River's Heart

by Shayne Ford

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, River...” she mutters, and my pulse begins racing. “What’s going to happen when we go back?” she asks.

  “Nothing bad is going to happen,” I say firmly.

  And that’s a blunt lie. Everything will happen. Ron, Nora, random people, lack of time, distance. I’ve seen her trust shattered, so easily, when I’m away from her, even for a day.

  “We can only take it one step at a time, baby...” I say and look at her. “Now, you know why I don’t want to pull you into the spotlight with me. Once we become a public item, they’ll come after you. They’ll spill misery in your life and mine. They’ll do everything in their power to crush you. ”

  “I know,” she mutters, and then she lays her head on her arm and raises her eyes to me. “I hope you’re right,” she says.

  I lower my head and kiss her softly, my fingers trailing the side of her face as her hand splays on my chest and her eyes tell me the story of her heart.

  Her lips quiver with emotion.

  Coasting my hand down her body, I gently caress her, exploring her with the tenderness of a first-time touch.

  Warm, she responds to me, wrapped in her affection for me, opening the door to a sanctuary of love.

  She’s beautiful, and so in love, my heart hurts.

  “I love you, River,” she says quietly, and we kiss again.

  Together we journey to a place I’ve never been before, a place where time stops. Only for us.

  She truly feels like home.

  Early morning, I sneak out of the hotel and head to the shore.

  Wisps of fog hang low, hovering over a blanket of freshly sifted snow and the somber stretch of dark water.

  The wind blows razors into my skin as I walk along the shore. Shrouded in fog, the Inn stands tall and silent in the distance.

  My phone chimes in my pocket. I fish it out and read the message. I text Love back. She still undecided and keeps going back and forth.

  Me: We’ll talk when you get out of there.

  There are other messages. From Steve, Ron, Thalia. One from Jay. Long and explanatory. Spending some time away helped him understand he’s the cause of his problems.

  Either that or Ohio sucks big time. He seems genuinely regretful. For his own good, I hope he’s sincere.

  Ron’s messages bleed questions and Steve’s text brim with optimism. Despite being without Cassie, Thalia enjoys spending time in Idaho.

  I reply to all and tuck my phone back in my pocket.

  On second thought, I pull it back out.

  This time is as good as any to talk to him.

  “Hey,” I say, cold.

  “Hey.”

  Jay’s voice sounds warmer than mine, yet hesitant.

  I pause a moment, weighing my words.

  “How are things home?” I ask, flat.

  “Good,” he says cryptically, still unsure which way I go.

  “Listen, Jay––”

  “River?”

  I stop.

  “Go ahead,” he says in a fit of chivalry.

  “I spoke to Ron...” I say, and he stays quiet, waiting for me to continue. “Whatever went down between us, I never questioned your skill or passion for this band... The thing is, he wants you back,” I mutter, and he still doesn’t say a word. “But––”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, cutting me off, and it’s my turn to wait. “I know I was a jerk. I purposely did what I did... With Taylor and Layla... I always knew it wasn’t your fault, but it hurt me so much it was hard to admit to myself,” he says in one breath. “I don’t want your women. And I’m happy that you got your second chance with someone like Layla. You’re really lucky to have a real shot at her. All I want is to be back in the band, and play. That’s all that matters to me, right now. Nothing else does,” he says with a strained voice.

  I stay silent, letting his words sink in.

  “Are we good?” he asks.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Thanks, man. Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas, to you too,” I say somewhat relieved, and end the call.

  “River?”

  I turn.

  Layla waves at me in the distance, her eyes sparkling with joy. She hurries to me, skidding on the ice, struggling to keep her balance.

  I open my arms and catch her. She presses her cold cheek against mine, her smiling eyes melting my heart. She hugs me tightly before she breaks away and looks at me.

  “Hey. I’m hungry, and the breakfast is not ready,” she says, her impatience making me smile.

  “Really? Well... We can’t use the dining room after last night,” I say amused.

  “Oh, my God! My dress...” she says, her fingers splaying over her lips.

  I let her simmer a moment.

  “Your dress is in the room, steamed and ready to wear, if you care to take it for another twirl,” I say, and she blushes. “Food should be in the room. We’ll eat, and then we’ll study that old ceiling, especially the one above our bed,” I say, smirking.

  Her eyes light up.

  “Is that a threat?’

  I pause a moment, studying her face, my eyes darting back and forth between her eyes and her lips.

  “It’s a promise,” I say, grabbing her hand.

  “Wait.”

  She steps in front of me and runs her finger at the corner of my eye, brushing off a tear.

  “It’s cold,” I say, and she searches my eyes, looking for the truth. I give her a kiss to shift her focus away from me. I’m not sure she’s buying it. “Let’s go,” I mutter and pull her toward the Inn.

  A smell of burning wood and freshly brewed coffee fills the the room. The breakfast is set on the table.

  She warms up her hands next to the fire for a few moments, and then she fills her plate with food and sinks into a chair.

  I lean against the window sill, my eyes trained on her.

  She looks up at me.

  “You know... I don’t even have your phone number,” she says, her eyes filled with the light of a grin.

  I bite my lip to fight back a smile.

  “Okay... You’ll get my phone number.”

  I walk to the couch, grab her phone, and add my number to her contacts.

  “What else?” I ask, strolling back to the window.

  A shadow slips over her face, chasing her smile away.

  “When do you leave?” she asks, tension flashing in her voice.

  My smile dies out.

  “Two weeks from now.”

  She lowers her eyes, absently picking up blueberries from her plate.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “When?”

  “Two months or so...”

  “You could forget me.”

  “You might not wait for me.”

  Her eyes glint pain.

  “I’ve waited for you long before I met you,” she says, and I look at her, speechless, and then I move my eyes away.

  “I’m not going to forget you...” I say, striding across the room for the second time.

  I pick up my jacket and scoop out a jewelry box. I stop behind her, brush her hair to one side, and set the new necklace around her neck. An engraved dog tag dangles between her breasts.

  I pick up another one, similar to hers. Yanking off my old tags, I slide it on my necklace.

  “These are reminders for both of us...”

  She reads the words engraved on her tag. Trust. River.

  “What does it say on yours?” she asks.

  “Layla. One.”

  A blush sets on her face.

  “Are you going to wear a tag with my name?” she asks, surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “What if people ask whose name is on the tag? Women, for instance.”

  “There will be no women.”

  She shoots me an incredulous look.

  “Not in the way you think, anyway. If they ask, I’ll tell them that Layla is my dog,” I say.

  A grin glints
across her lips.

  “It’s not so far from the truth,” she says, and we start to chuckle.

  “I have to fly back to LA tomorrow night,” I say, delivering more bad news.

  Her smile drops from her face.

  “I’ll be back on Thursday.”

  “What’s Thursday?”

  “Ron’s birthday party.”

  She sets her muffin on her plate.

  Here comes the first test.

  “Am I supposed to be there?” she asks, a mix of angst and irritation in her voice.

  “I don’t know. Would you like to?” I toss back at her, crippled by my own tension.

  My words sound like crap, and they’re not exactly an invitation. Of course, I want her there, but I want her with me, and that’s not possible right now.

  “I’m sure he wants you there,” I say, not making things much better.

  Her eyes bore into mine, registering the emotion on my face.

  “Do you want me there?”

  “Yes. You know I do, but...” I say, running out of words as I try to offer her a meaningful explanation.

  “I got it,” she says curtly, anger streaming in her voice, and I can’t really blame her.

  “Layla?!”

  “That’s okay.... I know it’s not perfect... I’ll think about it,’” she says with a strained voice. “Does anyone know about us? Ron? Anyone?”

  “Not that I know of. What about your friend?”

  “Nora? No, she doesn’t know.”

  I amble to the table and sink into a chair. I place my elbows on the table, and clasp my fingers under my chin, silently examining her.

  Nervous, she glances at me.

  “I’m not going to freak out,” she mutters.

  I raise an eyebrow, and her shoulders slump.

  “All right... all right...I’m trying not to. Nothing bad can happen. Right?” she asks, barely concealing her worry.

  “Nothing bad will happen,” I say trying to instill some confidence in her, perfectly aware that it’s a lie.

  I’m sure we both know that it is, but we’re sailing right through it, smiling as if it’s not the crap that it is.

  Setting the napkin to the side, she pushes her chair back, a different expression sliding onto her face, and a small grin coming to her lips.

  “I think I’m going to take you up on that promise...”

  Drinking her in, I give her a lustful smile.

  “I’m ready to deliver,” I say.

  We fill most of our time together with what we know best right now, loving each other, at the same time, knowing full well that this is all we have.

  She loves me with reckless abandonment, her body surrendering to mine, her heart beating for me, her soul irreversibly wrapping around mine.

  She’s all mine, and she gives me all she has while I absorbs everything, hungry for her and the love she has for me, painfully aware that the time is running out.

  I pull away from her, climb out of bed and slip into the shower.

  Half an hour later I walk back into the bedroom and start looking for my clothes. Buried under the cover, she’s still asleep.

  I collect my jeans and my shirt and pat the pockets for my phone. I glance around, trying to remember where I saw it last time.

  A random thought prompts me to search under the bed. The screen flashes a blue light. I snatch it off the floor, pull my clothes on and walk out the door.

  The hostess greets me in the dining room.

  “Good morning, Mr. Steel. Everything is ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  I slide into a chair and start checking my messages on the phone, once in a while glancing out the window. Bright sunlight pours over the water whisking the gloomy clouds away.

  I shift my focus to the screen. Two messages grab my attention. Thalia comes to New York for Ron’s birthday party, and Love has finally left her husband. I truly hope she doesn’t change her mind. I’ll need to see her when I go back to LA.

  I’m through typing a few messages when Layla walks in.

  It takes only a quick glance to realize that something is off. I study her furtively.

  Her eyes are dark, avoiding mine. I suppress my impulse to question her. I eat in silence, he mood getting worse by the moment. A bad feeling creeps up on me, and yet I wait for her to sort through her feelings, holding little hope that it will happen.

  None of us speak much as we get closer to the moment of departure.

  By the time we’re all packed and pull away from the Inn, her eyes are misty with tears, and I begin to feel like shit.

  Hours later, she gives me a rushed hug in front of her apartment building, hops out the car faster than I can utter words, and vanishes out the door.

  A snapshot of her face, veiled by dark thoughts, etches on my memory as she runs up the stairs.

  Our time together already begins to feel like an ephemeral dream.

  7

  The club is crammed, and way noisier than I expected.

  A couple of days short of New Year's Eve, people are in a festive mood. Ron struts from one guest to another, glowing like a lamppost.

  The bastard has his reasons, and I say it with all my love. Accompanied by his twenty-three-year-old fiancé, he’s shaking hands and cutting deals between sips of fine liquor and bits of casual conversation.

  This is his world, and he adores it.

  To say everyone I know is in the room, is a gross understatement. Good thing I’m not far from my suite, and I can pull a disappearance act at the drop of a hat.

  As hard as it is to admit, I’m nervous as hell.

  I spoke to Layla last night, the few days we spent apart quickly rising a wall of coldness between us. That’s all I feared. Her answers were clipped. Her mood was foul. And to be honest, I wasn’t much better.

  She didn’t give me a straight answer, so I really don’t know whether she comes to the party or not. As of right now, it’s anybody’s guess.

  Few of my ex-flings show up. They smile and wink, cueing me in on their unbridled affection for me. I’m doing my best to stay away from them.

  As I pull into a private corner, my gaze meets Alana’s stare.

  Seemingly, I’m still at the top of her most wanted list. Unfortunately, she’s not the kind that gives up easily. To make things worse, she’s now part of our business team, so she’s set to be around for a while.

  Lana might have had a crazy streak and a fixation with publicity, but she was nowhere close to Alana’s level of sophistication.

  Alana is the kind of woman who doesn’t mind competitors simply because she rejoices taking them out, one by one. The woman is relentless when it comes to chasing men, and she just doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.

  For now, the guests standing next to me make it hard for her to approach me, so she’s mapping her territory waiting for an opportunity.

  I can read the woman like an open book. She may be a master of seduction, but I’m no beginner either.

  Time slips by, and I begin to lose hope that Layla would show up. Ready to wrap it up, my gaze swings to the entrance one last time.

  And that’s when my jaw hits the floor.

  Fashioning one of her floor length coats, Layla stands next to Steve, both not far from the door.

  For someone who detests public attention, she sure gets a lot of it. People swivel their heads as if she’s a rockstar, and that’s before Steve peels the coat off her shoulders.

  She sparkles in a teasing black metallic dress that barely covers her ass. On cue, men straighten their backs, thrust their chests out and suck in their bellies. The women follow suit, arching their spines.

  Oblivious to me, she glides away, her eyes darting back and forth as she starts looking for Nora.

  Offering a deaf ear to one of my interlocutors, I let my eyes follow her. Genuine surprise washes over Nora’s face when she catches sight of her friend. She didn’t know whether Layla would show up either.

  As
Nora drools over Layla’s dress and her gladiator boots, my memory does a trick on me, swiftly reminding me how good she looks wearing only those damn boots.

  Hard below my waist, I’m adjusting my position while nodding politely to the person on my right, agreeing to something I can only perceive as static.

  My mind spins off its axis, becoming more preoccupied with what she wears underneath that dress if anything at all.

  The last thought spills more heat in my blood, and my groin problem is getting worse, and by worse, I mean bigger, so I decide to take a short trip across the room to level my blood flow and irrigate other parts of my body as well, hoping to ease the pressure between my legs.

  A few strides put me near her.

  In what seems an already good tradition, her dress has a deep plunging back neckline, and drapes teasingly on her backside.

  Dexterously, I slide my hand down her back and slip my fingers inside her dress meeting nothing but the silk of her tight rear.

  Shit. I may need a fire extinguisher to put out the fire in my pants.

  Her body trembles under my touch, yet she doesn’t flinch. Without looking at me, she slowly tilts her head to the left as I lean closer and whisper in her ear.

  “Hey. It’s good to see you here.”

  A barely perceptible shiver races through her body as my lips briefly touch her skin.

  Swiftly, I pull away and strut back to my corner, her stare burning a hole in my back.

  As I settle in my booth, I catch Alana’s gaze. A devilish smile spills over her face.

  Not good.

  She knows I never pursue women, and if I made an exception, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that woman means something to me.

  Knowing she has competition, she can complicate things in the worst possible way. I’m sure Alana knows a thing or two on how to make a woman back away.

  She casts me the sultriest gaze from her repertoire, ready to hit on me. It’s safe to say I’m the only reason she’s here tonight.

  The skintight dress squeezes her worse than a trip with the subway at the rush hour, and the extra long lashes look like lamp shades from where I stand.

  Sure enough, she pushes up to her feet, stretches and curves her tight little body, and starts moving toward me, undulating like a snake.