by Liz Crowe
Parker stared at him, the perfect V shape of his torso, the way the sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body. “Um, huh?” he tried to focus and figure out how to fix this.
“Ashley called me yesterday.”
“Ashley,” Parker repeated, not understanding.
“Yeah. She’s pregnant. And it’s not the casino boyfriend’s kid. It’s yours.”
Parker got the sucker-punched sensation again, and this time he dropped back to his ass on the turf, head pounding. Nicco crouched in front of him, brushed a strand of sweaty hair off his forehead.
Parker gripped his wrist, yanked him close, their lips inches apart. “I want to be with you,” he whispered, running a shaking hand across Nicco’s rough jaw. “Ashley means nothing to me. I love you…I—”
“I know that,” Nicco interrupted, softening his tone. “She told me what happened. However, the fact remains, you knocked the girl up. Therefore you now have a certain level of responsibility that may not…play well if we…I mean.” He rose, staring down at Parker whose legs were so wobbly he didn’t even try to get back up.
Nicco held out a hand and tugged Parker to his feet. They stood close enough to kiss, merely staring at each other. “I’ve thought a lot about this, Parker,” Nicco said softly. “And I don’t think it will work. Not that I don’t love you. I do love you. A lot. But you can’t afford to be entangled with me, with this whole gays in sports thing. You are gonna have a kid. You have to be something…else. It won’t be fair to you, or your…child.” Nicco looked away.
Parker started walking away, his vision blurry with anxiety. He turned when he was halfway across the field and yelled at the top of his lungs. “I love you, Nicolas Garza. I don’t give a fuck who knows about it.” He pointed, his hand still shaking. “If you want to cop out, freak out and push me away, I want you to know right now it’s your fault we won’t be happy. I will tell the whole goddamned world how I feel about you. I don’t care. I’m sick of your excuses.”
Nicco started toward him, his lips settled in a tight line. Parker kept walking backward, willing Nicco to keep coming, to follow him out. When his back hit the wall of the entrance ramp leading from the pitch down to the locker rooms, they were in near complete darkness. Parker reached out, found Nicco’s hand, and tugged him close. “Don’t do this to us,” he whispered before slanting his lips over Nicco’s, groaning with relief at having the man back in his arms. “Don’t.”
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Nicco smiled as he turned the corner from the kitchen into the large sunny family room. He held a backpack and a small soccer ball. Ross’ mother had just sent him a text to say she’d be about ten minutes late but couldn’t come in and could they send the boy out to her. His heart jumped into his throat at the sight of the child sitting in Parker’s lap, a book open in front of them.
Parker had his chin resting on Ross’s dark blond head, letting the boy turn the pages. Of all the things Nicco ever imagined himself doing, co-parenting a boisterous, energetic and scary-smart son with his lover had not been one of them. But he wouldn’t trade the last few years for all the money in the world. He leaned in the doorway, watching. Then when his phone dinged with a text he remembered what he’d told Ashley.
“Hey, kid, your mom’s here. She’s in a hurry. Here’s your stuff.”
Ross looked up and beamed at Nicco. When the boy leapt off Parker’s lap and made a bee line for him, Nicco knelt, taking the warm little body in his arms, and held him close. “Uncle Nicco, I don’t wanna go.”
“Sure you do. Your mom needs you and so does Anthony,” he named Ashley’s accommodating, wealthy, casino-boss husband. “And I hear your baby sister misses you so…off you go!”
Ross held him in a death grip, his arms strong for a toddler. Nicco stretched out his other arm and enfolded Parker in the group embrace. Finally Ross lifted his face from Nicco’s shoulder, his impish grin back in place.
“Love you, Uncle Nicco. Love you, Daddy,” he said, wiggling down to the floor and grabbing his stuff. “See you tomorrow night? At the game?”
“Yep,” Parker crouched down and gripped his son’s hand. “I love you too. Be good for your mom and Anthony and give baby Ellie a kiss for me.”
The two men stood at the door, waved to Ashley, and watched Ross clamber up into his car seat. She blew them kisses after fastening him in and sped away in her obnoxiously expensive SUV. Parker sighed and leaned into Nicco a moment. “I miss him already.”
“Me too.” Nicco kissed Parker’s hair, then tugged him back inside. “I have an idea for some activity that could distract us, however.”
*****
Later, after a long run, then dinner, Parker lay on the leather couch, watching an English Premier league match. Nicco brought in a couple of cold bottles of beer. Accepting one, he moved his feet to make room on the couch, reflecting on the tumultuous last few years with a smile. The two men had become an acknowledged, accepted couple. They led a few low-key fundraisers for gay rights in the workplace and, of course, for same-sex marriage. It killed Parker that if anything happened to him and he was incapacitated, the damn owner of his team had more say over him than did his partner of the last three years.
After three winning seasons no one would argue with the Black Jacks’ success. The leadership remained solid. Metin and Rafe had settled into their roles as co-coaches. A new goalie had been signed for the coming season. They had a new legal department able to ride herd on the crazy shit the promotions people concocted. The stupid blog the marketing geniuses has set up had been shut down after getting several players in trouble as fans took it as a challenge to catch a “BJ” out misbehaving and posting it up on the site as quickly as possible. Nicco had lain low, remaining completely out of the limelight except for his abilities on the field, which proved just as amazing the subsequent seasons as the first.
And Parker loved him. Was truly, madly, head over heels with the man. Not that they did not have their differences of opinion. They were prone to knock-down drag-outs, leaching onto the field at times, just like any other couple that worked together, he supposed. He plopped his bare feet onto Nicco’s lap and sipped his beer. Nicco changed the station to some random violent movie, leaving Parker content to drift and observe his lover’s profile as he got sucked into the killing and bloodshed on the screen.
At one point, as if sensing Parker’s gaze on him, Nicco glanced over, his face lighting up with a smile that made Parker’s heart pound. He had continued his therapy and fully owned up to his past addictive tendencies. He fought the demons still, but Parker kept him focused, and having a baby, then a toddler around half the time kept them both near exhaustion.
Being a parent had made Parker feel complete. He adored his son and truly appreciated the boy’s mother, who had so readily agreed to let him be a huge part of Ross’s life.
The hand Nicco had resting on Parker’s leg moved up, under the towel Parker wore after his shower. “Mmmm….” Parker sighed and slid down, shivering as his lover grasped the hard-on he’d been sporting since Nicco had come into the room. “Whatcha gonna do with it?”
Nicco shrugged, feigning boredom as he kept his gaze on the large screen, but his hand moving against Parker’s flesh. “I’ll think of something,” he muttered.
Parker sat up, turned Nicco’s dark face to his. “I love you,” he said, threading his fingers in the man’s silky black hair.
“I always knew you were insane.” Nicco smiled. “Now lay back. I just figured out what I want to do with this,” He yanked Parker’s towel off and crouched between his legs.
“Yeah, baby,” Parker groaned and fisted his fingers in Nicco’s hair, fucking his mouth until he came in an explosion of erotic energy, groans, and sighs.
Nicco got up to his knees, wiping his mouth, his eyes dark and sparkling. “Flip over, lover boy. I need to fuck you.” The low, sexy growl of his voice made Parker’s entire body zing with anticipation. He grabbed a tube of lube
from the coffee table drawer, handed it over, and dropped his towel, presenting his ass to the other man’s gaze.
Parker gripped the couch arm, groaning in pain and pleasure.
“God! Yes!” Nicco cried out, pounding into him, gripping his hips, then draping over his back. Sweat slicked their skin. Nicco nipped at his shoulder, making Parker yelp and squirm, then sigh when Nicco pulled out of him. He grabbed the towel and sat.
“I love you, Parker,” Nicco said simply, as he dropped down to one knee on the floor. Parker looked at his outstretched palm. It held two heavy silver rings. “I want to be with you forever. Please.”
Parker took one, and slid it onto Nicco’s left ring finger then let his lover do the same for him. “This is gonna cause another shitstorm, you know,” he said as he pulled Nicco into his arms.
“I don’t care,” Nicco declared before dropping into sleep, leaving Parker to run his fingers through his hair, contemplating how much of a mess it would cause and how they’d weather it together.
The End
About The Author
Best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.
Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction hybrid, “Romance. Worth the Risk,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”).
With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.
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Relent, Sydney Storm MC, Book 1
by
Nina Levine
Prologue
Evie – 16 years old
“You do know the only reason every guy in school wants you is because they all think you’re just as much of a slut as your mother is, don’t you?”
I finished washing my hands before turning off the tap and lifting my head to look in the mirror at the three bitches standing behind me. They always seemed to wait until I was alone in the school toilets before attacking me with their hateful words.
“You do know the reason every guy in school doesn’t want you is because you’re a nasty, spiteful cow, don’t you?” I threw back at Stephanie, the ringleader, before turning to face them.
I watched her eyes widen in surprise. She quickly regrouped and spat some more nastiness at me, “You might be pretty now but looks don’t last, so I recommend if you actually want to lose that virginity you’re hanging onto, to pick one of them and get it done. The rest of your life will be downhill from here and you might not get another chance. I mean, it’s gone to shit now anyway, Evie, so I’m not sure why you would even hope that it’ll get better. Your sister is gone and your mother screwed her way to fucking up your family . . . and if you think Kick will ever see you as more than a friend, you’re dreaming.”
My hand connected with her cheek a second later and the sound of the slap echoed through the tiny room. Anger pumped furiously through my veins at her words. She’d been throwing words like these at me for months now and, in my grief, I’d been ignoring them. Ignoring her. But she’d pushed me now and I’d had enough.
“Don’t you ever mention Shelly again!” I yelled, as I desperately tried to fight off the guilt and shame that bubbled up whenever my sister and mother were mentioned.
Will it ever end?
Pain pounded in my head as a headache set in. The headaches were never ending these days, and I knew this one, like all the others, wouldn’t ease up for at least the rest of today.
Stephanie stared hate at me as she held her face where I’d slapped her. “Just stay away from Todd and I won’t ever mention her again. He’s mine and I’m not gonna lose him to a whore like you.”
I stood stunned as the three of them gave me one last venomous look before leaving me alone. What the hell? I wasn’t even interested in her boyfriend. Slumping against the sink behind me, I ran through all my interactions with Todd lately, trying to work out what she was referring to. Lost in my thoughts, I was caught off guard when the door pushed open and Kick barged in to the room, concern etched on his face.
His eyes found mine and he asked, “Are you alright?”
I rubbed my temples as the headache intensified. “Yeah, why? And why are you barging into the girls’ toilets?”
He came toward me, the concern on his face shifting to something else. Frustration. I knew that look from him well. “I saw those bitches leaving and Stephanie said something about you being in here and needing me.” He paused and came even closer, his eyes now demanding honesty from me. “I know you’re not okay, Evie. When are you gonna admit it and ask for help?”
Always my protector. But this time you can’t save me.
The pain throbbed harder in my head and I struggled for breath.
I can’t do this now.
I wrapped my arms around myself, my fingers clawing at my arms, digging into my skin. Desperately wanting to force the despair and hopelessness out of me.
“Don’t you see, Kick? Even if I ask for help, there’s nothing you can do. Not this time.” He’d always been there for me, helping me pick up the pieces when they smashed around me. I knew he thought he could fix me, fix this horrible situation, but it was time he admitted it – no one could fix this.
He listened to what I said, his body tensing as he processed it all. Anger tore across his face and I gripped the sink as I waited for his explosion. Kick had a temper and it was about to unleash itself. Although he was only seventeen, I’d seen grown men shrink under his temper.
“Fuck!” he roared, turning around and punching the door. I remained silent and simply watched as he punched it again, his back muscles rippling under his tight t-shirt. Stephanie had been right when she’d said I wanted Kick to see me as more than a friend. But even I knew that would never happen. Although he was single now, he usually had a girlfriend or a girl he was sleeping with. He was my best friend and that was all it would ever be. And I’d made peace with that a long time ago. But it didn’t stop me admiring everything Kick was.
Good-looking with olive skin, brown hair that begged for fingers to be run through it, green eyes I could get lost in for days, and built with muscles gained from hours of football training.
He turned back to face me and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’m gonna go and sort that bitch out for you once and for all. I’ve had enough of watching them tear you down for something that wasn’t your fault.”
We stared at each other for a couple more moments before he stalked out of the toilets.
Shit.
I had to stop him before he went too far.
I had to make him see.
This was my fault.
I deserved everything I got.
Chapter One
Evie
I’d hit it.
That moment in life when you grow weary of trying.
When you’ve taken so many steps forward and twice as many back and you throw your hands in the air and say to fuck with it.
I was done.
Done caring.
Done wanting to care.
Done with
it all.
Life could try and drag me back into the game all it liked, but I was out.
As I sat in the afternoon traffic with tears streaming down my face, I kept my hands firmly on the steering wheel and let them fall. Jeremy was always telling me to let it all hang out, to not hide myself from the world, so I was only honouring him by not giving a shit how bad I looked. And yet, as we sat bumper to bumper, not moving, I was sure the driver in the next car must have been looking at me, judging me. I glanced in his direction to find him engrossed with his phone. I stared for a couple of minutes but he never gave me the time of day.
Nobody cares, Evie.
Not me, not him, and not the driver that killed Jeremy.
I sagged against the steering wheel as the pain sliced through me.
Again.
It had been nearly a week and the pain was as intense as it had been the day he died. But I knew from experience the pain would never go away. Eventually, I’d numb myself to it, but still, I’d carry it with me to my grave. Jeremy and I were entwined so deeply that some days I hadn’t known where he ended and I began. We’d been a part of each other’s lives since we were ten.
Since Kick brought him home from school and declared him a part of us now.
Shit.
And that was the kicker.
Now I’d lost both of them.
*****
It took me twice as long to get home from work than usual due to the horrendous traffic. As I pulled into my driveway, I saw my best friend, Maree, sitting on my front step. She hadn’t left me alone since Jeremy’s death, and I was at the point where I needed some space. I loved her dearly but she never knew when to back off.
Sighing, I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and gave myself a quick onceover in the mirror. Shit, I looked awful. My mascara wasn’t waterproof after all, and I had black streaks running down my face. Add to that, my foundation had worn off in the heat of the day and my long, brunette hair had frizzed in the humidity, and I looked like a woman you would possibly cross the road to avoid.