The Will(77)

I held my breath as he wrapped a long maroon wool knit scarf around my neck and tied it at my throat, doing this murmuring, “Gotta keep my girl warm.”

His girl.

Oh, how I wished.

The night was chill and overcast and Jake had remembered my scarf that morning we had breakfast at The Shack.

Oh yes.

How I wished.

Even though the scarf didn’t quite match my outfit.

I was forcing myself to breathe when he lifted his eyes to mine as he lifted a hand to my jaw and informed me, “Lydie knitted that for me three Christmases ago.”

Gran had made it for him.

The soft wool at my neck got warmer and instantly I felt my eyes get wet.

I said nothing mostly because I couldn’t.

Jake didn’t miss it and I knew it when he bent slightly toward me and stated, “Looks good on you, baby. But it bein’ from Lydie, I’ll want to keep it close.”

I nodded and forced out, “Of course.”

His smile was slight—it simply tipped up his lips and softened his eyes.

But it was beautiful.

So beautiful, I leaned into him. When I did, his eyes changed completely. They went from soft and warm to intense and something else.

Something that looked darker.

Heated.

Even more beautiful.

I was trying to understand that reaction when Ethan broke the moment, crying loudly, “Dad! There’s Josh and Bryant! Can I hang with them?”

For a moment, Jake’s gaze held mine captive even as the pads of his fingers dug into my jaw.

Then he unfortunately dropped his hand and turned to his son.

“Not out of my sight, bud,” he ordered.

“Got it,” Ethan confirmed, jumped on the empty bench in front of us and dashed along it to the steps. He raced down the steps to two boys who were standing by the fence by the field.

“Sit, Slick,” Jake invited.

I looked from Ethan to him and I sat.

He sat next to me, curved an arm around my waist and pulled me the mere inches that separated us so that we were hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

Oh.

My.

I took in a trembling breath and looked about the space.

The field was bare as were the player’s benches. The away crowd bleachers were filling up fast but not as fast as the home crowd’s section around us. There was a lot of yellow and blue, which I knew were the school colors.

I saw the cheerleaders milling about behind the team bench, preparing for their work that evening. The air was very chilly and the spectators were suited up to battle the chill in hats, scarves, heavy parkas and jackets and even gloves. And there were many children and young adults about, the young adults not nearly as prepared to face the cold evening, as it was clear they preferred their peers to see their fashion selections and not to cover them with heavy coats that would keep them warm.

It was then it occurred to me that the last sporting event I attended was a football game at my own high school decades ago.

And it also occurred to me that back then for a brief period of time, I’d loved football.

My clandestine boyfriend Andy played thus I never missed a game. I never even missed a play. I was enthralled by watching him on the field. And I looked forward every Friday night to going to the game with my girlfriends, watching my boyfriend play football then sneaking in a date with him after, and after that, sneaking in kissing him for as long as we could do it before it became too dangerous to continue and we’d have to stop so I could get home.

I’d been happy then.

I’d been normal then.

I didn’t have to pretend.

I had it all.

And then my father took it all away.

“You good?”

Jake’s voice pulled me from my maudlin thoughts and I looked to hm.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Warm enough?” he went on.

“Indeed, Jake.” I quieted my voice when I said with feeling, “Thank you for the scarf.”

I got the slight smile with soft eyes before he carried on, “Can you see okay?”

He was so very kind, considerate…amazing.

I nodded.

“Good,” he murmured, looking to the field and giving me a squeeze, which pressed me even deeper to his side.

I wanted to keep pretending. I really did. And how I wanted to do that was to press even closer. Put my head on his shoulder. Wrap my arm around his back and hold him to me too. Even wrap both my arms around him, stomach and back, keeping him close.

But I couldn’t keep pretending.

And further, I had to find a restroom.

“Before things start, I need to use the facilities,” I told his profile and got his eyes, which were now not softly smiling but openly doing it, as was his mouth.

“Right, Slick. The facilities are behind the concession stand, south end of the field,” he informed me, tipping his head to the left.

“Thanks, Jake,” I murmured. “I’ll be back.”

“You got time. Game doesn’t start for fifteen minutes,” he told me as I stood but he carried on. “Sayin’ that, hurry.”

I looked down at him to see him looking in the vicinity of my behind in my jeans exposed by my gray suede jacket before his eyes drifted up and caught mine and they were still smiling.

“I’ll hurry,” I assured him then I did just that.