Trusting You

by Ketley Allison

  Wrapping a towel around myself, I crack open the door to see Locke—still shirtless—building himself a sandwich in the kitchen. Lily’s nowhere I can see, but the telltale sound of her white noise machine lets me know she’s down for her last nap.

  “Sandwich?” Locke asks once he hears me and turns.

  Water streams down my back from my wet hair, and it feels like ice melting. “I’m good, thanks. Had some scones with Pierce.”

  “I make a mean ham and swiss; just sayin’,” Locke says to me as I head to the nursery. Then he mumbles in a ridiculously bad British accent, “Better than any dry, crumby, fucking crumpet.”

  My hand’s on the doorknob to my and Lily’s room, and I curse. I can’t go in there and search for clothing while Lily’s asleep.

  “I laid out some options for you while you were in the shower,” Locke says, coming into the main room. He’s drying his hands with a dish towel as he gestures to the couch, where I see a few dresses laying. “I wanted to wait until you got out, but she was getting extra cranky, so…”

  “It’s no problem,” I say, tucking a wet tendril behind my ear and scanning his choices, but he remains where he is.

  “I, uh…I didn’t want to be that creep that goes through your underwear drawer, so that’s all you’re missing.”

  I look up, and he’s staring at me like he’s picturing me without underwear. Instantly, I go hot all over.

  “That’s okay,” I say, and it comes out more guttural than intended. “I’ll make do until she wakes up.”

  He nods, but his throat is bobbing like he’s withstanding some sort of pain. “I hope I did right with the dresses.”

  I’m clutching my towel like it isn’t knotted securely against my chest. Telling myself to chill, I reach down and sift through the three dresses Locke grabbed from my makeshift closet. I don’t have much to begin with, so I’m not surprised Locke went with the sexiest black cocktail attire I have—the red number I wore out with Astor—and some purple thing that must be Sophie’s. I’m convinced she packed this for my use during a one-night stand since it’s mostly straps and buckles.

  I go with the black. It, at least, has a bit of lace against the cleavage but is sexy enough that I won’t look like a prude in front of the pack of men who are apparently escorting me out tonight.

  Still not sure how I feel about that. Is it possible to be a fifth wheel when you’re the only woman?

  Why did I agree to this?

  I’m ready to throw in the towel—not literally, as I’m still in one—but maybe this isn’t such a bright idea. I’m not here for much longer. There’s no reason to befriend these guys, and I’m still mad at Locke. So why am I allowing him the tiniest fraction of leeway?

  “Part of me was hoping you’d go for the purple.”

  Locke gives a lopsided smile, one I’m sure has led many an unsuspecting lady to his bed.

  “Definitely the black one,” I say firmly, then spin around toward his bedroom for entirely different purposes.

  I pretend he’s not staring at the bottom of my ass cheeks as I retreat. This towel is way too goddamned small. I pull at the hem to redeem some modesty, but I hear his chuckle before I shut the bedroom door and get changed.

  By the time I’m dressed and out of his room, Locke’s in the bathroom, the stream of the shower going strong. He’s left the door cracked open a tiny fraction, some steam escaping out.

  “Crap,” I say. Again.

  My hair dryer and makeup bag are still in there.

  Suck it up, Jameson. He’s just a guy. A naked one.

  Tentatively, I knock. “Uh, Locke?”

  “Yeah?” he says over the shower. “Is Lily up?”

  “No, she’s fine. Um, I need to get my stuff off the counter. Is that okay?”

  “You don’t have to ask.” Despite the sound of the water, I sense his amusement.

  I creep in anyway like I’m a girl who’s never seen a penis before. But this is Locke’s penis. An entirely different species, because while I’ve only seen a glimpse of him, the entirety of Lachlan Hayes is the kind of body only actors get to see—or models. Not regular people like me, leading boring lives—

  Glass doors.

  Why didn’t I remember the shower has glass panels? I was just in it!

  I clap a hand over my eyes, peeking through my fingers and fumbling blindly through the steam for what I need on the counter. Bottles fall and clack.

  “You look gorgeous.” His voice is low, and it echoes against the tiles like a lion circling its prey.

  “Shut up,” I say to him. But my eyes betray me, and I’m already over there, devouring all he has to offer.

  Because he’s not shy. While behind steamed glass, the condensation doesn’t disguise anything. He’s standing there, facing the showerhead but looking at me. And I’m looking at him.

  And he’s completely naked and shining, his blue eyes piercing through the fog. And I have to remember, with every iota I possess, that I can’t be attracted to him.

  I gulp. Look down.

  He’s clearly attracted to me.

  And he’s staring like he’s remembering his mouth on me.

  My heart goes hot, molten, pooling its liquid heat into my core. I’m basically an animal with only instincts to rely on since all humanity has left this body.

  “Found it!” I scream, way too loudly, and clutch my cosmetics bag to my chest. The blow dryer’s electrical cord clatters on the floor behind me as I scramble out of there as fast as my bare feet on slippery floors allow.

  The buzzer screeches as I’m exiting the bathroom in a flurry, and I’m 100% saved by the bell.

  “Come in!” I chirp through the speakers, then go about untangling the dryer’s cord and search for an available outlet.

  I find one in the kitchen, just atop the counter, and figure there is as good a space as any to flip my hair over and start blow drying.

  It’s also as far away from Locke as possible in this small space.

  I don’t hear the door open but notice through the dark strands of my hair two lithe legs clad in denim shorts moving inside.

  “Hi!” I say over the noise of the dryer. “I’ll be with you in just a sec.”

  Astor says something, but I don’t hear it. I straighten, smoothing my hair with a paddle brush while I wiggle the blow dryer around my head.

  Now that I’m right-side-up, I notice Astor, casual in an off-the-shoulder tee and her short hair fashionably pinned back, tipping a can of seltzer to her lips.

  I flick the off switch to the dryer. “Hi,” I say again.

  Astor’s gaze rakes over me. She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a little too near for my liking, and is sizing me up like a lioness.

  She and Locke really are twins.

  “You look amazing,” she says.

  There’s no duplicity in her tone—or meanness.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’m kind of improvising here since there’s only one bathroom and very few mirrors.”

  Astor laughs. “Spoken like you’re living in a true bachelor pad. Where’s the munchkin?”

  “Asleep, but she should be awake any second.”

  “Excellent. I’ve missed her.”

  “How come you haven’t been around?”

  I ask it before thinking, or remembering, that my and Locke’s confrontation happened because of what Astor confessed to me. Had I not known and simply found a bottle of painkillers on Locke’s floor, I would’ve believed anything he said, including that it was simply leftover from his surgery.

  The thought numbs.

  Astor’s answering smile isn’t genuine. “Locke…keeps to himself a lot these days.”

  “He’s a vault,” I agree, unplugging and wrapping the cord around the handle. Before I lose my nerve, I ask, “Anything else I should know about him?”

  She wavers. I see it in the way her eyelids lower. “I think I’ve done enough, don’t you agree?”

  I’m right. Astor and Lock
e are fighting over what she told me. “I’m sorry I’m coming between you and your brother—really, I am. But if there’s anything I need to know, for Lily’s sake, please say it. I’ll find out regardless.”

  I dump my hair stuff on the counter, then fold my arms. Astor may think she’s intimidating—and she sure as hell is—but all I have to do is remember that I have to leave Lily behind, that she’ll no longer have me—and suddenly, no deadly weapon can keep me from knowing the truth, never mind another woman’s warning glare.

  “My loyalty is to my brother,” Astor says. “I like you, but I don’t know you. But, I want to assure you, Lily’s safe. He’s not hiding anything on that, and I wouldn’t help him. So, anything else you want to know, you’ll have to ask him.”

  I shake my head, readying to argue.

  “Or ask his friends,” Astor adds, with a raised brow. She maintains her stare with me as if she’s offering a clue, as Locke makes noises behind us. He wanders into the main room, a towel slung low on his hips.

  “You’re here,” he says to Astor as greeting.

  “Yes, brother, I’m here, as you’ve beckoned. Now give me my niece, the real reason I’ve arrived instead of seeing your sorry face.”

  “Uh-huh,” he says, using a smaller towel to rub at his face and hair. “Go get her, then. I hear some squealing going on.”

  Astor claps her hands and bounces off the counter, actions I’m not used to seeing on such a composed, well-postured lady. The woman has layers, I’ll give her that.

  She departs behind Locke, disappearing into the nursery.

  Locke’s still standing there, smiling.

  “Go get ready,” I snap at him. And stop looking at me like you want to eat me. Again.

  I blush at the thought, and the action has him zeroing in and holding his towel like he’s readying to rip it off.

  “Go,” I repeat. Then add as a reminder, “Your sister’s here.”

  One side of his mouth lifts up. “I’ll lock her in the nursery.”

  “I have to finish making a list of the things she needs to do for Lily while we’re gone,” I say, and as I predicted, his eyes start glazing over. “Times to feed her, how many ounces in a bottle, diaper changes, watching for poop, bedtime routine…”

  “All right, all right.” Locke waves me off. “Nothing like the mention of poop to deflate a boner.”

  Don’t forget I’m mad at you! I want to scream at his back, but I’m so conflicted with desire, anger, and contentment. It’s impossible to maintain any single emotion with him for longer than 2.5 seconds.

  Since our confrontation, Locke’s been trying. I’ll give him that much. But it’s all for nothing. In two and a half weeks, I’ll be gone for good—Lily will be in his hands.

  And at this very moment, his sister is in the other room with Lily.

  So…nothing, literally zero reasons, point to taking this any further with Locke than I already have.

  I sigh while staring at the spot where he once stood.

  We’re both already so hurt by life.

  Being together would only coat those wounds with fresh blood.

  24

  Locke

  I’m ready faster than a pigskin being thrown at fifty-nine miles per hour at my chest.

  I figure, the quicker Carter and I get out of here, the more time I’ll have alone with her, so I can show her how much better I am than whatever’s in her head.

  The boys are meeting us around six, an hour before Easton hits the stage. The bar’s within walking distance, but if Carter and I stroll really slow, maybe get there around 5:30, there could be some good time put in to put Lachlan Hayes the Charmer to the test.

  A quick peek through my window, and I let out a curse. There’s definitely a storm brewing, but water hasn’t broken on pavement yet. I’ll swipe an umbrella on the way out, and I’m grinning at an idea. Both of us, under an umbrella, Carter tucked against my side, raindrops splashing against our arms, our legs, as we make a break to hide under scaffolding half a block away.

  Could be a moment, making out with her under a storm.

  If Carter still allows that kind of thing to happen.

  Sounds reach my ears, of two women laughing and a baby playing, and I rush through the smoothing back of my hair, the spritzing of cologne, so I can go out and be part of the action.

  Carter and Astor are on the floor with Lily, playing hide-the-blocks. Lily’s screeching and clapping her hands, finding some behind their legs but missing most because she’s too distracted by…anything and everything.

  “You ready?” I say to Carter as she looks up at my arrival. Again, I’m grounded by those pale gold eyes. More primal than human, they’re a color I don’t think I’ve seen on any other woman, and probably won’t again.

  “Sure.” She stands, smoothing out her dress and picking off a few crumbs of a teething cookie. “This is how I go out most days.” She laughs as she brushes her hands together. “Be thankful I don’t smell like spit-up this time.”

  I return the smile, but it seems to scare her since hers winks out. I contain a growl of frustration.

  I fought against the crushing depression of losing my dream. I battle the allure of painkillers and smack down any remaining cravings for alcohol on a daily basis. I took on an eleven-month-old before ever meeting her, never mind becoming aware of her existence before she was almost a year old.

  I could make a girl trust me again.

  So why does it feel so damn impossible?

  “Be good. And I mean you,” I say to my sister.

  Astor rolls her eyes from where she’s curled up on the floor. “Carter’s given me detailed instructions; don’t you worry. This kid will be taken care of to the minute. Your girl’s ensured it.”

  Astor’s gaze widens at her last sentence in typical pretend oops, did I say that? flair, a trait she acquired long before becoming a lawyer, so I give her an eye roll right back.

  Carter remains uncomfortably silent.

  “We’re off,” I say to her and offer my arm. It’s a relief when she takes it, and I grab an umbrella from the line of hooks on the wall by the door.

  I hold the door open for Carter both times, and soon we’re out on the sidewalk and into the humidity, the wind too quiet to be normal.

  “It’s going to rain soon,” Carter says as she looks up to the sky.

  I nod and shake the umbrella as assurance. “We’ll be fine. It’s four blocks away.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” Carter says as she, unfortunately, picks up the pace. She untangles her arm from mine and puts a good amount of space between us.

  “Yeah?”

  “At the coffee shop, there’s a cork board.”

  “Huh.” I have no idea where the fuck she’s going with this.

  “And it’s got a list of classifieds on it sometimes,” she continues.

  My chin lifts. Ah, there it is.

  “Listen,” I say before she can go on. “My buddies are on top of helping me figure out my career. You don’t need to take on the same responsibility.”

  “You’re not an obligation,” she says.

  “I’m fully aware I need to find something to support both myself and Lily once my cash runs out. I can’t live day-to-day forever, especially with a child. I’m aware of all of it, Carter.”

  I’m on the defensive, but I can’t help it. If Carter’s questioning my ability to support Lily, if she’s worried I’ll fuck up as soon as she leaves…well. I snort. Of course, she is. That’s all she ever does. Not a day goes by when Carter doesn’t consider me a fuck up.

  “I’m not scanning it for you every day thinking something will pop up,” she says. “I happened to be looking at it this morning while waiting for Pierce to finish my latte…”

  Fucking Pierce…

  “…and an ad caught my attention. It’s for the local high school. A part-time football coach.”

  I frown, my defenses unclear on how much higher they should rise.


  “And I’m only letting you know because I think it might be perfect. Lily could go into day care part of the day; you can coach nearby and still have a ton of time with her. At least,” she says, retreating under my silence, “that’s what I thought. I could be way off base. This is your life, your decision. I only…well, football’s something you love. Maybe this is a way to get some of it back. And now I feel like I’m yelling into a void. Locke, say something.”

  Our pace has sped up, and I slow my steps as I register her scurrying beside me to keep up.

  “I don’t know,” I say at last.

  Because I really don’t. This girl, who claims I tell her nothing about myself, has taken it upon herself to find a type of career for me that really could work. Ash, Ben, East…they mean well, but they point to traditional routes, even though not one of the fuckers has one of those. Financial shit, hedge fund stuff, basically become a suit behind a desk since I was so good with numbers—on the field, anyway. But none thought to mention another route in football. Maybe they figured it’d hurt my feelings, send me spiraling, to have to watch other men take the field while I was benched on the sidelines. And that was a real concern.

  Yet…the thought of coaching young athletes, of having them reach whatever potential they want, yeah. It’s easy for those imagined kids to morph into Lily in my mind, encouraging her to do whatever she wants—please be sports—being there for her when she goes down, helping her get back up.

  Helping kids.

  That sounds pretty fucking fantastic.

  “It’s not an end game, but it could be a stepping stone,” Carter says, her voice barely a squeak. “Maybe a way to open the gates into professional football coaching, I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the inner workings of—”

  “You did good, Carter.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” And I’m laughing at the shock of it. “I’ll call, schedule an interview.”

  “Awesome!” Carter hooks my arm and squeezes, her breast coming close to my side, then predictably flies away once she realizes what she’s done.