Always Only You (Bergman Brothers Book 2)

by Chloe Liese

  “Nope. Sorry.” I take a slow, calming breath. “Didn’t mean to zone out. I was daydreaming.”

  He squeezes my leg gently. “You don’t need to be sorry. I didn’t know your thoughts were elsewhere.”

  “‘Elsewhere’ makes me sound very philosophical, when really I was just picturing new variations on mutual non-penetrative pleasure, and how much I really want you to bend me over the sofa, then—”

  “Frankie.” Ren’s voice is strangled. “I’m going to be walking into practice with a…” He gestures to his groin and a pronounced erection.

  “I’m sorry.” I bang my head on the headrest and sigh. “I’m just frustrated. I hate periods.”

  “I said, I didn’t—”

  “No.” I lift a silencing hand. “Absolutely not. No way were you losing your V-card to me while I’m riding the crimson tide. Noooope.”

  “It’s not like I’ll be swapping tales with the guys over a pint. It’ll be private to you and me. I don’t care.”

  “I care.”

  Ren sighs. “Clearly. And here we are—you, a fresh level of ornery, and me, so freaking hard I’ll be lucky if I can skate straight.”

  “Aw. Dumpling. Are we having our first fight?”

  Before he can sass me back, a sports car cuts us off, exploiting the safe following distance Ren’s afforded the car in front of us.

  Ren has to hit the brakes hard. His hand instinctively spans my chest, holding me back as his eyes fly to the rearview mirror, rightfully anticipating a possible rear-end collision, which we somehow avoid.

  Adrenaline pounds through my body. I exhale in relief, and glance down at Ren’s arm, still protectively stretched across me. Tears blur my vision. I’m holding my breath. It flashes through my mind that if I’d been with my family, with my friends from college, it would have been a whole smothering to-do. Worries about whiplash. Demands for X-rays.

  Please don’t do it. Please don’t—

  Abruptly, Ren’s arm leaves my body and with a slam of his fist, he nails the horn. Jabbing a bunch of buttons until his window lowers, Ren yells at the douchebag Boxster in front of us, “Swag-bellied miscreant!”

  I bite my cheek. Bringing my hand to the base of Ren’s neck, I slip my fingers through the shaggy upturn of his thick hair, hoping to soothe him a little.

  Ren jerks a sharp glance at me. “Are you okay?”

  I nod.

  “Nothing hurts?” he presses.

  I shake my head. And wait with bated breath for what comes next.

  “Okay.” He exhales heavily, scrubbing his face. Turning, he cups my cheeks and kisses me. His hands start traveling my body, like he doesn’t believe me. “You sure nothing hurts?”

  “I’m okay, Ren.” Gently, I scrape my nails through the scruff of his beard and kiss him back. “Trust me?”

  He nods. “Okay. We’re all right.” A car horn sounds behind us. Ren’s gaze swivels to the rearview mirror with a ferocious glare. Bright morning sun beats down on him, making his hair glow fiery red. And by Jesus Skipping through the Resurrection Garden, Ren scowls.

  Everything inside me turns inferno hot. Not-smiling Søren Bergman is nothing short of magnificent.

  “You’re awfully handsome when you’re angry, sweet cheeks.”

  He narrows those cat eyes on me. “Why are you the one using infuriating pet names and smiling,” he grits out, “and I’m the one cursing at strangers while gnashing my teeth to dust?”

  Because we’re both so sexually frustrated thanks to the worst timing ever that we’re about to explode?

  “Because the world is a cruel place, and Los Angeles drivers suck.” I smile and point ahead. “Eyes on the road, love button. Traffic’s moving.”

  24

  Frankie

  Playlist: “And the Birds Sing,” Tyrone Wells

  “She’s so tiny,” I whisper. Naomi Grace Churchill was born yesterday afternoon. She’s my goddaughter and I might be mildly obsessed.

  “And you’re hogging her,” Lo gripes.

  Mia elbows her. “Chill out. Let her get her fix. Frankie obviously has baby fever.”

  My head snaps up and my eyes find Ren instinctively. He leans against the wall, arms folded across his soft gray T-shirt. Old jeans hug his long legs. Ball cap pulled low. Not a soul recognized him when we came to the hospital. Or if they did, they were nice enough to leave him be.

  The corner of his mouth lifts as his cat eyes crinkle, startlingly pale in the shadow of his cap’s brim. But he doesn’t say a word.

  Annie smiles at me. “You do look good with a baby, Frankie.”

  “That’s why you had her for me,” I tell her. Naomi holds my pinky with her fist. Her skin is flower petal soft.

  “Oh, is that what I did?” Annie says drily. “And here I thought she was for Tim and me.”

  “Nope. I’m taking her home.”

  Tim laughs. “How about you take her home at night. We’ve barely slept at all.”

  Lorena’s practically baring her teeth at me.

  “Ugh, fine,” I grumble. “Take her from me. We should get going anyway.”

  “Where are you headed?” Lo takes her carefully from me, cradling Naomi in her arms and swaying instinctively. If I have baby fever, Lo’s having a baby febrile seizure.

  “Don’t drool on her. Ren’s sister’s birthday party.”

  “Aw, that’s nice!” Annie winks at me, then directs herself to Ren. “So, Ren, you’re bringing Frankie to a family event—”

  “Annabelle,” I warn.

  Ren smiles at me, then turns and looks at Annie. “I am. She gets to meet everyone today. Thoughts and prayers appreciated. I’m one of seven, so it can be a bit much.”

  “Ah,” Lo says. “So that’s why Frankie’s been sitting here, looking like she’s about to poop herself.”

  “You know, guys…” I stand slowly from the recliner next to Annie. “I’d say I hate to leave, but I’m a shit liar, so to everyone except Naomi, who’s never said a snarky word, I say, smell ya later.”

  I give Annie a gentle hug first, then make the rounds until we’re at the door.

  “Wait!” Annie calls.

  Ren and I freeze, then turn around. “What is it?” I ask her.

  Tim smiles sheepishly. “My grandma has the kind of crush on Ren that you probably never want to know about and she’s sick with a cold, so she can’t come to the hospital to meet the baby. I thought it might make her decade if we got a picture of him holding Naomi and sent it to her.”

  I’m about to be all no-BS-Frankie and decline for Ren—because shouldn’t a guy just get to be a man sometimes, rather than a jersey?—but Ren just shrugs and comes forward.

  “I don’t mind. Sure.”

  Annie looks at me and mouths, Sorry.

  I point to Ren and shrug. If he doesn’t care, I don’t. I simply feel protective of him. He’s always smiling, always being nice, always signing things. I want him to say no when he wants to. And when he’s having a hard time, I’m happy to step in, as an expert.

  “Let me wash my hands real quick.” Ren uses soap and water at the sink, eyes on his task. I watch him, stupidly enjoying how his hair kicks out around his ball cap, his scruffy playoff beard, the purse of his lips as he concentrates.

  Staring at him, I feel all warm and fuzzy. That big L-word bangs around my head, and I practically smother it.

  Too soon. Not yet. Slow down.

  “Here.” Ren takes Naomi gently from Lorena, capably spinning her to nestle inside his forearm.

  Jesus Walking on the Water. I’ve seen Ren hold babies before, but not… “My baby,” I mutter.

  “She’s not your baby.” Lo swats my butt playfully. “She’s mine.”

  “She’s our baby,” Annie says diplomatically.

  Tim gets the camera close and catches the exact moment Naomi’s eyes blink open and then widen as she sees Ren. “All right,” Tim says. “Got it!”

  I step closer and set my head on Ren’s bicep. It�
�s like a pillow. If a pillow was solid muscle carved out of stone. Still, he smells spicy and clean, like the soap he used while showering this morning. I brushed my teeth extra long so I could watch the top half of his body not hidden by the steam, muscles bunching and flexing as he washed himself.

  “She likes him,” Mia says smugly. “And look at his face. Ren’s got baby fever, too.”

  I roll my eyes. But when I look back at him, Ren’s gaze meets mine, the smallest smile tipping his lips.

  A smile that’s not bright as sunbeams or wide as the ocean. Not the smile for fans or grandmas or passersby. A small, knowing smile.

  For me.

  “Okay.” Ren parks the van and blows air from his cheeks in a slow, steady stream. “I’m not going to lie, my family’s weird and overwhelming. I’m one of the rowdy ones, and I still find us too intense sometimes. So, if you just need somewhere quiet to slip away, I’ll show you my old room, and you can take whatever time you need. That’s the nice thing about my family, they won’t be remotely insulted if you tell them to their face that you need a break from them. Willa’s done it dozens of times—”

  I clasp his hand, curling my fingers around his. “It’s okay, Ren. I know I can tell you if it’s too much. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Ren laughs uneasily. “Yeah. Right. Okay.”

  “Hey.” Cupping his face in my hands, I give him a slow, thorough kiss. When we break apart, he sighs, dropping his forehead to mine.

  “Thanks,” he whispers. “I needed that.”

  I reach for one more kiss. “Me, too.”

  Rounding the car, he opens my door as always, then offers his arm.

  There’s a slight hill from where he parked, and he’s glaring at it. “They should have left me a space up front.”

  “Why?”

  Ren throws up a hand. “For you. So that you don’t have to walk all this way. Here, I’ll carry you—”

  “Okay, Zenzero. Time-out.”

  Ren spins, hands on his hips, and if he weren’t so preciously worked up, I’d find it a very intimidating stance.

  “You don’t scare me with that Big Red gun show, so just relax.”

  He drops his arms. “I want this to be nice for you.” He gestures to the house again. “And we’re starting it off with a quarter-mile walk to the house. You put on a tough show, Frankie, but I know walking on stuff like this hurts you. And you’re hurting right now.”

  “Eh. I have the Elder Wand, and I’ll grab your arm if I’m about to biff it. Okay?”

  He sighs. “Fine.”

  I take his arm to placate him. Immediately, he squeezes it to his side.

  Ren tugs his ball cap lower and scratches his neck. “It’ll be fine,” he says, as if to himself.

  I smile up at him. “Exactly.”

  The walk isn’t terrible, but Ren’s not wrong. My hip would have been happier without having gone that far on uneven ground. Ren doesn’t knock, doesn’t hesitate, just throws open the front door of the house and yells something in Swedish that I don’t understand.

  A chorus of the same phrase echoes back, making me startle.

  He grins down at me. “I told you we’re weird.”

  “You’re here! Finally. You’re late.” Ren’s mom strides toward me, hugging me hard.

  “Oh—” I start to say, but Ren cuts in.

  “Mom, I told you I had a practice.” He catches my eye and sighs. I was forewarned that his mother is brutally blunt. I reassured him blunt is the last thing that’s going to bother me. “Hey,” he says to his mom. “Easy on her.”

  Elin’s hands loosen. “Right. Sorry! I hug hard. But you—” She clasps my shoulders lightly, pinning me with the same wintry eyes she gave her son. “I must be gentle with you.”

  Ren massages the bridge of his nose.

  “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Bergman—”

  “Oh, just Elin. Please,” she says on a bright smile.

  I tap Ren’s stomach. “You have my purse.”

  “Ah. Right.” Sliding my bag off his other arm, he hands it to me.

  I have to set it down so I can grip the straps, pull them open, and extract the wine I brought. Straightening, I swallow a groan of discomfort in my back and hand her the bottle. “Thank you.”

  “How kind.” Elin takes it, gives me a smile, and then slinks her arm in mine. “You take my arm, now, Frankie.”

  My eyes travel to the wide-open room. The massive, rough-hewn dining table. Clean lines, the expansive kitchen, and then to the right, the comically big sectional sofa. Noise centers in the kitchen filled entirely with women, bringing me to a nervous stop.

  Elin glances over at me. “We don’t normally divide like this, but they all just finished a football game, and while the women were ready for a cocktail, the men didn’t want to stop playing. Why don’t you join us? We’re just making drinks now.”

  I smile nervously at Ren over my shoulder. Ren smiles softly back.

  “Frankie!” Willa jumps up from her stool and gives me a hug. “You just missed a massacre. We kicked their butts, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, we did,” Ziggy says, a soft smile brightening her face. She opens her arms first, so I know it’s okay for me to step into them.

  “Happy birthday, Ziggy,” I whisper. As I step back, I set a wrapped package in her hands.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “Open it.”

  Ziggy drops it on the counter, tears off the paper. She squeals. “It just came out! Mom, Frankie got me Book Six! Oh my gosh.”

  When we last talked, Ziggy told me about this fantasy romance series she was tearing through, so I got her the next in the series, which just came out last week. Jumping up and down, she lunges herself at me and hugs me hard. “Thank you so much.”

  I hug her back. “You’re welcome, Ziggy.”

  Sighing happily, she clutches it to her chest. “Oh! And did you see I’m wearing the clothes we ordered? Just changed into them from my soccer stuff.”

  I give her a once-over. Black leggings that fit down to her ankles. An emerald-green T-shirt that matches her eyes. “You look great, Ziggy.”

  She blushes bright pink. “Thanks. It’s so comfy.”

  “Good.” I squeeze her arm gently, before turning to Freya, who I’ve only met once before. She’s almost her mother’s copy. Sharp, striking features. Pale eyes, wavy white-blonde hair worn just past her chin.

  “Hi.” I offer my hand. “I’m Frankie.”

  “I remember,” she says. “Freya.” Her voice is smoky, and while I can’t read her expression, her voice seems tinged with sadness. She shakes my hand gently, not squeezing, which isn’t surprising. She’s a physical therapist, Ren said. She’d know to take it easy. “It’s nice to finally meet you, not just wave hi in the stadium.”

  “Arena,” Ziggy corrects.

  Freya waves it off. “Whatever. We’re a soccer family.” She smiles at me. “Ren’s said such great things about you for so long.”

  I catch his eye and watch him turn bright red. “Oh?”

  She cocks a blonde eyebrow. “I mean, he’s been crazy about you for—”

  Ren cuts her off with a hug, muffling her against his chest before he sets her at arm’s length. “Freya Linn. You’ve been wimping out on me.”

  She thumps his stomach with a loose fist, but it just bounces off his abs. She shakes out her hand. “Am not.”

  Ren smiles at me, hooking an arm around Freya’s neck, pulling her in and giving her a noogie. She twists his nipple, which makes him yelp and spin away.

  “Strumpet,” he calls her.

  She lunges for his nipple again, but he’s too fast. Setting his hands gently on Ziggy’s shoulders, he stands behind her. “The birthday girl is base. No more nipples.”

  This is the real Ren. The one I’m seeing a little bit more of each day I’m with him. Playful, dorky, a smidge antagonistic, still a bit bashful. My smile’s so wide my cheeks hurt, watching him among his family.
r />   “Happy birthday, Zigs.” Ren hugs her from behind and kisses the top of Ziggy’s head, slipping a card into her hand.

  She tears it open, reads it, folding what looks like a gift card tight in her grip. When she glances up at him, she’s teary eyed. She hugs him for a long moment, and he hugs her back.

  Ziggy turns to face us all and wipes her nose. “Ren got me a gift card big enough to get the cleats I wanted,” she says quietly.

  Elin smiles over at Ren and shakes her head. “The money Americans spend on shoes—”

  “They’re not shoes,” Ziggy says defensively. “They’re cleats, and they mean so much to me. Thank you, Ren.” She hugs him again. When she turns back from hugging him, she smiles at me, stacking the gift card on top of the book I got her. “I’m glad you brought Frankie,” she says.

  Ren grins at me over Ziggy’s head. “I’m glad I brought Frankie, too.”

  My cheeks heat. Ren’s looking at me how he looked at me when he stepped past me, then into the shower this morning, and it’s revving my engine in ways that aren’t acceptable for family gatherings.

  “So.” I turn toward Freya. “What’s this challenge he’s talking about?”

  “Freya and I are doing a squat challenge,” Ren answers. “But she’s failed to report her reps for the past week.” He points to Freya’s long, muscular legs sticking out of ripped-up denim shorts. “Clearly, she’s slacking.”

  Freya narrows her eyes at him from the other side of the kitchen island. “I’m not slacking.” Inverting a giant bottle of wine into a tall glass pitcher, she steals a piece of fruit from the pile that Elin’s chopping next to her. “I’ve just been a little busy with work, lifting and moving the human body all day. I could squat-press you, Ren.”

  Ren lets out a low whistle. “Challenge accepted.”

  Elin smiles to herself. “Do you have siblings, Frankie?”

  “An older sister.”

  “Ah,” Elin says, peering up at me. “You’re close, then.”

  “No, not really. I mean we love each other, but there’s an age gap and a country between us.”

  “Hm.” Elin glances down at her task. I feel like I just failed a test or something.