Long Shot hg-1

by Hanna Martine

She licked her lips, feeling the hot morning sun on the part of her hair. “I have to go.”

  His eyebrows pinched together. “The pipe band truck thing? Yeah, I heard. T came over to flip that blue hair in front of one of the high school helpers and told him her parents had gone off on the rescue. You taking off to help them?”

  “No. I’m . . . I have to go back to New York.”

  Now his eyebrows formed one long strip as he lowered his chin. “Right. Tomorrow. When we said we’d drive south together.”

  “I mean today.”

  He just stared. And stared. “After the closing ceremonies?”

  “No. Now.” She drew up her shoulders and held up her phone like it could magically provide proof. It might have been the wrong thing to do because he looked at the thing with immediate wariness. “My boss, my real boss, called. There’s an emergency back in New York. If I don’t get back tonight and fix it, I’ll lose a really big client and possibly the promotion I’ve wanted since the day I started working there. I need to leave as soon as possible.”

  He wiped at the corners of his mouth with a forefinger and thumb. He took several breaths before finally getting out, “Now. You’re leaving now. Before the games even get going.”

  She put her phone away and her hands felt terribly empty. “It’s my actual job, Leith. My real one. The one that pays the bills.”

  Lips tight, he nodded. “I thought you had an assistant.”

  “She’s the one who fucked everything up and now it’s on my head.”

  “It’s Saturday. Can’t you fix it Monday? You know, during normal work hours?”

  She breathed steadily through her nose. She’d expected this, she reminded herself. “I don’t work normal hours. Neither do you, as I recall.” As she stepped closer to him, he didn’t reach for her. “I’m not a superhero. I can’t be two places at once. I’ve been standing over there, wracking my brain trying to figure out how to do both, but I just can’t. I have to choose. And, yes, my heart is telling me to stay, but my brain and my duty are pulling me back to the city.”

  Over Leith’s shoulder she glimpsed one of the athletes starting toward him, until Duncan stopped him with a hand to his chest.

  Leith’s hands slid to his hips. “I was supposed to go back to Connecticut this weekend, you know.”

  “Yes. I do know.”

  “It was the only weekend Rory’s husband was going to be in town to approve my plans. She moved up my complete date by three weeks. I can’t really afford to be here either, but I am. I stayed. For them.” He nudged his chin at the pockets of people he’d grown up with, and many more he hadn’t. “For Da’s memory.”

  “I understand what you’ve done,” she said. “What it took to make you stay. But really, what made you stay—your past, your roots—is the very same reason why I have to go. There were things you needed to do and finish here. There are things I need to do and finish there.”

  He seemed to barely hear her. “I also stayed for you, remember.”

  She started to fidget, shifting from foot to foot. “I know. I don’t want to go. I told you. I had to make a choice. But we’ll see each other next week, when you get to Connecticut. Then we’ll figure everything else out.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “You really aren’t seeing this? The similarities? How this looks to me? How it feels?”

  “Similarities to—? Oh.” She closed her eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “I mean, I understand that what happened ten years ago was when we were kids, that you had legitimate reasons for not staying, but right over there”—he jabbed a finger toward the fairgrounds and his voice rose—“is where I told you how I felt, and then watched you walk away right after. And today I’m standing in almost the exact same spot, watching you leave again. After I told you exactly how I feel now. I fucking hate watching you walk away. I can’t change that reaction, and I won’t apologize for it.”

  “You shouldn’t have to apologize. I should. And I am.”

  “I’m not pissed off because you’re going after your dream. I told you I get you, and I do. What you told me in New York, about your mom and Iowa and coming here . . . it’s powerful stuff that I totally understand. But if we’re being honest, I’m pissed off because I sacrificed something big to be here for Gleann and for you, and you’re turning away. I’m scared for what this could mean to us, that this is a sign of things to come.”

  His unspoken question: When will you sacrifice for me?

  But she had, by pushing aside her larger goals for a time to be here in the first place. So in essence she already had sacrificed to be reunited with him. Why did she have to sacrifice more to keep his faith? It wasn’t fucking fair. The whole thing was all too convoluted and didn’t make any sense. This was supposed to end perfectly.

  She reached up to take his face. He let her, but his reciprocal touch—light fingers at her waist—lacked his usual warmth.

  “I told you we would try,” she said. “I meant it.”

  “Don’t go,” he whispered, his frustration coming through loud and clear. His hands at her waist suddenly bit in.

  “I have to,” she whispered back, then tried to step out of his arms. He held fast. “I’m so sorry.”

  He kissed her, swift and light, like she’d already slipped away. Like it was their last time. Like he was saying good-bye. She forced herself to ignore the sense of foreboding it caused.

  “Call me tomorrow from the road?” she said.

  Leith did not look at her as he replied, “Why don’t you call me? Hopefully it’ll go better than the last long-distance phone call we had.”

  Ouch. “It will.”

  But he’d already turned, and right then she knew exactly what he’d meant about hating to watch her walk away. The sight of his stiff back and shoulders, and the heavy plod of his boots on the grass thundered through her body. It shouldn’t have made her worry that this might indeed be the last time she’d see him . . . but it did.

  Numb, she walked to the edge of the field and lifted the flag rope without feeling its plastic snap at her skin. She wove her way through the crowd without sensing the other bodies. She’d gotten halfway across the parking lot before she realized she’d left the Hemmertex grounds and the new world of the Gleann Highland Games she’d helped create. Blinking into the sunshine, she knew she had to do what she’d always done: Go forward. Not back.

  Doing so had just never hurt this much before.

  As she opened the unlocked door to 738 Maple, her phone rang again, jangling her from thoughts of Leith. The little black thing she practically slept with, the inanimate object she usually clung to, she now wanted to chuck across the driveway, like the athletes did with those massive weights.

  With a roll of her eyes that felt a little wet, she picked up the call from the guy who’d loaned her the tents as a return favor. Of course they couldn’t provide replacements within a timeframe that would do the Gleann Highland Games any good. And of course he wanted payment for any damages. That was to be expected; she’d demand the same thing if she were him.

  Jen dug into her purse and pulled out her wallet. “After you come get the tents and inspect them, send me an itemized list of the damages, then charge them to my personal credit card.” She read off the series of numbers on the piece of plastic in her hand. “I don’t want you to charge Gleann a thing.”

  * * *

  Leith knew the AD was staring at him.

  “What was that about?” Duncan asked, and when Leith didn’t answer, he added, “Everything okay with the athletic events?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Events are good.”

  “Ah.” Duncan drew out the single word in a way that didn’t need explanation.

  After a few long moments of pretending to examine the sheaves Duncan had brought for the toss, Leith finally turned back to see Jen moving slowly away through the gathering crowd. Past her sister who just watched her go. Past Mayor Sue, who shook her head. Even past Shea,
whose mess of a tent was nearly cleaned up thanks to the swarm of rugby players. Though Jen walked with her head high, she clutched her giant purse to her chest and Leith knew she was protecting herself using that green leather piece of armor which held her mighty weapons: the laptop and her phone.

  That goddamn phone.

  If she was so affected by her choice, if she questioned it so much—and she did; her excuses weren’t fooling him—why the hell wasn’t she staying? There were a million more things he’d wanted to say to her, but knew it would’ve done no good, and they might have sprung more from frustration than true reason. She didn’t respond well to that. And besides, he’d made his argument.

  She’d forgotten that he knew her, that he’d glimpsed what her life was like back in New York, what sort of world she’d built up around herself. Maybe the threads of that world had loosened since she’d come back to New Hampshire, but once she crossed the bridge back into Manhattan, she’d be swallowed so fast by those jaws of fast-talking, fast-moving events that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, that she wouldn’t even realize she’d shut him out again.

  He didn’t know if his heart could take that. Not twice.

  He wasn’t looking for a woman to stay back at home while he went out and worked to bring home the paycheck. Hell no. No, Jen was smart and driven and it wasn’t his place to change that. Those were just two of the reasons why he loved her. He loved her for who she was, but he was worried about who she was striving, or even pretending, to be. Doing something to escape pain and heartache wasn’t the same as doing something because it spoke to your heart.

  He wanted to be assured she wouldn’t disappear again. But most of all, he just wanted her.

  You want her because she was right, boy. Women usually are.

  Ah, Da. Leith could hear the old man’s chuckle, the same low, secretive laugh that always came out when he used to talk about his beloved wife. Leith closed his eyes and bowed his head. In the distance, beneath everything else, Chris struck some warm-up notes on his fiddle. Though unamplified, the song still traveled, and Leith wondered if he was hallucinating, because it was Da’s favorite folk tune, the one he used to play over and over on the wobbly record player.

  Right about what? Leigh almost asked. But he knew.

  I know, I know, came Da’s ethereal, accented voice. The last time you competed you threw like shite in front of me. I get it. But if you really think that ever mattered to me or to anyone else, you’re a fool. You’re also not a father yet. These things are almost impossible to explain to a man who isn’t.

  “It does matter,” Leith mumbled. “It matters to me.”

  “Huh?” Duncan asked, looking up from his clipboard with a frown.

  Leith gave him an awkward smile and shook his head. Duncan ambled away with the clipboard to go check on the high school volunteers.

  She was right, Da whispered in Leith’s ear, what she said to you about failure and what’s holding you back. Failure’s only in your mind. To so many others, it’s success.

  Jesus. Leith couldn’t breathe. His head snapped up and he scanned the crowd again, but Jen’s dark hair and white dress were long gone.

  Boy. Just get in there and throw already. You cleaned out my house. Now clean out your own head.

  And just like what had happened in the music tent last night, some people shifted on the other side of the flags—a dad trying to wrangle his five wild kids—and there was Da, sitting on the edge of the scrappy lawn chair, pipe between his teeth, cap on, walking cane upright between his knees. He nodded once. Leith blinked twice. When two of the kids started wrestling, the image was obliterated.

  Leith whirled toward the center of the field, where Duncan was mingling with some of the competitors. A few handshakes were going around, a few friendly challenges.

  A Braemar stone sat all lonesome off to one side. Twenty-two pounds of black rock calling Leith’s name. With a purpose he hadn’t felt in at least four years, he stomped over to the stone. Picked it up. Rolled it between his hands. Warm and smooth, a little bit of home in his palms.

  He could hear the murmurs starting, the building roar of the crowd, his name spoken in several voices he recognized and just as many he didn’t. The sound followed him like he approached a waterfall, building and building the farther into the field he walked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see people hurrying over to the field, beckoned by family members or strangers. A few whistles and scattered applause filled the air.

  “Do it, Dougall!” someone yelled.

  But that wasn’t why he took his place behind the trig, got his feet set into position. Wide. Steady. No, this didn’t have to do with them. This was for the man and the woman who weren’t even here. And for himself.

  “What’re you doing, Dougall?” Duncan this time, loud and clear, for all to hear.

  Leith swung out his left arm, finding his balance, assuming the form Da had taught him. He raised the Braemar stone and tucked it between his chin and shoulder. A few deep breaths. A crouch. Then he launched that sucker up and into the field, not really caring where it landed. That wasn’t the point.

  All of Gleann seemed to erupt in cheers.

  He walked away from the trig. Duncan’s round face was split by a massive grin, that missing tooth making an appearance. His huge arms were thrown out wide and he was laughing. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Leith stomped over and snatched Duncan’s clipboard from his hands. “What’s it look like?” Leith scrawled his name at the bottom of the list of competitors. “I’m fucking throwing.”

  Chapter

  24

  Leith sat on the edge of the motel bed, cheap polyester bedspread sticking to his thighs, cold air rattling out from the window unit but just barely filling the room. The second floor window overlooked a parking lot near Stamford, Connecticut, off I-95.

  Beyond that lay one hell of a challenge.

  How much had changed in his life in the last twenty-four hours. Most of it not good.

  His phone jumped from where it sat by his hip, buzzing and blaring Jen’s name. He hated to admit he’d been waiting for her call all day, but the truth was, he had been. He’d left Gleann early that morning, heading south, high on how throwing in the games had made him feel, even if he hadn’t thrown that well.

  Now he looked down at her name and realized that if she’d stayed at the games, chances were he wouldn’t have picked up the stone or the sheaf fork or the caber again. He wasn’t quite sure how that made him feel.

  He ran his thumb over her name then touched Answer. “Hey, you.”

  “Hi.” It came out in a sigh, and he was thrown back two nights, to the sounds she’d made in the back of Da’s Caddy, her exhalations in his ear.

  “How did it go last night?” he asked, because he felt like he should. “Everything squared away?”

  “Um, yeah, pretty much. Saved the event. Retained the client.”

  “Your superhero cape looks good fluttering in the breeze.” He’d meant it as a joke, of course, but she didn’t laugh. Neither did he. He wondered if Jen had heard about him throwing. “Have you talked to Aimee today? Or anyone back in Gleann?”

  “No, I haven’t. She, ah, isn’t picking up my calls or answering my texts. Listen, can I take the train out tonight? I need to see you.”

  He rose from the bed, his heart pounding with hope. “Absolutely. Hell yeah. I’m just in a shitty motel, but—”

  “I don’t care.”

  She was doing this, coming to him. She’d heard what he’d said about trying, about not running away. He started to pace, a strange brand of excitement pumping through him. On a day that had had such turbulent ups and downs, this was definitely an up.

  “Can’t wait to see you,” he said. “I have a lot to tell you.” So, so much.

  There came one of those pauses that lasted a beat too long, but still he could have sworn she was smiling. “Good. So do I. Pick me up at the Stamford station at 6:44.”

&n
bsp; Two hours. He couldn’t wait to tell her face-to-face about throwing, how incredible it had felt—how she’d been right. She wouldn’t gloat. Not his Jen. She would look at him with those sparkling eyes and she would be happy for him. She would slide her arms around his neck and then they’d talk about his Da, how Leith had finally been able to let him go.

  Then he would tell her that he’d lost the Carriage job.

  * * *

  He parked his truck in the Stamford train station lot and got out, leaning against it, waiting, unsure if he should go inside to the platform like they did in the movies and immediately drag her into his arms. It seemed like a month since he’d seen her, not a day. In the end he chose to stay in the lot, his weight shifting from foot to foot. But when her familiar figure—not carrying that purse with the laptop—finally exited the building and crossed the street to him, he pushed away from the truck.

  She looked incredible. Just . . . phenomenal. Black pants that fit her thighs and ass perfectly. Black high heels he’d never seen before but would kill to see on the ends of her bare legs right before she wrapped them around his neck. She wore a short-sleeved top that might have looked demure on anyone not as achingly sexual as her.

  Turned out he didn’t have to drag her into him. She came willingly, a great magnet pulling them together across the barren Sunday commuter parking lot. She wasn’t smiling, but that was okay because her eyes were filled with an apology. He folded her into his arms and she gripped him tightly, her hands splayed on his back, reminding him of how she’d clung to him naked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  This time he was ready to hear it. Ready to accept it. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered, and then he took her mouth in a kiss that burned with slow fire.

  After he’d pulled his mouth away but kept his hands on her face, she didn’t look so sure that he’d accepted her apology. Or maybe it was something else. He couldn’t quite tell. But at that moment he didn’t really care. She was here.

  “So this is Connecticut.” She smiled. “Your new home.”