Encroachment (Coach's Shadow Trilogy #2)

by Monica DeSimone

  “I have none because they had none for me. I was pregnant and alone and the ONLY thing they cared about was how it would play out in the media. How the mighty Robert “Mac” McEvoy and Jami Applebee McEvoy would look to society. So don’t you fucking dare tell me I need to show compassion and forgiveness to them. I’ll be damned if I allow you to make me feel guilty about what I did just to survive!”

  I walk away from one of the few men I trust implicitly and head into the family room to give everyone a hug and kiss before I walk out. It isn’t until I’m about to get into my car that I’m whipped around and handed an envelope.

  “You need to read this,” Ben says, and walks back into my sister’s house.

  Jackson

  I DON’T KNOW what just happened, but the fact that Claire left without me has my blood boiling over. Both Derrick and Ben offered me a ride, but it’s only about three miles and is a good stretch of the legs. Plus, the walk will do my temper some good.

  My inner monologue as I set out goes from hostile to disbelief. After talking to Ben, I understand why Claire freaked out and left so abruptly. But to forget me? That is something that I never thought my girl would do. She’s kind and thoughtful. Always thinking of others’ needs over her own desires.

  I know that she’s still angry at Mac and her mother, maybe I underestimated just how angry she still is. Every time that I have even mentioned her father she shuts down. Which is a sure-fire sign of just how much anger she still harbors toward her parents.

  When I stopped by to check on Zoey and the twins last week, the subject of Mac came up, and I asked how she was able to forgive and move on while Claire seems to cling to her anger. It’s something that even my girl’s sister doesn’t understand. Because even at the end of his life, he was attempting to right his wrongs. Zoey’s acceptance of Claire’s anger still blows my mind.

  Turning the corner to Claire’s block, I notice two Harley Davidsons with riders on them sitting two houses down. This isn’t the first time that I’ve noticed the same two bikes and it raises my hackles. The men are big, burly, with shaggy beards and are somewhat disheveled.

  Stopping just beside them, I say, “Guys, is there a problem that I need to be aware of?”

  “No, sir,” comes from the younger of the two.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Just making sure Miss Claire is okay.”

  What. The. Fuck? “Well she is. Tell Ian to call off the guard dogs.”

  Laughing at my statement, the older one says, “It’s not Ian that wants to make sure Miss Claire is okay. But we’ll pass your message along.”

  Before I can question them any further, the bikes roar to life and these unusual characters are flying down the street.

  What the fuck is going on? This is the most frustrating and confusing day, not to mention it being a holiday, I have ever had.

  Walking past Claire’s neighbor’s house, Mrs. Cane comes rushing out to greet me. Stopping at the edge of the driveway, I turn toward the woman. She is a sweet older woman, maybe in her early seventies and is robust in her cheeks and waist. But it’s Mrs. Cane’s eyes that hold my attention. They are sharp and cutting in turn. Nothing gets past the woman. According to Claire, old Mrs. Cane and her husband are the epicenter of the neighborhood.

  “Jack? Jack? Claire came barreling in so quickly I couldn’t get out to thank her for the lovely turkey breast she left for us this morning. Please tell her thank you. It was delicious and just perfect for Mr. Cane and me.”

  Shit, even as angry as I am with my girl she continues to blow my mind with her generosity. Making sure that the old couple next door has a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving is just another reason I am completely enamored with Claire McEvoy.

  “I’ll let her know you said so, Mrs. Cane.”

  “She’s such a good girl. I’m so happy to see her entertaining a young man like yourself.”

  I blush and mutter a, “Thank you, ma’am. You better go on inside now before Mr. Cane thinks we’ve run off together.” With a girlish giggle that makes her appear years younger than she is, Mrs. Cane pats my arm and hurries back inside.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Jack!” she shouts as she closes the front door.

  “Happy fucking Thanksgiving,” I mutter under my breath as I make my way up to my girl’s house.

  I attempt the door knob, hoping beyond hope it’s locked. When the knob turns, and allows me entrance, I mutter, “God damn it!” Followed by a, “Christ, woman, I told you to lock the fucking door when you are home!”

  The complete silence that greets me has panic rising within my chest. No Dallas, Claire isn’t anywhere, and the only thing that lets me know she was here is the kitchen light is on.

  Walking into the open area, I see a shot glass and a bottle of Jameson on the island. Knowing that this isn’t good, I give another shout out into the empty house. “Claire? Baby?”

  Looking around, I notice the back door is wide open and banging softly against the house with the breeze. Making my way over to it, Dallas comes barreling in, looking for attention. Or so I think.

  Hitting my legs and bouncing off, she shoots back out into the darkened backyard, whining.

  I flip the switch to turn on the light on the deck and the backyard is suddenly illuminated. I shake my head at the sudden brightness and glance around the deck, as well as the immediate surrounding area, but can’t find Claire.

  “Claire?” I say while walking down the steps. “Legs!” I shout, not giving a single fuck about the neighbors.

  I get a mumbled, “Go home, Jackson,” from the left back corner. Her fairy garden.

  I walk in her direction. “Legs? Baby? Talk to me,” I implore her.

  “GO HOME JACKSON!” she shouts.

  Shocked at the strength and venom in her voice, I stop but refuse to allow her mood to deter me. “It’s cold out. Just come into the house and I’ll leave.”

  She snorts in response. “I’m good. Just please leave me alone.”

  “I’ll leave you be, Legs, but I’m not leaving you alone. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be inside.”

  Another snort followed by, “Suit yourself, princess,” is all I get as I walk back up the stairs and into the house.

  I make my way through the sun room, the kitchen, and over to the family room. I sit down on the couch so that I can see my girl come back into the house when she finally gives in to the cold. It could be all night, she’s just that stubborn.

  As I sit in Claire’s home, with my elbows on my knees and my head hung low in contemplation, I begin to run down all of the missteps that have happened throughout this extremely odd day. Hell, if I’m honest with myself, the past two years have been one major cluster-fuck after another. Running a hand over my face, I lean back and begin the arduous task of waiting on the woman I love.

  Claire

  SITTING ON THE hard, cold ground was not my brightest idea. The second, or is this my third, mistake was coming out here without a coat. I’m shivering, teeth clattering together, but I’ll be damned if I give the man sitting in my house the satisfaction and go inside right now. And I have a genius IQ? Call Mensa, they will surely be revoking my membership.

  I’ve been sitting here with my father’s—and I use that term loosely—letter crumbled in my hand, staring at my fairy door and hoping that one of those amazing creatures will come and fix what is so thoroughly broken within me.

  I cannot believe that Ben has been behind all of this. A man that I have known for over ten years and one that I trust without reservation. What did he hope to accomplish here?

  “Seriously, a fucking letter from beyond the grave. Dramatic much, Mac!” I say a little louder than expected. “You always had to have the last word.” I clutch the sealed envelope to my chest. “Well you aren’t going to get the last word with me. Do you hear me, old man?” I shout. “You aren’t getting my forgiveness.”

  Did the bastard really think that a letter from the dead is going to make every
thing okay? Correct all the wrongs that he and my mother inflected upon me? Fuck them!

  Feeling calmer and lighter after my outburst, I sit here for another twenty minutes, thinking about how Zoey always says God don’t like ugly. I realize that the ugliness from my childhood has not defined me as a person. I could have let my parents’ lack of interest and love toward me dictate the relationship that I have with my daughter. Hell, I could have let what Brad did to me destroy me completely. But I survived. With help, I survived and came out stronger, healthier in heart and mind, and yes, still angry at the parents I wanted so badly to love me.

  Sitting here, freezing, I realize that the inner peace Dr. Jacobs keeps telling me about has eluded me until recently. I have Jackson to thank for that. He makes me laugh and think, and God help me, makes me desire sex and the touch of a man. The thought of Jackson and sex has me shivering, not because I’m cold but because just the thought of him gets me turned on. Even as cold as I am on the outside, an inner fire is raging for the beautiful soul who is my friend and lover.

  Dallas makes her way over to me and does a whole body shiver, reminding me just how cold I am, and I get my butt in motion. Scooping my little lady up, Mac’s letter still in hand, two icicles that are the McEvoy girls walk back into the light and warmth of the home that I created, and in to a future that I am no longer terrified of.

  Claire

  JACKSON HAS FALLEN asleep, which is okay with me. I give Dal a treat and place her on the ground, then walk over and grab the throw blanket from the corner of the couch. About to cover Jackson up with it, I’m grabbed around the waist and pushed onto my back with a very warm Jackson on top of me.

  “Jesus, Legs, you’re a Popsicle!” Jackson settles into a more comfortable position with his back to the room, and turns me so that we are face-to-face. Tossing the throw over the both of us, he runs his hands up and down my arms. “Never again, do you hear me? Never again do you walk away to handle something on your own and leave me behind.” He nuzzles my nose with his own. “Do you hear me, Legs? We’re a team. You and me, first and foremost. It’s us.”

  I nod my head, because it’s all I can muster, and a yawn slips out. I’m too cold and Jackson’s warmth is searing me to the core of my very being.

  The vibration of his chuckle has my hands wandering up to the great expanse that is his chest. My right hand goes right to his scar. Feeling the beat of Jackson’s heart is soothing. His warm breath, sending tiny puffs and rustling the loose tendrils around my face, and the squeeze of his arms around my body has quickly become my favorite place to be.

  My eyes open and look directly into his at the whisper of my name. “Yeah?” I whisper back.

  “This isn’t over, what happened today. You and me are going to talk about it.”

  Yawning again, I fight a giggle. “I know, Jackson. There’s a lot we need to say.”

  A few minutes of silence passes, then he pats my butt. “You bet your ass we do. Because I’m never letting you go again.” That’s the last thing I hear before falling into the second most peaceful sleep I’ve had in over twenty-three years.

  Jackson

  WAKING WITH CLAIRE in my arms gives me a great sense of satisfaction, and a crick in my neck. I should have moved us upstairs. Zoey told me once that Claire has a hard time sleeping, so finding her still asleep makes me happy.

  Of course, Dallas sleeping between me and her master is going to have to change. At some point, the little vixen managed to worm her way up and is now directly between our chests, breathing her puppy breath on my face. “What does she feed you, Dal?” At the mention of her name, Dallas is up and even further in my face.

  “Oh my God, talk about morning breath from hell,” I say, trying to remove the tiny Chiweenie from my face. Her tail is whacking Claire in the face and my girl is still sleeping. Rolling off the couch with a thud, I am immediately attacked by Dallas.

  Not wanting to wake Claire, I gently cover her and gather my socks and t-shirt, which came off at some point in the evening, and trudge into the kitchen.

  Hoping that breakfast is in her future, Dallas is hot on my ankles. She’s a good girl; she just plops down and patiently waits for me to lavish her with attention. Tail thumping away, Dallas is watching me with bright and happy eyes.

  As the coffee brews, I shrug into my shirt and pull my socks onto my feet, thinking that Claire’s kitchen is stylish yet functional. Like the rest of this floor, it is open to the rest of the house, but the island makes the space unique and different.

  Shaped like a U, the country sink is framed by a huge window that overlooks the backyard and is perfectly centered at the head of it. Grabbing two mugs from the floating shelf thing and placing them next to the gurgling pot of steaming caffeine, I turn to grab the half and half out of the refrigerator, and notice an envelope at the end of the island that separates the kitchen and family room.

  My natural curiosity kicks into overdrive, and I move to inspect it. The handwriting on the front of the envelope means that the bull is about to be let out of the pen. Fuck me, she doesn’t need this right now. The nerve beneath my eye twitches and my shoulders bunch up in defense of my girl.

  I toss it back down, knowing that whatever is inside is only going to hurt my girl more, and it makes me dislike her father even more. Just on principle alone.

  Needing fresh air to help calm my frayed nerves, I fill a mug with the best smelling coffee ever and doctor it to my liking. I steal a quick glance over at Claire to make sure that she is still sleeping, then grab my mug and a treat for Dallas and let us both out onto the back deck.

  Missing my land in Kentucky is a constant for me, especially when I’m at my own little cottage. But here, on Claire’s land, the ever prevalent pang isn’t as strong. Placing the mug down on the deck railing, I look out into the quaint yard beyond me. Both Claire and Zoey love flowers, and my girl’s yard screams of her romantic heart.

  I don’t know how she finds the time, but her yard is an explosion of colors and a delight to the eyes. Asters, autumn crocus, chrysanthemums, and a gorgeous white flower that looks like a star that is fully climbing up the back fence, makes everything fairy-esque and dreamlike.

  Dallas, throwing her entire body into my leg, shows me the error of grabbing her a treat on our way out. Looking down at the little beast, there is a good sized puddle just to her left. I shake my head at disrupting her routine.

  “You little shit. I can’t believe you did that. All you had to do was walk down the stairs,” I say as I scoop her up and head down the steps and around the side of the house to grab the hose so that I can wash the deck off.

  Placing Dallas down, she shoots off and back up onto the deck. Tail wagging, tongue hanging out, eyes bright and again, waiting patiently.

  Grabbing the hose and turning to walk around the corner of the house, I start to spray the area that was defiled and am greeted by a shriek.

  “Jesus, Jackson, I know I need a shower but I was thinking that it might be something we could do together…inside…with warm water involved.”

  Looking up, it takes every part of my being not to laugh. My automatic reaction is adolescent and out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Gut shot!”

  Claire, soaked to the bone, clothes sticking to her willow frame and what hair that has fallen down from the sexy bun she had it in yesterday, is now limp and dripping water. Leaning forward, just a bit, I can see my girl’s hard nipples poking out at me. Begging me to lavish them with my tongue. That thought alone has any residual laughter fleeing and my cock hard as stone.

  Tossing the hose to the ground, I stalk up the steps and grab Claire by the face. “You are fucking beautiful.”

  “Stop it, Jackson. I’m a freaking mess! And now I’m wet and cold.” This is said as she pushes her ice-cold hands against my chest. “My lips are going numb. Let’s go in so I can get warm.” Her teeth are chattering and her lips are turning blue.

  Bending down, I grab Claire by the knees and lower b
ack and swing her up into my arms. “I got you wet, Legs, I’ll warm you up,” I say as I stalk into the house. A whistle over my shoulder with a roughly barked, “Dallas,” has her following. I somehow manage to close and lock the door, and carry my girl upstairs, where we proceed to warm each other from the inside out.

  Claire

  “OH. MY. GOD.” Jackson has been in the shower for the past five minutes and I’m still lying naked, panting and coming down from the best orgasm, okay best three orgasms, of my life. So what if the total number I have had prior can be counted on both hands and one foot. But holy mother of God, what that man can do with his tongue.

  Rolling over onto my side and placing a hand on the pillow that is still warm from Jackson’s body heat, I can’t help but feel even lighter, hopeful even. Pulling the covers up and closing my eyes, I remember the past hour and smile.

  Never having been a sexual creature, I find it strange, yet oddly arousing, to find my hand taking the same path that Jackson’s hand took only minutes earlier. Feeling his mouth on my body was exciting and erotic. When Jackson laid me out on the bed, after stripping me of my wet clothes and shedding his own, Jackson told me that he wanted to taste every part of me. To my surprise, he did just that.

  The memory of his mouth, tongue and hands drive me mad. I smooth my hands down my body and spread my legs wide, then slip a lone finger into my hot, wet channel. I’m about to let go of all of my passion when a, “Holy mother of God, that’s beautiful,” comes from the direction of my bathroom. And my hand immediately stills.

  Jackson climbs up my body, pulling me further into the here and now, and my embarrassment encompasses me. I’m unable to look him in the eyes.