proposed—no pun intended.

  “Be my wife.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the small ring I was able to afford. It’s not much right now, but when I can, I’ll give her the biggest rock I can find. “Call me foolish, but the second I saw you in that bar something in my head told me you were the one. I didn’t know things like that happened, but I’m following my gut on this one.”

  Her eyes go wide with surprise, her focus flashing from my eyes to the ring and back to my eyes. “You want to marry me? We’ve been together for such a short time.”

  “Yeah, Daph, I want to marry you.”

  She swallows hard as a single tear rolls out of the corner of her eye, and a smile finds her lips. “I’m going to follow my gut, too,” she says. She reaches her ring finger out to me, “I’ll be your—” she laughs this cute little laugh, “I’ll be your wife.” And now she’s smiling that smile, the one that hooked me that very first night in the bar. “This is nothing short of nuts, but I know it’s what’s right. I know that this will be a marriage that lasts forever. If you know, you know, and I don’t question fate, Kemper.”

  I place the ring on her finger and kiss her again, feeling my lonely world grow one person larger.

  “Let’s do this tomorrow,” she says. I pull her onto my lap and love the fact that she doesn’t care about all the bells and whistles. She truly just wants to be with me. Nothing else matters to her and nothing else matters to me. “You said you wanted to keep me safe?”

  I didn’t mean that
was the reason for doing this, but I did say that. “Please don’t confuse that statement with how much I want to have you in my life forever, but if we’re married, we can live together on base. You’ll be safe there and it’s close to your new job. Trent can’t get on base.” I can see she looks a little taken aback by all of this, and I’m sort of kicking myself for meshing the protection and love/marriage thing together. I should have just kept that to myself. “I swear, Daphne, one thing doesn’t have to do with the other.”

  “I believe you,” she says. “You care about me in a way that no one else ever has. I wasn’t confusing you wanting to protect me with wanting to be with me. To me, they mean the same thing.”

  “They do,” I agree. Going away and leaving her unprotected could get me killed. I wouldn’t be able to focus on what I should be focusing on overseas. I’d be worried about her and her safety back home, and I can’t be one of those guys. I need to know that everything is okay when I leave. More selfishness.

  As the minutes pass, we both stare off into the ocean, quiet and contemplative. It’s not like I hadn’t thought about this over and over. I knew this was something I wanted to do, but what I didn’t think about was having something to fight for when I’m over there. There’s more at stake than just a flakey girlfriend. Now I have a reason to make it home.

  “I hate that you have to leave,” she says. “It’s going to be hard.”

  “Just don’t tell me you’re going to write.”

  “But—“ I turn to her and press my finger up to her lips.

  “Please.” She closes her eyes and nods her head in agreement.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CURRENT DAY

  Dear Journal,

  Holy crap. Kemper asked me to be his wife. And as crazy as it is, I said yes!

  He’s also getting deployed. I was afraid of this. My first instinct was to make all of the promises he’d want to hear, or I thought he wanted to hear, but he told me not to tell him I’m going to write while he’s away. I get it, after what Tara did to him. But I am going to write. Every day. And I’m going to sit by the phone and the mailbox, worried to all hell for however long he’s gone. God, I hope I’m strong enough to endure this.