by A. J. Pryor
With a broken heart and sinking feeling in my gut, I agree.
“Hannah, how did you get home?”
I startle at his voice, leaving my conversation with Senator Cage in the past. “My car keys were in my pocket. I drove.”
I don’t warrant the sympathy swimming in Derek’s eyes. I don’t deserve to be in his presence. I want to crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep. This man deserves more than my flimsy lies and my attempt at protection. He deserves the truth.
“Come on. Let me run you a bath.”
I follow Derek to my bathroom and sit on the closed toilet watching the water stream out of the faucet. He steals glances at me, smiling, occasionally touching me.
“Bubbles?”
I shake my head.
He helps me undress, winces when he sees my teeth chattering, my hands red and chapped. “You’re freezing, Hannah.” He kisses each palm, cocoons his hands around my own. I am cold, but my chattering teeth, my shaking body, aren’t from the elements but a reaction to my own deceit, the events of today too much for one soul to bear.
Lifting me, he eases me into the tub. The warm water feels good, and I begin to let go. My emotions still shaky, the tears fall quickly.
“Hannah,” he says in sympathy. “How can I help? I feel lost.”
“Can you get in the bath with me?” I ask between sobs.
He eyes my tiny tub with doubt but still undresses. Water flows over the edges as he slides his muscular body behind mine. He grabs a washcloth and runs it along my skin, kissing my neck, sliding his nose along my hairline. I lean back into his chest and allow him to hold me, to care for me, to love me. Once I tell him the truth, he may never want to be near me again.
“I love you,” he says into my ear. “I want to make you forget what happened today, but I’m afraid to touch you. I love you, and I don’t know how to help you.” He loves me. Derek Cage loves me.
I turn, causing more water to splash onto the floor. I straddle his legs and hold his face in my hands. The tears are still falling, but they are a mixture of sadness and joy. “You can help by never changing who you are. I love you, and I trust you.”
He wraps an arm around my back and brings our chests together, our faces inches apart. “I love you,” I say again.
He kisses me, and for a little while, today’s events fade. I forget about Madeline Cage, and I forget the promise I made to Senator Cage.
For a little while anyway.
“Is this thing broken?” Hannah is toying with my digital clock: picking it up, tapping the top, shaking it from side to side.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Because it says it’s forty degrees outside and just yesterday it was seventy-five.”
Poor Hannah. I don’t think she’s going to survive the next few months. I slip out of bed and take her into my arms. “Welcome to the Midwest, Angel, where we get two seasons: winter and road construction.”
“That makes no sense.”
I kiss the top of her head. “You’ll see.” Forgetting about the clock, she burrows into my body.
“Last night was fun,” she whispers.
“Yeah? You liked christening the kitchen?”
“And the shower.” I dip my head low and steal a soft kiss. Memories of the previous night make me want her again. I seem to always want her.
She moans gently, a sound I crave, a sound that inspires me to sweep my fingers along her waist and curl a palm on the soft curve of her bare hip. The arch of her back pushes her body into me, my hand slipping down the round hump of her ass. She gasps as I squeeze. I glance at the clock. What’s a few minutes behind schedule? Walking her backward, I lay her on the bed, today’s upcoming game fading away.
“I love you,” she states. Her body glistening with sweat, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sated.
I lie beside her, bring her into my embrace. “More than you know,” I reply.
After the state I found her in on Monday, I insisted she stay with me. My building is secure, and this . . . this right here, there’s nothing like it. Coming home to her every night is like a fantasy. She never hesitated, just packed a bag, and moved right in. I may not ever let her leave.
I never realized what I was missing in shunning any form of emotional connection with women. I’ve learned things about her I never would have known. She makes these little mewing sounds when she sleeps. And she sings in the shower. I don’t think she knows she’s doing it, but it happens every time. She likes her toast lightly browned. If it burns, she tosses it and cooks a new piece. Don’t get me started on crumbs. She hates them. My counters are spotless because of this. Each day I learn something new about her, and every second I become more attached.
“You’re going to be late, Cage.”
She’s right. Warm-ups start in an hour.
“You’re coming?” I suck her nipple between my lips, swirl my tongue around the hardened peak.
“It’s forty-five degrees,” she says, breathless.
“My seats are inside a warm and toasty box.” I push onto my elbows, hover above her. “I don’t want to think of you up here writing all day. It’s an important game against the Jets, and I want you there.” While the past few days have been incredible, I’m still worried about her. She hasn’t left the condo much, writes all day and most nights. I want to sneak a peek at what has her glued to her computer. It has to be about me. But I get the sinking feeling there’s something more. Something she’s not telling me, and that scares the shit out of me.
“How important?” She bats her eyes, leans forward, and kisses me.
“It’s the Jets, Hannah. Doesn’t get more important.”
She runs a hand up my chest and toys with the hard nub of my nipple. “If it were twenty degrees and I had to sit on a block of ice, I’d be there.”
I gently relax my arms, cover her body with mine, and kiss her once more before I leave.
“Go, Cage. I want to see your tight ass in that uniform.”
The crowd at Soldier Field is unsettled. I run onto the turf and look up at where I know Hannah’s seated. I can’t see her, but I feel her presence and can sense her eyes on me. Knowing she’s up there, watching me, routing for me, and I feel as though I can conquer anything.
The game’s about to start. I had my panic attack before I ran out here, and now I’m ready to rock ‘n’ roll. Kickoff is like all the rest, but today I feel a sense of pride that my woman is out here cheering me on. Today I feel different.
I’ve been driving the ball down the field, and the score has fluctuated throughout much of the first half. Things are getting tense. I can feel the pressure on both sides of the field. We’re on the Jets’ ten yard line, a touchdown in sight. Dumont snaps me the ball and I look for an open receiver. The Jets’ defense blitzes their linebackers, pushing to pressure me, to get me to the ground. I’ve put all my trust in my offensive line and Coxy and his group has delivered all game. But on this play, the number of men rushing outnumbers the men blocking. You can’t block six men with five. A Jets player breaks free and is running straight at me. I have no choice but to tuck the ball and run. Coxy sees me take off and clears a path. My receivers become blockers. I feel someone close on my tail, and I haul ass, the end zone within my reach.
With the football tucked under my arm, I sprint into the end zone. Touchdown!
The crowd explodes, and I fall to my knees, the ball raised above my head, adrenaline shooting through my veins. My teammates surround me.
That play starts a spiral effect. Our offense becomes unstoppable, and our defense a powerhouse of animals. The Jets never stood a chance. When it’s all over, my arm is sore, my adrenaline shot, and I want nothing more than to climb beneath the sheets with Hannah, to end this day as awesome as it started.
I move quickly through the press questions, saving any detailed answers for Hannah. I head to the debriefing room. Coach is showing us game footage when Coxy plops in the chair next to me.
“Your pop’
s here.”
“What?” I whisper.
“Your old man. He’s here.”
“Where?” I scan the room. Surprised they’d let him in the debriefing room.
“Not in here, dumbass. At the stadium. I think he’s waiting for you.”
Disappointed, I go back to watching the video.
Irritated, Coxy levels with me. “He was watching you. Talked to a few reporters, but he had his eye on you. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks.” There’s not much else to say. I’m glad Coxy’s looking out for me, but I could have gone all night without mention of my father.
“That man’s a scary dude. What’s with him?”
Shaking my head, I face forward, wishing he’d drop the subject. My dad isn’t here now, probably long gone, and he’s the last person I want to think about.
“QB, I don’t have a family to go home to, nobody’s visiting my games. My parents are too hopped up on dope to give a shit about me. But I’d take my situation over yours. Whatever it is you owe that man, give it to him, and cut the ties. He’s looking for blood.”
Coxy thinks my dad is dangerous. He probably knows more about danger than I ever have. He’s looking for blood. Is he?
My elation is gone, the feeling of victory squashed. It’s time to end this thing with my father. Time to be a man and face my demons.
“Cage, ten minutes, in my office.”
The team leaves, all but Coxy, who hangs around outside when I go into Coach Matthews’s office.
“That was your game. The owners have been leaving me messages all night. They want to offer you a four-year contract.”
I’d retire in Chicago. It’s my home, where my mom died, where Lily died . . . where sadness follows me. I could turn that depressing past around and make a new life. Would Hannah be okay spending the next four years here? She’s freezing half the time, but she seems happy. She was happy tonight.
“I’m sure my agent will be in touch.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will.”
I turn to leave, my fingers lingering on the door handle.
“Derek.” I don’t like the severe tone of his voice. “You’re a pro at keeping the world out of your personal life. It’s what I’ve always respected about you. Be careful.”
It’s the same old message. I’ve been living in a bubble, afraid of my next move, and it ends today. Hannah Black stumbled into my life two months ago, and whether it’s fate, coincidence, or I’m the fucking luckiest man alive, this is not the time to be careful.
“Coach, back off.”
Worried, he stands and walks up to me. “You’re my player, my responsibility. If you act in a way that could adversely affect this team, I’m sure as hell going to tell you. I don’t know Hannah Black—never heard of her—but if she’s looking for her next paycheck, her next story, make sure she doesn’t find it here.”
Furious, I storm out of his office and come face to face with Coxy.
“Thought I’d head out with you.” He has one foot propped on the wall, his arms folded across his chest.
“What, like my bodyguard?” I ask, almost laughing.
He shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t have a family. This team is it. Mr. Cage got beef with you, he’s got it with me, too.”
George Cox is good people. I need more of them in my life. Holding out my hand, I pull him in for a man hug. “Coxy, you’re a crazy, badass motherfucker. And while I appreciate the support, you do not want to get on my dad’s radar. Go home, find a woman, and enjoy your night. I’ve got this.”
“You call me if you need me. I know people who can hide a body.”
“He’s Tom Cage, Coxy. You do not want that blood on your hands.”
Slapping him on the shoulder, I take off, hoping something more important came up to derail Tom Cage from his mission.
Unfortunately, I’m not that lucky.
“Dad, I’m in a rush.”
He doesn’t move. “Great game.”
“Thanks.” Sidestepping him, I open my door, avoiding all eye contact.
“I met Hannah.”
My blood turns to ice.
“When?”
“A few nights ago. She came to my office.”
Every muscle in my body tenses as I realize the real reason for Hannah’s wrecked state on Monday night. Did Hannah lie to me? Was she actually mugged? She’d been a mess. Emotionally fragile. Hurt. “What did you tell her?”
“She’s bad news, Derek. Up to no good.”
Sick of the same old shit, I wait for my dad to say more.
“Although, she is beautiful, like your mom was. I can see why you’re drawn to her.”
“What did you say to her?” I ask again, losing my patience.
“I told her the truth, son.”
I get in his face. “What truth . . . Dad?”
“She was fidgety, asking about Lily, wanting to know if there could be any truth to the rumors. She doesn’t trust you.”
Clenching my jaw, I’m on the verge of cracking a few teeth. The urge to strangle him is overwhelming. I want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him.
Hannah doesn’t trust me?
I call bullshit.
“If you go near her again, you’ll regret it. Leave her alone.”
Leaning against my car, hands in his suit pockets, my dad appears exhausted. Like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and maybe it is. Maybe having to please the public on a daily basis weighs on a person. Not my problem, though.
“She came to me, son. Hannah is going to write that you’re a murderer. She’s playing you.”
I don’t acknowledge his comment. It’s pointless, words made up to make himself stronger.
I walk around him, open my door. “Excuse me, Dad. I need to get going.”
“Do you know her father is fighting a malpractice suit? It’s not a coincidence that she’s attaching herself to you, Derek.”
“I know it all, Dad.”
“You’re going to look like a fool. A fool in jail when they finally hear the truth.”
Jumping in my truck, I slam the door, turn the key, and rev the engine for effect. I need to get away from here. Away from him and all his bullshit.
I drive around for an hour before I convince myself it’s okay to go home. What did he do to her? She’d been trembling, her face streaked with tears. What the fuck did he do to her?
Entering my condo, I slip my shoes off by the front door, then drop my keys on the table near the entry. It’s dark, silent. The moonlight streaks in from the balcony doors. It splashes across the hard lines of my furniture, illuminating the dark colors that define this as a bachelor pad.
Standing in the doorway to my room, I watch Hannah sleep. She’s changed me, brought a peace to my life I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t come home after seeing my dad, needing time to think, time to breathe. I will do whatever it takes to protect her, to shield her from the rest of the world.
I want to wake her, touch her, love her. I want to stand here all night and watch her peacefully dream, but I mostly want to feel her soft, warm skin slide against mine.
Stripping out of my clothes, I slip into bed beside her, gather her into my arms, and hold her. I whisper in her ear, telling her everything. All the love, my fears, my dreams and silently asking, why the fuck did she keep her meeting with my dad a secret?
“Morning, Cage.” Her sleepy voice is sexy, her messy hair adorable.
“Hannah.” My curt greeting has her sitting up, her body tense.
“You didn’t wake me last night.”
“It was late.” Unable to resist, I lean over and gently bite her lip. “But I had fun watching you sleep.”
“That’s creepy, Cage.”
Laughing, I fall back into the pillows. I need to ask her about my dad, but she begins tracing the tattooed symbols on my torso, making me shiver.
“What does it mean?”
The words run together, a string of hope
and peace that twines around my body, a ribbon of life.
“It’s a mantra of peace and happiness. A reminder that my lineage doesn’t define me as a man, but my actions do. It’s a challenge to myself to never give up and to fear nothing.”
“Do you add to it?” she asks.
“If I fail at something, if I need a reminder that I’m alive, that my last name does not define me. I add the truth.”
“Do you read it?”
“Every day.”
“Is there nothing you’re afraid of?”
I roll over and secure her beneath me. “You met with my dad.”
Her movements still, her eyes worried and sad.
“You met with him alone. When I heard, when he told me, I was afraid. Afraid of losing you, afraid of what he’d said, of how he treated you. Afraid you’d believe him.”
She doesn’t answer.
“Hannah, what did he say?”
“That he loves you.”
I push up onto one elbow. “He told me you approached him, that you wanted to know if I was guilty of murder.”
Her eyes widen as she shakes her head. “No. No. That’s not what happened. That’s not true.” I can hear the panic weaving through her words. “He snuck into my car. I was . . . he snuck into my car and scared the shit out of me.” I curl my fists into the sheets, gripping them tightly, trying to control my temper.
“Fuck. Hannah, did he hurt you? Did he threaten you? Tell me what happened.”
Hannah sits up, pushing me to the side. “Nothing happened. He scared the shit out of me, but then he just wanted to talk. Maybe get to know me. I don’t know, Derek, but I didn’t approach him. I know I’m writing this story, but I wouldn’t blindside you like that. I wouldn’t do that.” She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. “I wouldn’t hurt you like that, Derek.”
I resist the urge to hold her back, to give her comfort. My skin feels too tight, my muscles tense. Someone is lying, and I put my money on Tom Cage, but something’s wrong with Hannah’s story. She’s not telling me everything.
“Were you mugged the other night?”
The stiffness of her body is the only answer I need. I pull out of her embrace. “Why did you lie to me?”