by Cd Brennan
“That’s good thinking.”
She gave him a half smile before she looked down at the ground again. “Thanks.”
Dave pivoted around so he stood next to her and then held out the crook of his arm. “Shall we?”
She let out a small laugh, only a whisper of what Dave would have liked to hear from her, but it would do.
She took his arm. “Might as well.”
He smiled and opened the door for her. “It’ll all work out.”
Chapter 13
The Blues were down by two tries, and Coach wasn’t happy. It was a hot day in May, and they’d already run out of water and ice ten minutes ago. Shaun was on the run for some more, but all the boys were thirsty, and being dehydrated, were playing in poor form. Dave checked the clock. Just over a minute to go.
Bryce threw in for the lineout, and Dave hefted up Austin to retrieve the ball. Thank God, they won the throw-in, and Austin immediately passed it down to Josh who then passed it onto Jake. There were days like today when Jake was a machine. He plowed through the defense line and dragged a player who had him around the waist another couple of meters before more Grand Rapids Gazelles took him down.
Dave ran up to the ruck for support before Mitch grabbed the ball between Dave’s legs and passed it off to the blindside. It only went as far as Kevin before he was tackled and the play came back Dave’s way. The next thing he knew he had the ball in hand, and where he would normally hand it off, there was no one clear. He wasn’t much of a runner, but he plowed ahead. All he needed was a few good strides before he could use his girth to propel him forward.
He had a lucky break after he stepped out of a tackle from one of the Gazelle’s backs, a skinny fellow that didn’t have enough strength to hold Dave.
And as he drew closer to the try line, he could vaguely hear a lot of shouting. He looked around to see if he could pass the ball off— most likely that was what everyone was yelling for him to do—but he was so close. It was selfish to go for the try if you couldn’t make it. It was selfish. It was selfish. But Dave pumped his arms. He’d always assisted where he was needed, never had gone for a try of his own. But today. Well today was the day. It was Dave’s turn.
Just as he was only steps away, the Gazelle’s center came out of nowhere and took Dave down. But not before he reached out his arm and got the ball just over the line.
Another load of men fell heavily on top of him, but Dave didn’t care. And he didn’t let go of the ball. Not until every one of the lads had peeled off the pile and he could revel in his one and only try. After ten years of rugby.
When he finally got up, the boys had gathered around him, swatting him on the butt, slapping him on the back. Dave cuddled the ball close. This one was going home with him. Del was one of the last to congratulate him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and walking him toward the uprights as Kevin set up for the conversion try.
“No sex last night, eh bro?”
Dave glanced at him briefly and chuckled. “Nope, not last night.”
“Good man.” Del gave him one last thump and then lined up with the rest to watch Kevin convert the try. The Sir blew the whistle, and that was the game. The Grand Rapids Gazelles had won. Even though Dave’s try couldn’t save the Blues, he was happy for the personal game he played. He was in his best form ever.
And there, standing off to the side of the other spectators, was the reason. His Sierra. She was tan from helping him outside on the farm and in the greenhouses. She wore cut-off jean shorts, the pockets showing out the bottoms, a red tank top, and flip-flops. She’d died her hair a chocolate brown at Dave’s suggestion and had grown it out longer.
He kept his eye on her as he drank down a bottled water. She was smiling. He stripped off his number one jersey and threw it in the pile to be washed. He strutted over to her and grabbed her up in a big hug. He didn’t care who saw anymore, not even Dick. Her brother still gave them dirty looks, but they both ignored him now. And the more they ignored him, the less he did it, just like a kid.
After he gave her a sound kiss on the lips, he asked, “So are you all packed?”
She kissed him back and then said, “Yep, all done. You ready for some heavy lifting after that game?”
“I have the stamina of a bull.” Dave flexed his arm, and she laughed.
“You don’t want to go to the social or anything first?”
“What? No way. I’m ready to move you in.” He hoisted her, and she naturally wrapped her legs around his waist. She fit him perfectly. “I’d much rather lug around heavy boxes and have pizza and a beer with you then hang out with those guys.”
“Those guys” had started to hoot and holler at Dave and Sierra, making lewd sexual gestures, but she only flipped them off. That was his girl. Still feisty when it mattered.
“It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Dave said.
“I just saw you last weekend.”
“Yeah, that’s forever.”
She smiled and kissed him, just a quick peck that wasn’t near enough for him. “You can put me down now.”
“I could, but I’m not gonna.”
“You’re such a good man, Dave.”
“Yeah, I know. You can stop saying that all the time.”
She gave him a face. “I still don’t feel worthy.”
He set her on her feet at her car door. “You are more than worthy. It is I, your faithful servant, who is not worthy.”
She laughed. “Stop that. You know what I mean.”
He did, but he hated that she doubted herself still. He changed the subject. “So how did your first week at work go?”
“Good. I pretty much told you everything on the phone.”
“Well, tell me again. Does Hertz think you are their best internet security advisor ever?”
She ducked her head, scraping her top teeth over her bottom lip. “Not in so many words, but I think they’re happy with what I’ve done for them.”
“Of course, they are! You are keeping criminals like yourself out of their websites.”
She gasped and then punched him lightly in the arm.
“Ow!” He rubbed the spot, but it didn’t hurt. She started cooing, brushing his arm gently where she had planted her fist. He smiled and hugged her up, so happy she was moving in with him to his new place. So happy Sierra was his. One day he’d ask her to marry him, but not today. It was going to be perfect. He already had an idea for the flowers for the special occasion, but he would tweak it for a while yet.
“So how did Dick do yesterday?” she asked.
“Just fine, like I said he would.” Well, not really. He’d nearly gotten in a fight with the receptionist at the law office over where he was supposed to place the arrangement, but Dave had smoothed things over when they’d called. Some free flowers for them and a kick in the ass for Dick.
Dave had given Dick a job at his shop delivering flowers. Krissy hated him already, and he couldn’t imagine that Dick was the best man to put forward to represent Marsden Flowers, but he was determined to get Dick independent and away from Sierra. So two days a week when he wasn’t at college, if he went at all, Dave had him running flowers around to clients. Dick had a ways to go in the customer service department, but Dave was a patient man.
“I really appreciate you giving him a chance. It means a lot to me.”
Dave opened her door for her. He was more than ready to get her stuff moved from her apartment to his finished farmhouse outside of town. “Well, you mean a lot to me.”
When she placed a hand on his cheek, he held it there. “You’ve done so much for us…”
He kissed her palm. “Well, you’ve done a lot for me, too.”
She scoffed. “Like what?”
“You’ve made me happy.”
She placed her other hand on his other cheek. “I love you.”
He smiled. “I was wondering when you’d get around to that.”
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If you haven’t had a chance, check out IN TOUCH, Book 1 of Play On, a full-length sports romance that introduces all the characters of the Traverse City Blues Rugby Club. There is plenty of hot rugby and even hotter rugby men.
IN TOUCH
Sexy. Passionate. Fierce.
Irish rugby star, Padraig O’Neale, has fecked up his life and is one angry man. When caught using a banned substance for his back pain, Padraig is excused from both his provincial club and the Irish International team. Right before World Cup selection. Out of choices, his agent convinces Padraig to play for a small American club in Michigan. Just until things settle down. But when Coach asks the team physical therapist, Gillian Sommersby, to help the newest Blues player with his issues, Padraig finds himself trying every wacky treatment out there from stinky salves to music to yoga. Like her therapies, the therapist herself is a bit…odd. The cute college grad in Converse and glasses doesn’t seem all that impressed with Padraig’s celebrity status, nor gives a shite about his excuses. As it turns out, she might be exactly what he needs…
In Touch Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
The wind pressed against the small window, and the pane of glass moaned in return.
Gillian pulled a spare pillow over her head and squeezed. Just as she was almost asleep, another groan sounded through the room like a foghorn. A strong westerly.
Gah! She was so tired. She’d loved storms when she was younger—the thunder and lightning…the wind—all mixing to create a passionate display over Traverse Bay. And before, the ionization of the air, the excitement as the energy shifted, growing intense and bold.
Now, storms at night were just another something that kept her awake. And then the incessant worrying would start, and she couldn’t turn it off. If she still dozed between wake and sleep, sometimes she’d be able to talk herself down, dream herself back into slumber with any sweet thought she could grasp onto. But once fully conscious, that was it.
The worrying began and the anxiety latched onto her like Velcro. God, it sucked. Caught between the living and the dead. Not enough energy to be active, but too aware to stop the jumble of images and scenarios that would bombard her head until daylight.
At this point, it was useless to try to sleep. All it would produce was a grumpy-as-hell Gillian the next day. With a growl, she threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. Bending automatically for the incline of the ceiling, she felt her way in the dark to the door.
Might as well start with the upstairs bathroom.
The door creaked. Nothing to do about that. The house was old with two of the bedrooms upstairs in an attic conversion. Each room had slanted outer walls and what she and her brother had always referred to as hobbit doors. Not full size and not fully centered, the doors didn’t close on their wonky, warped hinges. When she and Andrew were teenagers, her brother had resorted to duct tape to try to retain some privacy.
Gillian grabbed the plastic grocery bag used as a liner in the trash bin in the bathroom. Only a few Q-tips and used Kleenex. It would suffice. She began her systematic search of the cupboards and the overhead medicine cabinet. Nothing. But she didn’t expect much. Her parents rarely came upstairs anymore.
Her mom still kept a night-light in the upstairs hall even though Gillian was now twenty-four. The soft glow had come in handy since she’d been staying at her parents’. She didn’t have to turn on the overheads during her midnight trawling.
Maneuvering the stairs, Gillian made it down to the lounge with only two squeaks. Pretty damn good for a rotting, old house. She traversed the hall and shut the downstairs bathroom door quietly before she fumbled for the switch.
Even behind the loaded drawers full of old make-up, tiny bottles of hotel shampoos and conditioners, headbands, and jars of anti-aging cream, she found nothing. Nor in the bottom cupboard that held the spare toilet paper and hand towels. Her parents were getting smarter, but she had all night. She’d find their stash. But she needed a flashlight.
She went to the utility closet first and snagged the large, yellow Eveready. A bit big, but it would do. As she turned away, she stopped, her hand still on the doorknob. She’d never checked in here. Hmmm…
How much shit could her dad cram into one small closet? Everything from baseball gloves with a ball still bedded inside to cans of WD40 and bottles of half-empty cleaning spray. She shifted the cans to the side, but when she reached around to the back, the largest fell onto the wooden shelf with a clunk. Shit again. She paused, listening for her parents. But nothing. She tossed the can onto a pile of rags on the shelf below and continued her search. Aiming the flashlight at the back, she was rewarded with white caps and brown bottles. Nice.
She pulled out two at a time. A bottle of expired amoxicillin tablets. What the hell? Into the bag. Her mother’s Xanax. Only five milligram tablets, but that went into the bag, as well. Some generic pink stomach medicine, cough drops, a box of anti-gas tablets, extra-strength ibuprofen. Gone. She left the Tylenol. The Chinese had been using acetaminophen for over three thousand years. The safest of all pharmaceuticals on the market.
Gillian clicked off the flashlight and placed it on the shelf. She tiptoed past her parents’ room to the kitchen and snagged a yogurt drink out of the fridge.
Not bad for a night’s work. After gulping it down, she placed the empty container into the plastic bag and tied the top. The door to the garage creaked, so she quickly stepped through and closed the door behind, leaving it slightly ajar. Flicking on the lights, she squinted at the harsh glare of the overhead halogens. She grabbed the keys from where they hung by the switch and worked her way around her mom’s old Mercury to the covered car along the far wall.
She stopped mid-step. Pain and sadness lodged in her throat. It was the same reaction every time she looked at the old car shrouded in its own misery underneath a ratty cover. The beautiful beast couldn’t sit here forever.
She pulled away the tan canvas over the trunk. The body was a dark green. Painting the car was the first thing Andrew had done. He had told her if she looked good, she’d feel good. He’d spoken of the classic car like a man in love with a woman. Gillian ran her hand along the surface, leaving a finger-stripe trail through the dust. It was a pity they hadn’t finished bringing her back to life.
It was time. She damn well would get the ol’ girl running.
Gillian popped the trunk with the key and stashed the plastic bag inside. There were a half dozen other bags already there, mostly plastic, but one night she had resorted to an old pillowcase.
After replacing the tarp, she eyed the result. If someone looked close enough, they could easily identify fingerprints in the dust on the lip of the cover. Gillian blew out raspberries. Not much for covering her tracks, but she doubted her parents looked too closely. Of course, they could have changed their ways. She batted the air, negating the possibility they would find out, and made her way across the garage that smelled of oil and stale rubber. She flicked off the light before she opened the door to the house.
As she turned, her father grunted out, “Gillian.”
She screamed, flattening herself against the door, and then covered her mouth fast, as if she could hold back the shriek that was already out.
Her dad switched on the light over the sink. He wore his holey pajama bottoms, the once red-checkered pattern now faded to pink, and an old Niagara Falls T-shirt from a long-ago family vacation. He ruffled his already disheveled bed hair. “Well, I was hoping not to wake your mother.”
“If that was the case, you shouldn’t have been lurking around in the dark.”
He motioned toward the door with the glass in his hand. “Well, I didn’t know my daughter was lurking out in the garage. I woke up and was thirsty.”
Gillian was slowly inching her way through the kitchen, her small steps fueled by guilt.
“What were you doing out there?”
“Not much.”
He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “You weren’t out there hiding anything, were you?”
“Like what?”
“Like all the medicine you’ve been taking from your mom and me.”
Damn.
“What? You think we are too old to notice?”
“Yeah, ancient, Dad. Ready for the old folk’s home.”
“We’re not going anywhere just yet.”
“You don’t need that crap, anyway.”
Her dad turned around to the sink and placed his glass on the counter. “Yeah, we do.”
“No, you don’t.” Gillian motioned to a basket in the middle of the counter. “You have all the teas and herbs I’ve left for you. Even some of my new salve rubs for your arthritis. And neither of you have touched any of it.”
Her dad let out a long sigh. “Gill, as much as we believe in you and appreciate the thought, we still want to do it our way.” Before Gillian could interrupt, he continued. “We’ll use your stuff, too, but you know your mom needs her Xanax to fly. It’s not like she uses it every day. And no matter how much of your tea I drink, it still doesn’t help the aches after I get home from work. Like you said, I’m ancient. And your poor Dad can’t move around like he used to.”
“That’s the thing. You have to use the teas all the time, and the rub, too. It’s preventative, not reactive care.”
He dumped the remaining water into the sink and placed the glass on the counter. “Gill, we’ve heard this all before.”
She could tell he was starting to boil, but she kept pushing. “Then why don’t you try?”