A Risk Worth Taking

by Zana Bell

  There it was. His head reared. Her motorbike. She’d have a shower, phone someone in the family and then go out again. That’s what she’d done every other evening this week. He watched her park the bike. She didn’t have her usual jaunty swing. He leaned forward to watch more closely as she walked to the door. What was wrong with her?

  Her?

  With a groan he bent over and beat his forehead against the desk. What was wrong with him!

  OVER DINNER, her face was drawn.

  “Are you all right, Cressa?” Alicia asked.

  “Of course.” Cressa’s smile was brittle. She had two vertical lines between her eyes. Adam was annoyed to find himself yearning to lean forward and smooth them away. When they all stood up at the end of the meal, Cressa groaned involuntarily and pressed the heel of her hand hard into her lower back.

  He frowned. “What’s up? Have you pulled a muscle?”

  “It’s nothing. I was a bit energetic in the sword fight today, that’s all.”

  She reached for the plates, but breathed sharply and bit her lip.

  “Here, I’ll massage it.”

  Cressa straightened. He could see she was making an effort not to grimace. “I told you, it’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

  The same stupid fear of appearing weak that had left her dangling from the garage roof. How had she put it? Being dependent.

  Ridiculous. He could help her, if only she’d let him. Concern made him gruff. “We need to get it sorted out or you won’t be much good tomorrow.”

  Alicia cut in. “Yes, let Adam help. Even as a twelve-year-old he gave the best shoulder rubs in the world. Do you remember how I used to call you my little healer?”

  He caught Cressa’s eyes and saw humor flash before they both quickly looked away. “Yeah, I remember.”

  He came around and ran a hand—a purely professional hand—down her back. “Here?”

  “A bit lower. Oh, yeah, right there.” She gave another groan, half agony, half pleasure, which hit him in the solar plexus. He knew that touching her would be exquisite torture for both of them. He ought to say right now that treating her was beyond his skill. He ought to walk away. Yet how could he? He wanted to fix people. This was his calling, one half of his brain argued. The other half leered. Calling, indeed.

  He lifted the glorious weight of her hair and ran his hand down her spine, feeling bone and knots of muscle. Tension riddled her back, but he didn’t think it was all from one pulled muscle. While his mind analyzed, he was aware, too, of curves and the soft skin at the top of her neck. He yearned to lean forward and touch it with his lips. At the same time he wanted to carry her to her bed and force her to have a good night’s sleep. She looked exhausted. “This whole back needs work. It would be better if you were sitting for this.”

  CRESSA DIDN’T PROTEST. She’d really overdone it today and the ride home had been hell. Adam had her straddle a seat while he fetched a pillow, which he placed over the back of the chair. “You should have gotten this seen to on the set.”

  “I didn’t want to fuss. I’m just a bit stiff. It’ll pass.”

  “You can’t afford to seize up.”

  She was dropping with fatigue, having driven herself too hard, but how else to escape the vulnerability and confusion of feelings haunting her? Fragments of the past had strayed though her memory, fleeting but unsettling. The ghostly tug of emotions she thought she’d signed off on years ago returned. Sometimes she found her hand drifting toward the secret compartment of her wallet, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look at the photograph she’d kept there for over two years.

  Adam’s hands began moving across her shoulders, pinpointing knots of pain and kneading them into surrender. Perhaps he was using her as a way to brush up on his anatomy. They shouldn’t be doing this, though. How could she maintain her bright detachment when she could feel herself melting into the pillow? Even without oil, without nakedness, Adam was transporting her into a world where touch reigned. Those long capable fingers finding the exact spots of pain and easing them felt so good. What could they do, she wondered, if their whole mission was to give her pleasure? A longing far deeper than any previous arousal settled deep in her core, and her universe narrowed to where there was only physical sensation. She was barely aware of Alicia leaving the room; her thoughts focused on his fingers as they learned her body, unlocking its secrets.

  And then the phone rang in the living room. Alicia answered. “Oh, hi, Katherine.”

  Adam swore softly.

  A short exchange of pleasantries ensued before Alicia walked in, phone to her ear. “She’s right here. Nice talking to you.” She passed the phone over.

  “Keep it short,” Adam ordered. “We haven’t finished and you look exhausted.”

  Cressa laughed. “Short? We’re talking Katherine here!”

  He growled and pushed her head back down, so her voice came out muffled. “Hey, Katherine, what’s up?’

  “I’ve broken up with Dirk,” her sister sobbed. “He’s been cheating on me, the bastard.”

  Cressa sat bolt upright and shook off Adam’s hands. “Oh, my God.” She covered the receiver and mouthed over her shoulder, “Sorry, emergency.” He grimaced, but she gave an exaggerated what-can-I-do shrug, so with a shake of his head, he left the room. Cressa leaned back over the pillow, already missing those long, devastating fingers. “Okay, how did you find out?”

  PORTIA ARRIVED at Katherine’s home in answer to a distraught text message and picked up the extension. Several hours passed as the three of them went over and over what a pig he was and how good that Katherine at last knew the truth. She swung between tears and fury, then watery laughter, as Cressa described various tortures, beginning with keeping Dirk locked up in a room until he’d watched every one of Ingmar Bergman’s movies. Dirk was a Die Hard man.

  Alicia passed, waving good-night, and Cressa finally hung up, having promised to tell Juliet. Katherine couldn’t face sharing the news with her elder sister, who’d never trusted him. That conversation took another age, as Juliet had always known Dirk was a no good son of a bitch. They raved for a bit, then moved on to Juliet’s problems at the office. Cressa was curled up on the sofa, dropping with fatigue, when Adam materialized in front of her, frowning and tapping his watch. His peremptory concern touched her and she nodded, holding up splayed fingers to indicate she’d finish in five. He disappeared and she heard him in the bathroom, cleaning his teeth. He puttered around the house, turning out lights, and returned in front of her. Ten minutes had elapsed, and for the past three, she’d been making unsuccessful attempts to stem her big sister’s tirade.

  The phone was snatched from her hand. “Juliet? Hey, it’s Adam here. How are you…? Great!… Yeah, I gather there’s been problems with Katherine. That’s too bad.” His tone was the perfect pitch of friendliness and brisk sympathy. “But, Juliet, here’s the thing. Cressa’s had a really tough day and she’s got a dawn start tomorrow so she needs to get some sleep. I’m sure you understand….” There was a pause as Adam stood, head cocked. “Yeah…yeah…oh, for sure… Yeah. ’Night, Juliet… Yeah… Juliet, I’m hanging up now. Good night.”

  He disconnected. Cressa was awed.

  “No one’s ever hung up on Juliet.”

  “No? Well, she says good-night. Now, off to bed.”

  At that moment the phone rang. Cressa snatched it back. “Hello.”

  “Cressa!” It was Portia, brimming with laughter. “Did Adam just hang up on Juliet? She was so taken aback she was almost lost for words. That’s almost. She’s talking to Katherine about it now, and I don’t think she’s drawn breath yet.”

  Adam snatched the phone back. “Who’s this? Portia? Get off the damn phone. Cressa’s got to get to bed. ¿Comprende? She’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  He hung up and glared at Cressa, who was torn between indignation and laughter. “You’ve got to learn to be tougher.”

  Indignation won. “They’re my sisters! But now you’ve real
ly done it. This’ll set them off for another hour.”

  On cue, the phone rang again and she grabbed it out of his hand. “Desdemona! I guess you’ve heard all about it. Yeah, I know, it’s sweet of him to take care of me.” Adam looked so nauseated she couldn’t resist. “Yeah, really sweet. I guess it’s a Texan thing.” She slid her back down the wall to settle in for another long chat.

  Adam flung both hands in the air, disappeared down the hall with an oath and banged his bedroom door closed.

  Another half hour went by before Cressa finally dragged herself to bed. The irritating thing was Adam was right. She should have been in bed two hours ago. Despite her exhaustion, her vivid, tangled thoughts kept her awake. Her back felt much better, but she moved restlessly, aching for more of Adam’s touch. Aching for Adam.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, Cressa stood in the shadows of the trees, watching a scene between Gina, the actress she doubled for, and one of her two warrior lovers. Ellis Powers projected smoldering intensity that would burn up the screen as he declared his undying love and demanded the Valkyrie relinquish the other warrior. Gina’s refusal to do so would catapult Ellis into behaving like a demon on the battlefield before being slain. The moment was pivotal because Ellis would then become one of the Undead and haunt Gina forever. He could come to her, but they would never again be able to touch, to kiss, to make love. The Valkyrie would be forever tormented with regret. There was something in this scene that plugged straight into Cressa’s heart.

  But Gina was off the mark. Cressa couldn’t understand it. The role was an actor’s dream. Instinctively, Cressa reared her head, eyes narrowing, chest rising as Gina refused to belong to any one man. The speech was searing scorn, yet Gina sounded hollow.

  “Cut!” Ed, the director, bounded up to the actors. “Gina, what the hell? You sound like a robot. C’mon, Ellis is acting his pants off and you have all the animation of a mannequin.”

  Gina pressed a hand to her forehead. “Sorry, Ed. I have such a headache I can hardly think.”

  Ed sighed but flapped a hand impatiently to an assistant. “Get some pain meds.” He turned back to Gina. “Go rest while we shoot the Messching massacre.”

  The massacre proved to be one of the most difficult scenes of all and took a very long time to get on film. The choreography was brilliant and Ed was a genius, but he demanded everything from his cast; and he did take after take to capture the vision he held in his mind. Cressa was breathing hard and sweating under the mud and fake blood by the time he was finally happy. Mercifully, her back had held up well—thanks to Adam.

  “Corpses, don’t move,” Ed yelled through the hailer. “We’ll do the death scene. Someone get Gina. The light’s perfect.”

  It was late afternoon. The sun, molten orange, squeezed between the heavy dark clouds weighing down the horizon. Shadows were long and black. The carnage of the battle scene in the mud seemed suddenly eerie. A boy ran up, with a don’t-shoot-the-messenger expression on his face. “Gina’s gone home.”

  “What?” Ed turned puce. “Why?”

  “She’s got a migraine.”

  “Oh, for crissakes!” Ed threw up his hands and beseeched the heavens. “Why, oh why, am I plagued by diva actresses?” His eyes fell on Cressa. “You up for it, Cressa? All you need to do is hunt among the bodies, find Ellis and fall to your knees. You reckon you can do it?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Cressa handed her water bottle to Sam and was shown the marks she had to hit. Couldn’t be simpler. A walk in the park.

  Except it wasn’t. She heard “Action!” but as she stepped onto the field, something happened to her. She was aware of several extras searching the bodies as she was, but something in the setting sun, the long shadows presaging night, the grimed and bloodied corpses, felt real. She walked to her first mark, bent over a body. Not Ellis. She straightened, scanned the field. Surely he’d be walking toward her any minute, fierce yet euphoric at having survived another battle. Nothing. An out-flung hand caught her eye and she hurried to the corpse. But as she turned the head, using a hank of hair, she saw it wasn’t Ellis. Mark winked, and on one level she noted it, but on another, she was under a spell. She dropped the head and leaned back on her haunches, relieved, yet feeling gathering dread. Ellis ought to be looking for the wounded, ought to be rallying the men. That’s what he always did. Where the hell was he?

  She rose, and her movements became more frantic as she moved from body to body, sometimes noticing at a glance it was not Ellis, sometimes having to squat to check. Over by the trees she saw two bodies locked in death. Dread slowed her as she picked her way through the fallen warriors. Then she stopped, right on her mark. It was Ellis; she was sure of it. Her heart seized. He’d declared his love and she had flung it back in his face. That couldn’t be their final conversation. It couldn’t be. She took his broad shoulders and, with an effort, rolled his dead body over to look at his face.

  The sun was very low now, but there was no mistaking his features, which appeared serene in death. This was the end. There would never be a future for them. Grief and loss such as she’d never felt in her life welled up and engulfed her as she slowly brushed his hair off his forehead. In death he looked perfect. He could have been asleep, but she knew that however much she willed it, she could never ever wake him. Tears spilled down her face as she wrapped her arms around his great barrel chest in a final embrace.

  “And cut!”

  Her fallen warrior folded his arms around her and copped a feel. “Great stuff, Cressa.” Then he squinted. “My God, are those real tears?”

  She scrubbed them off with the back of her hand as she struggled into a sitting position, disorientated and lost. She managed to laugh. “Nah. It’s something I’ve always been able to do,” she lied.

  Ellis sat up, too, cleaning the mud from his hair. “I hope that’s that for the day. I need a really long shower.” He slanted her his best warrior smolder. “Fancy joining me?”

  “Nice invitation, but she can’t.” Adam was suddenly, miraculously, there, pulling her to her feet. “We’ve got to get home.”

  Ellis waggled his eyebrows. “Like that, is it?”

  Normally, Cressa would have been able to say something sharp and funny, but a whole part of her was filled with agony. She couldn’t transition into this world, and she followed Adam to the trailer.

  “What are you doing here?” Everything felt surreal.

  He smiled grimly. “I was worried about your back. Worried about you. Decided to come over and check up on you.”

  “Great work,” Ed yelled. Cressa gave an automatic smile.

  “Go, girl!” Sam thumped her on the shoulder, but for once Cressa couldn’t do the Valkyrie thing. She was grateful when Adam shoved her into the trailer.

  “Get your stuff and I’ll take you home.”

  She turned and forgot what she was going to say as her eyes met his. He put his hand to her cheek and with his thumb rubbed away the tear tracks. “Go,” he said in a softer voice. “I’m here.”

  She went straight into the bathroom to splash water on her face. “Get a grip,” she muttered. “It’s only a stupid movie.”

  But the haunting sense of loss made her nauseous, and when she looked at her reflection, she understood Adam’s concern. Her face was white, her eyes huge and tragic. “He’s a character, for heaven’s sake,” she told herself. “Just a character.”

  She struggled out of her costume and pulled on her jeans, T-shirt, jersey and jacket. Still she felt cold and couldn’t stop shivering.

  “You decent?” Adam called from outside.

  “Yeah.”

  He stuck his head in the door. “I’ve locked your bike up in the shed. You’ll ride home with me.”

  She wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words, the energy. He jammed on her helmet, did up her chin strap and helped her with her gloves. She followed him to the bike. Maybe she was getting a migraine, too, because nothing felt real. She climbed up behind Ad
am, and as he switched on the engine and took off, she leaned her helmet against his back, her arms wrapped around him. He felt reassuringly alive and strong.

  Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the movement of the bike, grateful for the roar of the motor, which broke through the bubble of silence that had enveloped her. Though she and Adam were both wearing jackets, she could have sworn she felt his heat warming her through her clothes, to her bones, and thawing out her frozen core. And then she found she was crying, racking sobs that reverberated in her helmet.

  Adam covered her hand with his. She clung to his fingers for a second, then let him go. He went back to steering the bike.

  Over and over, she saw the dead face, knew that she could never awaken it, and she cried the tears that she’d never allowed herself to shed.

  The violence of her reaction shocked her. She couldn’t believe she’d so nearly melted down in front of them all. Adam had saved her from humiliation. She pressed harder into his back, grateful that he didn’t stop and make a fuss. Gradually, her sobs quietened into shuddering breaths, which finally smoothed into a strange sort of peace. Eyes closed, she relaxed into Adam’s strong body, content for once to submit. He would take her home.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IT WAS SUNDAY and Adam was fed up. He’d already been awake for hours, plugging away at organic chemistry, but progress was slow. What the hell was he trying to prove, anyway? Cressa was right. He was Action Man. Being cooped up in this small room while outside another glorious day beckoned went against every strand of his DNA.

  Cressa’s door opened. She was awake at last. It was nearly lunchtime, for heaven’s sake. But then, she’d only gotten in around 4:00 a.m.