Kristen Ashley - Breathe

And right then, in my apartment, I watched Chace Keaton throw back his handsome head and burst out laughing.

Seeing it, hearing the deep richness of it, my hands went behind me and curled into the iron of my foot stand so they could assist my legs in keeping me standing.

I was prepared to ask him to leave when he stopped laughing (not that I wanted him to stop laughing, ever) but he got there before me by tipping his eyes back to mine and ordering through his laughter, “Put it on.”

I blinked and my chest seized.

Therefore I had to force out my, “What?”

His eyes scanned my apartment, spied my stereo then came back to me.

He tilted his head to my stereo and repeated, “Put it on.”

“Put what on?” I asked stupidly.

“‘Drift Away’.”

Oh God!

“Um… I’m kind of tired,” I informed him.

“Faye, honey, you just ran through a very cold night chasing an abused, terrified kid. You’re not tired.”

There it was, him reading me again.

“Um…”

“But I bet that song will help you relax and unwind.”

He was right. It would. It was on my unwind playlist for that very purpose.

“Uh…”

“Put it on.”

“Chace, I don’t –”

“You don’t, I find your iPod and I’ll do it.”

That got me moving for two reasons. One, this would require a body search and my iPod was at my bottom. I didn’t want Chace Keaton’s hands anywhere near my bottom. Second, the song it was set at was “Holding Out for a Hero” which meant if he had my iPod, he’d catch me out in the lie and know, possibly, what really was making me cry.

So I slid out from in front of him, unbuttoned my coat, shrugged it off and threw it on my armchair. Then I unwound my scarf and did the same with that. Finally, I dug into my back pocket, pulled out my iPod and set up the song.

The strains of the guitar hit the space as I turned back to see Chace had taken off his coat, thrown it on my bed and he was leaning a hip against the foot stand.

He looked good standing anywhere.

But he never looked better than standing right there.

Really, seriously, how was this happening?

“Forgot how much I like this song,” he said through the music.

“Told you it was good,” I muttered.

At my words, he suddenly pushed away from the bed and came at me.

I had to make a split second decision. Run from the apartment (and I’d just taken off my coat), race to the bathroom and lock myself in, retreat again even though I had nowhere to go or hold my ground.

I took longer than the split second to make my decision and thus ended up doing the last and therefore was an available target when he reached down and grabbed my hand.

He yanked it firm but gentle and I flew toward him.

His other arm slid around me and suddenly I found myself, after midnight, in my apartment, dancing with Chace Keaton.

It wasn’t just a close to each other, hips swaying dance. He swung me out, twirled me around, threw me wide and wound me back in. He was sure in his moves, strong, confident and my body just moved how he wanted me to move. It didn’t feel stilted, I wasn’t nervous.

I just moved where he guided me like we’d danced together countless times. It felt natural. It felt right. It felt great.

So great, the song was so awesome, I got into it and started grinning, aiming this at him whenever my eyes caught his which were always on me.

The slow bits, he held me close and swayed. The faster bits, he moved me around and when the clapping came, he pulled me close, his neck bending, his lips finding my ear and he whispered, “You’re right, honey, this is definitely the best part.”

My hand was resting on the hard wall of his chest, my head tipped back, his came up and we locked eyes.

Then I whispered, “See?”

He smiled.

I drowned.

Then he twirled me out when the tempo shifted up but we finished close, hips swaying. His arm was around me, his hand in mine holding it to his chest. My other hand was resting lightly on his shoulder. His jaw was pressed to the side of my hair and my eyes trained to the strong column of his throat.

The song faded away, our hips stopped swaying, but he didn’t let me go.

I had no idea what was happening, how it came about but that didn’t mean I didn’t close my eyes and commit every nuance of that moment to memory.

Then he said quietly in my ear, “For a long time, a long fuckin’ time, Faye, nearly six years, I thought it was certain I’d never have anything as beautiful as the last three minutes. Thank you, honey, for giving that to me.”

Once he’d dropped this confusing, exquisite bombshell, he moved away, went to his coat on his bed, tagged it, sauntered to my door and walked out of it, closing it behind him.

Not looking back.

It was four days (well, technically three) after Chace Keaton said beautiful but bewildering words to me and sauntered out of my apartment.

In other words, it was Tuesday morning at eight thirty which was an hour before I had to get to work, preparing to open the library and I was in my Cherokee staking out the return bin in hopes of seeing the boy.

I was there on Tuesday because the library wasn’t open on Mondays.

Also because I hadn’t had time to come earlier.

This was because I was catching up on sleep, cleaning my house and going two kinds of shopping – grocery and for some kid I didn’t know. My time was also spent having dinner with my parents including helping my Mom make it and watching two movies with them after it. Not to mention, in order to keep my mind off things, I’d been to the gym twice and worked out for an hour rather than half that.

Further, I had a marathon session with Serenity to try to talk her down from uncovering dirt on scary, rich powerbrokers (this, incidentally, failed). I also had a marathon phone conversation with my sister Liza who lived in Gnaw Bone and was fighting with her husband (again). Though, not for the first time, even hearing it from Liza, I sided with Boyd. This wasn’t unusual but I didn’t tell Liza that. Not only that I sided with Boyd but also that it wasn’t unusual I sided with him and maybe she should stop being such a drama queen.

That said, what did I know? I’d never even had a boyfriend. I was not in any position to be a marriage counselor.

So instead I played my normal role, the sister-bitching listener.

In the time between Chace leaving me Thursday night (or, more aptly, Friday very early morning) I’d gone out and bought the boy a new coat as well as a hat, scarf, gloves and three pairs of thick, wool socks. I’d also guesstimated sizes and bought him two pairs of new jeans, two chunky, warm sweaters and some underwear.

With this, I added a pint of milk, three bottles of water, a package of bologna, a package of American cheese slices, a loaf of bread, a box of granola bars, three apples, a bunch of bananas, a cucumber (he wouldn’t eat it but I had to make the effort of getting what my Dad called “roughage” in him) and a ginormous bar of Hershey’s chocolate (which he probably would eat).

I’d stuffed them in easy to carry bags and laid them out with some books that I didn’t get from the library but bought. With this, I left a note I wrote that told him all of that was his, he could keep the books, more would be there on Wednesday and if there was anything he needed, all he had to do write me a note, tell me what it was, put it in the return bin and I’d get it for him.

Now, I was watching, having gone into the library the night before and checking the bin (he hadn’t returned anything), hoping he hadn’t returned anything since I checked. Also, I was hoping he’d show so I could get a better look at him, see which direction he came from and maybe, surreptitiously, follow him when he left.

I was focused on this and solely on this.

Because if I didn’t focus on this little boy I did not know but I did know needed me (or someone), I’d focus on my weird night with Chace and freak right the frak out.

After tossing and turning, finally getting to sleep in the wee hours of the morning only to drag through work on Friday, so exhausted, I took the alarming news without reaction that the library might, just might, be forced to close because of funding issues, I decided this was my best course of action.

Life was happening all around me. This boy was alone in the cold, getting beaten up by someone and dumpster diving. And I might lose my job and the town its library.

Both of these last were tragic for me, only one for the town.

This was tragic for me not only because it was my job, it was the only thing I ever wanted to do. I loved that library. Since I could remember, Mom took me there to check out books. Since she did this, she told me her Mom did the same with her when she was a little girl. And since I could get there on my own, I went there to get them.

I stayed there to read them. I did this because I loved it there, the feel, the smell of books, the quiet. Most of all I loved the serenity that came from being alone in a world of books at the same time not being alone because the world was around me, some of it real, the vast majority of it worlds all their own, contained on pages bound to a cover.

I didn’t know what I’d do if Carnal Library was closed and not just because it was my paycheck.

So I didn’t have time to worry about the confounding, mixed-message-giving Chace Keaton.