Page 56 of The Saint

“I have a call in a few minutes, but I’ll leave you in Erika’s capable hands to work out all the details. Good to see you again.”

“You too.”

Erika directed me toward the desk, and Jael stacked my paintings back in their crates while I ran through paperwork and schedules for the show.

Two months.

Two months was all I had before this secret I’d been keeping my entire life was revealed.

I felt sick. Giddy. Flying high while wanting to bury my head in the sand. And in a twist I never expected, it was Jael’s presence at my side that calmed away the fears of letting the world see my art.

She held my hand as she drove us back to the parking garage where she kept her car. Stayed close as we rode the elevator up and she ushered me into her apartment. And as I kicked the door shut behind me, she didn’t complain when I lifted her into my arms.

It wasn’t until we were naked in her bed, this desperate need to climb inside her body thrashing through me, that she stopped me, gripping my face between her palms and pulling her head away from my kiss.

“Don’t think this means you’re getting out of taking me to the park.”

I closed my eyes. Her grip on my face faltered, and I thrust inside of her, quieting any more of her words. As I rocked against her, she was the only thing keeping me steady. And I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

15

JAEL

The ball fell through the hoop to a chorus of groans. Tyrone extended his hand to me where I’d fallen on my ass after the shot. I accepted his hand and he pulled me up, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re scrappy. I like it.”

“I’d say so. We won the game because of me.”

“Ooooo.” Dion and Desmond both grinned our way, the ball tucked under Dion’s arm.

“You know she’s right, Tyrone,” Des chided. “You’ve been off your game all day.”

We’d played three times, and I’d only lost once. Once, when I had Tyrone on my team.

He ran a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sheen of sweat that’d built up over the course of the afternoon. “Just got other shit on my mind.” His gaze turned skyward, focused on the late afternoon sun.

Dion stepped up close, giving Tyrone a clap on the back. “I should probably get going. Ma’ll kick my ass if I’m not home to help with supper.”

“Same here,” Desmond said. “It was a pleasure beating your ass for once.”

Tyrone pointed his finger at Des’s face. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I won’t. Just savoring that it happened at all. I’ll have something to brag about once you make it to the big leagues.” He spread his hands out in front of his face, a faraway look in his eyes. “The day I beat Tyrone Martin at two-on-two.”

Tyrone gave a laugh, then shook hands with the both of them. “Get the hell out of here, or I’ll whoop your ass for real.”

“You’ll have to get in line.” Dion held up his cell phone, the screen lit up with an incoming call. He extended his hand toward me. “Jael. Good games today. Glad you stopped by.”

“Thanks for letting me play.”

The two of them headed over to the other side of the court, where Rolly was helping Gil with his free throw shots.

“You talk to Zeno lately?” Tyrone asked at my side, voice low enough it wouldn’t carry far.

I peered up at him, brow furrowed. “No. Why?”

He shrugged, keeping his gaze directed away from me. “He’s been calling to check in. Making sure Rolly’s not out here playing.”