Page 34 of The Saint

My hand tightened over Jael’s shoulder, because this was one more connection I couldn’t stop. She looked back at me, then her hand covered mine, like she was offering me comfort. She straightened, as if protecting me from the kid.

“I’m Jael,” she said, stepping a foot in his direction. “Who are you?”

The kid raised his chin, and for a moment, all I saw was Jael doing the same thing when we were kids. Then he stepped forward too, only a slight hesitation in his steps. “Gil Giffords.”

“You like to play?” she asked, extending her hand toward him.

Gil’s face fell, and he handed the ball over. But Jael just tucked it against her side and extended her hand again.

“Yeah?” Gil told her, finally extending his hand to shake hers.

She led him through the same handshake she’d given to Tyrone and the guys, then bounced the basketball back to him. “Then let’s see what you got.”

The kid’s eyes widened, followed quickly by his smile. And to a chorus of cheers and Jermaine’s muttered complaints, I watched the girl who’d long ago stolen my heart play ball with the guys who were like brothers to me.

9

JAEL

Fifty-two.

Fifty-three.

Rolly’s hand brushed mine again, the fifty-fourth time, since we’d left the courts and his friends. We walked along the sidewalks, talking in short bursts while I counted in my head.

Fifty-five.

“Where’s Gil fit in?” I asked as we came to a stop at a streetlight.

Fifty…

My brain seemed to short circuit. Rolly grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind him, as if he wasn’t happy with the speed at which I crossed the street.

I had to admit, I’d been walking slower than I normally would, but only because I didn’t want this magical day to end.

Rolly’s friends, they were nice. They took me into their circle, even after I whooped their asses in that first game, and a couple after that. I wasn’t used to that. I wasn’t used to people giving me more than a snide glance. Not back in school, not in the IDF, not anywhere that wasn’t my family.

And having Rolly by my side again, having him so close I could almost taste the sun on his skin, was the best feeling in the world.

At the other corner, Rolly pulled me out of the flow of traffic, then stopped and turned to me. Slowly, as if he didn’t want to, he relaxed his grip on my hand and let go.

And slowly, as if it pained him to do so, he released his bottom lip from between his teeth and opened his mouth. “Gil lives with his grandmother. His father died before he was born and his mother went to jail on drug charges when he was three. The kid just wants to be normal, to fit in somewhere. The guys look out for him.”

“He’s got potential,” I said after Rolly turned and we continued on our way. “He just needs a little more muscle, a little more practice, and he could be really good.”

Rolly fell into a silence that could have been uncomfortable if I hadn’t been subjected to it for most of my life. He had always weighed his words, never spoke out of turn, and always thought everything through before he ever spoke.

Fifty-seven.

Fifty-seven times he’d brushed against my hand.

Thirty-four times he’d fallen into this silence.

Eight times he’d touched my arm to move me out of the way of an oncoming pedestrian.

And I’d lost count of the number of times he’d tossed a glance my way, those ocean eyes lingering, that smile creeping to the corners of his lips. Because every time he did it, my heart stuttered and my brain used all my energy to get it running again.

Rolly’s long strides slowed—fifty-eight, fifty-nine—and we pulled to a stop. When he turned to me, his fingers snagged mine.