Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,98

condom like I always did, and that time I didn’t.

“Fuck,” I whispered, and a terrible sadness gripped me as I stared into Olivia’s little face. Sadness for all of the fear and anxiety wrapped up with her in one tight bundle. I took a deep breath. “Okay, what happens now?”

“I don’t know,” Molly said, her fingers twitching in her lap. “I just…wanted to see you. To see how you were and let you know that she’s yours. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’m still making them.” She smiled wanly. “But you… You’re a good guy, Sawyer. I know you are.”

I frowned, shook my head. “I’m not. Jesus, Molly—”

“Can I use your restroom?” she asked. “It was a long drive up.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Down the hall, first door on your left.”

She sucked in a breath and bent to kiss the baby on her forehead, then quickly rose and went out.

I held Olivia and watched as she woke up. Her eyes fluttered open and met mine for the first time. They were blue like Molly’s, not brown like mine, but I felt something shift in me. One tiny tear in my fabric, the first of many that would eventually lead to a complete unraveling and remaking of me into someone I’d hardly recognize.

“Hi,” I whispered to my daughter.

My daughter. Oh Christ…

Sudden panic tore through the shock and fear. I jerked my head up and glanced frantically around my empty room, to the huge bag on the floor, to the empty space where Molly had been sitting. My breath caught in my chest at my brain’s slow realization of what had happened.

I tore off the bed with the baby in my arms, and hurried to the living area where the party was going on full blast. The noise frightened Olivia and her cries spread through the party like a fire hose, dousing everything until the music shut off. All talk and laughter dampened down to nothing. I glanced around the room, searching for Molly and found only slack-jawed stares and snickers. Jackson gaped with a million questions in his eyes. My other roommates stared. Carly-or-Marly’s sexy smile had turned into one of bemused pity. I barely registered any of it as my eyes found the front door, left slightly ajar.

Oh my God…

In between Olivia’s growing cries, someone snorted a small laugh. “This party is so over.”

Chapter 1

Darlene

June 15, present day

The music began with a lone piano. A few haunting notes, then a young woman’s soft, clear voice.

I began on the floor, barefoot in leggings and a T-shirt. Nothing professional. No choreography. I hadn’t meant to come here, but I was passing by on the street. The space happened to be free and I’d rented it for thirty minutes before I could talk myself out of it. I’d paid with shaking hands.

I shut out thoughts; let my body listen to the music. I was rusty; out of practice. My muscles were shy, my limbs hesitant, until the beat dropped—a tinny high-hat and uncomplicated techno beat—and then I let go.

Are you down...?

Are you down...?

Are you down, down, down...?

My back arched into a back bend, then collapsed. I writhed in controlled movements—my body a series of flowing shapes and arches and undulating flesh and sinew, swaying to the rhythm that simmered back to the piano and the singer’s voice—haunting and lonely.

Are you down…?

The pulse increased again and I was up, crisscrossing the studio, leaping and dragging, spinning three turns, my head whipping, arms reaching up and then out, grasping at something to hold onto and finding only air.

Are you down…?

Muscles woke up to the dance, aching, complaining at the sudden demands. My breath was heavy in my chest like a stone, sweat streaking between my shoulder blades.

Are you…?

Are you…?

Are you…?

It dripped off my chin as I collapsed to my knees like a beggar.

…down?

I sucked in a breath, the faintest of smiles pulling my lips. “Maybe not.”

On the subway back to the dinky studio apartment in Brooklyn I shared with my boyfriend, my pulse wouldn’t slow down. Sweat was sticking to my back under my gray old man sweater. I had just danced. For the first time in more than a year. A tiny little step that was a mile wide; it covered so much empty distance.

Today, I stepped into the humid June of New York City. Three years ago, I’d stepped off the bus at Brooklyn Metropolitan Detention Center after a three-month stint for misdemeanor drug possession. A year and a