He blinks slowly in confusion, and I give him two heartbeats to start counting, even if he doesn’t know why. “Thirty, twenty-nine . . . fuck, Al, what are you doing?” He groans as I move my hips, fucking him through our clothes.
My shorts are so soaked, I’m probably leaving traces of my juices on his jeans and I don’t care in the slightest. He grips my thighs, not stopping me but not guiding me either, just letting me ride him however I want. I pick up the pace, and the numbers fly from his mind as he begins cursing instead.
“Uh-uh, keep counting,” I admonish and continue my torture of us both.
I don’t know who this wanton woman is. This playfulness, this forwardness isn’t me, at least not anymore. But with Bruce, she comes out of her hidey hole, ready to be frisky and fun. I like it, even as it makes me sad that I haven’t been like this in so long.
Since Bruce. Only with Bruce.
“Ten, nine . . .” He spits the words through clenched teeth. “Fuck, Allyson. You’re gonna make me come.”
I can’t help but cry out, wanting that desperately. I’m close again too, and I want us to come together.
The engine sound quiets and I hear a voice call out instead, “Incoming!”
“Goddamn it.” Bruce grabs my ass, fingers spread wide to squeeze all of me, and pulls me against him hard and tight, grinding against me for a second before letting me go. He rests his forehead against mine, panting as his eyes bore into mine.
“Wait a fucking second, Bobby!” he calls out into the air around us. “Fucker knows exactly where we are.” His eyes are scanning the trees around us like he’s expecting Bobby to sneak attack.
The tension of being on the edge fades away slowly, the adrenalin cooling, and a sense of normalcy returns to the moment. I start to laugh lightly, but everything I’ve done hits me at once.
Did I seriously just come barreling onto Bruce’s farm to yell at him and fire him from the team? Only to end up apologizing when he talked me down because I did actually overreact? And then walk around all afternoon like old times and end up riding Bruce, trying to make him come in his jeans against a clock? Who the hell am I?
Yourself, a tiny voice says from a deep recess in my mind.
Is that true? Could I be this woman?
I’ve worked so hard to be even-keeled and analytical, safe and routine-oriented. But what if I’m also emotionally tumultuous, passionate, with just a dash of wild? Have I really shut myself off that much?
“Well, at least you’re both dressed this time,” Bobby drawls from behind me. There’s an undercurrent of fury, though, one I’ve never heard from him before. Bobby was always our alibi, Bruce’s best friend and brother who helped us sneak out as much as we could or sneak in whenever we had to.
I might be realizing I’m a bit wilder than I thought, but being caught astride Bruce still isn’t exactly a comfortable position. Nor is this the first time Bobby’s caught us, though the last time was a very long time ago.
My spine straightens, and I don’t look over my shoulder, staring at the tree over Bruce’s head in embarrassment instead. “Hey, Bobby, how’re you doing?”
He snorts disapprovingly. “Not as good as you two, apparently.”
Bruce looks over my shoulder, seemingly having a conversation with Bobby through dark-eyed angry scowls alone. Even I flinch, and they’re not directed at me, so surely, Bobby is cowering. “Did you need something?”
Bobby hums for a second, and I imagine he’s stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Dinner. Mama Louise invited Allyson and Cooper . . . good kid, by the way . . . to dinner. He’s already snapping green beans at the kitchen table, so I was elected to come hunt you down to extend the invitation. Knew where you’d be.”
It almost sounds like an accusation?
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I say politely, my manners automatic even though something’s off about the invite. I turn slightly to finally see Bobby. His eyes tick over me, but just as fast, return to Bruce, giving me a chance to do a quick scan of my own.
Bobby’s grown up too. His lanky limbs have filled out into bulges of muscles—from working on the farm, I guess—and his previously round face is all angles and shadows. He looks like a model, and I bet he has women chasing him twenty-four seven. Ironically, his darkly Hollywood looks do nothing for me and actually trigger a small flinch in my gut. I don’t like pretty guys. They can hide monsters beneath the attractive façade.
Guess I like my men a bit rougher around the edges, like Bruce, where what you see is what you get. Not that Bruce is my man. Definitely not that.
He’s currently death glaring at Bobby, who’s making a damned good attempt at returning the frown. I suddenly feel like a gazelle caught between two competing lions. I know it’s the lionesses that hunt, but my mind doesn’t care about National Geographic level accuracy right now.
I sense danger, and my gut reflex is to apologize even though I’ve done nothing wrong. But I check myself and instead go to my second instinct—mitigate this, mediate it, deescalate whatever the hell’s going on.
“Or that’s not sweet?” I say, trying to figure out what’s wrong between the two boys who were the best of friends when I knew them. “We don’t have to stay if you don’t want us to.”
“It’s very kind,” Bruce reassures me, squeezing my thigh. “Here, lemme help you up, and we’ll go back to the house. You can check on Cooper while Bobby and I have a chat.”
Why do I get the feeling that chat will be done with their fists and not their tongues?
“Uh, okay.”
I move to stand and Bruce helps set me on my feet before rising from the ground himself. He adjusts his cock in his jeans with zero shame, somehow turning me on again but pissing Bobby off another degree or so.
Bobby spins on his booted foot and stomps back through the trees.
“Is everything okay?” I ask Bruce quietly. “Why’s Bobby so mad?”
Bruce squeezes my hand and sighs softly. “He was there for me through the worst of it and it was ugly as fuck. He’s got my best interests at heart and is mad at my utter lack of self-preservation.”
It hits me hard. Bobby’s not mad at Bruce. Well, maybe a little, but mostly, he’s mad at . . . me. Upset at the past and scared that I’m going to hurt Bruce again, worried he’ll have a repeat performance of propping him up through the heartache. Just like Brody said. Bruce’s brothers hate me, I realize painfully.
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. It’ll be all right.” The reassurance doesn’t feel so comforting this time. I don’t want to cause problems between them, and I don’t want Bruce to tell Bobby that everything’s fine because I’m not sure it is.
I’m not sure I am.
I climb in the Gator with Bobby and Bruce anyway and head for the house. Bobby’s going too fast, getting airborne over every bump, and I have to hold on to the oh-shit handle to keep from flying out. He even skids just a little on the dry grass when he slams on the brakes at the back of the house.
“Head on in, Al. We’ll be there in a second,” Bruce tells me, his voice cold and his eyes on Bobby.
I climb out and walk in front of the vehicle. I pause, seeing their matching clenched teeth. I can’t leave them like this. I have to try. “Hey, guys, can we just agree to not kill each other? Or even harm or maim each other? That’d be a great line in the proverbial sand. Agreed?”
There’s a growl in the air, but I’m not sure which man it’s coming from. “Okay, then. I’ll take that as a no.” And like a fucking coward, I skedaddle into the house.
It feels like I’m running for safety, right up until the second the screen door closes behind me and a whole bunch of eyes turn to me. Frozen bug, pinned to the pine floor . . . yep, that’s me.
My hands clench and unfurl, tapping fingers to my thumb as I wilt under the weight of the stares, some curious and at least one unfriendly. Brody gets up in my face again.
“What’s wrong.” It should be a question. It’s definitely not.
>
I look behind me, worried. “Bobby hates me. I think they’re fighting it out?”
I can hear the waver in my own voice. The fear of violence so close by and that I might be the cause of it makes me feel guilty, even though on some level, I know it’s not really my fault. But it’s all so mixed-up in my head.
“Fuck,” Brody hisses, shoving past me. Three other men do the same, harsh looks on their faces and blonde instead of the Tannens’ dark hair, and I realize that these must be the grown-up versions of the Bennett boys. I knew of them in school, but I don’t know if I would’ve recognized them on Main Street if I passed them now. But in this context, there’s no way they’re anyone else.
Suddenly, I’m alone with Shayanne, two other women I don’t know, Mama Louise who everyone knows, and Cooper.
Mama Louise smiles serenely, like this is nothing more than a regular Saturday evening around here. Maybe it is? “No worries, dear. They’ll get it sorted.”
The other women are looking at me with deep interest. Thankfully, Cooper runs to me, hugging me around the waist. “Mom?”
There’s a fear there I promised myself he would never know. I run my fingers across his head before patting his back. “It’s fine, honey. Bruce and Bobby are just talking. Tell me about your day. Did you see the pig?”
He doesn’t want the redirection, but Shayanne jumps in to save the day. “He sure did. He held Bacon Seed like a pro, supporting her round little body. He even fed her.” Shayanne holds her hand up and Cooper hesitatingly slaps it with his own.
It’s working, though. Cooper’s shoulders are dropping back into place, and he steps back, quoting. “Only one cookie treat per day. And they’re not really cookies like you and me eat. They’re special pig formula cookies and taste gross. So gross.” He sticks his tongue out and his nose crinkles.
“You ate a pig cookie?” I ask, horrified.
I marvel at how resilient he is and how he can jump focus as Shay and him giggle like they’re sharing a special joke with zero thoughts about what’s happening outside. “All natural, nontoxic, safe to eat. Just yucky, I promise,” Shayanne says. “It’s good to know what you’re feeding your animals.”
“Speaking of feeding our animals, there’s work to be done,” Mama Louise says, her meaning quite clear to everyone.
The two women I don’t know move over to the counter, where it looks like they’re making a salad, but their prying eyes still bore into me. Shayanne heads to the stove, Cooper trailing along after her. I look to Mama Louise for an assignment, and she nods, obviously pleased at my willingness to jump right in. “Allyson, dear, could you set the table, please? Plates, glasses, silverware,” she says, pointing around the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, doing her bidding.
It occurs to me that she knows my name already. From Bruce? From Cooper? From high school? From Brody and Bobby telling them all about me today?
I feel like an interloper. They’ve accepted Cooper, but he’s a kid and ridiculously adorable. But me? They’re looking at me like a freak show, the woman who broke Bruce’s heart and is setting him up to fall again, especially if they’ve been listening to Brody and Bobby.
I’m not, or at least I don’t think I am, but I don’t think for one second that they’d believe that.
“I’m Allyson, by the way,” I tell the two salad-makers. They have the manners to look slightly chagrined.
“I’m Sophie,” a pretty woman with a country air says, though she doesn’t have that same drawl Shayanne does. “James’s wife, and that butter ball over there is Cindy Lou, our daughter.”
She points at the baby happily sitting in a highchair at the table. Her hair is standing up like she stuck her finger in a light socket and her socked feet kick out in a dance only she knows.
The blonde waves a wet hand and smiles welcomingly. “Katelyn. I’m Mark’s.”
We get to work, and it’s not quiet in the kitchen—the stirring spoon against the metal pot, the rip of lettuce, and the clatter of the dishes—but somehow, the silence is suffocating. These women all have questions for me, want answers I don’t have, and I want to escape to my own little kitchen. Just me and Cooper having dinner at the small four-seater table that’s only ever held that many people when Michelle and Liam come over.
All of this—the people, the eyes, the unasked questions—weighs on me.
Most of all, I feel guilty that the guys are all outside fighting. Bruce and Bobby were always crazy-close, and I don’t want to mess that up. Especially when I don’t even know what the hell’s going on between me and Bruce.
Today’s been an utter rollercoaster.
He’s serious, or at least I think he is. But I’m not looking for that. Not looking for another relationship, a marriage, a dad for Cooper. My heart begins to race and my mind starts whirling, anxiety coursing through me.
I set the table, but it takes me forever as I tap, tap, tap my fingers. I bend down to baby talk with Cindy Lou, mindlessly telling her how cute she is because she seems like the friendliest face in the room.
The back screen opens and a herd of elephants enters the kitchen, or well, a whole gaggle of cowboys, but it’s about the same noise level, reminding me again of the uncomfortable silence with the women. The guys all look a bit heated, from the August evening sun and whatever drama they just went through. Each and every one of them looks at me with a stony gaze, though, hard ice coursing through the lot of them. Even Bruce, though his anger seems to be directed at the guys instead of me.
All in all, I’m adrift in a sea of people who are sending me drastically varying messages of welcome. Or flat-out unwelcome in some cases. Brody and Bobby, I’m looking at you.
“Dinner’s ready if everyone’s cleaned up?” Mama Louise says, and there’s a grumbled chorus of ‘Yes, ma’am.’ before everyone sits.
I hang back, biting my lip and twisting my fingers, not knowing where to sit. Mama Louise guides Cooper to her side, and he goes happily, blissfully unaware of my impending freakout, thankfully.
“Al?” Bruce says quietly. I find him amid the sea of broad shoulders to see he’s gesturing to the chair beside him. I sit stiffly, primly perched on the edge. He leans over and whispers in my ear. “You okay? You look ready to run for the hills.”
I look sideways at him, hearing his earlier assessment that I’m skittish. Then, I wanted to argue that fact. Now, I’ll admit to myself that he might be right. But it’s for a damn good reason, the boy sitting at Mama Louise’s side. Running saved me and saved him once, and I’ll damn well do it again if it’d protect us from any more pain.
Or this awkward aggression that’s assaulting me from every angle right now.
“I’m fine,” I say quietly, not even believing the lie myself.
“Shit.” He sighs heavily.
“Language,” Mama Louise says, never taking her attention from filling Cooper’s plate with more food than he’d eat in a week of suppers.
Bruce dips his chin in apology, and I resort to daintily stuffing my face so I don’t have to say anything. Little bites so that I’m always feeding myself or chewing . . . just ignore me, I beg silently.
No such luck.
“How’re practices going?” Bobby asks me directly. Why does it seem like he’s accusing me of something with the barest small talk?
I swallow thickly, dabbing at my mouth with my napkin before laying it back in my lap. “Pretty good. Except for today,” I admit, looking at Bruce. “But it worked out, I guess.”
Cooper laughs, unaware that he’s saving my bacon by interjecting. “Uh, yeah, Mom. You told Johnathan off, which he totally deserved. And my arms and legs are still limp noodles from all the drills you made us do as punishment.” He holds up his arms in front of him, wiggling them loosely.
The group chuckles, and I realize he might be my only saving grace to get through this meal. Seems about right because he’s easily the best thing I’ve ever done.
He goes on to tell them
about the circle high-five-pushup drill we did to wrap up practice, and Bruce nods approvingly, pointing at Cooper with a fork. “Sounds like practice ended better than it started. We’ll build on that.” Cooper nods like a bobblehead, and I think he’d agree with anything Bruce said. Hell, any of the boys would.
So would you, that sex kitten voice purrs in my head. And though I was just wildly riding him this afternoon, it seems like that was ages ago already. It was a pocket of time and space where there were no rules, no consequences, no reality, a blip that blinked out, leaving this awkward uncomfortableness of eyes staring us down like we’re specimens to be dissected.
“So, what’s the deal with the two of you?” Mark demands of me with a lift of his chin. I only know he’s Mark because Katelyn’s by his side, and at his brusque pseudo-question, she lays her hand over his. “What?” he says to her, shrugging carelessly. “It’s what we all want to know, the elephant in the room or whatever. We heard Brutal’s version outside and wanna hear Allyson’s too. Might as well get it out of the way so we can eat in peace, right?”
Well, shit. There’s no hiding now, not with the big ass spotlight Mark just shone on me.
“Leave her alone, Mark.” Bruce’s voice is powerfully furious but quiet. A calm before another storm. With Cooper sitting right here with a front-row seat. No, I can’t let that happen.
I steel my nerves, limiting my tapping to just one finger against my thigh under the table. I can do this. Short and to the point is key. Be firm so as not to invite further questions that might dive too deep. Just like I tell clients when they’re preparing to testify, because this feels eerily similar.
I meet Mark’s eyes, no small feat in itself, and recite the basics, being very intentional with my words because of Cooper’s presence even though he’s building some sort of green bean log cabin that keeps falling over. He’s completely oblivious to the adult conversation and thread of tension going on around him.
It feels like I’ve said some version of this story so many times recently, to myself, to Bruce, even to Michelle. It’s easier with each telling, but it still makes me feel like I’ve got a target on my back with the staredowns I’m getting. Like they’re comparing whatever Bruce said to what I just said, and like it was some test, I’m dying to know if I passed. Or if he said something different.
Rough Love Page 18