Broken Hero

by Olivia Hayle

  John and Lucy shake hands and say their hello’s. She is as courteous and polite as ever, but I can’t help but notice that the teasing glint in her eye isn’t there. It seems to be reserved for me.

  John carries an upside-down Nora away towards the bouncy castle, Sophia skipping along beside them, a half-eaten cookie in her hand.

  “Sorry about them,” Sarah says. “They’re great girls, but this fair is… well. It’s a lot.”

  “It’s like cocaine for kids,” I say dryly. “Are you going to take them face painting later?”

  “Yes, it’s on the list. Do you hear that? We have an actual list. Do they really have to expand the fair every year? Soon we’ll need a two-day pass.” Sarah pretends to clasp her hand over her mouth. “Whoops. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  Lucy grins. “Blasphemy.”

  “Have you sold a lot of cookies?”

  “Yes, but I’ve only been here for a bit. My aunt is coming back in a few minutes to switch, and then I’ll walk around. I haven’t really seen much of the fair yet.”

  “Well, Oliver just arrived, actually. I’m sure he can show you around.”

  “I can,” I say. My sister is the sweetest, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her speak for me with women. “Go be with your family, Sarah.”

  She dances away with a small wave, her eyes sparkling, and I have to remind myself that she means well.

  Lucy shrugs. “She's not exactly subtle, is she?”

  “My sister doesn't have a subtle bone in her body.”

  Her hand fiddles with the hem of her dress. “Did you decide that fairs were more of your thing?”

  “Yes. I felt the sudden urge to play ring toss.”

  Her smile turns teasing, and heat blooms in my lower belly. “You do seem like the type to enjoy cotton candy.”

  “Immensely.”

  “Have you walked around yet? Claremont Elementary has an art exhibition, and it’s pretty spectacular.”

  “Spectacularly unimpressive?”

  Lucy shakes her head at me. “I’m trying to get to know your town, you know.”

  “I think you’re doing a splendid job.”

  Her eyes catch something behind me. “Claire is back.”

  “Then you’re free. Let me buy you something.”

  “I’m still not letting you pay me for those cookies.” She tugs off her apron and gives her aunt a wide smile. “How did it go?”

  “I managed, though it took me a while. I entered our names into the raffle on the way back, by the way. Fingers crossed!” Claire pulls Lucy into a hug. “Thank you for handling the table for a while. I see you’ve got a customer?”

  “Yes, Oliver stopped by to say hello.”

  “And to show you around,” I interject. “If you can spare her, Mrs. Rhodes?”

  "Oh, of course I can."

  Lucy grabs her bag from under the table and slings it across her body, the strap cutting right between her cleavage. I force my eyes back to Claire.

  “Have a good evening.”

  “You too, Oliver. It’s good to see you.”

  Yes, yes, I don’t come here often—I know.

  Lucy falls into step next to me and shoots me a wide grin. “Where to? You’re the expert.”

  “Have you seen the dunking booth?”

  “Oh, that explains it!”

  “Explains what?”

  “I’ve heard loud splashes all day, but I didn’t have a clue where it was coming from—or from what!”

  “It’s a pretty big deal here. Every year someone volunteers, and it’s usually people quite high up in the town.”

  “Have you ever volunteered?”

  I shoot her a sideways glance. “Me?”

  “Yes. You’re pretty high up in this town, you know.”

  "I haven't, no. Maybe I should someday." If I ever gathered the courage. My father would never have considered it, not in a million years, but times change.

  “I’d be the first in line.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes.” She shoots me a teasing smile. “And I don’t think I’d be the only one.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I settle on something safe. “This year, it’s the principal of Claremont High. He’s worked there since… well, as long as I can remember. Half the people here used to be his pupils.”

  “Let’s go see it.”

  We weave through the crowd. People are everywhere, and I can see the looks that are thrown my way. My cap hasn’t fooled anyone.

  Music blares from a stereo and my palms grow sweaty from the bass. The beat is too heavy. A child laughs to my right, the shrillness bringing back flashes of things I’d rather forget. I flinch as a pink balloon passes by overhead.

  Shit. I have to get a grip.

  Lucy turns and looks at me. I can see her lips move, but I can’t hear her.

  I finally read her lips. “Oliver?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I said that your nieces are lovely.”

  Control filters back in. The world around me slows down a bit, becoming manageable once again. I can focus on her words. “They’re little rascals,” I say finally.

  “Cute ones.”

  “Yes. They’re miniature copies of Sarah. Well, at least Nora is.”

  “And maybe of you?” Her smile is teasing and I force my breath to slow, to focus on her eyes. “I’m not sure if I buy this respectable ranch owner act.”

  The teasing glint in her eyes helps me focus. For a moment, I forget that we’re at a fair, I forget these people and all the sounds.

  "Maybe I'm not respectable at all."

  A faint blush creeps up her cheeks, but she doesn’t break eye contact with me. Maybe she feels the same burning, heady desire that regularly courses through my body.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” I say.

  She leans in closer. “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll kiss you again, and this time everyone will see.”

  Her eyes go liquid. “Oliver, I—“

  The crowd erupts in a massive cheer behind us. It’s not followed by a splash—someone must have missed by a narrow margin.

  “We’re here,” she breathes. “This was, umm, what you wanted to show me?”

  Right now, all I want is to show her the inside of my bedroom. But I force myself to break away from her gaze and look at the familiar dunking booth.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever tried to dunk someone here?”

  “I have. I’ve succeeded, too.” In my younger days, this had been the go-to spot. People had fallen silent as the sports teams arrived—everyone knew exactly what would happen.

  Lucy grabs my hand and pulls me forward so we can see. Slender fingers curl around mine, and the contact sends heat up my arm. It feels right. I follow her through the crowd, anchored by her touch.

  She lets me go as soon as we get there. “Is that the principal?”

  “Yes. I wonder who roped him into doing this.”

  Principal Woodworth is sitting on the dunking booth. His hair is considerably greyer than it was when I was in high school, but he’s not wearing the frown I’m used to—no, he’s smiling.

  We watch as several people try to dunk, only to miss. His clothes are wet, though, so he’s clearly been in the water already.

  “Do you want to throw?”

  I look down at her, at the sparkle in her eyes. “I think you want me to.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “Maybe I want my own throw, too.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  I fish out a few coins and pay for us. It’s been ages since I’ve done anything like this—since I’ve even held a ball. I weigh it in my hands. It used to be second nature.

  Lucy throws me a smile. “Watch me.”

  “Oh, I’m watching.”

  She grips her ball tightly and bends her knees. Good form, actually. The crowd watches with bated breath as she throws and just narrowly misses.

  “D
arn.”

  “Close, though.”

  Professor Woodworth is smiling down at us. “Too close for comfort!”

  I roll the ball between my palms. The bullseye is small, but it’s doable. All I need is focus.

  People form a semi-circle around us, watching as I take my place at the marker. I ignore their gazes and focus on the ball in my hand. The bullseye and me—that’s all that matters. I take a deep breath and throw.

  I score.

  Woodworth’s chair gives out. He disappears beneath the surface with a huge splash. Around me, the crowd erupts in cheers and applause.

  Lucy bounces up to me with a smile. Her mouth moves again, but I can’t hear her. Every rational thought is drowned out by the thunder around us. The crowd is covering every possible exit route. They're everywhere.

  My vision turns hazy.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe.

  Someone grabs a hold of my hand and I’m pulled away.

  13

  Lucy

  Oliver is a statue beside me.

  “Are you alright?” I murmur, but there’s no response. His face is stone. I look around at the people surrounding us, and something clicks.

  I slip my hand into his. “Come on, let’s go.”

  He’s not responsive, so I give a sharp tug and he stumbles to life. I make a beeline through the crowd, Oliver in tow.

  “Coming through! Pardon us!”

  We make it out of the fair. I give the nice old man sitting outside a wave and pull Oliver down along Main Street. His strides are long beside mine, and we make it halfway down the street before his fingers curl around mine.

  “Shit.”

  “Are you okay?”

  He nods and releases my hand. He shoves them into his pockets and turns back towards the fair. There’s no one behind us.

  “I don't think too many people noticed,” I say softly. “Do you want to sit down, or walk for a while?”

  Wide shoulders lift once as he sighs. “Let's walk.”

  Main Street is quiet. The sun is starting to set, and vivid colors of red and orange are reflected in the shop windows. The silence is heavy between us—I can practically feel how uncomfortable he is.

  I don't ever want him to be uncomfortable with me.

  “We can talk about it,” I say. “Or we can talk about something else. Like how great your throwing arm is. You're a natural.”

  “We can talk about it.”

  “Okay,” I say, glancing over at him. “Does it happen often?”

  "No. Mostly at places like that, with a lot of noise or big crowds. It used to happen more often."

  “PTSD?

  “Yes.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  His sigh is frustrated. “Don't be. I don't want… I'm lucky. I'm not complaining.”

  “I didn't think you were. Oliver, I—”

  He runs a hand over his face. “I didn't want you to see me like that.”

  The words cut me. That this beautiful, stoic, caring man should be afraid to show his emotions. And that the person he was afraid of showing them to was me, of all people.

  “No.” I grab his hand again, and this time, his fingers grasp mine back in a firm hold. “I'm not someone you need to hide from.”

  “Yeah.”

  I smile at him. “It's not a personal failing to have PTSD, you know.”

  Oliver is quiet for a few moments. “You noticed my reaction very quickly.”

  “Well, only because I watch you so much.”

  He turns to me, warmth on his usually neutral features. “You do?”

  “Yeah.” I look away, embarrassed at my own stupid confession. “Forget I said that.”

  “I can't,” he says. “I watch you all the time.”

  “Really?”

  “God, Lucy, if you only knew. Hiring you made good sense, business wise. It would satisfy my curiosity… I don't know. Instead, it's turned me into this." He runs a hand through his hair, the one not holding mine. "I look for you every day, waiting for the moment when you ride your death trap up to the ranch. I know it's wrong. You said last night that you wanted us to have a professional relationship. But what I want with you, Lucy, is decidedly unprofessional."

  My mouth goes dry at the confession, and I can’t look away from the intense blue of his eyes. I can feel my nipples tighten against the shiny fabric of my bra.

  “Tell me. What do you want with me?”

  His gaze goes dark with desire. “I want to make you mine. I want to hear you moan my name as I make you come again, and again, and again.”

  Oh my god.

  Heat blooms in my stomach and between my legs. I'm not sure if it's because of what he just experienced, but he's a more dominant version of himself tonight. It’s too much, the need in his eyes, and still… I want to get closer.

  Rational Lucy is long gone.

  “Would you take me hard?”

  Oliver gives a single nod. “Yes. I'd make sure you were good and wet before I did, though. And then I'd make you forget other men even exist.”

  Holy shit. My skin feels electrified, my breathing too quick.

  “Come.”

  I pull him along Main Street. There’s only one destination in mind, one place we need to go. I’ve already made my decision.

  Maybe it was never really a decision at all—inevitable, from the very first day we met, when he walked into the bakery and I saw those unflinching eyes for the first time. I don't know, but I do know that I've never wanted anything in life more than I want him.

  “The bakery?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes fill with heat. I want what he told me about, the claiming… being taken hard. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before, this desire to be entirely owned.

  By the Rhode is dark, just like all the other shops. I have to drop his hand to take out my keys, and Oliver stops only inches behind me. I can feel the strength of his chest against my shoulders.

  A rough hand traces my neck lightly as I struggle to unlock the door. It finally swings open and I turn to face him. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his breath.

  “Come inside."

  “Are you sure?”

  "Yes." I've never been surer of anything in my life as I lead him through the bakery. I’m not usually this confident, take-what-she-wants kind of woman. I’m won’t-have-sex-until-the-third-date Lucy.

  I’m let’s-have-the-lights-off-Lucy.

  But maybe, just maybe, I want to be someone else with Oliver.

  “Mmm,” he murmurs. “This place smells as good at night as it does in the morning.”

  “It does?”

  I stop on the first step up to my studio. We’re nearly the same height like this. His eyes are dark with desire, watching me silently.

  I close the distance between us and touch my lips to his. He kisses me back softly, almost reverently, before his tongue snakes out and traces my lower lip. His hands grip my waist and hunger races through my body.

  “I'm not having professional thoughts, either,” I tell him. “I haven’t for a good long while.”

  His smile is carnal. “I can think of a way to fix that.”

  Desire and excitement make it hard to breathe, to think. I pull him up the stairs and into my small studio.

  When I’m there alone, the small space is cozy. With the both of us, it's cramped. I've gotten so used to his size that it isn't until now that I realize just how tall and strong Oliver is. My place feels far too small to contain him.

  His takes in the open suitcase shoved in the corner. The tossed pile of books on a chair. The queen-sized mattress that my aunt managed to fit into the room.

  “It's a bit messy,” I say, but it clearly doesn’t matter. His gaze has already returned to me, and I can tell that my lack of tidying is the last thing on his mind.

  He sits down onto the two-seater sofa and raises a single eyebrow.

  “Come here.”

  I take slow, deliber
ate steps towards him. His arms are open and I sink down across his lap, straddling him. Strong hands grasp my thighs.

  “That's better.” He leans forward and our mouths touch again.

  This time it’s slow—it's methodical. It's him taking his time, making sure I'm ready for whatever comes next. I can feel the promise in every swipe of his tongue and strong press of his lips. You're mine, Oliver is saying. I'll have you tonight.

  Yes, I reply with my touch. Please.

  Want and need burns through my stomach, heat pooling below. His body is like a rock beneath me. He’s big up close, too—the shoulders hard and wide under my touch. I run my hand down his arm and it’s like granite.

  Oliver tugs my head back, giving his lips access to my throat and my collarbones. A gentle hand tugs down the straps to my dress. It falls to my waist and he groans low against my bare skin. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe he’s here, in my apartment. I can’t believe that he’s kissing his way towards the edge of my bra, my hand buried in his silky hair.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs. He tugs down the cup of my bra and pops my nipple into his mouth, and then I’m not thinking at all anymore. Rough hands roam across my body, tugging at my dress until it’s bunched around my waist. I can feel the wetness below, and he hasn't even touched me yet.

  I tug at the hem of his shirt. We break apart long enough for him to pull it off before his lips return to mine. Oliver's chest is hard and tanned from hours spent working outdoors. I skim the outline of a faint scar, and goosebumps trail my fingertips.

  His body is a map of masculinity. I've never drawn in my life, but I want to sketch him. Immortalize this moment somehow.

  He pulls me closer. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  His hands trail down my back and cups my ass. I’m pulled closer, my nipples rubbing against his chest as he kisses me deeply. I can feel his hardness beneath me, even through his jeans.

  I roll my hips. The zipper of his jeans is perfectly placed, giving me the friction I need, and there’s no stopping now. I’m too far gone.

  He pushes the hem of my dress up to watch as my panties bunch and rub against his jeans.

  “Fucking hell, Lucy,” he growls.

  It’s all he says, but I can feel how much he wants me. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. I want what he told me about before, out there on the sidewalk. I want to drive him off the cliff of his carefully maintained control.