Joshua

The drums are still going, but I want to get us out of here. I want to get us to a quiet place where we can talk.

Reaching down, I adjust the minuscule piece of leather covering my junk. I’m practically naked in this getup. Taking her hand, I lead her to a supply closet where I left my jeans and shirt then to the empty kitchen area. It’s after midnight so it’s cleaned and closed.

“I wish I had something to clean myself.” Her voice is quiet.

“Here.” I grab a dry washcloth off a hook and take it to the sink.

She’s right behind me, and I hand it over then go to where I left my jeans. I hate to smear my clothes with bronze body paint, but Lena said it would wash out. I don’t have another option. I’m sure as hell not walking down the street in a speedo loincloth.

When I check on Molly, she’s finishing up, wiping the damp cloth against her inner thighs. Our eyes meet, and her cheeks flush pink.

She blinks quickly and smiles. “My heart’s still beating so fast.”

I feel like a jerk. I didn’t consider how being stalked by a dude dressed up like a goat or Satyr or whatever the hell I was might trigger bad memories for her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

She tosses the cloth in a bin labeled dirty, then does a little sashay to where I’m buttoning my shirt. Her lips curl with her grin, and she clutches the waist of my jeans. “You mauled me.”

“I guess I got caught up in the moment.”

She rises on tiptoes to kiss my lips, and of course, I kiss her back. My hands go to her waist, and I hold her against me.

“I recognized your scent.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes.” She buries her nose in my neck and takes a deep breath. “You smell amazing… like Joshua.”

Leaning down, I catch her face and kiss her again, deeper. Our tongues curl and caress, my thumbs trace down her warm cheeks, and my insides pull like she’s a magnet and I’m steel. It’s intense, coming from deep in me.

She exhales a little moan, and I’m ready to take her again. I want to spend the rest of the night in her arms. I’m thinking of all the ways to make her mine when her stomach growls loudly.

She pulls back quick then snorts a laugh and covers her face with her hand. “That killed the moment.”

It makes me laugh. “Let’s get you some food.”

“Oh! I know just the place.” She pulls me, then pauses. “If it’s still open. Hurry!”

I follow her out the back door, which puts us on the opposite block, away from the madness of Bourbon Street. She heads toward the river then we double back and cross Bourbon again, higher than the action.

“Where are you taking me?” The sky is dark with no moon, and shiny purple, green, and gold beads hang from the street signs and lamps.

“Petit Monjou! It’s one more block.” She walks faster, and I grin, watching her long hair sway down her back to the top of her short black skirt…

“You’ve got my handprints on your ass.”

“What?” She twists, looking over her shoulder at the large bronze handprints on her backside. She glances at my hands. “Think they’ll know it was you?”

I check out my hands and arms. The bronze body paint is still there, although it’s smeared off in most places. “They’d better.”

“Come on! They’re going to close.”

“Those are my handprints.” I tell a couple passing, their arms clasped around each other.

The guy looks up, and then shouts. “Yeah, they are!”

Molly is already at the end of the block. “Slow down.” I hustle to catch up to her. “You’re moving fast to be so hungry.”

She lets out a little whoop, and when I look up, I see a two-block-long line leading to a tiny door.

“They’re still open!” She’s excited, unlike me.

“How is this a good thing?”

“Be patient.” She holds my arm, bouncing on her tiptoes and looking over the heads of the million people in front of us. “It’s worth it. Trust me.”

The line actually moves nonstop, and when we get to the front, I see why. White paper-wrapped sandwiches are stacked beside a register, and it’s cash only. The guy shoves a skinny roll in your hand, and you pay. No choices.

“Eight bucks for a mystery sandwich?” I dig in my pocket for a twenty.

She holds my arm. “We can split one if you want.”

“Not with the way your stomach’s growling. I’ve seen you eat.”

She claps her hands. “Yay!”

Whatever anger I’d felt earlier is far away. We’ve gotten back to where we were last night, close, playful, open.

The food’s paid for, and we start walking to our hotel. Molly doesn’t wait, she’s ripping into her sandwich and taking huge bites as I grin, watching her.

“Oh… Oh my gosh!” She’s making similar noises to the ones she made just a little while ago when I was buried inside her.

I squint an eye at her. “That sounds pretty good.”

“Try it.” She stops on the street and holds it up to me.

I take a moment, examining what looks like fried fish, shrimp, and oysters in pink sauce on French bread. She gives it a little shake, and I take a bite. It’s like an explosion of tangy spices, flaky seafood, and perfectly crisp, warm bread.

“Holy shit,” I manage around my full mouth. “That’s good.”

“I know, right?” Her eyes are round as she nods. I lean in for another bite, but she jerks it away. “You’ve got your own!”

Laughing, I shake my head as she continues stuffing her face. “You’re going to throw up eating that fast.”

“No, I won’t.”

“The voice of experience?”

We’re only a few blocks from our hotel now, and I slow my pace. I want to go inside, but I don’t want to lose this moment. Molly crumples the sandwich wrapper, and I look over at her.

“I’m pretty sure that was a record.”

She tosses it in the trash. “I was starving! I’d only had those beignets today.”

Catching her around the waist, I pull her to me. “Kiss me.”

She stretches up, and our lips meet. It’s a brief kiss, but I want to keep her here in this moment. “How did it go with Lara?”

She shrugs, her hands resting on my chest. “Better than last time. This time she really did want to talk.”

“Is everything okay?” He eyes dart to mine, and I see something there. Fear? “What did she say?”

Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth for a moment. “She said it looks like we’re getting serious.”

“Oh, well.” My shoulders relax, and I give her a squeeze before catching her hand and starting toward our place. “We are.”

She doesn’t answer, but I feel the unspoken words heavy in the air. “Anything else?”

She shrugs. “We sort of argued again.”

“About us?”

“About how they still treat me like a child.”

We’re in the lobby of the hotel, and I steer us toward the neon-purple-lighted bar. It’s not crowded, and we pick a round booth in the back where we have some privacy. “Want a drink?”

“Wine, I guess.”

I walk to the bar and order a Guinness and a rosé, putting it on our room to speed the process. When I slide across the white vinyl beside her, her mind is far away. I put my hand over the back of hers and watch it turn over. I cover her palm with mine, lacing our fingers, and our eyes meet.

“Remember how in old movies they would say, ‘A penny for your thoughts’?”

Her nose wrinkles, and she nods. “I wonder what that would be in today’s dollars.”

I slide a lock of silver hair behind her ear. “Five bucks for your thoughts.”

She shakes her head. “Overpriced.”

“I have a feeling your thoughts are very valuable.”

A little sigh, a touch on my forearm. Her voice is sad again. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

That gets me a grin. “Where does everything start?”

“I don’t know.” My eyes go to her slim arms covered in silky blue sleeves. “Would you tell me about your scars?”

“Diving right in.” She takes a sip of her wine, and her eyes don’t meet mine.

Our hands are still clasped, and I give hers a little squeeze. “I can handle it.”

“Yes, but can I.” She fiddles with the stem of her wine glass. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gone back there.”

A group at a table across the room explodes with laughter, and I notice her wince. Sliding out, I stand, giving her hand a gentle tug. “Bring your glass. Let’s take this upstairs.”

Relief mixed with gratitude crosses her face, and we go out into the foyer. It’s lined with French doors and potted palms. The walls are painted white, and the floors are large Spanish tiles. Our room is on the second level, and it only takes a minute to catch the elevator.

“I feel like I see both sides of you here,” I say, leaning against the wall as we rise. “In Seattle, you’re an independent woman, but here…”

“I’m a kid who can’t take care of herself,” she grumbles, taking a drink.

“They love you a lot, at least Lara and Mark do.”

“I guess. They’re pretty distracted.”

The bell dings, and I lead her out into the hallway thinking about my conversation earlier with Roland, his question to me.

Has she found a way to move on? I want to know. I want her to tell me.

Inside our room, I put my phone on the table and toe off my shoes. I pull my tee over my head and frown at the bronze paint all over the inside. “Give me a second to get this shit off me.”

“Need some help?” She puts her glass down and unbuttons her shirt.

“Don’t even.” I cross the room to her and catch her wrists, kissing her lips briefly. “Two minutes. I want to pick up where we left off downstairs.”

She giggles softly, and I kiss her again, heading to the shower and feeling like I’ve lost my freakin mind. But I know if she gets in the shower with me, we’ll end up having sex in the shower, sex in the bed, then we’ll both fall asleep, and it’ll be another opportunity missed.

Steam rises, and the shower is hot as fuck. Still, I move fast, using the bar of soap directly on my skin to get the paint off me. As promised, I’m done and stepping into the room with a towel around my waist in two minutes.

Molly’s standing by the window in that black lace bra and skirt with my handprints on her ass. Her blue shirt is draped over the chair, and it has handprints all over it as well.

“I’ll see if we can get these dry cleaned.”

“Okay.” Her voice is soft, and when she turns to the side, the profile of her in that lace push up bra and skirt has me momentarily forgetting why I’m not taking it off and covering those perfect tits with my mouth.

Momentarily.

Clearing my throat, I go to the dresser and take out my boxer briefs. I’m sporting a semi, but I pull them on and tuck it in, holding out my hand to her. “Here, let’s talk.”

She puts her wine glass on the desk and steps over our dirty clothes with her cute bare feet. Her toenails are painted black, and when she puts her hand in mine, I pull her to me for one more quick kiss before climbing into the bed.

“I thought you didn’t want to—”

“Lay beside me.” I pull back the blankets and fluff the pillows against the headboard.

Settling in, I help her get situated on the mattress, in the crook of my arm. Her side is against my bare chest, and at this angle, with the streetlight shining through the window and the small lamp on the desk casting a yellow glow, it’s intimate, but I can still see her face.

“Is this better?” Our eyes meet, and I trace my thumb over her cheek.

The slightest nod, and my stomach is tight, anticipation radiating out, through my torso. “When was the first time you did it?”

She inhales deeply and blinks a few times. I’m holding my breath, afraid she’s going to back out on me, but she answers my question. “I was almost fourteen.”

“You were in Paris?”

She shakes her head. “I shared a bedroom with Lara in Paris. It was after we moved to Nice, and I was alone more. I’d have these dreams, and I’d wake up covered in sweat, panicking… I felt like too much was inside me. I had to get it out.”

Her body is tense, and I slide my hand along her waist. “Too much?”

“Emotions.” She clears her throat. “I had all these feelings, these hurts, but I had no memory of how I got them. It was the hardest thing. I would remember being surrounded, feeling trapped. I know after I woke up, I was in intense pain, but I couldn’t remember why or how, only shadows.”

My throat aches, and it hurts so much to ask. “You don’t know how you were hurt?”

At once she pulls away, pushing to a sitting position and bending her knees in front of her. I do the same, sitting up beside her and taking her hand.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

She blinks several times, and when she speaks, her voice is so small. As long as I’ve known her, Molly has always been so strong, tough as nails. I want to pull her to me, give her my strength.

“Before we left New Orleans, when we were still in the theater, I met a man.” She clears her throat again, and her chin drops. “I thought he was nice, like an uncle or something. I didn’t know he was a monster.”

My jaw clenches, and I hadn’t considered my involuntary response to hearing something like this, the feelings rising in my chest that I have no way to control.

“He hurt you?”

She nods. “He had some friends…”

Reaching out, I catch her waist and pull her to me. Her arms go around my neck, and I hold her as her body trembles. I hold her through the fury blazing in my chest. I slide my hand up her back and thread my fingers in her hair. I hold her head as her forehead presses against my neck and she clutches my shoulder. I hold her in a way that every part of our bodies are touching—head to head, chest to chest.

My body is tense, and I know she can feel the rage coursing thorough me. Still, I have to be strong enough to carry this with her. My arms relax, and she sits back.

I touch her cheek. “You said you don’t remember—”

“I know now he gave me Rohypnol.”

“The date rape drug.”

“I basically passed out… although, not entirely. Like I said, I have shadows of memory.”

My muscles tremble, and I release her to get out of the bed. I walk to the window and put my hands on the back of my neck, breathing deeply for a moment, doing my best to get my emotions under control.

“Joshua?” A tremble is in her voice. “Are you okay?”

“Where is this motherfucker now?” My voice is a low growl I don’t recognize. “Where is he?”

A rustle from the bed, and she quietly crosses the room to where I’m standing, breathing fast. Her arms encircle my waist, and she puts her cheek against my shoulder. Turning quickly, I gather her to me, my beautiful girl. For the first time in my life, I realize I could kill another human being.

“He’s dead. Last year when Mark and Lara came to Seattle… I found out.”

“When you were looking for Brisbee, or Gavin? Was he involved with this? Was that why you were trying to find him?”

Her head moves against my chest as she nods, and I smooth my hand down the back of her hair. “Then I’m even less sorry that fucker is dead.”

I’m furious I thought he was a friend, even if it was only for a short time. My jaw is clenched, she’s secure in my arms, and I remember why we even started down this dark road.

“You said you did it to get the feelings out.” She nods against my chest again. I choose my words carefully. “Are you… Do you still feel like you need to do it?”

“No,” she whispers, and my eyes slide shut.

A few times since we’ve been together, I remember her waking up with nightmares, but I’ve never seen evidence of her hurting herself. I feel like I would have, considering how often I’ve been naked with her in the last year—pretty much every night. Then I wince.

“Does being with me, sleeping with me, trigger any—”

“No!” She pulls back and meets my eyes, hers wide. “I meant it when I said I trust you more than anyone.”

Both of my hands cup her face, and I smooth her hair back. I place my thumbs on her cheeks and look deep in those blue eyes. “Thank you for telling me this, for trusting me.”

Her eyes glisten, and I kiss them gently. A touch of salt is on my tongue, the tears of my angel.

“I need to tell you something more.”

I pull back and her brow is furrowed. She chews her lip, and my chest tightens. “Okay.”

“It’s about why I don’t hurt myself anymore… When we were at The Napoleon House earlier—”

My phone goes off, ringing and vibrating on the desk. I look over her shoulder to where it sits, but I’m not about to fucking answer the phone. “Just ignore that. What were you going to say?”

The ringing stops, and she clears her throat. “Okay.” She takes a deep breath, but just as she’s starting again, my phone goes off, ringing and vibrating.

“Dammit. Let me shut it off.” I leave her standing at the window, furious at being interrupted at this critical time.

It stops ringing when I pick it up, and I’m about to power it off when it lights up with a text from Dean.

Josh, call me—911! 911!

I hit the call back, and Dean’s in my ear at once. “Oh, shit, thank fuck!”

“What’s going on?” I rub my palm over the back of my tense neck, fear trickling into my stomach.

“We’ve got to get back to Seattle right now. Your dad’s had a massive heart attack. I’ve already called the airport. The pilot’s filing his flight plans now. Is Molly with you?”

He doesn’t even stop for a breath as he says the words so fast. My world tilts on its side, and I grip the desk to stay on my feet.

“What? I mean, yes. Yes!” Darkness clouds my vision, and my throat aches. “Molly’s with me. We’re on our way.”

A noise is behind me, and Molly’s hand is on my back. “What’s wrong, Josh? What happened?”

“My dad…” My voice breaks. I’m reeling from the onslaught of emotion. “We’ve got to go back to Seattle… or I do. I’m sorry, I know you were here to see your sister—”

She immediately pulls out the suitcase. “Get dressed. I’ll pack our things.”