City of Champions

by Barlow, Chloe T.

  She leaned away — as far as he let her — and looked in his eyes.

  "What's wrong, Wyatt?"

  He stared back into her eyes, searching for something, but she didn't know what. He placed his glass on the floor with a thud and reached up both his hands to her, his arms tense, and ran his fingers through her damp hair until time disappeared and Jenna's heart went from a gentle insistent patter to a frenzied pace.

  The turmoil in her chest reminded her of the sleeping patient's EKG she had watched one night during her last experience in the emergency room as a young med student. At that time she'd still been fooling herself she could fulfill her long-held dream of being a trauma surgeon and helping patients in the most dire of straits.

  The patient was an older man who had been in a terrible accident. It was a quiet interlude she'd shared with his resting form, watching as his chest rose and lowered regularly. The gentle, steady beep-beep-beep transfixed her with the torturous memories it evoked.

  When suddenly his body became possessed in an erratic frenzy just seconds before he went into cardiac arrest and blurs of humanity rushed into his room with the crash cart.

  She'd completely panicked, and stood frozen in place the entire time. Like a true coward, she hid in the corner, watching these doctors act on adrenaline and instinct. Yet for Jenna, there was only buzzing in her ears, lead in her limbs, and shame in her heart.

  Jenna was still haunted by that night in the E.R. when she yet again faced down the specter of violent death and failed to beat it. Her lack of control over what was coming next and her own horrific memory of being a weak child consumed her. She knew she was no match for the feeling of complete helplessness as the world spun around her — each life and soul so precariously close to disappearing. That old man died that night, just like her mother, and she'd failed to save either of them.

  Resigned to her inadequacies, Jenna embraced orthopedic surgery. Each second was scheduled and choreographed in advance. The room was sterilized and prepared for anything, making an environment so completely predictable that Jenna felt in absolute control. There she was a champion, even if it was only in her own world.

  Nothing about this moment with Wyatt and her racing heart were controlled. It should have made her feel like that twitching and ailing man in his antiseptic hospital bed, so completely at the mercy of fate and spontaneous decisions. Instead, all she could do was look into his brown and golden eyes and let the mass of sensations take over her nagging sensibilities. Finally, she willed herself to breathe slowly — in and out, in and out — to calm down and bring this overwhelming experience somehow into focus.

  "Wyatt?" she whispered, leaning her head forward to him as he cupped the sides of her face. Jenna reached up a hand to stroke his face and he leaned into it heavily — his flesh almost feverish against her cool palm.

  Ever since she was a child, people had told her she had "healing hands." She thanked whatever force gave them to her if they managed to help her maneuver through this moment — the intensity of which was starting to pull her under with unseen hands of its own.

  "Shh. I'm okay. I promise," he said softly, his breaths feathering across her lips. "I just want to look at you. Make sure you're here."

  "I'm here, Wyatt. I promise. I'm here. We're here."

  "You are…for now. It's not enough. I need you to stay." He moved her thighs around his waist and her towel fell around her, blanketing the two of them lightly.

  "Tonight? Or…" But before she could speak any further, his strong hands left her face and gripped the back of her head, tangling his fingers into her hair and crushing her lips to his.

  It was almost painful, but she needed it that way, too.

  Jenna wiggled her hips, fully seating herself atop him until he groaned. Wyatt snaked his other hand around her waist, pulling her tightly against his chest until her damp breasts pressed against his hot skin.

  "Wyatt, I mean it, is something wrong? Is this about what I…told you? I didn't mean to upset you, I'm sorry."

  "No, don't ever apologize for trusting me with the truth. Nothing's wrong. I just want to relax with you."

  He held her and she was relieved to feel him start to calm down next to her.

  She leaned back and glanced around the darkened room, which was lit only by the flickering fire. Even so, she could see numerous sculptures and works of art throughout the space. Sensing Wyatt wanted to change the subject to anything but his own distress, she searched her mind for something pleasant to say.

  "This is some room. I like all these sculptures in here."

  "You do?"

  "Of course, they're beautiful. Where'd you get them?"

  "Some are from little art galleries I came across over the years and others…"

  Wyatt hesitated and Jenna studied his face closely.

  "Wyatt McCoy, are you blushing? Where are the sculptures from?"

  "That depends, which are your favorites?"

  She looked around thoughtfully. "I really like the ones of people, but that one of the water crashing on the shore is really beautiful, too."

  He smiled broadly and hugged her tightly around the waist.

  "That's great."

  "Now tell me where you got them, stop being so mysterious."

  "I, um, I made them."

  "Are you kidding? Why would you be shy about that? They're so great."

  "Having your sculptures in your house is kind of arrogant, don't you think? It's like a band wearing their own tee shirts at a concert."

  "No way, my apartment walls are covered with Aubrey's photographs, and I think they look great. But I do find it adorable — and surprising — that someone who comes off as larger than life, like you, has all this humility."

  "I'm adorable, huh?"

  "Very, and full of surprises. You're quite the artistic man, I'd say." She leaned back to look at him better, feeling ever more relieved to see the hint of a smile on his still somewhat troubled face.

  "Is that a good thing?"

  "I'm quite partial to adorable and artistic, so…"

  "Then it's a great thing," he said, burrowing his face into her neck and breathing quietly, and she indulged him until that creeping sense of worry started to overtake her again. She knew there was something bothering him, but it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. If anyone understood the need to ignore unpleasant things, it was Jenna. So she decided to keep humoring him with the distraction he so clearly needed.

  "How'd you get into it?"

  "Sculpting? Well, I loved art history in college. It was a nice escape from a lifetime of being the next 'McCoy.' I also have a little sculpting studio here in the city."

  "Ooh, now that I'd like to see. Maybe you can help me make a coffee mug."

  "I’d like that, especially the idea of spending more time with you."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really. Now who's adorable?" he teased, kissing her softly.

  Jenna ran the fingers of both her hands through his thick, wavy hair, letting the softness of the strands slide across her skin as she pressed her body closer to his chest and wrapped her legs around him again. She could sense the darkness in his heart descending again. Before she would let it take him over, she tugged slightly on the fistfuls of hair in her hands and tilted his head back until he looked directly into her eyes.

  He smiled slightly and her heart eased up a bit, sensing he was back with her again.

  "Maybe sculpting is your thing. You know, your outlet to improve your game?"

  "No, I've done it for years, I think you're what makes me better. Maybe I should sculpt you?" he proposed, steadily running his hands up and down the sides of her upper body. "I'm starting to really like that idea. Get my two favorite things together."

  "What do I have to do?"

  "Stand still and do what I tell you. That may be hard for you."

  Jenna leaned down and kissed him deeply. Pulling up, she whispered, "I could probably manage, especially considering I think yo
u've done quite a bit of bossing me around so far, Mr. McCoy. You just need to keep up your form of positive reinforcement."

  "I can definitely do that. I bet having a sculpture of you around would make me invincible. Since we got together, I can't lose. If you'd resisted less in the beginning, I might've made the play-offs," he teased, tickling her waist lightly.

  "A couple weeks earlier would've made you even better? Come on, please," she said, laughing and writhing away from his tormenting fingers.

  He suddenly stopped moving and held her to him.

  "You make everything better, Doc."

  "Wow, how about that? Wyatt sometimes I feel like you get out of bed each day just to find another way to shock me."

  "That's good, because the person you thought I was…that's not someone I want to be."

  "I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

  "Don't be."

  "But I want to be sorry, Wyatt. I know I was too hard on you. I prejudged you and that wasn't fair. You make everything better for me, too, you know? So, I want to believe in you."

  "But what if I let you down?"

  "I hope you don't. I trust that you won't. That's what believing in someone is all about. But if you do let me down, well, then I'll stop and consider the situation and where we stand, and then decide what to do."

  "Always so logical, huh, Doc?"

  "Unfortunately so. I've always been that way."

  "I like it."

  "Oh yeah, logical is so sexy."

  "Everything about you is sexy to me, can't you tell?" he said, with that cocky smirk back on his face. But it didn't irritate her anymore. Instead it thrilled her to see that crease in one cheek and sparkle back inside his eyes — each time only for her.

  He slid his hands down from her waist and grasped the globes of her bottom with firm hands and pulled her flush against the pressure of his hardening cock.

  She giggled slightly and squirmed against him until he groaned.

  "I told you — you're so sexy, Doc," he whispered.

  The oddest wave of fear suddenly washed across her out of nowhere, as if with each contented breath she took it brought with it an insecurity and nervousness she couldn't quite place.

  Before she knew it, she asked him, "What if I let you down, Wyatt?"

  "You couldn't do that."

  "Wyatt, I mean it, what if..."

  But he kissed her firmly before she could finish her thought and she quickly lost track of all her worries, releasing them from her mind so she could take pleasure in him yet again. As his teeth nibbled her lips, she felt his warm, smooth fingers venture across the skin of her cool chest — a contrast that sent a thrilled shiver down her spine. A rush of air struck her when she watched her damp towel flutter to the floor beneath them.

  He reached a hand down, undoing his pants and Jenna lifted her bottom and helped him slide them and his boxer briefs down his legs and onto the floor.

  Wyatt teased her opening with two calloused fingers and she squirmed against his touch, already wet and clenching around his fingers. His thumb worked her clit in a tight circle until her arousal was almost painful. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts into his face.

  When Jenna didn't feel his mouth on her she opened her eyes and looked at him. His face was twisted with emotion.

  "Please don’t change the way you are with me, Wyatt. I can't bear it if you look at me differently now that you know," she pleaded, never feeling more aware of her traitorous body than in that moment.

  "You're even more beautiful to me now, Jenna. I promise."

  He leaned down to lick her breasts gently, nibbling on one nipple, then the next. One hand reached up to her head, pulling her mouth to his now upturned face. When their lips met, he used both hands to lift her body and thrust himself into her with potent force.

  Jenna cried out at the potent sensation of him fully seated in her body. His hands were everywhere — in her hair, on her breasts, at her waist, teasing the flesh of her nape — but it wasn't enough. Jenna touched every part of him that she could reach, from the hot corners of his shoulders, to the ridges of his biceps, and the tensing edges of his abdominals.

  Their kisses mirrored the movements of their bodies. As their tongues moved in and out of each other's mouths, Jenna rocked up and down on his rigid length while he arched upward to meet her. His movements became more frantic and out of rhythm as they both gasped heatedly from the passion of the moment.

  "Wyatt," Jenna breathed out desperately.

  "Yes, Jenna. Now," he whispered. He pulled her down against him until they were completely connected, and she could feel a pulsing rhythm inside her as his release entered her. Her body convulsed above him. The sensation was beyond an orgasm, and all she could do was collapse against his chest as her body relaxed into gentle twitches.

  Wyatt stroked her hair and rested her face in the crook of his neck.

  "Don't move, belleza. Please."

  "Okay," she whispered, against the pulse beating at his throat.

  Jenna closed her eyes and breathed him in as deeply as she could, allowing every inch of her body to melt into his.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "How's the hot cocoa? It's my abuela's recipe. I hope it's not too spicy?" Wyatt asked Jenna, making sure she was wrapped up snugly in her coat and enough blankets to keep her warm on the love seat on the veranda outside his bedroom.

  He'd spent the last two days trying to focus only on the joy being with Jenna brought him. Yet, he knew that with each second they came closer to the New Year, the pressing reality of all the obstacles they faced waited impatiently in the wings. Her surgery, the machinations he'd made to further his career, and the precarious nature of their relationship, were the evil supporting cast in the play of their lives together. He wished he could close the curtain on all of them.

  "Mmm, it's delicious, Wyatt. I love Mexican chocolate. Thanks. But, do you really think we'll be able to see the downtown New Year’s fireworks?"

  "It's worth a shot. We may have to lean over the edge, though."

  "Um, then never mind. I'd rather stay over here."

  "Wait a second," he said, pulling her between his legs and stroking her under the blankets lightly. "You're not afraid of heights, are you? Tough girl like you?"

  "No, I'm not afraid of heights. I am afraid of falling. That is completely rational and the result of thousands of years of productive evolution."

  "I don't buy it. You're scared of heights. Back ba-ba-back," he teased, flapping his arms lightly like a chicken.

  "Very mature."

  "Hey, you did it first."

  "Don't remind me. That was not my finest hour."

  "I actually thought you were pretty funny."

  "You keep teasing me like this, you might lose your nooky privileges."

  "'Nooky?' Now who sounds like an eighty-year-old?"

  "I'm warning you, McCoy, one more joke, and no more nooky. It’s up to you."

  "All right, I give. You're right, Doc. All the time. In every way."

  "Much better. Now get those arms back around me and warm me up. I'm out of cocoa."

  "I could get you more."

  Jenna turned and glanced at the New Year’s countdown on the TV through the glass French doors leading to his bedroom.

  "No. It's almost midnight. I don't want to miss the countdown."

  "Oh, you're right. Come on. Stand with me so we can try to see the fireworks. I'll warm you up."

  Wyatt took the mug from her hand and put it on the small side table before lifting her up and pulling her body tightly to his. From inside he could vaguely hear the voices on the TV indicating time was quickly running out.

  He pressed her body close to his as she joined him in counting down from ten.

  "Happy New Year, Jenna," he whispered.

  "Happy New Year, Wyatt."

  The sound of fireworks they could just barely see rumbled in the distance, syncing with their linked heartbeats.

  Wyatt began singi
ng Auld Lang Syne in her ear. With the last lilt of his temporary brogue across the words "auld lang syne," he kissed her temple. On a quiet breath, he silently prayed they could have the courage to move past the misfortune of old times past, and find the strength to face an uncertain future together.

  "That was beautiful. I would have sung along with you, but I think I'd make your ears bleed."

  "I won't comment on your singing. Let's just say, you don't have to be great at everything, Doc. You can leave the singing to me," he teased.

  "How diplomatic of you," she said softly against his neck, with a light chuckle. "I wouldn't have been able to anyway. I don't know those words."

  "It's the Gaelic version. Grandma McCoy taught it to me when I was very little. I only met her a couple of times before my dad was out of our lives. This is the first time I've sung it since then."

  "I loved it. Thank you for sharing it with me."

  He leaned away from her and searched her eyes for some relief from the anguish that had plagued him ever since she'd told him about her diagnosis.

  "Wyatt, you can't will it out of my body," she declared.

  "What are you talking about? I just like looking at you is all."

  "Don't play dumb," she remarked, lifting a hand to his cheek. "I know that look. I saw it on my dad's face in the months my mom got worse and worse. You can't ever make the bad go away. If it turns out I can't kick this… Then all we can do is hope — hope that I'll get better."

  "But it's not fair," he insisted, clutching her shoulders with more force than he intended. Willing himself to loosen his grip before bruising her, he added, "We only just found each other…"

  "Before she passed away, my mom told me it isn't about whether life is fair. It's just not. You'll drive yourself nuts if you try to make it to be. Life can actually be a real son of a bitch." Jenna kissed the skin of his throat tenderly before continuing, "All you can do is grab at something great when life is willing to give it to you and cherish it. She was right. We need to treasure these moments we have together. We can't worry about what will happen next, or wonder which kiss or breath could be the last. Look at my dad. He didn't get to say good-bye to my mother. She'd promised him she'd be there when he got back, but instead, it all ended while she was talking to me. I took that moment from him, and I didn't even make the most of it."