Chapter 26
ALLYSON
“Move! Move! Move! Clock’s a’ticking, mister!” I might as well be trying to hurry up a snail, or a sloth, with epic slow-mo skills.
“I am!” Cooper says back weakly. But he’s not moving. He’s got his head propped against his hand and the milk dribbling from his spoon back into his cereal bowl. He’s taking so long to eat that the cereal is probably mushy and soggy.
“First day of school! So exciting!” I’m trying here. I might as well be Mary Poppins mixed with Dora the Explorer with all the energy and singing I’m giving this boy.
He’s fine, really, ready for the next grade and in class with Liam, but it’s so early for him and he’s tired even though I bumped his bedtime back super early last night. Why does elementary school start at 7:30, anyway? I don’t even have to be at work that early.
“Checklist . . . hair brushed? Face and hands washed? Teeth brushed? Dressed to the shoes? Lunch in your backpack?” Cooper nods along with my questions, used to our morning routine even if it’s a little earlier than usual.
“Okay, hop up and let’s do your first day of school picture by the front door. ”
He gets up, and I sweep his bowl into the sink, filling it with water, which makes the soggy colorful circles float and bounce crazily. I’ll wash it later, I promise myself.
Cooper stands by the door, a fake smile on his mouth and his eyes looking vaguely similar to the vacant zombie gaze he had at the campout a few days ago. I clap and smile, so proud of how big he’s gotten even if he’s a grumpasaurus right now.
I hold my phone up, praying for an actual, real smile. “Knock, knock.”
Cooper rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Mom.”
“Knock. Knock.” I try again, finger at the ready.
“Who’s there?”
“Gladys.”
“That’s an old lady name. Do people even name their kids Gladys anymore? Glaaaaadiiiiiis.” He draws the name out, making it sound even weirder than the repetition.
I lift one brow, working my mom ‘check yourself’ look.
“Fine. Gladys who?”
“Aren’t you Gladys the first day of school?” I grin stupidly big at the bad joke and giggle a bit.
Cooper rolls his eyes again. That’s really getting to be a bad habit I’ll have to watch, but when I bounce my shoulders up and down a bit, playing the goofball a bit more, he caves and laughs.
Click. Click. And a burst of shots just to be sure I got both the smile and open eyes.
“Gotcha!” I give him a finger-gun point, though only with one hand since I’m still holding my phone. It’s still new and I’m a little overprotective. “Now let’s get you on the bus or I’m going to tell another joke.”
“No!” he cries, running to grab his backpack.
Mission accomplished. He’s in a better mood, awake and moving, and if I know my son, he’ll get some decent mileage in sharing the ‘lame joke my mom told this morning’.
Practice tonight is a scrimmage with another team. It’s the first time my utter lack of football knowledge really sinks in.
I mean, I know I don’t have much of a clue, but I’ve been reading up a little on my too-short lunch breaks and Cooper talks football pretty non-stop, so I thought I’d do okay. Practices have been good, at least.
But from the coin toss, there are rules and plays I’m clueless about. At first, I think the kids are just running around like feral cats chasing a laser light and they’re as confused as I am. But slowly, patterns emerge and I can see the kids’ eyes on one another.
They’re actually playing, and they know what they’re doing.
Luckily, we have Bruce, and he’s a natural, both with the football aspect and with the boys too.
He has really whipped them into a team and it shows.
There’s no showboating or ball hogging, and they’re actually holding their positions and running the plays we’ve been practicing.
I’m a little in awe of the whole thing if I’m honest. I’m a lot in awe of Bruce.
I glance over at him, standing right beside me with his full attention locked on the field.
He’s watching every step, reading every kid out there and guiding them from the sideline in a way that makes them hear the direction and act accordingly.
There’s no yelling, no insults, no anger, just a good man doing a good thing.
He has no idea how much I appreciate that and even less of an idea of how special he truly is.
After a long line of high-fives from both teams and a coach handshake, we circle up for the team cheer.
“All right, guys, next meeting is our first game. We’re ready.
You’ve worked so hard for this, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re already winners because we’re a team.
We’re the Wildcats. The game is just a chance to pull together even more and maybe show off a bit.
” Bruce smirks at the boys, and they start flexing their little boy biceps like the Incredible Hulk.
Bruce joins in, his muscles popping out in a way that makes my entire body flush.
And that’s before I start imagining his sexy body with no clothes on, muscles rippling as he holds himself above me.
And okay, I know this is a weird one, but my favorite thing about Bruce’s muscles is when he wraps his arms around me and puts his chin on my head.
It makes me feel safe and protected, my smaller body cocooned by his much larger one.
I swear I could suffocate against his chest and die a happy woman.
His eyes jump over to me, checking to make sure I’m watching and gauging my reaction.
I almost look away quickly, embarrassed at being busted so obviously, but instead, I stick my tongue out at him and join in with their ‘gun show’.
Granted, my stick arms aren’t all that strong compared to Bruce’s, but my biceps are bigger than several of the boys’.
That’s not really a rousing endorsement of your muscle-y goodness.
Even my inner monologue is in a good mood today, teasing me with a healthy dose of silliness.
After the team cheer and a quick conversational recap of the first game expectations with the parents, we head home. Well, to mine and Cooper’s house.
But it does feel more like our home as we sit down and have dinner. I listen dreamily as Bruce and Cooper replay practice, move by move and play by play. It all washes over me, buoying me like fizzy champagne.
I’m going to tell him tonight.
I love him, but also that I need his patience because while I’m swimming pretty well right now, drowning in him seems pretty possible too. I think he’d like that, though, and honestly, I might too.
The thought rolls in my head all evening, and when I come back down the hall from tucking Cooper in, the house is empty. It doesn’t even occur to me that Bruce left because I know he wouldn’t. My trust is that deep with him.
I look on the back porch to find him sipping on a beer, a second one with rivers running down the bottle sitting at his feet. He got one for me too, I think with a smile.
I open the door slowly so it doesn’t creak in the dark evening.
Bruce doesn’t so much as move a muscle, eyes focused on the moon far out on the horizon.
But he’s aware of my every move, every expression, every thought.
He’s always attuned to me that way, and while not as skilled at it as he is, I can read him well enough to know that he’s preparing for something.
His shields are fortified, his walls ready for war.
“Been kinda quiet tonight. Everything okay?” he says finally.
I’m still frozen by the back door, but his quiet concern pulls me to his side. He’s sitting back on a lounge chair, one leg stretched out in front of him and one foot on the deck. Like he’s deciding whether he’s going to stay or go.
Funny thing is, I don’t think he wants to go anywhere. I think he’s got that boot on the wood deck so he can be ready to chase me if I run again. I don’t want to run anymore, but the idea that he wouldn’t give up on me so easily is reassuring.
Especially with the leap of faith I’m about to take.
“I love you.” I blurt it out with no preamble, no warning. Just an honest confession that forced its way free, from my heart to my mouth to the air.
“What?” Bruce says, his eyes finally locking on me. He looks shocked, his eyes wide and his brows high. A heartbeat later, his face relaxes into bliss as my words sink in, and a soft, happy smile appears on his face. “What?”
“I love you.” It’s easier to say this time, my voice clearer even as my heart races.
Somewhere inside my head, there’s a broken-winged bird who thought she’d never fly again fluttering like a madwoman at the too-small cage I’ve shoved her in.
With a breath, I mentally release her, and she soars the same way my heart does.
But there’s no anxiety, no fear, no finger tapping to focus. Because I am solidly here in this moment with Bruce and thrilled to have every single second with him I can get. If I could go back and get the last ten years, I would. As long as I could keep Cooper.
“Fuck, Allyson,” Bruce groans, setting the beer down haphazardly as he grabs at me. He pulls me to the chair and into his lap, settling me between his spread legs as he cups my cheeks, forcing my eyes to his. “I love you too. I always have, always will.”
I can see the honesty in his eyes, feel the intention in his body. He means always. He wants forever and so do I. He kisses me, deep and dark and slow like bitter chocolate melting deliciously on your tongue. And I want to get lost in him because I’ve found myself in him.
But there’s more I need to say.
“Bruce—” I say, trying to break our kiss. He’s not having it and smacks at me a couple more times, moaning like I’m too tasty to give up. “There’s something else . . .”
He pauses at that, just barely. But then he’s kissing down my neck, at least letting me speak. Or I would be able to if my whole body wasn’t chanting Bruce, Bruce, Bruce right now.
I push at his chest, just the barest resistance, and he straightens to look me in the eye. “What is it?”
He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak, waiting for me to go flight-er, as he calls it, as he watches me carefully.
“I still need to go slow. I’m a mom, I’ve been a wife, we’re starting something new, and I just . . . I’ve got scars, Bruce. Jeremy really fucked me up.”
It’s all the reasons I pushed him away, all the excuses I gave him and myself, all the objections I’m letting go of now with this leap of faith.
I feel Bruce flinch beneath me, can taste his desire to understand exactly what I’m talking about, and know he’d be beyond livid.
But I’ve moved past that. Anger, betrayal, hurt, and fear have no place in my life now.
“I’ve done the work to be better, but I need to go slow. ”
It’s a bare-boned confession that costs me a lot to say, mostly because it’s to Bruce.
But I don’t need to get back in that pit.
I’ve dealt with it all, and Bruce is nothing like Jeremy.
Literally nothing like each other. Jeremy was weak, playing at being strong, and I let him walk all over me to prove it.
Bruce is strong but will tap into his softer side when needed, and neither side would hurt me.
Most importantly, Bruce wants me strong.
After Jeremy, I’ve been building myself back up, brick by brick from the dirt up, and my greatest fear was that any man I dated would be like Jeremy and want me weak again.
It’s one of the reasons I’d sworn off men.
But Bruce is not just any man. He never was, and he never will be.
He’s shown me that over the past weeks, and even over the years together so long ago.
Tears burn my eyes at the realization of what I almost lost, not just this chance with Bruce, but myself.
I’d gone so astray that I lost me, but I’m better than back.
I’ve grown up, learned from my mistakes, and molded myself into something greater than I was.
So much of the past rears up inside me in this moment, and I fearlessly beat the demons into their boxes, shoving them away dismissively.
It’s an exercise in imagination, but powerful nonetheless, to see how weak they are and how strong I am.
The tears spill over, freely running down my face in relief and even happiness, and Bruce sweetly shushes me as he wipes at them reassuringly, for once not understanding the emotional journey the tears represent.
“Hey, hey . . . what’s wrong, baby? We can go slow.
That’s fine. As long as you’re mine, everything else will work itself out. ”
Why doesn’t that set off alarm bells? It should.
His possessiveness, his demanding bossiness, his rough brand of love should scare the absolute bejesus out of me.
I should fall in love with a nice accountant who likes puzzles and board games and missionary sex once a week with the lights off. That’s the smart thing to do.
But that’s not what I want. I want Bruce.
“I love you,” I repeat again.
He snuggles me into his chest, patting my back soothingly. “I love you too, Allyson.”
It’s not the roses and rainbows most people get when they profess their love. It’s not even the hot sex that often follows the declaration.
It’s quietly profound, it’s gut-deep, it’s soul-baring. It’s us in love. Again, or maybe still.