Even when he slips out, jacket draped over his arm, gloves stuffed into the jacket pocket, helmet dangling from his fingers, lingering on the doorstep for just a moment before he walks more silently down those metal steps than any human in big boots should be able to do, it doesn’t change the truth.
He’s so much more than just a hero in my mind.
He’s as real as our connection.
I belong to him. I have for so many years.
Chapter 14
Shadow
I’ve had a few days to process what happened. All the ways I went wrong, even if it felt right. I knew better. I thought I knew myself. I was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I thought that a few daysandthe hour and a half drive into the city, with the open sky and the wind rushing around me as I pushed the limits of speed, going too fast, unable to slow down, would clear my mind.
It didn’t.
I thought meeting Fawnie and Preacher and their family here was a terrible idea, but one that I could prepare myself for anyway. Mentally. Emotionally. In every other way.
Yeah, no.
I feel like I’m crashing someone’s wedding, or showing up at a party uninvited. Except I was invited. I have a ticket. And I don’t want to think about weddings. I already have no idea how I’ll look Preacher in the face after sleeping with his daughter, let alone the eye again.
I got here too soon. I didn’t keep my bike restrained. If someone had stopped me, I probably would have lost my license, but no one did, and once I hit the city and got into real traffic, I behaved. Mostly.
This isn’t the building the symphony uses in the colder months, but I guess they have a full program they put on here during the spring, summer, and fall. It’s an open venue. Though there are bleachers with flip-up chairs like you’d see at a football stadium, the wide open space in the center with the stage set up and all the instruments placed, waiting and ready, as well as the thousands of flickering candles, keeps it from having a sporty feel. As Fawnie said, they’re electric, not real flame. I guess they’re easier to control that way. I lied about being afraid of fire, I mean I never want to walk through flames again, but I don’t freak out at the club cookouts. That’s if I go. Which is pretty much never.
I perch on the edge of the uncomfortable plastic seat, my elbows resting on my knees. About as much of me hidden as is possible but there are quite a few people here already, and the weight of their stares settles on me, crushing me, even if they’re not looking my way at all. I know it’s mostly my imagination. My mother always said I was trouble and that the scars just showed everyone who I really was on the inside. As a twenty-one-year-old with self-esteem issues, that kind of thing sticks with you.
My foot starts to tap in my heavy boot. I shove my elbow down harder to stop it, but it’s useless when my whole body is vibrating.
It’s been buzzing uncomfortably since I left Fawnie’s place a few nights ago.
She wanted to see me. To touch me. She touched plenty, but she couldn’t get to me the way she opened herself up. I tell myself that I’m always honest on the inside, and often on the outside too, but I know that’s the least honest thing about me. The scars aren’t bad. It’s the ugliness on the inside I don’t want her to see.
I knew that once Fawnie touched me, there was no going back.
She’s already started to dismantle all my walls, breach all my defenses.
It was one night, one fucking time, and I’m already half hers.
The hard truth is that I’m a wreck. I have nothing to offer. I’m stuck, I’m trapped, I’m bitter, I’m cruel, I’m mean—often to myself. I’m not alone, but I am lonely. I don’t want anyone to peel back the layers and see me. I don’t want to be stripped bare, naked, raw, exposed, vulnerable, a mess with a twisted soul.
It’s already started.
And maybe I wouldn’t be so upset about that if there was something there worth seeing, worth touching, worth having. I want there to be, but this is the first time in a lot of years that I’ve been able to admit that.
From the first time Fawnie ever turned her beautiful face my way, she saw all the things I wanted to keep hidden. She eviscerated me from the first word she ever spoke in her sweet, light, musical voice. Memories sizzle behind my eyelids, as hot as the flames that night. I grind my teeth against them and shove myself back into the seat, letting the plastic edges dig into my back. I haven’t eaten anything all day either. My stomach churns from the pain, from being empty, and from the nerves.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this.
I stand up so suddenly and violently that I nearly pitch into the next row of seats. I sway, grabbing the back of the chair in front of me so tightly my knuckles go white.
My life seems to be a fucking comedy of errors lately. The most ironic one being that the second I decide I need to leave, I spot Fawnie and her mom walking my way. She’s already spotted me. Her face is radiant, a huge smile turning up her perfect lips, eyes sparkling, dimples showing in both cheeks.
She’s dressed nice for tonight, a tight black leather pencil skirt with laces down the one side of her leg, black sheer stockings that end in spiked-heeled black boots that reach nearly to her knee, and on top, a white blouse with little black stars that’s so sheer the lace of her camisole underneath is clearly visible.
