Mayday (12 page)

“Do you know why I didn't graduate?” he pressed. “Why I left after sophomore year?”

He asked the question in a challenging tone, as if daring her to judge him. As if the angry edge in his voice could distract her from the anxiety she saw written all over every inch of that handsome face.

“No,” she admitted. “I just saw that all references in the school newspaper to your races with the university swim team ended after your second year. I couldn't find any record of a college degree, either there or anywhere else. So I suspected you might have dropped out, though I wasn't sure. And I have no idea why. Will you tell me?”

From where she sat, she could just barely see his hands clenched into fists on his lap. When he began to speak, those fists only grew tighter.

“I went to college on a swimming scholarship,” he said. “Early junior year, I started having pain in my shoulder, but I ignored it. Tried to work through it. I didn't want to take time off to recover. Didn't want to disappoint my team. Finally, the coach forced me to go to the doctor.”

“And?” Her heart twisted as she watched the lines bracketing his mouth grow deeper.

“Massive tear in my rotator cuff,” he said, his voice flat. “Turns out it was a stupid fucking decision to put off treatment for so long. The delay complicated the surgery and made the recovery more difficult. And after the operation, I got tired of waiting for my range of motion to return and the goddamn pain to go away. So I came back to the team before I completely healed. I didn't baby the shoulder. I just tried to go full force, the way I always had.”

He shook his head. “Another fucking mistake. As I found out, if you start using your shoulder again before you complete rehab and it's completely healed, you may never fully recover from the injury. And I didn't.”

Her imagination failed her when she tried to picture how he felt at the age of nineteen, realizing for the first time that he'd never swim at the same elite level again. That his future as he'd envisioned it had effectively ended. At least when her own future had disappeared before her eyes among the shelves at Bannon Books, she'd been an adult.

She didn't want him to think she blamed him for his misfortune. But she had to ask, if only to confirm the answer she suspected she'd hear.

“Wes . . .” she said, “why didn't you wait to come back to the team until you'd completely healed? Surely the doctor and your coach told you to take the time you needed?”

“I guess. But I felt lost without the swimming. I missed my friends. I missed the routine. I missed the sense of achievement. Outside the team, I didn't know who I was.” He flashed that bitter smile again. “And then I found out.”

“Who were you?” she asked, bracing herself for his answer.

“Nothing,” he said. “I was nothing.”

Those words fell on her like a body blow, but it didn't show on her face. She didn't let it.

“You lost your scholarship.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We couldn't afford college without it. My parents' income from the florist shop wouldn't stretch that far. We had enough to be comfortable, but not enough to pay tuition.”

“Did you think about taking out student loans?”

“With my grades? I didn't see the point. Why put myself into debt when I'd probably flunk out without our team tutors anyway?” His face had turned expressionless. Distant. “Besides, I couldn't stay there. It hurt too much. I needed to leave, the sooner the better.”

Understandable. Suddenly, he'd become an outsider to the only community he'd really known at college. How could he stay in the place where his dream had died? Who would blame him for leaving there and coming home?

With a push of his foot, he swiveled his chair to face the window near his desk. Two flights down, people were emerging from their apartments and row houses to head to work. His eyes followed them, and he very carefully didn't look at her as he spoke again.

“Is this going to be a problem between us?” he asked.

If she chose to believe his tone, she'd think he didn't care about her answer. She'd believe whether she said yes or no made absolutely no difference to him. But she wasn't dumb, and he wasn't a particularly good actor. He cared. So much that she could have carved some really awesome ice sculptures with the sharp jut of his jaw.

“That you'll never be able to bench-press me with that bum shoulder of yours?” she asked. “I mean, I guess that's sad. Being lifted horizontally above someone's head was kind of a dream of mine. But my disappointment's probably not enough to make me break up with you.”

He sighed. “You know what I meant. Is it a problem that I didn't graduate from college? Do you mind dating an undereducated, permanently injured former athlete?”

Every muscle in her body went still. “This,” she enunciated very clearly, “is the last time you ever refer to yourself that way. I don't want to hear you call yourself undereducated. Or a failure. Or anything else that denigrates what you've accomplished in your life.”

He sighed. “There's no need to pretend—”

Her body unlocked in an explosion of movement. Jumping up from her seat, she stalked around the desk to stand in front of him. “For fuck's sake, Wes!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Why the hell would I look down on a man who works like a dog to improve the lives of his neighbors and their children?”

His eyes had gotten big. “Um . . .”

The words poured out of her like lava from an extremely pissed-off volcano. “Why would I refuse to date that man for not finishing a few classes in his early twenties? Why would I reject him for not having a mortarboard stored somewhere in his basement or a diploma framed on his wall?”

She poked his chest with a stiffened forefinger. “Who do you think I am? Do you think I'm that shallow? Really?”

“Of course not, but—” he began.

She didn't let him finish. “I don't care about your goddamn college degree, and I'm guessing most other people here in Niceville don't either. Otherwise, why would they have elected you? Wouldn't the issue have come up at some point? Trust me, it didn't take a lot of research to figure out you probably didn't graduate.”

“But the article—”

“Shake it off.”

“I'm not sure—”

“Shake. It.
Off
.” She poked him again with each word.

The beginnings of a smile turned up the corners of his wide mouth. “You're a little fireball.”

When her finger neared his chest the next time, he captured it and brought it to his lips. He gave it a kiss, and then grabbed her hips to tug her into his lap. Long arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight to his chest. His head rested in the curve where her neck met her shoulder, his hair tickling the sensitive skin there. She felt him place another kiss at that spot as his hand stroked her arm. So gentle. So tender. So very sweet.

She let him draw comfort from her body, even as the feel of him against her breasts and ass started a pleasant hum between her legs. After a couple of minutes, he raised his head to smile at her. Unable to resist, she leaned forward to brush a kiss against his cheek.

“So have I thoroughly addressed and discredited every single one of your concerns about that article?” she asked.

Unexpectedly, his face went taut again. He wrapped his arms more firmly around her, squeezing as if silently begging her to stay. To hear him out.

“No, Helen,” he said. “You haven't. There's one more major problem with that article.”

She tilted her head in thought, trying to remember all the different accusations in the column. Truthfully, though, she didn't remember any other startling revelations, only further repetitions of the word
penis
. No other potential problems resulting from the article came to mind, either. She was stumped.

“What is it?” she asked, cupping his cheek in her hand.

He gazed at her with worried eyes. She prepared herself to hear more about his past. More about his concerns for Niceville's future. More about his insecurities when it came to their relationship. Anything. Anything but what he actually said next.

He kissed her palm and told her, “It might prevent me from leaving Niceville for good.”

T
en minutes later, Wes had explained everything to her.

“I see.” She sat very still in his lap. “I understand why that might worry you. You don't want Ms. Carter to retract her offer.”

She tried to ease out of his embrace and stand on her own feet. In response, his arms banded a little tighter around her body, keeping her firmly perched on his legs. He hadn't let go of her for a second during his explanation.

“I need everything to run smoothly,” he said. “No boycott. No major disasters. I can't fuck up, Helen. Not if I want a future outside Niceville.”

She tried her hardest to ignore the fact that he didn't picture a future by her side, in the city where she lived.

He's leaving. He's leaving. He's leaving
. The words echoed in her head, but she batted them away. Later today, she could sit and obsess about the prospect of his departure. Right now, he needed reassurance.

“Three things,” she said. “First, every town has a few people who obsess over certain issues and pursue them beyond the bounds of reasonable behavior. Bea Carter represents her community in local government. She'll understand that Mr. Skagway doesn't speak for all of Niceville. Second, we've put a ton of forethought into the events this weekend to ensure they happen without a hitch. Third, there's simply no use in worrying, Wes. It's too late to change our plans. We just have to trust that everything will turn out fine.”

She forced a smile. “Have faith, Mayor. In your community and in your hard work.”

“
Our
hard work,” he corrected.

“Speaking of which,” she said, “I need to get to the library so I have time to prepare for my presentation. Are you still coming?”

“Of course.”

He still didn't let her slide off of his lap, not even when she gave his arms a gentle push. She looked down at them, wondering just how much force it would take to move those muscled limbs if he wouldn't do it himself.

“Um, Wes?” she ventured. “Unless you plan to roll us both down the street to the library in your desk chair, you need to let me go.”

And she needed him to do it soon, because she couldn't stay this calm for much longer.

His finger under her chin turned her face toward his. He searched her features for a long moment before speaking. “Helen?”

“Spit it out or let me stand up,” she said, giving another experimental tug at his arm. No effect. “I have to go.”

“Do you still want to date me if I might leave in six months? If I might move five hours away?” He stayed completely still as he waited for her response.

In all honesty, she hadn't let herself think that far. “I . . .”

She trailed to a halt, not knowing what to say.

“Because I still want to date you,” he informed her. “So much, baby.”

When she gave him another, slightly firmer shove on his arm, he finally let her stand on her own two feet. But he kept a hand clasped around her upper arm, his thumb absently stroking the fabric there as he looked at her.

She emptied her lungs in a slow, controlled exhalation. “I'm not sure. I know you'd like me to answer you right away, but I can't. I need some time to think, Wes. You have one foot out the door now, and that changes things. I don't know how wise getting more involved with you would be.”

“Maybe one foot out
Niceville
's door,” he said. “Maybe. The final decision isn't made yet. But not one foot out your door, Helen.”

Splitting hairs
, she thought. One would come as the natural consequence of the other.

“Give me time,” she said. “We can talk more at lunch, if you like.”

A low rumble sounded in his chest. Clearly, he
didn't
like. He wanted her answer in the affirmative right this second. She couldn't give it to him, though.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I'll let you go. But before I do, I have one last issue to address with you.”

Without warning, he sank both hands in her hair and jerked her mouth against his. Opening her lips with his tongue, he twined that tongue around hers and staked a claim with his kiss. His hips pressed against hers, rubbing in a deliberate echo of their time in the water two days ago. Even through layers of fabric, she could feel the bulge of his cock grinding against her clitoris, making her breath catch in renewed arousal.

When he set her free, they were both panting. “When you're thinking this morning, remember that, Helen. Remember last night on the phone. Remember the pool. And remember my plans for lunch today.”

She gave a breathless, incredulous laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me with sex?”

“Whatever it takes to make you mine,” he said, his eyes burning through her. “Whatever it takes.”

 

“So I'm not sure what to say to him at lunch, Con,” Helen said.

She tried to stretch out her legs without knocking something over in her friend's office. Located on the first floor very near to the indoor garage area, the space overflowed with books, papers, and plants. So many plants, in fact, that Helen had a hard time seeing how Con could work in the space without getting smothered by an errant ficus.

Con considered the issue as she spun her chair in slow circles behind her cluttered desk. When her head tilted in thought, about half of her messy bun fell out of its precarious perch there. With absent hands, she twisted the strands, wound them around the bun, and pushed another pencil into her mass of hair.

“What are your instincts telling you?” she asked.

“I mean, I guess I figured what we had wouldn't last anyway,” Helen said. “Eventually, he was going to figure out he needed someone different from me. I'd make the world's worst politician's girlfriend, and I know it. It's not lost on me that I don't resemble his exes in any way. They don't look like me. They have successful careers. They don't spout random stories about naked patrons that make him cringe so hard he injures his face. It didn't take him almost three decades to notice them. Or remember their non-Tiffani names.”

The chair stopped spinning. “So you aren't like his ex-girlfriends, huh?” Con asked. “Tell me, Hel, how many of those women are still dating Wes?”

Helen rolled her eyes. “One of them still likes to bite him, as you may have heard. But . . . none. Obviously.”

“My point exactly.”

“Well, it wasn't
my
point,” Helen said. “My point is that while I don't want to get hurt when Wes leaves, he was going to leave at some point anyway. The only real difference is that I have an absolute end date now, and I didn't before. So if I can manage not to get too attached to him before he moves, maybe we can keep dating. I just need to keep it casual.”

“Seems to me you're making a lot of assumptions here,” Con said. “Including ones about Wes's feelings for you, your feelings for him, and the possibility of long-distance dating.”

Helen glanced at the clock on the wall, half-covered by a flower pot hanging from the ceiling tiles. “Gotta go,” she said. “My presentation starts in fifteen minutes. Thanks for the talk.”

“Given how little you listened to my opinions, you might as well have been talking to a wall instead.” Con shook her head.

“Don't insult yourself, Con,” Helen said. “You're much prettier than the wall. And slightly less dense.”

Con lifted her middle finger into the air just as Tina paused outside the door.

“Ladies,” Tina warned, “what have I told you two before? I know we're in an employee-only area, but birds belong outside the library.”

“But Tina,” Con protested, “she provoked me. The blame for this bird should fall on her.”

“Never fear,” Tina said. “If that's the case, she'll receive her just deserts soon enough. I looked at the crowd gathering in the meeting room, and it appears Helen's presentation will feature a very special member of the audience.”

Helen shrugged. “I knew the mayor was coming.”

“Not the mayor,” Tina corrected. “Frank Skagway.”

“The Penile Columnist?” Con asked.

“We don't refer to patrons by objectionable nicknames,” Tina reminded her employee, and then sighed. “But . . . yes. The Penile Columnist.”

Helen's head dropped to her chest. “Shit.”

Tina opened her mouth to say something, and then shut it again.

“I'm sorry, Hel,” Con said. “That's going to suck huge donkey balls.”

A gentle hand landed on Helen's shoulder. “Let's walk together to the meeting room,” Tina said. “It appears our Bookmobile manager requires a few minutes alone to contemplate proper language choices inside the library.”

“She's the one who said shit,” Con argued.

Tina looked at Con over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses. “To be fair, she's presenting to someone who wants to organize a boycott of the event she's spent two months planning. Someone who will probably bring up male genitalia frequently in any objections he might decide to make.” She hesitated. “Also, Helen, you should know that the
Niceville Daily News
has sent several reporters to cover the talk, probably because of the potential boycott.”

“Shit squared,” Helen moaned into her hands.

“See?” Con said, triumphant. “Potty mouth.”

“She may possess a colorful vocabulary in times of difficulty,” Tina said. “But at least she hasn't referred to donkey testes in front of her supervisor, unlike others I could name. And her office isn't in imminent danger of strangling visitors with overzealous fern fronds.”

“She doesn't have an office,” Con pointed out.

With another deep sigh, Tina patted Helen's shoulder. “We need to go, Helen. Remember, librarians must possess stout hearts and clear minds.”

Helen reluctantly stood. “My heart is weak. My head is mush.”

“Community Outreach position,” Tina reminded her.

That got Helen moving toward the door. “Stout heart. Clear mind. Strawberry daiquiri after work.”

Tina followed close behind. “Whatever helps.”

Neither woman said much on the way to the meeting room. When the two of them entered the space, though, Helen gasped. Usually, the presentations at the library drew a couple dozen people at best, especially if no food was offered to attendees. Today, though, very few chairs sat empty. Almost a hundred people filled the room, all of them watching her expectantly as she made her way to the dais at the front.

Tina leaned in close. “I know you can do this. I have faith in you. Show everyone what a good Community Outreach liaison you'd be.”

With a final squeeze of Helen's shoulder, Tina made her way to the front row, taking a seat right next to a redheaded man . . . Oh, Jesus. Sam.

Wes, sitting just a little further down the row, had obviously noticed Sam too, if the fulminating glares he kept directing at Penny's brother were any indication. He'd crossed his arms across his broad chest, which looked like it had swelled sometime in the last few minutes. His foot was tapping in an agitated rhythm on the carpeted floor. Helen was pretty sure if Wes had been an ape, he'd have been flinging feces at Sam and peeing on her to mark his territory right about now.

He appeared significantly less worried than when she'd last seen him at his office. On the other hand, he appeared significantly more pissed.

Her eyes moved a little further down the row, noting other people she recognized. A reporter from the
Niceville Daily News
, just as Tina had warned. And another in the next seat, equipped with a large camera as well as a notebook. That particular reporter was nodding as she listened to whatever Mr. Skagway was telling her. The boycott leader spoke animatedly, throwing his hands into the air and pointing his finger at Wes and Helen on occasion. Beneath his chair lay a large stack of papers. A pile of handouts, from what Helen could see.

At the end of the row, an unfamiliar black woman had taken a seat. Impeccably dressed in a brick-red suit, she too had a notebook in her lap. Her braids were pulled back to the nape of her neck, keeping them out of her way as she observed the room.

No, not the room. Wes. And, once she followed Wes's gaze, Sam and Helen too.

Suddenly, Helen knew exactly who that audience member was. Bea Carter, City Councilwoman for Clearport, Virginia. The woman who'd come to observe Wes and determine whether or not to support him for a mayoral run in her city.

Holy fucking Christ. She was a part-time librarian giving a talk about historical May Day customs. How the fuck had the stakes risen so high, so fast?

Tina caught her eye and tilted her head toward the clock on the wall. Time to start. God help her.

She tapped the microphone, and a thump echoed throughout the room. The eyes of nearly a hundred people turned her way, and she took a deep breath.

“Welcome, everyone,” she said with a big, bright, undeniably fake smile. “My name is Helen Murphy, and I'm an Adult Reference librarian here at the Downtown Niceville Library, as well as the library's representative on the May Day Celebration Committee. I'm so glad to have the opportunity to discuss historical May Day traditions during this very special weekend in our community. After more than a century without them, we're excited to bring those traditions back to Nice County and all of our region.”

Mr. Skagway turned to the reporter and whispered something into her ear.