Tattered Innocence (27 page)

Ned passed Rachel the ball without glancing
in her direction.

But Jake was on her—done playing nice.
“You’re sweating, Rae.” He wrinkled his nose at her.

“Women don’t sweat; they glisten.” She
smirked, ducked under his arm, and took off toward the basket.

Jake ran her down. “You could have told me
you played center in school.”

“There are lots of things you don’t know
about me.” She threw a hard pass to Ned. “Sink that baby.”

Ned obeyed.

Down twelve-sixteen, Tim ran the ball from
half court and took a jump shot. The ball bounced off the rim and
out of bounds. Tim yanked off his baseball cap and fired it at the
floor. He swore and kicked the ball against the wall. But two
minutes later, he redeemed himself by stealing the ball from Ned.
He passed off to Jake. “Your turn, bro.”

Jake took off at a sprint, Rachel hard on
his heels. He finger-rolled the ball into the basket. Sweet.

Rachel bent over, hands on her knees, and
sucked air. “I’m getting too old for this.”

Jake’s eyes wandered her sweat-slicked skin.
“You look fine to me.” Scoring the basket had taken the edge off
his irritation, enough to appreciate the view down her jersey of
her sports bra.

Rachel’s head jerked up.

Tim and Ned took off with the ball.

Jake winked and watched her turn red.
Now
that’s the kind of reaction I like to see.

They headed toward Tim and Ned under the
basket.

Tim faked a shot and passed to Jake.

Rachel yelled, “Miss it!”

Unflustered, Jake sank the tying basket.
“You’re not the only one who can play ball.” He lobbed to Ned.

“That was an unfair tactic you used on me
back there,” Rachel said.

“Tactic?” Jake played dumb. He stepped
toe-to-toe, levity gone, his gaze settling on her lips. “You do
look really fine.” He sprinted to the half-court line. When he
glanced over his shoulder, Rachel stood where he left her, looking
dazed. Maybe playing basketball with her wasn’t so annoying after
all.

But his game dove into the toilet. His next
shot rimmed out, and Ned rebounded, sinking a basket. Rachel hit a
three-pointer, first one she’d attempted since her pre-game
shocker. Then, Rachel crowded him, stole the ball, and he threw the
ball away to end the game down sixteen-twenty-one.

Rachel slumped against the retracted
bleachers breathing hard.

“Man, Rachel, you can really play ball.” Tim
shook his damp mop in awe. Sweat trickled beside his ear. “Where’d
you learn to play?”

“Grew up playing with the guys in my
neighborhood…. Played in school.”

“Where do you find girls like her?” Tim
tossed the question to Jake.

“Find your own girl,” Jake muttered.

“Church.” Rachel pulled her wallet out of
her jacket pocket and flipped a picture open in front of Tim, then
Ned. “Check out my best friend, Cat—a church girl.”

“Not bad,” Tim admitted as they filed out
the door.

Ned’s brows arched appreciatively.

In Tim’s “Love Machine” VW Rabbit, Jake
bounced along in the back seat, Rachel’s arm jostling his.

“Can’t play ball much on that barge of
yours, huh, Jake?” Tim needled.

“Lookin’ rusty.” Ned took his lick.

“But somebody kept up their game,” Tim
said.

Rachel laughed.

Laughed.
Jake hunkered closer to the
door.

Rachel’s voice drifted toward him. “Thanks,
guys, for letting me play. I’ve got family drama, and I didn’t
think about it the whole game.”

Now he felt like a heel. Rachel needed his
support during her parents’ meltdown.

“Anytime,” Tim tossed over his shoulder.
“How about tomorrow?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you know if
my pride recovers by then.”

Tim and Ned howled.

Yeah, things felt back to normal.

Rachel gave him a smile that pretty much
made up for the last hour and a half of humiliation. He took her
hand and shot her a sheepish look.

Basketball had temporarily chased out
Rachel’s panic over sharing a bed with Jake. But at ten p.m., she
stood in Jake’s room between his luggage and hers, drying her hair
and thinking of little else.

She yawned and eyed the double bed draped in
a red plaid comforter that matched the color of her sweatshirt and
pants. The memory of falling asleep to Jake’s heartbeat wafted
through her. After traveling and playing ball, she was almost tired
enough to nod off with Jake in the bed. Almost. Still, the
Bret-guilt she’d barely crawled out from under would guard her
battered morality tonight and probably a whole lot longer.

She’d not thought of Mama and Daddy for
stretches of time today, and hopefully her presence would cheer
Jake’s mother. Coming with Jake had been the right decision.

She bent at the waist and dumped her hair
upside down to dry the underside. Did Jake think they could coexist
in that bed for a week without having sex? She laughed out loud and
righted herself, clicking off the dryer.

Jake stood inside the door, watching
her.

She tensed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He crossed the room and opened his suitcase
beside her. “What made you laugh?” He tossed a T-shirt, boxers, and
a toothbrush onto the bed.

She stared at the items. “Thinking about the
awkward conversation we’re about to have.”

He stepped into her personal space, a smirk
playing on his face. “What conversation is that?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.
I’m not sleeping in the same bed with you.”

“Why not? I can’t think of anything else I’d
rather do right now.”

“Because there’s no way we’re sleeping
together and not having sex.”

“Exactly.”

“Jake!”

He stepped closer and forked his fingers
into her hair to cradle her head in his hands. “You really should
wear your hair down more.” He combed his fingers to the tips of her
hair, making her scalp tingle. “Beautiful.” His breath fanned her
cheek.

Okay, one kiss. One. Then I sprint for the
couch.

Jake dipped closer and stopped. He landed a
kiss on her cheekbone. “Sleep well. I’m on Ned’s floor for the
week.”

She let out her breath and wilted onto the
comforter. Her hand landed on Jake’s belongings and she sprung up,
the boxers, T-shirt and toothbrush clenched in her fingers. She
grabbed Jake’s flannel-covered arm and marched him toward the door.
“I can’t believe you screwed with me like that.” She flung open the
door, threw his stuff into the hall, and shoved him out the door
with the flat of her hand.

Jake laughed. “Man, you smell incredible.”
He stopped her from shutting the door with his hand on the knob and
sobered. “Thanks for coming.”

She let the smile wedged inside come out.
“You’re welcome.”
Now get out of here before I change my mind
about the sleeping arrangements.

Rachel’s breath formed on the kitchen window
as she drank in her first glimpse of snow.

“Rachel, grab your coat.” Jake swiped her
mug and downed the rest of the cocoa.

The intimacy of Jake’s action warmed her
more than the drink had. She zipped herself into Nikki’s ski
jacket, her heart hammering with excitement. Her first snow.

He pulled her out into a white Christmas
morning. The whole family trouped after them, including Nikki’s
man-of-few-words husband, Dillon. The next hour kaleidoscoped in
her mind—Tim careening her down a hill on a yellow disc, the white
snow angels she and Nikki fashioned after flopping backwards onto
the cold powder, the snowman they all built, sporting a red scarf,
everyone’s pink cheeks after the snowball fight.

Jake’s mother clicked a last snapshot and
marched toward the kitchen door behind Jake’s siblings.

“Thanks, you guys! That was amazing.” Rachel
called.

“You think this is something, just come back
for the Indianapolis 500,” Tim said and shot her a smile.

Jake grinned at Rachel. “Like snow much?” He
ruffled snow from her hair and brushed off the shoulders of her
coat. A thumb brushed the flakes from her eyebrow.

His gaze drilled into that place where she
buried her love for him. Could he see it?

“Merry Christmas.” He pressed cool lips to
hers.

She grabbed hold of Jake’s arm, the kiss
making her feel wobbly inside.

The kiss ended, and her smile trembled.
“Merry Christmas.”

“Time to open gifts,” Nikki announced as
they stepped into the heat and hubbub of the house.

The scent of turkey and stuffing wafted over
Jake as he entered the house. Life was good.

He hoped the festivities were keeping
Rachel’s mind off the drama she left at home.

Affection for his family swam through him.
Home had always been this way. Yeah, the years immediately after
Dad’s death had been rough, but really, they’d been happy in this
tired looking split-level.

The kitchen emptied out and he couldn’t put
it off any longer. He jogged upstairs to snag Rachel’s gift, an
army of ants marching into his stomach.

Jake jostled Rachel on the loveseat as he
sat, dislodging the morose vision of her family opening gifts in
Florida, shrouded by rustling palm fronds. Mama and Daddy had
called a truce to spend Christmas as a family, but Hall said things
were eerily quiet.
Please, God, do something—today while they’re
together.

“Since Gramps is gone, I brought his Bible
to read the Christmas story,” Jake said.

Jake’s mother sank onto an easy chair beside
the tree. “Thanks, Jake. Nobody thought of it last year. We just
went through the motions—the first year without you both.”

Jake handed Rachel the Bible she’d first
seen Bungee-corded between boat repair books in the
Queen’s
office.

Did he expect her to read aloud? Her fingers
locked around the book.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t
hyperventilate.

“Read for us, Rachel.”

She thumbed through the pages buying time,
her fingers wooden stumps. Luke, Chapter Two. She smoothed the page
with a sweaty palm. “Um… I’m not too good at reading aloud.”

“We’re all family,” Nikki said.

Rachel held out the book to Jake.

He pressed the Bible into her stomach. “You
think I was comfortable when you made me pray? Suck it up, Rachel.
Fair is fair.”

A tremor ricocheted around her body,
fluttering her hand, a foot, settling into a twitch in her eye. “I
can’t.”

Jake tweaked her shoulder. “Of course, you
can. You just passed a college class.”

She squared her shoulders and drew in a deep
breath. “I can read the story if you guys want turkey jerky for
Christmas dinner—at like eleven o’clock tonight. I have dyslexia. I
passed that course because Hall recorded the text book for me.” She
slumped back against the cushion, spent, a dunce cap of
embarrassment jammed on her head.

Jake’s mouth dropped open, shock written on
his face. She could almost hear him thinking,
I could have been
stuck with her if she’d accepted my spur of the moment
proposal.

“No biggie,” Tim said. “It’s probably
genetically impossible for one woman to play awesome ball
and
read aloud. Me—I was allergic to school. Majored in spit
wads.”

“We don’t care, Rachel.” Nikki shot a glare
at Jake. “Jake, get a clue.”

“What? I had no idea.” Jake looked at
Rachel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He cleared his throat.

Rachel handed him the book, and stared at
her knees.

Jake’s voice settled into the familiar
story. Each word hammered her humiliation deeper.

Tree lights blinked red and green onto
Joanne’s glasses and the wistful expression on her face as she
listened to Jake.

Ned pointed his chin at Jake, but his eyes
flitted around the room at his family. He shared the couch with
Nikki and Dillon, who yanked a royal blue stocking cap off his head
as if Bible reading brought on an attack of manners.

Tim straddled a kitchen chair backwards,
spinning a rabbit’s foot key chain forward and backward around a
finger.

As Jake clapped the Bible shut, Nikki made a
move toward the gifts.

“Hold up, Nik.”

“There’s more?” She moaned.

He held up the Bible. “I think Gramps might
be right about this.” He grabbed the back of his neck. “I don’t
know. I’ve just been putting a lot of thought into God since Gramps
died.”

His mother nodded, tearing up.

Rachel squeezed Jake’s arm, her
embarrassment receding.

Nikki hiked a brow at Jake, then grabbed a
gift from the stack under the tree and handed it to Joanne. “Merry
Christmas, Mom.”

When Jake’s turn came to open a gift, he
reached for Rachel’s square box with aqua paper and a white bow.
“From Rachel.” He shook the box. “A pint of marine paint?”

“Wrong.” Rachel pressed her lips together,
holding back a smile.

“A framed photo of the Travel Lift?”

“You guessed it.”

Jake laughed and tore open the box.

She held her breath.
Please like
it.

He lifted out the brass ship’s bell engraved
with the
Smyrna Queen, Captain Jake Murray
, and the date he
and his grandfather had purchased the boat. A lump formed in his
throat.
H
e pulled the tissue paper from
around the clapper and tested the clang of the bell. It was the
sound of the dream he’d shared with Gramps.

He kissed her full on the lips. “Thanks. I
love it.”

Joy tumbled through her. She felt the blood
swim to her face as Jake extracted a jewelry store box from his
pocket with a rumpled bow and dropped it into her lap. A detached
part of her brain recorded the box was the wrong shape for a
ring.