The Finish Line
A Tower City Romance Trilogy Sequel Novella
Vania Rheault
Copyright © 2020 by Vania Rheault
Published by Coffee & Kisses Press
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Vania Rheault via Canva.com
Picture purchased and used with permission from
depositphotos.com
Photo by: nd3000 | ID: 209907294
Coffee & Kisses Press owned and operated by
Vania Rheault and David Willis
Coffee & Kisses Press Logo designed by
David Willis and Drake Rheault
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright © 2020 Vania Rheault
All rights reserved.
E-book ISBN: 978-1-7344058-6-6
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7344058-7-3
Created with Vellum
Contents
Ian
Alyssa
Dane
Ian
Alyssa
Nikki
Ian
Marta
Alyssa
Brett
Ian
Dane
Nikki
Dane
Brett
Ian
Marta
Nikki
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Ian
Ian Butler held the phone to his ear.
“Yeah, thanks for the opportunity. No, it wasn’t too late. Still at the bar. Yeah, yeah. Goodnight.”
He sat in The Finish Line’s tiny office and instead of hanging up, he tapped the receiver against his lips.
Things have been going well. Maybe too well.
When things went up, they always came down.
The news didn’t have to be bad. Depended on his perspective. And the others’.
Brett and Dane weren’t always on steady ground, and this news might be welcome.
Ian pushed away from the little desk crammed full of family photos. The largest, the one that should be hanging on the wall, was of the six of them at The Finish Line’s grand opening last year. Their first dollar spent, framed by the Tower City’s Chamber of Commerce, hung behind his head.
That dollar represented a lot to Ian. Maybe more to him than Brett and Dane. Brett started the Tower City Marathon from nothing, and Dane opened his running shoe store without anyone’s help.
But The Finish Line, the bar and grill was Ian’s baby.
He upholstered booths. Waxed wood until it shined.
And he served the first drink behind the bar he would always think of as his, no matter who slung drinks at night.
After hours, The Finish Line was empty now but for the cook they’d hired to run the kitchen. Crashes and bangs sounded through the wall as Bobbi Avery set things to right for the next day.
“I’m heading out, boss,” she said, poking her head into the office.
She still looked bright after ten hours on the job, and he envied her the amount of energy she still had at three in the morning. The late nights weren’t new to him but sitting in an empty bar was a lot different than serving drinks to a packed house until closing time.
“I won’t be long after you. Drive safely.”
“You, too.”
After Bobbi left, Ian turned off the lights and locked up. He didn’t need to be in the next day until later.
The three of them ran a tight ship, their schedules a finely tuned balancing act.
No one put in more effort than the others, and no one worked longer hours than the others. Everyone worked their 33.33% and not one percentile more.
To work together peacefully no one could feel cheated and for the past eighteen months, it had worked in their favor. They had no intention to run The Finish Line any other way.
Unless they didn’t run it at all.
Ian sighed and drove home.
He’d never get tired of the sound when he thought of it. Home. To his girls. Maybe another man would crumble under the amount of estrogen under his roof, but not him. He thrived.
Marta in his bed, soft and waiting for him. Shyla sleeping in a toddler bed in their room. Likely, the little girl would be snuggled into Marta’s side and he’d have to move her, only to find the tiny scamp wedged between them come morning.
He didn’t mind.
Ian parked in the driveway of the house he’d purchased in a quiet, residential neighborhood. A dog barked down the street, and a light shined upstairs. Sadie must be feeding Hannah. The baby still liked to wake up for a snack if she was going through a growth spurt.
No, he had no complaints. He counted his blessings every day.
Marta left the light burning over the stove in the kitchen, and it kept him from tripping over a stray doll lying in the middle of the floor.
He scooped it up and dumped it into a massive toy box in the corner of the living room. Unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie, he took the stairs and peered into Sadie’s room.
She rocked Hannah in a small recliner, the baby gripping a bottle that was almost empty.
“You okay?” he whispered. “Need help?”
He kept his voice low. Hannah loved him and he joked she was his little shadow. She would wake if she knew he’d come home from work.
“I’m okay. We’ll go back to bed soon.”
“Okay. Night.”
“Night.”
Sadie had grown out her hair, and now the blonde color matched the baby’s tousled curls.
People asked if Sadie’s happy leap into motherhood surprised him. He never said he thought she would have a hard time because he didn’t want his doubts to become fact, but in the back of his mind he’d been prepare—he and Marta both. Their caution had been unwarranted, and he would always be grateful Sadie loved Hannah with everything she had. She balanced being a mother and a student with an aplomb he could only admire.
It was true she had a lot of help. Nikki babysat on occasion, and Alyssa stepped in a few times, too. Hannah idolized Drew, toddling along after him whenever they were together. Sadie swore the girl took her first steps chasing after a boy.
Uncle Ian would cross that bridge no sooner than in eighteen years, though Brett already had the two married and having a family of their own. Something Ian didn’t appreciate, but he went along with the joke it was.
Ian made his way into his dark bedroom. A small nightlight lit up the corner of the room.
Shyla slept in her toddler bed pushed against the wall under the window. She’d never taken to her own room, preferring to sleep near Marta. His parents warned them they would regret it later, but he and Marta would work it out when the time came. If it did. Shyla exhibited independence in every other facet of her life. Nighttime would follow. Maybe not soon, but he wasn’t in any rush for her to grow up.
He stripped the rest of his clothes and climbed into bed. When he’d finally convinced Marta to stay, when she’d finally moved in, he’d had some of the happiest moments of his life.
Cooking together, doing chores. Mowing while she played with Shyla in her sandbox.
He’d been born a family man and crawling into bed with her was the highlight of his day.
After a hard, honest day’s work, there wasn’t anything better than slipping between crisp sheets and pulling her to him.
Since she stopped her grueling training schedule, she’d filled out, and he loved her soft curves.
As she sighed softly in her sleep, he spooned her, slipping his hand under her pajama tank top and cupping the f
ull swell of her breast.
Her smooth skin made him instantly hard, and he turned her onto her back, taking her mouth with his.
He didn’t want to wake Hannah or Shyla, but he had no qualms about waking Marta, making love to her in the middle of the night.
“Did you have a good day?” she asked against his mouth.
“I did. We all did. I heard some news.”
“About the girls?”
“About The Finish Line.”
Marta pulled away. “Bad?”
“No.”
He hadn’t given up her breast, and he squeezed, grinning against her lips as her nipple hardened under his touch.
She moaned.
He trailed his hand over her ribs, and she whimpered in disappointment.
“Patience, my love.” He brushed his thumb against her skin. “Marta, are you happy?”
She lifted her hand to his face. He was past having a five o’clock shadow, but she loved it, and he skipped shaving just for her.
“Have I hurt you so much you still have to ask?”
She had hurt him, running from his love, from the family he wanted to give her. She’d had her reasons, but they hadn’t stopped him from waking in a cold sweat for weeks after she’d moved in, expecting his bed to be empty.
Gradually, he’d been able to sleep through the night. To not panic if he woke and she wasn’t in bed, maybe in the kitchen instead, making coffee, or in the rocking chair holding Shyla as the sun came up.
While he’d stopped worrying she would disappear, that didn’t mean he would ever take her for granted, and he checked in with her frequently, making sure she had what she needed. From him, from their relationship.
And she did the same for him.
“No. Making sure.”
“You know what would make me happy?”
“What’s that?” He nuzzled her lips with his and found the waistband of her sleep shorts. His fingers slid past the silky thatch of hair and found her wet and willing.
“Make love to me.” She gasped when he pushed a finger inside her.
“That’s the plan.”
She pulled her tank top off, and he eased her shorts from her legs. Her ankle had healed, but not as completely as they’d hoped. Even after eighteen months she still nursed it.
And though she put on one of the Midwest’s largest marathons, she never ran again.
When her pajamas were on the floor, he pulled the covers over their heads.
“You want to suffocate me?” she asked, nibbling his neck, her hands gliding over his skin.
He settled between her legs, his cock thick and heavy. The tip nudged her, and she widened her thighs.
“I don’t want to wake Shyla,” he said, pushing into her.
She muffled a moan, and he raised her hips with a hand under her ass.
For a long time he couldn’t make love to her without worrying about her thinking things. Baby things.
Not for herself, but for him.
Yeah, he wanted to be a dad. Out of bed, it had taken several rounds with her to make her believe that every time Shyla called him “Daddy” he already was. It didn’t matter where the babies came from.
It had only taken once in a heated night of lovemaking to make her understand that his violent craving for her went beyond procreation. He needed to touch her, he needed to feel her under him, her legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close.
He needed to hear, after he told her he loved her, that she loved him, too.
Heat coiled in his belly, but he backed off to find her clit. He wanted her with him. They would always be together, in every way possible.
Marta panted as he circled her sensitive skin with the tip of his finger. “Ian.”
“I love you, Marta. You gotta tell me you’ll never leave me.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
He thrust as his finger slipped between them one last time, and she went over, her muscles clutching at him as he spurted inside her.
Gasping for breath, he threw the comforter aside and sucked in the fresh air.
Marta was right. He almost suffocated them. Holy shit.
He lowered himself onto her, their bodies covered in sweat, but he didn’t pull out of her, not yet.
Whenever he did, he felt like half of him went missing.
“Ian,” her words whispered over his skin, “I’m never going to leave you.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, wiped away the perspiration at his temples.
He hugged her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. Nibbling at her mouth, he kissed her until she had to pull away to breathe.
“Marry me,” he said, meeting her eyes in the glow from the nightlight.
“I already said I would.”
“But, we’re not yet. You didn’t let me buy you a ring.”
That was a tender subject between them. She said they needed every penny for clothes for Shyla, her daycare expenses. The mortgage. The Finish Line.
He said he wanted to make her his in every way possible, and they’d compromised. He bought her a necklace she never took off.
She ran her toes along the back of one of his calves. “We’ve been busy.”
An unexplained urgency hit him like a ton of bricks. Maybe it had to do with the call. Maybe it had to do with remembering what the first few months of their relationship had been like. When he still hadn’t been sure if she’d stay.
Or maybe it had to do with how much he simply loved her and wanted his ring on her finger. Wanted her name on the adoption papers, making her Shyla’s mother, legally.
“Soon,” he mumbled into her hair. “Soon.”
“Soon,” she said, nipping at his jaw, making him hard all over again.
Alyssa
Alyssa Barnes stared at her computer screen.
A half-finished novel blinked at her, but she was too on-edge to write anymore tonight. She wanted to be Alyssa Sommers by now, but Drew came along. Nikki and Dane married in a large wedding that took months to plan, and Brett’s time had been tied up with opening The Finish Line.
The hard work paid off, and The Finish Line had turned into one of the most popular hangouts in Tower City.
But lately something had shifted, and things felt more “off” than “on” for lack of a better way to explain it. Brett had never been particularly restful, buzzing with energy that wasn’t always positive, and her becoming pregnant so soon into their relationship didn’t help.
Eighteen months later, she was sure Brett didn’t want to be with her anymore.
Drew slept in a crib she’d set up in her loft allowing her to write during nap time and into the early morning hours while she waited for Brett to come home after closing the bar.
The baby slept in the wooden crib now, his soft breaths a slow rhythm that soothed her heart.
Maybe having a baby hadn’t been right for her and Brett as a couple, but it had been right for her. She loved her little boy. Even if in the end she’d sacrificed her relationship with the man she fought so hard to love.
The door downstairs opened and shut. Keys rattled on the counter where Brett always threw them when he came home.
He plodded up the stairs, his tread heavy. It had been his turn to close the bar, the time slipping past three in the morning.
Alyssa stiffened, but he never failed to take her breath.
He wore a dress shirt, tie, and dress slacks. He looked different than when they’d met. Back then he’d worn his running clothes everywhere he went, but he didn’t run much anymore. What little free time he had he spent with her and Drew.
“Hey,” she murmured, the word close to sticking in her mouth.
She didn’t want to wake Drew, but more than that, she didn’t want to speak to Brett. She was terrified of what he would say back.
He confirmed her suspicions. Looking at her, the crib where his son lay, out the window into the pre-dawn night, he shifted from foot to foot and finally said, “This isn’t working for
me.”
She fought not to lash out.
He didn’t deserve it.
She’d been the one to convince him to have a baby. It wasn’t his fault her pregnancy had been difficult and Drew’s delivery a traumatic experience for them all. It wasn’t his fault they hadn’t had sex since Drew’s birth because it hurt her, and only now, a year later, she felt like she was slowly getting her body back.
After their baby’s birth, her doctor diagnosed her with a horrible case of postpartum depression. Part of the problem was her weight gain. Over the past year she hadn’t felt good enough to work out, and she hadn’t lost any of the baby pounds she’d gained while pregnant.
Probably the only reason Brett hadn’t walked out on her up until now was the fact Drew was an easy baby. He slept through the night, didn’t have any ear infections, nursed without latching problems, then took to a bottle at nine months without any issues.
He couldn’t have handled a fussy baby.
For the first two months after their baby’s birth, her mother had come to help. While she and Brett put aside their differences, every once in a while the animosity between them would be too much, and he’d spend more than his allotted time at The Finish Line.
Her mother hadn’t forgiven him for the rocky start of their relationship, and that made him bitter because for the past eighteen months he’d given her and Drew everything he had.
It wiped him out.
So now, when he announced their new status quo wasn’t working, it didn’t surprise her.
What did was his timing.
She’d expected it a lot sooner than this.
“I know.”
He rubbed his son’s back for a moment before sinking into the rocking recliner Alyssa moved upstairs to nurse Drew while she took writing breaks.
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