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If I let her get away now, she’s going to toss up more walls between us. She won’t allow herself to be vulnerable with me again soon—if ever.
“I’m not doing anything to you except showing you that you matter to me, damn it.” I shut off the water that’s gone cold, then take her arms in my grip. “You want to cry? I’ve got two shoulders and a chest to lean on. I’ve got two arms to hold you. I’ve got two ears to listen. And a heart that’s open to you. All I’m asking is for you to open yours in return. Just a little, baby… Just try.”
Before me, her face crumbles as if she’s fought the good fight and just can’t do it anymore. She dips her head to hide her face. Her shoulders fall in massive sobs. “No.”
“Yes,” I insist in soft tones and bring her against my body again.
“If I rip off all the Band-Aids just to make you happy, I’ll fall apart.”
“How do you know I won’t put you back together, Harlow?”
She doesn’t have an answer and when I step closer, slowly bringing her body against me and enfolding her in my arms, she crumples onto me, giving me her weakness. I give her back my strength. I don’t know exactly what demons haunt her, but I’m beginning to suspect they’re darker than anyone’s imagined. I’m in too deep now to get out.
Not that it matters; I don’t want out when everything in my soul tells me this woman belongs to me and I’ll have to be the one to heal her and make her whole.
After long minutes, Harlow’s tears taper off. She’s limp and spent as I dry her body off, haphazardly put her wet hair into an elastic band, and tuck her into her bed beside me. She drops off in moments. Unlike the last time I crawled into bed beside her, she clings to me, wraps herself around me, and falls into sleep peacefully.
Two days later, Friday afternoon rolls around. I hate to leave Harlow when she’s vulnerable. Since our lovemaking in the shower, she’s been quiet, almost thoughtful. I slept beside her that night. I woke her up twice so I could be inside her again. She allowed me deep, clinging to me almost gratefully. I thought we’d turned a corner.
But when I woke at six the next morning, she was already in the gym, climbing the Stairmaster like it could take her far from me. All day—and all night—she gave me a wide berth. I let her…maybe more than I should have. I can’t pressure her more or upset her too much. She has to decide on her own. And it seems as if she is. But boarding a flight to Honolulu this morning was damn hard. Will she be waiting for me when I get back? Or will she have disregarded our summer-long contract, cleaned out her stuff, and left?
I have no assurances and no way of knowing. But I can’t force her to fall in love with me, simple as that.
Since I had a previous engagement, I flew to Oahu. Weeks ago, the high school I’d once attended and where I still hold most of the quarterback records asked me if I’d come lay some motivation on the kids just before finals and graduation. I owe that school for teaching me, for feeding me when my parents didn’t always have the money, and for helping to shape me into the man I am today. Despite my worries, I said yes and hope I can keep myself together.
The visit is a surprise. No one knows I’m coming, and when I jog out to the middle of the gym floor, the kids all scream and shout. I say a few words I’ve rehearsed about determination, being true to yourself, and always doing your best, then we sing the school song together. I still remember it. Finally, I sign a few footballs for kids who play on the current squad and let girls half my age practice their flirting as I answer their pretend questions about pro sports and life’s tough decisions. Then with a smile and a wave, I head back to the airport in Honolulu. I’ve got a plane to catch back to Maui. Back to Harlow.
I hope.
It’s been a great afternoon, and I love being near my roots again so I can give back to my community. In fact, I left the school’s athletic fund a nice donation before I departed. It feels good to be able to give back.
A couple of hours later, I’m savoring the high as I’m strolling through the airport, ball cap pulled low. Most people don’t notice me. Tourists are heading back to the mainland. Businessmen are dashing to flights bound for Tokyo or San Francisco. No one is paying me much mind as I loiter in a seat in the corner at the gate.
Until a guy in his mid-twenties sits in the uncomfortable vinyl chair beside me. “Mr. Weston?”
I really don’t want to draw attention to myself, much less a crowd. It’s happened before. I was hoping that part of my life was over, damn it. “Yeah. Hey, I’m just catching a flight home and—”
“I’m not approaching you as a fan.”
Despite being tall and broad, he’s dressed in an impeccable suit, so I wonder if he’s got some business opportunity in mind, maybe sports-related. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“I don’t want anything from you except information about Harlow Reed.”
That snaps me to attention and whips up my protective instincts. “She’s not up for discussion. Are you a reporter?”
“No. But according to the press, you’re…together. I just want to meet her. Talk to her. Please.”
This guy thinks I’m going to introduce him to my girl? No fucking way.
I hop to my feet. “This conversation is over.”
“Wait. I don’t think you understand.”
Oh, I get it, all right. Waving a dismissive hand, I keep walking.
He follows. “I think she’s my sister.”
That stops me dead in my tracks. I snap my stare in his direction, scowling. “What?”
