by Ava Miles
A sigh gusted out of him as his heart burst. “I’m not mad.” He headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked when he opened it.
Touchdown gave a happy bark and whined and pawed at Blake’s leg like he wanted to go out. “Stay, boy.” At least one of them could watch over her. “I’m going next door. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Dammit, tell me you love me. Right now.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Even if he said the words, she wouldn’t remember. What would it hurt? “I love you. Now eat your sandwich.”
“Uh,” he heard her rasp out and looked over immediately.
Her body was sliding across the kitchen island in a ladylike slump. Should he help her or leave?
“I don’t feel well,” she whispered.
Finally. She was crashing. And right after she’d broken his heart to smithereens again. Touchdown barked as if to remind him of his duty to take care of her, of the vows he’d made to stand with her in sickness and in health. Like he could have forgotten them. He strode back into the house as she started to fall. After catching her in his arms, he lifted her like a small child and carried her to her room.
“I’m going to be sick,” she said, slapping a hand over her mouth.
He made it to her bathroom in time and held her hair as she vomited. He rubbed her back throughout, and when she was finally spent, he rose to fetch a glass of water so she could rinse her mouth out. Her hands were shaking so badly he had to help her hold the glass. He didn’t even bother to hand her a warm cloth—he simply washed her face, trying to be gentle and yet mechanical.
“You poor baby. You really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?” he asked when she rested her forehead on the toilet seat.
In all the time he’d known her, she’d only been this sick twice before. Once, after celebrating his Super Bowl win. The other time had been on a different vacation. She’d blamed tainted sushi, but he was reasonably sure it had had more to do with the sake she’d drunk with it.
When enough time had passed after her final bout of sickness, he tenderly scooped her up, breaking open more doorways in his heart, and carried her to her bed, where he tucked the covers over her. She immediately crawled over to the right side of the bed.
His heart received the final knock-out punch of the night. She still slept on her side of the bed. He’d tried sleeping in the middle after she left, but he’d soon reverted to sleeping on the left. It was the only way he could fall asleep.
“Blake,” she called gruffly.
“I’m right here,” he rasped out. It was where he felt he belonged.
Her eyes opened, and even though they were bloodshot and filled with pain now, they gazed at him with renewed focus. “Hold me.”
His plans to flee turned to dust. He couldn’t ignore her quiet request. He tucked her in and settled down on top of the covers, making sure to keep enough distance between them. When she cuddled close, he gritted his teeth and locked all his muscles into place so he wouldn’t soften against her.
Then she murmured, “I love you,” and he felt the first tears fall from his eyes.
Chapter 16
Natalie awoke to a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as the desert. When she tried to turn over so she could die, she couldn’t. She cracked one eye open and groaned.
Blake.
He was on top of the covers dressed in the most hideous outfit she’d ever seen him wear. Her mind started to turn like a rusty old wagon wheel, sending images from the night before flashing through her mind.
She and Andy going to Hairy’s Irish Pub. Playing darts and pool. Downing shots with the guys.
Oh, God. Tequila was the devil.
And that was all she remembered. Great, another Natalie Show had premiered.
Peeking under the covers to see what she was wearing, if anything, she was somewhat relieved to discover she had on her underwear and a nightshirt. Not surprising really. Blake had never crossed that line before, even though last night must have been hard for him. Hard. If she hadn’t been in agony, she might have laughed.
She let her lone eye close. It hurt too much to keep it open. Blake must have taken her home. Had Andy helped? The strong frame next to her stirred, and the bed dipped, making her clutch her stomach.
“Don’t do that,” she hissed.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll go get you some aspirin and water.”
“And tomato juice,” she reminded him.
“Do you want me to add the egg?”
She almost up-chucked right there. “No.”
Even though she suspected he was taking care to inch off the bed, the movement felt as profound as the trembling of the earth under a herd of dashing buffalo. She moaned long and deep as he left the room.
Moments—or an eternity—later, he returned to the room. “Okay, let’s do this,” he said. “You’ll feel better once you get this stuff down.”
He put his hand under her back and neck to raise her, and she bit her lip to still the cartwheels flipping in her stomach. “I hate this part.”
“I know.” His touch was gentle as he settled the rim of the glass against her lips.
She managed the pills and a few sips of both the water and the tomato juice. He helped her lay back down, but she found herself missing his warmth and the sweet touch of his hands, which had helped dispel the dizziness.
“I don’t feel as dizzy when you hold me,” she admitted. At this point, she had no pride.
A hefty sigh gusted out, and then he lay back down beside her. His warmth drew her. His strength anchored her. She nodded off, and when she surfaced, the dizziness was gone. She rolled onto her side and put her hand on his chest, the only place it seemed to fit when they were squashed together this way.
“I must have done a doozy last night,” she murmured, wanting more water to counter the dryness in her mouth, but not daring to move. Her tomato juice might decide to dance an Ole.
“Yes. Jordan is going to have to answer to me later. I can only hope he got as sick as you did.”
Unlikely. He outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds. “Not my best moment.” Well, she’d wanted to forget, and she’d certainly managed to meet that goal.
He grunted in acknowledgment.
“Did I do anything I should regret?” she asked.
“Other than dance around in your underwear to Pink? Nah.”
She almost dove under the covers then and there. “So, I didn’t throw myself at you?”
The muscles in his chest clenched where her hand lay. “I managed to talk you down. You weren’t in your right mind.”
A powerful wave of grief rose up in her. So, she’d managed to hurt him again, using his desire for her against him. She should hide under the covers in shame, after all.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Something patted her hand. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. She could hear the edge in his voice. He’d thrown her nightshirt over her and stayed with her, sleeping on top of the covers like they were teenagers dating, too scared to have sex, but too attracted to stay apart. She suspected there was more to it, but she was too afraid to ask him how she’d thrown herself at him.
“I’ll make it up to you.” Her mind couldn’t think beyond the present moment, but she’d think of something when she felt better.
“You don’t have to balance the scales, Nat.”
No, he’d never kept score. Not once during their time together. She’d always loved that about him.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked. “I need to head home to let the caterers in and deal with the guys.”
“Oh, God, I forgot. Brunch. I am the worst professional on the face of the planet.”
“I…ah…wasn’t sure what to do when your assistant called, so I texted her back and told her to show up without…well…you. I knew you’d be embarrassed if I answered your phone.”
This further evidence of his consideration sent a
sweet pang through her chest. She turned her head and forced her eyes open. Ten eighteen. They would be arriving at eleven. “I can help.”
He gently pressed her back down when she tried to rise. “Don’t bother. It’s not like they don’t know what to do. Everything’s ready, right?”
When she nodded, a bolt of pain shot across her temple. She clutched it.
“I’ll check on you later.”
Could he be any sweeter? She felt the urge to curl up into a ball.
“Thanks,” she rasped out instead.
A soft kiss landed on her brow, and his hand stroked the hair from her forehead. “Get some rest.”
The movement in the bed when he left was more akin to a flock of pigeons landing, and sure there was a jolt in her stomach, but not the roll she’d experienced earlier. She nodded off again. By the time she finally managed to crawl out of bed and into the shower, she’d downed the tomato juice and more water. She’d be drinking buckets today. The steam and water helped, and after she dried herself and wrapped herself in a towel, she forced herself to deal with the one thought that now wouldn’t leave her consciousness.
If he’d found her nightshirt, he must have found her secret too.
She walked to her cedar chest and opened the lid. The wedding picture she’d placed inside with her dress was lying at an angle, but the black box holding her rings lay undisturbed.
He had seen these precious mementos and touched them. She sank to a knee and wondered what he’d felt. He’d sent these items over in her hope chest with the note No one should be without their hope, but try as she might, she couldn’t force herself to get rid of them.
Picking up the frame, she stared at the picture inside. She radiated all the good things about life in that one snapshot: life, love, joy, and hope. Looking at it, she could finally admit she wasn’t happy, not like she’d been before Kim’s death. She’d given up believing that she could be, that she deserved to be. How had it ever come to this? Blake living next door and taking care of her when she was drunk, even though they were divorced.
Her eyes tracked to the imprint of his body on the covers and the pillow.
Her stomach rolled, but this time, it wasn’t from excess.
It was from grief.
Chapter 17
Sam was reading the Sunday paper at the kitchen table when Blake let himself in through the garage. He and Andy had orchestrated the return of Natalie’s car—Andy had dropped it off, and then Blake had dropped Andy off. They hadn’t really talked about last night, thank God. All he really wanted to do now was take a long shower before the caterers arrived.
“Everyone still asleep?”
“I think a few are showering. We might need to wake the others up with ice water after last night’s antics.”
He wasn’t even going to ask what they’d gotten up to after he left. “I’d be particularly happy to wake up Jordan that way.”
“Sounds like fun. How is Natalie?” Sam asked, folding The Western Independent and settling it in his lap.
“Hung over. Shock.” He made jazz hands, which normally would have made Sam laugh. But his friend didn’t play along.
“How are you after playing husband last night?”
The bold question would have gone unanswered had anyone else asked it. “Shitty. She pulled one of her Natalie Shows and danced in her underwear.”
His memory couldn’t seem to stop replaying that scene, and the mere memory was enough to arouse him. It was embarrassing. And heartbreaking.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly and rose from the kitchen table. He poured a cup of coffee and slid it to Blake.
The coffee burned his lips, but he kept gulping, needing the pain as much as the caffeine. He’d barely slept. Being next to her again, feeling her warm, soft body so close, hearing her breathe…even those cute little snores she made when she was conked out had been like finding a trove of long-awaited treasure. And it had made him cry, dammit.
Sam’s hand rested on his shoulder, and he welcomed the show of support.
“She threw herself at me and was shocked when I turned her away. She said…she loved me.” The knife slid under his ribs again, tearing open his flesh.
“Then you were right to come here,” Sam said. “She might have been drunk, but you know what they say—in vino veritas. Everything will work out. Somehow.”
He couldn’t think about that right now. When the guys left later, he would take a long hike in the mountains and try to clear his mind.
“I’m going to take a quick shower.”
“Don’t be surprised if you don’t find any clean underwear,” Sam told him when he was halfway across the room.
He did a double take. “What did they do?”
Sam grimaced. “I tried to put a stop to it after the first few, but…I gave up under duress. Some of the guys—not saying who—climbed one of your trees and stuck all your briefs on the branches. In hindsight, it’s not as bad as the time we put all of Jordan’s briefs in the freezer.”
He glanced out the window, but couldn’t see anything from his vantage point, so he walked out the back door. “You’re shitting me.”
“Wish I was, although I did think it was pretty creative in the beginning.”
He watched a squirrel carry one of his navy briefs in its mouth and run up a tree. Were they using his underwear for blankets or something? He could see the ad now.
Ride the Squirrel Craze. Discover men’s underwear for blankets. Keep your nuts warm.
His eyes tracked to the right, and sure enough, his underwear were flapping in the breeze on the highest branches possible, like a men’s-only May Pole. The sheer number of them and the amount of colors he wore made his face flush.
“Whose brilliant idea was this?” he asked.
“Jordan and Grant’s. Who else?”
He growled in his throat. Normally he would laugh something like this off, but he’d slept two hours tops and had woken up with blue balls.
“You’re telling me they used all my briefs?”
“Cleared out your drawer,” Sam said with barely disguised glee.
Blake turned at the sound of heavy footfalls in the hallway. When no one emerged, he strode over and discovered Grant hiding behind the wall like a little kid.
When the lineman saw him, he held up his hands. “Don’t kill me. It was Jordan’s idea.”
“Right.” He rubbed the stubble on his face. “I’m showering now, and I want all my underwear down by the time I finish.”
Grant shook his head. “No way, Ace. We…ah…made a brother’s pact. The only person who can get them down is you.”
He and Sam had started the brother’s pact at camp to make sure no one welshed on a dare or a bet or a practical joke. Now he was eating his own words.
“Terrific. Let the caterers in if I’m not out yet.”
He headed straight to the shower. It was intolerably brief and cold, and he elected not to shave as he tugged on yesterday’s underwear and Don Johnson getup. No way was he going commando in tight acid-washed jeans. He didn’t need anything rubbing or chafing down south. When he returned to the kitchen, the caterers were already setting up. He started when he saw Natalie slowly peeling saran wrap off a bowl of fruit, wincing with every inch uncovered.
Of course she’d come. She prided herself on her professionalism—always had. The smell of food had to be pure torture for her, not to mention the noise from the five guys who had emerged from back rooms with wet hair and clean-shaven jaws. Jordan wasn’t among them and neither was Zack.
Sam waggled his brow as if he knew what he was thinking. He nodded.
As he passed Natalie on the way to the cabinet, he rested his hand briefly on her shoulder. She looked back at him. Her skin had a gray pallor, and her hair was still wet from her own shower. But she stole his breath away.
“I told you that you didn’t have to come,” he said. What he really wanted to tell her was that she looked beautiful, even hung over.
&n
bsp; “I know you did. Thanks for helping Andy this morning.”
“You’re welcome.”
He moved to the cabinet and pulled out two pitchers. Sam grabbed one, and they filled them first with ice and then with water before tiptoeing into the room where Zack and Jordan were bunking. Once they were inside enemy territory, Blake crooked his finger for Sam to take Zack while he positioned himself over Jordan.
Pretty boy Jordan was sleeping in the nude on his stomach, tangled in the covers with one butt cheek sticking out. Zack was sleeping on a blowup bed in the corner by the closet. He must have lost the coin toss.
Blake raised one finger at a time, counting to three, and then he and Sam simultaneously upended the pitcher all over the guys. Atlanta’s marquee quarterback screeched, lashing out with his hands as the water soaked his bed. Zack squealed bloody murder and rolled off onto the floor.
Shoulders shaking with laughter, Blake watched as Jordan rose onto his haunches and glared at him.
“Payback’s a bitch,” he said, letting one eyebrow rise.
“You guys so suck,” Zack shouted, tossing water-soaked pillows and sheets in their direction.
“How does it feel to be wearing the same underwear, Ace?” Jordan fired back.
The man never cried uncle. It was what made him a great player. Sack him, and he sneered.
“About as great as an ice bath to the privates. Brunch is ready.” With that, Blake left the room, Sam chuckling as he followed him out.
The guys were stuffing their faces when they came back into the room. He spotted Natalie in the corner of the kitchen, fiddling with a container of something. All of her assistants were gone. She must have sent them home since everything was laid out. He wondered why she was lingering. Did she want to talk to him? His heart clutched with hope.
Logan set aside his bagel with a grin. “How badly did you get Jordan?”
“Pretty bad, from the sound of it,” Grant said. “Zack could have doubled for some exotic bird.”
“Must be all those Vegas entertainers he’s been dating.” Blake affected a hard gleam in his eyes as he scanned the group. “Let that be a warning. Next time you want to decorate my tree with my briefs do me a favor and leave one clean pair for me to wear. These jeans chafe like hell.”