by Julie Reece
The Fallout dance is two days away. After the ‘episode,’ as Mags terms it, in the hotel hallway between Gideon and his sexy model gal-pal, I no longer want to go with him. Not that I ever did. Hoping Gideon had forgotten all about the stupid dance, I gave the clothes I’d made for Dane and Maggie to them yesterday when they dropped off my schoolwork. Told them to go without me and have fun. I had to bite my tongue, literally, not to warn Maggie of Dane’s feelings. I don’t want to see him hurt, but I can’t protect him either.
Another glance at the clock shows 4 PM. Time to phone Ben. I head for the kitchen to make my call. Rehab gave the go ahead allowing us to talk briefly twice a week. I’m hoping the conversations will encourage us both.
“Rae?”
“Hey, Ben, it’s great to hear your voice.”
“Yours too, honey.”
“Any more dreams?”
“No. But it’s funny. I can feel her, Rae. Your mama’s spirit calls to mine. I think … I think she’s proud of me … since I came here.”
I don’t tell him he’s crazy. If it comforts him to think of my mother like this, I won’t take it from him. “I know she’s proud, Ben. So am I.” I pause. “How are you doing? How’s the recovery going?” I’m not sure I want to hear what’s coming, but Ben needs my support.
He lets out a deep breath. “It’s hard. Maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The doctor says my body doesn’t need the booze anymore, but my head still wants it.”
“Every day?”
“Every minute.”
Oh. My heart sinks.
“I don’t know which voice is louder your mother’s or the Scotch.”
All the cliché answers I might give at this moment fight for top billing and in the end, I say, “I can’t imagine. I’m sorry this is so hard on you.”
“Don’t. Don’t apologize to me, honey. Listen can you come visit me next weekend? The doctors have given us permission.”
My pulse kicks up. “Why? What’s wrong? Should I come this weekend instead?”
“No need to get riled. I have some doctor’s appointments this week. These people stick me like a pincushion. No, next week is better. I just want to talk, face-to-face.”
I shift my feet.
“See, in our daily meetings here, we talk about something called amends. There are some things need sayin’ and it’s past time to say ’em.”
I feel the tension leave my neck and shoulders. This has to do with his therapy. Good. “I’d like that.”
“Since I’m working on my honesty, there’s something else you ought to know.”
I swallow, uncomfortable with the hesitant tone of his voice. “Okay …”
“The sober thing happens in stages, they say. When the fog of drunkenness first lifted, I started thinking with a clear head. I was so full of rage, I wanted to hate God for taking your mother, hate you for sending me here, and hate that Maddox fella for stealing you away from me. I thought of ways to break out of here, buy a gun, and blow that boy’s head clean off.”
“Er, Ben, that doesn’t sound clear-headed, like, at all.”
“I know it. It’s them stages they talk about. Once I got out of the hospital, more fog went away. The doctors said I should talk to the boy, so I did. Thought you should know.” He finishes with flair, like he just won first prize in a truth-telling contest.
“You spoke with Gideon?”
“Yeah. Came down here twice to see me when I asked him.”
“Twice?” Holy crow … I’d only seen Ben once. What the hell. Anger, resentment, jealousy all mix together in my gut making a volatile cocktail.
“Point is, he ain’t what I thought. Point is, I done enough that caused you and me to be in the fix we’re in without blaming everyone else. A lot of what’s happened is my doing, Rae, and I’m sorry.”
I can’t answer. Ben is apologizing because it’s good and right for him to do so, but I feel cut out of all that’s going on. Like my puppet master has more to do with Ben than I do. Fury builds a fire in my veins. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remain calm. “Why did you need to talk to Gideon twice?”
“The first or second time?”
“Both. Stop stalling. Why are you talking to him, Ben? What’s going on?” I hear a muffled voice in the background. “Ben?”
“Sorry. The nurse is here. I have to go, Rae. We’ll talk more when you come. I love you, gal. Everything’s going to be all right, hear?”
He repeats the words I’ve said to him back to me, and I put my frustration in neutral. “I know. I can’t wait to see you. Good night, Ben.”
Jenny rushes into the kitchen as I hang up. I wonder if she’s been eavesdropping but doubt that’s her style. “Master Maddox is dinning in his office this evening. He’s neck deep in paperwork. I imagine it has everything to do with your joint venture.” She frowns, moving a large stainless bowl to the sink. “I wish he’d tell me these things sooner, I’ve set the table for naught.”
I run my hand over the back of a chair, my mind still on Ben. “I’m sorry, Jenny. Can I help?”
“No, thank you, miss. What a suggestion. Mr. Maddox would toss me out on my ear, and rightly so.” She stops fussing and wipes her hands on a dishtowel. “Is everything all right?”
“What? Yeah, he’s fine. I mean I’m fine.” Edgar trots into the kitchen, yowling for his dinner.
Her head tilts and eyes narrow. “Hmm. Well, anyway, I’m to tell you Mr. Maddox will collect you at seven o’clock for your outing tomorrow.”
“What outing?” A shiver snakes it way under my skin.
“Such a tease. Why the dance, of course. He seems quite excited, had me press his clothes and Jamis has washed the car. Will he drive your friends, too, or do they have their own transportation?”
I shut my open mouth. Gideon hadn’t said a single word about the dance. I assumed he forgot, or decided against going. “Jenny …” What can I say? She worships her boss. How do I explain to her, or Gideon, or anyone else how a week ago the thought of dancing close to my jailor had an almost irresistible pull? The visual reminder of his man-whore status in the hotel hallway had worked better than a hose on my raging hormones. “Are you sure?” I pause as her brow bunches. “I was under the impression Mr. Maddox is too busy. I mean I think he, we, changed our minds.”
“About what?” Gideon strolls into the kitchen, cane in hand, and heads for the fridge.
Crap. I can’t tell him what a horn dog I think he is in front of Jenny. I won’t hurt her that way. “Uh, well. I was explaining to Jenny we are too snowed under with work to make the dance tomorrow. It’s not important considering all we have to do. I’m not a big dance girl anyway.” Lie. “And I’m sure you have way more important things to do than attend a cheesy high school dance.” As in, paw your sexy, model hook-up. Truth.
Gideon takes a water bottle from the refrigerator door, twists the cap off, and turns it up. Dark jeans hang on his narrow hips beneath a tight, navy T-shirt. I watch, trying not to salivate as his golden throat bobs with each swallow. How can anyone doing something so pedestrian look so enticing? I need that hose again.
When he lowers his head, our eyes meet. “Nonsense. This is your senior year, Raven. Events like this are important. I don’t want you missing out on anything because you work for me.” His words come out polite and purposeful. They are for Jenny’s sake, I realize. Gideon’s gaze, however, is all about me. He scrutinizes my face, as though I’m a Sudoku he wants to solve.
Fine. I’ll play. “You’re right, I guess. But there’s absolutely no reason for you to waste your time with something so mundane. You’re an important, busy guy. Places to go, people to see.” And do. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll just go with Dane and Maggie like we originally planned. No big deal. You can even set my curfew and Jamis can drive.”
There. Deal with it.
His lips crook in that dangerous smile he loves to unsettle me with. “Raven, I’m ninete
en not twenty-seven. A high school dance is not beyond the pale for me to attend. Besides, I’m not the sort of guy to go back on my word once I’ve offered to escort a beautiful woman somewhere.” He takes a step nearer. “Nor am I used to that word being contradicted.”
I peek at Jenny who watches us with a bewildered expression. When I glance back, Gideon is a foot in front of me.
“It is my pleasure to go with you tomorrow. End of debate.” His eyes flare, colors intensifying. “Do we understand one another?”
The boy deals it back, and I’m in up to my keister. I shrug. “Have it your own way.”
His smile is devastating. “I usually do.”
Chapter Twenty
Maggie glides into my bathroom in the tight, brown leather corset, complete with green, satin lace-up ties that I designed for her. She wears it over a cream peasant blouse and a short, peach tulle skirt with brown ankle boots. I can tell by the spring in her step she feels good in my clothes. She even dyed the strip in her hair peach to match. Her obvious happiness is the only good thing about tonight so far.
“Your hair is to die for done up like that.”
“Thanks,” I say with a flat tone. Maggie frowns. Always so good with hair and makeup, my friend outdid herself curling my hair into corkscrews. She pinned it up, allowing a few tendrils to fall down my neck in the back. “No, you did great, it’s just …”
“What?”
I toss my eyeliner in the sink as though it offends me and glare at myself in the mirror. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”
Maggie stands behind me, staring at my reflection, daring me to meet her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Look, I don’t want to be Debbie Downer to your plans tonight, but the last thing I want to do is go to a dance with Gideon.”
“He really got to you in New York, didn’t he?”
Yes. “No.”
“I’m sorry.” Maggie’s voice is sympathetic. I don’t want her pity, and I can’t stand the thought he got the better of me. That his charisma had worn through my armor, and I’d actually thought about him as … as what? A hook-up, my boyfriend? I’m beyond lame.
“I know I agreed to all of this. To be civil, play a part, and pretend I’m happy about his supposed offer of help, but it’s way harder than I ever imagined. And I can imagine a lot.”
Maggie puts her hand on my shoulder. “Sorry. I really thought getting out tonight might be good for you. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks Mags, I know you understand, but now I have to go. Gideon made it pretty clear last night. You didn’t see him. He intimidates the crap out of me when he gets like that.”
“I’ve seen him in action, remember? Poor Stephen, I thought he might wet himself. Gideon has that whole animal magnetism thing going on. Exciting and yet sort of dangerous, too.”
“Dangerous, yes. I don’t know how exciting he is,” I lie. He’s unpredictable and exhilarating, the kind of attitude that makes girls all stupid and swoony. Even me. “I can’t be in ‘like’ with a guy like him.”
“Then we’ll go and make the best of the night. Ignore him and dance with us, okay? Besides, you look amazing. The boys will bust something over this outfit you’re wearing.”
That sounds about right. My dress is red, bustier style with a sweetheart neckline. I covered the push-up bust in pleated black damask netting with light padding for shape. The skirt flares from the waist to an uneven petal hem, and I added two layers of netting underneath for body. My clothes are what have value, not me as a person. Who was I kidding? It has always been about what I can do, not who I am. But whatever.
We head downstairs and find Dane waiting at the foot of the stairs. He stops pacing. His eyes rivet onto Maggie. She looks hot in my designs, if I do say so myself. I consider rolling Dane’s tongue off the floor and shoving it back in his mouth when he clears his throat. “Hi.” The crack in his voice is the cutest darn thing I’ve ever heard.
Dane wears tan, canvas duck pants with a white button-down and brown tweed waistcoat and boots. He’s gathered his gorgeous dreads in a leather tie at his nape. They cascade down his back in a dramatic statement. I dusted his jacket with chalk to make him look like a Steampunk cowboy who’s just ridden into town. He’s billboard worthy. If Maggie doesn’t see him tonight, she never will.
“Oh, you’re fantastic!” Maggie squeaks. Her cheeks color. “I mean, Rae’s clothes are. Fantastic. You look great.”
I hide a smile. Vera nice … maybe there is hope.
Jenny waddles into the room, bosoms jiggling. “Ooh, here you are. All my little lambs.” Dane’s brows lower as he glances my way. I’m not sure he’s okay with Jenny’s description. I wink, a signal to humor the old woman, but it’s hardly necessary. Dane adores her. “Now let me see you all together.” We obey and she clasps her hands beneath her chin. “Lovely. But where is the master? Jamis has gone for the car. You know how he hates to be tardy.”
“I’m here, and Jamis will survive, Jenny.” Cane in hand, Gideon descends the staircase like royalty. He’s all poise and unhurried ease wearing the clothes I’d sewn specifically for him last week. I’d given them to Jamis this morning, unsure if Gideon would even want to wear them, and voilà, he appears. A small masterpiece. I’d covered his long legs in slim, black pants under a coat with tails. A black leather vest with copper buckles and accents cinched over a button-down shirt. The fabric is thin and faded, with an old world map print design in the background and ruffled cuffs.
“Damn my eyes,” Mag’s whispers.
I take a deep breath.
Gideon nods to my friends, but doesn’t stop until he’s standing in front of me. “Raven.”
“Gideon.” My eyes narrow to slits.
A pause as we size each other up. “You are breathtaking.”
I nod. “You, too.”
“Will you take our picture with my phone, Jenny?” Mag’s asks the question, but neither Gideon nor I move a muscle.
“Oh, my goodness. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know how!”
“It’s easy, Jen. Here, I’ll show you …”
A ghost of a smile plays at the corner of Gideon’s lips. He lowers his head, eyes glinting with humor. “I get the distinct impression, Miss Weathersby, that you are angry with me.” Another pause and he chuckles. “More angry than usual, and here I thought we were making some headway.”
I lift my chin, but that only brings his face closer. “You thought wrong.”
“Did I?” He’s smiling now. The insufferable, egotistical smile that turns my bones to jelly. His eyes flash as though I just challenged him to a duel. “We’ll see about that.”
***
We arrive at nine to a dance that started at seven. Perfect. Only two hours to endure until the end. We choose our seats, deposit our things on a cloth-covered table, and survey our surroundings.
The theme of this year’s dance appears to be the Zombie Apocalypse. Tattered sheets hang from the ceiling in strips. Bloodied manikins are strewn over the bleachers and hang from the rafters. Chaperones with white painted faces and blackened eyes line the walls of my school. Several rub their temples, as if the throbbing strobe lights threaten them with seizures.
A mob in the center of the basketball court dances to pounding music. “I love this song!” Maggie shrieks. She tugs on Dane’s hand. “Let’s dance.” His grin proves she won’t have to ask twice. Any fool can see it’s all he wants.
As they disappear into the throng, I wring my hands together. Dane’s happy expression scares me. I can’t control Maggie’s feelings, but if she knew how Dane felt, she might be more careful. I ease into my chair at our table and glance at my watch. Damn thing’s stopped again. My ‘date’ sits beside me, extending his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.
A giggle pulls my attention back to my friends on the dance floor. Dane’s been through so much already. A small voice reminds me th
at I can’t protect him from pain or life. Shut up, voice. I swore I’d never tell Mags that Dane loves her, but I’m not sure it’s a promise I can keep. My desire to break promises is becoming a theme.
“Raven?” I shift, meeting Gideon’s eyes. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin. Uncharacteristic concern covers his attractive features. His gaze darts to Maggie and Dane on the dance floor and back. “You care for him, don’t you?”
Fear must be written all over my face for someone as self-absorbed as Gideon to notice. There’s no use denying the truth. “I’d do anything for Dane.”
Gideon scowls in answer. One hand covers mine, and he lifts me to my feet. The other hand props his cane against his chair, and we’re off. “Dance with me.”
“Dance? But I thought …”
“What?” he snarls. “That a cripple can’t dance?”
What? “No!”
He doesn’t seem to care what I think, because he tows me onto the dance floor. A slower song starts as I’m enveloped within his arms. His chin rests on my head, and I breathe him in. The intoxicating scent of male and spice fills my nose as his arms tighten about me. Though he’s slim, his chest is solid, and warm. I lean into him. I know it’s loneliness on my part, but I hate admitting how good his body feels next to mine. Good thing I don’t have to, at least, not out loud.
“Raven.” His tone is rough. He clears his throat but says no more. My skin erupts in gooseflesh as his fingers slide down my neck and across my collarbone. Gideon’s lips brush feather light across my forehead. My skin feels hot, yet his touch sends shivers over me. The air is suddenly close. I wish my body wouldn’t respond this way, but he’s so good at what he does. When he moves us around the dance floor, his limp is barely discernible, but it’s there. I recall the framed pictures in his office, him in bed, in a wheelchair, on crutches. I wonder what happened.