by Lynda Aicher
His jaw twitched, nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. A quick flash of understanding passed heavy between them. Yeah, she wouldn’t let him fall back into that habit either. Not with her.
She caught his abrupt nod and fell back to the mattress when he crushed his mouth to hers. That little acknowledgement was enough.
Their underwear was removed in a series of jerking shoves and toe hooks between sloppy kisses and throaty groans. His erection rubbed over her sex, a teasing promise that had her surging up to get more of him.
Them.
Before it was gone.
He lifted up, condom slipped on around haggard breaths. At last he slid into her, the long glide a sweet coming home that filled her up and shoved the rest aside. She grabbed at his shoulders, back arching as the rightness swept over her to propel her climax right to the crest.
But she held on for one more time. One last moment, legs and arms clamped around him. She had to make this last.
She couldn’t look in his eyes, couldn’t see the love that bound them without crumbling under its weight. So instead, she felt him. The slick heat of his skin over hers. The hot burn of his thrusts as they powered into her. The panting gusts of his breath by her ear that released little grunts that timed with the slap of skin.
She squeezed her eyes closed, struggled for a breath, then let it go. Let the longing and hope float away with each thrust and glide of him into her.
Her orgasm grew in waves, both gentle and crashing. It crept over her limbs, clamped across her abdomen and shot into her core with an explosive, wrenching reverberation. Her cry scratched over her throat before it rang through the air.
“Yes. Fuck. Come, Rach.”
She was. God, she was.
His satisfied roar was punctuated by the two hard jabs that tore another shocked spasm from her sated body. He tensed above her, arms contracting to lock tight around her. Encase her. Claim her.
She wanted that so badly.
Her breath stuttered into her chest on her gulping breath. She held it. Held him. Squeezed until her arms and legs protested. Then she let it go.
A kiss to his shoulder. His neck. His jaw. One more brush of her lips over his, and she let him go too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The coffee was cold and bitter on Scott’s tongue, but he forced it down with a large gulp that almost wasn’t enough to keep it there. Sun streamed bright and cheery through the kitchen windows, adding to the homey scent of oatmeal and fruit they’d had for breakfast. A meal that sat heavy and hard in the pit of his stomach.
Rachel closed the dishwasher and wiped her hands on a towel before pouring another cup of coffee. He absorbed every movement, locked her graceful shift from task to task into his memory.
He set his mug down but didn’t move from his spot by the doorway. The end hung looming and weighted in the room, despite the best efforts of the sun to banish the gloom. Last night had been tinted with sadness as they’d made love, one she’d tried to hide. He’d caught it though. Tried to show her that he was telling the truth.
Did she believe him? Had he convinced her?
That stupid, irritating buzzing jitter prickled over his skin. The craving vibrated through his chest and twisted around his organs. He clenched his hands and forced the niggling, begging urge down. He could deal with this. Make her understand.
“I do love you,” he said into the quiet.
She stilled, back going rigid before her head fell forward. He’d held her all night, only to have her slip away before he’d awoken that morning. Now his bag sat packed and ready to go by the front door, a subject they’d mutually ignored through a breakfast stifled with halting conversation.
“I believe you,” she finally said. Her voice held some of the hurt she was trying so hard to hide from him. Damn it. He wasn’t blind. She was keeping things from him—including her own declaration of love. He’d wager his entire bank account on her loving him as much as he did her, but she’d withheld the words.
Why? The only answer he’d come up with was she didn’t believe him. Still didn’t trust him or his words. A fact that dug a bitter hole in his heart that he was trying to ignore as he struggled to understand her perspective.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, palm catching on the beard stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. “I’ll send you a ticket for Labor Day weekend.”
Her smile was gentle but firm when she faced him. The sun fluttered over her hair, the purple ends dancing in and out of the light. The navy tank hugged her chest and displayed the tight muscles in her arms. She was perfect to him. Exactly what he’d been wanting but resisting his entire adult life.
“You don’t need to do that.” The statement was gentle yet set. Not one of kindness but decision.
His stomach clenched, rolled and threatened to rebel. Another hard swallow managed to keep his food down. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back here. I can try though. See what the schedule’s like.” He could take a day at least.
She wrapped her arms around herself, a small shiver visible from across the room. “I’ll be at Rock’s that weekend. Carter has a show opening I promised to be at. I already have a ticket.”
“Perfect.” He lit up, relieved to know he’d see her in two short weeks. “Let me know your flight schedule and I’ll pick you up.” Plans were already running through his head. His sister always had a big party that weekend, one they were still planning, despite her pending delivery date. He wanted to introduce Rachel to everyone, especially his parents.
She glanced down, rocked forward before she snapped her head up. “I can’t do that.” A chilling coldness settled over her features, so opposite to her normal warmth that he actually shuddered.
“What? Why?” He stepped forward, not understanding what was happening. Not wanting to believe what she was saying.
“I can’t continue to see you.” There was sadness in her eyes, dark swirls of grief she couldn’t hide or school, like the hard edge of her voice. “I grew up watching the women around me raise families by themselves while their husbands were stationed thousands of miles away. I saw my father in spurts and durations that were sometimes cut off with a day’s notice.” Every word was a slice to his dreams. A cut to the hope he’d allowed to build. “I don’t want that. I won’t do that.”
“But that’s different,” he argued, voice raising with his frustration. “I’m not going to war, and we don’t have kids. We can talk and see each other all the time. And it’s only temporary. One more year.”
Her grimace was quick and tight before it cleared into a resigned sadness. “That’s your choice. Your dream.” She came forward to cup a hand to his face. His chest constricted at her touch. Her eyes were bright with pain and unshed tears that shredded him further. “And I don’t begrudge you it. Honestly. But I can’t follow it with you.”
He shuffled through her meaning, tried to decipher what she’d said around the pain that was overtaking his chest. It was too close to his past, yet wasn’t.
“I don’t understand.” He grabbed her wrist, lowering her hand so he could think. “You knew I played hockey. That I wanted to go back. I never hid that from you, so why are you doing this now?”
“What?” she bit back, matching his sharper tone. “Sticking up for myself? Stating what I need and want in a relationship? I’m doing it now because you never asked before.”
He jerked up, the blow sound if silent. Was that true? “But we’ve talked about family. Talked about dreams and finding someone to share them with. We’re not fucking teenagers stuck on a first crush. We’ve been on a path together since that very first conversation at the wedding. So tell me, what in the hell did I miss?”
Her short laugh was sad and somehow lost. “Nothing and everything.” She backed away until she ran into the counter, arms folded tight across her chest. Her cryptic response dangled between them, answering nothing for him. At long last, she sighed. “Do you want the truth?”
“Yes. God, please.
Give me the truth.”
She made a quick wipe at her eyes before jerking her chin up. “I was on that path with you. A hundred percent, eyes wide open. I had no expectations, but I let my hope grow the closer we became.”
“Yes!” He stepped forward, overjoyed at her words, his bitter disbelief fading. Her raised hand slammed him to a halt. Shit.
“I gave you my help freely and I’d do it again without hesitation.” She wet her lips and retucked her hand into the crook of her arm. “I also gave my heart freely.” His heart bolted up, rising high on her words. “But I have to protect it too. You made your choice, and I respect it. So please, can’t you respect mine?”
He was stuck on the heart giving freely. Damn it. She loved him. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in her touch, heard it in her voice. Even if she wouldn’t say the words, he knew she loved him. Irritation peppered over his skin and burned around the lump that was now his heart.
“I made the choice in part for you. A national championship behind my name will solidify my career in hockey history. The endorsements will hold us far into the future. You could quit your job—hell, you can do that now.” Now that was an awesome idea. “Move to Minneapolis and live with me if you don’t want to do a long-distance relationship.”
The offer was out in a tumble of desperation and truth. Sudden as it was, he wanted it the second it was formed. Hope blasted through him again, urging him forward with each pounding beat of his heart.
Her head was swiveling before he stopped before her. “I don’t want to quit my job and I don’t need your money. And you can’t transfer your choices onto me when you never discussed them with me. That’s not how relationships work, or at least the relationships I want to have. I told you that when you first confided in me about the drugs. Decisions that affect both of us should be made by both of us.” She dropped her arms, leaning in. “This is your choice. Own it. Go do it. I’m not stopping you.”
“But you’re not coming with me. Hell, you’re not even staying with me.”
“I can’t watch you destroy yourself,” she snapped before cringing. She bit her lip and fell back on her heels, another long sigh escaping. “I wish you the best. I hope you succeed. I don’t want to see you hurt or in pain again. I don’t want to see you addicted to pain meds just to play a game. One you’ve excelled at for longer than average. Yes, I want a family. But I want it with someone who’s with me and shares everything with me. Someone who’s here to be a father and tuck kids into bed and kiss them goodnight.”
And she thought he didn’t want that? It made no sense to him. He wanted to be that kind of father—would be. But apparently he couldn’t do that if he played hockey.
“So this is an ultimatum then?”
“No! It’s not that at all.” She cupped a hand over her mouth, inhaling before she lowered it. “You made a choice, and so am I. It just happens our choices don’t coincide.”
“And you won’t even try the distance thing? It’s me move here or nothing?”
“No. That’s not it either.” She spun away to stalk across the small space. “It’s been less than a week since you’ve left rehab. Seven days for you to acclimate and for us to be together, and the first major decision you make is to go back to the sport that made you an addict. And you made that choice by yourself, for yourself.”
“I made it for us,” he insisted. So she wouldn’t leave him.
“No.” Her head was shaking. “You can try and justify it that way, but the truth is, going back to hockey is for you.”
Was she right? Couldn’t she see he wanted both of them—her and hockey?
“I have to try,” he finally said. His voice had hardened against the pain that unfurled in his chest and was reinforced by his determined belief. “I’ll always wonder if I don’t.”
“Okay.”
Okay. Wow. Why had he expected more than that? More from her? “So this is it?”
She wiped at her tear-dampened cheeks, sucked in a deep breath through her nose. Every action foreshadowed her answer and dug the knife in further. “I don’t know what else to say. You know I care about you.”
He couldn’t stop the wince at that pathetically limited admission. “Obviously not enough,” he mumbled. What the fuck?
“I do,” she insisted. “It’s your choice if you want to believe it. I’ll always be here for you, but I don’t think I can be the one to put you back together again.”
And who was going to hold him together right now?
The urge to hit something, break anything, pound the shit out of everything drove him from the confined space. He strode past her to storm to the front door. His bag slammed against his back when he slung it over his shoulder, a soft kick that aggravated him more.
“I was going to drive you,” she said quietly behind him.
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he ground out, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “I don’t fucking need a mother hen dictating my life.” He turned around, a heavy dose of self-loathing coating his words. “What I needed is someone to love and support me. Understand what I have to do and stick with me instead of bailing. I thought that was you. I made plans and laid out dreams for the first time in years. I let myself love you.” Fuck. He sucked in a harsh breath, swallowed the pain and betrayal.
Rachel was no different than Sarah. And he’d thought he was smarter now. What a joke. At least this time there wasn’t a list of two hundred wedding guests to witness his stupidity.
The hurt that shot across her face at his outburst and accusations gave him no satisfaction. Even now, he couldn’t stand to hurt her.
“Then maybe you should’ve included me in those plans instead of making them without me.”
Her soft admonishment was one more kick to his battered will. Include her? She’d been right there beside him the entire time.
“I thought I had,” he finally said, his jumbled emotions draining his voice flat. His body clawed with the craving he no longer required. He had to move. Keep moving. Get back on the ice. He’d prove everyone wrong then. Show all his doubters he wasn’t done.
The ice had never lied to him. Never betrayed him.
“The way I see it,” he continued before she could respond, “it’s you who failed to include me in your plans for the future, which makes me wonder exactly where I would fit into them.” A calm logic settled in as he processed that thought. “I’m supposed to move here and do what? Be your house husband? Sit around while you go to work for an income we wouldn’t need?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped back, cheeks flushed a bright red. “Don’t you have plans for after hockey? You knew this career had an end date, so what were you going to do when it was done? Coach? Become an announcer or analyst? Or was it to become a drug-addicted cripple?”
Ow! Fuck. He rubbed his chest where the last barb lodged fast and cruel.
She gasped, hand flying up to cover her mouth as her face paled. “I’m sorry,” she rushed on. “That last was uncalled for.”
He couldn’t even process why her biting words stung so badly. More than her rejection or argument over choices, this betrayal layered in deeper. “That was low.” He shook his head, disgust stinging his throat.
“I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I—”
He barked out a harsh laugh of denial. “I think it sounded exactly like you meant it.” An open view of her real thoughts and belief in him. “Thanks for the help when I needed it. Good luck with your life.” He turned to the door. “I’ll get a cab.”
He left then, exiting with the calmness that’d descended over him. She was wrong. Completely and totally. It burned in his throat and shoved away the hurt and anger and every defiant emotion that threatened to take him down.
The humid air wrapped around him as he walked down the street, not looking back. It settled into his cold fingers, sunk into the ice in his chest and muffled the pain that gouged his heart.
He’d prove them wrong. All his doubters and critics.
And fuck if he could think of any of them right then.
Rachel stood frozen at the window. The shakes started when he reached the sidewalk, tumbling down her spine before racing back up. She hugged herself tighter and clamped down on the burn engulfing her throat. His stride was sure, no hesitation in his gait or steps. Her breath held when he reached the corner, only to gush out when he kept going without a backward glance.
It was exactly what she knew would happen. Had spent the last twelve hours preparing for. There was nothing she could do about the tattered pieces of her heart except hold them together by force and determination.
Shit. The rare curse blasted through her mind to echo around the tirade of recriminations and doubts that fought for dominance. Did she do the right thing? What if he went back to the drugs? Would that be on her? Maybe he was right. She should be there to support him, not cut him off. And definitely not toss out cruel, cutting jibes in a fit of frustrated anger.
Would he ever forgive her for saying something so mean and harsh? She honestly wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Had it been her unconscious intention to hurt him so badly that he’d never come back?
God, that was really messed up. But how much was she expected to give for him?
Around and around the questions raced until her mind finally went numb. She wanted—no, needed—stability. Her childhood had been a series of upheavals and moves. For the first twenty years of her life, all her possessions could fit into four boxes. She’d struggled and saved to buy this little house. Stuck through a year of subbing to land the teaching job ten years ago.
Her parents were only ninety miles away. Her friends were here.
Rock was a call away.
And she was alone.
Her eyes drifted closed, the darkness a welcomed veil. She’d spent almost half her life by herself. She’d be fine. Life would go on.
