Come Back to Me

  ‘Jessa?’

  My heart leaps into my mouth when I recognize Kit’s voice.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I hiss into the darkness. My excitement is marred by the fact that my dad has supersonic hearing and if he finds Kit loitering in his bushes he won’t need an excuse to reach for his gun.

  ‘Come down,’ Kit says.

  I hesitate. My stomach feels like a washing machine on spin cycle. Why does he want me to come down? What if my dad hears? But my body is responding of its own accord – I’m already walking to the mirror. I drag a brush through my hair and stare at my eyes, which look slightly feverish and glassy.

  I tiptoe out onto the landing, trying to think up an excuse as to why I’m heading downstairs in case I get caught. Then I remind myself it’s just after nine o’clock. I don’t need to have a reason for going downstairs. What I need is to get it together. I walk into the kitchen, straight over to the door and then ease back the lock and creep out, the whole time murmuring a silent prayer that I don’t get caught because I might be good at acting, but when it comes to my father I’m only winning Razzies. He can see through me like I’m a window with no glass.

  I’m barefoot; the grass tickles my feet. I move swiftly across the lawn towards the bushes at the side of the garden. When I get there, though, there’s no sign of Kit. I look around. Where is he? Am I losing it? Did I imagine it?

  Then though a hand covers my eyes and an arm wraps around my waist from behind. ‘Boo,’ Kit whispers into my ear.

  Shivers ride down my spine in waves. His left hand lingers on my stomach but he removes his other hand from my eyes. I turn around slowly, shakily, suddenly self-conscious. I’m only wearing pyjama shorts and a cotton camisole top, no bra. Maybe I should have thought to put on a sweater. But it’s too late. I watch Kit’s gaze fall to my legs and slowly sweep upwards. Goosebumps rise across the surface of my skin as though he’s tracing my body with his fingers, not just his eyes. When he reaches my face I see the smile on his face and the way his eyes are glittering.

  My breathing hitches as I stare at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ I whisper.

  ‘I forgot to give you this,’ he answers, pulling an envelope from his back pocket.

  I stare at it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Open it,’ he says, pushing it into my hands. ‘It’s your birthday present.’

  I take it and open it, the whole time aware that he’s watching me. Inside are two tickets to The Merchant of Venice in Balboa Park for a fortnight’s time. I look up at him wide-eyed. ‘Are you serious?’

  He nods, smiling as he sees my grin. ‘I remember when you were in it,’ he says. ‘You want to go and see it? I wasn’t sure . . . ’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I say quickly. ‘Thank you! I can’t wait. You’re coming with me, right?’ I ask, holding up the second ticket.

  He shrugs. ‘Sure. I mean, I didn’t want to presume or anything. You know, in case maybe you wanted to take Didi. Or . . . ’ he has been staring down at his feet but now he looks up at me and I realize he’s fishing to see if I have a boyfriend.

  ‘No. I want to go with you,’ I say, the words stumbling over themselves in their haste to get out. Should I have played that cooler?, I wonder. But too late. And anyway, he’s now grinning.

  ‘Cool,’ he says, toeing the ground.

  We both take a breath in. My eyes dart towards the house. I guess I should head in before the game ends or my dad hears us. Without saying a word Kit suddenly takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the shadow of the bushes. I make no attempt to protest.

  ‘You know,’ he murmurs, not letting go of my hand, ‘I’ve been thinking about you. While I was away.’ He looks straight into my eyes, the smile gone, a look of studied seriousness on his face, and maybe, just possibly, a hint of nerves. ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. Kit’s presence seems to directly affect my literacy levels.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, looking down at our hands. His thumb starts almost absently to stroke my pulse point and I draw in a sharp breath. It’s as if he’s stoking a fire, making my blood course through my veins like molten lava. I can feel the heat flooding my face, rushing to other parts of my body too.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, though I’m losing the ability to concentrate as his thumb keeps stroking.

  ‘About thirty minutes. I waited until I saw Riley go out.’

  ‘You’ve been waiting in the bushes for half an hour just to speak to me?’

  Kit shrugs. ‘I’ve done sniper training. I can sit for hours in the dark, waiting and watching.’

  ‘That’s comforting,’ I say. ‘And not creepy in the slightest.’

  He laughs quietly and the sound makes me want to lean in closer, to press my body against his.

  ‘I figured your dad wouldn’t want me coming around and knocking on the door.’

  I glance over my shoulder automatically, half expecting to see my dad taking aim from the back porch. ‘You know if he finds you out here he’s going to kill you.’

  ‘I’ll take the chance,’ Kit says, shifting ever so slightly and drawing me closer so only a sliver of space remains between us. I barely come up to his chin so I’m having to tilt my head all the way back. This close I can smell his scent – laundry powder and something else, something citrus, aftershave maybe.

  ‘I just had to see you again,’ he murmurs, his voice as soft as a caress.

  I pull back an inch, my heart galloping. I’m scared. Not of Kit, but of what’s about to happen between us. It feels like I’m about to take a step off a cliff and into a void and I have no idea whether I’ll land safely or end up smashed to pieces on some jagged rocks I can’t yet see. This could be reckless, stupid, dangerous. Or it could be the best thing I ever do. ‘I’m serious,’ I mumble. ‘If my dad finds you out here, he’ll go ballistic.’

  Kit smiles. He lifts his hand and strokes a strand of hair back behind my ear. ‘It would be worth it,’ he says, his hand lingering, moving to rest against my cheek.

  ‘What would?’ I ask, my senses obliterated, all my focus on his hand and on his lips, so close to mine.

  ‘This,’ he says, and he kisses me.

  I’ve imagined kissing Kit a million times, but never in all my imaginings was it like this. The instant his lips touch mine I feel like I’m rocketing through space. His arms tighten around my waist, pulling me closer, the heat of his hands and his lips lighting signal fires all the way through my body. He’s tender, gentle, almost careful with me, until, utterly consumed by him, I push myself up on tiptoe and wrap my arms around his neck and draw him closer.

  He groans a little as my breasts press against him, and his hand falls to my hip, gripping it tightly and pulling me more firmly against him. The kiss deepens, his tongue pushing into my mouth, meeting mine. I can feel his desire, taste it, and it’s feeding my own. And now I’m truly breathless, stars dancing on the backs of my eyelids, blood roaring in my head so loud that I don’t at first hear Kit say my name, his lips still pressed to mine.

  ‘Jessa,’ he murmurs.

  It takes me a few seconds to come to. Kit has stopped kissing me. He pulls away, though his hands are still gripping my hips. I open my eyes, my breath ragged and my face burning. Kit is staring over my shoulder.

  ‘Your dad,’ he whispers.

  5

  Kit

  Shit. Jessa’s dad is illuminated in the kitchen doorway like the captain on the bridge of a ship. He’s silent, unmoving as a statue, but I can feel his eyes burning through the darkness. He’s staring straight at us – or rather straight at the bushes as though he has X-ray vision and can see us hidden behind them, his daughter in my arms.

  Against me, Jessa has gone rigid, frozen with fear. Her fingers bite into the tops of my shoulders. I hold her tight, making sure she doesn’t move so much as an eyelash. He might be an old dude, but Jessa’s dad is still a trained sniper, famous back in his day and with a s
helf full of trophies to show for it. I don’t want my head to join them.

  We’re pretty well hidden behind a thicket of leaves and branches and the moon has thankfully chosen to slip behind some clouds, so I don’t think he can make us out, but any movement or noise and we’re done for. His eyes might not be as razor-sharp as they used to be, but the guy has ears like an elephant. The joke on the base is that Colonel Kingsley can hear a marine fart in Afghanistan without moving from his desk at Pendleton. The roar of blood in my ears is so loud I’m betting that’s what got his attention in the first place.

  Slowly I raise my hand and place a finger against Jessa’s lips. They’re warm and so soft that straightaway I get a tingling in my gut and an overwhelming urge to start kissing her once more, never mind her father watching . . . he can have a front-row seat. Then I get a grip. I lock eyes with Jessa. She’s staring up at me, her expression so fearful that anger instantly wells up in me, taking the place of desire. Who the hell is this guy to make her – his own daughter – this scared? I force my anger down and give Jessa a smile, and then when that doesn’t work, I wink at her, trying to get her to relax. She does. Her breathing settles and her grip on my arms loosens.

  Keeping as still as I can, I swivel my eyes so I can watch her dad. He’s still there, in the doorway, glaring out into the blank void of the garden, and it feels as if he’s staring right at me, drilling through me with his eyes, spitting hatred across the darkness. If he decides to come and investigate, we’re fucked. I don’t care so much about myself, but I do care about what he might do to Jessa. I don’t think he’d hurt her, but man, it won’t be pretty. He’ll probably ground her for a century. And there goes any chance I might have of seeing her again before I head out on my next deployment.

  Just then, Colonel Kingsley Sir takes a step onto the veranda, holding the kitchen door open with one hand. Shit. There’s only one thing for it. I need to go out there, bite the bullet and hope it’s just a metaphorical one. I’ll act like I was hanging around waiting for Riley, not wanting to disturb them all by ringing the doorbell. He might buy it. Though how I’m going to explain the fact that I’ve been sitting in the bushes in their backyard I’m not yet sure. Telling him I was relieving myself on his prize begonias isn’t going to go down well. Oh well, it’s not like it will be the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of one of Kingsley’s rages. One time Riley and I burned down the garage playing around with some fireworks and Kingsley did the best impression I’ve seen of an angry person since Robert de Niro in Taxi Driver.

  I prise Jessa’s fingers silently free from my arms. Her eyes grow even bigger, the whites so visible they gleam. She shakes her head at me, trying to grab for my hands to stop me, but I just smile reassuringly at her and then point to the tree and nod at her to stay out of sight. She glares at me in response.

  But then, just as I’m about to step out of the bushes, my hands raised as though I’m surrendering to the enemy, Jessa’s dad turns abruptly around and marches back into the house. Loud cheering is issuing from a television somewhere inside. The game! I close my eyes and say a grateful prayer to the gods of baseball for saving my ass.

  I turn around, grinning, and find Jessa staring over my shoulder, her face pale and stricken. ‘What?’ I whisper, whipping around smartly. Maybe I was mistaken and he was actually going for his gun.

  I turn in time to see her dad locking and dead-bolting the back door. Uh-oh.

  The sound of the bolt ramming home makes me wince. Jessa’s mouth falls open. ‘What am I going to do?’ she whispers, panic lacing her voice. ‘I can’t get back in!’

  I look back at the door, checking the windows on either side in case any have been left open. Nope. There’s a drainpipe that runs down the side of the house right by Jessa’s bedroom window, and if it was me I’d probably try it, but I’m not sure Jessa’s going to be open to that particular idea. Though I would quite like to see her try it in those shorts.

  She’s staring up at me half expectantly, half fearfully, and it looks like she could be on the verge of tears. Damn. This is my fault. I pause to run through the options in my head, which only takes about two seconds because there aren’t any, besides knocking on the front door and making up some lame excuse about sleepwalking, that is.

  Jessa hugs herself around the waist and starts shivering lightly. I pull her instinctively towards me, wrapping my arms around her as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to hold her like this, which is exactly how it does feel. My chin rests on top of her head and I get a hit of her shampoo – rosemary and mint – and have to stop myself from burying my face in it and inhaling another lungful. An idea crystallizes in my head at that point, one that makes me grin in the darkness and say another prayer of thanks to the gods of baseball. It’s reckless and probably crazy as ideas go, and I’m not sure Jessa is going to buy it, but here’s hoping.

  ‘Does your dad ever check on you when he goes to bed?’ I ask her.

  Jessa shakes her head at me, looking confused.

  ‘Your mom?’

  ‘She’s already asleep,’ Jessa whispers, still looking confused.

  The grin widens on my face. ‘OK,’ I say, trying to rein it in. ‘I got a plan.’

  Jessa waits.

  ‘Come with me. Let’s spend the night together.’

  Jessa’s mouth instantly falls open. She takes a step backwards, slipping out of my arms.

  ‘No, I don’t mean like that,’ I whisper, suddenly flustered. Crap. She took that entirely the wrong way. ‘I mean, let’s go for a drive, hang out, talk.’ Man. I blew it. She’s looking at me now with both eyebrows raised, arms crossed defensively against her chest.

  ‘Look,’ I add, hoping my charming smile will win her around as it has other girls in the past, and then simultaneously hating myself for even trying to win her around, because Jessa isn’t like other girls and this isn’t a game. For the first time in my life this feels real. Not something I’m playing at. I’m nervous, something I don’t usually feel when it comes to girls. I don’t want to screw it up. Again, not something I usually worry about.

  ‘You can’t get back inside,’ I say, reaching for Jessa’s hand. A frown passes across her face as swift as lightning, but lingering. ‘Come on,’ I say, hoping I don’t sound too desperate but finding my throat dry as sand, praying silently that she’ll say yes because suddenly a whole lot more than just a night seems to rest on her answer. ‘It’ll be fun. I promise.’

  She doesn’t pull her hand from mine, which I take as a good sign. She just stands there, studying me, biting her lip. She looks at the house. When she turns back to me the frown has vanished, replaced by a small, shy smile which plays at the edge of her mouth. Those lips, man . . . I tug her towards me, take her face in my hands, and because I can’t stop myself, I kiss her, just gently, savouring every single second. She kisses me back, her body swaying against mine, pressing closer. God, this girl . . .

  ‘OK,’ she whispers against my lips just before I lose my train of thought completely.

  6

  Jessa

  Kit pulls back, his arms still around my waist.

  ‘Really?’ he asks.

  I swallow, my heart slamming fast against my ribs, then nod.

  Even though it’s dark I can see his smile lighting up his face. Then he takes my hand and links his fingers tightly through mine, and just this simple action makes my heart expand in my chest like a balloon about to burst because it feels so natural, so normal and so right. It feels like Kit could lead me anywhere right now, and I’d simply follow, which, given I’m not one for spontaneity or risk-taking, freaks me out.

  Kit tugs me through the bushes towards the gate at the side of the house. He’s stealthy and silent, while even barefoot I seem to be making enough noise to alert the whole of Oceanside, including the people buried in the cemetery. My ears are pricked and I keep my eyes locked on the back door, anxious that my dad might come back to investigate, this time with his gun
, but I’m even more nervous about what’s about to come next with Kit. Where’s he going to take me? What are we going to do? The butterflies in my stomach swarm in a giant eddy, rising up my throat and almost making me burst into hysterical laughter.

  Kit draws back the bolt on the gate, easing it as quietly as he can but it still squeaks loudly enough that we both pause, cringing. Next door’s dog starts barking and Kit grabs my hand and starts jogging towards the sidewalk and a white van parked up about twenty metres away. When I see what’s behind the van I come to a sudden halt, digging my heels in.

  Kit looks back at me over his shoulder. ‘What’s up?’ he asks.

  I stare at the bike parked behind the van, mentally slapping myself. Of course he came on his bike. He goes everywhere on that thing. But he can’t actually be expecting me to ride on it too, can he?

  ‘You don’t want to ride the bike?’ he asks, reading my mind. ‘Is that it?’

  I shrug at him. ‘Um, it’s just . . . ’ All I can think of is my dad lecturing me about never riding a motorbike and warning me that if he caught me doing so he would ground me for the rest of eternity and use my college fund to buy me road safety classes.

  ‘I promise I’ll go slowly.’ Kit takes both my hands and pulls me towards him, and my heels, despite being glued to the sidewalk, somehow come unstuck. ‘I’ll look after you,’ he says softly. ‘Don’t worry.’

  The thing with Kit is that he has these eyes which are so blue and so clear they’re basically hypnotic. When he stares right at you, it’s like you’re a butterfly pinned to a board. There’s no escape. All you can do is submit, which Didi would probably claim is all about my deep-seated compulsion to please and to avoid conflict, brought about by years of having to accommodate my dad’s moods. Didi’s father is a psychologist, so she has a deep-seated compulsion to analyse everyone she comes into contact with. But secretly I think she’s on to something. I just don’t have the courage to actually confront this truth and deal with it. One day. Just not today.