by Kata Čuić
I come into her so hard, I’m going to be feeling it for days. Weeks. Months. Forever.
Peaches is relaxed all around me, her muscles limp in the circle of my arms, her foot trailing a lazy path up and down the back of my thigh.
I pant against the sweet-smelling skin at the curve of her neck. Guilt pecks at my back, but I’m too exhausted to answer the call.
Tori strokes her fingers through my damp hair, murmuring at my ear, “You could have just admitted you’re jealous, and that you don’t want to lose me.”
She’s right. I don’t. Marking her as my territory like a fucking caveman isn’t going to save me from the inevitable though.
Tori physically lifts my head with a hand on either of my cheeks. Her gaze bounces between my eyes before she enunciates her words clearly enough for me to hear over the blood still rushing through my veins. “You want to convince me that you’re my unicorn, but you can’t even give me this.”
I can’t. Not yet. Not until she has all the information to make her choice.
“Yeah.” I nod and step back, transfixed by the sight of my release seeping out from between her legs. Right onto the cabinet below the countertop. “My mistake. You didn’t have an orgasm this time, so I’m not holding up my end of the bargain.”
That’s a shitty way for me to give her one last chance to spare me the confession swirling in my gut that’s begging to be freed. I recognize I’m being an asshole to give her a push, but that awareness isn’t enough to make me stop.
She hops off the counter and walks away without a look back. She does, however, slap her red ass again. “Get ready, Mitchell. It’s time to go to work.”
I guess that’s my answer to the question I’m too afraid to ask. She’s not leaving, so it’s time to cough up all my guilt.
“No.”
In all fairness, I don’t like that one either. I click over to the next slide.
He barely glances at it. “Pass.”
We repeat this process twenty more times until I’m all out of options.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” I slam my laptop closed. “We have until next weekend. Since you don’t like any of my ideas, maybe you can ask David to design the posts. There’s still enough time for him to create something from scratch.”
Mike leans back against the couch in his living room, stretching his arm behind me. He’s had a full week of grueling practices, and he looks absolutely exhausted. A fresh bruise blooms on his left bicep.
“Look.” I curl up at the opposite end of the couch, well out of accidental striking range. “If it was up to me alone, I wouldn’t even be bothering you with this crap at all. The team just suffered their first loss of the season, and you have more important things to worry about. It completely defeats the purpose of PR to concern you with stuff that should be smooth sailing behind the scenes.”
“This is my life,” Mike murmurs, his gaze still focused on the abandoned laptop that rests on the coffee table. “So, you need my approval for something this big.”
“I do,” I confirm.
He lifts his brown eyes to mine. “What about your approval? This is your life, too.”
I thought so, but even the only choice I felt I was making for myself seems to have slipped through my fingers. In the past week, I haven’t felt Mike’s lips on mine a single time. He hasn’t called. I haven’t slept in his bed. We run into each other occasionally in the halls at the training facility. We appear in public for our weekly dinner reservation, but that’s it.
I probably wouldn’t even be in his house right now at all if it wasn’t for the sort of private conversation we need to have about this next play.
“This is my job,” I emphasize. “We agreed to the terms at the beginning of the season. It’s too late to change my mind now.”
Mike might be able to renegotiate with Mr. Gallo though. There’s not a chance in hell the Wolves will bench one of their star players. Not when he’s proving himself so reliable during what should be his sophomore jinx season.
“None of those felt real. Aren’t you always saying this stuff needs to seem organic?” Mike gestures toward my computer. “Were any of those posts remotely close to the kind of official relationship announcement you made when you and Ben got together?”
I snort in spite of my bad mood. “I was fourteen and a freshman in high school when Ben asked me to be his girlfriend. The extent of my social media prowess was overuse of emojis to convey excitement.”
The corner of Mike’s mouth tips up. Just barely. Almost unnoticeable. It’s gone just as quickly. “Maybe because you knew him, so you had a good reason to be excited. You don’t really know me.”
The first words perched on my tongue are something witty about the biblical definition of knowing a person, but I swallow them down. Mike isn’t wrong. He might be able to play my body like a master fiddler, but he’s also content not to learn any new techniques.
He settles himself against the opposite side of the couch, resting his head on the arm and stretching his legs toward me. He opens his arms. “Come here.”
“Aren’t you sore?”
He raises his eyebrows subtly then gestures with his hands again for me to climb on top of him.
I do. Very, very tentatively.
“Get comfortable,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “Don’t just pretend to be.”
Oh. I see where he’s going with this. He thinks he can do better than my posts. Okay, fine. I’ll play along. For organic marketing’s sake.
I slide my arms around his sides, burrowing them a little between his body and the couch. Next, I wrap one leg over his muscular thigh and wedge the other between his legs. He’s my human body pillow. Finally, I wriggle on top of him until all his hard planes and deep ridges align perfectly with my softer spots.
“Since we’ve apparently scratched all our itches, don’t even think about popping a boner, pal.”
“Sex has nothing to do with intimacy.” His lips brush against my hair as he speaks. He holds his phone at his considerable arm’s length and takes a few shots of us cuddled together. “Now, shut up for a minute and let me think.”
“Wow.” I bark out a laugh. “You could teach a master’s class on intimacy.”
He holds his phone above me, slowly tapping at the screen.
I glance over my shoulder, but he moves out of my line of sight.
“No peeking. You’ll just try to make suggestions before I’m even done.”
Still not wrong. I relax against him again, honestly curious as to what he’ll come up with. He’s never been so invested in his posts before.
He places the phone face down on the coffee table then wraps both his arms securely around me.
“Couldn’t come up with anything, huh? Ready for me to take a crack at it?”
“No. I’m ready to tell you some things, and I need you to listen. When I’m done, you can decide whether I post that picture. Or not.”
Oh. This setup was two-fold. I get the distinct impression he can’t look me in the eyes right now.
His chest heaves beneath me with a deep breath. “I had a one-night stand in college.”
That’s what he’s so afraid to tell me? People have one-night stands all the time. “I, um, kind of figured that out when you told me it had been almost four years since you last had sex. I knew those numbers didn’t add up. Your stupid ex broke up with you six years ago.”
He jerks his arms around me a little. “Hey. You’re supposed to be listening, remember?”
“Just trying to make it easier on you,” I mumble into his soft t-shirt. “I’m not judging you for that, Mike.”
His chest moves beneath my cheek again with a sigh. “Peaches, I’m trying here, but you’ve gotta help me, help us. I can’t get all this out if you keep interrupting.”
I’m honestly a little worried now, but I’m more impressed he’s not using me as an excuse to give up. “Sorry. I promise I’ll stay quiet until you tell me I can talk again.
Go on.”
A few moments of silence pass between us, but I keep my trap shut.
“You sure?” he asks.
I nod against him.
“Okay. Um…So, the one-night stand. She taught me a really important lesson, and I honestly earned my nickname in the Wolves locker room because of her. It was junior year. I was well over Chelsie by that point. Alex kept dragging me to parties, trying to get me back on the horse, and I was finally ready to do it. So, I did.”
Still not seeing the point of this confession other than learning he’s never thought of his nickname as a bad thing.
Mike’s muscles tense all around me. “The problem was we were both drunk. That was a stupid rookie mistake. Consent isn’t possible if both people aren’t sober. Anyway, we did the deed, passed out for about an hour in one of the rooms at the frat house. When we woke up and the lights came on, she was pissed as hell.”
I am practically bursting with the effort of keeping quiet. His dramatic pauses are not helping my cause at all.
“She thought she’d slept with Rob.” Mike barks out a laugh that jolts me against his chest. “She must have felt really special to be the woman who finally broke his loyalty to Evie. When she found out she wasn’t, she actually threw a shoe at me as I was walking out the door. Missed my head by only an inch.”
I peel myself away from his chest, murder undoubtedly written all over my face.
He laughs again. “You can’t track her down and punch her, Peaches. I don’t remember her name. I couldn’t even tell you what color her hair was.”
I’m going to explode from all this pent-up pressure. My face must be absolutely crimson.
He rolls his eyes. “Go ahead. Permission to speak.”
“What a bitch!”
He chuckles then cups my hands with his cheeks to pull me down for a quick kiss. “God, I—” He stops short then situates me in the pocket between his chin and chest again. “Thanks for the laugh. I’ll try to hang onto that for the rest of it.”
“There’s more?”
He taps my back with his fingers. “You’re on silent mode again. Got it?”
I nod. All the anxiety I let fly with my anger reappears like a heavy blanket.
“I was way more ashamed of myself than I was mad at her. She must’ve been a hell of a lot drunker than I was because Rob had left the party hours before that chick dragged me upstairs. Evie was drunk as fuck, and he took her home. I headed to their apartment to check on her and took out all my frustration on Rob, who sure as hell didn’t deserve it.” Another deep sigh rolls like a wave beneath my face. “He wasn’t fucking some drunk random at a frat party. He was taking care of his girlfriend. She was…” Mike blows out a breath. “She was in bad shape. I, uh…saw for myself that night the…um…” He swallows so thickly, I feel his throat working against my temple. “The scars. That she has. On her breasts. From that attack.”
I pat his shoulder with my hand to let him know I’m actively listening. What I’m really doing is actively holding back tears. I’ve seen the evidence online of what his best friend went through. What she still bears. While I know all the facts and how much Mike cares for this woman, this is just another thing he’s never talked to me about. I don’t dare interrupt as he tries to pull himself together to continue.
“I, uh…I really lit into Rob after seeing that. Poked and prodded and made goddamn sure he was up for the job he seemed to want so fucking much. The next year when their relationship blew up, and he ended up cheating on her even though they were already married…I was done. I was so fucking done. I was never going to let myself get so completely gutted by someone the way they eviscerated each other, let alone ever fuck another woman who didn’t even know my name.”
I press a kiss to his chest and let my tears spill over. How could I have known that Mike has already given me more trust and intimacy than he promised himself he ever would again?
He runs his hand down the back of my hair, squeezing me tighter. “Peaches, I’m gonna warn you right now. That was actually the warm-up. My lack of faith in relationships goes back way further and way deeper. Evie is both the reason I ever tried one in the first place and the reason I gave up on them again.”
I nod, absolutely terrified of how deep this rabbit hole goes.
“Only three people on the entire Earth know what I’m about to tell you, and one of them recently passed away. The cop who responded to the 911 call that night, my mom, and…Evie.”
I’m starting to understand why their bond is so strong. Why they will always be part of each other’s lives, no matter what.
“Evie and I went to school together since kindergarten, but we didn’t really know each other until we were both placed in the same therapy group for abused kids when we were in fifth grade. Her alcoholic dad lost his shit one time and ended up putting her in the hospital, and me? I never had a finger laid on me.”
That doesn’t make any sense.
“All the other kids there were abused way worse. They had the mental problems to show for it. Most of them were angry and violent themselves because that’s what they’d always been exposed to. One of them really picked on Evie. She was so small and so scared and just so…fucking awkward.” My head jostles with another unexpected laugh. “You’d never know it to see her college WAG pictures, but she had the biggest glasses, the frizziest hair, and the skinniest arms and legs. She was an easy target, and those kids knew it.”
His laughter dries up.
“I offered to teach her how to stand up for herself, but I gave her all the information to make her choice that I’m about to give you.”
I don’t think he’s pausing for dramatic effect now.
“You’re lying in the arms of a murderer.”
I don’t move. I quit breathing. My heart ceases to beat.
“I killed my own father to save my mother.”
My blood pumps harder than it ever has through my veins. I’m going to hyperventilate. Pain shoots through my chest.
“He beat her senseless all the time. I don’t know why he never came after us kids, but he just…didn’t. My sisters were only six. I worked so hard to hide it from them, but fuck. I heard it. I saw it. I begged her to leave, but she didn’t think she could make it on her own with three kids. Then one night, he made the choice for her. For us. He was going to kill her. Said as much. Was literally strangling her to death right in front of me. He must not have even known I was in the room because there is no way in hell I could’ve got the drop on him otherwise.”
Mike takes another deep breath.
“I hit him over the head with a cast iron frying pan. Literally bashed his skull in. Once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I rained down hit after hit, giving him back everything he’d ever done to my mom over the years. She couldn’t even pull me off him. The twins were at a slumber party that night, so thank God they weren’t around to see what I’m capable of. Mom must have called 911. It was the cop who finally dragged me away from Dad’s body, but I think I was just out of steam by that point anyway.”
I’m a sobbing mess in his arms, but Mike forges on.
“He had to file a report obviously, but they flubbed it. My mom killed my dad in self-defense. She had all the injuries to support the story. I had none. Not physical anyway. Apparently, everyone in town knew what a piece of shit my dad was, and they already guessed what was going on at home, so no one ever questioned his death. I think they sort of looked at my mom as a badass for finally doing what had to be done and protecting her kids. All the neighbors rallied around us. My mom didn’t have to cook for a solid month, thanks to all the casseroles people kept dropping off. The local dentist offered her a job as a receptionist, and she still works there to this day. My sisters never went to daycare when they weren’t in half-day kindergarten because the old lady next door became their nanny—for free. And me? Officer Manning drove me to that damn therapy group three times a week because he didn’t want me to become just another violent offender
on his caseload. He volunteered as a youth football coach in his free time, and he insisted I find a more constructive outlet for my aggression. So, I did.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but…I can. So many pieces of the puzzle that’s Mike Mitchell fall into place—his devoted loyalty to Evie, his drive to provide for his mom and sisters, his lack of trust in others. It’s a wonder I’m lying in his arms at all. Or that he ever gave Templeman a chance to be his friend.
“I want you to know I don’t regret it,” he murmurs, swiping his hand down my hair in a soothing, rhythmic motion. “Not for a second. If I was transported back in time to that exact moment, I’d do it all again.”
I retract my claws when I realize I’m actually digging into his skin in an effort to cling to him as tightly as possible.
He coughs out a bitter laugh. “It’s still fucking hysterical to me that Evie whacked me over the head with a frying pan. Damn if she didn’t learn everything I ever taught her.”
After all he’s said to me, I have no idea why this is the thing that makes me break. I pop up from my place on his chest, horror blooming in my brain at the thought of never getting to live this moment. “She could have killed you!”
The corner of his mouth tips up. His eyes are tired, but there’s a hint of sparkle in them. “Nah. It was a cheap old thing. The handle actually broke off when she hit me with it.”
“You weren’t mad at her because you’re proud of her.”
He nods, his expression growing serious. “I am. Hell, she’s teaching me a thing or two these days.”
Something about the way he says it—the way he looks at me—sends shivers of anticipation down my spine.
“What is she teaching you?”
He chews on his lip then reaches for his phone on the coffee table.
I stare at the photo he took of us lying together on the couch. There’s nothing fancy or staged about it. My hair’s a mess; he clearly looks exhausted.
