Playing the Game

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "That's 'skate'. I think. And this one is 'hockey'." He held his left hand out palm up and curled the index finger of his right hand over it, knuckle down, pulling it back like a scoop. Then he bent down and made the sign again. "Right little man? That's what Daddy does. Play hockey."

  Noah laughed and grabbed Harland's hands, silently asking him to do it again. Courtney's heart leapt into her throat and not just at the sight of Harland teaching her son the sign for 'hockey'. No, it was because of what Harland had said.

  That's what Daddy does.

  The words had come out so easily, so casually. So naturally, like he'd been saying them for all of Noah's life.

  She blinked back the tears that threatened to fill her eyes, swallowed back the emotion clogging her throat. She was reading too much into it, attaching too much importance to the words. It was just part of the novelty, that was all.

  Harland reached for the small sled resting against the bench and grabbed Noah's hand. Then both of them turned toward her, identical expressions of silent question on their faces. "We're waiting on you."

  "What?"

  Harland motioned behind her. "You don't even have your skates on yet."

  She was saved from answering—from making up an excuse—when two of Harland's teammates came up to them. They were both tall and well-built, close in age to Harland—like almost every other man she had seen here tonight. They looked at her, both offering politely curious smiles, then turned to Harland.

  "Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "You really didn't think you could avoid us all night, did you?" The one with astonishingly ice blue eyes bent down and smiled at Noah. "Hey kiddo. What's your name?"

  Courtney stepped forward, ready to grab Noah's hand before he could hide behind her legs. But Noah didn't move toward her, didn't even seem to realize she was standing there. His hand tightened briefly around Harland's and he looked up at his father, as if waiting for him to make introductions.

  Courtney stopped where she was, not sure what to feel. Confusion. Bewilderment. And maybe even a little hurt. It was like she wasn't even here, like she had been replaced. Did Harland notice? God, she hoped not. But he bent down to pick up Noah then reached for her, his hand closing around hers and pulling her to his side.

  "Guys, this is my son, Noah. And this is Courtney." There had been just the slightest hesitation in his voice before he introduced her. Could she blame him? No, she couldn't. "Courtney, this is Jason Emory and Zach Mummert. They're my teammates."

  Jason—the one with the startling blue eyes—shook her hand first. Zach did the same, his hand holding hers for a brief second longer than necessary. She didn't get any odd vibes from him though, despite the collection of tattoos on his arms and the deep brooding dark gaze. No, she got the impression that he was trying to read her, trying to read the situation and figure out exactly who she was to Harland.

  Part of her wanted to ask him to tell her if he ever figured it out.

  "Hi Noah." Jason leaned closer to Noah and held his hand out. Noah snuggled closer to Harland and stared at the other man's hand. Harland shifted so Noah could see him better.

  "Noah, these are my friends—" Harland raised his free hand then stopped abruptly. He looked down at Courtney, a helpless expression on his face. "That's two hands, isn't it? Does he know 'friend'?"

  "Yes, he knows that one." Courtney tried to hide her surprise that Harland knew, and quickly made the sign for Noah. The she pointed to each man and made a 'J' and a 'Z'. They were still working on things like names, and she wasn't even sure if Noah would remember, but it was the only thing she knew to do.

  Both men just stood there, watching, their confusion evident. Their eyes moved from Courtney to Noah to Harland, then back to Noah. Courtney held her breath, waiting, knowing she wouldn't be able to hold herself back if either of them dared to say something wrong, if they dared to make fun of her son. She wasn't the only one watching them, the only one on the defensive.

  "Noah's deaf, guys. He doesn't have two heads. You can stop staring."

  Both men immediately looked away, red staining their cheeks. She waited for the stuttered excuses, the mumbled comments, the quick exit. None of that happened. Zach looked back at her, dark brows lowered over intense eyes.

  "What did you do for me?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "That thing you made for me. That sign. What was it?"

  "Oh. Uh, it was just the letter 'Z'."

  "Can you show me?"

  The request caught her so off-guard that she nearly stumbled back in surprise. She glanced at Harland but he just stood there with a grin on his face, holding Noah in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  She regained her balance—no, it was more like her world regained its balance, a balance she didn't even realize had been missing. It made no sense but for once, she didn't look into it too deeply. Not when these big athletes, men who were so tough out on the ice, seemed to be so accepting of her son.

  She showed each of them how to make the letter signs. Then they wanted to know how to sign Noah's name. Before she realized what was happening, a few more of Harland's teammates had wandered over, taking turns to hold Noah as they each learned a few simple signs.

  Courtney kept hold of her composure the entire time. At least, she tried. Harland looked over at her a few times, concern in his eyes, silently asking if she was okay. Was she? Yes, she realized. She was. She shouldn't be, though.

  She hadn't wanted to come tonight. Not just because she was dreading the forced time with Harland, although that was a big part of it. She had been dreading the reactions to Noah, the whispers and the condemning looks, the condescending attitudes of misunderstanding.

  Never before had she been so wrong. And she realized she was guilty of the exact same thing she had been afraid of: superficial judgment. She hadn't even thought to consider that these men, these tough, hard-hitting, no-nonsense athletes, would welcome Noah as if he was part of their family.

  Maybe because he was part of their family. He was Harland's son, automatically accepted.

  And that part did scare her. Not that they were automatically accepting of Noah, but that she had been so wrong. Because if she had been wrong about that, what else was she wrong about?

  She looked over at Harland, at the way he held Noah. At the way Noah held onto him, so relaxed and trusting. Father and son. Was she wrong about Harland? Was she judging him on an assumption? On emotion based in the past? No, she wasn't foolish enough to think she was falling in love with him again. Wasn't foolish enough to think anything would ever change between them. But he was Noah's father. Maybe this wasn't just a novelty for him. Maybe he didn't plan on disappearing when things became inconvenient.

  God help her if that was true, because she had lied to herself earlier. No, she wasn't foolish enough to fall in love with him again…

  She had never stopped.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Is everything okay?" Harland's voice was a little too loud, shattering the silence of the dim living room. Courtney flinched then glanced over her shoulder at him. Her delicate brows lowered over shadowed eyes and he wished he could see them better, see what she was thinking, feeling. But she was standing over by the entertainment center, her back to him.

  And she was quiet. Too quiet. She'd been like that most of the night but he had chalked it up to being in a strange place around a bunch of people she didn't know. But she'd been quiet even after they got back here, while they gave Noah his bath, even while Harland read Noah his bedtime story, such as it was.

  She didn't even say anything an hour ago when her mother announced she was going to bed, reassuring them that she was so tired she'd even sleep through a jet crashing next door. Harland had choked back a stunned laugh at the pronouncement but Courtney had looked absolutely mortified.

  She didn't answer him so he moved closer to her. Stopped, hesitated. Should he just leave instead? Probably. But he didn't want to, not wit
h her like this, so quiet and faraway.

  He closed the distance until he was standing just behind her, mere inches separating them. He could feel the heat of her body, smell the faint scent of her perfume. And he could feel her tension, her confusion and sadness. He raised his hand, held it above her shoulder for a second and told himself that he was only imagining the trembling of his fingers. Then he lowered it, gently closing it over her shoulder.

  "What's wrong?"

  She shook her head but didn't turn around. And she didn't shrug his hand off, either. Was that a good sign? He stepped to the side and peered into her face, saw her gaze focused on the collection of framed pictures huddled on the entertainment center. One in the back caught his eye, made his breath hitch in his chest as memories assaulted him.

  It had been taken maybe seven years ago. Courtney would have been fourteen, which meant he'd been sixteen. The picture had been snapped while they'd been playing Frisbee out back. He'd been holding the cheap plastic disc up in the air, keeping it away from Courtney, teasing her. She was just getting ready to lunge for the Frisbee when her mother called their names. They had both turned and Courtney stumbled and fell into him.

  The picture captured them seconds before they fell. Both of them were looking at the camera, surprised smiles on their sun-kissed faces. One of Harland's arms was wrapped around Courtney's waist, the other still held high, holding the Frisbee away from her.

  They'd been friends for years before then, neighborhood kids who had somehow found what they were missing in each other. And they'd been nothing more than close friends when the picture was taken. But even then Harland knew there was something different about the friendship, had sensed there was something much deeper between them. Had Courtney known? Had her mother?

  He reached out and ran a finger around the picture frame, a ghost of a smile on his face. The smile faded when he noticed the other pictures, saw that he was in a few of them. He pulled his hand away, curling it into a loose fist as he cleared his throat.

  "I'm surprised you still have these. I figured you would have gotten rid of them."

  A sad smile flashed across Courtney's face, there and gone. She picked up the one of them with the Frisbee and shook her head. "No. I wanted to. I wanted to burn them. But Mom wouldn't let me. She said it would be like destroying a large piece of my life and that I'd regret it if I did."

  She stared at the picture for a long moment then carefully put it back in its place. "She was right. As usual."

  Harland didn't miss the sadness in her voice, the wistfulness beneath the words. He didn't stop to think, just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Her body tensed and he silently cursed himself, thinking this was just one more mistake in a long line of mistakes that he'd made throughout his life.

  But then Courtney sighed, her warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of his neck. Her body relaxed against his as her arms slipped around his waist. His heart slammed into his chest, its steady beat loud and hard. Did she feel it? Did she know how good it felt just to hold her? How much being able to hold her meant to him? It was like she had thrown him a lifeline, one he hadn't known he needed.

  But it had always been that way with her. Even when they were younger, when they were nothing more than friends. She'd always been his lifeline, his hope, his salvation. Did she know that? Had he ever told her that?

  Would she even believe him if he told her now, after everything that had happened between them? After everything he had done to her?

  He pulled back, needing to tell her, whether she believed him or not. She tilted her head and looked up at him, her pupils dilated, her eyes filled with something he'd seen there before, too many years ago. The words he had wanted to say died in his throat and ended with a kiss.

  Their lips touched, hesitant and uncertain. He waited for her to pull back, to hit him, to tell him to leave—but she did none of those things. Instead, her arms came around his neck and her body pressed even closer.

  The kiss deepened, mouths opening. Hot, greedy. Their tongues met, seeking, coupling. A harsh groan echoed around them: his, full of desire, despair, desperation. His arms tightened around her, his hands dropping to the swell of her ass. Feeling, touching, relearning the body he once knew better than his own.

  He deepened the kiss, drinking from the salvation she offered, then lifted her. She didn't pull away, didn't push against him, didn't hesitate to wrap her legs around his waist. He walked backward until his legs hit the edge of the sofa and dropped into it, Courtney straddling him.

  His body was on fire, flames licking his skin with each thrust of Courtney's tongue against his own. With each desperate caress of her hands against his body. His hardened cock pushed against the painful restriction of metal and denim, reaching for the heat of Courtney's body as she pressed her hips into his.

  His mind warred with his body, some faint voice telling him to slow down, telling him not to push, not to give in. But his body didn't want to listen, not with the temptation that was Courtney so close.

  She'd always been his temptation. His salvation. His life. Always.

  Her hands reached for the hem of his shirt, her nails scraping against the heated flesh of his stomach as she raised the shirt. Up, up higher, until he yanked his arms from the sleeves. But he didn't break the kiss, didn't make any move to pull the shirt off. He couldn't bear the thought of losing this contact with Courtney, not even for a second.

  She moaned, a breathy sigh that he gladly swallowed. Her hands roamed across his bare skin, her fingers scorching his flesh as she relearned his body. She tangled her fingers in the light spattering of hair in the middle of his chest, flattened her palms against the tight peaks of his nipples. Her hips rocked against him, searching. He cupped her ass in his hands, squeezing. Held her still as he lifted his own hips, pressing the hard length of his cock against her in silent answer.

  And fuck, he didn't remember it being like this. Had there always been this sense of desperation? This sense of urgent need, as if his whole existence depended on her? He didn't know, didn't care. All he knew was that he needed her. Now. Needed to become part of her.

  Because without her, he was nothing.

  He reached for the hem of her sweater, breaking the kiss so he could pull it over her head. Followed it with his own shirt, tossing them both somewhere on the floor behind her. She leaned forward, her eyes closed, her mouth seeking his. Harland shook his head, placed a hand on her shoulder and gently held her in place.

  "No. I want to look at you. I need to see you." The voice didn't sound like his, rough and harsh and full of need. Courtney's eyes fluttered open and she tried to shake her head, tried to cross her arms in front of her.

  He wrapped his hands around her wrists and tugged on her arms, waited for her to look at him. "Please."

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, the action sending a surge of blistering heat through him. Then she nodded, slowly moved her arms to her sides.

  Harland lowered his gaze to her chest, sucked in a breath at the sight of creamy flesh held in place by a simple black bra. He raised his hand, traced the edges of the bra with one shaking finger. Her chest heaved under his touch, her breath escaping in a shallow gasp.

  He reached behind her with one hand, unsnapped the bra and dragged the material down. Her breasts were fuller than he remembered, still soft yet firm. Her nipples hardened even more under his gaze, tight peaks of temptation. They were darker now, more of a dusky brown than the dark peach he remembered.

  He cupped both breasts in his hands, feeling their weight fill his palms. Then he squeezed, ran his thumbs over the hard flesh of her nipples, pinching. She gasped, sucked in a quick breath.

  "Did I hurt—"

  "No." She opened her eyes and looked down at him, shook her head. "No. They…they're just more sensitive now."

  Now. Meaning after having Noah.

  Had she nursed his son? Had she held Noah to her breast, given him strength and sustenance from her
own body? A wave of possession rolled over him. Powerful. Primal.

  He lowered his head, caught one tightened peak in his mouth. Sucked, licked, tasted. Courtney groaned, just a breath of sound, and threaded her hands into his hair, holding him at her breast.

  Harland grabbed her hip with one hand, held her still as he drove his own hips toward hers. Over and over as he lavished kisses on her breasts, as he pulled and nipped and sucked.

  And fuck, it was too much. Too fast. He wanted to spend hours exploring her body, days relearning each dip and curve. But his need was too strong, desperation driving him.

  He reached between them, his fingers fumbling with the snap of her jeans, each motion jerky and awkward. Like this was his first time, like he'd never done this before. Courtney grabbed his wrist, pushed his hand away to take over.

  Harland leaned back against the sofa, glazed eyes watching as she pushed the jeans past her hips. She shifted, moving away from him to slide them down her legs and kick them away.

  Harland undid his own jeans, tilting his hips and yanking them down to his thighs. His cock sprung free and he groaned, moved to push the jeans off his legs. But Courtney was in his lap again, straddling him. Heated flesh against heated flesh. Soft against hard.

  He dipped his hand between them, ran a finger along her damp folds, stroked the tight bud of her clit. She arched her back, dug her fingers into his bare shoulders. He stroked her again, watching as her hips rose and fell with each touch.

  He needed her. Need? No, this was much more than need. Craved, wanted, desired. There was no word that matched what he felt, no word that even came close to describing the knot of emotions possessing him.

  He grabbed her hips, settled her pliant body over his—

  And stopped. The breath was ripped from his lungs, the sound harsh and desperate. He looked up at her, saw her watching him, confusion mixing with the passion that glazed her eyes.

  "I don't have any condoms."

  She shook her head, shifted against his hold. "I don't care."