Winner Takes All

by Sandra Kitt

  The second thing Jean noticed was how very tired Patrick appeared. She suspected he was reaching his limit, worn-out by the incredible personal revelations, good and bad, that had been thrust upon him.

  Patrick stepped into a town car and firmly closed the door.

  Jean thought quickly, realizing suddenly that Patrick was out there dealing with all of the public scrutiny by himself. There was never anyone by his side, never anyone supporting him emotionally. In and out of courthouses and law offices, out on a limb, braving a sea of reporters, still doing his program, and smiling to an audience that had no idea of the toll the summer had taken on him. Alone.

  “Oh my god,” Jean moaned quietly to herself.

  She raced back to her office, to her cell phone, grabbing it to punch in a number. Her thumb fumbled over the keypad. She tried again. It went through and the line began to ring. On the third ring, he finally picked up.

  “Hey…”

  “Patrick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Patrick,” she tried to say with deep sympathy and feeling. But no sound came out. Her throat seemed clogged and incapable of letting air through. Jean swallowed and took a deep breath. “Where are you?”

  “At the airport in Philly. Just about to board my flight for New York. Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

  “To Kennedy or LaGuardia?”

  “Newark.”

  “Come to me when you land.”

  “What?”

  “Come here.”

  “Jean…why?”

  “Because I asked you to,” she said softly.

  He didn’t answer. The silence went on so long Jean began to think it was already too late. They had missed a moment when the time and distance wouldn’t have mattered. They would have thrown caution and common sense to the wind and made it happen.

  “You want me to come to Brooklyn.” It wasn’t a question. Patrick was still trying to understand her request.

  “Yes.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s crazy. It’ll take a long time. And… Jean, I’m…not in good shape.”

  “I know. That’s why I want you to come. Patrick, everything is going to be all right. Just please come home.” She didn’t mean to plead, but her pride simply didn’t matter just then. It was all about her heart. And his.

  “Okay. Okay, Jean. If you want me to, I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Jean said.

  Hurry!

  * * *

  The moment he’d committed to Jean’s request, Patrick felt like fresh air had been pumped back into his lungs. He became fixated on figuring out how to get to Brooklyn from Newark International as fast as humanly possible. The destination was not just to be with Jean; he realized it was an instant way back to her heart…and she’d left the way open for him. By the time the plane had reached altitude, it was already descending, preparing to land. The trip had been less than an hour. Patrick knew the airport well and was out of the terminal in ten minutes. No need to order an Uber; there were plenty of cabs at the taxi stand.

  On the flight, Patrick had already Googled that the quickest route from the airport to Jean’s would take less than thirty minutes by car. It was ironic that he had to travel within a mile of where he lived in Jersey City, to the Holland Tunnel into Lower Manhattan, and the Battery Park Tunnel into Brooklyn. When the cab pulled up in front of her building, Patrick immediately experienced profound relief. He was finally back where he belonged.

  * * *

  Jean hurried home after work to prepare.

  She could not contain her impatience for Patrick to arrive. She kept looking out the living room window to the street in front of her building. Every black sedan rolling slowly down the street had her poised to dash to the elevator to meet him in the lobby.

  It was astonishingly early when the doorman buzzed to let her know someone was asking for her. He’d send him up.

  Jean’s insides twisted with the knowledge that he’d made it to her. But she was suddenly very anxious about how they’d greet each other, even though her apartment had always been their rendezvous location by default.

  She went to the door, her hand trembling as she held on to the knob. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, knowing that the next few minutes when they met were going to be critical. Jean had summoned Patrick after having held him at bay, afraid that there was no room in his life for her. Now she was ready to welcome him because, no matter what, the only thing that mattered was loving him.

  She pulled the door open and stood there, just as the elevator arrived. Patrick stood inside the cab, and her heart turned over to see the face of the man she loved, emotionally battered and worn down. Jean knew she was responsible for some of it. Was she going to be able to make Patrick understand that fear and insecurity had driven her to try to protect herself? Could she convince him that fear and insecurity, and love, might also save them both?

  Patrick seemed to take forever to cross the landing, to walk through her entrance and into her open arms. They embraced slowly, carefully, as if to savor the moment of seeing each other again. He didn’t seem angry with her, as Jean had suspected. If anything, it felt like an odd resignation from Patrick. As if there was no other option. As if he also realized he had to come when she called. This was where he most belonged.

  They hugged in the doorway. It seemed to be enough for the moment. Until she leaned back to study his face. There, Jean found a man who needed unconditional TLC and a place to feel safe. She placed her hands on his face, holding it to make Patrick focus on her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked quietly, concern woven into her voice.

  “Now that I’m here, I think so.”

  “Then, come on in.”

  He carried only a small weekend duffel Jean took out of his hand. He shrugged out of his short black leather jacket…the one she’d first seen him wearing at the lottery announcement. That occasion now seemed like forever ago. She set his things aside. He stood waiting for guidance and instruction from her. It troubled her to see Patrick numb with exhaustion and passive.

  She stood in front of him again. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

  He frowned. “What day is this?”

  She told him.

  “It was lunch yesterday.”

  “I’m going to get you something to eat. And then you’re going to bed to get some sleep.”

  She turned to head into the kitchen, but Patrick caught her hand and pulled her back to face him. “What do you have in mind?”

  She laughed lightly, so happy to have Patrick to herself, so happy that he’d come willingly. “Does it matter?”

  He shook his head, deftly drawing her into his arms. Patrick held her, rubbing his cheek against hers. “I guess not. Thank you. I’m so glad I made it here.”

  She closed her eyes and surrendered to his embrace. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked.

  “I was never mad at you, Jean. I was afraid you’d given up on me.”

  She pressed a kiss to his chest through the opening of his shirt. “We can talk about all of that later. I want to get some food into you and then get you to bed.” Jean could feel him chuckling as he hugged her, nuzzled her, kissed her face, hampered her attempts to break free.

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had in weeks. You’re going to feed me and take me to bed. I’m feeling better already.”

  Jean stopped wiggling and looked at him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you.”

  He sighed. “You’ve done more than I could ever have hoped for. You’ve given me more than I think I deserve.”

  “I’m glad you came, Patrick. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

  He stroked her back. “I hit rock bottom today. There didn’t seem to be an end in sight. I felt lik
e I was on a merry-go-round that was never going to stop. I was afraid…I’d never have this again,” he whispered close to her ear. His breath tickled her skin.

  “Me too. I called because I couldn’t be there with you. So I brought you to me. I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she ended.

  “My lady calls, I come. Sorry if I babbled. I couldn’t believe it was you. I didn’t sound like an idiot, did I?”

  Jean looked at him again, stroking his face, which had twenty-four hours’ growth. She so loved the look that a little facial hair gave him. “You sounded zoned out, to be honest.”

  She felt him sway slightly against her. Jean tiptoed to kiss him and pushed Patrick away. “I’ll fix you something. Go in and make yourself at home.”

  In the instant they stood staring at one another, Jean’s words sank in.

  “After I finished your call, I did feel like…I was coming home.”

  “And here you are.”

  With that, they separated, and Jean scavenged through her kitchen to see if there was enough of anything to make a simple meal for Patrick. It was very late, and she settled on an omelet, avocado toast, and decaf coffee. Nothing that would give him heartburn or nightmares.

  She called him to the small dining nook in the living room, instead of the table for two in the kitchen. He reappeared in a T-shirt, black cotton knit pajama bottoms, and bare feet. He looked comfortable, but no less tired.

  “Sit here. Eat,” Jean commanded, indicating a chair. “Is it okay if I leave you for a little bit? Or do you want company?”

  He gave her an amused grin. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. He took her hand. “I’m not afraid of the dark or being alone. As long as you’re not planning to leave for China, I’m okay.”

  “I’m here.”

  With that, Jean walked away to see to the other ways she could make him comfortable, give him space to recoup in peace. She wanted to show Patrick he was not alone. And he didn’t have to be ever again. While he ate quietly in the dining area, she put out fresh towels for him, put away her few personal things spread around her room. She took out her tablet and quickly composed a message to Brad telling him she was taking a day off. Something personal had come up. Jean returned to the kitchen to clean the coffee maker and set it up again for the morning. Or afternoon. Whenever Patrick would arise.

  Then, she began to prepare herself for the night, vanity and love driving her to make sure her hair wasn’t a bird’s nest of tangles and wild curls. In the bathroom mirror, she stared into the face of a young woman deliriously excited about being with the man she loved and once again sure that they could have a future…and make it work. Jean had only to recall the extraordinary turnaround with her parents to let her hope reign supreme.

  She and Patrick could do this. It was no longer defying the odds. It was simply making it happen. Together. They could love each other and be happy.

  Jean heard dishes being placed in the sink and followed the sounds. She encountered Patrick as he exited the kitchen.

  “I didn’t wash anything.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

  He approached, again bemused. “You’re taking care of me.”

  “Somebody has to step in and make sure you don’t crash into a wall. I don’t do this for everyone.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  “You don’t need this all the time. I just knew right now you needed something a little extra.”

  “We’ll have to talk more about the little extra sometime.”

  “Okay.” Jean pointed to the bedroom door. “Go to bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Patrick said, his voice becoming gravelly with the need for sleep.

  Jean turned out all the lights, made sure the front door was locked, and joined him in her room. She found Patrick removing the lounging pajama bottoms and the T-shirt. He kept on his jockey shorts. He got into bed and more or less collapsed, spread-eagle.

  “Move over,” Jean ordered in a quiet voice. He obeyed, making room for her. She lay flat, trying to get into a position that wouldn’t disturb him during the night.

  Patrick had other plans.

  He rolled onto his side facing her. He put his hand around her waist and easily pulled her close. The movement forced Jean to roll onto her side so that they were spooned together. He held her close to his chest, and Jean could feel his heart beat against her back. She moved her legs to experience the silky feel of the hair on his legs against hers. Their toes played footsie for a moment before relaxing. Patrick’s forearm, resting on the mattress, became a warm and firm pillow. He sighed deeply, and Jean knew he was on the verge.

  She offered no more conversation. They both needed a little peace and quiet.

  “She apologized,” Patrick suddenly whispered into the dark.

  “She who?”

  “My ex. Katie. She apologized for keeping Nico from me.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  It was silent again. Until…

  “She said that Nico talks about me a lot. He likes coming to visit me.”

  She didn’t respond. She wanted Patrick to sleep and just let it go for now. Of all the insanity that was thrown at him since the spring, news about his son had been the most challenging, the most surprising, and the most hurtful. But it was going to work out.

  “Shh. Go to sleep.”

  The silence grew.

  “I love you.”

  It didn’t make sense to cry at this point. But Jean swallowed, knowing she was about to.

  “I love you more,” she managed to get out, her voice reedy and broken.

  And then they were both instantly asleep.

  * * *

  Jean woke up in the middle of the night to discover that she and Patrick were still melded together in the same position. But she was beginning to cramp. She eased herself out of his arms and turned to face him. He was clearly deeply asleep, his breathing even. She shook his shoulder.

  “Patrick. Turn over.”

  He moaned and stretched out his legs.

  “Patrick.”

  He sighed and rolled over so their positions were reversed. Jean closed the space between them, resting her arm across his waist. After a moment, Patrick reached for her hand, urging her even closer and threading their fingers. He mumbled something she couldn’t understand.

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  She did hear that.

  The thing that happened next was, while dreaming, Jean had the titillating experience of holding a bird in her hand, its wings fluttering and brushing over her breasts and the nipples. She released the bird and it flew away, but the mildly erotic sensation remained and only seemed to get stronger. In the dream, she could feel her reaction centering, traveling through her body down to her stomach, her groin, releasing a gentle heat.

  Jean moaned, shifting to ease the caressing assault on her body. The dream was fading, but her breasts still felt oversensitized, tender, yearning. Her eyes fluttered open, and she became fully aware of Patrick half covering her body with his, his lips planting moist, little featherlight kisses on her breasts. She moaned again, closing her eyes and letting herself become fully enveloped in his foreplay. She combed her fingers into his hair, holding his head to her so the kisses could continue. Patrick had somehow managed to remove her night shift, leaving her naked except for her panties. She undulated against him. He was already completely naked.

  “Patrick,” she whispered, her emotions heightened by being awakened to lovemaking.

  He stopped to lift his head. Jean could see he hadn’t been awake that long, but he had awakened with a great raging need.

  “Good morning,” Patrick said, shifting upward to lie completely on top of her.

  He kissed her with so much slow, immediate passion tha
t Jean thought they both could burst into lustful flames. The weight of him made her feel safe and loved. She thought she could die right then and there of total happiness.

  Jean responded to him in kind, shifting her legs to make room for him. He nestled and rested in position. They continued to kiss and stroke each other slowly and languidly. He slipped his hands under the band of her panties, curving around her buttocks, forcing the fabric down her thighs, maneuvering the underwear to her knees. Patrick let her figure out how to wiggle out of them, while his hands transferred to her breasts and one slipped lower to stroke between her legs.

  Jean went limp. Mindless. Helpless against the overwhelming attack on her nerve endings, the very tender center of her body.

  They were a tangle of arms and legs and hands and fingers, as she returned the favor to him, while she had the presence of mind to give Patrick what he needed as well.

  He pulled his lips from hers to hug her. “Is this what you meant by a little extra?” he growled close to her ear.

  “Is it helping?”

  “Oh yeah…” Patrick said, sliding effortlessly and slowly into her warm body.

  No talk was possible after that. There was just shifting of their bodies on the linens and that rhythmic dance of lovemaking. There was their breathing mixing into the wordless language of love. There was, with great effort, murmured endearments, encouragements, exclamations of delight.

  After Jean’s release Patrick turned his attention all to himself, and with her help of small kisses and light stroking of her hands and fingers in all the right places, he soon followed. They lay still, panting. That slowly turned into steady breathing until they were both asleep again in each other’s arms.