Chapter Eighteen
Breaking Spades
Lincoln
I wake to Ebony twisting in my arms, her fingers gently tracing patterns on my chest like she’s trying to map out the world’s worst hidden treasure, and I can’t stop smiling.
I groan, thrusting my hard-on against her stomach. “A little lower, please.”
She laughs softly, but it’s the kind of laugh that doesn’t pass her lips. Her heartbeat pulses against my skin, steady, but somehow…off.
Worry jolts through me, and I scoot down to search her eyes, my chest tightening with all the familiar insecurities. Did I misjudge the situation, move too fast? Did she wake up and realize I’m not worth the hassle, not good enough?
“Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me.”
A small smile curves her lips, but again, it doesn’t reach the rest of her face. She stays silent, her attention flickering somewhere just beyond my shoulder.
All at once, my ribcage feels like it’s been wrapped in a vise, squeezing tighter with every breath.
I shift, turning onto my side so I can really see her—scrutinizing the soft curve of her cheek, the tiny furrow of her brow.
“Is it the, um…love stuff? Because I meant every word. But we can go as fast or slow as you want.”
Ebony closes her eyes, and it’s like the air thickens, making it harder to breathe. I’m waiting for something. Anything.
Please don’t take it back .
“Do you regret it? This? Us?” Say I’m enough.
“I’m just happy,” she whispers, and suddenly, the grip on my chest loosens just enough for me to take a real breath. “Being here with you… For the first time in a long time, I slept so comfortably.”
I tug her on top of me, needing the closeness as much as I need her to understand. “Look at me for a second, baby,” I say, my voice still a little raw. “That’s because we belong together, you know that? It was always supposed to be us.”
Ebony nods, her bright hazel eyes brimming with tears.
I lift my hand to her cheek, gently brushing them away. Slowly, I lean in, my mouth soft against her lips as her knees spill over my thighs. She rocks over me, her hips rotating and grinding, her body telling me what she needs. That she needs me .
“Let me grab a condom,” I say, but she halts my hand, keeping me from moving. She can’t seem to be apart from me for even a second. So, with her insistence that it’s “just this once,” I lift her slightly. Raw and aching, I glide inside her. “ Fuck… ”
Dear Lord , she takes every inch of me so well, I’m nearly undone before we’ve even started. I have to take my time. I could be like this with her forever. I’ve always known I loved Ebony. But to this extent?
I’m wrecked.
I’m utterly spoiled, because we’re connected, heart to heart, flesh to flesh, with no barriers between us.
We kiss like this, no rush, just the quiet rhythm of our breaths as I move inside her with purpose.
My arms are wrapped around her, holding her close so she feels nothing but safe and loved.
And still, I feel the urge to ask if she’s happy.
To squeeze her tighter, because…how can I be going through withdrawals, needing her nearer, when I’m still inside her?
As her orgasm swells, I sink into the warmth of her soft breaths on my neck, her hands on my skin like a balm to my heart.
I tell her, “I love you.” Then I tell her over and over until we’re kissing and trembling together because she’s a woman who should be told as much and as often as possible, and by me.
Then we sleep again.
And when we rouse to refuel on order-in pizza, as we fall into an amazing eat-sex-repeat cycle for most of the night, I’ve never been happier.
Every few hours, one of us kisses the other awake, starving and desperate for more as we rapidly go through her big box of condoms until the sun is high in the sky again, and we’re forced to get up before checkout.
We shower—gloriously, together—then throw on plain clothes and hiking boots, our swimwear tucked underneath.
I make a quick call to the shop to check on the ETA of the chandelier crystals.
It’ll be a few more hours, so I grab some waters and replenish our snacks, then we head out for a hot August morning on the trail.
A mix of nerves and excitement stirs in my stomach, and I hope she loves it.
As we drive up to the trail, Ebony gasps. “Amicalola Falls State Park,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “As in water falls?”
My heart lurches. I love that my surprise is exactly what she needs. “I know how much you love them.”
She still looks at me, a bit puzzled. “Wait, what happened to the Lake Lanier Trail? The pool?”
I shrug, a grin spreading across my face. “It’s a little shorter than we planned, but there’s still a mile hike to the waterfall. Then we’ll drive over to the Amicalola River Trail to swim. If you want…”
Without warning, she lunges over the console, squealing and wrapping her arms around me. “This. Is. Why. I. Love. You,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss, and I know this is why I’m whipped.
It’s almost embarrassing how in love I am with this woman. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make her smile.
Thirty minutes—spent nearly sprinting—later, we snap cutesy couple pictures together in front of the Amicalola Falls State Park sign, carve our initials into a tree, share a stolen kiss under its branches, and barely dodge a run-in with some curious wildlife.
Then, finally, we reach the observation bridge.
For a moment, we stand here, mesmerized by the sight of this magnificent seven-hundred-foot wonder of nature. Glittering water cascades down layered drops, shrouded in trees and wildflowers in full bloom.
“It’s beautiful,” Ebony whispers.
“It sure is.”
She turns to me, catching me watching her with a soft smile, her eyes sparkling with love. She clasps her hands behind my neck, pulling me close. “Thank you for this. For just…being you. I love it. I love you.”
I lean in, slanting my mouth over hers. The kiss is soft, tender, every brush of our lips a quiet promise that I would do anything for her.
We lazily walk back to the car before we drive to the river trail to swim. For hours we luxuriate in the water, splashing, playing, then wading aimlessly together, every second falling deeper. All I can think about is how I’d wait another ten years if it meant I could feel this way forever.
I watch her until the sunlight starts to wane, at home in the water—with me.
But a knot forms in my stomach.
These two days with Ebony, these perfect, carefree days, feel like a dream I never want to end. But is it all just for the weekend? When we get back to Ellswood, will we still be like this? Will the distance, the routine, and the real world creep in and pull us apart?
I want to believe it won’t. That what we’ve found again will last beyond these couple days. But part of me is afraid to lose this.
“I’m turning into a prune.” She laughs, and I shove my thoughts aside.
The sun’s dying down, casting that warm glow over us as we dry off, wrapping ourselves in towels. Since we haven’t heard from the shop yet, I find an empty park bench, figuring now is as good a time as any.
I whip out my fresh deck of Bicycle playing cards.
“All right, Miss Ebony Grace…” I scoot back, leaving space between us to play the game. It’s not a kitchen table, but it’s the best we’ve got out here in the wilderness. “Let’s see who’s going first.”
I hold out the deck for her to pick a card.
Naturally, she picks an ace of spades like she’s come to destroy my entire existence. I raise an eyebrow and pull a two of spades.
“So, am I going first, or how do you want to play this game?” I ask, throwing out the options, hoping we’ll quickly knock out the house hierarchy. “Joker, joker, deuce, ace, or joker, joker, ace…”
She sits up straighter, the drama loading.
“First off, sir…” She’s got that sinister smile, like she’s secretly plotting my downfall.
“Spades isn’t a game. We’re not playing that Google trick-taking recreational activity, okay?
We’re playing Black Spades, which means I’m here to take books and names. ”
I swallow hard, trying to hide my grin. “Okay, so, ace high, deuce low, or…”
The smirk on her face is comical. “Joker, joker, ace. Obviously.”
Obviously.
I nod, trying and failing horribly at tamping down the urge to kiss her. “Cool, cool. So, you’re going first, and I’m just going to shuffle.” I chuckle, giving the deck a quick mix.
Naturally, she laughs in my face. “Oh, Lincoln Bridges, sir. If you play Spades like you shuffle, you’re about to get whipped,” she says, coming hot out the gate with the trash talking.
I scrub a hand over my face, already knowing this is about to be a mess.
“Ma’am, just cut the cards, so I can deal.” I shake my head, still laughing. “We’re playing to five hundred. When the glazier calls, we stop. Highest score wins.”
Ebony’s still giggling as she cuts the deck.
While I’m dealing thirteen cards to us, she’s over there, digging in her tote.
I’m thinking she must be looking for paper to keep score.
Nope, she pulls out a long convenience store receipt, a pen, a half-empty bag of Sour Patch Kids, her phone, and AirPods.
She pops one into my ear for us to listen together, and her Domination playlist starts bumping, setting the tone. According to Ebony’s “house” rules, playing Spades requires snacks and music.
“Oh, you broke out the old-school jams,” I say as Tupac’s “2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted” fills my ears.
“Mm-hmm. You’re about to learn what happens when the beat drops and you get played.” She grins, innocently. “Now, let’s get to business.”
We review our cards and start bidding—five for me, two for Ebony.
And somebody ’s sandbagging books…
For a good forty-five minutes, it’s nothing but back-and-forth on sandbagging, weak trash talk, and what constitutes the “big” joker.
It’s to the point where we’re forced to defer to the president of the National Association of Spades Activities (Dad, apparently), before we settle on hand-writing “big” on one Joker.
“Man, I didn’t peg you for a cheater.” I shake my head, letting her have the book, but I’m still up one-fifty to ninety.
I figure we’ve got time for one more hand anyway. The chandelier pick-up call should be coming any minute, daylight is waning, and you won’t catch me in a forest at night. We won’t make it to five hundred, but I’ll make this last one count.
On the next hand, we’re still playing it semi-civil, just tossing out diamonds, hearts, and clubs.
Then I drop a four of hearts, and she stands up like she’s about to deliver a sermon, slamming down a three of spades with her whole chest, her voice booming.
“This is not the cookout, baby, but you’re cooked ! ”
A woman climbs out of the water, ready to towel off, and glances over at us, startled.
I almost choke on my laughter, watching these poor folks around us innocently trying to enjoy nature.
“Oh, you ain’t said nothing but a word. You’re playing with the right one, today!” I chuckle, tossing a king of clubs and taking the next book. And the one after that with a nine of diamonds. “Talk all you want to, but at the end of the day, you’re going to have to play those cards!”
But then the unthinkable happens.
I throw down a jack of hearts, and Ebony has the nerve, the audacity with all that trash talking, to slam down a queen of hearts.
“You have nothing!” She laughs like she just knows she’s got this game in the bag when I’m already off the bench, running and cackling like a fool, waving my towel like a goddamn checkered flag.
“Tell me you didn’t just renege?” I’m breathless and bent over in stitches. “I must be seeing things.”
Ebony just stares at me, beautifully waterlogged and utterly wrong, as she swears, “I have never reneged a day in my life!”
But as we go through her six books, the evidence doesn’t lie. My four of hearts that she took with a three of spades—caught in the act.
“Trash.” I shake my head, narrowing my eyes playfully at her. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but your Spades game is utter garbage, Ebony Grace—”
And just as I’m about to finish this victory…my phone trembles across the bench.
“It’s him.” I answer the call to confirm the chandelier pickup. “Yup, we’ll be there shortly. Thanks.”
When I get off the phone, Ebony and I slip into our dry clothes and pack our belongings. And even though she’s a sore loser and clearly still salty about the beatdown, we both fall in step, walking back to the car hand in hand.
The chandelier pickup is smooth, and the repairs are flawless—every crystal a perfect match and all affixed to the chandelier. So we’re on the road home in no time, the windows cracked just enough to let the warm breeze inside, music playing softly, settling us into the rhythm of the drive.
Not even half an hour in, though, I glance over at Ebony. Her head’s resting against the window, and she’s blissfully asleep.
But the closer we get to Ellswood, I envy her as that knot in my stomach returns with a vengeance. It grows tighter, feeding my dread that everything we’ve shared this weekend will change the second we cross the city line.
I nudge her gently, waking her as we near her place. “Hey there, sleepyhead. Almost home.”
She blinks, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispers, and without a second thought, I change course, headed for my house, knowing Ebony’s not worried at all. She’s happy being with me. I’m enough.
At least for now.