Embrace

by Fernandez, Michelle

  “And your dad . . . is he?”

  “Alive? Yes.” Brody takes another swig of his beer without saying another word. And with that cue, I pull my hand back and know he doesn’t want to talk about his dad.

  “Do you have a middle name?”

  “No . . . I mean I do, but I don’t use it.” He looks over to his right, avoiding eye contact with me. Another dodge from a simple question and I’m not liking it. What’s he hiding? And what’s the big deal with his middle name?

  I clear my throat to break the momentary silence. “Marshall.”

  “Excuse me?” he asks, craning his neck.

  “Delilah Noreen Marshall.”

  “Did you say Marshall?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Marshall,” he repeats, and now I’m curious as to why he’s questioning my last name. “Tell me, Delilah Noreen Marshall, from Kansas, do you have any siblings?”

  “I do. Three brothers . . .”

  Brody opens his mouth to say something, but a cheer erupts on the other side of the bar causing us to look up to see a hockey game on the television.

  I don’t know much about the sport, but as far as I can tell it’s the playoffs. Just about every other person is wearing a hockey jersey.

  “Have you ever been to a hockey game?” he asks, shifting his body toward the television.

  “No.” I shake my head and scrunch my nose. “I don’t understand it.”

  “It’s kind of like soccer.”

  “How can anyone watch that black ball slide across the ice so fast?”

  Brody laughs. “It’s not a ball. It’s called a puck.”

  “It’s a what?”

  “It’s a rubber disk called a puck.” He scoots his chair closer to me so he can get a better view of the television mounted above the long bar.

  One arm rests on the back of my chair as he points to the screen. He rambles on about how to play the game and the team is competing for the Stanley Cup. He goes on about the offsides, each player’s position, and the easiest way to follow the puck by paying attention to the player’s movement. One second a player is tethering the puck with his stick, then the next second it’s being passed to another teammate.

  I wince when the rubber disk hits the goalie in the chest, blocking the other team from making a point.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask.

  “He may feel the thud, but he’s got a lot of padding,” he reassures as we watch the goalie skate around the net, puck against his stick before passing it to his teammate. “See, he’s all good.”

  Moments later, the hum of the crowd bursts into an uproar. The protective masks and gloves come off as the opponents punch each other in the face. Brody eggs on the brawl as he tells me the players will be punished for a couple minutes by having them sit in the penalty box.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Get what, Kansas?” he asks, leaning closer so he can hear me.

  “Why fight? What’s the point?”

  “It’s part of the game. Male testosterone, I guess. A respect thing.”

  “A respect thing?”

  “Sure.” He shrugs, his eyes locked on the screen.

  “So he can show who is stronger?” My annoyance flares as the feud between the two players continues.

  “That’s how guys are. I guess we like to hit things when we get mad. It’s in our blood,” Brody says as the other players and the referees break up the fight.

  “So, you’re saying because you are a guy, you like to hit things.”

  “Yup.”

  “And it’s in your blood.”

  “Uh-huh,” he answers with a nod.

  “And it’s okay to keep hitting her?”

  Brody turns to me and narrows his eyes. “Her? You mean him.”

  I cringe inwardly and coil with embarrassment, realizing what I said when he corrects me.

  He takes hold of my hand as his eyes lock onto mine and I can tell he’s probing for more.

  “Delilah, who are you talking about? Who kept hitting her?”

  “No one . . . it was nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  The room suddenly feels smaller and the walls are closing in on me. I avert my eyes and look everywhere else other than him, self-conscious that he may notice the beads of sweat coating my skin.

  Panic claws its way up my throat and takes me hostage as images of the nights when I cried over the physical pain from Todd’s fist pass through my mind. The sound of his voice rings through my ears and a chill stiffens my spine.

  Blame after blame. Blow after blow.

  “Hey, are you okay?” His voice is soft and tender, and I don’t even know how long I have been staring blankly at my previously broken arm.

  “I don’t know . . . I need to . . . I-I want . . . I need to get out of here.” I take in a shaky breath as the pressure of his glare is unavoidable.

  “Delilah, talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “Please, Brody . . . I think I want to go home,” I say quickly as my heart beats against my chest.

  “Sure, if that’s what you want,” he says without hesitation and suspicion in his voice.

  “I do.”

  “Okay, let me get the check.”

  He glances at my trembling hand that I can’t seem to get under control. Brody spots the waiter on the other side of the room and motions for the bill.

  “I’ll meet you outside. I-I need some air.” I slide off the tall chair, grabbing my sweater and purse. My feet wobble as I hurry through the restaurant, holding back the tears that sting the back of my throat.

  Damn it. What was I thinking? A little too much wine made me have a loose tongue.

  I welcome the fresh cool air when I swing open the large wood door. Anxiousness overwhelms me and my reflexes kick in.

  I keep my head face forward while dodging the tourists and locals gallivanting along the Santa Monica Pier.

  I hear him calling my name from behind me, but I keep walking, just like I did the night at the club. Only this time, I don’t look back, afraid he’ll catch up and I will need to figure a way to crawl out of the hole I just dug myself into.

  How can I be so stupid? I let my guard down and my emotions overreact over two hockey players having it out on the ice. The use of their brute force I clumsily compared to my past with Todd.

  My breath is shaky, my nerves rattling as I bump into Brody’s hard chest. His gentle hands on my shoulders prevent me from walking past him.

  “Please, Brody. Let me go.”

  The weight of his unrelenting eyes bore into mine, comforting and frightening me all at the same time. His eyes give nothing away as he stares at me. Something about him stirs deep feelings within me and I don’t know how to control it.

  And like the gentleman he is, he doesn’t force me to say anything else.

  Brody wipes my cheek with his thumb, the fallen tear I didn’t know was there. Without preamble, he leans in, cups my face, and presses his lips to mine.

  It’s a gentleman’s kiss. It’s tender, yet powerful as if he’s fighting the demon waging war inside me. His feather-light kiss makes me forget the past and remember the here and now even though I can taste the salt from my tears.

  The finesse of his soft lips weakens my knees. And the only reason I am still standing is from his arm that gently wraps around my waist, pulling me closer to every inch of his firm chest as his other hand is at the base of my neck.

  The sound of the ocean crashing in the distance seeps into my consciousness as I force myself to slowly pull back from him.

  Brody’s done nothing wrong, yet my defense shield is up as if he did.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kiss you like that.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Brody.” I squeeze my eyes shut as another tear escapes and rolls down my face.

  “Tell me what happened in there, Delilah,” he whispers, studying my face. The warmth of his hand caresses my spine and the sound of my name never sounded so safe i
n the refuge of his arms.

  “Please . . . can you just let me go?” I whisper.

  “Not a chance, Dorothy,” he replies, embracing me in his strong arms and kissing the top of my head. “Not this time.”

  * * *

  The full moon illuminates the ocean and the waves crash below us as I grip the edge of the wooden rail of the pier. I shiver as the chill from the marine layer sneaks in as Brody drapes his jacket over me.

  Loose strands tickle my face as I push my hair back behind my shoulder. I keep looking forward and the weight of Brody’s scrutiny is ever so present during our silence.

  He didn’t say another word or ask questions which has allowed me to gather my thoughts and calm my panic attack.

  Finding my courage, I take in a deep breath before I speak. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Brody turns his head to face me and I slowly turn to look at him. His brandy-colored eyes sparkle under the flickering lamp above us.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I am a good listener if you want to talk about it.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  He narrows his eyes and I know he doesn’t believe me. “It sure didn’t seem like nothing.”

  “Brody, I just got carried away.” A lie I’m sure he can see right through. “I’ve got some baggage, that’s all,” I mutter as my fingers pick at the wooden rail.

  “Baggage,” he repeats. “I know all about baggage.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the scars on your hand?” My eyes veer to the welts of his scars from healed cuts and burns.

  “That’s part of it.” There’s struggle in his voice as he lets go of my hand and he opens his palms. “This baggage”—he lifts his hand and examines it—“comes with faults of my own.”

  I see the sadness in his eyes when he clears his throat, as if Brody just realized he’s opened up to me. Although the burns and external scars are very much visible, so are the internal ones.

  “Did he hurt you?” His direct question startles me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that he put two and two together with the way I acted at the restaurant.

  I open my mouth to speak, then close it. We’re playing a game of show and tell and I’m not sure I want to play.

  “What makes you say that?” I force down a swallow and shift my feet.

  “Delilah, back at the restaurant . . . When you said, he kept hitting her . . . is she you?”

  My hand goes to my chest, trying to control my breathing. I press my lips together and try to hide the fear in my eyes.

  I don’t understand why I can’t let my past go and enjoy this moment with Brody. A man that wants to make me smile and who has made me laugh so many times tonight. A man that has surprised me more times than Todd ever did.

  Is she me? It’s a question I don’t want to answer.

  I don’t want him to see the faults and fears of how I perceive men and what they are capable of. Maybe I was wrong to think I was ready to date again. I want to reinforce my wall around me but when I look at him, it’s no use.

  Brody is different. He’s proven it with the small gestures that went straight to my heart. I close my eyes momentarily and try to shake the horrible memories that are pushing their way to the surface.

  “Hey, look at me . . . I’m sorry,” he says as if he notices that I’m struggling with the whirlwind of emotions. “Just know this . . . I’ll be here for you whenever you’re ready.”

  “I really screwed up this night, didn’t I?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Liar.” I nudge his hip with mine.

  “There’s nothing screwed up about tonight. I’m with you and that’s a win for me.”

  “You sure know how to make a girl feel good, Brody Reinhardt.”

  He tucks a hair behind my ear as a gust of wind blows from the ocean. “Look, I know he hurt you. How bad? I don’t know, but I can only assume. But believe me when I say this, you deserve to be put on a pedestal, Delilah.”

  “But you hardly know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  “Oh, yeah? What if I’m the Black Widow or the next Jeffrey Dahmer?”

  He barks out a laugh. “I doubt that. I’m a good judge of character and you, sweetheart, couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  I make a noncommittal sound.

  “Like I said. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m all ears.” He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “I hope one day, you’ll trust me enough to tell me.”

  The reassurance of his words tugs at my heart. Brody’s embrace subsides all my fears and I no longer want to run away from him.

  Brody pulls back and he looks down at me. “What are you thinking?” he asks, tracing the lines of my jaw.

  “You’re too good to be true. And it’s kind of scary.”

  “I assure you, I don’t mean to scare you. As a matter of fact, I still owe you a cup of hot cocoa and that, Dorothy, is not scary at all.”

  “Well, that all depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “If you’re going to sneak up behind me again.”

  “Hey, I did not sneak up behind you. If my memory serves me correctly, I think you were the one who was pointing a weapon at me.”

  “Only because you freaked me out.” I jab my finger in his chest.

  He lifts my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look at his soul-reading eyes. The simple touch sends a spark down my spine and the butterflies flutter again.

  “I like you, Delilah. And I think you like me. Just give me a chance to show you that whoever you are comparing me to, I’m not him.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brody

  Everything about Delilah captures me. The scent of her sweet perfume. The smell of shampoo in her hair overwhelms me. The warmth of her body, inches from mine as we stand on the dimly lit porch. I gaze into her eyes and I hate not fully knowing what put that look on her face back at the restaurant.

  “Which room is yours?” I ask off the cuff.

  She points to the right. “That one. Why do you ask, you plan on serenading me?”

  I stifle a laugh. “Hardly. I don’t do the singing thing.”

  She tucks her lip under her teeth, and it sends a jolt to my tightening balls and I want to kiss those soft lips of hers again.

  The moment never felt so right, and I want her to know I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Then I remember the hesitation that swept across her face when I asked the question she still has not answered.

  Delilah never confirmed or denied.

  Although she hasn’t admitted it, the signs are there. And all I can do is respect and admire her strength for getting out of an abusive relationship.

  I need to calm the rage stirring in the pit of my belly. I need to be patient as I look down at the beautiful woman that captured me the moment I met her.

  I’m fucked when she unknowingly pries open the crack in my breastplate, taking me by surprise. And I am nowhere near qualified to be her knight in shining armor. But something about her pulls at me as she looks up at me through her thick lashes.

  The troubles she’s battling should be a bright fucking beacon warning me to let her go, so she can deal with her own shit. She’s the reason I don’t date complicated women. But here she is, in my arms and I can’t help the warm feeling in my chest that I never expected and want with her.

  “Thanks for bringing me home.” Her voice is soft, and the topaz of her eyes makes me take a pause, step back, and catalog this moment.

  “What was I going to do? Make you walk home?”

  “I just thought after I left you in the restaurant . . .”

  “Shh, I’m just happy I didn’t lose you this time.” I frame her face with my palms and kiss her forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

  She nods and something tells me she’s not as her eyes dart over my shoulder. I turn to see what she’s looking at and it’s
just my truck still idling with the headlights on.

  “Thank you for . . . for everything. I had a really good time,” she says.

  Fuck! There goes that smile again as I look at her lips and remember the taste of her kiss. And despite the night we had, it was all worth it to see that smile light up her face at the end of our date. But I can’t seem to walk away from her.

  “I want to see you tomorrow . . . if that’s okay?” A rush of nerves races up my spine. “I mean, if you’re free, assuming you’re available.”

  “I would love to see you tomorrow.”

  Thank fuck! I let out a breath, not wanting her to see how excited I am.

  “Cool,” I say. “What would you like to do?”

  “You’re the one with all the surprises. So surprise me.”

  Delilah’s nerves show as she plays with her necklace and fidgets with the cross hanging from it. All I want to do is surprise her as long as it makes her smile like she is at this very moment.

  “Well, I don’t want to take you someplace you have been.”

  “I haven’t been anywhere. I’m kind of new here.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “A few months,” she says.

  “And your ex-boyfriend?” I narrow my eyes, prying for an answer.

  “Is out of state.”

  “In Kansas?”

  “Yes,” she answers quickly and looks over my shoulder again. Rage boils in my veins knowing that asshole made her paranoid and I have a whole hell of a lot of work to do to rid her of her doubts.

  “Well, how about I pick you up tomorrow around oh-nine-hundred?”

  “Oh-nine-hundred? Nine o’clock. As in the morning?” she asks with surprise in her eyes and I can’t help but laugh.

  I twist my lips and gaze at her beauty. “Just dress comfortably tomorrow. And wear a swimsuit.”

  “Brody, where are you taking me?”

  “What’s the matter, Kansas? Don’t you trust me?” I lean forward, testing her reaction. She doesn’t flinch as her eyes dart to my lips. I keep my eyes fixed on hers. I pull her closer to me as my hand slides around her rib cage.

  Without another second passing, my mouth meets hers. She opens her lips slightly and I take the invitation. And holy fuck, this woman can kiss.