by Peach, Hanna
“Caden. Caden Thaine. Some people like to call me Cade.”
Caden Thaine. I roll these words silently around my head. They fit him. Like that jacket fits him and those pants fit him. And that knowing twist to his lips fits him. Fuck. Even the scar across his eyebrow fits him.
Caden Thaine. Cade.
“Okay, Cade.” I am thrilled at the sound of his name coming off my lips, and I love how my tongue has to flick up at the roof of my mouth when I say it. Even that little movement is sexy. “Who are you? And what do you want?”
He smiles but there’s a glint in his eyes like the edge of a blade. “Be careful what you ask me. You may not like the answer.”
He is baiting me. And I’m not biting. “You don’t scare me.”
“Maybe I should.”
I watch him. Despite how brutal he looks even smarted out in this suit, I still can’t help the feeling of safety I get around him. It makes my panic about the dress earlier seem silly. “No,” it comes out before I can stop myself, “I’ve known bad men, truly bad men. And you’re not one of them.”
“No?” I see a flicker of something behind his intensity as he searches my face. I see… hope.
“No,” I say softly. “You don’t feel like one of them. You think you’re bad. Maybe you’ve done bad things. But you’re not. Not really.” The words he used against me the other night come to my mind. “You may think you’re beyond redemption, but… you’re not. You just need someone to remind you.”
I catch the surprise washing over his face. For a moment I can imagine him as a boy, scarless and vulnerable and carefree, before whatever happened to make him the jaded man he is now. Then his face changes as the doubt draws back over him like a tide that can’t be held back. He leans back again, looking uncomfortable.
“Touché,” he says softly.
He scoops up his scotch and tilts back the whole shot in one gulp. When he lowers his glass the mask is back on his face. I feel the distance between us again. For one moment we were just two people being real. I feel like I have lost sight of something precious, and the disappointment this brings me makes it hard to continue looking at him. I turn my head to gaze out at the glittering view from the window.
This bar is on the very top floor of the Hotel deCrystal, which sits like a gem in the center of a city that stretches out across the darkened landscape of the night. Below us is a fairground of twinkling, moving, whirling lights. A pretty circus that I can never truly be a part of.
I feel a sudden rush of sadness when I remember that I’m here with Caden only for tonight. One date is all I can afford to have with him. One date, one night of passion. That is all. I can never be a part of anything significant. I can never be a part of anything real or lasting. Not anymore.
It doesn’t matter that we are having the most intimate conversation that I have had in years. It doesn’t matter that I already feel oddly close to Caden. Connected. Bound. I can’t keep seeing him. Caden Thaine, regardless of how patient he is, will eventually want to get closer to me. He will eventually want to know about me, who I am, where I came from. And I can’t let him. I can’t get close to someone without revealing the things that need to be kept buried.
“You look sad, kitten.”
I turn to him, a little startled. I didn’t think my thoughts had been playing across my face. I always take such great pains to hide what I am feeling that it has become second nature. I don’t know whether I have already started dropping my guard around Cade or whether he can just read me. Either situation is just too risky.
“I can’t see you again after tonight.”
“Oh? Are you going somewhere?”
Not yet.
I shake my head. “No. I just can’t do…” my fingers flutter between us as if I am trying to capture the right words to say from the air. But the right words are like disobedient butterflies and won’t be corralled. “…this,” I finish lamely.
A knowing look softens his features and Caden catches my hand in his. His thumb brushes along my fingers. I marvel at how gentle he can be with those large, brutal-looking hands.
“You are not a conventional woman, kitten, I know that. But I am not a conventional man. We both have parts of ourselves that we can’t share. But this is why we fit each other. We are cut from the same cloth. Why can’t we design our own version of together?”
Our own version of together.
My heart feels like it is already filling with the hope that the thought of together brings. But is it wise for me to hope?
“What does that mean? Our own version of together?”
“It means whatever we want it to mean. You would never have to tell me anything you didn’t want to and neither would I. We wouldn’t have to involve ourselves in each other’s lives, we could just be together when we were together. Things could be simple. Our own version of togetherness.”
God, it sounds like heaven. And it sounds like he isn’t asking for anything more than what little I have to offer. Because I am broken.
I realize that maybe Caden is broken, too. Maybe we really could carve out our own version of togetherness?
No, I tell myself. I can’t entertain this thought for another moment. Whatever we could have, no matter how perfect the arrangement, it would have to end. One day I would have to leave and it would have to end. I am about to refuse him, but then…
“Aren’t you tired of being alone, kitten?” I can hear the whisper of a deep and hungry pain in his voice. “I am.”
His words stab me so violently through the heart that I swear it stops for a second.
I am.
I am tired. So tired. And for some reason it hurts me to think that this beautiful man could feel so alone, too. Maybe we could be less lonely together?
“Would you start something,” I say, “even if you knew it would eventually have to end?”
“Everything ends, kitten. Relationships, love, life itself… But you don’t stop living because you know you will die one day, you live because you know you will. Or, at least, you try.”
For a few seconds we just sit, basking in each other’s gazes. Even though the stare is intense it sits like a well-worn coat, warm and comfortable. God, I feel like he just understands me.
“You don’t stop living because you know you will die one day, you live because you know you will.” And I realize that I stopped living some time ago.
I want to live.
After the date Caden insists on walking me home. He winds my arm through his and leads me through the streets of the city. Even in my heels I barely come up to his shoulder.
We are both quiet on the way, but it isn’t an uncomfortable quietness. It is the soft, soothing quiet of lolling waves, a rocking hammock, our own version of togetherness. I find a smile playing upon my lips. Fancy that. Who knew I could still smile?
When we get to my apartment I unlock the lobby door. He holds it open for me and lets me check my mailbox before leading me upstairs. Déjà vu. My heart is beating when we reach my apartment door. I turn and he’s closer than I thought he would be. I have to lean back against my door to look up to him.
My heart rams up into my throat as he leans into me. His giant body crushes me against the door and his hardness presses against me. His fingers run around my neck and close around my hair pulling my head aside to expose my neck. His teeth close gently around my flesh and he sucks...
I blink. I haven’t moved. Neither has he.
God dammit.
“I suppose you want to come in?” I say trying to keep the shake out of my voice.
He smiles. “No, kitten.”
I blink at him, stunned. No?
He leans close to me, so close I can make out the dapple of the lighter jade in his irises. Then he continues in that dark chocolate voice that turns my insides out, “You don’t believe this yet. But you are a woman who deserves to be taken slowly. And I intend to do just that.”
Now I can’t move.
And I can’t t
ear my eyes from him.
And I am both terrified and soaring because I think he might kiss me.
I close my eyes and inhale as he leans in. And my mouth parts…
But his lips brush softly on my cheek. Like a single drop of rain rolling off a leaf.
“Be good, kitten.”
And he walks away, leaving me stunned and confused and shaking in my heels from unfulfilled desire. At my feet is the bag holding the green dress.
Chapter 5
The present
It’s easy to remain hidden in a large city. That’s why I picked this one. With a population of just over two million, people are too busy to care. Nobody knows their neighbors. I can go several days without really speaking to anyone if I wish. Even the local cafes are too packed and stressed and the staff turnover is too frequent for me to ever become a “regular”. And there are plenty of cafes to choose from to make sure I don’t ever fall into too much of a routine. It is perfect.
It’s the sixth city in five years. They are beginning to all look the same to me. High-rise buildings in the city center, dropping down to suburbia further out. Grey concrete, grey sidewalks, small splashes of green in the form of parks or the slip of nature along a river. As I walk the short distance between my apartment and my job, I barely notice these things anymore. But my eyes snap to everyone’s face as they pass me, searching for anything familiar. This has become habit.
At 3:58 this afternoon I slip into a low-ceilinged bar to start my shift at Dixie’s. Dixie’s is like a well-used sofa, warm and welcoming with bottle-green windows, exposed beams and generous booths that curl around tables like sets of fleshy arms. It has a basic food menu: pies, sausages and mash, steak and chips – all the things you would get at home. It doesn’t serve cocktails and only offers house wine, but it has more than twenty varieties of whiskeys, rums and bourbons.
No sooner am I behind the counter then I hear a whip of cloth and feel a sharp sting on my ass. I whirl around.
“Dixie!” I scold.
My forty-going-on-twelve red-headed firecracker of a boss is standing there, all five-foot-nothing of her, snapping gum between her teeth, holding the offending dishrag in her fingers and grinning at me.
“I couldn’t help it, honey. You have the cutest little tush packed up in them shorts.” She winks before throwing the dishrag at me and pointing to a tray of glasses fresh from the dishwasher that are sitting on the counter.
Our “uniform” is a black “Dixie’s does it better” t-shirt paired with any kind of denim bottoms. Today I am wearing denim cut-offs because it gets hot running around orders. Dixie’s is a small bar, but it gets busy, especially on a Friday – today.
I roll my eyes and start to dry and reshelf the damp glasses with the dishrag. I mutter something about sexual harassment. But inside I like the way she is so comfortable around me. She has been like that from the moment she hired me on the spot, cash in hand, without a reference or ID check, after I had fallen into the bar drenched from a storm outside in answer to a handwritten ad in the window.
Jeff, the other bartender sharing my shift, walks out of the back area with a tray of napkins and cutlery, eyes my denim shorts and makes a noise of agreeance before he begins to restock the tables.
Dixie narrows her eyes at him then points a finger his way. “Hey, you are not allowed to ogle her ass. Rein it in, buster.”
He splutters. “But−”
“But nothing. She got a boyfriend who’d bust your ass if he caught you looking at her longer than you should. Ain’t that right, honey?”
Dixie winks at me again before walking towards the kitchen to prep for the Friday after work crowd. I never talk about Cade to anyone. Not even to Dix. After all, how the hell do I explain us to anyone? I don’t know how she knows, but she does. She’s an intuitive thing, Dixie is.
“How come you’re allowed to, then?” Jeff yells to Dix.
“‘Cause when I do it, it’s funny. If you do it, it’s harassment.” She disappears through the swinging kitchen doors.
Jeff shakes his head.
I pick up another glass, still warm from the dishwasher. I can sense his eyes still on me, so I look up and arch an eyebrow at him. Jeff doesn’t flinch at being caught staring.
“You really got a boyfriend?” he asks after a short pause.
“Sorta.”
He purses his lips and frowns. “That’s okay,” he says finally, then he nods slowly. “He’s just warming you up for me.” He grins. “Can’t get to the main act without going through a warm-up.” He blows a kiss at me before continuing to restock the tables.
I can’t help but laugh.
Jeff is a cutie, a baby face with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles but with a burgeoning man’s body, wide shouldered and coming to terms with a growth spurt that has put him just over six-foot-two. I’m guessing by the way he curls his shoulders in and hunches over slightly that this growth spurt has been recent and none too welcome. The way he moves is still all boy and he seems awkward in his freshly grown man’s body, like he isn’t used to it yet. He is way too young for me, barely out of school. But his flirting is harmless and we both know it. And I can’t help but enjoy his little attentions.
From the little things I have heard here and there, I understand that he left home over a year ago when it became too rough to handle. I’ve heard him making snarky remarks about his new stepdad. They don’t get along. Nothing violent or anything like that, all verbal. But sometimes the verbal stuff can cut deep, too.
Dixie took him into her spare room above this bar, and this job is paying his way through a part-time graphics design course. He’s always sketching something in his black art pad during breaks.
Tonight’s shift goes faster than usual. By the time the customers leave it is close to 1 a.m. I’m wiping tables and Jeff is behind the counter counting the till when Dixie and Robert, the chef, bust out of the kitchen together singing happy birthday in an ear-splitting, off-key tone. Dixie is out front carrying a small chocolate cake with a single lit candle. Behind her Robert carries a tray of small plates and a knife. I frown when I realize they are headed towards me.
I stare in bewilderment as the cake is placed down in front of me. By now, Jeff has joined in too. The three of them end their birthday serenade in a long melodramatic wail. I wonder if Dix is already drunk.
“But… it’s not my birthday,” I say when their voices finally fade.
Dixie slaps my arm. “That’s ‘cause you won’t tell me when your God damn birthday is, hon. Jesus, I can’t believe how young you look, you’re already hiding your age.”
I blink, still confused.
She continues, “Everybody needs a birthday celebration, and I figure if you won’t tell me when it is, then today is as good a day as any to celebrate it.” She grins.
I stare at their three faces, then at the small cake and candle. It has been three years since I’ve had a birthday cake. Three years since I’ve had anyone to celebrate it with. I clench my jaw to stop the prickle behind my lids.
“Maybe there’s a reason I don’t celebrate my birthday,” I snap.
Dixie’s face drops. Robert frowns. I hear Jeff admonish me under his breath.
Shit. I’m a complete bitch. My anger dissolves under the heat of shame at my outburst. Dixie didn’t deserve it. And I don’t deserve this cake.
“Shit,” I mumble, staring at the table. I can’t even look at Dix at the moment. “Dix, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m just…” …a messed up excuse for a human being.
Dixie smiles and steps closer to me so she can hook her arm into mine. “Well, if you can’t be a cow on your birthday, when can you be?” She winks at me and I can’t help but crack a smile. She is too easy to forgive me. “So…” Dix says as she beams her pink-lipsticked smile at me, “blow out the God dang candle then so we can eat this sucker. Robert came in early especially to bake it for ya.”
I stare at the flickering candlelight on top of t
he homemade cake. This is dangerous. I can’t let myself believe that this is real, that their friendship is real. I can’t get attached. It wouldn’t be good for me and it wouldn’t be good for them.
But there is nothing much I can do except go along with this fake celebration.
I lean down towards the candle and inhale.
“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Dix says.
I wish I didn’t have to be so alone.
I catch Jeff’s eyes.
“You can wish for me,” he says, “don’t fight it.”
The breath I inhaled huffs out my nostrils and I can’t help but smile.
Jeff nods, looking pleased.
“Jeff.” Dix admonishes him with a slap to the back of the head.
I inhale again. And exhale, blowing out my candle. And during that exhale, I let myself hope.
Dixie makes me sit while Robert begins to cut the cake. She won’t let me help serve or anything. “It’s your birthday,” she keeps saying. “Relax.”
Jeff disappears into the back for a moment. He reappears, clearly hiding something behind his back. He sits in the seat opposite me with a sheepish look on his face and his hands move quickly under the table.
I peer at him curiously. “What’s up, Jeff?”
“Just a little something for you.” Jeff pulls up an A4 envelope from under the table and pushes it across to me.
For me? I reach out and pull it towards me with the tips of my fingers, smiling. Until I see my fake name lettered across the front. My fake name. To go with this fake life. And this fake birthday celebration. And it reminds me that it doesn’t matter how much I want to let myself be friends with these people, I can’t. Because it’s all a lie.
“It’s your birthday present,” he says.
“You shouldn’t have,” I say, and my voice sounds dull. I notice Dixie pausing as she fusses over the cake slices. Even Robert’s eyes are on me. God, I feel like such a shit. Why do I have to act like such a shit?