The Harder You Fall (13 page)

She plucked at the fabric of her shirt, adding, “I left Brook Lynn at camp and ran downstream for what seemed like hours and finally I found our momma. Her body had washed ashore, but she was already dead. Rocks and stumps had slashed her up pretty good. Let's just say there was no saving her, and leave it at that.”

And just like West, she'd had to live with guilt every day for the rest of her life.

“I'm sorry, kitten.” He was the one to reach out this time. He clasped her hand and held on tight. “For years after Tessa died, I woke up expecting her to be in bed beside me. Then I would roll over and remember what had happened.”

Tears welled in Jessie Kay's eyes. “And your heart and soul would be shredded all over again.”

He gave a clipped nod. She got it, all of it, because her pain was a mirror of his.

“I would think about never again making a new memory with Mom—think about
Brook Lynn
never making a new memory with her—and sob into my pillow until my tear ducts swelled shut. And anytime something good happened, I wanted to share the details with her. Anytime something bad happened, I wanted to be enfolded in her arms. But more than anything, I wanted Brook Lynn to share the good times and bad with her, because even though she tried to hide it, I knew she wished for it and...and—”

She was breathing fast, too fast. Panicking? He leaned over, picked her up by the waist and settled her in his lap to enfold her in
his
arms. “I've got you. You're safe now.” He gently petted her hair.

She went still and quiet before sagging against him. “I'm sorry. That was...yeah. Kinda embarrassing.”

Treading lightly, he said, “Thank you for sharing with me.”

“You already thought so little about me. Now you know the worst.”

“I've never thought
so little
about you. And knowing the worst isn't a bad thing.”

“Liar,” she said without heat.

He kissed her temple. “The men in your past, they didn't know you. They liked the look of you—how could they not—but they never saw below the surface. I do. I see, and it only makes me want you more.”

She stirred against him, sitting up. Her eyes went wide. “How do you know what they saw?”

A well of tenderness he'd never experienced. “If they'd seen what I see, they'd still be with you.”

She gasped, licked her lips. “Pretty words, nothing more. You've only ever offered me a single night.”

“That's my damage and has nothing to do with you. And I would happily offer you two months, but you've already told me your answer.” He set her away from him—before he pressed her to her back and demonstrated all the things he'd dreamed of doing to her. “Just so you know, I need at least twenty-four hours' notice if you want to add a freak-out to your schedule.” He tried for a light, easy tone while his palms itched for contact and his blood scalded his veins.

A little laugh escaped her. “Consider this your notice. Lately I seem to have one a day.”

“Do you know the triggers?”

“Yeah. I start thinking about my sister and everything she's been deprived of because of me, and the ability to breathe abandons me. I just feel so...worthless.”

“You are
not
worthless. In fact, I don't ever want to hear you use that foul nine-letter word again.”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. “You're angry. You're actually angry on my behalf.”

“Of course I am. You're so far from the
W
word it's comical.”

“But—”

“You amuse the hell out of me. Do you know how hard that is to do? You do everything in your power to make the people around you comfortable and happy, even when they won't appreciate your efforts. You threaten big, hulking brutes when they start dating your sister, and you mean what you say. ‘Hurt her and die.'”

“Anyone would do those things.”

“No. They wouldn't.” He toyed with the ends of her hair. “You need to start liking yourself, Jessie Kay. Only a crazy person would dislike you.” He tweaked her nose. “I have something for you.”

“A present? For me?”

“No.” He didn't give gifts to anyone, ever. “It's a necessary accessory—for me.” He stood, pulling her to her feet. “Stay here.” He wasn't gone long, but she was practically jumping up and down with excitement by the time he returned.

“Gimme!”

He fought a grin as he held up the wristwatch he'd told himself he'd bought for Monica. An out-and-out lie, he now knew. He'd never spent more money on a watch, or picked one so delicate, with diamonds sparkling around the face. “I'd like you to wear this,” he said as he anchored the piece around her wrist. A perfect fit. Not too big, not too small.

“West.” She traced the center with trembling fingers. “It's absolutely gorgeous.”

“Are you going to tell me it's too much and you can't accept it?”

“Don't be ridiculous. It's not enough and you should have spent more. I just... I've never worn a watch because
I
decide what time it is.”

“A habit I will break. You're welcome.”

She didn't even glance up at him, just continued to pet the watch. “Pretty.”

He rubbed at his aching chest. “You'll wear it?”

“Always. If you expect me to give it back when you move out, well, sorry not sorry, but that's not happening.”

“I won't want it back. It's yours. To help you keep track of your schedule...to help me stay sane.”

“Okay. You convinced me. I'll do better with my time management. Promise. Well, half promise. I need wiggle room.”

She accepted that easily? No argument like so many others had given? He could have kissed her.

He wanted to kiss her. Hard, then soft. With tongue, then with teeth.

“Now when you make me mad I can threaten to pawn it.” She held the watch to the light, still petting the thing as the diamonds glittered more brightly in the light. “But I never will, will I, baby? Because we're best friends forever.”

“You're talking to the watch, aren't you?”

“Duh. I'd never coo at you like this.”

He fought another grin.

“Oh, guess what,” she added. “I came home while you were at work and remembered to lock the door on my way out.”

“I noticed.”

“So how did you get in?” Aaand still she petted the watch. “I didn't give you a key.”

“Kitten, locks aren't a problem for me.”

“Breaking and entering isn't a skill most people possess.”

“Most people didn't grow up with a junkie mom who sometimes—most times—spent their grocery money on drugs. If I wanted to eat, I had to steal from the neighbors.”

Her hand fluttered to her heart, her eyes filling with heartbreak. “You're never going to win our who-had-it-worse contest, so stop trying.”

Not the words he'd expected, and he barked out a laugh.

“If you'd lived in Strawberry Valley” she continued, “I would have shared my lunch with you.”

“I believe it. Word is, you were the sweetheart of the elementary.”

“Who told you— Oh, Cora.” She smiled ruefully. “I had my moments, but mostly I was a holy terror, repeating everything I heard adults say.”

“Such as?”

“Well, in third grade, I got every kid in the cafeteria to chant ‘I want an ice-cold beer.' In the fourth grade, I used show-and-tell to regale my class with a most unsuitable joke. I didn't even know what it meant. I just remembered the way my uncle Kurt laughed when he told it.”

West waved a hand. “I'm listening.”

“What comes after sixty-nine?”

“Seventy.”

“No. Mouthwash.”

He rubbed his fingers over his smiling mouth. “Naughty, naughty Jessie Kay. Did you earn yourself a spanking? Never mind. Don't answer that.” Too dangerous. “It's time for your first soccer practice.”

He grabbed the cupcake—for her benefit. She'd gone to so much trouble baking it, there was simply no way he could allow it go to waste.

He placed his free hand on her lower back to urge her forward and felt a quiver of awareness dance through her. A quiver that ignited his own.

Ignore it.
Now, more than ever, he had to resist her. If the thought of hurting her had bothered him before, it utterly ravaged him now.

In the living room, he set the cupcake on the coffee table, but kept his eye on it as he moved furniture around, creating a small area free of obstacles.

“Shouldn't we go outside?” she asked.

“No need. Not for the basics. Stand beside the TV,” he instructed. “No, more to the right. Good.” He plopped onto the couch, tossed her the soccer ball that had been resting on a pillow and reclaimed his cupcake before resting his feet on the coffee table. “Now. Tap the top of the ball with your left foot, then repeat with the right. Do it over and over as quickly as you can.”

Frowning, she hopped once, twice. “Like this?”

“Exactly. Pause as little as possible. Go until I tell you to stop.”

She glared at him, hands on her luscious hips. “That's it? That's how you're going to teach me to be the best player in the history of ever? Why don't I just wax on, wax off while I'm at it?”

Funny. “Go.”

“You're just going to sit there?”

“No. I'm going to enjoy my cupcake and watch a movie.
Go
.”

“I hope you catch a stomach bug and vomit out your guts,” she said, at last jumping into motion.

As he flipped through the channels, pretending to watch the screen, he ate the cupcake and swore he'd entered the gates of heaven. As Jessie Kay tapped the top, the ball rolled forward. After she replaced the ball and gave another tap, she lost her balance and stumbled forward. The exercise was designed to help her feet get to know the ball, something she desperately needed to learn.

By the ten-minute mark, sweat beaded on her forehead. She was panting. To his consternation,
he
was sweating and panting. After a while, he focused fully on Jessie Kay—the screen he'd never really seen completely forgotten. Her breasts bounced, and her skin flushed to a delicate rose.

Why was he supposed to resist her again?

“You were wrong, you know,” she said through wheezing breaths.

“About?”

“I'm wearing a bra today. I just moved the lace aside for the picture.”

Lace...nice.

She's trying to kill me.

“Bra talk is forbidden during practice.”

“My legs—”

“Leg talk is forbidden as well,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes. “When did you start playing soccer anyway?”

“The foster home where I met Jase and Beck. The dad played, and he used to spend hours with us in the backyard, teaching us how to kick and steal and block. I've played ever since.” No, that wasn't exactly true. He'd taken a few years off in favor of getting high.

When he'd gotten clean, he'd needed a distraction—other than his schedule—and the game had provided one.

“All right,” he said when she looked ready to collapse. “Let's try something new.”

“Thank God,” she huffed as she threw herself on the couch.

“Grab your coat and a pair of gloves.”

“You mean we're actually going outside, where you're going to teach me more than basics?”

“Only if you stop talking and do as you're told.” He went to his bedroom, dug out the cones he'd asked Brook Lynn to drop off after lunch, donned his own coat and returned to the living room. He led Jessie Kay to the backyard and just like he did for his elementary school players, he set the cones in a square. “You're going to dribble a figure eight around every cone, without letting the ball get away from you.” Mist wafted in front of his face. “After you make it around the square, you're going to do what's called an inside hook and head back the other way.”

He demonstrated the inside hook, planting his right foot behind the ball and his left foot to the right of the ball. With his left foot, he lifted to his toes and pivoted. With his right, he kicked, using the inside of his foot, all while his body turned the opposite direction, forcing the ball to roll in front of him.

“Fancy,” she said, sounding impressed and excited.

“Sometimes necessary to retain possession of the ball. Sometimes a simple way of slowing things down.”

“Right.” She got into position and launched into action. Dribbling wasn't her strong suit. Not yet. Every few seconds she lost control of the ball, kicking it too far, forcing her to chase it around the yard, but she never gave up, never complained, and she wasn't too self-conscious to make mistakes in front of him, all of which he admired greatly.

“So...Monica Gentry called me,” she said, fighting for breath. “Well, her assistant did.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“She asked You've Got It Coming to cater her company Christmas party. On Saturday.”

“That's only two days away.”

“Which is why we asked for triple our normal fee. Anyway. I have to spend all day tomorrow cooking with Brook Lynn, so make sure that goes on my schedule.”

Earlier Monica called to invite him to the very same Christmas party. In a moment of desperation, he agreed. He had to do whatever proved necessary to get Jessie Kay out of his head and his life back on track. But he'd regretted the decision ever since. Canceling now would make him an ungentlemanly ass.

“I'll be there,” he admitted, the words leaving him like a curse. “At the party.”

Jessie Kay stumbled but quickly righted herself. “You'll be there...as Monica's date?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “A friendly date, not a romantic one.”

“But you're still seeing her?”