Page 56 of My Merry Mistake
“Oh, it’s not hard. I’ll show you all the steps.” It was clear she didn’t want to, but he eventually convinced her to follow him out onto the dance floor.
Different night, different guy, same old scene.
The other bartender, Mandy, watched me watching Raya, and when the guy started to get a little too handsy, Mandy nodded at me. “I got this, you go.”
I moved out from behind the bar and onto the floor, making my way through swaying, sweaty bodies. When I reached Raya, I pulled the guy away from her. “Hey, so sorry, she’s with me.”
“Get lost, man.” He tried to shove me, but I held my ground, and he stumbled back a few steps. He shrank and his expression shifted.
I took Raya’s hand and pulled her off the dance floor and into the back room, where it was quiet and cool.
Her eyes were wide. “Where are—what just happened?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I got you.”
“But—” she started to protest.
“He’s not a good guy,” I said. “Are you okay?”
The room was dark, but I could see her nod, a quiet “mmm-hmm” escaping her lips. She stumbled a bit, and I reached out to stop her from falling. She grabbed onto me, hands resting on my chest as we both went still in the small, dark space. My fingers splayed across her waist, thumbs pressing gently at her hips.
My chest tightened at her nearness. My pulse raced as my eyes searched hers, and all I could think was—this is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Slowly, she wound her hands up around my neck, pressing herself into my chest. “Thank you.” She lifted her chin, eyes latching onto mine, and her expression changed.
She looked at me like she wanted me.
And yeah, I wanted her too. My breath hitched. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. To inhale the scent of her. To let my mouth explore hers. I could maybe even convince myself that she needed something to take her mind off of the day she’d had.
She moved closer, drawing my lips toward hers. I closed my eyes for a flicker of a moment, but then reality snapped me back. I took her by the arms, firm but soft, and held her off. “I can’t—” I closed my eyes again for a quick second, hands still wrapped around her arms. “You’ve been drinking.”
Her body went rigid, and I watched as the horror of humiliation washed over her face, breaking whatever spell she’d been under. “Oh my gosh, I—” She shook her head, then rushed off, out of the room, and back into the bar.
The double doors that lead to the hospital parking lot slide open, and the paramedics wheel in another person on a stretcher, talking fast. It snaps me back to the present, and I’m still staring at the doors that closed when they took Raya back to get her checked out.
I wanted to protect her seven years ago—and all I want to do is protect her now.
So much for just being her friend.
I turn around, feeling trapped and frustrated. I need todosomething.
I hate the emergency room. The sounds. The smells. The waiting. I shift my weight back and forth. I need air.
I walk back to where Raya’s parents are sitting, quietly signing back and forth. I don’t know American Sign Language, but I don’t need to in order to read their worried expressions.
Mr. Hart notices me watching them, and his wife glances my way. “Thank you for getting her here, Finn,” she says, signing. “Mick and I really appreciate it.”
I nod. “What’s the sign for ‘no problem’?”
She smiles, and shows me, partially closed hands moving apart from one another, then second and third fingers of each hand bent, twisting and crashing gently into each other like toy cars. I do my best to repeat the motion, and Raya’s dad nods.
“Did they say anything in the ambulance? Any other information about what might’ve happened?” Mrs. Hart asks, signing.
I shake my head. “No, but she already seemed a lot better when we got here, so I really think she’s going to be okay.”
Mrs. Hart signs this, looks at her husband, who nods at her and then at me, and takes her hand as they retreat with their mutual worry. I wish there was something I could say to ease their minds.
I wish there was something I could say to ease my own mind.
