This kissmeanssomething. He’s telling me something.
Showing me.
It is in no way aggressive, nor is it sexual.
It’s an emotional kiss. It’s for the space where words fail, for the things language can’t express.
My hands shake, and lift into his hair, dig into his scalp at the back of his head, cling tight. Pull him closer. Demand more.
My mouth opens and my tongue surges against his, responding to his demand—giving. Taking. His palm curls under my head, and then his whole arm snakes beneath me, curling, cradling me in a sheltering embrace, his mouth never leaving mine. His other hand cups my face, spanning from pinky near the base of my throat to thumb brushing over my eyebrow and temple.
His hand is rough, sandpaper and leather and stone against my softer skin, yet his touch is tender.
I have to break, to breathe—I pull my lips away and gasp into his mouth. “Chance,” I breathe.
“You with me, mama?” he whispers. “You feel me?”
I don’t know if he means the second question literally or metaphorically. Either way, the answer is the same. “Yes, Chance. I feel you.”
He tugs me into the nook of his arm and shoulder. “Heavy talk for first thing in the mornin’.”
I laugh. “No kidding.”
I realize I have no clue what time it is. I glance toward the window and see yellow sunshine—late morning.
“So.” His hand roams from shoulder to hip and back, again and again. “What do you want to do, darlin’?”
“See Kelly.” It’s immediate.
“And then?”
I shrug. “I don’t even know. I’ve been subsisting and dealing with Alvin for so long I don’t even know…what to want. Where to go. Who I am. What’s next in my life, Chance? I’ve never thought past the next day, because I…I was always too scared of what the next day might bring.”
He lets out a long, slow breath. “I feel ya there, mama,” he rumbles. “Because same.” A moment or two of silence. “Maybe we just…take some time. Travel just for the sake of being anywhere, you know?”
I blink. Think. Breathe. “I…that sounds…” I swallow. “I don’t have any money, Chance.”
He glances down at me. “Funny—I know you inside and out, in some ways, but in others it’s obvious we barely know each other. Like, where do you live? You have a car?”
I shake my head, roll a shoulder. “I…I live in my car.” I swallow again. “I have a part-time job as a ticket taker at a theater in downtown Vegas—one of the few jobs I could do without experience and with my knee the way it is. But mostly, I was working for Alvin. He’d tell me, okay, you run this package to Barstow or Reno or LA, and he’d tell me the whole job is worth twelve hundred. He’d give me two hundred and tell me a grand would go to my debt.”
“Was there any kind of real accounting involved?”
I laugh. “No. Just his word. I have a running tally in my car somewhere. I used to owe him thirty grand, but over the past few months I’ve done enough work for him I’ve knocked five grand off. But it was just…it felt impossible. Like I’d never catch up.”
“Because he was just making shit up, honey. He didn’t want you to pay off your debt, so he was fucking you over, making up numbers.” He sighs. “So you’re homeless?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to save for a place, but…every time I get a bit saved, something comes up. Usually my car takes a shit.”
“What do you drive?” he asks.
I laugh. “My one halfway decent possession, and it’s the only thing I ever managed to not fuck up, lose, sell, or trade for drugs. And that’s only because it’s been my home since I got kicked out by Mom.” I nuzzle closer to him. “It’s a twenty-fifteen 4Runner. I bought it used with endorsement money. Mom convinced me to buy used, nothing fancy, something I could buy outright, and something practical. I wanted to get, like, a Mercedes Benz or a Porsche or something—when I was a professional athlete and had endorsements and shit, I could’ve gotten one. Mom convinced me to stay within my cash means and buy something practical. Thank god she did. I parked in Alvin’s driveway a lot of nights. Walmart parking lots, most other nights.” I shrug. “I shower at rest stops, campgrounds, public parks. Anywhere I can scrub off, get my hair clean. If I’m truly desperate for a real shower in an actual house, yeah, guess who? Alvin again. I’ve been dependent on that man for so much.” I swallow, nauseated at the memories. “He’d peek. I knew it, but I guess…it felt like letting him peek was worth being able to get clean and have time and space to actually get my hair done something like properly.”
His eyes bore into me—I feel it. “That shit’s over with, Nik.”
“What shit?”
“All of it. Being homeless. Needing that fuckin’ pissantAlvinfor goddamned anything, ever fuckin’ again.” He sits up, taking me with him—I’m forced to sit on his lap, straddling him, facing him. “Listen to me, yeah?”
