A Winter's Date

by Sasha Brümmer

  He pulls out two towels from the closet and tosses one at me. I can’t tell if he’s mad at me for knowing them or mad at me for keeping this secret from him. My mind is running, trying to place his mood.

  “Noah . . . please.”

  He pauses as he dries off and picks up the bottle again to drink from it. I know I just bought that bottle and from the two large drinks he’s taken from it, he’s put a substantial dent in it. My eyes sting with tears, knowing what state he’s trying to force himself into. He’d rather be pissed at me than acknowledge how hurt he is. I love this man unconditionally, but I keep hurting him like he’s never been hurt before. It’s not on purpose, I promise myself. I pull the towel around my body as my hands tremble.

  I’m still for at least thirty minutes, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling while I can feel his eyes on me. I eventually find the energy and willpower to move up the bed and watch him, as he does the same from a slumped-over position in the seat on the opposite side of the room. The bottle of bourbon sits on the floor next to his feet; it usually takes a mountain to knock my man over, but today, all it took was me.

  I move to get up, and his head lifts, but his eyes stay almost closed. I’m cold, not only from lying here in just a towel, but from the dark heaviness that blankets this room. I never put my boot on like I was told, so when I take my first step without it, an excruciating pain travels up my leg. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out—I don’t want him to know. As I reach for my robe, I look over at him.

  “Are you going to speak to me at all?” I ask quietly.

  “I told you to put your damn boot on.” He completely ignores my question and straightens up in the chair.

  My stubborn side rears back and spills from my lips before I have time to filter. “I heard you the first time.”

  “Oh yeah? It sure as hell doesn’t look like it. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? You have a knack for doing the opposite from what is best for you.”

  I don’t pretend that what he said doesn’t sting, but I’m not used to him being like this. “I’ve tried hard to protect myself from feelings, Noah. You have to understand that I just wanted my parents, not anyone else, so I blocked out that part of my life.”

  “Apparently you blocked out everything from me too. I’ve fought to get your walls down—since New Year’s Eve—and you refuse to let me in. If you don’t fucking want me in, then stop letting me warm you up and just fucking let go. Break me again. You’ve gotten pretty damn good at it.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “I do want you, Noah . . .”

  He snorts and throws his head back in a laugh that isn’t his. “You sure have one fucked-up way of showing it.”

  I know he’s drunk, and I know I’ve hurt him, so I can’t blame him for what he says, but I’m completely devastated. I refuse to let any more tears fall in front of him, so I take the painful steps toward the door as I tie my robe around my waist.

  “You don’t mean that, Noah.”

  “Just like you didn’t mean it when you said you love me, huh?”

  I turn, causing another shooting pain to go up my leg, but I ignore it. “I have never lied to you about how much I love you. Not once, and I wouldn’t ever.”

  “Yeah? I sure as fuck don’t understand why you’re insistent on keeping all these damn secrets from me.”

  Guilt and anger surge through me simultaneously. “Stop it, Noah.”

  I look into his eyes and flinch when his drunken smirk hardens his face.

  “Stop what? Stop calling you out on shit? I’m sorry you don’t like hearing it. What else do you have hidden from me?”

  “Why would I hide anything from you that I thought you could handle?”

  “Apparently I can’t handle anything, Heather.”

  “Noah, stop it. This is not fair. You don’t understand.”

  “You wouldn’t give me a fucking chance to understand, Heather. You just keep shit from me like I’m a goddamn child.”

  “I’m not hiding anything from you. I’m sorry, Noah. I should have told you as soon as I saw his picture.”

  I watch as he stares at me. He doesn’t believe me, and I don’t know what to do to fix this. He takes a long swig from the bottle before setting it down and picking up his phone to listen to Ellery’s message. He turns away from me again.

  I stand and watch his muscular back tense up. I want to go to him, but he doesn’t want my touch. I’m on the verge of a breakdown, and if I don’t get out now, he’ll use it against me, I’m sure. He puts down the phone and picks up the bottle of liquor again. I know this isn’t going to end well.

  I walk out of the room and shut the door because I don’t think my heart can take it anymore. We’ve been arguing for what seems like hours now. I lie down on the couch and shut my eyes, trying to warm myself up.

  I’m startled awake by the apartment door closing, and I sit up quickly, thinking that it’s Noah leaving. Thankfully, Dillen flitters into the room with a day-conquering smile on her face.

  “Hi, little shit. Guess what I did today? I broke up with Coen,” she answers herself before I can get a word in. She tilts her head to the side when she notices my mood.

  “Uh-oh, is everything okay?”

  I look back over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door and then at the clock. It’s after eight and it’s dark outside. My eyes burn from crying, and I shake my head. “No, we’re not okay.”

  “Oh Heather.” She walks over to me quickly and pulls me into her arms, hugging me tightly before letting go and holding me at an arm’s length away to inspect me.

  “Where is your boot?” she sighs and smacks the side of my butt playfully in an attempt to cheer me up, but she gets nothing besides my blank, somber stare.

  “Okay. Go in there and get your boot, and I’ll help you put it back on.”

  It’s probably a good idea to put it back on since it’s been hours. I hobble over to the door and crack it open just enough to step inside before shutting it again.

  Noah is sitting at the desk with his broad, muscular back to me. There are a few textbooks open and scattered around him, and papers are strewn all over the place, along with a few bottles of beer that I didn’t hear him come out for. He’s resting his elbow on the chair’s arm and staring intently at the desk.

  “Noah?”

  His head slowly rolls to the other side of his shoulders before I hear his rough voice. “You know, I have a secret of my own.”

  I reach down and pick up my boot and start to walk over to him; no matter how angry, or upset I am, I can still feel the pull that buzzes between us. The electrifying love I feel for this Greek god is fierce and unmistakable.

  He turns before I can reach him, and when he turns around in the chair, his eyes meet mine briefly before going back to the desk. I suppose he’s waiting for me to respond, but I stubbornly stay quiet. He moves his alcohol-impaired body from the seat and stands up shakily. Swiping his hand across the desk, he grabs a small black box. He’s staring at it with red-rimmed eyes when he pops the top open, revealing a stunning solitaire round-cut diamond ring.

  “You want to know what my fucking secret was?”

  I can only stare. I don’t even know what to say. I never in a million years expected this. I didn’t even expect him to be awake.

  “Nothing, huh? I figured, fuck, if she’s going to keep shit from me, then I’ll be the one with the balls and tell her everything.”

  He tosses the open ring box too hard onto the desk, causing the ring to fall out of the box and onto the floor. “Fuck it, right? Why the hell would I want this when you can’t be honest with me for two damn minutes?”

  “Noah, you don’t want to marry me.”

  “You’re right, I don’t,” he says as he stares at me with cold, emotionless eyes.

  His words gut me, and I haven’t even managed to say a word as he stumbles across the room to the bed, where he lies down and reaches to turn
off the light, completely blocking me out. My eyes well up with tears as I look at him and then back to the diamond ring on the hardwood floor.

  It feels like a deep, dark haze has overtaken me as I reach out for the wall to steady myself. I can’t catch my breath; I can’t think straight.

  “Noah . . . please,” I choke out and look over at his shirtless torso on the bed. He’s lying on his stomach, and he’s completely still.

  I think the alcohol finally won.

  NOAH

  It’s been two days since I found out that Heather knows my parents. Two days since I gave away my secret. I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling as she lies on her side, facing the bedroom door. She’s hardly said two words to me since she hurt me . . . since I broke her. Since I tore the air from her lungs, leaving her with nothing to breathe, and no matter how deep a breath she takes, she comes up short. I caused this. I caused her to feel like she’s alone when we’re with each other; I caused her to feel paralyzed, unable to move on with what we are. I think sleep is the only way she’s been able to escape the pain.

  I feel like a prisoner of my own actions.

  I need to fix this.

  Our plane leaves for New York tonight, and I can’t say whether Heather will be getting on that plane with me or not. There’s a heavy weight in the room and I cannot stand it. What I did to her, in spite of her deciding that keeping that information from me was best, was the vilest and rashest thing I have ever done.

  She moves minutely, and I turn my head to look at her. I don’t know if she’s asleep or not, but her tiny frame shivers. I reach for her throw blanket that separates us and drape it over her, careful not to touch her. Hell knows she doesn’t want me touching her.

  I no longer have the confidence that she’s mine, or that she’ll ever forgive me. I’ve lost who I am, and as a result, I’ve lost my ballerina to an intensely dark place where she feels so low. All of her energy and desires are gone as she lies still.

  “Heather?”

  I watch as her shoulders move with each breath. She doesn’t respond for the longest time, and I come to the conclusion that she is in fact asleep when her quiet, emotionless voice breaks the silence.

  “Yeah?”

  Her voice is like ecstasy.

  Our pull is still there—you could cut it in the air with a knife. Hell, I love this woman more than anything, and I fucked it all up. I chance it and roll onto my side and spoon her from behind. I slowly slide my hand around her small waist and wait for her to react. I know that this will be the best way for us to talk about what we did to each other. She doesn’t have to look at me and be disgusted, but I can feel her. I can feel her body react to my words, and it’ll tell me the truth. She’s bruised and tender from the fight, and I’m going to make these bruises fade. I don’t want a stalemate in our relationship, so I’m going to let go of my anger and stop defending myself because I was in the wrong.

  “You didn’t deserve what I did.” I swallow the lump that’s forming in the back of my throat. “I ruined something for you that was supposed to make you the happiest woman alive. I took that out of foolishness and anger. I don’t know how to fix it, but the numbness, shame, and fear I feel when I think about not having you is all consuming. It’s torture. I don’t know how to adequately apologize, but I’m going to start with saying I’m sorry.”

  I close my eyes as I speak those last two words and wait. I wait . . . and wait . . . and wait. The entire time I’m waiting, I’m thinking of my next step, my next plan of action. What do I do or say to make her believe how disgusted I am with myself? She has every right to pull away, to remove my hands from her body the way I did to her. Her body lies tense in my arms, and I hate it. I fucking hate the way that makes me feel. I don’t want to feel the rejection from her, so I remove my arm from her waist and instantly feel cold. I’m cold . . . for once. I feel the icy sting of her silence as it creeps up my spine. I decide to try and bank on the one thing I have in my corner. I have no shame in what I’m about to say. I exhale all my tension and move my hand up into her long, dark hair. Gathering it gently and pulling it away from the back of her neck, I lean in close and whisper my only shot in hell as I kiss the back of her neck.

  “You said you’d never leave me again.”

  The waiting continues for seconds or minutes, I’m not sure, but I finally get the glimpse I’ve been waiting for. Her tense body relaxes ever so slightly and she moves back toward me. The move is so slight that I doubt she even knows it, but I do. I’ve used the guilt card, and I don’t regret it for a second. Her voice rings clear when she speaks my name; even if it were only a whisper, I’d hear it anywhere.

  “Noah . . .”

  I try my hardest not to squeeze the living shit out of her. My body is telling me to take her, but my mind is telling me to shut my fucking mouth.

  You’ve said enough, Ryan.

  “I’m here, Heather . . . right here.”

  My lips move of their own accord and drift across the back of her neck as she speaks. The fact that she hasn’t pushed me away yet is giving me all the hope I’ve silently begged for in these last two days.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Noah. I just didn’t know how to tell you . . . I didn’t want to spoil this big event in your life.”

  “I get that. I also understand if you’d rather not fly back to the States with me today. I’ll do what it takes to make this right; just please give me that chance. Being without you would be like living in a world without color . . . a fog of nothingness . . . one that would pass me by without a second glimpse . . . and every day would be a struggle. It would be the cruelest of punishments, but if it’s what I need to go through to have a chance at you giving me one last glimpse . . . I’ll do it. Just please . . . don’t leave me.”

  I exhale deeply and kiss her skin again, tasting her for possibly the last time when she abruptly turns to face me. I’m caught by surprise but try to hide it. Her beautiful jade green eyes look tired and swollen; I add it to the list of things I already hate myself for. I bring my hand up and cup her cheek, my thumb gently rubbing her eyelid.

  “Don’t leave me. Please?”

  She leans into my touch and briefly closes her eyes before looking right at me. “I’m not leaving you, Noah.”

  With that, I know she loves me to no end. She doesn’t have to say those three words right now, but after everything I put her through two days ago, and after losing our child, she still hasn’t run away. No matter how hard our situation has gotten, she hasn’t left my side, as I haven’t left hers.

  Shutting my eyes, I press my cold lips to her temple and take in a deep breath when her hand moves up my chest. “I will never deserve your love, ballerina.”

  Her breathing sounds shaky as she looks up at me, and I think I’m hearing things when the words leave her lips. “Will you kiss me, please?”

  My eyes meet hers when she angles her face toward mine, pleading with me for physical contact. I run my hand through the waves of her dark-chocolate hair and hold her as I bring my lips down to meet hers for the first time in what feels like an eternity of waiting and wanting. Our lips skim the surface of each other’s nervously. She draws back ever so slightly and I take in every signal she is giving off, assessing if it’s okay to kiss her again.

  Our lips meet again, and they stay closed as we continue to place slow, gentle, and lingering kisses on each other. She presses against me, and I move my other hand to the small of her back, as her hands move up to my shoulders and slowly wrap around my neck.

  I need her as close to me as possible, so I shift my weight until her body is pressed tightly to mine. Her lips become a little more eager, and it’s hard for me to be a gentleman at this moment when all I want is to slip my tongue between her lips and taste my girl again.

  She pulls back and hides her face in my chest, nuzzling me.

  “You’re not getting on that plane without me, Noah.”

  Jesus, thank you, I silently reply to myself as
I kiss the top of her head and hold her close.

  She sighs quietly and all of the tension in her body melts away. I watch her shut her eyes and take in a long, deep breath before sleep overtakes her.

  I won’t let her go as she lies in my arms. I’ll wake her when we need to leave, but she needs this right now. I can tell she hasn’t been sleeping, and I won’t wake her. I press my lips to the top of her head, and my muscles unclench as I breathe her in.

  The desire to incessantly apologize to each other was finally put to rest earlier today. Heather hasn’t let go of me for more than the two minutes it took for her to get dressed before we left for the airport. When we said goodbye to Dillen before going through airport security, she wouldn’t let go of my hand while she hugged her friend goodbye. Dillen was in tears again, and I feel guilty because I’m the reason Heather is leaving London. Yet I feel elated to be going home.

  We’re standing in line at the gate to board our flight once they call first class. Her small hand grips mine, and our fingers are laced together. I squeeze her hand and she looks up at me with an overwhelming amount of love. The emotional pain we’ve been through in the past two days has had no effect on her love for me. Our love can bring the strongest person to their knees; I know, because I’ve experienced it. I was vulnerable.

  “Ballerina, are you okay? I know you’re not looking forward to this flight.”

  Her fingers tense around mine and she shakes her head. I had a feeling this might happen, and there’s really nothing I can do to help. I pull her into my chest and kiss the top of her head, trying to give her as much as I can.

  “You’re going to be just fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I know,” she says softly when the line starts moving. We get our tickets scanned, and then walk down the jetway and onto the plane to find our seats.

  “Which seat would you like, baby?”

  She’s still holding onto me; fuck, I wish I could take this fear away from her.

  It looks as if she’s pausing to think. I’ve never seen someone so terrified of flying before. Her body language gives everything away as she slips into the row and sits near the window. I put her carry-on bag above us and look back down at her; she’s trembling. I can’t imagine what this flight was like for her when she flew alone.