Long May She Reign

  He shrugged. “Made out with everyone female in sight.”

  If he turned out not to be kidding, she wasn’t going to take it well.

  But, regardless, it became almost immediately necessary to make very sure that her door was closed. The ground rule she suggested was that they both keep their underpants on, with everything else being fair game, but as rules went, it turned out to be quite—elastic.

  “I want to stay here tonight,” he whispered, after a while. “Okay?”

  Yes, and no. “The bed’s pretty small,” she said. Narrow, anyway.

  “I know. We’ll have to snuggle right up against each other,” he said, and kissed her. “But, I can stand it, if you can.”

  Point taken.

  After she went out to brush her teeth and everything, he left for a few minutes, too, while she sat uncertainly on the edge of the bed, wearing a DIA t-shirt and a pair of maroon gym shorts from her high school.

  He came back in, shut the door, stepped out of his jeans, and stood there in an “I am a Diabolical Mastermind” t-shirt, grinning at her. Then he limped over to join her on the bed, which made her start worrying about him again.

  “Maybe you should come to PT with me tomorrow,” she said. “See what Vicky thinks.”

  He pulled his t-shirt over his head. “No, I’m okay.”

  Except she could see how damn swollen his ankle was, even through the Ace bandage. “Will you go to the health center, at least, and get it checked out?”

  He shook his head, taking her shirt off for her, pausing to kiss her here and there along the way.

  “I mean it,” she said.

  He put his hand inside the waistband of her shorts to slide them off, too. “If I let a doctor or anyone see it, they might tell me I have to shut it down for the rest of the season, and—no way.”

  Dumb jock logic to which she could relate.

  But, it was undeniably dumb.

  The hem of her shorts got caught on her brace as he tried to tug it past the hinges, and she heard—but decided to overlook—a small tearing sound.

  Jack froze. “Was that the brace?”

  “No, it was an actual ligament,” she said, but then relented when she saw how upset he looked. “It was my shorts, Jack. It’s fine.”

  “Oh.” He pulled them the rest of the way off. “I’m sorry. Are they wrecked?”

  “It’s okay,” Meg said. “My mother will sew them for me.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Wow. Really?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  They sat there.

  “What happens now?” she asked, very uneasy.

  He put his arm around her. “A long, unforgettable night of fornication and debauchery.”

  She couldn’t help tensing, although she tried very hard to seem nonchalant.

  “I’m hoping you’ll put on a little Catholic schoolgirl’s outfit, too,” he said.

  She smiled. Tensely.

  “Or, we could just turn out the light, do everything we think might be fun, and then, since it’s pretty late, and we’re both tired, we could, you know, sleep,” he said. “Sound okay?”

  It actually sounded great.

  47

  EXCEPT, SHE COULDN’T relax.

  She did well with the everything-we-both-think-might-be-fun part, but falling asleep seemed to be beyond her. Jack dropped off almost immediately after they finished doing something he unquestionably found very fun, but she lay stiffly on her side, unable to find a comfortable position, wishing she had thought to take a couple of pain pills when he wasn’t looking, and so hyperaware of him being there, just a couple of inches away, that she couldn’t quite breathe normally. It just felt too loud, and so, she took tiny, shallow breaths, instead.

  Which was not conducive to a sense of tranquility or well-being.

  One of his hands was still resting inside her underwear, and she couldn’t stop herself from moving forward against it. He woke up instantly—and they were off to the races again. Lying together, quietly, in the dark, made it easier to do some experimenting without second-guessing herself as much, and somewhere along the way—it had been about her, it had been about him, it had been about both of them—even he said, “Jesus,” sounding a little stunned.

  It was well past three, and finally, she was starting to have some trouble keeping her eyes open. He had already fallen asleep again, and after a while, she managed to doze off, too.

  The next thing she was aware of, was fear. Terror, really. Overwhelming terror.

  And noise. Banging. No, it was pounding on the door, and someone was shouting for her to open it. Meg blinked, trying to figure out where the hell she was—wait, there was someone in here with her on the bed, someone—Christ, was it the guy? Slipping in, while she was handcuffed, and asleep, waiting for her to be at her most vulnerable, getting ready to—

  “Open up, Meg!” a male voice yelled again. “Or we’re coming in!”

  Agents. School. Jack. Oh, God. She started to stagger up, then realized that she wasn’t wearing anything other than a pair of underpants. Underpants, her splint, and her brace. Fetching.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, her voice sounding much more tearful than she thought it would. “Please don’t come in yet.” There was a shirt crumpled at the bottom of the bed, and she yanked it on, hurting her hand in the process and fighting off a groan. There was the sound of a key in the lock, and she stumbled over to open the door before whatever agent it was burst in.

  Ed entered the room so quickly that she lost her balance and fell back against the bookcase, slamming her knee this time, afraid, for a second, that she might pass out from the pain. Brian and Jose were right behind him, out of breath, since they must have just run up two flights of stairs. One of them turned on the light, and she had to shield her eyes from the brightness as they swarmed around Jack, who was in the corner of the room, shirtless and jumping into his jeans.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “Honest.” To Meg’s horror—and confusion—he actually raised his hands. “I didn’t.”

  Ed grabbed him by the arm and jerked him towards the door. “Tell us about it out here.”

  Was this real? It couldn’t be. “What do you guys think you’re doing?” Meg asked. “Are you crazy? That’s Jack. Leave him alone.”

  “Meg, you were yelling for him not to hurt you,” Brian said. “You were screaming.”

  What? She couldn’t make sense of this.

  Dirk came tearing down the hall, barefoot and wearing a pair of Groton shorts, with at least four other guys from her entry right behind him, all of them in various stages of undress.

  Oh, Jesus. Suddenly noticing that, on top of everything else, she was wearing Jack’s shirt, not her own, inside out, she sank down on the side of the bed, so humiliated that it was very hard not to cry. She was almost completely undressed, and she was surrounded by men. Very big, angry men. At least three of whom had weapons.

  Now, Susan was in the doorway, in sweatpants and a “10K Race for the Cure” t-shirt, holding—for unknown reasons—a tennis racket. “What’s going on?”

  They stopped looking at Meg, and all stared at her, instead.

  “Meg?” she asked, looking half-asleep, but sounding alert and gripping the racket with both hands.

  “It’s my fault,” Meg said. Christ, was that a tear? In fact, more than one? Yeah. Damn it to hell. She rubbed her sleeve—Jack’s sleeve—across her eyes. “I’m sorry, I must have had another nightmare. He didn’t do anything. He wasn’t even awake.”

  Susan nodded, leaned the tennis racket up against the doorjamb, then turned to glare at her agents. “All of you, get out of here right now.”

  “Susan,” Jose said patiently. “We have to—”

  “What you have to do, is get the hell out of here,” Susan said, her jaw—and one fist—clenched now. “Unless you’re getting your jollies out of invading her privacy while she isn’t even dressed.” r />
  Ed sighed. “Susan, we have some procedures we have to follow here, okay? We’re just going to take him out to the hall for a minute, and have a little conversation.”

  Susan glanced at Meg, glanced at Jack, and shook her head. “No, you abso-fucking-lutely are not going to do that. You’re going to drop his arm, and you’re going to leave the room.”

  “Susan,” Ed started, “we appreciate your help, but this really isn’t any of your—”

  Susan grabbed the nearest book—Meg’s psychology textbook, so it was heavy—and slammed it against the side of the bureau so forcefully that Meg wasn’t the only one who flinched.

  Brian was the first one to speak.

  “Why don’t all of us step out, and give Meg a chance to put something on,” he said, sounding controlled—but angry. “And, Susan? I suggest you cool off. Now.”

  Susan gave him a very dark scowl back, and then put the book down with exaggerated care. “Meg, maybe you should pick up the phone, and call your mother,” she said, calmly. “Seems as though it’s starting to be the right time for that.”

  Nobody moved, and Meg couldn’t help wondering if she hadn’t woken up, and this was all still part of an unbelievably vivid nightmare.

  “Or,” Susan said, her eyes furious, “you three could just congratulate yourselves on a job badly done, and get out of here, which I think would be a really good idea.”

  Her agents didn’t want to back down; Susan clearly wasn’t going to back down; and Jack looked as though he wanted to run away as fast as possible, never to return under any circumstances.

  Okay, someone had to break the standoff. “I’m fine,” Meg said, even though—god-damn it—her voice trembled. “I had a bad dream. I have them a lot. You all know that.” All except for Jack, who sure as hell knew it now. “I’m glad you were quick to check on me, but please give me some privacy.”

  And, fortunately, that worked.

  As soon as Ed released his arm, Jack zipped up his jeans, then looked around for his shirt, and saw that she was wearing it.

  “I’m sorry, Meg,” he said. Mumbled, really. “I guess I should—”

  Susan interrupted him. “Jack, this is one of those golden moments when you have a chance to find out a little about what kind of man you’re going to be. Don’t blow it.”

  Jack didn’t respond right away. “Meg,” he said finally. “I’m going to go out to the bathroom, and, uh, I don’t know. Wash up. And then, um—” he hesitated— “I’ll come back in here, and we can either talk, or say good-night, or, you know, whatever.”

  It was depressing that Susan had had to bully him into it, but Meg nodded.

  As he left, Susan followed him partway out of the room, and now Meg saw that—yet again—she had woken up the entire floor, and that Juliana, Mark, Tammy, Mary Elizabeth and her new friend Audrey, and even Jesslyn had all joined Dirk and the rest of the guys in the hall. There were a few people from Sage D there, too.

  “Stay here until he comes out, okay? Don’t let any of them bother him, or even talk to him,” Susan said, and they all nodded—Juliana, noticeably, glaring in the direction of the security room, and moving to stand in front of the bathroom with her arms folded, Dirk posting himself next to her, looking just as determined.

  Then, Susan came back in, closing the door behind her.

  “Not such a great idea to take on a bunch of pumped-up, heavily-armed men like that,” Meg said quietly.

  Susan just shook her head. “Ed and Brian are clearly not the ones who should be doing your overnights.”

  Yeah. She couldn’t make a request for the poor guy to work permanent midnight shifts, normal rotation schedule be damned—but, Christ, this never would have happened if Martin had been the one out at the desk. Or Paula, or Nellie, for that matter. “Did I really scream?” she asked, putting on a pair of sweatpants, without taking the time to remove her brace, first. It seemed more important to be covered up, than to be comfortable.

  Susan nodded, and then shivered. “You sounded like someone was trying to kill you. Completely scared the hell out of me.”

  So, at least her agents had had a viable reason to overreact.

  “He didn’t do anything to you,” Susan said, “right?”

  Meg smiled, in spite of everything. “You just defended him like a complete maniac—” putting the most ferocious of tigresses to shame— “and you weren’t even sure he was innocent?”

  Susan looked embarrassed. “Judgment call.”

  Good thing she’d guessed right, all things considered.

  “And I maybe went out on a limb, a little, when I brought the President into it,” Susan said.

  “Gee,” Meg said. “Ya think?”

  Susan nodded, and ran her hand back through her hair, which was already sleep-tangled.

  “Were you really going to try and help defend me from possible crazed killers with a tennis racket?” Meg asked.

  “Well.” Susan looked all the more embarrassed. “Your mother’s a mean liberal who took my gun away.”

  Right. How could she have forgotten.

  Susan sat next to her on the edge of the bed. “So, what happened? You half-woke up, and had some kind of flashback?”

  Seemed like as good a guess as any other. Meg nodded. “I think so.” One of her worst nightmares come to life. Waking up in the dark, and—the entire time, she’d tried never to let herself fall completely asleep, no matter how exhausted she got with each passing hour and day, so she could always listen for the key in the lock, and be ready, when the guy came in to—if he came in to—her heart was starting to pound again, and she closed her eyes long enough to ride through it. He wasn’t here. She wasn’t there. This time, anyway. “I think he might have put his arm around me while he was sleeping.” It hadn’t been threatening; it had been sweet. And look at the reaction he’d gotten. “Christ, he’s never going to come near me again.”

  “Meg, you had a bad dream,” Susan said. “If it turns out he can’t handle that, then, to hell with him. I mean, when Patrick and I were still together, I used to—” She stopped abruptly, and shook her head.

  Classic Susan McAllister—open the personal information door a tiny crack, and then slam it shut again.

  And speaking of doors, she could hear the one leading to the bathroom swinging open.

  “I hate to ask this,” Susan said in a low voice, “but you did use protection, right?”

  Jesus, she was never off-duty, was she? JA, to the tenth power. Meg frowned at her. “That isn’t any of your god-damn business, Susan. Okay?”

  Susan flushed. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.” She stood up. “Right.”

  Jack came in, hands jammed in his pockets, his hair damp and much neater than it had been before, not making eye contact with either of them.

  “Okay, then,” Susan said, still blushing. “Good-night.”

  Meg trailed her to the door. Jose and Brian had made themselves scarce, and Ed was sitting at the security desk, expressionless. She waited until Susan was heading downstairs, Dirk and the other guys following her, and saw that Juliana, Mark, Mary Elizabeth, Tammy, and even Audrey, were staring at Ed, too. Pugnaciously. Jesslyn must have lost interest somewhere along the line, and gone back to bed. Or back on the Web. Ed shrugged a few times, without looking up from the security log.

  “If you want to give me grief tomorrow, fine, but you guys had better not bother Susan, ever, about anything that happened tonight,” Meg said. “Or Jack, either. Because if you do, I’ll be on the phone to my mother in about two seconds.” And her father. And Mr. Gabler. And anyone else who might be able to lay down the law for her.

  “Me, too,” Juliana said without any hesitation. “I would immediately call the President.”

  Yep, she probably would. And, hell, her mother would probably take it. She looked at Mark, Mary Elizabeth, Audrey, and Tammy. “You guys going to call the White House, too?”

  “Absolutely,” Mary Elizabeth said, with a slight grin, and Audrey nodded. br />
  Mark nodded, too. “Count on it.”

  “Um, okay,” Tammy said, and bit her lip.

  Were all of that to come to pass, the President was going to need some advance warning. And, possibly, a couple of hours head start. “Excellent,” Meg said. “Thank you. I’m very sorry I disturbed everyone again. Good night.” She went back into her room, and shut the door.

  Jack was sitting on the floor, tying his sneakers. Seeing her, he quickly jumped up, then winced, because of his ankle. “Uh, sorry. I was just—sorry.”

  “I apologize for having a nightmare in front of you,” Meg said. “It—” She couldn’t lie, and tell him it was unusual, could she? “It still happens pretty often. I should have warned you, but—I just forgot.”

  He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

  Okay. He couldn’t handle this, and who the hell could blame him? If she could avoid being around it herself, she would.

  “Look, Meg, I think I should probably leave,” he said, looking everywhere but at her. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow, or—or something.”

  Yeah. She’d be waiting by the phone.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said. “I just need to—well, you know.”

  Yeah, she knew. She was damaged goods. Not worth the time, or trouble—not worth much of anything. She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I guess you should turn your back, so I can change out of your shirt.”

  To her utter dismay, he did.

  Great. He wasn’t even attracted to her anymore. She was just—what? A deranged trauma victim. Frail, and cowardly, and unappealing. A screamer, in the worst possible way. She put her own shirt on, and then held out his. “Here.”

  He nodded, and tugged it over his head, without ever meeting her eyes.

  If there was anything to say, she sure as hell couldn’t think of it. She took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sor—”

  He shook his head quickly. “Let’s not, Meg, okay? I just—I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Fine. “Well.” She definitely was not going to cry in front of him. In fact, she wasn’t even going to cry after he was gone. She wasn’t ever going to cry over this guy. Or, with luck, about anything whatsoever. For the rest of her life. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”