Metal Urge (31 page)

“I don't give a toss what anyone thinks,” Nigel said, pulling on his leather gloves in a way that said otherwise.  He glanced at the roses and frowned.  “For Maggi?”

Nick shrugged, his skin turning ruddy with discomfort.

“You’re in love with her,” Nigel said bluntly.

“Nothing like being subtle, mate,” Nick chuckled and then cleared his throat.  “Yeah, I suppose I am.  I didn’t really expect it to happen.  I’m still a young buck, so to speak.”

It was Nigel’s turn to pat his slightly bewildered mate on the back.  “We don’t have much say in matters of the heart, but I want you to be careful.”

Nick gave Nigel a funny look and crossed his arms.  “Why would you say that?”

“You’re still a young buck.  You said it yourself, yeah?  There’s plenty of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll for a bloke like you.  Enjoy it while you can.”

“Spoken like a true geezer,” Nick laughed.  “Don’t worry mate, I sampled a few lovely American birds while on the road.”  He sighed theatrically and clutched his chest.  “Now that I’m back in jolly old England, my heart longs for the pretty lass that lives on Woodsome Road, who, by the way, doesn't need to know about my sexy exploits in those crazy American towns, yeah?”

“You’re dirty little secret is safe with me…just be careful, Nick.”  Nigel started up his motorbike, gunning the engine a few times while slipping on his sunglasses.  Giving Nick a quick salute, he backed the Harley into the street and took off with a roar.

Nick wondered what would become of his lovesick mate if Deanna rejected him in favor of her husband
again
.  “You should take your own advice, Nigel,” Nick muttered as he fired up the engine of his new Golf GTI hatchback so graciously paid for by the Beast’s fans in the good old U S of A., “before somebody gets hurt.”

****

Leaning over the guard rail as far as she could, Deanna peered through the glass enclosure, taking in the roiling, churning water of the Thames River below.  There would be a storm tonight; the wind was already agitating the normally placid water, the waves frothy and white against the steel gray river.  There was a boat in the distance and she felt anxious to hear the heavy metallic groan as the drawbridge raised to let the boat pass.  She swiped at some stray tears, exasperated that she was still allowing Thom’s alcohol-fueled violence to get to her.  Rubbing the sore spots on her scalp she shuddered, recalling her helpless desperation as he dragged her across the floor and then…

She shook her head, refusing to picture his half unzipped jeans pressed against her face, the metal zipper biting into her tender flesh.  Covering her face with her hands, she felt the tears start afresh.  She couldn’t deny that she was partly to blame; refusing to let him touch her since his return from the band’s American tour nearly a week ago and demanding that he give her space.  Something evil and devious had slithered its way into their lives, slowly and methodically destroying their relationship.  The worst part was she couldn’t seem to muster up the strength to try and save what little was left of their shattered marriage.  The lift behind her roared to life, clanking and whirring as the ancient car ascended to the observation deck.  “Just great,” Deanna thought, wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her
coat.  She walked to the opposite end of the walkway praying it wasn’t some overly friendly tourists with a yen to chat.  Leaning over, she watched the boat chugging slowly towards the bridge pretending she didn’t hear the lone footsteps approaching her.

“Deanna, I had no idea…”

The tone of the familiar voice ripped through her like an electric shock.  “What are you doing here?”  Her voice sounded strangled and dry.

“Well, I…I went by the hotel to see if you were working, but they told me it was your night off so I, uh,” Nigel stammered.

“Why would you go by the hotel?  She nearly shouted, cutting him short.  “What makes you think I want to see you there or anywhere else?”

“I wanted to see you actually.”

She turned to him, her features etched with scorn.  “I told you to leave me alone.  I have nothing to say to you.  Not now, not ever.”

Nigel stepped towards her and she bristled like a cat ready to unsheathe its claws.  He stopped and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  “I have something to say to you.  All I ask is that you please hear me out before ripping me to shreds.”  He risked a small smile but it faded quickly as she turned on him, eyes blazing.

“Do you think that’s funny?” she snapped.  “Do you think what you did to me at the airport was funny?”

“No, that was a huge mistake,” he murmured.

She advanced on him until their noses almost touched.  “Your being here is a huge mistake.”

Stepping back she glared at him and shook her head.  “I despise myself for getting involved with you.  I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but I couldn't keep away.  I watched myself worship you and grovel at your feet in the reflection of your mirrored shades---it was disgusting and shameful.  But you know what, Nigel?  Strip off the black leather, take away the microphone, and you’re just another pathetic, drunken, loser.”

Nigel stared at the floor, stung by her contempt.  “You’re right, Deanna.  It’s a costume, a silly act, but today it's only me...just Nigel.”  He removed his sunglasses and looked at her.  “No pretense, no alcohol fueled bad behavior, no fear.  Just the working class bloke who loves you with a passion and depth he didn‘t even know he was capable of until he met you.”

“More passion and depth than Chloe?” she said sarcastically.

“Thom told you about Chloe?” Nigel said, confusion clouding his eyes.

“Get away from me, Nigel,” Deanna said softly.  When his fingers touched her arm she yelped and pulled away.  “I don't want you anywhere near me.  You're like a curse…a horrible, evil curse that's almost ruined my life.”

“Deanna, please don't do this.”

“Just leave, Nigel.”

He reached out to her, his eyes pleading, “Give me a chance to explain.  I’ll tell you everything about Chloe and me.  I promise, Deanna.  Please.”

“Get out of here now!” she cried.  “I never want to see you again.  Never!”

Nigel threw up his hands and backed away.  He spun around, swiftly heading for the lift.  He pushed the button violently cringing at the sound of Deanna’s muffled sobs.  Once inside, he punched the metal door hard a couple of times leaving an obvious dent.  Fleeing the stifling lift, he jogged across the expansive bridge towards his motorbike, tears prickling against his eyelids, making him want to shout in pain and frustration.  When he attempted to pull on his leather gloves he noticed his split and bloody knuckles which were swelling quickly.  He stuffed the gloves back in his jacket and rubbed his knuckles, hands throbbing.  As he struggled to put on his sunglasses, he heard Deanna shouting his name.

She ran towards him, begging him not to go.  When she reached the motorbike she stopped abruptly, breathing hard.  He started to get off of the bike just as she threw herself against him wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could.  He held her trembling body and pressed his face into her fragrant hair, unable to believe she was in his arms, never wanting to let her go.  When they finally pulled away from each other, Deanna climbed on the back of the bike, snuggled against his back, and wrapped her arms around his waist.  The warmth of his taut belly radiated against her wrists and hands, soothing her as it always had whenever she rode with him.  It seemed as though they had never been apart when the engine roared to life and she felt the wind ruffling her long hair.  She closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, musky smell of Nigel’s leather jacket and the noxious fumes of London’s never-ending traffic like they were an exotic perfume whose scent she would never get enough of.

Chapter 39

Nigel pulled up to the garage door and lowered the kickstand of his bike.  He felt Deanna’s arms slide away, the sudden loss of her touch making his breath catch in his throat.  He grabbed her hands and pressed them against his chest, afraid that if he let go she would disappear like a ghost fading into the hazy sunlight.

She hugged him, and nuzzled the back of his neck.  “Let’s go inside.”

He dismounted the bike carefully and reached for her, his breath quickening as she melted into his arms, her lips trailing kisses up the side of his neck and jaw line until they reached his mouth.  She hesitated and then her fingers began to gently trace the outline of his lips.  Nigel kissed the soft tips as they caressed his mouth and he heard Deanna sigh.  She grasped his ears, running her fingers over and around them then pulled his face close, looking deeply into his hazel eyes.  He felt her hands caress his neck and gently weave their way into his hair.  Tiny pinpricks of electricity erupted on his skin where her hands stroked and fondled him.

“Oh God, Deanna,” he groaned, crushing his lips against hers.

Emotions raged and thundered within them as they strove to recapture all that had been lost for so long.  Raindrops pattered against them, but they didn’t notice until the sky opened, quickly drenching them with freezing rain.  Nigel pulled up the garage door and ushered Deanna inside the chilly structure where she stood shivering as he pushed his motorbike into the garage.  He lowered the heavy door and slipped off his leather jacket, shaking the raindrops from it.  He draped it over Deanna’s shoulders and unlocked the door to the warm flat, the two of them stumbling against each other in their haste to get inside.

“I’ll make some tea,” Nigel said removing the sodden leather jacket and draping a fluffy towel he took from a small linen closet around her.  She watched him fill the kettle with water and set it on the stovetop.  As he started to turn the burner on, she pushed his hand away.  He looked at her, noticing the raindrops still dotting her cheeks.  “Here, let me.”  He started to take the towel from her intending to the wipe the water away, but she shook her head.

“No, Nigel.  I…I,” she turned away and leaned against the countertop, shoulders shaking as she cried.

A fist doubled-up and twisted inside his belly.  Surely she wasn’t going to tell him this was another huge mistake?  Not after he had waited so long to be with her again.  Desperation wormed its way into his chest, squeezing painfully until he couldn’t breathe as he watched her walk out of the kitchen and stand stiffly in the living room.  Terrified she would bolt out of the front door, Nigel approached her cautiously.  She reached out her hands and he took them, shocked at how cold they were.

“Oh, Nigel, your poor hands.”  She stroked his swollen, raw knuckles gently.  “I saw the dents in the elevator door.  You hurt your hands because of me.”

“They're alright, love.  Everything’s alright now that you’re here.”

She kissed his knuckles and looked up at him shyly, “Where is your bedroom?”

He didn’t expect her to ask that.  “Down the hall,” he said pointing behind him.

She waited for him to lead the way, wiping at tears as they trailed down her cheeks.  Nigel’s mouth was as dry as a bone as he opened the door and led her into his room.  Deanna shut the door and tried to smile as she began unbuttoning her blouse.  Nigel watched her for a moment, his pulse beating wildly in his veins.  She struggled with a couple of the tiny, pearl buttons, her timid, shaky movements nearly breaking his heart.  He pushed her hands away and undid the last two buttons.  Pulling the rain dampened fabric out of her jeans he eased the blouse off her shoulders and let it slide down her arms where it drifted to the floor.  She wore only a lace trimmed camisole underneath, and he couldn’t help but run his hands over the silky fabric, feeling her ribs, her beating heart, and her firm, round breasts against the rapidly firing nerve-endings of his trembling fingers.  He sat down on the bed, pulling her closer so he could more easily manage the buttons on her jeans.  Swallowing hard, he lifted the camisole and unfastened the top three buttons, hearing her gasp when his lips brushed the sweet, velvet skin of her belly.  He looked up and saw that she was crying again.

Just as he started to ask if he was going a bit too fast, she took a deep breath and said, “I lost our baby, Nigel; our precious, little baby.”

“You were pregnant?” he stammered.

Nodding, she closed her eyes.

“Oh my God, Deanna…when?”

Cupping his face, she ran her thumbs over his cheeks, prickly with beard stubble, just as she always remembered them.  “I had a miscarriage a couple of hours after I left the flat with Thom.  I wanted to tell you about the baby, but I was so hurt after hearing you and Maggi...”  She felt wetness on her skin as Nigel pressed his face against her belly begging for her forgiveness and cursing himself and his foolish, arrogant behavior.  She eased away and sat down next to him, slipping her arms around his sagging shoulders.  He pulled her close as he started to cry. It was a desolate and sorrowful sound.  She coaxed him to lie down and they clung to each other, tears mingling as they shared their grief.

“I’m so sorry, my love.  So terribly sorry,” Nigel wept, his arms tightening around her.  “I should have been there for you and our baby.  God, this is my fault.”  He pulled back and stared at her face, eyes filled with guilt and sorrow, tears coursing down his cheeks.  “Can you ever forgive me, Deanna?”

“Shhhh,” she whispered against his chest.  “Just hold me, Nigel.  I need to feel your strength.”  As he held her and stroked her hair a tremendous weight lifted from Deanna’s aching heart, and she knew that Thom had been right all those months ago.  Sharing the loss of her baby with Nigel was the only way she would ever truly heal.