Rough Love

by Landish, Lauren

  I grin slightly at the thought, and then the broad shape shifts and my stomach plummets. Not just to my toes but to the middle of the Earth beneath them. It can’t be. Please don’t let it be.

  My past.

  My dream.

  My shoulda, coulda, woulda.

  My . . . Bruce.

  “Oh, fuck,” I whisper and I feel the heat of the other moms’ eyes glaring at me for daring to cuss in front of their snowflakes, even though there are no kids within twenty feet of us.

  Michelle knocks my shoulder with her own. “Told you. Climb him like a damn tree.” She leans forward and glares at the mom on the other side of me, and distantly, I realize she said that loudly this time on purpose in solidarity with me.

  “No, I . . . Michelle, I know him.” Her jaw drops a little at my lost expression. I pull myself together and grab her arm, hissing, “Michelle . . . I know him. That’s Bruce Tannen. My first boyfriend, my first love, my first everything.”

  Delight makes her eyes sparkle. “Like in the biblical sense? That’s a story I have got to hear!”

  I shake my head, trying to stand up. “I have to get out of here. I can’t see him. He can’t see me. I have to go.” Michelle arm-bars me across the waist, forcing me back into my folding camp chair.

  “Nope, nu-uh, no way, just NO. Sit your ass down.” She’s using her mom voice on me, but since I’m a mom too, it should have zero effect on me. But because she’s my best friend and I’m weak and feeling like the whole world just got yanked out from under my feet, I somehow do as she says, settling dumbly back into my seat.

  “I’m going to get that story, but not right now while we have other ears,” she whispers, smiling sweetly, but we all know it’s saccharin-coated venom. She’s got no problem with the other team moms, and neither do I considering I just met them, but we’re a team of two inside a team of many, and they are all listening intently as they pretend to watch their sons on the field.

  And Bruce. They’re all watching Bruce, which makes possessive jealousy ignite in my belly like hot, sour lava. I swallow thickly, forcing it back down.

  No, I don’t have the right to be possessive or jealous. He could be married for all I know, or sleeping with the whole team of moms sitting down the sideline, or the whole town. I don’t know, and I shouldn’t care.

  But I do.

  I’m stuck. I can’t leave, Michelle won’t let me, but I can’t stay because he’ll see me, want to talk to me, and I’ve got nothing good to say.

  Oh, you know . . . been here and there, fucked up my whole life but got Cooper, who is my sun and moon and every star out of the deal, so there’s that. Makes the rest of the nightmare no big deal, you know? And besides, I’m mad as a damn hornet at you, so you can fuck off, asshole.

  Or worse, maybe he wouldn’t even recognize me, wouldn’t even care. Maybe I’m just some girl he used to know way back when.

  I consider getting up again and making a run for it, but Michelle hums under her breath. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Shit. Is this woman psychic?

  Helpless, I resort to the bad habits I worked and fought to lose and shrink myself, curling into my body and ducking my chin into my chest as I pull my knees up, resting my feet on the chair. I let the curtain of my hair fall forward, obscuring my face, and will my presence to be unnoticed and unobtrusive. All moves I’m way too familiar with.

  Through a stroke of karmic good luck, it works for a while. I sit and watch the practice, my eyes jumping from Cooper to Bruce and back again. The team is running a few plays, and the other moms cheer for their boys when they catch the ball, but I keep my mouth closed, not wanting to draw any attention.

  Luckily, Cooper looks over once and I give him a thumbs-up and a smile, and he seems happy with that. He’s so easygoing sometimes, has no idea that I’m freaking the fuck out, and he never will. I’ll protect him from that at any cost.

  As the practice winds down, my luck runs out. The boys give Coach Mike and Bruce handshakes, which is admittedly adorable, and then the boys all get fist-sized peaches from Bruce. “Thanks, Coach B!” they all say graciously.

  I’m already standing, my back to the wild gaggle of sweaty boys as I try to fold my chair and forcefully shove it into its handy carrying bag so that I can get the hell out of here. Usually, this is a task that’s quick and easy, but right now it’s ridiculously hard.

  From right behind me, I hear a deep voice that sends shockwaves through my every nerve ending, making them buzz with memories. “Thanks again, everyone. Good hustle out there today.”

  My shoulders climb to my ears and my cheeks heat as they stain pink. I know the other moms are looking at me, waiting for the show, but I’m determined to not give them one.

  Choice one: play it cool, fake it until you make it, which is easier said than done. Choice two: make a controlled-pace run for it, which is crazy but preferable under the circumstances. If I toss back a breezy ‘gotta go’ over my shoulder, it’ll just seem like I’m a busy mom, which I am, but not so busy that I’m rude to the men volunteering to help my son.

  Rock, meet hard place.

  Hard place, fuck you very much.

  Choice three and the one I most don’t want to pick: turn around like a damn adult and take my lumps, praying that he doesn’t hate, remember, or even care about me. That’s the best option, though the preferable outcome, I’m not sure which of those I’m hoping for.

  I steel my features, willing my shoulders down and back like I’ve practiced. It’s the reverse of the bad habit I used to have. Instead of making myself invisible, I choose visibility, choose the image I want to project. Strong, confident, capable. And when I force power into my every cell, only then do I turn around.

  “Hey, Bruce.” My voice doesn’t waver even one iota, and I’m strangely proud of that fact, given the way my knees are shaking.

  His eyes follow the sound of his name on my lips, and I see the moment recognition lights his eyes before they go dark. So dark and deep . . . and empty. Like the ocean at midnight on a moonless night, pitch black and hard, a bit scary, even, but not in a way I’m used to.

  His jaw clenches once, twice, three times before he takes an audible inhale. I almost think it’s in preparation to yell at me, but then he rumbles, “Allyson.”

  It’s not a question or even a greeting, just a statement of fact, my name through his rough vocal cords, but it does something to me.

  Something terrifying, something unwanted, something that makes my heart and my pussy clench. Because damn it all, after all these years, all the pain and the heartache and everything that’s happened because and not because of him . . . I want him.

  “Small world, huh?” I’m stupid, as stupid as that saying, considering we live in what used to be a small town but has grown so much while I was gone. Grown enough that I didn’t even consider that this blast from my past would rise up at pee-wee football practice, of all places.

  Bruce grunts, which I take as agreement. That I’m stupid? That it’s a small world?

  I find my tongue, managing to speak normally. “Guess you’re the Coach B I’ve been hearing so much about all week? You and Mike are all Cooper has talked about.”

  “Cooper your boy?” Bruce asks as he looks down to my side where my munchkin is happily slurping on a peach. If I’d given him that, he would’ve asked for candy peach rings instead, but Coach B gives it to him and he’s chowing down so fast his chin’s already dripping.

  “Yeah, he’s mine.” There’s so much tied up in the simple statement. More than anyone even knows. But it’s the damned truth. Cooper is mine and no one else’s. Especially not his father’s. Never his.

  Bruce’s lip tilts up as he talks to me but looks at Cooper. “He’s a good kid. Got a big mouth on him, but he’s a good egg.”

  Something seems to pass between them, and I wonder what Cooper said that got him in trouble, because sure as I know my son, that’s what Bruce is alluding to. Saying kind things and p
utting good into the world is one of the things I try so hard to instill in Cooper, but it’s hard to put a filter on an unfiltered kid who lives big and bold with little regard for civilized society.

  “Thanks.” I don’t know what else to say. So many things dance on the tip of my tongue, but none of them want to take that risky leap into the air between us. So I stick with stating the obvious. “Still here in Great Falls? I didn’t know that.”

  His face turns to stone before my very eyes and the temperature drops ten degrees. With the August heat blasting down on us, it should be a welcome reprieve but instead feels painfully frosty.

  “Yep, still here.”

  He turns to the boys, clearly dismissing me, which stings. Even Michelle raises a brow in question at the cold shoulder. “Okay, boys, practice on Tuesday. Let’s go for the team yell we worked on.”

  All the boys crowd together, one hand to the middle in a messy stack of sweat, dirt, peach juice, and germs. “On three . . . one, two, three . . .”

  “GO WILDCATS!” they scream as one.

  Well, mostly together, at least.

  They start to disperse, practice over. A few of the moms tell me goodbye, probing eyes still flicking between me and Bruce like they don’t want to leave too soon and miss anything. I help their cause and gather Cooper up, along with my chair that never did go back in the bag, but I can do that at home.

  “Let’s go, honey.”

  Not looking over my shoulder feels like a major accomplishment, but getting in my car and pulling out of the parking lot feels like a reminder that I lost something. Something I didn’t even know I still wanted.

  Cooper is doing a play-by-play of practice for me from his point of view, his small voice filling the car as I mutter the occasional ‘uh-huh’ and ‘hmm’, and my mind wanders.

  To the past.

  To the last time I saw Bruce.

  To the last time I loved him.

  Chapter 4

  Bruce

  Our panting breaths fog up the already steamy windows of my old truck. There’s even a handprint smashing what’s left of the felt cushion of my headliner where Allyson used it as leverage to impale herself harder, deeper on my cock as she cried out my name, making me feel like a fucking god.

  It’s not the first time we’ve fucked or made love. We’ve done both dozens of times, at every available opportunity we can find. But this will be the last time for a while, and I want to enjoy the afterglow of the moment—her still straddling my lap, my softening cock still inside her warm, slippery pussy, and the floral perfume of her filling my nose where I have it buried against her neck in the mess my hands have made of her hair. I wrap my arms around her a little tighter, squeezing her to me and wishing we could stay like this a little longer. She’s under my skin, on my skin, in my very veins.

  God, I love this girl. And not in some high-school kid puppy-love way, though we’re in that sweet spot between our birthdays that put us both at eighteen. I love her with everything I am.

  Honestly, that isn’t much, but she’s never seemed to care that I’m just a dumb jock with plans of either playing ball or farming. That’s the only two options for a guy like me, but not my Allyson. She’s fucking brilliant and can do anything she puts her mind to. I’m proud of her already, and she hasn’t even left for college yet to start her pre-law studies.

  “You leaving in the morning?” I murmur against the soft skin of her neck between kisses. I’m sorely tempted to mark her, leave a big, glaring hickey on her milky skin to fend off any assholes at her new school, but I hold back . . . barely. Her dad would kick my ass, or well, he’d try and I’d be obligated to let him get a good shot in because I mostly deserve it for defiling his daughter. But I really don’t have time for that because football practice starts this week. Two-a-days for all of August in preparation for my senior year of high school, starting on the varsity team.

  It’ll be the distraction I need because Allyson will be far away at State for her freshman year. Not there to cheer for me on Friday nights. But I know she’ll be cheering from her dorm. We’ve already made plans for Friday night calls so I can give her the play-by-play of the game, not that she cares about football or even understands it, but she cares about me. It’s the same reason I watch court shows with her and listen to her talk about legal this and legal that when I don’t understand even a quarter of what she’s saying.

  She nods. “Yeah. I’m going to miss you, miss this.”

  Her voice is quiet and sad, and I don’t want her to leave like that. She deserves to step into this new phase with all the excitement in the world. She’s earned it. She deserves it. So I lighten the mood intentionally for her sake, even as it pains me to do it. I thrust up into her, pulling her down tight and grinding her hips against mine. “You gonna miss this dick, baby? He’s definitely gonna miss you too.”

  I soften the crudeness with a low laugh and a sexy wag of my eyebrows.

  She giggles, and I can feel her inner muscles squeezing me. I groan at how good she feels and wonder if we have time for another round before curfew. It’s not as if her parents can ground her, anyway. She’ll be gone.

  She’ll be gone.

  Her palm smacks against my bare chest, teasing, “You’re awful, you know that? I’m trying to have a moment here and you’re making light of it.” She’s smiling, or trying to, but I can see the worry beneath.

  I can always read her like a book, have been since before we even talked in Speech class my sophomore year. She’d been a junior and stunning. The quintessential blonde, blue-eyed cheerleader, but instead of being a mean girl, she was kind and good-hearted. She gave a speech about baby ducks once and I’d been done for.

  Okay, it wasn’t actually about ducks but about pollution and its effects on the environment, but all I’d seen were the fluffy little yellow ducks she’d been flashing slides of. Her impassioned plea for us to do something had stirred something in me beyond just my dick, which she’d already been starring in fantasies for since day one of the school year.

  “I’m not, Al,” I tell her soberly, stroking her cheek. “I swear. Tomorrow, I’m gonna be bawling like a fucking baby that you’re gone. But I want you to go start our life together. I’ll be there soon, and we’ll make good on all those plans we have. I promise. I love you, baby.”

  She wiggles, my flaccid cock sliding out of her, and I almost mourn the loss, but she turns, sitting sideways on my lap. I can feel the warm mess of our combined juices leaking out of her onto the denim covering my thigh, and I like the way she’s marking me. I wrap my arms around her, cradling her as she lays her head on my shoulder.

  “You promise-promise?” she asks.

  I nod, touching my chin to the top of her head. The words pour out of her in one big run. “I’m just scared, you know? School’s this big, new thing, and I’m not going to know anyone. I’m probably going to get lost and never find my way to classes or back to the dorm. I’ll end up sleeping in the quad under a tree and flunking out. And you’re going to be back here, the literal big man on campus. Rock of the defense, and so fucking sexy that every girl is going to try to hop on your dick. And I won’t be here to fight them off. Don’t forget about me, okay?”

  I lift her chin with my thick finger and then cup her cheeks in my big, meaty paws. I’m not known for my grace and gentleness on or off the field, but for this girl, I could brush a butterfly’s wings and not hurt it. That’s how gentle I am with her. I meet her eyes, blue on near-black.

  “Listen to me, Al. You’re going to take that campus by storm and make it your bitch.” So I’m not exactly a romantic poet or a good pep-talker, but I’m trying. “As for us, it’s you and me forever, baby. There ain’t a girl here who can touch what you give me.” I see the flare in her eyes and clarify. “Not my dick . . . my heart. And there ain’t a single guy at that school who’s gonna love you like I do.”

  She presses her lips to mine, and it feels like a promise, a vow, sealing my words between us as tru
th. She tastes like love, like the future, like the sweet dreams only two stupid kids can have.

  When she lays her head back on my shoulder, I just hold her, running my thumb up and down her arm and memorizing the moment. It’s a turning point for us. Tomorrow, Allyson’s going to school, and it’ll be the beginning of a whole new phase for us. The first step in the rest of our lives. I can’t wait.

  * * *

  I walk the fields at home for acres, watching the afternoon sun make its trek across the sky as I check on the crops. Some more peaches are looking good on the trees, probably ready for Bobby and me to pick this week. I need to check in with Shayanne to see if she wants them for one of her fancy recipes or if I should give them to Brody for the farmers’ market.

  But mostly, my mind wanders to the past, flipping through memories like scrapbook pages in my mind. Allyson Meyers—the girl I loved, the girl I thought I was gonna marry, the girl who dumped me as soon as she caught sight of the fancy, smart city boys at State.

  The girl who broke my heart.

  Anger burns hot and bright in my chest, and I rub at the hard muscles there, even though I know it won’t do anything for the pain. The anger is the dark, bitter chocolate syrup on a shit sundae of hurt, disappointment, and disillusionment. Big words for a stupid cowboy, but there ya go.

  I hear a guitar playing up ahead and almost turn back, knowing Bobby’s been working on a song lately and it’s giving him fits. Farming’s always been this way. There’s a lot of hard work, sure, but when you get a break, time stretches out and you can get a little too deep with your thoughts. I offered to find some rhymes and help, but like the asshole he is, he’d said he already knew how to rhyme cat and hat, as if that’s the extent of my capabilities.

  Love that fucker, though I’d never tell him in those words because that’s not our way. Nah, I’d told him by sweeping his legs out from underneath him and holding him down while caterwauling my dirty version of a ‘cat in the hat’ song. Though it was probably more of an unofficial naughty limerick.