Slow and Steady Rush

by Laura Trentham

  “You were pretty out of it last night. Need to ask you two some questions.” Rick took a notebook and a stubby pencil out of his back pocket. “Darcy, you stated last night that there was no one else besides Dalt and the boys who attacked him there. Sticking by that?”

  She gripped the counter at her back with trembling hands. “Why would I lie?”

  “Don’t know. To protect someone?” Rick’s head rotated back to Robbie. “What about you, Coach?” Somehow, Rick conveyed disrespect with the use of Dalt’s moniker. “You recognize any of your attackers after a day to reflect?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. One of them jumped me at a convenience store at the end of summer.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “No need. I flattened the little turd. This stunt was probably out of retaliation. He’s pale with white-blond hair. Name’s Jeremy aka Whitey.”

  Rick’s face stayed blank, but he hadn’t been so careful the night before. “Anyone else?”

  “Nope.” The two men locked gazes.

  Rick worked his jaw. “I’ll look into things.”

  “If—when—you find him, I want to talk to him, but I’m not ready to press charges.”

  “Robbie—why?” Surprise drove the question out of Darcy. Rick’s eyebrows rose as well.

  “It’s the Christian thing to do.” Considering Robbie hadn’t attended church one time, his platitude was weak. “Anything else, Rick?”

  Rick stayed seated a beat too long. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The chair teetered on two legs before it clattered back to settle on all four. He shoved his hat on, shielding his eyes, and Darcy saw him out the door. She wasn’t one to worry about locking up usually, but tonight she shot the deadbolt before Rick was off the porch.

  Robbie stood by the kitchen sink, his shirt off and his fingers tugging at the taped gauze over his side. A brownish-red bloom of color marred the pristine white. She brushed his hands away and took over.

  “Did I rip the stitches?”

  She pulled the first aid kit over and cleaned the dried blood away with a medicated wipe. “No, but you overtaxed yourself.” After retaping his side, she checked the cut on his bicep, which looked improved even from that afternoon.

  He turned and leaned back against the counter. Pulling her between his splayed legs, his hands pressed her close. Darcy fell into him. His bare chest warmed her from the inside out, and the sprinkling of hair tickled her cheek.

  His chin rested on her head. “As much as I would like for you to rip my pants off and take advantage of me, I’m so tired I can barely function.”

  She pulled away, hands braced on his shoulders. “If I can’t use your body, what’s the point? I might as well pack up and go.”

  With all tease gone from his voice, he whispered, “Don’t go.”

  She swallowed past a lump that materialized in her throat and whispered back, “I won’t.”

  His shoulders slumped with his gusty sigh. After making sure Avery was comfortable, he shucked down to his boxer briefs and collapsed on the bed. “Grab a T-shirt if you want.”

  Her heart stuttered. She flipped the light off but felt the heat of his eyes as she opened the drawer and pulled out another white T-shirt. Overcome with modesty, she turned her back, took off her shirt and bra, and pulled his shirt over her head. Her shorts hit the floor.

  The cool sheet slipped over her legs. Her foot collided with his hairy calf, and she kept it there, needing the contact. He snaked an arm around her and hauled her against his good side. Her hand roved over his chest to rest close to his heart. The thumping rhythm of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest soothed her into sleep.

  The awkwardness of their past mornings together was gone. He allowed her to change his bandage one more time, copping a feel of her butt in the process. They made plans to have dinner together. A real date. He whispered wild, dirty promises in her ear as he drove her back to Ada’s house. The heat of the words and his breath made her throb between her legs and laugh like a giddy teenager. She’d never laughed like a giddy teenager—not even as a teenager. But, then again, she’d never been in love before.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her in for a light kiss before she scooted around Avery to hop out of the truck. She watched until the truck rounded the first bend. The first thing she did was shove an entire sleeve of condoms into her purse.

  Maybe she would sneak into the practice pavilion and wait in his office. Maybe she’d wait naked, sprawled over his desk. Fantasies scrolled while she drove to the rehabilitation center.

  Ada wasn’t in her room. Worry compressed Darcy’s lungs as she headed toward the therapy rooms. White hair flashed through a window, and the brick on her chest crumbled. She stepped inside, her mouth dropping. Ada’s face was the definition of concentration as she walked with a cane. Maybe walked was generous, but shuffled anyway.

  “Look at you. You’re doing awesome.” Darcy clapped her hands and drew a smile from both Ada and the physical therapist.

  “What else do you notice?” Ada folded both hands over the top of cane, popping her hip out with pre-broken-hip sass.

  “Your IV is gone,” Darcy said with a grin.

  “You know what that means. You can spring me today! I’m craving a chicken casserole and apple pie, and we can play cards and gossip.” Ada sounded as happy as a kid going to an amusement park for the first time.

  Darcy kept her smile in place. Ada would not see a hint of the disappointment coursing through her. Not a hint. Ada, not Robbie, was the reason she was in Falcon.

  “That sounds perfect.” She choked on the word, her lips frozen in a facsimile of a smile. “Wonderful.”

  It was wonderful, but it would have been more wonderful tomorrow. Or maybe even next week, after she and Robbie had decimated the industrial-sized box of condoms, after a few nights—and mornings—in his arms.

  Darcy confirmed everything with the supervising doctor. After making plans to pick Ada up after lunch, she walked out, hating herself for feeling depressed.

  Ada coming home disrupted her plans for the night, but that’s not what made her heart hurt. Ada was on the mend, which was incredible, amazing, outstanding—but it also meant Darcy was that much closer to not being needed in Falcon. Not by Ada, anyway.

  Her relationship with Robbie was too new, too fragile. She didn’t know if her love would grow like kudzu, tenacious and impossible to kill, or like honeysuckle, sweet and beautiful but transient, dying with the change of seasons.

  She needed time. Time to discover what she wanted, where she belonged. Her job in Atlanta still waited, and she loved that job. But, she’d distorted the Falcon of her youth. The reality was like all of life, complicated and filled with good and bad.

  And what did Robbie want? Maybe he didn’t even want her to stay. Maybe he wanted the simplicity of a season together and a clean break. As Logan had wisely said, she didn’t have to figure it out today, but the day was coming. Faster than she wanted to admit.

  Chapter 20

  Robbie lay on the quilt, a soft woman pressed against him. He let out a long, slow sigh and squeezed her even closer, finally content. The previous two weeks had been tortuous, but not because of school, football, or his injuries. His stitches had come out and the wounds no longer pained him. They’d won their last two games, and two more wins would put them into the state playoffs. No, it was Darcy. Or more specifically, his lack of access to Darcy. Or even more specifically, his lack of access to Darcy’s body.

  He stopped by Miss Ada’s on his way home every night. The three of them shared dinner and watched Ada’s fuzzy TV or played cards. Darcy had roped him into reading The Grapes of Wrath so they could all discuss it—Ada’s choice.

  Darcy always walked him outside at the end of the evening. Most nights, they made out on the dark side of the truck. Hands roamed under shirts and into pants. The drapes would twitch or the light would flicker, sending them reeling apart from each other to adjust their clothes.
He’d turned into a horny, blue-balled teenager again.

  But now, it was Saturday night, and Darcy had led him into the middle of the field between their houses. She’d laid out a quilt, and they had a picnic dinner, sharing a few sips of Malone’s moonshine. The smell of wood smoke was in the air, and night creatures called from the woods. No artificial light dimmed the twinkle from the black blanket overhead.

  Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, and she roved her hand under his shirt and over his chest. Fingers circled his nipples, and nails scraped along his side. Pleasurable waves shuddered through his torso.

  He sifted through the hair tickling his arm, kissed the top of her head, and buried his nose in the sweet-smelling mass. She hadn’t straightened it tonight. He liked it wild.

  “I brought three condoms. Do you think that will cover us?” He smiled into her hair.

  “Actually …” She shifted and propped her chin on his chest. “Don’t freak out, but I went on the Pill.”

  He tensed, his mind firing. He’d be able to sink inside of her bare, skin on skin.

  She continued, “It doesn’t mean anything … well, except that we’re not going to be sleeping with anyone else. Right?”

  He reversed their positions, his chest pressing her down. He caught her gasp on a quick, hard kiss. “You’d better not be. You’re mine.”

  She fisted her hands in his hair and tugged hard enough for his scalp to tingle. “And, you’re mine.”

  “Yes.” He hissed the word before swooping to take her mouth. The intensity of the moment made their previous hook-ups seem light-hearted. Impatience had his hands at her shirt, his fingers clumsy, pulling and tugging until her pink lace bra was revealed.

  He yanked his shirt off. She fumbled with his belt. For once, he didn’t stop to admire the packaging. Her shorts and panties skimmed down her legs. Her bra was tossed aside. He stood to shuck off his pants and boxer briefs. The picture she made on the quilt made him pause.

  The starlit night emphasized curves touched by moonlight. She raised her arms above her head and arched her back in the ultimate pose of seduction. Her legs parted enough for him to see the shadowed folds between.

  He was rock hard and burned to stake a permanent claim. Dropping over her, he slanted his mouth over hers. His dick slipped between her legs and was bathed in wet heat.

  He reared up on his knees between her legs. Her image burned into his memory, adding to the growing collection. Half-lidded eyes, kiss-swollen red lips, full breasts tipped with peaked nipples. But his concentration focused between her legs. Grasping himself, he teased her. Wetting the end in her folds, he rubbed where her need was the greatest.

  Urgency drove his jerky movements. She had to come first. Once he was inside her, he wouldn’t be able to focus on her pleasure. Slipping the head of his dick inside of her, he went to work with his fingers. Once she had been a foreign language, but he’d become fluent in her moans and squirms.

  She was close. His gaze moved from between her legs and up her body. One of her hands had wandered to her breast, and her nipple peaked through fingers. He took her other breast and squeezed while he pushed in another inch. God, she felt amazing. In spite of the cool night, sweat broke over his shoulders.

  She arched off the ground and cried his name. The music drew him into the dance. He thrust fully inside of her. Her tight vaginal walls squeezed him in the same rhythm his fingers pinched her nipple. Her breasts and face flushed. He wanted to close his eyes, to focus on his gratification, but even more, he needed to watch her in the throes of climax.

  #

  Ripples of bliss pulsed from between her legs with every one of his thrusts. She’d never known the pleasure of climaxing with him inside of her, hard and bare. There was no room for second thoughts or analyzing motivations.

  He dropped to his hands, looming over her. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead to land near her lip. She licked it up, the salty warmth an aphrodisiac. His thrusts grew wild. She wrapped her legs around his hips and her hands around his biceps. He toppled on top of her and slid his hands under her buttocks.

  Muttering calls to the almighty, he froze. His entire body convulsed while hers pulsed in time with his ejaculation. Her legs held him inside of her. She didn’t want him to leave her in any way. Even if leaving was inevitable.

  The crickets’ song had sweetened, and the soft brush of an owl’s call hovered over them. Her lips close to his ear, she whispered, “I love you, Robbie.”

  As if cement shot into his veins, his every muscle and sinew hardened. He rolled off to lay on his back next to her. A chill snaked down her body. Her heart kept up a frantic beating, the aftermath of their lovemaking ruined by her confession. First, she told him going on the Pill didn’t mean anything, and then she busted out the dreaded L-word?

  Night sounds filled the prolonged silence, but this time the frogs and crickets sounded mournful and lonely.

  His voice rumbled between them, hoarse with emotion. “You don’t love me. You don’t even know me. Not really. And, if you did, you’d end up hating me. I’m a fucking emotional cripple.”

  Bitterness flavored his final words as if he’d heard them too many times from someone else. “You’re not. Look at what you’ve done for the town, for Tyler—”

  “You asked one time why I joined the army. You want the truth? I spent years pissed as hell at the hand I’d been dealt. After my coach died, the man he saw in me died too. I bounced around, always on the edge of trouble, until I wandered into a recruitment center. The army fed my anger, channeled it, but it forced something else on me. A code of conduct, honor, brotherhood.” The earlier emotion in his voice had dissipated into the darkness, leaving his voice flat.

  Shifting to her side, she curled an arm over her breasts. She bit her lip, wanting to touch him, but invisible, impenetrable walls had formed between them. She had to try to breech them. “Your coach, the army … neither could force you to be honorable, Robbie. They only coaxed out what was buried under the anger, already there. Don’t you understand that?”

  Silence met her question. She battered at his walls more. “I understand why you resented your foster family, your lot in life. Anger was your way of wielding control, but your coach saw past that, didn’t he?”

  His nod was nearly imperceptible. “He constantly harped on my potential.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve realized that potential? Don’t you think he’d be proud of you?”

  He stared at the sky, his hands knitted over his stomach. “You don’t love me.”

  Now, he was plain pissing her off, and she wanted to slap some sense into him. Maybe punch the blank, cold expression off his face. She fumbled her panties and shorts on. Her bra clasp was too intricate for her shaking hands, so she pulled her blouse on without it. “I’m not one of your players that you can boss around. I can love you if I want to, Robert Dalton. There’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  He pulled on his clothes while she shook the grass off the quilt and folded it over her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going home.”

  He was obviously not planning to stop her.

  She refused to sidestep the emotional fragments both their confessions left behind like land mines. She flicked a finger between the two of them. “This is not working for me.”

  In a roughened voice, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Our casual season of sex. I don’t feel casual about you, and what we did tonight wasn’t just sex, was it?”

  “Look, I care about you, I do. But you’re leaving soon. There’s no reason to discuss this. Why can’t we keep hooking up until you go back to Atlanta? Enjoy each other.” He half-turned away and averted his face as if he were protecting himself.

  Could she keep having sex with him knowing the end was almost upon them? She’d take him any way she could get him, and the acknowledgement of her weakness cut her words short. “Sure, text me sometime.”

  Without another w
ord or a backward glance she stalked away, leaving pieces of her heart along the path.

  Chapter 21

  Darcy drove home from the library on autopilot, a tornado of plans and worries whirling in her head. Her time was almost up, and instead of a simple path back to Atlanta, she had choices to make, but every decision seemed to hinge on Robbie.

  They would have to hash out where their relationship was headed, but he needed time to recover from the bomb she’d dropped, and she needed time to coax out all his secrets. She had to believe he cared a little bit about her. If he didn’t … She forced the door closed on the pain of that possibility. She pulled out her phone and texted him on the way to the door.

  Making chicken potpie. Dinner at seven.

  Busy. Another time.

  He was passing over food? The pit in her stomach grew.

  She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and went straight to Ada who was propped up on a mass of pillows, reading. Wrapping her arms around Ada’s shoulders, Darcy nestled her forehead against Ada’s neck and took a deep breath.

  “Good Lord, who died?” Ada asked solemnly.

  “No one died. Geez, can’t I hug my grandmother?” Giving her one last squeeze, Darcy plopped on the couch.

  “I welcome all hugs, but that was a ‘something’s wrong’ hug.”

  Where to begin? Darcy played with the fringe of the afghan. “I got offered your job at the library.”

  During the skip of silence, Darcy chanced a glance toward Ada. A smile played around her mouth, and a definite twinkle lilted her words. “And, I’m not even cold in my grave.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t joke about it.”

  “Lighten up, darling. This is fantastic news. Isn’t it?”

  “The council wants me to organize all the historical documents. Collect as much as we can from neighboring libraries and county courthouses. Turn the Falcon library into a genealogy research center for north Alabama.” Darcy could hear the thread of excitement in her voice.

  “You’re going to take it.” Ada’s smile was part triumphant and part joyous.