Playing The Field

17. Malcolm

Ice-cold water.

It’s the only thing that can shock me out of this daydream. It stings my skin as it runs down my face and chest. I’m half tempted to splash soap in my eyes for the extra burn. It’s a punishment for being stupid, for getting too close. The freezing water jolts my system and sends painful goosebumps down my legs.

“Idiot,” I mumble as the water hits me. I really am the most pathetic man.

Since seeing her this morning, practically glowing in the sun, I was done. She was in her typical coaching outfit—black collared tank top, black shorts, and bright-red tennis shoes. It had only been an hour since I saw her, and I was going through withdrawals. I’ve known Kate for over five years. We’ve gone weeks without seeing each other. But all of a sudden, I’m some pitiful lost puppy when she isn’t around. So, the moment she was in arm’s reach, I couldn’t not touch her. And now it’s all I want to do.

Even at ten o’clock at night, the Florida heat seeps through the crack of the bathroom door, warming me the moment I step out of the shower. The slicing pain of cold is just about gone. I splash one last bit of water on my face for good measure, though. I deserve it.

“What are those?” Kate’s eyes and smile are unnaturally wide as I walk out of the bathroom. She’s perched on the corner of the bed, wrapped in a hotel robe. Of course she is.

My gaze dips to the small divot of her collarbone and trails over the tiny, but extremely visible, part of her shoulder uncovered by the robe. Her creamy, olive skin torments me.

“Malcolm?” she asks again, and I blink back to her face, responding with a grunt. “What. Are. You. Wearing?” I picture her words like her texts, intentional punctuations for dramatic effect.

“Pajamas?” I deadpan.

“Yes, but…” She giggles at me when I cross my arms at her. “Why do they have little pigs on them?” She bites her lip, and it’s another nail in my coffin.

Raking my hands through my wet hair, I ignore her laughs. “These are very manly and very comfortable pajamas. And they were a gift, so hush.”

I’ve always been a man of discipline. I had to be. Being in the military forces you to build up a tank of perseverance, enduring whatever is thrown your way. But my reserve is depleting little by little every time Kate looks at me that way. Her brown eyes twinkle as she stares at my pants, gnawing at her lip. I imagine releasing it from her teeth with a gentle tug of my thumb, and it sends a twitch up my hand.

“Oh my gosh, are those the ones from Aunt Edna?” She cackles, answering her own question. Yes, my light-blue fleece pajama pants, with little piglets dancing in all directions, are from her aunt. They are obscene to look at but surprisingly comfortable. And they were the first gift I had received from anyone after moving to Glendale. Something about the notion stuck with me, and I have yet to part with them.

“Don’t be jealous.” I pull the covers back and climb into bed. “You wish you had pig pajamas.”

“I do, actually.” She climbs out of bed, one eye still on the pants, as she gathers her bathroom items. Walking around the bed, she stops on my side, standing over me with her items clutched against her chest. She clumsily maneuvers them to one hand, taking her free hand to feel the fabric of my pants. The tension that started in my shoulders stretches down to my calf, where she has the hem of my pants between two fingers. “They do look comfy,” she says with a wink before sauntering into the bathroom.

I collapse further into the bed and listen as she turns on the water. The sounds of zipping, rustling, and clanking happen on the other side of the door. It should distract me. It should take away this rigid pull happening inside my body. But it doesn’t. Nothing does. I feel like a bungee strap being pulled to its max. One wrong move, and I’ll snap.

“So, I wanted to ask your opinion,” she yells from the other side of the door, as if the bathroom isn’t five feet from the bed.

“Oh yeah?” I yell just as loud. I decide to distract myself with a stretch, loosen up the tension from travel and from Kate. I swing my legs off the side of the bed, landing in a squat position, twisting and letting the motion pop my spine. “You can’t pull off piggie pajamas, so don’t even ask.”

Her laugh is whimsical, flowing through the door like it can’t be contained. I close my eyes and picture the smile that happens with that sound, the brightness of her eyes and the pinching of her cheeks as she laughs again. It has me so weak my knees wobble as I transition to a hamstring stretch, almost falling over when she lets out a musical sigh to tie the sounds together. God, I am a putz.

“You believe in fate, right?” she speaks through the door again, softer this time. I don’t hear any secondary noises, as if she’s standing still, waiting for my response.

“I guess so.” I shrug, not taking the question too much to heart. Kate has always been a if the fates align type of girl, and it’s always been over the simplest of things. If the moon is full, then we’re going to have a terrible night at the game. If we can’t find a front parking spot, then we’re meant to go somewhere else first. If she doesn’t get chosen to read some early edition of a book she’s been brainwashed over, then it’s not meant to be read. I tend to go with the flow and just listen to her work these things out verbally. That’s how she processes. But there are times where she really wants my input, and most of the time, it’s already hand in hand with the conclusion she’s come to. “Why? Are you doubting the power of the universe again?” I laugh and slide to stretch my other leg.

The bathroom door creaks open as she steps out wearing a matching red pajama set that I’m assuming is silk based on how it shimmers against her skin. Dancing flamingos are scattered all over the fabric. She twirls to show off another Aunt Edna purchase then curtsies.

I give her a single thumbs up, using my other hand to prop myself up for the stretch. “She has a certain taste, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, definitely. I don’t think she owns anything that doesn’t have either a cartoon animal or some sort of inspirational quote embroidered into it.” Kate smiles at the thought of her aunt. Edna is a sixty-year-old single cat lady. Four cats and a parrot, to be exact. Living her best life, as some would say. I respect the woman.

“Sounds like Edna.” Transitioning to a back stretch, my spine cracks at least ten times as I move. I let out a groan of relief at the sound. The travel and lack of activity over the past few days are starting to make themselves known in every inch of my body. Limbo probably wasn’t the best choice. “So, what’s up? What’s with the fate talk?”

“Well…” She chews on her thumbnail, leaning against the bathroom doorway. “With the whole Eric thing…” She trails off.

Irritation settles in my core, and I have to force myself to do one of those absurd breathing exercises my therapist taught me to do when I feel any negative emotion. I try to center myself. “What about it?” I ask, already knowing where this conversation is headed.

“What if the universe is trying to tell me something?” Her voice is a timid whisper.

I finish my stretch and stand, leaning against the side of the bed and crossing my arms. “What do you think it’s trying to tell you?”

She lets out an exasperated sigh, blowing a curl out of her face. Her eyes dance around the room as she fidgets with the hem of her pajama shorts and shifts on her feet. “I don’t know…never mind, it’s stupid.” Waving off the conversation, she rushes around me and the bed, grabs a blanket off the sofa, and lets herself out onto the balcony.

She leaves the door open, an invitation clearly saying please follow me in Kate language.

Giving her a second to herself, I turn the lights down inside then join her. The warm, sticky air is surprisingly pleasant against my face as I take the empty seat. Her face is fixed on the dark ocean as small waves slowly approach the shore and disappear. The palm trees lining the pathway from the hotel move in the wind, a small whisper of a noise mixing with the waves and lulling us into a comfortable silence. Extensive silence used to be debilitating to me, triggering involuntary memories I tried to suppress. Memories of Brennan. The helicopter. The flames. Things I prayed could be extracted from my brain. But over time, the silence has become comforting, and the memories have faded or been replaced with happier ones.

Silence with Kate is rare, which is probably why I don’t struggle as much when she’s around. She keeps my mind busy, in all the good and happy ways, leaving no room for anything but that. Good and happy.

I wrap my arm around her, assuming she’s had enough time to process whatever is going on in her mind, and whisper, “Talk to me.”

She glances at me then back to the ocean, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “It’s silly.”

“I promise”—I take a breath—“I will only laugh a little bit.”

Elbowing me in the ribs, she settles into her chair and leans back into my hold. She fits perfectly in the crook of my arm—so perfectly that I want to barf at the mushy thoughts that consume me about it. Us, old and gray, and a little senile, with her nestled under my arthritic shoulder.

“What if the universe is trying to tell me something?” She shimmies herself deeper into my side, like a small creature nuzzling itself into its nest. “Look,” she continues, “I know you don’t like him. I don’t even know if I’ve forgiven him or not. But what…ugh. What if the universe is telling me to be open to it? To be open to something I didn’t expect?”

I rest my head against the paneled wood behind me, but I’d rather slam it through the wall to end this conversation before I fall victim to telling her to follow her heart, like a moron. “If it was”—I pinch the bridge of my nose—“emphasis on the if…would you want to?”

She’s silent for a moment as she ponders the question, then she exhales forcefully. Her lips flutter and distract me like it’s their superpower. “I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Like what?” I tug at one of her loose curls and place it behind her ear, my fingers trailing hesitantly down her neck before resting on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Lonely.” The admission makes her voice crack, sounding like it could break her in two as she deflates under me. “I know that’s pathetic, but I am. I’m so happy for Ellie and Benny. Emma and Steven. Even freaking Bill and Margaret.” She lets out a whine, burying her face into my chest.

Yes, Bill and Margaret are officially an item—a little too much fun punch at the Halloween party. Margaret was hysterically happy for weeks, acting like she had just won the lottery. With Bill. The man who wears a toupée to church on Sundays. I’m still wrapping my head around it.

“Like, I know I have you. I have Lola. And our kids. Life is great in almost every aspect. But at the end of the day, I’m alone. I’m ready to share my time with someone, to have that person who understands me more than anyone, who doesn’t mind just sitting at home watching reruns of Friends until we both fall asleep on the couch.”

“We do that sometimes.” It’s a laughable attempt at casually saying pick me.

“We do.” She looks up at me, and the moonlight illuminates her face as a soft smile spreads across her face. “But you know what I mean. There’s just something about sharing a life with someone. Someone who won’t leave you for a new job or a business trip…” Trailing off again, she looks back out over the balcony, her face changing from relaxed to tense before finally landing on flat and empty. Kate doesn’t get this way often, letting her memories consume her. She’s been burned too many times in the past—by her parents, by Eric. It’s the biggest reason I’ve never pressed the idea of being more than her friend. I couldn’t risk being one of the reasons she feels the way she does. And I sure as hell won’t be lumped in with the people who have left her feeling this way. Empty.

Smoothing her hair under my chin, I tug her closer and wrap both of my arms around her. “I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. I hate that she feels this way. And selfishly, I hate it even more when I’m right here. My jaw pops from clenching so hard at the thought of it. “I don’t want you to feel this way.” I kiss the top of her head, which is normal because I’ve done it a thousand times. And then, because I have lost all control, I take a deep inhale and smell her hair. The lavender hits me like a brick, pulling a soft moan out of me like I’m taking a drag of something addicting. “Ugh, your hair is distracting.”

Giggling, Kate sits up and turns to face me. The emptiness in her eyes is gone as she smirks, tousling her hair in my direction. She flips it back and forth dramatically, like she’s auditioning for a 90’s shampoo commercial. “You’re obsessed.”

I don’t argue because maybe I am. I just shrug and settle deeper into the chair, pulling a leg over my knee.

The momentary silence is broken when she asks, “Are you lonely?”

“I don’t have time to be lonely,” I joke. It’s a partial truth. My time is split evenly between the school, the field, Kate, and the animals. Any spare time I have is spent recharging from expending so much social energy elsewhere. But the other side of that truth is…yes, I feel lonely sometimes. I’m lonely at night when my mind wanders back to the desert or to Brennan. Or when I get the once-a-quarter text check-in from my mother. More than that, I’m lonely when I’m not with Kate. I”m a miserable man when I’m not around her. Kate crosses her arms, clearly unamused by my answer, so I say, “I can be, yes.”

“Is that why you beg me to stay with you past your bedtime?” she jokes playfully.

“I do not beg.” I lift my chin like the distinguished gentleman I am. “I simply present it as an option, and you comply rather quickly.”

Kate lets out a belly laugh that echoes out toward the beach. “You practically grovel at my feet the moment I head for the door. ‘Stay, Kate. Don’t go, Kate,’” she says, a poor attempt at mimicking as she clasps her hands together at her chest.

“You could easily leave, no problem. You, ma’am, only have yourself to blame.” Her cheeks pinch at the small bit of Southern accent I let slip out. She gives me a heck of a time any chance she gets when the Texas twang slips out. But she has two accents: her wannabe-Southern Oklahoma accent, as she calls it, and the feisty Filipino accent that happens when she bickers with her aunts and uncles.

Wrapping the blanket tightly around her, she rests her head against her raised knees and settles her eyes on my hands resting on my chest. Her blinks are slow but focused, sleep beckoning her as we sit. “I’m sorry you feel lonely too.”

Tilting my head toward her, I smile. “I don’t feel lonely right now.”

Her sleepy eyes brighten as a smile stretches across her face—a beautiful, unabashed smile—as she shyly asks, “Really?”

“I’m never lonely with you, Kate.”

She closes her eyes and gives a hum in response, the smile still firmly in place.

“You know…” My words stretch as I sprawl my legs out and roll my neck, easing the tension in my joints. “I could spend every moment with you, and that’s all I’d ever need,” I say matter-of-factly, like I’m telling her the time, keeping my gaze fixed on the black sky ahead.

A beat of silence passes before I look back to her for a response. Her head is cocked at an unnatural angle as she stares at me, still hugging her knees. Her smile has been replaced with the classic deer-in-headlights face.

“What?” I ask, concerned about the immovable expression she’s giving me.

“Every moment.” Her words are robotic, like it’s a statement she is still processing.

I replay what I said, realizing how crazy it must sound to her. Every moment with her. Slow your roll, Geer. Sitting up, I run my hand down my face and smooth out my beard. I twist uncomfortably in my seat, the words weighing me down like they come with their own gravitational pull. I roll my neck and arch my back, fighting the tightness moving all over me.

You said it, Malcolm. You can’t take it back.

“Look, I just…” I groan and drop my head. Kate hasn’t moved from her perched position. Taking a deep breath, I face the music. “I’m just saying that I’m not lonely when I’m with you. I’m actually happy. And I guess if spending time with you is what makes me feel this way, then I don’t want to stop doing it.” Giving another shrug, I lean over and rest my arms on my knees. I’ve never been one to lie. But I’ve also never been one to throw my feelings out there like they’re candy at a parade. I just did both—withheld the full truth while simultaneously telling her how I feel about her.

What is wrong with me?

My common sense is shriveling up like a prune from the lack of routine and reality since being here. We’re here for work, but my brain isn’t registering. It must be operating under some vacation-mode umbrella. That is the only explanation for my erratic actions lately.

Kate clears her throat—the first noise she’s made in about five minutes—adjusting herself in the chair to a more relaxed position. “You know I feel the same way, right?”

It’s a whisper, but it hits my ears like a siren.

Some instinctive part of me is triggered by her words, and the smile she gives with them, like it’s only meant for me. Without hesitation, I pull her blanket back and take her hand. I could shake it. I could just hold it. But no, I take her small, delicate hand and press it against my chest, covering it with mine. For some reason, right now, I need her to feel my heart stutter at her touch. I need her to feel my shaky breath as she rubs her thumb across my sternum. I need her to believe me when I tell her that I’m not lonely when I’m with her. That I am the happiest I have ever been, and it’s because of her.

I keep our hands firmly against my chest as I lean closer to her, cataloging each intricately woven detail. The pink in her cheeks is more prominent the closer I get, the small freckle just underneath her nose is clearer, and the parting of her lips is evident when we’re inches apart.

My throat bobs, and a gust of wind blows her hair in my direction, the lavender intoxicating. “Kate…” I hesitate.

“Yes?” Her warm breath hits my lips as her dark eyes dance all over my face.

“I”ve been wanting to—”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I’m interrupted by a blaring alarm and flashing lights from inside our hotel room.

“Is that the fire alarm?” Kate’s yell is muffled by the constant screech overhead.

I nod, knowing full well my words won’t be heard over the noise, and pull her behind me as we race out of the room. Piggy pajamas are on full display as we rush down the stairwell. The sound is jarring the entire way, sending a creeping ripple of distress up my spine as we make it out of the lobby.

Just about everyone and their dog tumbles out of the doors like their lives depend on it. We find our group, and I immediately do a head count. “Where is Johnson?” I snap at the guys.

“Over here,” Devon groans, lounging on an outside bench by the street. His arms are slung over his face. He looks like hell.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kate asks.

“Sleeping beauty gets cranky when he’s awoken.” Travis chuckles, leaning against one of the palm trees that welcome us to the front of the hotel. The rest of the group laughs as Devon moans and rolls onto his side, leaving no room for anyone else to sit as he takes up the entire bench.

The alarms continue inside as the staff starts to file out of the hotel. Multiple fire trucks and law enforcement pull up, exiting their vehicles with purpose. I hear the girls whisper to each other, commenting on the different firefighters, comparing them, and pointing out the “cute ones.” If I roll my eyes any harder, they will roll out of my head and roll across the ground, which might not be a bad thing. Maybe it would shut them up about the “arms on that one.”

“I’m sure you were just as passionate as a teenager,” Kate whispers to me, giggling at the irritation plastered on my face. “Just be patient with them. They’ll grow out of it.” She beams at the girls, probably thinking their heart eyes are adorable or something ridiculous.

“These teenage hormones are a plague to the inner well of my patience,” I grumble to her.

Kate lets out an exuberant laugh that lights up her face and startles the peanut gallery from their creepy ogling. Her eyes gleam under the streetlamps that line the parking lot as she grabs onto my arm, laughter rolling out of her in a rush, leaving her out of breath. When she bends at the waist, I have a deja vu moment.

The mistletoe.

The same bashful glee from that night overtakes her. This tends to happen when she’s starstruck, like when she met Kevin Jonas at a concert a few years ago. Her entire demeanor becomes giddy and exposed, which usually results in her responding hysterically, like she can’t believe what is happening to her.

It’s adorable.

And it’s never happened with me. Until the mistletoe. Now it’s happening again, and I can’t help but hope it’s because I’m the one making her giddy. I can’t fight the smile that stretches across my face as she clings to my arm, sheer joy pouring out of her.

“You guys seem to be having too much fun over here.”

Thatvoice.

My back goes taut, and Kate goes quiet as Eric approaches us.

“Usually, a fire alarm results in fear or anxiety, not belly laughs,” he speaks again.

I clench my jaw so hard it threatens to snap in two, which might go in my favor, because then Kate can rush me to the hospital and not let go of my arm to go talk to her ex like she’s doing right now.

“Have to have fun somehow,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. He eyes her pajamas, giving her a slow smile that makes me want to hang him by his toes from the top of the palm tree hovering above us.

“Well, lucky for you guys, it was a false alarm,” Eric says to the group, and a few heads look up at him, uninterested. “Someone thought pulling the alarm would make for a good prank.” He laughs, and I want to rip my ears off.

“It wouldn’t be camp without the kids trying something,” she jokes.

The sirens and alarms shut off simultaneously with the firefighters giving the crowd of guests a thumbs up to go back inside. Our group scurries inside, but Kate and Eric don’t budge, feet firmly planted as they continue talking.

Instead of sticking around to hear their poor attempts at chit-chat, I graze my hand across Kate’s back and turn back toward the hotel, only acknowledging them with a wave over my shoulder.

I let the echoes of the alarms drown out my thoughts as I make my way back to the room. I see Kate’s phone still sitting on the bed and send her a text.

Sleeping on the couch tonight. You hogged the covers last night ;)

I move the coffee table so it’s out of reach and cocoon myself securely in a blanket, fully preparing myself for a nightmare. Knowing the chaos from the evening is trigger enough, I sabotage myself even more by letting the overstimulation of my brain fuse with the overstimulation of my body and fall asleep replaying what happened on the balcony.

Or…almost happened.