Fragile (11 page)

“Please don’t say anything else.  Don’t make it worse.  Let’s just call it a day, okay?  I’ve had a really good time and I really appreciate you letting me borrow your camera.”

With that, she slid behind the wheel and waited pointedly for him to move away from the door so she could close it.  With a sigh of frustration, he obliged.  She quickly started the car, tossed him a tight smile with her wave goodbye and then drove away.

Hardy was confounded.  And very aggravated with himself for his loss of control.  He’d gotten the sense from the first time he’d seen her that Miracle was delicate.  In every way.  Why had he not been able to control himself?  He’d never had problems with control before.  Was it just that she brought it out in him, that he wanted her
that
badly?

As he considered it, he realized that’s
exactly
what it was.  He’d never wanted someone so badly.  Ever.  And so completely, too.  He wanted her heart, her body, her mind. He just wanted to watch her, to listen to her, to just stand in her presence.  Just being with her made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt.  She made him feel everything—deeply, richly, intensely—and she did it effortlessly.  But how could he tell her that without scaring her away? 

Questions swirled through Hardy’s mind as he let himself back into the dark room to collect the pictures they’d developed.  He was once more amazed by the emotional depth she conveyed through her photographs.  As he reached for the undeveloped rolls, he found himself wondering what else Miracle had seen that he hadn’t, what other insight into her he might gain from looking at them, by seeing what she saw. 

Rolling up his sleeves, Hardy set about developing her last roll of film.  He was possibly more confused than ever to discover that she’d somehow managed to take a whole slew of pictures of him without him ever noticing.  And what she had captured surprised even him.

Once they were all dry, Hardy packed up the pictures and left, locking the dark room behind him again.  In thinking of the photos as he made his way to his car, he couldn’t help but feel exposed, like Miracle had seen things he hadn’t wanted her to see, hadn’t wanted
anyone
to see.  All the way to his house, he pondered her insight, her ability to really see the world, to really see people.

Hours later, Hardy was lying on his bed, looking at the pictures again.  He’d become more and more unsettled by them.  The longer he studied them, the more desperately he felt he needed to see Miracle.  He didn’t have any fear that she’d tell anyone what she believed she saw in the photographs, or that she’d somehow make them public.  He didn’t even worry that she’d judge him.  Intuitively, he knew she wasn’t like that.  Deep down, though, he worried that she would discover she didn’t like who he was, like
he
didn’t like who he was, and that she would refuse to see him anymore. 
That’s
what worried him. 

It wasn’t until he was standing once more in front of Miracle’s front door at a nearly-indecent hour that he realized it might not make the best impression on her or her family.  But try as he might, he just couldn’t talk himself into leaving.  He just knew he needed to see her.  He wasn’t really clear as to why; he just knew he did.  He was already ringing the bell before he could give it more thought.

Miracle’s mother was smiling wryly when she opened the door this time. 

“Mr. Bradford.  Are you going to be making a habit of this?”

Hardy had the good grace to blush as he stammered for a reasonable reply, one that was determined to evade him.

“Well, in that case, you’d better call me Kelly,” she said, stepping back from the door to allow him to pass.  “Come on in.”

Hardy smiled and stepped into the living room, holding tightly the stack of photos he carried.  Kelly gestured for him to sit, but he remained standing as she called to Miracle. 

“What?” came the loud reply.

“Come out here,” Kelly instructed.  She said more softly to Hardy, “I bet she had her music on and didn’t hear the bell.”

 Seconds later, Miracle came wandering into the living room.  The instant she saw Hardy, she stopped dead in her tracks.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hardy couldn’t look away from her, even though he knew he should.  He was almost dumbstruck as his eyes traveled the length of her. 

Miracle was wearing tiny pink shorts and a tank top, and while Hardy had seen her very briefly in a bikini, he’d been so concerned for her at the time, he’d paid little attention to the details.  But this, this was something different.  He could plainly see what her loose-fitting clothing concealed.  And far from Cheyenne’s assessment of her physique, Miracle was built very much like a woman.

As his eyes made their way back up from her bare feet, Hardy took note of every detail.  Her toenails were painted dark red.  Her legs were long and smooth and perfectly shaped.  They made his abs contract, his first thought being of them wrapped around his waist.  A flat stomach gave way to high, plump breasts and gently rounded shoulders.  Hardy’s eyes finally made their way up Miracle’s graceful neck to the face that had haunted him since the day he’d first seen it. 

The delicate skin of her cheeks was stained pink with either pleasure or embarrassment.  Hardy couldn’t tell which.  The color only deepened when Kelly cleared her throat loudly, drawing both his and Miracle’s gaze toward her.  She raised her brows and, without saying a word, effectively told them to watch themselves.  Hardy silently applauded her aptitude for nonverbal communication.  He got her message loud and clear.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” she said pointedly, slowly turning to make her exit.

When she’d disappeared from sight and could be heard banging around in the kitchen, Hardy finally let his eyes drift back to Miracle.  It had taken all the willpower he could muster not to gawk at her any more than what he had while her mother was in the room.  But now that his head was a bit clearer, he knew that, considering the way he’d spooked her that afternoon, he needed to watch his step.

Keeping his eyes carefully trained on her face, Hardy spoke.  “I wanted to bring your pictures by.”

As if noticing for the first time that Hardy held something, Miracle’s eyes dropped to his hands and her lips curved into a smile.

“Oh.  Thank you.”

She reached for them, but Hardy held them away from her grasp.  “There was something I wanted to ask you.” 

Miracle looked like a skittish colt—slightly distrusting and ready to bolt. “O-kay.”

“I developed your last roll.”

Blood rushed back into Miracle’s cheeks and she lowered her eyes.  “That’s not a question.” 

Hardy wondered if she hadn’t intended for him to see that she’d photographed him.  Was she embarrassed?  Or had she seen something that made her uncomfortable?  Had she seen too much?  There was only one way to find out. 

Pulling one image out, Hardy held it up and asked, “What do you see?”

The picture was of Hardy in profile. He remembered that he’d been staring at an artist, a painter specifically, who’d set up his canvas on the other side of the park.  He was just then getting out his paints and brushes.  Although he had yet to begin painting, tranquility and happiness radiated from him in waves that Hardy had no trouble perceiving, even from such a distance. 

Miracle looked at the picture and then met Hardy’s eyes.  “I see someone who is afraid of giving up the only dream that will make him happy because he’s too busy doing what everyone else wants him to do.”

And she was right.  Hardy had been envious of the painter’s simple pursuit of his passion.  Very envious.  In that moment, he’d wished his life could be so clear cut, his passion so unopposed.

He hadn’t realized that his face so truly reflected his thoughts in that brief moment in time.  But it had.  And Mercy had caught it on film.  Perfectly.

Sliding that picture back into the pile, Hardy pulled out another.  “And this one?”

Miracle studied it briefly.  “You look…content.  Happy.  Like your heart is bursting.”

Hardy remembered the moment precisely.  That’s exactly what he had felt—as though his heart was bursting.  Even looking at the image of it, he could feel the swelling of emotion in his chest.

Just before she’d clicked the shutter, Hardy had been watching Miracle’s face glow after she photographed a single rose petal that had somehow made its way into the center of a sunny spot in the park.  There were no flowers within sight.  It was as though the petal had been planted there just for her enjoyment.  And she did enjoy it.  After she took a single snapshot of it, she’d picked it up and held it to her nose, inhaling so deeply it seemed she thought she might be able to absorb it.  She’d carried it with her most of the morning, sniffing it occasionally.  Without thought.

As Hardy had watched her enjoy that rose petal, he’d been struck once more by how amazing she was, how she appreciated things in a way he’d never been exposed to before.  He was in awe of her and found himself anxiously awaiting the next thing that would capture her attention.  He thought he’d be happy to just
be
with her.  All the time.  Just watching her.

“Do you remember what you were looking at?  What made you feel that way?” Miracle asked.

Hardy shook his head noncommittally, avoiding her eyes.  “Nah, not really.”  He hated to lie, but he had yet to figure out what he was feeling for Miracle.  The last thing he needed was to blurt out some crazy nonsense that might scare her away. 

Clearing his throat, Hardy took the picture from her fingertips and exchanged it for another.  “And this one?”

During their walk through the park, Hardy and Miracle had stumbled upon a group of Peewee cheerleaders that had made Hardy think of Cheyenne, his supposed “good luck charm.”

Hardy’s father had always been convinced that luck had everything to do with football.  He believed that if you found something that worked and stuck with it, the outcome would be inevitable.  According to Wayne Bradford, Cheyenne had her place in Hardy’s luck and he’d always drilled into Hardy’s brain the importance of keeping her around.  For that reason, he would be the one person sure to find fault with Miracle.  Seeing him at the restaurant had only confirmed that. 

Now, as Hardy looked at his own face in the picture, he relived the tornado of emotions those thoughts had stirred up inside him. 

“I see turmoil.  Lots of turmoil.  I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I can see it.”

Miracle’s brow was wrinkled, almost as though she was feeling what he’d felt during the split second that photo had been taken.  He hoped she couldn’t feel it.  Not really. Miracle had undoubtedly had more than her fair share of rough days.  He wanted to bring her sunshine and laughter, not more of the same.

“Why do you hide?”

Her question took him by surprise.  “What?”

“Why do you hide?” she repeated.

Hardy frowned.  “I don’t hide.”

“But you do,” she said, taking a step closer to him.  She tilted her head to the side as she studied him.  “What are you afraid of?”

Although he knew there was no way she could know, Hardy felt his hackles rise in response to her line of questioning.  “The only thing I’m afraid of is your twisted insight,” he said glibly, deflecting.  “Next time you decide to take my picture, I’d appreciate a heads up.”

With that, Hardy handed Miracle the pictures.  He ignored the way the stunned and hurt expression on her face tugged at his heart and he turned toward the door.

“See you at school.”

And then he left.

********

Hardy was feeling prickly and disgruntled on the trip home.  He wasn’t quite sure why he’d reacted as he had to Miracle, but her insight left him unsettled.  He wasn’t used to people seeing the
real
Hardy. Not even those closest to him, much less a veritable stranger. 

Only Miracle didn’t feel like a stranger.  She felt more like the missing piece of his soul, a piece he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

Distracted by his unhappiness over the way he’d left things with her, Hardy was paying little attention to his surroundings when he walked through the front door.  He jumped when his father’s booming voice interrupted his musings.

“Hardy!  Get in here!”

An old, familiar dread pooled in the pit of his stomach.  Hardy’s thoughts immediately shifted from Miracle to the remembered fear.  He had to remind himself that he had nothing to fear, that he wouldn’t allow his father to hurt him anymore.  Not him, not his mother, not his brother.  He’d come too far to regress now.

“Sir?” Hardy answered respectfully as he stepped into his father’s study.

Wayne Bradford stood from behind his desk, but didn’t walk around it.  He simply placed his tented fingertips on the glossy mahogany surface and leaned forward.

“Where have you been?”

His ire crackled in the air around his head like a fiery halo.  Hardy knew the look, knew the tension all too well.  He was loaded for bear and ready to fight.

“Taking part of an assignment to a girl from class,” Hardy said vaguely, hoping to avoid a confrontation while his father was in such a state.

Wayne huffed, one brow rising knowingly.  “I hope you’re not giving that poor girl any false hope.”