Bent not Broken (355 page)

Chris was speaking to the doorman when I walked up to them. Turning his head to look at me, his smile widened when he saw me.

“Hi,” I said shyly.

“Hi.” He stared at me a moment with a handsome grin on his face. “You’re early. I was just chatting with Terrence. He’s the best doorman this side of Manhattan. Terrence, this is Salem Honeycutt.”

“Very nice to meet you, madam,” Terrence said with a small bow.

I looked up at the tall and lanky African-American man. “It’s nice to meet you too, Terrence.”

“I sure do love your southern accent, Miss Honeycutt.” His wide smile showcased the tiny gap between his two front teeth.

“Thank you,” I pursed my lips self-consciously. “I feel like such a hillbilly here in New York.”

“I didn’t know hillbillies were so beautiful,” he schmoozed.

Feeling bashful, I glanced at the floor. “Aw, thanks Terrence. You really know how to make a woman feel good about herself.”

“I hope you and Mr. King have a fantastic day.”

Chris spoke up, seeming antsy all of a sudden. “Thanks, Terrence. And tell the Mrs. that I’d love one of her world famous chocolate pies while I’m in town.”

“I sure will!” Terrence flashed his gap-toothed grin again and I couldn’t help but smile. He had such a radiant personality. No wonder Chris called him the best.

Chris held his elbow out to escort me. “He’s right, you know,” he said, glancing shyly up into the sky.

“About what?” I asked as we walked down the steps toward the sidewalk.

“You being beautiful.” Chris looked at me, piercing me with those dark, brown eyes of his. For a moment, I felt the history between us as if time had stood still.

I glanced away, embarrassed and yet, flattered. Honestly, I didn’t know how to feel. In some ways, we were starting over, meeting each other again after fourteen years. It felt like we were meeting each other for the first time. Then again, the bond we shared back then seemed to be picking up right where we left off, so in some ways I felt like I’d known him forever.

I couldn’t help but lose myself in his gaze. Every time I looked at him, I lost my way. I lost everything I knew about myself…about us. Things had changed. We had changed. It was scary and exhilarating in the same breath.

Snapping himself out of his own trance, he stammered, “Uh…where to first?”

I shook my head of its dizzying spell and said, “I don’t know. You’re the expert, city boy. You tell me.”

Chris thought for a minute. “Let’s walk around Central Park for a little while. Have you ever ridden on a vintage carousel?”

“Vintage?” I asked. I’d been on a carousel, but I didn’t think any of them were vintage.

“Yep. Built in 1908. Oldest in the country, I think. Anyway, it’s fun! Come on!”

We walked toward Central Park, strolling quietly along the paths. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze. Runners jogged past us with their dogs trotting along beside them. We could still hear the sounds of the busy streets of New York in the background, but something about the Park seemed so tranquil. And walking along beside of Chris made it that much more peaceful.

Chris finally broke the silence. “Salem, I can’t tell you what it means to me that you came this weekend. I know it has to be kinda weird for you…my former counselor and all. But things are so different now. You know that, right?” His eyes were so full of sincerity that I couldn’t deny it.

I knew. I could see by the stubble on his face and the laugh lines around his eyes that things were different—new and fresh. But, he was right. It still felt strange. And glorious. And weird. And amazing. I couldn’t decide how I felt, but I was just going to try to enjoy my time with him without thinking about the ‘ifs, ands, or buts.’

“Yeah, I know things are different,” I admitted hesitantly, “and here in New York, it doesn’t matter. That’s what I love about being here with you. Here things can be anything we want them to be. But back home I’m Salem Honeycutt, your former juvenile detention counselor.”

“Ugh,” Chris groaned. “It does sound weird, doesn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” I said, pouting.

We continued to walk in silence as kids ran and played in the grass, couples held hands on blankets spread out in the morning sun, and pigeons strutted around as they searched for their next meal.

After several minutes of quiet people-watching, Chris stopped walking. I’d taken several steps ahead of him before I realized he wasn’t strolling along beside me anymore. I turned around to face him, wondering why he’d stopped.

“You know,” he muttered, “when they put me back in juvie, I’d pretty much hit rock bottom.”

“I remember.” I glanced up at him, recalling the day that hard and angry teen shuffled into my office.

Chris stared at me—an intense stare that I sensed meant more than just what it seemed on the surface. Smiling at me with a grateful expression, he said softly, “Then there was you, and I felt so connected to you in ways that I couldn’t explain. You helped me so much. You changed my life, really.”

I nodded, knowing the impact he’d had on my life too. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thanked God for you,” I admitted. “You came into my life at the perfect moment. I was young too, you know. Barely twenty-four. Newly married. A new mom. New in my career. I was young and naïve, and struggling in my own right.” Throwing his own words back at him, I said softy, “Then there was you.”

I looked off into the distance, thinking of the day he walked out of my life, and said, “I can’t tell you the heartache I experienced when you drove away from juvie that day.”

“I know what you mean,” Chris said sadly, “It felt weird needing you that much…like there was something wrong with me. But, I was completely fucking lost without you. I didn’t have anyone to talk to anymore.”

The pain of that day was such a faded memory, but standing there in front of him brought it all back again. We both shook our heads, trying to forget that sad and lonely time in our lives. We continued walking toward the carousel, our chance to let the past go and enjoy the moment.

Just as we rounded the corner, I saw it—the majestic, vintage carousel with the intricately designed horses. “Wow,” I said under my breath. “It’s beautiful.”

It was like a fairytale, and I’d found myself drawn to it—drawn into the fairytale of being here with Chris and pretending like our pasts didn’t matter.

Suddenly Chris turned into an excited little kid. With a little hop in his step, he shouted, “Let’s go! I get the black horse!” and took off running.

His exuberance was contagious. “No way! Me first!” I called, chasing after him.

We rode the carousel at least four times in a row. I was almost dizzy with going around so many times. But the giddiness in Chris never waned. It was fun watching him let loose, ridding himself of the rock star image he felt the need to uphold. I watched him hold his head back and laugh, pretending to lasso the horse in front of him, and my heart never felt so alive.

When the carousel came to a stop on our last ride, Chris jumped off his stallion. “Let’s break for lunch. You hungry?”

My belly was too full of nerves to be hungry, but I could eat. “Yeah,” I told him, “but there’s just one thing…”

He looked at me curiously, “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

I wasn’t ready to give up this jovial side of Chris yet, so I playfully punched his shoulder shouting, “Tag! You’re it!” and took off running. Big mistake. He chased me while I screamed like a swarm of bees was after me.

I ran across the grass trying to escape him, but he was hot on my trail. Next thing I knew he grabbed me from behind. Our legs got tangled and we both collapsed, landing on a soft patch of freshly mowed grass. I fell on top of him like a sack of potatoes.
Thud!
I was instantly embarrassed, but the smile on his face and his deep, hearty laugh helped alleviate my humiliation.

We both laughed like fools, wrestling around on the soft, green grass. It felt good to let go. I didn’t care who was watching or what they thought of a nearly thirty-eight year old getting cozy with a much younger man. Well, technically he didn’t seem that much younger now, but if they knew I’d been his juvie counselor when he was only seventeen, they might look down their noses at me. Well, let them look. At the moment, I felt as free as a bird. Chris King brought out a happiness in me that I hadn’t felt in quite some time. I relished it.

Our giggles diminished, and we panted as we caught our breaths. I realized that I was still lying on top of Chris…and he wasn’t letting go. My hands were spread on the ground on either side of his head. My hair fell down around his face, framing it. Our faces were only inches from each other, staring. I relished the warmth of his body against mine—the robust, manly feeling of his strength beneath me. He closed his eyes, and that sexy half grin spread across his face.

“I forgot what this felt like,” he whispered.

“What what felt like?” I asked, gulping as I tucked a long strand of hair behind my ear.

“Freedom. Happiness. Being myself.” He opened his eyes and stared at me.

I rolled off of him as his arm relaxed on the ground, perpendicular to our bodies. Using his bicep as a pillow, I stared up at the clouds above us. “I keep forgetting that you live the life of a rock star. This weekend is just as much a getaway for you as it is for me.”

“Yeah, exactly...” his voice trailed. “Come Monday, I won’t be
just
Chris any more. I will go back to being Chris, the lead singer of Fifth Wheel, every fangirl’s wildest fantasy, every media outlet’s hottest story, and every venue’s biggest money maker. Honestly, it’s fucking exhausting.”

“I can only imagine…” I said, watching a runner pace herself as she jogged by us.

I saw something else out of the corner of my eye, but tried to ignore it. Paparazzi. They were everywhere. Thankfully, none had attacked us yet like the news media always portrayed, but they were still there, hiding, snapping pictures like the greedy jackasses that they were. “Don’t you get tired of being watched?”

Chris sighed and looked in the direction of the camera man crouched behind the tree. “All the time,” he said, defeated. “It’s the only thing about this lifestyle I fucking hate.” Chris curled his arm around me as if to shield me from the nosey camera man. “I don’t want to drag you into this. Let’s go.” Rising up, he pulled me off the ground. “Ignore them. They’ll try to get you to talk, but don’t make eye contact. Just keep walking.”

Okay, now he’s just freaking me out.

The look on my face must have given me away because he followed up with, “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

He was right. We walked right past the guy as he spouted questions, following us for a few yards. When neither of us satisfied the camera man with a spoken response, he gave up and retreated.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I said as we walked down the sidewalk, away from Central Park.

“Not this time,” Chris grumbled with a bit of sadness in his tone. I wondered what he meant. He squeezed my hand in his as if to say I had nothing to worry about. I let him intertwine his fingers with mine. My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly I was reminded of the time he flew in my office after Malik—the raging look in his eye that said he was there to protect me. As long as I was with him, I was safe. I would’ve let him hold my hand as long as he wanted, but it only lasted until we flagged down a cab.

As soon as he released my hand, I missed it—the warmth of his palm against mine. Without the feeling of his fingers laced with mine, something inside me felt…incomplete.
Geez, Salem, he’s been back in your life all of five minutes and you already feel this strongly? Get a grip.

My inner Salem was right. Who was I to think that whatever this was between me and Chris would last? Or if it even existed at all? He’d held my hand for two minutes, so what? It meant nothing.
Right?
Why did this feel so wrong, and yet so perfect?

“Did you hear me?” Chris asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Huh?” I’d been too busy arguing with my inner thoughts.

“I asked if you prefer to eat sushi or New York pizza?” he said, thoughtfully brushing a wisp of hair off my face.

I pursed my lips, considering it. “Well, I can get sushi back home anytime. I’ve never had
real
New York pizza before.”

Chris smiled. His dimple creased, and my mind went wild—along with my very neglected hormones.
Damn, he is sexy. Okay, stop, Salem. Stop it right now.

“New York pizza it is, then.” He grinned, happy to please me. “Corner of Spring and Mott, please,” he told the taxi driver, then turned his attention back to me. “Lombardi’s. Oldest pizzeria in America.”

“Sounds great.” Honestly, pizza was the last thing on my mind, but I couldn’t keep the cheesy grin off my face.

****

The cab driver dropped us off. The red awning above the door and windows boasted ‘Best on the Planet.’

“You ready to taste a little bit of heaven on earth?” Chris rubbed his hands together, ready for me to experience this.

The scent of garlic and onion wafted through the air. It smelled delicious. “Absolutely,” I told him, my stomach grumbling at just the right time.

The restaurant was crowded, but there were still a couple of tables available. The red and white checkered table cloths reminded me of a little pizzeria back home. The cozy atmosphere was so inviting, and the smell of fresh, coal, oven-baked dough and garlic made my mouth water.

Chris’s eyes were much bigger than his stomach, so he ordered a small Margherita pizza and a small pepperoni with sweet Italian sausage. I took pictures of each pie and texted them to Alexis.

Me: Best on the planet, they say.

When the pizzas arrived, I stuffed a bite of cheesy gooey paradise into my mouth. ‘Heaven on earth’ was an understatement. This stuff was legendary.

We spent the meal ‘mmming’ and chewing and enjoying peaceful nirvana through our palates.

We both made a good run of it, trying to devour it all, but between the two of them, we had a whole pizza leftover.