Defending Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

  She wanted to ask why—because they weren’t serious enough to tell them, or because they wouldn’t like her? Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know the answer.

  He looked up at her as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “Have you told your family about me?”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes.”

  “The whole story?”

  She nodded. “But you haven’t met my mom and sister. Telling them anything is like telling—” She clamped her mouth shut as the sound of ringing resonated from the phone. After a couple of seconds the screen lit up and two faces appeared.

  Kate smiled nervously as Oz began speaking in what she assumed was Turkish, since it sounded nothing like the language he spoke with Roland. She tried not to stare, but a brief glance told her Oz’s good looks were genetic. His father looked like a slightly swarthier, more angular version of George Clooney, and his mother had the same large, dark eyes, and thick black hair. They were seated in front of shelves packed with books and Oz’s mother wore one of those little silk scarves Kate imagined sophisticated European women were born knowing how to tie exactly right.

  She thought of the video calls she’d had with her family while she was in Saudi Arabia. The TV blaring in the background, her sister screeching at Dallas to quit whatever she was doing, her mom standing up mid-sentence to refill her wine glass.

  For a second she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t like them. She could do this. She could live up to the commitment this moment promised. She could be the woman Oz wanted.

  Hell, apparently she already was.

  “Kate, these are my parents, Murat and Alara. This is Kate,” he said in English, snapping her to attention. She waved feebly. Hopefully his parents didn’t speak much English and they could get this over with quickly.

  “Hello Kate,” his parents said in unison, and his father added, “Such a pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard all about the great job you’ve done on Özkan’s house.”

  “Oh, okay,” she replied, feeling more awkward by the second. His parents’ accents were thicker than his, but clearly they both spoke perfect English. Probably better than she did.

  “We know how particular Oz is about his house—and his clothes, and his car, and his food—so that can’t have been an easy task for you.” His mother’s smile was encouraging in a conspiratorial, woman-to-woman way.

  “We got there in the end,” she said breezily, trying to remain neutral and not read judgment into every nuance of their expressions.

  “Özkan says you’re from Georgia originally?” His father asked.

  “Yup, a small town north of Atlanta.”

  “Everyone tells us we should see Georgia in the spring, but for some reason we always find ourselves visiting at the beginning of the soccer season in February or toward the end in the autumn.” Alara rolled her eyes self-effacingly as if admitting to something idiotic. If she knew that yesterday Kate’s mom had absentmindedly put the garage-door opener through the slot in a post-office drop box she might have a different perspective. “One of these days we’ll get there in time to see the azaleas and dogwoods blooming.”

  “You must find your way to Sweden,” Murat said with a warm smile. “Summer is the most beautiful time here, and we have a wonderful cottage on Faro, a little island up north. It takes a while to get there because it’s so remote, and requires changing planes, then—”

  “Okay, Baba, she doesn’t need to know the full logistics right now,” Oz interrupted. “Everything’s fine. We need to get dinner and the two of you need to go to bed.”

  Alara smirked at her husband and said something in Turkish that made him laugh. From Oz’s narrowed eyes Kate suspected it was at his expense.

  The three of them spoke in Turkish for another minute, then Oz said in English, “Goodnight, talk to you later.”

  Kate waved and his parents waved back, reiterating how pleased they were to meet her. She blushed and mumbled something approximating agreement, then Oz cut the call.

  She started to say something about how nice his parents were when he pulled one of her legs over his and kissed her, his hands on her cheeks, his mouth soft and warm.

  She crossed her wrists behind his neck, exhaling contentedly. This was the proof that they worked, when on paper they made no sense at all.

  She wasted so much energy on anxious will-he, won’t-he thoughts, lost hours of sleep tossing and turning and mentally inventorying all the incompatibilities that would eventually doom them. She had to stop. She had to learn to stifle every one of her doubtful instincts and trust him.

  “Thank you for that,” he murmured against her temple. “I know I ambushed you.”

  “It’s okay. Your parents seem great. And they speak English.”

  “Most Swedes do. Swedish isn’t a language that gets you very far in the rest of the world.”

  “But were you speaking to your parents in Turkish?”

  He nodded. “Turkish at home, Swedish in school.”

  “Wow. That seems so fancy. Very different to my family,” she admitted.

  He stretched one arm along the back of the couch. “You haven’t told me much about them.”

  She raised a shoulder. “Not much to tell. I’ve got my mom, my sister and my niece, all crammed into our little house in Jasper. They don’t go anywhere, don’t do much of anything, so there’s not a lot to say about them.”

  “Say something anyway.”

  She sighed. “Well, being a serial dater is the closest thing my mom’s had to a career. She drinks too much, smokes too much, spends too much energy on too many men. My sister’s slightly better off, but only because she’s hung up on her ex. Between the two of them there’s usually one part-time job, but it always ends with one of them not turning up because they’re hung over or quitting because the latest man has promised he’s going to take care of them.”

  “And your niece?”

  “Who knows.” Kate threw up her hands. “She’s having a real hard time in school, and I’ve paid for a whole bunch of extra help, plus all sorts of hobbies and activities that will hopefully keep her out of trouble and eventually get her out of Jasper. But she’s only six—there’s a lot of years left for her to fall into the same pattern as her mom and grandma.”

  “Sounds stressful.”

  “It is. I’m not Dallas’s mother, but I feel like her whole future is my responsibility.” She sighed.

  “Do you have a picture of your family?”

  “Yup.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled to a photo of them in a line on the couch on the Fourth of July. “My mom, my sister Emily, and my sister’s daughter, Dallas. The Mitchell women. Three generations.”

  He studied the photo. “Your niece is cute.”

  “And Emily’s the pretty sister. Go on, you can say it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told her dismissively, handing back the phone. “What’s the story with your dad?”

  “Nothing original. Mom had me when she was seventeen. They were both in high school, he tried to be involved for the first year or so, then lost interest. He moved to Nevada when I was three, haven’t heard from him since. Emily has a different father. He’s still around in Jasper, used to take us places on the weekends and stuff. He’s a nice enough guy.”

  “And Dallas’s father?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Also still around. He and my sister only speak when they want to fight with someone, then they have make-up sex and ignore each other for another few weeks. He does pay child support, and my sister was out of high school when she got pregnant, so I guess that’s our version of social mobility.”

  “I’d say you’ve raised the bar a little higher than that.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged.

  “You’re so hard on yourself,” he chided, shaking his head. “You’ve traveled, s
erved in the military, transitioned to the private sector and supported your family the whole time. What else do you want to achieve before you’ll give yourself credit?”

  His question shot straight through to her core, momentarily robbing her of words. She’d never asked herself that before. Just assumed she was second-best, would always be second-best. What, specifically, did she think would finally satisfy her? A college degree wouldn’t hurt, nor would a higher salary or owning a house, but those were things everyone wanted. They were materialistic—they wouldn’t fundamentally define her.

  Then what would?

  Oz. If a man like him loved me—if he loved me—that would be enough.

  “I don’t know,” she lied.

  “Then you should figure it out. You’ll never win if you don’t know what you’re playing for.”

  “Thanks, professor.” She stood and stretched. “Are you hungry?”

  “Very. But we’re not done here.” He leaned forward, took her hands and tugged her back down beside him. She widened her eyes inquiringly.

  “Next weekend’s match is in Boston.”

  “I know. Roland asked me to travel to all the away fixtures until this Citizens First nonsense is resolved.”

  “You remember I went to college in Boston?”

  “Of course.”

  “I still have a big group of friends there. Two of them are getting married on Saturday, the day after the match. It’s last-minute, but I’m sure they’ll give me a plus-one if I ask.”

  She arched a brow. “Are you asking me to go with you?”

  “Yes.”

  She hadn’t been to a wedding since her cousin got married when she was fourteen. They’d had a civil ceremony followed by a buffet dinner in a small function room at the VFW. The groom got drunk and the bride snagged her dress on a nail in the floor. The marriage ended in divorce two years later.

  All of his friends would be there—his smart, Harvard-educated, successful friends. But she’d held her own with his friends here, plus he’d be by her side. She had to trust that he wouldn’t put her in a situation she couldn’t handle. And she had to trust herself to handle pretty much anything.

  She exhaled. “I’ll need a new dress.”

  “Take my credit card.” He slid his hand into his pocket and she shook her head to stop him.

  “I’ll get my landlady to fix me up with something from downstairs. She’s always reminding me she’ll give me a great discount.”

  “Tell her to send me the bill.”

  “I can pay for my own damn dress, Oz.”

  “Fine. I’m sure I can find another way to repay you.” He ran his hand up her leg, lingering at the apex of her thighs.

  She scooted closer, finding the smooth skin on his back beneath his shirt. “I’ll let you do that for free.”

  He growled his approval and pulled her against him, lowering his lips to her neck.

  She laughed in delight at his touch, tilting her head to give him better access. “I thought you said you were hungry.”

  “Starving,” he murmured, and proceeded to show her just how delicious she was.

  Chapter 17

  Oz unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie, then turned to embrace another two college friends he hadn’t seen in years. The sun beat mercilessly on the parking lot behind the church. He’d sweated through his shirt beneath his jacket and his carefully gelled coif was probably deflating in the heat.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

  “Cameron,” he greeted yet another old friend with a slap on the back. “How are you? How’s Melissa?”

  “Due in about three weeks, so she stayed home in Los Angeles. She’ll be sorry she missed you, though.”

  “I’ll let you know the next time I have an away fixture in southern California, we’ll get dinner.”

  “We totally should. Caught the second half of the match yesterday, by the way—fantastic goal.”

  Oz raised a shoulder dismissively, but inside he’d been turning somersaults ever since he grabbed an unexpected and ultimately winning goal toward the end of the match against Boston Liberty. “You know how it goes when you play defense, every so often you happen to knock one in by accident. If I’d missed it, all the pundits would be shouting at me for being so far forward.”

  “Says the highest-scoring defender in the league,” Glynn interjected as he reappeared with Kate.

  Kate. Oz’s grin broadened as he took her in.

  His heart had almost stopped when he’d stepped out of the shower in their hotel room and seen her in her dress. Tight and lacy, it was the color of the ocean in Florida and twice as enticing on this hot day. She’d shyly tucked her hair behind one ear, drawing attention to the fact she was wearing makeup for the first time since he’d known her.

  Not that she needed to. She was utterly and naturally gorgeous, from her long lashes to her even longer legs. He couldn’t believe he’d ever written her off as not his type.

  “Did you find the water fountain?” he asked, sliding his arm around her waist.

  She nodded. “We ran into someone who knew Glynn, and asked if you were here. She was right behind us, she must’ve stopped to talk to someone—never mind, here she is.”

  His ex-girlfriend approached them, wearing a big, friendly smile.

  He watched her, waiting to be dazzled. Waiting for the flash of unsteadiness he used to feel when they were first dating, the momentary sense of tilting and unbalance.

  Nothing.

  Nedda looked good—as good as he remembered, if not better. Her hair was thick and black, her eyes still big and dark, her breasts just as generous. He’d gotten to know every inch of her body in the two years they were together, and there was a time when all she had to do was flutter her lashes and lick her lips and he’d drag her into the nearest supply closet or backseat he could find.

  But they never had sex. It never felt right. He never felt ready. Looking at her now, he was glad. She wasn’t the woman he was waiting for.

  The long, lean beauty by his side, though, was another story.

  “So the rumors are true. You decided to grace us with your presence,” Nedda teased, reaching up to give him a hug.

  “Caitlin waited eight years for Jack to pop the question. I thought I should be here to chase him down if he gets cold feet.”

  “Chivalrous as always.” She released him, looking expectantly at Kate.

  “Nedda, this is my girlfriend, Kate.” He replaced his arm around Kate’s waist, feeling her instantly stiffen as he used the word girlfriend.

  He’d wanted to say it all weekend—now he had. He knew he’d face endless questions about it later, probably a long, drawn-out conversation to calm Kate’s anxieties. He didn’t care. For now she was his, and he wanted everyone to know, especially the woman currently sizing her up.

  “I’m Nedda.” She extended her hand. “The ex.”

  Oz clenched his jaw as Kate shook Nedda’s hand and stumblingly replied, “Oh, uh, hi, nice to meet you.”

  “Ignore her,” he told Kate jovially, but his light tone was laced with threat for Nedda’s benefit. “She thinks she’s funny.”

  “Not funny—factual.” Nedda winked.

  “Nedda just finished medical school at Johns Hopkins. She’s about to start her residency at…” He turned to her questioningly, unable to remember where she’d matched.

  “I’m coming back to Boston,” she reminded him. “Anesthesiology at Massachusetts General. What do you do, Kate?”

  “Private security,” Kate replied in her country-Georgia accent. “I left the Army a little over a year ago.”

  “Oh, wow. And were you deployed or—”

  “It’s fine, I didn’t want you to notice me anyway,” Glynn interjected coolly.

  “I already said hi to you
,” Nedda shot back, then seemed to rethink her curt reply and gave Glynn a quick hug. A second later the best man appeared in the church doorway and asked everyone to take their seats inside.

  Glynn and Kate turned to file into the church. Oz paused to button his collar and tighten his tie. Nedda put her hand on his arm.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said quietly as the parking lot emptied around them. “Sorry if I freaked out Kate with that ex thing. It was just a joke.”

  “Don’t worry, it takes a lot more than that to freak her out.”

  He followed Glynn and Kate inside and slid into a pew. Nedda wedged into the space beside him.

  “No air conditioning,” Kate observed, fanning herself with the program.

  “There is, it just sucks.” Glynn nodded to a portable air conditioning unit pushed against the wall.

  Oz flapped the hem of his jacket. “Good thing we booked a room in the same hotel as the reception. I need to change my shirt.”

  Kate craned her neck, squinting at the A/C unit. “I see the problem.”

  She stood and sidled past him and Nedda, then hooked around the back of the crowded church to reach the unit. Muscles stood out in her thighs as she half-squatted, grabbing either side of it and jerking it away from the wall. She peered behind it and adjusted the big plastic hose that ran out the window.

  Within seconds the air conditioner shifted from grunting to humming and a wave of cool air washed over the room.

  The rows nearest the unit gave Kate a round of applause, and she executed a joking curtsey before making her way back to her seat.

  “What sorcery was that?” Glynn asked as Kate squeezed in between him and Oz.

  “We used to have one of those things in post housing when I was stationed in Alabama. If it’s too close to the wall the tube gets kinked and it can’t vent the hot air, so it slows down the cold air.”

  “Roomful of Harvard and MIT graduates and Kate saves us all from heat exhaustion,” Oz remarked proudly.

  The crowd hushed as the groom and his party entered from a side door to line up at the altar. The string quartet began playing the wedding march and the audience stood as the doors at the back of the church opened and the bridesmaids filed in, followed by the bride on her father’s arm.