Brave (10 page)

“No,
I’m not,” he said. “Right now, I’m far from
sweet.”

He left
then, and I watched his retreating back until he reached the end of
the hall and disappeared into the locked room I noticed earlier. I
wondered what was in there. Did he go there to flog himself, beat
himself up, get away from me and my sad, sorry attempts to help him?

He was
an ocean and I was just a tiny boat on it. Why had I thought I could
make a difference in his life when I wasn’t sure I could even
make a difference in my own? And there was always Charlie and what he
had asked of me. Something that could be illegal, but which I thought
was the right thing to do. Certainly Charlie’s parents wouldn’t
think so.

I
suddenly felt adrift in that tiny boat, like I had made a completely
boneheaded mistake by doing something I should never have even
contemplated. Like I shouldn’t have left the comfort of my
bland, unencumbered life. But shame washed over me again. Charlie was
always there for me. Even now I felt the warmth of his friendship and
his belief in me. I just felt that I didn’t deserve it. That he
had somehow seen more than there was to see because maybe he wanted
to see it. Maybe he was desperate to see it.

And,
maybe I was desperate for him to see it, too.

I
pushed the plate away and pressed my fist to my mouth.

For the
first time in a long time I thought about the razor blade, the cuts
and the pain. But that was in the past and I didn’t need that
kind of wakeup call to know that I was struggling with my parents’
apathy. I faced that head-on right now. They wouldn’t forgive
me for doing this and I was okay with that.

I got
up and limped into the living room where my backpack leaned against
the sofa. “Charlie,” I whispered. “I need you now.
I don’t think I am strong enough for this. You put all your
hope into me, but what if I don’t have the strength? What if I
don’t have the courage to be brave?

“I’m
not like Dakota. I’m not like him. So brave and strong to
battle his memories.

“My
memories are terrible and empty. Except for you, Piglet. Except for
you.”

I
covered my face with my hands and my voice broke, “I’m
sorry, Charlie. I’m so, so sorry.”

I
clamped my teeth together to keep the emotions at bay. I could not
lose it now. I went over to the window and looked out. It had finally
stopped snowing. I wondered if the blizzard was over. Where we had
our snowball fight and had wrestled in the show was completely
covered over. The tears streamed down my face and I wished that this
damn blizzard was over. I wanted to leave.

I
wanted a man who couldn’t want me back, who was too hurt to
open to me fully. And, after all that I went through with my parents,
I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t handle anything less
than true, unadulterated emotion. I wanted it. I had to have it. I
would not live my life without it. Not ever again.

I wiped
the tears from my face and gave the cold winter’s night one
more evil glance, and then I turned around and went to bed.

It was
on the second day in the evening before I saw him again. I’m
not sure what he was doing all that time, but I fed myself and worked
on my senior project.

I heard
the microwave open and the distinctive beeping sound.

“You
ready to string garlands?” he asked.

When I
entered the kitchen, he had the cranberries already set on the table,
along with two needles and a long coil of thread.

He
looked so tired and worn. But I didn’t think he wanted me to
make a fuss over him. I sat down and we strung cranberries and
popcorn. I was beyond words at this point. His two days of silence
and distance had made his point. I just wanted to go to bed and
sleep.

“I
dug your car out yesterday. As soon as the pass opens, you can
leave.”

“Oh,
thank you.” My stomach dropped and flipped over. I guess that
was clear. He did want me gone.

When we
finished and walked to the tree, Dakota went to his CD player and I
heard “What Child Is This?” begin to play.

“Are
carols all right?” he asked.

I
nodded, too emotionally drained to say anything more.

Clearly
he and his sisters had made most of the ornaments. When I pulled a
carved reindeer out of the box, my heart lurched. I turned to him.
“Awwww, so cute. How old were you when you carved this?”
My emotions were hovering at the very surface and I knew it wouldn’t
take much to push me over. Now that my departure was only a day or so
away, I fought against my stupid emotions. Finding something to
distract me was my only chance of getting through this without making
a fool of myself.

He
looked up and took the carving out of my hand. He smiled, probably at
the memory it evoked. “It’s pretty bad, huh? I think I
was seven or eight.”

I shook
my head and those damn tears welled. “No, I think it’s
wonderful.”

For a
moment, he stood there and stared at me, and I was really afraid that
I was going to totally lose it and embarrass myself.

Finally,
he said, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

I
limped after him as he walked toward that closed door and I was once
again afraid and overwhelmed by my feelings for this beautiful
disaster of a man.

He
turned the knob and opened the door.

I
gasped. I had wondered what he did all day in here, all by himself.
Now I knew.

Dozens
of carvings were everywhere, on all the available surfaces, including
a large, gorgeous momma bear and her cubs carved out of a small tree
trunk that sat in the corner of the room.

I
figured he might consider this therapy. If he wasn’t focusing
on what happened to him, he could avoid it. I wondered if it was
actually avoidance instead of therapy. Kinda what Charlie had done
most of his life. I walked over to an intricate carving of bumblebees
on an exquisite and delicate Mountain Columbine. He’d put them
on wire supports so that their black and yellow weighted bodies were
actually in flight.

He was
close behind me.

And, I
knew.

This
was his attempt to open to me. To give me a piece of him that was
beautiful. It sent me into a tailspin. I wrapped my arms around my
waist, a wonderful, terrible feeling unfolding in me. I also saw
where he had gotten the strawberries. There was a small greenhouse
attached to the side of the house.

“I
used my hands to do all of these. I used to use them to heal, to
comfort, to soothe. What happened to me…I used them for
something that I never thought I’d ever do.” He shook his
head. “This is who I would rather believe I am.”

My
heart tumbled over and over and over.

Dakota

She
was upset about my disappearance, but I couldn’t see her after
what had passed between us. I had to have time to regain my
equilibrium before I did something eminently stupid. I couldn’t
bear the sadness in her eyes. I wanted her to know me, but I was
afraid to let go of the pain and numbness. I wasn’t sure how to
live without them anymore.

But
while I sat in here for two days, the hours stretching out before me,
I thought that maybe I wanted to try to heal. Try to put the pieces
of my life back together. Alissa made me want to be brave.

She
bowed her head as if she was overcome, and my chest hurt like a
million needles were stabbing into my lungs. How could I have let
this happen? How could I have even for a moment leaned on her? She
was so young and innocent. The horror of what I had endured was a
stain, an abomination, and I didn’t want her touched by that.

A
lock fell from her upswept hair and settled like a soft breath
against the nape of her neck. I didn’t mean to do it, but she
was like star fire, with darkness all around. I was that darkness…and
I was falling…falling.

I
should not have done this. This room should have stayed securely
locked. I should have held onto my armor…except she made it
invisible, nonexistent. In all this time alone, I hadn’t turned
my weakness into strength; I had done nothing but allow it to consume
me.

The
light found rich silver highlights in the lock of hair. She lifted
her hand as if to push the curl back into place, but before she
could, I snagged it. I gazed down at my hand, spreading the curl
between my fingers, resting my fist against the curve of her
shoulder. It was as if my hand did not belong to me—and yet it
did. I felt every texture, every delicate strand of hair, every light
breath she took. Smelled her natural, flowery fragrance. Felt the
warmth of her.

I
trailed my knuckles in a light brush up her throat to a place beneath
her ear that felt like down. I bent my head and pressed my mouth
there, closing my eyes at the rush of emotion I felt for her.

I
stood silent, touching her. I was helpless. Helpless. I could not
stop and get back my self-control.

Stop
me
,
I thought.
Don’t
let me.
I could not remove my hand; could not speak. No sound at all came out
of my mouth when I moved my lips.

She
turned toward me, her eyes wide and midnight blue. In the months I’d
been alone, I had thought about women, but the flashbacks of Elsa
killed those thoughts.

Then
Alissa had literally fallen into my hands. Her vulnerability seemed
enormous, her stillness beneath my hand an act of immeasurable trust.

With
my hands I could chop a wood block in half or I could shape it into
anything my imagination could conjure up…destruction and
creation…and I could feel her heart in the fragile pulse of
her throat, so light and quick. I lifted my other hand and cradled
her face.

Small.
Delicate. Like the life of a small bird within my palms, something I
could render so easily in wood. Lust flooded me. What I wanted…God,
what I wanted…

I
thought of my damaged psyche, my purposeful plan, the edge of that
beckoning cliff. It all seemed another universe, fantasy and mist, as
if I’d never been alive until this instant. My two days of
isolation had only made me more desperate for her. I was such a
complete fool.

I
spread my hands, my thumbs brushing against her lips, my fingertips
resting on her temples, palms flat against her cheekbones. Still she
only stared at me. She had such pretty eyes, the lashes so long that
I felt the sweep of them against my fingers.

I
stood there touching her, imagined her hair down and all around in a
waterfall of white, her body, the voluptuous scent, the sounds. My
throat tightened with a suppressed moan. I wanted to hold her, to
gather her up and cradle her against me—and I wanted to
overpower her. There was a terrible violence inside me. All I knew,
all I had experienced and mastered in my life, was about healing.

Without
it I’d been ruined, destroyed. I hadn’t known how to get
it back until she came into my life and showed me the way. I wasn’t
sure I had the courage to take the steps necessary to fully repair
that shattered part of me.

“At
first, I thought you made the walking stick so that you didn’t
have to touch me. But, now, I know that isn’t true.”

I
shook my head, my throat so tight I didn’t know if I could even
respond.

“No,”
I whispered. “I made it so you wouldn’t feel helpless. I
know what that feels like, and it’s the worst feeling on earth.
I didn’t want you to feel that way, ever.”

“Oh,
Dakota,” she said softly. “Please,” she begged me.

“What
do you want?” I said, my heart fragmenting and colliding back
together.

“You.
I want all of you,” she said, her eyes brimming with the truth
of her words.

And
then my mouth was on hers. It was there as if I had willed it and
hadn’t even moved, as if my mouth had always been against hers.
Against that heat and softness.

She
made a low urgent sound, a crazy kind of sound full of fear.

I
sensed that fear, sensed the cause of it, and with a hoarse sound, I
shifted her head back and pressed harder on her mouth, cupping the
back of her head. Her butt hit the table with the bumblebees on it
and it shook.

Her
savage kiss tasted of tears and pain and fear-driven desperation. And
for me, there was a taste of fury, like the fury that had filled me
when I knew I wanted her. I knew it was going to happen. It was just
a matter of time.

Because
I needed her.

It
was a raw, consuming pressure that was connected to the ugly,
monstrous piece I was holding back from her. And, man, I needed her
to have that piece, to see what she would do with it, see if her
magic could banish it, heal it, fix it, bring me back.

I
wanted to give to her what she asked for. All of me…including
the demons.

Her
low sob broke against my mouth, and I dragged my hand up her back,
molding us together in a crushing hold, my other hand immobilizing
her head as my mouth turned hot, hungry and ravaging. Locking her
arms around me, I yielded everything—my mouth, my body, my
strength—driven by a need that burned through to my very soul.

And,
she answered me in kind. It was as if my desperation fired the
desperation in her, and suddenly everything was out of control.

Widening
my stance, I dragged her up into the cradle of my thighs, the hard
ridge of my dick meshing with her softness, and suddenly I couldn’t
breathe, couldn’t think, for the thick, pulsing urgency
swelling inside me.

Alissa
groaned and dragged her mouth away, her breathing harsh and ragged as
she lifted her hips against me, a violent shudder coursing through
her that I felt with every cell, because my merciless hold fused us
body to body. Alissa wrapped her legs around me, giving me partial
access to the heat that was denied me by the barrier of our clothing.