Close Match

by Jerald, Tracey

  “I think the stress of this is getting to you,” he tells me bluntly. My eyes widen.

  “Me? I’m not the one who has to drink to force himself to crawl into bed with a woman every night. Just forget it. I’m moving back into my old room tonight,” I declare, ripping myself out of his arms to turn away. If I hadn’t turned at just the wrong moment, I might have seen the shock on his face.

  “Linnie, sweetheart, no. That’s not it.” I feel his fingers graze my bare arms.

  My heart wrenches. I’m forcing myself to wake up from all of the illusions of my life and face reality. Nothing lasts forever—not the spotlight, not family, and certainly not love. In my case, it lasted the duration of time for a man to shout it out right before he passed out next to me.

  “Yes, I’m having a drink, but you’re not the reason why.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I ache in all the wrong places having this conversation. I want to be left to the one thing that’s not let me down so far.

  Pain.

  “It does.” He grabs me and spins me around.

  “I understand, Monty. I only wish you’d talked with me about it.” Before you’d broken my heart. But I don’t add on the last part. “Let me finish working out and I’ll…”

  He spins me into his arms. “How am I supposed to pick up the pieces of you when I’m falling apart at your feet? How can I hold you when I’m doing something I know you disapprove of? You walked away the last time and cried because of it. How can I tell you I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you when I’m not strong enough to promise to be what you need?”

  My heart thumps hard beats inside my chest. “I didn’t walk away. I’ve been here the whole time,” I say quietly.

  His fingers tighten even as his face contorts in pain. “I hope you mean that, because I’m not capable of letting go. Not anymore.” Monty lowers his head down to mine, so close our eyes are centimeters away from each other.

  We don’t kiss. We don’t move. What we’ve just shared is too overwhelming to shatter the moment by moving a fraction of an inch to capture each other’s lips. Instead, it’s the delicate flutter of our lashes as they tangle that exchange the power of our declaration.

  We’re in this together.

  We’ll figure out the miscommunication later, but right now, he’s not letting me go. He’s holding on.

  Even as the air passes my lips and reaches his, I feel my soul sigh in the same way.

  An oasis found in the storm that we both know is coming.

  * * *

  That night as we get ready for bed, I’m washing my face when Monty comes in behind me in the bathroom. I smile when he reaches for his toothbrush. “I just had a drink, baby. I don’t want that on my breath when I kiss you in a few.”

  I shock the hell out of him when I say, “I didn’t mind it that day, Monty. Why wouldn’t you kiss me?”

  His toothbrush falls out of his hands and into the basin. “Then why did you walk away?” His confusion and self-loathing are evident. I feel terrible I’ve played a part in this without him knowing.

  “Because I didn’t want to add to your burden.” Placing my hand on his chest, my fingernails rake through it before settling over his heart. “You already shoulder the burden for so much, too much. I needed to have a good cry. It was too much that day. Dad, telling Bristol I couldn’t be there for her…” I swallow hard.

  “Prove it,” he challenges.

  “How?”

  “Kiss me,” he demands. And I understand what he’s saying. He’s had a drink. He was willing to scrape off the taste so I didn’t need to absorb it. But if it wasn’t him who hurt me, then I should have no problem laying my lips on his.

  Stepping even closer, I slide my hands into his thick hair and tug his head down a little. He obliges by ducking down a little. I seal our lips together with a tenderness I think we both need. His arms wrap around me. I nibble at his full lower lip before taking a nip. He parts his lips in surprise—my tongue darts inside for a long stroke, a taste. I shudder in joy and longing.

  Monty groans before taking over the kiss, backing me up against the vanity. His head slants, and he tangles his fingers in my hair to hold my head steady as he plunders my mouth.

  Long moments pass where there’s only the sounds of our harsh breath and sighs. When he pulls back, he whispers, “Sometimes I forget until I look at you, there are miracles in this world. Don’t ever let me forget that.” Pulling away, he leaves me standing there stunned as he quickly brushes his teeth.

  Monty swipes a hand over his wet mouth. “Come on, my love. We need a good night’s sleep. Neither of us has had one of those lately.”

  While a small part of me is a bit disappointed he’s not planning on ravishing me, I know he’s right. I’m wobbling on my feet as we make our way to bed. Crawling in next to him, I roll to my side, my position of the last week. I’m well on my way to la-la land when Monty hauls me onto my other side so I’m curled into him.

  “Much better,” he mutters.

  And I have to admit, he’s right. Hearing his heart so close to my ear is so much better. Within seconds, I’m asleep.

  I have no idea how long it takes him to drift off.

  Fifty-Eight

  Montague

  I slip from her side in the middle of the night and head straight to the bar. I didn’t have a nightmare because I haven’t slept. What do you call your life repeatedly flashing before your eyes in the middle of the night while your heart beats erratically?

  A wake-up call. Maybe a never-sleep-again call. Either way, I need a drink.

  The marks are fresh on my soul from what happened today even though it worked out okay. Linnie’s mine and I’ll do anything, say anything, and protect her from anyone.

  As the golden liquid slides down my throat, I berate myself. What was I thinking? I should have known better than to think there wouldn’t be scars on someone whose mother was an alcoholic, that she wouldn’t misinterpret my drinking to be about her.

  I am surprised she said she didn’t mind. Then again, in the world she grew up in, alcohol is likely as commonplace as water consumption. What she doesn’t want it to be is because of her, which I gave her the impression of. Swallowing the last of the lowball I poured, I admire the way the moon makes the ivory of her skin glow. The way her dark hair floats around her like a cloud.

  I feel a stirring deep in my loins the way I haven’t since the day Ev began the at-home protocol.

  I cross the room and move back into bed. Sliding a hand over the silk covering Linnie’s hip, she stirs in her sleep. “Monty?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What time is it?” she mumbles.

  “It’s time for me to show you how much you mean to me.” I press a warm kiss to the center of her stomach before I work my way down.

  It’s a long while before I work my way back up her body, and only after she’s breathlessly called out my name. It’s even longer before I join our bodies.

  But not before I tell her the most important thing. “I love you, Linnie.” And then, only then, do I slide home inside of her. Her body trembles beneath me when she whispers, “I love you too.” Then, I begin slowly moving in and out of her.

  Instead of being tired and alone fighting these battles raging inside of me, I’m able to hold her next to me as I sip at another drink before I finally fall asleep.

  * * *

  The following day while Linnie’s in the shower, I make myself a cup of coffee. Looking at the mostly empty decanter, I say, “To hell with it,” and pour the rest of it into my coffee. I’m not planning on driving anywhere today.

  And besides, this way it can be cleaned. I honestly can’t remember the last time that thing was scrubbed out.

  After a day where Linnie helps the beginner students muck out some stalls, she has to change to be fit to eat lunch. “I’m a disgusting mess, Monty!”

  “You realize I’d make you wear it if your father wouldn’t likely get ill if he smelled the manu
re,” I tease her about the horse shit that ended up in her braid.

  Giving me the finger, she walks into the bathroom and strips. Quickly starting the shower, she purrs, “Planning on joining me?”

  I tell myself it was that invitation and not my spying the newly full decanter sitting on the bar that caused my heart to leap in anticipation. With a smirk, I start unbuttoning my shirt. “What do you think?”

  Fifty-Nine

  Evangeline

  “Kick your foot out of the stirrup!”

  “Oh my God, Monty!” I’m freaking out and screaming with laughter at the same time. And God help me, it feels good to laugh. Lord, I can’t remember the last time I did. Was it a month ago? More? I know it’s been at least fourteen days—that’s when Ev popped the first pill to kill off his immune system. It’s been about a week since Monty’s tender declaration of love—not the one where he shouted it randomly to the whole household. And in the time between, we’ve clung to each other as Ev’s deteriorated even more each day.

  Yesterday morning, Char drove him to the hospital. She told Monty she’d be back later to see us before we all go tomorrow for my procedure.

  In the meantime, Monty’s determined if I’m not going to be able to walk, it should be for a reason like being up on a horse. I told him there were more fun ways. Even though his eyes sparkled with interest, he still told me to “Braid your hair, sweetheart. Let’s see if you can manage a lap around the ring on your own.” I agreed because it’s beautiful out. The sky’s an incredible cerulean blue without a streak of white marring it. Knowing I’m going to be housebound for the next few days after the procedure, some fresh air sounded like a good idea.

  That was until Hatchet realized I was “in charge.”

  Horses must have this innate sense of knowing who’s doing the riding, I muse, giggling, while Monty curses a streak as blue as the sky. She walked docilely around the ring to show off before deciding she had an itch and just had to scratch it. Unfortunately, she didn’t care I was still in the saddle.

  “Hatchet, you crazy horse. Get up,” Monty orders. But even he can’t keep the humor from his voice. Hatchet, realizing neither of us is angry, rolls partially off my trapped leg enough so I can free it from the stirrup. I shuffle back while she proceeds to scratch her side in the dirt animatedly.

  “This is a fine example of my skills of a horsewoman,” I declare, pulling my knees up to brace my arms against them. Hatchet continues to ignore me as she smooths her face and side back and forth in the dirt before attempting a full roll, saddle and all.

  Monty’s look of disgust as he tries to right his horse sets me off in hysterics again. “What in the world is wrong with you?” he demands of the 1800-pound animal. Finally getting her to her feet, he finds me exactly where I’ve been the whole time—on my ass. “Up and at ’em, Brogan. Time to teach you both who’s boss in the saddle.”

  “If you think I’m getting back up on her, you’re crazy.”

  Monty leans down and wraps an arm around my waist while holding Hatchet’s reins away. “Crazy about you, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Then you won’t make me get up on that horse again.”

  “Sweetheart, life’s already thrown you much harder than this. How did you face it? By giving up?” he challenges me.

  “No,” I answer, truthfully.

  “Just like riding, you dug in your heels and didn’t let go. Now, I’m going to boost you up so you can do the exact same thing.”

  My breath hitches. Monty’s face is so close I can see each spike of his eyelashes. I realize if I’d had him supporting me along the way, the knocks I took after Mom died wouldn’t have been so devastating.

  I can do this, not just because he’s autocratically ordering me to, but because I’m not the same person I was before. There isn’t anything in my heart and soul that he hasn’t seen and accepted. It has nothing to do with who I am on a stage, but who I am off of it. I could choose never to play another role, never sing or dance again, and the man who’s muscular arm is pulling me to my feet would support that.

  Support me.

  And just that quickly, I realize home isn’t New York, nor is it the farm.

  Home is Monty.

  Because when you find the one place you know no matter what you’ll always be able to lay your head down and find peace, it doesn’t matter if that’s a penthouse, a barn floor, or a street corner. That place is home.

  And the right one can give you the strength to conquer all of your fears.

  “Okay.” I wrap my arms around his neck.

  He pulls me the rest of the way to my feet before ordering, “Now, get control of your horse.”

  “Don’t you mean your horse?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Whatever. Get Hatchet on her feet and get back in the saddle.”

  * * *

  “How are you doing?” I’m on the phone with my father. I couldn’t talk to him yesterday because he was too ill every time Monty or I tried to get him on the phone. We were in the middle of preparing lunch when Char said she was going upstairs for a nap. After she woke up, she said, “Let’s give Ev a try. I know he wants to talk with both of you.”

  Monty spoke with him first. I let the two of them have their time alone. God, when Monty came out of the room shaking, I could feel the blood drain from my face. He shook his head and muttered, “I need some time and a drink. He’s on the phone waiting for you.”

  Torn between the man I love and my father, I hurried into the study uncertain of how much energy my father would have. And I knew there were things I wanted to say.

  “Tired, sweetheart. And if I ever mention wanting ginger ale after this, shoot me.” I’m curled up in the chair in his office. But at his weak attempt at a joke, I laugh softly.

  “I’ll remember that if you do,” I tease him. I spy a photo of the two of us that Char took on Christmas Day on his desk. I’d found a T-shirt shop online to make up a shirt that read “World’s Best Biological Dad.” He slid it on with pride. Char took the shot. I reach for it as I cradle the phone in between my cheek and shoulder. Was the love between us so evident even then? I wonder. I trace my fingers over his face, lingering on the eyes and dimples that exactly match mine. I haven’t seen them in the last few weeks.

  I wonder if I ever will again.

  It’s that thought that drives me to blurt out, “I don’t regret a single minute of getting to know you, Dad.”

  There’s a pregnant pause on the other end of the line before he rasps out, “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. I wish we had more time—that I could hug you one more time. I would give anything to know this is going to work, so that I could call you Dad to your face for the first time instead of over the phone.”

  “Just hearing it at all…Linnie, it’s more than I ever hoped for.” There’s sniffling on the other end of the line.

  “You have to promise me no matter what you’ll fight,” I say fiercely. “Think of it like some software you have to conquer or something. Figure out a way to make my cells work for you, damnit. You’re some sort of super genius or something; you can do it.”

  He starts laughing in my ear. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart. Linnie, I love you. You know that, right? No matter what happens.”

  Now, I’m the one with tears falling faster than I can wipe them up. “I don’t want to talk about what might happen. Only what will. Now, I have to go rest up. I have a pretty big day myself tomorrow.”

  “Listen to the doctors,” he says sternly.

  “I will if you will.”

  “That’s the only thing I can do, sweetheart.”

  “Then try to rest. I know they’re going to start another round soon, right?”

  “In a few hours.” His voice is resigned but determined. As long as he doesn’t lose that determination, I think he’ll be okay. At least I hope so. Otherwise, it will be just a few… No, don’t think about it.

  “Then I’ll talk with you on the flip side
. Hey, Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you too.” Quickly, I hang up the phone. Suddenly my stomach lurches at the idea this might be it. Tomorrow, I’m having surgery for the first time. Even though I’ve been tested for this, I’ve never had a major medical procedure performed. As fear washes over me, I grab my phone and send a text to Bristol. I love you. I always will. I hope you, Simon, and Alex will always be blessed and happy. Pressing Send, I lean back in my father’s chair.

  And think about after all is said and done, the day my father met me was the day he began to die.

  It’s one hell of a legacy for a daughter to have.

  With a weariness I didn’t realize was permeating my bones, I push myself out of the chair and head upstairs. Figuring I’ll run into Monty there at some point, I realize I ache all over. I want to submerge myself in the massive tub in his room and think of nothing for a little while.

  Sixty

  Evangeline

  The heat is scalding, but it’s the only thing penetrating the aches permeating my body and soul. There’s a searing tension that’s taken residence inside me. The nerves that were gripping me earlier starts to come back, making me face reality head-on.

  Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow morning we’ll drive to the hospital, and I’ll undergo the procedure to give my bone marrow to my father, to the man I called Dad for the first time on the phone when I spoke with him only hours ago. To the father I might lose if this doesn’t work out.

  No, I tell myself firmly. Positive thoughts. Nothing terrible will happen to him. Besides, Dr. Spellman is adamant. This is Ev—Dad’s—best chance at long-term remission. But it’s hard not to wonder what can go wrong.