Bucking Wild

by Maggie Monroe

  “Because I love him more than anything. Anything. And he’s not yours. You hear me? Get your ass off this island.”

  “Or what?” There was nothing he could say that would make me do this. I’d never leave Blake. I couldn’t pack up and pretend school started early. I had nowhere to go. No money. And now I was pregnant. Everything that was happening terrified me.

  “I’ll tell him it isn’t his.” He snarled at me. “I’ll make him hate you. I’ll make him despise you. I’ll tell him that everyone has been talking about how you slept with Johnson Davis.”

  “I did not. He knows I would never cheat on him.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you did. Maybe Blake needs to hear what a lying slut you really are.”

  The tears mixed with my mascara and the burn was almost unbearable.

  “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Take the deal. Take my money. Get off the island by tomorrow. I’ll keep him so busy tonight he’ll be too tired to call you. I’ve got sanding that needs to be done.”

  “We could have the baby together.” I tried to convince him. “Raise your grandchild like a family.”

  I looked around desperately for Blake’s mother. She was my salvation. The one chance I had of staying. She would never send away her first grandchild—never.

  He laughed. “Family? You don’t even know who your parents are. You’ve been raised by some woman you think is your aunt.”

  The anger rammed through my lungs.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yep. So pack up. And don’t communicate with my son. It’s the only chance you have of saving any reputation you have.”

  “Martha will want to know,” I pleaded.

  I saw the man I had begun to despise choke back a sob. It was instinct, but I rushed to his side. Carefully, I touched his shoulder.

  His angry eyes peered at me.

  “We haven’t told Blake yet.”

  “Told him what?” I asked.

  “She’s seen two specialists. Martha has stage four…”

  “Oh my God.” I clasped his arm. “I’m so sorry. I-I can’t believe it.”

  He straightened his shoulder and stepped out from my touch. “So your timing couldn’t be worse. Martha needs Blake now. She needs all of us.”

  “But the baby could give her something to fight for. Don’t you think that’s powerful medicine?” I knew I was begging and pleading, but I was fighting for my life and for the place this baby deserved in its own family. Every time Mr. Wyatt opened his mouth I only fell deeper into the abyss of the hopelessness he created.

  “You’re nothing but a scandal. Your shame is no one’s medicine,” he snarled. “I have a dying wife. Can’t you hear me? And I have a son who has a future. You don’t belong here. I have a family to take care of.” His legs stiffened. “Now go before Blake gets back.”

  He kept talking, but I couldn’t listen to anymore. My body shut down. My emotions closed in on me.

  He hated me. Actually despised me. And then he threw in the part about my parents and Aunt Lindy. If he was trying to derail me, it worked.

  I drove home in a fog.

  I slowly climbed the stairs and packed all the clothing I had in my bag.

  That night I stuffed them into the back of my Jeep and left the island for the last time.

  8

  Blake

  I could still taste her on my lips. Hear her in my ears.

  I turned onto the dirt drive that I had called home. The lights were off in the boat barn.

  I didn’t know if they’d ever be back on. I kept my head down as I passed the double doors that led inside where my dad used to work. I never went in there anymore. Cole had tried. My uncle had tried, but I kept the doors locked.

  They kept reminding me how valuable the tools and the wood were inside, but I didn’t give a shit about the price of juniper boards—nor did I care about the two boats I kept hostage in there. I kept it sealed like a tomb.

  I stumbled into the house, throwing my keys onto the table. I should pack up and head back to Orlando. There was enough to do for the team. I had rookies to study. Routes to plan with my receivers. I could meet with Coach. Work on my knee. I didn’t need this shit.

  I wasn’t in the mood for a trip down memory lane. And yet, I was fucking driving down it a hundred miles an hour on auto pilot. Hell.

  And Sierra was a brick wall I was going to crash into head first, sending me through the windshield with no seatbelt. I slammed my fist on the table.

  There was only one way to get her out of my system.

  One way to put the past behind me.

  One way to drown out the memories.

  One way to wipe her from my thoughts.

  I pulled the top off a bottle of bourbon and took a swig. It burned my throat, but I didn’t care. I swallowed again. Before I knew it, the bottle was empty.

  The glass hit the floor with a thud as I fell forward onto the couch. I didn’t know what time it was when I finally passed out, but the last thing I saw was Sierra’s lips. There wasn’t enough alcohol on this island to drink her out of my mind.

  ***

  I reached for my head when the sun hit me in the face. Fuck. I walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice and ransacked the cabinets looking for aspirin.

  I popped the tablets in my mouth and chugged them down. The old phone my parents had nailed to the wall was still attached. I couldn’t forget the number to Sierra’s aunt’s house if I wanted to. I tapped the digits onto the keypad and waited for her to answer.

  “Hello?” She sounded sleepy. It was barely sunrise.

  “Hey. It’s Blake.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look, about last night.” I ran my hand over my neck. The hangover stemmed from somewhere in the lower part of my skull.

  “It shouldn’t have gone like that. I think we need a do-over.”

  “A what?” she squeaked.

  I couldn’t believe I was saying this shit. “A do-over. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

  “For what?” she questioned.

  That was the question. Was I trying to prove to myself I was over her? Or that I could take her? Use her like she had used me? Prove that I could fuck her over and no longer needed her? Could I drive off this island like she had and not give a fuck about her?

  “Come on, Sierra. It’s a date. I’ll pick you up and we’ll just pretend last night never happened.”

  “I don’t understand. Last night wasn’t the best reunion. We haven’t talked in years and now it’s a date?”

  “We’re older now, aren’t we?” Did she still know me so well that she could read through my bullshit reasons?

  She paused. “I guess so.”

  “Then just go with it, darlin’. See you tonight.”

  I hung up before she could poke more holes in my sudden interest to see her.

  9

  Sierra

  Promptly at seven thirty, the screen door to the kitchen screeched a little as Blake knocked and pulled the weathered door open to enter Aunt Lindy’s house. He had left his truck rumbling in the gravel drive.

  “You ready?” he called into the house.

  “I’m ready.” I had to stop myself from beaming at him.

  Unlike the last time I’d seen him, he wasn’t wearing a scowl. This was different. Very different.

  When he’d called this morning I’d been hesitant. Skeptical really, but here he was. Maybe he actually did want to forget the past.

  His cologne wafted toward me and I tried not to let it intoxicate me. Everything about the man did. It always had.

  I grabbed my bag and followed Blake to his truck.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He looked over at me. “Thought we could take our own cruise. Just the two of us. Live music and drinks.”

  “Ok.”

  He helped me climb into the passenger side of his truck. It was a newer version of the one he’d had in high school. I noti
ced it was like driving a supped up computer system. I guessed AFA salaries could pay for things like that. On the flip side, my anchor salary wasn’t much. I was happy with what I made, but it was a far cry from luxury.

  We headed to the creek where he kept his boat.

  I felt as if I needed to say something to break the ice. To bridge the divide that had been between us, but I waited for his cues. The fact that we were on a date had to be enough for now.

  Once we pushed off from the rickety pier, we cruised under the bridge and Blake pointed the vessel toward Oakton. Patches of marsh and abandoned crab pots littered the channel to downtown. I hadn’t been there in years. It was the closest town to Gull Island, but the quickest way to get there was by boat.

  The sun was setting on Pelican Creek, and I was happy to get off the island for the night. I had been going stir crazy at Aunt Lindy’s.

  Fifteen minutes later, the boat eased toward the small downtown waterfront dotted with shops and restaurants. Before I could even see it, I heard music from a live band.

  “Is that Come Monday?” I asked.

  He smiled. His teeth were perfect and straight. God, how many times had I fallen asleep thinking about his beautiful face?

  “Yep. That’s the Fin Notes. They are a popular Jimmy Buffet cover band around here.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was a jab that I didn’t know anything local anymore or if he was really just letting me know what was popular.

  “They’re good,” I commented.

  He careened the skiff to an open slip two piers down from the infamous Dock House, and jumped out to tie the boat to a cleat. The Dock House was crowded. Patrons had spilled out onto the boardwalk to make room for the dancing fans holding their drinks in the air.

  “Can I get you something?” He finished tying his knot and turned his attention to me. He had been mostly quiet on the ride over.

  “What do you recommend?”

  I’d never actually been in the bar. It wasn’t the kind of place you could get in when you were underage and all the locals knew you and your boyfriend were in high school. We had tried a few times, but it had never worked. Everyone knew Blake was the county’s star quarterback back then.

  “Long Island ice teas here are pretty good.”

  “Isn’t that what you used to fix when we were in high school?” I asked.

  I didn’t remember much about them other than that they tasted like ice tea, but made me drunk after just one. I was always a light weight.

  “You always did like those fruity drinks.” He grinned.

  “Hey, they’re good.”

  “All right. I’ll be right back.”

  The boat swayed gently in the slip while I waited for Blake.

  I wondered how he existed like this. Famous and rich, but walking around in a T-shirt and pair of khaki shorts like any other local. But he wasn’t like anyone else. He had made a name for himself that was unrivaled by anyone in the state.

  He was a top QB. He was revered in the sport. Anytime I saw an article with his name on it I always clicked on it. I watched every press conference. All his post-game interviews. He was pushed and pulled in every direction, and yet here he was like everyone else—as if he was a local just hanging out for the night. It was amazing.

  I looked up when I saw him walking down the dock, carrying two Long Island ice teas. I took a moment to drink in every toned inch of the man towering over me.

  “Can you give me a hand?” He motioned. “Don’t want to slosh all the alcohol out of these drinks before we get the chance to enjoy them.”

  “These drinks are huge,” I remarked.

  I lifted the lemon from the edge of the Styrofoam cup and squeezed it into the drink. I tipped the cup back and gulped down a few swallows, wanting to feel the warm numbness the alcohol would spread through my body

  “Hold on, girl. These are strong.” He swooped in, trying to slow me down.

  “I think I can handle my alcohol, thank you very much.” I knocked back another sip.

  Blake laughed. “Maybe. But I don’t want to carry my passengers home.”

  He took a sip of his tea, and I watched his eyes as they carried over my shoulder, down my collarbone, and dipped between my breasts.

  “Are you checking me out?” I blurted out before I had time to cap the filter on my words.

  “Darlin’, I’m just takin’ in the view.” He smiled. “You aren’t making this easy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He sat and watched a sailboat cruise past them, heading toward the sound.

  “Hey, Blake, you playin’ tonight?” a rowdy voice called from the crowd. They were teetering on the railing, which ran in front of the Dock House.

  I looked at Blake quizzically.

  “Nah, not tonight.” He raised his cup to them.

  The guys started to laugh.

  “Oh yeah, sorry, man. Looks like you’ve got other plans.” They staggered off to the dark side of the pier.

  “What were they talking about?” I asked.

  A smile slid across Blake’s lips. “I play a little. Sometimes on open mic night.”

  “What? Are you any good?” I couldn’t help myself. I thought I knew everything about him, but he was revealing just how much I didn’t know. We had years to catch up on.

  “Well, now I guess you’d have to tell me that. I just play.”

  “When did you start playing? I’ve never heard you.”

  He eyed me and I felt the guilt. This was the time when he was going to tell me I left before I got to know him. That there were parts of him I’d never bothered to find out.

  He let out a long exhale. “A friend of mine in the music business started messing around with his guitar. I picked it up pretty quickly.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. Of course. He had celebrity friends. Parties. Backstage passes. Island trips to the Caribbean. It was naïve of me to think that just because I watched his press conferences I still knew him.

  I felt little needles of green envy surfacing at the thought of other people knowing a part of him I didn’t.

  “I’d would love to hear you play some time. Will you tell me the next time you perform?”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll let you know.”

  Under the stars and low lights of the Dock House things should have felt normal. They should have felt familiar, but all I could think about was what had happened eight years ago. How much distance and history there was between us.

  And suddenly, I found myself desperate to fix all of it. To discover who he was now. To know the man he had become. The problem was I had no idea where to start. I couldn’t get my bearings when he was near.

  One look into those sexy eyes of his and my heart beat faster, my breath hitched, and my core twinged with deep desire. I wanted to know him in so many ways, but I was lost trying to find a starting point.

  I cleared my throat. “So, what’s it like being a Thrasher?”

  He chuckled over his drink. “Is that your version of an ice breaker?”

  I blushed. “Yeah. I guess so. Football is always a winner with you, isn’t it?”

  He stretched his legs forward, taking up most of the bow. “Darlin’, I love football. You’re right. That much hasn’t changed.”

  “Of course not.” I felt stupid. “I just meant what’s it like in the AFA? Do you like playing in Orlando?”

  “Yeah, I like it. It’s Florida. I have a killer team. Coach and I get along. Money isn’t bad.” He winked.

  “So it’s what you want? What you’ve always wanted?”

  “Hell yeah. It doesn’t get any better than what I have with the Thrashers.”

  I liked the Long Island ice tea, the lemon especially. “And you don’t care about the pressure or all the press attention?”

  He looked at me from the corner of his eye. Those beautiful eyes. “You know you’re starting to sound like a reporter.”

  “Well I am a reporter, smart ass.”

  He laughed
. The sound was deep and rich. “So let’s talk about that.”

  “I took a job in Dallas at a medium-sized station for that market. I was a news coordinator. At least that’s what they called me. It was a total grunt job, but I took any shift they gave me. After a year of proving I could work hard they gave me a floating reporter spot.” I paused to inhale my drink. “Two years later, one of the weekend anchors got food poisoning right before the late show and they threw me behind the desk. I was completely unprepared. I had no idea what I was doing up there, but the producer loved it and offered me one of the anchor slots.” My eyes lifted to his. “So you are looking at the sunny face of Wake Up Big D.” I smiled brightly, playing up the cheesiness of the title. I felt as if I was listing off my resume.

  “No shit,” he whispered.

  “No shit.”

  “And to think you ran the school paper.”

  “Oh please tell me the Pelican Gazette is still running.”

  He grinned. “Oh yeah. I think it’s online now, though.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course it is. Even on the island.” I sat back, feeling the boat rock slightly in the slip. It was soothing. “Blake, how do you do all this and the AFA? I don’t get it. Why come back here? Why try to blend in when you’re such a huge star?”

  He looked at me and I felt a little quake inside.

  “It’s home, Sierra.”

  I felt the guilt take root under my skin. He loved this place so much. And I couldn’t figure it out. I never had been able to. My eyes drifted to the bar.

  “You want to go up there?” He must have noticed me eyeing the dancing partiers.

  “Do you want to go up there?” I countered. I remembered having to coax him onto the dance floor at prom.

  “Come on.” He took the drink from my hand and lodged it in a drink holder. The next thing I knew he had hoisted me onto the pier, locked his fingers through mine, and was leading me to the music.

  10

  Blake

  The song slowed as soon as Sierra and I were within five feet of the deck.