Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  “People change,” I say quietly.

  “People change or you want people to change?”

  I look away.

  “Ivy,” Sierra puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look what you’ve got now, this empire you’ve built. Shelter Harbor is always going to be home, but,” she shrugs, “sometimes you need to move forward.”

  “I know,” I say with a sigh.

  “So why don’t you let it go?”

  Because he’s my husband, technically.

  It’s a stupid excuse, and I know it. I’ve used it for so long to justify thinking about him in my own head, but the truth of it is, if that were really the only thing still holding me to him, I could have done something about that years ago. Filed for an annulment, or abandonment or something.

  God knows I researched it.

  But that’s as far as I got. Because it’s more than the rings and the piece of paper filed in the Stoborough town records department, or even the ink on our bodies.

  It’s that a piece of my heart that left with him that night.

  And there’s something about him being here again, something about his proximity that makes the missing piece feel like it might be closer to being made whole again.

  One way or another.

  18

  Ivy

  Once again, I find myself up on the roof of O’Donnell’s.

  It’s funny how this place somehow became my escape over the years - how it still is even now. Long before my brother took over the place, long before I left this town, and long before everything changed, we used to come here.

  Maybe it was the view.

  I slump down into one of the same two vinyl lawn chairs that have been up here for at least two decades are still here - the ones I’m sure no one even remembers being put here in the first place at this point. I shake my head at the roles they’ve played over the years, from when we were kids to now. Monster fort, lookout post, a place for secrets, therapist chair, gossip chair, a place to explore the feeling of the lips of the last boy you should be kissing.

  I got engaged up here.

  Service hasn’t started yet at St. Michael’s church over in Stoborough. But we’ve been up the entire night anyways. Besides, it being this early means know one’s here yet. It means the priest is free.

  “I know who you are, you know.” Father Murray had said quietly, eyeing me. “I know your father, and I’ve got a feeling he wouldn’t be too happy about this.”

  “He will be when we tell him.”

  Because telling people and worrying about what they’ll say or how they’ll react is secondary to us.

  We’re young, and in love, and this is the be all to end all.

  This is our everything, our world.

  Father Murray does it anyways. We say the words, we make the vows, we exchange the rings.

  The woman who plays the organ and the groundskeeper finishing his shift are our witnesses. She cries, the gardener is drunk.

  And then we have three days. Three blissful days of perfection until it all gets shattered like windshield glass across a highway guardrail.

  * * *

  “Thought I’d probably find you up here.”

  I’m not even surprised by his voice. It’s almost an eventuality it seems, running into him in this town.

  Eight years of absence followed by not being able to get away from him here back home in Shelter Harbor. And in a way, that’s why I’m even here. It’s why I’m up here, avoiding it all, running from the questions from family.

  Because I know as much as I hate him, there’s only one person who’s ever been able to listen to and hear what I need to unload. And somehow I think I knew I’d find him up here.

  “Beer?”

  I still haven’t said anything at his appearance, but I nod slowly as he hands me one from downstairs.

  “I thought you’d upgraded from storeroom to houseboat.”

  He grins as he sinks into the chair next to me. “Missed this place.”

  “And the kind of girls who leave purple bras all over the office?”

  He raises a brow and then chuckles as he shakes his head and looks out over the Harbor.

  I can feel a fire rise inside at how cavalierly he brushes it off, as dumb as that is.

  It’s been eight years. Eight years later, I’m sure there’ve been other girls. I mean God, look at him. Shadowed eyes, chiseled jaw, and the slight hollow of his cheeks.

  Those lips.

  That casual, supremely confident swagger.

  Yeah there have certainly been other girls.

  I look away.

  “Yeah, not from me, by the way.” He chuckles as he takes a swig of beer. “Might want to talk to your brother about making sure his girlfriends remember to put their shit back on when they leave.”

  I wrinkle my brow. “Yeah gross. I’m not asking my brother about his sex life.”

  Silas laughs. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him about his recent choices.”

  And I hate how relieved I am that the girl’s bra isn’t from him - that it’s not some lacy purple bra he pulled from some girl’s shoulders as he kissed her, as he slid his hands over her skin.

  Because I remember what those hands feel like.

  “So what are you doing up here?”

  I shake my head, sipping at the beer. “Stewing.”

  He says nothing, as I glance over to see him grinning that roguish, crooked smile at me. “I’m still shocked you’re drinking that.”

  I frown. “What, beer?”

  “Don’t you have like a cleanse or something going on? All kale-juice diet? Hot yoga tomorrow?”

  I flip him the middle finger and he chuckles as he turns to look out on the harbor. The lights glitter in his eyes as he pushes his fingers through his thick hair.

  And then somehow, I’m telling him. I’m spilling my failure of a relationship the man who left me incapable of succeeding at them.

  “Blaine left.”

  His head jerks towards me, a frown on his face. “Oh?”

  “He wanted to ‘slow things down’, but it was because he wanted to jump horses to some other girl.” I groan, almost embarrassed that I’m telling this to him - unsure of why I am.

  Maybe because long before all that, he was my best friend.

  “There’s another girl.”

  I glance up, and his face is dark, lines etched across it.

  “Blaine sounds like a piece of shit for leaving you.”

  “You really want to go there?”

  There’s a hint of a smile as he shakes his head. “No further questions, your honor.”

  He takes a sip of beer.

  “When?”

  I look at my feet. “The other night.”

  He swears under his breath. “Jesus.”

  “What?”

  He growls as he turns his body towards mine, his eyes flashing in the low light. “Is that what the other night was on my boat? You trying to ‘get back’ at your fucking boyfriend?”

  My eyes narrow at him. “You don’t have any claim on me you know,” I hiss. “Not after eight fucking years.”

  “You’re my wife.”

  I laugh mirthlessly. “This is insane. I don’t even know why I came here.”

  I stand, and I’m turning to stomp away back down the stairs and away from this place, but there’s a hand on my arm as he pulls me back.

  “You know exactly why you came here.”

  I look up into those eyes, and I can feel my heart, my pulse, my heat.

  I swallow quickly. “If that’s what you think, then you’re delusional.”

  I start to pull away, but his grip tightens as he shakes his head.

  “Tell me you still hate me,” he says roughly, his eyes burning right into mine.

  “Tell me you still fucking hate me, and that there’s nothing left of what we used to have still in there somewhere, and I’m gone, Ivy. I’ll walk away, I’ll sign fucking papers, I’ll do whatever you want.”

>   I say nothing, the sound of my pulse hammering in my ears as I let myself drown in those sea-blue eyes.

  He moves even closer, so close that I can practically feel the heat from his body against mine.

  “But if there’s one fucking shred of what we were still in there,” his words tease across my lips, and I tremble.

  His hands move to my hips, like they know them.

  And they do.

  He doesn’t wait, he just slides them around me, until he’s holding the small of my back, pulling me against him.

  And I want him to.

  I want those hands there, comforting, holding.

  Familiar.

  “If there’s one shred of what was in there, Ivy,” he whispers gruffly. “If there’s one shred, then nothing on this earth is going to drag me away from you right now.”

  It’s like a flash of light, and a thousand memories pouring through my mind. A thousand little memories of what we were, and every single one ends with a kiss.

  And I already know this one will too.

  I know it even before I let myself go.

  19

  Silas

  Her lips are soft and familiar, and I groan as she melts into me.

  I kiss her harder, taking that mouth like I once did so many years ago. But this isn’t any sort of quick kiss behind a garage - no stolen peck on the back porch of the Hammond house before dinner while she blushes and slaps at me playfully.

  This is raw, and primal. This is aggressive, and the desperate need to remember slamming through us both.

  She moans into my mouth, her sweet body pressing into me, molding against mine and making me remember.

  …Like I’ve ever fucking forgotten.

  And yet she’s even better than I remember. My hands slide up and down the small of her back, pushing under the hem of her shirt and sliding across the heat of her skin.

  I want to remap her body, inch by inch with my hands.

  She’s moaning into me as she pulls at my shirt, and then we’re just tearing at clothes. She’s warmer, softer, somehow sexier than she was when we were younger. She’s more of a woman now, less the girl I left behind.

  Totally new, and yet so damn familiar.

  Her scent, the feel of her skin under my fingertips. The way my hands know her body - how they know the way from the small of her back, to her shoulders, down to her sides.

  Her breasts.

  I break the kiss, hungrily letting my mouth re-familiarize itself with her skin all over again. And I know that we need to turn back before another crash, but I know there’s no fucking way that’s happening.

  Not after this long.

  She gasps as we drop back down into one of the chairs. I pull her into me, her legs fall on either side of mine, her lips hungry as she kisses my mouth again.

  My hands cup my cheeks, our kisses desperate and needing.

  And I still feel like I’m falling.

  My fingers find the catch of her bra, and I’m sliding it off of her as my fingers slide over the skin that I know so damn well.

  The skin I’ve missed.

  I taste the sweat from that skin, feeling her gasp as I find the hollow of her neck. Her hands pull at my t-shirt, yanking it up and breaking away so she can tear it off of me. But then we’re crashing back together.

  My hands slide down over her ass, needing her, wanting her against me. And she moans as she rocks into me, grinding her lap into mine, whispering at the feel of my lips on her collarbone and at the feel of my pulsing cock hard against her thigh.

  Her fingers tease over my bare chest as her mouth seeks mine again. I bring a hand between us and run it up her thigh between her legs.

  She moans.

  She wants this, and I know it’s not just the sex part of it. It’s not just that she wants that to happen.

  It’s that she wants me.

  My fingers pull at the button of her jean shorts and push inside, but the angle’s all wrong. She gasps into my lips as I grab her instead and flip us around, moving on top of her and letting my lips trace the contours of her neck. I move lower as her nails rake my shoulders, down over her collarbone, across the swell of her breast.

  I remember these pink, dusky nipples.

  I remember this skin - every fucking inch of it, every taste of it. Because I’ve been craving it for so damn long.

  She gasps as I take one of her hard nipples into my mouth, my hands working her shorts from her hips. She writhes beneath me, hands sliding into my hair, her breath hitching as I move lower. My lips trail across her soft belly, lingering at her navel before I move lower still.

  They kiss her across the edges of her panties, soft sounds dripping from her lips, her legs trembling. And part of me wants to just rip those panties the fuck off. Part of me wants to shred them away and bury my tongue in her like I’ve been dying to do for goddamn years.

  But I also want to unwrap her. I want her like a present I need to open slowly, not damaging the wrapping paper.

  I hook my fingers into the waist, slowly pulling them down and kissing across that little seam between her thighs and her pussy. She raises her legs and I pull them the rest of the way off before pushing her legs apart.

  Goddamn I missed this.

  She’s perfect - a fucking goddess laid out before me. She’s so damn wet, and so ready, that same look on her face that got me harder than stone years ago. It’s innocence, and yet so viscerally on fire - this cock-throbbing mix of sweet and sexy that has my blood roaring in my ears.

  How the hell did I leave this.

  I almost want to scream it out loud right there, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. The past is the past, and all I care about in this moment is her - here and now.

  I can’t hold back any more. My mouth dips to taste her, and it’s like heaven. She’s as sweet as I remember, as honeyed and perfect as I’ve dreamt about a thousand times. I drag my tongue through her soft folds, moving over every inch of her until I find the hard little nub of her clit. I tease her there, loving the way her moans drip from her lips.

  Loving her scent, her taste, her sounds - the way she moves.

  The softness as my tongue strokes through her lips.

  I’m relentless in my teasing, swirling my tongue around her clit again and again, letting her buck her hips against my mouth. I push two fingers into her, curling them up and forward and stroking that spot inside as she starts to go to pieces for me. I’m coaxing and dragging the orgasm from her. And as much as I want to drag it out all fucking night, I’ve gone entirely too long without seeing her come for me.

  “Silas-”

  My name falling from those pillow lips of hers has my cock straining in my pants. But this is about her. This about shattering her world and reminding her what I know she’s gone without these eight years.

  I stroke my fingers in and out, gently sucking her clit between my lips as I swirl it mercilessly with my tongue. Her legs tighten around my ears, her fingers pulling hard at my hair and her whole body arching off the lawn chair.

  “I’m- I’m going to-”

  She cries out when she comes, her whole body seizing up and bucking against me. Her breath comes staggered and shattered as she melts into me, her honey coating my tongue and her body going limp for me.

  I linger another minute, making her moan as she struggles for breath, my tongue dragging lazy circles across her pussy until she’s dragging me up.

  “Jesus, Silas-”

  “Silas! You out here?” The sound of the backdoor banging open and her brother’s voice has us scrambling apart.

  She jumps from the chair and grabs for her clothes, her face red and hot and her eyes darting wildly to the staircase down from the roof.

  Fuck.

  I yank my shirt back over my head, feeling my own heart racing a million miles an hour as I turn back to her.

  “Stay up here, I’ll deal with him.”

  I start to leave, but before I know it, I’m stopping and turning back to her.
And I kiss her once more, pulling her against me and feeling her body sink into me as I sear my lips to hers.

  I pull away and turn to grab my beer from the ground near my chair, but her hand touches my arm.

  “Silas-”

  I turn back to see her eyes wild and hot, her lips parted like she’s about to say something.

  But she doesn’t.”

  “Dude, you out here?”

  Her whole face changes as she shakes her head. “Go!” she whispers urgently.

  I lock my eyes with her for one more final second before I whirl away and head for the stairs.

  20

  Silas

  I clear my throat as I climb down the rickety metal stairs from the roof down to the ally behind O’Donnell’s.

  “Hey.”

  Rowan glances up and grins as he shakes my head. “Stealing my beer again?”

  “Same old, same old, man.” I wink. “Old habits.”

  I’m doing my damnedest to keep causal, trying to ignore the roaring of my pulse in my ears, the lingering sounds of her moans in my head. I can still feel her skin in my fingertips. I can still taste her on my tongue.

  Rowan eyes me. “Listen, man. Speaking of same old, same old.”

  I swallow thickly as he shakes his head.

  “Look, you and I are good, you know that right?”

  I nod. I do know that. He’s the only one that ever got what happened that night, since he was there. And if he hated me for what happened, I’d be okay with that, because I know the crash and the fallout from that was better than bringing him into what that night turned into.

  I might have derailed his life, but I made sure it didn’t end that night.

  “What happened…” he trails off and looks away. “It happened. I’m okay with it, you know.”

  “I couldn’t let you come that night, Rowan.”

  He gives me a wry smile. “I know.” He shrugs. “Dude, hockey wasn’t my thing anyways.”

  I raise a brow. “Buddy, you were all-state.”

  He smirks and takes a sip from the beer in his hand. “There’s no bad blood there, you have to know that.”