Must Love Jogs (Must Love Series Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Pop grouses.

  “We raised you better than that!”

  My attention oscillates back and forth. “Why are you yellin’ at me? I’m not the one who isn’t willin’ to make a stand and fight for us! I’m not the one who isn’t mature enough to stand behind the person I love!”

  “Are you really that dense?” Pop sighs after another sip. “Tell me, we did a better job than this?”

  Completely confused at how I’m in the wrong, I toss my hands in the air.

  “Wow,” my father exhales sharply. “How would you feel if we hated Abby because she was black?”

  The question stiffens my entire body.

  “How would you feel if she wasn’t welcomed here?”

  “I’d be pissed! I’d raise hell! I-”

  “You wouldn’t,” he cuts me off. “At least not immediately. We’re your family, Blake. You love us. You’d be surprised. Most likely in shock. Confused and scared.”

  His words begin to burrow into my brain.

  “You’d be devastated,” Mama adds. “Your back would be against an unexpected wall and there would be an unmistakable feelin’ of havin’ to choose.”

  My heartache deepens.

  “Now, I don’t know Abby as well as you do,” Ollie joins the conversation, “but loner recognizes loner. And if Abby’s family is all she’s ever had before you, then my guess is she’s probably never had to deal with this issue in the past. Some people’s hatred doesn’t break free until it’s on their doorstep holding their child’s hand. Not knowing your parents, the people you trust to guide you, the people you trust to support you, the people you assume love you and only want the best, are racist isn’t just a run of the mill bombshell. It’s nuclear. It’s life changing. And if their hatred runs deep enough, forcing Abby to choose the only people she’s ever had or a future with someone she’s just learned to love, there’s a high probability something inside of her broke. What she needs is to know you’re still on her side. That if she really has to choose and she chooses you, you will be there for her. As much as we like to believe people are accepting, the truth is so many aren’t, and when you don’t have the support of family or friends to back you up, you, at the very least, want the support of the person you’ve risked it all for.” Her soul baring speech is proceeded with a crooked smile. “Can I have more eggs, please?”

  Mama offers her a wide grin. “More water then I’ll grab you more eggs.”

  “Go home,” Pop commands calmly. “The last thing Abby needs is to be alone.”

  I slowly shake my head. “She doesn’t wanna see me right now.”

  “Because she didn’t answer your calls or texts?” As soon as I nod he grunts, “All of my boys are morons.”

  My mouth hits the table.

  “Was I this dumb at his age?” Pop directs his question to Mama.

  “Dumber.”

  He gives her a glare and she responds with a wicked smirk.

  “Go. Home,” Pop repeats firmly to me. “It doesn’t matter if she’s ignoring you. Show up. Prove yourself. Prove you will be there to weather whatever storm may or may not be ahead. Prove to her even if she loses one family, she still has another, right here, with us.”

  I give the faces around the room a hard look noticing a similar look of solidarity on them.

  He’s right. He’s absolutely right. She needs to know I’m not going anywhere. She needs to know she’ll never be alone again.

  After a quick departure, which included one burnt piece of punishment bacon, I head back home. The minute I step foot inside I’m greeted with the melancholy sounds of Abby’s cello. Slowly, I enter the room, breath taken away at the vision she is behind her instrument. Her eyes are shut tight. Her messy hair is high on her head. Her curvy figure is buried underneath one of my t-shirts. Her legs are pressed tightly against the cello as she uses her bow to flawlessly caress the strings.

  I let out a defeated sigh.

  Why didn’t I come last night? Why didn’t I refuse to leave? Why didn’t I fight for us right then and there the way I accused her of not doing?

  Abby abruptly stops and her eyes shoot open.

  When they land on me, I say, “Autumn’s Anguish.”

  She doesn’t speak.

  “You were a bit sharp.” Walking over to the couch, I drop down in the same seat I was in when the argument began last night. “It happens when you’re in your own head.”

  Her scowl remains. “Are you criticizing me because that’s what my parents do, so you figure you should do it too?”

  I bite my tongue and shake my head. “No, I’ve just been fortunate enough to hear you play this song hundreds of times. Plus, I listen to it at work often, making it easy to recognize wrong notes.”

  Her shoulders loosen.

  “It was your audition piece for the Highland Orchestra.”

  Abby doesn’t acknowledge the fact. Instead she returns her bow to the strings. “Do you recognize this one?”

  The quick change from complete sadness to something upbeat gives me hope. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. Maybe this bump is smaller than I spent all night making it out to be.

  With a crooked smile, I fold my hands together. “That’s I Knew You Were Trouble, by Taylor Swift.”

  “Fan girl.” The playfulness in her tone is appreciated.

  “When’d you learn that?”

  “Haven’t exactly,” she answers while continuing to play. “Just the chorus, but that’s because I was busy learning this one.” The notes change and my recognition is instant. “We had our first kiss to this song.”

  Hearing Tim McGraw’s I Like It, I Love It from a cello is odd yet more meaningful than I can express. The knot of sorrow expands past the point of swallowing. “You…You learned it for me?”

  Her eyes stay focused on her playing. “I’ve learned a lot for you…From you…”

  My lips start to tremble to the point I have to press them together to make it stop.

  “Traditionally for auditions you should pick something classical, but I’m thinking perhaps I do something different. Perhaps it’ll make me stand out.”

  Unsure of what she’s referring to, I ask, “What um…What audition?”

  “There’s an opening for a cellist in a prestigious ensemble similar to Sparkcane, but a slightly smaller scale. There current cellist has developed an illness that will prevent her from playing the second leg of their global tour. My mother forwarded me an email this morning.”

  Of course she did…

  “How long would you be gone?”

  “Six months.” Abby finally stops playing and locks eyes with me. “Do you think I should go?”

  “Do you wanna go?”

  “If the answer’s yes?”

  “Then go.”

  “You don’t want me to stay?”

  “I don’t want you miserable,” I softly sigh.

  Her bottom lip tucks itself out of sight.

  “Angel, if you wanna travel the world again, despite how much you hated how lonely it made you feel in the past, then go for it. If that’s what you want, go after it. It’s your career. It’s your choice. I’ll support whatever decision you make. If you wanna jump from country to country for six months then I’ll wipe out my savings and take out a loan to come see you as often as I possibly can.”

  Abby’s face lights up in surprise. “Really?”

  “Of course. I love you, Abby, whether you are sipping cappuccinos in Italy or at our kitchen table. I’m not goin’ anywhere and nothing and no one can change that.” Pleased to have the perfect segue, I state, “I’m sorry about last night. I was upset. I overreacted. I should’ve never snapped at you like I did. Honestly, I wasn’t exactly bein’ very mature about the entire thing myself. As much as I hate the fact your parents don’t like me and loathe how they treat you, it’s not gonna push me away. It’s not gonna keep me away. I’m here, Abby. I’ll always be here for you. However you want to
handle them and your career, I support it. I stand by you, the same way you always stand by me. I’ll never give up on you or us, Angel.”

  For a moment neither of us move.

  I’m not going to let the woman I love go without a fight, even if the fight simply requires me to stand idly by.

  Abby rests her instrument on the ground and strolls her way over to me, stealing my breath with each small step. She lowers herself to my lap and winds her arms around my neck. Instantly, I nestle my face in the crook of her neck to breathe her in.

  She gently maneuvers my face for us to connect eyes again. “I’m sorry I didn’t stand up to them about us sooner. It took me completely by surprise.”

  Ollie was right.

  “I called them after I got the email this morning.”

  Nervousness arises. “And?”

  “I explained to them I was happy here. I’m happy with the Highland Orchestra. I’m happy with the size I am. And I’m happy with you.”

  A small smile begins to spread.

  “We fought for over an hour. They think I’m throwing my life away and I honestly think for the first time I actually just have a life. They agreed they could make peace with my poor career choices, given my past accomplishments, but would not accept my ‘poor choice’ in my personal life. They swore I don’t need someone like you in my life and I could see their point. I don’t. Like you said when we first met, neither of us need each other that way, but we want it. And this is one of those cases where I think wanting someone cultivates into needing someone and I’m perfectly alright with that.” Her smile extends mine. “Unfortunately, my declaration and heartfelt explanation ended with them stating they will not support us as a couple. They want nothing to do with you and nothing to do with me until I ‘come to my senses’ and end this.”

  A vile feeling lingers in the pit of my stomach. “Angel, I don’t want you to have choose between me and them.”

  “You’re not asking me to. They are. If they can’t see past their own bigoted beliefs and be happy for me, then that’s on them.” Her hand gently runs down my chest. “I plan to spend the rest of my life with you, Blake Shaw. You’re not some fling or fleeting moment. You’re my forever.”

  Unable to restrain myself any longer, I imprison her lips with mine. There’s no resisting. Abby eagerly grants my tongue access to hers and I groan at the invitation. They whirl wildly around and around, as if they feared as much as our hearts did that this was over. Her angelic whimpers drench me and I press us tighter together. Abby’s lower half gently grinds against mine. The enticing action sends our bodies into a frenzy. Frantically, my hands begin tugging at the shirt blocking their path while hers wind themselves in the back of my hair in an effort to pull me closer. I swiftly flip us around so her back is against the seat cushions. My lungs catch fire seeking more air, but I don’t relinquish the hold on her mouth. Her fingers slip under my t-shirt skimming my lower abs as they fight to free my cock. Only a few short moments later, my jeans are around my ankles, and I’m being welcomed by the sweet heat of her pussy.

  She arches upward on the world’s sweetest gasp. “Blake…”

  Anxious to hear her make the noise again and again, I repeat the movement while drowning in her passion for me. For us. Abby’s pussy constricts and my orgasm pressures for an early surrender to the new experience.

  I’ve never had sex without a condom before. The ability to feel every tiny ripple against my dick is like being invited to have a permanent seat in paradise.

  Her hips vigorously lift to meet each thrust and I can’t stop the savageness that overcomes me. My cock pistons harder as her cries increase from the constant stroking of her g-spot. I keep myself rooted above her, watching and feeling her becoming wetter with every push. Her moans become breathless while her body begins to quiver underneath me. She clutches onto my arms for leverage and I realize she’s gripping onto me for so much more than that. She’s allowing me to be her support system. Her lifesaver. Her husband someday. A rapturous roar is ripped out of my chest and I pound harder, wanting her to feel my loyalty in every cell of her body. Abby explodes taking me with her. Her pussy milks me profusely and my cock is more than willing to give her everything I have. Our joint orgasm rocks and blurs my vision dwarfing all the previous ones I’ve ever experienced. Despite the tremors threatening to collapse me, I continue to gently push, needing our closeness to last as long as possible.

  She’s my forever too, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure she never has a reason to doubt it.

  Epilogue

  About Two years later…

  “She’s not going to disappear if you practice, Angel.” Blake pulls Jacqueline, our four-month-old we named after the world famous cellist, out of my arms. “Which you know you need to do because you have worried yourself into several panic attacks you’re not good enough anymore to be principal chair.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Blake.”

  “Sorry,” he shrugs and bounces her in his arms, “but yes I can blame you, Angel. You played ‘til you practically gave birth. I had to beg you to take this much time away. You’re worryin’ for nothin’.”

  Shortly after the fiasco with my parents, Blake proposed. Knowing I wouldn’t want anything big, we had a small ceremony on our one-year anniversary on his parent’s property. While we had discussed having kids, we both agreed there was no rush. We were completely surprised when we found the week before our first Thanksgiving as a married couple, I was pregnant. He was over the moon. It’d been obvious from the beginning the way he’d been with his nephews, kids were an automatic yes in his brain, but I required constant calming. Without parents to support or celebrate the milestone, it was difficult to swallow in the beginning. It’s natural to want your parents to be excited they’re going to be grandparents or at the very least you’re going to be a parent. Mama, who only became even more amazing when my parents cut off ties, did everything she could to be there in that way. Thankfully, my sister reached out the minute she heard what my parents did to me, to inform me she was in the same boat. While not having them around has been dreadful in theory, having her more active in my life eased the transition and proved the point of their true burden rather than blessing. My sister and her husband love Blake. The two of them actually took his daughter and Blake’s oldest nephews on a fishing trip the last time they came to visit, while my sister and I decorated the baby’s room. Who knew three weeks later Jacqueline would be sleeping in it?

  Blake plants a kiss on our daughter’s chubby chocolate cheeks. “Tell Mommy, she’s worryin’ for nothin’.”

  “Don’t use the child to cheer me up.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head at me. “That’s exactly what children are for.”

  I glare at his response.

  “Come on, Angel,” his voice sweetly encourages. “Jacqueline and I will listen to you play. Won’t we?” She coos at him. “See. She’s excited too.”

  With my hand leaned on the edge of her crib, I argue, “Don’t you have work you should be doing? Shouldn’t you be working while I hold her?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah…Dani’s got everything under control. We all agree I should continue on with the formal networking while she handles events in the field.”

  Giving up his role as the face of Runt’s Beer was easier than I predicted. Apparently, being a good husband and father were more important to him. While the company has grown exponentially in a short amount of time, he’s handled the changes smoothly. I was worried not mingling with the day to day consumer would wear on his spirit, but he proved just how capable of change he was almost instantly. After finding out we were pregnant, J.T. offered him a higher role, in which he would be pitching the product to bigger buyers rather than the average person. He grabbed the task by both arms and threw himself into it. He practiced pitches on me between my practicing of sets. We stayed up late together tweaking one another’s crafts until we wer
e each confident in the results. It turns out Blake’s a natural fit and has had an impressive success rate. He’s irresistible…I hope Jacqueline gets his social skills and not mine.

  The three of us exit her white and purple painted room together.

  Blake settles himself on the corner of the couch with her cradled tightly in his arms. He continues talking to her, telling her all the things he thinks are amazing about my playing, while joking her love of popular music will come from him.

  It’s true. Even years later, it’s his devotion to the radio that keeps any of my knowledge about it relevant.

  I sit in my chair with my cello gripped tight and my eyes still on them.