Ten Tiny Breaths

  To my pleasant surprise, Trent pulls his arm off the table and adjusts himself in his chair so his body is angled toward me. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  With a slight pout, she purrs, “You sure? You’ll regret it. I’m quite entertaining.”

  His eyes lock on my face and he doesn’t attempt to conceal the smolder in them. “Not as much as I’ll regret leaving my present company. I think she could entertain me for a lifetime.”

  My heart skips three beats and my breath hitches. If there was ever any doubt about Trent’s interest, he’s crushed it with that look, with those words. I don’t notice China’s scowl, which I’m sure is stripping the skin from my bones right now. I don’t notice her walk away. I don’t notice anything around me anymore. Trent and I are suddenly the only two people in the bar and that same uncontrollable urge I felt the day he saved me from the snake now gets a hold of me.

  I close my fists into tiny balls and keep them glued to my side. I have to control myself here. I have no choice. I can’t lunge at him like a hormonal freak, which is exactly what I am right now. I clear my voice, trying to play it cool.

  “Are you sure? Because the most you’re getting out of me are club sodas.”

  “I’m okay with that,” I hear him whisper. “For now.” His bottom lip slides in between his teeth, and the temperature in the room instantly rises by twenty degrees. Penny’s has turned into a bloody sauna and my mind has scattered into oblivion as I struggle to stand.

  But I do manage to stand and stare at Trent as the grating announcer’s voice comes over the microphone. “Gentleman …” The next dancer is on her way out. I’ve learned how to drown that voice out, and have no trouble doing it now as I lose myself in Trent’s presence.

  That is until I hear:

  “… A special feature performance of the night … Storm!”

  “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me!” I spin around, checking the bar to find Ginger and Penelope behind it. All attention is transfixed to the stage in anticipation as a mystical green glow hangs over the stage, like they’re waiting for a life-altering performance and not another naked girl in a strip club. My naked friend. “Ohmigod. This is going to be so awkward. She didn’t even warn me!” I don’t realize I’m moving back until I bump into Trent’s inner thigh.

  “You don’t have to watch, you know,” he whispers into my ear.

  The slow throb of a dance beat starts pounding through the club, and a spotlight lifts above the stage to illuminate a scantily clad female body, sitting in silver hoop, suspended. I can’t look away, even if I want to.

  It’s Storm in a sequined bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination, floating in the air on this metal hoop. When the music picks up, she flips backward, every muscle in her arm straining as she dangles by one hand. With no visible effort, she folds her legs back over and fluidly slides her body through the hoop to hold another impressive pose. The music picks up tempo and she kicks her legs out, gaining momentum until the hoop swings back and forth like a pendulum. Then suddenly she’s hanging by her arms, spinning fast, her hair flying through the air, her body contorting and diving into various graceful poses. She’s like one of those people in Cirque du Soleil—beautiful, poised, doing things I never believed humanly possible.

  “Wow,” I hear myself murmur, mesmerized.

  Storm is an acrobat.

  The scrap of material covering her breasts somehow flies off.

  Storm is a stripper acrobat.

  Something brushes against my fingers and I flinch. My head jerks down to see Trent’s hand resting on his knee, his fingertips an inch away from mine. So close. Too close, and yet I don’t pull away. Something deep inside me spurs me forward. I wonder if there’s any chance … what if … Inhaling, I look up into his face and see a world of calm and possibilities. For the first time in four years, the thought of a hand covering mine doesn’t send me into a dizzying spiral down.

  And I realize that I want Trent to touch me.

  Trent doesn’t move though. He stares at me, but he doesn’t push. It’s like he knows this is a bridge I’ve all but torched and turned away from. How does he know? Storm must have told him. Keeping my focus locked on those gorgeous blue eyes, I force my hand to close the distance. My fingers are trembling, and that voice screams at me to stop. She screams that this is a mistake; that the waves are waiting to crash down over my head, to drown me.

  I shove the voice aside.

  So slow, so light, my fingertip skims his index finger.

  He still doesn’t move his hand. He remains completely frozen, as if waiting for me to make my move.

  Swallowing hard, I let my entire hand skate over his. I hear a sharp intake of air as he gasps, his jaw clenching. His eyes are locked on mine and they’re unreadable. Finally, his hand shifts and covers mine, his fingers gently slipping in between. Not forceful, not rushed.

  A load roar of approval erupts on the fringe of my eardrums, but I barely hear it over the rush of blood in my ears. One … two… three … I began taking those ten little breaths.

  I can’t contain the euphoria swelling inside me.

  Trent’s touch is full of life.

  I’m sure I hear glass shattering somewhere nearby, but I’m too stunned for anything to register. “Is this okay?” he whispers, his brow pulled together before I can process his question, his hand is wrenched out of mine as a pair of giant mitts land on his shoulders, tearing the warmth and life with it.

  “You’ll need to leave, sir,” Nate’s voice thunders. “No touching the ladies.”

  My peripherals catch motion beneath me. Looking down, I find a bus boy sweeping up the shards of Trent’s empty glass. I guess it slipped out of my free hand.

  “Is it okay?” Trent asks again earnestly, like he knows it might not be okay to touch my hand. Like that’s a perfectly acceptable fear to have. Like I’m not a head case.

  Try as I might, I can’t open my mouth or move my tongue. I’m suddenly like a statue. Petrified.

  “Kacey!”

  Nate yanks Trent back and out the door and I do nothing but watch him go, that intense pleading gaze riveted to my face until it’s out of sight.

  Everything seems wobbly as I wander back to the bar in a daze. The walls, the people, the dancers, my legs. I mumble an apology to Ginger for taking more than fifteen minutes. She waves it away with a smile as she pours someone a drink. With wooden movements, I turn back to see that a shapely native woman has taken center stage, doing some sort of rain dance reenactment in a scant feather costume. Storm is nowhere to be seen.

  The world moves forward, oblivious to this significant shift in my tiny universe.

  Stage Four ~ Acceptance

  Chapter Seven

  “So, what’d ya think?” Storm interrupts the silence in the car on the ride home.

  I frown, not understanding her question. My mind’s still stuck on Trent, on the feel of his hand; on me, standing there like an idiot, not saying a thing. I’m so wound up over Trent and that pivotal moment that I’m for once not fazed by the confines of Storm’s Jeep. He held my hand. Trent held my hand and I didn’t drown.

  I notice Storm’s small fists curled tightly around her steering wheel and she’s looking everywhere but at me. She’s nervous. “What do I think about what?” I ask slowly.

  “About … my show?”

  Oh! Right. “I don’t know how those boobs of yours don’t throw your balance off.”

  Her head tips back and she laughs. “It took some getting used to, believe me.”

  “Seriously, that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. What the hell are you doing in a strip club? You could be in Cirque du Soleil or some shit like that.”

  I catch a hint of sadness in her giggle. “Not a lifestyle I can handle anymore. That means training all day and shows all night. I can’t do that with Mia to care for.”

  “Why is this the first show I’ve seen?”

  “I can’t do that every night. It’s hard eno
ugh to stay upright and get a bit of a work out in everyday.”

  Huh. Storm works out. I had no idea. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She shrugs. “We all have our secrets.”

  My eyes drift out the window. “Well, that’s one hell of a way to reveal a secret.”

  She chuckles, nodding in agreement. There’s a pause. “How was your little chat with Trent?”

  “Oh, life altering.” His touch still lingers on my fingers and I can’t shake the pleading sound of his voice. Raw shame has settled on my shoulders. I should have answered him. Instead, I let Nate toss him out like a drunken ass.

  I hate the feel of being in my skin right now.

  We drive a few more minutes without talking. Then Storm breaks the silence with a full frontal assault. “Kace, what happened to you?” My jaw instantly clenches, unprepared, but she rushes on. “I still don’t know you at all. Given I’ve pretty much bared all. Literally. I was hoping you’d trust me to do the same.”

  “You want me to spin around on a hoop and take my top off?” I joke, my voice flat. I know that’s not what she means.

  “I asked Livie and she wouldn’t tell me. She said you needed to.” She says that in a low voice, like she knows she wasn't supposed to ask Livie in the first place.

  My gut sinks to the floor. “Livie knows better than to tell anyone my secrets.”

  “You need to start talking to someone, Kacey. That’s the only way to get better.”

  “There’s no getting better, Storm. This is it.” There’s no coming back from the dead. I try to keep the coldness from my voice, but I can’t help it. It’s there.

  “I’m your friend, Kacey. Whether you like it or not. I may have only known you for a few weeks, but I’ve trusted you. I’ve trusted your sister with my five year old, invited you into my home, and got you a job. Not to mention that you’ve folded my underwear and seen me naked.”

  “All that without giving you my number. Oh, the guys at my gym would be so proud of me.”

  We pull into the parking lot outside our apartment as my hand works fretfully over the door handle, the confines of Storm’s Jeep as it morphs into a confessional tin can overwhelming.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I’m not an idiot. I don’t do that with everyone. But there’s something about you. I could see it from day one. It’s like you’re fighting against being yourself. Every time a little bit of the real you escapes, you shut it down. Cover it up.” Her voice is so soft and yet it makes me break out in a cold sweat.

  The real me. Who is that? All I know is that since moving to Miami, my carefully crafted defenses have been attacked from all angles. Even Mia and her gapped tooth grins have managed to worm their way into the cracks in my armor. No matter how many times I tell myself I don’t care, I’m starting to find my heart beating a little bit faster and my shoulders lift a little bit higher when I make them laugh.

  “You don’t have to tell me everything, Kace. Not all at once. Why not just one little thing every day?”

  I rub my brow as I try to find a way out of this. After the last time I blew her off, I thought she’d give up. But she’s just been biding her time. What if I bolt out of this car right now? Maybe this is a turning point in our friendship. Maybe she’ll write me off if I do something like that again. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that will bother me. And Livie. That will outright crush her and I can’t do that. I hear Livie’s voice in my head. Try. I know I have to. For Livie.

  “Four years ago, my parents, my boyfriend, and my best friend died in a drunk driving accident.”

  There’s a long pause. I don’t even have to look to know that tears run down Storm’s cheeks. People crying over it doesn’t faze me anymore. I’ve permanently shut off that tear-jerking switch.

  “I’m so sorry, Kacey.”

  I nod. Everyone apologizes and I don’t know why. They weren’t the douche bags in the other car.

  “Do you remember any of it?”

  “No,” I lie. Storm doesn’t need to hear how I remember every single moment trapped in the mangled Audi. She doesn’t need to hear how I listened to the hissing sound of my mother’s last breath, the noise that haunts me every night. Or how on one side my friend Jenny’s broken body molded itself against the car and how on the other, my hand lay trapped in my boyfriend’s hand, sensing every degree drop as heat left his corpse. How I had to sit in that car, unmoving, surrounded by the bodies of those I loved for hours while the emergency crew struggled to cut me out. I shouldn’t have survived.

  I don’t know who let me live.

  Storm’s soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Were you driving?”

  I turn to glare at her. “Do you think I’d be sitting here now if I had been?”

  She flinches. “Sorry. What happened to the drunk driver?”

  I shrug noncommittally, staring straight ahead again. “He died. He had two friends in his car. One died. One walked away. That guy’s out there, living his life right now,” I answer, my words oozing with bitterness.

  “Have you ever met him?”

  “Never,” I whisper. The truth is I went out of my way to know nothing about him. About any of them. I wanted them to not exist. Unfortunately, I saw their names in the insurance papers they made me sign. Those names made them real, searing into my mind so I couldn’t possibly ever forget. They were three real people. Real people who murdered my family.

  “God, Kacey.” She sniffles. “Have you had therapy?”

  “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” I snap.

  “I’m … I’m sorry.” The car is filled with Storm’s muffled sobs. She’s trying to contain them, to be strong, I can tell by the way she keeps sucking in her breaths.

  My anger morphs into guilt and I bite my lip. Hard. The coppery taste of blood coats my tongue. Storm’s been nothing but kind to me and I’m nothing but a bitch to her. “I’m sorry, Storm,” I force out the words. Even though I mean them, they’re still hard to get out.

  She reaches for my hand but, remembering, places her palm on my forearm.

  That little gesture is enough to melt my icy defenses and I start rambling. “I was in the hospital and rehab for almost a year. Doctors visited me there. Not much after that though. Apparently zombie drugs and daily rounds of Kumbaya will solve all my problems. When I got out, my aunt insisted I talk to the counselors at her church. They suggested she put me in a serious rehabilitation program because I’m a broken young woman full of rage and hatred who could become harmful to herself and others if let loose.” That last part is almost word for word what they said. My aunt’s answer to that was leaving a bible on my nightstand. In her view, reading the bible fixes everything.

  “Where’s this aunt now?”

  “Back in Michigan with her disgusting husband who tried to molest Livie.” Silence. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Storm? That you have a walking head case living next to you?”

  She turns to look at me, wiping tears from her cheeks with her palms. “You’re not a head case, Kacey. But you do need help. Thank you for telling me. It means a lot. One day it will get easier. One day this hatred won’t confine you anymore. You’ll be free. You’ll be able to forgive.”

  I vaguely notice my head nodding. I don’t believe her. Not a word.

  The atmosphere of the Jeep has dropped seven levels below unpleasant. I’ve bared more to Storm than I ever have to anyone else and its left me drained. “Look at you—Stripper Acrobat by night, Deep Thought Provoker by … later night.”

  Storm snorts. “I prefer just ‘Acrobat.’ My clothes happen to fall off sometimes, unexpectedly.” She nudges my arm. “Come on. That’s enough exposing for one night. For both of us.”

  Now that I’ve survived the conversation with Storm, my thoughts move back to Trent with a vengeance, the need to feel that intoxicating life trumping all other desires. I didn’t answer him. I should have answered him. I need to tell him that I’m better than okay. That I think
I might need him.

  The faint sound of laughter carries through the commons as Storm and I walk through the shadows. Some of the college students in the building still up, partying. I wonder what that would be like—hanging out with friends, drinking, having a normal life—as we round the corner to our apartments.

  A silhouette moves past the curtain in 1D.

  I stumble, my pulse quickening. Then, without thinking, I walk up to the door and stand in front of it.

  “See you tomorrow,” I hear Storm call out as she continues on and I can tell she’s smiling.

  Inhaling deeply, gathering all the courage I can muster, I lift my hand to knock, but the door flies opens before my knuckles make contact. Trent steps into the doorway, shirtless and expressionless and my mouth instantly dries. I’m sure he’s going to tell me to go to Hell. I wait for it. I’m terrified to hear it.

  But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for me, I realize. There’s just one word I need to give him. Yes. It might make this all better. Yes, Trent. Yes, it’s okay. I open my mouth and find that I can’t. I can’t form a single word that will impress upon him the gravity of the situation.

  With wooden movements, I step forward. He doesn’t back away. He just watches me, his bare sculpted chest and pants hanging low off his hips taunting me. He’s as hot as he ever could be. I could spend days with that body. For once, I hope that I will.

  But that’s not what I need right now.

  I cautiously reach out, my stomach muscles coiled into a tight ball, suddenly panicked that whatever I felt earlier might be temporary, that I’ve lost it again. When my fingertips graze his and warmth spreads through me, that dread evaporates.

  His warmth. His life.

  Closing my eyes, I slide my hand further in, slipping my fingers between his and curling them around. My lips part in a small gasp when his grip tightens over mine. He doesn’t move closer though. He doesn’t try anything or say anything. We stand like that, in the doorway, our hands entwined, for what feels like forever.