by Ava Miles
Dear God, when Jill stuttered like a nervous school girl, the earth titled on its axis. “What, for heaven’s sake?”
“That you and Blake have reconciled.” Bright spots of red on her cheeks. “They even said he was helping Andy work the crowd and find a woman.”
Oh, crap. She’d never thought the town gossips would interpret it that way. “He was simply…” What could she say? “Being kind. It’s hard for Andy to get back out there.”
“Of course it is. I can’t imagine what it’s like. If I lost Brian…and only had our girls.” She sniffed.
Natalie’s throat closed. This was not what she needed right now. Jill was supposed to be all piss and vinegar. Not maudlin sentiment. “If you hear anything else, please don’t tell me.”
“You can trust me, Natalie.” She made a zipping motion over her lips. “Okay, back to work.”
After her cousin left, Natalie met with the catering staff. While everyone kept the discussion professional, she could all but hear the questions bouncing around inside their heads. Thank God her two assistants yesterday hadn’t mentioned her epic hangover. As they were leaving, she decided to draw a line in the sand.
“If you hear any of the rumors floating around town about…well, Blake and me, I’d ask you not to mention The Grand Mountain Hotel’s catering contract with him. People might misunderstand further.”
The only response she received was a quick shake of their heads, and then they were heading out the door. How much more awkward could things get?
When Terrance knocked on her door, her guard instantly went up. “What is this? The Gossip Deli? Do you want to take a number?”
The scar near his mouth shifted with his wince as he strutted in and closed the door. “I take it you’ve heard the rumors.”
“Yes,” she said. “I would have heard them yesterday, but…”
“You were hung over,” he finished, shrugging at her gasp. “There was a pic on Twitter that had you pretty well plastered against Blake as he led you out of Hairy’s. There’s one of you getting into his SUV and another of your brother taking your car home.”
Why did people like social media again? She wanted to curse. A big, fat doozy of a curse. “Do people not have anything better to do with their lives?”
“It’s a small town,” he said. “And Blake’s famous. More famous than I am. Do you remember the kind of shit I had to put up with on Twitter a few months ago?”
The footage of him punching the man who’d harassed his fiancée had gone viral. None of it had been pleasant. Then again, none of it ever was.
“I don’t miss that part of our life,” she told him. “Everywhere we went, people were watching, taking pictures. Heck, it’s so bad Blake can’t even buy his own underwear anymore.”
Terrance’s brows rose. “I…ah…remember that. Not a boxer man, is he?”
She shut her mouth. There was no way she was mentioning she’d bought Blake new underwear yesterday.
“I came up here to see how you were doing,” Terrance said, “and now I have my answer. You’re strung up pretty tight.” He came around her desk and sat down on the edge, not bothering to move the caterer’s budget for their upcoming corporate event with a major automobile manufacturer.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, even though she wasn’t so sure. Somehow, she couldn’t block out the thought of Blake looking at their wedding picture in her cedar chest. Had he opened the cover to her wedding gown? Then there was the memory of him sleeping on top of the covers, holding her tight, after she’d done God knows what to entice him to make love to her.
“It’s okay to be uncertain, Natalie,” Terrance said softly. “I know you have a history with most people in this town. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m here if you want to talk.”
From day one, she and Terrance had been friends, nothing more. Maybe she needed one now, one who had no memories of her and Blake together.
“I’m…scared of him being here. He’s…so damn sweet and thoughtful. It makes me mad, but mostly…it breaks my heart again. We were so happy until Kim was…” She turned her hand over, eyeing her bare wedding ring finger. “Kim was my best friend, and when she got sick, I couldn’t think or see straight. I didn’t want to. Have you ever had something hurt so bad you’d do anything to stop it?”
“Yes,” he murmured, taking her hand in a gentle clasp. “What do you want to do with Blake?”
After this weekend, she didn’t know. When she was with him, it was so easy to fall back into old comfortable patterns, ones she’d loved, ones she’d missed. But where would that lead? Hanging out, watching TV, and taking a run…all those things felt good; they felt right. But her wounds were still oozing underneath. She feared the underneath. Feared it so much she’d barely slept last night, imagining their after-work run and what it might turn into.
They were heading somewhere. Even she could no longer deny it.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” she said, which was the truth. But she was already failing at that. “He’s been through so much lately. And I don’t want to be hurt anymore.”
He didn’t say anything. Simply reached out and took her hand. The silence made her edgy. Why wasn’t he saying some empty platitude or trying to give her advice? Because he was one smart cookie. He knew there was no good advice in this situation. What had Andy said? She and Blake would have to find the way together.
“If you need to get out of the house—or cook up a feast—you’re always welcome at our place. You know that, right?”
She squeezed his hand and released it. “Yeah. Thanks, Terrance.”
“Are you still okay to go to Denver tomorrow for the client meeting? I can take it if you’d rather stay closer to home.”
Getting out of town sounded like a good idea. She might have to force herself to return. “I still want to take it. In fact, I’m going to text my sisters to see if they’ll meet me for lunch.” They’d be upset if they found out she’d come to town without calling. Besides, if she met them on their own turf, it might help them all get beyond the unease Blake’s return had caused.
“Sounds like a good plan.” His wink was mischievous, the kind Chef T gave the cameras during the filming of his TV show. “Catch you later, Hale.”
When he left, she texted her sisters immediately about meeting her at TAG, one of their favorite restaurants. They both instantly responded in the affirmative. She was glad. This at least was something she could control.
After making the reservation, she just sat there staring at her ceiling, thinking about Blake, about his body, about the way his eyes seemed to light up whenever she came into the room. She kicked her shoes off under her desk and vowed to do some work. Of course, she fired up social media instead and clenched her mouse as she clicked on pictures of her plastered against Blake at Hairy’s, of her gazing up at him with adoration as he bundled her into his car.
By the time she headed home at the end of the day, she realized she was feeling like one of her favorite soufflés: airy with anticipation, but liable to fall flat if she wasn’t handled carefully. Blake texted her shortly after she walked in the door.
Holler when you’re ready. Your carriage awaits.
He was being sweet again. She changed into her workout clothes and yanked on the laces of her running shoes, her mind trying to summon up all the reasons this was a bad idea. When she was ready, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Thought about adding a colored lip gloss. Great. She was thinking about putting on makeup to work out.
Ready on this end, she texted back.
His text was instantaneous. She could almost see him holding his phone, waiting for her cue.
See you in a sec.
When he pulled into her driveway, he didn’t wait for her to get in the car. No, he put it in gear and hopped out. Touchdown ran over to him and was immediately swept into a hug before being set back down. Then Blake turned to face her.
The afternoon sunlight reflected off his sandy brown hair,
spinning it to gold. Her breath caught in her chest. His powerful biceps strained under his bright blue workout shirt. The wind blew down the canyon and pressed that shirt to his abs, giving her a view of the ridges there. Her eyes lowered—she couldn’t help it. His legs bulged with power as he strode with purpose toward her, that damned light in his eyes shining bright from seeing her. Like it always did.
He stopped in front of her and gave her a killer grin, the kind that made her go weak in the knees. “Hey! How was your day?”
How many times had he asked her that very question? Thousands? And he didn’t say it in that throwaway manner people did—he meant it. He wanted to know all the details—the highs, the lows, the in betweens.
He shifted on his feet when she didn’t reply, and she saw him gulp, like he suspected she was retreating from him again. His hand reached out into the space between them. She jolted and took a step back. The light in his eyes faded, his smile dimming like a cloud had covered the sun.
“It’s only a run, Natalie.”
She knew he had intentionally chosen not to use her nickname.
“People are talking about us all over town,” she said, even though that wasn’t why she was pulling away again. “And on social media too.” She wished she had the courage to mention his high school coaching offer, but she wasn’t that brave.
His face hardened. “Let them talk. It’s none of their damn business.”
His hard tone shook loose some of the tension in her belly. When it came to the media and “talk,” Blake had never cared what was said. Sure, he’d gotten smarter about not feeding the fire by allowing public speculation of things he’d rather keep private, like which brand of underwear he favored, but he never let it stop him from doing what he wanted.
And that same old question popped up in her head: What did she want? Her mind returned to her conversation with Terrance. She didn’t want to hurt Blake. But she didn’t want to be hurt either. She looked down at the shadow he cast, always larger than life, and noticed the way it intermingled with hers. Though she’d never told him, the reason she’d turned down his advances when they first met was because she’d sensed—even then—that if she allowed herself to fall in love with him, to need him, she’d never stop. That had scared the shit out of her.
It still did. But if she didn’t go with him today, it would hurt her as much as it would hurt him. And the part of her that feared letting down her guard and falling for him again was currently weaker than the part that couldn’t stand to see him walk away dejected.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
His chest rose as air filled his lungs again. He’d been holding his breath, she realized, with a sharp pinch to her heart.
“Okay,” he said easily. Too easily.
They walked to the car. His steps faltered, so unlike him. She looked over to see him correct his balance as he moved around the hood of the car. He had decided against opening the door for her at the last moment.
Something inside her howled as she watched him lower Touchdown into the passenger seat.
Touchdown licked her face when she got in the car, and once she was situated and buckled in, she forced herself to say the words she needed to say. “Can we please use one of the off-beat trails?”
His hand froze on the gearshift. She watched it clench around the handle.
“Of course,” he said, and this time there was an edge in his voice. “I’ve been going up to Killer Pass for that reason. Is that suitable?”
That reason. Suitable. Oh, how she could hear the accusation in his voice.
“That’s fine,” she answered and stroked Touchdown to cover the tremble in her hands.
When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tight lines around his mouth. Something like a heavy hand pressed on her chest. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him.
But how could he not be hurt? She’d basically said I don’t want to be seen with you, though it wasn’t what she’d meant. They just needed some space to figure this out without everyone watching. Isn’t that why she’d asked her family not to interfere?
And yet, regardless of how hard she tried to fight it, some stubborn part of her seemed intent on killing almost every good thing between them—almost every good thing in her life—and it wasn’t finished yet.
Chapter 20
The worst field Blake had ever played on had been at home against the Charlotte Falcons. Before the game, ice had rained down with punishing intensity, coating the hard ground. By kickoff, the sheets of sleet had turned into heavy snow. He’d spent the entire game slipping and sliding in the pocket, digging his toes into his cleats to gain purchase to step back for a pass. Right now, he felt like he was on that same field with Natalie. Every time he thought he’d found a few feet of solid ground, he’d discover it was coated in ice.
She seemed to be pushing him away again, and his heart lay swollen in his chest. Still, he struggled not to raise his walls, not to fight with her. He’d focused on his running as soon as they hit the trail, and she seemed to be content with the silence.
They couldn’t fight if they didn’t talk.
They couldn’t get back together if they didn’t talk.
He wanted to hit something.
Touchdown ran between them, almost like a peace mediator, panting away. All his buddies joked that the beagle was in better shape than all of them. Blake held back, letting Natalie set the pace like he’d always done. She worried her lip as she ran, making him all too aware of her breasts bouncing just a tad under her red sleeveless sports tank. Her slender arms had the curve of muscle and were dotted with freckles. Her legs were a flash of smooth white as she kept pace with him.
Thorn’s Peak pierced the ocean-blue sky ahead, and lemony rays of the afternoon sun touched the rugged landscape. The rock face of the awe-inspiring Great Wall curved along the pass. Bats and birds flew out of the tiny holes in the rock. He caught sight of a moose and her calf on the humpback-shaped ridge dotted with pines and conifers. The pass was fairly flat, but the incline was deceiving. By mile three, Natalie was puffing, her face tomato red. Her chin was set with pure determination now.
“You don’t have to grit it out, babe,” he said, throttling back even more.
Her eyes were cold and hard when she glanced over. “I can do it.”
His stomach burned. He knew that look. She was angry, most likely with herself. He settled back into her pace. By mile four, he wasn’t breathing hard, but she was nearly gasping. He slowed again.
“Shit. Fine.” She waved her hand. “Go do your thing. I don’t want to hold you back.”
Her words held an ominous ring. Some things never changed. Usually he’d run ahead. She’d walk. Then he’d angle back once he was ready, and they’d run home together. But this wasn’t about that.
“Let’s walk a bit,” he said, dropping his pace to a simple stretch of the legs.
She stumbled and went down on one knee. Hard. Touchdown barked in response to her pained cry.
He was kneeling beside her in seconds. “Here. Let me see.”
She sat down and grimaced at the blood seeping out of the wounds. Brushing at the gravel and dust, she bit her lip.
“Go ahead and shout. I know it has to hurt.”
She swatted his hands aside, which only pissed him off. He ripped off the hem of his shorts and dabbed at the wound.
“Stop coddling me!” she yelled. “I’m fine. Now, go ahead and finish your run. I’ll follow you at a walk.”
His jaw popped. “I’m not fucking running ahead.”
She put her hand on her knee, almost protectively, still gasping for air. “But you always run ahead!”
“I don’t have a quota anymore.” I’m not in the NFL anymore.
“Keep going, dammit! Don’t stop for me. It’s only a little scrape.”
Anger shot up from his liver to his throat. “I’ll damn well stop for you if I want to. Spending time with you is more important than ticking off miles—even if you’
re pissed off, even if you don’t want to be here. And I’m certainly not leaving you when you’re bleeding on the trail.”
Her lip wobbled before she bit it again. In those seconds, something horrible and ugly shimmered between them, something that reminded him of those last days they’d lived together.
He sat on the ground next to her. Dared to lower his hand to her calf to create one tenuous connection between them, a few scant inches from the Celtic knot tattoo on the inside of her ankle, the one he still hadn’t asked her about.
“How is it we’re farther apart today than we were yesterday? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she said with an edge to her voice.
Her breathing was stabilizing. Touchdown was nuzzling her torso, giving her comfort, something Blake wished he could do.
“Yes, you do know,” he pressed, prepared to hear the truth at last. “Tell me why.”
Her gaze flew to his. “Because everybody thinks I’m crazy for ever leaving you! You’re the best guy on the planet. Everyone thinks so.” The hand she was using to prop herself up grabbed a fistful of soil. “You take your drunken ex-wife home when she drinks too much. You don’t screw her when she throws herself at you even though you probably wanted to.”
He felt sick. “I’d never screw you.”
“And to make it worse, you hold my head when I puke, put me in a nightshirt, and sleep in your clothes on top of the covers because I asked you to stay.” Her ice-blue eyes narrowed. “I asked you, didn’t I?”
His throat closed. “Yes.”
Her breath gusted out. “Oh, Blake.”
Touchdown lay down on the ground between them, adding to their fragile connection. Blake’s free hand stroked the dog’s belly. He couldn’t bear to mention he’d seen the black box holding her rings in the hope chest.
He made himself look into her eyes. Hers were wary and filled with pain. “You said you loved me.”
She hung her head. “I cut you like that, and yet you stayed?”