Winner Takes All

by Sandra Kitt

  “I think you’re in good hands, honey. I trust Patrick to be careful with you.”

  “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

  Chapter 12

  Jean rode back to Brooklyn with Patrick after her parents had left them. It was so wonderful to be in his luxurious vehicle, just the two of them cocooned within the air-conditioned space…

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Tired. I look a mess,” she said, making a half-hearted attempt to smooth her wild hair.

  “You look beautiful. Sexy, with your hair like that. When we get to your place, I’m kissing all your bruises. You know, to make them go away.”

  She laughed. “I’d enjoy that.”

  “Me too.”

  “Thank you for everything you did, Patrick.”

  “I want to stay in your folks’ good graces. It’s obvious they’re protective of you. Glad I had a chance to meet them.”

  “I bet they have a ton of questions about you. Probably more about you and me,” she ventured quietly.

  He grinned broadly and then sobered for a long moment.

  “Your dad lives in LA Your mom still lives in Tarrytown. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “About what?”

  “Okay, you don’t want to speculate. But from my seat at the table, I’d say…they’re not done yet. It’s more than just being amicable and pleasant for your sake. There didn’t seem to be any tension between them, considering.”

  “I noticed,” Jean murmured thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I should make anything of it. Until my dad said my mom invited him to stay for the night. The way he said it. It’s like it wasn’t the first time. It may have just slipped out. Maybe he didn’t mean to reveal so much. I don’t know.”

  “It didn’t look to me like they’re trying to hide anything. Did you happen to catch the moony-eyed looks they were exchanging when we left first aid?”

  “I did.”

  Patrick stared out the windshield waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he pulled himself together.

  “Okay, end of discussion. There’s probably really nothing to talk about.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I feel. I spent my childhood praying for the miracle that would make us a whole family. That my dad and mom would come together in one place.”

  “And you’d live happily ever after,” he added.

  “By the time I was getting out of high school, it seemed less important. I was going off to college and becoming an adult, getting on with my own life. It was too late to wish for that kind of normal family. There were so many single-parent households all around me that it was no longer a thing, you know?”

  “How would you feel if your parents are forming some sort of new relationship?” Patrick said.

  “Bewildered. After all these years. Maybe they’ve somehow worked out that nothing matters anymore but how they feel about each other.”

  Patrick reached out and wrapped his hand around the top of her thigh. “That makes perfect sense. That’s exactly how I’d handle it…”

  For Jean, it was an intriguing recap that was just beginning to emerge into a new possibility, a new updated reality. Did her parents still love each other? Was she only wishing?

  * * *

  Jean sat watching Patrick’s bent head as he studiously checked out the scrapes on her arm and her hand. He applied a healing ointment he’d found in her medicine cabinet. He’d already made up a ziplock bag with ice and had applied it to her knee, wrapping it in place with an Ace bandage. Then he’d placed a pillow under the knee, telling her to keep it raised, as per the doctor’s orders.

  “What do you think, Dr. Bennett?” she asked, resisting the urge to stroke his hair.

  Patrick chuckled, wiping his fingers on a tissue. “Surgery is not called for at this time.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Jean said. She was feeling happy but guilty. Happy that she was not seriously hurt, and she and Patrick had the evening together. Guilty that she’d chosen to stay with him over visiting with her parents. When had it come to pass that every moment mattered to her?

  “Okay,” he said, getting up from facing her on the side of her bed. He began gathering up the small cadre of medical supplies and headed to the bathroom. “I’m done. Want anything? There’s more pizza.”

  “No.”

  She sighed, settling against her pillows. With closed eyes, she listened to him puttering around the bathroom, the kitchen. Familiar with her apartment, her home. Making a place for himself. Another happy thought. Jean could feel a wave of exhaustion begin to flow over her, softening her body, her mind. The bike event had done her in, but she was proud of herself for having seen it through to the end. She could feel herself slipping into a twilight zone just before sleep where she felt cozy, and safe.

  She didn’t move as Patrick carefully got into the bed, maneuvering close to her side until she rested partially against his bare chest. She was still on her back so her knee could remain in place with the ice pack. He was naked and warm and sturdy. He was whispering something sweet into her ear, kissing her neck, her shoulder, and tucking her head beneath his chin. His arms enclosed her, anchored her to him where she felt cherished.

  “I thought I saw Brian earlier. It was almost at the finish line. He waved goodbye to you and met up with some other people.”

  Jean lay still, biding her time while she thought of an appropriate answer. Her conversation with Brian was more personal than she could ever hope to explain to Patrick. And it had nothing to do with him other than as the unspoken obstacle between her and Brian’s misguided interest in her. How could she explain the dynamics of Brian wondering why she’d be more interested in Patrick, a white man, and not him, who was Black? How could she ever explain the racial history that put her in a totally different category of identity? Of having to defend herself against her own choices?

  “Yes, it was Brian.”

  “I had no idea he was planning to participate. He never mentioned it.”

  “I’m sure you two don’t tell each other everything you’re doing outside of work. He said he was biking with family, cousins.”

  “Oh.”

  “We encountered each other near the very end. Less than a half mile from the finish time. So it’s not like we had a lot of conversation.”

  “Was he with you when you fell?”

  “Yes. My front tire hit something on the path. A rock, discarded garbage, who knows.”

  “Did he help you at all?”

  “Well…he asked if I was okay. Helped me right my bike. That’s when we decided to walk the rest of the way.”

  “Oh,” Patrick murmured again.

  Jean suspected he had other thoughts on his mind, more questions, but she wasn’t going to add to Patrick’s curiosity and open up a conversation that could lead somewhere she wasn’t willing to go. She wasn’t the least interested in Brian Abbott.

  Jean was glad that Patrick didn’t pursue the matter, settling down next to her with her in his arms. There was no need to move, and the otherworldly setting began to take over, sinking them both into a place that was either a fantasy…or a dream.

  Sometime later Jean began to float above the internal changing scenes that had been her dreams when she felt Patrick’s breath tickling her skin. During the night, she’d managed to discard the homemade ice pack, now melted. Her position had changed but Patrick still held her. He sighed deeply and uttered a soft moan. His hips pressed against her buttocks, his arousal bringing her into gradual awareness and readiness, drowsy but awake.

  One of his hands rubbed and massaged a breast, and the other was positioned below her navel, encouraging her to push back to meet his growing urgency. It was suddenly matching her own. Jean was excited by the way their bodies swayed and undulated together, a precursor to a much deeper conn
ection. She turned her head, seeking Patrick’s mouth, his kiss, as if it was balm to her heated senses. Patrick rose to bend over her, to accommodate that need. He rolled Jean onto her back, her arms free to circle him, her mouth free and at a better angle to meet his kiss with a slow, sensual hunger that made her senses spin. She raised her knees, and Patrick shifted into place.

  Abruptly he broke the kiss, stopped moving except to lift his body a few inches from Jean’s. He gasped sharply.

  “Your arm. Your knee. I’ll…”

  Jean cleverly distracted Patrick by kissing him, forcing him not only into silence, but back to the business at hand.

  She whispered against his mouth. “Nothing hurts. Nothing…”

  He believed her, instantly sinking back to her body, kissing her once again enthusiastically and maneuvering his way with ease to the very core of her.

  It was lazy lovemaking. No rush to reach the end of the experience. They were enjoying the dizzy, erotic pleasure of being lost in each other.

  * * *

  They’d managed to pull themselves together and head out for a very late brunch before the café began setting up for dinner. It was the tail end of the Sunday crowd, and the place was mostly empty. As Jean finished browsing through the menu, it came over her that she was feeling a settled and calm kind of contentment. As if all was right in her world. She looked at Patrick, his head bent over the laminated card, and realized that so much of the ethereal feelings coursing through her had to do with being with him.

  Jean could not pinpoint exactly when she’d let her guard down and come to believe that maybe—just maybe—she and Patrick were an item. After all, other people around them who weren’t necessarily friends saw something between them that she and Patrick had not mentioned to themselves. The thought made her almost light-headed. Was this what it felt like when you knew you cared for someone and you became a different person than you were the day before? He had entered her sphere of being, and he mattered. There was a brief tightening in Jean’s chest as she recognized the kind of open vulnerability that came with the territory.

  It was also not lost on her that this was a new sensation and experience. She knew that, while she’d loved Ross for his qualities, his dependability, and was prepared to build a future with him, there was a clear and distinct difference from the certainty that was wrapping around her heart when she was with Patrick.

  Jean blinked as the mist of her own fantasies suddenly vaporized and reality took over. And fear. It was that odd place in her heart where the desire to let herself free-fall into what she wanted to be true and the need to protect her heart from being shattered a second time clashed.

  Patrick glanced up, and his own smile of contentment became quizzical as he returned her regard. He reached across the table for her hand.

  “Hey. What’s going on?”

  Jean forced a smile and made a hasty attempt to cover her expression of self-induced doubts with one of wistfulness. “I was thinking that your treatments last night…”

  His smile returned. “And this morning…”

  “Worked. I’m still a little tender in places.”

  Patrick chortled and squeezed her hand. He braced his forearms on the table and leaned forward for a quick kiss. “I don’t think all of that’s from being on a bicycle for two hours yesterday.”

  Her mind cleared, her humor returned. She liked being reminded of just how good Patrick made her feel. She knew he liked being with her. There was no denying there was magic in his touch.

  “Do you know what you want?” she asked, pointing to his menu.

  He was still regarding her. His smile broadened. “I do. But I doubt it’s served here.”

  Jean was left giddy with his implication.

  “I think you’re blushing,” he said quietly. “I hope I did that.”

  Again, Jean couldn’t respond, but she didn’t have to, as a waitress appeared to take their order.

  The meal was light and chatty and filled with easy good humor. Jean absorbed every minute, knowing that they had little time left before Patrick would have to leave to return home.

  In the SUV on the ride back to her place, Patrick’s conversation showed that his mind had already shifted gears and he was focused on his commitments for the next week. Jean listened quietly. At a red light, Patrick quickly read a text and followed up with a call. It was with Brian, whom Patrick identified in his greeting.

  Jean ignored the conversation, drifting in her own thoughts and concerns. She didn’t want to make too much of their sharing of time and space that, so far, had been pretty much on the fly. It was all satisfying, but she still felt incomplete.

  “I’ll get back to you…” Patrick was saying, ending the call.

  Then, abruptly, he muttered an oath and hit his brakes.

  Jean jerked out of her thoughts and forward against her seat belt. Patrick’s arm shot out across her chest, holding her in place as added protection.

  A sedan had cut in front of the SUV, and Patrick had barely missed running into the back of it. The car ahead of them started forward, slowly. Patrick resumed following, letting some distance build between the two vehicles. Now Jean was alert. The sedan seemed to be pacing him, and Patrick began maneuvering side to side, looking for an opportunity to change lanes and keep a safe distance.

  He made his move to the right, accelerating, but the car ahead was quicker, getting in front again. Patrick applied his brakes but crashed into the back of the sedan. The impact was a loud thud and brief screeching of tires. Jean gasped, grabbing the open cuff near her door handle to hold herself steady. She heard the sound of plastic splintering and shattering. All around them car horns blasted as other drivers tried to avoid the accident.

  Patrick put his car into park and put on his hazard lights. He turned to her, his eyes sharp and worried.

  “You okay?”

  Jean nodded.

  “Get out of the car,” he ordered.

  He manually released the lock and was out of the driver’s side before she could respond. Patrick hurried around the front of the vehicle and pulled the door open. Behind him, a small crowd was gathering. The two vehicles were spread over a lane and a half on the residential street, making it difficult for cars to drive past.

  He didn’t wait for Jean to climb out of the car but lifted her out by her waist. As soon as he released her, he had his cell phone out and opened the camera. He pivoted briefly to the sedan and began snapping photos. The car door opened, and a young man exited the driver side. Patrick quickly snapped the point of impact and the position of the two vehicles. He returned to Jean.

  “I want you to go. Get to the next street or avenue and call for a car.”

  “I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay. I’ll…”

  “I don’t want you to get involved. I know why this happened. I’ll call the police. I’ll take care of it. Go!”

  “Patrick, let me stay.”

  “Go home, Jean.”

  He took another moment to look searchingly into her eyes. She saw he was very alert, angry, concerned for her. “Patrick,” Jean whispered, a final plea to stay with him. His thumb brushed her cheek, and his hand gently pushed her as he turned back to three young men who were exiting the sedan. Jean turned and maneuvered her way from the scene, away from the onlookers and gawkers, away from those holding up cell phones to tape or photograph the encounter.

  Everyone was an instant reporter.

  Jean reached the sidewalk and looked back to find Patrick on his cell. He was now videotaping the car he’d hit, as well as the three male occupants, young men in their twenties. Jean could tell by their gestures and the way they engaged Patrick in discussion that they clearly felt he was at fault and they were argumentative. Patrick put a hand up to stop their slightly aggressive attitudes and continued to make calls. He briefly looked around, as if to make sure she
was no longer in sight. As his gaze swept the crowd, Jean repositioned herself so he wouldn’t see her. She continued to stand in the background, watching everything unfold.

  Only after a squad car arrived and two officers approached the scene, laconically, did Jean start to relax. One of them, apparently recognizing Patrick, walked right to Patrick and shook his hand. One of the three men from the other car involved could be seen photographing the exchange. Only then did Jean stop holding her breath and, feeling that the situation was under control, reluctantly went in search of an alternative way to get home.

  Patrick called her thirty minutes later. She was just being dropped off in front of her building. Jean stood outside the entrance to take the call.

  “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine. The police are doing their thing. I called my insurance company, and I’ve left a message for my attorney.”

  She frowned. “Your attorney? Why?”

  “I’ll explain later. Are you home?”

  “Just arrived.”

  “Sorry the day ended with a bang. No pun intended.”

  “I’m not laughing. I was worried.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “What about the accident? Can you drive your car? Was anyone hurt? Patrick, I don’t understand what happened.”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” he sighed.

  “What?”

  “The car can be fixed, and no one got hurt. Great lesson, though. I’m going to have to be more careful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t think all that much would change with the lottery win. But things have been happening that somehow make me feel like I have a target pinned to my back. Getting the Porsche for myself was not a smart idea.”

  Jean said nothing. She thought she understood what he meant.

  “Look, I’m almost finished here. The car is drivable.”

  “Do you want to come back to my place?”

  “I can’t. I need to get home and take care of a few things. I’ll have to have my car looked at, and I might have to get a loaner for a few days. Tomorrow is going to get very complicated.”