by Lynda Aicher
Marshal looked up, frowning. “What? Kids?” He shook his head, a half grin tugging his lips up. “Nah. Hard and tiring, sure. But this right here makes it all worth it.” He pressed another kiss to his now-sleeping daughter’s head. Yeah, that would make it worth it. “The wife’s pretty good too,” he added, gaze focused inside the house. The two women were clearly displayed in the fishbowl of light provided by the encroaching darkness.
Rachel’s head tipped back in laughter, chest bouncing with the unheard sound. Damn. He wanted it all.
It was fast and crazy and exactly what he’d waited so long to find.
He had to talk to Rachel. Tell her how he felt and make sure she knew going back to Minnesota didn’t mean leaving her. Not permanently. Not emotionally.
Would she be willing to move there? Make a family with him? Visions of little Rachels running through his home, a higher version of her laughter bubbling out, wrapped a band of longing around his heart.
He could have that. It was so close, he could almost believe it was real.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Laughter tumbled out of Rachel, each breath scratching over nerves worn raw by her determination. She would not let her pain show. Not let any of them see how ragged she was inside. Especially Scott.
“I can’t believe that kid thought he’d get away with that,” Connie said around her hitching giggles.
“Right? And it’s only the second week of school.” Rachel took a sip of her wine and forced herself to stay engaged with the conversation. “I hope it’s not an indication of the coming school year.”
Connie brushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear, head shaking. “I can’t wait to hear how it goes.” Her neat, chin-length bob swayed around her head. “Stories like that remind me of what I don’t miss about teaching.”
“And they remind me of what I love about it.”
“You always did enjoy it more than me.” Connie glanced toward the windows, but darkness had fallen, making it almost impossible to see the party going on outside. “We should probably go back out before our men start to think we’re avoiding them.”
Rachel cringed, then quickly checked to ensure her friend hadn’t seen it. Avoiding Scott was exactly what she’d been doing. Childish, yes. But it was hard enough to put on a happy front without him at her side reminding her how false it was.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked, stalling. They’d come inside to catch a break from the heat and get an antacid for Connie’s upset stomach.
Her friend dipped her head, an impish smile covering her face. Notes of understanding prickled in warning over Rachel’s nape. They’d been friends since college, roommates for four years. Rachel had been there when Connie had first met Marshal, had jumped up and down with her when she’d flashed her engagement ring, had cried and held her after her miscarriage then cried again after the birth of her daughter. And now that she stepped outside of her own stress and worries, she caught the rosy flush of her friend’s cheeks, the slight roundness around her hips that could be nothing more than a few extra pounds.
Could be but wasn’t.
“I’m pregnant,” Connie said, her joy barely contained behind the tight hold her teeth had on her bottom lip. She covered her stomach with her hand, that protective motherly gesture that dragged Rachel’s eyes down.
“Congratulations,” she exclaimed, enveloping her friend in a hug. Her eyes stung with happiness for Connie and a whopping dose of envy that snuck up out of nowhere to whack her upside the head. “That’s great.”
“Thank you.” Undisguised happiness rang through Connie’s voice to kick Rachel even harder.
It was petty and wrong of her to feel anything but happiness for her friend. Yet it was there, burning in her throat and souring in her stomach.
“Don’t tell anyone, though,” Connie said, stepping back. “I’m only at eleven weeks, and we want to wait a bit longer before we tell others.”
“Of course.” Her smile was firmly plastered on. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Connie squeezed her hand. “I will.” She darted a glance toward the windows. “But won’t you be busy with Mr. Hot and Handsome?” She wiggled her brows in a purely childish fashion, giggles spilling out again.
Rachel rolled her eyes up and shook her head. “We’re not horny teens anymore.” The admonishment in her tone was modified by her smile, an honest one.
“No! We’re almost thirty-six and in our sexual prime. And you have that—” she waved her hand toward the windows, “—staying with you. We are way beyond horny teens.”
Oh, God. Rachel buried her face in her hands, embarrassment erasing her flash of envy. And right on its heels came the regrets. He was leaving tomorrow. The sex had been more than fantastic, made even better after his revelation about his previous issues. It’d brought them closer, and every time he came was a little celebration to his drug-free life.
“Come on,” she said, leading the way to the glass slider. “I should probably make sure the others haven’t grilled him to death or eaten him alive.”
Connie’s laughter blended with the louder burst from outside when Rachel stepped into the humid evening air. Her quick scan found Scott by the rail talking to Marshal. The flicker of citronella candles on the tables, along with the lights from inside, kept the darkness at bay.
In another act of self-inflicted torture, she went to Scott, arm slipping around his hips when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. The press of his lips on her hair was a shot of love and sorrow that twisted into compatible friends around her aching heart.
“She’s out,” Rachel said, pointing to her sleeping goddaughter snuggled into her dad’s arms.
Connie ran a hand down her daughter’s back before she leaned in to press a kiss to her husband’s lips. “We should probably head home.”
Concern flashed over Marshal’s face. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” Connie’s reassuring smile was intimate and soft for her husband.
The little scene was brief, innocent and exactly what Rachel wanted. And it wasn’t going to happen with Scott. Not with his solitary decision to return to Minnesota and hockey. He’d made his choice without including her and then expected her to blindly follow along. If he’d bothered to ask, he would’ve known about her aversion to long-distance relationships. Maybe even understood why.
But he hadn’t asked.
With a few quick blinks of her eyes, she swallowed back her expectations and let that piece go. She’d planned too far in the future before it was clear. There wasn’t going to be a happy family unit or babies with his blue eyes. With one more blink, the vision floated away to evaporate into the night.
A quiet peace filled the void, and she embraced it instead of damning it.
“I think we’ll walk out with you.” She looked up at Scott, etching the play of the light and shadows over his face into memory. More torture? “That okay with you?”
“Sounds good.”
It wasn’t bright enough to read what was in his eyes before she moved away to say their goodbyes. He’d been charming and gracious all evening, and from the hearty calls of “Hope we’ll see you again,” he’d made a great impression on her friends. Good. He was a great guy, and she honestly didn’t wish him ill will.
Each warm call was still an anchor around her neck that dragged behind her as they walked to her car. They’d ask about him next time. Wonder where he was and why she’d left him. She wouldn’t correct them either. What would be the point?
He drove them home, the silence thick with unsaid words as they commented on the evening.
“Your friends are nice.”
“Thanks. They liked you.”
“Do you get together often?”
“Not as much anymore. It’s harder to coordinate schedules.”
“How long have you known Connie and Marshal?”
“Over fifteen years.”
She went with it when what s
he really wanted to know was how was he going to deal with the stress when he returned to hockey. Was he mentally strong enough to resist the drugs? Would he miss her? Was hockey worth risking his life? Losing her?
Did he even know he was losing her? Should she say something? Purge her aching heart and let the venom kill everything between them? No. She doubted it’d change his mind and right now, she didn’t want him to. He’d picked his path, and hers was different than his. He would’ve known that if he’d asked even once.
She stubbornly squashed the acidic resentment that twisted in her chest before it could fester into more. Most of their relationship had existed in a bubble of their own making, and she was going to indulge in it for one more night. One last night.
They came into her house through the back door, the kitchen light welcoming them home. She stumbled over his bike shoes, her frown morphing to a grimace before she nudged them closer to the wall.
“I’m tired,” she told him, setting her purse on the dining table. “It’s been a long week.”
He searched her, questions darting through his eyes before he pressed his lips together and turned back to the kitchen. “I’ll lock up.”
Normal yet not. Even that little habit had switched over so quickly between them. It was her house, yet he’d done that every night he’d been there. And she’d let him. Accepted that he’d see to her safety.
With a long slow exhale, she let that bit go. She’d been watching out for herself since she’d left for college and she’d keep doing it long after he was gone.
They got ready for bed, another mundane flow already defined. He squeezed behind her in the single-sink bathroom, hand slipping beneath her tank to rub over the small of her back. His toothbrush plunked into the holder next to hers. But her heart stumbled a second when he folded his clothes and set them neatly in his bag instead of tossing them into the hamper with hers.
Established routines carried over from her time at his house. They were done now too. The stability of how they moved and flowed together. She turned down the bed, handed the extra pillows back to him, letting that bit go when he took them from her hands.
She had her own routines, ones that had grounded her for years. They’d come back and hold her strong.
He turned off the lights before crawling into bed next to her. He rolled to lean over her, leg threading between hers, one arm bracing him up as he swept his fingers over her cheek. Her lip almost trembled at the tenderness that leaked from his touch and mirrored in his expression, but she hid it between her teeth before it betrayed her.
“I know something’s not right,” he said, brows puckering.
“You’re leaving,” she whispered, sticking to honesty. “That hurts.”
He cringed, looked away then quickly back. “I told you I’m not leaving you.”
“But you are.” He had to see that, even if he thought it was temporary.
His head was shaking before his response. “No. I’m not.” Her skin burned everywhere they touched. Over her chest, down her side, across her groin, the length of her legs. “I’m going home. I have a job. Things I have to do. That’s different. I don’t want to go. I have to.”
He had to.
And what did she have to do?
Acceptance eased back in to shove away the loss. Some choices we made and some were made for us. He’d made this one on his own, thereby making it for her.
She drew him into a long, sad kiss. Her heart pulsed with each swipe of her tongue, every nip of his teeth, each ghosting breath on her cheek.
His back was warm beneath her hands, the muscles flexing as he dipped to lick her neck, suckle her earlobe, kiss beneath her jawline. Desire built languid and soft in her blood. Hummed beneath her skin to clench in her groin before spreading out to tingle through her limbs.
“I love you, Rachel.” His whispered admission flushed over her neck with his breath to cut her heart into jagged pieces.
Bastard.
She squeezed her eyes closed, tensing for the moment it took to repair the sharp edges left by his declaration. She was fine by the time he lifted back to stare down at her, only to be struck numb by the truth in his eyes. A truth she’d been looking at for a while and had hoped she’d been right about—until now.
“I love you.” He kissed her. “I’m not leaving you.” Another kiss that stomped on her aching heart. “I’ll be back. You can come visit. We’ll figure it out.” A long kiss that wove through her chest to leave a simmering trail of tears she refused to let fall. “I promise,” he whispered against her lips. The desperate insistence accompanying his tone almost broke her.
Almost.
And when the length between visits became longer and his job kept him away, what then? When she was still alone and waiting for him? When one year became two then three, would she be expected to continue waiting? Relocate for his job? Drop her life for his?
He was assuming a lot without a single consideration for her wants and needs.
But instead of confronting him, she clutched him to her, held him firm so she could plunder his mouth. She poured all her anger and hurt, all her love and dreams into the kiss. Her tongue fought with his until the minty flavor of her toothpaste gave way to the rich taste of him. A flavor she didn’t want to remember but wouldn’t forget.
Half mad, half desperate, she shoved at his shoulders and urged with her hips until he rolled to the side. She followed him, her mouth never leaving his. Her kisses grew sloppy as she scrambled on top. She nipped his bottom lip, sucked it into her mouth then dove back in for another frantic attempt to keep him.
Futile as it was, she tried to show him what he’d be missing.
She sat up and stripped her tank off, tossing it to the side. Her chest heaved with her quick breaths as she stared down at him. The faint light hid so much but not the amazement in his expression. Or the wonder.
Was it there on her face too? Could he see how much she loved him? How much his leaving was hurting her? Withholding her words of love was her last effort to protect herself. Too little too late maybe, but it was all she had left.
“You’re so beautiful,” he rumbled into the darkness, the reverent note reaching out to gouge her.
He slid his hands over her ribs in a slow ascent to palm her breasts. Heat curled through her chest before it crashed to her sex. Her head fell back, lips parting to release a slow moan. He plucked at her nipples, playing each one in turn then in unison. Still so attentive to her, he knew exactly what she liked. What spiked her desire and drove her crazy with lust. Her tears welled once again. They stuck to the top of her mouth and built in her throat, sharp, swelling nettles that dug into the tender lining.
No tears!
She lunged forward to bury her face in the crook of his neck, lips blazing a path down his chest. The salty taste of his skin coated her lips with bittersweet reminders of what they’d had and were about to lose.
His nipples were taut buds beneath her tongue, which she flicked and suckled. His big hand dug through her hair, stroked her scalp before clamping down. She tensed in resistance, muscles bunching as she bit down on one of her prizes. She refused to be diverted.
If this was their last time together, she would ensure he remembered it.
She rocked her pelvis over the hard line of his erection. Firm and prominent, it dug into her abdomen, the soft cloth of his briefs sliding over her skin in a tease for what it was hiding.
His rough growl sent a rush of desire down her chest to nail her sex. Her muscles clenched and pulsed with the need have him. Just Scott now. A toy wouldn’t be enough after him.
She slid down further, hooked her fingers beneath the band of his boxer briefs and jerked them down. His hard cock sprang from a nest of brown curls, the rounded tip glistening with his desire for her.
His hand flexed where it remained on her head, but he didn’t pull her back or push her down. It was his silent consent to her show. And the pinpricks were back, stabbing her eyes, threating to divulge
her pain.
She dropped her head, again refusing to give them to him. Her deep inhale shoved back the threat and flooded her with the musky, full sent of man and arousal. It rushed over her senses, flipped her primal longing and had her mouth watering.
This was for her too. She wanted something to remember even though it killed her to think this was it. Their time had run out.
So she shoved it away and licked up the length of him, savored the smooth run of velvety softness over her tongue. The rounded cap was an interesting ridge under the tip of her tongue, one she explored and memorized.
His hips jerked, a groan tumbling over her. The salty, tart flavor of him slid over her taste buds when she swirled around the head. It sank into her, spreading like wildfire to her needy sex.
Her heart thumped heavy and fast in a beat that threatened to break it more, yet held it together. She sucked him down then, not caring about finesse or teasing. It was about need and taking. Giving and wanting.
He was heavy on her tongue, full in her mouth. She sucked on her way up, fisting his base to hold him steady.
“Rachel.” The gasping choke of her name told her everything and nothing at all. Was it all desire that deepened his voice or was he hiding the hurt like her?
Her brain went offline when he lifted and flipped her onto her back to loom over her once again. His mouth was on hers, sucking and feasting like a starving man. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t deny him. She met every forceful thrust with her own, fought for what she wanted the only way she could.
He dug his hand beneath her panties, found her heat and stroked her in a quick, hard rub over her piercing that ripped a moan from her throat. So right. “Scott.” His name was more air than sound, her vocal skills lost to the bliss he ignited.
He toyed with the jewelry, pressed, retreated and fondled until she writhed uncontrollably. But she didn’t want to come without him. Not this time. She twisted away, panting. “Not yet.” She wouldn’t let him divert his guilt by pleasuring her into spent exhaustion. “I’m not coming without you.” She stared down his stubborn confusion-lined pride, unwavering in her adamant stance.
