by Anne Calhoun
When the cocktail hour wound down, people started splitting up to drive over to the Met. “I’ll catch up with you,” Jamie said to his parents. A minute later, Charlie strolled out of the koi carp garden. “Can I get a ride to the Met?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Your parents, your brother, and eight of your former teammates were here, and you’re asking me for a ride?”
“They left me,” he said, grinning shamelessly at her.
“What about your SEAL teammates? What happened to no man left behind?”
“The motto doesn’t cover cocktail parties at garden clubs,” he said seriously. “Then it’s every man for himself.”
“I’d think that’s the most important place it covers,” she muttered, and fished her keys from her tiny purse. “Come on.”
The Garden Club covered twenty acres of land north of the railroad’s former headquarters. To get to the Met they had to drive through the East Side, right past the basketball court. “Pull in for a second,” Jamie said.
Her forehead wrinkled, but she obediently steered into the parking lot. A few kids were shooting around, too focused on their pickup game to pay much attention to them, even in uniform and fuchsia. “What are we doing here?” Charlie asked. “You have to be at the Met in fifteen minutes. I know this because I looked over the schedule Grace and Lyssa put together.”
Jamie ignored her, just took her hand and led her into the trees, consciously slowing his pace to respect her heels. When they reached a secluded glade, he turned to her. “Do you have your lipstick with you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because I’m going to kiss that right off your mouth,” he said.
He did just that, pressing her back against a tree, one arm braced on the trunk beside her head, the other wrapped around her waist to hold her close. The heat of his body quickly seeped through his uniform and her dress. In her mind’s eye she pictured them, dress white uniform against fuchsia cocktail dress, her hair spilling forward to hide their faces. She kept trying to bend her knees and get their faces on a more even level, but every time she did, he shoved into her, pushing her upright.
“You’re a fucking goddess. A warrior queen,” he growled against her throat. “I’ve wanted to do this for so goddamn long.”
She pushed away, blinking, and said, “Jamie, I can’t. Not … now. Or here.”
“I know,” he said, tone laden with regret and desire and controlled frustration. “Consider this,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to the swell of each breast, then tipped his head up to slip his tongue between her lips, hot and slick and teasing, “a prelude to what’s going to happen later.”
She stared at him, then took a deep breath. “Come on. You’re going to be late.”
Chapter Seven
Charlie resisted the urge to touch her fingertips to her lips. A quick reapplication of lipstick before she got out of the car told her everything she needed to know. Her lips were swollen, her eyes glowing, and Jamie looked like the cat that swallowed the canary as he walked into the Metropolitan Club like he owned the place. People were streaming in, the valet parking attendants catching tossed keys and helping elegantly dressed women from cars.
Grace, Lyssa, and most of the rest of the team stood in a cluster outside the tall double doors thrown open to admit people into the elegantly appointed foyer. They caught sight of Jamie and Charlie together. Eyes widened, mouths opened, and Charlie heard a soft ooooh that ranged up and down the scale.
“Go on ahead,” she said to Jamie. “You’re the keynote speaker. They’re going to be worried until you’ve checked in.”
She managed to hold them off for a little while by admiring dresses and updos—this first team of girls would stay in her memory for a very long time—but finally Grace asked the question everyone on the team wanted answered. “Coach, are you going out with him?”
“No, I’m not,” she said, knowing it was a lie even as she spoke. Teenagers could sniff out lies without even looking up from their cell phones. “It’s just … we’ve known each other a long time. We were … we are friends. That’s all.”
“It doesn’t look like that to me,” Grace said. The rest of the team nodded along. “He’s very, very fine in that uniform.”
And out of it, Charlie thought with a mild hysteria, then seized on the teaching opportunity here with Grace, all but joined at the hip to Bryce, who was now considering a career in the military. “He’s an active-duty Navy SEAL. He’s gone for weeks, even months at a stretch, with no contact with friends and family. Long-distance relationships are very, very hard. I’ve tried them before, and they don’t work. It’s better to just cut your ties so you can both get on with your lives.”
Grace’s and Lyssa’s disbelieving gazes flicked from Charlie’s face to a spot just over her shoulder. She turned to find Jamie standing there, his face a mask. “Ms. Webber said I should check in with you, Grace,” he said.
Charlie could have kicked herself into the kitchen and out the back door. Of course Jamie was going to check in with Grace; she’d organized the schedule. “Um, yes,” Grace said when Charlie didn’t speak. Her voice was thin, hesitant, unfamiliar with the formal phrases she’d probably picked up from Eve or the Met’s caterer. “Thank you, Lieutenant Hawthorn. We should … get our seats. Dinner will be served in five minutes.”
Without meeting her eye, Jamie stepped back and held out his hand for the ladies to precede him into the building. Her girls skittered off in a group, leaving Charlie alone with Jamie.
“You had to know that,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest. “Jamie. You had to know that.”
He didn’t move. “They’re waiting for us,” he said quietly.
* * *
According to Grace, the Met served the city’s best banquet food, but Charlie had to force down her mouthfuls of seared salmon with asparagus, and she couldn’t even taste the tiramisu. Seated on the other side of the lectern, Jamie never made eye contact with her, focusing his conversation on his former coach to his left and the superintendent of schools to his right. Charlie kept up with the chatter between her former coach and Principal Belmeister, but deep inside, she felt sick.
Based on the look on Jamie’s face, he’d felt differently about their relationship. She’d blindsided him, but he’d blindsided her. Did he really think they could have something long distance, something real and true, something that would not only survive the test of time apart but would last forever?
When the guests were finishing their dessert and coffee, Principal Belmeister rose to his feet and thanked everyone for coming, then introduced Jamie. Charlie turned in her chair and looked up at him, at the body she knew as well as her own, at his handsome profile. He singled out the district administrators, Coach Gould, and his teammates, then paused, his hands gripping the lectern. Charlie’s heart was pounding in her chest, as she watched him.
“I learned mental toughness and strength on the basketball court when I was in high school,” he said. She froze, somehow knowing he meant more than practices and games, state tournaments. He meant them, on the court by the tracks. “I only started when someone had the flu. I was usually the sixth or seventh guy in, riding the bench until someone needed a breather, or was in foul trouble”—he paused to cough “Jonesy” under his breath and the room broke into laughter—“or we needed a different strategy. When you start on the bench, you have a lot of time to watch your teammates, the opposing players. That’s where I learned what I needed to learn to be successful in life: on the bench, and in the stands, watching the girls’ team fight their way to a title. I watched players leave everything they had on the court for their teammates, for their school, for their own honor. When I joined the Navy, that’s the image I carried with me through basic, then into Hell Week in BUD/S when I thought I couldn’t stand in the surf and carry my share of a telephone pole. I held in my mind an image of a basketball player, bruised and scraped and taped and limping but competing so fiercely th
at everyone else around them upped their game, practiced a little harder, stayed the extra time to shoot more free throws, put in the time in the weight room.”
She stopped breathing, her throat contracting, tears welling in her eyes. There wasn’t a single sound in the room except her heart, thundering in her ears. He wasn’t using notes. No, Jamie’s words were coming straight from his heart.
“This is what I can tell you, as a United States Navy SEAL. That all the example you need to succeed in life, to resist whatever temptation is calling you, to achieve whatever goal you think you can’t possibly achieve, is right here in front of you. When you think you can’t read one more page of Shakespeare or run one more lap, when you can’t say no to that party, know this: the example you need is in the cops and teachers and firefighters, and your parents, as crazy as that sounds right now. Trust me, it’s in your parents. It’s in your coaches. It’s in your teammates. I guarantee it’s in your teammates, the young men and women you compete with to represent East Side High. And you’re their example, too. The talent and dedication in this room has the power to shape lives for generations to come. Don’t forget it. Thank you.”
* * *
Jamie disappeared into a crush of people wanting to shake his hand, tell stories, and generally rub shoulders with him. Charlie knew exactly how they felt, but every time she tried to get close, he managed to put someone between them. She finally tracked him down standing at the end of the hallway to the kitchen, watching Eve Webber slip through a door marked MANAGEMENT. Keenan, one of Jamie’s SEAL friends, dressed in a quiet navy business suit, was at the other end, by the restrooms. He gave Jamie a nod.
“You’re pretty popular tonight,” she said, the clink of silverware against plates the high notes over a steady low hum of laughter and conversation.
He gave her a look that cut to the bone, then returned his gaze to the end of the hallway.
She hardly knew where to begin. All she knew was that her friendly competitive high school crush had subtly turned into a Navy SEAL, right in front of her eyes. “Jamie,” she said uncertainly, “I assumed.” She paused. Coach Gould had a saying about assumptions, and it was running through both her head and Jamie’s. “I thought we understood what this was.”
He cut her a look, sharp and knowing. “Here’s what I understand, Charlie. I love you.”
She froze while her heart did a soaring-to-the-basket alley-oop in her chest.
“No,” he said, half to himself, half to her. “I love you, of course I love you, but I’m in love with you.”
“You can’t be serious. No one falls in love after a long weekend,” she said, but even as she spoke she knew she was talking to herself as much as to him.
“It’s not a long weekend for me,” Jamie said. His eyes were determined, sure. “I’ve been in love with you since we were seventeen.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Ian strode down the hall, then into the office Eve hadn’t come out of. This time when the door closed, Charlie could hear the lock catch. “What’s that all about?” she asked, clutching onto anything that wasn’t Jamie making a declaration of love. “Tell me that’s not some secret hookup. Eve Webber’s about as likely to date a Lancaster cop as I am.”
“It definitely isn’t,” Jamie said. “Ian would appreciate it if you’d forget you saw that.”
“No problem,” she said. “I should get back to—”
She turned away, but he caught her by the upper arm, his grip like iron, his thumb stealing a caress, holding her there, holding her up, holding her. He hid nothing from her, let her see all his hopes and fears, the vulnerability of this warrior man of steel on full display for her. “I love you,” he repeated. “I have since we were kids.”
“Jamie,” she said weakly. “It’s just infatuation. You want what you never had.”
“You’ve spent too much time with teenagers and playboys,” he said. “Real men don’t operate that way. Is that really how you see yourself? Forgettable? Like I’d want you less because we’ve had sex? I want you more. I want you always, forever, in my bed, in my life, in my heart. I will never stop wanting you. I accepted that a long time ago.”
Another direct hit to the chest, rattling her to her foundation. She fell back on the one thing she knew for sure: long-distance relationships don’t work. “I live here. You live in Virginia Beach. What about that?”
“You said it yourself. There are a dozen ways to stay in touch now.”
“That’s fine for friendship. It’s not enough for love, for a relationship to really succeed.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“How do you know? You’ve never really tried to have a relationship with a woman while you were on active duty.”
“Because the only woman I want a relationship with is you.”
“I’ve tried. It’s never worked,” she countered.
“It’s never been me.”
She almost laughed at his certainty, the brazen, bedrock confidence in every line of his body, shoulders, hands, hips, and thighs, until she realized he meant it. Believed it. It would be different because it was him. Because it was them. Charlie and Jamie.
“No,” she said. “I can’t do that again, give everything I have to something that doesn’t really exist. I want day-to-day, I want someone to wake up with and go to bed with, someone who’s around.”
His thumb stroked once, sure and hot, over the swell of the muscle joining her arm and shoulder. Just once. A shiver raced down her spine and she shuddered. “Truth, Charlie. Was I ever not around for you? You were with me every second of the last ten years.
She couldn’t lie to him. She should, but she couldn’t. “I looked for you, every game, on every street in every city in Europe. It’s always been you, Jamie. But we’re grownups, not dreamy teenagers. I’ve seen dozens of relationships fail under the strain of distance, time apart, separate lives. Don’t tell me you haven’t. The odds are stacked against us.”
“Fuck the odds. You’d rather quit than fail?” Coming from Jamie, it was a command. A demand. A challenge thrown down like a gauntlet onto the polished parquet floor of the Metropolitan Club, so similar to a basketball court where they’d battled out all their frustrated desire years ago. “You’re no quitter. You always play to win.”
She looked at him. “My competitive days are over. I’m a teacher and a coach now. I haven’t even been playing seriously the last couple of nights. They were just fun pickup games.”
She’d thought this was obvious, but at that his face changed like she’d slapped him. His hand dropped from her upper arm and his shoulders straightened, squared up, making him bigger, broader, more intense. “You weren’t really playing?”
In a flash she knew what she’d done. She’d betrayed their on-court truth, bringing less than her best game, and the look in his eyes cut her to the bone. “We were shooting around,” she said, hating the words even as she spoke them. “It was casual. Everything was casual,” she said again, repeating herself, stumbling over the words to explain what she’d thought was patently obvious.
He leaned toward her. “I don’t do casual,” he said, his voice tight, his eyes boring into hers. “I’ve never done casual. You didn’t, either. That’s why we light up the sky every time we’re within fifty feet of each other. It’s why the games made us better players. You and me, we’ve never been casual. But if you’re bringing me a half-assed version of who you are,” he said, gesturing between them with his right hand, coming close enough to the bare skin of her collarbones and breasts for her to feel the heat, “then I’m out.”
“Jamie, wait,” she said, but when he turned around, she couldn’t say the words. “I drove you here? How will you get home?”
He just stared at her, like he couldn’t believe the inane words coming from her mouth. She couldn’t believe them either, but heard them and winced at her own stupidity. His father, mother, and brother were here. Former classmates, friends, people w
ho’d be happy to drive him up the Hill. “Jamie, I’m sorry,” she said.
But that wasn’t what she meant, either. He waited another beat, then turned and walked away.
* * *
An hour later the room was clear except for the current players, who were all sprawled in the chairs around one big table, shoes off, false eyelashes in a growing pile on the table, shooting the breeze. Charlie approached the table to congratulate them on a job well done, and got a faceful of sullen teenage girl in response. Grace wouldn’t make eye contact as she said, “Thanks, Coach.”
“Do you have a problem with me?” she asked her players.
“No, Coach,” Grace said, obediently.
“I do,” Lyssa said. “You’ve made a big mistake.”
Charlie and the rest of the table stared at her. Silent, observant Lyssa, calling her out.
“He loves you. You love him. The whole room saw the way you looked at him while he was talking. We all knew who he was really talking to,” she added. “You’re always telling us to not give up. We can go to college, get degrees, because an education lasts forever. But the thing that will last the longest, the thing that makes it all worthwhile, is love. If all those things mean you can’t have love, what’s the point?”
Charlie stared at her. It was the longest speech she’d ever heard Lyssa make, and she nailed it with a profound truth. Love was what she’d been missing, all these years. Jamie’s love.
Lyssa mistook her stunned silence for disagreement. “Everything you taught us said that even if we lost a game, we’d learn something important in trying. That the effort was worth it, no matter the outcome. Did you mean it, or not?”
