RETRACE (6 page)

“So we’re neighbors.” I down my drink, drowning my previous thoughts in it.

“We are…” Her hand moves to brush her heavy fall of hair over her bare shoulder. I watch the dark silk caress her flawless, olive skin, and need to hold my own hand from touching it.

“Where are you originally from?”

Her posture lightly stiffens, she starts rubbing a non-existent spot on the dark mahogany surface. With her eyes focused on her agitated finger she says, “Brazil.”

My eyebrows rise and I tilt my head in question. I was expecting a neighboring town, or maybe another state. “
You’re
a bit far from home,” I say, and the memory of catching some faint accent in her voice when she screamed at me at the stark-naked incident lands in my mind.

Her eyes that lift to mine throw me back a little. They are two deep mirrors of hazel muddle. “I am.”

She turns to bore at her empty glass. The sigh slowly whistling out of her mouth sounds like defeat. Mine is a heavy one that tries to release something her expression twisted within me. As I’m about to try and return the smile to her face, I’m stopped by the chime of my phone. Our united attentions move to the black device vibrating and ringing between us. I snatch it before the next string of tunes comes as I notice the letters “KT” flickering on the display.

“Hey,” my voice morphs suppler. Nia, in an appreciated act of politeness, turns to observe the room. At first there’s silence at the other end of the line, a silence that’s followed by sniffling and some broken words. A shudder of concern runs through me, “What is it, where are you?”

“Reeves, I… I feel so bad about everything. Can… I… can, I come over?”

“Where are you?” Reflexively my palm fists into a tight ball.

“In the street, below your apartment.”

I take a deep breath. “Come up,” I say curtly and throw the phone to the counter, troubled. Nia, turning my way, pulls me back to the present. For a brief moment I’ve forgotten she was next to me. She opens her mouth to speak and I cut her off.

“You need to leave now.” Confusion dominates her features as she studies me for a fleeting moment. We both keep silent as I see her to the door. I’m too caught up with the call. Why
the hell
was Katie crying?

I slam the door to my apartment shut, still in a state of confusion spiked with irritation.
Talk about a sudden blow off
. My exasperation momentarily eases down as I run toward my phone that’s screaming from the direction of my bedroom. I reach the hollering device just as the flickering light dies. My lips disappear behind a flat line as I check the display.

25 missed calls.

I’ve been away for less than an hour…

The whirlwind of thoughts led by “what the hell was I just subjected to” vanishes as I scroll through the missed calls list. All from one, single number: my mom. A stab of pain slashes through me with the thought of calling home. I sprawl on the bed, sigh in surrender, and dial the number I’ve avoided thus far.

When she picks up the phone at the other side of the globe, my mother sounds uncontrollably emotional. My heart instinctively lodges in my throat. Futilely, I try to thread a question through her frenetic blabber.

“Nia. God. I was so worried.” Finally, she calms a degree, speaking clear enough for me to actually understand what she is saying. “Why haven’t you called us?” there’s a long sigh, but not long enough to allow a response. “I was going crazy. Not only do you have to move so far away, now you don’t even answer our calls? And you don’t bother calling back?” I close my eyes, allowing her to let it all out. I take a deep calming breath, drawing circles with the pad of my finger over my plump, white blanket.

“I’m fine,” I finally manage to squeeze in.

“Well, you don’t sound fine to me!”

“I said I was fine,” I repeat. “Everything is okay. I’m in my new apartment. It’s beautiful, I’ll send you photos. I got a job at a dance studio. Everything is good.” I blurt out anything I can to maintain the conversation as shallowly as possible.

“We are worried about you, honey. You are the only thing that matters.” Though her words are a declaration of how much they care and should make me feel loved, they draw the farthest possible reaction. The sense of suffocation starts. My palms feel clammy. The clog in my throat expands, followed by welling eyes.

“I got to go, Ma. I’ll call you guys soon. I promise.” I sag onto the bed, ending the call. On autopilot, I lumber toward the bathroom. I turn on the hot water and wait for heavy vapor to fog the small space. Peeling off my clothes, I step inside. With my feet curled below me I let the water soak me up with scalding heat to the point my skin is glowing red. I cover my face with both hands, slightly rocking. My tears trail down, dissolving with the warm water.
You are the only thing that matters…

And like each time before, images start flashing before my closed eyes.

Eyes the same color as mine, blazing with manic fury.

Pain, sharp pain.

Darkness.

Clinically white room.

A twisted white sheet dangling from a showerhead.

Nurses in white robes.

My parents towering above me.

You are the only thing that matters now…

“Three, two, one! Drink up, crazies!” Toni, Alex’s colorful, to be putting it mildly, roommate orders, already charmingly buzzed. Alex takes her shot glass and throws it back like a pro. Her spiked hair falls into a greater purple mess as she does. I nod and lift mine in salute, downing the sharp, clear liquid. They both grin at me as I set the glass facing down on the table with a little thud for good measure, and raise my eyebrow.

“So are you coming with us to that new club I told you about?” Alex, seated at a chair beside me asks while tapping my thigh. We came to Jake’s directly after our evening lessons to meet up with Toni who was waiting for us already with two empty glasses by her side.

“Nah, I think I’ll pass this time. I didn’t get much sleep last night, I’m too tired.” An involuntary yawn that escapes my mouth backs up my excuse. The wicked stretch on Alex’s glossed lips grows, she winks and pokes my ribs with her elbow. The same one that was broken less than three years ago.

“Definitely
not
that kind of tired,” I add flatly, thinking about how my little visit to G.I. Moody ended. She squints her eyes at me with clear doubt.

“Eileen, did you guys hear from Reeves today?” The bar’s owner, Jake, asks Miss Tight Shirt, tonight’s bartender. Hearing Reeves’ name, my attention immediately shifts sideways to covertly, or maybe not so much, eavesdrop on their conversation.

“No… But hey, Boss, who really ever hears from Reeves, right? He just appears…” Jake sends her a crooked smile. He is quite hot, Jake, in a non-law-abiding kind of way. He’s got the bad boy look to a T. Wicked brown eyes, scruffy, ragged, down to a badass, kickass leather jacket.

“C’mon, talk about exaggerating,” the brunette with a small white apron covering an almost nonexistent skirt, holding a small tray, says.

“‘Cause you’d know him,” says Eileen with thick derision. Jake’s stare ping-pongs between the two attractive ladies, his lips holding a hint of a smile.

“I do happen to know him,” huffs Miss Miniskirt. Maybe it’s just me but I could swear there’s a hint of debauchery in the way she just said that. “And anyway, no man is an Island.” She eyes her blonde colleague, looking utterly smug with her out of context idiom.

My eyes basically roll up by themselves. I can’t stand it when people do that, just utter random crap trying to sound intelligent. Eileen sends Jake a wicked glance which he mirrors. “Well, Erin, hun,” she says, adding an exaggerated southern twang. “In that case, I’d say that our Mr. Mitchell is damn Alcatraz.” Jake snorts, scratching his bristled cheek with his thumb. His straight, bourbon hair falls to cover his eyes as he nods next.

“Oh, lookie, lookie, here’s the man and the legend himself.” Everyone’s heads shift to where Eileen’s eyes are directed, including mine.
Good Lord
. If I had playful thoughts before how Reeves could fulfill the Hero role in my X-rated military themed fantasy, he just gave a new meaning to the idea. Holy Gods of living, talking porny dreams. The guy looks steamy in a your-body-bends-voluntarily-over-the-first-available-surface kind of way.

He sports khaki, baggy cargos and a tight white tee that illegally, and very sinfully, accentuates his toned pecs. His short crew-cut stands in spikes at the front and two black rimmed dog tags hang on his molded chest. His green eyes stare back in liquid fire at the people watching him.

As absurd as it may sound, a warm, needy feeling spreads through me, not anywhere specific, just… everywhere. It takes more than an embarrassedly awkward moment for me to realize I’m gawking at him. I jerk my stare back to my cheerful drinking companions as I register his eyes challenge mine, while a twist dominates the edge of his lips.

“Quite the delicious feast, that one.” Toni’s glossed eyes dance with mirth, squinting Reeves’ way. Aiming for nonchalance, I take a sip from my empty glass, adding just the necessary touch to looking like an idiot. Alex smirks around the nail she’s biting.

“Well… I’d totally be drooling all over him, but I’m into ladies,” concludes Toni with a too transparent wink at Alex.

“And the combination of those two together…” Alex points toward where Jake and Reeves have fallen into deep conversation. They both halt for a short moment to stare back at us and I have a sudden urge to kill Alex, bare hands and all. “But don’t worry, girl.” She grins widely at me. “You can have them both, I’m doing this one these days.” She jerks her thumb toward an elated Toni.

“Good for you,” I add flatly. “Do you think I could ask Mrs. Perry to practice at the studio in the evenings?” I ask, looking to change the subject.

“You mean when it’s not occupied?” Not waiting for my confirmation, Alex adds, “I don’t think she’ll mind, we all do it all the time.” I make a mental note to address the matter with Mrs. Perry before my class tomorrow. For the sake of my sanity, I need more dance time. If there’s something that sets my mind at ease…

I’m not sure whether it is due to the looseness alcohol induces, or perhaps they are always like that, but when my new friends start an exaggeratedly blatant make out session, I feel less than inclined to stick around and watch.

“I’m going to get more drinks,” I mumble to myself, pretty sure no one really listens to me. Deliberately, I approach the bar at the furthest possible spot from where Trooper and Desperado are chatting.

“Another round of shots?” Eileen’s breasts reach me seconds before her voice. I force my straying eyes to stop squinting toward Reeves and focus on the friendly face before me.

“Oh, no. I think we had enough.” I shake my head and send the amorous couple a peep. Eileen follows my gaze and beams.

“Well, the more they go at it, the more drinks the guys around here will need. I’ll be making a fortune tonight.” She grins and I echo her, glad she starts a light conversation that diverts my attention from the liquid exchanging display, or my mortal, soldier fantasy. She asks me how I know Alex and Toni and I tell her about teaching dance at the same studio as Alex.

“So you’re a dancer?” she asks in an oddly loud voice given I’m right in front of her. Saying that, her eyes stray for a quick moment to focus at something behind me. I nod. “You sure look like one.” She adds, her attention back at me.

“Thanks, I guess…” The sides of her eyes crinkle and her smile grows in parallel to a soft squeeze that’s felt on my waist. I flinch in surprise and my eyes fling to look over my shoulder to find out who might be touching me. They meet a wide, semi-bristled neck. Trailing upward, they short circuit with a pair of deep green ones. I take a step sideways so his grip will ease off my waist. Reeves moves to lean with his hip at the bar and studies me.

“Hi neighbor,” he says.

I casually blink in response.

Without asking, Eileen slides a sparkling water glass toward him. He rewards her with a thankful side smile.

“So, Dancer, what’s for you?” she asks next. Reeves’ stare turns to scrutiny, his eyes don’t seem to miss any bit as they sway over me.

“Nothing for me, thanks. I’m heading home. But a cold water pitcher for my friends there, will be great.”

Eileen smiles knowingly and turns her back to us, making, or pretending, to be busy.

“Already leaving?” Reeves asks. I return his profound gaze with a pointed one, and hold it for a stretched beat.

I just shrug in a nonchalant confirmation, “yeah,” and turn on my heels.

“Tomorrow, huh?” Ben says, his head stuck inside his fridge.

“Seems like it,” I say, absorbed in the gazillion inch TV.

He closes the door, leans with one hand on the stainless steel refrigerator, and gazes at me somewhat troubled. “Eight months… it feels like forever. I can’t wait for it to be over,” Ben says, referring to the case we’ve been investigating.

“He is going to reveal the location tomorrow, I’m sure he is. I can feel it,” I respond, raising my eyes to square with my best friend’s.

“I can’t wait to arrest these sick fucks. If I could only shoot this son of a bitch in the head,” says Ben.

I let out a deep heave. So do I. But that’s something we’ll never do. We’ll get the location and time for when the attack is planned, wait for
the day,
and arrest them. And finally get our lives back, at least till the next case. We’ve been so invested in this investigation we almost forgot how real life feels like.

“I’m going to disappear for a while after we’re done. I seriously need some time off,” I say, and Ben nods. “Trekking in South America or something, I need a change of scenery. I need to shut my mind off.”

“You’ll upset Katie.” He grins with his perpetual wicked smile.

“Why’s that?” I frown.

He rolls his eyes and snorts. “You’re blind, dude, baby sis has a major crush on you.”

My turn to roll my eyes. With a headshake, I dismiss the ridiculous observation and add, “Maybe Brazil for a couple of months.”