Everything is going to be okay. Maybe not today, but eventually. Do you believe?

Racer, the Knight of Sparrows

CRYSTAL

I walked off the stage, limping slightly once I was out of sight. “Damn blister,” I muttered. I’d been walking everywhere for the past couple of days, and the blister I’d gotten on the highway the day my car broke down still hadn’t had a chance to heal. I supposed my job didn’t require many fancy dance moves—the pigs out there were happy enough with a few hip thrusts—but I liked to challenge myself to come up with a new routine every once in a while. Not for them, but for me.

I had just put my tip money in my locker when I heard yelling from down the hall and walked toward Rodney’s office. The door was standing wide open and Kayla was inside, standing in front of him as he circled her. “It looks to me like you’ve put on a lot more than ten pounds,” he said, his eyes moving up and down her body, his expression one of utter disgust. He reached out and took a handful of her ass, and he must have squeezed because Kayla jumped and let out a little yelp. Her eyes were wide with shame, and her neck was blotchy.

“I’ve been having a rough time, Rodney,” she said. “My old man walked out on me and—”

“And it’s no fucking wonder!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Why would he want a lard-ass for a girlfriend?” Kayla grimaced, looking down at her feet.

I crossed my arms. “Do you really think you’re the one who should be giving diet advice to anyone?” I looked pointedly at his huge gut.

Rodney smirked at me. “I’m not the one shaking my stretch-marked ass out there for paying customers,” he said, a nasty edge to his tone. “So don’t give me any of that shit. Neither one of you is worth more than your tits and ass, so keep ’em in shape.” He turned back to Kayla. “You’ve got a month to take off the weight, or you can find yourself another club. If anyone else would even have you. And you, Crystal, stop being such a fucking bitch to the customers. Men want a woman who’s warm and inviting—not some ice queen. Now get out.”

Kayla headed toward me, dejected, and as I stood in the doorway, I felt sick and filled with impotent rage. Men want a woman who’s warm and inviting—not some ice queen. But Rodney was wrong—men didn’t give a hot damn what I was as long as I let them grope my body to their heart’s content. Kayla caught my eye and gave her head a small shake. Whatever was in my expression must have told her I was considering ripping Rodney a new one. Disgusting asshole. The thought was compelling, but I knew anything I said would only make things worse for Kayla, and for me. I needed this shit job. And so I clamped my lips shut and followed her back to our dressing room. I shut the door and let out a growl, picking up a small wastebasket by the door and chucking it. The plastic made an unsatisfying clink when it hit the wall and clattered to the floor, right side up as if it’d been placed there. All I’d managed to do was relocate it.

“Feel better?” Kayla asked sarcastically, sinking onto the settee.

“Fucking prick,” I muttered. “You okay?”

She sighed. “Yeah. He’s right anyway. I have gained weight. I can’t seem to stay away from junk food since Wayne’s been gone. Yesterday I stayed in bed with a bag of Doritos and a box of donuts watching old DVDs until three in the afternoon.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid. I thought we were gonna get married, I might be a mom someday.” She paused, tears welling in her eyes. “And now I’m just … I’m so damn lonely.”

My heart contracted painfully. “Oh, Kayla,” I sighed. “You call me if you have a day like that. I’ll come over and eat Doritos with you.”

“Nah, I don’t share my Doritos with anyone.”

I laughed and she shot me a wobbly grin. “Hey, if we can still laugh, we must be halfway okay, right?”

Her smile slipped. “Halfway okay. Yeah. Is there anything more?”

The silence stretched between us for a minute, Kayla’s face filled with so much defeat it broke my heart. She was one of the only girls here who had been a true friend to me since I’d gotten this job. She was never petty, never superficial or competitive like all the others. I wanted to tell her there was more. I wanted to share my own hope with her that life held happiness for girls like us. But I’d given up on hope long ago. I’d discovered early that hope was nothing but a cruel and dangerous business.

“I don’t know, Kayla,” I answered honestly. “But I’m all right with halfway okay. It’s better than completely miserable, or halfway dead. And I’ve been both.” I gave her a small smile, and she offered me a sad one in return. I picked up my brush and started brushing my hair in long strokes.

“Yeah,” she said on a sigh. “Rodney might be right, you know. What else do girls like us have but our tits and our asses? And what do we do once those are shot to hell by gravity? Who will want us then?”

No one. No one will.

“And,” Kayla went on, “what if we get sick? Who will take care of us? What will we do? Die alone under some overpass?”

What am I gonna do now? Oh, Lord God, what am I gonna do now?

My mama’s words. My mama’s experience. Was that where I was headed, too? A feeling not unlike dread moved down my spine. I dropped the wooden hairbrush and it clattered to the floor. I bent to pick it up, my hands shaking as I snatched it and stood again.

“You okay?” Kayla asked. I glanced at her in the mirror, and her face was wrinkled in concern.

“Yeah,” I said, the word rushing out, more breath than sound. “Yeah,” I repeated more clearly. I set the brush down and turned to face Kayla.

She sighed again. “I was pregnant once. Did I ever tell you?” I gave her a small shake of my head. She looked down at her hands. “Wayne made me get rid of it.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t want to, but he said he wasn’t ready for kids, and he wouldn’t stick around if I kept it. So I had an abortion.” My belly did a slow flip as if I was going to be sick.

“Oh, Kay, I’m so sorry.”

You told me you got an abortion … I didn’t want her seven years ago, and I don’t want her now.

A tear slipped down her cheek. “It was my own fault. I listened to him. I did what he wanted. I chose him over my own baby. And look where it got me—in the end he left me anyway. I hate myself for what I did, and I’ll never forgive myself. My baby would be five years old now.”

I sat down next to her on the couch, taking her hands in mine. “You’re a good person, Kayla.” I didn’t know what to say other than that, and so I didn’t say more. I just held her hands and squeezed them. She was a good person. I wished I could tell her how to forgive herself, but if I knew the answer to that, maybe I’d be a lot better off than I was. I sighed, giving her hands one final squeeze before letting go.

“Let’s stop beating ourselves up right now, Kay. This is what Rodney wants us to be doing—going over every way in which we should feel ashamed. Let’s not give him this power over us. You lay off the Doritos and call me if you need someone to hang out with, okay? And as far as the gravity stuff, I think we have a little bit of time before it starts stealing our assets.” I put my hands on my breasts, plumping them up over my bikini top before winking at her, feigning a nonchalance I didn’t feel, trying to cheer her up, even just a little. What I actually felt was breakable, as if I might shatter the moment someone looked at me the wrong way.

Kayla smiled. “Okay. You got an appointment with your boyfriend tonight?”

I raised a brow. “My boyfriend? Hardly. He’s just another paying customer.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I heard a special little something in your voice when you told me about him on the car ride here tonight.”

I rolled my eyes, going to the mirror, where I wiped a smudge from beneath my eye. “He pays well.” And after tonight, I’d be able to give the garage enough money that they’d start fixing my car.

“Uh-huh. Maybe he’ll be the one to sweep you off your feet. Wouldn’t you like that? Someone to take care of you?”

“Oh, Kay, life doesn’t work that way. And anyway, I take care of myself just fine.” I turned to her, feeling a strange ache where my heart lay. The truth was, I found myself thinking of Gabriel Dalton more often than I liked since I’d seen him last. I’d woken to the vision of the gentleness in his eyes, the curve of his lips when he smiled, and then the way he panicked when I’d gotten close. The look on his face as I’d moved toward him had felt like something sharp was pressing against an old bruise deep inside. It had hurt seeing him like that. It wasn’t that I felt sympathy for him, although that was part of it, but mostly it had hurt me, and I couldn’t figure out exactly why. It made me feel twitchy and restless. He made me feel twitchy and restless.

That’s what I need you to help me with. Staying.

I wanted to push those words away. I’d felt embarrassed and exposed when he said them after I’d told him I could help him remove himself mentally from a physical encounter. I’d revealed myself to him, and I hadn’t meant to, and now he knew far more about me than I wished him to.

There was a knock on the door, and Anthony stuck his head in. “Gabe’s here, Crystal.”

“Speak of the devil himself,” Kayla said, laughing. Devil? No, an angel, just like I’d first thought. And angels didn’t belong in hell. What had he said to me? Funny, I was thinking the very same thing about you. Why would he think that about me? This was where I belonged. And in any case, there was nowhere else to be. Nowhere.

I felt like screaming. God, I needed to pull myself out of this …funk.

“Thanks, Anthony, I’ll be there in a sec.” He nodded and shut the door behind him.

Kayla stood. “Well, I’ve got a dance in fifteen minutes. I gotta go get ready.” She hugged me. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Anytime,” I murmured. Kayla left, shutting the door behind her. I stood there for a few moments, attempting to find my equilibrium, to form that protective shell around myself. Memories of my mother, along with the confusing feelings Gabriel brought up in me, made me feel raw, as if I’d turned my skin inside out, and I had the brief, intense desire to cry. Cry. The feeling shocked me. When was the last time I’d cried? I really couldn’t remember. I wasn’t a crier. Why cry when it solved nothing? Why be like her? My mother had been a crier. She’d cried all the damn time, and what had it gotten her in the end? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I grabbed my sweatshirt and pulled it on over my costume, took a deep, shaky breath, and walked out of my dressing room, toward the lap-dance room. When I opened the door, Gabriel was standing by the couch. He was wearing a T-shirt this time rather than the button-down shirts he wore the first two times he’d been here. In one sweeping gaze, I took in his tanned arms, the contours of his muscles, his broad shoulders—not the efforts of a gym rat, but the slim, defined body of a man who used his muscles as he worked. It surprised me to notice at all. Somewhere along the line, men’s bodies had all started looking the same to me. Fat, skinny, well built … what did it matter? They all used them the same way: to inflict pain on others, and to take pleasure for themselves.

Gabriel startled slightly at my abrupt entrance and then smiled, that warm, open smile that put me on edge. But his smile faded when he saw me. “Hey, is everything all right?”

I realized I was frowning and forced a smile. “Of course.”

He brought his hand up and presented a small bouquet of white flowers, holding them out to me. “I brought these for you.”

I stared at them for a moment. “You don’t have to bring me flowers, sugar. You just have to bring me cash.” His smile wilted, and he brought one hand to the back of his neck, massaging it as he grimaced slightly. “I told myself it was a stupid idea. I just passed them as I was walking to my truck and I thought of you.”

“You thought of me when you saw flowers?” I scoffed softly. “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before.”

His cheekbones had taken on a pink tinge. I knew I was embarrassing and hurting him, and something small and mean inside me took satisfaction in it. I tried to hang on to the shallow feeling, but the remorse that rose up instead overwhelmed it, and I turned my face away momentarily so he couldn’t see the regret in my eyes. When I turned back, he was setting the flowers down on the arm of the couch. A rejected gift.

“Ready to get started?” My voice sounded empty and sort of hollow.

He paused, his brow creasing. “Sure. But is it okay if we just talk for a little bit?”

I sighed. I was about all talked out. “All right. What do you want to talk about?” I sat down on the couch and he sat down, too, in the same positions we’d started out in the last time.

He smiled, turning toward me and putting his palms on his knees. I studied his hands for a moment, laid out flat like that. I couldn’t help thinking how beautiful they were for a man, his fingers long and graceful, his skin smooth and tanned. “How has your day been?”

“Just peachy.” I crossed my legs, and his eyes followed the movement. He swallowed, his cheekbones flushing very slightly again. “How about you, sugar? How’s your day been going?”

He stared at me for a moment in that assessing way, like he wanted to know all my deepest secrets. Some sort of desperation pooled in my belly. “Not too bad,” he finally murmured. “Good now. I’m happy to see you.”

I laughed, a shaky sound. “Well, if I’m the best part of your day, it couldn’t have been very good, sugar.”

His brow creased again and he tilted his head. “Why do you say that?”

I shrugged, examining a fingernail. “Do you want to get started, or not? I hate to waste your therapy time.”

“What’s wrong? Please tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, but it came out too high-pitched. It sounded wrong and strangely far away. “Please, Gabe, can we just get started? I want to help you.”

He studied me again, his expression filled with so much compassion it made me feel raw and vulnerable all over again. Needy. Why did he have to look at me that way? I didn’t know how to react to that look. It made me want to run away, hightail it out of this room.

“I want to help you, too,” he said softly.

I laughed then, and it sounded cold and bitter, even to my own ears. “But I haven’t asked for your help, Gabe.”

“No, you haven’t. But I can be a friend. We could go for coffee and talk. Somewhere other than here.”

I shook my head. “You’re not my friend. You’re a client. And you’re paying me.” My hands felt shaky, and I pressed them down on the leather couch to the sides of my thighs.

His gaze traveled from my hands to my eyes, and he gave me a small smile. “Then you can buy my coffee. I might even have a slice of pie, too. Your treat.” He tilted his head and gazed at me imploringly, so sweetly flirtatious. I stared back, a fluttering between my ribs, knowing somehow that he wasn’t even aware of his appeal.

“Coffee? Most men request a threesome. The last time I went out with a guy I met here, he showed up at the restaurant with a friend and they asked if they could take turns doing me in the bathroom. Some sort of fantasy they had going, you know?”

He looked momentarily shocked, and then his expression settled into one of sadness. I had meant to repel and disgust him, not make him feel sad. I looked away.

“I’m not most guys, I guess,” he said softly.

No, he definitely wasn’t. He couldn’t even hold my hand without having a panic attack. Maybe he was the safest man on the planet. So why did he make me feel so decidedly unsafe? I picked at my cuticles. When I looked back at him, he was studying me intensely, that same sad look on his face.

“I think you’re getting the wrong idea here, Gabe.”

He pressed his lips together. “How’d you get that bruise?” he asked, nodding to my cheekbone. I had tried to cover it up with makeup, but it had turned a darker purple in the last couple of days, and apparently he’d spotted it. I put my fingers on it lightly. “Hazard of the job. I hit my cheek on the pole.”

He nodded slowly, but didn’t look convinced.

“Please can we just get started?”

“All right.”

I nodded, one jerky movement of chin to chest, and scooted closer. He stilled and his expression changed slightly, but he didn’t move. He held eye contact as I drew nearer, his only reaction to the brush of our thighs a soft intake of breath. My own heart picked up speed, and I felt slightly flushed—the same reaction I’d had to getting closer to him the last time. I didn’t like it. I let my mind drift, moving my gaze from his eyes down to his chin, focusing on the very slight cleft, the angle of his jaw, the stubble that was just beginning to grow in. His stubble was dark, with a smattering of gold pieces throughout. If he ever grew a beard, it’d be lighter than his hair …

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

My eyes moved to his mouth just as he finished speaking. “I wasn’t going to go anywhere,” I murmured, feeling disoriented. Why had he thought that?

“No.” He brought his trembling hand up and tipped my chin. “Stay with me here.” He stared straight into my eyes. “I need you.”

I blinked once, then my eyes locked on his. The force of our connection shocked me, as if he had reached out and touched me in some way I didn’t understand, and had certainly never experienced before. His gaze wouldn’t release me. He knew I’d gone somewhere else in my mind. He knew. That desperate feeling in my belly moved up to my chest, into my throat, and I gasped out loud, finally breaking eye contact.

“What’s your name?” he asked quietly. Stay with me here. I stood, stumbling away. When I turned, he was standing, too. Panic seized me. He’d asked for my name, but it felt like he was requesting my soul. No, no.

He was asking too much, and I had so little to give. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t.

“I don’t think this is working.” I pulled myself straight, attempting to shake off the feeling that had overcome me, the inexplicable desperation coursing through my blood. “I … I don’t think I’m the right girl. I’m sorry. I know I accepted the job but—”

He took one step toward me, but no more. “I don’t want anyone else except you. You are the right girl. Please.” He attempted to look in my eyes again, but I avoided eye contact. I can’t … I can’t bear it. This, whatever this is. It’s too much. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence awkward and loud. I wanted to put my hands over my ears to block it out. God, why am I feeling this way?

I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Let’s give it one more chance. We can take it more slowly. I—”

No, it was too much. This. And him. And it was worthless because I couldn’t help him. He needed someone warm and caring, someone who would nurture him and piece together the broken parts, someone who would look in his eyes and be his calming spirit. I was not that girl. I couldn’t even begin to piece together all my broken parts as I’d lost most of them long ago. I shook my head. “No.”

His disappointment felt …tangible. I wanted to turn away from it. He sighed and reached into his pocket, drawing out his wallet. He counted out the money and handed it to me. I almost declined—I had hardly earned it, but he must have sensed my reluctance because he pushed it forward. “I insist.”

I took it and stuffed it in my bra, forcing a smile, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out. It…it wouldn’t be right for me to waste your time or money. There are several other girls here who I can recommend to take my place—”

“No, thank you.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, okay. Good luck.”

He nodded and stepped past me. I heard the click of the door as he closed it behind him, and something about it brought to mind a cell door shutting.