The Player, page 21
“What a relief.”
“Because you are incapable of love.”
His eyes narrowed. “How the hell would you know what I’m—”
“Have I ever done anything to betray you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Tonight, at the reception. I saw you turn away when that man came up to me. Even after all this time, you still think I’m going to run off with any idiot in pants who looks my way. In fact, I’m willing to bet you think Tom’s going to be my first stop when I get up north, don’t you? You probably figure I’m going to try out all those moves you taught me in your bed, right?” He opened his mouth, but she kept going. “God, I must have done something really awful to you, although I can’t even begin to guess what it was. You don’t even trust me enough to talk about your work.”
“What does my job have to do with this?”
“Every time I brought up what you do, you pushed me away.”
“You don’t want to know about—”
“I did. I truly did. When you came up to White Caps that night and you finally spoke to me about something in your life, I was so relieved. I thought, See, he does view me as an equal. He does trust me. But then you pulled away, shut the door, closed up.” She shook her head. “This has been one wild ride. I’ve loved you for years and the only thing that lived up to my expectations was the way you felt inside of me two nights ago. But like all dreams, that went away when I woke up.”
“You’ve loved me for years?” he said softly.
She looked away from his face, unable to bear the sight of him.
“Yeah, stupid, isn’t it? And here’s the craziest part. When I said those words that first night we were together, guess what? I really meant them.” She laughed harshly. “But don’t worry, I’m over it. I might be dumb enough to get caught in a fantasy, but I’m not a masochist.” She jacked up her load. “So goodbye, Gray. It’s been real. Way, way too real. Oh, one more thing. I know one-nighters are your specialty, but in case you get an itch up north and start thinking of coming to find me, don’t. I don’t want to ever see you again.”
She turned around and strode across the carpet. As she left the suite, the door closed of its own volition behind her.
* * *
PENN STATION WAS FAIRLY BUSY even though it was late and Joy got a lot of funny looks as she sped along with her luggage. Even in New York, evidently, the sight of a woman in a chrome-yellow evening gown steaming through a mass transit lobby was a curiosity.
Her train was already waiting so she hiked up her dress and hightailed it down to the platform. At the far end of the line of cars, way in front by the engine, there was a uniformed ticket collector and he waved her over to him.
“You need help with all that, ma’am?” he asked as she approached.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Here, lemme get you on board.” He took her suitcase and gave her a hand up.
His casual politeness nearly undid her and he seemed surprised when her eyes welled, as if women who wore evening gowns never cried.
Stepping into the railcar, she saw there were plenty of seats available. She took one by the window, shuffling her portfolio and suitcase into the space on the floor with the porter’s help. She eyed the bathroom, which was only four rows away. Tissues were going to play an important role on the trip home and it was good to know she was close to a ready supply.
With a whistle and a lurch, the train started to move.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Sure enough, the tears started to fall.
Dimly, from the platform, she heard some shouting, but she ignored the commotion as the line of cars sped up, the engine in front chugging, churning, gaining momentum as it took them toward the tunnel.
When the cars were going at quite a clip, someone said, “My God, he’s going to jump!”
Joy glanced behind her. People had stopped trying to settle their carry-ons and were looking out the windows. With little interest, she turned to the glass.
There was a man running by the side of the train, tie flapping behind him. He was yelling something.
My God, was it—
“Gray?”
She shot out of her seat. Just as he took a leap into the air.
“Gray!” she screamed.
* * *
FEET DON’T FAIL ME NOW, Gray thought as he hurled his body toward the open doorway of the last car.
In midair, he eyed the train wheels below and then glanced up at the fast-approaching entrance to the tunnel.
Now there were two great choices. Sliced in half or flat as a pancake.
Fortunately his trajectory and speed had been right, but as he sailed through the doorway, the leather soles of his wing tips slid on the metal flooring. He grabbed onto a hand bar to keep from shooting out the other side.
As soon as he had his footing, he started running down the aisle, scanning the passengers. People leaped out of his way, magazines flying, pocketbooks exploding from hands, luggage being dropped.
Far, far down the way, through the open doors of many cars, he saw Joy’s bright yellow dress. She was jumping out of her seat, looking at him with horror.
“We’re not finished,” he shouted, tearing down the train toward her. “Joy! We’re not finished, you and I!”
When he finally reached her, he careened to a stop, panting for breath, holding on to the top of seats to steady himself.
“We’re…not…finished.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed!”
A porter came up to them. “Sir, I’m going to have to—”
Gray shoved his hand into his pocket. “Here’s… my…ticket.”
The porter looked at the thing as if it might have been in a different language. Clearly, the guy hadn’t seen too many passengers board on a wing and a prayer.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the porter said. “Is this man bothering you? Ma’am?”
Joy shook her head, but more as if she were mourning Gray’s lack of mental health than answering the guy’s question. She opened her mouth.
“I love you,” Gray said.
Her face shot up to his, her lovely hair spilling back. “What?”
“I love you! Joy Moorehouse, I love you!” he bellowed.
Joy stared at him. And so did the woman sitting in the row of seats behind her. And the man across the aisle. Actually, pretty much all of the people on the train were focused on him.
The porter smiled. “Um, ma’am?”
“No, he’s not bothering me. But he’s nuts.” She grabbed Gray’s arm and tugged him down so they were sitting together. “What are you—”
He took her face into his hands and kissed her fiercely. “I love you. And I’m praying that I’m not too late.”
She pulled back, dazed. “I don’t understand.”
He took her hands in his and squeezed. “How long is this train ride?”
“Uh, three hours.”
“Good. I’ve got a lot of talking I need to do.”
* * *
BY THE TIME THEY WERE just outside of Albany, Joy stopped believing it was a dream. Gray told her about everything. His mother. His father. His childhood.
“And that’s why, the night I drove up to see you,” he said, “I pulled away like I did. I promised myself that I’d never be like Papa, but there I was, traveling three hundred miles out of my way, just to see you. Even though I knew you weren’t like my mother, I got burned so badly trying to keep my parents together that letting myself go, letting myself fall for you, it just didn’t feel safe. I panicked.”
He stroked her hair, his eyes tender. “Joy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put you through hell and that it took me so long to get my act together. You’ve never done one thing to justify my mistrust.” He took a deep breath and dragged his hand through his hair. He’d been doing that a lot and now the dark waves were sticking up willy-nilly, at odds with his tailored, sophisticated clothes. “After you left the suite tonight, I felt like I had a chest wound, I hurt so badly, and I just couldn’t let you leave without at least telling you how I felt. Look, I’ll understand if you’ve had it with me. I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve handled this relationship with a total lack of…finesse. Common sense. Hell, good manners. And you know what the irony is? I started out thinking I was too old for you. That’s wrong. In a lot of ways, you’re the mature one. You know how you feel. You can talk about your emotions. I’m a mess in that department. But…God…I…I love you.”
Gray stopped speaking and looked down at their hands. He’d held on to her the entire time he’d spoken and now, in his silence, he was as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him. His eyes were raw, worried, even though she had the sense he was trying to hide his desperation.
“I need to know,” he said softly. “Is it too late? Have I blown it?”
She put her fingertip under his chin and lifted his face up. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his and watched as his eyes flared.
“No, you’re not too late.”
His arms shot around her, crushing her against his chest until she couldn’t breathe. When he finally loosened his hold, she heard a sniffle and craned her neck around. The woman in the seat behind them was wiping her eyes, a sappy smile on her face.
“Now, about my job,” Gray said, growing grim again. “I’ve done some things I’m not…proud of. I didn’t want to talk about work with you because I hated being reminded of them. And frankly, I didn’t want you to know.”
In halting, slow words, he talked about John Beckin’s death and the role he believed he might have played in it. His sadness, his self-blame were hard to see.
“Oh, Gray.” She stroked his hand.
“Listen, I’ve got to be honest. I need to get out of politics. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve been disenchanted with the whole scene for a couple of years, but now, after what happened with Beckin, I just—I can’t do this. I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t do this. Which means, you understand, that I’m not going to be some big, powerful guy anymore. The President’s not going to be calling me. I’m not going to be hanging with the country’s leaders. I’m just going to be a regular schmoe—”
She put her hand over his mouth.
“No offense, Gray. But shut up.” She smiled gently. “Do you honestly think any of that matters to me? I’ll take you any way I can have you. And I’m glad you’re getting out. If your work was making you that unhappy, if it was making you do things you hated yourself for, then you need to be somewhere else.”
“But you deserve a man who’s—”
“By my side and happy in his life.”
He fell silent. “You know, maybe I can teach more at Columbia. I think I’d like being a full-time professor.” He shrugged. “But who knows. Look, I’ve got to warn you, you’re marrying an unemployed man, here.”
“Marrying? Marrying?” she stuttered.
He smiled. “Come on, you don’t think I’m ever going to let you go now, do you? I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. I want to be married to my woman. And I want to be her husband. Your husband.”
She stared at him. “You said you weren’t ever going to get—”
He kissed her. “I was wrong.”
Gray shifted his legs around and stood up. With steady hands, he straightened his tie and jacket.
And then in front of a carload of breathless strangers, he got down on one knee in the aisle.
“I don’t have a ring, but I can’t wait any longer. Joy, will you be my wife?”
As Joy clapped her hand over her mouth and started to blink fiercely, the woman sitting behind them poked her head around the seat. “Honey, if you don’t marry him, I’m gonna.”
Joy laughed and looked at the other passenger. “Sorry, but I think I’ll take him up on the offer.”
“Damn. I figured you might.” The woman winked and disappeared back into her seat.
“So, will you?” Gray asked. “Even though I haven’t done a damn thing right since we started seeing each other and even though I’m a pigheaded son of a bitch sometimes? I promise I’ll always love you. And I’ll always take care of you. And I’ll—”
“Shh.” Joy leaned over, stroking his eyebrows and his cheeks with her thumbs. God, she loved his face, his harsh, arrogant, beautiful face. She kissed his forehead and then his mouth. “Yes. I will marry you.”
In a joyous rush, the sound of clapping rippled through the car. She looked up in surprise. As the train rolled to a stop at the Albany station, the other passengers stood and cheered.
While Gray stared up at her, his pale eyes shining through dark lashes, Joy couldn’t believe what had happened. What was happening.
“Pinch me,” she whispered.
“What?”
“So I know this is real.”
Gray smiled, and pulled her down to his mouth. “How about I kiss you again, instead?”
“Even better.”
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781459230088
Copyright © 2006 by Jessica Bird
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J. R. Ward, The Player
