Bent not Broken (347 page)

I stood up to greet him with a quick hug. “So good to see you, Chris.”

“Likewise,” he said with a hasty peck of a kiss that didn’t quite make it to my cheek—a phantom of sensation hovered over my skin.

As he grasped the back of my chair like a perfect gentleman, I sat back down. He slid his jacket off and hung it on the back of his own chair, glancing at me with a nervous smile and settled into his seat.

Thankfully breaking the ice between us, he joked, “Wow, Mrs…I mean, Salem, I can’t believe I’m here with you again after all these years. Seems like only yesterday I was sitting in your office with you while you talked shit about me in your notebook.”

I smiled at him, playfully nudging his forearm that rested on the table. “You’re crazy. I never talked shit about you.”

Chris’s wide grin exposed the deep dimple on the side of his cheek. It was the same dimple I remembered from years ago, but with a little added stubble—further proof of just how many years had passed.

“I know,” he teased. “I just like giving you a hard time.”

Remembering when he and the guys used to give me a hard time about my girly free throw shots in the rec room, I chuckled, “Some things never change.”

“Haha,” he retorted. “Very funny.” He looked down, casually readjusting his silverware on the table. I wondered if he felt the same nervous excitement that I felt inside.

A tall, slender man approached our table. “Welcome to Acropolis Grill. I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get you folks to drink this evening?” The waiter looked at me expectantly.

“Just a sweet tea for me,” I replied. I glanced back at Chris who had his eyes on me, watching me with an indescribable gleam in his eye. I smiled bashfully.

Chris ripped his eyes away, turning his attention toward the waiter. I immediately noticed his face was defined by a sharp jaw line with a hint of stubble that ran across his cheeks and chin. “I’ll have a tall glass of whatever you have on tap,” he said, glancing toward the bar.

With a nod of his head, the waiter headed off get the drinks.

“So, Salem,” Chris asked, once again fixing his gaze on me, “what’s been going on with you over the years?”

Hmmm, where to start?
“Well, let’s see….I stayed at Fairbanks until about five years ago when I took a position at the local pregnancy care center. I’ve really enjoyed working with the young mothers, but I miss my coworkers and the kids at Fairbanks, too. Oh, I don’t know if you’d heard or not, but Officer Blevins retired about three years ago.”

“No, I hadn’t heard,” Chris said. “I’m sure he’s thoroughly enjoying himself though.”

“Yeah, I hear he keeps the fish busy in the streams with his trout fishing buddies.”

“I’m sure he does. So, how about you? What do you like to do when you’re not at work?”

“Well, now that I’m a single mom, I’ve been super busy with Alexis, running her back and forth for sports and dance. I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do, I love to read.”

Chris cocked an eyebrow. “Single mom?”

I considered my response. I mean, how much was too much? What were the chances I’d even see him again? I didn’t want to divulge too much information and later regret airing my dirty laundry.

I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve recently gone through a pretty rough divorce from Graham.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Chris said, shaking his head with genuine compassion.

I sat up straighter, not wanting him to feel sorry for me. “It’s for the best, really. Something that should have happened years ago.” And that was the truest thing I think I’d ever admitted aloud.

Chris stared at me intently. I don’t know why it made me nervous, but it did. I tried not to look too deeply into his soulful eyes as they searched mine because his scrutiny was unnerving.

The waiter returned, placing our drinks on the table. “Are you guys ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?” he asked.

“Just a few more minutes, please,” Chris said, taking a sip of his beer and opening the menu.

“Sure. Take your time. I’ll be back to check on you shortly.” Once again, the waiter disappeared around the corner.

I finally relaxed into my seat and soaked in every detail of Chris as he glanced over the menu. His dark brown hair was gelled, sporting a messy fauxhawk. His espresso eyes were set deep beneath a jutting brow line. I suddenly realized that this was not the same Chris that I knew from juvie. He was no longer the angst-ridden teenager who sat on the sofa in my office, pining over a girl. This was a very
different
Chris.

His elbows rested on the table, giving me a perfect view of the tattoos lining his arms. Some were tribal symbols, but one in particular caught my attention—a beautiful Latin phrase written on the outside of his forearm.

“Dum spiro spero,” I muttered aloud, attempting to enunciate the words correctly. Chris looked at me funny, so I pointed at his arm. “I love your tattoo.”

He glanced down and a look of sadness, maybe regret, washed over his face. “Thanks. I got it a few years ago. It’s Latin. My Latin teacher at Southside kept it posted on her wall. I never cared too much for her class, but for some reason that phrase always stuck with me.”

“What does it mean?”

“Well, it translates to ‘While I breathe, I hope.’”

“Oh, wow…” my voice trailed. “That’s beautiful. Hope for what?”

I watched his eyes as he caressed the tattoo, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Sucking in a deep, ragged breath, he sighed, “Hope for happiness. Love. Everything, really.” He pulled his arms in, looking self-conscious.

Despite his smile, his eyes were glassy and I worried I had struck a nerve. The counselor in me wanted to dig in and question him—get to the bottom of those emotions. If I knew I had more than just a few hours with him, I would have encouraged him to talk about it. But, this was my only time with Chris. It had been fourteen long years since I’d seen him and I wanted to cherish the time we got to spend together, not dredge up feelings that neither of us had time to process. Who knew if or when we’d see each other again?

Chris broke the momentary silence. “But, enough about me. What’re you ordering?”

I swept my eyes quickly over the menu. “I’m kinda leaning toward the marinated chicken gyro.”

“That sounds delicious. The lamb chops sound good, too.”

I suddenly noticed for the first time that it felt as if everyone in the room was staring at us. Chris fought to ignore them, focusing solely on me. I could only imagine what it was like to have everyone in the room recognize you, vying for an opportunity to ask for a picture or an autograph.

Before we had a chance to order our food, a girl who might have been thirteen years old practically exploded when she reached the table, a twinkling set of braces beaming dreamily at Chris. “Chris King, oh my gosh, it’s really you!” Her hands were waving wildly, fanning her face excitedly. A splatter of spit landed on my cheek and from the way Chris flinched, I couldn’t tell if he got sprayed too, or if he was upset about being noticed.

“Shhh,” he whispered in good humor. “Let’s not cause a riot. Be cool.”

She pursed her lips. “Sorry,” she said, wobbling like she might faint, “but it’s really you?”

I turned away to stifle a giggle. I felt bad for Chris, but this was too funny.

He nodded. “In the flesh.”

“Can I get your autograph?” She reached in her back pocket and thrust a pen and paper in his face. He graciously accepted it.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. What’s your name?” Chris glanced at me, silently apologizing for the disruption. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“Emma,” she said, nervously twisting a strand of hair on her finger. She shot Chris another wide, metal smile.

“Emma,” he repeated while he signed the paper.

Emma quickly pulled out her cell phone, shoving her tiny body next to his to snap a picture of them together.

Handing it back to her, Chris said, “I’ll tell you what…you keep this on the down low and I’ll hook you up with a signed album. My guys will take care of it for you.” Chris winked toward his body guard.

“Really? Oh my gosh. Thank you.” She pressed a tight hand to her heart, fluttering her eyelids. “I love you so much. I know all of your songs by heart,” she chattered.

Chris smiled and cleared his throat. “Thank you. I love my fans, too. You take care of yourself, okay?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she squeaked, bouncing around in place.

This was an interesting experience for me. Clearly, she idolized him, but I only saw Chris as Chris. Not as the sexy rock star. He was just Chris to me.

“You’re welcome, Emma. Take care.” Chris winked at her.

The sweet girl skipped away with her new prized possession clutched to her chest.

After she walked away, Chris leaned back in his chair and caught my gaze. I wondered what he was thinking.

I giggled. “Well, that was—”

“Crazy? I know,” Chris nodded, exasperated. “But, it comes with the territory.”

“You handle it so well, with such patience and grace.”

“I learned fast. I had to get used to all this attention, when really all I wanted to do was just get up on stage and sing, you know?”

I nodded, remembering the way he owned the stage last night. I confirmed with a mischievous grin, “You do that well, too.”

“Thanks, Mrs. H—” He caught himself again and corrected, “I mean, Salem. I can’t get used to calling you that. Anyway, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Um…thanks…I think,” I stammered, hoping he meant it as a compliment.

As if he could read my mind, he said, “Oh, it’s definitely a compliment.” He flashed me a knowing smile.

As if someone had flipped a switch inside me, something instantly changed. Blushing, I instinctively covered my mouth, attempting to hide my grin. I stared him, surprised by how forward he was being, and suddenly it hit me—the difference in Chris.

This was a
man
sitting in front of me. A very attractive, very confident man. And that’s when I felt it for the very first time—the pitter patter of my heart in my chest.

“It’s true, Salem,” he continued, shyly glancing up at me from the now wadded napkin he’d been messing with. “Not many adults paid much attention to me at all back then. You were like a mother figure to me.”

The word ‘mother’ planted me in my seat. Instantly my chest deflated like a balloon, and I looked down. I was a mother figure to him. I couldn’t dare get my hopes up for anything else.
Pipe down, Salem, Former counselor…remember?

Chris sat up, placing his elbows on the tiny round table for two. He leaned toward me, and I fought the urge to pull away. A strong scent of cool, refreshing masculinity invaded my senses. He stared profoundly into my eyes and in a hushed voice said, “I owe everything to you, Salem.”

Just hearing my name on his lips sent shivers down my spine—a riveting experience that I never expected.

In a flash, the moment was over. He pulled away, leaning back against his chair. His dark, stormy irises held a tempest of emotions that I couldn’t decipher, and yet they felt like magnets to my guarded heart. I was frozen. I peered back into them, feeling something. I wasn’t exactly sure what, but it felt strange. Clearly he was no longer that moody teenager, but rather a handsome, compassionate man, luring me in with his delicious, dark chocolate eyes.

Shaking his head as if to snap himself out of a trance, he stammered, “Sorry, I…I…Where is our waiter?” He looked around the room, avoiding the obvious heat of the moment.

My heart slammed in my chest as I tried to clear my head of the dizzying fog he’d left me in. I glanced down at the hands trembling in my lap. Trying to free myself from the vortex of emotions that was spinning inside of me, I inhaled a deep breath, but the bewildering moment continued to linger.
What has gotten into you, Salem? This is a former client.

“Salem.” Chris’s husky voice interrupted my thoughts. “I don’t have much time here. I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I feel like we have so much to catch up on. Why don’t we get our orders to go, and you come spend time with me in my apartment.”

His apartment?
No.
I cleared my throat, shaking away the mental picture of being in his space, seeing his things, sitting on his couch…I shook my head adamantly. “Chris, I can’t.”

His eyes widened. “I don’t mean like
that
,” he insinuated, blinking his eyes as if he were shaking the picture of it out of his head too. “I just want to talk. I feel like all eyes are on us here. I can’t let my guard down. I have so much to talk to you about, and so many listening ears. What do you say?” The boyish hopefulness on his face was hard to say no to.

I frowned, teetering on the decision.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it, Salem.

He grinned, sensing that he was about to win. “Come on,” he coaxed. “We can let loose, have a drink, and talk.”

I was cracking. Finally, I sighed, “Okay, let’s do that.”

“Great.” His grin widened as he indicated to his bodyguard that we were finishing up.

After the waiter brought us our takeout, we swiftly made our way out of the restaurant to a parked black Range Rover with tinted windows. Thankfully no one recognized Chris as we hopped into the vehicle.

“Give me your car keys.” Chris held out his hand.

“Why?” I asked.
This was a bad idea.

He chuckled. “I’m not going to steal your car, Salem. I’ll get one of my guys to take care of it so you won’t have to leave it here.”

“I wasn’t…I didn’t…” I stuttered, lost for words.

Chris just smirked at me. “Mmhmm, I can see those wheels turning. This will be fine. I promise I haven’t turned into a serial killer since the last time you saw me.” He gave me the most innocent look.

I chuckled and fished my keys out of my purse, handing them over. “It’s the silver Elantra that’s parked near the front.”

Chris tossed my keys out the window to one of his guys then reached for his wallet. “Take care of the Elantra, Grant.”

Grant was thin, but ripped and looked like a guy who could body slam anyone who tried to cross him. He walked up to the open window where Chris was sitting. “Yes, sir. Will do.” He gave a quick salute.