Through The Water: Fairest Series Book Two

by Myers, Shannon

  “I didn’t think about that,” she confessed, tucking her body to my side. “But when the season ends?”

  “I’m with you, wherever that may be,” I whispered gruffly, my throat clogged with emotion. “I know it’s not ideal, but I’m afraid if you stay here, this will start to feel like a cage. And I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you.”

  But please, don’t leave me.

  Her hand settled on my chest, just over the heart that was in the throes of a complete breakdown. “I’ll do it.”

  No.

  A dull ache spread throughout my chest. I clenched my fists in the sheets, forcing the words out. “I just want you safe, but I recognize how much your freedom means to you.”

  Keeping one hand centered on my chest, Ari climbed across my lap, her body hovering just over my hips. I was rock hard, something she’d be aware of if she moved any lower.

  “Thank you for loving me enough to make the hard decisions,” she whispered, unaware of her double entendre. “When would I leave?”

  I heard the question she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  How much time do we have left?

  It was like ice in my veins. “Tsega thinks they could have passports and travel arrangements ready by the first of the year. There will also be a security team in place no matter where you are.”

  “Okay.” She nodded to herself before reaching over to the top drawer of the nightstand. The foil wrapper landed on my chest, and she straightened. “Well, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to suggest spending the holidays in bed.”

  I rolled it on and positioned my cock beneath her, watching her lips part on an exhale as she slowly sank down onto me. Her eyes went hazy as I took her breasts in my hands, sitting up for a taste.

  The movement forced her all the way down to the root. She groaned out a curse, clutching my hair in her fists. In this room, I wasn’t helpless. I was her safe place, taking care of her the only way I knew how.

  Her head fell back as she rocked against me, her long hair tickling the tops of my thighs just like in my fantasy. I tried to stay in the present, focusing on the feel of her heat around my cock. I wouldn’t think about how hard it was going to be when she was gone.

  “Killian,” she panted, tightening around me. “I love you. I love you so much.”

  When my condo was empty.

  “I love you too, girl,” I murmured, biting her neck and rolling my hips to give her what she needed.

  When my life went back to normal.

  “Please,” she begged, nipping my earlobe with her teeth. “I’m close.”

  Please don’t go.

  “I’ve got you,” I growled, guiding her mouth down over mine and circling her clit with the pad of my thumb.

  I don’t want to come home if you’re not here.

  Her back bowed as she came apart with a hoarse cry, frantically grabbing at my shoulders as if trying to stop her fall. I locked my arms around her as my thrusts turned rough, resisting some biological urge to strip off the condom.

  You are my life.

  I drove into Ari’s body, broken and in pain, but she didn’t push me away. Instead, her hips shifted to accommodate, welcoming every anguished stroke. She bucked against me with soft whimpers, soaking my lap.

  With one final thrust, I crushed her to my chest and came, my body shuddering violently. I didn’t know how I was going to ever let her go.

  Stay.

  31

  Ariana

  “I wanted to see you again, touch you, know who you were, see if I would find you identical with the ideal image of you which had remained with me and perhaps shatter my dream with the aid of reality.”

  -Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

  I’d spent the better part of the past two years traveling the world and immersing myself in other religions and cultures. Beliefs varied wildly by region, but all shared some idea of where we went after death.

  For Hindus, salvation was found in reincarnation.

  For Muslims, souls awaited the Day of Resurrection, where they would be judged accordingly.

  Buddhists believed the mind experienced a rebirth, bringing them one step closer to purifying past mistakes and achieving enlightenment.

  Jewish tradition dictated that the soul went to heaven, allowing the person to live on in the memories of the ones left behind.

  I couldn’t tell you which one had it right, but in the last year, I’d discovered that death didn’t always bring closure or justice. There were some wounds so deep that only God could heal.

  After being convicted on all but one count and facing a minimum of one hundred forty-seven years in prison, Tristan James hung himself in his cell.

  Since then, I’d done a lot of soul-searching to work through the grief that had come disguised as anger. Although he never made it to sentencing, there was justice in knowing he’d died in a cage. Maybe someday, I’d find peace. Until then, I took solace in the fact that he would never hurt anyone again.

  I’d let Tristan control me in life, but he wouldn’t have that hold in death. He’d been blinded by religion, consumed with finding God in laws and rules. That fanatical thirst for power only destroyed him in the end.

  It would have been enough to turn even the most devout person into an atheist, but my faith had never been dependent on the church.

  And my savior had never lived behind stained glass windows.

  He’d been with me all along.

  Right on cue, my phone began buzzing from beside me. Killian’s name flashed across the screen, along with one of my favorite pictures of the two of us. Georgia had taken it when we were in Mauritius last November during the festival of Diwali. We’d spent most of the day on the beach, our faces sunburned but smiling.

  Italy. Thailand. Sri Lanka. Each time, we got lost in each other for as long as possible before the real world crept in and stole him away again.

  Living apart eight months out of the year had certainly tested the strength of our relationship. There were even times when I wanted to reach through the phone to flick his forehead in aggravation.

  Not anymore.

  I swiped my finger across the screen, my stomach giving a gentle flutter as his face came into focus. “Is this the Killian Reed, world-famous baseball player? I can’t tell with the giant beard in the way.”

  His lips curved into a grin, and I felt the tug of missing him all over again. “You know I can’t shave until we win it all, girl. What are you up to?”

  I lifted my shoulder in a shrug, fighting my own grin. “Oh, you know, just Eat, Pray, Love-ing, and all that jazz.”

  “I gotta say, I’m a little surprised you know what that is, darlin’.

  There it was again, this longing to be next to him. Hearing his southern twang come through with certain words left me feeling homesick, not for a place, but for him. I’d been surrounded by a variety of accents over the past two years, but his was my favorite of all.

  “Oh, you know Georgia. She reads anything Oprah recommends,” I explained with a laugh. “Anyway, what are you doing? Ready for tonight?”

  He stretched his arms overhead. “Just woke up and made breakfast. I couldn’t unwind last night. I think it was close to three before I finally fell asleep.”

  “Mmm…” I licked my lips. “Egg white omelets, my favorite.”

  Sleep hadn’t come easily for me either. I might have been just as nervous about game seven of the World Series as he was, but for entirely different reasons.

  “Hey, knock it all you want. You’re missing out on the best way to start your day—” Killian paused and lifted an eyebrow suggestively. “Correction—the second-best way to start your day. So, are y’all still in Paraty, or were you going to go to São Paulo?”

  “We’re still here,” I lied, heat staining my cheeks. Hopefully, he’d assume my blush was due to his veiled reference to morning sex and not any duplicitousness on my part.

  He settled back against the pillows with a
relaxed sigh. “I was thinking, if you’re going to be sticking around for a while, it might be fun to explore Brazil together. I mean, once we get through tonight. Or…”

  “Or,” I parroted, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

  “Or you could come home, slugger. The trial’s been over for months now, and after what happened with Tristan—”

  “I know,” I responded in a tight voice. “Tsega said the followers had disbanded whatever the hell it was they had going on. It’s over.”

  Killian cocked his head to the side with a frown. “You talk to Tsega?”

  Shit. Damn. Hell.

  “Um, yeah. She calls to give me an update every so often—says Brad’s not enjoying prison life all that much.” I picked at a loose thread on the comforter and gathered my thoughts before changing the subject. “So, are you going to head down to the field soon? Get geared up for tonight? Atlanta’s going to be bringing their best.”

  He nodded distractedly, scratching his beard. “Yeah. I’ll head down there in a couple of hours. Get in some stretching and drill work before everyone else arrives.”

  I had his routine down to a science. It didn’t matter whether it was a regular-season or playoff game, Killian always got to the field an hour before his teammates. It was a time of meditation and mentally gearing himself up.

  Then, he’d stretch with the team and get in a quick practice before heading back to the clubhouse for his pre-game meal. After grabbing something quick, usually deli meats and veggies, he’d head down to spend an hour in the batting cages. This was followed by thirty minutes of visualization before suiting up.

  During the national anthem, Killian twisted the baseball bracelet on his left wrist, mentally working through the opposing team’s pitching lineup and their tendencies on the mound.

  After the game, he’d eat the catered meal with the team before showering and heading home, or back to the hotel, if they were traveling. He’d get in another workout before falling asleep watching SportsCenter.

  “So, what do you say?” The side of his mouth lifted in a barely-there smile. I came back to the conversation, searching the hopeful expression in his blue eyes for a hint as to what I’d missed.

  “To what?”

  “Am I coming to Brazil, or are you coming home so we can start our lives together?” His gaze softened as he pleaded, “Come home to me, please. The law is insistent you be present in order for me to marry you. Believe me, I checked.”

  Marry.

  I swallowed; my mouth suddenly dry. He knew what that word did to me and enjoyed taunting me with it every chance he got.

  I wanted to be his wife. More than anything.

  “Tonight’s all about you, babe,” I said, my heart clenching in protest. “You’ve worked so hard to get here, and I don’t want you worrying about me. This is your moment.”

  His brows pulled together, the smile slowly fading from his lips. “I need you, slugger. I need to feel you and be able to hold you in my arms. No more living apart for most of the year. Promise me you’ll at least consider it?”

  I chewed on my lower lip. “Can I give you my answer after the game?”

  “On one condition,” he stated, lips twitching as he fought to remain serious. “Naked video chat.”

  A moment passed, in which I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the flush creeping its way up my throat. “Absolutely.”

  “And,” Killian continued, pulling my attention back to his woolly, yet still gorgeous face. “You have to do that thing where you put the phone at the foot of the bed so I can see everything. I like to pretend you’re sitting on my face.”

  “Got it,” I squeaked out, feeling a little out of breath. “Yep. Anything for the celebrity.”

  He cocked a dark brow and challenged, “For as long as I want?”

  “Jesus, Killian. Georgia’s going to hear you.” I lowered my voice and pushed my lips into a pout, deciding he’d earned a little torment of his own. “Yes, babe. Whatever you want, for as long as you want.”

  I scrunched my face up when the door opened, and Georgia’s winter-white hair came into view. “And, she’s here now.”

  He chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Hey, Georgia! You’re just in time. I was discussing all the ways I want to defile Ari the next time I see her.”

  “Oh, good,” she crowed, crossing the room to climb onto the bed beside me. “She was looking entirely too pure for my taste, dear. Now, are you ready for tonight?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m convinced the only thing that would make it better would be if my girl was here.”

  “Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways,” she mused aloud with a wide grin. “Maybe toss up an extra prayer or two before your game.”

  I discreetly elbowed her side and rushed out, “Oh, do you hear that? Someone’s at the door. We have to go now. I love you.”

  Killian’s eyes narrowed, inspecting me. “I love you too—can you call me back? I’d like to continue our conversation.”

  “I’ll try! Okay, I love you. Bye!” I ended the call and turned to the older woman. “What the hell are you doing, Georgia?”

  She studied her painted nails with a shrug. “You’ve been in the same city as that boy for over a month now. You’ve attended every single post-season game—home and away—why won’t you tell him already?”

  “Because I don’t like the media circus that pops up when the two of us are together,” I barked, crossing my arms over my chest. “He’s been in a hitting streak for the last thirty-six games, for crying out loud! Do you know how big of a deal this is? I don’t want to be the reason that comes to an end. Nothing can jinx tonight for him. Once the game is won, then I’ll reveal everything.”

  “I’m ready!” Morgan entered the room and twirled as if she was wearing a ball gown, not a baseball jersey. “Do you like it? Joe picked it up for me.”

  I blinked, masking my surprise. My former stepmother had traveled all over the world with us but was back to being afraid of her own shadow now that we were home. “Seriously? You’re going tonight?”

  “I am. This is important to you, Ari, and if you can go out in public without being recognized, I can too.” She looked down at the jersey, color rising on her cheeks. “Although I need to be honest. I don’t know a single player, other than Killian.”

  Her small act of bravery made me smile. “That’s okay.”

  “Not to worry, dear. I’ve already made a list of potential love interests for you and ranked them,” Georgia said, beaming like she’d just solved the world’s hunger problem.

  I gave her a side-eye. “That’s what you’ve been doing during the games? I thought you were keeping score.”

  “Oh, I am. Just in my own way. Now, Morgan—” She slipped off the bed and shuffled toward the door. “Do you want the top five now, or would you like to get a feel for all of them first?”

  Morgan’s wide eyes met mine in a universal signal for help. “Um, maybe I’ll, um, just decide when we get there. Is that okay?”

  “Perfectly okay, dear. Oh, Ari—” Georgia snapped her fingers as she turned back to me. “I knew I came in here for a reason. I need to know, are you going to be having your usual for brunch—egg white omelet and veggies?”

  “Yep. Breakfast of champions.” I didn’t understand why champions shunned the tastiest part of the egg in favor of white rubber but had somehow forced it down every morning for the past month.

  Her lips curved into a patient smile. “Mmm, hmmm… and the jersey hanging up in my laundry room was washed at exactly midnight, I presume?”

  I bristled with defensiveness. “Maybe—what are you getting at?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Georgia waved her hand as if shooing my question away. “Just curious. Those baseball players—so superstitious, you know?”

  She began cackling when my mouth fell open before slipping out and closing the bedroom door behind her.

  The septuagenarian had some snap in her garters.


  So, maybe I’d picked up a few habits from Killian over the past couple of years. We’d overcome so much to get here, and I was willing to do whatever it took to keep their winning streak alive, including following the same meal plan and schedule he was.

  No matter how much I hated it.

  A little superstition never hurt anyone.

  Well, within reason.

  I wasn’t giving up my razor for anything.

  * * *

  “And now, first baseman, number thirty-four—Conor Bailey!”

  “Come on,” I murmured, clasping my hands under my chin and rocking on the balls of my feet. The current of nervous energy running through my body had made it impossible to sit. We were down by one in the bottom of the ninth with only one out remaining.

  Killian stood in the on-deck circle, his eyes on the Atlanta Thrashers’ closer, Dan Antonelli. Some players worked on swinging or stretching, but not my man.

  When I asked his dad about it, he told me Killian viewed it as a free at-bat. He’d study the pitcher, so he knew when to get his front foot off the ground to be on time for the pitch.

  It was like watching a choreographed dance, where Killian’s body moved in sync with the hitter’s. Right now, he and Bailey were like mirror images, finding their rhythm with Antonelli and raising their cleats at the exact same moment.

  As much as I wanted to run down the aisle, launching myself over the fence and into his arms, seeing him in element reinforced my decision to keep my return a secret. This was the side of him I never got to see when we were together, a man not concerned with impressing his prodigal girlfriend or keeping the press at bay.

  Witnessing the player was sexy as hell.

  Besides, there would be plenty of time for trekking through that jungle of a beard to kiss his lips. Plenty of time to breathe in the scent of his body wash.

  “He’s in the zone,” I noted, more to myself than anyone else. Killian’s mama, Sheri, agreed. Joe had sequestered himself two seats down and was fidgeting with the bill of his ball cap while watching his son.