Whirlwind (42 page)

At dinner Mom questioned me again.

“You’ve been quiet all day. Have you made any headway?” she asked over her Kung
Pao
shrimp.

“Maybe. I’ve thought a lot about what you said, but I still can’t shake the feeling I’d only be in for worse heartbreak the next time I left.” I picked up a shrimp and examined it before popping it into my mouth.

Mom stared at me. “That’s what’s been bothering you? The fact you’ll have to say goodbye again?”

Again?
I hadn’t even been able to say it the first time. I flinched at the memory of Jason’s distraught face when I’d walked away.

“But goodbye isn’t forever,” Mom said, as if it were obvious.

“What? You’re not making sense.” I chased a grain of rice around my plate.
Of course it’s forever. Jason and I have separate lives. A weekend visit won’t change that. Goodbye is always the end.

“Goodbye is always the end? What?”

My teeth came together with a
clack
. Had I said that out loud?

Mom put down her chopsticks. “Well, that explains a lot.” She paused, inspecting my face as she tried to articulate her discovery. “Do you remember the last thing you said to Dad?”

I gaped at her. “Mom, you know I don’t think about that day.”

In all my grieving, the one thing I’d never been able to remember was the last time I’d seen my father. I felt like if I allowed myself to dwell on that moment—my last seconds of happiness with him—all my memories of him would disappear. He’d truly be gone, and I wouldn’t feel his presence any longer.

Mom ignored me, her eyes bright. “The last words you said were, ‘Love you, Dad. Good—’” Before she could finish, I clamped my hands over my ears.

“No! Don’t say it.” All the pain I’d felt over leaving Jason exploded tenfold. I refused to think the last, despicable word.
No, Dad. Don’t go!

My hands moved to my face. It was too late. She’d said it. Dad was gone. Really gone.

“After all this time…I had no idea. That’s why you never tell me goodbye,” Mom said, as much to herself as to me. “It’s always ‘Love you’ or ‘Talk to you later.’ For you goodbye
does
mean forever, doesn’t it?”

My grief spilled out in a shower of tears. “Yes,” I choked out between sobs.

Mom rushed to my side and threw her arms around me. “A word won’t hurt me, Melissa. Nor will it hurt Jason. What you said to Dad didn’t have anything to do with what happened, you know that.”

“Of course I know that. But
knowing
the truth and
feeling
the truth are two different things.”

My admission didn’t do much to comfort me. In all the years since Dad died, I’d never been able to say goodbye to anyone—not Mom, not Mitch, no one. No wonder I was so worried about having to say it to Jason.

Slowly, the discovery sunk in, and my sobs subsided.

Mom kissed the top of my head. “Jason has stirred some very deep feelings in you. Maybe understanding them will help you to decide what to do.”

She released me and returned to her seat, finishing her dinner in silence.

I poked at my rice but my appetite had disappeared. If saying goodbye was what kept me from fully embracing Jason’s love, how did things change now that I knew it? I closed my eyes to think and was filled with sudden, overwhelming hope.

I’ll never leave you, Melissa.
Dad’s voice was still with me, still strong.
You know what to do. Listen to your heart.

Nineteen

I paced in a tight circle, waiting for the time on my cell phone to change. We’d agreed I would call Jason at seven o’clock, only three minutes from now. It’d been two days since I’d seen his face, felt his touch, or heard his voice, and with clammy palms and trembling lips I waited impatiently, like an addict craving her next fix. The excessive humidity didn’t help; my forehead was covered with sweaty droplets.

I swiped at the drips with the back of my hand, frustrated. What had he said? “How’s it supposed to feel when you finally find the one who makes you whole?” I still didn’t have an answer—the completeness he instilled in me was indescribable. He was the one, I could see that now.

Our indefinable connection lay at the heart of my conversation with Mom last night. I now understood why I’d been convinced I’d never see Jason again. My experience losing Dad colored every relationship I had. Whenever someone I cared about left me, I’d subconsciously equated it with the day Dad said goodbye for the last time. A loving farewell had come to mean death. And it wasn’t just Jason—I’d felt the same fear after the wedding when Mitch had said goodbye, even though he hadn’t actually said the word. I was still afraid to say goodbye to anyone, but Mom had helped me identify the root of my fear.

“It’ll always be with you,” she’d said, recounting the sleepless nights she’d spent worrying about Dad when he was on patrol. “But love is stronger than fear. If you look into your heart, you’ll see you already know that. Was it fear that made you stand between Jason and that killer? Or love?”

Both, actually
. “But what about Dad?” I whispered. “Fear won, in the end.”

Mom’s face turned to stone, and her hazel eyes iced over. “No, Melissa, fear did
not
win. We lost him to mindless evil, not to fear,” she said, her voice steely. “If fear had won, do you think I’d let you out of this house? I said goodbye to him that day just like you did, remember?

“I loved him, I trusted him, and even though I can’t hold him anymore, I still feel him. He’s in my soul, Melissa, and always will be. Fear will never take him away from me.” She didn’t cry, didn’t even tear up as she spoke. “It’ll only steal Jason from you if you let it.”

Hearing that, I’d made my decision.

Six fifty-eight. As tempted as I was to call Jason early, I didn’t. Instead I changed direction and circled clockwise. If we’d made it through last night, we could make it two more minutes.

Sleep had been a fleeting thing for me, crowded out by other doubts and worries. What if, once Jason had time to think about what had happened over the last few days, he regretted his actions? What if he’d decided a week with me was enough? What if…what if…what if…

What if I showed up at his door wearing nothing but a trench coat and high heels?

After much tossing and turning, the what-ifs had eventually subsided, and I’d managed to get a few hours of rest. Daylight did little to calm me, erasing the apprehension and replacing it with anxiousness. I’d tried to keep myself busy today: reading, watching videos—heck, I even tried my hand at the crossword puzzle—but my mind kept coming back to this moment. All day long, I’d tried to visualize this conversation, wishing I could see his face as I spoke, wondering what his reaction would be. He’d be happy with my decision, wouldn’t he?

I checked the time again. One more minute to go.

Below the time, another word caught my eye.
Saturday
. Unbelievably, it was one week ago that I first laid eyes on Jason McAlister. Here I was, just seven days later, unable to think without his face appearing in my mind, unable to breathe without tasting his scent. The memory of the moment our eyes first met was so strong, I shuddered recalling it. How much longer could this feeling last?

A lifetime.

Finally my phone beeped. I dropped it, trying frantically to silence the alarm. Dialing the number was equally difficult with shaky hands, and I cursed myself for having that last can of Coke. My pulse raced, but I forced myself to dial slowly and accurately. I rehearsed my story one last time while I listened to his phone ring. How I wished I could see his eyes as I explained myself.

“Melissa,” Jason said. Relief poured out of the phone.

He didn’t think I’d call
. A small smile crept across my lips.

“Hi, Jason. How are you?” Could he hear my nervousness? Another bead of sweat slid down my back.

He didn’t answer immediately, sending my pulse skyrocketing.

“I’m surviving.”

“How’s your leg?” I swallowed, trying to control my trembling.

Jason sighed. I hoped he knew I needed to work up to the difficult part of the conversation. “Good. This morning I called the clinic and set up an appointment to get the stitches out later this week. Hopefully I’ll be off the crutches soon.” I could hear the edge in his voice—he wasn’t going to wait much longer. “How are
you
doing?”

“I’ve been better, actually.” The words wobbled over my tongue as my heart tried to pound its way out of my ribs.

“I know what you mean,” he said.

The silence that followed nearly undid me, and I took off down the hall. He shifted the phone, and I imagined him sitting in his apartment, running frustrated fingers through his hair.

“How was your—” I started, but Jason interrupted me.

“Have you thought any more about my offer?”

My heart skipped a beat.

“I’m not the only one who’s no-nonsense, am I?” I said with a laugh verging on hysterics. I touched the white circle on the wall in front of me as he spoke.

“I guess that’s a trait I picked up from you,” he said wistfully. I heard a soft ringing in the background, but Jason ignored it. “Have you?” he pressed. “Melissa, will you come to see me
sometime
this summer?”

I knew the stress in his voice well; it’d been my constant companion for the past two days.

“What was that sound?” I asked, avoiding his question.

“Nothing—just the doorbell.” The ringing started again, louder and longer this time. “Just ignore it. Nothing is more important than you.” He paused, and I strained to hear his next words. “Please don’t toy with me, Melissa. The last few days have been hell. Being alone hasn’t helped
me
at all. I can’t tell you how many times I picked up the phone to call you. Tell me now. I need to know if I’ll ever see you again,” he begged.

The doorbell continued to ring, and I thought I heard him swear under his breath.

“Answer the door, Jason,” I said.

“NO!” he shouted. I jumped involuntarily, the sound of his shout ringing loudly in my ears. “Not until you tell me. I can’t take this anymore. I have to know. Please, you’re
killing
me!”

The shock of his anger rendered me speechless.

“I’m sorry, Melissa, that was uncalled for,” he said with another sigh. “I just miss you so much. Please forgive me?”

My heart ached, hearing the pain, the defeat so clear in his voice. Before I could answer him, a couple of guys stepped out of the elevator, laughing loudly. Giving me the onceover, they squeezed past.

“Hey, if Jason’s not around, come on down to my room,” the taller one said, giving me a wink. I turned away, my lips pursed. The phone had gone silent.

His friend pushed him farther down the narrow hallway. “Cut it out, Chris. If Jason catches you checking her out, he’ll kick your ass again—even on crutches.”

The two disappeared behind a slammed door at the end of the corridor.

It was another long second before Jason found his voice. “Melissa, where are you?”

“Just answer the door,
please
,” I whispered.

With a crash the call ended, and the door in front of me burst open. Jason towered over me, balanced on one crutch. He was more beautiful than I remembered, dressed in a very familiar gray-and-green Poly T-shirt and faded cutoffs. The white bandage covering his stab wound peeked out below the tattered denim. His eyes were blue blowtorches glowing above dark, sleepless circles and yellowing bruises. He
had
been pulling his hair; one side stuck straight out like a poorly styled Mohawk. But the most handsome look of utter surprise covered his face.

I slowly lowered the phone from my ear, awed by the sight of him. Cool air rolled out of the apartment, but my shiver had more to do with the way Jason’s eyes devoured me than the change in temperature.

I smiled carefully. “I forgive you. I was wondering where my nightshirt—”

He swooped down and captured me, stealing my words when his lips crashed into mine. The crutch fell behind him with a thud.

My memories were shamed as I reveled in the intensity of his kiss. His touch surged through me, accompanied by a swell of warmth that had nothing to do with the humid
Michigan
air. Slowly I tilted my head as his lips parted, inviting mine to follow.

Almost timidly, our tongues met, reintroducing themselves with small, gentle movements. The tender touch didn’t last long—I couldn’t resist his alluring taste. He eagerly explored my mouth, kissing me with the fervor of years of separation, not just days.

I swayed dizzily in his arms, gasping around his lips. He turned me toward the doorframe for support, pressing himself against me. My body answered his call, the fiery need centering itself where his hips met mine.

When our lips separated, Jason cupped my chin with one hand and stared into my eyes. Tears rolled down his face, and as his thumb brushed my cheek, I discovered my eyes were damp too. “You came,” he barely whispered.

I smiled up at him innocently and wiped his cheek with the back of my fingers. “You always make me come,” I said.

He chuckled, his laugh warm and inviting. “Welcome to
Michigan
, Naughty Melissa.”

His hands couldn’t stay still, caressing my face, my shoulders, my hair. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he repeated over and over between kisses.

“
How
are you here?” he finally asked.

“I decided you were right. There has to be a way to make this work. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

“How did you find me?” he asked, his grin stretching so wide it had to hurt.

“You’re not the only one who can pump Mitch for information, you know,” I said, smiling. I’d called him after deciding, with Mom’s blessing, to follow my heart and come to
Michigan
as soon as possible. Mitch had heartily endorsed my plan and was more than happy to give me directions to Jason’s apartment.

Impossibly, Jason’s eyes shone even brighter. “He does come in handy, doesn’t he?”

“Definitely.”

Jason put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his apartment. I picked up his crutch, lying in the middle of his kitchen, and he led me past the immaculately clean sink and stove. The only dish visible was a dirty mug sitting next to the stained coffeemaker.

He hobbled into the living room and eased himself down on the black couch. Pizza boxes and soda cans littered the floor next to his upended coffee table. I righted it and replaced the items, leaving a space for Jason to prop up his injured leg.

“Sorry about that. I was in a hurry,” he said. He hastily picked up the remote and wrinkled newspaper cluttering the couch, then patted the seat next to him, inviting me to sit down. “What do you think?”