by S. R. Grey
Wait, that’s not a contented exhale of air.
No, he sounds stressed.
“Did you have a rough day?” I ask carefully. “You didn’t mention much about practice at dinner. Did it not go well this afternoon?”
I did most of the talking while we ate supper, filling Lars in on a couple of upcoming weddings Jodi and I are consulting on. He listened attentively, but now I’m wondering if his mind was actually somewhere else.
Hmmm…
“Practice was fine today,” he replies, picking up his iced tea and taking a quick sip. After he sets the glass back down, he adds, “Just like yesterday when you were there, I was feeling it out on the field.”
“That’s great,” I say. “Sounds like you’re still on fire.”
Hedging, he says, “Yeah, I guess so. I got in a few more good reps when we scrimmaged. I even ran in some touchdowns.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic.” I’m excited to hear practice went well, and I twist in my chair so I can face Lars more fully. “So why don’t you sound more thrilled? More importantly, why are you keeping all this to yourself?”
“I’m not,” he counters. “I’m telling you now.”
“Yeah, but you should’ve told me all this good news sooner.”
Lars shakes his head humbly. “Nah. It wasn’t just me out there making the good plays. I can’t take all the credit. Graham threw some amazing passes.”
I nod. “Yeah, he did look really good yesterday.”
“He was the same today,” Lars replies.
Huh.
Even though he’s telling me all these positive things, Lars seems bothered by something.
So I press. “Did something bad happen that you’re leaving out? You don’t sound all that enthused about today’s practice.”
“Ah, hell…” He runs his hand down his chiseled face, and I get the feeling I’m about to find out what’s really going on.
Sure enough, he says, “I wasn’t going to say anything to cause you any unnecessary worry. But I have to be honest.”
“Uh oh.” I cringe. “Honest about what?”
“I heard something today that has me worried.”
“What did you hear?”
Leaning back in his chair, Lars peers up at the planked porch ceiling, mouth set in a grim line.
“Okay, this can’t be good.”
“No, it’s not. I was talking with one of the other wide receivers, Zane, and he told me he heard the Comets are planning to make some key trades.”
That sense of dread I had in the past returns with a vengeance.
Getting straight to the point, I ask, “They wouldn’t trade you, though, would they?”
Lars shrugs, which is not reassuring at all. “I don’t know, Becca. I kind of get the feeling from what Zane said that no one is safe.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “But you’re their best wide receiver. You’re better than Zane. Maybe he should be the one worrying?”
Lars shrugs. “Maybe, but I have the bigger contract.” He glances over at me. “That makes me a liability of sorts, especially when trading me could free up money to sign a good quarterback. One like Graham.”
I feel dizzy. “B-b-but then the Comets would be down a receiver.”
“Not if they traded for one who’s cheaper than me.”
“I can’t sit.” I jump up. “I’m about to go crazy here.” Frustrated, I start pacing the length of the porch. Back and forth, back and forth, until I cry out, “Lars, they can’t do this!”
Remaining seated and looking resigned, he says, “Ah, but they can, sweetheart. It’s their team. We’re merely pieces on their chessboard.”
“It’s not right,” I insist, sniffling as I lean my black leggings-clad butt against the wooden railing, the night air feeling far colder than it did ten minutes ago.
Lars gets up and comes over to me.
Encircling me in his strong, comforting arms, he says, “Let’s just see what happens, okay? All of this worrying could be for nothing.”
“I hope you’re right,” I mumble into his shoulder. “God, I hope you’re right.”
And then I start to cry.
A Devastating Blow
I hold Becca in my arms until she calms down.
When she leans back, sniffling, I ask her, “Do you want to go inside?”
“Yes.” She nods. “I do.”
Her lips then find mine.
I kiss her back desperately with a sudden unquenched need.
It’s a new urgency we clearly both feel, a sense that this could all end.
Or at least be derailed from the track we’ve been on.
It’s been such a great track too, a damn good ride.
I don’t want our relationship to change in any way, shape, or form.
I see a future with Becca, one I never imagined with any other woman.
Only with her.
That’s why I need to lose myself inside of her as soon as possible.
Thank God she’s just as needy.
With both of us desperate, we don’t even make it up the stairs. Bedroom be damned; the floor serves our needs.
Good thing this part of her house is covered in plush carpeting.
Clothes are but a hindrance and they’re quickly removed.
I can finally have her.
And I do.
Becca cries out when I first pump into her, but she’s soon begging, “Harder, Lars, harder.”
I comply, as I need it like this too.
Frenzied, she meets my every thrust, sometimes even more forcefully than how hard I’m plunging into her.
Her warmth comforts me.
This isn’t about getting off, not for either of us. This is a union of two people who have fallen deeply in love and now feel threatened with cataclysmic change.
This is an escape, a diversion we both crave.
“You are everything to me, Becca,” I murmur as I lift one of her legs so I can plunge into her more deeply.
Before I can, she stops me with a hand to my chest. “You are everything to me too, Lars,” she says. “That’s why whatever happens, we’ll figure this out. We will make it through whatever comes our way.”
“Yes, we will. But”—I lift her leg higher—“enough talking for now.”
That gets her to smile.
And then she’s moaning and coming apart—with me, together, as one.
After we clean up, we make our way over to the sofa, where we both fall asleep, with Becca sprawled out on top me.
At some point, I rouse and wake her. “We should go up to bed.”
“Yes.” She nods sleepily.
Slowly, we head to her bedroom.
It’s Friday night, so there’s no practice tomorrow. I’m looking forward to sleeping in and spending all morning with Becca. Every minute feels precious now. Maybe I’ll even surprise her and make us breakfast.
I’ve learned to make healthy versions of those muffin sandwiches we indulged in when we were up in New York. They’re amazing too. I use plant-based sausage, whole wheat muffins, fresh eggs from a local farm, and low-fat cheese.
Becca loves them.
That is my last thought before I doze off.
I sleep fitfully, though, tossing and turning.
Despite advising her not to worry about a trade, I’m extremely concerned.
I do not want to go anywhere.
My life is here.
My life is Becca.
Snuggling into this woman I’ve fallen so hard for, I finally find the peace to rest.
But I wake up early.
Since Becca is still sleeping, I’m careful not to wake her.
After I’m up and dressed in gray sweats, I head downstairs to get on with making that breakfast I was thinking about before I nodded off.
In the kitchen, I poach eggs and fry up the veggie sausages.
I guess the breakfast aromas wake up Becca, as she shows up in the doorway, yawning, her hair an adorable mess.
She looks fucking adorable in the hot pink sleep shorts and tee she must’ve slipped on after getting up.
Nodding sleepily, she assures me she is indeed hungry.
I catch her licking her lips, her eyes trailing down my bare chest to my low-slung sweatpants.
Hell, I know that look.
It takes everything in me not to walk over, say to hell with breakfast, and peel those cute pink sleep clothes right the hell off her hot body.
In fact, I think I might…
But then my cell phone rings.
“Who in the hell could that be?” I gripe as I reach for the damn thing over on the counter. “It’s Saturday morning.”
Becca shrugs. “I don’t know. You better get it, though. It could be important.”
I know she and I are both thinking the same thing—it may be about a trade.
I take a look at the screen and mutter, “Fuck.”
“Who is it?” she asks as the phone continues to ring.
“It’s my agent.”
“Oh, hell,” she breathes out, knowing full well this could be the call we’ve both been dreading. “Answer it, Lars.”
“Okay.” I place the call on speaker.
Becca deserves to hear whatever it is I’m about to.
When my agent starts talking, it’s clear from the start that this is bad news. I can tell from his dour tone even as we exchange pleasantries.
And then he gets to why he’s calling—the Dover Sharks, a football team in Delaware, are interested in me.
He says, “Lars, if the deal goes through, the Sharks would pick up your contract from the Comets. They may even add a year. All in return for one of their ‘cheaper’ wide receivers and a future first round draft pick.”
“Crap, they must really like me.”
“They do,” he says.
“What if I don’t want to go?”
Somberly, my agent explains, “It doesn’t matter what you want or don’t want. This is a decision that will be made by the Sharks and the Comets. Not by you.”
I place my free hand on the counter.
I need it for support.
I can hardly believe this is happening.
I listen to my agent as he tells me that though it looks probable, it’s not a “done deal.”
That gives me a glimmer of hope.
Becca must be feeling the same, as I hear her blow out a relieved breath.
“The Sharks would like to see you in action before making any solid decisions,” my agent says. “You’ll be flying out to Dover this upcoming week. I’ll make all the arrangements online and get back to you.”
“Yeah, that sounds just wonderful,” I mutter sarcastically.
Once I wrap up with my agent, I place the phone back down on the counter with a clunk.
I’m afraid to look over at Becca.
I know what I’ll see in her eyes—hurt, disappointment, disbelief, and a myriad of other emotions I can’t even fathom at this point.
That’s why I just stare at the granite countertop until my vision gets blurry.
It’s only when Becca comes over and places her hand on my back that I realize I can’t avoid the inevitable.
So I turn to her.
There are tears in her eyes, plus all the emotions I anticipated.
Neither of us says a word.
There’s no need.
We both know our relationship has just been dealt a potentially devastating blow.
Keep On Running
I was right to be scared.
I knew this relationship was too good to be true.
I should never have opened my heart.
I should’ve kept on running, like when I bolted from the theatre.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew it then—Lars and I are doomed.
Fate is freaking out to get me, I swear.
But it’s not so easy to just take off.
I’m in it now.
I go to Lars, placing my hand on his bare back.
His skin is so warm and smooth to the touch.
It reminds me that he’s here… but most likely not for long.
He turns to me.
He sees the tears in my eyes, the despair, the question of what do we do now.
At last, he shrugs.
He’s as broken about this as I am.
Finally I whisper, “I tried to be strong and will them away. My tears, that is. I just couldn’t do it.”
As one lone traitorous tear escapes, trailing down my cheek, Lars brushes it away with his thumb.
“Me leaving is not a sure thing,” he says. “You heard my agent. The Sharks are just ‘interested’ at this point.”
“Yeah, right, just interested…” I trail off, laughing bitterly.
I am having none of this pep talk.
“Let’s not sugarcoat it, Lars,” I snap. “You’re probably going to end up leaving Ohio for good.”
Softly, he admits, “I can’t lie. There is a strong chance that will happen.”
“A better than strong chance,” I counter. “You said it yourself—the Comets could save lots of money by unloading your contract. And the Sharks would finally have the great receiver they so badly want and need.”
“Becca—”
I shake my head, holding up a hand. “Can we drop this subject? Please?”
“All right, sure. Do you want to eat breakfast still?”
“No.”
My appetite is ruined, so Lars shuts down all the cooking.
After we place the sausage muffin sandwiches he made into plastic containers, we put them in the fridge.
“Do you want to go to the living room?” he asks.
“Sure.”
I am numb.
Once we’re seated on the sofa, Lars leans back and runs his hand down his face. “Becca, please, don’t shut me out.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“But you are. I feel it. And we don’t even know what’s happening yet.”
“That’s true.” I sigh. “I guess this is life, huh? Always throwing curveballs.”
I feel a fresh round of tears coming on, and Lars, noticing, says, “Hey, let’s focus on something else. Like our good times, okay?”
“How do you mean?” I ask, sniffling.
“I don’t know. Let’s do a little reminiscing. Thinking of all of our fun times always lifts my spirits when I’m feeling down.”
Blinking over at him, I ask, “You think about us to feel better?”
Scooting closer, he places his hand on my knee. “I do, Becca. I reminisce about us a lot. And you know what?”
“What?”
“It works. Doing so makes me feel better every time.”
“Okay”—I lean the other way from him so I can rest my back against the sofa arm and stretch my legs across his lap—“let’s do it.”
Chuckling and squeezing my calf, he says, “Okay, we’ll start with this one, one of my faves. Do you remember our first night at the theatre?”
I laugh. “How could I ever forget?”
“Right?”
“So what about it?”
Raising a brow, he asks, “What did you really think of me at first?”
“Ah, that’s an easy one. I thought you were super hot.”
He looks at me doubtfully. “You could see all the way to the back of the theatre in that dim lighting?”
“Enough to know you were sexy, yes.”
“Is that why you came back to sit in the last row with me?”
“Hell, yeah!”
“I kind of knew that,” he replies smugly.
“Hey!” Sitting up, I playfully smack his arm.
Smirking, he tells me, “You weren’t exactly subtle, Becs.”
“Lars!” I reach over and shove his shoulder. “You’re still so freaking arrogant.”
Turning serious, he says, “Don’t worry. The feeling was more than m
utual.” A smile creeps across his face. “Then you freaking kissed me out of the blue, and I was like ‘Whoa, this is my kind of woman.’”
I snort. “I’m glad you felt that way. I came to my senses and realized I could be making out with a serial killer.”
“Oh, Becca…” He rolls his eyes. “Is that why you ran off?”
Sheepishly, I reply, “Er, partly.”
I don’t want to admit it was also because I was afraid of what’s happening now—I felt terrified that if I ever got him, this gorgeous man would leave me someday.
Lars peers over at me curiously.
He knows I’m thinking negative thoughts again.
Dazzling me with a fantastic smile that instantly cheers me up, he says, “I’m glad you came to your senses.”
I harrumph. “As I recall, I only agreed to friendship in the beginning.”
“Ugh.” He runs both hands down his face. “That was so hard. It was like you were running again, just like that night at the theatre. But this time, you were running from your emotions.”
“Very perceptive,” I muse.
“It does seem to be your go-to response, babe.”
“It always has been,” I quietly admit. “I’m a runner at heart.”
Moving my legs aside, he rises up till he’s hovering over me.
In a husky voice, he says, “Then I’m glad I caught you.”
Lifting, so our lips can touch, I murmur, “I am too.”
I feel like I must kiss Lars right now. But we’re interrupted when his stupid phone starts ringing again.
“Good God, I thought you left that damn thing in the kitchen,” I lament.
“I should have,” he grumps.
Sitting up, he answers the call, placing the phone on speaker once more so I can hear.
It’s his annoying agent again, no surprise there, calling with Lars’s flight info.
“You leave tomorrow for Dover at six a.m.,” he says.
Frowning, Lars says, “Fuck, that’s early. Plus, tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Sorry, but the Sharks need you there as soon as possible. And workouts are going on all this week and next, including Sundays. There’s one tomorrow at noon, and they expect you to be there.”
Lars sighs. “All right, okay. How many days do they want me to stay?”
“Days?” His agent guffaws. “Get ready to hunker down in Dover for the next two weeks, bro.”