The plane had taken off at seven this morning, and most of the boys were asleep. Half of them had never been to bed at all after the game. Hardly worth it, when you had to get up at four. Beside Kevin, Hugh was sprawled out with his mouth open, the skipper leading the way yet again. In snoring. A fair few of the others were doing the same, audible even over the engine noise. Most of the forwards were sitting together, and there was no snorer like a prop. Something to do with too many broken noses, maybe. The beer fumes, too, were strong.
The flight attendant came by, plucked Hugh’s glass from the table, and asked Kevin, “Can I get you something else?”
“Nah, thanks,” Kevin said. “Not the most refined group, a rugby squad on the morning after. Sorry about that.”
“Ah, well,” she said philosophically. “At least you won.” She nodded at Walter, sitting on the ottoman between Kevin’s ankles. “Good-luck charm?”
Kevin lifted Walter between his stockinged feet and waggled him. “This is Walter. He was just getting his photo taken for a wee boy I know.”
“Ah,” she said, her smile dimming the slightest bit. Kevin had seen her glancing at his hands earlier, checking for the ring. She was pretty, too. A ginger herself, her hair a deeper auburn than his own. When you flew as much as he did, both with the Blues and the All Blacks, you tended to get to know Air New Zealand’s flight attendants, but he’d never seen this one. Sophia. A pretty name for a pretty woman. Recently elevated to serving Business Premier, he guessed.
He could have kept chatting, have asked her to take a photo of himself and Walter. He didn’t. Even though his communication to Chloe in the past week had been limited to those snaps of Walter with the squad and accompanying texts to Zavy, and hers to him had been the sorts of “Good lucks” and “Well dones” that could have come from anybody.
He was stubborn, or he was determined. You could say either thing. You could say both things. All he knew was, when this plane touched down, he was getting a lift with Hugh to the North Shore, and the lift was ending at Northcote. If he failed, if he was wrong after all—he’d give up then, once he’d tried.
Maybe.
The captain made an announcement, the plane broke through the clouds at last, and outside the window, in the distance, pinpricks of light dotted the black. The broad, shallow expanse of Manukau Harbour, and Auckland beyond. And just like that, his heart was lifting as it always did at sight of Aotearoa. Land of the Long White Cloud. New Zealand.
Home. And the next step.
It was a quiet, groggy group walking down the endless corridors, turning and turning again. A subdued bunch queuing up and passing through the brief stop that was Customs, acknowledging the stares, the waves from excited kids with a smile, then forming into yet another crocodile, each man following the shirt in front of him, grabbing duffels off the carousel.
Perking up, now, near the end of the line. Most of them eager for the sight of partners or families, for a welcome day off before they got into it again. The chance to rest weary bodies and minds, to remind themselves that there was life outside rugby.
One thing about doing this job: it made you appreciate things most men took for granted. Waking up next to the woman you loved, being jarred out of sleep by little hands shoving at you, excited voices shouting, “Daddy!” Turning on your barbecue and mowing your grass. Even seeing your sisters, assuming they’d cooked something for dinner and it was edible. He’d eaten twice on the plane, but he could eat again, and that was the truth. There was no hunger like the day after the match. Fortunately, Noelle and Holly weren’t so shocking in that department, now that Chloe had taught them how.
He was still thinking about that when they rounded the final corner and spilled out into International Arrivals. As usual, there was quite the group waiting, eager kids to the forefront, bouncing up and down in anticipation. A golden-skinned toddler with black curls gave a shriek as they emerged and charged straight past the barrier, launching herself at Koti James’s legs, then screaming in delight as he swung her up into his arms, kissed her cheek, and cuddled her close. Koti’s partner Kate ran to join them, and he swung her around as well, although gently, because she was pregnant again. Kissing her, and then kissing her some more. Getting a bit emotional, Koti, but then—homecomings could hit you that way.
And then somebody was charging at him. Running full tilt, waving a blue pony with rainbow hair.
Zavy.
His heart gave a leap as he grabbed the little boy and lifted him high. Holding him felt nothing but natural. Nothing but right.
“Hi, Kevin!” Zavy said, the words spilling out fast. “We got a mopartment and it gots a My Little Pony picture and it’s all yellow and Holly and Noelle can come sometimes!”
Kevin said, “Awesome, mate,” and wrapped his arm more securely around the boy. And that thing about his heart? He was sure it hadn’t beat like this last night, no matter how fast he’d run, how hard he’d hit, how much he’d cared.
His eyes were sweeping the crowd. Searching.
And there she was. Skinny gray jeans, blue wrap top, soft leather boots. Her elfin face wary, like a woodland creature who’d dart back into the trees if you startled her. His cautious, guarded, shut-down nymph of an ex-dancer, her light firmly concealed under its bushel.
Except when it wasn’t. Like now. Because when his eyes met hers, her face lit up, and she was his dancer on the beach, his lover in the dark, the woman his blood sang for.
She didn’t run, and she didn’t throw herself at him. She stood still, hesitated, and the caution came back into her face.
Bugger that. He strode straight through the crowd, grabbed her around the waist, and kissed her hard. Zavy’s arms were around his neck, and hers were, too. She was all the way off her feet, and still he kissed her. He was never going to stop kissing her.
When he finally set her down, the closed look was all the way gone. She was laughing up at him, her chestnut-dark eyes sparkling, saying, “Whoa, boy. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me. I guess you did.”
He knew he was grinning like a fool. He didn’t care. Around him, partners were being kissed, kids were being cuddled. And this time, he had his own. “You don’t ever have to wonder,” he told her. “I’ll always want to see you. Why didn’t you tell me? All this time ... Do you know what I’ve been thinking?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking sober again. “I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ve driven here tonight, thinking ... thinking, what if I’m wrong? I didn’t ring you because the times were too different, and I didn’t know what to say, and I knew I couldn’t explain. And when you didn’t ring me ... I’ve been thinking the same. Exactly the same. That you didn’t want me after all. That it was too much ... that I was too ...”
She stopped talking, and he put an arm around her, pulled her close, and said, “Sorry, baby. It was the same for me, you know. Too hard on the phone. In person is better.”
She smiled, and all her warmth was in that smile. All for him. “Car’s out here,” she said, and they headed off.
“I hope you’re taking me home,” he told her, his fatigue forgotten. “I was just feeling sorry for myself, coming out of bag claim. It’s like you said, I reckon. Where was my faith? I’ve got it back now, though.”
Her steps faltered. “Do you want to go home?”
“No!” He laughed out loud. “No. Or yes. I want to go home with you.”
“’Cause it has a pony picture at home,” Zavy said.
“Yeh,” Kevin said, holding him tighter. He could have set him down, let him walk. He didn’t. “And I want to see it.”
Chloe’s feet were barely touching the ground. Walking never felt good enough. Not like dancing, like you were skimming over the earth, like you could actually take off and fly.
Except it did. Right now, it did.
She was too happy to talk. Too happy to explain. And Kevin didn’t ask her to. He just held Zavy in one arm, held her with the other, and somehow still carried his
duffel slung over his back, because Kevin had enough strength for anything.
Strong as Batman.
When they were in her car and she was through the roundabout and merging onto the motorway, he spoke at last. “It went all right, then? Yesterday, with Rich?”
Her hands tightened on the wheel, and she relaxed them with a conscious effort. “You thought about it? About us? Even though you had your match to play?”
His hand was on her thigh. Not grabbing. Resting there, like he needed to touch her as much as she needed to touch him. Like the communication he needed was his lips on hers and her in his arms. Exactly the way she felt. “Yeh,” he said. “I did. It killed me not to know.”
“I had a surprise,” she said. “At first I thought it was—I thought, ‘Oh, no. It’s worse than I thought.’ But it wasn’t.” She risked a quick glance at him in the heavy traffic of seven o’clock Sunday night. He looked formidable in the dark, his profile fierce, his face set. “When I didn’t go see my mum on Monday, because we were still getting moved in, she rang me. I was ready for the explosion, but it didn’t happen.”
“Darling,” her mum had said even as Chloe tensed, waiting for it, “here’s my thought. You said Zavy wouldn’t want to get in Rich’s car, and of course that’s true.”
Chloe had concentrated on breathing. In and out. Calm. Rational. She had a headache, a throbbing pain in her left temple, and a tic in that same eye, sprung up full-blown today like a Rich marker. Even as she waited for her mum to continue, she felt her eyelid jump and flutter. What was she going to hear? That Zavy was going to have to harden up, stop being a baby? That all children cried? What? That eyelid was telling her that she couldn’t keep her mouth closed. Not this time. Not again.
“So I had a thought,’ her mother went on briskly. “I rang Rich up and said—pity about what happened, I knew he must be feeling awful, and how would he like me to go with him next time, make it easier? And he agreed. So, darling, that’s all sorted, and you don’t need to worry. I thought you’d like to know.”
Chloe sat down with a thump. It was a minute before she could even speak. “What?”
“And if you’re thinking that’s disloyal again,” her mother said, “stop it now, Chloe Ann. What matters is Zavy. If I can make him more comfortable, show Rich how to look after him, that’s what I’m going to do. He may be your son, but he’s my grandson. You aren’t the only one who cares about him, and you’d better stop thinking it.”
Chloe had longed to ask, So you admit you were wrong? But she hadn’t. About one thing, her mum was right. Zavy was what mattered most, and she’d been dreading the upcoming weekend. She’d thought over and over again, especially since Kevin had left, about what to do, and hadn’t come up with a single idea short of “Run to Australia with Zavy.” Which was mad. Also illegal.
She didn’t say all that to Kevin, because Zavy was in the back seat. She said, “My mum came with Rich, and they took Zavy together. They went to Kelly Tarlton’s to see the sharks.”
“Yes,” Zavy piped up from the back seat. “And a shark is very, very big, and it has big teeth and it can eat you, but Nana says it can’t, because there’s glass.”
Kevin twisted in his seat. “That so, mate? What else did you see?”
“We saw very many fish,” Zavy said, “and there’s penguins, and you can’t touch the penguins even though you want to pat them, ’cause they’re wild animals.”
“Your Nana give you a good lunch as well?” Kevin asked.
“Yes,” Zavy said, “’cause she told that man that I don’t like the bad sauce, and it’s only tomato sauce and that’s all. And I didn’t want to get in the man’s car ’cause you can get stuck inside, but Nana said we would hold hands, and we did hold hands.”
“Awesome,” Kevin said, then twisted around again and said it to Chloe. “Awesome.”
Her voice may not have been the steadiest when she said, “Yeh. My mum. She came through. Who knew?”
When Chloe pulled up outside the building, Kevin couldn’t tell what he was looking at. Too dark.
Give it a chance, mate, he told himself, even as he pulled his duffel from the boot and waited for Chloe to help Zavy out of his car seat. You’re coming home with them, and that’s so much more than you thought you’d be doing. Don’t stuff up now.
And then he walked through the door, looked around the lounge at aluminum-framed windows covered by the flimsiest of blinds, at gray carpet and white walls and absolutely nothing special. He looked at Chloe, she looked back at him, and he made a comical face at her and said, “Now, baby, I’m trying hard not to feel insulted, but ... really? Really? This is better than being with me?”
She laughed at him and said, “Yeh. It’s everything you’re thinking. But you should have seen the other ones,” and Zavy pulled at his hand and said, “Kevin. Come see my room. It has all my best things!”
His heart may have done that swelling-up thing again, that’s all. He went with Zavy and admired the pony picture, and after that, he put his duffel in Chloe’s bedroom, hoped he was staying the night, and knew that whichever way it went, he’d take it. Chloe said, “You’re hungry, I’m guessing. Bought you a steak, and I won’t even cremate it,” smiled at him again, and he saw that she was nervous, too. That this mattered as much to her as it did to him. He had to kiss her, then, just because she was here and she was his, and he’d thought she was gone. And it was so good. Whatever came next ... this moment was good.
He read Zavy his story after dinner, and felt lucky to do it. He left him cuddling Walter and Rainbow Dash, waited while Chloe closed the door almost-but-not-quite-all-the-way, and wondered how a man who’d chafed at the feeling of “too much family” since he’d been twenty-one could possibly want this one so much. Except that this was, somehow, his, even though it wasn’t. And it was all he wanted.
And when he followed Chloe into the lounge again, when he sat on the couch with her and finally got to kiss her the way he wanted to, the way he needed to? When her hands were in his hair and his hands were finding the fastening of her bra strap and feeling it give way? When he was carrying her to bed in a not-good-enough, too-distant apartment, then laying her down on the white duvet and kissing her for real?
He knew it then. He knew for sure.
His battle-weary body over hers, all his fatigue forgotten. Her graceful arms twining around him, her stroking hands so eager, soothing every bruise, softening every ache. His hands, clumsy with haste, pulling her pretty blue top off her, getting rid of that bra, so he could touch and taste every bit of her soft skin. And then forcing himself to wait, to put the brakes on so he could kiss her again, long and slow and deep, taking her sighs into his mouth, learning her all over again.
Moving down her flower-scented body at last, and marveling at how one woman could be so strong and so soft at the same time. Hearing the hitch in her breath, feeling the urgency in the hands that pulled at his T-shirt, yanked it over his head, then ran feverishly over his shoulders, down his arms, as if she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. As if she’d ached for him, burned for him, longed to touch and kiss him the same way he’d done for her, lying alone in a hotel bed twelve thousand kilometers away. Not knowing if he’d ever touch her again, or if it was over.
And when he had his mouth on her and his fingers inside her, when he was reading the language of her hips and the music of her breath, when her back was arching and she was convulsing around him, and he got those sounds from her, almost pained, utterly pleasured ... it was everything he’d remembered, everything he’d wanted, and more. When he was finally sliding inside her after all those nights apart, all those days of brief texts and not hearing her voice, and she drew in that sharp, surprised breath. When the heat of her welcomed him, enveloped him, and she was holding her breath to feel it more, because she needed it so much. When he was moving, so slowly at first, and she was sighing, closing her eyes, and he could feel her bliss as if it were his own, because it was. Moving fa
ster, then, when he couldn’t stand it another minute and neither could she, with her wrapped around his body, taking him in, letting him take her over.
Falling more deeply under her spell, spinning up, and up some more, until he was teetering on the edge and she was already over. And when his mind was gone and he was groaning, saying her name, and her hands on his body and every ragged breath he pulled from her said, I’m here. I’m yours, in a way only his heart could hear ...
He knew it for sure then. He was hers. He was home.
How could she have doubted this? How was it possible?
She lay in Kevin’s arms and felt warm for the first time since he’d left her. Wrapped in his love, and it didn’t need any words at all.
There were things she needed to say, but not tonight. Tonight was for holding Kevin, and loving him. Tomorrow, they would talk. Tomorrow was soon enough.
And, yes, it occurred to her, just before she drifted off to sleep, when she could tell by his breathing that he was asleep already, that she wasn’t telling him to leave. That tomorrow morning, Zavy would wake up, and Kevin would be here. It would have to be all right, that was all.
He slept much later than she did the next morning. She was done with her Pilates and giving herself some barre work when he came out of the bath, still rubbing a towel over his face.
She lifted her left leg slowly to the side, all the way up until it nearly touched her head, and smiled at him. “You shaved, eh.”
“Making myself pretty for you,” he said. “As you’re so pretty for me. As much as I can do, anyway.”
She went on with her work, because she knew he loved to watch. “So,” she said when her head was nearly at the floor and her leg was all the way in the air, “I have to go to class and then to work, but I was wondering if you wanted to spend a bit of time with me in between those things.”
Just Say Yes (Escape to New Zealand Book 10) Page 30