by P. Dangelico
“When was the last time you told me you love me?”
His brow wrinkles in deep thought. He takes time searching his mind. “That was…”
“I can’t remember, either.”
Whatever arguments he had lined up stop, his demeanor one of a person who’s accepted his fate…our fate. “So this is it, huh?”
“You know I care about you. I could not have gotten nearly as far in my career without you. I’ll always be grateful.”
“I don’t want you to be grateful, for fuck’s sake. I want you to be with me.” He runs a restless hand through his hair while he walks away, then turns around abruptly and walks back to me. “Love fades. We have common interests. That’s so much more dependable. Love isn’t worth giving this up.”
One of the first things I noticed about Oliver when we met was that hard direct stare of his. It makes you believe he can accomplish anything he sets his mind to and most of the time that’s true. Not this time though.
“I wish I could agree with you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Maren
The loud screech of tires rips my attention away from the replay of my US Open match on I’m forcing myself to watch on my iPad. This is how I self-harm. Everyone’s got their thing. This is mine. Typically I like to pair it with a bag of Double Stuf Oreos to catch my tears as they fall. Not tonight, though. Not after what happened at the club a few days ago.
Watching Oliver get in the rental car and drive away for the last time was hard. Nope. Tonight, no amount of Oreos can lubricate that mindfu––
Honk. Honk. Hoooonk.
A car door slams. The commotion forces me out of bed and carries me to the window. I draw aside the curtain and what I see has my eyes bugging out of my head. Then I realize I’m standing in front of the window in underwear and a tank top and yank the curtain over my unmentionables.
A pickup truck, one of those with the monster tires, is parked askew on Noah’s lawn. And I use that term parked loosely. More like destroyed his front lawn and almost ended up in his living room.
“Janaaaaa!”
A man gets out of the driver’s side. The screamer paces back and forth while repeatedly running both hands through his sandy-blond hair and gripping the roots. And, well, he’s got no pants on. To be clear, he’s got on a wife beater and nothing else. His dick is swinging in the wind. Oh wait, except for boots. Bless his heart, he had the wherewithal to put on boots.
“Jaaanaaaa!”
All the lights in Noah’s house turn on and I scramble to throw on shorts and a t-shirt. Grabbing my phone, I run downstairs because I’ll be damned if I miss a second of this.
“Janaaaaaa!” I hear again, a few choked sobs follow this time.
I dial 911. “I’d like to report a disturbance…” I give them a quick rundown of the events and my address. As soon as I hang up, I go to the closet to retrieve my grandfather’s trusted companion appropriately named Spike.
Practically medieval, the wooden bat with spikes drilled into it is a treasured family heirloom. On more than one occasion it came in handy at the bar to break up fights or discourage would-be robbers. Of all the things I inherited from Rowdy, this is the only thing I truly wanted.
As soon as I wrap my fingers on the smooth handle I am awash in memories, my favorite from the summer I turned thirteen. Annabelle and I were staying with my grandfather while my parents were away. It was your typical weekend night, with teenagers looking for a place to party.
Out of the front window of his house, she and I watched one car after another drive up. Soon there were cars parked up and down the dead-end street. The music loud, the teenagers louder. My grandfather let it go on for a while. But when they started a fire, he officially, “Had enough of this shit.”
Annabelle and I watched from the porch as Rowdy walked right up to a bunch of the boys standing around the fire and said, “Have you boys seen Spike?”
One of the more courageous ones, or rather stupid ones, asked, “Who that, a dog?”
“He’s definitely a trusted companion,” was Rowdy’s humor-laced reply. After which he produced good ol’ Spike from behind his back and everyone scattered, jumping into cars and tearing away like their backsides were at stake. And quite frankly, they were.
Annabelle and I giggled for hours because one of those loud teenagers was Noah who at sixteen was busy putting the moves on Crystal Roy. Suffice it to say, Spike is dear to me.
“Janaaaaaa!” More porch lights come on up and down the street.
Noah steps out the front door dressed only in jeans, a t-shirt hanging from his hand. He squares his shoulders and approaches Swinging Dick slowly, quickly donning the t-shirt.
I don’t like the looks of this at all. Noah is tall and packing muscle, but this guy has emotion on his side which I know from personal experience has the power to turn anyone into a superhero.
Slipping on my yellow flip-flops, I run to the rescue, flying out the front door armed with Spike. I’m halfway there when Noah spots me and blanches. His hand comes up in a signal for me to stop in the middle of the street and I do.
“Maren, get back inside!”
I hold up Spike, not so subtly letting him know I’ve got this. Swinging Dick’s attention slides to me and I note two things at once. One, he’s been crying. And two, he’s wasted. High as a kite, his pupils are blown out.
“Hank! Hank, look at me. Don’t look at her,” Noah implores. “Maren! Goddammit, get back inside!”
Jana appears in Noah’s doorway with her hands over her mouth, her face swollen and raw from crying.
“Hank, go home!” she shouts. Hank is obviously an ex-boyfriend looking to reclaim his lost love.
And that’s when it occurs to me––I could be Hank. This could be me, wandering around Noah’s lawn with no pants on, pining for my lost love. One reality check coming right up.
Hank starts grunting and howling at the moon and my courage starts to wane. A sinking feeling says I may be in over my head. The only thing that stops me from scampering back to the house is that every cell in my body rejects the idea of leaving Noah out here alone with him.
The sound of approaching sirens has all of us looking down the street. Lights flashing, a white Chevy Tahoe comes at us at a high rate of speed. It makes a hard stop and none other than the chief of police himself gets out, his hand casually resting on his holstered gun.
In a flash Noah is inexplicably standing between me and Hank with his back glued to my front. I have to look around his arm to see what’s going on.
“Maren, back away.” Noah’s voice is agitated, on the edge of desperation. He needs to chill. I understand this is a volatile situation but it’s not like the guy has a gun. “Stop smelling me and get back inside right now!” he growls, chewing the words between his molars.
“Get over yourself, I did not smell you.” I totally did. I couldn’t help myself. “And I’m not leaving you here with this wacko––besides, I’ve got Spike.”
“Spike ain’t gonna do shit against the shotgun he’s got in the gun rack of his truck.”
Oh God.
Real fear is cold. That’s why they call it bone chilling. And it’s all I feel right now because standing between me and the man with access to a shotgun is Noah.
“Hank, get down on the ground,” Chief Brandt very calmly orders. “Get down on the ground, Hank. You don’t want to hurt anybody. I know you don’t. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I love her, man,” Hank croaks between a spurt of broken sobs, tears funneling down his face.
“I know you do. And she knows it too. But you need to sleep it off, brother. Everything will look better in the morning. I promise.”
Axel Brandt’s voice is so incredibly soothing that he almost lulls me into believing everything will be all right.
“Get on the ground, Hank. Easy, buddy. Hands where I can see ’em.”
Slowly but surely Hank falls to his knees and eventually goes down on his bell
y.
“Hands behind your head. That’s it, nice and easy.” Chief Brandt advances and restrains Hank, gently clasping a pair of cuffs on him. A deputy I didn’t even see arrive starts to read Hank his rights. It takes both men to ease him up on his feet while Hank continues to confess his love to the chief.
“I love her. I didn’t mean any of it. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
With a gasp of surprise and disgust, my gaze shifts to poor Jana standing in the doorway with her arms wrapped around her middle, looking distraught.
“You need help, Hank. We’re gonna get you some help,” the chief murmurs.
One minute I’m watching Hank being placed in the back of the deputy’s squad car and the next I’m being crushed by two heavily muscled, tattooed arms, my face squished in the dip between Noah’s pecs. It takes me a minute to shake off the surprise and relax in his hold. And goodness is it something.
I’m drowning in his scent, wrapped in his heat, held up by his solid strength. I listen to his heart thump hard under my cheek and almost squeal in delight because it feels amazing. Nothing has felt this good in years.
“You idiot!” His roughhewn voice vibrates near my ear. I wiggle my pinned arms around his waist and hold him back. “You could’ve been hurt or worse. I could kill you!”
The adrenaline still coursing through my veins is making me loopy and what comes out is an unladylike snort and giggle.
“Folks––” The chief’s deep voice gets our attention.
Noah lifts his face from atop my head and I suck in some much-needed air, my head spinning from an overdose of clean-scented fabric softener.
“We’ll throw him in the drunk tank for the night and get him booked. I’d appreciate it if you could come to the station tomorrow and give a statement.” Chief Brandt’s sharp gaze bounces between me and Noah. “Do I need to explain how incredibly dangerous it is to get involved in domestic abuse cases?”
Noah takes Spike out my hand while keeping his other arm around me and pressing a reassuring palm to my lower back. That hand gets all my attention. I feel safe, anchored when he touches me in a way I never have with anyone else.
“I didn’t expect Junior Deputy over here to come running out of her house armed and dangerous.” His lips curve into a wry smile.
The chief’s dark brown eyes move to where Jana sits on the front steps of Noah’s house, talking to his deputy. His expression sobers. “Tell me she has a restraining order.”
Noah nods, and a second later it all comes crashing down on me. I become acutely aware that I’m hugging her boyfriend in her moment of need. He’s here with me––while she sits alone.
Shame hits me as hard as a brick upside the head. I shove him away and his eyes cut back to me with a big question mark in them.
“See you folks tomorrow,” I hear the chief say but neither of us answer or looks his away.
I draw a shaky breath. “Your girlfriend needs you,” I mumble and swallow thickly, forcing the bitterness of longing back down. Being held by him was the worst possible reminder of what I’m missing, that there’s an empty space in my chest he used to fill.
With the absence of his body heat, the night air gets into my bones and a shiver works down my neck and back. I miss it already…miss him.
Except he’s not mine to miss. He belongs to someone else. And the feeling is a familiar one. All my life I’ve been a pound pup waiting for scraps of him, waiting patiently for my turn. Well, no more.
He looks confused. “Jana’s not my girlfriend.”
I blink. I blink some more. My mind works hard to make sense of this.
Not his girlfriend?
“Are you sure?” I hear myself say, and as dumb as I know that question sounds I still don’t know where my reasoning took a wrong turn.
He chuckles drily. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
“Since when?” There’s gotta be a catch here somewhere. What did I miss?
“She’s my employee, Maren.”
“Well, yeah, but––”
“Since always.” Pointing to the squad car driving away, he adds, “That’s her boyfriend.” His eyes cloud with concern. “Was her boyfriend. Let me check on her and we’ll talk.”
“Wait!” I half-shout. “I’m coming with you.”
* * *
“I never saw it coming, you know. When we started dating…he was possessive, sure, but I never suspected…this.” Jana stifles another hiccup and I hand her a clean wad of tissues, taking the tear-soaked one out of her hand and placing it on the coffee table.
After we all went back inside, Noah opened a bottle of red wine and poured Jana and me each a glass. Without any encouragement from us, she started talking and for the first fifteen minutes Noah and I let her get everything off her chest. However, I refuse to stay quiet for a second longer if she’s going to start blaming herself.
I shift on the oversized couch to face her. “Don’t even think about blaming yourself. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. I’m not about to play shrink, but I’ll venture to say he’s got issues.”
She nods. “I feel bad for him…His dad died a few months ago. He was all Hank had and––”
“Jana, he put his hands on you. He’s a big guy…I don’t care what his problems are; there’s no circumstance in the world to justify what he did,” I murmur as gently as possible. “It could easily have been worse.”
“I know. I know. You’re right.” Nodding, she wipes her ruddy nose on the balled-up tissues in her hand.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re feeling and I’m not even going to pretend––but I do know that you need to sleep. You’ll think more clearly in the morning.”
“Yeah,” she replies, wiping her face with both palms. Sighing heavily, she stands and I do the same.
Her attention moves to Noah. Sitting in an armchair, he’s been listening to us talk without offering a word. She gives him a watery smile.
“Thanks, boss.” Her attempt to sound cheerful fails.
“No need to thank me. I only want you safe.” Noah’s face looks drawn, weighed down by his concern for her. I don’t blame him. This seems far from over.
Nodding, she whispers, “Good night.”
The sound of the bedroom door closing is as loud as cannon fire, making it abundantly clear that we are now alone with only mixed feelings and the remains of the adrenaline we were riding earlier between us. His gaze is on me so hot I don’t know where to look.
“That was nice of you,” he murmurs. I shrug. I didn’t really do anything, only lent an ear, only did what any decent person would’ve done. “I wouldn’t have known what to say.”
“You offered her your home. It’s probably the only place she feels safe. You’re doing all you can.”
Leaning forward, he places his elbows on his knees and runs a hand over his head. And god do I want to do the same. I want to run my fingers through the long silky black locks and tell him it’s going to be okay.
“I’ll never understand why women stay with men that make them feel like garbage.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he catches the mistake and searches my face.
“Don’t you?”
My eyes drop as I shove my hands in the front pockets of my jean shorts. Unfortunately, I end up jamming the fingers on the hand with the cast. “Ouch.”
Noah stands and takes my hand in his, gently massaging my aching digits. He’s close. So close I feel the puff of breath he exhales ruffle the top of my hair. I feel his body heat embrace me. I see him swallow the same nerves I’m feeling.
“You scared me half to death.” His voice is quiet, raspy. It fans the heat quickly spreading throughout my body. I can feel it crawling up my neck, accumulating in between my legs, and it embarrasses me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see him holding a gun so I assumed there wasn’t one.” I shake my head. “It was stupid.”
“Maren…” At the sound of his voice, scored with so much emotion, I glance up
. Very slowly he reaches out and pushes a loose strand of hair out of my face. “We were friends long before we were anything else…”
The events of the night have taken a toll. I’m exhausted and not in the right frame of mind to handle any more revelations. I’m not ready to hash out ten years’ worth of pent-up feelings because without a doubt my heart is at stake. And as hard as I’ve worked to mend it, one tug on the stitches and I’m afraid it’ll fall apart again. And I’m not strong enough to withstand it one more time. I can’t take that chance again.
“It’s late. I’m gonna get going.” I back away one slow step at a time. “I’ll see you at Rowdy’s?”
In the heavy pause he stares at me longingly. His lips part, words seemingly on the tip of his tongue. The suspense is nearly killing me but I don’t make a peep. I wait him out.
“How do you feel about going to the lake tomorrow?”
My feet stop. “The lake?” I like the idea and it’s time. One more chapter wrapped up. It’s time to say goodbye to my grandfather. “Yeah, okay.”
He crosses his arms and nods. His forlorn expression is the last image I see right before I close his front door. And it stays with me as I toss and turn all night.
Chapter Twenty
Maren
After the funeral, things between us changed. It was late February. Football season was over so Noah decided to live at home instead of going back to the house on campus he shared with some of his teammates.
That first night back after being released from the hospital was brutal. He unlocked the front door and pushed it open, took a small step over the threshold of the empty house and just stared, his expression vacant.
“Will you stay?” he said quietly into the darkness.
I never left.
It was my senior year. I was busy––with school as well as training for tournaments. My parents were being super understanding about me practically living with him. To this day it surprises me they didn’t make a fuss. Maybe because they understood more than I did, that at the time Noah was not interested in being anything other my friend.
