Chapter 27 Peaceful
Peaceful
I was wrong about love not being peaceful and content.
It is.
I am.
Every morning, Max drops me back at my studio and kisses me goodbye with no future plans set.
But then every night, usually quite late, he picks me up and drives me to his house.
I never say, 'I'll see you tonight' just in case I jinx it or he feels I'm poking fun at the fact that we're acting inseparable.
It's been like this for two weeks now. At my house, my bed is always made.
At his house, his bed is messy and full of memories and laughter.
I'm becoming accustomed to his study and work routine.
He's an early riser even if we've been up all night.
While I snuggle naked beneath his sheets, he hits the gym.
Then we have breakfast and shower together before he drops me home at eight a.m. so I can get to ballet class for nine a.m.
On the third Sunday morning, I pull my favourite skinny jeans up, jumping a little to stretch the denim over my bum. I can feel Max's eyes lingering on my backside as I grab my white long-sleeve crop top off the floor.
After putting it on, I turn to acknowledge his eyeballing. "Yes, Max?"
"I like you in jeans."
I try not to beam like a massive dork because I've been planning this outfit for days.
In an hour, I'll be sitting on the bleachers at Preston Retreat University, watching Max play for The Dingoes. Two wingers on his team have dropped out and his coach has begged him to fill in.
I raise a blonde eyebrow at him. "I thought you liked me in skirts and dresses?"
"I do. But... your arse in those jeans." He bites his fist as he grins, his mouth a slash of mischief that cuts up his beautiful face. "I'm gonna be all over that after the game."
My cheeks pinch with a smile. "Stop it."
Still grinning to himself, Max leans down and starts filling his sports bag with his jersey and shoes.
I let my eyes take him all in. A powerful physique wrapped in taut, tattooed skin that's both a young man about to enjoy a recreational sport and a dangerous heir to an underground empire.
He's so much more right now than most people are in their entire lives.
I wander across his room to the punching bag and lay a few light hits on it. My knuckles ache immediately.
"Frick. That's hard."
He laughs and pulls on a shirt. "What did you expect?"
I giggle a little, cupping my fist. "Some padding."
"No. You'll have bruised knuckles after a session on the bags."
"So, do you guys all box?"
He slings his bag over his shoulder. "Just for fitness."
"But Butch is a professional boxer?"
Max opens the bedroom door, waving me through. "Was."
As we take Romeo to the game, I jiggle in the passenger seat, nervous about sitting on The Dingoes' side of the bleachers because they're playing against The Browns—Konnor's team.
I'm not even sure if my brother will be on the field or if he'll be sitting the whole game on the bench.
After taking time off to focus on his abstinence from alcohol, maybe he's also deferred from rugby.
.. I doubt it though. He has a partial athletic scholarship, so I imagine that only stands if he's playing.
My belly churns and Max glances at my leg, watching it vibrate with nervous tension.
"You nervous?"
I look at him. "You know you're up against Konnor's team."
A huge grin spreads across his cheeks, his dimple mocking the world with its irresistibility. "Can't wait."
"Max. I love my brother. Play nice."
"I will." He is still grinning, and it's cool and confident.
"Ugh. You're a menace."
Once we arrive, Bronson takes over as chaperone—apparently, I need one—and Max disappears into the sports block after demanding a good luck kiss. Bronson and I find a spot on the bleachers, and I buy a hotdog and chips.
Game food is the bomb.
The sky is crystal clear, blue and picturesque, but the wind has a nasty nip to it. I'm relieved my skin is completely covered.
As I search for Konnor or Blesk, I take a big bite out of my hotdog.
Bronson laughs and I tilt my head at him, searching his clear blue eyes. "What?"
"Nothing." He chuckles and helps himself to my chips. "Who are you looking for?"
I sigh a little. "My brother. He's playing for the opposite team."
"Ah. I'm sure he'll go easy on him. If Maxipad wins this one, he's gonna be in the best fucking mood tonight. Note that. If you want something, ask tonight."
"I have everything I want," I say, smiling at the freshly clipped grass. In the corner of my eye, I see Bronson staring at me with the same unapologetic gaze Max has, and then he smiles. "You love my brother."
I grin down at my lap, my cheeks hot. "Stop it, Bronson."
My attention is drawn to the field as a voice introduces the away team. They run on and I scan the faces and numbers, hoping I don't see...
Frick.
But at least Konnor looks stronger than the last time I saw him. Maybe I won't wince every time Max tackles him...
At the introduction of the other team, I uncross my legs and lean forward in anticipation of Max's entrance. All the players jog onto the field. My Max: number three.
I hold my breath as Konnor stares in Max's direction. When he turns to search the bleachers, I breathe out slowly. His eyes land on me. I wave at him and smile. The one he returns is tight, but still visible even from a distance.
The players move to the sideline. The crowd quiets. Then the whistle blows and the two teams are slamming against each other in the scrum. The ball is fed through the centre.
And it's game on.
I absolutely love rugby, always have. It’s the perfect combination of agility, speed, and strength.
It's fast-paced and unpredictable. Of course, I'm rooting for Max and Konnor and not a specific team.
When Konnor lands a try, I jump up to applaud.
When the people around me glare, I let out a nervous laugh and sit back down.
I watch intently when Max is passed the ball.
My breath catches in my throat. He runs, clutching the leather to his chest and moving with an agility that leaves me in awe.
When he gets to a tight blockage in the line, he passes to someone else, who quickly scores a try.
Max is then tossed the ball at the sideline where he kicks it through the goal.
We all go wild.
Bronson stands up and claps. "Fucking yeah!"
The girls in front of us call out Max's name between whistles and cheers. Max's teammates mob him, bounding around and patting his back. The huge easy grin on his face makes my heart flutter.
There really are two Max Butchers.
As the game progresses, I watch with pride.
Max is powerful and tackles person after person as they attempt to break through the line.
He's an aggressive player. My pulse races.
Watching him out there has me in physical discomfort—needy in a way I've never felt before.
I shuffle in my seat as I imagine letting him use my body for whatever deviant act he desires.
It's the third quarter. The score is forty to thirty-three in favour of Konnor's team.
Konnor has the ball, but he is heading straight for Max and a tight barricade of big bodies.
Max lowers his shoulder and darts to the side, preparing to tackle Konnor as he tries to weave through the defence.
One of the other players aims for Konnor.
It's all happening so fast. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t, despite expecting to see Konnor brutally tackled.
Just as he is about to reach him, Max trips. Falling to the grass, he takes out his own player. Konnor leaps over them as they tumble to the dirt, then sprints to the try line and grounds the ball.
I blink at the field.
Did that just happen?
Did Max just pretend to fall and take out his own player?
My proud, arrogant Max?
No, my beautiful, family-orientated Max.
"Let me guess, number ten is your brother?" Bronson says, amusement in his voice.
I catch him smirking and shake my head in disbelief. "Did he do that on purpose?"
Bronson's expression says yes. "I've never seen him take a fall like that. I'm gonna give him so much shit."
Max is up and watching the commotion. Konnor glares at Max from the try line as his mates jump around him and celebrate.
Max raises his fist in the air and then points in my direction, his eyes still trained on Konnor.
I breathe out fast as Max jogs back into position as if nothing even happened.
And it reminds me of the first time I saw him. ..
The Dingoes win fifty to forty-seven.
Konnor finds me as Bronson and I wait for Max to leave the shower block.
Konnor eyeballs Bronson, his closeness to me, the licks of ink crawling up his neck and down his hands, his staunch stance.
There is a confidence to The Butcher Boys that can't be described.
It is in their faces, their posture, and their eyes.
Bronson's confidence is accompanied by mischief, while Max's is by warning.
"Did you hire a bodyguard?" Konnor asks, wiping sweat off his brow.
I rush to him and we embrace. He lifts my feet off the ground and spins me. "How's my beautiful sister?"
"How's my beautiful brother? I've missed you."
He places me on the ground. "Well, for once, I'm the one at home. You're the one who is always away."
Feeling Bronson behind me, I get a tingle of shame. "Sorry. This is Bronson. Have you two met?"
With a cool grin on his face, Bronson leans in and offers Konnor his hand. "No. I haven't had the honour. You must be the brother. Slater, am I right?"
Konnor looks at Bronson's hand and then takes it. Their shake is firm. "Yeah."
My breathing becomes a little shallow as I observe their interaction. I glance from one man to the other. Konnor's clearly wary, but Bronson's grin is charismatic and easy going.
Konnor looks back at me, his gaze going down to the slither of skin peeking out between my jeans and shirt. "You look all grown up."