Holding Aces

by Nikki Groom

  “You’re not kissing me.”

  “No.” His simple answer sends a twinge of pain through my heart.

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “You need to work things through in your head, and getting it all out seems the best way on this occasion,” he says sadly. He’s still thinking about what’s best for me but his tone is flat and I can tell he’s unhappy.

  “What’s going on in your head?” I lower my voice. “You seem distant all of a sudden.”

  He stands and closes the distance between us, wrapping me in the comfort and safety of his arms. I feel my body melt into his. It would seem that he radiates a potent feeling of calm which washes over me and renders me unable to think of anything else. “I think that’s enough talking for one night don’t you?”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” I say, poking him in the chest. “Out with it …”

  “I’m glad that things have happened this way,” he states. I stiffen, not understanding why anyone would be glad of the situation I’ve been in.

  “I mean, I’m not glad about any of the pain you have suffered, but if all of this hadn’t happened I would never have known you existed and you would still be living as a girl called Natalie with no family and no identity other than the one you created. Were you really happy?”

  I think about his answer. I’m happy that my path brought me to Denham’s door, and no, I wasn’t truly happy. And after experiencing happiness in its purest form over the last few days, and having a glimpse of my future, I know that I would never have been truly happy. I might have some things to sort out, a few obstacles to overcome, but I feel more alive than I ever have and a big chunk of that is down to Denham King.

  “No,” I sigh. “No, I wasn’t. It’s been a long time since I remember being happy and carefree.”

  “We are going to rectify that, Stunner. I want to fill your head with so many happy memories there won’t be any room for the bad ones. Every time you recall a moment or an event, I want you to remember good times … great times. I want all of them to be with me.”

  “Denham, I …”

  “Look, I know you can’t give me words to explain how you feel. I know you’re scared that if you say them aloud that it will be set in stone and there will be no going back, but I don’t need you to say anything.” He brushes my hair from my face and runs his thumb along my marked cheekbone. “I feel you, Arianna. There is no explanation for it. I feel when you’re happy and I feel when you’re sad. That faraway look that you had in your eyes is nearly gone. I’ve watched you come to life.” He speaks on a whisper and I feel his breath on my face; I feel every word in my heart.

  The background music changes and Paul Weller begins to sing about feelings deep inside. “Dance with me,” Denham says.

  “Dance? Here?”

  “Yes. Shhh, just close your eyes and feel, Ari.” He pulls my hands up around his neck and closes both of his arms around my waist. His hips rock us gently and we move together, cheeks touching and feeling our heartbeats synchronize through our chests. He’s right. We have a connection, and there is no explanation. It just is what it is.

  He hums the gravelly notes to me and I feel them through my body. The sound of him makes my hairs stand on end and I’m overcome. My eyes fill with tears and I’m not sure why.

  Who am I kidding? I know why.

  I’m falling for him. It is ridiculous to be falling in love after a week, but I know how I felt before and I know how I feel now. Denying it is futile. My glass heart is exposed, and it terrifies me more than anything, but I can’t stop it. I also can’t admit it out loud, it’s too soon. There may never be a right time to bare my heart so openly to someone. It’s my secret, to keep, to cherish, and to hold on tight to. “You’re going too deep in your head again, Stunner.”

  “I know,” I reply sadly, I wish I didn’t do it but I can’t stop.

  “Tell me …”

  “I’m too scared.”

  “Look at me,” he demands. “Tell me.”

  “Don’t you think this is all crazy? You and me … this … whatever this is ...” I trail off at the end, a little frightened at what his response may be.

  “What’s crazy about it?”

  “We’ve barely known each other a week.”

  “And there’s a time limit on these kind of things? Huh, let me see ...” he muses, comically rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “The rule book says no sex until after the third date, you must not fall in love before spending at least two months together, marriage is out of the question until you have at least been dating for a year, and after that children may be planned ...”

  “I’m being serious!” I say, smacking his chest playfully with the flat of my hand.

  “Okay,” he replies, continuing to rock us to the beat of the music. “Yes, I do think this is crazy, but not in a bad way. So what if it’s only been a week? Who says it has to be more? Who says there isn’t such a thing as love at first sight? I’ve told you, Ari, I can’t pretend how I feel. I am sorry if that frightens you, but at least you know I’m being honest with you, right?”

  I nod into his chest. “Then just let it be. I don’t expect a declaration of undying love from you. In fact, I don’t expect anything from you. Just don’t keep trying to find reasons why this shouldn’t work.” He tilts my chin so I’m looking up at him, looking into those twinkling eyes and seeing nothing but honesty. “When you learn that you can let go and trust me, I’ll be able to show you that I’m here to catch you.”

  Our lips find each other. Gently at first, butterfly soft kisses that set my skin alight. I push my fingers up into his hair and pull him closer. Our tongues dance a sensual tango that has me breathless and needy. Denham’s hands slide up my waist, his thumbs rolling in circles along the way until he’s holding my ribs and grazing the underside of my breasts.

  “Well, fuck me if Denham King hasn’t gone and got himself a woman to finally get laid.”

  We jump apart at the very unwelcome intrusion and our heads snap in the direction of the voice. It takes a second to register that I’m not imagining my perfect moment being totally ruined by a young, pretty, foul-mouthed young woman.

  “Tara ...” Denham groans and I can feel my hackles rising.

  “Um, do you want to tell me who this unexpected visitor is or do I need to go postal on the pair of you?” I bite with my hands on my hips. I’m still trying to take control of my body which is living in the feeling of two minutes ago as I take in the young girl in front of me, all legs in a pair of short shorts, a sleeveless white shirt tied at her waist, showing her belly button and a mass of blonde curls that tumble around her in all directions.

  “Oooh, you got a sharp one here, big bro.” She laughs.

  “Tara, what the hell are you doing here and how the fuck did you get in?”

  Of course. Tara, Denham’s sister. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

  “I need to borrow some cash, bro. Pleeeeeeeeeeease.”

  “You wanna tell me how you got in here?” Denham asks sharply, ignoring her plea.

  “I walked through the fucking door, how do you think? Jeez, I thought you were smarter than that,” she jokes. Regardless that I’m still very pissed off at being interrupted, the way she speaks to Denham makes me laugh. Tara walks toward me and smiles. “It seems my brother has lost his manners. I’m Tara, his favorite sister.” She winks.

  “Tara, you’re my only sister.” Denham chuckles.

  “Yeah, and therefore, your favorite.” She grins.

  I hold out my hand to her. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Arianna.”

  She looks at me as if I have two heads, then shocks me by pushing my outstretched hand out of the way and pulling me into a tight hug. Tara releases me and goes to the kitchen, helping herself to a beer from the fridge.

  “I’m so sorry,” Denham whispers into my ear. “I’m gonna get rid of her and then we’re going to pick back up where we left off.”

  “I’m loving the sof
t music and candles, bro. Very smooooooth,” she says before popping the cap on a bottle.

  “Um, what exactly are you here for, T?”

  “I just wanted to see my favorite brother. Is that such a crime?”

  “You want cash,” he states.

  “Well, if you’re offering, just until payday. Oh, by the way, the door is open to the other penthouse. You should really be more careful,” she casually says, taking a swig from the beer she has helped herself to.

  Denham reacts instantly, not even asking her what she means. His reaction worries me and I follow him out of his door and into my apartment, watching as he switches on all the lights as he goes, frantically checking every corner, behind all the curtains and doors, even flinging the doors to the wardrobe open and slamming them with a bang that rattle right through me.

  “Denham, stop … you’re worrying me.”

  He stops instantly, not even realizing I was behind him. His chest is heaving with concern and his face full of worry.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry, Ari, I didn’t mean to worry you, I just …”

  “What? Please, tell me.”

  “I’m pretty sure your door was tight shut and no one can get up here without the code.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, knowing there’s an underlying reason for his frantic behavior.

  “Nothing, there’s nothing to tell, it’s just …”

  “What?” I insist.

  “You make me not think straight! I don’t process anything rationally, and the thought of someone being in your apartment … it scares me, Ari. You could have been here.”

  I know exactly what he means as I feel it too. I’m also sure the doors were shut, but we’ve been so carefree, so caught up in each other … it was an easy thing to overlook. “Think about it, Denham, do you actually remember closing the door? We’ve been kinda … preoccupied.” I pull him to me, turning the tables and reassuring him for once.

  “You’re staying with me tonight,” he states.

  “I was planning on staying with you anyway,” I reply confidently.

  Denham raises his brow at me, flashing the golden twinkle in his eye. “Oh, you were?”

  “Yes. Come on.” I tug him by the arms and turn off the lights as we move through the apartment. Denham is still on edge and scans every corner, but doesn’t argue. His unease makes me nervous and I think there may be something he’s not telling me. It makes me feel edgy. But it’s just a feeling and I convince myself that I’m looking for shadows in the darkness because I don’t truly expect life to let me be happy.

  I close the door and Denham rattles the handle to make sure it’s shut properly, then hugs me tightly, exhaling deeply and kissing me on the forehead.

  We enter his apartment to find Tara has made herself very comfortable on the couch. “What is up with you guys? Panic much? Relax, you probably just forgot to close it in your haste to get each other’s clothes off.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be, sis?” Denham grumbles through gritted teeth.

  “Nope,” she says, checking her watch. “Not for, like, an hour.” She smiles smugly. “Anyway, I want to get to know the woman that you deemed good enough to bring up here.”

  “Tara ...” he warns.

  “Ah, don’t give me your big brother warning tone, D. You don’t scare me. Do me a favor and grab me another beer while you’re there, get Ari one too. Us girls can get to know one another while you make yourself busy with the washing up or something.”

  Oh, she has him wrapped around her little finger. She’s so straight talking, and I instantly like her. She reminds me very much of Lottie—shoots straight from the hip and makes no apologies for it. She winks in my direction but keeps a straight face.

  “Tara,” Denham says exasperatedly. “You come in here, interrupt us, then order me to get you beer. And how do you know that Arianna even likes beer?”

  “Because, sweet brother, any woman who has good enough taste to spend time with my brother will happily drink beer with me.” She smiles sweetly. I see from the twinkle in her eye that she loves to wind him up, and I also think if she hadn’t walked in at the exact moment that she did, he would be enjoying the banter. But right now he’s a little tense. She does have a carefree, calming effect on him though and regardless of the panic that moved through both of us, I can see that he’s starting to relax. He grabs two beers from the fridge and pops the caps. I take them from him and whisper a thank you, kissing him on the cheek.

  “You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want to,” he reassures me.

  “It’s fine, just you go do the washing up or something,” I quip, turning before he can say something back. I start to walk away, but he catches me on the ass with the flick of a hand towel before I can move very far which makes me yelp. Tara laughs so hard she almost falls off the couch and Denham’s laugh rumbles around the apartment. Just like that, the earlier atmosphere is lifted.

  Laughter really is a great cure for anything.

  IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY EMOTIONALLY and physically and I’ve been lying awake for ages, even though Denham has drifted off to sleep. He sleeps like your typical man—two seconds and he’s out for the count.

  I find myself chuckling about the stories Tara thought would be funny to tell me. Denham, of course, did not find it amusing and pretty much walked her out the door when she started to tell me about the time Denham let her play dress up with him, makeup and all. She never got to finish the story, but I would really like to spend some more time to find out what happened and get to know her a little better. She made sure we exchanged numbers so maybe I’ll grab lunch with her sometime.

  The situation with the open door also runs through my mind. Would we have been careless enough to leave it open? Quite possibly. It seems that the rest of the world falls away when we’re together and all that matters is each other. What we feel in that particular moment consumes every part of my being, Denham’s too if I am to believe what he tells me. And I do believe him.

  It’s profound.

  It’s also crazy given the amount of time we have known each other.

  No matter which way I puzzle and try to analyze things, I always come back to the same conclusion. Whatever happens, I’m powerless to the draw, to him and to how he makes me feel. I’m not sure how long I can accept this explanation for the intensity we have, or how long I will just let it happen before my cynical mind tries to find a hidden meaning or agenda, I just have to savor every minute of goodness and forget about the rest.

  I study Denham’s profile in the moonlight. Until I slept here, with him, I had always shut out the light, shut out the rest of the world in an attempt to block out reality and pretend, for whatever small amount of time I was allowed, that my dream world was real because, for the most part, it was better than the cold light of reality. But now, as everything else around me is changing, so is this. I’m grateful for the subtle light. I don’t feel the need to shut out the rest of the world as I’m content where I am.

  The light touches Denham’s face on all his handsome edges; it highlights his sharp cheekbones and I instinctively trace them with the very tip of my finger, gently so as not to wake him and disturb the very peaceful sleep that he has found. His stubble prickles my finger and I stroke his face along his jaw until I reach his lips, his smooth, soft, full lips that I so badly want to kiss, but I don’t as it would be selfish to wake him no matter how much he would protest to that thought. I could sit and watch him sleeping peacefully all night, but my eyes feel heavy and I figure I’ll have many more nights to watch him sleep.

  Instead of running from that thought, I embrace it.

  When my mind finally stops racing so fast, and I’m content to just let myself be in a happy place, I lose myself to sleep. Sleep is less than kind to me though, and I’m plagued with dreams and scenarios that have me clutching at the sheets and wondering if I am in my own personal Hell or an imaginary world. Whichever
it is, it’s not somewhere I would willingly venture.

  My back hits the rough concrete wall and the breath leaves my body with a whoosh. His fingers grip tightly around my throat, so tight that I try and gasp for air but with each breath his fingers grip tighter and my lungs get smaller. He’s yelling so loudly that the sound hurts my ears and the words blur together as the blood flow slows around my body.

  “You stupid bitch! Look at what you made me do! You’re a slut, nothing but a fucking slut!” He spits putrid, stale saliva at me as he throws the vile tirade in my direction. The only part of my body that is functioning properly is my vision, so I see it all. It’s all happening in slow motion, drawing out the agony, making the fear last long enough so that he knows I won’t forget it.

  I see the rage … the pure evil in his black eyes.

  “You’re gonna learn the hard way. How many times do I have to do this, eh? Do you like being punished, Arianna baby?” Every one of his loaded words stabs me, and my vision narrows as realization hits me that he is going too far.

  He’s going to cross the line.

  I’m being hurtled toward a black tunnel that’s closing in fast as his fingers pinch tighter with every second that passes. I try to call out one last time, and every last ounce of strength I have in my body is used in this last ditch attempt to make him stop.

  But it’s too late.

  The darkness takes me ...

  “It’s okay, Arianna …”

  The voice doesn’t belong to the face in my nightmares. It doesn’t match.

  But I’m in too deep. It won’t stop.

  I throw my head from side to side and push him away as hard as I can. I can’t do it again. I can’t.

  I’m sweating.

  I’m hurting.

  I’m terrified.

  No longer able to detach and block it out, I feel every hateful word, every threat, every nerve ending that’s protesting against the pain.

  His hands tighten around the tops of my arms, pushing me into the mattress and rendering me unable to move.