Love and Redemption

Delilah & Holden

“Can I take a drag?” A deep voice inquires, pulling me back from my thoughts. The gorgeous convict sits down on the stairs next to me. Holden’s his name. 

I offer him my cigarette unthinkingly before asking, “Wait, you don’t have hepatitis or AIDS, right?”

He laughs, puzzlement flooding his face. Reaching for my arm, he runs his fingers gently over my tattoos. “I could ask you the same thing, grumpy cat.” Sparks light up my skin where his fingertips lightly brush it. 

I inhale sharply, and our eyes meet. His have gone at least two shades darker than their usual arresting cornflower blue. I’m disappointed when he pulls his hand back, balling it in a fist at his side.

I give him the cigarette quickly so he won’t see my hand shaking with desire. Air whooshes through the filter followed by the sizzle of ash at the tip. 

After a moment’s pause, he says, “You do realize how fucking weird that question is, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Worried about getting a disease that could kill you early while you’re smoking cigarettes that will kill you early?”

I shrug. “My mom was a hypochondriac, and my dad was a hell raiser. I’m an unenviable mixture of them both.”

He sits back, staring at me amusedly. “What does that make you? A risk-taking worry wart?”

“Something like that.” 

He hands me the cigarette, careful to keep his fingers away from mine. I wonder if I dreamt the feeling that went through my arm a moment ago. One look at his face, his eyes awash in a strange curiosity, confirm I didn’t. 

I take another drag before handing it back to him. “In all the months I’ve seen you out here, you’ve never once had a cigarette in your mouth.”

He shrugs, cocking his head to the side to make eye contact with me. “Well, obviously I’ve smoked before or else I’d be coughing up a lung right now. But really I just wanted to know how your lipstick tastes. It’s been on my mind for a while now.”

My face burns at the unexpected words, and I return his gaze, refusing to break eye contact. My body’s alive with thousands of little flames of want. My throat tightens, making it hard to breathe. Clearing it and trying not to sound breathy, I reply, “You know, there are better ways to find out.”

He looks down, shaking his head. “Not for a man like me, Dee.”

My heart thrums behind my ribs as I admire the stunning cut of his profile, backlit by afternoon light. “You sure about that?”

He side-eyes me, his face lit up with an irrepressible grin. “The only thing I’m certain about is the fact you should quit smoking. The world would be a helluva lot less interesting without you. Not sure I’d want to live in it.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Holden.”

“Nicest thing I’ve ever said to anybody,” he grumbles, reaching for my cigarette. “Now, give me another taste of those lips. I think I might like it.” His eyes narrow as he grabs the cigarette from me again. This time, he lets his fingers graze mine. An intrigue in his eyes holds my attention, leaving me ravenous for more. 

We sit in an electric silence, soaking up each other’s presence, well beyond the grasp of words. The hand that touched my arm now taps his leg nervously as he steals glances at me. I know this because I’m doing the same. My eyes catch his, and he inhales deeply, preparing to say something. Only words never come out…

I turn my head towards him, lifting my eyebrow quizzically. 

The toned, tattooed convict looks down, his hand still nervously tapping his leg. Another long drag on my cigarette, and he stands up. Letting it fall to the pavement, he crushes it beneath his heel. 

“Hey, I wasn’t done with that.”

“Yes, you were,” he says gravely, his gaze capturing mine. “Give it up, beauty, you’ve got too much to live for.”

I laugh, exasperated. Who is he to tell me how to live my life? Before I can voice the question, he saunters away. 

Jumping to my feet, I call after him, “I’ve already tried. Too tough to quit.” I can’t believe I just confessed that to the whole rehabilitation yard. I despise admitting weakness. 

Holden turns around, walking back towards me, stopping a few feet in front of me. He asks breathlessly, “Will you let me write you letters?”

The question catches me off guard, and I shake my head “no” while simultaneously whispering, “Yes.”

He cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and grinning like a little boy. “Which one is it, Dee?”

I swallow loudly. Do I really want Trouble to know where to find me once he’s out? That’s the wrong question to ask. My body flushes as my eyes thirstily drink in his intimidating frame and adorable face, still covered with a heart-stopping smile. 

I challenge, “And what would you write about, Holden?”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, kicking at the ground with his foot. “I’d write you a letter every day to help you get through quitting. That’s all. Obviously, I quit myself … so I know what to say to motivate you. Help you with that.”

I’m still taking him in hungrily, thinking about the many ways his rugged hands and gorgeous body could help me. I exhale sharply, imagining his firm, angular planes fitted against my soft curves. I have to stop this. He’s a damn felon—one I’m supposed to assist through art therapy not sexual healing. Besides, he’s only interested because I’m one of the few women he sees. Get him out for a couple of weeks, and he won’t remember my name. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he replies, licking his lips sensually. My eyes sizzle watching the gesture, and I wonder if he knows how sexy he is. Thinking about those lips on my cigarette, my cheeks burn. 

I hear his last name called, and he has to go. Walking backwards away from me, his hands still in his pockets, he stretches the sides of his jacket as he hollers, “Write to me so I know where to send my correspondence. You need something better than smoking in your life…”

“And you’re that something better?” I laugh dismissively.

“Better than cigarettes? Just barely.” He winks, bringing my heart to a standstill.