by Jody Holford
The blond playing looked like she knew what she was doing. He wouldn’t mind a game. When he’d been on the base, they set up all sorts of makeshift games to occupy their minds when they weren’t actively working to keep themselves and others alive. Might be nice to play on a real table.
Zach sipped his beer and wondered if he could coax Stella into a game one Friday after work. Shit. You don’t even mean to think of her and you do. She didn’t strike him as the type to hit the bar, though.
Finishing off his beer, Zach stood, intent on the pool table. He was pulling his wallet out of his back pocket when the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Like he was fourteen again, his breath halted. Standing at the end of the pool table, ready to take a shot, was Rick Growski, the once upon a time high school all-star, smug-ass dickhead who’d taunted Zach about all the things he had no control over. Being poor, having an alcoholic father, needing school-provided lunches, his mother working as a maid for Rick’s family. Fuck. He’d worked his ass off to come home feeling good about himself and for the most part, it wasn’t even those awful memories making his gut churn. It was knowing that his best friend’s last night on earth had been spent at a party Rick threw. A party Travis had been invited to and begged Zach to come to. Zach had refused. Travis had died. Logically, one didn’t cause the other but fuck if he could make his heart settle or his mind remember that. Rick started wandering to the bar, the blond tugging at his belt loop and leaning into him. When the guy turned and headed in Zach’s direction, he waited to feel more of the same—guilt, anger, powerless. Instead, he felt nothing. Rick’s eye caught his and stuck. They stared at each other for a moment before a waitress stepped in front of Rick’s path.
“Get you something, honey?”
Rick’s eyes roamed over her before he answered. “Couple more beers.”
“You got it.”
When she turned to walk to the bar, Rick’s gaze came back to Zach’s. His chin jutted out sort of like his paunchy stomach. “I know you?”
A smile tugged at Zach’s lips. He crossed his arms over his chest with deliberate slowness and leaned against the bar. “You don’t know shit.”
Rick scowled, looked like he wanted to say something. He even took a step forward before swatting his hand in the air at nothing and turning away.
Restlessness consumed him. Time to go. He finished off his beer and tossed five bucks on the bar.
“You out of here?” Declan said, coming back. He pushed the money toward Zach. “First one is a welcome back drink.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. I’d buy you drinks all day long if you want to put Growski in his place like that again. Guy is a dick. Always was. You’d think growing up, he’d change.” Declan shook his head like he was disgusted. Zach could relate.
He was surprised when Declan leaned forward, rested his forearms on the bar. “I kinda remember you now. You kept your head down a lot. Lived on the outside of town, right? Rick the dick used to give you a hard time. I’d put it away with all the other high school memories, you know? There was a group of us that tried to put him in his place, but it never did any good. Some things never change. I kick him out about once a week for being a drunken ass.”
Zach met the bartender’s serious stare, wondering how he could serve such a prick. But then what he’d said sunk in. “You tried to stop him?”
Frustration washed over Declan’s face. “It didn’t take, clearly.”
Zach laughed, happy he could. “It’d take a hell of a lot more than an ass kicking to make that guy likable.”
The fact that, despite keeping his head down, he wasn’t so invisible all those years ago was salve on a cut. “Thanks for trying.”
Declan nodded, glancing over when the waitress called his name.
“Thanks for the beer.” Zach was almost to the door when Declan called his name.
“Me and a couple of friends play poker once a month. If you’re interested, we’ll be playing next Saturday, here. Just go around the back.”
“Big group?” He didn’t really have money to be throwing away if it was a huge buy in.
“Nah. Just me, my buddy Adam, if he doesn’t bail, and his soon to be brother-in-law and partner. They’re good guys.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for the invite.”
Declan flashed a smile that Zach would bet money made panties drop. “You might not be thanking me after I take your money, but you’re welcome.”
Once he got to his truck, Zach gave himself a minute to absorb what had just happened. It washed over him and he felt…okay. He was okay. Rationally, he knew Rick wasn’t directly responsible for Travis’s death. No one was. But like everything else in life, there were moments leading up to the ones that stuck with a person that could have changed the outcome. Zach left town thinking he was to blame for Travis’s death. That going with his friend could have somehow prevented the accident. It was a hell of a thing to sit there now and realize that he wasn’t the only person he’d blamed. But the hell of it was, it didn’t matter who got blamed. Travis was gone.
“And you’re here. So, move on,” he said to himself, putting the truck in drive.
Since he hadn’t ordered wings, he swung through a drive-thru, ordering enough for him and Stella, in case she was hungry. It surprised him, as he drove toward the farm, how much he hoped she was home. There was something about her that soothed him. She was a live wire at the clinic, but when she stopped, when she was in the comfort of her home, she was quiet and peaceful. Still. He wasn’t sure what it would be like—living with her, whether they’d pass each other in the kitchen, watch television together like real roommates or avoid each other. They’d settled into a routine surprisingly fast and she was becoming a fixture in his day from the time he woke up and made breakfast. Everything about her pulled him in, but they were both keeping a strong cage around the attraction that simmered. They were in a good place. He wanted to keep them there.
Her car was there when he pulled up, and the dogs, used to him now, barked out a greeting from the porch. He glanced over at the clinic, saw she’d left the lights on, and wondered if he should go turn them off. Food first.
“Hey guys,” he said, once he’d grabbed the food and headed to the front door.
He gave them a couple of pets each before going in. He’d expected Stella to be watching Netflix or going through paperwork.
“Stella?” He walked through the foyer, down the hall, past the living room and into the kitchen. Setting the bags down, he went to check her bedroom. The door was ajar and she wasn’t in there either. Where the hell is she?
Worry stirred in his gut. He didn’t ignore his instincts. Heading back out the front door, he hurried down the steps and ran the distance to the clinic.
Using the key she’d given him, he let himself in through the front entrance. The last of the day’s light came through the windows, but otherwise, it was dark. Except, when he stepped all the way in, for the light shining from the office behind the reception desk. Stella had basically deemed the room off-limits during her initial tour. She used one of the exam rooms as a makeshift office, which was something he planned to talk to her about—it was a waste of space.
“Stella?”
He heard shuffling and a thud. Zach was around the desk and standing in the doorway when Stella muttered, “Shit.”
When he peeked in, she had one hand to her head and the other at her side. Zach came all the way in and didn’t think twice about stepping into her personal space. Her fingers were pressed to her forehead, but he saw traces of red and his stomach tightened.
“You hurt yourself,” he said, frowning.
“Solid diagnosis, Doctor Mason,” she stared up at him, her scowl slightly crooked.
It was only after he moved her hand that he noticed the slightly dazed look in her eyes. Leaning closer, he caught a hint of whiskey. If he was to guess, really good whiskey.
Doing a quick assessment, he saw it was only a scratch on
her head. He moved to what he assumed was a desk, despite the fact that he could not see the surface of it for all the paper on it. He grabbed a tissue and brought it back to Stella, who’d remained in the exact same spot.
Bending his knees, he met her gaze as he brushed the tissue against her cut. She closed her eyes and breathed out a long sigh as she swayed toward him.
When she inhaled, her hand came to his chest. “You always smell so good. It drives me nuts.”
Stella licked her lips, her eyes locked on his and she brushed against him. Zach put his hand on her hip to steady her. Right. To steady her. The air stilled between them and their combined breathing all but echoed in that silence. She stared at his lips and he nearly groaned at the desire he saw there. When she looked back up at him, the pressure in his chest became painful. Her fingers walked up his chest slowly and he wasn’t even sure if she meant to be seductive, but it was, and he couldn’t breathe. He could only wait.
With the tip of her index finger, she traced his lips, watching the movement, and Zach fought the urge to part his lips and suck her finger into his mouth. Instead, he let out the breath he was holding and felt the shiver that traveled through Stella. She inched closer. He stood still, like granite. Moving her hand to his jaw, she stroked the skin there and his body felt like she’d lit it on fire.
They’d both fought this for a good reason and as she inched closer, it took everything in him to remember why. He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted to kiss a woman the way he wanted to kiss Stella right now. He was ready to push all his sensibility and control aside when she went up on tiptoe, bringing her mouth within touching distance. Then she wobbled unsteadily, and it cleared his brain. Reminded him that he had long-term goals and wanted this woman’s respect, trust, and confidence more than he wanted her in bed.
Which was saying a hell of a lot.
Chapter Eleven
Stella was the perfect amount of tipsy. Enough to give in to the temptation she buried daily and not chastise herself for it. But Zach took the choice away as he stepped back. The air grew cold and mortification washed over her, chasing away any traces of her buzz. Rejection was sobering. He held her gaze and she knew—she knew—he’d done the right thing and still, she wanted to storm out of the room and hug him in equal measure.
She turned toward the desk where she’d been trying to sort through the piles of paper. In just over a week, Zach Mason had made her life…breathable. She couldn’t muddle that by sleeping with him. Whoa. I was just taking a little taste. Just a kiss. No one said anything about sleeping. She snorted. If she ever got Zach in bed, she would not waste her time sleeping. But they weren’t going there. Because he was in the middle of pulling her business—which was her life—out of the quicksand.
“Why are you in here all alone, Doc?” She appreciated that he kept his distance and didn’t ask her to turn around.
“I need to clean this out. We need the space.” The fact that he’d slid into her practice with so much ease and made things smoother was tough to swallow. When her dad died, she’d promised herself she’d make him proud. Like she’d planned on doing when he was alive. Instead, he’d died, and she felt like she was the one buried.
“Why tonight? Why now? And where’d you get the whiskey?” His tone went soft and the room no longer felt cold.
She pointed to the shelf where she’d left it while going through her father’s textbooks. She’d never seen him open one, but they’d sat on those same shelves for as long as she could remember.
The sound of his feet shuffled across the room and then he was standing beside her, knees bent to see her face, whiskey in hand. “How much did you drink?”
She shrugged, her thoughts a little blurry. “Not enough. How’d you know it was whiskey?”
The smile he gave her made her insides feel just like the first shot of the aged malt. Warm and tingly. God. You must still be buzzed if you’re using the word tingly.
“A man goes without the finer things in life long enough, he learns to recognize them pretty easily.”
Her body was starting to feel heavy, and she was regretting her effort to sort through the mess her father had left behind. This one was literal, not financial. The man was a damn hoarder.
Zach screwed the cap onto the bottle and placed it on the desk. He surveyed the room, and Stella watched him. It was no hardship.
“You were gone a while,” she said.
Glancing at her, he nodded. “I have your money. Stopped by On Dec on the way home. Shit. I brought you food. Let’s go eat.”
He’d brought her food? For some unfathomable reason—probably the single malt whiskey—the fact that he’d thought of her, just that simple gesture, made her want to cry. She wouldn’t, but she’d hold on to that the way others would a kind word or embrace.
“We should have another shot first. Then it’ll be like I wasn’t drinking alone,” she said.
Zach lifted the bottle. “You don’t have a glass.”
She laughed, and heat zipped up her spine making her forget that she knew all about how workplace romances ended. Maybe they didn’t always crash and burn with a guy proposing just to avoid losing a good doctor, but still. It wasn’t wise. And you are? Yup. Older and wiser. “You too delicate to drink it out of the bottle?”
The lust she’d felt had been reflected tenfold in his gaze earlier, but now he just looked amused. It settled the temporary awkwardness she’d felt. Unscrewing the cap he’d just replaced, he took a quick swig. Stella watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. She had the urge to move in, go up on tiptoes, and press her mouth to the column of his neck. He lowered the bottle and passed it to her.
Looking up, swallowing down tears so she could choke down the whiskey, she whispered, “Happy birthday, Dad,” before taking a drink.
“It’s his birthday?” Zach asked, taking the bottle from her.
Stella nodded, staring at his chest. Setting the bottle beside her on the desk, he moved in, and without warning, yanked her into a hard hug.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
All she could do was nod. Being sorry was as useless as tears. But that didn’t change the fact that she felt both.
Zach’s arms created more warmth than the alcohol. She gave herself one more minute of just letting it all go, and when it was up, she pushed back, away.
“You said you brought food?”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he smiled. “And money.”
“Then you are definitely my favorite person today.” They shut the lights off and locked up, walking over the gravel, up to her farmhouse. It sat like a sentinel, watching over the land. White washed with nearly wraparound porches, it looked sturdier than it was. Kind of like you. There were repairs and renovations needed. Maybe, if things kept moving forward, she could take care of some of them.
The dogs greeted them with the enthusiasm of long lost friends. Zach laughed when Nacho jumped up, planting his paws right on his chest. It didn’t even cause him to step back.
“Down, Nacho. That would have knocked me over completely.” Stella laughed, even as the dog wagged his tail and dropped to all fours.
“I’m a little bigger than you,” he commented, walking toward the kitchen. Stella followed behind, enjoying the view. He was definitely bigger than her; he was bigger than a lot of people. But he moved with a gentleness that surprised her, like he knew his size alone could intimidate and wouldn’t want that.
Still feeling the brave that came with several shots, Stella poked him in the side. “Size isn’t everything.”
Zach turned—almost in slow motion—and looked down at her with more fire in his eyes than there was whiskey in her belly. When he stroked a hand down her hair, she nearly purred and leaned into it. Sometimes she was so damn tired of looking out for herself. It would be so easy to let him take over…just for tonight as he seemed to want to. But, she knew better than most that it wouldn’t last. Nothing did. And she wasn’t getting caught up in a whirlwind of emotion
and sensation—no matter how great those sensations might be—just to have the proverbial rug ripped out from under her feet. No thanks. She was better off alone. Like you have a lot of choice there.
“You have more heart, despite your size, than most people I’ve met. If heart counts for size, you have me beat.”
Tears filled her eyes and she sniffled. It was strange, how he didn’t know her at all, but he knew exactly what to say to make her feel like herself again. Feeling that tug in her belly, the desire to be closer to him, she was about to give in, make another attempt at crossing a line she shouldn’t when he dropped his hand and stepped back.
“All right, food, water, and Tylenol, then you need to get some sleep.”
She opened one of the takeout bags and snagged a fry. “Pretty sure I don’t need a babysitter.” Taking the sleeve of fries out, she took the plate he handed her and went to the table.
“You do remember what tomorrow is, right?”
Sitting in one of her ladder-back chairs, she pulled her knee up to her chest and picked at the fries. She wasn’t all that hungry, but she appreciated his gesture, so she kept eating.
“Saturday.” It was usually one of their busiest days. Zach joined her at the table, his plate loaded with a couple of burgers and fries. He handed her a burger, but she shook her head.
“Brockton Days?”
Stella’s shoulders sagged. Shit. How had she forgotten about that? Because you have eight dozen other things on your plate.
“It’ll be fun. I’m excited.”
Rolling her eyes, she finished another fry. “Everyone and their dog, pig, or cat will be there. It’s a chaotic free for all.”