by Tijan
My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten all day, but I shook my head. “I’m good.”
I just wanted Reese.
He dipped his head down and stood back, shutting the door. He climbed into the front a second later, then we waited. The vehicle was silent, even the driver. Then a whole surge of activity happened toward the front. Lights were flashing, and out strolled a few of the players.
Garth Carzoni.
Lestroy.
Beau Michems.
Then Juan, and following him: Reese.
Everything raised a whole octave at Reese’s appearance, but he walked through, ignoring everyone. Juan waited, and Reese bumped the side of his fist against his. Both separated. Juan went to where Marie was waiting, and Reese came to us.
He got in, tossing his bag in the back before sliding next to me. The door was shut, and he reached for my hand, entwining our hands. The SUV started, and within a minute, we were pulling away from the arena.
• • •
Life was a whirlwind after that.
We flew back to Washington that night. Both his parents were already checked into their respective facilities by the time we landed, and as Reese had said, they attended Roman’s funeral. It was an emotional day for all of them. I sat beside Reese, holding his hand, and that night, I held him in my arms.
He was peppering kisses up my spine, his hand shifting over my hip as he rolled me to look at me. He was looming above me, resting on an arm to hold himself up.
The stark need in his eyes had me biting back tears. He’d had that look quite frequently this weekend, and I slid my hands up his arms, then moved one around his neck, going up into his hair and I fisted it there, pulling him down to me.
His mouth met mine. A soft graze. Loving.
It made me ache, but this time it wasn’t a body ache. It was a soul ache. He brought me to life, and I just wanted to do the same for him now. I wanted to push all his haunts away.
He lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”
My top lip curved up at that. “You’re asking me what’s wrong?”
He rested on his side, his hand tracing circles over my stomach. The sheet fell to the side. He was seeing all of me and he bent forward, his lips finding my breast, tasting me.
I closed my eyes, that soul ache shifting to peace. He filled me up in every way now.
Then I started talking, “You have not once pushed me away during this time. You’ve not once tried to avoid dealing with your parents or your brother. You’ve not once shied away from all the responsibilities on your shoulder.”
That meant something.
He carried it all, and he did it without a thought, without breaking stride, and I knew he’d continue to do so as long as his parents were seeking help.
He lifted his head up, gazing down at me. “Yeah. Why would I?”
A half-laugh slipped from me. “I would’ve. I did. You changed me.” I trailed a hand down his shoulder, his arm, his chest. “I couldn’t even feel my emotions before. I asked those questions to evade it all, and here I am, actually feeling tears and peace and not shitting my pants because of it.” I looked him in the eyes, drawing him back in. “That’s because of you.”
He shook his head, his hand going to the side of my face, tracing down my jawline. “No, that was you. You were starting to face the world again. I just happened to be in the way.” His lip curled up, and he leaned down, nuzzling my jawline and moving south.
I closed my eyes, reaching up, grabbing a fistful of his hair.
My breath was shortening. Panting.
He was growing closer to my mouth.
He paused before touching his lips to mine and murmured, “You know my tattoo?”
I nodded. Did I? I admitted, “I might’ve salivated over it a few times.” He lifted his head farther and moved so we could both see it on his side. “What does it mean?”
“It’s Hebrew for teardrop shot.”
“What?”
He was holding back a grin. “I know. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Why Hebrew?”
He laughed, burying his head in his arm for a second. “Because I thought it looked cool. I got it in college, and one of my friends was obsessed with learning Hebrew. I have no idea why, but we got drunk one night and resolved to get something that stood for our future. I got teardrop shot because it’s rare and it’s under utilized, and I wanted one thing to excel at in ball. I knew I was fast. I knew I could handle the ball decent, but I wanted one more thing that would make me stand out. I wanted to further pack my resume, I guess. But it also means more than that to me now.” He paused, a dark emotion starting to blaze from his eyes as he gazed at me.
I whispered out, “Reese.” My hand cupped the side of his face.
He caught my hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it. Then he rested it against the side of his face. “You think you had all this baggage when we first started.”
I quirked an eyebrow up.
He relented, “And yeah, you might’ve, but you’re going to be fine. You’re going to be amazing. You can do anything you want, and I really believe that. All that stuff you went through, it didn’t break you. It made you stronger, and I think it made you perfect for me.” He paused, swallowing before he spoke again, his voice dropping low to a rasp, “Life with me is going to be hard. I’m the one with the baggage now. There’s going to be fan pressure, women, publicity. Life’s different at this stage, and I think, I really think, you’re my teardrop shot. You’re the high arch in my life. You’re beautiful inside and out, and you’re rare. So very rare.” He leaned down, his mouth capturing mine.
All the love, pleasure, peace in me swirled up, flooding my senses.
I was blinking back tears, my hand moving to his chest. “There was a time when I thought I would never be happy again.” My eyes held his. “I gave it up. I was just trying to find the will to keep going, then you happened.”
Trent.
Owen.
Hadley.
Grant.
“I got back a part of my old life. I got a piece of a new life.” Reese. “And suddenly, I could deal with losing a huge chunk of myself in the in-between. You think I was made for you. Well, I think you were made for me too.” Then I grinned. “I mean, who else still responds to me when I randomly text for thoughts on beluga procreation?”
He laughed, his mouth closing in over mine. “That’s true. I mean, if there’s one thing that keeps me up at night, it’s beluga fucking each other, especially at three in the morning when I’m lying right next to you.”
I laughed, but then his mouth grew more commanding, and I knew the talking was done for the night. I was okay with that.
I was happy.
• • •
Reese was right. Life happened after that. A lot of life.
His father emerged from rehab six months later sober and he remained that way. Reese got his dad back. It wasn’t quite the same with his mother. She was treated for chronic depression, survivor’s guilt, and post-traumatic stress disorder.
Through the years, she had ups and downs, but she continued to struggle the rest of her life. She was in and out of mental hospitals, but she tried. She really tried.
As for Damian, the first day he met Reese, he beamed from ear to ear. He ate all of his meals. The nurses marveled at how happy he’d been. By that time, he’d already forgotten about me. I was his friend who watched sporting games with him, and then I became Reese Forster’s woman.
I always got a little sad when he called me that. He never understood why, and I never shared. It was easier to go with the new name. It was the happiest for him. He was proud to know me.
He forgot AJ, but not Mickey or his mother. He remembered both to the end.
He passed in his sleep, five years from Roman’s death. The nurses never heard his bed alarm. When they checked on him for their three am rounds, he was gone.
My family came around, but it wasn’t a happily-ever-after ending wit
h them. They were excited to meet Reese, but I was never able to get past what had happened with Damian. A piece of my heart had died, and though I tried to put it back, it never filled again. I was on polite terms with my family. Polite, but distant, and it stayed that way even while I worked close by in marketing for Echo Island Camp.
I remained with the camp for two years, going back and forth from Seattle.
I only needed to be there half the time, when I was in charge of photo ops and had to document all the busy camp schedules. Reese came with me if he wasn’t training in his off-season, and during my off-season at work, I went where Reese was.
I put in my resignation when I was ready for a career change—and remember that book I said I was going to do for therapy? I finished it.
I published it.
And I’m pretty sure two people bought it: one was Reese, and the other was Stan.
Reese offered to post it on his social media, but I didn’t want that. I wrote that book about Damian and me. It was our relationship, and I enjoyed knowing it was out there in the netherworld of sales. Over the next six months, three more people bought it.
Thank you, whoever you are.
As for Reese and I…
“I’m going to murder you!”
I was holding on to his hand in a death grip, my thighs spread wide, and it wasn’t his head between my legs. A fucking basketball was coming out of me.
I know, I know.
I would love the little basketball. I would adore it. This twenty-two hours of pain would be worth it, or so I’d been promised. The outlook wasn’t pointing that way, but then the doctor looked up. His face serious, his mouth in a perpetual firm line, he said the three most heavenly words that made me want to profess my undying adoration of him.
“One. Last. Push.”
Well, I pushed.
I heaved.
I tried to punish Reese by breaking his hand, and he was cringing, but I knew it wasn’t because of me. His gaze was fixed firmly on that doctor too, and then, with a last shove—I was trying here, so bad, but the epidural was working wonderfully—thank goodness—then the basketball was out of me.
I paused, holding my breath, tears streaming down my face.
The doctor lifted up our little basketball, curled up in a fetal position, all wrinkly and purple, and he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“She’s a girl!” the doctor announced.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Reese was crying. I was crying, and a heartbeat later, she was crying. See. We were the most perfect family there was.
We named her Echo, call me a sentimental mess, but that’s where Reese and I met. Echo Roman Forster, and yes, her last name matched mine because Reese and I tied the knot a year ago.
Holding Echo, holding Reese’s hand, feeling a swell of feelings, I couldn’t help myself. With the doctor still there, and a roomful of nurses, I asked no one in particular, “Thoughts on why we don’t set toilet paper vertical instead of horizontal?”
THE END
For bonus scenes or more stories to read, head to www.tijansbooks.com.
Other sport romances by Tijan:
Hate To Love You
Broken and Screwed
Fallen Crest Series
Ryan’s Bed
And more are coming!
This book gutted me, and I hope, in a good way, that it gutted you too.
I hope it made you laugh. I hope it made you cry. And really, I just hope it made you feel.
Thank you to everyone who has helped me with this one!
To Amy, Eileen, Crystal, Mari, Kara, Paige, Chris and so many more.
Thank you to my readers in the Tijan Crew group! To those in my Audiomen group! To all the bookstagrammers and bloggers! If I miss a post, message me. I appreciate every single one of them.
I worked with dementia residents for almost twenty years, so I wanted to acknowledge them and their loved ones.
I’d like to acknowledge someone I know in my personal life who’s going through something similar. This book is for you. This book is mostly for you.
Last, and I’m keeping these short for this book, just a thank you from me to you.
SNEAK PEEK OF ANTI-STEPBROTHER
Kevin was kissing another girl. And he wasn’t just kissing her—he was inhaling her. He pressed against her, her dark hair twisted in his hands, his lips moving down her throat and lingering between her breasts.
It was a trainwreck.
I saw it coming. The lights were bright and impending, and I could have gotten off the tracks. But nope, I was the idiot blinded in place. I couldn’t look away, though I should have.
This was Kevin—my Kevin! Okay, not my boyfriend Kevin, but my stepbrother Kevin. The same Kevin I’d been in love with for two years—since my junior year of high school, since my mom died and my dad decided he was in love with the most popular guy in school’s mother.
Sheila Matthews, aka Kevin’s mom, was the nurse who took care of my mom during her stay in hospice. It had been such a scandal. How dare Mr. Stoltz fall in love even before his wife passed? It didn’t matter that my mom had been dying of cancer for years. My dad’s timing sucked, but it happened. The night after my mom was buried, he was at the Matthews’ house.
One positive, even though my dad and Sheila hadn’t kept their relationship a secret, was that I didn’t have to meet her until later. Actually, I met her at the dinner where I also found out she was going to be my stepmother, and so the summer between my sophomore and junior year, I got a stepbrother, too. Of course, I already knew who Kevin Matthews was.
Everyone knew who Kevin Matthews was.
A year older than me. Football captain. Basketball captain. Track captain. He was on the Student Council—and I’m ashamed to admit I never paid attention to what he did for them. I didn’t really care. He was so much more. He was the guy all the guys respected and all the girls wanted, including me and his rotation of six-month girlfriends. He’d date a girl for six months. Then they’d break up because he’d fallen in love with another girl, and she’d last the next six months.
Despite all my knowledge of him, before he joined my family, Kevin didn’t know who I was. I wasn’t anyone special. I mean, I wasn’t unpopular. I was just…average, I guess. I’d been told I was beautiful, but that was by all the people who were supposed to tell me that. My mom told me every day, then my dad every month or so, and finally Sheila did once we moved in. She said it every two weeks. It was nice to hear, but come on. That’s what parents are supposed to do. All three of my parent-like figures did their job well, and so did my two best friends, May and Clarissa.
May was a feisty little Asian who got asked out on a weekly basis, even when she had a boyfriend. And Clarissa was a few inches taller than me with a body like Britney Spears circa “Oops!...I Did It Again.” I had long, dark brown hair and a slim-enough body. I’d never thought I was anything great, but both May and Clarissa had made enough comments about how they’d kill to look like me that I began to feel more confident.
My mom always told me I had perfect lips and almond eyes with long eyelashes that I’d inherited from my father’s side. My grandmother had been gorgeous. I never met her, but in photographs she had dark eyes, dark hair, a heart-shaped face, and an alluring air to her. May and Clarissa saw a picture of her once and fell back on the bed, groaning at how much I took after her—something I hadn’t realized until then.
So yeah, none of us were hurting, but we never really made it into the popular and exclusive high school social circles. Maybe it was because the three of us had our own exclusive clique, or maybe it was because none of us passed out at parties, slept around, or joined the cheerleaders. Nothing against anyone who did that. It just wasn’t us.
We were almost boring.
We got good grades. We went to a few parties, but not every weekend. Bowling, slumber parties, shopping trips, and regular old going out for dinner were our social acti
vities. I could’ve lived at the local bookstore too, so I think that’s why we weren’t at the top of the food chain where Kevin and most his girlfriends were. And not that we wanted to be. Well, May might’ve wanted it, but Clarissa and I were content.
Every now and then, Kevin would date someone at the social level below. Once he dated a girl who was two levels below, and pandemonium hit the hallways. Girls wore skimpier clothes. The hallways smelled like a professional salon, and I heard that the makeup aisle at the local department store sold out.
“Kevin,” the girl moaned now, drawing me back to the trainwreck. She lifted one of her toned legs to wrap around him, pulling him more tightly against her.
I wrinkled my nose. Good God. I needed to look away, but I couldn’t, not while his hand traced down her side. He lifted her leg higher to press against her, and they both moaned from the friction.
They were still dressed. That was one blessing, but they were barely dressed. Kevin’s jeans looked loosened, like they were already unzipped, and the girl’s skirt had been pushed high. Lacy pink underwear peeked out, and the way it moved…like something was going on in there…and yeah, that was his hand.
Time to reverse it.
They’d found their spot in the back room of the basement, which was close to Kevin’s room at his fraternity. They just hadn’t gotten all the way in there. I should’ve realized what was happening when I saw the basement door had a rubber band on the handle.
I slipped back out the door, and I was petty enough to grab that rubber band. I stuffed it in my pocket as I went.
Okay. Yes, I had loved Kevin for years. Yes, I had lived with him. Yes, he was sort of my brother, but no brotherly/sisterly love had formed between us. We were compadres, friends, buddies. And I’d thought there had been flirting. Yes, yes, there had been flirting.