Hail Mary (22 page)

Michael told her about the offer and begged her to sign off on it.

Surprisingly, she did.

“And off I went to Catholic Central in Dallas.”

“What was that like?” Mary prompted.

“Completely different. Huge campus. I think there were five thousand students when I went there. We had dormitories, like college. I had a roommate named Eli Blakemore. Nice guy who was into science. I arrived there via the bus with Sue Ellen’s last fifty dollars.” It had been a complete relief when he discovered Catholic Central required uniforms. Michael possessed one pair of jeans, one pair of khakis, one blue shirt and work-out clothes including cleats, pads and a game book he’d hidden from Don. “Central had a great reputation and produced a lot of football players. Wisconsin recruited me and I think you know the rest.”

A shudder rolled through Michael’s body. “After my father found out my mother had signed the permission slip and I was most likely never coming back, he killed her and then killed himself. I learned about it two days after I arrived at Central.”

The relief he felt by unburdening himself completely for the first time in his life was a gift. It was as though a weight he hadn’t ever realized he’d been bearing had been lifted by sharing with Mary. No wonder people got married. It was intoxicating to think you could be completely open, completely honest, and someone could still love you for it. Know every single transgression, every hurt, every shitty memory and still want to be with you.

“Mary?”

“Yes?”

“Did you mean what you said earlier? In the kitchen?” God, he wanted it to be true. Needed it to be true.

Mary smiled. “Of course. I never say anything I don’t mean.”

“You think you could say it again?” He wanted to hear her repeat the words now, needed to hear them, needed to be reassured she was not going to retract them, and hightail it out of bed, out of the condo, and away from him.

“I think I can arrange that.”

Mary rolled over and straddled him and placed her hands on his chest.

“Michael Santiago, I love you.”

“Oh God, Mary. Say it again,” he groaned.

This time, she emphasized her words with soft, butterfly kisses, up and down his jaw. “I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss.

His cock hardened beneath her as she continued kissing his jaw before returning to his mouth. As her tongue plunged inside and played with his, she rubbed her breasts against his chest.

“Hold on a second,” she crooned to him, swinging her legs over him and off the bed when he grabbed her hands.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I have to grab a condom for us,” she responded.

“You sure you’re protected?”

Mary nodded her head.

“I’m clean. Safe. We get tested every year at the beginning of the season. If you’re still willing to not use one. If you don’t want to. Your call.”

Moving back towards the bed, Mary climbed up on top of him and looked down. “I’ve never been as sure of anything in my life,” she stated, the solemn tone making it more of a vow and less of a reflection. Michael raised his back off the bed and cradled her head between his hands, taking her lips in his and telling her with action what he couldn’t yet utter from his lips.

~ * ~ * ~

Mary always knew there was something traumatic in Michael’s background. Something to account for his innate wariness of the world and people around him. Some reason as to why he was such an old soul when she first began tutoring him at Wisconsin. She’d discovered exactly why tonight.

“Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Mary?”

“Yes?”

“Are you scared of me, now? Knowing what you know?”

“What? Why would I ever be scared of you?”

His shame came through his quiet words.

“Because of where I come from, who my father was. Who my parents were.”

“Oh, Michael.” She moved her hands up from his to rest on his face, tracing his nose, his lips, his cheekbones. “Based on what you said, I think your only legacy from your parents is their genes. Nothing else. You are nothing like them. Do you understand me?”

“You don’t think if we ever get into a fight, I’ll haul off and hit you?”

“Have you ever hit a woman in your life?”

“No. But I’m genetically disposed to.”

“No. You. Are. Not.”

In the room, looking at him, thinking of everything he’d been through, she melted. He’d never had a loving, nurturing base that would have explained to him how the world should be, how to form relationships, and how to trust people. How to trust women. And now he was trusting her, completely and absolutely. A rush of tenderness coursed through her. She wanted to love him for forever, show him how the world was supposed to be, how relationships were supposed to be. But she’d have to be content with baby steps in whatever way Michael was receptive to.

~ * ~ * ~

The sun was filtering through the shades in his bedroom when Mary opened her eyes, snuggling deeper into the pillow and considered for the first time ever, taking a personal day. After the events of the prior night, she just wanted to
be
with Michael. Hold him close all day long, telling him repeatedly she loved him, how much she loved him and reassure him there was nothing he could say or do that would change her feelings. She was as sure of Michael and of Michael and her as she was of anything in her life. Appearing at peace in his sleep, Michael now laid beside her on his stomach. Knowing what she needed to do, she moved the comforter down and revealed Michael’s back, covered in angry red scars. There was not a single inch his monster of a father hadn’t marked. Mary moved through the sheets and began her repair work, kissing each and every single scar, hoping when he woke up, he didn’t freak out since she was sure this was the first time anyone would have touched his back in anything other than a violent, sadistic manner. Mary rested her right hand on his waist while her kisses peppered his back, tracing her own patterns to make sure no mark was left untouched.

He groaned in his sleep and flexed his back as she continued, the strong muscles rippling in response. After several minutes, she knew exactly when he woke up as his entire body stiffened, and he grabbed her right hand with his.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, his morning voice husky from sleep and slightly muffled by his pillow.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” she responded, moving down his back to lick and kiss some of the longer scars raised up and off his skin.

“Mary, you don’t have to do this,” he croaked, remaining on his side, not looking at her. Not wanting to reveal himself to her.

“I don’t have to do anything, Michael, I don’t want to do,” she reminded him, as she used her kisses to try and ease the place deep in his soul.

“I think you’re beautiful, Michael. Every part of you is beautiful and every part deserves to be touched. And touched with love.” Mary placed her lips on every single upraised piece of skin on Michael’s back--every sharp one, every indentation.

With every brush of her lips she wanted to shred every last defense of Michael’s, internally and externally, letting him trust through her actions she would accept every part of him and nothing less. Beneath her lips, Michael’s body stiffened repeatedly, until he completely relaxed as though each kiss peeled away another layer to his soul.

Abruptly he flipped over, landing on top of her and penetrating her in a single, loving thrust. She received him gratefully and kept her eyes locked on his the whole time, unwilling to break contact for a second, unwilling to miss the communion of the moment. This was what life was all about. The connection with a person who represented the other part of you, the better part of you, the
best
part of you. When she began this morning, she believed that Michael was the only one who needed to understand that, but she was learning the depths of love, too.

~ * ~ * ~

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he later stated, holding Mary in his arms.

Since they’d begun sleeping together, for the first time that night he’d slept on his side, no longer worried Mary would wake up before he did and freak out. She didn’t. He had been correct to trust her with his darkest secret. His woman was strong and stable. Now he had to trust her again. Be truthful with the rest he held close to his chest.

“I’m listening.”

“You’ve probably noticed I’m not exactly great boyfriend material.”

“I’d beg to differ.”

Her smile spread against his chest as he hugged her tighter. “Of course you would. But before you, I hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost six years.”

She relaxed against him, silent, waiting. He was thankful for her instinct, recognizing this confession was important and knowing he needed her support more than any commentary.

“During college, I started dating a girl named Tracey Burns.” Tracey had been blonde, stacked, and interested; an anomaly as far as Michael was concerned. Women generally ignored him, both during high school and later at Wisconsin. Despite his good looks, strong body, and smart mind, his ever-present air of “fuck you and fuck off,” was not attractive to most females, but Tracey had pursued him relentlessly anyway. Whenever he left his classes, she was right outside the building, waiting for him. She asked him out repeatedly until he finally said yes.

“When we started fucking,” Michael swallowed, “Tracey told me she was on the pill, but I insisted we use rubbers anyway. The winter of our senior year, she showed up at my apartment and told me she was pregnant. I was shocked, fearful, and confused since we’d been careful. I had never considered having kids, but Tracey wanted to keep the baby so we decided to get married.”

Michael had taken his modest savings he’d earned at his various jobs in high school and college and bought the best diamond he could afford.

“We agreed to get married quickly and look for a short-term rental we could both move into for the rest of the semester. The baby was due in August and by then, we’d know where I was going to end up and we’d move there.

“In March, I went to Tracey’s house after I’d finished a workout to tell her it looked like I would most likely be drafted by San Diego or Portland. No one answered the door, so I went to the back where I overheard her talking to her roommate Jenny.

“I can’t believe he hasn’t figured it out yet,” Jenny stated.

“He won’t. Michael’s gifts aren’t in his head. We’ll be married next week. I’ll ‘miscarry’ sometime later, and then all I need to do is hold on until he signs his professional contract.”

“Tracey played me. She was never pregnant, had no intention of ever getting pregnant, and was only with me because I was a hot prospective draft selection.”

Mary’s body became agitated nestled along his. She partially sat up and looked at him when she spoke. “Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Please.”

“Tracey sucked.”

He laughed, drew her down for another kiss, and promptly spent the remaining hours showing her without words how much he adored her.

Chapter 17

One Friday morning in mid-November, Calleigh glided in, looking as though she was powered by air, her color high, her eyes sparkling like freshly cut grass. She was wrapped up in a dark red sweater dress and knee-high black boots designed to ward off the November chill permeating Walker’s thin walls. She was practically bouncing, her happiness a sheer cloud all around her.

“I have to talk to you,” she dramatically stated as she arrived at Mary’s desk.

“Good talk, bad talk, or simply talk?” Mary inquired, intrigued by whatever was on her mind.

“Good talk. Fantastic talk. Best talk of my entire life,” Calleigh responded, sipping on her morning latte, smiling as wide as the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Does happy hour at Por Que No after class today work?” Mary asked. Earlier that morning, Mary had realized she could not cave to her inner desire to remain with Michael all day, but she planned to spend the night with him. They were rendezvousing at her apartment tonight, but not until seven, which would allow her and Calleigh plenty of time to down some drinks and chat about what was responsible for the spring in Calleigh’s step. Or the who, as Mary suspected.

“Uhhh, sorry, after school won’t work,” Calleigh apologized.

“How about tomorrow? Breakfast? Lunch?”

“Lunch sounds good,” Mary said, beginning to tidy up her desk as she and Calleigh settled on Besaw’s at noon.

~ * ~ * ~

The Northwest 23
rd
eatery on the corner of Savier and Twenty-Third Avenue was bustling when Mary and Calleigh strolled in the following day. Every bar stool was occupied, every table full to capacity. Luckily, since they were a simple two-top, they only had to wait ten minutes before being seated.

“What’s up?” Mary prompted. Calleigh looked as happy as Mary had ever seen her. Happier, in fact, her joy a tangible pull that was drawing looks from all of the restaurant’s patrons.

“Oh my gosh. I don’t know where to start,” Calleigh gushed.

“The beginning’s usually a good a place as any. But before we reach the details, can you give me one minor hint as to what or who this is about?”

Calleigh smiled at her, but remained silent.

“You going to make me guess?” Mary teased, sharing her happiness.

“You can guess if you want to,” Calleigh responded, her eyes laughing at Mary.

“Well, it can’t have anything to do with Lauren because she generally drives you crazy.”

“Nope. Not Mamacita.”

“As much as you enjoy your job and your students, I’d know if there was anything to do with their latest test results. And even then, I’m not sure you would have called a special weekend lunch-time session to discuss.”

“Nope. Not about my classes. Not about my students.”

“That leaves men. You got a new man in your life I don’t know about?”

“Oh, you know about him.”

Mary looked at her, blinking her eyes as she began to suspect exactly who this was all about. Hoping against hope she was wrong.

“Please tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with David Shalvington.”