My Stubborn Heart (27 page)

“No.”

“Nearly impossible. I look back at my career and sometimes I can't believe that I managed it.” She could see tension gathering across his shoulders, near the edges of his mouth. “I can't get myself there again.”

He was being practical, and she couldn't blame him. He was also worried about failing, and she couldn't blame him for that, either. To make it so big, to fall from grace, to attempt a comeback, and to blow it would be horrible. Worse than never trying to mount a comeback in the first place.

Kate sighed. “I want to say one more thing about it, okay?”

His forehead grooved. He looked away.

“I don't know anything about hockey, but I do know a little about you. And I think you still have the talent and the determination that you had before. Will you look at me?”

Matt returned his attention to her.

She put all her feeling into her words. “I believe that you can do this.”

“Kate—”

“Matt,” she said sincerely. “Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.”

They looked at each other searchingly. She could guess how hard this was for him. His belief and optimism had been battered by life. It would take tremendous courage to overcome that and try again.

“About the other,” she said quietly. “About me staying in Redbud or you coming to Dallas . . .” She closed the distance between them. Lifting up one of his hands, she threaded her fingers with his. She kissed a knuckle. “Nothing in the world would make me happier. But I need time to consider it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Kate knew she needed to hit her knees in prayer. But that night, after some more cookies, some kissing, some laughing, and some soft-spoken conversation while cuddling, her spinning mind would hardly settle enough to put toothpaste on her toothbrush, much less to pray.

He wanted her to stay in Redbud! He was willing to move to Dallas! Those ecstatic revelations had tipped her world on its axis.

First thing the next morning, she took a hot shower, dressed, and spent time reading her “Bible in a Year” passage. Then she knelt beside her bed, her hands laced tightly together on top of the quilt, her head bent. She felt equal parts hopeful and concerned. This had
magnitude.
This discussion with God would mark a turning point, and she knew it.

She started her prayer with jumbled happy words of thanks and praise for Matt and their relationship. He was what she'd always, always wanted. She'd been asking God for
the one
all these years, and if Matt was him—and she was starting to think that he was!—then he'd been worth the wait, the heartache, the loneliness, the doubt. He was the answer to all of that. He was wonderful. He was way too good for her. He was, very simply, the deepest and dearest desire of her heart.

She paused.

No sense of rightness fell upon her. No assurance. Only odd, stilted silence.

Disquiet wormed upward inside of her, expanding.

She gathered all her nerve and made herself ask,
Do you want our relationship to continue?

Part of her struggled to hear God's answer, and part of her struggled not to. She made herself clear her thoughts and listen.

And into that still place came a certainty.

No.

No was His answer. He didn't want their relationship to continue.

Tears rushed instantly to her eyes.
Oh, God. Please. I want this so much.

She had the terrible feeling that not only was God saying no now, but that He'd
been
saying it for days, since their first kiss. Ice slid through her chest right down to her fingertips and toes. She began to tremble with fear and crushing sadness.

Please let me have him. Please! I'll do anything.

No audible response came. She understood, however, His kind, loving, and yet unyielding answer.

Still no.

She rushed to her feet, pushing away from the bed as if it had burned her. Hurriedly and by rote, she went through the motions of putting on her makeup, brushing her hair. Unable to stand being trapped indoors, she told Gran she had errands to run, grabbed her jacket, and hurried to her car. She drove downtown. Not many people were out. The stores hadn't opened yet. She got out and aimlessly walked the cold streets, her mind blank and dull.

Walked. Walked.

In the tumble of her thoughts, she explained to God how she felt about Matt. As if He didn't already know. She went on and on about how good she thought they could be for each other. As if He didn't already know. She pleaded with Him. As if He hadn't already answered her.

Her chest began to constrict. She honestly wasn't sure if it was heartache or asthma. Just in case, she used her inhaler. Matt worried about her and would be furious if she had another attack.

More aimless walking, more fruitless begging.

At length, she stopped on a bridge that arched over a stream. Looking down into the passing water, she saw instead an image of Matt. He was decked out in his hockey uniform and gear. Skating breathtakingly fast across the ice, aiming and shooting the puck with deadly precision. The puck sailed into the goal, and she saw him lift his fists and grin with triumph.

Tears slipped over her lashes. She took deep breaths, mopped away the wetness with her fingers.

I can't have him, can I?
she asked God.

Matt needed to play hockey again, and he'd never do it in Dallas. He'd never do it in Redbud, either, if he let himself continue with his current job, if he chose to replace hockey with her, if he settled.

What had Matt's mom said about him? That he was one of the world's very best hockey players.
One of the world's very best.
It was mind-blowing to even think about being that good at something. But Matt was. He was too extraordinary, too rare, too wildly gifted to be held back by his current job, by the little town of Redbud, or by her.

She wasn't a beauty, a genius, a talented artist, or an incredible athlete. How was she supposed to hold on to him once he returned to hockey and that whole glittering world of fame and professional sports and money?

The answer? She wasn't. She'd had a role in his life these past three months. But her part was ending. And what was best for him now was for her to let him go.

She didn't know if she could make herself do it.

She envisioned him skating again, fast and smooth. His face flushed with life, determination, concentration. He was in his element. And Kate understood, looking down into the water beneath the bridge, that she
could
let him go.

For his sake, she could.

She told herself that she'd tell Matt her decision that very night, which was supposed to be one of Gran and Matt's cooking nights. But when Kate came downstairs at dinnertime, she found Gran sitting at the kitchen table alone eating a bowl of leftover vegetable soup and reading a
People
magazine with Patrick Dempsey on the cover.

“What's up?” Kate asked.

“Matt told me to tell you that he has something planned for you tonight. He'll be by to pick you up,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall, “any minute.”

“What kind of plans?”

“A surprise.” Gran did a double eyebrow lift.

“A surprise that I need to get more dressed up for? Or is this all right?” Kate motioned to her black turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers.

“You're perfect. It'll be very casual.”

Just then she heard a car pull up. Kate went to work donning her jacket, scarf, and hat. Gran bustled over to assist, handing Kate her purse and gloves.

Matt stuck his head in the door. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Have fun!” Gran said.

“Thanks.” Kate kissed her on the cheek. “G'night.”

“Good night.” Gran gave them both a cheerful wave.

Outside, gleaming gloriously in the moonlight, Morty's Cadillac waited.

“Brace yourself, Kate,” Matt said. “We're going on a double date.”

Despite the lead ball of dread that had been lodged inside her stomach all day, Kate's spirits lifted a little. “With Morty and Velma?”

“Right.”

“In the Cadillac.”

“And my car both.”

Velma exited the Cadillac and watched them approach. “This was Morty's idea,” she said to Kate. “I'm surprised that hottie here agreed to it.”

Matt shot Velma a warning glance.

“But I sure am glad he did,” Velma continued. “Now I can spend the whole evening checking him out.”

“Velma,” Matt growled.

Velma chuckled gleefully. “Morty wanted to give you a spin in his car, and since there's just the two seats, I'm going to ride with Matt on the way to dinner and the movie.”

“Sounds good.”

Velma held the door for her, and Kate slid onto the Cadillac's passenger seat.

“Just don't get too comfortable in my seat, you hear?”

“Your seat, is it?” Morty asked Velma, beaming at her.

“Yes,” Velma replied, with bite to her tone, “that seat is mine, and if I see any other females sitting in it while we're dating, I won't think twice about taking a wooden paddle to your behind.”

“Wouldn't dream of letting anyone else sit there, honey.” Morty grinned.

Velma huffed.

Morty put the car in gear and they took off. Kate enjoyed the fresh air, the car, their chitchat, and the ride, but mostly she felt relieved. This double date meant she didn't have to talk to Matt about her decision tonight. She was only delaying the inevitable. Still, she was a wuss, and she'd take the stay of execution gladly.

With Matt and Velma following in the Lamborghini, they drove to a ramshackle roadside joint that served hot dogs, chili, and chili on top of hot dogs. The diner had been in business since Morty and Velma's high-school days, and the two of them told stories from way back when. In addition to the chili dogs, the four of them shared a red leather booth, a pitcher of Diet Coke, and a plate of onion rings.

After dinner, they drove to Redbud's movie theater. Kate had a moment of panic and took Matt aside right before they reached the ticket line. “This isn't R-rated, is it? I can't handle language or nudity while I'm sitting next to Morty and Velma.”

He winked down at her, amused. “Strictly PG, babe.”

“Ah, thank you.”

Inside the theater she sat with Matt's arm around her and a bag of popcorn and a box of Junior Mints between them. It had been a great date, original and quirky and memorable. If Kate had been able to concentrate on it, she probably would have found the movie enjoyable, too. Instead, all she could think about were squirrels.

Squirrels.

Many hundreds of them lived in Dallas. They had an unceasing longing, perhaps wired into their biology, to want to cross streets. Because of this dangerous desire, coupled with a lack of any actual brainpower, they frequently ran right out in front of Kate's car.

Sometimes the squirrels stayed on a straight course, crossing the street in a mad dash. Sometimes, though, they'd turn back in the middle and bolt back the way they'd come. Often that decision, to stay straight or to turn back, made the difference between life and death. It was hard for the poor squirrel and the poor driver to know which choice meant life. Which death. It just depended.

Tonight, she felt like one of those squirrels. She had two choices facing her: to ignore God and keep Matt, or to listen to God and lose Matt. She knew, in her head, which choice meant life and which death. But it felt the opposite way to her heart. She'd never before been so tempted to turn her back on God. She longed to do what she wanted instead.

She was just being a stupid squirrel, she told herself. Overwhelmed by a dangerous desire and a lack of brainpower. And yet,
oh.
She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling the warmth of Matt's arm around her, his bulk beside her. She really really wanted to cross the street.

She barely slept that night.

Kate wasn't ordinarily an early riser, but it was easy to get out of bed at the crack of dawn when the alternative was lying there racked with misery and insomnia. She'd showered and dressed by six thirty.

She knew that Matt went to the gym at seven almost every day of the week, and she wanted to catch him at home before he left. Had to catch him. She couldn't stand to keep her decision to herself for a second longer.

Feeling destructive, she hit the donut shop on her way to his place and bought twelve of the most sinful donuts they had. Way more than the two of them could eat. Way more than her nervous stomach wanted.

Mist swirled around her, damp and fragrant, as she stood on his doorstep and knocked.

His face broke into a grin at the sight of her.

“Good morning,” she said.

“It is now.” He leaned in and kissed her.

She followed him inside, set the box of donuts on the chest of drawers near the front door, and shed her jacket. “Last time it was cookies,” she said. “I brought another vice with me this time.” She motioned to the donuts.

He flipped up the lid and had a look. “You're determined to corrupt me, aren't you?”

“Determined.”

He wore a faded white T-shirt that said
Nike
across the front in gray letters. Its thin fabric revealed the hard contours of his shoulders, chest, and abs beneath. His track pants were black and unzipped on the sides at the bottom, revealing bare feet. She could smell the sport soap he'd used in the shower. His dark hair had only half dried.

He looked incredibly hot. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, nuzzle him, and cling to him for the remainder of the day.

He was studying her closely, eyes narrowing. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

She was
so
busted. “A little.”

“It looks like a very little. What's the matter?”

She looked at him helplessly, unsure where to begin.

He sighed, jerked two chairs out from the dining room table, and led Kate to the first one. He lowered into the second. “I'm not going to like it, am I?”

“It's not terrible,” she rushed to say. Which was a laugh, considering she'd been in agony over this for the past twenty-four hours.

“No?” She could see him bracing for bad news.

He'd come so far during the time she'd known him. He trusted her. It seemed worse than cruel to do this to him when he was just beginning to heal. “I've been thinking about me staying here or you coming to Dallas.”

“You don't want to do either one,” he said slowly, “do you?”

“It's not that I don't want to. I do. Either one would be wonderful.”

“But?”

“But . . . I'm just not ready yet.” She knew instinctively not to blame her decision on God or on hockey, which left her with nothing to give him but vague half-truths.

He looked at her, those beautiful, sad eyes framed with dark lashes.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from babbling a hundred useless things.

“But I can still talk to you after you go,” he said. “Email, text. All that.”

“Sure.”

“And we'll see each other. I mean, we can take trips back and forth.”

She nodded, though inwardly she knew it was going to be impossible for her to see him. Too painful.

———

Matt watched a shadow cross over Kate. He could see her withdrawing. He didn't know what to say to keep her, to convince her to change her mind.

His stomach felt hollow, his throat tight, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He could accept that she didn't want to quit her job and move here. That was a lot to ask of anyone, especially when they'd been together such a short time. But she didn't want to let him come with her, either, something that would cost her nothing. He didn't have the balls to ask her why. He didn't want to know why.

He just . . . he just wanted to be near her. His instincts urged him to grab hold of the shirt she was wearing, to curl his fingers into it with all his strength, and not let go. She was his life. He couldn't face going on without her.

“What're you thinking?” she asked.

“That I . . .”
love you.
His pride stopped him from saying it. Idiot pride. After everything he'd been through, it came as a surprise to discover he still had some of it left. “Nothing.” Dizziness came over him, as if he couldn't trust the earth to stay solid beneath him. With extreme force of will, he tried for a casual shrug. “I understand.”

“You do?” Her face softened, hopeful.

“Yeah. It's too soon. Too fast. I get it.”

She leaned across the space that separated them and pressed her lips to his. “Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth before leaning back. She pushed a piece of her shiny red hair behind her ear. “I've been so worried. I don't want to hurt you, ever.”

“It's cool,” he said. “Really.” He felt exposed, and he didn't think he could sit here like this much longer. He wasn't that good an actor.

“I just want you to know,” she said, “that if things had been different, I'd have loved to move here.”

He needed to get up now and escape from her inspection. His chest was on fire.

“If I could have . . .” She lifted one shoulder awkwardly. “Well. If things had been different, I would have.”

He rushed to his feet. “I'm just going to go finish getting dressed. Be right back.” He left her and closed himself into his bedroom, leaning against the door. Harshly, he scrubbed his hands over his face, raked them through his hair. He was shaking. The shudders began way down in the core of him and radiated outward.

He needed time to get control of himself. Except that Kate was out there, probably staring toward where he'd disappeared, confused, waiting.

He made himself put on socks, his Adidas, a hooded sweat shirt. Then he forced himself to return to the front of the house.

She looked at him quizzically.

“You want to come work out with me?” He asked her only because he could see she wasn't dressed for it and would have to turn him down.

“No thanks. I think I'm going to go back and see if I can get some sleep.”

“Good idea.”

“I'll see you up at the house later?”

“Yeah.”

She lifted a hand to his face. Her fingertips skimmed across his cheek, jaw, and then rubbed along his lower lip.

He almost lost it then. He nearly caved under the rush of longing that howled through him.

She gave him an affectionate smile and turned toward the door.

As he let them both out of the house, the last thing he saw was the box of donuts sitting untouched. Their enjoyment, sweetness, promise . . .

Wasted.