To Hold and to Heal (BWWM Interracial Romance) (6 page)

             
He lifted her face to look at him. “Your brother loved you.”

             
“I know. I just don't know why he left and I'm still . . .” she finally trailed off. She could feel the tears brimming behind her lids. She turned and tried to push away from Alden, but he held her still.

             
Then the tears came. Hot and salty, they poured down her face. Tears that she’d been holding back for months, for years since long before Sam died. She hated that she was crying, that she was weak and exposed, but she couldn’t help it. The burn of his touch, of his eyes was too much and all of her defenses came tumbling down. She leaned into his embrace and was vaguely aware that he was lowering her to the floor as he spoke to her in a low whisper.

             
His fingertips wiped the tears as they fell. They maneuvered around each other instinctively as he refused to let go of her and she found herself clinging to him as her body shuddered in deep sobs. His back was against the bar and she sat sideways, her legs and knees drawn up over his outstretched ones. He pulled the ponytail out and stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head, all the while whispering gently, “Its okay, its okay.”

             
His hands stroked her back through the thin t-shirt, his thumb running down her spine. His fingers worked the tight knots of tension until she relaxed in his arms. Curled against him, her sobbing slowed and finally stopped. They sat in silence, his fingers running hot trails down her bare arm, his chin resting on the top of her head. She stayed in the crook of his neck, exhausted from the flood of emotion. She moved her hand to rest against his chest and taking it he brought it up to his face and kissed the back of her fingers.

             
His let go of her hand and pushed her face up. Pulling away she covered her face with her hand. “I look terrible.” Her voice was a broken squeak, her throat raw from crying for the first time in a long while.

             
Alden pulled her hand away. He cradled her face in his palm forcing her to look at him. She sniffled and he smiled.

“Don’t. I –“

He stopped her with his lips. The kiss was unexpected, as gentle as his hands had been on her arm. She let her hand settle back on his chest as he parted her lips with his own, his hands stroking her cheek, wiping away the remainder of the wet trails left by her tears.

             
Her fingers gripped his shirt, needing to hold on to something. His mouth was hot against hers as he ended the kiss.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't.” His voice was still the same soft whisper. She could feel him pulling away from her.

             
Her fingers tightened on his shirt. “Don't go,” she whispered, hating the sound of her voice. With her free hand she found his face and pulled it back to her. He came willingly, capturing her lips, his hand pushing up her shirt to run against her skin.

             
She moved her hand to his belt buckle, working the leather strap loose. He groaned against her mouth and then pulled her back. “No. Stop. I can't.”

             
She stared back at him in a daze. “Why?”

             
He looked at her for a moment, his eyes searching for something. “Because I don't want this to be just, this,” he said, moving his hand between them.

             
“I don't understand,” Nice said, moving back away from him. “What else could this be? You're going back to wherever you came from. You should already be gone.”

             
“But I'm not. I'm still here because I can't leave,” he said, his eyes intense.

             
Nice pushed out of his embrace completely embarrassed, rejected.

All I am is a debt to him.

She shook her head. “You don't have to stay. You don't have to do anything else. You helped me tonight with things. There, it's settled. You’re free to go with a clear conscience.”
             

             
She moved to escape his grasp, to stand. He reached for her, awkwardly, catching her arms.

His leg must be bothering him,
she realized taking in his position still on the floor. She tensed up and he released her.

“No, that's not what I meant.”

             
“Then what did you mean?” She heard the hard edge coming back into her voice, giving her strength.

             
He leaned against the bar closing his eyes. The light picked up the stubble on his chin and cheeks as he thought. “Don't you feel this?” he finally asked. “What’s going on between us? Don’t tell me it’s just sex.”

             
She started to ask him what, but then stopped herself. She knew exactly what he felt. Or at least what she hoped he felt. He picked up her hand and placed it over his heart. The steady beat of it vibrated through her. And she wanted that. His steady beat, calming her, keeping her sane.

             
He reached for her face. Pulling her so close that their noses touched, he laid a gentle chaste kiss on her mouth. “This,” he said simply. “Don't you feel this?”

             
Nice could feel it, not just his heartbeat but the heaviness in the air, the electric shock of his touch. The fact that she had done everything in the past two days that she could think of not to think of him. “But you're going -”

             
“Home in two days,” he finished.

             
The shock of his words ripped through her. She moved to pull away from him again. “Why would you say those things if you-”

             
He shook his head and pulled her tighter, covering her mouth with his palm, “I have to go home. I have business to take care of, but I'll come back at the end of the week.”  Before she could protest he bent to her ear and whispered, “I promise.”

             
She leaned into his body, letting his heat sink to her core. Finding the perfect fit for her body against his. She laughed. “You promised my brother that you would make sure I was alright and it took you three years to do that.”

             
He stilled, his breath catching in his throat. “I would have come sooner but I couldn't.”

             
“So you keep saying.”

             
They sat in silence, comfortable in the sound of each other’s breathing. 

How would it have been different
, she wondered as his fingers played in her hair,
if he had been here back then?

It had been a mess after Sam's funeral. Her father’s drinking had gotten much worse and she was suddenly in charge of everything. What would it have been like if he had been there to hold her, to let her cry?

             
He ran his fingertips down her body making her shiver in anticipation. “Nice, I have so much to tell you about everything but right now is not the time.”

             
“Why not? What's your big secret?” she asked, not wanting the moment to end.

             
He shook his head with an embarrassed laugh. “No secrets! I just can't sit here any longer.”

             
“Oh!” Nice scrambled up from the floor, his embrace reluctantly releasing her.

             
She reached down and helped him to his feet before handing him his cane. He leaned heavily on it. “I'm sorry,” she said, a blush rising to her face.

             
He shook his head. “Don't apologize. I'm fine.”

             
“You're limping.”

             
He looked at her quizzically. “I'm always limping.”

             
“I mean-” He stopped her with his lips. The kiss was hungry, pulling her in and forcing her mouth open as he wrapped his free hand around her back. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he had started it. “I wouldn’t trade that moment on the floor with you for anything.” He kissed her forehead and released her. “Give me your phone.”

             
She handed it over without thinking. He keyed his number into it and then called himself letting it vibrate twice before hanging up.

             
Handing the phone back he said, “Now you can reach me any time.”

             
She lifted an eyebrow. “And you can reach me whenever you want?”

             
He shrugged. “Well, at least I won’t have to stalk you anymore if I can call you.”

             
“Ha! You were stalking me!”

             
He smiled. “Let me walk you to your car.”

             
“I don't have a car.”

             
“Then I'll drive you home.”

             
Nice thought for a moment. “No. I'm okay. I can walk. It's not far. That's how I usually get there anyway.”

             
He looked offended. “No. I'm not letting you walk home at,” he fished his cell out of his pocket, “3:30 AM. No way.”

             
She rolled her eyes. “I've been doing it since forever, I'm fine.” He opened his mouth to protest and she stopped him. “I'm fine. Really.”

             
He raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, then call me when you get there so I won’t worry.”

             
“I'll text you. Maybe.”

             
He sighed in defeat and snaked his arm around her waist pulling her close. “Are you really going to make this more difficult?” His eyes were cloudy and deep.

             
“Okay, I'll call,” she replied, smiling softly.

             
“Thank you,” he said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

             
“Now get out of my bar so I can lock up. Last call was over an hour ago!”

             
He laughed deep in his chest as he released her to go shut off the lights and grab her keys. She walked out as he held the door open for her. Shutting it behind them, she locked up and stood on the steps. He leaned down and kissed her again. “Call me. Tonight. As soon as you're safe at home.”

             
She nodded not wanting to leave him, but knowing she had too. He limped off the steps and down the street to his own car. She waited until he turned the corner before leaving the steps and walking in the opposite direction.

Chapter Four

             
Nice was abruptly woken from sleep by her father banging on her door. She pulled herself from the heavy tendrils of sleep. “Hold on!” she shouted, knowing it would do no good. She rubbed her eyes, fighting the sleep that was threatening to drag her back under.

             
She pulled herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes. They focused on the blurry clock. It was only 8:30 AM. “Jesus, Dad,” she mumbled to herself. She stood up on shaky legs and walked to her bedroom door. She unlocked it and opened it quickly, “What?” she snarled up at him.

             
Sam Sr. was tall and wide. He had played football in his youth, but now the muscle that had once been there was wasted away to flab. Still he was an imposing figure and took up most of the door. Her father looked her up and down and turned away, “Put some clothes on.”

             
She looked down at herself and quickly closed the door hiding her barely clad body. The t-shirt from the night before didn't do much to cover her panties. She pulled on a pair of yoga pants that were on the end of her bed and opened the door. Her father's bloodshot eyes met hers. “I need you to run to the store for me.”

             
“Dad, no, it's too early. They're not even open yet.” She moved to close the door and he stopped it with his hand.

             
“Bernice, I need your help honey,” he said, the pleading evident in his voice.

             
She sighed, it was always worse when he was sweet to her. “Dad, there's nothing I can do. The stores aren't open yet.”

             
“Go to the bar. Get me something.”

             
She backed away from the door. “No, I can't. That's a rule. You know that, it's the one rule. Don't drink the stock.”

             
He nodded. “I know, I know. It's just that I'm shaking.” He held out his hand. There was a visible tremor.

             
“Dad...”

She had no choice. She didn't know where he'd been the last couple of days but now he needed a drink and he needed it in a bad way. And whenever that happened he always came home. And it would just get worse if he didn't get one. Much worse.

She grabbed her phone and collected her keys before padding out of the bedroom. She passed her father in the hallway and tried to hold her breath. The smell of stale booze surrounding him made her almost ill. Pulling on her sneakers she quickly left the house.