Love Emerged (18 page)

As though a spotlight is on me, Dylan’s vision finds me standing there, motionless, and he stands, deserting his own napkin on the table. When he steps forward, Austin turns around with concern in his eyes, and I see my mom’s smiling lips. I shake my head and step back.

“Bea,” Dylan calls out.

But I hightail it out of the restaurant.

I know he’s coming, I know he’ll want answers, I know he’ll want to fix me, so I continue to run, and soon, I’m outside in the warm and muggy summer night of Chicago.

I’m huffing for a breath of air when I reach the river.

“Bea.” Dylan’s own voice sounds breathless as he approaches me.

“Please don’t.” I hold my hand up in the air, sitting on a nearby bench.

“No. I’m not going to sit here and not find out what’s wrong.”

He sits down next to me on the opposite side of the bench, keeping his distance. Thank goodness.

“What do you want to know then?” I ask him with annoyance sharp in my voice. “You want to know how I’m never good enough for her? That my dad rarely acknowledged me? Or that my mom carried me around like an extra piece of luggage from husband to husband? Better yet, Prince Charming, you want me to tell you how the years I was dumped on my grandmother’s doorstep were the best I had, only to find her dead one morning, awakening my nightmare of a life all over again?” I look away, unable to see the pitiful sad eyes looking at my life. “Jesus, Dylan, stop.”

I stand up, walking to the edge of the river, but the click of his heels follows.

“I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

His hands land on my shoulders, and as much as I want to twist out of his hold to show my independence, to show my dignity, to show my confidence, I can’t. I can’t put on that facade right now.

“I had a messed up childhood, that’s all. I’m no different than the majority of the world.”

“You are different,” he whispers.

I huff, “People have had it much worse than me.”

“I only care about you.”

I spin around on my heels, already regretting my decision, but the softness of his voice pulls at me every damn time. “I’m unfixable. I’m unable to truly love and trust someone. I tried, Dylan, and it didn’t work.”

His green eyes peer down at me, and his lips slowly creep up. “Not with me you didn’t.”

I break from his warm hold, unable to believe we could be more than what we are, which brings a question to mind. “What are we, Dylan? Coworkers? Fuck buddies?”

“I have my own baggage. I’m not going to lie about that, but maybe—”

There’s absolutely no way I can hear him say the words I know are about to come out of his mouth.

“We can’t.”

“But—”

“No. Let’s just forget tonight, okay?” I wipe the tears from my eyes. “Look, we’ve wasted a whole day, and we don’t have anything for Nike. Didn’t you say you had an idea at the park?” I smack on the usual smile I’ve mastered over the years.

“Don’t do this.” Dylan’s head shakes slowly, and he lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Just let this be, okay?” I could fall down to my knees and beg him at this point because I cannot dig up the graves of my childhood in this moment, especially to a man I’m becoming more intrigued with each passing day.

He nods, inhaling another deep breath. “All right.” He holds his hand out for me. “Let’s go up to the room.”

“First, I have to say good night to my mom.” I accept his hand, and we start walking toward the hotel.

“I asked her to leave—her and whoever that Austin guy was.”

We stop, and I stand there, staring at him. Damn, he really is Prince Charming. Well, Prince Charming mixed with the Beast, being all protective.

“You did?” The tears well up in my eyes again because he knew what I needed without me saying anything.

“Well, your mom wanted Austin to go after you, but I couldn’t let that happen.” Again, a slow smile raises the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you.” I step forward, lifting on my tiptoes, and I give him a kiss on the cheek.

He covers the spot with his hand, his smile growing. “Never thought of you as a sweet one.”

“Hey, I have some sweet mixed in with my spice.”

He stares at me for a beat too long, making it slightly uncomfortable.

“You’re not the person you portray.” He links his fingers with mine and leads me toward the hotel.

I don’t refute his assumption because it’s nice for someone to think of me as something other than a bitch.

Dylan

WE WALK INTO THE LOBBY,
and Bea hasn’t pulled away from me. I expected her to release my hand when we came in contact with spectators. I’ve noticed it’s her usual behavior. Public affection isn’t her thing. To others, we appear like a couple, and I wish I wasn’t enjoying it.

Tonight’s the first time I’ve thought about the idea of us as more than a hook-up. Have I wanted to fix her? Yes. Be a friend? Yes.

But to knowingly go back into a relationship, let alone with someone who despises commitment? No. The act of changing someone’s beliefs on love sounds exhausting to me, but Bea’s embedding herself into my heart with each day.

When I saw Bea so broken when we arrived in Chicago, a sense of protectiveness over her erupted within me. No one should grow up with the life she endured.

“Oh, look.” She points to where a bride and groom are dancing in the middle of a ballroom with their family and friends circled around them. “A wedding.” The two words purr out of her, as though she’s a die-hard romantic.

We stand outside the doors, watching the groom brush a few tears from his bride’s happy face. They share a sweet kiss and an even sweeter embrace before they face their loved ones, hands joined in unity. A little tug pulls on my heart because I envisioned Ava as someone I could marry. It was a thought in the future. That’s me—the romantic shit that gets stepped on over and over again, like a spider that won’t die. When will I learn my lesson and keep my heart at the door.

“Let’s go,” she whispers into my ear but never waits for my answer.

Instead, she pulls me into the ballroom, situating us among the guests.

“What are we doing?” I lean close, not to alert the strangers around us.

“Relax. There’s, like, five hundred people here. No one will notice us.” She searches the room and points when she spots it. “Bar.”

She drags me away, and I go willingly because maybe a little alcohol will ease my anxiety about crashing someone’s wedding.

We reach the bar, and a line slowly develops after the traditional dances are finished. Bea doesn’t hesitate to make conversation with a few people, constantly waving to strangers who act like they know her. She’s wonderful at positioning herself into other people’s lives.

Her hand is still tucked into my larger one, and it feels nice not to have her fight us, but when she leans her head on my shoulder, it’s even nicer.

“You two are a sweet couple,” an elderly lady says from behind us, making the two of us turn.

“Thank you,” Bea says in the sweetest voice I’ve heard come out of her mouth. “I’m Bea, and this is my fiancé, Dylan.”

Bea and I shake hands with the bluish-tinted-haired older lady who has a tube of pink lipstick smeared across her lips.

Bea comes right back to my side, her shoulder brushing along mine.

“When is the date?” she asks. A little of her pink lipstick has landed on her white dentures.

Bea lovingly stares up at me and places her free hand on my stomach. “We haven’t picked one yet.”

“Oh, well, don’t take too long. You don’t want that one to sneak away.”

Bea looks back up to me. “I won’t.” She locks her arms around my waist, as though I’m only hers. “There’s no escaping for him.”

The lady shakes her head. “You are darling. I meant, he shouldn’t wait that long. Otherwise, he’ll lose
you
.”

A wide smile spreads across Bea’s lips, and if I was really looking, I’d say her eyes watered from the compliment.

I quickly throw my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to me, so I can kiss the top of her head. “No worries, ma’am. She’ll be officially off the market soon.”

The lady’s eyes light up. “Marge, darling. The name is Marge.” The DJ in the corner starts playing a slow song. “Oh, you two should go dance.” She shoos us out of line. “I need my whiskey.”

After we step out of line, mostly because she insisted, she wiggles between people before a younger gentleman hands her a drink.

“Here, Grandma.”

She stains his cheek, leaving an outline of pink lips.

He starts to rub it off, and Marge moves with a crowd of people to a table.

Bea stands there, her feet not moving at the edge of the dance floor.

“Will you?” I ask.

She looks up at me, confused.

“Dance with me?”

She shakes her head. “No, we shouldn’t.”

But I selfishly want her body close to mine, so I pull her toward the makeshift dance floor that’s packed edge-to-edge full of couples.

I guide us through the invited guests in order to mask our identities. Taking her small body against mine, I begin to show her the dance moves my mom taught me when I was younger. Surprisingly, I never really lost my rhythm.

“Where did you learn to dance?” She allows me to lead, which I know is hard and foreign for her.

“My mom. I was her dance partner at weddings,” I embarrassingly admit.

“Not your dad?”

“No, he’s the jokester of the party. I was always dragged to the dance floor with my mom. Tanner was usually messing around with Brad somewhere.”

She stares up at me, and I quickly circle us to make her stop thinking too hard about the younger version of myself.

“Tell me what you were like in high school.”

“Why don’t you just lean your head on my shoulder, and I’ll circle us around the floor?” I pull our linked hands close between us, and step into her more, so my thigh rests between her legs.

The only problem is, she doesn’t get detoured.

“Come on. You didn’t have trophies or ribbons in your room. There weren’t any pictures or signs of a high school boy. It was just those model cars and planes everywhere.”

I inhale a breath because I don’t want to delve into my childhood. My past is embarrassing, to say the least.

“I really don’t want to dive into this right now. Can’t we just enjoy the night?”

She slowly shakes her head, and I should have known she wouldn’t let that happen. I’ve been asking her to dig into her own past enough this weekend. She’s turning the tables.

“You saw my childhood tonight. How about we play a game? You tell me one thing, and I tell you one.”

I cock my eyebrow at her. “Bad idea, and if I’m about to tell you all my secrets, I’m going to need alcohol.”

“Done. Let’s go.”

She steps away from me, but I pull her toward me again, molding us as one.

“After this dance. You be quiet and dance with me for the rest of the song.”

Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and her breasts press against my chest.

“Okay,” she finally relents with a dreamy look in her eyes.

The smell of vanilla from her shampoo brings a sense of calm over me as I circle us around the dance floor. Eventually, she lays her head on my chest, her light breathing tickling my neck.

This is what I miss about having a relationship—the sense of belonging to someone.

“God Gave Me You” by Blake Shelton plays through the speakers, and I show off the moves my mom practiced with me. I’m thankful for my mother because, although I pick on her obsessive-compulsive tendencies, she knew how to handle me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be a mess of an adult with no focus.

The song draws to a close, but Bea doesn’t immediately wiggle out of my hold, like I assumed she would. Instead, she stays in my arms until the next song begins. With a faster song following, most of the dance floor clears out, except for the bride and her bridesmaids.

“This was requested by the grandmother of the groom, Marge,” the DJ announces.

Soon, Marge and her grandson saunter onto the dance floor.

“Fireball” by Pitbull begins playing, and Marge shimmies around her grandson as his face grows redder the longer she moves around the dance floor.

“Man, she’s got moves,” Bea says to me, clapping her hands to the beat.

When her grandson decides he isn’t going to partake in his grandmother’s act, she searches the crowd, and before I can run, her eyes land on me. I hide behind Bea, but Marge shakes her ass on her way toward me.

“Someone wants you.” Bea steps to the side and pushes me forward.

“Let’s go, pretty boy.” Marge grabs my hand.

I practically fall on the floor from the force of her aggressive grip.

Of course, I become her dance partner when we have to bring it down, according to the song, and I really wish Marge could shut her legs. Thankfully, we’re instructed to quickly bring it up.

We dance solely for a while, and it’s not too humiliating, if only I didn’t wonder if half of these people were questioning who the hell I was. I narrow my eyes to Bea, but she only urges me on.

Marge grabs my hand again, and I figure I should show this lady a good time tonight. I slowly swing her around until I figure out she has some energy to dispense. She keeps up with me, step for step. Everyone’s cheering and clapping, and I soon forget that I wasn’t an invited guest to this party.