Walking The Line | ✓

Chapter Twenty-two (part 2)

"Thanks."

It was after dinner with the German.

A dinner to which he showed with two take out bags from the best Chinese store in town---I checked the logo, though it was impossible to miss the signature deep burgundy of the packaging.

I'd always wanted to try it, but my teacher salary didn't allow for high quality take out food, not even on limited proportions. I was pretty sure my eagerness to taste it was written on my face plain for everybody to see, I might have even heard the German chuckle when I run to the kitchen for paper towels, a spring to my step. I didn't care though, he had brought me food from the best reviewed shop in the city, I could forgive him anything. 

Nothing could faze you when you were granted one of your wishes.

And let me tell you, the food was outstanding. Those reviews didn't start to make it justice.

"Whatever for?" He questioned, his deep voice vibrating against my ears.

We'd set ourselves up against the couch and while ago, a quilt draped over both of us to keep the heat. Somewhere after Kühl's retelling of his conversation with Julian, while watching some show I wasn't paying much attention to on TV, I'd dropped my head against his shoulder. 

A few minutes later he wrapped and arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side.

A few minutes after that I put on my big girl socks and leaned against him, crossing an arm over his stomach.

That's how we stood right then as I replied, "For everything." I couldn't find the words to describe what seeing him inside the gym with my students made me feel. "For taking the time to be there, for speaking with Julian and opening up to him about your own past. I know that couldn't have been easy for you...I...I know you said that he reminds you of yourself at that age and that everything he is going through probably has to do with his family, but I wondered how do you know?"

There was a moment of silence, then he spoke, "It's his way of coping with the lack of attention he gets at home. He doesn't do it on purpose he is just trying to find his way, only that he is looking in the wrong place. He is lucky you caught up to it quickly, I don't think he is in deep with that gang bussines yet." He stopped. "We might get him out with just some well delivered words."

Hope flared inside me with those words. I hoped it could be that easy, but we don't always get what we want.

"Thanks." I repeated. Having him there and knowing I could count on him to take my back had no price.

His head dipped down, "This matters to you?" He asked, in a voice that said he already knew what my answer would be.

I nodded anyway.

I felt his chin jerk all the way to my toes. He didn't need to say anything, just a chin jerk, as if my answer said it all.

And it did.

It did.

The man was killing me.

Was he trying to tell me that as it mattered to me it mattered to him too? I didn't dare ask.

I turned my eyes to the television instead, trying to distract myself futilely. My body was hyper-aware of his every breath, each exhale tickling the baby hairs on my forehead. His hand dropped to my waist and I held my breath before I started hyperventilating.

For God's sake Vanina is just a hand!

A very masculine hand with long fingers that's settled on your waist.