Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Blue
A pril: Hey, Babe! Sorry to text so late. CRAZY busy day. Couldn’t go to bed without checking on you two, though. Reed said West wasn’t looking so good after the team workout this morning. Something about his shoulder, I think? Anywho, I’m here if you need me…
I toss my phone to the nightstand, glaring at it. Screw April and her fake sympathy. We both know she’d want nothing more than for her husband to be back in his old spot as the Emperors’ QB1.
Those of us who have brains and are fully functioning adults know not to take moves pro teams make personally. It’s always business, and it’s always what’s in the best interest of the team. Does it suck sometimes? Yes. But we pick ourselves up, get our heads back in the game, and move forward.
Well, everyone except the Lawsons, apparently.
I don’t need this shit. It’s been a weird day, and honestly? All I want is to fall asleep and start over. The meeting with the realtor went incredibly well, but when I got home this afternoon, it was like the high I was riding on completely died the moment I laid eyes on West—seated poolside with a bag of ice on his shoulder.
It was like déjà vu.
Seeing him hurt, the dark place it takes him, even the look on his face was the same then as it is now—a look of dread.
Like he sees some dark version of the future and it terrifies him.
I managed to get part of the story out of him, but only bits and pieces. I know Coach Wells asked him to lead the team’s workout session, and I know it ended with him and Reed going at it, aggravating West’s shoulder. So much that, even as he comes to bed tonight, it’s still red and swollen.
As I turn off the light on my nightstand, we’re silent. Like we’ve been all day. I’ve given him space to process and sulk, but there’s a conversation to be had, and it may not be pleasant. Which is why baby-stepping my way into it seems like the best approach.
“I talked to your mom today.” I hold my breath as we lie in the darkness, our backs to one another.
“Yeah, I figured she’d try you,” he grumbles. “I missed her when she called around noon, and I never got around to calling back.”
That isn’t like him. He’s always been so protective of his mother. Growing up, he kind of had to be that way, but that aspect of their relationship didn’t change when he became an adult. But now that she’s halfway around the world, touring Europe with her new boyfriend we’ve never met, West didn’t even bother picking up the phone to make sure she’s okay.
“How is she?”
I clear thoughts of worry from my head when he speaks, hoping to make my response seem as lighthearted as possible. Easier said than done with how strained things have been between us today.
“Fine. She just wanted to check in. I brought her up to speed on everything—the new house, our decision about continuing treatment, the building I found.”
I pause there, wondering if that last part will jar him at all, but… nothing. I’ve waited all day for him to ask how my meeting went with Rebecca, our realtor, but it’s like he’s so distraught, so focused on what happened at the training facility that it’s all he has room to think about.
“She say when she’s coming home?”
I shake my head despite neither of us having eyes on the other. “No, but maybe you can ask when you call her back.”
He says nothing, and I’m not sure this conversation is the soft entry point I hoped it would be, so I should probably just say what I have to say and put it out there.
“We need to talk about today.”
It’s like my words fall on deaf ears.
“West, you can’t just keep going like this. We can reach out to a new doctor, maybe do physical therapy again or…”
“Did Sterling put you up to this shit?”
My brow tenses as confusion sets in. “What? No! But if he’s trying to convince you to take care of yourself, I’m sure it’s for the same reason I am. Because we love you.”
He sighs—deep, heavy, a sign that I’m treading on thin ice. But not speaking up would be negligent. I’m worried about him. Whether he likes it or not.
“I’m making an appointment first thing in the morning. It’s clear that you ? —”
“Damn it, Blue!”
His voice booms, ringing in my ears as I’m startled into silence, heart racing. West and I have never claimed to be perfect, but once we put all our issues behind us back in high school, we don’t yell. Not at each other.
Not ever.
“Today was already fucked up enough without having to hear the same shit at home that I got at the gym. So, can we just… fucking drop it? Please.”
His tone is still sharp, and my body’s beginning to overheat as rage sets in. I’m not sure when he started thinking I’m his enemy, when all I’ve ever done is have his back.
Several minutes of silence pass, but the more I think about it, how he just snapped at me unprovoked , the more upset I get. I’m out of bed the next second, tucking my pillow underneath my arm. Then, West groans when I snatch our comforter off him with one pull, leaving him lying there naked, glaring as I exit our bedroom. Tonight, I’d rather sleep on the couch than beside my husband, Cypress Pointe’s first-string asshole.
Barefoot and stomping angrily across the marble tile, I feel my way down the hallway, pausing to grab a sheet from the linen closet beside the guest bathroom. Then, I make it through the darkness mostly by memory.
I don’t stop again until I’m in the living room, where I spread the sheet across the sofa, then toss my pillow on top of it. My emotions are all tangled and cranked up to a million as I drop down to sit, but I don’t question for one second whether my feelings are valid.
I’m not the asshole here.
My cocky, stubborn-as-hell husband is.
Marriage is about partnership, being whatever your partner needs, wearing all the hats. Sometimes, that means being the voice of reason when your spouse lacks that for themselves. And from what I heard, West was definitely behaving like he lacked reason this morning, when he accepted Reed’s idiotic challenge.
So, yes, if I have to be the one to talk some fucking sense into him, I’ll never stop doing that. Not when it could save him a ton of pain and heartache in the long run.
Air puffs from my mouth when I fall back, letting my head plop down onto the pillow. I jerk the blanket over my shoulder, staring at the black screen of the TV as I try to get settled, but my thoughts are still on West. How, despite having just said otherwise, I’d rather be asleep beside him, hearing his breaths deepen as he dozes, feeling his warmth. I’ll especially miss that, seeing as how I’m wearing nothing but a thin, sleeveless nightgown.
I’m not inside West’s head, so I won’t pretend to know how he feels, but he’s under a tremendous amount of pressure. And at the top of his list is the fear that the world is watching, waiting to see if he’ll squander this opportunity. An opportunity some feel he stole from another player.
I want to be there for him, but I also think space is what’s best for both of us tonight.
But if I’m being honest, this sucks.
Royally.
In a sleepy fog, unsure how much time has passed, I’m completely confused when my eyes flutter open. This feels like a dream.
Most of me is still nestled underneath the blanket, but one foot has slipped out, the softness of the rug beneath my sole. The other is comfortably propped up on the back of the couch, and while I admit I can be a restless sleeper on occasion, I’m not typically this wild.
My first instinct is to shift onto my side, curling into myself for warmth, but at the first sign of movement, the palms of two broad hands gently press my inner thighs, keeping my legs propped open. Only now does awareness set in, and I’m no longer confused as to what jarred me awake.
Or should I say who jarred me awake.
I blink to get my bearings, staring down my torso to where a set of large shoulders move underneath the blanket. Everything comes rushing back like a flood, the reason I escaped to the living room for peace—West’s coldness, his bad attitude, his harsh words. With that, more of the fog lifts away, but then it completely disappears when the soft, wet heat of his tongue trails up the inside of my thigh, followed by a gentle kiss.
I’m still angry. It feels like I’m right back in the argument, holding my tongue to avoid making things worse. It’s enough that I want to squirm out of his grasp when his hands slip underneath me, pulling me down the cushion by my hips. I toss the blanket off us both, fully intending to tell him he’s sorely mistaken if he thinks this is happening without clearing the air first, but the mere sight of him stops me.
He’s still naked, and my eyes are fixed on the dark images trailing down his back and arms. He buries his face into me. First, there’s only the heat of his breath, but then blood rushes to my now throbbing clit as his tongue sweeps over it, taking a slow taste.
The loose-fitting sheet covering the couch gathers in my hands, and I know I shouldn’t be this easy to break down, but nearly all the fight has drained out of me. We’ve always had this power over each other. Even when we thought all that existed between us was hatred, we were still drawn to one another. Back then, it felt like this toxic cycle we couldn’t break free from—hating one another one day, then not being able to keep our hands off each other the next. But now, as my walls come tumbling down with the prospect of being close to him again, I have an entirely different name for it.
Love.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, but before I can even think to form a response, he softly sucks my clit between his lips, detonating tiny burst of pleasure all over my body.
My head pushes deeper into the pillow as I slip one hand into the length of his hair, gripping just a little when he sucks harder, making the already tender bud pulse with need.
“I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” he says in the brief moment that he comes up for air, then his attention is on me again, and I lift my hips toward his face when he swirls his tongue into my slick opening.
I’m his. Completely. Even on the rare occasion that he’s a dick, and we fall out. He knows every inch of me, inside and out, and it’s for this reason that it never takes me long to come when he touches me.
“West…” I whimper, gasping when he replaces his tongue with two fingers, pumping them into me. Slow. In rhythm. His mouth travels back to my clit, and I’m desperate, so close to finishing, but I don’t want to come like this.
“Give me your cock.”
My command has his mouth and hand going still. Maybe, before now, he thought I was too angry to want him— all of him—but I’ll never be too angry for that.
He’s a sight to behold as he pulls himself up to his knees, the couch dipping with his weight where he settles between my legs. His cock is solid, thick, heavy, and the memory of how it fills me has my teeth sinking into my lip with anticipation. He grips himself, angling toward my opening, then stretches me when his tip settles between my lower lips.
I stare down my body as his length disappears inside me, enjoying the look of deep relief that morphs his expression. He backs his hips away again, taking away nearly every inch, then he powers his way back inside me the next second. The sound of my wetness fills the room as I swallow him into my heat. He covers me with his weight now, one hand gripping the back of the sofa, the other planted on the pillow beside my head. He goes so, so deep, grinding into me, the base of his dick massaging my clit with every thrust.
I can hardly remember why we were even on the outs. I’m completely blinded by the sweet, gentle blaze of an orgasm moving over my body, taking me over from the inside out.
My pussy grips him tighter when I arch toward his chest, giving in to pleasure. An intense tingling jolt has my clit pulsing as I come for him, feeling his arm tense in my hand. He lets out a deep, throaty groan, pumping harder, pounding into me as my orgasm grows to full strength, and his begins. I welcome the feel of warmth and pressure as hot streams of cum empty from his cock. There’s a feeling of possessiveness that surges through me, and I lean into it because the thought that flutters through my head as he finishes, panting as he gently lowers onto my chest, is absolutely true.
No matter what happens, no matter where the road leads, he’s mine.
Always.