Chapter 5
ALLYSON
Iam an adult. I can handle this. I can do this. Because I am a grown ass woman in charge of her own destiny, her own life, her own choices. I am doing this.
The pep talk’s better today, my inner voice mostly chanting, ‘I am woman, hear me roar.’ That’s a good thing, because as I approach the field to pick up Cooper and Liam, I know I’m going to need every bit of strength I can muster.
I feel like myself, and I’m proud of that and the decision I made this weekend after seeing Bruce.
He’s going to be spending a lot of time with Cooper, which means we’re going to see each other regularly, and I do not want it to be weird.
For us, for the kids, for the team. So I’m going to stand tall and have an awkward conversation about our past to make sure that it’s all put to rest and won’t affect the season.
See? Adulting 101. Communication is key.
The boys are on a knee, looking up to Coach Mike as he talks.
Bruce stands off to the side, feet spread wide, arms crossed, old ball cap pulled down low.
He looks like a bouncer at a country bar, like a bodyguard for the young kids at his feet.
But, though I can’t see his eyes under the brim, I get the distinct impression that he’s looking at me, and my belly does a flip-flop it hasn’t done in a long time.
Fuck, I missed him. I didn’t even realize it, hadn’t thought about him in so long with my own shit to handle.
But seeing him brings back so many good memories—lazy days alone in the barn, talking about everything and nothing, making love in the back of his truck under the stars up at Make-out Point, knowing that the world was ours for the taking if we just worked hard enough.
He reminds me of who I once was, the light, carefree, innocent girl without a worry in her head.
He makes me remember when things were easy. Before they got so hard.
I lick my lips, remembering his taste. Not the one time he tried his dad’s cigarettes and I’d yelled at him, spitting out the gross taste into the dirt, but the cinnamon-y heat of his kisses from the gum and mints he used to eat all the time.
I never realized it, but I quit eating anything cinnamon flavored years ago.
Not a single Red Hot has passed my lips in almost a decade.
I wonder if he still tastes like that?
Movement catches my eye, and I see the boys standing and putting a hand in for a cheer. “GO WILDCATS!” Then they all scatter this way and that, beelining for their moms.
Cooper and Liam come up to me, sweaty and bright-eyed. “Mom, did you see me? I caught the ball two times when Coach Mike threw it!” He holds his hand up and Liam smacks it.
“He did, Ms. Allyson! And I threw for thirty whole yards!” Liam boasts, not wanting to be outdone. The boys high-five again. I’m glad they celebrate and support each other and offer them each a high-five myself for good measure.
“Great job, guys!” I say with a big smile.
I can see Mike and Bruce packing everything up to leave and know I need to act fast. “Hey, boys, do you mind playing for a few minutes before we go? I need to talk to Coach B for a second.” The name sounds awkward on my tongue, but it’s the most likely way to refer to Bruce and not get Cooper’s interest piqued.
Cooper and Liam look at each other in excitement. “Let’s go before she changes her mind!” They’re off for the expanse of grass, a football appearing from one of their bags.
I don’t give myself even a moment to second-guess this. I walk straight over to Mike and Bruce. “Hey, guys. Thanks for practice. Seems like the boys had fun.”
Mike looks at Cooper and Liam, who are running some sort of zig-zag pattern and tossing the ball between them. He shakes his head with a grin. “I don’t know where they get the energy. I’m beat. Did you need something, Allyson?”
My eyes meet Bruce’s and hold. “Oh, no, I just wanted to talk to Bruce for a minute.”
Mike clears his throat, but Bruce and I don’t break eye contact. I feel like there are so many words churning below the surface but neither of us speaks.
Not yet.
He used to say my eyes were blue oceans he’d drown in, but right now his are raging rivers with currents that’ll pull me under, batter me senseless, and leave me on the shore not knowing what the hell just happened.
“Sure thing, Jamie’s waiting on Evan and me for dinner. See you Thursday.” He hoists his bag onto his shoulder. “Hey, Brutal? Remember what we talked about.”
Bruce breaks our staredown to nod at Mike. “I’m good.”
Mike turns to go, whistling for Evan as he heads to the parking lot. Something about Mike’s parting words pushes my buttons. “You talked to Mike about me, about us?”
Bruce’s entire presence goes dark and cold as he huffs out a humorless laugh.
“Conceited much?” He resumes his bouncer pose, defensive and walled off as he explains.
“No, we didn’t talk about you at all, actually.
But he did warn me that every single mom would be looking for me to be their new daddy figure and that sometimes, it’s not just the single ones. He told me to be careful.”
I blush furiously, knowing Mike’s right. It’s not that the other moms are bad or slutty at all. But Bruce is walking sex, from his hat to his boots and everywhere in between, and I wouldn’t blame any woman for taking her shot with him. Except for me. That ship has sailed and crashed to pieces.
“Well, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” I say, trying to justify this little chat.
He grunts like he doesn’t believe me, so I roll into my practiced speech.
“Look, what I wanted to say is that I know we have history and this could be really weird. But I hope that we can put aside the past for the boys. Maybe even be friends?”
He lowers his arms to his sides and steps incrementally closer, and I smile, trying to hide my nerves.
“History? Is that what you’re calling it?
” Something flashes across his face too fast for me to decode it.
His voice is a growl, low and powerful, hitting right where he aims. “I’d call it you ripping my guts out, Al. ”
His eyes pin me in place like a bug, and I freeze, not finding a response amid the warning sirens going off in my head. Always able to read me like an open book, he must see the fear, scent its bitterness on my skin, because he steps back the smallest inch but keeps his voice quiet, between us.
“Bruce—” I try again.
“No. I can’t do friends with people who I know what they taste like when they come while screaming my name.”
Memories flood me. I remember doing that.
“I’m not friends with people who bail on everything they’ve ever known and disappear for new and shiny shit.”
Ouch . . . and the betrayal burns hot in his voice, searing at my heart.
“So no, we ain’t gonna be friends, Allyson.”
His venom pours over me, but I’ve withstood so much more for so much less. Even so, the verbal lashing from him strikes deep.
I’m not the girl he used to know, and for the first time, I consider that he’s not the boy I once knew, either. This Bruce is cruel and hard. Though he seems warm and friendly with the boys. Which means this treatment is special, just for me.
He hates me.
I don’t know why that hurts so much. Before last week, I hadn’t even thought of Bruce in years, not really.
He was this abstract warm, fuzzy feeling from my misspent youth that ended in a painful blaze of glory.
No, what’s the opposite of blaze of glory?
Because there were no fireworks, no angry fights, nothing like that.
We just drifted and my predictions came true, and we were snuffed out like the cherry of a burnt-up cigarette.
A phantom echo stabs at my heart even now at how badly I wanted to be wrong, just that one time. It hadn’t been a sharp ending, but it’d been cruel in its quiet loss.
Standing in front of me, he’s so much more than I remember. Larger and sexier, but stonier and colder. It’s messing with me, my head and my body at odds in their responses, and I don’t know which to listen to.
The confused uncertainty breeds anger, and I don’t give a thought to the words that spout forth from my mouth. The unfiltered rain feels cleansing, even as snarled and ugly as it is.
“Seriously? It was almost ten years ago, Bruce. Something tells me you haven’t been locked away, pining for some girl you used to know.
” I let my eyes drop heavily over every inch of him.
“No, you’ve probably been just fine without me.
” It’s an accusation that I know more than I’m letting on—not about now but about back then.
His upper lip curls. “Jealousy looks good on you. See something you like, baby?”
He poses, holding his arms wide to let me get an unobstructed view of his body in all its glory. But the sarcastic endearment stabs my heart so painfully and suddenly that I can’t stop the gasp before it passes my lips. I cross my arms over myself protectively.
“Don’t do that.”
I mean the nickname he used to call me by, but deep inside, I know I don’t want to answer his question because I do see something I like.
A lot of somethings I like.
Six feet, three inches of tanned and tattooed muscle, maybe a bit bigger than the 240 he used to be, but even harder, if possible.
Dark hair curling from underneath his cap and a dusting of stubble across his cheeks and sharp jawline.
Full lips that, even though they’re not smiling, look kissable and soft.
Large hands that could span my waist or lift me into his arms with ease.
And I know that behind that zipper is a thick cock that stretched me the very first time.