Authors: Cora Carmack
“Thanks, Max. I’m good now.”
All I wanted to do was get home and take a long, cold shower, followed by a really hot one to ease the stiffness in my back and arms.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. Her hands came up to rest on her hips . . . hips that I’d held in my hands before this all went down.
“I’m just going to head home and get cleaned up.”
Milo said, “Uh, Cade, you live at least twenty minutes away and your face is leaking. I think we should get you cleaned up here.”
Max’s fingers found my chin, and she drew my face down toward hers. “I’m going to get a first aid kit. Don’t you dare leave.”
I was too tired to argue, so Max disappeared, and Milo led me toward the bathroom at the back of the bar.
“Damn, Cade. Who knew you liked the feisty ones?”
I wasn’t sure if I liked “feisty ones,” but I liked her. A lot.
There was an obnoxiously long line for the bathroom, and everyone was either too drunk or too rude to care that I was bleeding. I leaned against the back wall, tilted my head back against the brick, and closed my eyes. In a shocking turn of events, Milo kept his mouth shut until Max returned.
She said, “Bad news. Our first aid kit is pretty much empty.”
I opened my eyes and focused on her. Shoving off the wall, I swayed slightly. Max caught one arm while Milo caught the other.
“I’ll catch a cab home,” I said. That was a lie. I didn’t have the cash for that, but it would make them happy.
Max scoffed, “Good luck finding a cab in this neighborhood.”
Milo offered to run to a drugstore and buy some stuff, but I insisted that it was too much trouble.
“Really, guys, I’m fine. I’ll splash my face with some water, and then head home. It’s not a big deal. I feel fine.” I moved toward the bathroom, but Max darted around me and placed a hand on my chest.
She was chewing on her bottom lip, wrestling with something. Her lips pulled into a straight line, and she looked up at me. “We’ll go to my place. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
I didn’t have to see Milo to know he was grinning behind me as he said, “That sounds like a
great
idea!”
I brought my hand up and covered hers that rested on my chest.
“Max, I’m okay, really.”
She glared at me, and I got the feeling that she was rarely told the word no. With her hand on my chest and mine on hers, I was all too aware of how much my body wanted to say yes.
My brain knew better.
She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “Listen, Golden Boy, I’m trying this new@ad6">
Huh. One day . . . we’d known each other one day, and she’d already picked up on the fact that I had difficulty saying no to people, especially people that needed my help.
I
was
supposed to do something out of character, though most of the things I did tonight were a little out of character. And it wasn’t like I didn’t try to say no.
“Okay.” I sighed. “But only if you take back that part about me getting my ass kicked.”
She laughed. “All right, I’ll give you that. But I totally softened him up for you.”
“Yeah, remind me not to make you mad when you’re smoking.”
There was a moment of awkwardness where we’d both already agreed, but neither of us stepped back or stopped touching the other. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat, and her hand dropped from my chest.
I said good-bye to Milo, and ignored the thumbs-up he gave me over Max’s head. I waited while she slipped on a coat and grabbed her things. She explained to one of the other bartenders what had happened. I thought maybe they wouldn’t let her leave, but after a short conversation, she was back at my side and ready to go.
She smiled up at me, and I was nervous. With all the pain and fatigue, who would have thought I’d have room for something like nerves?
“Come on,” she said. “You’re covered in blood.”
“Too gross for you?”
“Either really gross or really hot. I’m not sure which.”
She didn’t wait for a response before turning and pushing her way through the crowd toward the door. I followed at a slower pace, sure again that this was a dangerous idea.
Her attacker and Benny were gone when we returned outside, and someone else had taken up the bouncer’s post at the door. That was probably for the best, because if I’d seen the guy who attacked her, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. I kept seeing her face, pale and in pain, and his hand on her throat. Just the memory had me ready to fight him all over again.
She linked her arm with mine and asked, “You okay?”
I nodded. I didn’t need her for balance anymore, but I wasn’t about to deny the chance to touch her. It felt natural, like we were any other couple returning home.
We were silent for the first block or so, but when I looked over, I could see the glazed look in her eye, and knew she was replaying the event in her mind. I doubted she wanted to relive it any more than I did.
“So you’re a musician?” I asked.
She nodded but didn’t reply. Her gaze was fixed on the sidewalk, and from this angle I could see red marks on her neck from his hands. I wanted nothing more than to stop and hold her in my arms, but I knew that wasn’t her style. I doubt she’d ever been the type for hugs and comfort.
So I settled for distracting her.
“I’ve written a couple of songs, you know. Not because I want to be a musician, but just because the music helps organize my thoughts.”
Iem;
font-style: normal;
font-weight: inow followed her around a corner, and though she kept her face down, I could see a small smile form on her face. “Will you sing me one?”
“Not a chance.”
“Oh, come on!” She wrapped both hands around my arm, and pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. It was so damn convincing I actually considered it for a moment, but the only song I knew by heart cut a little too close to said organ.
Tonight was the night for forgetting about Bliss, and it had been going remarkably well until now. Singing a song I wrote about her was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Maybe another time,” I said.
“I’m going to get it out of you,” she said.
I had no doubt that if anyone could, it would be her.
The silence of the street swallowed up my thoughts, and that was fine by me. I was happy to just walk with her, no thoughts or troubles to get in the way.
We passed a twenty-four-hour Laundromat, and she slowed to a stop in front of a glass door with a set of buzzers. A staircase trailed upward on the other side of the door, and she pulled the door open without a key.
“No lock?”
She shrugged. “It’s broken. I’ve been asking the landlord to fix it for weeks.”
I looked at the door while she started up the stairs.
“You know, I could probably fix it. My grandfather was a locksmith.”
She called back from the middle of the staircase, “Is there anything you can’t do, Golden Boy?” I could think of one thing. I seemed to be incapable of finding a girl who wasn’t taken.
I let the door swing shut behind me, and climbed up the stairs. We went up two flights and down a hallway before stopping at the last door on the left. She pulled her keys out of her coat pocket, and hesitated for a moment.
She took a deep breath and slid the key in, turning until it clicked. Her apartment was dark as we entered, and she threw her keys on a small table next to the door.
“Hang on a sec.”
She left me by the door to turn on a lamp a few feet away.
The light revealed an apartment that was simple, bare, and lifeless. I followed her into a tiny living room crammed with a futon and a boxy-looking love seat. There were no pictures, no knickknacks, nothing that gave any insight into the tempting creature that had entered my life this morning and hijacked it completely.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
She laid her purse down beside the couch and said, “Almost two years in this apartment, but I’ve been in Philly twice that long.”
Then why did she live like she might pack up and leave any day? There was nothing but furniture here. The only thing I saw that was even the least bit personal was a guitar case propped up in a corner.
“Take a seat, and I’ll grab some bandages and stuff.”
She started shrugging off her coat, and then sucked in a sharp breath. Her arms dropped to her side, and her face scrunched up in pain. I leapt to my feet. Her eyes were clamped shut and her teeth dug into her bottom lip.
“What is it, Max? What’s wrong?”
She whimpered slightly, and turned her back to me. She held her arms out to me like she wanted me to reem;
font-style: normal;
font-weight: inowmove her coat. I took a hold of her collar, and started to pull.
“Ah,” she whined.
The lining of her coat was wet with blood and leeched to her back.
“Shit, Max. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
Her voice was small and uneven when she answered, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”
It may not have been, but the blood had started to congeal, and taking off the coat was going to make her start bleeding again. She shifted, and even that small movement made her groan. I kept one hand on the collar of the coat and placed the other on her shoulder. “See if you can slip your arms out.”
I tried to keep the garment still, but she winced a few times as she maneuvered her arms free. I guided her to lie down on her stomach on the futon.
She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
“Just rip it off, Cade.”
I knelt beside her and pushed a lock of hair out of her face. She didn’t look nearly as brave as she sounded.
“As much as I like the idea of ripping off your clothes, I think I’d better not.”
Her cheek was pressed flat against the futon, and she was only at half sass as she said, “Your loss.”
I had no doubt about that.
“Hang on a second.”
Her kitchen was as minuscule as the living room. I started opening cabinets, looking for a bowl. Max said, “You know you could just ask and I’ll tell you where to look.”
“It’s more fun this way. Who knows what I’ll find.”
I found a large plastic bowl, and pulled it down. I turned on the tap and waited for it to get warm. I heard her laugh, and then groan on the other side of the couch.
“I hate to break it to you, but you won’t find any dirty little secrets in there. Expired milk, maybe, but that’s about it.”
I filled up the bowl and found a washcloth in a drawer by the sink. I returned to the living room and asked, “Where might I find some of these dirty little secrets, then?”
She smiled and said, “I’m taking those with me to the grave. Sorry, Golden Boy.”
I folded down the top part of the jacket, and she flinched.
“Sorry.”
Max
Y
ou were a what?”
I always enjoyed shocking people with that, and it helped to distract a little bit from the pain.
“You heard me, Golden Boy. I was a cheerleader.”
His hands paused in pulling the jacket from my back, and I was thankful for the reprieve.
“I’m trying to picture it,” he said. “But I just . . .”
He trailed off and I asked, “What? Can’t imagine me in a cheer skirt?”
“No, that’s an image that I can conjure all too easily.”
“Of course you can. Men.” I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t mind so much. There was something empowering about knowing that I could attract a guy like him. Even if he had no idea the crazy he was getting himself into.
“But seriously . . . a cheerleader?”
That seemed like a lifetime ago. A different me.
I hated thinking about the past. Every time I did, I felt heavy, like gravity had doubled and instead of just holding me to the Earth, it flattened me.
I couldn’t explain why, but the words flowed with him. I said, “I spent a long time pretending to be something I wasn’t.”
He started pulling at the material again, and I could feel the stretch of my skin followed by the trickle of fresh blood. He wiped the cloth over the cut tenderly, but my skin was so sensitive. I tried my hardest to keep from flinching when he touched me, but I failed a few times.
“At least you stopped pretending. A lot of people don’t.”
Had I really? I’d just traded one kind of pretending for another.
I needed a distraction . . . from the past and the pain. I clenched my eyelids closed, and said, “Your turn, Golden Boy. Sing for me.”
He dipped the washcloth in the bowl again, and I listened to the droplets falling as he wrung out the rag. The water was warm and soothing on my skin until he started pulling at the material again. I held my breath, and heard him start to sing.
His voice was strong and clear. He sang quietly, but the deep notes rumbled in his chest, and it gave me chills.
“No matter how close, you are always too far
My eyes are drawn everywhere you are.”
His knuckles brushed my bare back, and my muscles tensed and shivered like a plucked guitar string. My breath caught in my throat, and I barely felt him pull my coat the rest of the way off.
He rewet the rag, and Iatted me on the shoulderit">FINDING IT waited for him to start singing again, but he didn’t. He sponged at one scrape, and then another . . . silent.
“Is that all I get?” I asked. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“As bizarre and . . . stimulating your cheertastic confession was, I’m going to need a little bit more before I start baring my soul.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. The greedy bastard.
I gave an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t think of what else to tell you.”
“I believe the word
dirty
was thrown around earlier.”
I was unnerved by how scared I was at the thought of spilling my secrets to him. Normally, I could care less what people thought of me, but with him it was different.
“I got my first kiss from my babysitter’s son when I was five and he was seven. He kissed me and then pulled my hair.”
He chuckled, and dabbed at a scrape just above the waistline of my skirt.
“We have different definitions of dirty.”