I Breathe You

by Lori L. Clark

  “If I had told you someone was coming to pick them up, you would have pitched a fit about it. This was the best way, truly,” as she eyes me pointedly. “I’m going to get out of these clothes and then start dinner.” She dries her hands and folds the towel back onto the oven handle.

  Heat flares into my cheeks as I begin to feel agitation knocking on the door of my brain. My chest tightens along with my fists. Inhale, one, two, three. Hold, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three. Repeat. I’ve discovered this little exercise not only helps to stabilize my breathing, but it seems to quell the anger before it has a chance to dig in its heels, keeping a possible inferno down to a tiny spark.

  Slightly annoyed, I pull my hands through my hair and retreat to my room. Curiosity — and the need to know if he’s still thinking about me — pulls me toward the drawer where I’ve kept my cell phone stashed. T and Gwen are constantly on me about not keeping the phone with me in case of an emergency. I take it with me sometimes, when I remember. I power it on and plug it into the charger next to my bed.

  My heart speeds, and I press my palm against my chest as I stare at the words on the screen. There are two texts. One from T and one from Ian, a short, simple, PLEASE? LET ME EXPLAIN.

  It feels like someone has punched me in the gut and my stomach clenches into a painful ball of regret. I release a slow, deliberate breath as my fingers hover over the screen. I’m torn between a myriad of emotions, wanting desperately to be able to reach through the phone and fist my hands in his hair and wrap my legs around his narrow hips.

  The afternoon shadows are long when I wrap my robe tightly around myself after my shower. Voices float up the stairs from the kitchen along with the aroma of something good to eat. My stomach growls while I quickly dress to join T and Gwen for dinner.

  T glances at me and grins. “That was a great idea,” he says. Gwen’s shoulders stiffen at the kitchen sink. Her eyes dart between us.

  I frown. “What are you talking about?”

  Gwen clears her throat, “Rhane, set the table, please?”

  “No, seriously. What are you talking about, T?” I cross my arms in front of my chest and glare at him pointedly.

  “My bad. Was it supposed to be a secret?” T’s mouth forms an “O,” as he glances at Gwen. “Don’t you think she would find out sooner or later?”

  I wave my hand to get his attention, “Hello? I’m right here. What’s going on?”

  Ignoring Gwen’s death scowl, he says, “That property I bought next door? It used to be a no-kill sanctuary for dogs. Until the economy went to hell in a hand basket and they couldn’t afford the place anymore.”

  “And?” I tap my fingers against my arm impatiently.

  “And Callahan’s going to rebuild it,” he says. He looks to me hopefully, waiting for the pieces of vagueness he’s sharing to fall into place. When it’s obvious they’re not, he continues. “Callahan took the puppies as his first new residents.”

  My chin drops to my chest. “Ian has my puppies?” I manage to choke out, my tongue suddenly too dry and too large for my mouth. I stare disbelievingly at Gwen. “You gave my puppies to Ian?”

  The color drains from her face. She holds up her hands, urging me to stay calm. “If you think about it, it was the best decision for everyone involved.”

  I blink. A smile crinkles the corners of my eyes before showing at the edges of my mouth. “I think that’s the best news I’ve heard in forever,” I say, grinning like a fool.

  Gwen’s shoulders sag visibly in relief, and T chuckles, “That was easy. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  Chapter 56

  This is it. I’ve survived two and a half months of anger management meetings. I never expected to make a new friend while attending classes for people who, just like me, have serious anger issues. Unsurprisingly, not everyone who started is still here for the last class. The group of eleven has been reduced to seven.

  The air is damp with a light mist. It’s unseasonably warm for March as Cybil and I wait outside before the meeting begins. She’s started to open up a little more with each passing week and I like her. She seems genuine. Not that figuring out people’s character is one of my strong suits.

  Earlier today, T suggested we have a couple beers tonight. He said we could celebrate my completing anger management and the news that the twins have decided to settle out of court. The lawyers were able to reach an agreement both sides found satisfactory. They get to keep the Fate’s Crazy band name. I get to keep my music.

  “Why don’t you come with me to Schmuck’s afterwards? We’ll celebrate our last class,” I ask Cybil.

  She opens her mouth to respond, snapping it closed as Alex approaches. Our opinion of him is something else we have in common. He’s an asshat. His eyes drill into me with an intense dislike. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from asking him what his problem is.

  He brushes past, and Cybil tenses visibly. We breathe a collective sigh the second he’s through the doors and out of sight. “There’s something about that guy that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end,” she murmurs.

  I nod in agreement. “He needs to get over himself, that’s for sure.”

  “So anyway. Yeah. I’d love to go with you to Schmuck’s tonight,” she smiles.

  Later, Cybil and I sit at the bar watching T shoot some pool. Unfortunately, Alex has also found his way to the town’s only bar. I have to wonder if the creep followed us here.

  I’m nearing the bottom of my second bottle of beer when I decide to ask something we’ve avoided discussing. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t imagine you losing your temper. Ever. What made you decide you needed anger management?”

  She picks up the short glass of Morgan and Coke and swirls the ice before downing it in two swallows. “Court ordered. As part of my punishment, rehab, or whatever,” she shrugs.

  My eyes fly open. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish!” she snorts. “What about you?”

  I tip up the rest of my beer, starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. “I had a bad habit of blowing up and punching things. When my fist went through the front window of my uncle’s house, I decided maybe it was time to admit I had a problem.”

  Her mouth tilts into a sort of half smile, half smirk. “When I split my ex’s skull wide open, the courts said I had anger issues and sent me.”

  I nearly choke on the last swallow of my beer. “Excuse me?”

  She chuckles, holding her glass up to signal the bartender for a refill. “Makes me sound like some badass bitch, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it kind of does,” I agree.

  “It was self-defense. Survival of the fittest and all that. Slamming a cast iron skillet against his head was the only thing I could do to get him to release the chokehold he had around my throat. He intended to kill me, finish me off for good,” she laughs bitterly. “Too bad the bastard didn’t bleed to death on the kitchen floor. He got off with stitches and a nasty headache while I’m labeled psycho and sent to court-appointed anger management classes.”

  I hold up my now empty bottle of beer and clink it against her glass, “Here’s to two broken women.”

  “And all the king’s men couldn’t put them back together again,” a soft voice says over my shoulder. I stiffen when I feel Ian’s all-male presence behind me. So close, the heat from his body merges with mine. So intense, I’m fearful of being reduced to a puddle on the floor. I turn slowly, our eyes locking. Some things never change. He’s still as sexy as I remember. My traitorous body may have forgiven him of his sins, but the rest of me hasn’t quite decided yet.

  Cybil’s eyes shift from me to Ian and back again. “I think I’ll go challenge your uncle for control of the pool table,” she grins, sliding from the barstool. She nods at Ian, “Keep my seat warm for me, will ya?”

  Ian straddles the stool next to mine and orders two bottles of beer. “How did you know I’d be here?” I ask, wondering if T
had given him the heads up.

  He slides one of the beers in front of me and pulls a long swig from his. “Lucky, I guess,” he shrugs.

  My eyes narrow suspiciously. “Lucky? Or did you have an inside informant?”

  That left cheek dimple appears, and paired with those twinkling eyes, I feel every last drop of my resolve to stay away from Ian Callahan go right out the window. “Maybe a little of both?”

  I roll my eyes. “Maybe?”

  We flirt openly, totally side-stepping the subject of Aubrey. I think part of me is too afraid to bring it up because I don’t want my heart to break all over again. He smiles and reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “What color do you call this?”

  I bite my lip and lower my eyes before answering, “Marvelous Mahogany.”

  “Nice. Though I would have guessed Sinfully Sensuous, or something,” he murmurs. “Is this your natural color finally?”

  “Close.” I nod as I stand. My legs wobble from the combined effects of the beers and his body’s proximity to mine. “I have to pee.”

  He steadies me with a hand on my elbow. “Careful there, Sunshine. Tell me you’re not driving tonight.”

  “I’m not driving tonight,” I repeat numbly.

  When I come out of the bathroom, Alex blocks the hallway. He’s between me and the main room of the bar, leering at me. “Surprise, surprise,” he glowers. In a dark alley, he’d probably scare me a little. But here in this public place with people everywhere, he’s just incredibly annoying. I hate that he thinks he can intimidate me. I move to go around him and he steps in front of me. I automatically step back away from him.

  “What’s your hurry?” he asks.

  “Trying to get away from you before any of the stink rubs off.” I narrow my eyes in challenge.

  His hand shoots out wrapping around my wrist. He grips me painfully and it feels like the bones are on the verge of snapping. I tense, afraid if I squirm too much he’ll break my arm because he obviously can. “You’re a smart-mouthed cunt, you know that?” he spits.

  “Let go of me,” I hiss.

  He laughs and shoves me hard against the wall. He squeezes my chin between his fingers and leans close enough to my face that the smell of sour booze causes my stomach to lurch. When I realize he’s going to kiss me, I clamp my eyes shut. If it has to happen, I definitely do not want to see it coming.

  “Get your fucking hands off of her,” Ian roars.

  Alex’s hand drops away from my face. When he turns to face Ian, Ian doesn’t waste time asking questions. Alex’s head snaps back and the sickening sound of fist against face causes me to swallow hard. Alex’s body crumples to the floor. I stare with concern at Ian who is shaking his hand and swearing under his breath.

  I step over Alex and fall into Ian’s chest.

  “Ouch. Fucker has a hard head,” he groans.

  “Let me see.” I giggle a little and hold his injured hand gently. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure you broke it.”

  He scowls, “Fuck.”

  “You better have it looked at,” I tell him, shaking my head.

  “Well, this sucks,” he moans.

  “It does kind of, doesn’t it?” I can’t help but smile, feeling bubbly inside for some strange reason. Considering I’ve just completed ten weeks of anger management, violence should not make me feel this good. He scowls down at me and I chew the inside of my cheek to try and quell the laughter which would be fun, but wholly inappropriate, at the moment.

  Chapter 57

  Several hours later after Ian and I leave the hospital ER, we’re making our way to the bar parking lot to retrieve our vehicles. The silence has grown awkward between us, so I try easing the mood by joking with him. “Maybe you should think about signing up for the next ten weeks, take some anger management classes yourself.”

  He stops walking and turns toward me. With his hands on my shoulders he tells me quietly, “When I saw that fucker all over you, I guess I kinda went a little crazy.” The heat from his eyes as they lock with mine causes me to shift nervously from one foot to the other. I’m completely mesmerized by him.

  I lower my eyes to the ground between my feet trying to think of something else to talk about. “Who’s watching Emmy tonight?”

  He sneers. “She’s with her mother.”

  My eyebrows draw together. “You let her stay with Aubrey?”

  “Not unsupervised, hell no. They stay with Aubrey’s parents,” he tells me.

  “That’s probably a good idea,” I say. I reach into my coat pocket and pull on my gloves. “How are you going to drive home?”

  “That’s the least of my worries right now,” he snorts. He tips my chin up with one finger, “Look at me, Sunshine.”

  The hurt in his gray-green eyes is so laid out there, so in-my-face real that it causes something inside of me to twist painfully. “What are we doing, Ian?” I ask finally.

  He takes a deep breath and draws me tightly against his chest. His forehead presses against mine. “We’re going to talk. I need you to hear me out, let me explain. Where we go after that is up to you.”

  My heart sputters as I try desperately to reel in my emotions. I nod. “Okay.”

  His large, calloused hand wraps around mine as we continue making our way along the deserted streets. When we get to his truck he walks around back and drops the tailgate. He hops up, taking a seat and pats the tailgate next to him. “Sit,” he orders.

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Kind of bossy, aren’t you?”

  His cheeks turn a little red. “Please?” I hoist myself onto the tailgate beside him, and wait for him to say something. He’s quiet for a few moments until finally he shakes his head. “I’ve rehearsed this whole damn conversation in my head so many times. I didn’t know if you’d ever give me the chance to explain, and now that you are…well, shit. Now I’ve forgotten my lines.”

  I smile softly at him. “I’m listening.”

  He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. Angling himself so that his knee rests on the metal of the tailgate between us, he says, “In all of the fucked-up-ness surrounding my life, you are the only person who has ever been able to make me forget that it’s been one major disaster after another.”

  “Then why did you lie to me?” I swallow hard.

  He runs his good hand through his hair. “I know how things must seem to you, but trust me I did not intentionally lie to you. Hurting you is the last thing I ever want to do. You have to believe me,” he whispers. I reach for his hand, wrapping it between both of mine. “Aubrey was supposed to stop by and pick up some of Emmy’s Christmas presents. Since Emmy was spending the night with Aubrey and her parents, we decided Santa would make his visit there instead of my house.

  “Having you in my bed felt so good. Felt so right. When Aubrey let herself in… well, what could I do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Defend me maybe?” I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease my tension. “She pretty much made me out to be some random slut you dragged home from the bar. You don’t do that a lot, I hope? Bring girls home from the bar?”

  “What? No!” he exclaims. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when she started running her mouth. Clearly, I had my head so far up my ass I wasn’t thinking at all.”

  “Clearly.” I look directly into his eyes and cross my arms in front of my chest.

  “If you give me a chance to make it up to you, I promise you won’t regret it. I’ve wanted you since that morning I caught you checking me out while I fixed your porch swing.”

  “I so was not checking you out!” I try to pull my hand free of his grip, but he holds on tenaciously. The twinkle in his eyes breaks down my resolve. “Okay. I admit, I was sort of glancing your way every once in a while but I was not ‘checking you out.’ I just wanted to make sure you fixed the swing right.”

  “Of course you did,” he says and rolls his eyes. He hops off the tailgate, pulling me with him. Opening the passenger door, he commands, “Get in
.”

  Arguments for why this is a bad idea get lost behind all the reasons why I want to, so I comply. He climbs behind the wheel. When he starts the truck, music blasts from the speakers so loudly I’m pretty sure the fillings in my teeth rattle loose. Not just any music either. It’s my voice — my voice from before — which shatters the silence. I gape at him. He looks apologetic as he reaches toward the radio to turn it off.

  “Sorry,” he offers.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. Really.”

  A sexy smile creases the corners of his eyes. “You’re beautiful. So damn beautiful. I don’t deserve you.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I tease. “Now where are you taking me?”

  He cocks his head, and laughter spills out of him. “I have something to show you.”

  He drives out of town toward my house. I peek sideways at him, “You’re taking me home?”

  “Maybe I am,” he smiles. But instead of going to my house, he turns down the path that T pointed out the other day.

  “This is your place,” I protest.

  “Yeah, it is,” he admits. “They’re so close, maybe we can take down the fence between the two properties and make it into one. There are a lot of dogs that need to be rescued.”

  I smile. “I’ll think about it.”

  He coasts to a stop next to a broken down cabin, “Oh about that divorce? It’s almost a done deal. I’ll officially be back on the market in a few weeks. A free man.”

  I shake my head. “Like hell.”

  He tilts his head sideways, studying me with a cocky grin. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s get something clear right now,” I say as I poke him in the chest. “There are three things I never share.”