The Mighty Anchor: Rogue Academy, Book Three

by Aarons, Carrie

I want so desperately for it to be Louis standing on the other side of that door, for my son’s sake, but I know that, most likely, it’s not. Louis texted me a couple of hours after he stormed out, telling me that he was traveling back home to Wales for a while and would be in touch when he had some space.

  So far, Mason has asked no more than three dozen times when his daddy would be back, in that stilted speaking of his.

  “I don’t think so, buddy.” I try not to shed a tear when I say it.

  My decision, all of my decisions, no longer effect just me. Louis leaving, of my doing, will damage Mason, too.

  I walk to the door, pull it open, and my heart expires in my chest at the sight I see.

  A hulking, devastatingly gorgeous Vance Morley. With every piece of clothing he wears wet and plastered to him.

  It appears as if the rain has swallowed him whole, his long sleeve and jeans soaked and sticking to every dip and curve of his carved body. My mouth goes dry just looking at him, and it’s a losing battle to keep my knickers from becoming as wet as the shock of black hair curling down onto his forehead. His hands brace the sides of my doorway just like they used to brace the sides of my head when he’d move over me in bed. Drips of rain water splash from his long black eyelashes down onto his cheeks, and I want to step toward him and swipe my tongue along the moisture on his bottom lip.

  Everything in me vibrates with need and desire, and for a moment, I forget about all the chaos between us. I want him to attack me, to hoist me up onto his hips and barrel through my flat, water splashing everywhere. I want Vance to tumble into my bed and make loud, passionate love to me while our bones chill from the temperature of his clothes and skin.

  I’m hot and cold, the affect sending my head spinning.

  “Is he gone?” Vance asks, his rough tone like knuckles scraping over the nub of intensity between my legs.

  Rain pelts at his back, but he doesn’t move inside. “Yes. I-I broke it off last night.”

  Why I feel like this is some explanation I owe him, or that I should show him what a good girl I am that I called off my engagement for him, I have no clue. He’s the one who came to town and upended my life. Yet, with him standing there like that, it feels like I should be the one to beg.

  Without being invited, Vance steps inside, puddles of water forming on the floor of my tiny entryway. I don’t speak, and he doesn’t follow when I retrieve a towel from the linen closet across my flat.

  Mason is still unaware of his real father’s presence, and I need to keep it that way until Vance and I can talk.

  “Thanks,” he says as he dabs himself off, and I’m not sure if he means for the towel or for leaving my fiancé.

  “I didn’t do it for you.” That’s only half true.

  Dark brown eyes, the color of coffee mixed with whiskey, skate over my entire body. As if we’re not having a serious conversation, as if this is all some cat and mouse game that will end in him capturing me.

  “You might not have left him for me, but don’t lie. You did it because you weren’t in love with him. Not like you’re in love with me.”

  The selfish bastard. He’s so bloody calm and collected all the time that I forget how much of an ego lies dormant under the cool facade. Vance may be the silent one among his merry band of scoundrels, but he’s still a scoundrel through and through.

  “This isn’t some contest you just won, Vance,” I spit, my ire evident in my tone.

  His dark eyes flash, a streak of lightning at midnight. “You’re not with him anymore. It kind of does. I want you, Lara. You’re what I’ve been fighting for. Now, we can have what we desire.”

  Annoyance flicks at the muscles of my heart because he’s being disrespectful.

  “You’ll excuse me if I’m not just upset about the breakup of my engagement. Because I’m not, I’m devastated. Partially because Louis is a wonderful man who loved me, and I loved him in my own way. Partially because ending a commitment of that caliber is damaging to the soul. I made the man a promise, and he was counting on creating a life with me. But mostly, I’m terribly heartbroken for Mason. Louis is the only father he’s ever known, and a man who was a brilliant role model for my son. So, forgive me for not wanting to fall into your arms and weep of romantic elation. I’m horribly sad, Vance. It is going to take some time for me to heal, to patch up the wounds in my heart.”

  The man, the one I’ve truly always loved, nods his head, but his eyes are hard flint. “I know all of this. You don’t think it guts me to hear that? That another man held my place while I lived my life, ignorant of the one I should have been a part of?”

  “So we’re back to this?” I huff, getting up in his face.

  We’re millimeters apart, just a technicality. With one breath, he could take my mouth. I hear the sounds of Mason’s learning puzzle toy singing in the background and try to keep my voice down.

  “You yelled at me about not being able to do the right thing. You said you should want to walk away, but you just couldn’t. You don’t see that it’s the same for me? You don’t think I want my family to be together? That I’d like something more than raising my son with the man who helped give him life? That I’d want anything else besides loving you for the rest of my days? It’s a little more complicated than that, Vance. Or do you not remember you were the one who left me? You’re the one who said it was better for us not to be together.”

  “Lara, how many times do I have to apologize? Because I’ll do it. I’m the one who fired the first shot, but you started the war.” His dimple kicks up when he grimaces, and I can’t help but want to run my tongue over that, too.

  Hurt, like the one he caused, doesn’t just go away. But he’s right. I’d made the decision to keep it from him and made the decision not to marry Louis.

  “You’re right.” I hate admitting it. “We’ve both hurt each other. When you and I ended, it wasn’t the end of my world. It was the end of the world I had with you. But then Mason became my world. He’s an extension of you, a piece of you I got to keep, possibly a piece that you wouldn’t have given if you’d had the choice.”

  “Again with this?” Vance throws his large, meaty hands up. “I told you not to bring those accusations against me. Especially now, when I clearly have so much love for our son.”

  I relent, sighing. “I’m sorry, that was a low blow. I just … it’s been a hard week.”

  “Tell me about it.” Vance’s eyes slide sideways, and we both hear Mason singing “Wheels on the Bus” in the other room.

  I’m tired of fighting, and though it might not be the best idea, seeing as my fiancé just occupied this space not a day before, something in me gives up. Stops resisting. Allows my heart to follow itself instead of the bitterness in my brain.

  “Mason would be happy to see you. Why don’t you stay for supper?”

  Vance looks about as shocked at the offer as I feel about extending it.

  “All right. Thank you.”

  His eyes, the one I’ve dreamed about for years after he left, silently ask for one more chance.

  20

  Vance

  Lara’s flat embodies everything I think of when I think of her.

  It’s warm and inviting, with a little bit of edge to it. Dark wood and leather highlighted by cream-colored rugs and curtains, with fixtures of iron or metal dotting the space. An abundance of houseplants give any guest visiting the feeling of walking into a forest, and I chuckle under my breath.

  When we were together, Lara used to joke that she couldn’t keep a bouquet of roses alive. I only gave her flowers once, and they were dead by my next visit just three days later.

  Turns out, she’s more nurturing than she ever gave herself credit for.

  “Vance!” Mason shrieks as I walk into the living room, and a part of me can’t wait for the day he calls me Dad.

  “Hey, chap! I missed you. How was nursery school this week?” I pick him up, his tiny face nuzzling into mine, my nose pressed to his scalp. His scent can
only be described as some addicting baby skin smell.

  How can something this innocent and pure exist? Watching him, seeing the world through his eyes, it makes me want to be more open to every possibility. I suppose that’s what happens when you become a parent.

  “Der was giraffes!” he babbles excitedly, plucking the randomest of thoughts from his mind.

  But his wonder for the world, his pure joy at just remembering a giraffe, or probably a drawing of one, makes my life brighter. I want to hear everything he has to say, watch on as he delights in the simplest of things.

  I never thought I’d be inclined to take pleasure in watching a child swing at the park for hours on end. I was wrong. Before the blow-up with my parents, Lara let me take Mason to the playground for half an hour by myself the other morning, and all I’d done was push him in the baby swing for most of the time. He’d been absolutely chuffed.

  “That’s brilliant!” I tell him, setting him down. “What are you playing with?”

  One look across the light colored carpet with a brown and red design running through it tells me that he’s playing with everything. The entire stock of Hamley’s might as well have thrown up on Lara’s living room floor.

  “Puzzles, um blocks, um football!” The little boy rattles off a few of the many playthings covering the floor beneath my feet.

  “Well, we better get to it, then. Unless … does your Mum need help in the kitchen?” I look to Lara.

  It’s the first time I’ve called her Mum in a third person way while speaking to Mason, and I can only imagine doing it for … well, forever. The thought brands itself into my brain, and I know I’ll be having dreams about a normal family life for weeks to come when I head back to Clavering tomorrow.

  “I’ve got everything in here handled. You play.”

  For having just done some decent verbal sparring with each other, we were putting on ace faces for the lad. And even though it’s probably misogynistic, I rather like hearing the sounds of Lara cooking while I sit on the floor and play with our son. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’ve been waiting all day, nervous by my mobile, for her to call.

  When she didn’t, and I couldn’t handle the suspense of whether or not her fiancé was still in the picture, I braved the monsoon going on outside to come over here.

  Thirty minutes of Mason running around like an energizer bunny, showing me every toy he owns and insisting I color with him until the markers ran dry, and Lara is ready for us.

  She places Mason in his high chair and offers me a seat next to him. After she brings over the teriyaki marinated chicken, broccoli, and wild rice she’s prepared, she takes the seat on his other side. My throat goes dry and I feel a certain moisture collecting behind my eyes when I look at the picture in front of me.

  My family, all seated at a dinner table, ready to share a meal.

  When I glance over at the gorgeous woman across the table, I can read the same thought plain as day on her face. I want to memorize every inch of this moment, of the exact look that passes over those high cheekbones, the flush on them as she regards me too.

  We eat with a bit of small talk interspersed, mostly us talking to Mason as he makes a mess out of himself. Half the time, the food barely makes it to his mouth, and he’s so excited about the entire prospect of eating a meal with us that he’s practically jumping out of his chair. He sings, stabs his fork on the tray, tries to tell me about the elephant he saw on the telly, and everything in between.

  Lara and I smirk at each other the entire dinner, as she tries to shove food in his mouth without laughing at the hilarity of our little boy.

  By the end of the meal, Mason is finally knackered, and almost falling asleep on the tray. Lara wipes him down, brushes his teeth in the chair, and then takes him out and hands him to me. Without protesting, I let his head droop against my chest as I follow her to the nursery that must be his.

  It’s done in blues and grays, with tiny sea creature and fishing boat decals on the wall behind the crib. In the corner is a bin full of stuffed animals, and I spot a regulation size Rogue FC soccer ball next to it. My eyes linger there, and I can feel Lara watching me as I stare at it.

  All this time and there was evidence of me in my son’s room.

  “We have to get his diaper changed and him into pajamas,” she whispers, because Mason is already quietly snoozing.

  “Tell me what to do,” I whisper back, wanting to take part in this nighttime ritual.

  She instructs me through it, showing me and guiding my hands to change my first diaper. I strip off his messy dinner clothes and throw them in his hamper and make sure to wipe his bum extra carefully. Every body part is so small, a miniature human lying before me, trusting me to be gentle.

  When he’s in his pajamas, Lara lays a stuffed whale in his arms that he latches onto. “You can rock him a while if you want.”

  She points to a glider in the corner, and I willingly oblige, wanting so desperately to hold onto this sacred moment. Soon enough, he won’t want to do this, even I know that with what little parenting knowledge I have. I missed so much of his life, if he allows me to sit and rock him, I’m going to take all the time I can get.

  Lara leaves quietly as I prop my feet up on the swaying ottoman, and position Mason so he’s laying against my chest comfortably. His face angles up, his eyes closed and breathing steady.

  I just stare at him, that peaceful little face, as I silently gaze all of my hopes and dreams for him down into his features. I hope that he can learn to love me, that he feels the immense love I have for him. Someday, I hope I don’t have to leave the house after he goes to bed.

  The flat is bathed in darkness when I gingerly close Mason’s door after laying him in his crib, and I find Lara in the kitchen. The sink, where she’s washing dishes, muffles the sound of my arrival, and I get to just stare at her for a moment.

  Wouldn’t life be wonderful if I got to do this every night?

  When I make it to her, resting my hip on the counter, I know it’s time for the part of the conversation I don’t want to have.

  “I have to go back to the academy tomorrow.” I duck my head, rubbing the back of my neck.

  In the two weeks I’ve been on leave, I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing and everything. I made my intentions clear; I bonded with Mason, Lara broke off her engagement. My parents now know I have a son, and I’ve come to terms that I may never play for RFC.

  But there is still so much to sort out. Lara is nowhere near ready to give us another go, Mason doesn’t know I’m his father, nor has he met my parents. We haven’t sat down to talk about what co-parenting will look like, or how much my schedule will allow me to be in Mason’s life. And in terms of my professional career, that’s floating somewhere in football purgatory.

  “Oh,” she says, a tinge of shock in her voice. “I didn’t realize the time had gone so quickly.”

  “Yeah,” I say because I don’t know what else to say.

  “When will you be back?” At least she’s not celebrating my departure with a champagne pop as my car leaves town.

  “I’m not sure. We have a ton of matches coming up, and there is a lot of uncertainty of where I might play. I have to figure something out, in terms of my career. But, I’m going to see Mason whenever I possibly can. I know that you might not want to make that easier, or for it to happen—”

  Lara puts a hand up. “Vance, the one thing I won’t interfere with is you seeing Mason. He is your son, and you deserve to nurture a relationship with him. If and when I can meet you halfway, or somewhere that works for a visit, I will do it.”

  A relieved breath huffs from my throat. “That means more than you know. I apologize, truly, Lara for all those times you drove out to meet me. I didn’t appreciate it back then, I was so focused on myself that I couldn’t see how much you sacrificed for me. I was a prick, a bloody bastard. I know you probably think I’ve been one the past two weeks, as well, but I have my reasons. This time, I’m think
ing about the family we could have. I’m thinking about how no other woman in the world makes my heart want to soar out of my chest. You walk into a room and simply gut me, Lara.”

  “I need time, Vance.” Her vibrant blue eyes plead with me.

  “I know you do, love. I won’t push.” My words are gentle, and I want so madly to touch her.

  “Now you won’t push.” She rolls her eyes, but in a good-natured way.

  Sheepishly, I smile. “I’ve told you how I feel. You’re single now. I can give you the space you need to figure this all out.”

  Before she can answer, because I’m all talked out and there isn’t much else for us to say, I lean in and plant a lingering kiss on her forehead. My lips stay there for a second, and I hear Lara exhale a small sigh.

  When I pull back, her blue eyes burn into mine.

  “I’ll message you tomorrow when I arrive in Clavering.”

  Even though every instinct in me is screaming to turn around, to not let my feet carry me out of her flat, I ignore them.

  A change in tactics might work in my favor. If I respect her wishes, give her some time, perhaps she’ll come around to my way of thinking.

  21

  Vance

  The main hall stands ominous and uninviting as I pull my rolling suitcases from the trunk of my car.

  I used to get flutters in my stomach, electric jolts in my veins when I’d pull back onto the Rogue Academy grounds. This is my home, for all intents and purposes, and I was always excited to return.

  But that was the past. Two of the main reasons I loved it here, Kingston and Jude, were now gone. I was the old bloke, compared to the lads here now, and I feel them hypothetically breathing down my neck at every turn.

  I’m tired of living in a dormitory, showering with other men, and eating the gruel they serve in the dining hall. I want to sleep in a king bed with an expensive mattress, not a glorified full size with a rickety box spring.

  I want to train in a real facility, and not be bored to death when coaches are going over the basics with younger players. I want to play in real matches, compete in the premier league and be a starter on the first squad.