Slave to the Rhythm (34 page)

Her face flushed.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever met,” she said, staring into my eyes. “You are,” she continued as I shook my head. “You’ve survived so much and you never stopped fighting.” She sat up straighter. “Whatever you did, it was because you had to.”

I couldn’t look at her.

And I turned away, ashamed.

Slowly, she brought her hand to my cheek, bringing my face toward hers, willing me to see in her eyes the trust she felt.

It was a moment suspended in time.

I was surprised when she ducked down and scrabbled under the bed, looking for something. Then she placed a small jewelry box on the quilt next to me.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said softly.

“Oh, shit. You swap presents at Thanksgiving? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Not usually, but . . . well, you bought me my ring so I thought, well, I hope you like it.”

I opened the box and stared down at the silver St. Christopher, similar to the one I’d lost.

“Patron saint of travelers,” she said, lifting it from the box and fastening it around my neck. “And you’ve traveled so far, Ash.”

I didn’t have the words, so I kissed her, showing her with my hands and with my body how much that meant to me.

My hands cupped her cheeks then slid to her neck, her pulse trembling under my fingers. I let my hands move down to her shoulders, arms, waist, hips, tugging her against my new erection.

She laughed softly against my skin, her lips warm on my chest, gently pushing me away, pink, breathless.

Reluctantly, I lay back and she began tracing her fingers around my tattoos.

“You never did tell me what all these meant. What does this say?”

I didn’t need to look at the one she was talking about.

“It’s Serbo-Croat, written in Cyrillic. My grandfather was Serbian. It says ‘born to dance’.”

She laughed softly.

“Of course it does. When did you get it?”

“I was 16. It was my first—and illegal if you’re under 18. But Mom had died a few months before and I’d been bugging the guy at the tattoo shop to do it for me. When he saw I wasn’t going away, he gave in.”

She nodded her understanding and let her fingers drift over my shoulder and the rest of the ink.

“And your dad hated it.”

“Yes.”

She hesitated over the next question.

“Have you spoken to him since . . . since everything?”

I shook my head.

“No, and I’m not going to.”

She frowned. “But family is important.”

“My mama was important. I don’t give a shit about him.”

“Why? What did he do?”

I sighed. “I hate talking about him.”

“Ash, after everything we’ve been through, you can’t tell me?”

She sounded hurt.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“He’s just an asshole. He never wanted me around. My parents married six months before I was born.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He made it obvious that I was a mistake. I have no memories of him smiling or laughing with us. When he was out with his friends, yes, but not with us. I don’t think he wanted to be a father.”

“And your dancing?”

“It was Mama’s idea. She loved to dance, so she sent me to classes when I was small. My father was angry when he learned what she’d done. He thought I’d grow out of it.” I gave Laney a small smile. “He’s still waiting.”

“Surely he was proud when you did so well in competitions?”

“No, it was embarrassing to him when my name was in the newspaper. His friends told him I was gay. It was just another reason for him to hate me. It wasn’t too bad when Mama was alive, but after . . .”

I stretched back on the bed and closed my eyes, smiling as I felt Laney’s soft kiss on my bare chest.

“He thought he could make me stop and he sent me to work for his construction business. ‘You live in this house and eat my food’, that’s what he said. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I moved out.”

Laney’s fingers stroked across my stomach.

“It’s his loss,” she said softly.

But by now, I could hear the sounds of voices and knew that everyone was awake. That meant our moment in this cocoon of feeling was over.

Laney knew it too and sat up.

“You can tell me about the rest another time,” she smiled. “Right now, I’ll check if the shower is empty. I’d say come with me, but Aunt Lydia’s guest bathroom is too small, unfortunately.”

She grinned at me and padded out of the room.

My head swam with new thoughts.

The urgent, necessary drive of the night before and just now. This, with Laney, had left me a different man since I walked into our borrowed bedroom.

I was 23 and I’d lived three lifetimes: the time before, Las Vegas, and then my life beginning again with Laney. Each one had sculpted me, and each one had changed me.

I just wasn’t sure it was for the better.

Laney

Each new piece of the jigsaw was building a clearer picture.

Whatever had happened to Ash in Las Vegas was more than I knew. But with what I saw, I’d have to guess at sexual assault alongside the beating, although he’d denied being raped. Thank the Lord. It would explain why both Angie and my father had alluded to Ash being ‘damaged’. His reaction, the epic fail when I’d tried to give him a blow job was evidence of that. But thinking back, the way he’d decimated those men outside the theater, the catalyst was one of them yelling at Ash, “Suck my dick.”

It scared me seeing him so, so
inhuman
, for want of a better word.

Part of me needed to know the truth because forewarned is forearmed, but another part of me didn’t want to live with the horror inside me. Maybe that made me a coward, I don’t know. But Ash didn’t want to tell me either, or rather, he didn’t want me to know. It would also explain why he was so off-hand with Angie, why he was reluctant to be friendly with her.
She knew
.

I’d have to say that the last 24 hours had been an eye-opener.

And Collin, who’d never shown anything approaching passion in the ten years we’d been together, had driven an hour out of the city to confront me with the truth. The guilt from that was strong. We should have ended things years ago.

And now there was Ash. Confusing as it was, I knew there was no way to predict the future, and I still hadn’t dealt with my past—I had to speak to Collin.

I kept my shower short, aware that there was a line of people waiting to use it, and trotted back to the bedroom, wishing this old farmhouse had better heating. Although Ash was doing a good job of keeping me warm.

He’d pulled the quilt up so high, all I could see was a tuft of his dark hair poking out the top.

I decided to let him sleep. With rehearsals six days a week for
Broadway Revisited
, he only got the chance of a sleeping late on Sundays, and that wasn’t easy when his bed was in my living room. Not that he slept well anyway. And he’d been looking tired before yesterday’s debacle and this morning’s revelations.

I slipped into a pair of jeans and a tank top, glad I’d brought the novelty sweater that Mom made for me three years ago, smiling at the knitted turkey’s startled expression.

Thick socks and a pair of Aunt Lydia’s slippers completed my stylish ensemble. My family didn’t dress up for Thanksgiving—that was saved for Midnight Mass at Christmas.

I clomped down the stairs, meeting my sister Bernice, her toddler clinging to her like a baby bear.

“Happy Thanksgiving, sis. Marie, say hello to Aunt Laney!”

The little girl squirmed, then squealed like a siren going off when she saw Mittens the cat. Bernice put her down with a grimace, then smiled as she watched my niece’s chubby legs chase after the poor beast.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “We’re working on her ‘inside voice’ but it’s a work in progress—obviously.”

“Obviously,” I laughed.

“You look happy,” she said, raising one eyebrow. “Nothing to do with that incredibly hot mystery husband you’ve been humping all morning.”

My mouth opened automatically to deny it as blood rushed to my cheeks.

Bernice laughed out loud. “You should see your face. I’m jealous, of course. A toddler in the room definitely cramps our style. But here’s a tip, sister to sister: for the sake of my sanity and marriage, please move your headboard away from the wall.”

She winked at me while I looked for a convenient hole to crawl into.

I should be used to this by now—there was rarely any privacy in a large family. It was one of the reasons I’d gotten my own apartment as soon as I could afford it. But because everything with Ash was so new, so unformed, it was embarrassing to think that we’d been overheard.

The kitchen was wonderfully warm and full of delicious aromas, with the enormous turkey already in the oven.

And lucky me, the full set of my parents, aunts and uncles were sitting around the table. It was obvious they were talking about me because the conversation dropped away as soon as I walked in.

I grabbed a piece of toast from a stack and started spreading it with thick, creamy, country butter. I was 29 years old and I earned my own living—I didn’t need their approval.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” I said brightly.

“Happy Thanksgiving, pumpkin,” said Dad affectionately.

“Where’s your, um, husband?” Mom asked. “Oh goodness, it feels so strange to say that!”

You and me both, Mom.

“He’s sleeping in. He’s been at rehearsals Mondays through Saturdays for a month, and long hours, too. The premiere is in just over a week.”

“Are we invited
this
time?” Mom asked coolly. “Or is it a
secret
premiere?”

I loved my mom, but she had the ability to make me feel wretched without saying a single word. Except this time, she had plenty to say.

“Well,” I said carefully, “Ash will be given four free tickets for family and friends, but he’s a bit disappointed in the show.” I sighed. “He doesn’t think it will do well, so you might not want to . . .”

“We’re going!” Mom said emphatically. “I’ve sat through 22 years of school plays and concerts—I’m certainly not going to miss this. If I’m invited, of course.”

I withheld a sigh.

“You’re invited. You too, Dad. Anyone else want to go?”

Eventually, the spare ticket was allotted to Bernice, although Mom declared that all my sisters would want to go, as well. I didn’t know how Ash would feel about that, but there wasn’t much I could do. And I kinda loved that my family was trying to find a way to support him—us.

“Good, that’s decided,” said Mom. “Now, I need to call Father Michael about arranging . . . well, I don’t know what it would be called . . . some sort of blessing. What faith does Ash follow, if any?”

“Bridget,” Dad chided gently.

“No, Brian, this is important. I don’t know why Laney chose to sneak off to have a secret marriage, but as her mother, the least I can do is ensure that she stands in good grace, whatever husband she is married to.”

Everyone winced, but I glared at my mother.

“Mom, just stop! We’re happy as we are. We don’t want any fuss—that’s why we did it this way.”

Which wasn’t a complete lie
.

She changed tack abruptly.

“Father Michael will be so disappointed, I won’t know what to say to the poor man. He officiated at your Christening and your Confirmation; all your sisters’ weddings. He was good enough for them. Just because you chose to marry outside the faith, I don’t see why . . .”

“I didn’t.”

I knew I shouldn’t have said that, but Mom brightened immediately. “Ash is Catholic?”

“Yes,” I sighed, “but that still doesn’t mean that we . . .”

Over Dad’s shoulder, I saw Collin walk into the room, looking tired with red eyes, and blotchy skin beneath his pale stubble.

Everyone stopped talking, even Mom, and the day was officially the worst start to Thanksgiving ever.

“Hello, Collin,” I said quietly. “Would you like some coffee?”

He nodded then cleared his throat.

“Coffee sounds great. Thank you.”

I poured him a cup then suggested he drink it out on the covered porch. It was cold out there, but at least we’d have some privacy.

I passed him one of my uncle’s coats, and I wrapped myself in a thick quilt.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, as he nursed his coffee.

He thought about that for a few moments.

“I don’t know, Laney. Confused, I guess. Why did you do it? Why did you marry him and not me?”

I decided to go for full disclosure. I owed him that.

“I gave up thinking that we’d get married a long time ago, Collin. I just assumed it wasn’t what you wanted and I was happy living in my apartment. You’d never mentioned marriage.”

“After ten years, I would have thought that it went without saying!”

“No, it didn’t.”

“But you married
him
. Behind my back. When we were still dating!”

He shook his head in disbelief and I felt ashamed.

“It happened suddenly,” I tried to explain. “He needed a green card to be able to keep his job. Dancing is important to him, and after everything he’s been through, I wanted to help.”

“What about everything
we’ve
been through?” he said, his voice rising. “Ten years, Laney! Ten years! Ten years of managing your flare-ups and . . .”

“Collin,” I sighed. “You always saw me as a problem to be solved, you still do—and it doesn’t work like that. This isn’t something I’ll recover from. This is something I live with. Each flare-up will go, eventually, but there will be others. I can’t focus on what the pain is taking from me—I have to focus on what I can do, what I will do. And . . . I don’t want to be your duty.”

He was silent for a moment.

“But you admit he married you to get a green card?”

“Ash is my friend. I care about him—deeply. But when I suggested that he marry me . . .”

Collin looked stunned. “It was
your
idea?”

“Well, yes,” I admitted weakly.

“Wow,” he said. “I can’t believe this.”

“You and I were already on the edge,” I said carefully. “We’d broken up once and it would have happened again.”