Chapter
Twenty-Three
We finished our food in silence. The painkillers were starting to kick in, making it easier to enjoy my meal without grimacing every time I shifted my leg. Layered clouds in pinks and reds streamed across the sky.
“It’s getting late.” Blake took my plate into the house and returned with a giant piece of pie.
“I think”—I took the plate from her and basically shoved half the pie in my mouth before finishing my thought—“I may get hurt again if this is the response I get.”
“Hah.” Her eyes homed in on my mouth. “You have some . . . apple . . .”
“Saving it.”
“Then it’s in the perfect spot, Superman.”
“God, I’d kill for a woman to call me that in bed.”
“How about you lie on your bed . . .”
A smile so wide it hurt spread across my face.
“With your clothes on . . .”
The dream popped, and my smile left. I pointed a finger at her. “You’re no fun.”
She smirked. “And when I call you Superman, you pretend that it’s because of your amazing sexual skills and not the fact that you really are a hero.”
“Not a hero.” The pie suddenly went dry in my throat, and I had to work to get it down. “I think that’s the worst part. People called me a hero, still do sometimes. It makes me feel . . . guilty. And pretty unworthy. Here I am, bitter about not being able to play football, and the kid could have died.”
“In a way,” Blake said, her voice just above a whisper, “you sort of did.”
I jerked my head in her direction. “What did you say?”
She took my plate and sighed, her shoulders hunching a bit, like she did when she felt nervous or embarrassed. “You lost part of what made you you. That would be like me working my entire life to go to the Olympics for volleyball, only to get hurt the day before the plane was supposed to take off.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed the giant ball of sadness lodged in my throat. “I’ve worked past it, you know? I don’t want you to think I’m one of those broken guys still stuck in the glory days of ‘if only I’d been able to stay in the NFL.’” I shrugged. “I dealt with that particular feeling for one day. When the Hawks went to the Super Bowl for the second time. And then, I was just . . . over it. All of it. I wished I hadn’t saved the little boy, I wished I was a more selfish person, or slower.” I laughed and shook my head.
“What made you get over it?”
I looked up. “He stopped by the hospital that very next day.”
Blake leaned in. Damn, I wanted to swim in the depths of those eyes. She was just so . . . open. “And?”
“I called him by his last name—Montgomery, or Little Monty. He was really little. Apparently still afraid of the dark . . . He, um, brought me his stuffed bear, very smartly named Bear.”
Blake laughed, her eyes filling with tears.
“His mom had passed away from cancer earlier that year. It was the first father-son outing he and his dad had gone on since her death. She gave him the bear exactly twelve hours before she breathed her last breath. He was a guard bear, Monty said, and he was supposed to keep him from being afraid.” I gulped. “He said it was a bravery bear.”
A tear spilled over onto Blake’s cheek.
“He gave it to me, said he didn’t need it anymore because he had me. But that I might need it since I still had another surgery.” I sighed, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. “That damn bear lives the high life in my room, let me tell ya.”
Blake laughed softly. “And Monty?”
“Monty’s going to be one badass football player one day.” I chuckled. “His dad sends me his practice and game schedule. I’ve been to a few of his practices, which basically means his friends think he’s way cooler than he really is. Or so he says.”
“So”—Blake leaned forward—“moral of the story . . . you really are Superman.”
“Hah!” I laughed. “To one person, yes.”
“Two,” she corrected. “And sometimes, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I croaked out. “I think so.”
She moved closer, and I captured her lips with mine as her arm wrapped around my neck. I massaged my tongue against hers, savoring her sweet taste.
The light above us flicked on.
We broke apart like two kids on curfew.
“Guys?” Gabi poked her head out the screen door. “You up for a movie?”
“Sure thing.” I didn’t take my eyes off Blake.
“You think you can make it?” Her lips were still wet from my kiss. I had to look away before I did something stupid. Again.
“Sure.” I stood on my good leg. “I’ll just lean heavily on my badass opponent. I claim rematch by the way.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” She pressed her body up against mine as we awkwardly made our way into the house.
Lex yelled at Gabi that she picked the movie last time.
They stopped arguing when we made it into the living room.
“You guys.” Gabi scrunched up her nose. “No. Just not happening. Shower, or no couch time.”
“Gabs,” I whined. “I smell awesome. I always smell awesome. Tell ’em, Blake.”
Blake glanced up at me with guilty eyes. “You smell like . . . grass.”
“Well, you smell like . . . dirt.”
Lex burst out laughing. “Good one, man. You gonna make mud pies later or—?”
I flipped him off. “Fine, we’ll go shower.”
“Not together!” Gabi frowned.
“Don’t worry.” Blake laughed. “I’m more of an archvillain type of girl. Who wants the hero when he won’t even get her dirty?”
I stumbled against her and nearly face-planted the wall with my mouth while Lex howled with laughter.
“You got my number, baby,” Lex called, then started yelping. “Ow, stop scratching me like a damn cat!”
I suppressed a smile. Gabi had most likely attacked him with her nails. She was good with those things.
Blake went up ahead of me. I followed, hopping up one stair at a time and using the railing for help.
I purposely bumped into her once we reached the top of the stairway, and whispered in her ear, “Heroes get dirty too, sweet cheeks. It feels so good it must be bad.”
An erratic pulse beat in her neck as she leaned back against me. Like a heat-seeking missile, my mouth found it and settled there. The ragged throb against my lips gave my body vivid ideas. My mouth was just getting used to the idea of marking her when the doorbell rang.
“Ignore it,” I hissed, my teeth nipping at her neck while my mouth sucked hard. She let out a little moan, her hands blindly reaching behind her. Not that she had to reach or feel far. I was right there with her, hard, waiting, straining against my jeans just to feel her.
“Hey, is Blake here?”
It was David.
Blake froze, her hands slowly returning to her sides.
As I slowly deflated.
And the moment was gone.
“Hey, Blake?” Gabi called up the steps. “David’s here to see you!”
I stepped out of Blake’s way, and with a voice I didn’t even recognize, I said, “Well? What are you waiting for?”
Indecision crossed her features, followed by hurt, as she stepped away from me and ran down the stairs.
“What the hell am I doing?” I muttered under my breath, aching for her touch. And not just for the release.
For her.