He went back to the clubhouse first, showered and put on clean clothes, his cut. It was nearly eight by then, but when he fired off a text, Jazz answered right away, telling him he could come over if he wanted.
He spent the ride to her condo trying to come up with something suitable to say, but felt no closer to the right words by the time he reached her welcome mat. He debated a moment, staring at the fresh paint of the door, the wreath of twigs and silk, spring flowers. He was sad, and he was full of regret – regret that he might be about to hurt her. That he’d wasted her time these last few years. But he didn’t feel a loss hovering. Deep down, he knew this was the right thing. He hadn’t been happy, and it hadn’t been Jazz’s fault, not at all – but sometimes, letting go was the best thing you could do.
He took a deep breath, and knocked.
He never knew what he’d find Jazz wearing when he turned up on her doorstep. Usually something slinky; sometimes a mini dress, sometimes cutoffs or tight jeans and a halter top. Sometimes nothing but a filmy scrap of a robe, and always a smile. He was expecting something similar tonight, and was already steeling himself not to get lost in looking, when the door opened, and he was hit with a blast of surprise.
Jazz stood in the entryway wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with a modest scooped neckline. Her honey hair was piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’d already washed her face, her skin clean and scrubbed pink, makeup free.
He’d never seen her so casual.
“Hey, baby boy,” she greeted, her smile soft, her voice affectionate and warm – but not at all suggestive. “Come on in.”
“Hey,” he echoed, belatedly, wiped his boots, and stepped inside.
The TV was on in the living room, some sort of reality show where women with lots of makeup and hair extensions screamed at one another. Jazz grabbed the remote and thumbed the volume down low. “You want something to drink?” She gestured to the half-finished glass of wine on the coffee table.
“No, thanks.”
They settled in side-by-side, plenty of space between them, and that in and of itself felt like a domino tipping over; the start of the chain reaction. Jazz drew her bare feet up beneath her, propped an arm on the back of the couch, and angled her upper body toward him, expression open, soft, ready.
“What’s up?”
Carter realized he’d linked his fingers together and was worrying them. He unlaced them, and smoothed his hands down his denim-covered thighs. His skin itched, too warm beneath his clothes, and his stomach jumped.
“You smell nice. Where you been tonight?” she asked, without any hint of accusation. She wasn’t the jealous type, and didn’t look like that was about to change in the next few minutes.
Carter let out a deep breath, and relaxed down into the cushions a fraction. “I was out at the park earlier,” he said. “I’ve actually, uh, been working with the varsity quarterback at the high school. Helping him with his long passes.”
“Really?” She perked upright, her smile widening. “Did you meet him over at the school? Waiting for me?”
“Yeah.” He had no reason to blush – it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong – but he felt his cheeks warm, regardless. “I watched them practicing, and when I offered to help him out, he said yes.”
“He getting better?”
“He already had all the natural talent; he had the range. But he’s more accurate, yeah.” He couldn’t keep the tinge of pride from his voice.
“Well that’s great, baby.” She slapped him lightly on the arm, chuckling. “Good for you! You big sweetheart.”
“Oh, I’m not–”
“Yes, you are.” She nodded, sagely. “The sweetest. You like helping people. It makes you happy.”
He shrugged.
“You helped me, when we first got together. You came running to my rescue.”
He sent her a skeptical look. “Oh no, I saved you from getting dicked down by Candyman,” he deadpanned. “Some hero.”
Her expression turned serious, smile fading. Softly, she said, “I didn’t want anything to do with Candy that night. And I don’t take him for the violent sort, but he wasn’t listening real well. I didn’t want–” She took an unsteady breath. “I didn’t want things to get ugly. You saw that I didn’t want to be there in that spot. You stepped in. That was a help.You’rea help. You’ve never pushed me for anything, and let me tell you, that’s a damn rare thing in this life most of the time.”
Guilt washed over him, sudden, unexpected. Settled in his belly like cold water. She trusted him; he’d never frightened her, or pushed her, or forced her. And here he’d come to tell her that he wanted them to draw new lines around their relationship. How could he do that to her? How, after all this time, and what they’d both been through? Life had dealt both of them shit hands, but they’d found a little comfort with each other. And to turn away from that – to stop being a help – all for a rush of childish emotions and a few locked gazes. He…
“Carter.” She said his name so rarely that the sound of it on her lips was startling. As was the hand she laid on his arm. She scooted closer, caught his eyes, and offered him a look that was peaceful, unbothered. Almost encouraging. “It’s alright, honey.”
“What is?” A tremor moved down his spine.
She smiled. “I know what you came to tell me.”
