"Then fucking ignore it."
"Easier said than done. The shit he says?" Tyler shook his head. "Not happening."
"You better make it happen. Now calm the fuck down and get your head back in the fucking game." Aaron turned his back on Tyler and skated away, not giving the goalie a chance to respond. Stupid fucking idiots. Both of them needed their heads knocked together for this stupid bullshit. It needed to end. Now.
Aaron understood what the issue was. Hell, all of them did. But it wasn't like Tyler had been using Jenny or stringing her along. Tyler wasn't like that. If it had been someone like Ben then yeah, he would have stood by in case Jason needed help kicking the man's ass. But fuck, Tyler and Jenny were married now. It was time for Jason to let it go and get the fuck over it.
He took his spot on the bench, leaning forward to glance at Jason. The man was sitting at the other end, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his pale eyes cold as a glacier as Nelson Richards, one of their assistant coaches, leaned down and spoke in his ear. Probably giving him an ass-chewing.
Which was probably just a warm-up for the ass-chewing they'd get once they reached the locker room when the game ended in five minutes. They'd been playing like shit all night—and he included himself in that analysis, maybe more than anyone else. But he'd been fucking distracted all night, wondering what the hell was going on with Brooke.
Wondering what Savannah was doing.
Wondering why the hell nobody had called him earlier to let him know what the fuck happened this afternoon.
Aaron was still pissed ten minutes later, after the game had ended with the Bombers down by three. And ass-chewing didn't even come close to what they got. Torresi must have been hoarding all the insults since the start of the season because he had plenty to hurl at them. Aaron was convinced the man would have kept going, too, if Richards hadn't leaned over and said something to him. Whatever it was couldn't have been good because Torresi's mouth flattened and those brittle green eyes scanned each face in the locker room before settling on Jason's.
And then moving to Tyler's.
"Emory. Bowie. With me. Now. The rest of you fuckers—" He shook his head in disgust. "I don't even want to fucking see you. Hit the showers and get on the fucking bus."
A collective sigh filled the room as soon as the coaching staff left, followed by Tyler and Jason. Aaron jumped from the bench and reached for his bag, digging for his phone, powering it up as soon as his hand closed around it.
"You think they're in trouble?"
Aaron looked over his shoulder, his gaze resting on Travis for a brief second before moving back to his phone. "What do you think?"
"Yeah, probably."
"No 'probably' about it. Coach is pissed—and he should be. That was a stupid fucking stunt they pulled." He stared at the phone, waiting for the screen to come to life, waiting for the beeps and chimes that would signal a text message or a voicemail.
Nothing.
"Hey, Banky. You got reception in here?"
"I don't know. My phone's off."
"Can you turn it on and check?"
"Yeah." Travis leaned down and dug his own phone out. "You waiting for a call or something?"
"Yeah. Or something."
"From your girlfriend?"
"I don't have a girlfriend."
"Sure, you do. That woman you brought to Mystic's that night."
"She's just my neighbor."
"She looked like more than your neighbor from what I saw."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"It was just the way she was looking at you and you were looking at her, is all. Like you were more than neighbors."
"We're not. I've got my hands full as it is. I don't have time for a girlfriend." Aaron clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his gut twisted when he said those words, wondering why it bothered him so much.
"You just have to make the time, is all."
"Banky, not now. Just let me know if you have reception." No sooner had the words left his mouth then Travis' phone started chiming and beeping, over and over and over.
Aaron looked down at his, the screen still disgustingly blank. "Dammit."
He tossed it back in his bag then grabbed his shower kit. There still weren't any messages by the time he got out of the shower. Or when they boarded the bus.
He finally called his mother, his voice pitched low because he didn't want everyone to overhear him. Her only response was that everything was fine and she would explain in the morning.
Which told him absolutely nothing.
In desperation, he sent a text message to Savannah. The message went unanswered. He tried telling himself it was because she was probably sleeping, or that she hadn't heard her phone, or that the message didn't go through right away.
Aaron finally stretched out in the seat, trying to get comfortable, telling himself he needed to stop worrying and get some sleep on the long bus ride back. Telling himself he should just put the phone back in his bag and not worry about it.
Instead of clutching it in his hand, waiting for a call or message that he knew would never come.
Chapter Sixteen
Aaron drew the hood of the sweatshirt around his neck and knocked on the French door again. The weather had turned cold overnight, more like winter than late October. The wind certainly wasn't helping. Sharp and cold. Biting. The kind that went straight through you and settled into your bones, making you feel like you'd never be warm again.
Still no answer.
He jammed his hands into the front pocket of the sweatshirt then walked to the far end of Savannah's patio and peered around the corner. Her car, a sporty blue coupe, sat in the driveway, untouched.
That didn't mean she was home. She could be out somewhere with her friend, Tessa. Or she could be working in the den at the far end of the house, or even downstairs. There could be a hundred different reasons she wasn't answering the door.
So why the hell was he so anxious?
Because he wanted to see her. Needed to see her, like a junkie needed a fix. And hell, that was such a bad analogy…but it fit. He felt like he was going through withdrawal and the only thing that would make it better was seeing Savannah.
The admission hadn't been easy to make. Hell, he'd fought it, tried to convince himself that there were a hundred other different reasons why he was so antsy and frustrated and short-tempered.
He was tired.
He was having trouble adjusting to the hectic season schedule.
His body was beat up.
He was worried about the girls. About Brooke. Worried he was screwing things up with them.
Yeah, that last item was a big one, the doubt eating him alive every damn day. Each time he thought things were getting better, something else popped up to change his mind, like Brooke getting in trouble for mouthing off to a teacher the other day.
Because she'd been bored.
Because the work was too easy.
Why the hell hadn't he known that? He should have. But the meeting he had yesterday afternoon with her guidance counselor took care of that oversight. Brooke was being moved into the advanced classes now, where she wouldn't be bored.
He hoped.
At least she hadn't copped her usual attitude about it. In fact, she almost looked happy. Which, in an odd way, worried him more—because he should have known Brooke was bored, should have known she wasn't being challenged in school. Just one more thing he worried about it, one more doubt.
The same doubts he'd been struggling with since April, when he brought the girls back here to live with him. That hadn't changed. That didn't explain his recent mood.
What had changed was not seeing Savannah like he was used to, especially since that day they'd all gone to DC. He had chalked it up to the lazy days of summer being over, told himself it was nothing more than everyone being busy. But it was more than that, his gut instinct was sure of it.
And Wednesday night, during the bus drive back from their road game, h
e'd been forced to come to a realization: he missed Savannah.
Missed seeing her. Missed talking to her. Missed her easy smile and her reassurances. Her laughter and the way she teased him.
He just missed her.
He knocked on the door one more time, peering inside for signs of life. A single lamp was on in the living room, but that meant nothing. She always left that lamp on. Another minute, that's all he'd wait. If she didn't come to the door by then, he'd head back to his place instead of hanging out on her patio like some crazy person.
He had just given up and was stepping off the patio when he heard the door open behind him. He turned, got one good look at Savannah, and felt the smile of greeting die on his face.
"You look like shit."
She grunted, the sound weak and pathetic, and pulled a thick blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her hair was sleep-tousled, her eyes bright with fever, her face flushed. She turned to the side and pulled a corner of the blanket over her face as a deep cough shook her.
He nudged his way past her, closing the door behind him as he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. Her skin was hot and dry—too hot. "Christ. You're burning up."
She made another sound, this one weak and tired, then shuffled toward the sofa and dropped onto it. "Sick."
"No shit. You've got the bug that's going around."
"Uh-huh." She tilted sideways against the arm of the sofa, her eyes drifting closed.
"Have you taken anything for it?"
"Uh-uh."
"Why not?"
She mumbled something, the words too soft to hear. He moved over to the sofa and sat next to her, reaching out to rub small circles on her back as she coughed again. "Tell me what you need."
"To get better."
Aaron almost laughed at that one. "As Brooke would say: Duh. Besides that, what do you need?"
She shrugged, the movement dislodging a corner of the blanket. She was wearing a thick hoodie and flannel pajama pants and wool socks—and she was still shivering. He pulled her toward him, ran his hands up and down her arms then held her close as she snuggled against him.
"You'll get sick."
"Nah. I've got the constitution of a horse. Besides, one of the guys already has it so if I get sick, I'll blame it on him." He heard her mutter something against his chest before another cough wracked her body. He pressed a kiss against the top of her head then eased her away from him, tucking the blanket around her. "You need to get some medicine in you. Is it upstairs?"
Another small murmur, softer this time. He took that as a yes and headed upstairs, hesitating for only a second before going through the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom, trying to shake the odd feeling that he was invading her privacy.
And maybe he was, but not on purpose.
It was still an unsettling feeling.
Moisturizer. Toothpaste. Mouthwash.
A box of condoms.
Deodorant. Q-tips.
Tampons.
Mature, Malone. Real fucking mature. Christ, he felt like a fucking teenager, the way he was blushing.
His hand closed over a small spray bottle and he pulled it out, frowning as he read the label.
Toy Cleaner.
He read it again then damn near dropped the bottle in the sink as an image filled his mind. Clear and potent. Powerful. Savannah, propped against her pillows, her knees drawn up and legs spread wide as she pleasured herself with a vibrator.
He put the cleaner back and slammed the cabinet shut.
She had everything but cold medicine. Not even ibuprofen or acetaminophen. A quick search of the guest bathroom revealed even less. Well damn. Where else would she keep cold medicine?
He headed back downstairs and into the kitchen, his gaze scanning the countertop before he searched a few of the cabinets. Nothing.
Well shit.
He moved into the living room, the urge to take care of her growing stronger when he saw her curled into a ball on the sofa. Savannah was a grown woman, living on her own. Independent. Professional. She didn't need anyone to take care of her. And if she were feeling like her normal self, she'd probably tell him as much. But she wasn't, she was burning with fever. Not exactly helpless but not really capable, either. Besides, who the hell didn't wish they had someone to take care of them when they were sick?
He leaned down, brushed his hand against her feverish cheek. "Savannah, I'm going to run next door, grab some medicine. I'll be right back."
She nodded her head then snuggled deeper into the cushions, coughing again. He made sure the blanket was still tucked around her shoulders, pressed a kiss to her cheek, then let himself out.
It didn't take long to grab everything he needed, and he was letting himself back into Savannah's ten minutes later. She was still curled into a ball on the sofa, wrapped in the blanket, her chest rising and falling with the shaky breathing of illness. Aaron walked into the kitchen, pulling things out of the reusable shopping bag and lining them up on the counter.
Nighttime cold and flu medicine in a liquid.
Daytime cold and flu medicine in caplets.
A small blue jar of vapor rub.
A bottle of blackberry brandy, mostly full. A bottle of Irish whiskey, mostly empty.
A jar of honey. A half of a lemon. A handful of teabags.
He stared at the collection of his mother's cold and flu remedies, wondering if maybe he'd gone just a bit overboard. Probably. But hell, it wasn't like they'd make her feel worse.
Aaron found a coffee mug in one of the cabinets and filled it halfway with water then popped it into the microwave. Once it was heated, he tossed in a teabag and let it steep for a few minutes. Then he added a healthy shot of whiskey and stirred in some lemon and honey. He grabbed the vapor rub, one of the kitchen towels, the cold caplets and the mug, then carried everything into the living room.
"Savannah, sit up, hon. I need you to drink this."
No response.
He placed the mug on the low glass-topped table and sat on the sofa by her feet. Let her rest a few more minutes, before he applied the vapor rub. Then he'd get her to drink some of the tea before bundling her up again.
He shifted, placing her feet in his lap, then removed the thick socks. Yeah, even her feet were hot to the touch. He grabbed the jar of vapor rub and uncapped it, the sharp tang of camphor and menthol and eucalyptus searing his nostrils. He winced and jerked his head back, breathing through his mouth for a second. He'd forgotten how strong that first whiff always was.
He scooped a small bit from the jar then rubbed some into the arch of each of Savannah's feet before putting her socks back on. She barely moved the entire time, not even a twitch of her foot when he applied the vapor rub.
Aaron wiped his hands off on the towel then placed his arms around Savannah and eased her to a sitting position. Her head lolled against his shoulder for a second, then her lids fluttered open. Her brows lowered over her glassy eyes and her face scrunched up when she sniffed.
"Stinks."
Aaron laughed and brushed the hair from her face. "It's the vapor rub. I put some on your feet."
She tilted her head back and stared up at him, like she wasn't sure what he was doing there. "Why?"
"For your cough. And because that's what my mom always did when I was sick. She swears by it."
"Hm." She closed her eyes and let her head drop back to his shoulder.
"Not yet. I need you to drink some of this first. After that, I'll put you to bed."
Savannah raised her head again then slowly sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. She looked around, frowning when Aaron held the mug out to her. "What is it?"
"Hot toddy. Drink up."
"But what is it?"
"Tea. Whiskey. Lemon. Honey."
She stared at the mug for a few more seconds then slowly reached for it, curling both hands around it. Aaron kept his hand close by, just until he was sure she wouldn't drop it, then tore open the blister pack containi
ng the medicine.
"Here, take these."
Savannah held her hand out, not even looking at the caplets when he dropped them into her palm. She popped them into her mouth then took a long sip of the toddy.
"Don't you even want to know what that was?"
She drank more of the toddy then shook her head. "I trust you."
The words slammed into him, stealing his breath, making his vision swim. He rubbed a fist against his chest, the tightness confusing him. Worrying him at first. Then the tightness eased. Not just the tightness in his chest, but the tightness in his shoulders, his lungs. He felt…lighter. Like the stress and weight he'd been carrying around for months, for years, was gone. He sucked in a deep breath then started coughing as he got a deep whiff of camphor and menthol.
Savannah trusted him.
Yes, of course she did. She wouldn't have slept with him if she hadn't. He needed his fucking head examined for reading too much into it. What the hell was wrong with him? Of course, Savannah trusted him.
He watched as she finished the toddy, then took the mug from her and placed it on the table before she dropped it. She was already sliding to the side, her eyes closed as her body fought against the fever. He scooped her into his arms then stood, carrying her toward the stairs.
"You're going to hurt yourself."
He paused with his foot on the first step and looked down, his gaze meeting Savannah's feverish one. "I'm just going to tell myself that's the fever talking, that you didn't actually just insult me."
The corner of her mouth twitched in the barest of smiles before she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. He carried her upstairs, into her room, getting her settled in the bed. Then he sat next to her, his back against the headboard, and stroked her hair. She mumbled something and shifted, placing her head in his lap and draping her arm across his legs.
A few minutes went by before she shifted again, lifting her head to look up at him with a sleepy frown. "Don't you have to get the girls?"
"No." A small grin curled his lips, the motion filled with irony. "Mom's got them tonight since we hit the road early tomorrow."
Playing It Safe Page 11
