Barefoot in the Rain (24 page)

She didn’t look up from the notebook in front of her.

“What are you doing, Bloomerang?” he asked with every drop of gentleness he could muster.

“I was about to take a shower, but decided to make some lists.”

At any other time, that would have made him smile. But nothing about her pain-ravaged face was amusing. He went in a little farther. “What’s on them?”

She finally looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. “Things to do.”

“What things?”

She stared at him for a second, then, without looking down, she stripped a sheet of paper off the spiral, the tearing sound echoing through the bathroom. “Goals, plans, strategies, tactics, time lines, action items.”

“Of what?”

She just let out a little puff of air. “That’s just the problem. I can’t come up with the right theme, the right word.”

He closed the space and got right next to her, slowly dropping to a catcher’s crouch until they were nearly eye level. “Maybe I can help.”

In response she smoothed her hand over the white page, silent.

His bad knee throbbed, so he relaxed onto the floor next to her, bracing himself on the marble countertop on his way down. He remembered the day he’d set that counter. Never dreamed he’d be in here with Jocelyn nearly naked, making lists while the shower ran.

“How do you come up with this theme?” he asked.

She clutched a pen so tightly her fingers were turning white. “It usually just comes to me. A word or phrase will resonate and then I know what’s troubling me and what I need to fix.”

“With a list?”

“Don’t knock what you haven’t tried.”

He glanced at the pages on the floor, most containing a few crossed-out words. “Maybe you’re trying too hard,” he suggested, reaching to relieve her of the pen before she snapped it in two. “When I was in a slump at the plate or made a bunch of errors, it was always because I was trying too hard not to.”

She relaxed enough to let him take the pen. “What did you do?” she asked, her voice a reedy whisper.

“Tried to psych myself into thinking nothing was wrong. Would walk up to the plate and pretend I was batting .450 instead of, you know, .110. Or I’d get behind the plate and just pretend it was practice instead of a play-off game. Stuff like that.”

“Lot of pretending,” she said. “Did you notice that’s what you did both times? Pretend.”

“Worked.”

“It’s stupid to pretend.”

“Not if it gets you out of a slump. Try it on your list: pretend.”

“Okay, let’s see,” she said, loading up for a shot of sarcasm. “I could
pretend
you never saw those pictures.”

But he had.

“I could
pretend
you didn’t know that happened.”

But he did.

“I could
pretend
my childhood was completely normal.”

But it wasn’t.

“I could
pretend
I don’t care about what you think.”

“Stop right there,” he said, reaching for her. “What I think doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

She took a slow, ragged breath, searching his eyes, her brows drawing closer and closer together as she fought a sob. “That’s where you’re wrong, Will.”

She lost the battle and choked on a lump in her throat, cringing in embarrassment. “I don’t want you to… know… about that.”

He gripped her, careful not to squeeze, not to break. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything!” Her eyes flashed and filled. “I can’t stand to even look at you now.”

“No, no. Don’t ever say that. Never.”

“I can’t.” A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “It was better before,” she said, giving in to the sob and letting him pull her closer. “It was better with you not knowing.”

“Maybe it was,” he agreed, stroking her hair. “But it wasn’t right. You and me separating because of Guy was never right. We were just getting started.” He eased her away so he could look into her eyes when he said the rest. “We were just falling in love.”

A soft whimper caught in her throat. “Were we?”

He traced her wet cheek, wiping the tear. “You know we were.”

“I was.”

“Me, too.”

She leaned against his forehead. “He stole that.”

“We let him,” he said, his voice as rough as the nine-inch nail that felt like it was sliding through his breastbone
and into his heart. “Jocelyn.” He cupped her chin and held her face steady. “I’m so sorry he hurt you. It was my fault.”

“No, it—”

“Yes, it was.”

“You can’t blame yourself for his violence.”

“I should have taken him that night.” Memories flashed in his mind: the gun, the look on Guy’s face, the gut-deep certainty that he was about to die. And even after Guy left, all he could do was stand there like a complete idiot and stare at his shrine, paralyzed with fear.

While Jocelyn was taking what was meant for him. “I was chickenshit,” he admitted. “Not going after you was chickenshit.”

“He had a gun, so chickenshit was a smart call.”

“Even… after. When I went to school. I knew why you didn’t call me and I… was too scared of… losing everything.” His throat was thick with disgust and regret, the emotions choking him. “And I did lose everything. I lost you.”

She shuddered softly, as if the words electrified her.

He held her face, spreading his hands and then burying his fingers in her hair. “Everything,” he whispered. “You were everything and I didn’t even know it.”

Closing her eyes, she exhaled slow and long, as if she’d held that breath for years.

“But, it’s too late, Will.”

“Is it?” He tried to pull her closer, but she froze and inched back, away from him. “Is it?” he asked again, somehow feeling her slip away emotionally as well as physically.

“Of course it is,” she said brusquely. “But thank you.”

“Thank—for what?”

She gave him a gentle nudge, pushing him completely away, driving him crazy. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

“What is?”

“The word for my list. I just couldn’t figure out what I was looking to organize and now I know.” She grabbed the notebook, took back the pen, and scratched the word
everything
on the top of the page as she stood up.

“Everything? What kind of list theme is that?”

“Everything I have to do to get out of here.” She wrote
Guy
. “Get him moved.”
Stuff
. “Pack his trash.”
House
. “Sell his house.”
Business
. “Get new clients.” She took a few more steps, entirely focused on her list. “Oh and I have to help Lacey find a spa manager, and…” Her voice faded as she walked out the bathroom door.

“Where am I on that list of everything?” he called.

“You’re not.”

Why the fuck not?

“That’s not acceptable.” Will’s hands landed on Jocelyn’s shoulders, his grip far less tender than it had been in the bathroom. He turned her from the closet before she had a chance to grab a sundress so she could sit outside and breathe fresh air.

She didn’t bother to ask what wasn’t acceptable; it was clear by the look on his face, the fire in his eyes, and set of his strong jaw.

“I want to be on that list.”

No, that would never work. Not now that he knew the truth. And she knew Will; he’d make room in his big old heart for Guy. And that history would always be there, haunting them. Or, worse, he’d forgive Guy and expect her to do the same.
No
. “There’s no room for you
on my list.”
Or in my orderly, controlled, emotionally safe life.

“Make room.”

“There’s no time for you.”

“Make time.”

“There’s no…” She shook her head. “Please, Will. The same thing that’s always been between us is still between us.”

“Guy? I thought we had a…” He gestured toward the notebook on the bed. “A strategy for him.”

“We?” She almost smiled.

“Everything’s changed, now, Joss. We’re in this together. Everything’s changed.”

“Yes, it has. You know and I… I can’t stand that you know.”

“I can’t stand that I did nothing to stop it. That you ran away so that I could have a life and gave up everything—”

“I didn’t give up everything, Will.” She turned back to the closet, trying to think, digging wildly for control of the chaos in her heart. And failing.

“How did you… how did it all unfold?”

Did he really have to know this? She pushed some hangers, hard, like they were the memories she didn’t want. “Charity and Gloria found me on the street. Charity took me in and respected that I didn’t want to file charges.”

“Why the hell not?”

She closed her eyes and exhaled.

“Because of me,” he assumed, correctly.

“I didn’t want you dragged in as some kind of witness the week you were off to college and your baseball career.”

Behind her, he swore softly. “Then what?”

“Then Charity fixed me up, got all my stuff, got me to college. And she made damn sure my father knew she had proof of what he’d done, and forced him to resign from his job. She used to come by and check on my mother periodically, too, and let me know that everything was okay.”

“So I was replaced by Charity Grambling.”

“Will!” She whirled around, patience gone. “This isn’t about you.”

He held up both hands to stave off her anger. “I know, Joss, I know. But I can’t fucking stand that I let you down like that.” His hands relaxed and came down on her bare shoulders. “I want to make it up to you.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his, knowing the pain and regret she saw there mirrored her own. “You have. You took care of Guy.”

He grunted softly. “If I’d have known…”

“You’d have killed him.”

“Then everything worked out like it was supposed to, because he’s alive and I’m… and you’re… and we’re… together.”

She lifted a brow. “Not exactly.”

“I want to be. I want to be with you. I want to—”

He pulled her into him and met her mouth with his, hard and fast and unexpected. His arms tightened and he pressed hard, with no finesse but so, so much emotion.

“Give me a chance, Joss.” He ground the words into her mouth. “Give me a goddamn chance to show you that.”

Her fingers closed on his arms, the power in them emanating through her whole body. Everything in her responded, head to toe, heart to soul. She fought for a moment, her hands fisted, pushing and then pulling.

But she had to stop.
Had
to.

Couldn’t.

Instead, she opened her mouth and let him in, bowing her back and pressing her body into his, dizzy with the thrill just that much contact gave her. He dragged his hands over her bare back, letting them slide on to her backside, adding pressure and pleasure and pain all at the same time.

She burrowed her fingers into his hair, holding his head, taking, taking, taking the kiss.

But she had to stop. Otherwise, they’d—

With superhuman effort, she finally pulled herself away, the separation actually making her ache.

“Will.” She exhaled. “You are completely controlled by emotions.”

And she shouldn’t be. Couldn’t afford to lose control and trust a man. Even Will.
Especially
Will.

His lips curved up in a half smile. “Yeah, I am.”

“You can’t live that way.” At least she couldn’t. It was too scary and made her much too vulnerable.

“That’s what you don’t understand, Joss. You can’t live any other way; you can only exist.”

She shuttered her eyes and leaned into him, shaking uncontrollably. Whole-body terror gripped her. “I don’t want to lose control,” she whispered.

“I noticed.” He kissed her cheek, her neck, along the line of her shoulder. She could feel his erection growing, his heart pounding. “But I’m going to do whatever it takes to get on your damn list.”

She dropped her head on his shoulder, the sheer bliss of it nearly buckling her knees. “You don’t want to be on my list, Will.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We’re in this together now. Fifteen years to make up for, and I’m going to do that. I am.” He tilted her chin up, stealing the strength of his shoulder but replacing it with the power of his eyes. “I am.”

Deep down inside her, everything boiled and brewed and bubbled up, threatening… everything. Her legs nearly buckled under her and, sensing that, he backed her right into the bed and eased her down.

Oh, God. Was this it?

Every kiss was so hot his mouth burned her skin, one hand on her bra, the other sliding over her belly to touch her.

She let out a soft cry, pushing him with her arms while she pulled him with her legs.

What the hell was wrong with her? “Stop, Will, stop.”

He did, instantly. Lifting his head to look into her eyes, his hand frozen on top of her breast. “You don’t want to?”

Oh, yes, she did. She wanted to with every white-hot nerve in her body. But she—how could she tell him the truth?

Hadn’t he had enough life-changing revelations? “Tell me what you’re thinking, Joss. Just tell me. We’re starting over, square one, new game, first inning. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

How could she? “I’m really, really scared.” Of what was inevitable: sex. Every time, those old fears bubbled up, memories of that night when they’d been so close to losing control. And what it had cost her. “I’m scared of that feeling of not being in control.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Maybe she should. Maybe she should just tell him that because of that night—

From her dresser, the soft ring of her cell phone saved her from any confessions. She nudged him off her, getting a soft moan of frustration when she left his arms to get the phone.

“Hey, Zoe, what’s up?” she asked after glancing at the caller ID.

“I’m at your dad’s house.” It wasn’t the words but the utter lack of humor in Zoe’s voice that made Jocelyn straighten and listen, placing her hand on the dresser for a little support.

“You are?”

“Tessa had to go to work and I was, you know, just thinking about the old dude after all the fun I had babysitting yesterday, so I thought I’d check on him.”

“That was thoughtful.” Which seemed to be what Guy elicited from
everyone
these days. “And?”

“You need to get down here, Joss.”