Igniting the Wild Sparks

by Alexander, Ren

  Becks has said it before and I agree: Our sex gets better every damn time.

  She tightens her arms around me and serenely whispers, “Oh, Sparks, I love you.”

  Opening my eyes, I gaze down at Becks’ smiling face. I love that face. Those plump lips of hers, her gorgeous, green eyes, and her silky, light brown hair that takes on a faint halo of red in the sun, all have me under her spell. I could stare at her all day, but I’d look like a crazed stalker, not that I don’t now. Shit. Before they knew Becks was mine, her coworkers caught me staring at her countless times at practice, even with my sunglasses on. Ricky and I had heard rumblings of me having a crush on her.

  Nope. Much more than a fucking crush.

  I would die for Hadley Beckett.

  “I love you, too,” I readily whisper back. Careful not to put my weight on her stomach, I lower my head and kiss her beautiful, soft lips. Her hands go to my chest, jerking on my T-shirt. My chain pulls on my neck and I know she’s holding onto it. Not breaking our kiss, I reach up and hold her hand holding my key.

  I thought I was going to lose her today. I’ve heard of accidents like hers killing people from the internal injuries and not getting them checked out. That was not a risk I was going to tempt. It’s a good thing I showed up when I did or she would’ve shrugged it off and went home, possibly bleeding to death.

  Eventually hauling my lips from hers, I stroke the top of her head as I hesitantly ask, “Are you okay?”

  I’m not sure what kind of answer she’s going to give me after what I confessed to her, and because of how I just fucked her like a jackhammer amped on crack when I promised I wouldn’t hurt her. I’m such an asshole.

  She woodenly nods while staring at me wide-eyed. I suddenly feel like I’m on live Air, except with her, I’m nervous. I don’t do nervous. It’s for pussies. However, Becks has had me nervous before and she’s the only one to have brought me to my knees like that then…and now.

  I clear my throat and lift my body up from her as her persistent gaze follows me. The worst part of having sex with her is losing the closeness we had, but unfortunately, it can’t be helped. Becks is quiet as she watches me cautiously pull out, not wanting to hurt her, but a little late with my newly-acquired self-control.

  Not knowing what to say, I move off her, kneeling between her legs and throwing a hand into my hair. “Can I get you anything? A drink? Something to eat? Tylenol? Ice for your stomach?” Restraint for your dickwad boyfriend?

  “No. I’m good.” I nod and glance at the headboard, trying to find the words to say to mitigate the ones I blabbed earlier. Is she going to run and tell everyone that we’re engaged? Are we engaged? What would that mean? Does she think I want to marry her this minute? This is going to change us somehow.

  How do I not break her heart?

  How does this not break mine?

  Interrupting my imminent nervous breakdown, she asks, “You’re not leaving now, are you?”

  I expeditiously look at her. Why would she think that? I shake my head. “No. Why?”

  “Because you’re panicking.” Fuck. Am I that transparent?

  Roughing up my hair as I contemplate an answer, I look away from her again, my gaze falling between her legs, and I feel the distant start of another hard-on innately churning, having no control of my dick when I’m around her, and apparently, the words that fall out of my mouth. Asking, “Why do you say that?” I tear my eyes away from her pussy so I don’t lose my willpower, being over exuberant with making love to her again.

  “From the terrified look on your face after confessing your deepest, darkest secret, Sparks. That took courage and it must’ve hurt to do it.” Her expression is teetering on the edge of elation and it shreds me.

  Ashamed that I got her hopes up, I blandly shake my head. “Not for the reason you think.”

  Seeing her initial, tentative smile wavering, I know I’m already breaking her heart. I look down to my knees and she asks, “Why? Are you mocking me now?”

  Glancing back to her, Becks’ smile is completely gone and she quietly blinks at me. I say, “No, baby. I’m not.” Uncertain of what to do, I crawl to gingerly lie down next to her. When I touch her glowing cheek, my thumb slides over her wet skin, which instantly alarms me. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because hearing your secret isn’t what I expected at all. I’m awestruck.”

  “Becks.” Shit. How do I explain it to her?

  “Please tell me again.”

  I stare at the sheet between us, not able to speak those words to her more than once. The silence between us is deafening until she sniffs and asks, “So you really didn’t mean it?”

  I warily regard her and try to think of the right words, but they all elude me. “Yeah, I did. Wholeheartedly.” I sigh and glance at the clock. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s late.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to talk about what you did Saturday, and then you told me something I’ve been waiting three years to hear. Why, Finn? Why did you do or say them if it’s not how you really feel?”

  Now I wish I had opted for Door Number One and kept my damned mouth shut.

  I lean my head back and stare at the dark ceiling. “It’s complicated, Becks.”

  “No shit. Complicated is your middle name, not Robert.”

  “I don’t mean to be.” Frustrated, I rub my hand over my face and glance around her dark room. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  Holding her stomach, she meekly whimpers as she rolls to face me. “You don’t? You drop a bombshell like that on me, but you don’t have anything to say about it? No explanation at all? Why would you tell me that or act like you were going to propose to me?”

  I throw my hand up. “I wasn’t…acting.”

  Shit.

  I let my head fall back, resigned to the fact I’m a fucking dumbass. I need shot with a tranquilizer dart so I shut the hell up.

  “Right.” She rolls to her other side, turning away from me physically and metaphorically. Am I losing her again? “It’s just like my dream,” she mutters, her body slightly shaking.

  “What?”

  “You said you’d never marry me and give me your name. You said you don’t love me.”

  “Becks, you know I love you. More than you can ever imagine.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  Heaving myself up, I gently drape my arm around her, careful of her stomach, and hug her to me, but she doesn’t respond. I whisper, “I just showed you how much I love you.” Even if it was a slightly warped view since I lost control. And we possibly created a life together. I’m going to have to go through another month of worrying if I’m going to be a father. Somehow, I’ll endure it for my Becks.

  When I kiss her neck, she dejectedly mutters, “You fucked me. I spread my legs and you fucked me like the whore you said I am.”

  Feeling as if Rodwell just slammed a bowling ball into my stomach, my mouth halts on her neck, mid-kiss. Disturbed by what she said, and for thinking of Greg Rodwell while I’m in bed with Becks, I resentfully scowl into her hair before lifting my head. Moving away from her, I tug her arm, tipping her so she’s on her back and in a rush, I’m in her face snarling, “You are not a whore. I don’t give a fuck what I said in a nightmare. I would never think that or say that to you. You’re the woman I love and the one I want to be with for the rest of my life.”

  She eyes me warily and wipes her cheek. “I’m just not good enough to marry.”

  “I do want to marry you!”

  Holy fuck, Wilder!

  She gapes at me and I, in turn, stare at the wall, pissed off that I admitted it, yet again. Every time I open my damned mouth, I only dig myself in deeper. I’ll be in China at this rate.

  It’s time to tell her the truth.

  The real truth.

  The darkness makes it somewhat easier to look at her face, but I still can’t, and my eyes roam around her pillow as I say, “I was going to propose to you Saturday, b
ut you’re right. I can aspire to marry you and ask you all I want to. I just can’t follow through with it.”

  Becks doesn’t say anything and when I guardedly look at her, I see her eyes are filled with tears.

  I’m a fucking jerk.

  I swallow as my throat constricts, and all I can do is whisper, “You’re so right and I’m so sorry.”

  Becks absently nods and slowly starts sitting up. Instantly following suit, I take ahold of her arm to help her. Without looking at me, she asks, “Can you get me some Tylenol and a glass of water?”

  “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “Some. I’m going to go to the bathroom. Just leave them on the nightstand. I’m going to try a cool shower.” What’s bothering her more? Her stomach or my confession?

  “Becks, if you’re in that much pain, maybe I should take you back to the ER.” I can’t wait to explain to the doctor why she’s in even more pain. Shit.

  “No. It’s not that bad.” She gets up and I notice her making a face at doing so.

  “How about I get a shower with you so I can help?”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “No. Go to sleep.” She walks around the bed and as she makes it to my side, I get up and block her from the door.

  I tell her, “You look pale.” Real good with the compliment, ass.

  “I’m good.” She forces a rigid smile, but she hasn’t perfected the art like I’ve had to. She moves to the side to walk past me, but I grab her wrist, coaxing her to me.

  “Can I have a kiss?”

  “Sure.” She looks up at me, but her eyes won’t stay on my face. I bend to meet her lips; however, as soon as we converge, she barely kisses me before she’s gone, reminding me of what she did before dinner Saturday.

  I pull my boxer briefs back on and walk out to the kitchen. I hear the shower starting and have to stop myself from going in there. I find her some Tylenol and get her a glass of water. As I walk into the bedroom, I faintly hear coughing. I set the glass on her nightstand and go to the bathroom door.

  “Are you okay?”

  She doesn’t respond, so I knock. She answers, “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “No. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Becks, I’ll stay up until you come to bed.”

  “Don’t. I’m going to soak and then watch some TV.”

  “Baby...” What can I do?

  “Finn, go to bed.” I debate whether to try the door handle, but I capitulate to her desire for privacy and walk back to her bedroom.

  I lie in bed with my hands clasped beneath my head and stare up at the ceiling, waiting for Becks to come to bed. I hear her cough some more and worry that I should be taking her back to the hospital.

  Does she hate me for being a fucking pansy? Why can’t I get past this shit? I want to be her husband so much that each day it’s progressively turning my life upside down, inside out and into an endless tailspin. It’s all I think about anymore. Why wasn’t her three-week break from me enough to wake me up to the truth that I will lose Becks if I don’t put a ring on her finger? Not just an engagement ring. The real deal.

  A wedding band.

  I take steadying breaths to calm my pounding heart, needing to quit freaking out every time I think about actually getting married. It’s what I want, yet it’s not. I want to give her my name and call her my wife. I’ve never proposed to a woman before, the thought never even entering my head until her. I was going to ask her Saturday night because I wanted to. Nevertheless, that’s where my courage ends. I can propose, but to say eternal vows to her before God, a priest, and our family and friends? I don’t know if I can do it. I’m afraid it will be the start of the ticking clock counting down to the end of us.

  At dinner, Morgan had mentioned Becks wants to get married in a hot air balloon. That’s actually shocking to me. I never thought she would be daring like that. I mean, it’s not an incredible feat to go up to those heights for me, but I didn’t think she would want to do something like that. If she wants to go up in one of those, I’ll take her, but I’ll leave the minister on the ground.

  I hear the bathroom door open and I watch Becks slowly walk into the room. The moonlight isn’t as bright, but I still am able to see her hair swung over a shoulder and her arms folded over her stomach. I also see that’s she’s thinner than she was a couple weeks ago. I first noticed when I was kissing her stomach. Is she working out too much? Has she been so stressed that she’s not eating, either? I haven’t been eating much since we haven’t been together, but I grab a bite here and there so I don’t have dry heaves on camera. Saturday, she didn’t eat much of her dinner and I doubt she ate tonight after I left to go to work.

  She gets into bed and curls into a fetal position with her back to me.

  Turning my head to her, I worriedly ask, “How are you feeling?” I hope she realizes I’m asking how she feels about her boyfriend being a gigantic prick.

  Becks quietly replies, “Okay.” She’s lying to me. I reach over and touch her back, but she doesn’t move or say anything. How can she be so shocked by my reasoning? I thought this is why she took the time away from me, to accept my shortcomings and to comprehend that I am, in fact, a waffling asshole.

  Dropping my hand and sighing, I get out of bed and go to my drawer in Becks’ dresser. I grab some clothes, my small overnight bag and take my turn in the bathroom.

  Having hurried with my shower, I come back to bed and hear her steady breaths. She’s asleep. I deftly move closer, spooning her and carefully weaving our legs together. Lightly running my hand up her hip, I feel how she’s definitely lost weight. I don’t know why she thinks she needs to lose any. I don’t want to hug a damn rail. I love her soft curves. Becks is already perfect to me. My cock doesn’t get hard for just any woman. Since I first laid eyes on her, it’s only been Hadley.

  Moving my mouth to her ear, I softly whisper, “Becks.” When she doesn’t respond, I say, “Baby, please forgive me for not being the man you need. I’m trying. I’m getting closer, but I’m not there yet. I want to be the one to give you everything you want. It would undoubtedly kill me if you found someone else to give them to you. When I’m ready, I want us to get married. I love you to the stars, Becks Wilder.”

  As usual with my nighttime conversations with her, she doesn’t answer back, unless it’s with a humming sound, but she doesn’t do that either now. I kiss her neck and lay my head down next to hers, being lulled to sleep by the peaceful cadence of her breathing.

  Soft laughing wakes me. Looking over to Becks’ side, I see she’s not there. I squint at the clock as I reach for my glasses, and getting up, I walk out to the hallway to see her sitting against the arm of the couch with her back to me, talking on the phone. Her arm is tucked beneath her bent legs and her hair is wavy down her back. She looks sexy as fuck still in her underwear and the T-shirt she slept in.

  “No, you’re not that great of a hitter, Rod.” Figures she’s talking to that jackass. “I was just slow on the uptake.” She was definitely daydreaming about something.

  “Right. That’s what I was thinking about.” I can only imagine what the douche said.

  “He’s asleep. We were up late.”

  “I knew you would say that.”

  “Why would I tell you if we did?” Tell him! I want him to know exactly what we were doing.

  “You wish I told you everything. I do keep things to myself.” Apparently, not from Morgan.

  “Yes, he took good care of me.” Of course I did.

  “Yes with my clothes on.” Fucker.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just sore from one of my coworker’s ideas of a sick joke.” He’d never do that on purpose. I’d kill him with my bare hands.

  “I’m kidding. I know you are. Why are you so mad at yourself?”

  “No, just bruises. I couldn’t have died. It was my stomach, not my chest.” Why is she not taking this seriously?

  “Rod, I’m not. They ask
ed me that several times. Don’t you remember me announcing my period?” Why is he asking if she’s pregnant? Does he think it’s his? Right. If she had been and she miscarried our kid because of him, I would’ve picked up a softball bat and gave his balls a line drive, making damn sure he never procreates.

  She looks down at her legs and lowers her voice. “I doubt he would’ve.” Wait. What did I not do?

  “I’m serious. He probably would’ve thanked you.”

  Is she really suggesting that I would’ve been happy if she had been knocked up and our baby was killed? Did she honestly get that impression from me? Why did she think I put her in the outfield when I thought she was pregnant? I didn’t want anything to happen to her or our child. I’m not fucking heartless. I was royally pissed when she suggested an abortion. There’s no way I’d allow her to do that to a life we made together. I would love our kid. I’m just not ready for one. Yet, I can’t seem to stop myself from having sex with my girlfriend without a rubber, thus possibly making one with her. What the hell is wrong with me? I know it’s a huge gamble, but when I’m with her, I lose almost every last bit of rational thought.

  “No, you’re right. I should give him the benefit of the doubt. He is very loving. I think he’d be a wonderful daddy.” I would? She has that much faith in me? And Rodwell is actually taking up my defense? Did Hell freeze over?

  “I’m not crying. I need to go.” I stealthily turn and slip into the bathroom. While I’m in there, I pick up my toothbrush and brush my teeth.

  When I emerge, Becks is still sitting in the same position on the couch watching TV. I walk into the living room and she looks up, her eyes becoming huge and obviously wandering over me as I walk over to sit down next to her. What did I do?

  “What? Are you feeling okay?” She’s still weirdly staring at me. When I thought she’d be mad and ignore me, she instead throws me for a loop.

  Her eyelids flutter downward and she slightly shakes her head, looking at her fingers splayed on her raised thighs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Bowing my head over the floor, I absently grasp my wrist and sigh. “Becks, about what I said last night—both things. I shouldn’t have told you either.”