Obviously, I told her it’s all well and good if she isn’t interested, but that like I’d said earlier, I’m pretty sure she misses it.
I added, “It’s important to me that you know you don’t have to miss it for the rest of your life.”
Her expression dimmed, and I wanted to kiss light back into it.
Couldn’t, though, so I resolved to use my words instead.
She said there’s so much she can’t do anymore after taking so many years off, and I assured her that talent doesn’t just disappear. Told her how awesome she still looks to me and that not being able to do everything isn’t the same as not being able to do anything.
Next, she worried about potentially injuring, and likely embarrassing, herself by trying to keep up with dancers who didn’t take a decade-long break. I countered with the smart and reasonable idea to start with an easy class of some kind, not an advanced one. Getting back into the swing of things even on a beginner level would reawaken her skills.
“People pick back up on activities after a long break all the time,” I said, “and other people start brand new ones after never trying them before. There’s no rule that says you can’t dance if you want to.”
That made her pause long enough for hope to start gracing her features.
She thought about it for a minute while I obeyed Theo’s interjected order for me to copy her random dance steps.
Once I had made a veritable yet happy fool of myself, Theo turned her attention to getting a drink and I turned my attention back to Noelle, whose eyes were full of daydreams.
“You really think I could do it?” she asked me softly.
I promised her, “I don’t have a single doubt about it.”
The way she looked at me made me feel like I had brought joy to some deep, shadowed place in her.
And like dance wasn’t the only thing she was doing wishful thinking about.
With my lips tingling beneath her gaze, I had a feeling she was fighting the more-than-friends manner in which she wanted to show her appreciation to me, like I’d been doing with her.
It shouldn’t happen again.
Neither of us said it out loud. Not then. And not later when it was time for me to leave and we traded pressing cheek kisses for the first time in torturous weeks. And not during our phone call at the very end of the night.
I don’t know why we didn’t say it. Why we didn’t even try to.
Of all the things that need to be put out there between us, ‘We should keep being careful,’ is an easy one. It’s the easiest one. It’s an extension of an agreement we already made. It’s not scary or intense. Yet we held it back like it was difficult to admit.
I guess in its own way, it was—at least for me.
I have come to terms with the fact that I’m in trouble.
It’s a brand-new day now and I’m sitting in my car outside my apartment, trying to get myself together before I go collect her and Theo so we can eat lunch at her parents’ house.
It’s going to be awesome, I already know.
It’s going to pull me in that much more.
It’s going to be impossible to resist being taken over by this immense warmth in my chest, no matter what I do—I don’t even think bailing on our plans would cool it.
The easy perfection of me and Noelle with each other and of us with Theo…I want it even more than I did yesterday, which was more than the day before, which was more than the day before that.
I can’t stop it.
Measuring out a breath, I stare at where my hands are gripping the steering wheel. Then I breathe back in, as slowly and steadily as I can manage. Then I exhale again.
And I murmur weakly, “Cliff, I’m….”
The rest of the words get stuck in my throat.
My stomach wrenches with guilt and sadness, and I feel like my eyes might water.
I close them and work on more of those controlled breaths.
While I do that, a piece of a recent conversation with someone else comes drifting into my mind: ‘Anytime you need me to lend an ear, you got it.’
The offer still makes me nervous for a couple different reasons, but I’m not sure anymore that it makes me nervous enough to go on keeping this situation to myself.
In fact, there’s a pretty big question sitting in my mind that I think I would like an unbiased opinion on.
Maybe I’ll take Blaze up on that offer soon.
I nod to myself and get the car moving.
Near the front of the apartment complex, I realize I haven’t checked my mailbox in a couple days. May as well stop and do that now so I don’t forget again; another minute to clear my head would benefit me anyway.
Aaaand my head isn’t the only thing that gets cleared when I open the little metal door for my unit.
“Ah, no!” I exclaim. Coupon sheets and colorful junk flyers are slithering out onto the ground. I try to catch them and my envelopes at the same time, but shit is getting away from me—
“Ha,” comes a dry laugh. “Here.”
I smell the woman’s cigarette before I see her.
Ugh. Hate that smell.
Still, I look over and see she’s snatching up the mail trying to dance away from me on the light breeze, and I’m thankful for that. It would suck to have to chase it all down by myself.
“I appreciate it,” I tell her when she hands me the glossy papers I couldn’t grab.
She nods idly as she scans over me. Then she takes a drag from her cigarette.
I’m not looking forward to being nearby when she blows that smoke out, so I hurry to lock the mailbox back up.
Just as I’m stepping away, she says, “I know you.”
I pause and look back. She’s still studying me.
Only now do I bother noting much about her. She’s older and blonde, wearing a nice business-casual outfit and a lot of makeup.
She doesn’t look familiar to me at all, though. I can’t place her from anywhere I’ve been.
Politely, I reply, “I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else. Sorry about that. Have a good—”
“No, I’m not confused.” Her gesture at me doubles as a tap of ash off the end of her cigarette. “What’s your name?”
If this is what it takes…. “Beckett.”
She nods again, looks me over again.
Then she starts turning away, repeating, “Beckett.”
I watch her saunter to a mailbox farther down and pull out her keys.
Nothing else happens except for her checking her mail. Even after several seconds.
It’s like I’m not here.
Uh, okay. Did she change her mind after all or what?
Guess so, because she’s heading farther away from me with her envelopes and her cigarette.
Maybe she’s embarrassed to have insisted on knowing me when she doesn’t. I know that’s how I would feel.
Shrugging to myself, I make sure all my own belongings are in hand. Then I head back to my car.
To my relief, as I get going to Noelle’s house, I no longer feel so much like breaking at the thought of my feelings for her. I just feel ready to see her, ready to enjoy my time with her family.
Hope I don’t smell like smoke when I get there.
I decide to roll a couple windows down just in case—and, of course, the junk mail in my passenger seat starts trying to flutter around. I roll my eyes at it.
Hey, I wonder if Noelle got these same food coupons in the mail. If there are any for a kid’s meal, Theo would like that.
—
“Oh no—here, honey!” Gail walks off with flapping hands, presumably to get some first-aid supplies. “I got some bandages and stuff right over here! You poor thing!”
“I’m okay,” I reply as I head for the kitchen sink.
She scoffs in disagreement.
Yeah, all right, the bright red blood oozing from the cut on my left index finger doesn’t back me up much.
What I really meant is it’s not the worst wound I’ve
ever had. But I’m not sure she knows about the darkest parts of my younger years, and that’s not very good conversation for a happy lunch.
“I’m so sorry about the avocado,” I add, turning on the cold water. With a wince, I let it run over the knife cut. “I don’t think I got blood on it, but obviously we need to throw it out now, and those are kind of expensive. I can pay—”
“Beckett Slater, you hush that up! You’re hurt, which is what—”
“You’re hurt?” Noelle interrupts from behind me.
I look over my shoulder.
She’s back from stepping out to the car and she’s rushing to me, worry blooming across her face. “What happened? Let me help!”
Yep, there she is. My girl.
Cliff’s girl.
Our girl.
Noelle Bright, making a guy feel like he’s being hugged away from anything painful just with her words.
She stops at my side to inspect the cut beneath the thin stream of water.
“Well,” I say, “I’d like to pretend it’s a battle wound—you know, like I was defending your mom from some terrible threat that appeared out of thin air. But the truth is those knife skills I taught you betrayed me a little bit.”
I watch her spend a second stifling her amusement. Then she sighs and tips a sympathetic glance up at me. “Really? They did?”
“Yeah. I was dicing up some avocado for the salad and got distracted asking your mom something. My grip on the knife loosened a little too much, so it got away from me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Gail huffs over the sound of her shuffling around in the cabinet. “Damn it all! Where is that stuff? The Band-Aids and Neosporin should be right here!”
She abandons her search and heads toward the back door. I turn the water off, and Noelle reaches for a paper towel. As I take it and wrap it around my finger, I hear her mom calling something into the back yard, where Grant and Theo are.
He calls something back to her, and she huffs again.
“Hallway bathroom,” she tells us. “I don’t know what it’s doing in there, but….”
“Okay, Mama,” Noelle says. She starts turning me away from the sink. “We’ll go find it.”
“You got it, honey?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
I smile gratefully at Gail. “Thank you for everything.” For trying to help and for not being mad at me.
She smiles back in her warm way. “Of course. Now, I mean it, don’t you start feeling bad about that avocado. It’s not worth more than you are.”
What a fantastic family this is.
She goes outside with the others, and Noelle trucks us to the guest bathroom—where, sure enough, the first-aid stuff is in the cabinet hidden in the mirror.
Once her hands are clean, I unwrap my finger, and she frowns sadly.
“Oh no, Beck,” she murmurs. “That looks like it hurts.”
Although it does sting and is still bleeding a bit, I assure her, “It’s not so bad.”
Understanding softens the pinch between her brows, but not very much.
“Yeah, well…. Come here.” She uncaps the Neosporin.
We’re quiet while she starts patching me up.
It’s been so long since she last did something like this for me.
I didn’t suffer at the hands of my parents after that one particularly gory time she helped me with—I didn’t see them often enough by then for their cruelty to be visible to her the way it always was to Cliff. All Noelle could do for me regarding them was support me when unwelcome phone calls came in and offer encouragement when my anxiety and self-deprecation flared up.
So the kinds of injuries she tended to were ones from everyday things like this, or from me being goofily drunk with Cliff and clumsily ending up with a scrape on my arm, or from being in toddler Theo’s way when she was throwing a fit. But regardless of what ever physically hurt me, her kindness and desire to help meant a lot to me as far as gestures go. They made me nervous in the beginning since I wasn’t used to anyone taking care of me in such ways, but that turned into comfort before long. She didn’t have to care, didn’t have to spend time and energy tending to me, another adult…especially when her coming out of her post-wreck darkness overlapped with our few injuries still needing some attention. Caring was in her nature, though; she was good, and I could trust her.
Here and now, her help still means a lot to me, but there’s this other facet to my appreciation too. The old me didn’t dwell on how gentle her touches were or how soft her skin was, but this me can think of little else. The cradle of her left hand beneath mine is delightfully feminine. The dab of her ointment-laden fingertip has been so light on my cut that I haven’t felt it. After she carefully places the Band-Aid where she wants it, even the motion of her smoothing it around my finger is full of grace that the tiny hairs on my body just freaking love.
“There you go,” she half-whispers.
“Thank you.”
She nods. “Anytime. You know that.”
I watch those eyes shyly move up from my hand, up the front of my shirt, up to my lips.
My pulse is picking up.
What sweet havoc this woman wreaks on me.
There’s nothing I want more than for her to overwhelm me with it.
It shouldn’t happen again.
Now she meets my eyes. She inhales unevenly.
Trying to breathe through whatever havoc I’m wreaking on her in return? Maybe. Preparing to say our time away from her family has ended? Could be.
Her hand stutters up my forearm, spilling sparks over the skin exposed from my shirt sleeves being rolled up.
It unravels me.
I’m the one who speaks in a quiet rush: “Will you kiss me back? If I kiss you, will you—?”
She’s nodding more ardently than before, her gaze flying all over me.
I go forward and tug her into me, sparking all over again where her fingertips press into my arm and where the others grasp at my shoulder and where her sigh collides with my lips.
This shouldn’t happen again, but it does.
—
If Blaze was surprised by me texting to ask if he had an hour to spare this very afternoon, he didn’t say so. He just responded in his usual friendly way and suggested grabbing a drink.
I was glad for that—for his support as well as his idea.
A drink is sure to help me open up the way I need to.
By the time my hours with Noelle and her family are over and I’ve met up with my colleague, the new thought on repeat in my head is, You can do this.
Across the booth from me, Blaze finishes ordering his beer, and I keep rubbing my clammy hands along the thighs of my jeans, taking care to hold my cut finger up out of the way.
The old parts of me and new parts of me are clashing a little bit. On one hand, I haven’t confided anything about anything in someone who wasn’t Noelle or Cliff, so it makes me anxious to be bringing such a personal matter to a work friend. But a strange comfort is here too; Blaze is a nice dude, and I believe he really does want to lend support however he can, and it could be valuable that he’s not as close to this as Noelle and I are.
Once our server is gone, I repeat something else: “Thanks for doing this.”
“No problem!” he replies easily, as if he hasn’t assured me of that three or four times already between planning earlier and now. In fact, he chuckles and adds, “I told you I’m good to talk anytime you need it, and that was the truth.”
Feeling somewhere between grateful and apologetic, I toss him a smile. “Yeah.”
“So what’s up? Or you wanna wait until we’ve got our drinks?”
I draw a breath and glance around the bar area of this cool little eatery I didn’t even know we had in town. My brain doesn’t absorb much, just that the volume of the other patrons’ chatter is at a comfortable level, so talking won’t be a challenge. I won’t have to shout across our wooden-table confessional, but I also won’t have to try
to stay quiet.
“No pressure,” Blaze adds. “I’m good with whatever.”
I sigh out the breath I’ve been hanging on to and finally ease up on rubbing my thighs. Then I decide to at least get this going, even if I really would like my glass of Blood & Honey before the heaviest stuff comes up.
“I, uh…want your advice on something.” I clear my throat. “Something personal.”
He nods thoughtfully. “All right. This the thing you mentioned you’ve been struggling with lately?”
I nod too.
“Okay, great. I hope I can help.”
So do I.
After another clear of my throat, I take a few moments to think.
I decide to start at the beginning.
“Just for background…. I kind of had a rough childhood. My dad was a bastard with a lot of anger issues, and my mom wasn’t any better. I grew up being treated like I wasn’t worth anything—being told I wasn’t worth anything. Those aren’t memories I really wanna hash out, but it’s important that you know I felt like I was in hell when I was young. Looking back, I know my mom and dad must’ve had a lot of unchecked issues and that’s why their marriage and their parenting were such garbage, but kids don’t have that perspective, you know? They get treated like crap by piece-of-crap people and they think it’s their fault ‘cause that’s what they get told. Then they start turning on themselves ‘cause it’s so easy to do, especially if there’s no one to stand between them and the onslaught and be like, ‘Hey, don’t listen to this. Don’t believe that. It’s not true.’”
I feel a prickle in my left cheek and shoulder and right shin and the couple other places I know I’ve gotten stuck with scars. Blink at flickers of old insults I suffered all that time ago—being called a pussy and useless and told to quit crying when I hurt because I needed to learn that no one in the real world cared how I felt.
Then I think about the day that changed my life forever.
“I don’t know if you grew up around here or not, but there were a few different elementary schools in the main district, and once kids got to the sixth grade, they all went to the same middle school. So at the start of that year, there were a lot of kids in my grade who I hadn’t seen before, and I was so scared. I didn’t know how to be outgoing ‘cause I was terrified of saying the wrong thing and either embarrassing myself or upsetting someone. Being looked at made me anxious ‘cause it felt like being put under a microscope just like at home. All on top of new teachers and harder classes and puberty and all that crap, you know? It just…. God, I’ll never forget that just a single day into the school year, I already felt like I was trapped.”
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