Текст книги "Clash"

Автор книги: Nicole Williams

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

His tongue rocked into me, followed by his hips, while he fitted his entire body against mine. He wasn’t only making love to me‌—‌he was possessing me.

There was nothing I wanted more than him, nothing I wouldn’t be willing to sacrifice. Nothing my life felt more dependent upon than this man moving inside of me in every way a person could enter another.

Separating his mouth from mine, his heavy breath came just outside my ear. I could feel the sheen of sweat covering his face, mixing with mine.

Moving inside me again, deeper this time, I almost screamed. I was so close I doubted I would last one more. “I’m not letting you go, Luce,” he whispered, his voice tight. “I won’t let you leave. You’re mine,” he breathed, sinking his teeth into my ear as his hips flinched against mine once more.

And that was it. My body trembled against his, my hand reaching for the metal bedrail to brace myself. He continued moving inside of me, his beat quickening as my body clenched around him. His hand joined mine braced over the bedrail and, as he followed me down the forgetting reality path, his fingers wove through mine, squeezing them before his body collapsed against mine.

“Damn, Luce,” he said, his head rising and falling against my chest.

My thoughts exactly. “How do you feel?” I asked, trying to bring my heart rate down. It wasn’t having any of it. “How’s your head?”

“My head’s fine,” he said, winding his arms around my back. “It’s my goddamn heart that’s about ready to bust something.”

I started laughing, feeling as close to euphoric as a snarky, natural pessimist could be. He joined in, his laughter vibrating against me.

And then the door exploded open as the same kind-faced nurse rushed in, her expression lined with concern.

Her eyes landed on the flat-lining machine first, then on where Jude rested bare ass naked over me. The worry lines faded from her face as she blessed us with a very parental expression. Walking over to the monitor, she shut the screaming thing off before turning and heading out of the room.

“At least you died and went to heaven,” she said in an amused tone before closing us back inside the room.

“Yes,” Jude said into my chest, his laughter dimming. “I most certainly did.”

“Too bad our celestial vacay didn’t last a little longer,” I said, running my fingers over his shaved head.

His body tensed in my hold as I felt that smile curve into the side of my breast. “Who says we can’t make a return trip?” he said, lifting himself over me again.

I didn’t have a chance to reply with my answer‌—‌reality‌—‌before his mouth and body moved into mine again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jude was sleeping the slumber of a happy man beside me. His crooked smile was still a ghost on his face as his arms held me like vices. Even after a second handrail bracing, body trembling, grit your teeth around a scream, roll in a hospital bed, I hadn’t been able to fall asleep.

Jude had no trouble. In fact, my heart beat hadn’t recovered fully before he’d fallen asleep. So I’d been awake for six hours, staring at the man curled around me, more confused than I’d ever been before. How could we be wrong for each other after one more very big part of a relationship just proved how very right we were for one another? And why, no matter what we seemed to do, did things not want to work out for us?

My flight was leaving in less than two hours. I didn’t have my bag with me, and there would be no way I’d be able to drive to my dorm to get it and make it back before my plane had already landed in sunny south Arizona where my family was spending Christmas with my grandparents.

Thankfully when I’d booked the ticket last month, I guessed I’d be at Jude’s game the Saturday before I flew out and planned on staying at his place that night before driving to the airport. My plans certainly hadn’t factored in a hospital bed, or clenched fingers running down cool metal bed rails, but if I left now, at least I could still make my flight.

I couldn’t wake him. I couldn’t let him know I was leaving because he wouldn’t let me go. Or he’d buy a ticket and come along with me.

And one part of me very much wanted that to happen. But the confused part of me, the one that was scratching her head in wonder, contemplating what to do next, needed some time and space to work out this new complication in what was becoming the never ending tale of Jude’s and my story.

More time and space.

I sighed, shifting in bed, trying to weave myself from beneath him. This past month’s “time and space” had done nothing but further confuse me and complicate things between the two of us. So I vowed I would force myself to make a decision by the time that airplane headed back to New York after the New Year. Before I came back here, I would be able to give him a firm and final answer to the question that was Jude and Lucy.

Tucking the sheet around him, I herded up my clothes, jamming my neck and limbs into all the appropriate openings. Grabbing my bag from the table, I paused at the foot of the bed and just stared at him. It seemed like I wouldn’t be able to stop. He was mine. I knew this with all my heart.

But could I have him?

This was the question I wouldn’t rest until I could answer.

Not even daring to run my fingers over the tips of his toes for fear of him waking up and convincing me back into bed, I rushed out the door, careful to close the door without a noise.

I took the stairs, dodging the elevators by the nurses’s station because I didn’t want to explain myself. I couldn’t explain anything right now. Other than I was confused as all hell.

Once I was outside the hospital, I had a line of cabs to choose from. Sliding inside the closest one, I glanced back at the hospital, my eyes shifting to the fifth floor.

“The airport, please,” I said, narrowing my eyes to better focus on the window I was looking into. A shadow moved suddenly away from it. “And please hurry,” I added, the ball reforming in my throat.

The cabdriver followed my request to the speed-defying T. In fact, he put NYC cabdrivers to shame. Less than a half hour after we’d left the hospital, we were pulling up to the airport’s curb. Having no luggage other than my purse, I handed the driver his money plus a nice tip for a job well done.

I hurried my way to the ticket counter, wanting to get off the ground here so I could think. My thoughts were stifled here in New York. I couldn’t think clearly.

Ticket in hand, I got in line at the security checks. Being Christmas Eve, I expected there to be more grumpy faced people and screaming children than there were, and before I’d had time to dig my phone out of my purse to call my parents to let them know I was on my way, a TSA agent was ushering me through the metal detectors.

Throwing my purse, phone, and boots onto the conveyor belt, I whisked through the metal detector. I breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t beep. Last time I’d flown, I’d forgotten to take off my chunky sterling silver necklace and I’d had to endure an intense “pat down” from one very eager, very young male agent. I’d been the high point to his day as he’d been the low point to mine.

Snatching my belongings at the end of the conveyor belt, I heard it.

Well, I heard him.

“Lucy!”

My head snapped up. I couldn’t see him yet, but I could hear him like he was standing in front of me. The agents and others around me stopped what they were doing to look too.

“Lucy!” This time closer as Jude emerged from around the corner, in a full sprint, bare foot and a hospital gown streaming around him. His eyes latched onto me like they were trained to find nothing else.

“Lucy!” he repeated, charging the security gates. TSA agents were popping up in their seats, looking between one another.

He didn’t stop sprinting, taking out one, then two rows of nylon people-herders. He didn’t stop until a couple of large agents tackled into him.

My hands covered my mouth as the guards stopped him, each one grabbing an arm of Jude’s and throwing it behind his back. Jude didn’t fight back, or maybe he couldn’t; he just stared at me with those dark eyes, pleading with me to stay.

“You can’t leave, Luce!” he hollered, resisting the guards as they tried to remove him from the security area.

“I’m just going away for a little while,” I said, sure he couldn’t hear me since I couldn’t manage more than a whisper. “I’ll be back. I promise.” With an answer that would decide the fate of our relationship.

“You can’t leave me,” he said, his voice breaking, his face following as the guards pulled him away. Successfully this time. “You can’t leave me,” he said one last time, defeated.

I don’t know what was worse: watching Jude give up and be drug away or turning away and heading for my gate.

Both ate at me until, by the time my plane landed in Arizona, I wasn’t sure if anything was left of the old Lucy Larson.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Christmas came and went without me so much as noticing. Well, I noticed. You couldn’t help but notice when your entire extended family showed up to Christmas Eve decked out in some variety of red and green plaid, stripe, check, or polka dot Christmas sweater, flashing with lights and tinkling with bells. The ugly Christmas sweater was a new tradition, and one that I hoped died off with the department store sales that sold those monstrosities. Two hours into the Larson family shin-dig, everyone save for me was on an express train to Drunkville. Me, the only teenager there, was as sober as a nun about to take her vows.

Life didn’t make sense any more. I was about to stop trying to make sense of it in the first place.

I curled up in Grandpa’s old recliner, staring out at the cacti twinkling with Christmas lights, trying to imagine what Jude was doing at that exact minute. Experiencing a moment of weakness, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and typed, “Merry Christmas. XXX&O” and pressed send before I could rethink it. I waited up most of the night, checking my screen to make sure he hadn’t replied.

He never did.

Finding myself unable to sleep yet again New Year’s Day morning, I zombie walked into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee pot.

“And I thought I was the insomniac in the family.”

I didn’t even startle, I was that sleep deprived. Mom rose from her chair at the table and walked over to the cupboard where Grandma kept her coffee cups. Pouring one for me, she added the sugar and cream without asking.

“Thanks,” I yawned as she set the cup in front of my chair.

“You’re welcome,” she said, sitting back down and watching me, like she was waiting for something.

Too early to know what exactly, and with my mom, nothing was ever as it seemed. She might be waiting for me to share my every goal and dream with her just as much as she might be about to tell me that swept off the face hair style I’d been favoring lately wasn’t a good look for my heart-shaped face.

I’d burned through half a cup of coffee before she cleared her throat.

“So I’m officially done waiting for you to open up about whatever has got you so down you can’t possibly get any lower,” she said, setting her cup down on the table. “What’s going on with you, Lucille? I know it has something to do with you and Jude, I just can’t figure out what it is.”

I cringed first over her use of my given name and winced when she said Jude’s name. Even his name hurt me to hear.

I sighed, taking a deep chug of coffee before setting it down.

“I’m not sure if we’re supposed to be together,” I said, offering nothing else. This was, at the crux of all my concerns, the cornerstone.

My mom nodded her head, taking a few moments to think before replying. “You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be together, or if you shouldn’t be together?”

My brain wasn’t working well enough to have these kinds of conversations. “Is there a difference?”

“Of course,” she said, cinching the rope of her new bathrobe tighter. “To suppose is to assume. Should is an entirely different beast. Should implies duty and obligation. It’s a period where suppose is a question mark,” she said, watching me across the table. “So yeah, there’s a difference.”

Yep, I should have stayed in bed and continued to toss and turn. That would be better than having this conversation with my mom before the crack of dawn.

“I guess I don’t know?” I said.

“You want to know what I think?” Mom asked, her voice and face concerned.

“Sure,” I said, needing some solid mom advice. In the months that followed my senior year, we’d managed to rebuild a good portion of the relationship we’d lost after John’s death. She even snuck a few napkin notes into the care packages she and dad had sent me at school.

“From an outsider’s perspective, you and Jude probably aren’t supposed to be together,” she began slowly, watching my face for my reaction. “But at the same time, you two should be together.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. I couldn’t keep up. This whole conversation seemed like one giant oxymoron.

“Okay, mom. That was clear as mud,” I said, narrowing my eyes as the start of a headache emerged. “Are you saying we should or shouldn’t be together?”

“You should,” she answered immediately.

Glad that was cleared up and, even though I wanted further clarification on the whole should/suppose mind maze, I couldn’t do that to myself without bringing on a migraine.

“How can you be so sure of that when I’m not?”

“Oh, honey,” she said, patting my hand. “It’s because you’re letting the fairy tales you grew up hearing in storybooks and the baseless ideals of love cloud your mind. Love isn’t easy. Especially the really good kind. It’s difficult, and you’ll want to rip your hair out just as many days as you’ll feel the wind at your back.” She paused, smiling to herself. “But it’s worth it. It’s worth fighting for. Don’t let what isn’t real blind you from what is. Life isn’t perfect, we sure as shit aren’t perfect, so why should we expect love to be?”

“I get that, I do. But come on, mom,” I said, trailing my finger along the lip of my cup. “Love just isn’t enough sometimes.”

“Baby,” she said, looking at me like I’d just said something very immature, “I’d sign my name in blood that it isn’t.”

I groaned, sinking into my chair. This little mother/daughter convo was getting me nowhere.

“I’m so damn confused right now, Mom. I’m so confused I don’t think anything you could say or explain would clear it all up for me.”

She stayed silent for a minute, her forehead lining along with the corners of her eyes as she worked something over in her mind.

“Love is what brings you together, Lucy. But it’s the blood, sweat, and tears of hard work that keeps you together,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “Love isn’t only love, sweetheart. It’s hard work, and trust, and tears, with even a few glimpses of devastation. But at the end of each day, if you can still look at the person at your side and can’t imagine anyone else you’d rather have there, the pain and heartache and the ups and downs of love are worth it.”

And the clouds of confusion started to part.

“Love is just as much suffering as it is sweetness. If it was perfect, that’s what they’d call it. They wouldn’t call it bittersweet.”

“Are you saying every relationship experiences the same kinds of highs and lows Jude and I do?” I asked, taking another sip of coffee. “Because I think more people would choose to be alone if that was the case.”

“Lucy, you’re a passionate, emotional person. Jude isn’t so much different. What do you expect to be the result when you two come together? You two don’t multiply the peaks and the valleys together; you exponentially affect them,” she said, getting up and grabbing the coffee pot from the holder.

“And there’s no doubt for some people, life would be far easier if they never fell in love. To never have to ache for a man like he was more essential than the air that kept you alive.” She filled my cup, then hers, before settling the pot between us. Gauging my mom’s loveathon lecture here, we’d drain it soon. “Life would be smoother and you’d know more what to expect from day to day if you kept love out of your life,” she paused, looking at the window as the first rays of dawn started shining through. “But you’d be alone.”

“So you’re saying I should choose Jude over the life of hermit-like solitude?” I asked, lifting my brows at her.

“I’m saying you should choose Jude if, at the end of the day, when the world is against you, you can say with absolute certainty that you want Jude at your side. Can you say the good times are worth the bad times?”

My body and mind were becoming more alert as the caffeine pulsed through my veins and my mind started making itself up after weeks of worry and uncertainty.

It was about time.

“When did you become Jude’s number one fan?” I asked, smiling over at her. Mom had gone from loathing Jude when we first met, to disliking him through the entirety of my senior year, to tolerating him since we’d been together in college. I hadn’t realized she’d crossed into the land of Jude approval.

“When he proved again and again that he’s yours,” she answered simply. “I can forgive a man’s past faults, his present shortcomings, and his future failures if every minute of every day he loves me like it’s his religion,” she said, taking a breath. “Jude loves you like that. It just took me a while to see that, so he’s got the mom stamp of approval now.”

I didn’t reply, my mind was so hard at work. Not so much rethinking things, but realigning expectations and assumptions and even a bit of my worldview. I’d been so focused on the reasons Jude and I shouldn’t be together, I’d been blinded to the reasons we should. And now that I’d “seen the light,” those reasons were worth every bit of hardship that came our way.

“Working things out over there, sweetheart?” Mom said, startling me. I’d gone so far and long down the paths of my thoughts, everything had faded away.

I took a slow breath, feeling confidence bleed into my veins, drowning out all the doubt. “All worked out, I think,” I said, feeling the weight vest I’d been wearing for too long lifted. “Thanks, Mom. For the coffee, for listening, and for the ‘come to Jude’ talk.”

“You’re welcome, Lucy,” she said, arching a brow as she studied me. “But what in the hell are you still doing in that chair?”

My eyes squinted‌—‌was she advocating for what I guessed she was?

Waving her hand at the back door, she said, “Go get your man. Go be happy and miserable together.”

Yeah, she was.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Flying on New Year’s Day had its advantages. Next to no one else was, so I had no problem getting my return ticket changed to the very next flight that left in an hour. When I started blabbering out my whole story to the poor lady behind the ticket counter, she gave me a knowing smile and upgraded me to first class.

The security checkpoint went a hundred times smoother this time, and a coffee stand was positioned right next to my gate, so by the time they called my flight, I was really buzzing like a live wire.

First class was everything people talked about it being. The seats were twice as big and at least ten times as comfortable. The flight attendants were eager to meet your every request, as opposed to almost snarling when you asked for a sip of water if you were choking on something back in coach. Choking on one of those nasty stale pretzels they liked to peddle.

Here, we got little nut and cheese trays, along with our drinks served in crystal glassware. It was high rolling at thirty thousand feet, but even at that, with my every basic and not so basic need met, I couldn’t wait until we touched down. I don’t think my foot stopped tapping once the entire flight.

I was the first person off the plane when those doors opened, and I was in a full run by the time I hit the terminal. I didn’t slow as eyes started tracking after me. I was getting used to these kinds of moments of mass public scruntinization and embarrassment. And I could consider this a prelude for what was about to come.

However, the moment was going to miss me if I didn’t haul ass to the airport curb and the taxi driver didn’t haul cab to Syracuse, because kickoff was in less than an hour. I didn’t have any bags to retrieve from the baggage carousel, so I stormed by them and almost slammed into a cab before I could slow myself. Climbing inside, I caught my breath.

“The Carrier Dome, please,” I said, breathing like I was trying to take off. “And if it wasn’t a matter of love and life, I wouldn’t be begging you right now to break every traffic rule to get there as fast as we can in one piece. Preferably in one piece,” I added.

The cab driver glanced back at me over his shoulder. His face was a familiar one. “Why are you in such a hurry to get everywhere you go?” he asked, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes. “Haven’t you ever been told to enjoy the journey?”

“I’ll enjoy the journey once I get there,” I answered, thanking my lucky stars I’d crashed into this cab. This guy had driven me here on my first trip in record time; it was fitting he drove me again now.

He smirked back at me, pulling away from the curb. “What’s the damn rush?”

I smirked right back. “I’ve got to apologize to, plead with, and make sweet love to the man I love,” I answered, buckling in. “Now make this yellow hunk of junk move!”

He rested his head back and laughed. “Lucky for you I like bossy women,” he said, unleashing that yellow hunk of junk loose on the road.

This time, as the cars and scenery blurred by me, I feared for my life. I guess finally deciding on the life you wanted to live made it more valuable.

But as we broke to a stop at the curb outside the ticket windows, we weren’t only still in one piece, we’d just broken every cab speed world record. I was tempted to ask the driver if he was an ex-Nascar driver, but I had somewhere to be and only minutes to spare.

Shoving some money into his hand, I slid out of the door. “You are a god among cabbies, my friend,” I said.

He chuckled like it was cute of me to acknowledge what he’d already known.

“Good luck,” he said before I slammed the door shut.

I knew this would be the last chance for one good deep breath, so I took it, holding it inside, sucking all the courage and kismet I could from it before letting it go. Turning around, I rushed towards the gates where my favorite ticket master waited behind the window.

“Miss Lucy!” he said, his face lighting up. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it. Cutting it a little close aren’t you, kiddo?” he said, checking the clock over his shoulder.

“How you feeling today, Lou?” I asked, knowing my plan was going to fall flat on its face without his help.

“Old, arthritic,” he began, eyeing me, “and spry and ornery as the day I was born.”

I exhaled my relief. “Good,” I said. “I need a favor.”

Lou’s face flattened in surprise before, looking from side to side at the other employees around him, he leaned across the counter, his eyes gleaming. “I hope it’s a good one.”

My hands were sweating. Not clammy, not damp. Sweaty.

They weren’t the only things. Every part of my body seemed to have grown excessive sweat glands that were dripping liquid like I was going through some purification ritual in a steam hut.

Not to be excluded, my heart was about to burst out of my chest and my knees were strongly considering checking themselves out of the game. If my mind wasn’t so made up, so firm in its endeavor, my body would give out beneath me.

“You won’t have long, Miss Lucy,” Lou whispered over to me, handing me a cordless microphone.

“I won’t need long,” I answered, my foot tapping making its reappearance when I peered into the stands. Where the airports were next to empty on New Year’s Day, the bleachers at college football stadiums were packed to capacity. And I was about to go out in front of all that.

Shit, was the only response my mind had for me. Hopefully it would be more articulate when I wandered out onto that field and put that mike up to my mouth.

“Do you know how to work one of these things?” he asked, eyeing the mike in my hands. It was slippery from my sweaty hands, so now, in addition to not tripping, not passing out, and not saying anything stupid, I had to add “don’t let the mic slide out my hands” to the punch card.

“Slide to on,” I recited, my voice shaking too. “Hold to mouth. Try not to sound like a blubbering idiot.”

Lou smiled that warm one of his that settled deep into the lines of his face.

“I happen to be partial to blubbering idiots,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder. “My wife was one, and I swear, that’s what won me over. She had to say everything that was on her mind without putting it through a filter.” Those brown eyes of his took on a faint sheen. “Five years later, after she passed, that’s what I lie in bed missing the most.”

Wrapping my arms around him, I gave Lou a shaky, sweaty hug which he seemed to melt into. When I pulled away, he wiped at his eyes.

“Mr. Jude’s a very lucky man,” he said, backing away.

I smiled after him. “I didn’t exactly draw the short stick.”

“No, hun, you sure didn’t,” he said, nodding his head towards the field. “Go get him.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling like I was about to vomit.

“When you’re ready, just give your head a nod and I’ll make sure that mic streams all the way to the parking lot.”

I flashed him a thumbs up because my nerves were clenching at my throat.

Peering into the stands, another wave of nausea rolled over me. The teams hadn’t taken the field yet, but were about to. Lou had assured me whether Jude was in the locker room, or in the tunnel, or on the field, there would be no way in hell he couldn’t hear my voice coming through the speakers.

Along with fifty thousand others.

Vulnerability was hard enough without a crap load of impartial strangers witnessing it. But this was what I had to do. Jude had put himself out there so many times before, not caring what others thought about him and the way he felt about me; it was my turn. I was the one who had much to atone for.

And atonement was one short walk to the fifty yard line.

Closing my eyes, I visualized Jude’s face. His many faces. The one that burst into laughter when I tried to be tough, the one that had smoothed into a smile when I’d told him I loved him, the one that had broken when I’d walked away too many damn times. And finally, the one of acceptance I hoped I’d find waiting for me when I said what needed to be said.

With renewed resolve, I opened my eyes and took my first step onto the field. I held my breath, hoping no one would tackle me or Taser me when they noticed I didn’t have a badge swinging from my neck, but no one seemed to pay much attention to the girl wandering to the fifty with a mic in her hand.

My hands were shaking by the twenty, and the rest of me by the thirty, but as I took my final steps to the fifty, everything calmed. I’d jumped‌—‌that was the hard part‌—‌now all I had to do was enjoy the free fall.

Holding the mic up, I scanned the crowd. People were starting to shift their attention my way. I pretended they were checking out the water boys on the sidelines. Glancing towards the dark tunnel, I gave a nod of my head.

The mic buzzed to life. I flinched in surprise. It was the first time I’d held one of these things and hadn’t anticipated that. Dancing didn’t require microphones.

“Hello?” I said, cementing my spot for the idiot of the year award. Was I expecting someone to greet me back? My voice blazed around the stadium.

Now I’d gotten every one’s attention. Including the tall, broad guys with black tees that read “SECURITY” across their backs.

Lou was right. I’d have to be fast.

“My name’s Lucy,” I began, my voice breaking. I cleared it.

Just pretend you’re talking to no one else but Jude.

“And once upon a time I fell in love with this guy.” The stadium went silent as everyone took their seats to the Lucy Larson Gut Spilling Show. “He wasn’t exactly a fairy tale prince. But I’m no fairy tale princess.” I paused, reminding myself to breathe. This would all be for nothing if I passed out from oxygen deprivation. “He didn’t ride in on a white horse or say all the right things at just the right time. But he was my prince. He would have been the kind I wrote about if I’d written all those fairy tales.”

I noticed a couple of security guards reach for their walkie talkies, mumbling something into them with stern faces. Hurry, Lucy.

“That man made me feel things I never imagined could be felt. He made me want things I wasn’t sure I could have. He made me need things I didn’t know existed.”

My voice was getting stronger as the words started spilling from me. Everything I’d needed to say for so long was finally having its day.

“He made me happy. He made me crazy. He made me thank the heavens for the day I’d met him. He made me curse the same heavens for the day I’d met him.” I smiled, a slew of memories flashing through my mind.

“I screwed up. He screwed up. I was sure I couldn’t live without him. I was just as sure he’d be the death of me. I was confused.” Straddling the fifty, I completed one revolution, waiting for number seventeen to be running across the field at me. No smiling faces were coming for me yet.

I had more to make up for. I only hoped it would be enough.

“We rode this roller coaster. Up, down, and around and around, and just as soon as I was sure it was coming to a stop and we could get off of it once and for all, we repeated the same ride all over again. I didn’t think I wanted to be a passenger on that ride anymore, so I got off, leaving him to ride it alone.”

A couple of guards nodded into their walkies before pocketing them and coming onto the field for me. I did another survey of the field.

Where was he?

“Then we shared one amazing night in a hospital room and I knew everything would be all right. And then doubt crept back into my mind and I knew nothing would be all right. So I left him. I hurt him.” A single phantom tear I hadn’t known was there skied down my cheek.

Ignoring the guards making their way towards me, I looked into the stands. Beyond what I’d expected, more faces were formed into sympathy than judgment.