Poker Face
Title: Poker Face (another Epilogue to It Happens)
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Paul Kellerman, Sara Tancredi, Kristine Kellerman
Category: Multi-chapter (finished)
Rating: R
Summary: I finished this story in June, but then started another epilogue in July and I finally finished it! Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five
Author’s Notes: The idea for this came because chapter_stork is a big Paul fan, and we met up, and she treated me to a play. Sorry it took so long, Viva. You probably forgot all about it. (Title blatantly stolen from Lady Gaga's song covered by Chris Daughtry.)
She often met him at the door in nothing but the orange shirt he'd worn the first day he re-entered her life. It was her private joke, one she found immensely funny, but for Paul, it worked like a match to dynamite. There had been several encounters where the only thing that had been moved was the zipper on his pants, and he would somehow be deep inside her while she trembled against him still fully covered by the enormous shirt.
He'd come several times, as a matter of fact, with orange echoing behind his closed eyes, and Sara's soft laughter tracing the edges of his ears.
It was a fugly shirt-a term he'd learned watching some silly teenager movie with Sara. (She had a weakness for high school flicks. He guessed it was because she hadn't had a normal high school experience herself and she thought these movies might clue her in a bit. But he had never asked her, and so maybe she just liked high school movies for no deep psychological reason.) But he did love her in the shirt, even if it was hideous. Most especially, he loved taking it off of her after it was damp with sweat, and then he would run his fingers over her glistening skin, idling over his favorite spots, like her nipples, and her navel, and the insides of her thighs. She would lie still for him, letting him explore and dally, and eventually their eyes would meet and they would kiss for a long time. Then Paul would feel tears pricking his eyes, so he would quickly re-engage in the sexual aspect between them because that didn't make him feel like crying.
The tenderness of the aftermath always got him though, and he struggled against showing too much when each return invitation seemed like one more bonus round before she failed to ask him about his next trip.
He hadn't been able to make his regular fourth-weekend trip this time because his sister-on a campaign to make the world as green as possible, and giving Al Gore a run for his money-had needed him to help her with security detail on a public appearance in San Antonio. He free-lanced this type of job all the time now, but he couldn't turn down his sister, even though Kristine would have been more likely to understand the excuse of this is my weekend with Sara far more than any other client would. He'd cancelled on Sara, who had sounded appropriately disappointed, and then he'd ended the call without saying I love you, the phrase that hung unsaid between them every time they spoke to each other, and certainly every time they were parting ways.
He had said it once-accidentally-at the height of passion. The only thing that had been okay about that was that Sara's response had been instantaneous. Physically, she had seized up around him, her orgasm taking them both by surprise, and wringing them out so that it took several minutes to get their respective breaths back. She hadn't said anything, but he hadn't needed her to; her response had been plain enough as far as was concerned. It became clear over the next few weeks that he didn’t doubt her feelings for him at all, he simply doubted her commitment to having him be in her life permanently.
And could he really blame her? It would be awkward, to say the least. As unlikely as it seemed that she might love him, it was much more unlikely that she would ask him for, or give him, a full commitment. Even though the last two times he’d gone to visit, she’d actually let him come while Michael was there, and it had been wonderful, he still saw the doubt in her eyes when she didn’t mean to show him anything.
So he didn’t show her anything either, because it was ludicrous to think they would ever be together forever anyway.
But, he had found that he really did want the words from her, and she had not been forthcoming even with that, so he'd refrained from saying it in a more lucid moment. He also found himself holding back at times in their lovemaking because he was afraid of another unrehearsed admission. Maybe that was why he'd been keen to take Kristine's detailing job and not rush down to see Sara this weekend.
Perhaps he had finally gotten to the point where he didn't need her so much. Now, possibly, he could be as casually invested in the relationship as she was-and so when it inevitably ended, he wouldn't be crippled for life.
Yeah, right.
Kristine caught his eye from the front of the auditorium where she sat, preparing to give her “Live Green Forever” speech. The Dean of the University of Texas at San Antonio gave a list of Kristine's credentials to the crowd, including how she had worked on Illinois Congressman Kellerman's campaign several years before, helping to get him elected. Paul smiled at her and nodded, then stood up and walked the perimeter of the folding auditorium chairs. Easing himself slowly towards the stairwell, he intended to go up and make a sweep through the balcony and then position himself so he could see the people who were waiting just backstage.
There was no real danger in a situation like this, but there had been incidents where groups who believed global warming was nothing more than a conspiracy had sometimes demonstrated their protestations of such campaigns like Kristine's. And this was Texas. Anything could happen.
And, as Kristine said when she asked Paul to do this, she always felt safer when her big brother was there.
His phone vibrated against his belt, and as he walked up the stairs to the second level, he flipped it open, revealing the international number on the small screen. He answered the call, pushing his earpiece tighter against the side of his head even though it had been resting there all morning, giving him no difficulties in hearing anyone who called to let him know the situation outside the auditorium.
These were the moments when he knew his poker face with Sara Tancredi probably didn't work at all. The only way to be close to her right now was to press the wireless ear piece into his ear canal, and so that's what he did.
"Hello?"
"Hey," she said, her customary greeting.
"Hey," he returned. He got to the top of stairs and looked around. There was no one in the balcony area, all those who had come for the speech fit into the floor seats. He walked briskly to the right side so that he could see Kristine and the people mulling around just past the curtains six feet behind the podium.
"Are you working?" she asked.
Sitting down on one of the folding chairs, he nodded for no one to see. "Yes. Kris is about to give her speech."
"Should I call back later?" she asked, and he could hear something, some underlying tone of excitement or anticipation. "I don't want to distract you."
He held onto the snort that bubbled up in his nose. The only way she wouldn't be distracting to him was if he were dead. "It's okay. It's very low key. Everything's cool." He kept his voice pitched quietly, just because the acoustics in the auditorium might carry his conversation much further than he wanted it to go.
"I miss you," she said, surprising him. Sara was affectionate, and there was never any doubt for him that she enjoyed their time together, but after nearly a year, she’d never said things like this. These were the sort of phrases that preceded important conversations about how they were going to not live on separate ends of a continent so that they didn't miss each other; and they were never going to have that conversation, so things like that were never said.
He must have paused too long, because discomfort distinctly sounded in her tone when she continued on. "I think this is a bad time," she said. "You're working. I'll call back later."
"No, no," he found himself babbling. "No, this is fine... It's fine. I'm not busy, really."
She was silent a moment, and then he heard her take a deep breath. "Well, I'm calling to tell you that Lincoln knows about us. And he's fine with it. So, I thought you should know. I thought you'd like to know."
If her profession of missing him had thrown him for a loop, this announcement, said in a rush of breath almost too quickly for him to totally comprehend, seemed like a blow to the gut. Like the ones he'd imagined Michael Scofield's brother would deliver to his stomach if ever he'd known that Paul slept with Sara on a regular basis. "Us?" was the only word he pulled from her monologue.
"Yeah, you and I, you know how we have a thing going on? A relationship?"
Clearing his throat, Paul murmured, "Uh-huh," into the atmosphere.
"Mikey sort of spilled the beans about it, but Lincoln was terribly understanding. He said if I love you and I want to be with you, he supports me."
Paul felt his stomach clench, and he had sudden gratitude for the fact that he was already sitting down because he doubted his legs would hold him upright. He looked up at the high ceiling and the beams that were specially designed to allow the words of whomever spoke from the stage to bounce back to the masses easily. He found them terribly fascinating, just like Lincoln had been terribly understanding.
"Paul?"
He felt like hyperventilating. He wanted to lie flat on the ground, or put his head between his knees or something, but all he did do was stare up at the wood beams of the auditorium. He couldn't respond, he could hardly even settle on one thought.
"Paul?" she said again. "Are you there?"
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I’m here.” Dragging his eyes back to the floor, he watched Kristine speak animatedly, her arms gesturing emphatically. Standing up, he walked back to the stairwell, jogging down to the platform that led to the switchback to the ground floor. “I’m just…”
“Surprised?” Sara asked with a laugh. “Yeah, me, too. I mean, I was hysterical with laughter, that’s how surprised I was. I can’t explain it, exactly. But it’s exhilarating. I’m so happy, and I just wanted to tell you.”
Again, he didn't respond right away. Everything he thought he would never get seemed to have spilled over his head in the space of about two minutes, and he found he needed a lot more time than that to process it.
"Paul?" she questioned again as the silence dragged on.
"I'm sorry," he blathered, and then he just hung up.
Pulling the earpiece away from his head, he ripped the cell phone off his belt and shut it off quickly so that if she called back, he wouldn't know.
*
After two hours in the car to get to Acapulco and eight hours on a plane, Sara Tancredi rented a car at the airport and drove into downtown San Antonio. She hardly knew where she was going, the insufficient instructions of the drawling kid at the rental counter who had seemed to be hitting on her though she had to be old enough to be his mother had not quite sunk into her brain, so she just pulled her car over and pushed the number three on her cell phone.
"Sara? Where are you?" Kristine's voice held a tinge of worry, but also barely contained excitement that made Sara's hands shake more than they already were.
"I'm on Durango, but I'm not sure how far away from the hotel I am."
"Just keep coming, you can't miss it. The Hilton is huge and takes up a full city block."
Pushing out a harried sigh, Sara didn't merge back into traffic. Instead, she asked, "He's still here?"
"Oh, yeah, he's here. I have two more appearances this week, so we weren't leaving for Austin until tomorrow. He's basically locked himself in his hotel room until we go. He has no idea you're coming, not because I didn't try to warn him, but because he's insisted that I leave him alone until our next travel date."
Rubbing her forehead, Sara felt as though she had suddenly encountered a stranger, one that up until she realized he was a stranger, she had wanted to build a life with. Now, she just wanted to make sure he was still alive so she could beat the shit out of him. "Kris, is this normal for him? I've gotta say, I'm a little disconcerted by the whole thing."
There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone. "Oh, Sara. Who can say what's normal for a man who never did a normal thing in his life? All I know is he's madly in love with you, and if he's running from you at this point it's only because he doesn't really know what to do here. He usually likes to work with a plan, you know?"
Sara nodded to no one in particular and ground her teeth. Why was she always attracted to this sort of man? If she could just have had a thing for guys like Lincoln, her life would have been infinitely simpler. "Okay, I'm going in, I guess. But no guarantees. He may need you to pick up the pieces, because if he gives me the runaround, this will be it here, tonight. I've got a child to think about and I can't deal with his dramatics."
She couldn't even believe she'd had to say that. Paul was the last person on earth she'd ever thought who would flake out on her.
"Call me when you can-good or bad news."
"Kristine?"
"Yeah?"
"We'll still be friends, no matter what?"
"Of course. Even if my brother is a total moron, I'm not."
Sara laughed, and it eased some of the pressure in her chest. "Thanks."
"Call me when you can."
"Will do."
Sara ended the call and then shifted the car into drive.
As she headed up the street a few blocks, the tall building she was looking for came into view. She blinked as tears stung her eyes. She didn't know what was about to happen, but she hoped it went her way.
*
Paul Kellerman lay on the bed in his nice hotel room, fully clothed. He was neither drunk, nor high, something he'd thought might alleviate some of his distress several times over the last fourteen hours. He'd been unable to find illegal substances, and the legal ones in the mini-bar had looked at him accusingly when he set them on the bedside cabinet.
He might never be able to get drunk ever again because of his relationship with Sara. It was just another thing to find annoying about her. Because that's what he'd been doing for the last 14 hours--listing all the things he couldn't handle about her.
So far he'd come up with the fact that her being a recovering drug addict made him feel guilty when he wanted a drink.
Yeah, it wasn't his best stuff, not by a long shot.
He was simply running scared, and he had no protocol for that. He didn't know how to do it, how to be helpless. But he'd been helpless since the moment she'd invited him into her house almost a year before; helpless, and at her mercy, and her cavalier delivery of the fact that she loved him somehow made him even more helpless. Helpless and responseless. He'd hung up on her, when they hadn't even had an argument, and he'd avoided all the phone calls she'd placed to him-the ones on his cell, and the direct ones to the hotel, which made him wonder how the hell she knew where he was when it came to hotels. San Antonio was a large city, so he knew she hadn't just lucked into guessing where he was staying.
He suspected his sister was involved somehow, but he hadn't even tried to figure it out. He was too wrapped up in his own turmoil to even worry about how mad his sister might be when he finally surfaced again, in time for her next appointment.
A knock-nee, a pounding-upon the door of his hotel room startled him into an upright position. He reached for his gun automatically, even though those days were long behind him. Taking a deep breath, he swung his legs off the bed and opened the bedside table drawer, dropping the gun down on top of the Holy Bible that rested inside.
A second pounding on the door was followed by a raised voice saying, "Paul Kellerman, you better open this door right now."
It was not the voice of his mother, but it was the voice of a mother, one who was currently raising a charming and obedient genius of a child. He shook his head in disbelief, because it couldn't be possible. He could not believe Sara Tancredi was in San Antonio and beating on the door of his posh hotel room.
He didn't want to believe it. Because this was about to become the showdown of all showdowns.
Before she could beat on the door a third time, he padded across the floor in his stocking feet, rubbing at the back of his head in agitation. As he passed by a mirror lining the small walkway to the door he caught of glimpse of himself, and seeing that his hands had made his hair look like he'd been electrocuted, he quickly stopped and smoothed it back down. He primped a little and then jumped when her fist landed hard against the door again. "I'm drawing a crowd out here, you coward. Open the goddamn door!"
Moving with much more speed and not a little fear, he jerked the door open to find her standing alone. He felt a giggle bubble up in his throat, but he choked on it. He knew if he laughed even a little bit, she might find something to strangle him with and this time no one was around to keep her from finishing the job.
"Sara," he said, nodding his head in some semblance of a formal bow. He didn't know why, but he always remembered his manners with her, usually in a most unnecessary-and thoroughly evident from her expression-slightly annoying way.
"Paul," she sniped back, pushing past him into his room. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and her hair was in a wad on the back of her head, as normal. He appreciated that she hadn't come there all dressed up. She'd come to do battle, and so she was just Sara. No frills, no formalities. No bullshit.
He shut the door slowly and then turned and followed her into the main suite.
She had thrown her bag and sweater down on the bed, and stood with her hands on her hips staring at him as he approached. Truth be told, he just wanted to fuck her and forget all his fears, but he knew she hadn't come there in all her angry glory to let that happen.
And he wasn't really sure if he'd ever fucked Sara. It had pretty much been love from the start for him, and now that he knew for certain it was love for her too, he didn't know why he couldn't grab it with both hands and hold on tight.
"What is the problem?" she demanded, as if privy to his train of thought.
"I don't know," he said truthfully.
"Well, you better fucking figure it out, because I didn't just spend the last 11 hours traveling here so you could say I. Don't. Know."
"I didn't ask you to come here," he said, his defenses up and surrounding him soundly.
"You also didn't ask to come into my life, you just showed up. So I'm returning the favor. If you want out now, you have to say it to my face." Her brown eyes held a combination of fierceness and fear that made him love her even more, and know he could never truly deserve her. And that was what this was all about, he suddenly realized.
"I don't want out," he replied, and dragging his gaze away from hers, he turned and sat on the end of the bed, next to her bag. "I just...Sara, I don't-this life, the one you've made for you and Mikey. I'm an intruder. You just said it yourself. And I don't..." he couldn't finish. He didn't know what he exactly he wanted to say, which was why he'd hung up on her to begin with. "The crux of this is that I do love you, as I'm sure you've known for quite some time, and I think all I've ever wanted was for you to love me back. And now that I know you do, it scares the shit out of me."
She relinquished her angry stance and joined him on the bed. It was a king sized bed, so there was plenty of room for her bag, and both of them, but she sat close to him anyway. “Why?" she asked simply.
"Because." He delivered the word as if it could possibly cover the fathomlessness of what he felt.
"Because you might have to step up and actually be the guy, Paul?" When he didn't respond, or even meet her eyes, her fingers grasped his chin and forced him to look at her. "Because now you might be a husband, and a father, and even though that's what you've been campaigning for, for the last year, you think with the goal in sight, punking out now might be safer?" Her fingers pinched the skin of his throat just slightly. "You have that right. You've always had the right to walk away whenever you wanted. For a long time, I thought you might fly off one of those times and never come back. But not this time. When you left after that last visit, I remember thinking--if I have to give up Linc and his family, that will be the hardest thing I've ever done, but I had decided I would. I would give it up, Paul. For you. Because being with you is what I want."
It had to be an easy thing to say now that she knew she didn't actually have to do it, but even with that knowledge, the sincerity of her words carved out the area where his heart beat strongly.
She didn't just love him. She chose him. She had selected him, and right now she was following though on it. She'd flown all that way to tell him so. To badger him into it if need be.
"Sara," he said, his voice suddenly thick. "I love you."
"I know, Paul. But what does that mean?"
He swallowed, and then took her hand gently in his own. “It means I’m not punking out, and if you’re serious about it, then so am I.”
He lifted his eyes to hers, the guilt for having made her feel like he was trying to leave her warring with his joy that she had come to fight for him. She looked at him steadily, but said nothing. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.
She smiled, and he knew there was nothing left to worry about.
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Paul Kellerman, Sara Tancredi, Kristine Kellerman
Category: Multi-chapter (finished)
Rating: R
Summary: I finished this story in June, but then started another epilogue in July and I finally finished it! Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five
Author’s Notes: The idea for this came because chapter_stork is a big Paul fan, and we met up, and she treated me to a play. Sorry it took so long, Viva. You probably forgot all about it. (Title blatantly stolen from Lady Gaga's song covered by Chris Daughtry.)
She often met him at the door in nothing but the orange shirt he'd worn the first day he re-entered her life. It was her private joke, one she found immensely funny, but for Paul, it worked like a match to dynamite. There had been several encounters where the only thing that had been moved was the zipper on his pants, and he would somehow be deep inside her while she trembled against him still fully covered by the enormous shirt.
He'd come several times, as a matter of fact, with orange echoing behind his closed eyes, and Sara's soft laughter tracing the edges of his ears.
It was a fugly shirt-a term he'd learned watching some silly teenager movie with Sara. (She had a weakness for high school flicks. He guessed it was because she hadn't had a normal high school experience herself and she thought these movies might clue her in a bit. But he had never asked her, and so maybe she just liked high school movies for no deep psychological reason.) But he did love her in the shirt, even if it was hideous. Most especially, he loved taking it off of her after it was damp with sweat, and then he would run his fingers over her glistening skin, idling over his favorite spots, like her nipples, and her navel, and the insides of her thighs. She would lie still for him, letting him explore and dally, and eventually their eyes would meet and they would kiss for a long time. Then Paul would feel tears pricking his eyes, so he would quickly re-engage in the sexual aspect between them because that didn't make him feel like crying.
The tenderness of the aftermath always got him though, and he struggled against showing too much when each return invitation seemed like one more bonus round before she failed to ask him about his next trip.
He hadn't been able to make his regular fourth-weekend trip this time because his sister-on a campaign to make the world as green as possible, and giving Al Gore a run for his money-had needed him to help her with security detail on a public appearance in San Antonio. He free-lanced this type of job all the time now, but he couldn't turn down his sister, even though Kristine would have been more likely to understand the excuse of this is my weekend with Sara far more than any other client would. He'd cancelled on Sara, who had sounded appropriately disappointed, and then he'd ended the call without saying I love you, the phrase that hung unsaid between them every time they spoke to each other, and certainly every time they were parting ways.
He had said it once-accidentally-at the height of passion. The only thing that had been okay about that was that Sara's response had been instantaneous. Physically, she had seized up around him, her orgasm taking them both by surprise, and wringing them out so that it took several minutes to get their respective breaths back. She hadn't said anything, but he hadn't needed her to; her response had been plain enough as far as was concerned. It became clear over the next few weeks that he didn’t doubt her feelings for him at all, he simply doubted her commitment to having him be in her life permanently.
And could he really blame her? It would be awkward, to say the least. As unlikely as it seemed that she might love him, it was much more unlikely that she would ask him for, or give him, a full commitment. Even though the last two times he’d gone to visit, she’d actually let him come while Michael was there, and it had been wonderful, he still saw the doubt in her eyes when she didn’t mean to show him anything.
So he didn’t show her anything either, because it was ludicrous to think they would ever be together forever anyway.
But, he had found that he really did want the words from her, and she had not been forthcoming even with that, so he'd refrained from saying it in a more lucid moment. He also found himself holding back at times in their lovemaking because he was afraid of another unrehearsed admission. Maybe that was why he'd been keen to take Kristine's detailing job and not rush down to see Sara this weekend.
Perhaps he had finally gotten to the point where he didn't need her so much. Now, possibly, he could be as casually invested in the relationship as she was-and so when it inevitably ended, he wouldn't be crippled for life.
Yeah, right.
Kristine caught his eye from the front of the auditorium where she sat, preparing to give her “Live Green Forever” speech. The Dean of the University of Texas at San Antonio gave a list of Kristine's credentials to the crowd, including how she had worked on Illinois Congressman Kellerman's campaign several years before, helping to get him elected. Paul smiled at her and nodded, then stood up and walked the perimeter of the folding auditorium chairs. Easing himself slowly towards the stairwell, he intended to go up and make a sweep through the balcony and then position himself so he could see the people who were waiting just backstage.
There was no real danger in a situation like this, but there had been incidents where groups who believed global warming was nothing more than a conspiracy had sometimes demonstrated their protestations of such campaigns like Kristine's. And this was Texas. Anything could happen.
And, as Kristine said when she asked Paul to do this, she always felt safer when her big brother was there.
His phone vibrated against his belt, and as he walked up the stairs to the second level, he flipped it open, revealing the international number on the small screen. He answered the call, pushing his earpiece tighter against the side of his head even though it had been resting there all morning, giving him no difficulties in hearing anyone who called to let him know the situation outside the auditorium.
These were the moments when he knew his poker face with Sara Tancredi probably didn't work at all. The only way to be close to her right now was to press the wireless ear piece into his ear canal, and so that's what he did.
"Hello?"
"Hey," she said, her customary greeting.
"Hey," he returned. He got to the top of stairs and looked around. There was no one in the balcony area, all those who had come for the speech fit into the floor seats. He walked briskly to the right side so that he could see Kristine and the people mulling around just past the curtains six feet behind the podium.
"Are you working?" she asked.
Sitting down on one of the folding chairs, he nodded for no one to see. "Yes. Kris is about to give her speech."
"Should I call back later?" she asked, and he could hear something, some underlying tone of excitement or anticipation. "I don't want to distract you."
He held onto the snort that bubbled up in his nose. The only way she wouldn't be distracting to him was if he were dead. "It's okay. It's very low key. Everything's cool." He kept his voice pitched quietly, just because the acoustics in the auditorium might carry his conversation much further than he wanted it to go.
"I miss you," she said, surprising him. Sara was affectionate, and there was never any doubt for him that she enjoyed their time together, but after nearly a year, she’d never said things like this. These were the sort of phrases that preceded important conversations about how they were going to not live on separate ends of a continent so that they didn't miss each other; and they were never going to have that conversation, so things like that were never said.
He must have paused too long, because discomfort distinctly sounded in her tone when she continued on. "I think this is a bad time," she said. "You're working. I'll call back later."
"No, no," he found himself babbling. "No, this is fine... It's fine. I'm not busy, really."
She was silent a moment, and then he heard her take a deep breath. "Well, I'm calling to tell you that Lincoln knows about us. And he's fine with it. So, I thought you should know. I thought you'd like to know."
If her profession of missing him had thrown him for a loop, this announcement, said in a rush of breath almost too quickly for him to totally comprehend, seemed like a blow to the gut. Like the ones he'd imagined Michael Scofield's brother would deliver to his stomach if ever he'd known that Paul slept with Sara on a regular basis. "Us?" was the only word he pulled from her monologue.
"Yeah, you and I, you know how we have a thing going on? A relationship?"
Clearing his throat, Paul murmured, "Uh-huh," into the atmosphere.
"Mikey sort of spilled the beans about it, but Lincoln was terribly understanding. He said if I love you and I want to be with you, he supports me."
Paul felt his stomach clench, and he had sudden gratitude for the fact that he was already sitting down because he doubted his legs would hold him upright. He looked up at the high ceiling and the beams that were specially designed to allow the words of whomever spoke from the stage to bounce back to the masses easily. He found them terribly fascinating, just like Lincoln had been terribly understanding.
"Paul?"
He felt like hyperventilating. He wanted to lie flat on the ground, or put his head between his knees or something, but all he did do was stare up at the wood beams of the auditorium. He couldn't respond, he could hardly even settle on one thought.
"Paul?" she said again. "Are you there?"
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I’m here.” Dragging his eyes back to the floor, he watched Kristine speak animatedly, her arms gesturing emphatically. Standing up, he walked back to the stairwell, jogging down to the platform that led to the switchback to the ground floor. “I’m just…”
“Surprised?” Sara asked with a laugh. “Yeah, me, too. I mean, I was hysterical with laughter, that’s how surprised I was. I can’t explain it, exactly. But it’s exhilarating. I’m so happy, and I just wanted to tell you.”
Again, he didn't respond right away. Everything he thought he would never get seemed to have spilled over his head in the space of about two minutes, and he found he needed a lot more time than that to process it.
"Paul?" she questioned again as the silence dragged on.
"I'm sorry," he blathered, and then he just hung up.
Pulling the earpiece away from his head, he ripped the cell phone off his belt and shut it off quickly so that if she called back, he wouldn't know.
*
After two hours in the car to get to Acapulco and eight hours on a plane, Sara Tancredi rented a car at the airport and drove into downtown San Antonio. She hardly knew where she was going, the insufficient instructions of the drawling kid at the rental counter who had seemed to be hitting on her though she had to be old enough to be his mother had not quite sunk into her brain, so she just pulled her car over and pushed the number three on her cell phone.
"Sara? Where are you?" Kristine's voice held a tinge of worry, but also barely contained excitement that made Sara's hands shake more than they already were.
"I'm on Durango, but I'm not sure how far away from the hotel I am."
"Just keep coming, you can't miss it. The Hilton is huge and takes up a full city block."
Pushing out a harried sigh, Sara didn't merge back into traffic. Instead, she asked, "He's still here?"
"Oh, yeah, he's here. I have two more appearances this week, so we weren't leaving for Austin until tomorrow. He's basically locked himself in his hotel room until we go. He has no idea you're coming, not because I didn't try to warn him, but because he's insisted that I leave him alone until our next travel date."
Rubbing her forehead, Sara felt as though she had suddenly encountered a stranger, one that up until she realized he was a stranger, she had wanted to build a life with. Now, she just wanted to make sure he was still alive so she could beat the shit out of him. "Kris, is this normal for him? I've gotta say, I'm a little disconcerted by the whole thing."
There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone. "Oh, Sara. Who can say what's normal for a man who never did a normal thing in his life? All I know is he's madly in love with you, and if he's running from you at this point it's only because he doesn't really know what to do here. He usually likes to work with a plan, you know?"
Sara nodded to no one in particular and ground her teeth. Why was she always attracted to this sort of man? If she could just have had a thing for guys like Lincoln, her life would have been infinitely simpler. "Okay, I'm going in, I guess. But no guarantees. He may need you to pick up the pieces, because if he gives me the runaround, this will be it here, tonight. I've got a child to think about and I can't deal with his dramatics."
She couldn't even believe she'd had to say that. Paul was the last person on earth she'd ever thought who would flake out on her.
"Call me when you can-good or bad news."
"Kristine?"
"Yeah?"
"We'll still be friends, no matter what?"
"Of course. Even if my brother is a total moron, I'm not."
Sara laughed, and it eased some of the pressure in her chest. "Thanks."
"Call me when you can."
"Will do."
Sara ended the call and then shifted the car into drive.
As she headed up the street a few blocks, the tall building she was looking for came into view. She blinked as tears stung her eyes. She didn't know what was about to happen, but she hoped it went her way.
*
Paul Kellerman lay on the bed in his nice hotel room, fully clothed. He was neither drunk, nor high, something he'd thought might alleviate some of his distress several times over the last fourteen hours. He'd been unable to find illegal substances, and the legal ones in the mini-bar had looked at him accusingly when he set them on the bedside cabinet.
He might never be able to get drunk ever again because of his relationship with Sara. It was just another thing to find annoying about her. Because that's what he'd been doing for the last 14 hours--listing all the things he couldn't handle about her.
So far he'd come up with the fact that her being a recovering drug addict made him feel guilty when he wanted a drink.
Yeah, it wasn't his best stuff, not by a long shot.
He was simply running scared, and he had no protocol for that. He didn't know how to do it, how to be helpless. But he'd been helpless since the moment she'd invited him into her house almost a year before; helpless, and at her mercy, and her cavalier delivery of the fact that she loved him somehow made him even more helpless. Helpless and responseless. He'd hung up on her, when they hadn't even had an argument, and he'd avoided all the phone calls she'd placed to him-the ones on his cell, and the direct ones to the hotel, which made him wonder how the hell she knew where he was when it came to hotels. San Antonio was a large city, so he knew she hadn't just lucked into guessing where he was staying.
He suspected his sister was involved somehow, but he hadn't even tried to figure it out. He was too wrapped up in his own turmoil to even worry about how mad his sister might be when he finally surfaced again, in time for her next appointment.
A knock-nee, a pounding-upon the door of his hotel room startled him into an upright position. He reached for his gun automatically, even though those days were long behind him. Taking a deep breath, he swung his legs off the bed and opened the bedside table drawer, dropping the gun down on top of the Holy Bible that rested inside.
A second pounding on the door was followed by a raised voice saying, "Paul Kellerman, you better open this door right now."
It was not the voice of his mother, but it was the voice of a mother, one who was currently raising a charming and obedient genius of a child. He shook his head in disbelief, because it couldn't be possible. He could not believe Sara Tancredi was in San Antonio and beating on the door of his posh hotel room.
He didn't want to believe it. Because this was about to become the showdown of all showdowns.
Before she could beat on the door a third time, he padded across the floor in his stocking feet, rubbing at the back of his head in agitation. As he passed by a mirror lining the small walkway to the door he caught of glimpse of himself, and seeing that his hands had made his hair look like he'd been electrocuted, he quickly stopped and smoothed it back down. He primped a little and then jumped when her fist landed hard against the door again. "I'm drawing a crowd out here, you coward. Open the goddamn door!"
Moving with much more speed and not a little fear, he jerked the door open to find her standing alone. He felt a giggle bubble up in his throat, but he choked on it. He knew if he laughed even a little bit, she might find something to strangle him with and this time no one was around to keep her from finishing the job.
"Sara," he said, nodding his head in some semblance of a formal bow. He didn't know why, but he always remembered his manners with her, usually in a most unnecessary-and thoroughly evident from her expression-slightly annoying way.
"Paul," she sniped back, pushing past him into his room. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and her hair was in a wad on the back of her head, as normal. He appreciated that she hadn't come there all dressed up. She'd come to do battle, and so she was just Sara. No frills, no formalities. No bullshit.
He shut the door slowly and then turned and followed her into the main suite.
She had thrown her bag and sweater down on the bed, and stood with her hands on her hips staring at him as he approached. Truth be told, he just wanted to fuck her and forget all his fears, but he knew she hadn't come there in all her angry glory to let that happen.
And he wasn't really sure if he'd ever fucked Sara. It had pretty much been love from the start for him, and now that he knew for certain it was love for her too, he didn't know why he couldn't grab it with both hands and hold on tight.
"What is the problem?" she demanded, as if privy to his train of thought.
"I don't know," he said truthfully.
"Well, you better fucking figure it out, because I didn't just spend the last 11 hours traveling here so you could say I. Don't. Know."
"I didn't ask you to come here," he said, his defenses up and surrounding him soundly.
"You also didn't ask to come into my life, you just showed up. So I'm returning the favor. If you want out now, you have to say it to my face." Her brown eyes held a combination of fierceness and fear that made him love her even more, and know he could never truly deserve her. And that was what this was all about, he suddenly realized.
"I don't want out," he replied, and dragging his gaze away from hers, he turned and sat on the end of the bed, next to her bag. "I just...Sara, I don't-this life, the one you've made for you and Mikey. I'm an intruder. You just said it yourself. And I don't..." he couldn't finish. He didn't know what he exactly he wanted to say, which was why he'd hung up on her to begin with. "The crux of this is that I do love you, as I'm sure you've known for quite some time, and I think all I've ever wanted was for you to love me back. And now that I know you do, it scares the shit out of me."
She relinquished her angry stance and joined him on the bed. It was a king sized bed, so there was plenty of room for her bag, and both of them, but she sat close to him anyway. “Why?" she asked simply.
"Because." He delivered the word as if it could possibly cover the fathomlessness of what he felt.
"Because you might have to step up and actually be the guy, Paul?" When he didn't respond, or even meet her eyes, her fingers grasped his chin and forced him to look at her. "Because now you might be a husband, and a father, and even though that's what you've been campaigning for, for the last year, you think with the goal in sight, punking out now might be safer?" Her fingers pinched the skin of his throat just slightly. "You have that right. You've always had the right to walk away whenever you wanted. For a long time, I thought you might fly off one of those times and never come back. But not this time. When you left after that last visit, I remember thinking--if I have to give up Linc and his family, that will be the hardest thing I've ever done, but I had decided I would. I would give it up, Paul. For you. Because being with you is what I want."
It had to be an easy thing to say now that she knew she didn't actually have to do it, but even with that knowledge, the sincerity of her words carved out the area where his heart beat strongly.
She didn't just love him. She chose him. She had selected him, and right now she was following though on it. She'd flown all that way to tell him so. To badger him into it if need be.
"Sara," he said, his voice suddenly thick. "I love you."
"I know, Paul. But what does that mean?"
He swallowed, and then took her hand gently in his own. “It means I’m not punking out, and if you’re serious about it, then so am I.”
He lifted his eyes to hers, the guilt for having made her feel like he was trying to leave her warring with his joy that she had come to fight for him. She looked at him steadily, but said nothing. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.
She smiled, and he knew there was nothing left to worry about.