by RC Boldt
“You’re the one who’s amazing,” he whispers. When his strong arms tighten around me, the sensation of safety immediately envelops me. But this is vastly different from having my own place and locking everything up at night.
This sense of safety is one I’ve never experienced. Because it’s delivered by a person who holds me in a way that makes me think his hard body could shelter me from the entire world.
A fissure of unease reverberates through me because I’ve never found safety in anyone’s embrace. Yet I can’t bring myself to pull away and break the contact, so for once, I give in. I give in to the comfort this man offers freely without asking for a single thing in return.
I give in as I detect a tiny part of my heart opening up to this man who holds me like it’s his job.
He holds me as though he’s attempting to collect all the fractured pieces of my heart and soul—the ones adhered together in a mishmash, unstable way—and affix them in place properly. To put my cracked parts back into their respective places and make me whole again.
It reminds me of that saying about life not being measured by the number of breaths you take but by the number of moments that take your breath away. At this moment, right here, I get it.
Because Dax Kendrick single-handedly robs me of breath.
11
Dax
University of Florida campus
Youth Football Clinic
SECOND SESSION—FINAL DAY
JULY
GAINESVILLE, FLORIDA
I’m on my way home after wrapping up the final camp session with Watson, and I honestly can’t wait to be back in my place. As much as I love giving back to my alma mater and helping these kids, there really is no place like home. I’m looking forward to relaxing before I have to get back to the serious grind of training camp.
Since I have nearly two hours to kill in the car, I dial my sister in hopes that I might call while she’s on break so we can catch up. It only rings twice via Bluetooth before her voice sounds over the vehicle’s speakers.
“Hey! How did camp go?” Her energetic tone brings a smile to my lips.
“It went well, but I’m glad to wrap it up today. Ready to get back in the swing of things.”
“I’ll bet.” I hear voices—both male and female—in the background. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, just on a quick break, grabbing some coffee.” Exhaustion lines her voice, which is the norm for her. I wish she’d slow down, but she’s stubborn as hell and refuses to let me help her out financially. “So, fill me in on everything with you.”
I give her a rundown of everything, telling her how Watson and I had a heart-to-heart and I can already see the difference in our performance when we practice on the field. More in sync. Of course, she already knows about Darcy and how she’s helping me.
“Tell me more about her.”
Slow hesitance edges into my tone. “Why?”
“Because I’m curious and always impressed by women entrepreneurs. I remember when they profiled Ditched. That’s her sister’s company, right?”
“Yeah, they both started it, but that’s Ivy’s baby, from what I understand. Darcy created Hitched. It seems to be taking off, too.”
“That’s really cool. I’d love to meet her sometime.”
I frown at her odd tone. “Aves, don’t get any—”
She cuts me off quickly, her voice lowering as she changes the subject. “Dad told me how Mom got you a sex chair. Turns out Dad googled it after seeing the label on the bottom.” Laughter bubbles free. “I wish I had been there to see your face for that one.”
I shake my head and chuckle. That’s all I can do. “You know Mom.”
Another laugh. “I do.” Someone calls her name in the bustling background of the hospital. “Crap, I’ve gotta run. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
I press the button on my steering wheel to end the call, feeling happiness intermix with sadness. It washes over me every time I talk to my sister. I know she’s trying to provide Violet with everything in her usual stubborn, fiercely independent way, but I wish she’d reconsider letting me help her. Then maybe she could back off on grabbing so much of the overtime that comes available.
Caught up in my musing about our phone call, it dawns on me that I haven’t heard anything from Darcy. She’d mentioned she would be in touch with news about setting up a mixer for me to meet the matches she’d handpicked. Since I have a few more minutes before I hit the usual traffic on Butler Boulevard, I decide to call her.
Her office line goes directly to voicemail, and I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether I should try her cell.
Finally, I decide to just call. I mean, I consider us friends, and friends call each other on the phone. No big deal.
As soon as she answers, I know something’s wrong. Her voice is listless and pained.
“Hey, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to touch base since I haven’t had a chance this week with everything going on with camp.”
“No bother. I sent you an email a while ago.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t spot the notification.”
“It’s okay.” She sounds like shit.
“Are you sick?”
“I’m okay. I just cut out of work early. I’ll be better in the morning.”
“Is it a stomach virus? Can I bring you anything?”
She emits a tight laugh, albeit brief. “I’m fine, Dax.” Then she softly adds, “Thank you, though.”
“Darcy, I’m a guy, but I’m smart enough to know it’s never good when a woman says the words I’m fine.” I lower my voice, softening my tone. “What do you need?”
“I don’t need anyth—”
“What would you like right now?” I interrupt. God, this woman needs to stop trying to take on the world single-handedly and just be open to asking for help. I get that it’s probably not in her nature simply because of her background, but man.
As if she realizes I have zero plans to relent, she releases a sigh. “I’d love a bottle of sweet tea, some Ruffles, and some dark chocolate with sea salt.” Then she hastily adds, “If it’s not a bother, of course.”
Ahh. So that’s what’s ailing my girl. It’s her time of the month.
The corners of my mouth edge upward. “I grew up around two women. I’ve got you covered, Cole.”
When she rattles off her address, I’m surprised to find out she doesn’t live far from me, and I tell her I’ll see her in roughly thirty minutes before we hang up.
I arrive at Darcy’s condo and gently rap my knuckles against her door and wait for her to answer. At the soft click of the lock, I can’t help but wonder what I’ll be faced with. She’s always so poised and put together that I can’t imagine her any other way.
She tugs the door open, clad in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of cotton pajama pants with her dark blond hair pulled up in a messy twist on top of her head. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, and I’m caught off guard by how pretty she looks—just like this. The undeniable evidence of pain etching her features causes me to force back my immediate wince.
“Hey.” She greets me cautiously, and it’s only now I realize there’s a wad of cash in her hand. She’s also not inviting me inside. Extending her hand, she says, “Thank you. If this isn’t enough to cover everything, just let me know, and I’ll pay you the rest when I see you next.”
I clench my jaw in irritation. “Darce,” I grit out as calmly as I can manage, “please let me in.”
Her forehead crinkles. “But I’m gross and feel awful.” She shakes her head. “I’m not really fit for company.”
“Got that covered, too.” I hold up the plastic grocery store bags dangling from my arms. Her eyes widen at the sight of them before she flicks her gaze to me.
“You got way more than I asked for.”
I place a hand on top of her shoulder and gently steer her back against the door to open i
t wider. I step inside and lock up behind me. Toeing off my shoes beside a pair of her flip-flops, I plod through her place and locate her kitchen immediately.
Carefully, I set the bags on her counter and begin to unpack everything. She ambles over to watch me with a guarded expression.
“I got some chicken noodle soup because my sister still swears by that when she’s having a rough menstrual cycle.”
She stares at me, her jaw slackening.
“What’s that look for?”
With a shake of her head, she mutters, “You’re the only guy I know who doesn’t go queasy at the mere mention of anything pertaining to a woman’s menstrual cycle.”
I shrug. “Blood and bodily functions don’t faze me.” I explore her cabinets for a large dinner plate and find one on the second try. I glance over to find her watching me curiously. “Have you taken something for the cramps?”
She nods.
“Good. Go get comfortable, and I’ll bring the snacks in to you in a minute.”
She hesitates, as if she’s unsure about leaving me alone in her kitchen, which amuses me. It’s like I’ve thrown her off-balance by invading her space. She needs to realize this is what friends are for. She might’ve just had Ivy all these years, but it’s safe to allow others into her inner circle, too.
“I’ll leave this here for you so I don’t forget.” She sets the cash on the far edge of the counter. Then she turns to head back to the living room, where I expect she’s been camping out, if the blankets and pillow are any indication.
I cast a dirty look at the money before I make quick work of the snacks. After a trial and error hunt through her cabinets, I place a small ramekin of hummus in the center of a large plate and set a bunch of baby carrots around the sides. Then I include a handful of the requested potato chips on another section and some almonds in another ramekin.
With the rest of the items in their respective places, I grab her sweet tea and carry it with the tray of snacks and place it on her coffee table in front of her.
“Wow,” she breathes before flicking her eyes to me. “Thank you for this.”
“Let me know if you want me to heat the soup.”
She nibbles at her bottom lip nervously. “You don’t have to stick around. I’m sure you have better things to do on your Friday night.”
“Nope.” I slide a hand beneath her legs and lift them before I settle in on the far end of her couch and drape her legs over my thighs. “I want to make sure you’re going to survive.” I wink at her with a smile before sobering. “Does this usually happen? Is it always this bad?”
She sighs. “Not always. Every so often, it’s like an all-out attack on my body, and I get nauseated beyond belief with unbearable cramps.” She averts her gaze to focus on the TV. “Luckily, the nausea’s passed.” A palm settles over her lower abdomen, and she wrinkles her nose. “It’s just uncomfortable as hell right now. And…” Her eyes fall closed, and she throws her head back against her pillow with a groan. “I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She sits up so abruptly it startles me. “Because you’re… you,” she sputters. “You’re on freaking commercials and in ads on billboards. You don’t need to hear about my damn uterus sloughing itself.”
I can’t help my immediate and unfiltered reaction when I toss my head back on a laugh.
“Darcy Cole.” I shake my head and sober, meeting her blue gaze before I soften my tone. “It’s okay to ask your friends for help if you need it.”
Her lips part instantly, and I know it’s going to be a protest—that she’s about to claim she didn’t actually need anything. I quickly hold up my index finger and give her a stern look.
“That’s what friends are for.” Our eyes remain locked, and I silently plead with this fiercely independent woman to realize she has people who care for her and can depend on.
Finally, after a long beat of silence, her features relax a smidge. The edges of her mouth tilt up slightly, and for now, it’ll do.
I turn my attention back to the TV. “So, what are we watching? Anything good?”
She hesitates. “I, uh, was planning to watch 10 Things I Hate About You. It’s coming on next.”
“Sounds great.”
“Dax.” The way she murmurs my name has me turning to face her. “You don’t have to fake enthusiasm for a chick flick.” She offers a wry smile.
“I’m not. It’s a pretty funny movie. Seen it a few times.”
“Really?” She looks skeptical. “What’s your favorite part?”
I mull over it for a moment. “Probably a toss-up between when the dad makes Bianca wear the fake pregnancy belly and some of the banter between Kat and Patrick in the very beginning.”
She gawks at me.
“What?”
“You actually know this movie.”
I huff out a laugh. “Well, yeah. I told you I thought it was funny.”
She gives a little shake of her head. “Just when I think I’ve got you figured out…” she muses.
I pat her leg and turn back to the TV as the movie starts. “Don’t you know I’m a man of mystery?” I tease. She merely snickers, and I smile.
It dawns on me that tonight is the first Friday evening in quite a while that I’ve spent with a woman in a platonic capacity.
I have absolutely zero regrets.
12
Darcy
My cramps have subsided, and I’ve practically devoured the snacks Dax placed on the tray. We’ve somehow gotten into a discussion while we watch the movie, each confessing little things pertaining to what always seems prevalent in romantic films.
“Confession,” he starts, taking his turn. He drapes an arm along the back of my couch, his other hand still resting on my legs, which remain resting on his hard-muscled thighs. “I’ve never experienced the whole fireworks type of kiss.”
I shift my head slightly on the pillow to peer at him. “Now that you mention it, neither have I.”
We fall silent as though we’re both silently mulling. Then I add, “I’ve never had a passionate kiss in the rain either.”
After a minuscule pause, we both break into a smile. “Because it’s Florida,” we say in unison. It’s true. Most of the time, there’s a torrential downpour and not a light rain conducive to a romantic, passionate kiss.
“Confession: I always secretly wish they’d show the more realistic side of the relationship.”
His brow furrows. “Like what?”
This is one of the things I really like about Dax. He’s genuinely interested in what I have to say. It’s never just filler conversation. He actually listens and participates in the conversation.
“I mean, I get that the whole point of the movie is to provide an escape from our own reality, but sometimes, I’d like to see the characters years later, arguing over whose turn it is to take out the trash or how he didn’t rinse out the items before he put them in the recycle bin.”
A hint of a smile toys at the corners of his mouth. “So, what would yours be? If you had your way and it all fell into place, what would your ending look like?”
I twist my lips thoughtfully before I answer. “We’d be happy but not perfect. I think perfect’s overrated. I prefer the unvarnished, realistic version. The ‘Did you seriously eat my last piece of dark chocolate on a day when I’m stressed out of my gourd from my job?’ kind of realism. And he’d be willing to make it up to me in some way by either pouring me wine and massaging my back or replacing the chocolate.”
“Or arguing over who has the chore of cleaning the toilet or how they don’t squeeze the toothpaste correctly.”
“Or complaining how my hair gets everywhere because I shed so much.”
“Now, that I haven’t experienced.” His eyes sparkle with humor, crinkling at the corners, and he runs a hand over his close-cropped hair.
We fall silent, our attention drawn back to the movie.
&n
bsp; “Hey, Dax?” I murmur softly.
“Hmm?”
“I appreciate everything you did tonight.” I grimace. “You must’ve had better things to do on a Friday night.”
He shrugs and turns to look at me. “Not really. I called my sister on the drive back, and we caught up while she was on her break. She works so damn much, but she’s the best pediatric nurse there is.” The edge of his mouth tips up, his features showing his pride, and it’s plain to see his sister means the world to him.
“I can’t imagine doing what she does.”
He ducks his chin slightly, an affectionate smile dancing at his lips. “She’s pretty amazing.”
After another moment of silence, I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat but not in a begrudging way. It’s because I’m not used to this—not used to having anyone aside from Ivy to lean on or help me. “Thanks for this. For being here.” My words sound shaky and unsure, and I hate that. It’s the opposite of what I strive for. But he’s caught me at a vulnerable moment.
He settles his eyes on me, and I realize with a start that he’s wearing the same expression as when he talks about the people who matter to him—his family, his close friends—and warmth surges through me. Simultaneously, though, a sense of anxiety courses through me because experiencing this from Dax is foreign.
The hand resting on my legs gives me a quick, affectionate squeeze. “That’s what friends are for.”
Something hard is pressing against my lower stomach. We’re talking fiercely insistent. Prodding, even.
Groggy and disoriented, I take a moment to realize I’m still on my couch, sprawled on top of something much firmer than my couch cushions. Warmer, too. Good grief. Did someone turn up the heat? It feels like I’m lying against a furnace of some sort. Vaguely, I detect the scent of something manly. A clean, fresh, almost sporty smell and…