Steel My Heart (8 page)

Chapter 15

Emmy

The ride up the Parkway was the longest cab ride of my life. J. sat stiffly beside me. He looked incredibly uncomfortable. His huge frame barely fit into the backseat of the taxi. His long legs were bent awkwardly and his knee kept brushing mine. I shifted to make him more comfortable, but I hoped it would happen again.

The cab smelled like Cheetos and body odor. The cabbie had his radio on so loud we couldn't talk, but the air was thick with something besides the scent of unwashed skin. I had asked him to be my friend, and he had agreed willingly. I wondered how long I was going to be able to keep my true feelings in check. It would certainly be impossible if we were smashed together for much longer.

He shifted again as we rounded Eakins Oval. "Sorry, I can't...." He flung his long arm up on the back of the seat and sighed in relief. His arm brushed my hair and I immediately broke out in goose bumps at his touch. The cabbie zoomed around the Oval, knocking me against J.'s side so that I was momentarily nestled in his arm. He looked down at me nuzzled there and smiled.

"Should I tell him to go round again?" he murmured softly.

The low rumble of his voice thrilled through me. I was close enough to him that I could feel his heat and smell the sun-warmed leather of his vest. I looked at it.

"What do the symbols on your vest mean?" The cabbie pulled up in front of the museum and screeched to a halt before he could reply.

I reached for my wallet, but J. had already flung the cash from his back pocket at the driver. "Keep the change," he smiled at the cabbie. The old man smiled a wide, gap-toothed grin and sped off.

"How much did you tip him?" I gasped.

"Dunno," J. shrugged.

"It was less than three miles," I protested.

He frowned. "Dude works hard. Trapped in that metal cage all day long in this hot weather. He looked like he needed a pick-me-up."

I felt something twist in my stomach. I hadn't even thought about the cabbie, only about how fast he was driving and how bad his car smelled. J. hadn't forgotten that he was a human being.

I couldn't help but reach out and touch his arm. "That was very nice," I said.

J. shrugged but didn't say anything. He looked up at the grand stairs in front of the museum. "You know," he said, obviously changing the subject, "I've lived here most of my life, but I've never been inside."

I was shocked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Only done what they're doing," he explained, pointing at some tourists who were running full-tilt up the stairs. When they reached the top, they all raised their arms and jumped up and down, posing for pictures in the Rocky stance.

I laughed. "Yeah, I think more people come for Rocky than for the art." I hesitated. "You want to go inside? My treat. Just to see what the steps lead to?"

He shifted. "Yeah, I think I kinda do."

My heart leapt. "Okay, but we have to go up the steps first, I guess."

"Wanna race?"

"Hell no, you'll beat me for sure. I got all this extra weight to carry around," I said airily. The thought of running up the stairs in front of all these people made me want to hide. My thighs jiggling, my breasts flopping up and down. I would make a spectacle of myself, especially running after J.

He cut off my thoughts with a dismissive wave. "Then we'll run together," he explained, reaching for my hand.

His palm was smooth and dry. I could feel the strength in his grip and the rough patches of callouses that came with hard work. He held my hand lightly but firmly. My stomach turned over and a spreading warmth moved through my veins. I fought to keep myself from stammering.

"Let's start slowly then," I begged.

Another sharp look from him let me know he heard the double meaning in my words.

"Ready?" he asked. We started up the first set of stairs. He swung my arms back and forth like a parent with a child and I laughed. When we reached the top of the first set, I paused. He squeezed my hand and said nothing, waiting for me to be ready. I looked down at where we had come from and then looked up to see how many steps we had to go.

"Let's run," I decided impulsively.

"Okay, but I'm still gonna hold your hand," he replied. He pulled me closer and I stumbled into his chest. I looked up at him in surprise. "Listen." His voice was low and I could barely hear him over the noise of traffic on the Parkway and the shrieks of the tourists around us. I had to move closer to hear him. He bent his lips to my ear, clutching my hand all the while. "I don't want to hear you talkin' bad about yourself again, got it?"

"What do you mean?" I couldn't look up at him but I felt his eyes blazing into the back of my head as I studied the ground.

He slipped his hand from mine and snaked it around to the small of my back. "You got this idea in your head." His lips brushed my earlobe and I felt his warm breath against my neck. "You think you're not worth nothin'. I don't know who told you that Emmy, but it's total bullshit, you hear me? You're fuckin' gorgeous, you need to know that."

I lifted my face to protest. But before I could open my mouth, his lips were on mine. The world slid sideways as he folded me into his arms and pressed me backward. His lips were soft, but his kiss was not. The hard, insistent pressure overwhelmed my hesitation and I yielded to him with a sigh. Holding my hair in his fist, he walked us backward until my back was pressed against the sun-warmed brick wall that ran along the steps. Sandwiched between the brick and the hard granite of his chest, I had nowhere to go.

A small sound escaped my throat and J. seized the opportunity to part my lips with a rough stab of his tongue. My mouth was suddenly filled with the taste of him. He swirled his tongue around mine, tasting me deeply, exploring every inch of my mouth. My stomach dropped and the slow fire for him that had been burning since I first lay eyes on him roared to brilliant life. I pressed closer, snaking my hands down to his waist and pulling him into me. I felt the hardness of his desire press into my stomach, telling me more about how beautiful he thought I was than his words ever could.

A pack of teenagers hooted and catcalled as they ran past us up the steps. Reluctantly, I pulled back, pressing my hands against his chest. My engagement ring sparkled in the summer sun, chastising me.

He pulled back, his breath ragged. "There are people," I whispered.

The emerald shards in his eyes blazed fiercely. "I don't actually give a fuck," he growled. But he stepped back and gave me a hand, pulling me away from the wall. He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. His grip on my hand was suddenly painfully tight. I squeaked in fear and tried to pull away.

Then the moment past. He chuckled softly. "Sorry. That wasn't very friendly of me. You don't need that."

Yes! Yes I do need that! I've never needed anything more!
My heart screamed at me to correct him, but when he continued talking it sank slowly.

"I don't need it either." He looked at me quickly and explained. "Complications, that is. I'm trying to get on my feet here."

I nodded slowly. "Right. Your graduation."

I saw him startle then recover himself quickly. "Right. Gotta get on with life and all that."

I chuckled lightly, willing my heart rate to slow down. "First maybe we should get on with climbing these stairs."

He laughed, but there was no mirth. He was still holding my hand, but limply, as if he wanted to let me go but couldn't. We trudged up the steps to the plaza in front of the Museum. All around us tourists jumped up and down in imitation of the famous movie scene, but there was no joy for me in reaching the top. I wanted to be back down at the bottom, pressed between the wall and his body.

Chapter 16

J.

He had no idea why he was here.

The peace of this morning's ride had been shattered by the knowledge of where it would end up. He was nearly jumping out of his skin the whole time the doctor asked him questions about the custom chopper. The longer he spent in front of Emmy's building, the greater the risk he would stay until he saw her.

And he didn't have to wait long. She had surprised him on the sidewalk, all smiles and sun-kissed hair. The anger that had driven him home in a rage last night dissipated the moment she greeted him. He hadn't noticed how bright her eyes were until that moment.

As hard as he tried to keep the wall up around his heart, she kept doing little things to knock it back down. Her vulnerability, her hesitation, the way she flicked her eyes across his face as if he were a book she wanted to understand. It beguiled him. So much so that he found himself agreeing to being her friend, agreeing to spending the day with her, agreeing to set foot inside a cage when there was no snow on the ground, and agreeing to look at art of all things. Her nearness confused him and inflamed him to distraction.

J. trudged up the steps to the Art Museum Plaza and turned back to look down the Parkway to Center City. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists. So long as she stayed out of reach, he could control his desire and ignore the feeling of her soft body pressed up against his. So long as he didn't catch a whiff of her scent on the breeze, he could forget the taste of her tongue.

The glass towers reflected the sky and gleamed in the summer sun. Atop the Art Museum hill there was a slight breeze that blew the sweat from his brow. He counted backwards from ten. It was becoming a habit.

"What do you see?" Emmy was at his elbow, enjoying the view, undoing all his efforts to calm himself. Her hair whipped about her face and she tucked it behind her ear, exposing her throat. J. had to look away hurriedly.

"Buildings." He hadn't meant to mock her, but her nearness made it difficult to speak.

She laughed as if he had made a wonderful joke, completely missing the sarcasm in his answer. "Not too long ago, there weren't any skyscrapers in Philly."

J. nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Teach told me that. Nothin' could be taller than City Hall or something?"

"Yeah, we learned about it in Intro to Architecture."

J. was surprised. "You're an architect?"

All the color drained from her face. "I'm not really anything anymore." She looked down at her feet and J. ran his words back in his head, wondering where he had hurt her.

But before he could pinpoint the moment, she turned her back on the city. "Let's go in. My treat, right?"

"Okay, I guess."

"I'm dragging you to the Art Museum to keep me company. I can pay."

"Can I ask you something though?" J. bit his tongue as the traitorous words spilled out. He didn't want to press her. He didn't want to get involved. She was going to marry some rich asshole and live in a penthouse that cost more money than he'd see in his lifetime. He didn't even know what he was doing here. "Why'd you say you weren't anything?"

She opened her mouth wide in astonishment, then closed it with a pop. "Sorry, I was just being dramatic."

"Bullshit."

She pressed her lips in a tight line as the wind whipped across the plaza. "You know what I liked about you?"

"Liked?" The past tense stung.

"Yeah, liked. You just let me be. You didn't ask me question after question to confuse me." There was more rage in her voice than J. could understand. He felt his heart rate rise. His body was ready to fight even as his mind scrambled to keep cool.

"I’m not tryin' to
confuse
you, Princess," he spat. "You asked me to be your friend. Well friends got each other’s back. And it seems to me like you got a problem that you need back-up on."

Her mouth fell open again. Without a word, she spun on her heel and made to run back down the stairs. Everything in him told him to let her go, but his arms wanted her back inside them. In two long steps he had covered the distance between them and clutched her close. Her face was wet with tears and she was shaking hard. J. waited, smoothing her hair back from her face so that it didn’t stick to her tears.

She opened and closed her mouth several times before she found the words. "I don't like saying things. Saying things makes them true."

"Say what's gotta be said," J. replied, then ducked his head in embarrassment at hearing Teach's words coming out of his mouth. He was asking Emmy to do what he couldn't do.

"I don't think you could understand what it's like." She pressed closer to him as she said this, shivering in spite of the heat radiating up off of the stone plaza.

"I may surprise you."

"I doubt you could." She pulled back and gazed out over the Parkway, a million miles away. "Things just...happen to me. As if I'm a reflection in a mirror instead of a real person. And what's worse than that is that I'm okay with this. I don't want to make waves. I don't ever want to fight." She shuddered. "I tell myself it's better to make other people happy, even if it means I'm not.” She barked out a wild laugh as her tone rose up higher, verging on hysterical. "And what's even worse than that? Is I don't even know
how
to be happy anymore. It's scary to be happy because it forces me to realize I'm usually sad. So I just feel nothing."

"I don't think you're feeling nothing. Sure doesn't sound like nothing to me." J. said carefully.

She laughed again, manic. "No you're right, I feel awful. I feel angry, and hurt, and so fucking ashamed of what I've let myself become. But what can I do?"

"Decide what you want to do."

She looked at him, tears streaming down her face. "He scares me. I'm so fucking scared, J."

Red rage flared brightly in J.'s skull. "Then you get out. Right now."

She nodded for a moment, then shook her head. "You can't understand. Look at you. Big tough biker. Nothing scares you."

J. laughed grimly. "That's not true at all. But you can't let them see your fear. You have to stand up for yourself, Emmy."

"How do I do that?" Her voice was broken and ragged. She looked at J. as if begging him to give her the answer. He wished he had learned all of those sayings that Teach was always spouting, the calm philosophies that boiled life down to its essence. But all he could remember was what being behind bars had taught him.

"You fight back."

She shuddered at the word. "I hate fighting."

"I can teach you."

She looked at him in such utter surprise that he laughed out loud. "You said it yourself. I'm a big tough biker. You think I haven't taken my lumps? I've given more."

"You mean, like, actually fight?"

"Not fight, if that scares you. But defend yourself."

J. watched her, fascinated, as a million little expressions played across her tear-stained face. She smiled shyly at first, biting her lip nervously. Then she pursed them in thought. They were the color of ripe raspberries and J. wanted to kiss them again. He wanted to kiss her and tell her that her fight was his now. He would be in her corner and if she asked him to, he would grab the man who was hurting her by the throat and show him the meaning of pain. He wanted to tell her that her worries were over, that she was safe with him. He wanted to say a million things to make her smile and to wipe those worry lines from her forehead.

"Here, c'mere. Let's go down to the grass." He grabbed her hand.

"I thought we were going into the museum?" she protested weakly.

"This is way more important. And besides," J. flashed his dimples at her, hoping to dispel some of her anxiety, "I'm better at fighting than art."

She clasped his hand. "I'll have to teach you," she relented. "About art."

"You know about it?"

"I was an art student. Up until six months ago."

"Why'd you stop?"

Her brow furrowed again and he raised his hand in understanding. "Okay, got it.

"I wanted to make something that would change the world. Make some beauty out of all the ugliness." Her voice was soft and wistful, barely carrying over the breeze. "But I just gave it up."

"Start over then. Right now. Remember the toast you made last night?"

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "You remember?"

"New beginnings."

"You do remember." And in two steps she was in his arms, those raspberry colored lips on his once more.