Page 105 of This Could be Love

I felt his eyes on me as I pulled myself up from the sofa with his help. I put weight on my left foot, then my right. The expected pain didn’t materialize. There was no pinching, no stinging, no throbbing. Just a ridiculous smacking sound. I clutched my heart and whispered, “Oh god.” My head sank down and the tension left my body. I was about to burst into tears again when Vince pulled me into a hug. His body was wet but warm, and I had no energy left to fight off the memories flooding in from all sides. To fight off the desire to snuggle up to him and inhale his scent. So I just did, and he let me. He stroked damp strands of hair from my face and planted a kiss on my head. We stayed like that for quite a while.

“Be honest: How much does it hurt that you let me carry you for nothing?”

Even though I knew he was just trying to escape the heaviness of the situation, I smiled. Leaving our embrace, I noticed the traces of blood my scraped hand had left on his T-shirt.

“Sorry.” I wrinkled my nose regretfully. “Maybe it’ll come out if I wash it right away.”

“Oh…don’t worry about it, it’s ancient.”

With a doubtful glance I replied, “You say that whenever I ruin one of your T-shirts.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but neither of us laughed. Becauseit came with too many memories attached. For both of us. Our first night. Our last one.

“Come on, give it to me,” I said into the tense quiet. “Kay’s washing machine has an express cycle, and I’ve got to wash this thing here the way it is.” I tugged at my tennis skirt, which was covered not only with blood, but mud. I was almost surprised that he didn’t say no. As he pulled his shirt over his head and stood before me, I nearly regretted my offer. Especially when I realized that in Kay’s man-free house there was absolutely nothing for him to wear.

“What?” he asked, irritated.

“Nothing,” I said quickly and grabbed his shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

I could feel his gaze on my back until I reached the bathroom. After closing the door behind me, I slipped out of my skirt and underwear and put on Kay’s bathrobe. With the dirty laundry pressed against me, I left the bathroom and ran next door to the laundry room. I stuffed everything into the top loader and alternated between the twelve- and thirty-minute program. Twelve more minutes with Vince or thirty? I knew it was the wrong way to think. That the duration of the wash wouldn’t change the fact that we didn’t have any future. And yet my finger was magically drawn to thirty. I waited for the standard beep and turned away when I saw him standing in the doorway. The way he looked at me made me think he’d been watching me for a while. My face immediately turned red.

“The blood, you know,” I began to babble. “I didn’t know whether the short cycle… I don’t think twelve minutes would have been enough. That’s why…thirty. I hope you have time? Otherwise, I can…bring it by later. Or you…”

“I’ve got time,” he interrupted me with a tiny smile. “And I agree: Thirty minutes are better than twelve.”

Somehow I managed to nod.

“Meanwhile, we should take care of your knees. You have some disinfectant?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, in a daze. “In the bathroom.” I pointed to the right with my thumb. But it was on the left. Thank god Vince didn’t know his way around enough to notice.

A few minutes later I was sitting on the edge of Kay’s bathtub, letting warm water run over my knees. The right had been hit worse than the left. I could only hope that they’d be healed in time for my opening match in six days’ time.

“You want a Band-Aid?” Vince asked, digging through the first-aid box.

“I definitely need one for my right knee.”

He appeared next to me with a bottle of disinfectant spray and a package of Band-Aids and got moving. With concentration, he took care of the open wounds on my knees, looking up now and again to make sure I wasn’t in too much pain. And every time he did, my heart bled a little more.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he palmed the Band-Aid flat, and I jerked. “Show me your hand.”

“Oh, it’s fine!”

I made a dismissive gesture, but he grabbed my hand and examined my palm. It was lightly scraped and was no longer bleeding. He sprayed it, and I winced.

“I’m sorry, Lou.”

“Nothing you can do about it.” I sighed, wanting to retrieve my hand.

“That’s not what I meant.”

I held my breath and looked up into his beautiful blue eyes, which were now flat and sad.

“I wish I could have given you more than the express cycle.”

I lowered my eyes to our hands. His thumb was resting softly on my wrist, and I wondered if he could feel how much my pulse had shot up. For a long time, all he did was continue to hold my hand. As if he wanted to remain connected to me somehow, even if circumstances were tearing us apart.

Chapter 45