“I’m sorry you’re stuck in this position.” She frowns.
“Don’t be. I went into this willingly, and besides, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I think spending two months with you could be fun. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? I train a lot—football is my life—but we have nowhere we need to be, and it’ll give you some time to figure things out.”
“I really do need time.” She breaks eye contact with me and looks at the ground, and that’s when I see it: she feels alone, and what she really needs is a friend.
Moving to stand in front of her, I throw my hand out to shake hers. Confusion slips onto her face, but she slides hers into mine. “Hello, my name is Reid. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She laughs and my chest tightens.
“Camille. It’s nice to meet you too.” Her blue eyes lock onto mine and tingles race up my arm from the hand touching hers. “So, we’re going to do this?” she asks, looking at me with a mixture of wariness and awe.
“Seems like we already are.” I should let go of her hand, but I don’t. Instead, I step closer and link our fingers together.
Tilting her head to the side, she looks at me—really looks at me. “I know why I am, but why are you?”
That’s a good question, and I can’t answer it. Shrugging my shoulders, I answer her with a smile and throw out another idea with a hopeful expression.
“I know this might sound crazy, but what do you say about going on a honeymoon?”
SOMETIME DURING THE night, Reid’s car and things were dropped at my house. In less than an hour, he’s changed into a worn pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and athletic shoes. I have my bags packed, and we’re on our way. Although we’re calling this a honeymoon, we both know what we’re really doing is running away. I’m running from my father, Patrick, and years of passive aggressive comments, but I’m not sure what he’s running from, unless he’s just running from my father too. The thought makes me giggle, and he glances over at me.
“What?” he asks, his lips curling up along with mine.
“Nothing, I just think we’re crazy.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” His left hand stays on the wheel as his right stretches out to grasp the headrest of my seat. Blues music plays through the speakers, and though I haven’t given any thought to the type of music he listens to, this was unexpected. It’s nice, and it suits him.
“I feel spontaneous and reckless. This is so not like me,” I tell him. It used to be, but I haven’t been that girl in a long time.
“Really? What are you like then?” His hand slips down to the back of my neck and his fingers tangle in my hair. I’m surprised by this, and then not at all. We don’t know each other, but since he found me in the library, it’s been so easy to touch one another, and I like it.
“Boring. Predictable.” I rub my hands down my thighs. Knowing we were going to be in the car for several hours, I threw on a pair of jeans and a large, loose T-shirt that likes to slip off one shoulder.
“Ha, I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, as adventurous as you’re feeling and all, but we’re headed to my place, and other than the view, I assure you it’s very boring.”
His place. For all intents and purposes, he’s a stranger, and I probably shouldn’t be traveling five hours away from my home to go to an unknown place without any form of transportation to escape by. Strangely enough, I’m not nervous, not about him at least, more just about the uncertainty of what happens next—next in my life, next in my career, next with my family, and next with him.
The ringing of his cell phone blares through the speakers, and on the console it flashes the name Mom. He winces, removes his hand from my neck, and then glances over at me as he picks it up through Bluetooth. I miss his warm fingers.
“Hey, Mom.” There’s affection in his tone, and I smile to myself. There’s something about a guy who loves his mother; it’s endearing, sexy.
“I’ve waited two hours. Two. Hours, Reid, and I can’t wait any longer. I know you think because I’m almost twice your age I don’t understand technology, but I do. Twitter alerts about you have been going off all morning, and it seems the world knew you got married before I did. Married, Reid! Explain.”
“First off, calm down. Second, say hi to Camille. She’s sitting next to me in the car and you’re on speaker.” He glances at me, his face filled with apology.
“Good morning, Camille. From the posted pictures, you looked beautiful yesterday. Too bad my son didn’t invite me!”
“It’s not like that.” He lets out a sigh. “Look, we didn’t plan this. Without getting into all the details, just know this is temporary and a means to an end.”
“For who?”
“For me, Ms. Jackson.” I can’t sit here and say nothing while she berates him. “Reid is helping me, and I’m incredibly grateful.”
There’s a pause. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” She doesn’t sound put off, more like she’s gone into mama bear mode.
“Not anymore. At least I don’t think so,” I answer honestly.
“Well, did Reid tell you we know people? You just say the word.”
A laugh escapes me, and Reid smiles. She doesn’t even know me, but she’s already got my back. Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“All right, Mom, we’re going to go. We can talk about this more later, but if you’re asked, we’d appreciate if you played along that this is real.”
“Son, if papers were signed, it’s real.”
My chest tightens and I glance at Reid, but he keeps his eyes on the road, his face expressionless.
“Camille, if you ever need anything, you can call me any time.”
“Thank you, Ms. Jackson. I really appreciate that.” More than she’ll ever know.
“You two stay safe.” And then she hangs up.
“Sorry, she can be a little intense.”
“I think she’s great. My mother would never call me—these types of conversations are left for my father.”
“Speaking of intense . . .” He slides his eyes briefly over to mine, eyebrows raised.
My father was in rare form last night. He never loses his composure when there are people around, and he shocked us all.
“You have no idea. That was just a tiny glimpse of my life, and that was tame.”
His lips press into a thin line; he doesn’t like that.
My phone pings with an incoming text. Pulling it out of my bag, I see there are twenty-two messages from Patrick, and I frown.
“What does it say?” he asks me, glancing over at my phone.
“That he and my father want to speak to me at noon, privately.” I flip the phone over so it’s face down and hold it against my leg. I’m hiding it from myself even though I’ve already seen it. I wish I could un-see it.
A weighted silence falls over us, and Reid’s hand tightens on top of the steering wheel.
“Do you want to talk to them?” he asks without facing me.
“No.” To further prove my point, I power off my phone and toss it back into my bag.
“They’re persistent, that’s for sure.”
“More like not used to not getting their way.”
Clare’s words from yesterday strike a chord within me. She was right; I shouldn’t have relied so heavily on moral responsibility. They were coercing me and have been for a long time. Sure, they played it off as doing my part for the family, but that’s not what families do, and I was never the girl to play along. I always did things my way—when did that change? And why did I allow it?
“So, was your mom serious? Does she actually know people?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He chuckles and winks. “I am from the Bronx.”
“The Bronx—that’s where you grew up?”
He looks over at me skeptically. “Yeah. Didn’t you and Nate ever talk about things like this?�
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“No. I knew he was from the city, but it never really came up. Don’t get me wrong, I consider him a friend, but we really didn’t talk about stuff like that. At least he didn’t with me.”
“What did you talk about?” His words are monotone. I knew the subject of Nate was going to come up sooner or later, and it’s better that it’s now. I don’t want him to think he’s crossed any line between him and his brother when he hasn’t.
“Day-to-day stuff—school, ballet, tennis, our friends.” Reaching over, I lay my hand on his leg, which is packed with very hard muscles, and he covers it with his own. “Reid, I love Nate and think he’s a great guy, but I don’t want there to be any confusion about my friendship with him. It was strictly platonic and really only social. I didn’t get together with him outside of our friends, didn’t talk to him on the phone. It wasn’t like that.”
“Okay.” He squeezes once then links his fingers through mine.
And so begins five hours of driving. He continues to hold my hand as one phone call after another rolls in, the ringing constantly echoing throughout the car, causing me more anxiety than I care to admit: Beau, his friends, his agent, teammates, the team’s PR department, his publicist, sponsors, news reporters, magazine reporters—you name it. It’s imagining what my phone will be like when I turn it back on that has tension tightening every muscle across my shoulders. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from feeling trapped to free, and now, after hours of this—the many, many phone calls—followed.
A few times, I feel Reid’s gaze on me, but I just stare out the window. Eventually, he’s had enough, gets tired of telling the same story over and over again and turns his cell off, too. The freedom I feel from both of us being disconnected from the world is exhilarating, and a deep sigh I didn’t know I was holding in escapes me. If only this could last.
Walking into the sunken living room of his condo, I run my fingers over a thick burgundy plush blanket that’s thrown across the back of his couch. I expected a bachelor pad, but this—this is so much more. Dark wood floors with pale gray walls, leather furniture, and silver accents are laid out before us. It looks like it’s straight out of a Restoration Hardware catalog; it looks perfect.
“Wow, so this is where you live?” I ask, taking a full spin to get a good look at everything. There are windows stretching across the back wall, giving him the most beautiful view of the city and the water behind it, an open floor plan, a modern kitchen with a white marble breakfast bar, and a chunky wooden six-person dining room set. Of course there’s a huge flat-screen TV mounted over a decorative gas fireplace, and the walls are covered with black and white photos of different styles of planes, a few city scenes, and a blues musician—the same musician playing the saxophone, the piano, and the bass guitar.
“Yep,” he says, setting our bags down behind the couch. “A friend of mine, Jack, another player on our team, lives across the hall. This unit had just opened up, so right after I signed with the team, he approached me about checking it out. Living near another player makes things easier when it comes to practices, meetings, and games. Plus, it’s nice to be near a friend.”
“I can totally understand that. I lived on the Upper East Side of Central Park and school was on the west, so no one lived near me. The commute was lonely.”
“Do you miss it? The city and the dancing?” he asks as he walks into the kitchen and grabs two glasses, filling them both with water from the refrigerator.
“Yes, but at the same time, no.”
“Really? Why?” He’s moved back in front of me and is handing me the second glass of water.
“I love dancing, but it was always more of Clare’s thing. I just tagged along over the years to be with her, and then one thing led to another and I ended up in New York City. It’s like once I was thrown on the path, I couldn’t get off.”
“Was Clare with you in New York?” He takes a sip of the water and then licks his lips . . . lips that have kissed me.
“No.” I clear my throat and glance away. She was supposed to be there, supposed to be the one dancing her life away, not me. I think about our family, the endless expectations just for the sake of appearances, and I frown. My father was so happy when I told him I would pursue dance. He said, “The continued discipline and grace ballet requires will serve you well, especially when you become a politician’s wife.” Only, I never wanted to be a politician’s wife; he just neglected to ask me, or even care.
“I think I saw a picture of her in your room. You’re with another girl, you’re both younger, and she has pink hair. She looks like you, but she was laughing, so I couldn’t be sure.”
I know what picture he’s talking about. I love that picture of us. Every time I see it I think about putting out a few more, but something always holds me back and I don’t.
“Yes, that’s my sister in that photo. We’re actually twins—identical.”
“Really? I didn’t see it, but I guess I saw the personalities more than the features.”
Personalities. Within five minutes of meeting us, our personalities made us look drastically different. One of us was perfect; the other was the black sheep.
“You’d see it if she were next to me, and it actually goes one step further—we aren’t just twins, we’re mirror twins.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we have identical but asymmetric features. When I stare in the mirror, I see her. See this?” She points to the dimple on her right cheek. “On Clare, it’s on her left cheek. She writes with her right hand, I write with my left. She’s more right-brained and I’m more left. Experts say our personalities are more based on life experiences, but I don’t know. It just seems like we’re opposite in every way.”
“Huh,” he mumbles, thinking about this and studying me, the different features in my face. “What’s she doing now?”
I shrug my shoulders and take a sip of the water to cool off the emotions trying to settle in. “Whatever she wants.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.” His lips press into a thin line, and I realize I’m staring at them.
Moving to the kitchen, I pull out a stool at the bar and sit down. “Well, you know what they say—life isn’t fair. Really, though, I was just trying to do right by my family.”
Reid follows and takes the seat next to me. “I understand that. Growing up, my mother used to work long hours during the day—well, ‘used to’ isn’t right, because she still does. I have a little sister, Tally. She’s thirteen years younger than me. She was unexpected, but I can’t imagine our family without her.”
“Nate’s mentioned her. He helps your mother sometimes,” I tell him.
“I know. Tally tells me.” He smiles. “I had hoped after I signed with an NFL team she would cut back some with work, and she did a little, but not enough for my liking. I asked her once why she continues to kill herself day in and day out, and all she said was, ‘I don’t take handouts from no one.’ I don’t consider me contributing to our family a handout, but in her defense, she’s never been able to depend on anyone else for any stability. Maybe I’m like her, but I find that to be a strength in character, not a flaw.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s a nurse at Calvary Hospital.”
I’m not exactly sure where that is. I spent a year and a half in New York City and not once did I venture outside of Manhattan into the other boroughs.
“Well, I think you’re both right,” I tell him. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to contribute to your family’s well-being, but at the same time, there’s something to be said for accomplishing things on your own and the pride one has in that.”
“Pride always comes with a cost.”
“Tell me about it.” My eyes meet his and he frowns again at whatever he sees there.
Reaching over, he lays a hand on top of my arm. It’s warm, and my skin burns from the contact; I like him touching me.
“You know everything is going to be okay,
right?” The soft tenor of his voice and the kindness he continues to offer have my eyes stinging. His thumb swipes back and forth, and I forcefully swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“I do . . . eventually. In the end, this too shall pass.”
“It will.” He gives me a small, encouraging smile. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
A laugh escapes me. “As if you haven’t done enough already. I’m going to be in debt to you for years to come.”
“No, you aren’t.” He pulls his hand away and leans back in the chair, propping his foot on the bottom rung of mine. “I told you, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” He picks up his glass and guzzles the rest of the water down.
“Thank you, Reid.”
“At some point you’re going to have to stop thanking me.” He nods, wanting me to agree with him.
“Maybe.” A blush creeps up into my cheeks and I shrug my shoulders.
“You’ve got this—I know you do.” His green eyes penetrate into mine. He’s so confident, so sure of himself, it’s hard not to believe him, and this support from him makes me feel like maybe I do.
“I know, it’s just everything feels gray and foggy. I can’t see what happens next, and I don’t like that. I have so much I need to figure out, so many conversations to have, and that leaves me uneasy.”
“Well, like we said yesterday, nothing has to be decided today.”
“I can’t believe it’s only been twenty-four hours. I still can’t believe I walked away from him, from them.”
“Believe it. There’s plenty of time to think things through. The ball’s in your court now, and I’m on your team. You can stay here as long as you want.”
“On my team.” I grin at him.
His lips tip up, and his eyes sparkle at me, smiling. “What can I say? I’m a sports guy through and through.”
IT’S WEIRD TO have a girl here in my condo. Other than my mother and sister, Camille’s the first one. Granted, I’ve only lived here for a year, so that’s not a lot of time to make a ton of memories, but still, no matter where I am, I have strict rules about not bringing dates home. From the very first day I walked onto the field at Syracuse, I’ve been warned and heard enough stories to know that nothing good can come from women knowing where you live. It creates extra drama, and quite frankly, there’s the issue of security.
Chasing Clouds Page 9
