Under the Bleachers: A Novel

by K. K. Allen

  “No one gets past this tight end!”

  It’s all fun and games until Balko slides his hand up Monica’s thigh, and I don’t think he’ll stop until he reaches her ass. And because it’s Balko, he turns to me and winks. Oh, hell no. I drop the ball and stalk after them. “Hands off, Balko. You know the rules.”

  “What rules? There are no rules,” he calls back, picking up his pace.

  “Let me down, Balko,” Monica says. “You’re going to piss off the gorilla.”

  He sets her down and they laugh together as I close the distance.

  “You’re a real slimy bastard, aren’t you Balko?” I spit.

  He slaps a hand into my chest and starts jogging backward. “I think she liked my hands on her, dude. Maybe it’s love.” If that isn’t bad enough, he looks at her and winks. “Nice ass, sweetheart.”

  My blood boils, and I start to go after him. I’m going to give him his damn reaction, and he’s going to be sorry for it.

  “You two are going the wrong way!” Monica calls as she takes off toward her cabin. She turns and jogs backwards, grinning, and then points to the other side of camp. “The cock-fighting arena is that way.” She laughs at her own joke.

  “Not funny, Cakes,” I warn.

  “Aw, c’mon, Zach. You two could dress them up and everything.” There’s an annoyingly huge smile on her face. “And then I can vote for who wore it better.” With an overly cheerful wave, she retreats to her cabin. Behind me, Balko howls with laughter.

  I won’t tell anyone this, especially not Zach, but I’m freaking out.

  Zach drops me off at my cabin after dinner, and after a lingering kiss that’s far too tentative for my liking, he’s shooed from my porch by a security guard carrying a flashlight. Rules are rules.

  Rules are also meant to be broken.

  As Zach leaves, I slip him my key. His eyes widen and he smiles before jogging off into the dark. I immediately lock my doors, take a shower, and climb to the top bunk.

  I stretch out under the small window that frames the moon, and after five minutes of rereading the same line of the climax of the latest Kristin Hannah book, I closed the case to my Kindle and sink beneath the covers.

  There’s an overpowering weight on my heart and mind when I think of the past twenty-four hours. The intense grind session at my apartment that was one phone call away from something more. The raging inferno in my chest when Zach ran out the door—away from me—to get to his coach’s daughter’s recital. Which of course led to the drunken meltdown at Gavin’s house after. And then our conversation on the bus ride here … and my promise to him. One week.

  What happened last night is the exact reason I avoid relationships. If my father—the man who was supposed to raise me, protect me, love me—could trade in his family for an entirely new one without a backwards glance, how am I supposed to believe that someone I choose to love won’t hurt me the same way? Or worse.

  Zach has the power to obliterate my heart.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a light tap on my door and the sound of a key meeting the lock. I jump halfway out of my skin. I knew he was coming, of course, but this middle-of-the-woods-alone thing reminds me of the horror movies my sister and I would secretly watch late at night when we were kids.

  I throw off the covers and jump from the top bunk to the floor to greet Zach just as he slips in, a mischievous smile on his face. “I haven’t had to sneak around like that since I was a teenager,” he says.

  He leans against the door, breathing heavy. “I ran the long way around the woods so no one would see me. Wonder what they’d do if they caught me. Kick me out?” This is as cocky as I’ve ever seen him.

  “You’re not above the law, you know. What kind of example are you setting for the kids?” I raise my eyebrows, testing him.

  He tilts his head. “I don’t see any kids around here, Cakes.” His roaming eyes move to my legs, pausing at my boy shorts, and then continue up my bare torso, coming to a stop at my half camisole top. Let’s be honest; we both know he’s not just here to make sure I sleep safely. I didn’t wear this for myself.

  My heart does crazy somersaults as he slowly approaches.

  I back into the ladder, knowing I’ll need the support. “I’m glad you showed up. This whole camping thing is not something I signed up to do alone.” I push out a breath of air with my smile, but it catches in my throat.

  He’s standing in front of me now, his fingers lightly drifting up my sides. His mouth moving to his favorite place between my shoulder and my neck. “I’m with you now, Cakes.” He kisses that spot that makes me shiver. It’s the lightest touch, but it reverberates through my entire body.

  Breathe, Monica.

  He knows what he’s doing to me, and I know he’s smiling by the way his mouth is parted on my neck as it travels up to my ear. He nips at my lobe and breathes out, sending a rush of chills over my body. When he moves his lips over my mouth, I think I might come undone. “Do you want me to kiss you?” he teases.

  God, yes. I swallow, bringing a nod with it.

  He just smiles, his fingers gently brushing the tips of my breasts over the cloth of my camisole. He looks down at where he’s just touched and groans, then bites his bottom lip. His eyes drag up to mine, effectively trapping me. “You like it when I touch you, Cakes?”

  My head falls back to the base of the top bunk with a thud in response.

  He chuckles. “I think you do.”

  My breathing joins the chaotic symphony in my body when his hands fall to my waist and he dips one finger under the elastic. He doesn’t go far he just runs a finger along the edge between my skin and my shorts. Teasing. And then his eyes flick up to catch my half-closed eyes watching him. Waiting for the torture to end.

  “Tell me what you want me to do, Cakes.” His husky tone barrels over me until I’m filled with sensations too strong to ignore. The moment his lips brush the silky cloth covering my hardened nipples, I’ve already forgotten his request.

  “Hmm?” His question rumbles low in his throat.

  I inhale sharply as a finger dips lower into the waistband of my shorts, slowly gliding down until my insides are clenching with anticipation. Just as quickly, his finger moves from my shorts dragging a feather light touch up my stomach and beneath my camisole.

  He reaches the curve below my breast, and that’s when my lids fly open to find him studying me, amused but with a hint of vulnerability that tells me this is more than some selfish need he’s trying to fulfill. He’s always been patient. Gentle. And now is no exception.

  “Cakes. I need you to tell me what you want.”

  This answer. I think he’s asking for more than I can give him, but I give him the truth. “I want you.” I swallow. “All of you.”

  Zach leans forward and kisses me lightly. I have the urge to shove my fingers in his disheveled hair and pull him to my mouth until neither of us can breathe. To make him forget whatever he needs to hear, because I know he’s hesitating.

  “Is that fair,” he asks, “when you won’t give me all of you?”

  His question threatens to extinguish the fire we’ve started. I wasn’t expecting that. I look away, but he quickly uses his fingers to turn my head back to him.

  “You promised me this week. No walls, remember?” He breathes me in deeply and leans into my neck as he exhales through his mouth, blanketing me with warmth and soothing the rise of panic that started its journey through my stomach. “Help me understand why I’m not enough.”

  Emotion grips my throat and stings the back of my eyes. “Is this about Balko?” I grasp his waist. “Zach, you are more than enough. And I want everything you want. Everything.”

  The way I answer—with desperation and regret—makes it clear there’s more to it than I’m saying. He knows it, which is why he continues examining me, waiting for more. When I don’t give it to him, he sighs and pulls away.

  The hope in his eyes transfor
ms to frustration, hurt, and anger all over again. And once again, it’s my fault. He’s worth more than what I’m keeping from him.

  So I make a decision. I turn and take the ladder up to my bunk, stopping at the top and looking back. “There’s something I want to tell you.” There’s another moment of hesitation before he follows.

  Maybe I should have evaluated this sleeping arrangement a little better before we got on this single bed together. Zach’s a monster of a guy. He’s too tall to straighten out, so he pulls his knees in, unintentionally pushing me against the wall. I laugh and turn my body so my back is to him, giving us both room.

  He adjusts the blankets so I’m completely covered but leaves his arms out, wrapping them around my body and pulling us closer. I’m thankful to be facing a tiny window where the moon is clearly visible above the trees. It calms me as I struggle with my thoughts, wondering what I could possibly say to help Zach understand what has me so conflicted. This isn’t just about me getting hurt. It’s about him … and protecting him from things he can’t even imagine.

  “I’ve seen first-hand how football rips families apart,” I start. “How you can be completely in love with someone one minute, promise them the world, and then fall out of love another minute.” I take in a shaky breath before continuing.

  “One injury on the field changed so many lives. Not just mine, Zach. Maggie’s, my mom’s, my dad’s… One day we were the happiest family with dreams so big, no one could touch them … and then the next day we were broken.”

  I tell him everything about the night Maggie and I drove to my father’s house to see him again, only to find that he’d replaced us. He’s quiet the entire time, tightening his hold at the parts I struggle to say out loud.

  “It still makes no sense to me, you know? How he could just walk away from a life he worked so hard to build. A life he truly loved at one point. We’re always encouraged to follow our dreams. But dreams can make you selfish. He loved his dreams so much he wanted us all to be a part of it. And we were all consumed with it.

  “When you fulfill your dreams, it’s like a drug. It shoots you up and you’re flying high, completely oblivious to the real world at your feet—until you come down off that high. My dad didn’t just come down, Zach. He crashed, and he burned, and he dragged us all along for the ride until there was nothing left. That accident was the end of my father’s dream, but it was the choices he made that led to the destruction.” I turn to face him, hammering my point home. “What happens after you’ve lived your dream? What are you going to do then? When the high is gone and you’re the one standing on the sidelines?”

  I don’t wait for him to answer.

  “Dreams change,” I continue. “People change. And I’ll never ride on the coattails of anyone else’s dreams again.”

  The first tear falls, but it’s not mine. Somehow I’m still holding it together. Zach, on the other hand is gripping me tighter than he was before, and then he’s peppering sweet kisses along my neck, my back, and my shoulder. After a few seconds, I turn to face him and wipe the lone tear from his face. That’s when my throat tightens and my own tears threaten to come.

  I’m colliding into another reason why it’s hard not to fall for this man. He’s vulnerable in the most beautiful way. I haven’t even given him all the details of my story and he’s already impacted by it. Which is why he can’t know everything. The truth would break his heart.

  He moves his forehead so it’s touching mine and takes a deep breath. “What if I told you that you’re my dream? More than football, more than the kitchen. I don’t know how, Cakes, but in the months I’ve gotten to know you, you’ve managed to unlock something in me.

  “People have always asked me to describe my perfect woman. Each time I would give them a different answer because I didn’t know. I never thought I had a type. But things changed when I finally saw you. The next time someone asks me that question, I’ll know exactly how to answer. Because it’s you.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything, Cakes. Just give me this week. Give me the chance to prove that I’m someone you can trust … and maybe even love.”

  I stare back into his eyes under a faint blue glow cast on his handsome face.

  Just one week.

  He sighs when I say nothing, then leans in toward my lips. “All I want right now is to kiss you,” he whispers.

  “I hope you do more than kiss me.”

  His answer is in his smile.

  Our lips dance together as we help each other out of our clothes. Zach rolls on a condom, and then tests me with his fingers. I’m ready for him. His eyes fall closed for a second as he realizes the same thing. We’ve had enough foreplay in the past eight months to last a lifetime. All I want to feel is our naked flesh pressed together.

  Heat swirls through the room with the friction between our bodies, connecting through our hardest and softest places. But mostly, he’s just kissing me, promising me this will be more than sex. More than the intense hunger we’ve always had for each other’s bodies.

  We’re like this for a while, dragging out every pleasurable moment. And then he fills me, rocking into me slowly with confidence and strength that could command an army.

  How can I deny this man who makes me feel so incredibly whole and wanted and loved? It’s a sweet, tender, and symphonic love that I hope never leaves us. It’s his heart and mine. Melding together with each thrust. I meet each one with acceptance, asking for more as my fingers press down on his skin, ensuring we’re as close as physically possible.

  With my legs squeezing around his waist, his strength reaches the deepest parts of me. Injecting my soul with our intense and undeniable connection.

  He alternates between kissing me and watching me, his breaths growing heavier with exertion. By the erratic pounding of his chest against mine and his half-closed eyes, it’s obvious that he’s ready and waiting for me.

  Always waiting for me.

  I run my nails down his back and grip his muscular ass, pulling him deeper as I feel the first sign of my release. My mouth finds his, but our lips only brush against each other, too focused on other things.

  Zach practically sighs with relief when my muscles clench around him and I let out a muffled cry. We let go together.

  As much as I tried to fight it, I know I lost this battle long ago. So I concede.

  At least for this week, I’m his.

  I love her. That’s why for a full afternoon of greeting the young athletes and their chaperones as they stepped off the bus, I can’t get her off my mind. The feel of her hips grinding into me. The taste of her watery lips as I pressed her into the shower wall this morning. Her gasps of warning each time she was close to letting go.

  But more than anything, I remember the way her flawless skin looked in the moonlight. I’ve always thought of Monica’s beauty as something special. The kind that doesn’t need moonlight to make her glow. If anything, it’s the moon that benefits from her radiance.

  I was already falling before today, before yesterday. But when Monica started talking about dreams and her fear of them—it only made me confirm what I already suspected.

  Screw her father for walking away from the best thing he’s ever created. Who would break a little girl like that? Her father broke her heart, and she’ll be incapable of giving it to anyone else until she can let him go.

  “Coach Zach, you didn’t call my name.”

  I place my hand on the little guy’s shoulder and lean down, my clipboard in my other hand. “Sorry about that, buddy. What’s your name?”

  “Desmond White.”

  I grin. “Well, Desmond, I happen to have a best friend with that same name. Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand, causing his face to light up.

  “Let me see.” I check the clipboard until I find his name and then walk him over to Sydney, Seattle’s running back. “Sydney, I thin
k you’ve got an all-star here. You’re gonna want to keep your eye on this one.”

  I spend the next hour making rounds as the coaches introduce themselves to their teams and go through some basic training exercises. I can tell the kids are ready to make the most of this week. So am I.

  Sometimes I forget there are cameras following us around this event. Like now, when I turn and almost run smack into one. Monica laughs from behind Buddy, and the sound lifts me above the clouds. I give her a wink, wishing I could do more than that. Every time I see her, I want to pull her into the nearest hiding spot and kiss those lips. Or better yet, kiss her smack on the lips in front of everyone.

  Unfortunately, I’ve had to settle for less obvious displays of affection, like when I find a reason to brush by her just so that I can slide my hand along her back, or when I lean in to tell her something and graze my lips against her cheek.

  Lunch comes and goes. Monica disappears under the bleachers for a few hours while she conducts an interview with some of the kids who are willing to get in front of the camera. And then after dinner, I invite the coaches onto the stage for the opening ceremony. We roll the intro video showcasing a snippet from each of the guys and their definition of leadership. It’s successfully motivating and has everyone cheering by then end. Then each coach gets a chance to introduce themselves in person.

  When it’s my turn, I step forward to the microphone. “This week is very special to me,” I begin, “so thank you all for coming. I know you’re all eager to hang with the pros, get some tips, and go back home to completely dominate your competition—am I right?”

  The cheer is thunderous, and it makes me laugh.

  “Good!” I shout back. “Let’s take a second to talk about that right there. Never lose that. That fight. That dream.” My eyes dart to Monica, hoping she doesn’t read too much into my words, even though they are somewhat directed at her. “Not everyone is afforded an opportunity like this one,” I continue. “Not everyone is afforded the opportunity to realize their dreams the way that you have. Imagine this for one second.” I look around the room at the boys’ expectant faces. Waiting. “Imagine loving football so much, but you’re told no. No, you can’t play because you can’t afford the uniforms … you live in the wrong neighborhood … you’re not good enough.