by Ali Dean
I pulled a shirt over my head and looked each guy in the eye until they all gave me a nod of understanding.
Now, I just hoped Pepper was up for the challenge too.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pepper
I’m prepared for tonight to be excruciating. If I’d had a hard time at Frankie’s wedding, I have to assume a night at a club in Denver with the Stallions will be rough. Jace has been firmly at my side, supporting me, and I’m going to do the same. I dress for the night like I’m preparing for battle. I head over to Zoe’s, and tell her the occasion. With the exception of Frankie’s wedding, this is our first time out in months. I want to look stunning, not just to get in the right mental state for the evening, but for Jace.
Zoe dresses me in a shiny gold bandage dress of hers with matching heels. She does something to my hair to make it so wavy it’s almost curly. I’d normally be embarrassed in an outfit like this, but with half the wives in attendance current or former supermodels, I know I won’t stand out.
Jace just shakes his head when I tell him this. We stand outside his Jeep, both with our hands on our hips. “You can’t seriously think you’re going to blend in wearing that.”
“Jace, we’re going to a club called Red Hot. How do you think other women will be dressed there?”
Jace shuts his eyes like he’s in pain. “Pep, I told you, it’s going to be tense as shit when the wives and girlfriends show up. I need to be on my game. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be thinking about anything but you.” His voice rises as he works himself up but then stops himself before continuing, gesturing wildly in my direction.
“But me, what?” I take a step closer.
Jace opens his mouth and closes it a few times before letting his head drop in defeat. He opens the passenger side door for me and I sigh as I attempt to get in without splitting the dress in two. Jace averts his eyes even though I’m sure I’m flashing him. He’s been trying so hard to be a gentleman, and I don’t understand it. Is he afraid I’ll get pregnant again? I went back on birth control weeks ago. It wasn’t an easy decision but I wasn’t even close to being ready to have another baby.
I don’t want to mention his lack of affection toward me lately. Yes, he’s been incredibly attentive and sweet but he doesn’t even cuddle me at night. I want to be fair and show him the same patience he showed me, but I’m struggling.
When we finally pull up to the valet in front of the club, cameras flash as we get out of Jace’s twenty-year-old Jeep. I love that he still drives this thing. We go up a flight of stairs before entering the dark club. Troy Bremer and a few other players I recognize storm over as soon as they spot us. I notice the flock of women they leave in their wake. Jace warned me what to expect, and I straighten my spine before putting on my best sweet and innocent smile.
“Hi guys!” I wave enthusiastically while Jace wraps a protective arm around my waist.
“Pepper.” Troy nods at me. “I think your husband was mistaken. Tonight is players only.”
I feign confusion as I glance behind him and the two other guys crowding us. “Who are they? Were the cheerleaders invited?”
One of the guys next to Troy smirks and the other coughs to hide his laughter. “No. They’re here to help us unwind.” Troy’s tone even sounds sleazy as he makes the confession.
My eyes widen at Troy’s audacity, and this time I’m not even faking it. I thought he’d make some excuse. I wasn’t expecting him to be so direct.
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this,” Jace says slowly. “But my wife just lost a baby.” His voice is low, and it sends a chill down my spine. “You will not insult her, or our marriage, by insinuating that all the players on this team unwind in the same way you do.”
I sense a presence behind us, and Frankie’s voice booms. “Lizzie’s here to help me unwind. Even if it means she’s gotta endure my dance moves.”
Lizzie laughs. “Has anyone ever told you your hand-eye coordination sucks, Mr. Defensive Lineman?”
“Dancing is not about hand eye-coordination, sweetheart,” Frankie rebuts. “It’s not my fault I’ve got too much muscle to be graceful.”
As the two bicker behind us, more couples arrive.
Troy isn’t prepared to back down, but the guys next to him shrug. One of them punches the other on the shoulder. “More single ladies for us then.” And they return to the waiting women by the bar. Troy is fuming when we step around him to find our own spot at the bar.
It’s an amazing night. I’m not training hard, I’m not pregnant, and I’ve got a little victory to celebrate on Jace’s behalf, so I drink. And dance. And sing. I’ve got a new group of women I can start calling friends, and even better? Their men are linked to Jace’s world, which means we can all hang out together, share the same experiences.
Jace isn’t drinking since he’s driving us home, so I’m surprised when he lets down his guard and presses my body into his as we dance. His lips drop to my neck, and I feel him throbbing, hot and hard at my backside. It’s been so long since I’ve had this connection with him, that for a moment I wonder if he’s just staking a claim, making a point. But with half the team with significant others, and the other half enjoying the, uh, single ladies, no one’s paying attention to us.
I turn in his arms and ask if we can get out of here. He nods, eyes smoldering into mine even as his jaw clenches, the telltale sign all is not right in Jace Wilder World.
Jace guides me outside, and I lean into him for support. Between the three cocktails I had at the club and these heels, I need his sturdy frame. I’m tipsy, for maybe the first time in years, but I try to hide it as we wait for the valet to bring our car around. Who knows if there’s press around waiting for an embarrassing photo op. My arms wrap around Jace’s strong body and I hum into his broad chest. I really want to crawl up his body, but this will have to do.
Jace drives a bit aggressively through the city, and I place my hand on his thigh, partly in an attempt to calm him, but mostly to maintain that physical connection to him. I sense him closing down, trying to put distance between us. He doesn’t mention a detour to a campground, and given the determined expression on his profile, I’m guessing he’s planning to use the drive home to cool off.
I shouldn’t be pissed. After all, I was in my own world, barely communicating, for weeks. But as I bring my hand back to my own lap and Jace turns up the radio, I find my fists clenching. We’ve been so good at communicating. Jace has come so far. But this? We don’t know how to talk about it. I can’t even talk to my friends about what’s going on. It’s too personal. And I’m afraid to raise it with Jace. What if it comes out like I’m questioning his manhood? Isn’t that, like, the number one thing to never do in a marriage?
Maybe if I phrase it differently… “Jace?” My voice comes out small, and at first I’m not sure he’s heard me over the music.
He turns it down and flicks his gaze over to mine. “Yeah, Pep?”
A lump lodges in my throat when I start to ask him if he’s still attracted to me. I realize it’s a dumb question the moment the words start to form. I felt him against me at the club. I can feel the want coming off him in waves right now as easily as I can feel it in my own body.
Instead, I ask the question I’m even more terrified to ask. “Why won’t you touch me?” My voice is hoarse, and I have to force it out of my mouth over the resistance in my throat.
His grip on the wheel tightens and I realize this was a bad place to raise such a difficult topic.
“I touch you,” he says, but only halfheartedly. He knows what I’m asking.
“No, you don’t. I haven’t pushed it because I got the feeling you wanted the space, and I want to respect that. But, this isn’t something I want to talk about in front of Nancy. And I don’t understand it. Are you worried I’ll get pregnant again?” I hold my breath waiting for his answer. I’ve assumed we’ll try again, but we haven’t discussed when. What if he doesn’t want kids anymore?
“Jace, I need you to talk to me. Or touch me. Now.”
We’re on the highway, halfway between Denver and Brockton. Touching would be tricky, so he better start talking.
“Pep, you haven’t been yourself for a while. I know you’re doing awesome, baby. Tonight was amazing. But I don’t want to push you back to that place. There’s no rush.”
“Jace, the boner you have right now just talking about this tells me there is, in fact, a rush.”
I’m not trying to be funny. Okay, maybe I am a little, but Jace laughs harder than I expect. So hard, a tear trickles out the corner of his eye.
“I’ve been trying my best to hide it, Pep,” he says when he catches his breath. “But I’m practically always in this state around you these days. And tonight did not fucking help.” He shifts in his seat, attempting to ease the obvious strain in his pants.
I throw my hands up. “Stop trying to hide it. Jace, we’re married! I’m so turned on right now I want to start touching myself. What are we doing?”
Jace throws his head back and groans. “Don’t say that, Pep.”
I squeeze my legs together and mutter, “It’s true.”
“What if you’re not ready?”
I let out a huff that almost sounds like a growl. Last time Jace thought I “wasn’t ready” for him, I ended up dating Ryan Harding and Jace spiraled out of control with his delinquent activities. I’m tempted to remind him but we’re both on edge. The edge is entirely sexual, but still.
“I’m ready,” I tell him. “Please.” Great, I’ve resorted to begging my husband for sex.
There’s silence for a moment and when Marvin Gaye starts singing “Let’s get it on,” from the radio we both start laughing hysterically. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Jace’s amusement is mixed with obvious frustration. He puts on a different station.
Jace finally pulls off the highway at the Brockton exit and makes his way toward Shadow Lane. He pulls into his dad’s driveway, and I’m surprised when he guides us toward Jim’s house.
“Jim’s out at his new girlfriend’s place tonight. We’ve got it to ourselves.”
Jace doesn’t look at me when he says this, but my libido immediately perks up at what this might mean. As soon as we’re inside, Jace doesn’t even bother to turn on the lights before caging my body against the door.
“Pepper, I started something only once since we lost the baby,” he says, his voice gentle. Nancy has encouraged us to just say those words, don’t avoid them. “And you wouldn’t let me touch you. You got me off, but then you curled into yourself. I heard you crying afterward, baby, and it crushed me. And then you disappeared into yourself for weeks. You know I want you. But I don’t want you enough to lose you to that darkness.”
I touch his cheek. “Jace, me hurting had nothing to do with what happened that night. I had no idea you thought that. All I wanted was to give you something, knowing you were hurting too. But I cried because I didn’t want to let myself feel so much. We talked about this in therapy. I wasn’t letting myself enjoy anything because I was blaming myself. Letting all those emotions in would rip me open too wide.”
Jace’s eyes search mine, and I can see that he’s scared to rip me open again. And that he’s blaming himself for the depression I sunk into.
“You don’t know that though,” Jace says. “Maybe going down on me like you did was too much. Maybe if I touch you now it will be too much, again, and you’ll stop running again, stop living, and fuck, baby, I can’t see you go back to that place again.”
I place a hand on his chest, trying to calm him.
“Jace, I gave you a blow job because I love you and your hard-on looked painful. I loved giving you that and it did not cause me to sink into depression.” I’m going for a matter-of-fact tone that will convince him, but with all the ups and downs from the night, my explanation makes Jace laugh again.
He shakes his head. “Please don’t say blow job right now or I’ll come in my pants like I did that first time we made out.”
And then we’re both laughing.
“You know what?” I ask. “You thinking you caused me to sink into depression even though it’s not true, maybe it’s a little like how I’m feeling about losing the baby. I can’t prove that the race didn’t cause it, but I’m convinced I’m guilty anyway. Just like you can’t prove that intimacy a week after the miscarriage is the reason I didn’t come out of the house for a week.” Jace’s eyes bore into mine as I speak. “You think maybe you’re just looking to control something? You need to feel that guilt to feel control?” It’s a harsh question, but we’ve talked so much about, well, everything else, over the years and especially with Nancy the past few weeks, it doesn’t seem so out of the blue.
Jace tilts his head to the side and before I know it, he’s stripping. Right there in his dad’s foyer.
“Come on baby, let’s go downstairs.” I mean, I’m all for the strip tease, but it’s still weird standing by the front door to Jim’s house.
But Jace stops when he has his shirt off. There’s a tattoo on his chest. It’s tiny, and I have to lean closer to see it. Wings, with the inscription, Baby Wilder, and the date of my miscarriage.
“I got it a couple of days ago.”
A couple of days ago? Man, he was either making a point to keep it from me or it has been way too long since I’ve seen this man naked. He sleeps shirtless beside me each night but I guess the last couple of nights he slipped under the covers before I got a good look.
My fingers trace the tattoo and I kiss it. “I love it.”
Jace takes my hand. “Maybe it’s time we start forgiving ourselves for shit out of our control. Baby Wilder’s always going to be in our hearts, ya know? Just because we aren’t hanging on to guilt or some other shitty emotion doesn’t mean we’re forgetting him.”
I smile through the tears streaming down my cheeks. So I wasn’t being crazy with my questions. “We need to let ourselves be happy. No more holding on to guilt, trying to blame ourselves for shit out of our control,” I agree with a sniffle.
Jace’s lips crash to mine. They stay locked on mine as he scoops me up and jogs down the stairs to his old bedroom, where I had my very first orgasm. And he gives me many, many more throughout the night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Pepper
Coach Harding has been reaching out to check in, making it clear that whenever I’m ready, he’s there to sit down and talk business. The meeting is long overdue. I meet Coach Harding and Ryan at a coffee shop in town a couple of days after the club and subsequent late night – early morning – basically all-nighter in Jace’s old room. I’m still riding the high from having my husband back completely, from making the joint decision that letting go of guilt and anger doesn’t mean letting go of Baby Wilder.
“You’ve been back running with Lexi and Sienna, even joined them in a few of their shorter workouts. We’d love to have you join the group in a more official capacity,” Coach Harding tells me.
Ryan slides forward. “We’re going to expand the group a bit, and we’ve been talking with other runners – women and men, who are training for the marathon. Remember Indigo Adams? She won the Atlanta half.”
“Oh yeah. She’s got a serious kick.” I followed her for several miles so could probably pick out the back of her head in a line-up, but I’m not actually sure what her face looks like.
“She trains solo right now, doesn’t even have a coach,” Ryan says, not hiding his respect for this runner. “I think she’ll make the move here if she knows she’ll have others her pace to push her. Like you, she’s never run a marathon. Her first will be at the trials in February. That’s a little over six months from now,” Ryan adds, as if I can’t do math.
Mark asks the question looming in the air. “Before we make any representations to Indigo or the other female
runners considering joining the group, we want to ask where your head’s at. Are you looking to train for the marathon trials in six months? It’s completely up to you, Pepper. If you want to wait and tackle a different goal or simply see how things go, the ball’s in your court.”
This is the kind of coaching I need. I need people who actually care about what they saw me go through this summer, who understand that the loss I suffered isn’t an isolated experience. It affected my entire life, not only my running fitness, but my outlook on racing and competing in general. Three days ago I might have taken Coach Harding up on his willingness to see how it goes, not make any hard commitment to a particular race or training plan. But I’m done with guilt. I deserve to go after my goals.
“I’m all in. I think we should make this group more official too. Maybe give it a team name? I know you’ve been coaching your former college runners informally for a while,” I tell Mark, “but with Ryan now filling in when you’re too busy with the college team, I like the direction you’re going. Building up the numbers on the team, having coaching contracts.”
I can tell Mark and Ryan weren’t expecting this response from me, but they don’t hesitate to dive into discussions about which runners would be a good addition, trying to get some sponsorships behind the team as a whole rather than individual runners. I’m grateful to be able to use my name – which I know simply has more power as Jace’s wife – toward a greater purpose than my own running. This is what was missing from my running career – a team. And with Ryan and Mark brainstorming beside me, I feel like I could be an integral part of it, not just for my running accolades, but in leadership too.
Within weeks, we’ve got three new women runners in addition to me, Lexi and Sienna, and three new guy runners to join Brax, Ryan and the others. Brax found a house a little ways up in the foothills with enough bedrooms for almost everyone to stay. It’s nothing fancy, but a step up from the rundown place they’d been staying at the past couple of years since graduating college. With the exception of Maisy White, one of our new runners, no one else on the team is married. Since there isn’t quite enough space for all of us in the running house, it’s easy for Maisy and me to opt out. I’m ready not to have roommates, no matter how much I love Gran or my teammates.