Chapter 18
Ramsey
The locker room reeks of victory and testosterone, but all I can think about is the way Reese looked at me from those stands.
"You're so fucked." Cope leans against the locker next to mine, sweat still dripping down his face after another win of the season. His dark eyes are narrowed, that knowing smirk plastered across his face like he's got all the fucking answers.
I don't look up as I strip off my pads. "Says the guy who's still jerking off to thoughts of his stepsister."
"Low blow, Blackwood." He tosses a towel at my head, which I catch without looking. "At least I've actually had her. You're over here making bucket lists like some fucking Make-A-Wish coordinator."
I literally should have never told him about the list. Taking out his knee doesn’t sound too bad right now.
Slamming my locker shut, the metal clangs through the room. A few of the younger players glance over, then quickly look away when they catch my expression.
"I know you're not talking." I round on him, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Need I remind you that you fucked your stepsister last year and are still not over it or doing what you really want either?
You're still playing this stupid fucking game with Delaney instead of just claiming her like we both know you want to. "
Cope's eyes darken, his massive frame tensing. For a second, I think he might actually take a swing at me. Instead, he lets out a harsh laugh.
"At least I'm honest about what I am," he says.
"I don't pretend I'm some fucking white knight.
I know I'm fucked up, and I own it." He steps closer, lowering his voice.
"You need to stop being scared of infecting her with your darkness, man.
She was infected with darkness long before you were part of her life, and she will be long afterward also. "
Walking away, I head to the showers, but his words play in my head like a broken record.
Pushing through the locker room doors after I get dressed, I scan the waiting crowd until I spot her.
Standing there with Delaney and that purple-haired girl—Demi, I think.
Reese's cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright in a way that tells me she's been drinking.
Fucking great. She knows I hate when she drinks without me there.
I stride over, nodding briefly at Delaney and her cousin. "Ladies."
Delaney gives me a knowing smirk. "Blackwood. Nice game."
I don't bother with small talk. Instead, I reach down and scoop Reese up, tucking her under my arm against my side like she weighs nothing. Her surprised squeal is music to my ears.
"C'mon, star, we got somewhere to be," I say, already walking away.
"Ramsey! What the hell?" She squirms against me, but I can feel her heart racing where her chest presses against my ribs.
"Bucket list," is all I say, and she goes still.
I don't look back at Delaney and her cousin, but I can feel their eyes on us as we push through the crowd. People step out of my way—they always do—and within minutes we're outside in the cold night air.
"Put me down," Reese demands, smacking my shoulder. "I can walk, you know."
I set her on her feet but keep my arm around her waist. "You've been drinking."
"Just a little Fireball," she admits, not looking sorry at all. "Delaney had a flask."
"Of course she did," I mutter. That girl is trouble incarnate, perfect for Cope's fucked-up ass. "How much did you have?"
Reese rolls her eyes. "Relax, Blackwood. I'm not drunk. Just...buzzy."
I steer her toward my truck, parked in the players' reserved section. "Not too buzzy to cross something off your list tonight?"
She stops walking, her eyes widening. "Which one?"
I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear as I whisper, "Number four. Dancing in the rain with no lights."
"But it's not raining," she points out, confusion crossing her face.
I smirk, opening the passenger door for her. "It will be. Get in."
She buckles up without argument, which is fucking rare for her stubborn ass. I slide into the driver's seat and crank the engine, the truck roaring to life. As I pull out of the parking lot, Reese fiddles with the radio until she finds some indie shit I normally hate, but tonight I let it slide.
We drive in silence for a while, the city lights fading behind us as I take us deeper into the countryside. The roads get narrower, rougher, until we're barely on a road at all. Just dirt and gravel crunching under the tires.
I glance over at Reese. She's got her face turned toward the window, the moonlight casting shadows across her perfect fucking profile. My hands tighten on the wheel. I want her so bad it physically hurts, like a constant ache in my chest that never quite goes away.
After about forty minutes of driving, I finally find what I'm looking for—a clearing near a small stream, far enough from everything that there's not a single artificial light in sight. Just darkness, the sound of water, and a sky full of stars like someone spilled diamonds across black velvet.
I cut the engine, and we just sit in silence for a moment.
"Where the hell are we?" Reese asks quietly, turning to look at me.
"Middle of nowhere," I answer, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Exactly where we need to be."
She peers out the window, taking in the darkness around us. "Why this one? Why dancing in the rain?"
I shrug, trying to act casual, even though my heart's pounding like a fucking war drum. "Well, I was considering the tattoo, but not now since you’ve been drinking. So dancing it is. And according to the weather, it's supposed to rain in just a few minutes."
She raises an eyebrow. "You planned this? Checked the weather forecast and everything?"
"I plan everything," I remind her, opening my door and stepping out into the cool night air.
Standing there, one arm propped against the door frame, Reese glares at me from her seat.
"What?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"We can't dance in the rain if you stay in the truck," I point out.
She rolls her eyes. "I don't see any rain yet, genius."
"It's coming."
She huffs dramatically but finally slides across the bench seat, swinging those perfect legs out. As she stands, my old jersey rides up slightly, giving me a glimpse of where the gray leggings hug her ass.
The moonlight hits her just right, illuminating her face in silver light, making her look ethereal. Her hair is messy from the game, little wisps framing her face. Fuck, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Even more beautiful than the faded memories I have of my mom.
The thought comes unbidden, making my chest ache with a familiar hollowness. It's been almost ten years since she died. The memories are getting hazier each year—her laugh, the way she'd sing off-key in the kitchen, how she'd smooth my hair back when I was upset.
Something must show on my face because Reese's expression softens. She reaches up, her small hand warm against my cheek as her thumb gently smooths the furrow between my brows.
"Hey," she says softly. "Where'd you go just now?"
I catch her wrist, holding her hand against my face for a moment longer before letting go. "Nowhere important."
She doesn't push, just gives me that look that says she knows I'm full of shit but she'll let it slide.
"So," she says, glancing around at the darkness surrounding us, "dancing in the rain with no lights. We've got the no lights part down, but I'm not feeling any rain yet."
As if on cue, I feel the first drop hit my face. Then another. And another. Within seconds, it's a gentle shower, the kind of rain that feels like a blessing.
"You really did plan everything," she says, laughing as she tilts her face up to the sky.
I reach into the truck and turn on the stereo, cranking the volume so the music fills the clearing. It's some techno, haunting shit. I don’t know who the artist is or the song title, but the lyrics are about all the ways to stay away. Fucking perfect for this moment.
I flip the tailgate down and hop up to sit on it, letting the rain soak through my clothes as I watch her.
Reese steps away from the truck, her arms stretched wide, welcoming the downpour like it's a fucking gift.
She closes her eyes, head tilted back, and just breathes for a moment.
The rain's coming down steadily now, soaking through her clothes, making the jersey cling to her curves.
She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't overthink it like she does everything else in her life. She just lets her body respond to the music.
Holy fuck.
I've seen Reese dance countless times—at recitals, in our living room, even drunk at parties—but never like this. Never so fucking free, so uninhibited. The darkness hides nothing from me; my eyes have always adjusted quickly to the night. I can see every graceful line of her body as she moves.
Her arms stretch toward the sky as she spins, water droplets flying from her fingertips. The rain plasters her hair to her head, rivulets running down her neck and disappearing beneath my jersey. Her pants might as well be painted on, hugging every curve of her ass and thighs as she moves.
She's not doing any of that technical shit now. This is primal, instinctual. Her body rolling with the beat, hips swaying in a way that makes my cock twitch against my jeans. She dips low, rises slowly, arms carving patterns through the rain.
As the music builds, her movements get faster, more intense.
Spinning, twirling, her body becoming a blur of motion.
The rain seems to respond to her, coming down harder with each passing second.
Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating her for brief moments—her head thrown back, eyes closed, face a mask of pure ecstasy.
Thunder rumbles, and she laughs—a wild, uninhibited sound that shoots straight to my groin. She's commanding the fucking storm, conducting it like it's her personal symphony.
My mother used to tell me stories about the old gods and goddesses when I was little.
Tales of powerful beings who controlled the elements, who could bring life or destruction with a mere thought.
She'd whisper them to me on stormy nights when I couldn't sleep, her voice soft in the darkness as lightning flashed outside my window.
The name comes to me instantly as I watch Reese dance in the downpour, her body a conduit for something ancient and powerful: Tempestas. The Roman goddess of storms and sudden weather.
That's what she is right now. Not just my Reese, my north star, but something more—something wild and untamed and fucking glorious.
I can't tear my eyes away from her. Don't want to. I want to burn this image into my brain forever: Reese St. Pierre, soaked to the skin, dancing like she's possessed by something not of this world, commanding the elements with nothing but the movement of her fucking body.
Another crack of lightning, closer this time, and she spins toward me, eyes flying open. She's breathing hard, chest heaving before crooking her finger at me. Beckoning me, like a siren calling a sailor to his death.
And I go. I couldn’t even stop myself if I wanted to.
I slide off the tailgate, rain soaking through my clothes and shoes as I walk toward her like a man possessed. Each step feels heavy, like I'm walking through quicksand, but I can't stop. I'd follow her into fucking Tartarus if she asked.
She's there in the middle of the clearing, rain pouring down her face, her body still swaying to the music that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The distance between us feels like miles even though it's only a few feet.
When I finally reach her, she tilts her head back to look up at me, rain clinging to those long lashes, making her eyes shine in the darkness. Her lips part, and my heart stops for a second.
"Will you dance with me, phantom?" she asks, her voice so sweet it physically hurts to hear it.
I don't respond. Can't. Words aren't enough for what I'm feeling right now. Instead, I grab her, pulling her into my arms where she fucking belongs. One arm wraps around her waist, the other takes her hand in mine, and I pull her against my chest.
We start to move together, our bodies finding a slow rhythm that has nothing to do with the pounding beat still playing from the truck. Her head rests against my chest, right over my heart. She has to feel how hard it's beating for her. Only for her.
The rain crashes down around us, soaking us to the bone, but I barely notice. All I can feel is Reese—her warmth, her softness, the way her body fits against mine like she was made for me.
Time loses all meaning as we dance. Could be minutes, could be hours. I don't know how many songs play or if it's just the same one on repeat. I don't care. I'd stay here forever if I could, holding her in my arms while the storm rages around us.
She feels so small in my arms, so fucking delicate. Her hand in mine, her body pressed against me—it's everything I've ever wanted. Everything I've denied myself for years.
The rain starts to ease, turning from a downpour to a drizzle, then to nothing at all. We keep dancing anyway, moving to music that's become background noise.
I pull back just enough to see her face, raindrops clinging to her lashes, and for once in my life, I don't overthink it. I tilt her chin up with my finger and lower my mouth to hers—gentle at first, a whisper against her lips, then deeper, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst.
When the last drops fall and the clouds start to clear, revealing stars scattered across the night sky, Reese finally pulls back enough to look up at me. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright with something I'm afraid to name.
She throws her head back and laughs—this loud, joyous sound that echoes through the clearing. It's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever heard.
"God, that was fucking everything and more," she says, her voice breathless with wonder.
I don’t think I’m going to make it through this list without fucking snapping if dancing in the rain has me breaking my vow already.