We Have Till Dawn

by Cara Dee

  I scratched my forehead and then checked the time on my phone.

  Three minutes past ten. I was waiting for him outside my building, and it was good walking weather. Not too cold, which it had been the past few nights, and the sun had been shining all day.

  It occurred to me yesterday that I’d never seen Gideon in the light of day.

  These past several weeks, I hadn’t come to life until the sun went down, whether I was meeting with Gideon—it was mostly him—or I was having dinner with Anthony or catching a drink with Ruby and Chris.

  Where was he?

  I peered up and down the street.

  His punctuality had spoiled me. He’d been late a single time, and he’d texted beforehand.

  I was contemplating sending him a message when my phone rang, and it couldn’t be him. He didn’t like talking on the phone.

  It was Anthony.

  “Sup?” I answered.

  “Oh. Hey. It’s after ten, so I thought I’d go straight to voice mail,” he replied. “Anyway. Uh…I have some bizarre news. Good, but fucking bizarre.”

  “Yeah?” Please tell me he’d dumped that motherfucker.

  “Yeah. The Initiative received a $200,000 donation today.”

  “What the fuck?” I blurted out incredulously.

  “Exactly. Can you believe that? When I saw the zeroes, I was like, get the fuck outta here with that shit. There’s gotta be some mistake. But no. It’s legit, Nicky. Two hundred Gs.”

  “Madonn’, I…I don’t know what to say.” I scrubbed a hand over my face and felt a hundred different emotions stirring within me, and among them was a creeping suspicion. Where in the fresh hell was Gideon? “Who’s it from?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what’s so frustrating about it,” he grated. “It was an anonymous donation.”

  Sure. Yeah, sure. Anonymous. I wondered if Anthony or I knew anyone with that kind of money, maybe someone who’d recently entered my life…

  I huffed out a breath and looked down the street again. His driver usually drove up from that direction so he could pull up right outside the building.

  “Hold up,” Anthony said. “You don’t think…”

  “I don’t know what I think.” I heard the tightness in my voice and tried to calm my fucking tits. I had warning bells sounding inside my head, but it was too soon to get worked up.

  Fuck. I rubbed at my chest. It felt like a giant had closed a fist around it.

  The city commotion didn’t sound like my favorite noise machine anymore. The sirens wailing in the distance, the honking, the occasional hollering, the steady hum of conversation from the pedestrians at the intersection twenty feet away from me, the steam billowing up from the pavement, the lights—all of it sent my heart rate up. Something was wro—

  I snapped my gaze to the left as a familiar-looking Bentley rolled up, and I coulda fuckin’ cried from the relief. It was him.

  “I’mma have to call you back,” I said, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. “Gideon just got here.”

  “All right, talk later.”

  I ended the call and caught a glance at the time. I’d nearly freaked out over his being five minutes late. If there was something wrong, it was with me. Jesus H. Christ.

  “Hi.” I felt like I’d just run a marathon, but seeing him calmed me down. He looked less frazzled today. He’d donned a fall coat that fit him unfairly well, as if he needed to get any sexier. And he wore that kind smile for me.

  “I apologize for being late. There was an accident on Eighth.”

  I didn’t care. I met him halfway and yanked him down for a hard kiss.

  How fucking ironic that I’d fall in love in a New York minute.

  He was caught off guard by the force at first, but then he grinned a little. “I like being greeted like this.”

  “Good,” I chuckled. “You ready for our walk?”

  He nodded. “I’d like to stop for fries somewhere, if you know a good place. I forgot to eat dinner today.”

  Some worry trickled in, ’cause here we go again with the forgetfulness. He was forgetting to take care of himself.

  “We’ll find something better,” I told him, grabbing his hand. “Ya gotta eat proper food, papito.”

  “Fries are potatoes.” He frowned. “It doesn’t get much more proper than that. You’re part Irish—you should know.”

  I barked out a laugh and hugged his bicep. “You’re funny.”

  When was a good time to bring up the donation?

  Something in Gideon’s life must’ve changed for the better because he was a chatty Cathy today. As we strolled through a part of Hell’s Kitchen, he spoke at length about Chester’s latest escapades in the park and that Gideon had booked a photographer for a shoot, ’cause the dog looked “precious rolling around in the fallen leaves.”

  We reached the piers along the Hudson, which was usually where we started turning back toward the apartment, but now he was talking animatedly about an old goth metal band he’d found. In two days, he’d gone through their entire discography, and he couldn’t stop raving about them.

  That was precious.

  I soaked up every word.

  “…and on that note, do you ever sing?” he asked.

  He’d gone from the guitar solo of a Swedish metal artist to my singing? Fair enough.

  “You’ve heard me sing.” As we passed the USS Intrepid, I gestured for us to cross the street while it was still green. It was time to find a place to eat.

  “Not solo,” he pointed out. “I’ve only heard you provide your brother with backup.”

  True. “I prefer backup and harmonies,” I replied. “We have a few songs where I sing more, though. ‘Stand by Me,’ for instance. Which we’ll be performing this Saturday.” I nudged him.

  “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll be the stalker in the back.”

  I chuckled.

  We walked in comfortable silence for a moment once we’d reached West 45th Street, and I thought we could take it all the way to Times Square. He’d told me he avoided the area because it was always so crowded, but then he’d also admitted that he hadn’t walked below Central Park in years. Wherever he went, he got there in a car.

  We made it through a residential area before he spoke up again. “I haven’t felt comfortable rambling to anyone since I was young.”

  I kissed his shoulder, equally thrilled he had no issues being honest about those things…and bummed out, because it fucking sucked that we had no future.

  He squeezed my hand. “By the way, is Nicky short for Nicholas?”

  “Nicola. No one calls me that, not even my family, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “Oh. But it’s such a beautiful name. Don’t you think I’m special enough to be granted permission to call you that?”

  I laughed and peered up at his sly expression. He was trying to play me! He didn’t have puppy-dog eyes, but he was fucking cute. And it was like he’d realized that I didn’t like saying no to him.

  “You’re gonna have to be a lot more convincing than that,” I retorted.

  Damn it. The challenge lit up his eyes.

  I loved that he was being playful with me. I loved it so fucking hard.

  He promised he’d come up with something “shortly,” and I “uh-huh”d him along as I looked up the street to see if I could spot any good restaurants.

  “You don’t believe me,” he stated, mildly offended. “I can be quite persuasive, you know.”

  Don’t I know it.

  “I’m aware. I’ve been fucked by you.” I missed it. “Christ. I should be the one paying you.” I shook my head to myself. And while we were on the subject, I wanted to make something clear. “You know you’re not a dollar sign for me, right? I mean—you were. At first. I’m saving most of the money so I can get into business with Anthony, but—”

  “I know.” He lifted my hand and kissed the top of it. “You’ve hinted at it before.”

  Now was the best time to brin
g up the donation.

  “Someone donated $200,000 to the academy today,” I said.

  “Oh?” He schooled his features a little too quickly, and I narrowed my eyes. “That’s interesting. Would you say that’s a considerable donation, or…?”

  What the fresh fuck.

  “Considerable? It’s a giant donation, and the giant question is—was it you?”

  It had to be him. And I had to know why.

  “Why would you assume it’s me?” he asked, feigning confusion. Very poorly, I might add. He hadn’t been put on this earth to become an actor. “You know what I think? I think it was someone who went to your brother’s website, read the page with the vision he has for the Initiative—with music camps, tutoring, musical therapy—and the man, perhaps he has a dog, or maybe he doesn’t, simply thought, that’s a good cause. I’d like to support that.”

  I…didn’t know what to say. I stopped him right then and there on the sidewalk, and I just stared at him.

  He tested a barely there smile, and some uncertainty seeped into his gaze. “Please don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  But it was a big deal. A giant deal.

  I took a step closer and pressed my lips to his. I kissed him unhurriedly, wanting to say so much, but nothing came out. Not a damn word. Well, actually…there was one thing I could test the waters with.

  “I don’t want you to pay me another cent,” I murmured. “It doesn’t feel right anymore. You’re…essentially paying me to be where I wanna be, right fucking here, with you.”

  He swallowed hard and rested his forehead to mine. “You’re not terminating our arrangement, are you? I’m not ready.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m just saying this has been real for me for a while, and I don’t want either of us to pretend it’s about the money. We’re more than a transaction. So, from this minute, there’s no more hiding behind a payment plan. You’re with me because you wanna be with me, for however long. Deal?”

  A tremor ran through him, and he cupped my face and kissed me passionately. Deeply. He swept his tongue into my mouth, he seduced me, he made out with me like it was our last kiss, he fucking owned me.

  “I wasn’t supposed to break any rules with you,” he said raggedly against my lips. The surrender and despair in his low voice shook me. “I appreciate the gesture, and I won’t hide, but the money’s already yours. Tina has it—”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “Don’t be stubborn. If you don’t want the money, donate it. I have recommendations. There’s this one place in Brooklyn called The Fender Initiative.”

  I huffed. “You’re kind of insufferable, baby.”

  He rumbled a laugh and buried his face against my neck. “Forty-four years old and called baby…”

  I grinned and rolled my eyes. “It’s a term of endearment, dork.”

  “I know.” He was still chuckling when he resurfaced, and it was impossible even to pretend to be annoyed. His happiness looked amazing. “Come on, I want something sweet, preferably chocolate.”

  “After you’ve eaten dinner,” I reminded him.

  “Chocolate for dinner sounds lovely.”

  “Gideon.”

  “Oh, fine. But no vegetables.”

  “And you wonder why I called you baby…”

  He laughed.

  Gideon was picky.

  After he’d vetoed six different restaurants on the way to Times Square, I put my foot down and bought us hot dogs from a vendor. The horrified look he gave me was priceless. But hey, I had limits. If he had texture issues or something, fine. I wasn’t gonna make him eat something he really didn’t like, but the excuse “I don’t know…” wasn’t actually an excuse. He just couldn’t make up his mind sometimes.

  “Is this truly hygienic?” He eyed his hot dog with all the skepticism he could muster.

  “Trust, papi.” I bit into my hot dog and chewed quickly. “All eyes are on the street vendors. If you want an unsanitary dining experience, go to a midrange restaurant.”

  He hummed and stepped closer to the building. Times Square was right ahead, less than a minute’s walk up the street, and there were plenty of benches.

  “You wanna go sit over there?” I pointed up the street.

  “I don’t think so.” He took a tentative bite of his food. He hadn’t allowed anything other than mustard on it. “I know where we are. Tourist mecca of the universe.”

  I snickered.

  He looked as if he couldn’t decide if he liked the food or not, though the next bite he took was without apprehension.

  I extended the water I’d bought for us in silent offering.

  He shook his head, busy chewing.

  I grinned when he got some mustard on his upper lip. “You’re cute, you know that?”

  “Don’t give me compliments when I’m eating.” He failed to stifle his own grin, and I could thank the bright lights from Times Square for revealing his faint blush. “I still want chocolate after this, for the record. Don’t deny me.”

  I really fucking loved him. He’d let his guard down around me, and I never wanted it to go up again.

  “There’s a Godiva store across the square,” I mentioned and took a big bite. Unlike his lame hot dog, I had ketchup and onions on mine too.

  “Damn it.” He winced as he spilled some mustard on his coat. “I like their hot chocolate very much.”

  “We’ll get you a cup, then.” I jammed the rest of my hot dog into my pie hole, then uncapped the water and poured some on a napkin. “Lemme,” I said with my mouth full. Then I wiped the stain off his coat—and his upper lip. “All gone.”

  He smiled and dipped down to kiss me chastely. “Thank you.”

  I smiled back.

  He didn’t seem to mind that I doted on him. I ached for a lot more of it. It was one of my favorite aspects of being in a relationship, taking care of someone, making them feel special.

  “If walking across Times Square will give you anxiety, you can stay here while I buy us some chocolate.” I grabbed the trash and threw it in a nearby trash can. “It’s one thing to push you past some discomfort, but I don’t wanna expose you to panic or anything.”

  Gideon made a face and ran a hand through his hair. “As comfortable as it would be to say I’d panic, I don’t think I would. You have a strange knack for not giving me more than I can handle.” He paused. “Except for one time. When you invited your brother to come out for drinks with us, I stopped breathing for a beat.”

  Aw, shit. “I only asked him ’cause I knew he’d say no, hon. He’s up at dawn on Saturdays. That’s when he goes bananas in his workshop. He builds and repairs instruments.”

  “Oh. I should’ve known.”

  I shook my head and ducked in for a quick kiss. “I coulda explained it after it happened.” Clear communication was important in any relationship. With someone who was autistic, I’d learned you might as well multiply that importance by ten. “You ready to hit up Godiva?”

  “Yes.” He nodded firmly. “Please tell me the direction as soon as we reach the square. I’m not entirely certain I can navigate myself once I’m there.”

  “Of course. I’ll let you know.”

  I noticed by his grip on my hand that he was tense and uncomfortable, but he pushed through and walked with quick strides.

  “We’ll have Levi’s to our right here,” I said as we got closer.

  “You like that brand,” he noted. “Most of your jeans are Levi’s.”

  Yup.

  When we reached the square, we were smack-dab in the middle of it. Billboards literally everywhere, each one flashing in bright colors and turning this little spot in New York into a constant state of daytime. It wasn’t even midnight yet, so there were still tourists pretty much everywhere.

  “Let’s cross here,” I said, pointing the water bottle at the street we’d just walked up. We needed to get to the other side. “Godiva is straight across over there.” I gestured to t
he actual plaza where there were no cars, so we had to cross it diagonally.

  Gideon nodded with a dip of his chin and followed me across the street, before he slowed down and looked up. He stared at the billboards as if he’d never seen them before. Fashion brands, Broadway shows, fast-food commercials, comedy specials, Coke, M&M, Hershey’s…

  It was quickly becoming too much for him, I could tell. He looked away from one flashing billboard only to get stuck on another, and then he spun around in a half circle and flinched at the sound of a street performer who was banging on upside-down buckets. I could only imagine what it was doing to Gideon, having no filters to push anything aside. People talking and laughing and hollering, taking pictures and pointing at various billboards, the traffic noise, the ever-present sound of sirens wailing. Times Square was alive.

  “Gideon, we’re almost there,” I urged. “Focus on me—or look at the store over there.”

  “I—” He flinched again and came to a full stop. “It’s too much.”

  “I know, hon. Let me guide you to the benches, okay? Just a few seconds.”

  He sucked in a breath and nodded once.

  I had to think fast. He was gonna panic if he didn’t get away from all the noise and the movement, but it was a struggle to make him budge at all. The nearest bench was ten or so feet away, and I had to almost shove him there.

  Fuck, what would Anthony do? He’d dealt with students’ meltdowns.

  How could I create a safe bubble or whatever?

  I could only think of one thing.

  “Here, sit down. One leg on each side.” I managed to get him to sit down on the stone bench, and then I hiked one of his legs over it before I straddled the bench myself.

  “This isn’t n-normal,” he gritted out and screwed his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

  First time I heard Gideon swear, and it was because I’d pushed him too far. Fucking great.

  “Adults don’t sit like this, N-Nicky,” he insisted.

  “Fuck being an adult, then.” I scooted closer and hitched my legs over his thighs. The water bottle ended up slightly behind me. At the same time, I dug out my earbuds and my phone from my jacket pocket. “Let’s shut out the world, shall we?”