Heather Graham (33 page)

When they were naked together, she rolled over him, her kisses finding his shoulders, giving loving attention to the thin, white scar lines that marred their tanned breadth. She felt his fingers moving over her back, stroking her spine, cupping her buttocks, pulling her ever closer to him. He kissed her again, rolling her to her back, playing the palm of his hand over her breasts and abdomen until he parted her thighs and caressed her intimately, knowingly. His kisses left her mouth to cover her breasts; her fingers tore madly into his hair, and she was whispering incoherently, needing him, wanting him.

“Touch me,” he commanded huskily, and she did so, finding sheer pleasure in the strength of his need for her.

She cried out for him, but his hands were already on her hips, raising them, ready to join them. Sweet and shimmering, his initial rhythm was slow, then took flight. She stretched with the ache of desire, gasped as his hands found her breasts, as he touched her neck with his lips, caught her earlobe between his teeth.

She felt that he had loved her forever. And then all that was building inside her soared to a crest. And she clung to him, loving the moments that followed, intimate and good. Then they both drifted, fulfilled, two lovers on a bed once again, both aware they had been there even when it felt as if they had soared on clouds.

“Kent,” she murmured.

“Shh, Katie, just let me hold you.”

And so she lay quietly, perhaps because she wanted so badly to hold on to the peace she felt … because while she held him, she had him, and words just might change that.

The words would have to come …

But ironically, they both drifted into sleep. And when Katie awoke, Kent was dressed, slipping into his jacket.

“You can’t leave now!” she told him. “Kent—”

“Katie, I’m sorry. There’s a curfew, and if I’m lucky, I’ll make it.”

“No!” she cried furiously. “Kent, this isn’t fair. It isn’t right—”

“Katie,” he said, sitting on the bed, pulling her against him, “I’ve got to go. This will all be over soon. We’ll talk after the game … I promise.”

“I’m not even sure I’m going to the damn game! Damn you, Kent, you can’t keep doing this to me—”

“Katie, you’ve walked out on me—twice, if I recall.”

“Kent, don’t play in that game! I don’t want to see you beaten or crippled for life.”

“Katie,” he said quietly, “I have to play. Don’t you see? The only way we could possibly beat this whole thing is to win.”

“You don’t believe me, do you? You bastard!” she exclaimed. “You still don’t believe that a guy on your own team—”

He kissed her quickly, then firmly placed her away from him. “Katie, I
do
believe you. But I still have to play.”

He walked to the door. She could barely see him because a sudden rush of tears was blinding her.

“I won’t be there, Kent.”

He looked around, and his eyes caught hers. “Please, Katie.” Then he was gone.

Sunday dawned bright and clear. Beautiful weather for a game. The stands were filled to capacity, Katie thought. She was there—she had always known she would be.

Her seat was right on the fifty-yard line. Joan Patterson was on her right, and Julie—who had somehow convinced Raff to send her down—was on Katie’s left. Paula, Anne, and Ted were behind her. Sometimes she would turn and catch Paula’s eyes. They would exchange mute signals of worry—and try to smile.

The excitement was high in the stadium; cheers were never-ending for both teams. The amount of electricity and tension racing among the spectators was almost frightening.

Katie barely heard the singing of the national anthem; she was waiting for the kickoff. The Saxons won the coin toss and elected to receive the ball.

The offense was on the field.

The first quarter went well. Unbelievably well. The Saxons inched along the field, it seemed, but kept making first downs. Sam took off on a run and made the first touchdown himself. Then the Saxon defense intercepted a ball, and the Saxons made a field goal. The score was ten to nothing as they neared the end of the quarter. The Saxons got the ball again, and Sam and Kent connected for a twenty-five-yard run and a touchdown; the kick gave them the extra point, and the score stood at seventeen to nothing at the end of the quarter.

It wasn’t until the second quarter that things began to happen. Katie stood in horror, screaming but unheard against the roar of the crowd when Sam Loper was viciously blitzed by three Titan players—including Paul Crane.

Sam was carried off the field; the Saxon fans were going wild. He managed to pull his helmet off and grimace and wave to the crowd. Then he was gone.

Timmons came in as quarterback. He was a good player; he just wasn’t as fast as Sam. Still, he kept the second quarter at an even keel. He connected with another wide receiver named Ted Johnson once for a fifty-yard drive, then managed to find Kent standing over the goal line. With a good kick the Saxons’ score was twenty-four. But the opposition had scored twice, so they were facing twenty-four to fourteen at halftime.

Katie wanted to scream all during the show, her tension was so great. Afterward, she couldn’t even recall if it was a good one or a bad one. She wanted the game to end. So far, Kent was emerging uninjured, but he’d already been beneath three pileups. How much more could he take? she wondered frantically.

In the third quarter came another blow. Katie could have sworn she actually saw Harry Kolan step aside—and then the Titan defense blitzed Timmons. Timmons was down, and time was called.

“No!” Katie gasped, but the announcer said that Timmons had a dislocated shoulder. He was out of the game.

With ten seconds left in the third quarter, Kent was put into the game as quarterback. He ran the ball himself and gained ten yards and a first down.

Katie closed her eyes. She didn’t think she could bear to watch the fourth quarter of the game.

“Fourteen, eighteen, twenty-five, ten!”

The ball was in Kent’s hands; he had to throw—they were prepared for a run. He found Ted Johnson on the field and threw the ball. Johnson leaped high to receive it; he caught it but was dragged down. The next pass was intercepted, and the Saxons lost the ball. The opposition scored, made the kick, and it was twenty-four to twenty-one.

Coach Griffith told Kent to run the ball. Kent relayed the message in the huddle, then caught Harry Kolan by the shoulder pads when they broke.

“So help me, Kolan—”

“I’ll be there!” Kolan snapped.

The Saxons took their positions. Kent called off a spate of numbers. He was dripping with sweat, bone-tired and aching all over. He had to keep the ball once he got it.

It was in his hands. Paul Crane was rushing him. Kent zigzagged in back of Harry Kolan and saw his opening. He started to run.

The Titans were behind him all the way; arms grasped at him, men fell at his feet. He strained with all his being, heaving, hurting—desperate to make it, to cross the magic line. A few more feet, a few more feet …

Sweat dripped through his eyebrows and stung his eyes. He was almost there … He was there!

But someone was on his tail. Paul Crane caught him right at the line. Kent pitched his shoulders forward with a death grip on the ball. He would make the touchdown, but he was going down himself. He hit the field hard and tried to roll.

He saw Crane’s eyes, then saw the man hurtle into him, carefully, but with all his strength. His shoulder slammed full force against Kent’s knee.

A scream of agony tore from him as the pain in his knee penetrated his body. Crane jumped away from him, then the field was alive with running doctors and coaches.

Kent closed his eyes. He was out of it. The Saxons were out of it. But he’d tried. He’d tried his damnedest. One day, he vowed, one day he was going to tear both Kolan and Crane apart.

They brought him into the locker room. Sam was there, his ribs freshly bandaged. He was sitting up on a table. “Ah, hell, Cougar, they got you, too? I’m going to have to go back out,” he said desperately.

“No way, Sam.”

The doctor forced Kent to lie down. His pants leg was cut away, and he was told that his ligaments were torn. “Good thing the season is over,” the doctor said glumly.

“I’m going back out,” Sam insisted.

“Can he, do you think?” Coach Griffith asked the doctor hopefully.

The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know. You want to step outside and discuss it?”

They did, leaving Sam and Kent alone. “I’ve got to, Kent … It’s our only chance.”

Kent looked at Sam, then shook his head sadly. “One more time, Sammy, and they’ll kill you. Don’t do it—you’ve got a lifetime of games ahead of you.”

Sam started to stand. Kent sat up quickly, wincing at the sharp pain in his leg. “Sam?”

“Yeah, what is it, buddy?” Sam leaned over him.

Kent smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, kid, but I love you like a brother.” He brought his right fist flying across Sam’s jaw. The quarterback crumbled to the floor.

The coach stuck his head back in. “Sam?”

“Sam’s decided not to go out after all, coach,” Kent said. He lay back wearily, smiling ruefully as he closed his eyes.

Katie didn’t care what she had to do to reach Kent. Julie was right behind her as she made a fleet journey through the stands, apologizing but willing to knock over anyone to get where she had to be.

Outside the locker she ran into a policeman. “Hold it, young lady!”

“I’m—I’m his sister!” Katie cried, Julie still behind her.

“And who is she?”

“His sister, too. We’ve got a big family,” Julie said.

The policeman obviously didn’t believe her; he was about to have Katie hauled off, but Coach Griffith saw her then, smiled, and told the policeman to let them through.

Katie saw Kent and Sam on the stretchers. Tears came to her eyes instantly and rolled down her cheeks. She rushed to Kent and gripped his hand. He tried to grin at her.

“We lost it, Katie.”

“Oh, Kent, who cares? Oh, my God! What happened to Sam?”

“I happened to Sam. I had to hit him. Katie—Katie, I’m trying to talk to you!”

But Katie had run over to see Sam. She felt the tears rising in a fresh wave, and suddenly she was furious. “Oh, the hell with the two of you. You’re both fools!”

“Katie!” Somehow he got hold of her wrist. “Katie—dammit! I know I’m supposed to be on my knees begging, but I just can’t get to my knees right now. Katie—”

“Oh, God!” A long, groggy moan interrupted Kent’s words. Sam staggered to a sitting position. “What the hell happened to me?”

“Kent hit you,” Katie told him.

“Cougar!
You
did this to me? Why? We’ve lost the game for sure now.”

“Oh, what’s in a game?” Julie inquired sweetly from a corner.

“Would you both, please,
please,
shut up? My Romeo act is already screwed to death!” Kent exclaimed. “Katie!”

“What?”

“Katie, I’m begging you to forgive me for ever doubting or not trusting you. I’m begging you to be my wife!”

Katie looked at Kent, then at Sam, then at Julie. “He’s crazy, you know—”

“Julie, help! I know I’m supposed to be on my knees—”

“They’ve both been hit in the head one time too many!” Katie didn’t know what to think, and she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was going to break into a real storm of tears any moment. “I’m going to get out of here,” she murmured, edging nervously away from both Kent and Sam.

“Oh, no, you’re not!” Kent snapped. She saw his eyes and all the determination in them. “Sam, get her!”

Sam gave Katie an apologetic grin. “Please, Katie, don’t fight. I have a hell of a headache to go with everything else.”

“Sam!” she protested.

But, apologetic as he might be, Kent had asked Sam to bring her back, and he was going to do just that. Sam braced himself, leaped from the stretcher, caught her shoulders, and firmly propelled her back to Kent’s side. Kent clasped her hand with all his strength, and she knew she could never escape. Nor, staring into his face, marked with black beneath his eyes, smudged with dirt, did she want to.

She loved him and everything about him: his nose with the little crook; his mouth, sometimes grim—but, oh, when he smiled, and his eyes, dark as coal and filled with love and tenderness.

“Miss Hudson, I love you. I really love you. Please, tell an aching and injured man that you will love him, too, until the end of his days. That you’ll stand by his side through thick and thin and make love to him very gently and carefully just as soon as they let him out of the hospital. Tell him that as soon as we can get the legal papers, you’ll become his wife.”

Katie stared at him, stunned—and so deliriously happy she couldn’t speak.

“I think that was just fine,” Julie commented. “I mean, you can always get down on your knees later, you know.”

“Katie, for God’s sake, answer the man!” Sam ordered.

“I—oh, you’re an idiot!” Katie exclaimed as she bent down to kiss him, long and languorously, not at all caring that Julie and Sam were standing by, laughing witnesses.

There was a commotion in the room. Dazed, Katie rose to turn around. Anne was in the room, racing for her father.

“Dad!”

“Hey, kitten!”

“Oh, are you all right?”

“I will be.”

“Dad—they just won the game. The Saxons lost!”

“It doesn’t matter, Annie … It was just a game.”

Anne smiled at Katie. “Does this mean that you’re slee—I mean, seeing Dad again?”

Katie smiled. “I’m going to marry him.”

“Oh,” Anne murmured. She looked at them both. “Do you think you’ll have children?”

“Probably,” Katie said cheerfully. She slipped an arm around Anne’s shoulder. “But we’ll work it out, I promise you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Anne admitted unhappily, “but—we’ll try.”

Katie caught Paula’s eyes over her daughter’s head. They both smiled. “Come on, Annie,” Paula said. “I think they’re coming now to take your dad and Sam to the hospital.” She waved at Sam. “Next year, Sam, Kent!”

“Next year!” Sam agreed. He was rubbing his jaw. “I think you’re crazy, Kent.”

Katie laughed. “But, Sam, there
will
be a next year!”