End of what?
* * *
Noah
It’s 1 a.m. by the time I get home from the club. I climb the steps to find Maren sitting on the porch swing.
“Mare––what are you doing up?” I say, startled to find her awake and sitting outside.
The light over the front door casts a glow on her profile. It’s her expression that gets my attention, though, sounding a shitload of alarm bells. Crouching, I take her face in my hands and force her to look me in the eye.
She blinks rapidly and pulls my hands away, giving my wrists a gentle squeeze before she drops them. She’s starting to seriously fucking worry me. Whatever it is, we can deal with it…as long as she doesn’t leave me, I can deal with anything.
“I found the safety deposit box key,” she announces in a flat voice. I get up and sit next to her. Fishing a small key out of the pocket of her sweatshirt, she hands it to me. “It was in an envelope Walters gave me today.”
“Did you check the safety deposit box?”
“Yeah…there was fifty grand in cash, which I deposited straight into the club’s business account…and a letter.”
She picks the letter up off the bench and hands it to me. I unfold it and read.
Well, cupcake, this one’s going to hurt. I won’t deny it’s the coward’s way out, explaining everything in a letter. But this will have to do because if you’re reading it then I’m dead. As the years passed I promised myself I was going to tell you. I just never got the courage.
I honestly thought I was doing what was best for you when I asked Noah in no uncertain terms to let you go. How he chose to carry out my orders is on him, but the rest was on me.
You have to know that I love you and didn’t mean to hurt you. Had I known how much pain I was causing the both of you I wouldn’t have meddled. Even an old man like me gets it wrong sometimes.
Know that I only wanted you to succeed. I knew you were capable of accomplishing so much in your career and I didn’t want you to throw it away. I hope and pray you find it in your heart to forgive me one day.
Noah never stopped loving you, but you probably don’t need me to tell you that. Keep living your life to the fullest and loving without the breaks on, Cupcake.
Rowdy.
“If he wasn’t dead already, I’d kill him,” she says in a low grouchy tone.
I fucking told Rowdy not to tell her, I begged him. I knew nothing good would come of it. Stubborn, old goat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What for? It would’ve only hurt you, and like he said, what happened was on me.”
“Noah…” She rakes her hair back in quick hard motions, slaps her palm down on her thigh. “This must’ve been a lot to carry around. You could’ve told me.”
The truth comes out quietly and without thought. “I love you so much I would carry the weight of the damn world on my shoulder’s if it spared you a second of pain. I don’t know how to be any other way with you…please don’t ask me to change.”
Her big eyes watch me the way they’ve always watched me––expecting only the best. She curls her hand around my neck and pulls me closer, our lips a breath apart. “I’ll take you the way you are.”
And then she seals her promise with a kiss.
* * *
Maren
I wake up in a terrible mood. With a need to burn it off, I kiss Noah on the forehead, sneak out of bed, and slip out the front door. That alone fuels my morning run. My heart pumps loudly and not because I’m dragging. The more my quads ache and my hamstrings burn, the faster I run. Or better yet, try to outrun the feeling that we’re living on borrowed time.
An hour later my iPhone rings as I step out of the shower. Katya’s name flashes onscreen and I answer.
“Have you seen Daily Mail?”
Nuts. That’s never the start of a good conversation. “No,” I answer warily. “It’s not on my to-do list today.”
Or ever.
She exhales loudly as she tends to do when she’s irritated with me. “I’m not in mood for attitude.”
“Okay. Fine. Daily Mail––what’s the problem?”
“Tennis darling caught by fiancé, celebrity trainer Oliver Wakefield, having an affair with local man who killed his parents,” she reads out loud, her Russian accent making it sound more nefarious than it is.
My stomach sinks.
“Katya, this is…none of this is true.”
“Does it matter? Endorsement deals are riding on image. Clean image––of nice girl, good girl. Next door girl.”
“Girl next door,” I correct.
“Does it matter?”
It’s my turn to breathe out in frustration. “No.”
“I speak to yogurt company and pasta company today. All is okay but you come home, yes? Back to London.”
Nuts. Nuts. Nuts. And triple nuts.
For a minute paranoia gets a hold of me and I conjure delusions of some universal mass conspiracy to keep Noah and me apart.
“I need more time,” I say, noting the desperation in my voice. In that moment I know in my heart of hearts that I never want to be apart from him again. Whatever it takes. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave, Katya.”
* * *
Noah
I’m in the back room tinkering with the mechanical bull, making sure everything is hooked up properly before we let people ride tonight. I know something’s very wrong the moment I see her walk through the doorway.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I stand and she slowly walks over to me. It’s still a surprise, seeing her every day, being able to touch her––something I thought I’d never experience again. And I’m so greedy for more the force of it sometimes scares me.
She presses against me and rests her forehead on my chest.
“I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.” She lifts her face and her green eyes shine like morning dew on spring grass...the shit that crosses my mind these days.
“My manager wants me back in London.”
Worst words I’ve ever heard. Every muscle in my body tenses. Dread spins in my gut. I hold my breath for the inevitable to happen, for her to tell me she’s leaving. I know she can’t stay and there’s no question I can’t go. I’m not sure where that leaves us, but I do know that I can’t survive losing her again. “And, are you?”
“I don’t want to be without you again.”
Best fucking words I’ve ever heard. My eyes fall closed for a moment as relief fills my chest and my heart rate slowly gets back to normal.
“I can’t lose you…I can’t…I love you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.” Unpracticed, the words come rushing out.
“We’ll make it work,” she affirms with a shaky laugh and hope in her eyes, now damp with tears.
God, I love her, so much it feels like it could split me in two some days. All I want to do for the rest of my life is make her happy.
I lean down and place a soft kiss on her lips, brush back her hair and run my thumb along her jaw. Her chin lifts and she kisses me back. Harder, with a quiet desperation.
Her hands are on me, brushing up my chest, moving down to cup my balls and stroke the hard length of my dick over my jeans.
“Babe…umm…shit…umm…here?” I almost unload in my pants when she squeezes the head.
“Yes. Why are you still dressed?” Reaching between us, she rips the buttons of my jeans open, shoves her hand inside my underwear, and grips my shaft the way I like it. Hard and rough. I glance over her shoulder, to double check no one’s around, but I can’t focus when her hand is wrapped around me and pumping.
I grunt. “Staff will be here in an hour.”
“I need you, Freckles,” she mumbles, calling me by the nickname she gave me when she loved me with all her heart. She hasn’t said it yet but I can be patient. I’ll wait till the end of time if I have to.
That’s all it takes for me to surrender, to give her everything she wants. She got my heart a lo
ng time ago, now she can have the rest. I run my hands over her breasts. Nip the delicate skin at her throat and jaw. It’s so good with her. We’ve always fit together perfectly, like we were made for each other. But this, now, it’s even better.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I said it felt wrong with other women. After she left, I tried moving on. But each time made me feel worse and worse. Like I was betraying her all over again. Until I just stopped one day. Going without sex was easier than having to face myself in the mirror the day after a hookup.
Getting impatient, she fumbles with the buttons of her jeans. I sweep her hands away, yank them open, and push them down her hips, dragging her panties with them. Then I bend her over the bull, caress her sweet, sweet ass and kiss it. I could spend a lifetime kissing her ass and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I enter her from behind. She’s all wet, welcoming softness––my woman. “Anything you want, baby, it’s yours. I’ll give it to you,” I whisper in her ear. A low moan slips from her lips. She whimpers, mumbles incoherently. I run a hand up and down her back as I hold steady, buried inside of her to the root.
“Hold on tight,” I warn as I start thrusting, gripping her hips with an overwhelming sense of possession I’ve never, not even in the past, felt before.
I move slow and steady at first, meant to tease, drive her wild. Doesn’t take long for instinct takes over. The thrusts get harder and harder, less controlled. She starts panting, begging, and I know she’s close. One more hard pump and she screams. Two more and I join her there.
Sometime later, after we catch our breath, I pick her up off the bull, turn her around, and look into her eyes. It feels like she’s keeping something from me, something that’s upsetting her. “What is it?” I ask, because I hate feeling helpless.
Quietly, she pulls up her underwear and jeans. I do the same. Then she leans into my chest again, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“I just need you. Isn’t that enough?”
I don’t have to think about my answer. As long as she needs me, I’m here for her. “Yeah, it is––more than enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The mayor went all out for the unveiling ceremony, cloaking the statue in a black satin sheet for maximum dramatic effect. There’s also a small podium with a microphone and rows and rows of white chairs with red, white, and blue ribbons attached. Rowdy was loved and he will be missed dearly. The whole town is expected.
Gazing over the crowd, I find Noah leaning against a tree with his arms crossed and a deeply thoughtful look on his face. The space in my chest that was occupied by a vacuum for the last nine years is overflowing with love. I knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt the moment Katya asked me, or better yet, ordered me back to London.
He’s my one and only. Always has been. Nothing will ever change that. Not even Rowdy’s letter could get me upset enough to shake my confidence in us. I’m still torn about that. As much as I want to be mad about it, how can I when everything he did, he did for me.
I tell my parents and Bebe to go on ahead without me, that I’ll catch up with them in a few minutes.
“I need to speak to you,” I whisper, walking up behind the man belonging to the ass I’m presently ogling.
Turning, his eyes spark as he does a slow examination of the light blue dress I’m wearing. He cups a hand around my neck and pulls me flush against his body, which goes off like I hit the jackpot at the slots whenever he’s near. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. But I need to speak to you and we need privacy.” His brows crawl up his forehead and his lips tip up in a boyish smile. “No, no––that’s not code. I mean talk, talk. As in a discussion, an exchange of words. Jeez, aren’t you chaffed yet?”
“Baby––all he’s known is the feel of my hand for seven long as fuck years. I don’t give a shit if it falls off from overuse.” He checks me out again. “And you could tempt a man out’a his grave in that dress.”
“Come on,” I say, taking his hand. I’m almost giddy with excitement over my plan and I can’t wait a minute longer to share it with him.
“Where are we going?”
“Your office.”
We enter through the side entrance. In the main room, two employees sweeping the scuffed wooden floors wave at Noah and shout, “Boss.”
We climb the stairs with his hands stroking my butt and sliding under my skirt to grab my hips. I swat him away and push open the door to his office while he flips the lights on.
There’s a flutter in my chest. I’m nervous. Of course I’m nervous. Big changes are coming. The rest of my life hinges on the next few words so I persevere, put a choke collar on those nerves and make them my bitch.
“I spoke to my manager,” I start, turning to face him once I get well inside the room.
Noah’s smile disappears. Anticipating this, I forge ahead. I was down two sets in the Australian Open and ended up winning that match. I’m built to go the distance.
I’m jittery. To burn nervous energy, I walk in circles around his desk. Stopping, I grip the back of his chair. “She wants me to go back to London.”
His shoulders drop and his head tips back. He exhales, dragging a palm down his face and suddenly he looks exhausted. “When?”
“As soon as possible. To do damage control on a bullshit story in the Daily Mail about me cheating on Oliver…with you.”
“What!”
“That’s not what I want to talk to you about––” I say, ignoring his outburst. In the scheme of things it doesn’t even warrant our attention. I move to half sit on the corner of his desk.
“Is that bastard vindictive? Is he gonna make this hard for you? Because if that’s the case––”
“I love you,” I shout over him. His mouth clamps shut and his eyes lose their hardness, soften, shining love back tenfold. “I love you,” I repeat much more quietly and shrug. “Nothing else matters.”
My cast knocks into the mouse pad over and the screen of his desktop lights up. My gaze inadvertently slides across his computer screen and a list of files catches my eye.
Wimbledon
Australian Open
French Open
And the list goes on.
…wtf?
I blink, blink some more, trying to determine what reasonable explanation he may have for these files being on his computer––a computer that nobody else is allowed to use.
“What is it…Maren?”
Noah’s voice is frayed at the edges, muffled by the busy chatter of my thoughts as I go through a checklist of excuses that don’t make any good sense. And then my scalp begins to prickle with awareness, much the same way it does when bad shit’s about to go down. I grab the mouse and click on the first folder. Multiple files with dates pop up.
“What are you doing?” His voice is closer now, tight with concern.
I click on the 2015 date in the Australian Open file and what I see knocks the wind out of me.
“Don’t.” His tone induces me to look up at him. On the surface his face is still. Only someone who knows him as well as I do would notice the tightness around his eyes, the harsh line of his clenched jaw, his throat moving as he swallows. He’s worried and fighting to keep his reaction in check.
I click on the file and a video plays. It’s Noah––at the Australian Open. He aims his phone down at the court and there I am, bouncing on the balls of my feet, tennis racket flipping, oblivious of who was in the stands watching and recording. The rush of blood in my ears makes it impossible to hear the sound on the video. I turn up the volume.
“Two more sets, baby, and it’s yours. You can do it. I know you can…”
Each word is a stab in the heart, the knowledge almost too overwhelming to accept. He’s been there all along. Through every victory…every defeat. My emotions seesaw from anger, to love, to confusion. They keep taking turns until anger wins.
I click on the last video while he watches me with an expression of pure dread. The US Open. I
can’t catch my breath. I run seven miles every day and I can’t breathe. Onscreen, I watch myself dive for the ball, land on my wrist. My prone body lies motionless for a moment. Then my face crumples. Clutching my arm, I curl into a fetal position.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!! It’s okay, baby…it’s okay…” he murmurs in the background.
I turn off the video.
“Every single one.” My voice sounds strange, detached, robotic. “Every one of my matches and you were there.” It’s not a question. I need him to admit it. I need for him to say that while I was missing him, dwelling in an empty feeling after each and every win and loss, he was there having his own private celebration.
“Maren––”
“I did see you there––at Wimbledon,” I continue, my eyes briefly falling shut as the knowledge punches me in the gut and disappointment seeps through my limbs. “I wasn’t imagining it.” He approaches and I check him with a glare.
“Maren––”
“Take another step and I will not be responsible for what happens.”
He stops within reach but wisely chooses to stuff his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks. The worry on his face only pisses me off more. Of all the selfish things…this may be the worst thing he’s ever done to me because this was nothing more than an act of cowardice.
The need to put as much distance as possible between us makes my feet move. I edge round the desk and slowly back out of the room while he’s rooted in place, watching me go.
“Let me explain.”
When I reach the door, he advances. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t follow me.”
As soon as I’m out the door, my pace triples. And for once, he does the right thing and lets me go.
* * *
I pull into the parking lot of the elementary school where Bebe teaches and park, my head throbbing from a hangover nasty enough that I consider updating my last will and testament. Alcohol is not my friend. It’s safe to say my days of drowning my sorrows in booze are officially over.
Tiebreaker Page 23