The You I'll Love Forever

by Alison Kent

  Standing at the kitchen sink, Eva stopped in the middle of washing her hands. “He asked you about going early?”

  Carson stopped in the middle of jotting a note and raised his eyes from the tablet. “If I’d thought for a minute that you’d object, I’d’ve told him he’d have to ask you. But we both know that whether he left at three or at eleven wasn’t going to make a hill of beans.”

  She reached for a towel to dry her hands. “It doesn’t. It won’t. But he knows to ask me for that sort of permission.”

  “He asked if I thought you would mind. I told him no.”

  “Which he took as scripture instead of double checking with me himself,” Eva said and, even as the words left her mouth, she reached out to grab them back. To the outside world looking in, her efforts to separate Carson and Zack were unreasonable, raising suspicions she didn’t want raised. Suspicions based in truths she needed to deal with.

  “Tell you what, Eva.” Carson tossed his mechanical pencil onto the tablet, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, stopping short of his head hitting the yellow and white and fruit patterned wallpaper. “Next time Zack asks me anything, I’ll tell him to ping you. How’s that?”

  Eva sighed, turned off the kitchen’s overhead light, and returned to the breakfast nook. “He may have tried. Until I checked to see what time it was, I didn’t know my phone was dead.”

  “So? No harm, no foul, right?”

  “I guess not.” She pulled out a chair from beneath the table and dropped into it, feeling like she weighed four thousand pounds.

  “You guess not.” Carson shook a weary head. “We’ve been through this a dozen times now, Eva. I’m not trying to win away Zack’s loyalty or his affection. I just happened to be convenient.”

  “I know. I know. Feel free to ignore me.” She waved a hand. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Sorry for yourself about what?”

  She shrugged off the importance of her feelings. Because they weren’t important. They were pathetic. She didn’t want to look at Carson, but his gaze compelled her. Her smile felt tired and a little bit sad. “He’s getting older. And the apron strings are getting looser.”

  “Why would that make you feel sorry for yourself? Because you’ve raised a son to seventeen years old? A son who’s able to think for himself and has a maturity that’s impressed even a hard bitten cynic like me?”

  She shook her head, then nodded. But the web of mixed emotions only tightened as she struggled in its hold. “Because I’ve raised a son who’s going to quit needing me long before I quit needing him. And because I’m really pathetic for even saying that.”

  Carson chuckled. He pushed his chair back as far as he could, and banged his cast against the table as he got up and changed seats, sitting beside her and turning her chair so it backed up to his. Then he settled his hands on her shoulders.

  When he started kneading, working his thumbs over the tendons in her shoulders, loosening the muscles drawn tight at the base of her neck, she decided there was a lot to be said for being female and giving in to a male’s physical strength.

  It wasn’t so bad having him around for other things, either. But she’d never been able to think straight when he touched her. And she was feeling too weak and too vulnerable and too needy right now when she wanted nothing more than to feel independent and strong. She slipped away, feigning the need for a cold soda. He declined her offer for one of his own. From the safety of the kitchen, she sipped then nodded toward the yellow legal pad.

  “What have you been working on?”

  Carson frowned as if he’d never understand women. Warm one minute, cold the next. “My book.”

  “Your book?” This was the first she’d heard of this. Interesting.

  “I’ve been wanting to put it together for a while now.” He picked up his pencil and doodled a circle on the tablet’s spine. “I’ve just never taken the time to work out any concrete ideas. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

  “I can’t believe you’re writing a book.” She returned to her chair. “What’s it about?”

  He looked at her like he was insulted that she’d had to ask. “I’m not writing a book.”

  “But then what... Oh, duh.” She smacked her palm to her forehead. “Photography. A book about the craft? Or a coffee table book? Wait, no. I’ve got it. A candid behind-the-scenes look at the early world of modeling. I bet you’ll make a mint.”

  Carson moved the tablet out of Eva’s reach and range of vision. “This isn’t about money. Or about modeling. It’s a photo essay.”

  She looked across the arm he’d braced protectively over his work. The squares had the names of different countries penciled in. She saw India and Israel, Afghanistan and Argentina. She pointed at the square that said New Zealand. “I thought this was a book about photography.”

  “You assumed this was a book about photography. I told you what it is.”

  She flinched at his clipped tone. “A photo essay.”

  “Right.”

  “But not about the modeling industry.”

  “No.”

  O... kay. Not modeling. Obviously traveling, touring. This was related to the countries he’d finally visited. Hmm. Surely he wasn’t putting together anything as basic as a travelogue. “So, tell me about it.”

  He frowned. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  “Carson, please. I’m very interested. It’s about the countries you’ve seen, isn’t it?”

  “In a way.” He doodled more, scratching Xs on the four corners of the grid. Finally he said, “It’s about life. It’s about living.”

  And when he said that, she knew it wasn’t about the best way to see Bangkok on a budget. But it still seemed she was going to have to pry out anything wanted to know. Life. Living. Hmm. “People. It’s about the people of the countries?”

  He gave a single brief nod, obviously unwilling to reveal much of anything at all. She didn’t blame him, what with the way she’d made no bones about not letting him in on the details of her own life. So, what about life and living would he want to say with his photos?

  The Carson of years ago would’ve been easier to pin. He’d’ve been impressed by the genius of Italian masters. Captured by the voluptuous sensuality of women. But this Carson, sitting beside her today would find beauty in simplicity, art in innocence, dignity in austerity.

  He’d know the value of a winning out snagged by an all-American shortstop. Or the symmetry in a lily christened after a woman with no family to share her name.

  Eva tapped her finger in one of the squares. She’d start in the uppermost left-hand square. “Tell me what you saw in Ireland.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  WHEN KATIE’D TOLD HER mom she wasn’t feeling well enough to go to Six Flags with their friends and had begged Zack to stay with her at the hotel, he’d known something screwy was up.

  Especially since it had been Katie’s idea to talk Bonnie and Ben and Holly and Aaron into coming to San Antonio earlier than planned so they could all hang out at the amusement park.

  Mrs. Crenshaw was one of the chaperones, and Zack doubted she was supposed to go off and leave any of the kids without supervision. But since it was her own daughter staying behind, and since Linda Crenshaw trusted Zack, he’d kept his mouth shut, and she’d gone on ahead.

  Katie’d told her mom they were going to order in a pizza and watch Star Wars. Zack had decided then that parents were much too trusting—even if it was true that he was a Star Wars freak and that Mrs. Crenshaw knew that.

  And when, five minutes after the two vans full of kids pulled out of the motel parking lot and Katie had jumped up and headed for the bathroom, Zack figured she really was sick. Figured as well it was rather lame to order a pizza if she was just going to yak it up after she ate.

  But he’d realized what she was up to a few minutes later when she came out of the bathroom wearing a bathing suit. It was a two-piece, but not really a bikini, becau
se the waistband was pretty high and because the legs were cut... He’d swallowed hard, then, almost swallowed his tongue because the legs were cut all the way up to the waistband on the sides.

  But now that he’d made it into the pool and Katie was staying under water, things had pretty much cooled down. And spending the time in the pool with Katie sure was a lot of fun. More fun than he’d’ve had standing in crowded roller-coaster lines.

  Water splashed into his face caught him unawares. He sputtered, shook back his hair, and grinned at Katie treading water in front of him where he’d hooked an arm around the railing of the ladder hanging in the water at the pool’s deep end. “What was that for?”

  She slapped the surface of the water again. “I didn’t fake out my mom to stay here and swim laps, you know.”

  “I didn’t think you were sick. And I can’t believe your mom bought it. Especially when you said you were gonna order a pizza.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah. I almost blew it there.” Katie dunked her head to smooth back her hair. “But I never said I was sick to my stomach. Only that I didn’t feel good.”

  “You liar,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile.

  “It wasn’t really a lie.” She brushed closer as she swam, and Zack knew exactly why she’d lied. “I didn’t feel like going.”

  “That’s not quite the same as being sick.”

  “All right, then. How’s this?” She moved in closer, balanced the balls of both feet on the ladder’s bottom rung and held fast to the opposite railing. “I’m sick of never getting a chance to be alone with you.”

  That was what he’d been afraid of. That was what he’d been thrilled by. “What are you talking about? We’re alone a lot.”

  She threatened to splash him again. “I mean alone alone. Without my mom or dad being in the next room. Or without Aaron and Ben in the backseat of the car. I wanted to be here.” Her feet still on the ladder, she swished to one side, swished to the other. “With you. Alone.”

  And then she kissed him.

  A quick but thorough mouth-on-mouth kiss, and then she swam away. He had to follow. She’d started it, and he wasn’t going to let her get away so easy. In fact, he thought, and grinned to himself, he was going to enjoy making her pay.

  He knew he was faster and stronger, but Katie sure didn’t make much of an effort. But then that was pretty much the point. He was supposed to catch her. And once he caught her... well, then. “Gotcha!”

  She giggled and screeched. But they were the only two in the pool and the noises didn’t reach much beyond his ears anyway. They tussled and splashed and dunked each other, then wrestled away.

  She reached for him and he took off, stroking his way back to the deep end of the pool. She followed but she was out of breath, and by the time she reached him he’d had several minutes to do nothing but watch her body move through the water.

  Holding onto the edge of the pool with one hand she dunked her head back to smooth her hair, laughed, and wiped the water from her face with the other hand. And then Zack grabbed her, pulled her close to his body, and wrapped his legs around hers beneath her hips to capture her legs.

  “Zack!” She laughed with an edge of hysteria. “What’re you doing?”

  “What you’ve been wanting me to do all night,” he said, gripping the edge of the pool with one arm, wrapping the other around her. He splayed his hand on her back, and slipped it up her wet skin beneath the band of her top.

  Her hands were small and gentle and cold, but they warmed up quickly, flat against his chest like they were. He pulled her forward, wanting a kiss, wanting to feel her body.

  They’d swum together before, but not like this. Not in the dark. Not alone in deep water. Not when what they were doing now wasn’t teasing or playing but as close to doing it as they’d ever come.

  Her hands slid down his sides to his waist, and he arched away from the side of the pool, wanting to feel her hands at the base of his spine, wanting her to pull him forward.

  She did. And he knew she felt his hard-on by the way her mouth trembled, by the way her breathing quickened, by the way she pressed against him so hard that her nipples felt like pebbles.

  He wanted to touch her. He wanted—

  “Katie! Zack!”

  Katie spun away from Zack like an Olympic swimmer. She surfaced at the side of the pool near her mother’s feet. “Mom! What’re you doing here?”

  Linda Crenshaw crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at her daughter. “Making sure the pizza you ordered didn’t disagree with you.”

  “Pizza never disagrees with me. I’m fine.” Katie laughed and flipped back her wet hair.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t think you’re as fine as you seem to think you are,” Mrs. Crenshaw said, and Zack knew he was sunk. “I called the room and got worried when you didn’t answer.”

  Zack had pushed out of the pool now, and sat quietly on the edge, his feet dangling in the water, his chin dangling to his chest. He was in deep shit. Katie’s mom, no, Katie’s dad was gonna kill him. His coach was gonna kill him. His mom was gonna kill him worse.

  “I thought I’d feel better if I got some fresh air.” Katie’s voice trembled.

  Mrs. Crenshaw had moved her hands to her hips and the glare she’d trained on Katie shifted in Zack’s direction. “And Zack. I can’t believe you’re a party to this. No. Wait. I can. I can believe just about anything right now.”

  He hooked one heel on the edge of the pool and levered his way to stand. Water ran off his arms and legs and pooled around his feet. He felt like a whipped dog. A wet, pathetic, whipped dog.

  “Katie. Go inside and get dressed.” Mrs. Crenshaw pointed toward the hotel. “Zack, you, too. When Mrs. Gates gets back, I’ll take you two home.”

  “Mom!” Katie hopped out of the pool. “We can’t go home. Tomorrow’s the competition.”

  “And according to the district’s conduct policy, you just forfeited your right to compete.”

  “We weren’t doing anything! Mom, please!”

  Zack walked around the diving board to where Katie stood with her mother. He kept his distance when he said, “We really weren’t doing anything, Mrs. Crenshaw.”

  “Thank you, Zack. But I saw exactly what you weren’t doing. And I doubt Coach Walters would be as generous as I’m being.”

  “Oh, Mom. No!” Katie had both fists pressed to her chest. Her eyes were wide and teary. “You can’t do that to Zack. Playoffs start next week.”

  Mrs. Crenshaw lifted her chin. “It doesn’t seem you were too concerned with playoffs or tomorrow’s competition a few minutes ago.”

  “Mom!” Katie stomped a foot. “You are being so unfair.”

  “Unfair? You think I’m being unfair? Well, let me tell you what I think, Katherine Crenshaw.” Katie’s mom stepped closer, got right into Katie’s face. “I think you’re being unfair. To your squad members, who’re counting on you. To Zack, who has playoffs at stake. To me and to your father, who believed better of you. And to yourself. Because your lack of honesty and your selfishness has just jeopardized almost every relationship you have.”

  “But Mom...” Katie gulped down a huge sob.

  Zack hung his head. “I knew better, too, Mrs. Crenshaw. I’m as much at fault as Katie is.”

  “Don’t think I don’t know that. And don’t think this is just a violation of school conduct policy. This is a violation of the trust Jim and I have put in you.”

  Uh-oh. He’d really done it now. Screwed up worse than he’d already figured.

  “Both of you get dressed. I’ve changed my mind. We’re going back to the amusement park. You see, it’s unfair of me to leave Mrs. Gates there alone to keep up with the rest of your classmates.” Katie’s mom stepped back and waited for Katie and Zack to get moving. “I’ll decide later about going home.”

  “Please. Mom. I’ll do anything. Don’t make me drop out. Please! We’ve been practicing this routine so long. It’s not fa...
” Katie looked down at her feet. “It’s not right that I’ve screwed things up for the others.”

  “It’s a little late, Katie. Now go get dressed.”

  Her spirits dragging the ground behind her, Katie headed toward the room. Zack followed, wondering what his own mom was going to say. One thing was for sure.

  He was toast.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  CARSON WAS FASCINATING to listen to.

  Part of it, of course, was his voice. The deep timbre rolled over her with the warmth of a salty Gulf wave. The more passion he felt for his subject, the lower the intensity and the pitch.

  He talked slowly when deep in thought, measuring the import of every word. When he was wound up, however, his excitement spilled out in a flurry of adjectives and exclamations.

  He was talking about the countries he’d seen. The countries penciled into the grid he’d drawn on the pad while making himself at home at her breakfast nook table.

  He could’ve been talking about the rusty water pipes beneath her kitchen sink and her attention would’ve been equally rapt. Yes, she was listening.

  But her attention was less captivated by the subject than by the man. By the way he gestured with his big broad hands. And the way he formed words with the mouth that had kissed her senseless.

  Senseless to be the word of the day, because it took several moments for her to realize he’d stopped speaking in English. She frowned and focused. Opened her mouth.

  He cut off her thoughts before they reached her tongue. “You’re not listening to a damn word I’m saying.”

  “I am listening.” She pretended to pout, but it was hard because his eyes shone with mirth. “It’s just that I don’t happen to speak whatever it was you were speaking.”

  “Pig Latin.” His shining eyes narrowed. “And you’d’ve noticed if you were paying any attention.”

  “Okay, okay.” Why was she trying to fight the obvious? “So shoot me if I’m more interested in how you say what you say than what you’re actually saying.”