by Emma Scott
They all stopped and exchanged glances. Her asshole partner had the good graces to look chagrined but said nothing.
“Probably in the dressing room,” the lead dancer said in a bitchy tone I didn’t like. “She kind of…does her own thing.”
I remembered how Darlene had told me they didn’t welcome her with open arms, but made her feel like an outcast.
Even though she’s the best of them. Because she’s the best of them.
I snorted in disgust and turned back the way I’d come. I found the tiny dressing room. Empty. A short corridor led behind the stage. I heard the muffled crying first, and followed it to her, picking my way carefully through the dimness.
Darlene sat on the floor, her back against one of the movable backdrops that had been used in show. Her right foot was propped up on a coil of rope and even in the dark, I could see the swelling and bruising around the last two toes.
“Darlene.”
She lifted her tear-stained face, taking in me and my suit, and the flowers in my hand. And in one glance, I felt how she appreciated all of it more than she had words for. More than I deserved. Because her every emotion lived in her body, in her eyes, and beautiful face that couldn’t keep anything a secret.
She smiled through her tears, her voice whispery and tremulous. “You came.”
I knelt beside her, examined her foot to conceal the sudden rush of emotions that swept through me. I had too many and didn’t have the first clue what to do with them all.
I’ve never felt this way about a woman before…
And she was hurt. That clumsy asshole hurt her. I channeled my feelings into anger at him and felt more in control.
I set the flowers down, and carefully pulled her foot onto my lap. Her last two toes were swollen, and the bruising was spreading down the outside edge of her foot and across the top in purple splotches. “This isn’t my specialty, but it looks broken.”
“I think so. It’s hurts. A lot.” She sniffed and shook her head. “So much for my dance comeback.”
“For now,” I said fiercely. “You’ll heal and get out there again. You have to. You were the best damn part of that show.”
Darlene smiled, or tried to, for me. But it crumpled under the weight of her tears.
“I try so hard…and it all just slips out of my grasp. My best friend…now this job…” She tilted her head up to look up at me, her blue eyes brimming and her cheeks stained with the trails of dark makeup. “I can’t hold on to anything…”
I swallowed hard, Henrietta’s words filtering into my thoughts. I put my arms around her.
“Not this time.” I said, gruffly. “Hold on to me.”
She raised her eyes to mine, uncertain. “Sawyer…”
“And I’ll hold on to you, okay?” I said. “Just as tightly.”
A little sob escaped her and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I held her for a long, selfish moment, until her body in my arms tensed with pain, pushing a little whimper from her. I set the flowers in her lap, and lifted her off the ground carefully, holding her around the back and under her knees.
“The daisies are beautiful,” she said, with a sniff. “They’re so bright and cheerful.”
I nodded. In the dark, and in pain, Darlene was still giving, still generous and vibrant. I held her closer, and carried her through the theatre, her head tucked under my chin and her hand on my chest. We passed through the green room, and the troupe stopped their small celebrations.
“You broke her damn foot,” I snapped at her partner.
“It was an accident,” Darlene said, clinging to me tighter.
“Accident or not, he should have known better. Been better to her,” I said, still pinning the guy with a hard stare, then sweeping it over the room. “You all should have. You should have taken care of her.”
I should have taken care of her.
I gritted my teeth. “Whoever you find to replace her won’t be one tenth the dancer she is.” I looked down at Darlene. “You have stuff here?”
She nodded. “In the locker.”
“I got it.” A small woman in glasses brought Darlene’s bag and her ratty old gray sweater. Darlene added them to her lap, beside the flowers.
“You were great tonight,” the woman said, her eyes darting to mine and back. “He’s right. I hope you get better quick. Some other company’s going to be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, Paula,” Darlene whispered.
I carried her out of the theatre, onto the street, where the night was cold and the wind made Darlene’s black dance dress slide up her legs. She shivered, and then let out a little cry.
“God, it hurts,” she whispered.
“Do you mind calling me an Uber or a cab?” I said, trying to take her mind off of it. “I’d do it, but my hands are tied.”
She smiled and fished her phone from her purse. “You can put me down. I must be heavy.”
“You’re not,” I said.
I’m not letting you go.
An Uber arrived within minutes, and I was glad the driver had the heat turned up. In the backseat, I kept her against me, holding her. And the way she molded herself to me, I felt like she was mine, and never in my life had I known such happiness. A bruised happiness, given what I faced with the Abbotts, but a happiness I hadn’t ever experienced. It felt like too much to ask for more, but in my mind’s eye, I tentatively reached for a future that had both her and Olivia. A real life.
A family?
“Thank you for coming to the show,” Darlene said, pulling me from my thoughts. “It meant so much to me, I can’t even tell you.”
Shame ripped through me at how I almost hadn’t. At how close I came to letting my own fear keep me home. I wouldn’t have been there to witness her dance, or be there for her when she got hurt.
I said nothing but held her tighter.
“I called my parents a few days ago,” Darlene said against my chest. “I waited so long to tell them about the show because what if I gave them plenty of notice, and they still said no? I thought it would hurt less if I told them at the last minute. Then they could say no, and it would make sense. Kind of like insurance, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And I didn’t even tell my best friends back home at all. But I wished I had. I wish I’d been braver.”
“You are brave, Darlene,” I said. “You’re braver than anyone I know.”
“My best friend Beckett told me that once, too. I don’t know if I believe it but I feel like I’m getting closer. This may not be the best show, but it was my first since I started using. My first since I’d been clean.”
She craned her head to look up at me. “Tonight was a disaster, but it was also better than anything I could have imagined. I needed someone there.” Her eyes shone. “You were there.”
“It wasn’t a disaster. You were incredible.” I swallowed hard. “And I showed up, yeah, but I should’ve been there for you a hell of a lot sooner.”
She shrugged and smiled, her fingertips touching my cheek. “You’re here now, Sawyer. That’s all that matters.”
Darlene
Sawyer directed the Uber driver to take us to the ER entrance at UCSF medical center. A team approached with a gurney. Sawyer helped me out of the car, and held me gently, reverently, as if he were reluctant to let me out of his arms. He set me down on the gurney and I bit back a cry at the pain when my heel touched down. But I couldn’t hold the next little moan in as we went over a bump. Sawyer grabbed my hand and I squeezed. He squeezed back.
The ER was bustling with nurses, doctors and people in pain; the air a sterile cold. They wheeled me into a space and closed a curtain around me. A nurse tucked a pillow under my foot, and then laid an ice pack on it. I clenched my teeth as the pain turned icy and bit deep. Under the bright glare of the hospital lights my foot looked awful; swollen and wearing a bouquet of purple, red, and blue bruises. My last two toes throbbed dully; a terrible just-stubbed-my-toe pain that wouldn’t f
ade.
Sawyer pulled up one of the two chairs in the little space, and took my hand, wrapping his warm fingers around my cold ones.
“A doctor will be in shortly to examine you,” the nurse said. “It looks like you’ve broken a toe or two. He’ll want x-rays to confirm. In the meanwhile, I can give you something for the pain.”
“Advil,” I said.
“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?”
“No, just your strongest Advil, please.”
She smiled. “My strongest Advil is called Percocet, honey, but you’re the boss.”
I took the little pills and the glass of water, not looking at Sawyer.
“I try to stay away from anything that alters my mental state,” I said in a quiet voice when the nurse had gone.
“You don’t have to explain,” Sawyer said.
“I feel like I do,” I said. I forced my eyes to find his. “I hate how you learned about my past. I’m sorry it came out like that—at the worst time and place for you.”
“It’s not what’s going to hurt my chances with Olivia.”
“I would never, ever bring anything bad near her.” Tears stung my eyes again. “I promise you that. I never would.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” he said. “I freaked out about your record because of what happened to my mom. And Molly, too. And because I had my own ideas about what justice means. But what I believe has been turned up on its ass, and the only thing that matters right now is you.”
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “It’s a good feeling.”
“What’s that?”
“Being trusted.”
Sawyer took my hand and pressed it to his lips just as a young doctor with a bald head and warm smile stepped into the space and examined my foot.
“Looks like a few breaks, judging by the swelling and bruising,” he said. “Let’s get you to x-ray and see what’s what.”
They wheeled me to the radiology department where it was determined I had hairline fractures of the fourth and fifth middle phalanges. I breathed a sigh of relief. As far as breaks went, I could do worse than hairlines.
Back in the ER space the doctor was all smiles. “You’ll live to dance another day,”
“Are you sure?”
“If you rest well, you should be ready to roll in six weeks.”
“Six weeks,” I said. “What about work? I have to stand for my job.”
The doc wrinkled his lips. “Better if you didn’t. We’ll get you a walking boot but the more you can stay off it, the faster it’ll heal. A nurse will be in soon to wrap you up, and give aftercare instructions.”
He went out, but no nurse made an appearance. I was obviously a low priority in an ER filled with more serious injuries and illnesses. I shivered in the cold, sterile air, and sharp pain shot up my foot at the movement, making me wince.
“Will you hand me my sweater?” I asked.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Sawyer said, reaching at his feet. He came up with the old, ratty thing with holes at the cuffs. “This is the ugliest sweater I have ever seen in my life.”
I giggled then winced again. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
Sawyer tucked the sweater around my shoulders. My eyes closed and wanted to stay closed. The exhaustion of the dance performance and the pain were dragging me down.
Sawyer brushed a lock of hair from my forehead. “You should try to get some sleep, if you can. We might be here awhile.”
“What about you? You should go. It’s so late and you have studying to do…”
He shook his head, his chin rocking on the back of his hand. “You’ve been taking care of me for ages,” he said. “It’s my turn.”
I smiled and my eyes started to close against the bright lights glaring down over us. No sooner had I begun to drift, then the nurse came back. She wrapped my foot, put a heavy walking boot on it, and gave me a cane.
“A cane to go with your granny sweater,” Sawyer said, pushing me to the front of the hospital in a wheelchair.
“Ha ha. Sawyer the Comedian.”
“I’m here all night, folks.”
I hoped that was true.
We took a cab home and Sawyer carried me up the two flights of stairs like it was nothing. He set me down in my place, and I gave a cry as I tried to put weight on my foot. “They said I can walk in this,” I said, holding on to his shoulder. “Do you think they lied to get me out of there?”
Without hesitation, Sawyer picked me up again, cradling me. He carried me to my bed in a corner alcove between the kitchen and the loveseat under the window, and gently set me down.
“Do you want anything?”
“Maybe some water? And then you can go and study. I don’t want to keep you.”
He shot me a small grin. “What if I want to be kept?”
“Then stay,” I said. “I do want to keep you. And I don’t want to sleep alone.”
“Me neither. I’m tired of it. And I’m just…tired.”
“Come here,” I said. “Actually, take off your suit and then come here.”
“If I take off my suit will you take off that sweater?”
“Will you stop? I love this sweater. I wear it all the time.”
“I know,” he said, bringing me the glass of water.
“Your mega-mind remembers everything I wear, doesn’t it?”
“I remember more than what you wear, Darlene,” he said, loosening his tie enough to take off. “I remember many things about you.”
“Like what?”
He removed his jacket and tossed it on the loveseat. “I remember you in the grocery store the day we met, and how you smirked at me like I was an idiot for not wanting you to cook dinner for me.”
I grinned. “Stubborn man-pride.”
Sawyer took off his pants and dress shirt, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt.
“I remember how your hands felt on my shoulders the first time you massaged me. I remember how red the cherry was that you ate at the club that night. I wanted to kiss you so badly; more than I’d ever wanted to kiss anyone. I remember how you tasted the first time I did kiss you, and secretly wondered if you’d ruined me for all other women.”
He climbed into bed beside me. Instantly, I curled into him and he wrapped his arms around me. We held each other close, my face nestled in the crook of his neck, and his chin on my head. My heart pounded to be this close to him. In bed with him, even if all we did was this.
“Why are you telling me all this?” I whispered.
“I’m trying to be romantic. How am I doing so far?”
I smiled. “Not bad. But you’ll have to continue for me to know for sure.”
Sawyer chuckled and pulled back to look at me. His eyes softened as they swept over me, like he was memorizing me over and over again, only because he wanted to. His fingers drew my face as he spoke.
“I remember every time you made me laugh when it felt like it had been ages since I’d even smiled,” Sawyer said, and his voice turned gruff over his next words. “And I remember how you held my daughter like you’d been doing it forever, and that was the first time I imagined having something more than what I had.”
Tears filled my eyes. “Sawyer…”
“Darlene, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what’s coming around the corner and I’m fucking scared to death. But the half of my heart that isn’t banged up from this fight for Olivia is all yours. It’s not much but it’s all I got right now.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m scared I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m living partially in the real world, and partially in a future that’s a handful of days away. Jackson—and his mother—think otherwise, but dammit, Darlene, it’s not fair to subject you to the shit storm that might be coming.”
“I can take it, Sawyer,” I said. “I want to take it. I’d rather be here for you, if it helps at all.”
“It does,” he
said. “So much.”
I snuggled closer to him, ignoring the throbbing of my foot. That pain was a much weaker echo of the one that lived in my heart, for him.
He stroked my hair. “I’ve never slept with a woman before. Just sleep, I mean.”
“Neither have I,” I murmured against his neck. “I’ve never just…been held. It’s nice.”
I felt him melt around me, the tension seeping out, at least for now. For a few precious hours, we slept deeply, tangled together. I held on to him, and he held on to me, just like he promised.
The following morning, I woke to sunlight streaming in from the window above the loveseat and Sawyer standing, looking out, his eyes full of thoughts.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Sleep well?”
He nodded. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. I haven’t slept this late since the summer before I started Hastings.” He turned to me, and I could see the weight of his exam, and the fight for Olivia were back, pushing him down again. “How’s the foot?”
“Hurts, but I’ll live.”
“I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” he said, coming to sit with me on the bed.
I turned him so I could rub his back, keep the tension from digging deep, but I was too late. “What time is your bus to Sacramento?”
“One o’clock,” he said. “I’ll get you some groceries or…anything else you need before I go.”
I turned him to me and cupped his cheek. “You’re good at taking care of people.”
His smile wilted a little and I knew he was thinking of Olivia. He patted my arm and rose quickly. “I’ll make you some coffee.”
Sawyer made the coffee, then left to shower, change and pack. He came back afterward and sat with me, hardly saying anything. I let him have his silence, and just held him, our fingers laced together.
At noon, Jackson arrived to take him to the bus depot. His suit looked slept in, and he kept sunglasses over his eyes, even indoors. He propped one hand against my doorway.
“I am…so hungover.” He craned his neck forward, then took his sunglasses off to blink blearily at me. “I was going to ask how you dance show went. Judging by that boot on your foot, I’d say either really badly, or you slayed so hard, you up and hurt yourself.”