His eyes went back to mine, but the only thing I could see there was surprise. No revulsion, no horror, or anything close to it. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t let out the breath I needed to take, and it burned in my chest.
“You . . .” Perrin studied me for a moment, and I could see the realization come over his face, ending with anguish flashing in his eyes. He stood immediately, and so did I.
I couldn’tsitthere one more minuteand watchthe beginning of his rejection. No way.
I guessed thatwas it.
As a victim of abuse I knew it shouldn’t matter, but I also knew that for some people it was a deal-breaker. Too much baggage, or even worse, disgust at being with someone who had been used that way. So, I hadn’t gone there, hadn’t been close enough to anyone to warrant this conversation.
But, here I was with him. Much more quickly than I thought could happen and nothing like my previous attempt at a relationship with Bryan.
I realized, standing there, waiting for him to process what I was saying, waiting for him to tell me to get out, waiting to know if we could even just be friends, that I probably would not ever be able to get over Perrin Thayer. Some part of me was lost to him, and I would never get it back.
Suddenly, he engulfed me. Strong arms came around me, crushing me into him where all I could take in was the comforting feel of his body against mine, and the herbal-clean scent of him. The force of his embrace pulled out the breath I had needed to take. There were tears in his eyes when he pulled back to look at me, but he cupped my face and his thumb was wiping the tears I didn’t know I had.
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” he whispered. “My Jack,” he said so low I almost couldn’t hear it. “Do I call . . ..” He trailed off, his voice clouding and he was clearly unsure.
“Yeah,” I said, my emotions making the word rough and strained. “I’m not him anymore,” I said, not even re-using the name I had left behind years ago.
Perrin
I had to touch him, crush him to my chest and remind myself that he was okay. That I couldn’t do anything but listen. His eyes held so much fear when he told me, it scared me. What was he afraid of? Me knowing this about him? Like it could change what I felt for him? Likeanythingcould?
His eyes had closed when I started to brush away tears, so I had just held him against me, feeling his warmth.
“I want to know the whole story, Jack,” I said into his hair, not willing to yet let him out of my arms.
He looked at me, shocked, but I nodded to let him know I was serious, then brushed my lips across his so lightly it almost couldn't even be called a kiss. But, it was enough for me to get him to move his head, chasing mine on instinct. As soon as I saw him move, showing methat he wanted my lips on his, I pressed my mouth on his until I felt him relax in my arms.
“I’m going to fix us a drink, and then I want you to tell me,” I said, not exactly asking, but waiting on him to agree just the same.
“Ok,” he agreed, nodding.
I kissed his temple, and made my way to my kitchen to make two vodka and cokes - doubles, because it felt warranted - and headed back to him before he could change hismind, or bolt. There was definitely a look on his face that he might do just that. So, I pulled him down to my plush rug in front of the fire.
“Jack,” I prompted, when it took him a few moments after sipping his drink to speak. I could feel him breathing a bit too rapidly, and so threaded my hands with his, stroking a thumb over the back of his hand.
“I, uhhhh,” he started, looking at our hands where they were together. “I had a law professor who alwayssaidthe best way to tell a story was from the beginning. So,ummm, I . . ..” he began, and it all came out, with him only taking breaks to sip the drink I had made for him or to glance at me from time to time.
He told me that he was born in Virginia, or at least, that was whathisbirth certificate had said. Then he told me, haltingly, woodenly even at first, that his mother had died in childbirth and he was placed in foster care.
“I have tried, a few times, to find out more about her or any family she may have left behind,” he confessed. “But, even after throwing money after it for a few years — there’s nothing there,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. I kissed the back of his hand, and he continued. I said nothing, letting the words roll out of him at their own pace.
He told me about being placed into foster care and moving to Maine. He explained what he was told about his youth, that he was fascinated by skiing, watching it. An obsession, almost, so much so a foster family found a program like the one he coordinated now at Bear Valley through the Mann Foundation. It catered to underprivileged kids, and kids older than what he was at the time, but his eagerness earned him some lessons, and then private lessons, as someone saw something in his speed and ability.
“It was nice, really, once I could understand it. Nice to be good at something, to have some kind of talent - something people valued. To be more than just a kid who needed love and a family,” he said.
How easily I could imagine what a kid in that situation would do with just the chance to excel at something like that. PaulBiandi was a legend, a force, the kind of kid that people used the word “phenom” to describe. He made hard things look easy - even I could remember that.
“It wasn't difficult to imagine how much more a family might want a kid who could bring in endorsements and Olympic gold,” he said quietly, breaking my heart to a million pieces, and I ran my lips over his hair; stopping him only long enough to tilt up his face, and ghost kisses over his lips that he returned softly.
He sagged against me, and I could tell we were entering a part of the story that was even more intense than what he had already told me.
“That’s when I met David Rhoades, my manager,” he said, while my forehead pressed against his. “Through my coach, actually, who was just the absolute best. Everyone said so. He was tough, unyielding, but trained kids to become young adults who could ski better than anyone else. He trained Olympians, and I wanted to be an Olympian,” Jack laughed a bit, but it was hollow.
His eyes met mine, “I’m not trying to be some kind of cocky asshole. At that point, P, I had won a lot of races, some big ones. There was nothing more important in my life than skiing and doing it well. I gave it all I could, especially after Rhodes - after what happened – after it all started. Skiing became my sanctuary, where I could get away fromeverything else. It was like peace - I know you know what I mean, Perrin. I see it in your face every time we go on the mountain.”
“I know,” I assured him, brushing my lips over his temple again.
