Opposites Attract

all.” She moistened her lips. “And it was obvious she wasn’t serious about him, otherwise she’d never have married Wickerton so quickly. She was making Ty unhappy, very unhappy.”
    “I see,” Mac murmured after a moment. Jess had spoken too quickly and too defensively. Studying his wife’s profile, he wondered. “I suppose Ty’s too involved in his career to be serious about a woman?”
    “Yes.” The look Jess gave him was almost pleading. “Yes, he’d never have let her go if he’d been in love with her. Ty’s too possessive.”
    “And proud,” he reminded her quietly. “I don’t think he’d run after any woman, no matter how he felt about her.”
    Feeling her stomach roll, Jess said nothing. She turned to watch her brother take the position for his first serve.
    Instead of the hazy afternoon she saw a brilliant morning. Instead of the clay of Roland Garros she saw the newly empty grass courts of Forest Hills. Ty was leaning over the rail, staring out at center court. She had a fanciful thought that he looked like the captain of a ship with his eyes on the open, endless sea. In her world she loved no one more than him, could conceive of loving no one more. He was brother and father and hero. He’d provided her with a home, clothes and an education, asking nothing in return. As a result, she would have given him anything.
    Crossing to him, she had slipped her arm around him, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder.
    “Thinking about this afternoon?” she murmured. He was slated to face Chuck Prince in the finals of the U.S. Open.
    “Hmm?” Distracted, Ty shrugged. “No, not really.”
    “It must feel odd to compete against your closest friend.”
    “You must forget you’re friends for a couple hours,” Ty returned.
    He was brooding; she sensed it. And unhappy. There was no one, including her mother, Jess felt more loyalty to. Her grip around him tightened. “Ty, what is it?”
    “Just restless.”
    “Have you fought with Asher?”
    Absently he tousled her hair. “No, I haven’t fought with Asher.”
    He lapsed into silence for so long that Jess began to suspect he wasn’t telling the entire truth. She was already worried about him and Asher. The relationship had lasted longer than was habitual for Ty. Jess saw Asher’s reserve as coldness, her independence as indifference. She didn’t hang on Ty as other women did. She didn’t listen raptly to every word he spoke. She didn’t adore him.
    “Do you ever think back, Jess?” he asked suddenly.
    “Think back?”
    “To when we were kids.” His eyes skimmed over the manicured courts, but didn’t see them. “That crummy apartment with the paper walls. The DeMarcos next door screaming at each other in the middle of the night. The stairwell always smelled of old garbage and stale sweat.”
    The tone of his voice disturbed her. Seeking comfort as much as to comfort, she turned her face into his chest. “Not often. I guess I don’t remember it as well as you. I hadn’t turned fifteen when you got us out.”
    “I wonder sometimes if you can ever escape that, if you can ever really turn your back on it.” His eyes were focused on something Jess couldn’t see. She strained to share the vision. “Old garbage and stale sweat,” he repeated quietly. “I can’t forget that. I asked Asher once what smell she remembered most from her childhood. She said the wisteria that hung over her bedroom window.”
    “Ty, I don’t understand.”
    He swore softly. “Neither do I.”
    “You left all that behind—” she began.
    “I left it,” he corrected her. “That doesn’t mean I left it behind. We were having dinner last night. Wickerton stopped by the table and started a conversation about French impressionists. After five minutes I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.”
    Jess bristled. She knew because Ty had sent her to college. She knew because he had provided the opportunity. “You should have told him to get lost.”
    With a laugh Ty kissed her cheek. “That was my first thought.” Abruptly he sobered. “Then I watched them. They understand each other, speak the same language. It made me realize there are some fences you just can’t climb.”
    “You could if you wanted to.”
    “Maybe. I don’t.” He let out a long breath. “I don’t really give a damn about French impressionists. I don’t give a damn about the mutual friends they have that are distant cousins of the queen of England,