“You don’t have to watch, you know,” he whispers into my ear.
The slow throb of a dance beat starts pounding through the club, and a spotlight lifts above the stage to illuminate a scantily clad female body, sitting in silver hoop, suspended. I can’t look away, even if I want to.
It’s Storm in a sequined bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination, floating in the air on this metal hoop. When the music picks up, she flips backward, every muscle in her arm straining as she dangles by one hand. With no visible effort, she folds her legs back over and fluidly slides her body through the hoop to hold another impressive pose. The music picks up tempo and she kicks her legs out, gaining momentum until the hoop swings back and forth like a pendulum. Then suddenly she’s hanging by her arms, spinning fast, her hair flying through the air, her body contorting and diving into various graceful poses. She’s like one of those people in Cirque du Soleil—beautiful, poised, doing things I never believed humanly possible.
“Wow,” I hear myself murmur, mesmerized.
Storm is an acrobat.
The scrap of material covering her breasts somehow flies off.
Storm is a stripper acrobat.
Something brushes against my fingers and I flinch. My head jerks down to see Trent’s hand resting on his knee, his fingertips an inch away from mine. So close. Too close, and yet I don’t pull away. Something deep inside me spurs me forward. I wonder if there’s any chance … what if … Inhaling, I look up into his face and see a world of calm and possibilities. For the first time in four years, the thought of a hand covering mine doesn’t send me into a dizzying spiral down.
And I realize that I want Trent to touch me.
Trent doesn’t move though. He stares at me, but he doesn’t push. It’s like he knows this is a bridge I’ve all but torched and turned away from. How does he know? Storm must have told him. Keeping my focus locked on those gorgeous blue eyes, I force my hand to close the distance. My fingers are trembling, and that voice screams at me to stop. She screams that this is a mistake; that the waves are waiting to crash down over my head, to drown me.
I shove the voice aside.
So slow, so light, my fingertip skims his index finger.
He still doesn’t move his hand. He remains completely frozen, as if waiting for me to make my move.
Swallowing hard, I let my entire hand skate over his. I hear a sharp intake of air as he gasps, his jaw clenching. His eyes are locked on mine and they’re unreadable. Finally, his hand shifts and covers mine, his fingers gently slipping in between. Not forceful, not rushed.
A load roar of approval erupts on the fringe of my eardrums, but I barely hear it over the rush of blood in my ears. One … two… three … I began taking those ten little breaths.
I can’t contain the euphoria swelling inside me.
Trent’s touch is full of life.
I’m sure I hear glass shattering somewhere nearby, but I’m too stunned for anything to register. “Is this okay?” he whispers, his brow pulled together before I can process his question, his hand is wrenched out of mine as a pair of giant mitts land on his shoulders, tearing the warmth and life with it.
“You’ll need to leave, sir,” Nate’s voice thunders. “No touching the ladies.”
My peripherals catch motion beneath me. Looking down, I find a bus boy sweeping up the shards of Trent’s empty glass. I guess it slipped out of my free hand.
“Is it okay?” Trent asks again earnestly, like he knows it might not be okay to touch my hand. Like that’s a perfectly acceptable fear to have. Like I’m not a head case.
Try as I might, I can’t open my mouth or move my tongue. I’m suddenly like a statue. Petrified.
“Kacey!”
Nate yanks Trent back and out the door and I do nothing but watch him go, that intense pleading gaze riveted to my face until it’s out of sight.
Everything seems wobbly as I wander back to the bar in a daze. The walls, the people, the dancers, my legs. I mumble an apology to Ginger for taking more than fifteen minutes. She waves it away with a smile as she pours someone a drink. With wooden movements, I turn back to see that a shapely native woman has taken center stage, doing some sort of rain dance reenactment in a scant feather costume. Storm is nowhere to be seen.
The world moves forward, oblivious to this significant shift in my tiny universe.
Stage Four ~ Acceptance
Chapter Seven
“So, what’d ya think?” Storm interrupts the silence in the car on the ride home.
I frown, not understanding her question. My mind’s still stuck on Trent, on the feel of his hand; on me, standing there like an idiot, not saying a thing. I’m so wound up over Trent and that pivotal moment that I’m for once not fazed by the confines of Storm’s Jeep. He held my hand. Trent held my hand and I didn’t drown.
I notice Storm’s small fists curled tightly around her steering wheel and she’s looking everywhere but at me. She’s nervous. “What do I think about what?” I ask slowly.
“About … my show?”
Oh! Right. “I don’t know how those boobs of yours don’t throw your balance off.”
Her head tips back and she laughs. “It took some getting used to, believe me.”
“Seriously, that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. What the hell are you doing in a strip club? You could be in Cirque du Soleil or some shit like that.”
I catch a hint of sadness in her giggle. “Not a lifestyle I can handle anymore. That means training all day and shows all night. I can’t do that with Mia to care for.”
“Why is this the first show I’ve seen?”
“I can’t do that every night. It’s hard enough to stay upright and get a bit of a work out in everyday.”
Huh. Storm works out. I had no idea. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugs. “We all have our secrets.”
My eyes drift out the window. “Well, that’s one hell of a way to reveal a secret.”
She chuckles, nodding in agreement. There’s a pause. “How was your little chat with Trent?”
“Oh, life altering.” His touch still lingers on my fingers and I can’t shake the pleading sound of his voice. Raw shame has settled on my shoulders. I should have answered him. Instead, I let Nate toss him out like a drunken ass.
I hate the feel of being in my skin right now.
We drive a few more minutes without talking. Then Storm breaks the silence with a full frontal assault. “Kace, what happened to you?” My jaw instantly clenches, unprepared, but she rushes on. “I still don’t know you at all. Given I’ve pretty much bared all. Literally. I was hoping you’d trust me to do the same.”
“You want me to spin around on a hoop and take my top off?” I joke, my voice flat. I know that’s not what she means.
“I asked Livie and she wouldn’t tell me. She said you needed to.” She says that in a low voice, like she knows she wasn't supposed to ask Livie in the first place.
My gut sinks to the floor. “Livie knows better than to tell anyone my secrets.”
“You need to start talking to someone, Kacey. That’s the only way to get better.”
“There’s no getting better, Storm. This is it.” There’s no coming back from the dead. I try to keep the coldness from my voice, but I can’t help it. It’s there.
“I’m your friend, Kacey. Whether you like it or not. I may have only known you for a few weeks, but I’ve trusted you. I’ve trusted your sister with my five year old, invited you into my home, and got you a job. Not to mention that you’ve folded my underwear and seen me naked.”