by Rie Warren
“I’m sorry, Reggie.” I dried my face with the cuff of my jacket.
“You don’t need to apologize to me either.” She captured my face in her hands, drawing my gaze to hers.
I nodded. Scooted back a bit. I didn’t feel right touching her. Not in front of . . . Chris.
Steadying my breaths, I hunkered on my heels. “You come here often?”
She broke out in a short burst of laughter, and my gaze swung to her.
Her head tilted. “You do realize that’s a pick-up line, right?”
Despite the intensity of the situation, I gave a half smile. “Not what I intended.”
“I know.” Her hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment. “I do. I visit him when I can. It’s been hard to know when to let go without beating myself up about it.”
“He wouldn’t want you hanging on when he’s gone.”
“Ditto,” she whispered, her somber eyes colliding with mine.
I swallowed. Nodded.
“Who else comes here?” I asked, taking in the flurry of American flags fluttering around my brother’s marker.
“Your parents, of course. His squadron. Their wives. They were all family too.”
The family I’d almost blanked out of my life because I was such an idiot.
The brother I’d lost so unexpectedly.
“I never said goodbye to him, Reggie. I never said how much I loved him.” Pain punched me in the gut, harder than any hit I’d ever taken, and I curled up.
Reggie kneeled beside me, giant tears of her own falling. “He knew.”
I rolled into her hold. She held me tight when I should’ve been comforting her.
“God, Calder. You were best friends.”
After the pain eased its grip, I pressed up. I placed both hands on the gravestone.
“I love you, brother.”
I squeezed Reggie’s shoulder then left her to say her own farewells.
She caught up to me in a few steps, grasping my hand again. It was then I felt it. Then I knew. Her right hand was bare.
I lightly explored her fingers with mine before saying, “You’ve taken off your rings.”
“I decided it was time.”
Wrapping an arm around her—finding her shivering shoulders—I gruffly covered my emotions. “Probably need to get you back before you catch hypothermia from sitting out there on the cold ground.”
I drove back to her hotel, stiff and unsure. Roiling with a fucking mess of feelings I wasn’t sure I could cope with.
When I’d said goodbye to my folks earlier I’d played the jovial son, joking, hugging, kissing, making promises I hoped to keep this time. All the while hiding the dark demons of the past rising up.
But as I stood at Reggie’s hotel room door, dropping her off for the final time before heading back to Charleston alone, it all broke again, just like at the cemetery.
Because what the hell would my parents think about me making moves on Chris’s widow, for chrissakes?
“You coming in?” Reggie asked, framed by the open door.
There was a pink bloom to her cheeks, and her eyes were as shiny as her wavy hair.
“I don’t think so.”
“Goddamn it, Calder!”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do when you can’t even go after what you want.”
Blazing eyes.
Gauntlet thrown.
“I never knew you were such a shrew.” I squinted down at her.
“Bastard.” Her stinging slap hit my cheek before I could even blink.
My nostrils flared. My eyes narrowed.
I stalked her into the room, letting the door bang closed.
I struck—not with a hand, never that—with my mouth.
Tongue lunging into her wet heat, I trapped her against me. Not that she was fighting. Her hands went to my hair and my ass. A sultry moan hit my ears—more burning than the smack she’d slashed across my cheek—and Reggie returned the kiss to end all kisses.
I pressed her away. Breathing hard. Backed her against the wall. Bracketing her with my body, I manacled her hands beside her head.
“I can fuck you if that’s all you want.”
“Fuck you,” she spat out.
I smirked, turning to assholish behavior to keep her at arm’s length. “That’s just what I was offering.”
I grinded my hard cock against her.
For an instant.
Her body reacted, but the venom in her eyes was enough to bring me to my senses. I released her immediately.
Backed away toward the door.
Kept my hands at my sides, my eyes on her. “Jesus.” I huffed out a breath. “I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart.”
“I’m not telling you again to stop apologizing.”
Swiping a hand across my jaw, I went to her side. “I didn’t mean any of that.”
“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”
“Yes. With my . . . with my whole heart.”
“Then why are you breaking mine in two now?” she whispered.
“Don’t wanna break your heart.” I slouched into a chair, my hands hanging between my knees. “But what if I fuck up this reconnection with my folks by going for what I want with you?”
She gave a sad laugh. “I don’t know the answer to that. I guess it comes down to whether you’re willing to take a risk on me.” She looked so young and vulnerable, the usual force of nature tamped down.
And that hurt.
“How’s it gonna work anyway? You planning on commuting from Charleston to Vegas?”
Her eyes flipped to mine before flitting away. “I guess we’ll never find out.”
Another knife slash to my heart.
“That love. Our love. It’s not enough then?” With her brown eyes a metallic almost-black, she slid closer to me.
I couldn’t think of anything to say to fill the gaping hole, the wretched agony between us.
Reggie took my silence for what it was. Another defeat. And I was the one defeated that time.
Shoulders back, she strutted to the door. “In that case, you should go.”
“I don’t wanna leave.”
She snorted.
I lifted to my feet, advanced on her. “I can’t tell them, Reggie. I don’t wanna let them down.”
“Let them down by being happy?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and stared up at me, unflinching.
“It’s not that fucking simple, is it?” Rogue anger fired through me.
“No. But I never figured you for a coward.”
Reggie went right for my jugular without even lifting a hand, and that time she cut deeper than ever.
“Just remember this. I’m not your lost love. Not the girl next door. I’m the woman you could have. And I’m not waiting for long.” Reggie’s undaunted show of strength topped mine.
Down the stairs. Through the lobby. In the parking lot.
I beat my fist against the steering wheel of the car once I jerked the door open, slumped down, slammed it shut.
I looked back.
Just once.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gun-Shy
Reggie
CALDER MALONE WAS WAY more than a handful. More than a mouthful. And our relationship had opened a Pandora’s Box of complications.
So I guessed I couldn’t blame him for being gun-shy.
After the harsh words exchanged that final afternoon before his flight, I didn’t expect to hear from Calder right away.
He surprised me, though.
He didn’t call. Didn’t email. He didn’t send a text or try to Skype.
On December 29th, I received—of all things—a letter from him. Granted, his penmanship was blindingly bad, but a handwritten letter from the man who’d tried to keep all his cards close to his vest was more intimate, more romantic, than a delivery of hothouse flowers.
Dear Reggie,
I feel like a tool writing this, but fuck it. C
an’t be much more of a dipshit than I was the last time I saw you.
I’m an ass, plain and simple.
Not gonna go on and on about my stupidity, or how I wasn’t ready to lay it all out there with my folks.
Just wanted to say sorry.
I miss you.
Calder
I folded the letter carefully, replaced it in the envelope, every word etched on my mind. And later I fell asleep, thinking about Calder as I had every night since he’d left.
Since returning to Vegas, I’d immersed myself in getting completely back into shape for Rouge. After my two-week break, I had a lot to prove, and Jillian wasn’t going to make it easy for me.
But I’d come up against far worse than her, and I’d survived it all almost singlehandedly. Hearing from Calder fortified me in a way I now knew I needed. I wasn’t meant to be alone for the rest of my life. The day after his letter, I was up at dawn, in the dance studio by seven, and from then on I hardly had time to spare a thought for Calder, let alone get all girly and moony-eyed over the man. The Rouge girls and I learned new routines at a lightning fast pace that would’ve left me breathless if I wasn’t used to the demands of the job. I had a new song and several solos to nail down for the big New Year’s Eve bash on the Vegas strip.
But when I returned to my house—muscles aching from my feet to my shoulders—another letter awaited me.
Kicking off my boots, I poured a glass of wine. I shook my head, holding the missive to my breast for a moment before ripping the envelope open.
Dear Reggie,
So if you think you’re getting one of these things every day until I see you again . . . don’t go getting a big head, sweetheart.
I giggled, settling onto my sofa, running my fingers over the inked grooves on the paper. Touching where he’d touched.
I bet you’re already back into the swing of things in Vegas. Man, I wish I could see you dance on stage one more time. I bet you don’t have any idea how much you frigging captivate the audience. Captivate me. Look at that. I’m using the big words. Mom would be proud.
I laughed again, wishing so much he was sitting right next to me.
I’m trying to get my head on straight. Doesn’t help with these fucking jackoffs on the team. Bunyan found me writing that last letter, the bastard, and read it out loud in the locker room. Bunch of dicks won’t let up now.
Well, he may have had horrible handwriting, but his vocabulary was as colorful as ever.
First playoff game is New Year’s Eve against Indianapolis. Wish me luck?
Miss you.
Calder
I sent off a quick text to him:
Got the letters. Keep em coming.
I saw he’d received the message, but apparently he was going to stick to his plan, which was winning my heart one letter at a time. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to let him all the way back in.
Not without a commitment, and it wasn’t my right to ask him for that.
The New Year’s Eve show at The Venetian was the biggest night of the year. I barely had time to breathe, dashing from one costume change to another, each one sexy and shimmery and glittery. The new dances went off without a hitch—high kicks, light gymnastics, and for the first time we performed rope stunts, dangling from the sky-high ceiling.
I had a new song with Johnny accompanying me on the piano, and I hit every sultry throaty note with perfect pitch while I traipsed across the stage. The standing ovation was astounding. Even with my two-week break, my career was right on track. Except I thought about Calder the entire time, wishing he was in the audience like he’d mentioned.
When the show ended after a finale that had the crowd on their feet while bright lights blinded us during kicks and spins and sashays, confetti and balloons rained down. Definitely a huge success. Soaring on a high, I got to the dressing room to discover it’d been a giant night for Carolina Crush, too. They’d successfully crushed Indianapolis, winning the all-important first playoff game with a commanding lead.
“Any more lurve letters?” Helena sidled up to me as I wiped makeup from my face, gaze glued to the sports wrap-up on the huge flat screen mounted on the wall.
A small smile peeked around my lips. “Maybe.”
She sat her ass on my dressing table, swinging her legs back and forth. “I think it’s so romantic. Who’d have thought that big, hunky football stud had it in him?”
“I always knew it was there somewhere.” I pulled off the sparkly false eyelashes. “But I’m not so sure he’s one hundred percent into me.”
“Girl, seriously? He’s been sending you what? A letter a day? Isn’t that proof enough?”
“I don’t know.” My smile fell.
“Is this still because of Chris?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Possibly. Look, Helena, Calder made it perfectly clear he doesn’t want to talk to his folks about us.”
“Oh, boy troubles, Regina?” Jillian snaked her way over. Snaked, for real, because she was a real piece of work. Just like her fake double Ds. “I heard you’ve been sneaking around with your brother-in-law. Isn’t that incest or something?”
“You’d know all about that with your Appalachian background, wouldn’t you, HillJilly?”
Her eyes narrowed as she prepared to strike out. “I bet your husband’s just rolling over in his grave.” She shuddered.
I paled, and Helena jumped in. “That’s a low fucking blow even for a bitch like you.”
Helena raised her hand as if to smack Jillian, but I grabbed her wrist. “Don’t. She’s not worth it. Just let her slither back to her hole.”
Hesitating for a second—a moment in which I thought she might actually apologize—Jillian’s eyes flashed with something close to humility. Then she turned her back and stalked away.
“Ever feel like we’re literally living the screenplay of Showgirls?” Helena arched a slim eyebrow.
I huffed out a laugh. “You got that right. And Jillian’s the new poster child for Resting Bitch Face.”
“Nailed it.” Helena high-fived me. “So, are we going out on the town? New Year’s Eve or what? Drinks are on me. Literally. I’m thinking body shots.”
Shaken by Jillian’s remarks, I just wanted to go home. Correction: what I really wanted was to be at Calder’s house. I wanted to celebrate my success and his win together. I wanted, more than anything, his strong arms around me.
“Not tonight, Helena.”
An hour later, I walked up the steps of my house, tired to the depths of my bones. No one should spend New Year’s Eve alone, but I wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity. I dragged in a deep breath and straightened my shoulders only to let out a little bubble of laughter when I saw the FedEx envelope propped against the door.
Calder.
With a very special delivery.
Fresh energy reinvigorated me, but I wanted to make the anticipation last this time, like Christmas morning and present-opening when I was a kid.
I poured a glass of wine and built a fire and undressed only to put on the Alabama shirt, snuggling the soft fabric around me. On the sofa, I pulled a blanket over me, took a sip of wine, and opened the envelope.
Dear Reggie,
This one cost a small fortune to have delivered. So you owe me now.
Hope you like cliches, because that’s what you reduce me to.
You’re the last thing I think about at night, and the first thing I remember in the morning.
I can’t sleep in my bed anymore. Not without you beside me. I tried sleeping on your side, ’cause I could still smell you, but that made it worse.
I gotta admit if there was no danger of the fucking assholes on the team getting their hands on this I’d be writing a bunch of dirty stuff about what I wanna do to you. All the time. Sweetheart, you got me body and soul. Not ready to let you go.
Since I’m not gonna go all porn quality here I’m just gonna say this one last thing. I wish I was kissing you at the stroke of midnight tonight.
Calder
As I lay in my lonely bed later, I realized I was the desert rose after all, but only insomuch as I needed heat.
Calder’s heat.
But he was all the way across the country, and I remained here.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bromance Bullshit
Calder
REGGIE HAD MAINTAINED ALMOST total radio silence since the fuck-up/break-up the day after Christmas. Couldn’t blame her. I’d royally hosed her.
Every letter sent was another piece of my heart I put out in the open.
It fucking hurt. But it was kinda cathartic, too. Cathartic. Must’ve picked up that word from all the NA meetings.
During the month since we began our playoff run, we’d crisscrossed the country several times but never had a game in Nevada. If we had, I could guaran-fucking-tee I’d have found a way to carve out some time to go to Reggie. Even if just for an hour. So I could see her. Hold her hand. Show her how I felt because damn straight words weren’t my strong suit. So maybe the letter writing thing had been an asinine plan all along.
Three games. One month. We’d begun with the astounding Wild Card game against Indianapolis Speed. Unbelievably, we’d trounced the Speed, sealing our winning fate within the first half by an incredible 28-point lead. Indianapolis hadn’t been able to dig down and come back after that whopping score difference.
Toppling the Austin Avengers during the Divisional playoffs hadn’t been quite the same joy ride. The tight game had players on both sides sweating buckets, swearing up and down the field, and coaches from our two teams getting into shouting matches with the refs over bad calls. We’d come through by the skin of our teeth, limping, bruised, but fucking victorious at the end of the night.
And just two weeks ago, we’d met up with the Nebraska Nighthawks. Nighthawks? Bullshit. Should’ve been called the frigging Neanderthals if you asked me because those corn-fed fucks took beefy and brutish to a whole new level, and I still had the goddamn bruises to show for it. Buckley had spent the game stomping up and down the sidelines, chomping at the bit to get in on the action since some of his Cornhusker teammates had ended up with the Nighthawks. But no way in hell was Coach D giving him his first play during the Conference Championship, not with Rafe in true fighting form.
