15. Sonya
Sonya
I woke up early Sunday morning, warm and wrapped in Nick’s arms with his chest rising and falling.
Each slow breath was calming. Soothing. Sunlight filtered into the room through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the bed.
His skin was soft and warm under my cheek; one arm hung loose around my hip.
I tilted my head to study his face. He was completely relaxed in sleep, lips parted just slightly, the stubble on his strong jaw darker in the early light.
He looked so peaceful like this. No jokes, no teasing.
Just Nick, stripped down to bone and breath.
I leaned forward and pressed a slow, soft kiss to his delicious mouth.
He grunted, eyes still closed as his arms tightened around me and he pulled me on top of him. “You creepin’ on me, babe?”
A soft laugh escaped me. “Maybe just a little.”
“That’s my girl.” He smacked my ass and gave both cheeks a hearty squeeze as he slowly opened those big blue eyes. A hum of pleasure escaped my lips before I could stop it, not that I wanted to.
I kissed Nick again, longer and slower now that he was awake. He kissed me back like he’d been dreaming about kissing me. His kisses were hot and possessive, and they melted my bones until I was a slave to the pleasure he stirred within me. “Nick.”
That was all he needed to hear before our bodies were connected perfectly.
I rocked my hips against his, riding him slowly and deliberately, while I stared into his eyes, cataloged all the features on his handsome face.
Watching him so intensely while we made love was a wild experience.
I was so aware of him, so attuned to his every change in expression.
I knew when he really liked something or when he wanted me to back off and it was thrilling to discover this power.
“I love your tits,” he growled, squeezing them forcefully and pinching my nipples because he knew how much it affected me. “They’re perfect and so responsive. For example when I do this, you squeeze my cock so tight it takes my breath away.”
My body responded immediately and when he pulled one nipple into his mouth, sucking while he pinched the other, my orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, heavy and dangerous. “Nick! Yes, Nick!”
He let out a sharp grunt, held me down while he pumped up into me through his orgasm. “Oh fuck, Sonya.”
It was the best way to spend a lazy Sunday morning. And afternoon. And if not for the fact that I promised my dad we’d have dinner tonight, we could’ve turned it into a lazy Sunday evening. “This was great,” I said when I finally caught my breath.
“Morning sex?”
I laughed. “Obviously, but no. This, spending the day in bed like this with you. Laughing and cuddling, whispering secrets between make out sessions. It’s pretty perfect, Nicky.”
He groaned at my use of his nickname. “I feel too good to dignify that with a response.”
“What I said still stands.”
He wrapped his arms around me and held me to him. “I have something I want to say to you, Sonya.”
I swallowed hard at his suddenly serious tone. “Okay. What’s up?”
“I saw the farm’s social media yesterday.”
I nodded slowly, unable to gauge his reaction. “Are you upset?”
He shook his head and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.
“I thought I’d be annoyed given my own reluctance to hop on the social media train but what you did?
It was so damn kind and selfless Sonya. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me or the farm, or my family before.
” He kissed my shoulder. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you. ”
My chest filled with warmth at the gravelly tone of his words, the depth of his gratitude.
I cupped his face in both hands and brought our foreheads together.
“Good, because I never asked for any payment at all. I did it because I wanted to. It’s what I do and if it helps people like you and Tessa and Max, then I’m happy. The question is, are you happy?”
Nick nodded. “I am so damn happy I might actually burst into song,” he joked.
“Oh, please do.” I clapped excitedly just as my phone chimed to remind me that there was no getting out of tonight’s plans. “Raincheck? I need to start getting ready for dinner with my dad.”
Nick nodded slowly. “We should start with a shower since I also need to shower.”
I laughed and enjoyed shower time with Nick for as long as I could before I reluctantly tore my lips and my body from his and left his house. I rushed home to change and freshen my makeup before stopping at the bakery for Dad’s favorite cherry pie.
It wasn’t exactly a peace offering but a hopeful distraction.
Dad opened the door with an excited grin. “Sonya I’m so glad you’re here. Come in.” He stopped abruptly and stared at the warm goodness in my hand. “Are you trying to ruin my figure, girl?”
I threw my head back, laughing as I shoved the pie box into his hands. “You’ve been blaming cherry pie for twenty years, get a new tune.” I patted his belly lovingly. Dad and I had our differences but teasing was our mutual love language. “Even the cherry pie doesn’t believe it.”
The house smelled like roasted chicken and vegetables, Dad’s signature Sunday dinner meal. “It smells great in here.”
“Thanks. Hoping to put some meat back on your bones now that you’re home.”
I almost said this place wasn’t my home but I wasn’t so sure about that anymore. “I have more meat than I need Dad, trust me.” I loved my body but the last thing I needed was any more of anything. Anywhere. “Is that garlic mashed potatoes or does my nose deceive me?”
“It’s just the garlic in the oven now but the potatoes are boiling as we speak.”
I sighed heavily as nostalgia washed over me.
“I used to love your garlic mashed potatoes.” But he stopped making them except for special occasions that always included his players who ate like food was going out of style.
I recognized it was his way of telling me that he was trying to make things right between us, in his way.
We made small talk while Dad finished dinner and then came more small talk while we ate.
We talked about the weather, upcoming Thunderhawks games—of course—and even his brand new robot vacuum, as he called it.
The conversation was very mundane. Very expected.
Very excruciating. We spoke in polite tones, used polite voices and we tap danced around safe topics.
But seconds after the fourth spoonful of mashed potatoes, I felt it.
The shift. It was in the way he sighed, three times as if he needed to work up his courage to say whatever was on his mind.
And then he set down his fork and trained his gaze on me, wearing an expression I knew too well, concern with a hint of control mixed in.
“So,” he began casually, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of chicken. “Who’s the guy?”
I blinked in surprise at the question. I’d expected an interrogation of sorts, but I expected he’d stick to safe topics like my job and hockey. “What?”
He gestured to the phone that sat face down by my side. “Don’t say nobody because I can tell, Sonya. I can always tell.”
My jaw clenched at his implication that he actually knew me.
But before I could tell him as much, he kept going. “You’ve been smiling more. You look less burdened. Who is he?”
My response was instinctual, a snort and a bitter laugh.
“Don’t start acting like the concerned father now, Dad.
I’m an adult and my personal life is my business.
” I wish I could say that I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth, but I didn’t.
I never would because he didn’t regret his choices.
He sighed; the sound was deep and heavy, as if this conversation had already exhausted him. “How many times should I apologize, Sonya?”
I shook my head as I set my fork down carefully on the plate. “Don’t apologize again because it won’t change anything.”
He flinched as if I’d socked him right in the gut.
“I love you,” I added because as messed up as our relationship was, I did love my dad.
“And I’m here, but you can’t expect me to forget all the times you weren’t.
All the birthdays you missed and recitals you skipped.
The late-night calls I stopped making because you were too busy or too tired to talk to me.
You chose not to be there and I had to learn to live with that.
And I did.” I hated that it took me so long to learn that I would never be important to him.
Dad’s jaw tightened and his exhausted expression hardened. “So you’re punishing me?”
“No, Dad,” I sighed. “I’m not punishing you, what would be the point?
” I wasn’t sure he cared enough to be punished.
“Like I said, I got used to living without you. Now you think we can just go back to, what? To the way things used to be? Things haven’t changed at all, Dad.
Hockey is still your first, second and third priority. ”
“It’s my job,” he shot back defensively.
I shook my head. “It’s your life.” He still either didn’t see it or saw nothing wrong with it. “It’s not as easy as opening the door and letting you back in.”
“I’m your father, of course it’s that simple.”
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t have made any effort to see me or ask about my life if I wasn’t here in Seville,” I reminded him. “I am an adult and you are not the coach of my life anymore, Dad. You don’t get to call the plays. I do.”
He leaned back in his chair, one hand rested on his big belly. “I’m trying to be better though. It’d be nice if you met me halfway.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” My words came out sharper this time, my words punctuated with anger and accusation.
“Being here for dinner is meeting you halfway, Dad. You know how many years I tried to get you to talk to me, to help me, to be there for me? I went beyond halfway and you didn’t notice.
This,” I motioned between us. “It’s halfway. ”
“It’s not,” he insisted, frustrated he wasn’t getting his way. It was the downside of telling people what to do for forty years, and you forget that you’re not actually in charge of everyone.
“It is. I’m here and we’re talking, but you don’t get to interrogate me about my love life or my sex life when we’re still figuring out how to be in the same room without the past rearing its ugly head.”
He was quiet for a long beat. “I’m not the one bringing up the past.”
“The past is the present for us, Dad. Nothing in your life has changed but you want me to treat you like it has. I won’t set myself up like that. Not again.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he sighed, clearly anguished.
“Neither do I,” I replied softly. He was worried about a man breaking my heart when he should’ve worried more about himself.
“I am trying, you know.”
I wanted to believe that, more than I’d even admit to myself. “I think you think you are but if you got a call from a player right now, you’d drop everything for them.”
“It’s my job,” he shot back once again.
Like I knew he would. “Exactly. So I’ll tread carefully until I see actual proof that you’re trying. In the meantime, we have these dinners.” Awkward and painful though they were.
“You’ll be careful?”
I pushed away from the table, appetite gone, and nodded as I stood. “I know how to protect myself, Dad. I’ve had a lot of practice.” I took my plate to the kitchen, scraping and rinsing it quietly.
Dad joined me a second later and we took care of the dishes in a tense silence that felt more familiar than anything else this evening.
“Just because I don’t show it doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you.”
I understood that on an academic level, but it wasn’t easy to believe. “I hear you, Dad, but how am I supposed to know that?”
He sighed. And then he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He sounded tired and a little bit sad. “I’ll do better, Sonya.”
“Let’s have pie. I brought cherry.”
A smile lifted his face. “My favorite.”
“I know,” I said in as even a tone as I could manage. “Come on, I know you can’t resist pie.” I bumped his shoulder before grabbing two small plates and forks. “Cherry pie, Dad.” For at least a little while, the tension was gone and the pie was delicious.