Author's Note: Apologies for how long it took me to finally get this written. I've been mulling about with it for a long time, and I just finally figured it all out tonight. Loads of schoolwork and a bit of chronic writer's block didn't help either, but it's here now, so I hope y'all will enjoy it. BIG thanks to kandykane33, JmacKarla, beverleyd, and justthegirl07 for the comments!
Warning: Higher rating applies for this chapter...
Disclaimer: I do not own Summerland, nor do I own any related characters or places.
Longing to Know
Chapter 9
Bradin remembered the way to Harley's house from the night he had followed her home, but in the pitch dark, he hadn't seen the run-down state of the neighborhood. In the lingering light of dusk, he could just make out the stripping paint and general disrepair of the small houses. Much different from the beachfront condos he was used to seeing. Looking across the car, he noticed Harley had shifted to the far side of her seat, pressed up against the door as she stared out.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asked.
Harley continued to stare out the window, but she said quietly, "Yeah, I'm fine."
Pulling into a driveway on the left side of the street, Bradin stopped the car, and the two teens got out. The little two-story house sat in the middle of a small plot of sun-browned grass. Light tan trimmed the eggshell white house, finished off by a weathered dark brown door. Harley produced a key from her jeans pocket, shoved it in the lock, and the door swung open.
The interior was homey, but clean and organized. One corner of the small living room hosted a television set, the next, a bubbling fish tank on the far side of a short flight of stairs. In the middle of the room was a maroon easy chair that matched the floral pattern on the off-white couch. Bookshelves towered along the wall across from the front windows. To the left of the shelves was a wide, open area that stretched back into a dining room with a round table and four straight-backed chairs, and to the right of the dining room was the kitchen.
"Can I get you a soda?" Harley asked over her shoulder as she walked through the dining room.
"Um, sure, thanks," Bradin answered, taking a seat on the couch. He heard tinny chimes and the slurch of the refrigerator door.
"We only have Ginger Ale," she said from the other room.
"That's fine."
Again the tinny chimes and the slurch of the refrigerator door. A shuffle of footsteps across the linoleum floor, and Harley returned to the living room. She handed the soda can to Bradin, then sat down next to him. The two cans were cracked open, then silence.
"Who's that?" Bradin asked after a few minutes, pointing to a picture on the lamp table on the far side of the couch.
"This?" Harley gently lifted the frame as Bradin nodded. She held it so both could see. "My grandfather, Hiding Wolf." She pointed to an elderly man in jeans and a buckskin shirt. His gray hair hung in two long braids, wrapped in dark brown fur. "That's me, and that girl was my best friend, Bending Willow, and that is my cousin, Jack Strong Knife. And those," –she pointed to a tall man with his arm around a short Asian-looking woman. "Are my…adopted parents."
"Earlier you said 'My People.' What did you mean?" he inquired, suddenly interested in Harley's heritage.
She stretched up proudly as she said, "I'm half Lakota Sioux."
"What's the other half?"
Harley ducked her head slightly as if she was embarrassed, staring down at the picture. "The only person who knows is…was my mother."
Bradin gently slipped his hand under hers, giving it what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.
She bit her lip nervously.
"Tell me about her?"
A long silent moment passed before Harley pulled her hand away and stood hurriedly. "You should probably go home now."
"Harley, please," Bradin said quietly, leaning forward to grasp her hand again.
"Don't," she protested, though allowed him to hold her hand. "Please don't."
"Why?"
"Because."
Bradin sighed. "That's not an answer." He guided her down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her protectively. Harley tensed as if to rise, but sunk down into his embrace.
"My mom was raped," Harley blurted out. "That's why I can't sleep with you. I can't shame my family."
A frown creased Bradin's forehead. He didn't understand how that could've been shameful, and he voiced his thought.
Harley took a deep breath. "She worked so hard to rid my grandparents of shame. She gave up her guardianship of me and disappeared. I don't know what happened to her. Last I heard, she was arrested. My uncle's brother-in-law adopted me when Grandfather passed. He's part Oglala Sioux."
Bradin still didn't think he really understood, so he simply nodded, hoping she would continue. When she didn't, he sat silently for a few moments, his arms holding her close to his chest. Tilting her head closer, Bradin gently kissed her cheek.
"You're beautiful, you know that?"
"What?" Harley asked quickly, a red tinge creeping over her tanned features. She turned her head to face him, her brow creasing slightly.
"You're beautiful," Bradin said again. Before Harley could respond, he lifted a hand to her cheek, guiding her head forward. He kissed her, slowly, deliberately, making known all of his want and desire in the passionate collision of lips.
Bradin struggled to keep himself under control. One wrong move and he'd be back where he started. He had to keep her trust. What was it she had said about the horse? Slow. Don't trap her. Touch her with your heart. If he wanted her, he had to go slow.
The softness of her made every molecule of Bradin's body quake. In another moment, he knew he would lose all control. But he couldn't push her. It would ruin everything.
Pulled from his internal conflict, Bradin opened his eyes as Harley slid backwards off his lap. In her deep ebony eyes, he could see the longing of her soul. She wanted him—as much or more than he wanted her. Placing her hands lightly on his neck, Harley gently pulled him toward her.
He had been waiting for this. Lowering himself slowly atop her, Bradin tilted his head to catch her lips. As he did so, he felt a tremor run the course of her inviting curves.