Kate Christie (30 page)

We were finally winding down when I asked Jess to tell me again the story of her sudden appearance in my Portland life.

“It was your mom’s idea,” she said, her arm under my neck and her fingers toying with my hair, standing up now all over my head from our exertions. “The night she talked with you about the phone bill, she started thinking about how and when to get me here for a visit. Your birthday seemed like the perfect opportunity, so your parents pooled their frequent flyer miles and sent me the ticket. I asked for time off work, and because I’m the best counselor they have—okay, I actually didn’t give them a choice—my boss at the Y agreed I could take next week off.”

“I can’t believe my mom lied to Jim.”

My mother had reportedly told Jim that I would need to miss the following week at work for an important family event. In reality, Jess and I were going to spend a few days at my uncle’s condo at Mt. Hood. By ourselves.

“She loves you that much,” Jess said, her hand stilling.

I knew she was thinking about the differences between our 21 Kate Christie

mothers. I snuggled closer in the narrow bed, my arm across her chest, my chin on her collarbone.

“She already loves you too,” I said. “So does my dad.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. For my parents to talk that long about tennis voluntarily? It was you they were interested in, not the sport, I can guarantee it.”

Over veggie burgers, spinach and kale from the garden, and homemade sweet potato fries, my parents had been warm and caring and accepting. Which hadn’t been a surprise to me, but I’d noticed Jess’s shy smiles of gratitude as they invited her into our home and tried to make her feel like part of the family. They were good eggs, and so was she. I’d felt damned lucky as we sat outside on the deck that evening drinking beer and lemonade and trading stories.

At one point my dad had said, “Cam tells us you’re quite the painter.”

Jess had stared at me. “She does, does she?”

Now, as we lay murmuring together in the dark, Jess said,

“So when did you figure out the storm painting was mine?”

I froze, my eyelids the only part of me moving as I blinked, trying to decide how to answer. We’d never discussed the fact that I knew the painting’s creator nor that I’d deduced its meaning.

“It’s okay,” she added, her hand gentle in my hair. “I know you know, Cam. I’m glad, in a way. You know me better than anyone and you still love me.”

“Of course I do,” I said, kissing her chin because it was the nearest thing to my lips. “I figured it out the night I told you that, in fact.”

“You did? I didn’t realize.”

“Well, I do tend to hide my superior intelligence beneath this jockish exterior,” I said, trying to lighten the moment.

“You don’t always have to do that, you know,” she said. “Make a joke out of everything, I mean. I promise I won’t cry.”

“It’s okay if you do,” I said quickly.

“Kidding, Cam.”

A little while later, I could feel sleep tugging at me, trying its hardest to extinguish my consciousness for the night. But I Beautiful Game 21

didn’t want to give in yet. We only had a week together and then she’d be back in San Diego again and I’d be here refusing to wash my sheets so that I could hold onto the scent of her as long as possible.

I blinked myself awake and said, “I wish you didn’t have to go back to La Jolla next weekend.”

“I know, but it’ll be good for me to go back.”

I couldn’t keep the whine out of my tone—it had been a long day, and happiness had lowered my defenses. Or maybe it was the tequila. “What, you’d rather hang out with a bunch of second graders than me?”

“No,” she said, running her hand lightly up and down my arm. “But I do have some things to work out.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe I thought over what you said, you know, like talking to someone about what happened. Someone professional, I mean.”

I was glad it was dark so she didn’t see my chin drop, though she may have felt it hit her shoulder. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I actually went to see a woman last week, a therapist who specializes in cases like mine. It’s still early, and it’s obviously not going to be easy, but I think I might be ready to deal with what happened. I need to if I’m going to get beyond it.” From the outside, she already seemed to have gotten beyond the rape—successful student three-quarters of the way through college, All-American singles Division II National Champion, girlfriend to another Division II success story, if I did say so myself. But it didn’t matter what I thought, only what her life felt like to her.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said, and leaned up to kiss her.

She pulled me on top of her and deepened the kiss, sliding her hands down to my hips. Quickly any notion of sleep fled, and I only had time to think,
Again
? Then I stopped thinking, lost in the feel and taste and touch of her skin against mine. It was just too good. She was too good. I had never loved anyone else like this, and somewhere in the back of my brain, I knew I never would again.

220 Kate Christie

We did wonderful things to each other, and when we’d finally gotten our fill, we lay pressed together in my twin bed, light from the streetlamps leaking in the window, the faint sound of the ocean reaching us from down the hall.

On the edge of sleep, I knew all at once we’d be okay. Jess wasn’t going to suddenly change her mind or freak out about what had happened to her, and I wasn’t going to get distracted by soccer this fall and drift away from her. Like Holly and Becca, we were beyond the beginning of our relationship now.

We had made it through an uncertain takeoff, and now we were safe together in midflight, the sky wide open before us. I wasn’t afraid anymore, and I thought Jess probably wasn’t, either. At least, I hoped not.

“Hey,” she murmured beside me.

“Yeah?”

“Can you move over a little? My arm’s asleep.”

“Of course,” I said, and shifted to make room for her.

Publications from

Bel a Books, Inc.

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