First to Fall

by Lane, Stacy

  “Jo,” he calls my name as I see his figure appear through the glass window peering into the bedroom. He walks to the large windows, gazing down on the Vegas strip. When he spins, his eyes land directly on me.

  Brooks steps inside the bathroom, looming above me. His hands come to his hips and his head falls.

  “I like how you walked to the window as if I jumped or something.” I tease him, replacing my head back to lay on the towel. He’s standing in the center of the floor, not speaking. I’m not even sure he’s breathing. “Brooks?”

  “I thought you were hurt,” he mumbles, so low I drop my head lower to try and read his lips.

  “Hurt? I’m fine. I should be the one worried. When Claude pulled me out of there Noah was tackling you to the ground and then you were flipping him off of you and throwing punches.”

  Brooks raises his head. Strained, troubled creases deepen between his brows and near his mouth. His lip is cut with drops of blood on the bottom. “You were right there. We got separated but I had you in my line of sight. Then that group came busting out of the club, drunk and yelling. I couldn’t see you but I saw Kate so I went back to talking with the guys. When Mila and Kate rushed over and said Noah grabbed you…” Brooks closes his eyes on a sigh.

  I sit forward. “Brooks, he didn’t hurt me.”

  “He told me about Mason. Doesn’t mean he’s absolved of everything, but I reiterated to leave you out of it. Mason’s bullshit is his and his parents’ problems.”

  “His whole family betrayed him.” Bending my legs, knees rising above the water, I loop my arms around them.

  “So you believe him?” Brooks finally takes a step closer toward me, not stopping until he’s sitting on the edge of the pristine tub.

  “I do.”

  Brooks strokes my face, palming my cheek. “You really okay? I freaked the fuck out when Mila starting shouting my name.”

  “I’m fine, promise.” My eyes linger at the cut on his lip. “We need to clean that up.”

  Brooks stands, unbuttoning his white shirt, now dirty and torn near the bottom. His fingers move over one, down to two, lips twitching at three, and continuing on at a purposeful, torturous pace that is dangerous to my beating heart as it keeps skipping.

  The slinky linen slips to the floor. Brooks undoes his jeans, sliding them down. Naked and glorious, he steps into the tub behind me. The water rises, spilling over the rim. His lips find the spot where my neck and shoulder meet. His hands scoop around my stomach, pulling me into him until my back is pressed to his chest. We lean back together, submerging our bodies into the bath.

  Brooks reaches for the washcloth, soaking it through and starts rubbing it up and down my front. The prickly soft cotton brushes my belly and then circles my breasts.

  I let him hold me, bathe me, whatever else he plans on doing because it’s what he needs. There was a terror in his eyes when he retold his point of view. He needed to process, so I remained quiet.

  Until my own concerns needed answers.

  “Brooks, what happened after I left? Did you know Claude escorted us here?”

  “Yeah, Ryan told me that after I calmed down some. I was looking for you and couldn’t find you. Again.”

  “And Noah?”

  He grunts.

  Rolling my eyes, because I don’t speak caveman, I question further. “Were the cops called? Did you end the fight amicably? Is Noah in the hospital? Give me something, Brooks. I didn’t like that I had to leave you back there.”

  “Claude did the right thing. I owe him for that. Ryan and Marc pulled us apart before the cops were called over. We’re bloodied and bruised but it’s nothing us hockey players aren’t used to. After we calmed down, Noah told me about Mason. He didn’t want it to be another blindside you were hit with in the media. I’ll give him that, but I told him his delivery was shit.”

  “Will you get in trouble? After today in the hallway and now tonight… I imagine your coach won’t be happy if he hears about it.”

  “It’ll be fine. Ryan has my back. Noah still has a bad reputation and he can’t just grab my girl and not expect me to retaliate.”

  The cloth runs down my arm. I twist my hand over and take it from him. Sitting up, I face Brooks, placing a hand on each of his strong shoulders for support as I straddled his slippery lap. I lean in and kiss the side of his mouth that’s not split open. Then I use the washcloth to dab at the cut and clean him up.

  Brooks’s hands never stop moving and roaming across my wet skin. His slides his palms up my thighs, gripping my waist and thrusting my center to meet with his fully erect cock. The washcloth slips from my fingers when he bends his head and brings a nipple inside his mouth.

  Moaning, I clamped onto the hair at the back of his neck, but hold him there. He keeps adding pressure between my legs. Seeking more with greed, I roll my hips on top of him.

  Brooks groans and I try to ride him in this slippery terrain. I’m practically mewling when one hand moves to my backside, fingers skimming along my spread cheeks.

  “Hold onto me,” he growls.

  Clinging to him with a tight hold, Brooks keeps me steady against him with one arm, using his other to grip the edge of the tub and stand. Water cascades off our drenched bodies like a million little waterfalls. But Brooks steps from the bath and pays no heed to the puddles his footsteps leave behind in our wake.

  He lays me on top of the perfectly made bed, following me down. Brooks makes love to me. Sweat begins to mix in with the water on our skin. His touch caresses and his kiss consumes. It’s fathomless and beautiful.

  He ravishes and ruins me with finality. Because he’s not someone you settle for. Brooks is the person you claim and never let go of.

  Hours later, curled into the hold of the one person who makes me everything I am and more, I close my eyes to the dazzling, sinful city beyond and whisper, “I love you.”

  • • •

  I was fully aware that what I said in my post-coital, sated mindset may have freaked Brooks out.

  I meant the words with my entire heart, and I would never take them back, but as I sat here waiting at the airport for him to pick me up, a new set of nerves and fear settled in my belly.

  He may not be ready for the I love yous. In his own words, he told me no futures, no marriage, and no kids. Two out of the three did not sit right with me. And when we spoke about those restrictions, I passed off my nerves with light humor. As if I could roll with it and let the chips fall where they may.

  Stupid. Stupid. I do not roll or go with the flow. I’m a square tumbling down the hill, smacking my face into the dirt with each descent.

  I want a future. I believe I want kids, it’s something I see for myself, but I’m in no rush for that.

  Brooks is a sure thing. But has he changed so much in so little time that he wants that future with me, that he can at least say “I promise” without apprehension?

  Last night, when we lay in bed and my voice shuddered “I love you,” I felt nor heard anything from him. He didn’t tense or stop breathing or start breathing faster. He wasn’t asleep either. But I was so satisfied and running on a high that I could care less whether he said it back to me or not. The words didn’t need to be reciprocated, neither did the sentiment at this moment, but the reassurance for that promise of one day is required.

  We were great together, but I feared our different desires would tear us apart.

  My gaze lowered from staring off into the distance at absolutely nothing. Two red paper cups with brown sleeves were held in my hands. The last pumpkin spice flavors of the season. We’re less than two weeks from Christmas, no one has pumpkin spice lattes anymore, but I came upon one shop pushing out the remainder of their batch.

  A smile picks up on my mouth. Brooks is embedded in every aspect of my world now. Even my damn coffee.

  Brooks parallel parks his car just ahead of the bench I sit at. The yoga pants I wore for the plane ride home were thin enough to combat with the hoody I wore a
long with it. The mornings start out cool, but the temperature always rises by afternoon.

  Despite the hole opening in my the pit of my stomach, ready and waiting for something to fall through, my heart opens as well, but it takes in all the good with an endless amount of room for more happiness.

  He stands from his car, rounding the trunk and taking my bag. A black hat sits backward on his head as he grins at the contents in my hands. “Whatcha got there, Angel?”

  “The last pumpkin spice lattes of the year.”

  “Mmmm,” he growls, taking my face in both hands and tipping my lips up to his for a sweet and hungry kiss.

  He throws my bag in the trunk and then we get inside his car. Before he shifts into gear, Brooks lets loose a deep and weary exhale, dropping chin to chest.

  “You okay? That was a long sigh there.” I look at him with concern, once again covering my real worry with pleasantry.

  “It was a long flight.” His lips turn up, not exactly smiling. Brooks’s gray gaze searches mine, but he says no more and turns ahead.

  I sip my latte, cherishing the last Fall seasonal coffee of the year as my stomach opens another inch wider, hoping with all hope that something else isn’t about to come to an end as well.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Brooks

  Dress shoes clack along the tiled floor of the lobby, a hand tugging at the tie around my neck.

  “Didn’t see you on the ice tonight, bossman.” Roberto sits behind the desk, his massive shoulders and wide neck visible from his position and sending the message to anyone who walks through our doors not to fuck with him.

  “Yeah, had a minor twinge in the leg. Doc didn’t want me pushing it.”

  He nods at my bald-faced lie, attention returning to the small TV set up in the corner of the desk. “Your lady is upstairs. I don’t mind letting her in, but you might want to consider giving her a key, boss. That’s what couples do.”

  I step inside the elevator, turning around with a dull stare directed at him from the distance.

  Just before the doors close, Roberto hollers, “Happily married man if you need any advice.”

  My head falls back to the wall of the elevator with a heavy thump. I squeeze my eyes shut but it doesn’t stop the replay of Coach pulling me into his office this afternoon before pre-game warmup to inform me I was benched.

  Two games.

  Fucking benched.

  I fought daily to hone my skills and condition my body to make sure I could play every game. Even with minor injuries, I battled to play until absolutely defeated by coaches and staff to say otherwise. But that way, at least, I’m on the injury list. This bullshit is a healthy scratch. I’m not allowed to dress for a healthy scratch.

  I arrived in my suit and tie. I left in my suit and tie.

  And it’s all because my fight with Noah in Vegas was caught on camera.

  Coach chewed my ass as long and hard as the piece of gum he gnaws at during all three periods of a game. He called me every name in the book. Griped about our shitty season and how this stunt was making him lose one of his best players. Ranted about wishing he still coached his old women’s team because they were smarter and didn’t need to pound their chest to prove anything like us men.

  Then he took his seat, calmly told me about his daughter, and said he would have done the same thing I did had Noah Werner came anywhere near her.

  But the matter remained, I cannot go around punching or getting into public fights with other members in the league.

  My phone exploded with messages as soon as the puck dropped. I only replied to Jo, letting her know I was fine and would explain it all when I got home.

  Alex played his hand to get answers. Not that he was surprised. He knew about the fight, we talked a little about it the next day. But he didn’t agree with Coach benching me for two games. That may have been a little bit of his protective brother coming out. For me and for Jo. Alex and Cam went ballistic when I told them the story of Noah grabbing her in the hall and in front of that club.

  I never felt the kind of gripping fear that takes hold of you when someone you deeply care for is snatched right out of sight. The club we stood in front of was pouring onto the street and the bouncers were still allowing people to enter. I felt Jo was safe with our group, eight of us as it was.

  Mila’s panicked shrieks, unintelligible as her Russian accent grew thicker with emotion, haunts me. The way my chest seized, and how time slowed as I began searching for the direction Noah could have taken her.

  Noah may have attempted to clear his conscience with his reasoning, but I was ready to attack him all over again for the scare he put me through.

  In his own, screwed up way, I believe Noah was trying to link himself with Jo because she is the only person besides himself who hates his brother just as much.

  Regardless, I made it final and very clear, that was the last time he would ever contact Jo again.

  After Vegas, she spent the next couple days at my place. All too soon, it was back to practices and games. I took her home on my way in today, but right before she climbed out of my car I asked her to come back home with me. To be there when I got home after the game.

  Two days of nothing but sex and laughter and sharing the kitchen and working out together, I wasn’t ready to give it up. I also had some other issues on my mind that happened during Vegas, and Jo at my place with no fresh clothes of her own was a good buffer to ignore them.

  When your girl does yoga—spandex, sports bra, and obscenely hot stretches—just try to focus on anything but her. It won’t work. And she won’t be able to finish a whole workout. She’d bend that fine ass in the air and I would be right there, hands gripping and lifting her until she was stretched only around me.

  I wanted her in my space, waking up next to her. That’s why I asked her to come back.

  But after the news of getting benched, I was in a foul mood. Demons were running their thin nails down the back of my skull, itching to corrupt anything that comes my way.

  Jo sits on the couch when I step through the foyer. She stands and walks over as soon as she hears me coming down the hall.

  I kissed her before any questions or worries could be broached. To which I lingered, pulled back, and kissed her again for the simple fact that I could.

  It’s almost midnight and she’s waiting up for me after my hellish day. To talk, to listen, to take care of whatever I need after a game that leaves me charged with energy.

  We take it for granted.

  Vic is a prime example of what it is to throw it all away.

  “Hi,” she sighs onto my lips, hands between our chests and gripping my tie into her fist.

  “I got benched.” My chin falls on top of her head as I wrap my arms around her back.

  “The fight.” Jo doesn’t have to ask why, she already knows. She was more worried about the repercussions than I was up until tonight.

  Though she worries about everything, and all I wanted to do was soothe her anxiousness.

  I turn on my cheek, resting against the soft strands of hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Two games.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s not too terrible. Only one more game.”

  My arms drop from around her and I step back. Tearing out of my coat, I reply, “Shouldn’t have been any. After the first run-in with Noah that night I should have known better than to do what I did. This is my career, Jo. My teammates need me. I don’t do things like this.”

  “I know it’s not the same, but I’ve watched you start fights in practically every game, Brooks.”

  “I’m not talking about fighting. I’m referring to my clouded head. All my life my only goal has been to succeed with my hockey career. When Alex went down, when he got shut down permanently, I promised myself to only work harder. I watched his passion for this sport get ripped away in seconds.”

  “But he found another way to still be involved.” Jo’s trying to alleviate the pressure I’m putting on myself. But the demons won’
t let her win. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

  “No, I just beat other people up over you.” My muttered response was vicious and clear enough for her to hear.

  “So you’re blaming me?” she asks with soft disbelief.

  Forceful hands run up and down my face and through my hair. “No. Sorry, I’m just in a bad mood.”

  She’s quiet, but I can’t look at her right now. I’m a coward because I know one look at her will make me cave. And I’ve already fallen too far.

  “If you need to vent, Brooks, then do it. I’m here to listen and it may help.” Jo’s sympathetic reaction quickly turns to steel. “But don’t take it out on me.”

  “Right. I’ll go take a shower and let it burn off.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” She asks out of politeness, but I hear the wheels turning in her head for what it might mean if she does.

  What it’ll mean for us.

  “No. I need a minute to think. Alone. But that doesn’t mean I want you to go home.” I’m doing a shitty job at showing her that I want her here with me. My words are clipped.

  “Fine,” she snips back, clearly unhappy.

  “What? I can’t ask for a minute to myself?”

  “Considering you’ve had sixty minutes to yourself during the game, I’d think you’ve had plenty of time to sort out whatever has crawled up your ass.”

  Mm. It’s been a while since she’s given me a piece of her sassy attitude.

  But my foul mood has run its course. I feel the stirrings, the itching to start a fight since I missed any I could have had during the game.

  “What’s crawled up my ass? You’re weird positivity, for starters.” I pull and yank at the dress shirt tucked into my slacks, standing in the center of my living room.

  “I’m trying to be positive for you! Be the support you need, like you are for me when I need it.”

  “Well, I don’t need it. I get mad, stew, go to bed and sleep it off.”

  “Must be nice to be inside your head,” she mutters.

  “At the moment, not at all.” My vigor falls flat.