Page 47 of When He Plays

“I was a mechanic. I was a magician’s assistant. I was a janitor when I needed to be. Then, when I got bigger, when I got stronger, I fought in bullshit matches like the ones Morris held in his cage. I attracted the attention of a darker crowd, and suddenly the jobs I got paid for were one hell of a lot better, only they were far more dangerous, too. But, turned out, I had a knack for danger.”

“The…the five minutes are up. You don’t owe me anything else.” He didn’t have to share more secrets with her.

“I know. But it hardly seemed fair to start a story without ending it.”

He was right. “I have a knack for danger, too,” she admitted. “My dad was a Ranger. Growing up, he was off on mission after mission. He was dedicated. He was strong. He taught me to be strong, too. I needed that strength on my sixteenth birthday. Because he didn’t come home from his latest mission then. My mother…” This part would always hurt. Just as her father’s death would always hurt. Gut me. “She lost herself after he died. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her to focus on living again. The doctors said that she accidentally took too many pills. That she got her prescriptions mixed up but…” Another hard truth. One she hadn’t shared with anyone. Not even the CIA shrinks. “But I knew better. She waited until I was eighteen. Until I was gone away to college so I wouldn’t be the one to find her. I-I think she planned everything.” Every single detail.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” Then, “Fuck, but I really want to reach across this pillow and hold you. The only reason I’m not? Because I gave you my word. It matters, Charlotte. What I say to you matters.”

“I’m scared of love.” Why was she still confessing? “Because you can lose yourself if you love someone too much. That’s what happened to her. My mom used to be so happy. Charlotte’s Web was her favorite book. That’s where I got my name. She’d read stories to me every night. She’d decorate the house from top to bottom for Christmas. She smiled all the time and she was just…” Her lips pressed together. “My father died, and she didn’t want to go on without him. I could see her struggle every single day, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t help her. I wanted to help her. I wanted to make her happy again, but I just didn’t know how.”

“Baby…”

“I can’t be like that. I don’t ever want to be like that. It’s better not to get close to someone. Better to not feel that rush of emotion because in the end, if you’re just left with ashes, what is the point?”

“Ah.” Understanding. “I get it. No, I get you.”

Did he?

“You’re scared of feeling that fire, feeling the consuming burn that can come when you let yourself love someone because you don’t want to wind up with only ashes in your hands. Instead of being real with a lover, you become someone new with each case. You remain untouchable. You take risks, you risk yourself, but you don’t truly get close to anyone.”

Yes. And yet…

When I see Jamar with his wife and kids, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like…because they look so happy and maybe…maybe the happiness you get can be worth the pain that comes in the end.

No, no, she’d witnessed too many wrecked lives during her time at the CIA. The world was dark. Painful. Dreams rarely come true. Nightmares were the world she saw.

“I’m putting my hand on the pillow,” he suddenly told her.

“What?”

“Not over the pillow. I’m not crossing into your space. I’m just putting it on top of the pillow.”

“Why are you doing that?” Charlotte squinted in the dark.

“I’m putting it there in case you want to hold it.”

Her fingers inched toward the pillow between them. “Why would I want to hold your hand?”

“Because you just told me one very sad story, and I can feel your grief and, sometimes, reaching out to someone else, knowing that you aren’t alone, can make pain feel smaller.”

She touched the side of the pillow.

“I’m not saying it will take all the pain away,” he added, voice gruff. “But, for me, I’ve found it’s more about not letting pain swallow you whole.”

That was what had happened to her mother. The grief and the pain had swallowed her.

“It’s about finding a way to steer past the pain.” His voice seemed to wrap around her. “So, my hand is here. On top of the pillow. Hold it if you want. Ignore it if you want. Your choice.”

She choked down a lump that had filled her throat. “No wonder you aren’t serious very often. If everyone else saw the real you, they’d know for sure that your bad-guy persona is just a hoax.”

“I’m not like this with everyone.”

“Why am I special?” Soft.

He didn’t answer.

But…she did put her hand on the top of the pillow. She touched his.