The Game Series (57 page)

“Yeah.” He scratches behind his neck. “You know, you don’t have to. I suppose I could survive the posh-boy torture for one night.”

“No. I said I would, so I will.”

“It was the pout mixed with puppy dog eyes, wasn’t it? That’s why you agreed.” he says. “I knew that would work.”

“Pfft. You do good puppy dog eyes, pretty little poodle, but no. I just really love lasagna.” I shrug, and he nudges me with his elbow. I shove him back, fighting my laughter, and he reaches for me. His arm curls around my shoulders, pulling me close to him, and I wrap my arms around my stomach. His thumb rubs across the material of my sweater on the top of my arm, relaxing me.

I remind myself I’m in a place safe from the past. That I’m in a place where only the present is important. The past and even the future are irrelevant. Only the here and now matters, and the here and now is a touch so casual and comforting that means so much. And there isn’t a part of me that wants to pull away from Blake.

We walk in silence for a while, only birdsong and the rushing of the ravine breaking the peace, until we come to one of the rustic shelters that stand on the edge of the lake. The wooden buildings gaze out over the water, and I can clearly see Duck Island from here even though night is starting to fall.

“We always seem to be somewhere when it’s getting dark,” I comment absently, stepping from Blake’s hold and walking to the edge of the shelter. I look over the water, a few lone ducks still swimming along.

I see him shrug as he steps up beside me. He rests his elbows on the ledge and leans forward, his bicep brushing my arm.

“Hiding in plain sight,” he says simply.

I blink harshly, suddenly glad for the darkening of the sky. Something I said so casually, like it meant nothing, and he’s remembered it. He’s remembered it and somehow he’s applied it to everything we’ve done so far. He’s letting me hide right where he can see me.

He seems to understand so much about me – about how I feel, how to deal with the crazy breakdowns that can happen any second. He doesn’t blink at them and nothing seems to faze him. It’s unnerving and reassuring at the same time.

“It’s my favorite time of day,” I admit, twiddling my fingers. “Right now, when day is giving way to night. It’s the point I can drop the fake smile and stop pretending like everything is perfect. There are so many shadows and dark places I can barely recognize my own amongst them, and it’s a relief.”

“You can’t pretend all the time.” He turns his face towards mine, and his eyes are so serious I have to fight not to look back at him. “Anyone who smiles the way you do can’t have a fake one all the time. Either that, or you’re an even better actress than you are a dancer and I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Maybe not all the time,” I say slowly and quietly. “I don’t always need to pretend. Sometimes it really is okay.”

“Like when you dance.”

I tilt my head towards him, my eyes meeting his through my hair, and I whisper, “Like when I’m with you.”

Rain begins to fall again, splashing into the lake and bouncing off the roof of the shelter. Blake smiles softly and reaches his hand out, pushing my hair from my face. He tucks it behind my ear and his thumb brushes my cheek.

“Then I feel obligated to make sure you don’t have to pretend everything is okay tonight. I feel like it should really be okay.” He straightens and walks backwards. “Come and dance.”

“What?”

He steps out into the rain, his eyes on me, and holds his arms out to his sides. The rain is steadily getting heavier, soaking him. His t-shirt clings to his body, showing every inch of muscle on his body, and I can’t help but look. My eyes can’t help but trace the light indents separating each pack of muscle on his stomach and they can’t help but comb over his chest and broad shoulders.

I know how solid those packs of muscle are. I’ve cried into them. I’ve clung to those shoulders. I’ve been held by those arms. Each time he’s been there, never expecting anything more than what I’ve given him.
And I haven’t exactly given him much.

Guys like him shouldn’t exist in real life. I wasn’t lying when I told him he’s too perfect for me to destroy. He is. His looks, his dancing, the way he’s always there… I never expected to meet anyone after Pearce and I definitely didn’t expect to meet anyone like Blake.

Someone pinch me. I have to be dreaming.

“Come dance,” he repeats, spinning suddenly.

“You’re insane.” I shake my head. “I’ll get soaked.”

Blake grins. “Isn’t that the point of dancing in the rain?”

“It’s getting crazy out there. I’m getting wet even standing here because of the damn windows!” I move into the center of the shelter. “Freakin’ hell.”

“So what’s the problem? Come on.” He holds a hand out, his long fingers begging me to grasp them. I look from his hand to his eyes, his twitching lips, his wet hair dripping down his face.

“I… No.”

“Trust me.” He’s not asking me. “Trust me, Abbi. Just two minutes. That’s all you have to do. Just take my hand and dance in the rain with me for two short minutes.”

“Why are you so determined to get me out there? If you want to dance, we can do that here.”

He steps back under the shelter and takes my hovering hand. He’s wet from already dancing in the rain but heat radiates off him and wraps around me. Our faces are inches apart as I look up at him and him down at me.

“Because I see the way you lose yourself when you dance and I want you to lose yourself like that with
me
. I want you get lost in me. It’s selfish but I don’t care.”

I breathe in sharply and try to ignore the way his grip on my hand tightens. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can let myself,” I whisper.

“Sure you can. You just admitted you don’t have to pretend with me. And you don’t.” Blake takes my other hand and slowly pulls me forward. “All you have to do is close your eyes. I promise you, you won’t get lost alone.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Yep.”

I take a deep breath in, hardly believing a walk in the park has turned into something so insane. So scarily thrilling.

I close my eyes.

“Now what?”

“Now, you feel,” he answers, pulling me forward. The first drops of rain hit my head and face, cold against my skin.

“Feel what?”

“Everything.” More rain. “Feel the rain on your skin. Feel the touch of my skin against yours. Feel the wet ground slipping and sliding beneath your feet. And dance with me like your life depends on it.”

The rain is cold as it beats down against us from all directions. My hair is already sticking to my face, and I can feel my clothes clinging to every part of my body.

One of Blake’s hands leaves mine and settles on my waist, pulling our bodies closer. I rest my hand on his shoulder, and he spins us round. He spins us and spins us and spins us until I no longer know which way is up. Until our bodies are held together by bunches of wet material, and I’m sure mud is halfway up my jeans from all our stepping and splashing in the small puddles forming around us.

His hands are hot against me. His whole body is a raging inferno, contrasting the iciness of the rain against my back. He spins us again, completely in control, and a small laugh leaves me as the ridiculousness of what we’re doing sinks in. My head tilts back, and I laugh again, feeling the drops hit my face. I imagine how we must look to someone walking past; dancing on the muddy grass in the pouring rain, laughing like we don’t have a care in the world.

But we do. We both have cares, we both have secrets we keep from the other. Dance is our freedom to lose ourselves.

I open my eyes for the first time since he told me to close them as I raise my head back up. His green ones stare back at me, unguarded and raw. In them I see a myriad of emotion; uncertainty, pain, happiness, and shadows that are close to mirroring my own. Shadows I’ve never noticed before, never had any idea about.

We stop moving, and I swallow. He raises our clasped hands to the side of my head and scrapes my wet hair from my face.

“Trust me,” he says softly, his words barely audible over the steady beat of nature’s music.

My eyes close at the soft sweep of his lips over mine. My back goes rigid, but as his fingers stroke across it and our mouths meet for a second time, it relaxes. I relax into him completely, losing myself the way he wants me to.

I’m losing myself in a way I never thought I would again.

I’m losing myself in the steadiness of his hand on my back, his chest pressing against me, his lips caressing mine.

I’m losing myself in him.

Blake’s face hovers in front of mine as he draws back, and neither of us speak for a second.

“What was that?” I whisper, breaking the silence, too afraid to talk louder in case it breaks this moment.

Because this is the defining moment. It’s the one that’s been building between us – the one that would make me or break me. The one in which the lines between friends and more blur, warping into something that can and will change everything.

He laughs lowly and lets my hand go. His fingers run through my hair as he stares into my eyes. “That was me keeping my promise. I got lost right along with you.”

I let my hands slide across his shoulders and clasp behind his neck. “Do you get lost often?”

“Only when I’m with you,” he whispers.

I feel light, lighter than I have in a long time. Like I can truly breathe and I’m not being suffocated by the weight of my feelings. I have to grab this moment while I can, because I know if this is the only moment I have ever when I feel this way, if tomorrow I go back to being drowned by the darkness, I’ll regret it if I don’t. If I don’t take a risk right now I’ll forever hate myself for it.

So I raise myself onto my tiptoes and press my lips to Blake’s. My body flattens against his, and he tightens his grip on me, kissing me softly and slowly.

A fire sparks in my stomach, the flames flickering and growing with every pound of my heart against my chest. A fire I don’t think anything or anyone could put out.

And I let the flames flicker, I let my heart pound, and I let the rain fall down onto me. I let the world pass me by, and I lose myself wholly in Blake.

Abbi perches on the edge of my sofa, fidgeting with my TV remote. She’s staring blankly at the screen but not really watching it. I dry my hands off on a tea towel and join her on the sofa, putting my arm along the back of the cushions.

“Don’t be scared,” I tease her. “I promise Mum won’t eat you.”

She punches my knee gently, leaning back and resting her head against my arm. “I’m not scared.”

“Liar.” I twist a lock of her hair around my finger.

“Maybe a little,” she gives in. “I just… I don’t know.”

“I didn’t exactly paint a great picture of her before. We don’t have the greatest relationship, I admit, but she’s not all bad.” There’s a knock at the door, causing me to take a deep breath. “And she’s here.”

Abbi swallows and sits up straighter, tucking her hair behind her ear. I pause for a second before getting up to answer the door. I open it to the woman I grew up with.

Her blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, not a grey hair in sight, and her eyes are as vivid as ever, framed delicately by mascara. Powder creases in the light wrinkles covering her face, and the smile on her face could almost – almost – be described as genuine.

“Blake!” Mum holds her arms out and wraps them around me a little stiffly.

“Mum.” I try to inject some excitement into my voice but it falls flat. Luckily, she doesn’t notice.

“You look well.” She steps into the apartment, and her eyes flick around the front room, lingering for a second on Abbi.

“So do you. Mum…” I turn, and Abbi is standing in front of the sofa, her hands clasped in front of her. “This is Abbi. Abbi, this is my mum, Cara.”

Mum steps forward and shakes Abbi’s hand, exchanging pleasantries with her. Abbi looks nervous but puts on a wide smile anyway. It only just occurs to me that I might have forced her into this. Tori hated being around people, especially people she didn’t know, and I’ve never seen Abbi talk to anyone at ballet other than me or Bianca.

Well, shit. Now I feel like a class a jerk.

“Er, Mum, can I get you a glass of wine? Dinner won’t be long. It’s just cooking now.”

“That would be lovely.” She sits herself on the sofa with the elegance given to her by her staunch middle-class upbringing, the one she pressed heavily onto me as a child... Yet I still throw myself back on the sofa the way I did when I was three.

“Abbi?” I glance her way as I open the fridge and pull out Mum’s favorite Pinot Grigio.

“Hm?” She looks a little more relaxed.

“Wine?”

“Oh. Um, sure.”

I pour three glasses and carry them into the front room, passing them around. I take a seat next to Abbi, resisting the urge to throw myself down. The fact I still have a rebellious streak at twenty-one amuses me somewhat.

“So, Blake,” Mum begins. “Tell me about your job.”

“At the restaurant?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Do you have another job I don’t know about?”

“No.”

“Then yes, that’s the one I’d like to know about.”

Deep breath, Blake. “There’s not much to tell, really. It’s not bad hours, it pays well, and it’s fairly close to here. It gets rather busy on a weekend, as these places do, but nothing too hard to handle. My boss is a good guy to work with, and I’ve already got better on the seafood side of things.”

“Wonderful.” Mum smiles. “I’m glad it’s going well for you, darling. Mind you, I didn’t think it could be worse than that dreadful job you had in London. I will never understand why you took it in the first place, not when Yvette Mayfair offered you a job in her restaurant.”

“Yvette was paying me less an hour than the other place. It was worth it for a year to get the last of the money I needed to live here.”

Mum sniffs. “Yes, well. Like I said, this job sounds like a much better alternative for you and your skills.”

“I agree.” I look at the clock. “I have to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.”

I put my glass on the table and all but run into the kitchen. I feel a momentary twinge of guilt for leaving Abbi alone with her, but my God, five minutes in her presence and I’m already regretting agreeing to have dinner with her.

The lasagna is done, so I plate it up and set them on the table. After calling Abbi and Mum into the kitchen, breaking what I imagine was a slightly awkward silence, I take the opportunity to ask Mum about everyone back home.

“Your father is working too many hours, as usual,” she replies with a heavy sigh. “I keep telling him to give that junior of his the simple work – you know, phone calls and filing and the like – but he refuses. Insists the boy is merely a helping hand until Jason goes to University in September and comes to do work experience with him.”

I frown. “I thought Jase was going up in the United academy? He’s one of their best players!”

“Yes, well, that’s still an option. He hasn’t quite made his choice yet, but obviously University is the better option for him. Your father is working on it.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself snapping at her. “Mum, Jase’s wanted to play for that team since he was old enough to kick a ball. He has a chance now, a real chance. Surely you can’t take that away from him?”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” She sniffs and sips her wine. “He needs to understand he has options. Not everyone has to go off and chase a crazy dream.”

Abbi’s foot touches mine gently under the table, and I take a deep breath, smiling falsely.

“Of course. He should explore his options.” The ones he wants to. Not the ones forced onto him by overbearing parents.

“So, Abbi.” Mum turns to her. “What do you do besides dance?”

“Oh. Nothing right now,” Abbi replies quietly. “Dance takes up most of my time.”

“Blake has told me what a wonderful dancer you are. The way he speaks, I’m surprised you’re not already in Juilliard.”

“I wasn’t well when the last auditions came round, so I’ve had to wait it out. I’m still recovering now, but hopefully I’ll make the next ones.”

“You will.” I smile at her, and she returns it.

“Such a shame,” Mum muses, the sympathy in her voice real. “Lovely you’re recovering, though. If you don’t mind my asking, were you terribly ill?”

I freeze.

“Well.” Abbi puts her fork down on her plate and looks up. “I guess that depends on how you view “terribly ill.” I wouldn’t say so, not anymore, but then I guess depression is only as bad you let it be.”

Heavy silence falls over the table, and I catch the tremble of Mum’s hand.

“You poor thing,” Mum responds, her voice as steady as ever. “What a dreadful thing to deal with for someone so young.”

Like you don’t know.

“Yeah, well, it’s like I said. It’s only as bad as you let it be. Thankfully, I have some control over it now, and dancing helps. Oh, and Blake. He’s very supportive.”

“I’m sure he is.” Mum looks up at me, her eyes getting colder by the second. I raise an eyebrow questioningly, playing dumb. She glances toward the watch on her wrist, setting her cutlery down. “Is that the time?”

“It’s only eight-thirty,” I say casually.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid my jet-lag is catching up to me, and I have an early meeting tomorrow, so I’m going to have call it a night. I’m ever so sorry.”

Liar.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Apparently, I lie as well as she does…

“You understand, don’t you, Blake?”

“Of course, Mum. Do you need me to phone for a taxi?”

“You’re quite alright.” She stands, smoothing out her skirt. “I hired a chauffeur for my stay. I considered a car, but everyone knows you simply don’t drive in New York.”

I stand and follow her into the front room where she grabs her bag. “Well, it was lovely to see you. Even if it was only a short visit,” I try.

“And you, darling. You look well. Anyway, I must get back to the hotel and get to bed.” She pauses by the front door. “I’ll phone you before I leave.”

I smile, leaning in and pecking her cheek. “Great. Have a safe journey across the bridge.”

“Have a nice evening.” She shuts the door behind her, and I breathe a sigh of relief, leaning against it.

I shake my head. Flippin’ heck. That just went from bad to worse to downright hellish.

“That went well,” Abbi says dryly, echoing my thoughts. “Like a train crash.”

“I was waiting for the unicorns and rainbows to burst through the door,” I reply.

“I don’t think she likes me much.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. She doesn’t particularly like me either.” I shrug, and she giggles. “What’s so funny?”

“This is totally off topic of who your mom does and doesn’t like,” she begins. “But when you talk to her you speak differently. You got all posh-sounding the second she walked through the door. I thought I’d stepped into Buckingham Palace or something.”

I groan. “Really? I thought I’d left that hoity-toity shit at Gatwick airport.”

She props her chin on her hand, smiling. “I kind of liked it.”

“Really?” I tilt my head to the side and sit back down. “How much did you like it?”

“Downton Abbey liked it.”

“Which means…?”

“I watch that show religiously just for the accents. So, really, really liked it.”

“How much is really, really liked it?”

“I think it speaks for itself, Blake.”

She stares at me with wide, amused eyes, and the curve of her pink lips is too tempting. I lean forward, pressing my mouth to hers, and brush my lips across hers softly.

“Liked it that much?” I murmur, my face close to hers. She nods, and I lean in again, placing my hand at the side of her head. My fingers tangle gently in her hair, my thumb brushes across her cheek, and she moves closer. She clasps her hand around my arm, holding onto me, and I urge her into deepening the kiss. She does, and as I flick my tongue across her lips, I can taste the lingering flavor of the wine we’ve been drinking. Her grip on my arm tightens, and I pull back reluctantly.

I might not know the reasons behind her pain, but I’ll be damned if I’ll push her into something she’s not comfortable with.

“You’re so in tune with me it’s scary,” she whispers.

“I’m not sure about that,” I reply. “But if talking like a right posh bastard gets me a kiss like that, I’m gonna do it more bloody often.”

She laughs quietly, opening her eyes to mine. Her eyelashes tickle her skin when she blinks, and the vividness of her eyes has me almost drowning in them. Looking at her like this, this close to her, Mum’s visit is barely even a memory.

Something about Abbi Jenkins has a hold on me I couldn’t break if I wanted to. She’s got me so strongly that I almost forget everything else exists when we’re together, and each touch we share dulls the pain of the past as she drives me to look toward the future.

And I don’t think she knows just how much she amazes me.