by Maxene Novak
“Yeah?”
“‘67 Impala. I paid way too much for it and spent an insane amount of time and money restoring it. It sucks down gas and it breaks down on me every couple years, but I love the damn thing.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me feel like I’m there, you know? Saving the world. When I was off on my little adventure, I’d always go looking for a story. Some kind of adventure. I expected the real world to be less interesting, less exciting, but… it really isn’t. There are stories everywhere. I started writing them down, journaling it, kind of. It was like the nerdiest coming of age thing ever, but it worked for me. Putting myself right there in the fantasy, I don’t know… kind of fulfilled something in me.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Freewheeling around the country looking for trouble? Damn right I miss it.”
“So why don’t you go back to it?”
Ruger shrugged. “When I got back here, I was sort of hoping for a happy ending. That didn’t happen, but… I don’t know. I feel like if I left now I’d never know if it could or not.”
“Happy endings… that’s a lot to hope for in real life. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that pissing contest the other night, would it?”
“Pissing contest?”
“Never have I ever beat the living shit out of my roommate for dodging the question.”
Ruger laughed. “Alright, alright, yes. Colt and I… we had a thing. End of high school up until I left, we were together. But he was closeted and I was impatient, and it didn’t work out.”
“So you were hoping you could go away, grow up for a while, come back and make it all better?”
“Something like that.”
“So why didn’t it work?”
Ruger sighed, and Belle felt like she might be pushing too hard. Curiosity drove her, though, and she didn’t retract the question.
“Because… because I was angry and he was defensive but neither of us was man enough to admit it. We acted like nothing ever happened, like nobody ever got hurt or fell in love or anything. It was just two friends, reunited. We kept it there, deliberately. At least we did until the other day.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“I kissed him,” Ruger said, blushing.
“You didn’t!”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I kissed him, and he told me to wait. So… I guess we’re right back where we started.”
“Not really,” Belle pointed out. “You’re older, wiser, and…Well, you have options.”
“Options?” Ruger raised an eyebrow at her.
“Well, I mean….” Belle felt her face heating up. “I just mean that you don’t have to wait for him at your own expense. And you wouldn’t have to wait for him to fall in love with you, either, it could just be… casual, you know?”
“Hm. Casual with Colt, or casual with… someone else?” he asked, giving her a pointed look.
She’d waded into dangerous territory. She should have stopped to ask herself what she really wanted. If the drama was worth it. But the memory of the almost-kiss was still fresh in her mind, and her situation had her feeling desperately unpretty. She wanted to wash that all away, dive into the worship she still saw in his eyes and live there.
She moved closer to him and kissed his cheek. His face burned crimson, and he turned to her, gazing into her eyes.
“Why do you want me?” he asked quietly.
“Because I think you want me,” she told him, not wanting to lie.
He kissed her gently. “That’s a bad reason,” he whispered.
“I know,” she sighed. “Kiss me again and I’ll forget it.”
He kissed her again, passionately. It stirred something in the frozen sludge around her heart, and she clung to him. She lay back on the couch and pulled him with her, devouring his mouth as she fell. His hands, soft and sensitive, roamed her body, slowly bringing her back to life. She sighed, pulling him closer. She forgot about everything in that moment, everything that was wrong with her life. She let it all go and lost herself in his touch.
He was gentle, at first, and careful. But her quivering hands, starving lips, and eager sounds urged him onward, and he forgot himself, grinding into her as he tasted her mouth. She didn’t mind. She wrapped her good leg around him and bound him to her, gyrating with pleasure, groaning with need.
Something cracked, and she cried out.
“Oh my gosh I broke you,” Ruger gasped, pulling away.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she ground her fist into her hip, trying to crush the sudden pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. What do you need?” he asked, eyes shining with worry.
“Nothing,” she snarled. “I’m f-fine.”
“No, no, definitely not fine,” he said. “I’ll call the hospital. Or Colt—Colt will know what to do.”
“No!” she shouted.
He stopped, staring at her.
“No, please,” she whimpered. “I’ve got pills I can take, they’re in my purse. I’ll just take one of those and go to bed. I’ll be fine in the morning, I promise.”
She was mortified. She couldn’t bear the thought of telling Colt what she’d done, why she’d been so careless. She didn’t even know herself.
“Where’s your purse?”
“Writing desk, in the bedroom,” she gasped.
He was gone and back in a flash, and brought her a glass of water while she was rifling through her purse in search of painkillers. She had two large pills waiting in her hand by the time he returned.
“Thank you,” she whimpered, gulping them down.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, looking ashamed and concerned.
“Yeah,” she lied. “I’ll be alright. Would you… I know it might be weird now, but would you help me get into bed please?” Her voice sounded small and childish to her own ears, and she mentally berated herself for allowing this to happen.
“I don’t mind at all,” he said sincerely.
He pulled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing at all, and for a millisecond it was like dancing. He could feel her heartbeat quicken in her wrist as he gazed into her eyes, and he had to bite his lip to keep from kissing her. He led her into her room and glanced around. The bed was made; Tassie must have helped her with that earlier. Clothes were strewn over the desk and chair, sorted into various piles.
“What do you sleep in?” he asked.
“There’s a big t-shirt over there somewhere… let me find it.”
She started to hobble toward the desk, and Ruger reached for her. “Let me,” he said.
He turned her so she was leaning against the bed and went to find the shirt.
“This one?” he asked, holding up a giant black shirt with a picture of a happy cartoon turtle on it.
“Yes,” she said, sounding relieved.
“It’s cute. I like turtles,” he told her.
It sounded lame to him, but it made her smile.
“I do too. My mom got this for me on my twenty-first birthday. I’ve slept in it ever since.” She smiled at the shirt fondly when he handed it to her.
“So, um… let’s do this,” Ruger said, feeling hopelessly awkward.
Belle chewed her lip, looking up at him helplessly.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me helping you? I promise not to ogle. Much.”
Belle laughed at that, and it broke the tension.
“Please do,” she said. “The dress fastens in the back there, but has to come up over my head.”
Ruger’s hands trembled slightly as he unzipped the light purple dress, and his heart thudded loud in his chest when he slid the material up over her body. There she was, virtually naked in her cropped kami and thong. It would have been erotic if she hadn’t looked so miserable. As it was, the image tugged at his heart.
He slid the t-shirt over her head as if he were dressing a child, and tugged it down. It fell to her knees. She grinned at him, though the pain still shone in her eyes, an
d he was smitten.
“Would you help me into bed?” she asked breathlessly.
Ruger swallowed hard and put his hands around her waist. He gently lifted her up and placed her on the bed, arranging her left leg so that it wouldn’t be too terribly troublesome.
“Is there anything else you need before I go?” he asked her.
“Yeah… I need you to keep looking at me like that for a little while longer,” she said quietly.
“Looking at you like what?”
“Like I’m the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. You sort of are.”
Belle laughed bitterly. “Not for long,” she said. “This body was carved by brutal routines and immaculate timing. Now that I’m not doing that anymore…” She shrugged and looked away.
Ruger moved to sit beside her, and touched her hand. “Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.”
She did, her big golden eyes shining with tears.
“You are astonishingly beautiful. You always have been. When you performed… God, Belle, when you performed I could always pick you out of the crowd, and not because you practiced harder, not because you were more fit, and not because your timing was perfect. You stood out because you were in love with it, and it showed. Your passion could light up a stage. Don’t let that die just because the outlet is temporarily sealed off.”
The tears spilled over, and she laughed through a sob. She curled toward him, and he held her on his shoulder while she cried, patting her back gently.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “That was just the most perfect thing you could have said, and I… I just can’t seem to stop crying lately.”
“It’s alright, nothing to be sorry about,” he told her. Emotions were swirling in his gut. All he wanted in that moment was to hold her forever, until she had nothing to cry about ever again. He pulled the Kleenex out of the drawer and set it on the nightstand for her.
“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”
“Yes, please.”
He filled the glass and set it beside the tissues. Her tears had begun to dry, and she looked infinitely sleepy.
“Goodnight, Belle,” he said, squeezing her hand. “And sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight,” she sighed.
She was asleep before he’d turned out the light.
Ruger blew her a kiss through the dark room and sighed as he closed the door. She seemed so innocent and fragile. His gallant white knight side wanted to stay in the room with her, to make sure she was safe all through the night; but the primal male part of him wanted to stay for entirely different reasons, and he couldn’t let that side take point. Not this time. So he compromised with himself and pulled a spare blanket out of the window seat in the living room, and curled up on the sofa.
It still smelled like her. Like lilies and car leather and something he could neither identify nor define. It was just her. He snuggled into the scent and turned his attention to the TV. He wasn’t tired yet, and he knew he wouldn’t be for a while. He found some old reruns of his favorite show, and curled up comfortably to watch men he’d once lusted over live the life he’d once dreamed of.
Chapter Eleven
Belle had been determined to be fine all morning. She woke up and decided that last night didn’t matter, that she had nothing to feel ashamed about, and that she was fine. She’d been fine when she’d tied her bikini bottoms over her brace, and fine all through breakfast with Ruger. It had been mildly awkward, but she was fine. Now she was focused on moving forward, on taking steps toward… well, taking steps.
But now, pulling into the gym parking lot, she was terribly anxious. Fit, beautiful people used the machines in front of the windows without shame. An eight-foot tall advertisement boasted a strong-looking mostly nude model guzzling a nutritional supplement. People glided in and out of the swinging doors, secure in their limbs, confident in their stride.
Belle was more self-conscious than she’d been since her very first recital. She pulled into a parking space. She told herself to get out of the car. She stayed frozen.
Colt materialized beside her. “Hey, seatbelt stuck?” he asked, opening her door.
“No…” She blushed. “I just, um… wasn’t sure you said eleven.”
“Yep, definitely eleven. You’re right on time. Come on, I’ll help you inside.”
Wind blasted, and he shivered a little. Belle felt bad for hesitating, but she just couldn’t seem to move.
“Do you think they’ll stare?” she asked quietly.
“Nah. Thing about people is they don’t care what you’re doing as long as they’re busy doing their own thing. These people are all focused on their own deal. Come on, it’ll be fine. I promise.”
He held out his hand, and she unbuckled with a sigh.
As they walked through the gym, she realized he was mostly right. She earned a few curious glances, but people ignored her for the most part. They were all intent on their own goals, fiercely focused on melting away holiday pounds or bulking up for the summer. A Latin dance class was going on in the big glass-enclosed room; she watched the dancers wistfully. Such simple steps, so far out of her reach. She turned away from them and took in the rest of the gym.
“So where do I go?” she asked.
He led her to the far wall, which had doors and hallways leading into the private spaces of the gym.
“You can get changed in here,” he told her, gesturing at the women’s fitting room. “The door to the pool is on the other side of the locker room. The floor should be pretty dry, there haven’t been any classes yet today. Be careful anyway, last thing you need is another fall. I’ll meet you in the pool room. Remind me again what kind of bathing suit you have?”
“Bikini. Ties on the bottom, I put it on already.”
“Perfect. Keep your brace on till you get to the pool, then. I’ll put the privacy locks on until we get it off and get you into the pool. Alright?”
“Alright,” she said, chewing her lip nervously.
“Give me a call when you’re all done and I’ll come pick you up, okay?”
She gimped her way past the sweaty gym goers, the flashy personal trainers, and the sales people. It seemed entirely too busy for a Tuesday morning in a sleepy town. She’d have to remember to ask Colt about it. Maybe there was something in the water that had these people super dedicated; with this kind of turnout, it must be the fittest little town on the East Coast.
The locker room was mercifully quiet. A faucet dripped somewhere, echoing through the tiled room. She pulled off her coat and took her thick, ankle-length wool dress off carefully. She swapped her fuzzy boots out for rubber-soled water shoes, and looked at herself in the full-length mirror.
“Ridiculous,” she said out loud.
She looked like a cyborg. Her hard plastic brace absorbed her left side up to the hip, and was decorated with her flimsy red tie-on bikini bottoms. Her barely-there chest was covered by two small red triangles, and her long blonde hair was swept up into a tight bun. Under the harsh lights, she looked impossibly thin and sickly, the hollows of her curves accented by deep grey shadows. She hated her body in that moment. The betrayal of it. She’d put so much time and energy into building it, molding it, training it down to the last nerve twitch; and in the briefest moment, all of that work had been undone. Now her muscles were slowly wasting away, leaving nothing but pale skin stretched over a wispy frame.
She looked away from the image angrily. Colt would help her. She would help herself. One way or another, she would get her body back. One way or another, she would return it to its functional peak. There would be no compromise. She’d be back on top in the ballet world, no matter the cost. This was her life, she told herself, and she would do it her way.
Determination firmly in place, she limped through the tiled space to the pool door. Colt was waiting for her just on the other side.
“Alright, come on over here,” he told her. He held her elbow firm
ly and led her over to a gym mat lying on the floor. “Hang out here for a sec while I lock this door.”
Belle took the moment to look around. The pool was about half the size of an Olympic pool. A rack on the far side held a collection of floaties and water weights. To her right sat a hot tub, with a sauna behind it. The pool itself had wide, shallow steps on the side nearest her, with handrails leading down into the three-foot-deep water.
“Alright, there we go,” Colt said. “Now, here’s what I want to do. I want you to lie on that mat and let me take your brace off. Since the bottoms tie you’ll be able to maintain a sense of modesty while I remove it. Then I’ll carry you into the pool. Are you comfortable with all that?”
Comfortable? No, she wasn’t comfortable. Not with that, not with any of it. But she’d do it anyway.
“Yeah, sure,” she lied.
“Alright. I’ll help you down.”
Colt took her cane and set it aside, then held her as she sank down onto the mat. His bare chest was pressed against her face, and his strong arms cradled her. For a moment, she could pretend that this was the prelude to something else entirely; but, for as gentle and close as Colt was, he maintained a clinical attitude that killed her fantasy before it could take root. He talked to her as he worked on her brace, the same way her gynecologist used to.
“Now, I’m just going to untie this side and unfasten the brace on your hip here. Perfect. Now I’m retying it over here… untying the other side now. Now, I’m just going to lift you up a tiny bit to slide it out… there we go. Retying on this side, perfect.”
He was finished so quickly that she hadn’t even had time to get flustered. He was quick, efficient, and gentle; she understood how he’d become so successful in his business. She was comfortable in her vulnerability, as long as he was there. He slid the final pieces off of her ankle, and placed the entire apparatus beside her cane against the wall.
“Alright, gonna lift you up now, okay? Just wrap your arms around my neck, we’re gonna do it princess-style.”
She giggled at that, and did as he instructed. He supported her under her knees and around her waist, cradling her. As he lifted her up, her knee bent at a sharper angle than she’d allowed it to before, and she cried out.