by Crowe, Liz
He was pretty sure he’d be forced to surrender his man card any minute now.
“J.D.?”
“Yes?” He stood up and stretched.
“Howard’s in town. He wants to meet. He says he’s sorry it’s last minute.”
J.D. blinked, confused. “Who?”
“Howard Givens, you know, your old coach?”
“Oh, right. Sure. Okay.” He stared out his windows, not seeing anything, not hearing anything, not feeling anything. Sighing, he put his hands on the cool glass and stared down at his feet. “When? Where?” Maybe a heart-to-heart with his old coach would help.
“The Grange, tonight. Seven thirty.”
He turned and glared at the woman standing in the doorway. “No. Not there. Tell him to pick someplace else.”
“Okay, I’ll try.” She disappeared.
J.D. sat, squared his shoulders, knocked back another espresso, and got his head out of his ass long enough to get a few things accomplished with what was left of the day. The sum total of his existence lately—getting through the days, working out until he was ready to pass out, shower, a bite of food, and sleep.
When he looked up again, four hours had passed. He touched the button on his desk for the speaker. “Did you rearrange it with Howard?”
“Sorry. He wouldn’t answer a call or text.”
“Great.” He got up, put on his suit coat, and stood, at a loss for a few minutes, realizing he’d be headed straight into hell walking back into that stupid restaurant.
“I’ll drive myself,” he called out as he passed Matilde’s desk. Her absence made him do a triple take. The woman was never away from it, and if she did go somewhere, she always told him. He shrugged. Whatever. It was Friday. She should go home early. What did he care anyway?
He parked at a nearby structure and got out of the SUV, his feet heavy, his head fuzzy, as if he’d been on a bender. A Makayla hangover. That’s what this was. He sighed and headed for the elevator. When it opened, a blast of winter wind hit his face, cooling it and giving him a modicum of clarity.
This is fine. I’ll be fine. She was just a woman. Women are replaceable.
At least some of them are.
He trotted down the sidewalk as snowflakes began falling in earnest. He pushed open the door of The Grange, his brain registering that it seemed kind of dark for a Friday night during happy hour. A split-second later, lights blasted his eyes, almost making him fall over. “What the fu—?”
“Surprise!”
He frowned until he was able to focus in the glare. He took in the DSN staff, including the missing Matilde, standing in a semi-circle around the front door, alongside … he blinked, unsure if he were seeing things when he glimpsed two of the women in the crowd. “Mom? Renee? What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Watch your mouth, son,” his mother said, as she came forward and gave him a tight hug before she stepped back, leaving him surrounded again. His sister blew him a kiss. The crowd parted down the middle as if choreographed. Which of course, they were. LeeAnn knew how to manage this sort of thing.
Which was a damn odd thing to think at the moment.
When he saw her—Makayla, dressed in the Dior dress and Loboutins he’d presented to her for the awards dinner—at the end of the tunnel of familiar faces his entire body, which had felt encased in a block of ice for weeks, flamed hot at the sight. Her hair fell to her bare shoulders in thick, curly waves. Her lips—dear God in heaven he’d missed those lips—were red, full, and luscious. She had her hand on one hip. Her dark eyes were shining. Her smile was wide.
“Let’s run the clock back a few weeks, shall we?” she said.
He blinked but was incapable of moving. She crooked her finger. He took a few steps, but slowly, measuring his pace and his thoughts, willing himself not to rush at her, to kiss her, hold her again like he had been in his fevered dreams.
Aretha Franklin’s voice filled the space. He grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets until the huge bulk of her brother James filled his vision. The man looked stern, then he took a wireless microphone some disembodied hand stuck out at him. “I have some things to say,” he declared, his gaze fixed on J.D.’s. “I was a Broncos fan when you were the QB. But I wasn’t a fan of you personally, lately, until Kayla told me the whole story, so I’ll skip straight to the summary.” He pulled Makayla close. “My baby sister loves you. And that’s enough for me.”
Aretha cranked again. He stood still, wondering what in the hell she was doing, getting more uncomfortable by the second. All these people watching him, waiting for some kind of a response. “What is all this,” he asked her, when the music faded.
“This is me, saying in front of everyone here, including our families and friends-like-family, that I’m sorry. I … overreacted. I misunderstood. I made assumptions—not just about what you were saying that night on the phone, but about everything. You know this hard for me to admit.” She bit her lower lip and J.D. had to start counting back from a thousand not to fold her into his arms and never let go.
But otherwise, he didn’t care for this, not one bit. He was the maker of grand gestures. He was the instigator of the big scenes. Not the recipient or the focus of them.
He closed the gap between them and held her, the familiar scent of her skin making him dizzy. “I don’t like this,” he whispered. “You’re putting me on the spot. We need to talk in private.”
She pulled away. “How is this different from what you had planned for the awards night? With that emerald ring in a damn ice cream container?”
“Okay, you made your point. Can we talk somewhere else?”
She lifted her chin.
“Okay, folks,” LeeAnn said, taking the mic from James. “Drinks are on the house. Food’s ready to be served. Let’s give them a moment, then we’ll hopefully see what we came here to see.”
Makayla grabbed his hand and pulled him around behind the bar, through the kitchen, and into the alley.
Snow whipped into his eyes. Wind smacked him in the face. But he didn’t care. He grabbed her, kissed her until he could barely stand up, then held her at arm’s length. “You are—”
“Crazy. Quick to assume things. But crazy in love, Jon David. With you.” She smiled and touched his face. “I’m so sorry. I mean, about everything. I … I’m insecure and chock full of self-doubt but that’s not your fault or your problem. You loved me the way I was. I … I’m wondering if I can ask for that back.”
“You never lost it,” he said, as his mind finally began to clear of three weeks-worth of emotional cobwebs. “But I can’t have you flying off the handle every time I … I mean … shit.” He slumped against the wall. “I don’t know, Makayla. I don’t know if this will work.”
She put her hands on her hips. At that moment, looking defiant, drop dead gorgeous, snowflakes whirling around her, all woman, all his woman, he loved her more than he ever had. Which sobered him. Or rather, it scared him. These last weeks had been the worst of his life. He couldn’t do it again, not if she hauled off and lost her mind over nothing.
She gripped his arms. “Please, J.D. I mean it. I’m sorry. None of this was your fault. It was all me and I accept that and I’m going to work on it. I swear.”
He touched her lips, let his fingertips graze her jaw, her neck, her shoulder.
She closed her eyes. “Please,” she whispered.
“I can’t,” he said before he slipped back inside and started heading for the front door.
“Hold on,” someone said, before he made his escape.
“Not now, Mom.” He turned to face her, noting that the lines in her face had deepened since he’d last seen her, and she seemed smaller, diminished by age.
“Yes, now, Jon David. Loving someone for real is hard. But I think it might be worth the risk, don’t you?”
He propped his hands against the window next to front door he’d been ready to bolt out of. She touched his shoulder. He dropped his hands. “I don’t know an
ymore.”
“I think you do know.” She took his hand and put the vintage Tiffany ring box in it. “I think it will be worth it, and you know your mother always knows best.” She put her hand to his cheek. “I love you, J.D. and so does that beautiful woman out there. Go on, take a risk.”
“Mom, I…”
“J.D.?” He heard Makayla’s amplified voice behind them. “Would you mind coming out here before you leave?”
He sighed, stuck the ring box in his pocket, and walked back out into the crowd.
Chapter Thirty
Makayla shook all over. She could feel it in her bones, hear the tremor in her voice. But she was determined to prove to him she wanted him back, wanted them back. With Frank, Ted, LeeAnn, and Matilde’s help she’d thrown this damn thing together, and she was by God going to see it all the way through to its conclusion, whatever that might be.
He emerged from the gloom of the entry foyer, his eyes shining, his jaw set.
She swallowed hard and closed her hand tighter around the microphone as she gripped something else in her other hand.
“Here, sweetheart,” Frank had said to her a few seconds ago. “Go on, give him this and ask him to trade you for the one he’s got in his pocket.”
She held out the ring Frank had thrust at her. “I want my ring. Can we trade?”
Frowning, he pulled the Tiffany box out of his pocket and looked at it. Then he held out his hand. She put Frank’s oversized ring in his palm. Still frowning in a way that worried her, he opened the ring box and presented her with the incredible emerald and diamond and platinum work of art nestled inside it. “This was my great-grandmother’s wedding ring,” he said. She waited. The crowed was so silent she could hear the blood whooshing in her ears.
He met her gaze. And just like that, the room was reduced to two people. She smiled at him and took the steps between them. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered as he slid it onto her finger—a perfect fit, of course. He held her hand and stared down at it a few seconds, then up at her, his oh-so-handsome face open, raw with emotion. “I love you so much … I don’t know if I…” He kissed her knuckles.
A rogue tear slipped down her cheek. “I don’t know either, J.D. but you know what? We don’t have to know anything other than that. That we love each other. The rest…” She shrugged. “It’ll take care of itself. And you know me well enough by now to realize that admitting that is harder than anything.”
He nodded, then glanced down at the ring she’d put in his hand. “Really?” He glared up at her, making her flinch. “Really.” He looked around behind her. “You’re an ass.”
“What?” She tried to grab the ring Frank had handed to offer in trade, but he was already hurling it at the man in question, who ducked, then laughed.
“Here’s a tip, my love. The next time someone hands you a man’s ring to give me, be sure and understand what it is first.” He yanked her close, tucked her hair behind her ear. She could feel the heat of him all up and down her front and sensed her body responding in kind. “That was a Super Bowl ring—from the year I lost to that asshole’s team.” He pointed at Frank. “Nice try, shit head,” he said to his friend.
“I figure it’s your one shot at getting to wear one, man. I’m only trying to help,” Frank said, trying to catch his breath around laughter. Someone handed it back to him. He slipped it on and made a show of admiring it.
“Jesus, you people,” J.D. said, before focusing back on her. The room faded around them once more. “So, you made your point. You got your ring. And my heart. Now what?” His last words were whispered close to her ear, his breath hot on her skin.
“What do you think, Mr. Hot Stuff?” She pressed closer, letting his thigh slip between hers just enough as the music cranked and the dance floor around them filled with people. “Kayla needs some direct attention, like, now.”
He grinned and bit her lower lip, making her shiver. He cupped her breast, ran his hand over the nipple straining her dress.
“Tease,” she said. “That’s all you are.”
“Oh yeah?” He let go of her. Then, without warning, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “Sorry, guys, but my fiancée and I have some things to … discuss. You all enjoy the party. We’ll catch up with you … in about a week.”
“Hey!” Makayla pounded his back. “If you’re trying to make a grand, Officer and a Gentleman show of this, you’re carrying me the wrong damn way. Ow!” She smiled over at Matilde and LeeAnn who were sipping wine and watching them. Eager for him to get her out of here and home to their bed.
“Oh, I’m sorry you missed that memo darlin’,” he said, giving her ass another soft smack. “And you should know by now, I’m no gentleman.”
****
Later, they lay gasping in a tangle of sheets, hands clasped tight. After she’d caught her breath, Kayla rolled onto her side and put her hand on J.D.’s sweaty chest. “I love you,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”
He turned and propped his head on his arms.
She let her fingers wander around his muscular torso, waiting for his response. It took a while, but she let him brood—he deserved that much.
Finally, he sighed and spoke without looking at her, keeping his gaze trained upward at the rotating ceiling fan. “I honestly thought I could get past it. Get over you. I mean, I’m J.D. fucking Baxter for God’s sake. I can have any woman I want.”
She tensed, but forced herself to take it. She wanted honesty so she was going to have to learn to listen to it.
“I gave it a shot. I mean, I dug deep into my little black book and started … trying to get over you.” He took a breath.
Kayla tried not to freak out or punch him. It wasn’t easy. But she owed it to him to hear him out before she did either of those things.
“I had a date the night after you stormed out of the hotel. And one the night after that, and the next night. The fourth night I gave up and decided to work out my frustrations some other way. I ran for miles, lifted thousands of pounds, the works. Finally, I called your brother.”
She rose on her arm and stared down at him. “You called James.”
“Yep, I was that desperate. He and I had some beers and a good talk. But he said you’d stopped talking to him too, so we were both screwed. I’m going to fund his football league, by the way, and I think LeeAnn’s trying to cook up a feature about it. Anyway, after that, I guess I gave up. I drank myself to sleep most nights. And I stopped shaving.” He scratched the light beard on his jaw.
She put her hand along it, recalling how sexy it had felt between her thighs a few minutes ago.
He put her hand back on her hip and kept talking. “I slept, worked, and ate just enough to keep my body from collapsing. That was how I lived the last three weeks. It sucked. And I don’t ever want to go through it again.” She sucked in a breath at the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Makayla. I mean it.”
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.
“No, no, you don’t understand.” He sat up and put his feet on the floor, his back to her. “I don’t mean don’t ever get mad at me, or stomp out or whatever. I expect that as part of a real relationship. I want that—the fights, the yelling, the making up. What I mean is don’t ever cut me out of your life. That I can’t stand.”
She crawled to him and draped her arms around his neck.
“You are my life, woman. I don’t know how or why that happened, but I am through trying to figure it out. I’m going with it and I need to know you feel the same way.” He pulled her around until she was cradled on his lap. “If this makes me a total, pussy-whipped sap so be it. I’ll wear that badge with pride, as long as you’re the one who gave it to me. Are we clear?”
She kissed him, then stood up in front of him, naked and sweaty and smelling of sex. He gripped her hips and pressed his face to her belly. “I need to say some things now,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “I need you to know that I’m weak. I’
m confused. I’m overflowing with self-doubt. And I made you suffer over it. I feel awful about it, honest to Christ. But I don’t know that I’ll be able to change that much.”
He nodded, keeping his lips on her skin.
She sighed and tried not to let him distract her. “I never thought I’d find … something like this. I mean, it’s not like I had a shitty life as a kid. It was solid middle class in a great town. But when I lost the opportunity to play, I honestly believed I lost everything. Then you somehow put me back on the right track, and I acted like a real baby about it. I’m spoiled. And I’m sorry.”
“James told me how much they all worried about you.”
She put her finger over his lips. “My turn to talk.”
He smiled and pressed his lips to her abs again.
“When you blundered into my life, I was at rock bottom. I mean, they say you can’t fall off the floor, but I was about to prove that all wrong, you know? You upended all of that, in so many ways, I didn’t trust that it wasn’t some kind of a dream. You allowed me to live my life, not just inhabit it the way I’d been doing. But I just knew that it would have an ending and I’d be back where I was, in the slutty shorts, slinging overpriced beer.” She tilted his face up and ran her fingers over his scruffy beard.
A tear fell onto her arm. He rose fast, skimming his bare skin against hers. Barefoot, he could look down at her, which always made her swoony for some reason. He held her face in his hands. “I came into that crappy bar that night with one thing in mind. And I woke up the next morning on your floor mattress in your janky apartment and knew I’d found my future.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“No, I mean it.” He smiled and kissed her. “I loved getting to know you, and I really love shutting you up this way.” He kissed her again, making her dizzy with relief and happiness.
“So … who were you talking to that night anyway? If it wasn’t my coach?”
He sucked in a breath. “Ricardo, the jeweler. The guy who made these.” He reached into his bedside table drawer and handed her a box. She opened it and saw the earrings and necklace that matched her new—real—engagement ring.