CHAPTER THREE

Jay

My body was in torment. I couldn’t forget her. She still looked exactly like she had all those years ago, with that pale cleavage and that narrow waist and that amazing, stunning face.

“Jay, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

I sighed, feeling my mom’s hand on my bicep. I turned to face her. She shattered my wild fantasies of that pale body under mine, my chest pressing those high, firm breasts flat as I entered Margo, pushing right into her…

“Jay?” My mom’s voice insisted. “What’s up?” She looked sad, her sweet, kind face pinched.

“Mom, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“I know,” she said sadly. “It’s just…something’s bothering you.”

“I’m fine,” I said gently. “I just need sleep.”

She watched me walk past and I headed upstairs, wishing I could think of more to say. I just couldn’t.

I sat on the bed. It was the one I’d occupied throughout my late teen years and early twenties. Whenever I was in Wisconsin, in fact, until that happened. The accident. My leg.

I don’t belong.

That was what was so weird about being here. The whole house seemed like it preserved who I had been. The strong, athletic, buff guy who’d had no worries.

There wasn’t any room for the new me.

Mom and Dad were still unsure of how to handle things. They tried to pretend they didn’t see any difference—that I was the same as I had been. The thing was, I wasn’t. My life changed. Their refusal to acknowledge it made it seem, stupidly, as if they were ashamed.

Not that I wanted them to go on and on about the fact that I’m unable to walk. That would be wrong too. But I just thought that some change would be appropriate.

Stop it. What do you expect them to do? What do you expect anyone to do?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that being here in Wisconsin, in this place, this house, depressed me more than anything on earth.

I sat there and looked out of the window, watching the sunset leak across the hills. It was yellow and white, and it tore at my heartstrings. I remembered other sunsets, other times.

The smell of her hair as she leaned on me, the way her arm tucked round me. The smooth thigh under my hand where it rested on her.

I found myself drifting in memories of Margo. I could almost taste the sweet lips against mine, feel the urgency that thrusting my tongue between them brought on. I wanted to push her down on the bed and spread her and thrust right inside…

Oh, come on, Jay.

I closed my eyes, forcing the images from my mind. I was desperate for Margo. I had to face it. My body wanted hers more than anything. Ever since I’d seen her, my loins had been aching. It seemed as if now that I had set eyes on her, there was no shutting out the wild fantasies that filled my mind or the aching arousal of my body.

Which was, of course, the problem. My body.

Or, rather, its lack thereof.

I thought back to what I’d been when I dated her. My rippling shoulders, huge arms. Muscly legs. I had been proud of my body, And she had reveled in it as much as I had. There were many incidents in my memory of her stroking my chest, kissing my shoulder, her legs wrapped around mine.

I still had the shoulders, for which I was thankful. But my arms had withered somewhat, my waist thickened and my legs no longer muscle-bound as they had been. I looked, to my eye, like a regular guy. Not too built, not too unfit, just somewhere in the middle.

I didn’t think that was enough for her.

I sighed. It was dumb, I guessed. But Margo had been with me at my top condition. I’d been on newspapers and television, known for my physique as much as my physical skill. But not now. And for all I knew, that was all Margo had ever liked about me—my looks.

I was just regular Jay, she’d be disappointed. And that was what I wanted to run from. I’d rather stand in the middle of the railroad and dare the trains than I would dare Margo’s distaste. If she looked at me with pity, I’d die.

So that was it. I had it: my game plan. I’d lie low here for a week, celebrate with Dad and go home. Back to obscurity.

Maybe I’ll even find a girl. Someone who puts up with my leg and who never watched football. Someone who has no idea who Jay Locke was and who won’t mind who he is.

That was my goal. So far, I hadn’t had much success with it. I’d dated once or twice, but both times I’d come up against the same mix of pity and discomfort at the state of my leg. I’d tried to ignore it, but it wore on my self-esteem. I hated the thought of anyone being with me because they were overlooking my injury, because they were able to tolerate it for the sake of being with an ex-football player. Both the girls I’d dated after her were like that.

None of them were like her.

I felt a fresh wave of longing come on, painting my mind with images of her. Her soft, warm body melting against mine, her hands reaching down to hold my cock, stroking it and playing with it in the way she knew stimulated me.

“Jay?”

I sighed. It was my cousin, Carrington. “Hey,” I called.

“Jay? You coming for dinner?”

I paused. I really didn’t want to. Talking to friends and relatives was hard. They either looked pained or tried to be bracing. Carrington didn’t.

“No. I’ll pass.”

“Jay?” She opened the door. Big brown eyes and a mass of curls met me. She looked confused.

“I’m fine,” I said sadly.

“Jay, you’re not missing dinner. You must be starving,” she said succinctly. “If you won’t go down, then I’m bringing it up.”

“You can’t do that,” I protested, trailing off as she grinned.

“Watch me.”

When she returned ten minutes later with a tray of ravioli—two bowls—and some tea, I was really touched.

“Carri, you can’t fuss over me…”

“Watch me,” she said again. An accountant by profession, Carrington has a heart that should have gone into the caring field—there was a hospital out there missing the world’s top nurse.

“Thanks, Cari.”

She chuckled. “Well, up here is better than down there. I’m in need of a nice view and some new company.”

I smiled. “You’re just nice.”

“No, I’m not,” she said briskly. “I’m honest. If I hear Uncle Jake tell that story again, I’m going to hit my head on the closet just to drown out the words. C’mon. Eat up.”

I laughed. She was so full of life.

“This is good,” I said. I was impressed.

“Your mom made it,” Carrington said tersely. “You might want to tell her how good it is. She misses you.”

I sighed. “I know, Cari. I just…” I trailed off, unsure how to express it.

“You hate feeling like she’s stepping around your pain,” she said.

I stared. “Exactly.”

“Mm. Well, you know I don’t.”

I chuckled. “I know. And I appreciate it. Really.”

“Well,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of dinner, “I appreciate being able to be as obnoxious as I like. You’re the only person who doesn’t act as if I’m breaking the rules.”

I stared at her again. “Cari? You don’t feel like that, do you?” I was astonished. She was always so sassy, so superconfident. And she was a formidable career woman. How could she ever feel so insecure?

She chuckled. “Well, I do. Surprised?”

“Yeah.”

That made her grin. “Come on, Jay. You don’t mean you’ve never noticed how everyone gets tired of my bossiness?”

“No,” I said honestly. “You aren’t bossy, Cari. You’re someone who has natural authority.”

She laughed. “You do have a way with words, Jay. Thanks.”

I smiled. “Not at all. Now come on, let’s finish this dinner.”

We ate in companionable silence. When she’d gone, I felt better. It was impossible to feel depressed after that. I looked out at the night sky and a sense of peace washed over me.

If even Carrington felt left out sometimes, then maybe it wasn’t because there was something wrong with me that I felt like this. She was easily the most presentable, respectable person I knew. So, if she felt judged by people, their judgment was dumb. Or misplaced. Whatever.

I wasn’t going to take it seriously anymore.

I sighed and found myself reaching for my phone. It made a noise as I flicked through my emails idly, looking for one from Jarred, my colleague.

“A new message,” I said mildly. “Probably him. Mm…”

I scrolled up to the new message and stared.

“Lawrie at Gmail?” Somehow, that address meant something.

I knew that address.

I opened the email, feeling a tickle of excitement. I stared.

Margo Lawrence?

I read the email, feeling my heart thud in my chest.

The last line went around and around in my head.

“…It would be nice to catch up.”

Had she meant that?

Oh my goodness. I drew in a deep breath, then another, and stopped.

Should I email back? I wanted to. But what about what she’d think of me, what she probably already thought? My leg? My status?

I sighed.

I should remember what I’d just decided. That I wasn’t going to take all that seriously. I let out a long, shuddering breath, scrolled down and replied. I was going to follow my heart for a change.