Page 131 of Close Match

“I was trying to protect you the only way I knew how. There’s no way to rehearse for life, Linnie. The things I was discovering inside about myself made me feel like less of a man. How could that person be enough to support all the beautiful things you need, including the strength that lives inside you? I was supposed to be the hero, and here you were saving me. What do you call that?”

“Love,” she says bluntly. Her nails dig in slightly against the dress shirt I’m wearing. If she could draw my blood, I think she would.

I know I’d let her.

“Some days, I thought I’d die without seeing your face. When it was time for me to leave, I was so scared.” A garbage truck rolls by, its noxious fumes permeating the air. Part of me can’t believe we’re having this conversation in the middle of a New York city street, but at least we’re having it, which is more than I ever hoped for.

“Why?”

“Because a few days before the first time Mom and Dad were due to pick me up, a man was brought into the center who still reeked of alcohol. I could almost taste it on him. I felt like a damn vampire. I turned to my therapist and asked if I could stay longer. He said he had high hopes for me if I recognized I still wasn’t ready.”

Linnie’s face softens. “You’re calling him Dad?”

My brow puckers. “He didn’t tell you?” She shakes her head. “Is…is it a problem?” I ask cautiously.

“I think it’s about damn time.” We share a mutual smile before hers fades.

“There were days where I felt like I was suffocating. There were days when I felt like my life was falling apart. And days where every muscle and cavity ached. And that was just detox. But two things were scarier.”

“What’s that?” Her thumb is moving back and forth across my chest.

“Fear of having come so far and failing.”

“Then you find a way to try again,” she tells me firmly. There’s the Linnie I know and love. An eternal optimist. I reach up and capture her hand against my chest. “Then there’s the second.”

Her breathing spikes as her eyes meet mine.

“What I did to myself I found a way to forgive with your help. But I don’t know how to ask you to forgive me,” I manage to croak out. “What happened could have…”

“Yes. It could. But we have time for you to figure out what you want to say to me, don’t we?” God, I could spend my life kneeling at her feet and never humble myself enough to be worthy of what she’s offering. Her face isn’t bitter, though it has a right to be. It isn’t loving, like I’d die for it to be.

It’s understanding. It’s more than I expected and more than I deserve.

I can work with that.

I almost ruined it all. Not just the us that we were, but the individuals we are. All because I wouldn’t admit I couldn’t carry the burdens I was shouldering alone. Fortunately, somewhere along the way, the wishes I made on the stars were answered. I was sent miracles. Science took care of my Dad; it took something a hell of a lot stronger to cure me.

Faith.

Slowly, carefully, I lift my hand to her cheek. Perhaps the shaft of pain I’ll feel when I do will be my final penance before my reward—her love entrusted back into my care.

“So, I thought I’d visit the city for a while. Maybe get to see the city from a whole new perspective. Any suggestions on where I should go first?”

Her eyes are full of wary curiosity under the streetlamp. “How long do you plan on staying?”

My fingers dance along her cheek. It’s oddly personal not to have kissed her. I want her to know down to the marrow she gave so freely that once my lips land on hers that there’s no chance alcohol will ever pass through them again. “Until I can convince a close match to become a perfect one,” I say gruffly.

She averts her eyes. “I can’t make any promises.”

“I don’t expect you to,” I admit painfully, albeit truthfully.

She backs away. My heart aches at the loss of contact, at the remembered feel of her lips on mine. Something I have no right to mourn, but I do. “No more lies, Linnie. I promise.”

“We can’t start again,” she whispers, and my heart stops dead in my chest. At that moment, I know what Tim McCann felt like when he pulled the trigger.

Desperate.

Agonized.