Blitzed (Rules of Possession Book 3), page 31
It was a moment before I could speak. “I love you,” I said fiercely. “All the versions. That includes everything you’ve been, everything you are, and everything you want to be.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, green eyes blown wide, a look of wonder on his face. And then he kissed me, hard, with no finesse, no technique. Just his lips on mine and his hands on my cheeks, holding me in place like he was afraid I’d disappear.
“This probably goes without saying, but I love you, too. And I’m going to show you how much.” He glanced at the floor and wrinkled his nose. “Somewhere else.”
He got off the floor with a limberness I envied. For my part, I had to do it in stages, groaning the entire way. I had bruises on top of bruises, and my back looked like I’d gone a couple of rounds with someone in a superior weight class. I’d like to say they looked worse than they felt but, yeah, no. Fuck that noise. They looked bad, they felt bad, and I’d exacerbated them with enthusiastic sex on my imported porcelain kitchen tile.
Worth it.
I made sure Jesse got a good look as I picked up my discarded clothing, smothering a grin when I heard his gasp. He proceeded to fuss an extraordinary amount, especially for a guy that told me to suck it up the second time I’d rolled off his tiny bed during the night. I ate the attention up like a dog reveling in a good belly scratch.
“I’m going to give you a rubdown,” he decided, trailing his fingers along my back, light as a feather. “And how about a soak in the tub?”
Sounded like sheer heaven. “As long as you join me.”
He pressed a kiss in the middle of my back, somewhere around my Outlaws tattoo. I shivered.
“Can’t believe how bruised up you guys get,” he murmured, turning me around. He pressed gentle fingers on the purplish bruise on my abdomen where some defensive lineman had gotten froggy. “Then you just get taped up and stumble right back on the field. You need a keeper.”
I was so fucking glad he wanted the job. He’d made that clear. “As long as you’re the one keeping me,” I said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m alright with that.”
A faint smile crossed his face. “Good. I would’ve hated to add kidnapping to my rap sheet, but I would.” He threaded his fingers with mine and gave my hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go, ya big lug. Tub. Then bed.”
As I followed him up the stairs, I thought how right it felt. Him here with me. And even though it was kind of soon, I’d never been good at delayed gratification. I pulled him to a stop on the landing. “I’m not letting you go home tomorrow.”
He blinked up at me. “It’s a little late in the game to tell me that you’re a serial killer.”
I huffed out a laugh. “I meant I’ll let you go home if you want, but I want you to stay here. With me.”
His cheeks turned pink and he looked ridiculously pleased…even if his next words didn’t match his face. “I’m not living in this stroke session of an athlete’s dream.”
I snorted. I hated that he had a point. “Shut up, Foxy.”
“Why can’t we live in my house?” He asked. “You said it was nice.”
“It is. But where are we gonna cram my California King XL bed? The living room?”
“I have a perfectly serviceable mattress,” he said starchily. “It cost me—”
“Three bucks on Amazon. Yeah, yeah, I remember.”
His lips twitched. “Three hundred, you bastard.”
“I also happen to have a room just for sneakers, four cars, and a boat, Jesse,” I said patiently. “That’s not gonna work.”
“You said that boat belonged to your neighbor,” he accused.
“I’m a simple man with simple tastes,” I reminded him with a little grin. “Just wait ’til we set sail on the S.S. Foxy. You’ll love it.”
He shook his head, a slow smile crossing his lips. “I don’t know. Isn’t it a little soon?”
“Okay, I’m doing this wrong.”
I pulled him closer, close enough that I could see the pulse beating away frantically in his neck. He looked so vulnerable right then and very un-Jesse-like. He was trusting me not to flay him open just because I could. He never had to worry about that. I’d rather die than hurt him. I just wanted to love him.
“I want to wake up next to you. Every morning. I want to go to sleep beside you every night.” I hid a grin. “Even though you’re annoying—”
“Pretty sure you’re still doing it wrong,” he said dryly.
“I just want you to know that I haven’t romanticized anything. I see you for who you are.”
“Annoying?”
“Absolutely.”
He chuckled. “Go on.”
I got serious. “You’re also the kindest, most generous guy I’ve ever met. Blue said—”
“You know, for someone you say you can’t stand, you quote him a lot.”
“I do not,” I said, going on to relay what the fuck Blue said. “Blue said that if you find someone that makes you realize the world is bigger than football, never let him go.”
His eyes were wide and a little damp, and he gave them a swipe. “Oh.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is it ok if I quote Blue now?”
“Yeah,” he said a little hoarsely, right before he pulled me down for a kiss. “That works for me.”
EPILOGUE
JESSE
Most of you here already know who I am, but for those of you who don't, I'm Jesse Fox. If you would've asked me when I was a kid, I would've said I was normal. I liked riding my bike and watching Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of cereal. I grew up in your typical lower- middle class neighborhood. My father was what we would now classify as a deadbeat, and there was always something out there more important than my mother and me.
But we had each other.
She always made sure that I had everything I needed. Clothes, food, shelter. My father would roll into town and talk loudly about how much he did for us financially. But as an adult, I know better. My mother was more than the backbone. She was the head and the heart.
She signed every birthday card with his name and wrapped every gift that he “sent.” She went to every soccer game and sat at my bedside when I broke my arm falling off my bike. I never imagined there would be a time when she would tell me goodbye. I never knew that love could be conditional.
I looked at myself in the mirror as I ran through my speech in my head. I’d practiced it enough by now, but the routine was soothing as I finished getting dressed. I took in the tailored pinstripe suit and pale blue tie. Andrew had done something with my hair that made it look like I owned a brush, and I had an honest-to-goodness linen pocket square. I cleaned up pretty good, if I did say so myself.
Although the neat hairstyle really wasn’t my bag. I reached up just to give it a tiny little flick and…. “Leave it,” a voice warned from the doorway.
I dropped my hand sheepishly as Andrew came into the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Moon Pie was cuddled to his big chest, looking right with the world, her nose twitching a million miles an hour. She sneezed and gave me an offended look.
I sent her a glare. There are more subtle ways to let someone know his cologne is too strong.
“I was just looking,” I said.
“Looking is not touching.”
“You said you loved my messy hair.”
“I do. It always looks like you just got fucked,” he said with a sinfully sexy grin. “But there are going to be pictures and my mom is going to want one. Or six.”
My exasperated sigh was more than a little fond. Libby had taken my motherless state as a personal challenge. She started by texting me funny memes and inspirational quotes and segued to coming to the center and volunteering for story hour. Sometimes she just popped up around lunch and demanded that I take a much-needed break to eat with her. And when Andrew and I came over for Christmas, she’d added a hand-stitched Jesse stocking to the mantel to match the rest. I begrudgingly realized at that moment, staring at that damn stocking, that she’d wormed her way into my heart. Fuck.
I started as a stray cat in the rain who she left a can of tuna on the porch for. Now I was just the cat who showed up every night around dinner and pounded on the screen door with his paw.
We now had weekly Friday coffee dates that Andrew tried to horn in on, but that wasn’t happening. She and Glenn had decided to cool things off for a bit because sometimes it seemed like a love of Lucas was all they really had in common. So she was back in the dating market, which had vastly changed since she’d last been single. I spent a lot of those coffee dates listening to and laughing about her dating snafus that no son should ever hear. She once told me that our early Friday chats were the best part of her week and I just blinked at her, stunned. Her love was so honest and real that it still freaked me out a little. So she slapped me—she claims playfully, I call bullshit—and told me to snap out of it, and I did.
After my grandfather passed, I found myself fifteen years old and living on the streets. I scavenged food out of dumpsters and lived in abandoned buildings and slept on park benches. I hooked up with a crew that gave me temporary food and shelter as long as I did the criminal acts that they wanted me to do. And when I didn't want to steal cars anymore, they cast me out, too.
Conditional.
I met a kid in the soup line at the mission wearing a t-shirt with my favorite band. It reminded me of before, when I was allowed to laze in bed and flip through magazines and buy frivolous t-shirts with my favorite things silkscreened on the front. We connected immediately. He told me he could offer me a place to live. Protection. And I thought it was worth the risk, not to have to sleep in the park that night. He was working for someone he called Big Al, and Big Al had certain expectations. You had to bring in a certain amount of money, or you couldn't stay. I worked a corner for two weeks before I was busted by an undercover. Big Al always sent representation for his boys, but I wasn't bringing in enough money to be worth the trouble. And I was on my own again.
Conditional.
“Will you put that rabbit down?” I fussed. “It’s bad enough you bought her a harness.”
“And we’re going to miss our walk tonight, thanks very much.” He sighed a put-upon sigh. “How many of these are you going to win, Foxy?”
I grinned because there hadn’t been that many. It was my second award for Humanitarian of the Year in three years. I didn’t need the recognition, but anything that brought publicity to Rainbow Harbor was aces with me.
The media attention hadn't died down as much as I’d hoped, but it had become manageable. Or maybe I'd just gotten used to it. Either way, I no longer cringed every time I saw my name in the news. These days, it was usually for something good.
Much to Ari’s delight, the public interest piece had done its job. People saw me as a human being, not just a story in a gossip rag. I hadn’t heard anything from my mother, and I was happy about that. I’d made a new life and I had a huge found family, and she’d chosen not to be part of that.
We’d purchased a new building for Rainbow Harbor…and by we, I meant my lovely partner whose attitude could generally be described as take no prisoners. He’d bought the three-story fixer-upper and presented me with the key, which was largely symbolic since most of the doors and windows had wood covering them. When I stared at him, flabbergasted, he’d walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Deal with it, Foxy.”
I’d never related to his dad more about wanting to rip up the deed and eat the pieces.
We were renovating the building slowly. It had plenty of space and the grounds were huge. It wasn’t as conveniently located in the neighborhood and would increase the distance by a couple of miles for our core base. But we were working on our first shuttle purchase. I was also thinking of leaving the old building in operation as an annex and putting Molly in charge. I snorted. Like she wasn’t already in charge of all of us.
Andrew leaned against the vanity, brushing a finger over Moon Pie’s nose. I took another look at all that muscly goodness still glistening with drops of water, wishing I wasn’t already suited and booted and ready to rock. Maybe we had time to do somethin’. Even a little somethin’.
My eyes widened as I took in the time. That stopped me from ogling his near buck-naked state in a hurry. “Please, please, please tell me you’re damp from the shower and not sweaty from working out.”
“Chill, I took a shower downstairs.”
I eased back on my mini heart attack. “That’s good, then.”
I felt sort of bad that I’d taken over the en suite, but I hated sharing a bathroom with him. He left damp towels everywhere and could never take a shower without getting the floor sopping wet. Separate bathrooms equaled no one strangling anyone with the repeatedly saturated bathroom rug.
“You’ve still got to get dressed.” I started putting on my cuff links—silver rainbows with tiny puffs of clouds at both ends. They were a birthday gift from Andrew’s mother.
“I can pull this together in a snap,” he said breezily.
Ah, to be young and have a perfect body. And complete confidence that you could look magazine ready in a jiff. I’d like to say he was wrong, but I’d seen him pull it off way too many times.
“I hate you,” I muttered.
“No, you don’t.” His eyes twinkled. “In fact, you said the love word first.”
I gasped because that’s what you do when you find out that your partner of three years is going mad. “I did no such thing.”
“Actually, you did.”
“When?”
“When you were going on about whales needing child protective services.”
My eyes bulged further. “Excuse me? Whales are great parents.”
“You’re the one who said—” He made a sound of frustration. “You did say it first and that’s that.”
“Well, there's no need to make up false declarations.” I huffed out a sigh. “I do, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Love you.” My mouth twitched. “Despite your hatred of whales.”
“I do not hate….” He shook his head. “The point is that you love me and I love you.”
“Even though I reported a whale to child protective services?”
He chuckled as he leaned down and kissed me soundly. “Even then.”
“Good. Now go. Shoo. Get dressed and put Moon Pie back in her hutch.”
He strolled off in no particular hurry, and I grabbed the back of his towel before he disappeared. To help, of course. Not just to see his perfectly sculpted butt flexing as he walked away. I tossed the towel on the countertop and went back to my cuff links. And practicing my speech.
When my past was brought to light, I knew people would mock me. Judge me. Second guess all the decisions I made to survive. And they did. But the thing I worried most about was the kids not looking up to me anymore. I thought I could only be a role model if I was perfect.
Conditional.
Rainbow Harbor is about more than just community. We offer a place to kids where love is not measured or tethered with strings. Many kids are walking the same path that I walked, and it breaks my heart. They feel abandoned. Lost. We're here to show them that they're not. They didn't do anything wrong. And it's possible to come out on the other side.
Unconditional.
Which reminded me….
“Did Joshua and Dale get in okay?” I called.
“Yep.”
“And they know what time—” I stopped projecting/yelling when he appeared in the doorway. “They know what time the car will be there to pick them up?”
“Yep.”
As promised, he’d gotten fully fucking dressed in a jiff. Bastard. He looked amazing in a black suit that had been tailored to perfection. Although how hard was it really to create a work of art for a work of art?
He took me by the shoulders and moved me over a couple of inches so he could finish tying his pink tie in the mirror. “I picked Joshua and crew up from the airport—screaming grandkids included—and dropped them off at the hotel.” He looked a little frazzled at the memory. “You still don’t want kids, right?”
I chuckled. The kids at the center were all my kids. DNA didn’t make that more meaningful. “Right.”
“Thank fuck.” He pretended to wipe sweat off his forehead. “It’s bad enough that Kelly and Blue are making us the godparents of those two rugrats.”
“You love those kids,” I accused.
“Please,” Andrew scoffed at the very idea. “I can take ’em or leave ’em.”
I decided to let him have his selective memory, as if he hadn’t declared the last day of the month Uncle AJ’s Day of Fun. He practically stole our friends’ collective children and spent all day spoiling them rotten. Then he sent them home all hopped up on sugar with armfuls of expensive shit they didn’t need.
His brother Grant and wife Kim just sighed and let it happen. Blue seemed amused, dealing with it in his usual affable manner. And Kelly? Well, Kelly had sworn certain death if we ever took them to the movies and gave them carte blanche at the refreshments stand again. Apparently, a box of Sno-Caps and Milk Duds was all it took for those rugrats to transform into Tigger from Winnie the Pooh.
Despite my dire prediction that Kelly and I wouldn't be friends, the unthinkable had indeed happened. I mostly blamed the Outlaws. I’d decided to get out of my comfort zone and go to the home games. A little talk from Everett helped. And by “talk,” I mean he told me to get my head out of my ass and support my guy like he supported me. I kept that little chat a secret between us so Andrew didn't put Everett's head up his own ass—he was a little overprotective when it came to me. And I fucking lived for that shit.
I’d gotten used to sitting with Kelly. He usually brought his friend, Connor, and we all ate and drank way too much. We were good for each other. I yanked Kelly back in his seat when he got furious with the ref for missing a call, and he patiently explained the finer details of the game to me. Honestly, I think he relished finding someone who knew less about football than he did. I also took great pleasure in putting the kibosh on his idea that we alter Wags to Whags.
