SEALing The Victory

 

“Jackson?”

 

He snapped to like a rubber band, her voice bringing him out of his reverie. “Yes?”

 

“You OK? You zoned out there for a second.”

 

He looked up and into her face. She wore a small, sympathetic smile and her green eyes twinkled from behind her cat-eye glasses. Admittedly, it was hard not to smile back at her when she looked at him like that. He wondered if she looked at all her patients that way.

 

He shook his head, not wanting to pursue his current line of thinking any further than he already had. “I’m good.”

 

“Where did you go just now?”

 

He was silent for a moment. No matter how hard he tried – tried to move on, tried to forget – they always ended up back here. He always ended up back here.

 

As if he’d never left.

 

“Back to the desert.”

 

“And what happened? What did you see when you went back there just now?”

 

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see anything. There was fire and smoke everywhere. I couldn’t breathe.” He rubbed his neck – he could feel his throat starting to constrict even though he was nowhere near a desert to smoke or fire.

 

She put her pen and paper down, and then took her glasses off, revealing a smattering of tiny red freckles dancing on her nose and cheekbones. She leaned forward in her chair a little, closer to him somehow. “We keep coming back to this point,” she said. “Why do you think it’s so hard for you to get past this?”

 

He felt a flash of anger rise and rip through him. It came out of nowhere. Zero to sixty, just like that. He tried to suppress it, but it had snuck up on him. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to take it out on her; it wasn’t her fault. “As if it’s that easy to just get past it when people are dying all around you?”

 

She was taken aback by this; he could tell. She’d always known the exact response to give, but here, she hesitated a second. “I’m sorry,” she started.

 

Jackson held his hand up. Just like that, he was his old self again. Or as close to his old self as he was going to get for the time being. Maybe ever. “No apologies necessary,” he began. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

 

She nodded, but he noticed that she leaned back in her chair, somehow taking some of the warmth in the room with her.

 

“People died,” she continued. “Were any of them close to you?”

 

“One was my best friend.” He said it as a simple statement of fact. Without emotion. Just as one would say, “the sky is blue.”

 

“Is that it then? You feel guilty that you are he and he is not?”

 

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

 

“Maybe is a yes.”

 

“Change the subject,” he said, sounding a bit more short than he meant to.

 

“We can change the subject if you want to, Jackson, but you always do this when we broach this topic.”

 

He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“OK let’s talk about your future plans. What are you thinking of doing? Are you planning on going back?”

 

Jackson was silent for a long time, staring at nothing. “I should,” he said finally. “I mean…I feel like that's what I’m supposed to do. But I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s like I get anxiety every time I even think about it.”

 

“Well don’t force yourself. Take the time off that you need.”

 

He looked at her face again. She was encouraging him. She believed in him. Not just in a professional way, but genuinely. He relaxed a little. Her presence was calming. It was why he chose her over the therapist everyone else recommended for his extensive experience treating ex-soldiers with PTSD. Jackson had been to see him once, but he made up his mind early on that he simply didn’t like the guy. But Abigail. Abigail helped quiet his mind, even if it was for only an hour or two a week.

 

“What about alternatives?”

 

Jackson hadn’t thought much about this. Truthfully, the Navy was the only thing he was ever good at.

 

The Navy and football.

 

He’d been a star quarterback in college. Everyone was positive he’d get drafted over to the NFL.

 

But then the towers fell.

 

And the feeling nagged at him for weeks until, at the last minute, he decided to enlist. He loved football. But he just wasn’t sure he still had it.

 

“Our time is up,” Abigail said. Was there a tinge of regret in her voice?

 

Jackson nodded. “Same time next week?”

 

She stood and started to arrange some papers on her desk. He stood and walked over to her. She turned to face him, looking up, as he was an entire foot taller than she was. He looked her straight in her eye so she would know he was sincere, but it took him a minute to find his words. “I want to apologize.”

 

She started to stop him, but he continued.

 

“No,” he said. “Let me…let me finish. You’ve been a real help to me; I want you to know that. And I don’t mean to snap at you. I’ll do better next time. I promise.”

 

“Jackson…” her voice trailed off.

 

He didn’t realize he was touching her hand until she looked down. When she looked back up at him, her cheeks were red.

 

He pulled his hand away.

 

She smiled but took a small step back. “Sure,” she said. “We’ll talk more next week.”

 

He nodded. He felt like he should say more, but he couldn’t figure out what, so he turned and left.

 

~

 

Something explodes nearby.

 

The sound is unbelievably loud, and the ground shakes under his feet.

 

The heat wears on him like thick, heavy chains, made even more unbearable by all the gear he's wearing.

 

Protective gear, he repeats to himself. He has to tell himself this in order to keep from peeling everything off, layer by layer, and exposing his bare flesh to the scorching sun.

 

He hits the ground, just as he's done more times than he possibly could have counted. Then he begins to crawl, slowly and so low to the ground that he’s practically dragging his belly through the endless stretch of sand. His vision is obstructed by the thick cloud of dust the explosion has kicked up.

 

He looks around frantically for his partner, but he cannot find him. He wants to call out for him but he knows making even the tiniest of sounds right now could mean a swift and certain death.

 

Another explosion occurs somewhat farther off.

 

He ducks and covers his head with his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a large boulder, and he dashes behind it to take cover.

 

When his ears stop ringing, and he can open his eyes again, he takes another look around, trying to figure out exactly where he is. He sees booted feet sticking out from the around the other side of the boulder. He gets on all fours again, crawls over to them. He can see the patch of camouflage tucked in before he gets all the way there.

 

It's Marty.

 

His partner.

 

And he's dead.

 

His stomach turns and a painful knot forms in his throat.

 

He lets out a cry of pain.

 

A howl really.

 

His lament is cut short by the sound of the bullet piercing him through his uniform. It comes from behind and though at first he doesn’t realize what has happened, the feeling of hot blood, surely his own, oozing down his back brings it all to reality.

 

He falls over, on top of Marty, and then rolls over onto his back in the hope of getting a glimpse of his assailant.

 

The last thing he remembers seeing is the large rock seemingly floating directly above him before it comes crashing down onto his head.

 

~

 

Jackson woke up in a cold sweat. His heart felt like it would pound clear through his chest.

 

He couldn’t see at first; it was the middle of the night and particularly dark in his bedroom.

 

He started to count backward from one hundred. After a minute, his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him, and the sweat covering him cooled, causing a prickling feeling to crawl up his skin.

 

His heart didn’t start to slow down until he reached the number twenty-three – his old jersey number.

 

He sat up, then got up got a glass of water. He ended up drinking two glasses before attempting to go back to bed.

 

It was no use. His eyes just couldn’t shut.

 

He lay still in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in the hopes that other, more disturbing images wouldn’t come back into his head.

 

After a minute or two, he reached for the phone, and before thinking too much about it, dialed Abigail Fox on her emergency line.

 

The phone rang one…two…three times and then he almost hung up, but in the middle of the fourth ring, someone picked up.

 

“Hello?”

 

She sounded groggy, Jackson thought. He had woken her. Instantly, he felt bad about calling her in the dead middle of the night, but it was either this or…god knows what.

 

“Ms. Fox? It’s me, Jackson.” He said nothing else. He wasn’t even sure what to call her. It felt like he shouldn’t be calling her at all, but she had given him the number, right?

 

She had to know he’d use it one day…

 

“Jackson?”

 

He didn’t answer, not at first. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her, either.

 

“Jackson, is that you? Are you there?” She sounded more alert now, an edge of worry in her voice.

 

“I’m here,” he said quietly.

 

“Is everything OK? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

 

“A dream…” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I had a bad dream.”

 

“It’s OK,” she said, and instantly he felt a little calmer. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“So much blood…” he said squeezing his eyes shut. “The heat. And explosion.”

 

“Jackson, take a deep breath for me.”

 

He complied, filling his chest cavity fully with air before exhaling.

 

“Good. And now another one.”

 

Jackson took another long breath.

 

“Keep breathing,” Abigail said. “Listen to me…it was just a dream OK? You’re OK. You’re safe. Nothing is going to harm you.”

 

Jackson nodded, forgetting that she couldn’t actually see him.

 

“Repeat it to me,” she commanded.

 

“It’s OK,” he whispered. “I’m safe.”

 

“Good,” her voice relaxed. “This is usually the part where I tell you to take some medication, and that we’d adjust your dosage on your next visit, but you’ve refused to take the meds I recommended in the first place.”

 

“I told you,” he said. “I want to try and beat this thing without any meds.”

 

“Jackson, there is nothing wrong with needing a little extra help. Taking medication doesn’t mean you’re crazy. You’ve been through a lot, much more than a normal person would be able to take.”

 

“I appreciate your concern, Ms. Fox. But no medication for now.”

 

Abigail sighed heavily on the other line. “OK,” she said. “Have you thought about getting one of those service dogs? I hear they’re really helpful in PTSD-type situations.”

 

“I don’t have the time to take care of a dog, Ms. Fox.”

 

“Lie down, Jackson.”

 

Before he knew it, he had done what she’d asked.

 

“Here’s another idea. Let’s figure out something else you can do, some activity you can partake in or project you can take on that will keep your mind occupied and give your life some meaning again.”

 

He liked how that sounded, but didn’t readily know what that something might be. “Like what?”

 

“Well, what are your hobbies?”

 

He thought about this for a moment. He liked to cook – he would always cook for his buddies when he was in the service. He liked the beach. What else?

 

“You mentioned to me that you used to play football, right?”

 

Jackson froze. “Yeah. I used to play.”

 

“Maybe you could find a neighborhood group and play again? For fun. Definitely thinking you should find more of a low-pressure situation. Not something too competitive.”

 

Jackson was silent for some time. “I might try it.” He could hear her smiling through the phone.

 

“Good. I want you to look into some options and tell me what you found out when you come see me next week, OK?”

 

“OK, I’ll do that…I’m sorry again, Ms. Fox. For the call. I didn’t mean to scare you or worry you. It’s just…”

 

“Don’t apologize, Jackson. It’s what I’m here for.”

 

Jackson nodded again before catching himself.

 

“How are you feeling now?”

 

“Better.”

 

“Do you feel like you can go back to sleep?”

 

“I can try.”

 

“Well, try and get some rest. I’ll see you in a few days.”

 

Jackson hung up.

 

Then he smiled in spite of himself and stretched out to get some sleep.

 

Football.

 

Could he really do it? He didn’t want to fail at it. But he needed to do something.

 

He was never one to take half measures. If he was going to do this, if he was going to play football again, it would be all or nothing.

 

It was decided then.

 

Fuck some small-time community game. He would go pro and try out for the NFL.

 

~

 

It was bright and early when Jackson pulled up to the high school campus. He parked along the side of the road, in front of a large field, but the school was visible at the far end.

 

He opened his door and got out, smiling widely when he saw the only person on the field. He was running the length with some sort of parachute attached to his back. Jackson shook his head with a laugh.

 

The athlete on the field ran back from the far end, parachute still attached. He spotted Jackson walking towards him and slowed down, unhooking the contraption from his back as he jogged in his direction. “You're still slow as fuck,” Jackson laughed. “Never going to beat me, no matter how much weight you add.”

 

The man stopped in front of Jackson and wiped his hands on his mesh shorts, a large, bright smile on his dark face. “We'll see about that. I won't embarrass you by mentioning how I already crushed your record and this season’s only started.”

 

“No, you wouldn't do that. Especially since we both know it's not true. You play shit teams, nothing like the competition I had in school.”

 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Blake.” He rubbed his hand over his bald head. “But, enough of this bullshit. You ready?”

 

“Where the hell did you get that thing, Q?” Jackson nodded to the parachute on the field.

 

“Amazon. You want to try it out?” Q hooked his fingers in the harness he was wearing. He slapped Jackson’s shoulder with the back of his hand and stepped away. “Go take it for a spin.”

 

Jackson had forgotten how physically grueling a good football practice could be. When he’d woken up the morning after his last nightmare, he called in a favor to his old friend Q. “I need you to help get me back in the game,” he said. And of course, Q jumped all over the opportunity. Partly because he genuinely wanted to help, Jackson was sure. And partly because he wanted to give him shit.

 

He didn’t mind, though. Ms. Fox was right. It felt great to be doing something again.

 

Especially this.

 

“Go long,” he said to Q, who turned immediately and ran to the far end of the field. His shoulders were loosening up. He was quickly getting his old nimbleness back. He threw. It was a perfect throw. He smiled.

 

Q tossed the ball back to him. “Good one. Let’s go again.”

 

Jackson saw a flash of bright red hair out of the corner of his eyes, and he stopped and turned around.

 

He had to squint, but he was almost sure it was her. He dropped the ball and started to jog over to the gate.

 

“Hey,” yelled Q. “Where you going? We’re not done here.”

 

“I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder.

 

She had spotted him coming toward her and had turned to leave. “Wait,” he called out, and she stopped and turned back.

 

“Hi,” he grinned, when he reached her, and she returned the smile.

 

“I see you took my advice,” she said. “It’s nice when patients actually listen. I don’t think I’ve even seen you smile quite that widely before.”

 

“I admit, I do feel great. What are you doing around here?”

 

“I was just in the neighborhood taking a walk. How is your practice going?”

 

“I feel like a million bucks.”

 

“Guess that means you won’t be needing me anymore,” she joked.

 

“Nonsense,” he said playfully. “I’ll be at my appointment bright and early Thursday morning. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

Did she blush?

 

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then.”

 

“Hey,” he started. “I’m just finishing up here. I don’t know…you want to grab a coffee or something?”

 

“Uh,” she stammered and her eyes went a little wide. He’d caught her off guard. He’d caught himself off guard too. He hadn’t planned to ask her that at all.

 

He lowered his head so that his eyes met hers, and smiled at her. “OK,” she said. “Coffee would be nice.”

 

“Wait right here. I’m just going to go and get my things.”

 

~

 

He really was her favorite patient.

 

But for none of the right reasons.

 

The second they met, the very air around her had changed, wrapped her into this force field of – she wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt it nonetheless.

 

She agreed to see him when he asked, thinking that talking to him in a professional capacity would halt whatever it was rising in her.

 

But it didn’t. If anything, talking to him about his most intimate thoughts and feelings only made her feel more drawn to him.

 

She’d kept things strictly professional, though, as she was expected to do.

 

Until now.

 

Now, they were in a coffee shop, in an unofficial capacity, sitting across from one another, the closest in proximity they’d ever been.

 

She was really toeing the line.

 

Sure, it was just coffee.

 

Or maybe not.

 

He sat down with a latte in either hand and smiled as he slid hers across the table to her. His smile didn’t lessen the power in his gaze. It made her jumpy, and her heart sped up, pushing blood to her nerves.

 

“I really hope you aren’t going to send me a bill for this,” he teased.

 

She permitted herself a small laugh. Her poker face was shattering already, much to her dismay. The last thing she wanted was to let on that he had an effect on her.

 

“So, what do you like to do?” he continued.

 

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Hmm.”

 

“Well, it’s just that you always ask about me when we talk.”

 

“That’s my job.”

 

“But you aren’t working right now. And I never ask about you. You asked me what I like to do, and now I want to know what you like to do, Ms. Fox.”

 

“Abigail,” she corrected, and then felt her cheeks getting warm. She lowered her head slightly so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Call me Abigail.”

 

“OK, Abigail,” he said. “What do you like to do?” His dizzying smile became teasing and heart-stopping as he ran his fingers over his lips, innocently enough, like he was considering something, but his blue eyes deepened as he watched her.

 

“I like to paint.”

 

“You any good?”

 

“Are you any good at football?”

 

“Touché.”

 

“I don’t do it for artistic expression, per se. It calms me down, is all.”

 

His brow wrinkled. “I don’t know that I can picture you not calm.”

 

“Believe me,” she chuckled, “it happens.”

 

It’s happening now. You just don’t know it.

 

“So, do you see a therapist?”

 

Her eyes went wide.

 

“I apologize for that,” he said quickly. “I don’t mean to pry.” And then the corners of his eyes wrinkled as his smile returned. “It’s just that’s what you always see on TV, the therapist talking to their therapist.”

 

“No,” she said. “I’m not seeing anyone. Not right now, anyway.” She wondered if he caught her real meaning. Stop flirting, Abby. “I prefer to paint.” She took a bite of her muffin to stop herself from talking.

 

He kept shooting questions at her, and she kept answering them. Where did she grow up? Did she like her job? Did she prefer dogs or cats?

 

She was beginning to understand how he must have felt every week in her office.

 

“I should go,” she said after a while. “I’ve got work in the morning, and I still have a lot of case prep to do.”

 

He nodded and stood. They walked outside together, and he walked her down to the corner. “Well, I’m going this way,” he said.

 

“I’m going that way,” she replied, pointing in the opposite direction. “Thank you for the coffee. See you on Thursday?”

 

“I’m still a little crazy, so yeah, I’ll be there.”

 

She giggled. “You’re not crazy, Jackson.”

 

“You don’t even know the half of it.” His lips spread into a grin, his dimples showing as he stepped toward her and placed his hand on her arms. Her insides turned to jelly as his head dipped, anticipating his lips on hers. But then he froze, close enough that his breath warmed the skin on her face. “You have to go,” he murmured like he was reminding himself, and then released her and stepped away.

 

~

 

“You seem to be in a much better place than you were when we were here last,” said Abigail. She shifted slightly in her chair. There was something different about him. Or was there something different about them? Or maybe it was just the air, or maybe her imagination, but it was harder to breathe this time around.

 

His body language was definitely different. He relaxed back in his chair, legs spread in a V, utterly sexy and radiating dominance, even in this causal stance. His hat was gone now, his blue eyes bright under dark brows, and they were focused on her. She kept her eyes on her yellow notepad and pretended to scribble things while he talked.

 

He talked about football for the entire hour, his voice taking on an excited, childlike enthusiasm. She wanted to smile, but forced herself to bite her lip every time the feeling came over her. She kept her head down, knowing that if she looked up and directly into those eyes, she was done.  There was something in those eyes that excited her and made her feel…she didn’t know what, but she wanted to find out.

 

Already she could feel moist heat spreading between her legs, and she flushed in embarrassment.

 

She shifted in her chair again, uncrossing and crossing her legs.

 

He’s your patient, she said over and over again to herself while he talked. Thankfully, he kept going and didn’t seem to notice her distraction. She hadn’t even realized it when the session had come to an end.

 

“Abigail?” he said, and she looked up. Damn, he had tricked her. His smile was disarming. “Same time next week?”

 

“Yes, Jackson. Same time.”

 

“Jack…you can call me Jack.”

 

She nodded and then stood and went to the door. He needed to go. Now.

 

He walked past her, but before he left, he turned. “Can’t wait to hear about your game,” she said.

 

“We could talk about it over dinner. After the game.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

 

Everything in her body screamed yes, but she managed to get the other word out. “No,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I can’t.”

 

Suddenly, she was very conscious of his eyes on her. There was a playful spark in his eyes that was dangerous, that could talk her into anything. She knew she should say that it was inappropriate, that she shouldn’t see him at all outside this office, but instead she said, “I made other plans for that night.” With just a look, he so easily chipped away at the part of her that tried to be smart and pull away. That part of her didn’t stand a chance. Not when her desire for him drove out all sense.

 

“Maybe next time.” His grin was unsettling, knowing, and he turned quietly to leave.

 

She almost called after him. But she went back inside, leaving him before she could let that thought, and his stare, lead her somewhere she might regret.

 

~

 

Abigail had tucked the last of the groceries into her canvas tote bag and went out onto the street. She had the day off tomorrow and planned to make herself a nice dinner and relax. She stopped on the way home for a bottle of wine.

 

Balancing one bag in her hand, while hefting the other over her shoulder, she turned to cross the street.

 

“I’ll help with that,” she heard someone say from behind her, and before she could turn to see who it was, she felt the bag being lifted from her.

 

“Where to?” said Jackson, flashing that smile she was becoming just a little bit obsessed with. She smiled and jerked her head in the direction of the stoplight. “My place is just around the corner.”

 

They fell into step beside each other and a few minutes later, arrived at her front door. “Don’t tell me it’s a fifth-floor walk-up,” said Jackson.

 

She laughed. “Should be a piece of cake for you. But no, I’m on the first floor.”

 

He walked her to the door and looked at her expectantly while she fiddled with her keys. “You hungry?” she asked. The question was out of her mouth before she could really think about the implications.

 

“Starving,” he replied with a broad grin.

 

She opened the door. “Come in. I’ll get started on dinner in a few minutes.”

 

He helped her put the bags down on the kitchen counter and then sat on one of the stools while she hung up her sweater, washed her hands and began to chop vegetables.

 

“So, you excited for the game this weekend?”

 

“No biggie. Just a practice game.”

 

“Nervous?” She attempted to read him, sensing a shift in him, a vulnerability that she wanted to grasp, but he covered it up quickly – if it was truly there to begin with.

 

“Not exactly.” He shook his head. “I plan. I prepare. I predict. All to the best of my ability. It'll be a busy week for me; that's why I wanted to see you.”

 

She nodded, dropping the diced red bell pepper into a large pot.

 

“There's an event on Friday and some people coming into town this week that I have to meet with.”

 

“People from home?” she questioned, curious about any hint of his past. Besides the mention of not talking to his mom in one of their sessions, all she knew of his life before the Navy had to do with him playing football in college.

 

“Yeah,” he stretched the word out with caution.

 

“Family?” she kept questioning, pressing her luck.

 

“Not really.” He shook his head, eyes trained on her.

 

She decided not to take it any further and change the subject.

 

But then he said, “My grandmother raised me. That's my only family.”

 

She had the strange urge to thank him for sharing, but she resisted. “Did she teach you to play football?”

 

He laughed, a real laugh, and it sounded like music, deep and melodic. “No, but she signed me up for every after school rec league offered, in all the sports. What about you?”

 

“Hm?” She was content to just listen to him. “I wasn't much for sports.”

 

“What about your family? Is it a big one?”

 

“Only my parents and my sister.” 

 

“Older or younger sister?”

 

She took a breath. “Older by three years.”

 

“You two close?” He was studying her responses much too closely.

 

“Not anymore.”

 

When dinner was finished, they sat in the living room to eat. Abigail set out two beers. “Thank you,” said Jackson between forkfuls of rice. “This is delicious.”

 

They talked with ease for hours. About nothing. About everything.

 

“I’ve got practice in the morning,” he said finally, and she felt a tug of sadness. “I should head out.”

 

She got up to walk him over to the door. “I had a nice time,” she said.

 

He stepped closer to her. His eyes dropped to her lips, the heat in them unmistakable as he licked his own.

 

She took a step back and then smiled weakly as she met the door. “Give ‘em hell on Saturday.”

 

“I will.” He dipped toward her, his hand propped on the door behind her, lips skimming hers. “Can I stay?” He leaned into her, and the wall was at her back again, keeping her from retreating.

 

“What will happen?” she questioned, but she let his confidence take them over, submitting as she looked up into his gaze – a gaze full of wanting. That burning look was her undoing. A smile flickered on his lips as he dipped close, brushing them against hers with a feathery softness. It was that softness that tipped her over and her lips melded with his, keeping his slow, hypnotic pace. His light breaths against her mouth were just as delicious and heated as his lips.

 

Her hands shook as they moved to his stomach, gripping his shirt in her fist. It held his warmth, but the danger of not being able to pull back kept her from touching him. Control over anything was forgotten when his hands dropped from her head, and his long arms wound around her waist, pulling her to him in a sudden sweep that effortlessly took her off her feet, and his tongue plunged into her mouth, setting everything ablaze. All concerns dissolved into ashes. He surrounded her, his entire being wrapped around her, and she never felt so desired.

 

Her arms slid up his solid chest, over the soft t-shirt and smooth curves of muscle till she wrapped them around his neck, pulling herself up his body further as his hands traveled over her, guiding her thighs to circle his waist. When she opened her mouth wider and slid her tongue against his, his throaty growl vibrated. His hands flexed on her, pulling her hips against his arousal. And she was gone, hurling into some oblivion at a chaotic speed. She lifted herself on him, trying to better reach his lips as her fingers twined into his hair, no fear of being dropped. He had her in a firm grasp. His kiss slowed as he spoke. “Let’s go to your room.”

 

She settled back into her skin, back into the reality of the moment as he lowered her to the ground. But her body was surging, desire drowning her thoughts. He was urging her to walk to the room, still wrapped around her and taking steps that moved them both in that direction.

 

His lips covered hers and his tongue swept into her mouth in a cool, minty kiss. But as he lowered her to the bed, pressing her to the mattress with his body, and his hands slid up her shirt, fires ignited where he touched, and the heat of him consumed her. She interrupted the kiss to slide her shirt over her head, pulling him to her, craving his skin against hers. He moved slow, hands trailing along her stomach and back, and then the clasp of her bra came undone. He kissed down her neck, and the tips of his fingers slid her bra down her arms in a whisper.

 

Her certainty wavered the lower his hands got, the closer they got. Nerves rose in her gut, clashing with the sensations he caused with his touch, his lips. She had started this but was unsure how to finish it. She was frozen, letting him take control. But when his mouth found her nipple, all voices stopped, and all doubt ceased. Sensation took over. It all centered on him. Her hands clamped on his shoulders as he played with her. Pleasure shot through her, building in her core, and her hips rocked under him.

 

He squeezed her breasts together, slipping his tongue between them and then to the next nipple. Her hands slid down the firm muscles of his back and under the elastic of his boxers, grazing the top curve of his butt. The way he licked and sucked and nibbled was driving her wild, and she wrapped her legs around his back, giving in to the need of pulling him closer, pulling him in. Her body demanded it. His hands slid up her legs, and her chest ached to get them back. But he unwrapped her legs from him and held her thighs to the bed as he kissed down her stomach, till his lips hit the edge of her jeans. He dipped his tongue under the waistband as his fingers jumped to the buttons. But it was his stare that slowed her down. He locked his gaze with her, his eyes fevered and bright as he slid her pants down her legs. “These are nice.” He ran his fingers along the edge of her lace underwear but didn't break his stare to look at them. She had to look away when his finger slipped past the thin material and plunged into her without warning. Her body pulled tight, and she closed her eyes with a moan as he continued his skillful touches.

 

“So pretty,” he murmured as he slid her underwear down her thighs and they disappeared. “So sexy,” his breath hit her inner thigh, and she melted with desire. “And it's all mine.” He pulled her hips with his hands, lifting her center to his lips. Within moments, he had her shaking and spinning. And she wanted more. She wanted everything. She pulled on his shoulders, maybe she was begging for him, but she couldn’t hear it. There was nothing besides the hunger, the desire surging through her.

 

He was hovering over her body everywhere, but no weight on her. Except there. She could feel the tip of him between her legs, pressing, rubbing her slickness. He dropped some of his weight onto her and buried his head in her hair, pressing against her neck. He was cautious and slow, following the rhythm she created. It was all so slow and overwhelming. His breaths rasped, and muscles were taut as he rocked his hips into her over and over, straining with his control. His slow pace eased into something harder, faster – something she couldn’t keep up with, and it was only the edge of his power. She could only grip him and hang on, biting his shoulder, close to crying out from the intensity. And then he locked up, holding his hips deep in her as his muscles released and twitched under her palms. She could feel him shaking inside her.

 

When Jackson woke, he instinctively reached over for Abigail. But the bed next to him was empty.

 

The smell of coffee was wafting from outside the door, so he got up and made his way to the kitchen.

 

“Morning,” he said when he saw Abigail standing behind the counter. He smiled at her, but she didn’t return his smile.

 

“Coffee?” she asked.

 

He nodded, and she handed him a mug.

 

“Don’t do that,” he said.

 

“Do what?”

 

“That morning after weirdness thing. Stop it.”

 

Abigail sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Listen, last night was fun –”

 

“Just fun? You came five times.”

 

“OK, more than fun. But we can’t continue this. I crossed a serious line sleeping with you. I could lose my job.”

 

He smiled and stepped closer to her. “I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“It’s not that simple, Jackson.” She couldn’t finish her thought because he interrupted it with a kiss. She tried to push him away, but soon her body relaxed against his. So much so that she didn’t even realize he had pulled her down to the kitchen floor until after she was on her back with him on top of her.

 

An hour later, she was lying on the floor, panting and smiling. “OK,” she said. “You win.”

 

He smiled and draped his arm over her. Propping himself up on his other elbow, he turned to her. “Hey. You want to go to practice with me later?”

 

~

 

Abigail was sitting in her office – she had taken her last patient for the day – and decided to go and get lunch from the building cafeteria.

 

She grabbed a turkey sandwich and a bag of potato chips and went to sit at a table with a few of her colleagues.

 

They all had private practices, each with different specialties, but saved on overhead costs by pooling their money and operating out of the same building. 

 

One of her colleagues, Penny, a child psychologist, was talking to them again about selling her practice and getting out of the business.

 

Abigail had ignored the news running in the background until she heard mention of the NFL. Suddenly, she perked up and turned to face the TV.

 

Of course she already knew that Jackson had aced his tryout and had been drafted. But still she couldn’t help but smile when his face came up on the TV.

 

One of her other colleagues, Jessica, who sat next to her perked up suddenly as well. Abigail resisted the urge to give her the side eye. Jackson was a handsome man after all. It would be silly to think no one else would notice him.

 

She began to daydream. The last few months had been the best of her life.

 

“That’s one of your clients isn’t it? Jackson Blake?” Jessica asked, pointing at Jackson on the television.

 

“Yes.”

 

Jackson Blake. My client. My man.

 

Abigail thought Jessica had given her a funny look but didn’t say a word. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to the situation.

 

After lunch, she went back to her office to sort out some paperwork. If she hurried, she could still leave early and maybe surprise Jackson with some dinner. And dessert.

 

She was getting ready to leave for the day when her phone rang.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Abigail.” It was Melinda. She was the most senior of her colleagues and for all intents and purposes, she ran things there.

 

“Hi, Melinda. You caught me on my way out.”

 

Melinda’s voice was curt on the other end. “Stop by my office please.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Abigail had a funny feeling in her stomach. What was that all about? She grabbed her briefcase and shuffled out the door, making a beeline for Melinda’s office.

 

“Sit,” said Melinda when Abigail had let herself in. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

 

Abigail swallowed hard. “Nothing I can think of. Why?”

 

“Jackson Blake. He’s one of your pychiatric patients, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you dating?

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Don’t be coy. Are you sleeping with him?”

 

“No,” Abigail lied.

 

Melinda looked down at her cell phone. “Then why did someone text me a picture of you two kissing in the park across the street?”

 

Abigail was speechless. Her worst fears had been realized.

 

“Can’t answer that, can you? I am so disappointed in you, Abby.”

 

Abigail’s heart sank. Melinda had mentored her early on in her career, had vouched for her, resulting in her getting high-profile cases she’d have never gotten on her own.

 

“You should know,” Melinda continued, “that an official investigation into your conduct has been launched. I recommended to the board that they suspend your license for the time being, so don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”

 

Abigail didn’t know what to say, so she grabbed her bag and left quietly.

 

Back at her apartment, she made herself some tea and sank into her bed, pulling the covers over her. She ignored Jackson’s call and drifted off to sleep.

 

A persistent knock on her door woke her the following morning. Thinking it was Jackson coming to check on her, she hopped up and went to answer it.

 

It wasn’t Jackson, but rather a tall, wiry man with slicked-back hair wearing an ill-fitting suit. “Abigail Fox?”

 

“Yes. That’s me,” she said warily.

 

He held out some folded up papers and without thinking, she opened her palm to receive them.

 

“You’ve been served,” he said and then walked away.

 

She couldn’t believe this. Abigail tore the papers open, and a fresh wave of nausea hit her. She was now facing a malpractice suit.

 

Tears started to fall from her face, and she took a deep breath to try to regain her bearings. She grabbed her phone and dialed her sister’s number for the first time in years.

 

“Has someone died?” her sister said when she picked up the phone.

 

Abigail sighed in relief. She had been half-expecting her not to answer.

 

“Astrid, I need your help.” Then she burst into tears.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Then she told her, let it all out. When she had finished, Astrid was silent on the other line.

 

“Say something,” Abigail shouted.

 

“You’ve really done it this time,” she said.

 

“Can you help me or not?” Abigail knew that she could. Astrid was the hottest of hot shot lawyers. If anyone could make this go away, it was her. So what she was really asking was, will you help me or not?

 

Astrid sighed. “I’ll come by tomorrow, and we’ll start preparing a defense.”

 

Abigail let out a breath. “Astrid…thank you…so much.”

 

“Don’t thank me yet.”

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Abby?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Jackson.”

 

“Yeah. What about him?”

 

“If you want to win this case, dump him.”

 

Abigail spent the entire night sobbing. She didn’t know how she was going to break this to him, but she knew she couldn’t see him in person. She couldn’t look into his eyes. So she called instead.

 

“They can’t do this to you,” he said, his voice sounding rougher than she’d ever remembered it sounding. “Let me come over and talk to you.”

 

“No,” she sobbed into the phone. “You don’t get it, Jack. It’s over between us.”

 

“Over? Just like that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Abby…let me come and see you. We should talk.”

 

But she hung up before he could say anything else. 

 

~

 

Jackson didn’t hear a word his coach had just said.

 

His team had just lost their third straight game, and coach was really letting them have it.

 

Jackson wasn’t listening, though. His mind was elsewhere.

 

The guys in the locker room shot him dirty looks but he didn’t care. He showered, packed his things and went home.

 

It was the bye week, so at least he’d have some time to think. Once he was at home, however, he could find no peace.

 

He knew what he needed, and he reached for his phone.

 

She picked up almost instantly. “Jackson?”

 

“I miss you,” he said, getting right to the point.

 

Silence on the other end. Then, “I miss you too.” Her voice sounded sad. “But you know you shouldn’t call me at this number. Any day now they could subpoena my phone records.”

 

Jackson gritted his teeth. He hadn’t called to talk about her case.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, as if hearing his thoughts. “I don’t mean to keep bringing it up. What’s up with you, though? You need to break this losing streak.”

 

“You’ve been watching my games?”

 

“Of course I have. And you don’t seem like yourself.”

 

“Can I see you?”

 

“You know you can’t.”

 

“Please.”

 

“I want to…but we shouldn’t.”

 

“He nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but she was right.

 

“Goodnight, Jackson.”

 

That night, Abigail settled in for some sleep but got up when she heard some rustling in the kitchen. She thought she’d be contending with a mouse and that she’d have to now get a cat but, to her surprise, it was Jackson standing there.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I know you said not to come, but I had to see you.”

 

“How did you get in?”

 

“You never asked for your key back. Relax. No one saw me.”

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

He didn’t answer her; he only stepped closer until his face was inches from hers. Suddenly she stopped talking. He reached out and cradled her head between his hands. The warmth of his fingers gripping the back of her neck radiated through her, heat melting her strength. His eyes were locked on her, and the determination in them churned her stomach. She didn’t stand a chance because she wanted nothing more than to be trapped in his gaze all day.

 

She didn’t know who moved, but their lips collided and his hand tangled in her hair as his tongue swept into her mouth. Then his kiss slowed down, and he dropped his eyes.

 

“Please, I want you.” That was the full truth. She’d never been so certain of anything.

 

Then she was slammed to her back as he jerked her hips forward, pulling her legs around his shoulders. He lifted her hips as his hot mouth hit between her legs, his tongue splitting her open. Swirling, pulsing, carrying her on a high she couldn't escape. She couldn’t move besides gripping the sheets under her, only her head and shoulders on the mattress. He’d taken all leverage away, and she was helpless in his arms. But he expertly brought her to the edge of sanity, her skin dissolving and nerves heightened as everything scattered with a thrust of his tongue. Time stopped as waves crashed over her, drowning her with intensity.

 

Just when she thought she was about to explode, crying out with no air, he was up. Standing as he brought his hips between hers, still holding her in that position that gave him all the power. When he slid into her, her body bucked and snapped with the shock. With an ability beyond her, she was up in his arms. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into his neck as she pressed into him. His skin was slick, and so was hers. They slipped against each other as he moved her up and down in rhythmic bounces. She moved against him, wanting more. Wanting harder. He showered her face in kisses, his breathy praise swirling around her, bleeding into unintelligible pants. “You feel so good… so tight… fuck…perfect…Abby…mine…perfect.”

 

He touched her everywhere, returning to the spots that made her heart race most. Their bodies flowed into each other, his nails dragging over her skin like fire, his pants quickening. The bed shook beneath her as he thrust into her, again, and again, and again. The power in his firm and trembling muscles filled her, and she clung to him, her skin needing his slick heat. Then she quivered, and he held her, slowly returning to normal as his body shook under her touch. He collapsed onto her, resting his head on her stomach, his large hands gripping her hips still. Neither of them moved.  They couldn’t. The air was thick, a fog filled with the echoes of what they had done. The sensations still rippled under her skin. The room still spun as they lay exhausted, spent.

 

Abigail closed her eyes in a warm haze. His heartbeat was strong but fast under her ear. They lay for a while, their fingers outlining each other in soft trails as the air cooled around them. His heart slowed, and his breathing steadied. The hum of silence was soothing.

 

In the morning, he was gone.

 

~

 

It was now or never.

 

His team still had a chance to make it to the playoffs, and it would come down to this last play.

 

Jackson was focused. He knew what he had to do.

 

They had just come out of the huddle, and he had called the play. Right before he stepped onto the field, he looked into the stands.

 

There was Abigail, wearing his jersey. She smiled and waved at him, and he smiled back.

 

Then he threw a touchdown pass.

 

There was a knock on his door later that evening.

 

Abigail was standing there, still in the jersey. He smiled.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

He stepped aside so she could enter.

 

“That was a great game you played,” she said.

 

“Thank you.”

 

She sat. “Jack…I don’t even know where to start.”

 

He sat next to her. It was only then that he could fully appreciate the terrible situation she was in. But the fact that she was here was not lost on him either. “I don’t have all the answers,” he said. “I just know I want to be with you.”

 

“I want to be with you too. But – ”

 

He stopped her with a kiss. “Do you love me?” he asked when she broke away.

 

“I love you.”

 

He leaned in and kissed her again.

 

“And do you trust me?”

 

“I trust you.”

 

He leaned in and kissed her one more time. This time, she smiled.

 

“Then we’ll make it work.”

*****

THE END