Release

by J , Louise

  Absolutely inappropriate, given Dane’s anger, but I just tingled with pride at that protective statement of his.

  “I wasn’t really thinking like that.”

  Now he just stares at me, no more impressed than he was a moment ago. I feel like I need to explain, so I raise my head and do just that.

  “They were in the club with some friends, sitting in the booth next to ours. When Leona heard their accents she started talking to them. They’re from a place called Leeds in the UK. They ended up on our table, and I had a chat with the girlfriend, Amelia. At one point I noticed her boyfriend having a go at her. I didn’t think much of it, all couples fall out. Then I saw him pressuring her to drink alcohol when she didn’t want to. I don’t think anyone else noticed – I only did because she was sitting beside me. I did try to ignore it. Then we were all up dancing and then had more champagne and some tequila. Leona wanted some air and Xavier was gonna go with her, but Kayla and me said we would because we needed to cool down a bit.

  “When we got outside we walked down the street, so we weren’t stood in the crowd, and then I spotted the prick holding Amelia’s arm and talking right in her face, so aggressive. She looked so scared. Before I knew what I was doing I was trying to push him away from her. Then it just got messy. He started shouting and so did I, and because he was yelling at me, Leona and Kayla started on him.”

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Amelia was screaming at you and your girls. You got involved to save her ass and she took his side. What was the point? She was always gonna go home with him and stay in that relationship for however long she chooses to. You’re not a super-fucking-hero; you can’t run around saving people and going up against assholes like that. Pilates doesn’t exactly make for good self-defense, does it?”

  I chuckle at that before I can stop myself.

  Dane’s expression hardens further. I didn’t think he could get any angrier.

  “I didn’t consciously make a decision to intervene, Dane. I really didn’t, I swear. It was like someone suddenly changed the channel on a TV. One minute I’m standing there, the next I’m in front of him. I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s hero, but I switched and …” I shrug.

  “Are you planning on doing anymore toilet hugging?”

  “I don’t think I have anymore to give.” Please, God, no dry heaving in front of my man.

  Dane stands and holds his hands out to me. I clasp them and he pulls me up. When I’m upright on both feet, he lets go and turns for the cupboard.

  I stop in front of the sink and look into the mirror above it, my eyes widening at the sight of myself. “Oh, fuck,” I mutter. “Panda eyes.” And pasty skin. And hair that looks like rats tails desperately trying to remain bound in my chignon.

  If I was told I look like shit right now I’d take it as a compliment.

  I grab my electric toothbrush from the holder and run water over the bristles. After adding an extra-large blob of minty paste, I start to clean my teeth. Dane steps into view, beside me, holding a black facecloth. The reflection of him is in profile.

  Tipping forward, I thoroughly rinse my mouth and toothbrush. When I’m upright, Dane locks gazes with me through the mirror. I am an absolute mess, and he is absolutely gorgeous. Beautiful. Male. Perfection.

  As I put things back where they belong, I tell him, “You look nice.”

  A crisp snow-white T-shirt, with a gray design that I can’t focus too much on, hugs his spectacular physique. Gray Jeans with that narrow fit and low hung waistband and the sexy sag at the crotch. His hair. His nose piercing. Him. Simply him.

  He doesn’t respond to what I said. He’s massively unimpressed with me.

  Somehow, I’ve pushed boundaries with him tonight.

  Coming up beside me, he turns on the tap and lowers the facecloth underneath. After squeezing out the excess water, he turns to face me, and I do him. One hand snakes around the back of my neck, keeping me in place, and the other wipes my face with firm, careful strokes; both eyes, my forehead, down my nose, across my cheeks, over my mouth, along my jaw, and down my neck.

  I hate the silence surrounding us and between us. I don’t know how to change it, but I’m desperate to.

  Dane dumps the cloth in the sink. Setting free my hair from its confines, he ruffles my rats’ tails with his hands and leaves them hanging down. He cups the sides of my jaw firmly enough to tilt my head back, until our eyes meet. “You can’t do stupid shit like that, Brooklyn.” His tone is hard. It carries no threat, but likewise there isn’t a trace of kindness in there.

  I almost give into the urge to scream at him – you can’t tell me what to do – but I know he cares, and as angry as he is, he isn’t trying to control or own me. He cares and for some reason his concern runs deep.

  “You need to be wise about your decisions and the positions you put yourself in,” he says.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, just be wise. I don’t like men like him either, the motherfucker could do with getting his ass kicked, but that has nothing to do with you. You can’t make other people’s problems yours. I’m all for you having a good time, but if drinking so much makes you that reckless, don’t do it.”

  I open my mouth to speak. Then close it. Open again. Close again. What do I say to that? The messages are mixed. In effect, he’s telling me what to do.

  “You can’t … I don’t always drink like that. It’s only the second time I’ve ever drank that much, and once was rebelling. I’m not a drunk and I’m not a slag and I don’t go out getting drunk and making a fool of myself or slagging about with strangers–” he puts his forefinger over my lips.

  “Stop raising your voice and stop being so defensive,” he says calmly. “I know you’re not a drunk and I know you don’t put it about – damn it, Brooklyn, you’ve got a temper, what’s wrong with you tonight?”

  “Nothing, it …”

  “It what?” he prompts.

  “It just sounded like an accusation, and like you’re telling me what to do,” I mumble, lowering my gaze to his chest. Oh, boy, do I want to cry. No fucking way is that happening.

  “You’re reading this all wrong,” he says with a firmer tone. “Drink if you want, but not to the degree that you can’t control your reaction to things. If drinking the way you have tonight means you confront a prick like that guy with no thought of the consequences, then yes I am telling you what to do. I’m not trying to own you, you’re your own woman, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you do shit like that, or anything else that can get you hurt. If you have a problem with that, then we have a problem, but don’t blur the lines.”

  “I –” whoa, shit. I press my lips together and hold his gaze. Not going there.

  “What?” he says with the softest voice he’s used all night.

  The way he’s looking at me it would be so easy to believe he loves me, and that would make what I almost just said so easy to say. It’s not the first time I’ve felt this when he’s looked at me, and it’s not the first time I’ve come close to saying it.

  The biggest lesson I’ve learnt in my life is how wrong you can get things and what you can make yourself believe if you want it enough.

  “I’m sorry,” is the most I can say. I wrap my arms around his waist and nestle my face against his chest. He encases me in his hold. A tight hold that’s almost too much, but I don’t care at this point. I breathe him in, taking comfort from his scent, his presence.

  “I’m sorry if I was hard on you,” he says, talking into my hair, “and for cursing at you, but, baby, I need you to take care of yourself when I’m not with you, and I’m not just talking about bullshit situations like tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  I can’t say I’m not slightly confused here. I’ve never considered myself irresponsible before. Well, maybe once or twice before, but not in the time Dane’s known me. I don’t get his level of concern, but after tonight I haven’t got much to
use in my defense.

  Pulling out of his hold, I reach for my hair brush and start combing through my limp strands. My face looks better, but only marginally. On the plus side, I’m certain there’ll be no more getting sick for me. I’m gonna be seriously hanging when I wake up though.

  As I continue the strokes through my tresses, which are now much better looking down the front left side, I feel it necessary to regain any respect I may have lost from Dane tonight.

  “I know my limits with alcohol. I don’t usually have as much as I did tonight.”

  “I do know that, sweetheart.” We make eye contact through our reflections. He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Even in his relaxed stance his posture remains perfect. “You said the first time you were rebelling. Was that with your parents?”

  That’s a logical assumption. I hesitate with my response. I hate lying to Dane, maybe just this once a snippet of truth won’t hurt. My gaze moves from his beautiful eyes, which are once again warm, and I follow the movement of my brush. Having this activity to focus on somehow makes this little truth easier to give.

  “My last boyfriend, Adrian, hated me drinking.”

  “Why?” Curiosity crept into his tone.

  “He got jealous sometimes and thought that if I was out drinking with my friends I’d get up to no good. About six weeks after I finished with him, I went out and got hammered on purpose. I didn’t plan on going quite so crazy, but I did. It was a stupid thing to do, and when I woke up on a park bench with Leona next to me, I knew we’d been far too reckless. I swore I wouldn’t drink like that ever again. I know the exact point where I’ve had enough and I never go beyond that.”

  When I finally bring myself to look at Dane, his gaze pierces mine. “So what was tonight about?”

  Shit. Didn’t think of that. “Chase got us free VIP passes and there was an abundance of free champagne. Sort of got carried away.”

  “Right, so free champagne comes your way and your limit no longer matters? What was the real reason?” Now we’re back to pissed off.

  Well done, Brooklyn. Nice!

  I try to find a good enough reason without it being the truth. “This was nowhere near as bad as the park bench time.” I wouldn’t feel as sober as I do now if it was. My hair isn’t quite as crappy, but I keep brushing it to give me something else to focus on.

  Dane’s silent, looking at me. He’s still waiting.

  Dropping my hairbrush on the side, I turn my back on our reflection and lean against the edge of the counter. Folding my arms across my tummy, I stare at the ceramic tiled floor and put it out there as fast as I can.

  “When Leona joined us she said she saw you out with your friends, and it was quite clear to me why you wanted me to go home. I would’ve appreciated you being honest with me, instead of making it sound like you were doing me a favor. It was fucked up that you did that, so I thought fuck you and decided to drink you out of my head. And so you don’t get the wrong idea, my best friend wasn’t spying on you. She told me innocently. She actually really likes you.”

  Silence.

  I close my eyes and cover my face with both hands, because I don’t have the guts to look at him just yet, and I need to feel less exposed.

  Silence is so bloody powerful sometimes.

  “Son of a bitch,” he mutters to himself.

  I finally glance at him. He’s rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “Do you feel like you need space from me, Dane? Are we too intense?” Am I too needy?

  His gaze cuts to me, instantly. “No, Brooklyn, I don’t.” He moves in front of me. “I think I ask too much of you, expecting you to be with me all the time. I think I need to strike a balance with you. I think you need to trust me, I don’t know why you still don’t. Tonight had nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. You’re always with me, and I never really give you a choice. It isn’t right. I didn’t plan on going anywhere – I just needed to get out of this place.” His soft tone envelopes me.

  He always makes me feel wanted and safe.

  Yet, my head tells me other things, too.

  How someone can make me feel so intensely safe and good, yet scare me beyond anything, and anyone, I’ve experienced before.

  Truth of the matter is; Dane is an amazing man, but at some point he won’t want this anymore. I want him for as long as I can have him, and even though that may make me an idiot, I can’t seem to change my mind about that. I have tried.

  I wish I could turn my feelings for him off.

  “I don’t need space. If you do, then that’s fine, you can have it, but I don’t feel like I need it,” I tell him.

  For a moment, we just look at each other. “You should sleep,” he states.

  “Nice way to dodge the issue.” That does wonders for my confidence in us.

  “Don’t get this twisted, Brooklyn. You need sleep.”

  I’m guaranteed an unsettled night after everything that’s gone on, sleeping any time soon isn’t an option. “I don’t want to go to bed yet,” I say. “You should if you’re tired.”

  A single brow quirks up, unimpressed with my suggestion it seems. Dane takes me by the hand and leads me out of the bathroom, through his bedroom, and across to the kitchen. After sitting me at the breakfast bar, he fills a rather large glass with water and makes me drink it all. Then he makes me eat a rather large banana, whilst he has a drink. I swallow a multi-something-or-other tablet. I’m not much into supplements, I prefer natural foods, but neither is Dane, so maybe I need this. Plus, I’m hoping for all the help I can get with my recovery. He takes me by the hand and leads me into the living room.

  After he turns on the free standing lamp, Dane sits in the corner of the sofa and pulls me onto his lap, lifts my feet up, and cradles me in his arms. I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, with no intention of sleeping. At five forty-five a.m. I shouldn’t get so relaxed, but I just want to focus on the feel of us together.

  “I like this dress. You make it look hot.”

  I grin. “Thank you. It’s the one Mum sent me. Shame you had to see me bent over the toilet chucking up my guts with it on.”

  “True. I didn’t exactly get the opportunity to appreciate your hotness while you exported all evidence of your night out.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that. And the other stuff on the street. I really don’t make a habit of getting drunk and trying to attack people. I hate violence.” I snuggle further into our embrace.

  “Let me know when you want to go to bed,” he says, talking with his lips against my hair.

  We sit silently for a while. When I open my eyes again, the room is brighter from the lighter sky.

  “You still not ready to sleep?” Dane asks.

  “No, I’m quite awake now. Are you tired?”

  “I’m good. How do you feel?”

  “Not completely hideous.”

  We fall back into silence for a few moments.

  “Can I ask you something about Ray?”

  “Sure you can.”

  “What was your relationship with him like? Were you close?”

  “Very,” he says, and I’m stunned.

  I raise my head to see his face. “You don’t talk about him much. Not like you do Elizabeth, which I can understand given that she’s still a part of your life. But you’ve mentioned your parents more.”

  “No, I guess I don’t. He was awesome. It was because of him I got in to motorcycles.”

  “Really? He rode? Stupid me, of course he did if he invented something for them.”

  “He had a 1948 Indian Chief Roadmaster. It was freaking beautiful, and he fitted a seat on the back so I could ride with him. I was thirteen, and the second I got on it I knew I wanted to ride when I was old enough. Ray said he’d teach me. He knew a bunch of stuff about motorcycles, and always let me help out with the work he did on it.”

  The excitement in his expression and in his voice, as he talks about this one snippet, gives me a good imp
ression of how he must have felt as a kid. I’m still surprised, I decided they didn’t get on, but technically it’s because of Ray that Dane runs the business he has. I imagine Ray would be so proud. And though it occurred through sad circumstances, the money they left behind, I also think it’s lovely that Dane’s parents have played a role in the business.

  “What happened to the bike?”

  “It’s in Elizabeth’s garage.”

  “She kept it?” He nods, not looking quite so excited now. “Do you ever ride it?”

  “Nah, it doesn’t work.”

  “Can you fix it?” I ask, though I know he can. Maybe the parts needed are out of circulation.

  “Yeah, it’s just a broken rear suspension.” And that’s all he says.

  Has this conversation gone far enough for him? Maybe I should leave it, I got my answer. I lower my head, back down onto his shoulder.

  “He was fixing it when he had a heart attack,’ he says, suddenly. “I don’t know why, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve tried several times.” He goes silent.

  Lifting my head again, my gaze rests on his face. Dane doesn’t look at me. Instead, his head is lax against the back of the sofa and his eyes are closed.

  After a pause, he continues. “I was supposed to be with him that day. Got caught up doing bullshit with the guys. Fishing at the lake. I don’t even like fishing.”

  I observe him a little longer. “You blame yourself for him dying,” I say, as the recognition of it sinks in.

  “For a long time I did. Things might’ve been different if I’d been there like I’d planned to. Instead of fucking fishing.” He says it like he still can’t believe he was doing something so insignificant. He was a kid for crying out loud.

  “You still blame yourself. You don’t know that things would’ve been any different if you had been there.” Even as a grown man I can see he feels a responsibility, but what a heavy weight to carry on your shoulders at fourteen.

  His brows knit ever so slightly. It’s a subtle change to his face, but it speaks volumes. He completely blames himself, even after all this time. Nineteen years of blame.