I shake my head again. “I’m fucked up, Chance. You can’t possibly want anything to do with me.”
“I’ve lived in the basement of a nightclub because I was too scared to go outside. You think I’m not fucked up?”
“Chance…”
“All right. Fine.” He sighs. “I’ll bring you back to Vegas and drop you off at your car, if that’s what you want. You can go. Do whatever you want. Say the word, you’ll never see me again. Shit, I’ll leave you here if you want. Drive back home to Sin on my own.”
Panic sears through me like wildfire and I yank back, the tears I’ve been fighting springing out, trickling down. “No,” I whisper, hands on his chest, lifting my gaze to his, finally. “No. Please. No.”
He smiles. “Feels wrong, huh?”
I laugh and sob at the same time, thudding my forehead onto his chest. “Jerk.”
“That visceral reaction to me leaving? What’s that tell you?”
I grouse an aggravated sigh. “Shut up.”
He tilts my face so I have to look at him. “I’ll ask you again, honey. You with me?”
I have no choice but to answer him honestly: “I’m with you, Chance.”
“Then you’ll never need anything again. You got a home. You got family. Not just Gram and your mom and Erin, but all of us at Sin. We’ll get you working. Something you like doing. You’ll get paid to do it, and paid well. You’ll have a home, a real home. A bed, and me in it every night, keeping you warm. Making sure you sleep like a goddamn baby.”
“I do sleep better with you than I ever have in my life.”
“’Cause you know you’re safe. You know youbelong, mama.” He kisses me, a quick touch of lips. “Your soul knows. You just gotta let your mind and your body catch up.”
Our eyes meet. I search my heart, and I realize he’s right. “Okay, Chance.”
He smiles. “Okay?”
I nod. “I’m with you.”
“You’re with me?” The smile on his face could light up the sun.
“I’m with you.” I find myself smiling as well—helplessly, and brightly.
8Fragile, Handle With Care
Chance
We spent three days in LA, with Gram, and with Emily and Erin. Most of that time was spent at Gram’s house, talking. There was a lot of Annika slowly giving her family the story of what she’s been through, including the turmoil of her debt to Alvin. She learned more about Erin’s fiance, and their plans to get married next summer. Her mom talked about her plans for the future. There was a lot of reminiscing about old times, before the accident.
I listened, mostly. The women drew me into the conversation, and got me to talk about my parents, Mom’s addiction, their death, my time on the streets with Rev, some lighter shit from my time in the Corps. I kept most of the stories away from the really gritty shit, but I think they understood well enough.
Now, after a pit stop at Target where Annika went on a brief shopping spree with my debit card—she got herself a new outfit of shorts, a tank top, flip-flops, and underwear, and got me a new pair of shorts and a tank top, just so we can go in somewhere together—we’re heading south to San Diego.
I’m hyperaware that I’m technically driving a stolen car, so I make sure to keep my eye on the speedometer. I don’t imagine Alvin is going to report it stolen, but I don’t much like the idea of trying to explain how I came to be in possession of the car and why I don’t have insurance or registration for it. I mean, it’s in the glove box, but still.
It’s an easy time, her and me. She holds my hand as I drive, our fingers tangled. Alvin had a cord plugged into the aux and the end fits Annika’s phone, so she turns on music from her library—her choice surprises me: old-school punk, mostly. Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Misfits, Ramones, Bad Brains. Suits me just fine, as my taste in music varies as widely as my taste in books.
The sun is shining, the ocean’s on our right, windows down and the salt breeze on our lips. I feel free. And, looking at Annika as I drive, I can tell she’s getting there too. One more hard conversation to have, and then we can work on us. I can work on thawing that icy wall she’s got around her heart, keeping her body locked up tight. Keeping her libido imprisoned. She’s a feisty one, I can tell. Deep down, in her thawed, freed, natural state, she’ll be passionate. Wild. I just have to get her there.
That does mean working through my own shit regarding the topic of physical intimacy. Which I don’t exactly relish the thought of, but if I can expect Annika to sort through her shit and give me herself and be vulnerable, I know I gotta do the same. If we can both get through all our respective baggage and find that physical connection, I have a feeling the result will be out of this fuckin’ world. There’s just a lot of shit standing in the way.
And I know I gotta be the one to lead the way. She’s too scared, too traumatized. She’s fragile, in a way, despite being one of the toughest people I’ve ever met. I have to handle her with extreme care.
I feel her looking at me. Cut my eyes to hers, lift an eyebrow. “What?”
