Christie Road

A moment--an eternity--later, their lips parted, and her eyes opened slowly. He lingered close, his warm breath like a caress on her cheek, his pulse drumming under her touch.

"Billie, I--" she said hesitantly.

"I shouldn't have--" he began.

They spoke at once, the words tumbling out in a rush, and he lowered his head for a moment, chuckling at the nervousness in both their voices. "We sound like we're in middle school again, don't we?" he said, his eyes crinkling with the crooked grin that turned her knees to pudding.

She laid her fist lightly against her mouth, afraid to speak, afraid that she might shatter this fragile moment with the wrong words.

"Jazz, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," he said, searching her face for a clue. "If I did, I'm really sorry. I--I just kind of got carried away--"

She interrupted him with one finger on his lips. "Please, Billie, whatever you do right now, please don't say that you're sorry. Say anything but that." Her fingertip trailed down to his chin, then brushed the underside of his jaw. "If you only knew..."

She expected to find herself looking away, unable to bear the thought of his seeing into her heart, the secret she had tried so hard to hide for so many years, from him, even from herself. But his eyes were so gentle and kind, and he was smiling that wonderful, charming smile, and her fear disappeared like smoke as she realized there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

"If I only knew what?" he whispered, kissing her palm. "There's nothing you can't tell me, Jazz. Trust me."

"This--" she said, her hand fluttering between them, "it's almost too much."

He drew back slightly and hung his head, instantly regretful. "I did go too far. I--"

"You don't understand." She laughed softly, shaking her head. She could hardly believe she was telling him at last, opening that secret box that had been her heart. "Ever since I first met you, as long as I've known you, I've wished for this to happen. I know that probably sounds stupid, and I know that if I had ever told you, you'd have laughed at me for having such a crush on you. But it's not just a crush anymore, you know?. You're the only one who's ever been there for me, who ever stood up for me and made me feel like someone special. You're the one person I've ever trusted and wanted to be close to. You're the only one, Billie."

He tried to speak, but her words were like heroin, rushing through him and making him cold and hot at the same time. The only one, she had said. Could she have meant what he hoped she did? He was afraid to think so, afraid he had misunderstood her.

"I know I'm not the only one who realizes what an incredible girl you are. You probably have a whole string of guys whose hearts are broken because you left him behind."

"No," she said simply, her eyes never leaving his. "It's always been you," she shrugged. "Always."

He was thunderstruck. She had spent her whole young life without anyone to tell her how amazing she was, to hold her and care for her, to listen to her fears and comfort her. She deserved so much more, and yet all she had wanted was him.

He gathered her into his arms, lifting her into the cradle of his lap, and pulled her tight against him. As naturally as breathing, her arms lifted to circle around him, and there she stayed as he rocked gently back and forth, humming to her in the moonlight, until she fell peacefully asleep in his embrace. There was so much he hadn't been able to do for her, but he could be here now, protecting and comforting her, and it's just where he wanted to be.

***********************

He woke to a rumbling stomach and the tantalizing smells of coffee and cinnamon. The couch was warm and cozy, but his appetite won the argument. Sliding on the jeans and tee shirt he had worn last night, he shuffled into the kitchen, where Jazz stood lifting french toast out of the skillet and onto a plate.

"For you," she said, setting the plates down on the little kitchen table. "And also for you." She pointed to a cup of coffee sitting on the table, black with sugar, just the way he liked it. He stood leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, and watched her as she moved, ivory legs smooth and taut beneath her shorts, her shining hair pulled into a ponytail that bobbed and bounced across her back.

When she crossed in front of him to reach into the drawer for spoons, he reached out and circled her waist, pulling her close to him. Without a word, he slid his fingers through the gossamer of her hair and looked down at her, a smile of utter contentment on his face. Suddenly her distracted expression softened, and when he bent to press his lips to hers, she sighed so softly against him that his heart fluttered.

Finally he forced himself to let go of her, and sank into one of the chairs. She sat down across from him with her own plate, but didn't pick up her fork. She rested her elbows on the edge of the table, and looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes.

"So did you sleep okay?" she asked, propping her chin in her hand.

"Not worth a damn," he said, fighting a grin as her eyes widened in surprise. "There you were, all snuggled up under the blankets, sleeping like a baby, and I had to go back to that big, empty sofa all by myself. Boy, some hostess you are!" he teased.

She reached across the table and slapped his hand playfully. "Honest to God, Armstrong, you have some nerve!"

"Me?" he exclaimed. "I'm the perfect gentleman!"

Her voice softened. "Yeah, I guess you are. But you didn't really have to leave, you know."

He took a sip of coffee and set the cup down, weighing his words. "You have no idea how much I love hearing you say that," he grinned. "Would I sound like a total sap if I told you I just don't want to rush you into anything?"

She smiled thoughtfully. "Maybe I like you being a sap. It makes me feel kind of special."

"But you're not," he said, a mock frown on his face.

She folded her arms, cocking one eyebrow at him.

He couldn't keep up the joke. "Jazz, you're anything in the world but 'kind of' special. I don't even know how to tell you how incredible I find you. You deserve a lot more than just being hit on. You deserve respect, and romance, and..." He trailed off, tracing the rim of his coffee cup with one fingertip.

"And?" she encouraged him playfully. "You were doing great--don't stop!"

He cleared his throat, realizing he was reddening. "I was going to say that you deserve to be seduced...but I didn't want to sound creepy." It was hard to look at her now, wondering how she would react.

Something tickled his ankle, and a foot clad in a fuzzy sock caressed his instep lightly, sliding up his calf. When he raised his head, she met his gaze, a too-innocent expression widening her eyes. She bit her bottom lip softly and tilted her head to one side, slowly inhaling as her lids lowered sensuously.

It was like electricity through his body, and he wanted nothing more than to sweep the dishes into the floor and lay her across the table, discovering each soft, yielding inch of her porcelain skin as he gave in to the desire that was burning him up. But as he watched, she began to giggle, and then covered her face, dissolving in laughter.

"God, I'm no good at this!" she gasped from behind her hands, shaking her head. "I'm such a dork!"

He caught her wrist, pulling it gently away from her face, and looked intently into her eyes. "You are beautiful, and fascinating, and intoxicating, and if you ever call yourself a dork again, I will put you on my lap and spank you!" he threatened, and when her nostrils flared ever so slightly, he wasn't sure if it was from defiance or delight.

She stared at him for a long moment, a kaleidoscope of emotions flickering in her eyes, and when she spoke, the humor had faded away, leaving her uncertain and vulnerable . "Billie," she said, her voice small as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear, "is this really happening? I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and it's going to be just another one of those dreams I used to have. If it's just a sympathy thing, you can tell me, I'll understand. But it's so hard to believe you're really here because you want to be."

"Why?" he asked, truly baffled. "Jazz, don't you realize who you are? Look at everything you've accomplished, and the person you've become. You have so much heart, so much spirit, and you're the kindest, most forgiving person I think I've ever met. You're fucking brilliant, to have finished school and still managed to survive all that time on your own. There's not a single reason I can think of that I wouldn't want to be with you!"

Her head dropped slowly, and he saw her cheeks were scarlet.

"Jazz, look at me," he said softly.

She lifted her eyes to his hesitantly, her hands falling into her lap to hide like shy kittens.

"Tell me what's bothering you," he pleaded.

"It's stupid," she said with a wave of her hand, dismissing the thought. "It's nothing. I'm just being an idiot."

Billie studied her face, watching her avoid his eyes, and he could see the shadow that passed across her expression. Wishing he could see inside her mind, he resigned himself to using words to find his way. "It's your dad, isn't it?" he finally asked, carefully, as though she were made of glass.

Her hand drifted to her mouth, and she chewed the tip of her thumb. "You probably think I'm crazy, don't you? I mean, it's not like I dwell on it a lot or anything. Being here with you, it's so amazing, like everything I ever wanted. But it brings back so many things that happened back then, and I--I keep hearing all the--all the names he used to call me, and--"

"Sssshhhh," he whispered, scooting over beside her to pull her head against his shoulder. "Jazz, it's all over. He's gone, and I promise I'll never let anyone hurt you that way again." Was it crazy to be furious at a dead man? He tried to keep his hands soft against her face, to keep them from tightening into fists.

"I know," she nodded, her arms wrapped around his waist. "But for a long time I believed him. I thought I was stupid, and clumsy, and ugly, just like he told me, and that no one would ever love me. And I always thought that's how you saw me, too. Hell, it's how I thought everyone saw me."

His mind drifted back to watch her at twelve, turning cartwheels in her yard, ponytails bobbing, dimpled cheeks pink with exertion. How could that memory be so different for them? It made him smile to think of her energy, her determination, the innocence that had survived such a ferocious onslaught.

He closed his eyes tight, pressing his lips against her hair. It was as if she'd spent her life looking into some cursed mirror, one that took her elven beauty, her moonlight eyes, and twisted them to look back at her in the guise of some hideous creature that deserved only to be beaten, humiliated and abandoned. Desperately, he searched for some way to break the glass, to let her see through his eyes.

Sliding to the floor, on his knees at her feet, he took her hands in his, kissing her fingers. "If I ever did anything to make you think that, then I'm a bastard and I'm ashamed of it. I swear to you, that's not how I've ever thought of you. Okay, when you were younger it was more of a little sister kind of thing, but God, Jazz, just look at you now... I've met so many girls, in so many places, and I've never seen one who could come close to you."

Suddenly, she flung her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. "If this is a dream, then I hope I won't ever wake up," she whispered.

"So do I," he said. "And if it's not, then I hope I never fall asleep again."