by Eva Luxe
Soon, we would be watching more games than only Jacob’s. Kyle and I had started searching for a football club in Miami, and we’d found out there were a couple of amateur clubs around. Kyle had only just started playing for them, but soon he would join the games they played each other. The Miami Magic City Bulls were happy to have him, and even though it was only a minor league, Kyle was happier now that he was playing again.
I had known he would be. Part of the problem had been that he had cut himself off from everything to do with football. But that was in the past now. It was as big of a part of our life as ever, and it was perfect. Jacob and Kina supported Kyle’s new hobby, making an effort to watch the games whenever they could.
The roads were quiet on a Saturday, and I was home in no time at all. The new place Kyle and I had gotten together was much closer to the training center. It had made sense to be closer. The squad trained there most of the time now, and Kyle often came to watch Jacob or me, or both of us.
Shortly after we had kissed and made up, Kyle had announced he wanted a bigger place.
“Because I need more space for all the people in my life,” he’d said. Immediately after, he had officially asked me to move in with him.
Sara now had her condo all to herself, and I knew she was happy. She could entertain her friends and boyfriends without having to consult with me, and now when we saw each other, we had more than enough gossip to catch up on to keep us talking for hours.
The place Kyle and I had together was a three-bedroom place. We had a guest room and an office that could later be transformed into something else— Kyle’s words, not mine. It was great that he was thinking ahead, that he saw me in his future, because I felt the same about him.
I glanced down at Sara’s diamond ring on my finger. I still wore it, even though the police had apprehended Tyler that night. I don’t know how he came up with his “sinister” plans with Kyle and me. Whatever it was, I was relieved he seemed to be in the past. Since I had run into Kyle, despite the hiccup we’d had shortly after, everything had been perfect. Life had been great.
When I arrived home, the place was quiet. Kyle and Jacob had headed out to the game earlier. Kyle had said Jacob wanted to talk sports to him, and it wasn’t something I cared to hear. I was serious about football, but those two could go on forever.
I showered and dried my hair, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers before heading out to the game. It was at Hard Rock, and I walked to the box Jacob often used. When I let myself in, Jacob and Kyle stood at the window, looking out over the field. Kina approached me from the side.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said. “I’m losing my mind. They’re getting technical about the sport.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. “How do you survive?” I joked.
Kina looped her arm through mine and dragged me to the seats.
“So, they weren’t only talking about football,” Kina said. “You might want to ask Kyle about that.”
I nodded. I would.
The game started, so we turned our attention the second-stringers. A few of the other Sharks joined us. Hanson and Brian joined Kyle and Jacob where they stood, and Lacey and Stacey, their wives, joined us.
I had met them through Kina a few weeks ago, and every time I saw them, we got along well. I understood now why Jacob was so happy, why Kina had started referring to the women as football wives. They had created a solid group of friends, friends that would be there for each other no matter what. And the football players had drawn Kyle and me in, too. They didn’t care that Kyle wasn’t a part of the team.
***
The second-stringers won, and everyone cheered and drank to the future of the Florida Sharks.
Kyle walked over and kissed me.
“I have news,” he said. “I was watching the second-stringers warm up, and Jacob pointed out that I have a good eye for talent.”
“I can imagine you do,” I said. “If anyone knows the game and what is needed, it’s you.”
He smiled. “Thanks, babe. But Jacob mentioned getting me involved in the scouting process for the team. He doesn’t know exactly who to talk to yet, but he wants to find out.”
“That sounds great, my love!” I said and hugged him.
He grinned. “It’s not written in stone yet, but it would be awesome if I could get involved that way.”
I nodded. It would be perfect for Kyle. He had talent, and football was his life. It would be perfect if he could get a job that was a fundamental part of the sport.
“It’s all going to work out; I know it,” I said.
Kyle nodded. The men and the women formed a large group, and we stood, drinking and talking, laughing and joking. I looked at the people we called our friends and realized how lucky I was to be a part of this, to belong.
“How is training going?” Hanson asked me. “Your team is looking good.”
I smiled, nodding. “Training is going well. I feel like we’ve stepped it up a level. We’re working on new routines for the next game as well, something fresh.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” Hanson said.
The others agreed. The Sharks Cheerleading Squad changed up their routine every now and then to keep things interesting. I had suggested the latest change to the team, and Samantha had backed me. It had been great to be able to contribute.
The conversation moved to other things, and we spent the afternoon together despite the team on the field having left ages ago. We were having our own fun. After a while, Kyle took my hand and kissed it.
“I would like to say something,” he said, and everyone fell quiet. “It’s been such a pleasure for me to be a part of this group of friends. You’ve all been so kind to me, and I appreciate it.”
We all lifted our glasses to Kyle.
“When everything went wrong for me, I felt like it was the end of the line, but everyone here has done something to remind me that it’s never over, that there are always second chances. I found that to be true in my life, my career,” he looked at me, “and my relationships. When you’re nearly thirty, you don’t think you could still grow up, but I found out I wasn’t even close to being an adult until I worked through the difficult times. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”
Kyle looked at Jacob and Kina, and they both nodded at him, smiling.
“And my beautiful girlfriend, Maya. You’ve been with me through thick and thin, having faith in me when I lost it in myself. I am so lucky that I got another chance with you, that we can do this again. You’ve always been my one and only love, the person I wanted to spend my life with. I was such an idiot when we went our separate ways.”
“Luckily, that’s all behind us,” I laughed.
“Yes, and to make sure that it stays in the past, I want to prove to you how much you mean to me.”
I frowned. Kyle dropped to one knee, and I clasped my hands over my mouth. The other women gasped.
“Maya, you’ve been my strength and my rock from the start. I was an idiot to lose you once, and I won’t do it again. You’re an amazing woman, independent and strong, disciplined and supportive.” He took my left hand. “Even if I spent a million years searching, I would never find another woman like you. Will you be my wife and spend forever with me?”
My eyes had welled up with tears, and they spilled over my cheeks now. I had cried many tears over this man, but these were tears of pure happiness.
“Yes,” I answered. “I would love to be your wife.”
Kyle smiled and took off the fake engagement ring I had been wearing. He produced a small black leather box and opened it. The women next to me gasped again. It was a rose gold ring with diamonds set in an intricate pattern. Kyle removed the ring from the box and slid it onto my finger.
“It looks so much better than the other one,” he said.
“And it’s real,” I said and smiled. He stood up and pulled me against him, kissing me. Our friends applauded, and when Kyle broke the kiss, I noticed smiles on e
ach and every face. Kyle and I wore the biggest smiles of all.
Our friends quickly gathered around, eager to congratulate us. I got hugs and kisses on the cheek from everyone. Kina was the last to come to me. She had tears in her eyes when she hugged me.
“Welcome to the family, sister,” she said after the hug. “And thank you.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For saving him,” she said. “I don’t know where we would have been if it weren’t for you. You brought him back to us. You made our family whole again, and now you’re a part of it.”
She hugged me again, and I held onto her tightly. I had always seen Kina as a sister, but now, finally, we really would be. I couldn’t be happier.
The future for us looked bright. I was sure Kyle would be able to find a job that involved football. He would be a scout and could still play for the love of the game. Plus, we’d have each other, always, for real.
Everything was perfect.
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Prologue – Brandon
After hearing the all too familiar noises of a night terror— screaming and thrashing around—I rush into my bedroom— where I’ve put up the mysterious stranger for the night— and onto the bed, where she is indeed flailing and flapping all her arms and legs, trying to fight off some enemy from the dream she’s having. I get behind her and remember my training about how to stop a night terror.
“Shhhh,” I tell her, calming her down, wrapping my arms around her from behind her, but only to keep her from fighting me off. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m holding onto you and I won’t let go.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman in my bed. And I never thought it would be because I was comforting one who was in the middle of a night terror. That’s the only reason I’ve got my arms around her— to keep her safe, and from hurting herself or me. At least, that’s what I tell myself, trying to ignore the way her curvy ass feels up against my pelvis, and her perky breasts feel underneath my arm.
Ever since I found her on the edge of the cliff, I’ve been trying to figure out what this beautiful, mysterious woman’s deal is— what she was doing out there in the woods all by herself, why she is so frightened and panicked.
She won’t tell me that, or anything, though. She won’t even tell me her name.
“Everything is okay,” I repeat to her now, as she finally stops flailing, and lays her head—in fact, her entire body— up against my chest. I can’t help the physical reaction I feel: my fucking dick gets hard.
I know this isn’t the time or place to be so attracted to her, but I can’t fight biology. Like I said, she’s gorgeous: with stunning green eyes, dark blonde hair, and an hourglass figure. And the way she’s leaning up against me is nearly seductive, even though I tell myself it’s just how her body collapses on me after trying so hard to fight me off— to fight off whatever dreams haunt her.
“We don’t have to talk about your dream, or about why you were on the edge of the mountain,” I tell her, to further help reassure her.
But then, she turns to look at me with the first emotion I’ve seen cross her face other than fear or distrust. And if I dare say so, it looks an awful lot like an invitation.
“Good,” she says. “Because I don’t want to talk about any of that. All I want to tell you is that my name is Juliet, and I want you to keep holding me, and to fuck me. Fuck me hard and fast; fuck my pain away.”
I had wracked my brain thinking of anything I could do to help her. I had no idea that this would be her request. But, my cock gets even harder, letting me know that I have to oblige her. It’s nearly my duty at this point. I have to fuck her pain away, like she has asked me to do. And I have to do it quickly, before she changes her mind and turns back into a silent, mysterious near ghost once again.
Chapter 1 – Brandon
Tijeras, New Mexico (The East Mountains). February.
Never in my life did I think I would ever agree with those Eastern monks. You know, the ones who say that if you’re looking for a spiritual practice — your place in the world — it can happen when you’re chopping wood and carrying water?
Doing the simple things can be very meaningful. The small things. The important, needful things.
Like what I’m doing right here, right now. Chopping firewood right outside my cabin. It serves an important purpose. The warmth and comfort are the tangible results of its final product – a fire – but the act of chopping the wood to make it also serves as my time to think. My time to reflect on who I am, what I’ve done, and what I’d like to do and be in the future.
You see, I wasn’t always a mountain man, like most people would probably see me as now. If I ever wandered into the heart of Albuquerque from my little mountain sanctuary, they’d think me one of those wild types. Secluded, real down-to-earth and all that, but I used to be the exact opposite.
When I served in the Navy, served my country as a SEAL, I was all over the place. I was where all the action was, whether it was already popped off, or ready to go. I was there, giving my all. Sacrificing not just my time — but also potentially my body and my life — so that other people could remain free. So that other men and women didn’t have to be consumed in fire and flame.
I was also quite the player. But now I don’t need to be an action hero, or a bad boy. I’d be happy just being a hometown hero type. Or just a contented guy who lives in seclusion. Nice and quiet. Laid-back, but meaningful.
Just like the construction job I’m going to start in a week, I think, bringing down the axe another small piece of wood, splitting it fairly evenly. As evenly as I can manage, mostly using my stronger arm. The arm that hasn’t had the muscles fried in it from running up on the bad side of an explosive.
Not hard labor, but supervising. Guiding. Making sure the guys (or gals) give it their best with each job. Under these thoughts, I’ve cleared the pieces of wood I’ve split. Moved them into my “cut” pile. I take another good-sized log and line it up under the blade. I steady it the best I can with my non-chopping arm, before taking aim.
“And to make sure they don’t fuck it up,” I mutter, bringing the ax up and down on this new piece of wood. Unlike the last one, it doesn’t go clean through. The blade gets stuck halfway down, forcing me to wheedle it through. I jam it, with a little help from my number, less-functional hand and arm.
Not the most fun thing to do — too much jiggling and jarring on this side, and I feel like I have a small firestorm in my veins — but it’s gotta be done. This may be New Mexico, and therefore, a little warmer than most places in early February, but it still gets cold at night. Which is falling fast.
Out here for no more than an hour and a half or two, the light has already dimmed from late afternoon into dusk. The evening has arrived. Which means I only have probably another half hour of chopping time before I have to lug all this wood in.
I stand up from the stump I’ve been using as my chopping block, and take a breather. Not necessarily because I’m tired, but because I’ve just remembered I might need to chop some extra wood, for a little modification I need to make on my log cabin.
Part of the railing on the stairs up to the house is getting a little rickety. And I’ve just forgotten which part I thought was leaning too much. So, I’m looking at it now, trying to remember which part I lean into a lot every time I go up and down. It’s definitely on the side of the railing that is on my stronger side.
Figures. Here I use all my inheritance — the money Mom and Dad left me when they
passed away — on Grandpa’s old log cabin, and it’s the railing that still needs attention! I chuckle, remembering how Granddad used to bitch about that. How he used to say the railings were ricketier and more unsteady than he was. And he was over 100.
Granddad was always fixing it. Dad told him he should just rip it out. Replace the whole damn porch and stairs, but Granddad wasn’t having it. And I understand why. All of us kids — great grandkids, grandkids and so on — we’ve all had our names up there. Carved into bits and pieces of the railing. Especially as boys, so of course Granddad wanted to keep that. And so did I. That’s why I tried to keep it, even with all the renovating I did.
But if I don’t fix it, I’m gonna end up biting it one of these days. And I can’t risk that happening — anything unexpected happening — right before I’m due to start my new job.
I sigh, looking at my woodpile for a suitable piece. Something I can split into a small, manageable part that can be sanded down and made into a railing. Or at least a piece of connective tissue.
I’ve just spotted the lucky winner from my firewood pile — a small, raggedy-looking piece of log — and lined it up a little off center, for just the perfect cut — when I see something even more urgent than the repairs needed on the railing.
Just through the trees, I’ve spotted a young woman sitting out there on the other side of my little screen of pine. Dressed as she is — in pale white or gray pants and a matching T-shirt — she looks like a ghost. At least she does to me.
Her dark blonde, messy hair is windblown. Part of it seems to be an edgy style; the other part of it, my gut tells me, is the result of desperation. The frayed end of a rope.
My stomach dips, then knots. Though I can’t see the woman’s face, her posture tells me everything I need to know— she could be suicidal, not really “here.” It’s in the way her shoulders droop. Her back bends with the manner in which she hunches over the cliff there. The opening in the mountain range, almost waiting for the rock and wilderness to swallow her whole.