Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy)

by Craig, Susan

  It stung, but he wasn’t surprised. She was too far away to reach with words or actions. Helpless to console her, he had settled himself on his side facing the windows, and lain motionless. His heart raged at the stalker, at himself… but not at her. In the face of her pain, whatever had gone on between her and Smith faded into insignificance. The control developed when a slip meant death, harnessed his body and kept it still, despite the simmering rage that prodded him to toss and turn. He would not disturb her rest.

  Then she’d moved across the bed to him and curled up against his back where he could feel the warm, worn fabric of her sweat suit and the palms of both her hands pressed against him.

  He started to turn toward her, but she’d stopped him with a whisper of pressure on his shoulder. All he could do was lay there while she suffered. Stoically, he’d turned back to the window and she’d shifted closer, pressing her cheek against his back. Just that, nothing more. That small contact was all the help he could provide. She hadn’t moved more than an inch since then. He hadn’t either, except to shift his legs a time or two. He wondered if she’d slept at all.

  Probably not. No one sleeps frozen in place like that.

  He hadn’t been able to shut his eyes either. Now, as he watched the light grow, he felt sick. It was like she’d been beaten senseless. And he supposed she had been. This last blow had knocked all the fight out of her.

  The shell of a woman clinging to his back wasn’t his Sally. The woman he loved had vanished into herself, and God help him, he was afraid to move, afraid to learn what his heart already knew—that even seven hours later, she hadn’t come back.

  The sun rose higher, and finally shone, cold and bright, through the tall windows and directly into the loft, filling every corner with light. Jim felt Sally shift slightly away from him. Her cheek no longer pressed against him, her hands slipped down. He heard a change in the rhythm of her breathing. She had fallen asleep, at last. Cautiously he slipped out of the bed and turned to look at her. She was pale and had dark circles under her eyes. Her body curled into a tight ball, and her face was crimped, as if in pain.

  Impotent fury lashed through Jim again and he turned it on himself. He had failed to keep her safe. There was nothing he could do to fix this. Feeling as if his heart was made of lead, Jim turned and left the room. Tyler would wake soon, and Sally needed sleep. Perhaps it would help her. His own pain was nothing compared to hers, and castigating himself further for his failure would have to wait. There was her son to care for. He pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and headed for the kitchen.

  Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Tyler sat up and looked around the loft in puzzlement. Then he spotted Jim in the kitchen area. Popping off the sectional, the boy walked over and climbed onto one of the stools at the raised countertop.

  “How did I get here? Where’s Mom?”

  Jim ignored the stab of pain brought by Tyler’s second question. Reaching deep inside himself, he forced out a small smile and a cheerful tone. “I brought you over wrapped in your sleeping bag like a moth in a cocoon. Do you want a waffle?”

  “Yes, please. Why did you bring me? Is my mom here?”

  “I brought you so you could sleep over.” Jim set a syrup-covered waffle in front of the boy. “Your mom’s asleep in the other room. She was up most of the night, so I want you and me to be quiet and let her rest.”

  Tyler stuffed a bite of waffle in his mouth and spoke around it. “But why is she here?”

  What to say, when the truth was out of the question? “Well, her bed got messed up. Part of it’s broken. Maybe we’ll go shopping later and get her a new one.” He had a feeling Sally wasn’t going to want to sleep in the old one ever again anyway. “But first we’ll eat breakfast and let her sleep. Are you going to want more than one waffle?”

  Tyler nodded and swallowed a huge mouthful. “Maybe three?”

  When Sally awoke the sun was high in the sky. She stared for a moment at the tall windows, the almost vanishingly high ceiling, and the huge bed in which she lay. It was the first time she had seen Jim’s loft, but it was easy to recognize. His clothes were tossed over a chair beside the bed and the space itself—the expansiveness of it, she supposed—felt like Jim. With recognition of where she was came the memory of why.

  Rolling away from the windows, she curled into a tight ball and wrapped her hands around her head, as the emotions that had melded into a haze of pain last night came roaring back at her individually and specifically, each burning into her soul like a fiery brand.

  As always, her worst fears centered on Tyler. They had fled here in the middle of the night. What reason could she give? She couldn’t protect him from knowing any longer. What would she say? How could she possibly explain what was happening without destroying his security—and worse, his innocence? And then what would she do? She didn’t know if she would ever feel safe in her home again.

  Who was doing this to her? Some nut acting as if Trent was still alive. Who was he? How did he know so much? And what, she wondered as an icy feeling invaded the pit of her stomach, would he make of her escape to Jim’s home? With all her being she wished she could be somewhere miles and years away from York—be someone else.

  Moaning softly, she gave herself up to the pain.

  Much later, she became aware of voices working their way through the agony. She heard the deep rumble of Jim’s voice and the clear treble of Tyler’s reply. Listening, she realized they were nearby, playing some kind of game, laughing and joking softly.

  The voices gave her a point of focus, a firm place to stand. They drew her mind away from the pain. She couldn’t live in the world of hurt her tormentor had created. She had to come back to Tyler. And… in her weakened state she could no longer deny it… she wanted to come back to Jim. She opened her eyes and stared uncomprehendingly at the sunlight slanting between buildings outside.

  Breathing deeply, slowly, she drew strength for herself from the normal sounds, the commonplace exchanges of words… the laughter. She was hurt, but she was not defeated.

  In the empty room, on the broad expanse of the bed, her body began to uncurl. Her back straightened. She sat, erect, on the edge of the bed. She was afraid, but she would not be ruled by fear. She was the widow of a soldier, the mother of his son, and a woman in love—yes, in love, she admitted—with a man who would stand by her through anything.

  Drawing strength from the voices—from the men she loved—she went to the bathroom, washed her face, and stepped out to join them.

  When Sally appeared in the doorway from the bedroom, Jim slowly rose to his feet. She was still pale and her eyes were troubled. But she stood tall, and fixed a steady gaze on him. She walked toward him, stopping a few feet away, to turn her head and give Tyler, who was watching silently, a reassuring smile.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Tyler’s voice was troubled. “Dr. Donovan told me your bed broke. Did you get hurt?” He rose to wrap his arms around her and give her a squeeze. “We’ve been quiet so you could sleep.”

  The smile she gave Tyler looked a little strained. But she ruffled his hair and returned his hug, upping the ante with a kiss. “I’m fine, Tyler, but I need to speak to Dr. Donovan alone for a minute. Why don’t you watch TV for a little while?

  Jim clicked the set on, chose a cartoon channel, and set the remote back on the cushion. “How’s that?”

  “Good.” The boy was immediately engrossed.

  Rising, Jim followed her back to the bedroom and shut the door. “What do you need?” he asked gently. She moved to sit on the bed, leaving plenty of room for him. He stayed where he was, unsure. Something felt wrong, and he was a man who trusted his instincts, even though he consciously chose whether or not to follow them.

  Sally looked up at him. The fragility of her face was a reminder of his failure to protect her from the stalker’s game. “I need to talk to you. Don’t you want to sit down?”

  He felt an instinctive wariness—something was very different here. This w
oman, outwardly calm and controlled, was not his Sally any more than last night’s automaton had been. “I’m fine.” He had to struggle not to sound brusque. “What do you need?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I need you. I love you. I wouldn’t accept it or admit it before because I was afraid to risk losing someone again, like I lost Trent. I’m still afraid—and not just of that. But I won’t let fear rule my life. I love you, and I want to marry you.”

  Jim stepped over to the chair holding last night’s shirt, reached for the arm, and lowered himself, ignoring the clothing beneath him. What had she said? “You want… to marry me?”

  “Yes. Tyler loves you. I love you. You said you love me, and I know you love Tyler. I want to marry you.”

  How could words he had longed to hear make him feel so cold inside? The images he’d tortured himself with in the shelter sprang back to life. He saw her in Smith’s arms. She been hurt badly, but she was not in the market for love. “Look, forgive me, but I don’t believe this.”

  He saw panic in her eyes and hurried on. “I’m not saying you’re lying to me…”

  But you are…

  “I’m saying you only think you love me because you need protection and support and care, all of which I’ll give you whether you love me or not. Especially now.” He leaned forward, intent. It would hurt her less if she understood. “I know we’re friends, I know we’re good together, but I won’t be a permanent solution to a temporary problem in your life. You deserve better—and so do I.”

  Sally’s expression froze in place as her mind whirred, spun momentarily off the course she had chosen. But, no. He just needed to understand. She shifted to face him directly. “Jim, I love to be with you, I love to talk with you, I love knowing I can depend on you to be there when I need you. I can’t imagine being without you. I’m ashamed, now, that I was too stubborn and too self-absorbed and afraid to recognize it sooner.”

  She rose to her feet and stood tall. “I want to marry you, Dr. Donovan. Or I will live with you and not marry, if you’d rather, and reputation be damned. Because I know you, and I trust you… and,” for the first time since yesterday her lips curved upward, “you already told me you love me.”

  He felt like the biggest heel in the world, watching her stand in front of him, seeing that fragile smile, but he knew he was right. She wanted security, she wanted sex—yes—but love? “No, Sally. I won’t marry you, and I won’t live with you—not the way you mean.”

  Her face tightened and she stepped back.

  He felt as cruel as if he’d slapped her. “But, I won’t leave you to face this bastard alone. I’ll still be your friend, like I always have been, and whatever protection and support I can give, you’ll have.”

  He stood, his jaw tightly clamped. “I’m sorry.” Turning, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. His stomach hurt and his chest was tight. Everything, Sal. It’s got to be everything, or nothing. I love you too much to settle for less.

  Sally sank onto the bed. Her stomach curled in pain. She felt the quick sting of tears in her eyes. Well, damn. He turned me down flat.

  It didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Why wasn’t she distraught?

  She took a moment to poke around in her emotions. Something inside her felt strong and sure. And unafraid.

  How strange to feel so certain. But she was. Because I know he loves me. I do trust him. And corny as it sounds, he’s a forever kind of man.

  He loves me, and I love him. For a few moments she basked in love’s gentle glow. Then cold slipped in like a knife separating her from those nice, warm feelings. It didn’t do much good to love him if he didn’t believe it. He thought she only wanted his protection…and his body.

  The pain in her stomach was replaced with the dull ache of resignation. She heaved a sigh. Dammit, I can’t blame him for that. The problem was how to fix it, especially since she had a reason to need him that had nothing to do with love. Blast it all, she needed not to need him, so he could see that she loved him. She had exactly zero ideas how she could pull that off.

  Whatever. Right now she had to get out there with Tyler and Jim. Describing the situation as awkward was a screaming understatement. But the sooner they got past the first few minutes, the easier it would be. She went through the bathroom shelves and drawers, located some anti-redness drops and dripped a few in each eye. Then, after finger combing her hair, she stepped out of the bedroom.

  Tyler was still watching the television, and Jim was messing with some make-work in the kitchen. She sat next to Tyler, ruffled his hair and gave him a hug.

  “I’m hungry, Mom. Are we going to go eat soon? And Dr. Donovan said we were going to get you a new bed.”

  “Are you ready to do all that now, Tyler?” she teased.

  “Well, we waited a really long time for you to wake up.”

  “You’re right, Tyler.” Jim leaned back against the kitchen counter and entered the conversation. “We waited a really long time for your mom to wake up.”

  Sally couldn’t help it. Her heart rate accelerated, and fear clutched at her gut. Something in the tone of his voice…the sense of finality in it… He seemed to be saying he was done with waiting for her—that it was over. No. That can’t be. She had to be misinterpreting. She tried to see his eyes, but he avoided looking at her.

  “Now that your mom’s awake, let’s get moving.” He pushed himself up and grabbed the truck keys off the corner of the counter, heading for the front door. Tyler immediately rocketed off the couch, and Sally followed, worrying.

  As they piled into Jim’s truck, she was forced to set her new concerns aside. She didn’t want Tyler to notice anything amiss.

  Jim seemed to be doing the same thing. He didn’t look at her, but his voice was neutral, like hers. They were both pretending, for Tyler’s sake, that nothing was wrong.

  Sally suggested a stop at the discount store and went inside alone to pick up some basic clothes for herself and Tyler—it was a relief to be away from Jim for a few minutes. He was kind, as always, and seemed to understand, without her saying a word, that she couldn’t face her house yet. When she returned to the truck, Tyler spoke up for food and talked them into pizza.

  Sally watched Tyler and Jim battling zombie invaders. Last time we were here was when it all started. I was so much stronger then. Now I feel weak. She sighed heavily. I hate this.

  Afterwards, grateful that Jim had already provided an excuse that satisfied Tyler, she bought a new mattress for her bed and arranged for delivery. They killed the rest of the evening by taking Tyler to a movie. It was a blessed relief after an afternoon of painfully polite conversation with Jim—conversation so distant that it tore at Sally’s heart. What if I’ve learned to love him too late?

  When they returned to Jim’s loft Sally got Tyler settled on the couch and took a long, hot shower. Jim had insisted she take the bedroom—after all, he and Tyler were having a sleep-over. She would rather have slept on the couch, but kept her mouth shut—she didn’t want to have to explain that preference.

  Now, in her new sweats, she lounged on the old sofa by the window, turning pages in one of Jim’s books while he got cleaned up for bed. The darker it got, the more tense she became, almost twitchy. It was silly. She needed to sleep, but she dreaded pulling open the sheets on Jim’s bed.

  She kept seeing that hateful scrawl of red, and re-living the terror of the night before. She shifted around on the sofa, unable to get comfortable and aware that the problem was not with the furniture.

  Damn that stupid creep. I won’t let him rule my behavior. She would not sleep on top of the covers. She would pull down the sheets like a normal person and sleep in the bed. Ignoring the fist squeezing her heart, she turned a few more pages.

  At last, Jim came out of the bedroom, wearing pajama bottoms a little too short for him and carrying blankets and a pillow. At least his torso was obscured, but she couldn’t help but notice his strong, arched feet.

  Johnston, you are pat
hetic. Now you’re getting off on his feet? Time for bed.

  She rose from the sofa and walked to the bedroom door, not looking at Jim. If his feet were a distraction, she didn’t need to see that chest and abs again. Besides, staying out here to avoid facing the bedroom was not an option. Focus.

  Pulling her defenses together, she opened the door, prepared to face down her fear. She stopped dead, just inside the doorway. Then without turning, she gently shut the door behind her.

  Tears filled her eyes. The comforter was pulled to the very bottom of the bed, on both sides. The unmarred oatmeal-colored bottom sheet was fully exposed—even the pillow was off the bed, sitting on the chair. How could she ever… What could she ever do to…

  Oh, God… he loved her so. She stepped forward and sank to her knees beside the bed. Blinking the tears out of her eyes, she rubbed her cheek on the soft fabric, drawing in the faint scent of him that clung to it, stretching her arms out to caress the cotton.

  She had to find a way to make things right.

  It was a long time before she rose. Finally, heart still clogged with gratitude, she replaced the pillow, climbed onto the bed, and pulled the comforter over her body. Thinking only of Jim, wrapped in the evidence of his love, she fell swiftly into deep, untroubled sleep.

  chapter fifteen

  The sunlight streaming in the windows of Jim’s apartment was brighter than it had any right to be at this hour in the morning. Sally slipped out of bed and looked outside, wincing against the glare. Roofs of nearby buildings, tops of light poles, even lids on dumpsters in the ally were all covered with a reflective layer of white. The snow had finally come.

  Concern for Jim, guilt that she had hurt him, and worry—because she had no clue how to fix that mess—were all pushed aside to be faced later. She dressed quickly, already making plans. Today was going to be busy. After missing the locksmith yesterday morning, she’d called and convinced him to come today. The new mattress she’d bought would be delivered, and she had a shelter to manage—Nancy had already gone above and beyond for her. On top of all that, her Economics paper was due in a week. Thank goodness the shelter would be closed from tomorrow until Monday for the Thanksgiving holiday. Maybe she would finally get some work done.