THEIR FIRST FALL

TRUCKER & KEEKA’S STORY

MJ FIELDS

BLUE VALLEY PUBLISHING LLC

CONTENTS

Their First Fall

Warning

Disclaimer

Play List

To the reader

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Part II

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

What’s next in the Firsts series?

Information for Dyslexia awareness & adult literacy

Also By MJ Fields

About the Author

Acknowledgments

THEIR FIRST FALL

A FIRSTS SERIES NOVEL

By

MJ Fields

Their First Fall

Copyright © 2018 by MJ Fields.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design and formatting by Jersey Girl & Co.

Edited by C& D Editing

Proofread by Asli Arif Fratarcangeli

Cover Models: Colin Wayne Erwin and Breanna Erwin

Cover Photographer: Golden Czermak

First Edition: June 2018

Created with Vellum

WARNING

If you did not purchase this book, you are committing a crime and are in danger of prosecution to the fullest extent of the law. Moreover, you are likely to be cursed with an itchy rash in a place you can’t scratch, and a lifetime of almost O’s.

I repeat if you did not purchase this book, you’ve obtained an illegal copy and need to delete it immediately. And don’t think we won’t be able to tell, we too have possibly played dumb… once… when we were like 5. But you’re not dumb, you’ve read this far and if you continue, and are NOT supposed to have it, you’re just an asshole who will be itchy and never have an orgasm again for the rest of your life. AND it’s illegal, so make good choices okay? Okay.

If you purchased this copy of Their First Fall, ignore the above, enjoy Trucker and Keeka’s, story and all the O’s life has to offer, in multiples.

You deserve them!

Forever Steel

MJ

DISCLAIMER

This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. It involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are consenting adults over the age of 18.

For information contact: mjfieldsbooks@gmail.com

PLAY LIST

Camouflage by Selena Gomez

Whatever It Takes by Imagine Dragons

Boom by POD

Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey

Click Click Boom by Saliva

With or Without You by Thompson Squared

Enter Sandman by Metallica

Time of Our Lives by Pit Bull

New Rule by Dua Lipa

Finesse by Bruno Mars

Not Over You by Gavin DeGraw

TO THE READER

As a child, I dreamed of all my future would bring me. I would own a business, have a beautiful home, a husband who adored me, a dog, a cat, horses, and five children. I didn’t just dream of it; I created it.

My best friend and I would play Barbies, and between the two of us, we had every damn dream come true—the houses, the cars, the horses, the Skippers, the Kens, and all the little ones. We had the clothes, the shoes, and every accessory you could imagine. And sometimes, my brothers’ Star Wars figurines would come in to change things up!

We spent hours playing out our fantasies and dreaming of our happy ever afters.

As we got older, though, we stopped playing them. However, we never stopped dreaming. We moved on from dolls to cutting out pictures from the big JC Penny and Sears catalogs and pasting them to paper. Booklets of our future lives were created. Our husbands, children, homes—all of it.

How lucky were we to be able to dream, to play, to create?

In my teens, I was blessed to have been in a home where the doors were left open to kids who didn’t have homes where they could dream, play, and create. That was when everything changed.

For twenty years, my mother, an RN, fostered children.

I was drawn to them, their stories, their experiences, and driven to show them that they could, even as teens, dream of a better future for themselves.

This story is about two people who came from very hard beginnings, yet they had someone, an adult, who took an interest in them and made a change in their lives. No, they didn’t give them anything materialistic; they gave them their time and love.

They gave them an ear, a shoulder, a push, a mentor who they could look up to and could finally realize that, just because their beginnings were not ideal, their futures were theirs to determine and their pasts were their lessons.

It doesn’t matter where we came from. All that matters is where we are going.

Love yourself more and love those around you … anyway.

Forever Steel

MJ

DEDICATION

To those who have walked the hard road and became, you are in good company.

To those whose paths are difficult but still persevere, don’t stop now.

To those on a journey that seems too difficult to continue, you can do it.

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

One Year Ago…

Keeka

It’s five thirty in the morning as I sit on the ledge of the rooftop of our apartment building, looking at my sketchpad.

“I don’t know if you can see this, Mom.” I look down at my picture, hoping she can.

Hope may not be a strong enough word. Need is stronger. I need her to see it.

“Remember when we moved here? Remember how I lost you in a crowd of people and I couldn’t see the sun? I needed to see the sun because you taught me to tell time and direction from its position, and I couldn’t find you because New York City wasn’t like New Jersey or Florida, not the places we lived, anyway. Not places where the sun met the water. I didn’t know where to stay away from or where to go so you’d find me.”

I sigh as I feel the first tear fall, and then I wipe it away, knowing she hated when I cried. It wasn’t that I did it often; it was when I did she always felt like she had done something wrong. I didn’t want her to feel that way, because when she did, she overdid the mom thing. And when she was exhausted from it all, she crashed, and she crashed hard. Even though everyone tells me that she’s been resting peacefully for almost a year, knowing her, I find it hard to believe.

I push back those memories and look up at our bridge, my bridge, the Brooklyn Bridge, and smile, remembering our first morning here, the day after the incident.

She had woken me up to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise. I was terrified, so scared, but because she was doing the over-the-top momming, I tried to hide my fear and soak in the next two or three days before the inevitable crash.

Despite my best efforts, she somehow knew.

I remember her kneeling before me at the beginning of the bridge, tugging on the blue ribbon holding my braid and smiling as she told me, “The Brooklyn Bridge never falls down.”

I nodded and told her, “So, not like the bridge in the storybook?”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “No, sweetie. Brooklyn Bridge is much stronger than the London Bridge.”

As she held my hand and we walked, she told me how many people had come to this very bridge to watch the sunrise. She told me the same water beneath us connects to every place we have ever lived through the Atlantic Ocean, and that I should find the beauty and comfort in it.

Halfway across, I felt a little braver and switched sides with her. She stopped and took a picture of me. I smiled from ear to ear for her, for my mom, for her ability to tell me a story that made me feel like everything would be all right.

When I turned around to peer over the side, to show her how brave she made me feel, I saw the sun was in fact perfectly positioned in the middle of the next bridge over, the Manhattan Bridge.

I didn’t tell her that, though.

Several months before that day, something had happened that made her crash harder than ever before, for longer than ever before. Something I didn’t know about, which was odd, because she had always told me why she was sad.

I woke up one morning in our little two-room New Jersey shore bungalow to boxes stacked next to the door and my mom smiling.

“You ready to go on an adventure?”

I smiled the brightest smile I could manage, one that I hoped matched hers as I nodded enthusiastically.

That was when we moved here, next to my bridge. The bridge she thought had the most beautiful sunrise, when it fact, the sunset was far more unforgettable.

Looking down at it, I can’t help feeling angry, so angry that tears spill onto my drawing, the one I did last night of the sunset, trying to make it beautiful … again.

I hear her footsteps before she clears her throat, letting me know she’s behind me, probably afraid I will fall the seven stories to my death.

“Mocha angel, what are you thinking?”

I look up at my mom’s best friend, the woman who has truly raised me since we moved here years ago. She’s beautiful, strong, and truth be told, she’s the real angel.

In Mom’s darkest hours, she supported her by taking care of me. The time between crash and becoming super mom wasn’t quite as jarring. Shakeeka, my angel, explained to me that three of her six kids suffered from depression. She explained it worsened when they began having children.

The crash, as I call it—the darkness, as she does—seems to worsen with the guilt of those they know who suffer along with them. Their loved ones.

I look back at her as she leans over the edge. Then she quickly shuts her eyes and giggles.

“Child, I have no idea how you don’t get as dizzy as a goose.” She steps back, her hand over her belly.

“You said the same thing the first night you found me up here.”

“Child …” She laughs. She always laughs, regardless of how hard life is. “You were nine years old.”

Swinging my legs over the side, one at a time so she doesn’t worry even more, I nod and remind her, “Just turned nine.” I stand on the rooftop, take a deep breath, and then start to tell her, not ask, this time, “I’m going to be seventeen in two days …”

“One more year, honey, till you’re of legal age.”

Inhaling a deep breath, I continue, “I quit school today.”

Her lips turn up, intent on forming a smile, but even she can’t make it happen.

I don’t wait for her response, because I don’t want her to waste her time trying to convince me to stay. I know she will, and that will only worsen the hurt we are both sure to feel.

“I can’t look at it anymore.”

She nods once, waiting for me to continue. Then she reaches over and squeezes my hand, encouraging me to continue. The burn of tears threatens far too early in this conversation.

Right now, I’m struggling to voice the truth in why I need to leave, even though I am aware she knows it. And, right now, I wish she would say the words so I don’t have to.

Before Shakeeka, I never expressed my emotions out loud. I was afraid it would make my mom crash. And as I found out later, I really didn’t understand them. Shakeeka is the reason I can now, yet it’s not without difficulty.

“I have a train ticket. I have a plan.”

“I want you to stay,” she interrupts.

I shake my head. “I need you to be okay with this. I need you to understand.”

“Can’t be okay with you leaving. You’re a sixteen-year-old girl,” she protests.

“I’ve never been sixteen,” I remind her.

To that, she does smile as a tear slides down her cheek.

“I can’t make you stay.”

I shake my head no as she steps up to me and throws her arms around me.

March twentieth, at five fifty in the morning, I am walking down 42nd Street with a backpack strapped to my back and a duffel bag slung across my body. I’m no longer looking for where the sea and the sun meet. No longer looking for her to appear and save me from a place where I’m alone and afraid. A place she told me to wait for her because she was my person, and I was hers, no matter who else she had in her life.

She always made me feel special that way. Always. But now, a year after she took that step off the edge and left me where the water never really meets the sun, I know that she was never healthy enough to be someone’s everything. And I know I’m not going to grow and become my own person until I let go.

I can let go, finally, because she did.

I chose this time of day and mode of transportation out of the city that haunts me for a reason. Neither the sun rising or the view of the waters will pull me to look for something … or someone who isn’t there. Something or someone who will always be beautiful in the most confusing way. Something or someone who isn’t here and isn’t real anymore, who is holding me back from growing, and God, how I wish to grow.

Stopping at the corner of Park Avenue and 42nd Street, I reach up and untie the pale blue ribbon from my hair. Then I close my eyes and rub it between my fingers, soothing myself, feeling the silky softness that I have felt since she gave it to me. She told me that this scrap of ribbon had once run around the edge of the blanket that a man, who she assured me I had met before; a man she said wasn’t strong enough to be what he truly was supposed to be—my father, gave to me.

She insisted I always keep a part of him, symbolizing that I was the best part of him, the part he didn’t even know he held. To me, that part of him, that scrap of nothing, has been a hindrance to me and her.

I remember a day playing in the sand when, by chance, I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw it had somehow come untied and was flying in the breeze.

Panicked, I looked around as I jumped to chase it. Mom was talking to a man, smiling from ear to ear for him, engrossed in the attention he gave her, and he was smiling back at her the same way.

That day, I chased a blue ribbon, knowing it meant something to her and, in theory, meant something to me, as it wisped through the air. I panicked, thinking that, after she was done with her crash, after that man had broken her smile, she would notice it was gone when I lay next to her, when she would rub the ribbon between her fingers like she always did, soothing herself with its silky softness, just like I did.

Looking up at it, I ran right into a boy who was running along the beach, holding a kite string.

We both jumped up, and then he ran toward the kite string as the wind blew it away like my ribbon.

“Oh shit.” The little boy with black hair laughed as he jumped high in the air, grabbing both the ribbon and the string in different hands at the same time. Then he fell onto his bottom in the sand.

When he looked at me, he smiled and reached out his hand, the one holding the string, not the ribbon. When I didn’t take it from him, he looked at me like I was odd, yet he was still smiling.

“Go ahead; it’s yours.”

When I still didn’t say anything, he looked away from me and at his hand.

“My bad,” he said, then stretched out his other hand. “This is yours.” His smile grew bigger, and then he shrugged. “You want the kite instead?”

I looked behind me to see where my mom was, to see if she was worried. She hadn’t even noticed I had run off.

For a brief moment, I wanted to say yes. I wanted the kite, and I wanted him to take the ribbon. But then he would have to carry the burden of responsibility, and that would make his smile fade. I was sure of it.

Before I could answer him, he pulled off one of the kite’s tail ribbons and stood.

I cupped my hand over my eyes as I looked up at him, shielding it from the sun’s blaring glare, wanting to know if he was still smiling.

He thrust his hand out, the one holding my ribbon and now a part of the kite’s tail. “Here. Now you can have both.”

I took it and looked at the thick orange ribbon, inspecting it. There was a round, orange cartoon character all over it. Then I looked up at the kite, seeing it had the same orange-looking cartoon character on it. I looked back at him to see he was smiling … still smiling.

“His name’s Otto.”

I couldn’t help smiling back at him. But then, I didn’t want to smile at him, because that meant he could take it away—the smile—and make me crash, make me sad.

“Looks like a Lou to me.”

He started to laugh, and it was so loud it startled me and made me jump.

He grabbed my hand. “You fall, you’ll end up with sand in your suit. Don’t fall.”

I nodded as I steadied myself. That was when I heard her call my name.

“I gotta go.” I tried to hand him back the ribbon, but he shook his head.

“It’s yours.”

I looked at my hand, at the blue ribbon, and pondered whether to give it to him or keep it when I heard my name again. I looked from the ribbon and back to the tall, smiling boy framed in the sun.

“You better go.” He nodded toward my mom.

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He smirked. “Lou.”

Back in the now, I hold the ribbon up and look at it as the wind blows its end about. Then I close my eyes and think of that day as I release it and watch the wind whisk it away.

Like the kite, it blows higher and higher until it’s gone, and with it, the last of what has held me back. All the burdens, all the responsibilities I had put upon me, knowing they were more a weight than a means to grow.

Turning, I walk into Grand Central Station and take in her beauty as I walk toward the track that I pray will lead me to a place where smiles are in abundance and my life will begin.

Sitting in the cushioned train seat, I close my eyes. The fear of the unknown takes ahold of me, but just a little.

When the woman beside me taps my hand, I open my eyes. She hands me a tissue, and I force a smile and thank her.

A total stranger showing me kindness.

While I wipe my eyes, she asks me what my name is as the train leaves the station, as I leave behind my past.

“My name is Keeka.”

And from that moment on, it would be.

CHAPTER TWO

Summer Before College Senior Year…

Trucker

Imagine Dragons, Whatever It Takes, is streaming through my ear buds as I look over at my best friend Logan, whose hands are on his knees as he tries to catch his breath from our morning run up and down the stairs at our hometown state park.

“Rise and grind time, Links,” I pop out my earbud and toss his own words back at his ass from last summer, and he flips me the finger. “One more time.”

As I start up the stairs, he yells from behind me, “Fuck that. We have two weeks before we need to start this shit again.”

I turn around and laugh. “You wanna be the best, you train better.”

“You’re looking at the best,” he retorts, still panting.

I laugh again as I turn around and ascend the uneven stone steps two at a time.

“You may wanna step it up,” I yell back, pushing myself harder than ever before.

Fucker’s right, though. He’s been the best for the three years we have played SU football together.

This year, it changes.

When I hear him behind me, I push myself harder, moving faster, focusing on what’s in front of me, and not what’s behind me.

Eye on the fucking prize.

The prize is me.

I stop once I get to the pavilion at the top.

Logan shakes his head as he slows his speed and pants out, “What the fuck has gotten into you?”

I drop the Boom. “You turned down pros.”

He closes his eyes and pulls his hat down, shielding them.

“Now, why the fuck did you do that?” I demand.

He turns his back to me. Interesting since I think the reason he turned it down was so he could be with me. I know he’s as loyal to our plan as I am.

The plan: to go pro together.

“I wouldn’t have turned it down for you,” I drop the truth.

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” he says, turning around to face me again.

“But had I, I would’ve told you.”

“Would’ve told you, too, Trucker, but there’s a chance you’d have told my old man.”

Logan’s father, Lucas, has always been my mentor, and more of a father to me than my own. I owe him everything. But the truth is, Logan and I are tighter than that, and the fact that he thinks that, it pisses me off.

I poke him in the chest. “Not a chance in hell, and you should fucking know that. Jesus, Links, you and I are beyond that shit. You know everything about me. I trust you with shit I trust with no one. I expect the same.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down.

“And in effort to continue with transparency, I’m going to be number fucking one this year. And I’m going pro.”

To that, he looks up and smirks, eyebrow raised to royal level. Then he nods. “You think so?”

“I fucking know so.”

“Prove it, punk.” He laughs as I run past him to the stairs.

At the bottom, he’s right next to me, smiling like a fucking idiot, an idiot who’s my best friend and has been for as long as I can remember.

Together, we run the path back through the park and to my truck.

The parking lot is packed with our local school’s sports teams.

“Fall sports signups.” Logan nods. “Lucky fuckers are just starting out. We only have one more year left.”

“We,” I tell him, “have many years left.”

He nods once as he pulls off his sneakers and tosses them into the back of my 1969 Ford Bronco then grabs his slides.

I run my hand over the dark brown, metallic paint, admiring the way she shines, when my slides nail me in the chest.

“Let’s go.”

Laughing, I ask, “What? You don’t want to hang out and see if she—”

“Trucker, shut the fuck up,” he warns.

“Denial isn’t a river in Egypt, brother.” I continue to laugh. “But it’s not far from Paris.”

“Her name’s not Paris,” he whispers a warning hiss. “And she’s not into sports.”

“Then, why’s she here?” I ask as I watch her pull into the parking lot.

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s roll,” Logan says as he opens the truck door.

I pull my sweat-drenched shirt over my head slowly, knowing it pisses him off when she—London, not Paris, the girl he hasn’t been crushing on for years—looks at any male within a ten-mile radius of her. Then I take the shirt and rub it over my head, drying some of the sweat as I look at him, making sure to pop my muscles and laugh while I do it.

“Better check yourself, fucker.” He calls me fucker when he wants to piss me off. Any other guy pulls that shit, he does it once. Logan doesn’t bother me one bit.

“Logan!”

I laugh when I hear London’s sister yell his name.

“The fuck,” he hisses at me.

“Lexi, come on; I have things to do,” London yells from behind her.

He glares at me before stepping back out and turning toward Lexington, who is running straight toward him and not slowing down, even as she jumps at him.

“Hey, Paris.” I give London a little chick wave, and she rolls her eyes at me as she gets closer.

“You going out for football?” Logan smiles at little Paris when he sets her down.

“Not if I’m gonna sweat like you,” she groans.

“If you’re playing the right way, you will.” Logan messes up her hair, smiling like he does with all the kids.

He likes kids. I sure as hell don’t.

London throws her nose in the air. “Come on, Lexi; we have shit to do.”

“How about you watch your mouth around her?” Logan snaps at her, which makes me chuckle silently.

Lexington sighs with exasperation. “Ever since she got boobs, she thinks she’s grown.”

“How about both of you?” London snaps back as her face turns blood red and she points to them. “Mind your business.”

Lexington laughs as she runs to the line forming in the pavilion for fall sports signups.

“Maybe if you didn’t make it everyone’s business, I’d mind mine,” Logan hisses at London.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she huffs and rolls her eyes.

“Cover yourself up, for fuck’s sake,” he snaps.

“It’s summer, Logan,” she snaps back. Walking away, she then tells him, “Girls wear less clothes in the summer.”

Before he trips over his shit, I jump in and start the truck. “Let’s roll.”

He looks at me, eyes blazing.

I reach up and turn on the radio.

“Don’t fucking do it,” he hisses.

“ ‘I never knew that a kid like me …’ ” I start to sing.

“The fuck, Trucker,” he snarls, opening the door as I turn up the radio anyway.

“Boom” by P.O.D blares as I hit the gas and run over the cement in front of my truck, gunning it so we fishtail out of the parking lot.

He looks at me, pissed off, and I grin as I grab my shades and throw them on.

He reaches over and jabs me in the arm with a right.

“ ‘Is that all you got?’ ” I sing along with the music.

He grabs his shades and throws them on. “Such an asshole.”

“ ‘Here comes the Boom’ mobile.” I laugh, and so does he.

I pull into the driveway and stop at the end of it. One more summer, I think as I look at the double-wide that once was new enough, pretty enough, to heal a broken family, but now resembles it.

The grass is overgrown, some of the skirting has blown off, there’s trash all over the yard, and the fencing around the garden I helped create is now laying on the ground, twisted and torn.

I run my hand over the dash of my Boom baby and smile to myself, knowing as fucked up as it was when I got it, it’s shining like new now.

I busted my ass for this truck and continued busting my ass to bring it back to life. Took years of hard work, and I’m fucking glad it did, because now I know damn well I will take care of Boom; make sure she’s shining forever.

I hit the gas and pull up the driveway, throwing stones behind me. Then I stop next to the house and throw it in park, wondering why I declined Logan’s offer to stay with him until my dad got back from his cross-country haul in four days. Hell, I had been staying with him for a week now.

“Fucking bullshit,” I grumble as I turn the truck off and open the door. “Can’t take the time to take care of the place; why not just stay in the fucking truck and on the road?”

I try to ignore the mess as I walk up the steps when my fucking foot breaks through the third step.

“Fucking shithole!” I curse, pulling my leg free.

An hour later, I have managed to fix the stairs, a skill I learned from Logan and his dad, not my old man. Two hours later, the lawn is picked up and I’m fucking elbow deep in the garage, trying to get the lawnmower running, a skill I did learn from my old man. With that realization comes a little less resentment that this is how I have fucking lived my whole entire twenty years.

“Fuck!” I yell as the wrench slides out of my hand and I jam my finger. “Fucking cocksucker!”

I want to kick the bench over and watch the worthless fucking tools fall onto the dirt fucking ground, but instead, I step back and nearly fall ass over tea kettle on the push mower.

I hear giggling and look up as two little sets of eyes jump back behind the garage.

Pissed, I storm out to see who the hell it is, seeing the two culprits run their asses off to the tree line, laughing harder now.

“Keep your asses over there, too!”

Fucking kids and trailer parks, I think to myself as I storm back into the garage and grab the push mower.

“You don’t start, and I’m fucking done here,” I tell it as I pull it out of the garage. “Light a fucking match and see how long it takes for this entire row of mobile mansions to be gone.”

I give the cord a yank and huff when the fucking thing fires up.

“Well, aren’t you just the neighborhood savior?”

I swear I hear the little shits giggling again, but when I turn around, no one’s there.

“Fuckers give me the creeps. Probably goddamned inbred.” I push the mower, and it threatens to quit. “Need a fucking John Deere up in this bitch to cut down the goddamned hayfield of a fucking yard.”

I swear I hear them laughing again and turn again. Nothing.

“Fucking Deliverance little bastards,” I snarl as I turn around and immediately feel something hit the back of the head.

When I see them, I point a finger and release the handle of the mower as I hurry toward them. However, when the mower doesn’t shut down, I turn back and see it moving by itself, heading right toward the house.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I chase after it as the two towheads laugh their fool heads off.

When I get to it, I hit the emergency kill switch and hear one of them say, “Yep, he took too many sacks last season. Mush for brains.”

I whip around and run toward them.

One, clearly the brighter one, runs into the woods while the other stands frozen.

“You eat too many Tide pods or something? Shouldn’t you be running?”

When his eyes widen and his lip pops out, I slow down, because he looks like he may shit himself.

“Boy, you have two seconds to get your ass back through those trees and stay there, or I’m gonna show you what—” I stop when I feel another blow to the back of my head.

“You leave her alone!”

I turn around and see Billie Sue grab another crab apple off the ground. “You hear me, Trucker Cohen? You leave her alone!”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I say, rubbing the back of my head. “You the one pegging me in the back of the head?”

She looks past me and at the kid. “Sammy, go get on home.”

I don’t look away from Billie Sue. First, because I know she will throw the damn apple, and I know she will hit the intended target. She was the captain of the high school softball team and broke every pitching record in the state. And secondly, she is as big as a fucking house.

Only when I hear Sammy bust out sobbing do I look away.

“I’m a girl!”

For fuck’s sake, I think as I look at the little shit.

Digging real deep, I think of something to make her feel better. “It’s the hat.”

She reaches up, grabs the blue little league hat, and throws it on the ground. “Is not!”

Well, she’s right; it’s not. The girl has a brush cut.

“Why’d you have to cut it all off, Mom? Why!”

“Lice is why,” Billie Sue says, walking toward her while glaring at me. “Couldn’t get rid of it any other way, Sammy; you know that.”

“It’ll grow back,” I assure the little shit.

“Not fast enough!” she cries.

“You could get a wig,” I say.

By the glare I receive from Billie Sue, that was the wrong damn thing to say.

“Run along home. I’ll be there in a minute.”

After an ass-chewing about thinking I’m better than everyone else on this hill, I end up apologizing to Billie Sue and promising to go to a little league game to cheer on Sammy so the other kids won’t make fun of her as much. Then I push mow her fucking lawn. I’m dog tired and have wished the summer away over a hundred times.

Pretty sad that, as a kid, I lived for the summer. Now … now there’s nothing, and I mean nothing, that compares to the fall.

CHAPTER THREE

Celebration Spirits

Trucker

Fresh from a shower, I flop back on my bed in the apartment Logan and I share with a few other teammates in South Campus.

We have been back to ‘Cuse for almost two weeks for practice, preparing for the upcoming season. It’s the last week before college begins, and we have been given the weekend off, which never happens, but the team is tight as hell. Today we were informed that Logan and I are co-captains this year.

Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.

Couldn’t be happier to be beside my brother for our final year here at Syracuse University, a place we came as kids to watch the Orangemen play football and dreamed we would do the same one day. We have been living that dream for three years now.

When my phone rings, I answer it. “What’s up, old man?”

“You’re not getting any younger, Junior,” he replies.

I was named after my father, Lawrence. When I was about five, I asked him once why he didn’t want me to have my own name. He told me to pick one, so I picked Trucker. He smiled, which was unusual, and it stuck.

“Should’ve turned down this haul; been there to have your first legal drink with you, but you know I can’t. Got responsibilities and shit.”

“Tell Lawrence we’re still together,” I hear my mother say over the loud noise inside the Perterbilt’s cab.

Ever since I could remember, my mother, Candace, or Cece as most call her, has been dubbed a free spirit. Sometimes it’d be over a year before she would drop back in to our lives. Then, she and Dad would fight, the house would be clean when I woke up in the morning, breakfast on the table, and she would be in bed sleeping.

Dad and I would sit at the table, eating pancakes, always New Hope Mills pancakes. As a kid, I watched him, mimicked him, and said nothing. Sometimes, she would be gone when I got home. Sometimes, she stayed for a few days or a few weeks. I always knew when she was getting ready to leave, though. She would come in late from one of the neighbor’s, her eyes always red.

When I got older, I didn’t even eat the fucking pancakes. I still don’t eat fucking pancakes.

I asked him once why he let her in. He told me she was my mother. I told him she wasn’t shit. He slammed his fist down on the table and repeated himself. “She’s your mother.”

She was never my mother; she was a fucking joke. She was a woman that the kids on the playground called a whore. And my father: the man who keeps taking her back. When I was younger, it fucked with me.

After Logan and I became not just friends but brothers, I gained a bit of confidence. When the next kid said shit about her, I popped him in the face.

I remember that day, sitting in the principal’s office, Logan beside me, because, well, one of Cameron’s friends jumped in and tried to kick my ass, so Logan jumped in, too.

Our parents were called in. Logan’s dad showed up, but I knew mine wouldn’t. He was on the truck, another haul he couldn’t turn down. I was ten, it was the first year I played fall football, and I told my dad that I wasn’t going, said I was sick of missing school. Truth was I hated school. But football, I loved.

As a threat, trying to get me to go, Dad had told me I would get in trouble if anyone found out that I was home alone. I told him no one would. He talked to a neighbor who checked in on me. Same pieces of shit that Cece smoked up with, so they never really checked in.

I lied to the principal, telling him he would get the message and be there soon.

When the principal left the office, Logan’s dad, Lucas asked for his number.

That day, Logan and I got suspended for three days. Should have been the worst day of my life, but it ended up being the best.

I slept at Logan’s house. A house with a mom, a dad, and food. To a kid like me, it was a fucking castle, a fairy tale.

For three days, Lucas took us everywhere with him, played football with us, took us to lunch and shit. When he took us to get haircuts, he found out I had lice. I was mortified, while he acted like it was no big deal. I begged to go home. He told me he would like me to stay.

We stopped at the drug store where he bought a bunch of shit, and then the man picked nits out of my hair. I remember telling Lucas that, the other times it had happened, my father had just shaved my head. He told me I had good hair. He also told me that the lice could have come from a helmet so, as my coach, he felt he should help. That’s what coaches do.

Looking back, I know it’s possible, but I also know he was doing it to make me feel less ashamed.

For my birthday, he bought me my very first helmet, one I didn’t have to share. I still have it.

“Trucker says cool,” Dad lies to Cece, referring to her announcement that they are still together.

“Thanks for the birthday wishes, old man.” I sit up. “Talk again soon.”

“Talk again soon.” He hangs up.

By the time we get to our favorite bar, I’m already buzzed from shots of Jack as I stumble out of Logan’s truck, Black Betty.

“Place better be filled with holes needing filling,” I say as I stumble out of the passenger seat and onto the sidewalk.

“Not sure you’ll be able to get it up, man.” Logan laughs as he tosses his keys to one of the guys. “You’re driving home. Make sure you keep it between the sidewalks.”

“You better catch up, Links. You know what I want for my twenty-first.”

He laughs as he grabs the handle to the door and opens it. “After you.”

“That’s right. We find the right hole, and I get to fill it first.”

“You won’t make it past closing. Get your ass inside.”

“Don’t fuck this up for me,” I joke.

Logan and I have joked for years that we are going to marry the same chick so we can remain as close as brothers well into our old age. Truth is, we will anyway. Another truth: we wouldn’t be having a threesome. Double penetration wouldn’t be possible. Not only are we equally talented at football and look similar, but we are built pretty much the same in the southern hemisphere, the one known as Cocksville.

We may be known as male whores, and even though I have never trusted a female enough to call her mine, nor do I ever plan to, I don’t hate women enough to want to fucking split them in two.

“Surprise!” rings out as I walk in.

I look around and see a banner with my name and number 21 on it. There are balloons everywhere, my teammates, and even Coach Brown is here. If that wasn’t good enough, there is wall-to-wall women wearing short-ass dresses that are so short I wouldn’t even have to lift them. Better than that? None of them truly know me, and they don’t expect anything but a good fucking time.

I look over at Logan, who lifts his shoulders a bit and gives me a half-ass apologetic look.

“Hate parties and shit,” I remind him.

“Let’s celebrate.”

I nod. “Got nothing else to do.”

Two hours later, I’m on the dance floor, getting grinded on by a dozen women. One after the other, they offer up anything I want. I should be fucking stone by now with the amount of action my legs have gotten. And straight-up, whiskey dick’s never been an issue. What is an issue? Desperation.

I need a game. I need someone a yard or two away, giving me a signal, waiting for a pass.

When Pitbull’s “Time of Our Lives” starts playing through the speaker system, I look for my boy. I raise my hands over my head, still dancing as I make my way to the edge of the dance floor where Logan’s dancing between two blondes with huge tits. Definitely his type.

I push between him and the girl behind him and start dancing against him, knowing it will piss him off when he figures out it’s me.

When he turns slowly, giving what he assumes is the chick in the back some attention, and our eyes meet, he laughs.

“You’re fucked up, huh?” I ask.

He winks as he takes another pull off the red straw in his lowball filled with Jack. And then … then he grips my hip with his free hand and dances a little too fucking close for comfort.

“Oh, my God, how hot is that?” the blonde I pushed past shrieks from behind me.

I turn my hat around then get close enough to his mug to make him uncomfortable.

“You kiss me, you’ll be missing teeth.” He gives me a sloppy, drunk smirk then throws his arm around me.

We laugh.

Stepping back, I tell him, “Gonna take a piss.”

When I turn around, I run right into a chick looking down at a tray full of drinks now laying against her chest.

“Gotta watch where you’re going, babe. It’s tight in here.”

She snaps her head up and glares at me.

Deep as fuck brown eyes, with thick, black lashes fanning out around them, but not thick with makeup. Nah, it’s natural as hell. Her face is the shape of a heart, framed by thick, long, wavy black hair. Her lips are full and pink, and her skin is light caramel.

I’ve just been served fucking perfection.

“You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna move your ass?” she snaps.

“Never seen you around, little ray of sunshine. No need to be hostile. I crashed a drink tray; you crashed a party and are giving the man of the hour shit.”

“Well, excuse me, your highness, but you just cost me over a hundred bucks.”

“Lou!” I yell to the owner at the same time she does. I continue before she can. “Fill Ray’s order again. Put it on my tab.”

“Keeka can get back here and do it herself,” he says, looking flustered as hell with the bar five deep.

I look down at her and notice she’s not in a dress; just a white t-shirt and black shorts.

“Do you mind?” She tries to step back but ends up getting pushed forward against me again.

I reach between us and grab a few cups, the ones not emptied completely, so they don’t spill on her like the others did.

“I can get it!”

Ignoring her, I take the empty tray and hold it above my head. “I double dog dare you to jump.”

When she looks down at her shirt, her eyes widen.

As I start to look down, I tell her, “I’ll buy you a new o—” I stop when I realize her shirt’s see-through, but that’s not the fucking reason I continue looking. She’s braless and her little pink nips are saluting me.

As she instinctively covers herself with her hands, I reach behind her with the hand full of glasses and pull her tightly against me.

She tries to push me away. “What the hell do you—”

“I like tits bigger than pint-size, Little Ray, so cut the shit and walk with me so you’re not high beaming the entire football team and every other guy in the place who’ll see those and be a fuck of a lot less worried about your virtue than I am.”

“Worried about my virtue?” she huffs but stays splayed against me as I move us toward the back of the bar and head for the office.

When I reach above the doorjamb for the key to the office, she asks, “How do you know—”

“I know Lou,” I answer before she finishes.

“You work here?”

I look down at her fucking eyes that are even better than those little tits. “No.”

She walks past me and, with her back to me, she pulls off her shirt.

“Jesus, Ray.” I shut the door so no one sees her.

She grabs a new shirt from the shelf and throws it over her head. Pulling her long, wavy black hair out from under the collar, she turns around and looks at me. “You can open that door right back up and think again.”

“Think about what? Your barely B’s?”

She reaches behind her, pulls the oversized t-shirt tight against her body, and then ties it with something she pulled off her wrist with her teeth.

“My boobs are just fine, your highness.” She mock bows then starts walking toward me.

“I don’t believe you. Prove it.”

“I’m a grown-ass woman. I’m not playing kid games. Now move it. I have money to make.”

On the tip of my tongue is, I’ll pay you what you’ll make tonight to show me. Instead, I step aside.

When she doesn’t move, I wave toward the door. “After you.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing those little things together.

“You have something against bras?”

She rolls her eyes. “Go, so I can lock up behind myself.”

“Do you? I mean, they’re small, but damn, Little Ray.”

She fucking stomps her foot and points toward the hall. “Go.”

“Fuck that. I need to know.”

“They’re restrictive and I’m a free spirit,” she answers in a monotone voice.

I can’t help smiling. “How free?”

“Go,” she says, trying not to return the smile.

Out in the bar, I sit at a high-top table, close enough to the bar to watch her as she fills glasses and rolls her eyes a hell of a lot at the guys.

Little Ray has attitude, and even though I have never liked that, I seem to like it a hell of a lot with her.

Every time she looks my way, I know damn well I should look away, but fuck if I can. She’s too damn interesting to watch. Plus, when she looks over at me, I know damn well she’s watching me, too.

When Mitch comes over with Logan, their arms around each other shoulders, I’m pretty sure they are both holding each other up and are about done for the night. Then Lou comes over and sets a tray of shots on the table.

He grabs my shoulder. “Happy twenty-first birthday, Trucker, again.”

Lou’s always been liberal with the team. He knows we don’t abuse the privilege. He also knows we bring in a lot of business.

“Thanks, Lou.” I nod.

“Now, which one of you fools are driving?” Looking at Logan, he shakes his head. “Clearly not you.”

“Not tonight. Tonight, Mitch has the wheel,” Logan slurs.

“Mitch, huh?” Lou shakes his head and holds out his hand. Mitch hands him the keys. “Tonight, I’ll get one of the girls to drive your asses back. You just make damn sure she gets a taxi home.” Still shaking his head, he runs his hands through his red hair. “Don’t care how good-looking my girls are, you touch them, your names will be shit here and at every bar on Marshall Street, you hear me?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he walks away.

The table is quickly surrounded by a bunch of women.

Logan throws back a shot then puts his arms around the two girls next to him. “Which one will it be tonight, birthday boy and this year’s co-captain of the Orangemen?”

I hold up a shot. “Whoever’s up for the challenge of giving massive amounts of head then getting the fuck out of my bed.”

“Classy,” I hear, right before another tray of shots is set on the table.

I look down. “Little Ray, no need to be jealous. You want to give it the old college try, I’ll let you. Hell, you’ve already undressed in front of me.”

She rolls those big, brown, doe eyes. “You ruined my shirt. And honestly, how desperate do you think I am?”

Some of the girls mumble shit under their breath, but I’m not paying attention to them. I have already decided who I will be lying down with tonight.

Little Ray.

“I don’t think you’re desperate at all. I just think, being new here, you’re probably wondering if the rumors are true.”

She starts to turn around when I grab the back of her elbow.

I sure as fuck do not expect the elbow to the stomach, any more than I expected that much force to come out of Little Ray.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Boys of Fall

Keeka

Five months ago, I left behind the Brooklyn Bridge to come to a place where I remember being happiest for the longest amount of time. I was five years old and went to kindergarten here in Syracuse, New York. Mom had her first nine to five job. She was a secretary at an accounting firm. As much as she always said she hated feeling confined, she seemed anything but. She still danced, just not as a dance teacher. She also bartended for extra money. We lived in the apartment above the bar, the same bar I’m now slinging beers.

When I came here and saw the sign in the window that they were hiring, I almost didn’t come in. I was in Syracuse to start a life of my own. But through the window, I saw a red-headed man I thought I recognized from back then.

He didn’t recognize me, and the fake ID I had acquired and showed him when he asked if I was old enough to work in a bar, said the name Keeka, and that I was twenty-one years old. There have been a couple of times I have seen him look at me, and not in a creepy dirty uncle way. I was sure he had figured it out, but he hasn’t yet, and I’m grateful.

~~ Two hours ago ~~

I pull open the door and walk inside the bar

“Thanks for coming in so last minute.” Reda, the bar manager, smiles. “When the boys of fall call, Lewis caves.”

“I live right upstairs, Reda,” I remind her. “Besides, I need the cash.”

“Should make plenty of it tonight. And baby girl, you’ll earn every cent.”

I walk over to the high-top with boxes on top of it and grab one to bring them back to the office.

“That one say Links on it? If yes, it stays,” Reda says with her back to me as she places liquor bottles on the glass shelves behind the bar. “Feel free to open it up. Should be party decorations for the birthday boy inside.”

I open the box and see orange and navy streamers, balloons, and a rolled-up banner.

Reda walks over as I pull it out. “Let’s get to decorating.” She grabs one end of the banner while I take the other. Together, we unroll it, and I see the letters alternating between orange and navy spelling out the words: Happy Birthday, Trucker.

“Trucker.” She shakes her head at the silliness of his name.

Trucker, I think as I allow myself to imagine who the person is that came up with a name like that.

Half an hour later, the bar is decorated and the place is filling up with bear-sized men full of testosterone and shitty pickup lines. The first of many to come on to me is a huge white guy with red hair.

“Are you Jamaican? Because your ass is Jamaican me crazy.”

I give him a disgusted look.

Reda nudges me and whispers in my ear, “Play the game. You’ll make a lot more cash.”

“I’m Finnish. Finnish with this conversation by telling me what you’d like to drink, player.”

“Oh, shit,” the guy next to him, who matches him in size with blond hair, laughs.

Reda chuckles. “And so it begins.”

As it gets closer to nine p.m., when Trucker is slated to arrive, the bar becomes packed. Females with short dresses and bad attitudes arrive in droves. It’s so busy that even Lou comes out of his office to help behind the bar.

It’s a bit overwhelming compared to what I have been used to since I began in late May, to say the least. I have been studying all kinds of drink mixes, different shot mixtures, and names of drinks so I would be prepared for crowds like this, ones they told me to expect.

“Need a round of shots over there, Keeka,” Lou yells over the music.

I nod and grab a tray, lining up the shot glasses as he pours them. Then I duck under the bar and grab the tray before snaking my way through the crowd, praying I don’t drop the damn thing.

When I am two steps from the table, I get hit by a Mack truck … er.

Behind the bar, my nerves are a mess. The man named Trucker, the birthday boy, is SU’s starting quarterback and the most beautiful man I have ever seen, and I have seen lots of men. All but him have given me a creepy vibe. Most seem to want sex, but they don’t come out and say it. Others use lines like those tossed around all night. But when he mentioned my little boobs and asked questions others would have gotten slugged for, he did it in a way that made butterflies dance in my belly. Most importantly, he didn’t give off a creeper vibe that made me believe there were bad intentions behind those baby blues.

He’s tall—a good foot taller than I am—and I’m sure he weighs twice as much as I do. His body is lean, and his clothes seem to wear him, not the other way around.

But something I wasn’t expecting was a scent—soap and man—that makes me nearly dizzy.

He’s twenty feet away from me now, sitting at a high-top table and surrounded by his friends and teammates, drinking water while everyone else continues to do shots, and he hasn’t stopped looking at me. How do I know this? I can’t stop looking at him either.

“Keeka,” Lou yells, and I look over at him. He points to the tray on the end of the bar. “Tray to the table. Try not to wear this one.”

I look to where he’s pointing and meet Trucker’s eyes again.

“Got it,” I yell back to Lou.

When I get to the table, Trucker pushes the guy standing next to him to the side. “Set it here, Little Ray.”

When the guy looks back, I realize it’s the redhead from earlier.

“Little Ray, did you change your mind?”

“Still Finnish,” I reply, setting the tray down.

He turns fully and steps toward me. “Let’s try this again.”

“Let’s not,” I say as I sidestep him and take the fresh round of drinks off the tray before I start putting the empties littering the table onto it.

“If I said you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?” Red asks.

“I assume you play football, big boy, but are you familiar with what strike three means?” I ask, still piling glasses on the tray.

“That was only two, babe. The third is the out,” he slurs.

“Just trying to save your ego another hitless swing.”

Everyone laughs as I pull the tray off the table.

“You won’t get a chance again, beer wench. I only slum it once a semester. So again—”

When he stops talking, I watch his eyes move up. He’s looking at someone behind me, and he looks intimidated.

I turn my head and look over my shoulder, finding Trucker glaring at him.

“Just fucking around, man.” Red holds his hands up in defeat.

“I ever hear you talk to her like that again, you’ll wish you hadn’t, sophomore.”

“I can handle myself, your honor,” I tell him, but something inside me likes that he’s standing up for me.

He doesn’t look at me. He continues glaring at the redhead.

I take the opportunity to walk away as quickly as possible, worried that I will just stand there and ogle him, like all the other females in this place reeking of desperation. I’m not like them.

Back behind the bar, I focus my attention, meaning I try my best not to look at him.

When the DJ is done for the night and the females turned from desperate to despondent begin to trickle out, Lou nudges me.

I look up at him.

“You dropped a hundred dollars’ worth of drinks tonight.”

I didn’t drop them; his honor ran into me, is what I want to say, but I don’t. I appreciate that Lou not only gave me a job but agreed to let me clean up the old apartment above the bar, one he said wasn’t fit for me to live in. What he doesn’t know is that it is better than the places I had been staying at, and safer.

I respect him. The Lou I once knew, and the Lou who stands beside me now.

I nod. “I think I made enough tonight to cover it.”

I start to reach into my pocket, but he stops me. “Do me a favor, and I’ll let it go.” He holds up a set of keys. “You drive those knuckleheads home, they’ll get you a cab back.”

Shit.

I don’t have a license, but I can’t tell him that. He’s seen the fake.

I have driven before, the three times Shakeeka made me try to get my license. The three times I failed. I swore I would never try again, and I haven’t.

Instead of telling him the truth, I nod, causing a rare smile to form before the keys are dropped into my hand.

Moments later, I hear them laugh when I stand in front of the huge black truck, trying to keep my jaw from hitting the pavement.

“You got a booster seat in that thing, Links?” One of them laughs.

“I have a lap,” the guy they call Links says.

When I glare back at him, I see Trucker doing the same. I hate that I like it.

“So, you and I aren’t on tonight?” A blonde with huge boobs pouts.

Links nods. “So long as you remember the rules.”

“We all know the rules,” another blonde says as she walks up and leans against Trucker.

“Does she know the rules?” Links asks Trucker as he points at me.

“She doesn’t need to know the rules,” I answer for myself.

A look of surprise mixed with conceitedness crosses his face.

“She thinks she’s special,” the blonde who’s now pushing her tits against Trucker huffs.

“I don’t think I’m special,” I say under my breath as I hit the unlock on the key fob. “I’m just not interested.”

I hear laughter from both males and females behind me as I open the door and climb in.

“Let’s go.”

As I put the key in the ignition and start the engine, music blasts through the speakers. I reach up and turn it down.

The guy Trucker called Links starts to get in the passenger seat, but then he stops and turns to Trucker, who whispers something in his ear.

“You want me to ride bitch in my own truck?” His eyes widen.

Trucker whispers something in his ear again, and then Links shakes his head and steps back.

When Trucker gets in, he looks at me, making me a little—no, a lot—uncomfortable.

His eyes, I feel them on me as if they are physically touching me.

When I glance over at him, I hope that this time, without the distance between us, like in the bar, he finds whatever it is he’s looking for and looks away.

He doesn’t.

I do.

“Is everyone here who needs to be?” I ask, watching in the rearview as masses of bodies pile into the back of the truck.

“You’ll be fine, Ray. Cops wont bug you,” Trucker tells me.

I look at him quickly, and he shrugs. Then he unrolls his window and yells to the people in the back, “You know the drill. Stay down.”

When I look in the rearview, I see them all disappear.

He hits some buttons on the dash and a map pops up. “It’ll tell you how to get us home.”

I nod, put my foot on the brake, and shift the truck into drive. When I hit the gas, the truck lunges forward and the tires squeal.

“Shit,” I mumble.

“Easy, Keeks,” Links says from the back. “She’s got balls.”

“She?” My voice quivers a bit, and I clear it. “Who is she?”

“Black Betty,” the blonde trying to climb on his lap says with a laugh. “His truck.”

As we approach the first light, Trucker whispers, “Brakes are solid. Just go easy on them.”

I do.

Each stop, each start, he whispers instructions, making me less anxious about driving this beast of a truck, but more anxious about the man instructing me.

After several smooth stops and starts, he says, “You got this.”

And I do.

Listening to the navigation system and the loud moans of the girl on Link’s lap, I come to a stop and glance in the mirror.

“Shit.” There’s a cop behind me, and I really, really don’t want to mess up.

“Relax, Ray. You haven’t been drinking. You’re all good.”

When the light turns green, I am more cautious about accelerating than before.

When I see red lights behind me, I gasp.

“You’ll be fine, just—”

“No, I won’t be,” I snap at him.

“Ray, you have to pull over, or you’ll surely be in deep shit.”

I ease the truck over to the side of the road, my heart in my throat, hands shaking, and sweating because I am in so much trouble.

“He’s gonna want your license,” Trucker says, opening the console between us and pulling out the registration and insurance card.

“I don’t have my license,” I tell him.

“Well, that’s gonna be a problem, Miss.”

I jerk my head left and am nearly blinded by a flashlight.

I cover my eyes. “Do you mind?”

“Jesus, Ray.” Trucker laughs, and I feel his arm brush mine.

When I pull my hands away from my eyes, he’s leaning in front of me.

“Sorry about that, Officer.” He chuckles. “She’s actually not as bad as she sounded. Bartends for Lou on Marshall Street and got stuck driving a truck full home who were out celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” the officer asks, finally moving the flashlight out of my face.

“My birthday.” Trucker gives him a big smile, one I haven’t seen all night. Then he hands him the envelope containing the registration and insurance card. Next, he pulls his wallet out of his pocket and passes it to the police officer. “Twenty-one.”

“Cohen,” the officer says as if he’s thinking out loud. “You related to SU’s starting quarterback?”

“I’m him. Nickname’s Trucker.” He reaches out his hand, and the officer shakes it. “She left her purse at the bar. Our fault, not hers.”

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asks me.

I shake my head.

“You have a truck full of kids in the back. It’s not safe or legal.”

“She was just getting us back to South Campus,” Trucker tells him with a smile still on his face.

“Says the truck belongs to Lucas Links.”

“His dad.” Trucker nods toward the back seat.

I look in the rearview mirror and see Links nod to the officer while the blonde is clearly unaffected by us being stopped, because she’s licking and kissing his neck.

“Won’t happen again, Sir,” Links says.

“Make sure it doesn’t,” he says, handing the envelope and Trucker’s license to me. “Make sure you drive below the speed limit and get this crew home safely. We need another good season. These boys are the first team we’ve had that’s given us something to brag about since Lucas Links played here.”

“We’re in good hands, Officer.”

I look over and catch Trucker winking at him.

The officer chuckles. “Good night.” With that, he walks away.

CHAPTER FIVE

Inch by inch

Trucker

By the time we get to the house, I have memorized every damn inch of her face, trying to find something, anything that could give me a reason to feel so drawn to her.

We sit and stare at each other while everyone piles out.

“You coming, birthday boy? I’d love to blow out that candle.”

Keeka looks disgusted, and I can’t help laughing.

“I’m gonna wait for the Uber to pick Ray up,” I say without even looking to see which one of the girls offered up the blowjob.

“I’ll wait inside for you, birthday boy.”

We stare at each other for a few more moments, neither of us saying a word.

She looks down. “I didn’t bring my bag, so, um … can you call a car?”

No, I think. Instead, I say, “Yeah, of course.”

I hit the Uber app and try to figure out how to get a car that will take the longest. None are far enough away.

I look up at her. “Come inside for a while.”

She looks at me, studying me like I have been her all damn night. “I’m not interested in blowing out your candle.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

She shakes her head then opens the door. “I don’t wanna come inside.”

I jump out the passenger side and walk around the truck. “Ray, don’t lie to me. I know damn well you want to come in.”

She looks up, crossing her arms. “I’m not a liar.”

Fuck, I didn’t mean to offend her, but that’s bullshit, and I know it.

“Play a game with me?”

What the fuck am I? Twelve?

She looks at me like I’m crazy, and I sure as hell can’t argue it. I’m kind of acting that way.

Fuck it. Go big or go home. Keep on trucking. I’m losing my shit.

“Truth or Tale?”

“That’s not a game.” She sighs, rubbing her arms and looking away.

“When you said you didn’t want to come in, was that the truth or a tale?”

“Truth or Tale?” she counters. “You want me to have sex with you.”

“Truth. You’re hot,” I say with a nod.

Her eyebrow rise, and then she turns and begins to walk away.

“Ray, what the fuck?” I laugh.

“I’m not like those girls, Trucker. I’ll never be like one of those girls. And I’m not looking for a relationship either.”

“Truth,” I say, walking behind her. “That’s what makes me want you.”

She turns and looks at me. “Give it up. It’s not going to happen.”

“Truth? I wasn’t gonna even try to fuck you tonight.”

Her eyebrow quirks again.

“Also, the truth, Ray; there’s something about you that makes me want to know you, and I don’t ever want to know any damn female for more than an hour.”

“Truth or tale?” she says. “You have no respect for women.”

Fuck.

I run my hands through my hair. “The truth is: very few.”

“Oh, geez, can I please come in your house then, Trucker?”

“Respect is earned, Ray. And not that I should tell you this, but right now, you’re earning the hell out of my respect by telling me no.”

She smiles a bit.

“But the truth is I know damn well you want me as badly.”

Her smile falls.

“I’m not gonna try a fucking thing, Little Ray. Just want to get to know my new favorite bartender a little better.”

I’m trying to figure you out.

“Trucker, please call me that car, or I’m gonna walk.”

I walk in front of her, turn and face her, to stop her from continuing. Her eyes widen, and I see a bit of fear in them. It pisses me off.

“Jesus, Ray, there’s no reason to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not!”

“Is that truth or tale?” I demand.

“I’m not playing your game. Just let me go.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll call the damn car.”

She looks at me like I’m full of shit.

“That’s truth.” I grab my phone, hit the app, and show her. “So, answer the question.”

“What question?” She shakes her head now, looking down.

“Truth or tale, Ray? You feel something, too.”

“We all feel, Trucker. Even if we wish we didn’t.”

Her words catch me off guard, and the sadness in her eyes knocks the wind out of me.

I reach out and pull her against me into a hug. A fucking hug? “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Trucker, you’re making me uncomfortable,” she whispers.

“Was that truth or tale?”

“I don’t like this game.” She steps back, and I let her.

I hit the request for the car and show her. “It’ll be here in ten minutes or less.” Then I turn to walk away.

“So, you’re gonna leave me out here to wait by myself?” She tries to make her words sound like a joke, but I know she’s being serious.

“You want me to wait with you, or are you going to think I’m trying to fuck you?”

A small V forms between her eyes then disappears.

When she rolls her eyes and looks away, I ask, “What?”

She sighs and looks back at me. “You want to play this little game of truth or tales with me, yet you’re lying to me. You admit you have little respect for women, yet you expect me to take you for your word. You make no sense.”

“You aren’t easy for me to make sense of.”

I see the car turning down the road, and my heart beats harder. Ten minutes my fucking ass. I don’t want her to leave.

When the car pulls up, the driver rolls down his window. “Cohen?”

I nod and open the door for her. She hesitates a moment then looks at me with confusion in her eyes. I don’t like it.

When she gets in, I see the way he looks at her, like he wants to fucker her just like I do. That pisses me off.

“Move over. I’m riding with you.”

“The trip was one way,” the driver says as I sit.

“You can’t stay with me.” Keeka frowns at me.

“He’ll bring me back,” I assure her.

“I already have another pickup lined up,” the asshole says.

“Then I’ll line up another driver,” I snap at him as I shut the door.

“It’s not necessary,” she tell me.

“Fuck it’s not.” I glare at the driver who is glaring back at me in the rearview mirror. “Let’s go.”

Sitting in the car, she looks away from me and at my knee that’s bouncing up and down. When I stop it, she looks up at me and swallows hard.

“What?”

She shakes her head.

“Jesus, Ray, what?” I nearly beg for her to tell me what her eyes won’t.

“You’re mad at me,” she whispers.

“I’m a little fucking upset, yes.” I tell her the damn truth.

She looks out the window and away from me.

When the car stops in front of the bar, I realize she’s not home yet.

After I get out, the driver peels away from the curb.

Asshole, I think as I flip him off, hoping he sees me doing so.

When she looks back, she seems surprised I’m standing there, and yes, her eyes tell me so.

“We told Lou we’d get his girl home, not drop her off at the bar at three in the morning.”

She points up. “Promise fulfilled.”

“You live above the bar?”

She looks at me skeptically before slowly nodding.

“Un-fucking-real,” I say, turning my back to her as I grab my phone out of my pocket and hit the app to get another car.

“What’s unreal?” she yells at my back. “That some female who doesn’t know you would be concerned about a man who seems hell-bent on getting his way, knowing where she lives?”

“I was wrong about you.” I shake my head, still waiting for the app to give me some options.

“I see,” I hear her whisper-hiss.

“Such bullshit! This app and you. Happy fucking birthday, Trucker,” I snarl as I push my phone back into my pocket and decide to walk my ass back to South Campus instead of sticking around here.

“Truth or tale?” she yells, stopping me.

I turn around and look at her. She looks confused and scared. I see it now—what I’ve been looking for behind those beautiful eyes mixed with blues and browns. She’s afraid to trust, and I totally understand it.

“Truth.”

“Do you want to fuck me or know me?”

Son of a bitch, I think, trying to find a way to say it without pushing away something so different than I have ever encountered before, someone who seems to mirror me.

“Which is it?”

“Both.”

She stands there, just looking at me, and a million questions appear on a face that tries to mask each and every one of them.

“Truth or tale?” I ask her now.

“Truth.” Her face contorts a bit like she’s shocked by her response.

“You feel something different, too?”

She closes her eyes, drops her head back a bit, and gives one sharp nod.

I’m seconds from snatching her up and taking her upstairs, but I’m not about to do that. I’m going to make damn sure she feels that need, that burn, for a few days at least.

“Good.”

She opens her eyes and just looks at me.

I see a yellow cab pulling down the road with the light on. It’s available.

Using every bit of self-control and then some, I nod. “See you around, Ray.”

I step out into the road and wave it down.

I walk around to the back of our townhouse and sneak into the back door, which happens to be right by my room. As I turn the nob, I hear Logan clear his throat.

I look over at him. He’s in a towel, clearly having just cleaned up after finishing with his girl.

“You okay?” he asks, toweling his hair.

I look at him and decide, no reason to lie. I shake my head.

He smirks. “Lou is gonna be pissed.”

“I didn’t touch the girl.”

“But you wanna.” He nods, and I nod back. “You’re fucked, man.”

“Like hell I am,” I assure him. “She’s gonna know we’re leaving here, heading for greater things. Won’t touch her until she gets it.”

“How you gonna do that without making her feel like she’s not good enough?”

Fuck, I think.

“I’ll get back to you.”

He nods then smirks, shaking his head as he disappears into his room.

It takes forever to fall asleep, because I haven’t a clue as to how to make sure I don’t hurt her, while making damn sure I don’t hurt myself either.

The next morning, when I’m showered and ready for the day, I walk out of the bedroom to see Logan standing at the counter with a cup of coffee.

“Not dressed to run,” he says before taking a sip.

“We have the weekend off,” I remind him.

“There’s no rest when you’re striving for greatness.”

I smile. “And we’re heading there.”

“I’m leaving in ten.”

I grab my cup and take a sip. Then I set it down. “I’ll be ready in five.”

After our run, we go to Wegmans grocery store, to grab food to prep for the week and beer for the team gathering tonight.

With two carts full of food and another nearly full of beer, we head to the checkout lane, when I realize I forgot water.

“We need a jug of water. I’ll be right back.”

I leave the carts with him in line and hurry to grab a refill for the water cooler. Turning the corner to the beverage aisle, I run into someone.

We fall in what seems like slow motion, thankfully giving me enough time to make damn sure I don’t flatten her against the hard floor.

We’re nose to nose on the grocery store floor, and her eyes are bigger than ever.

“Damn, Little Ray.” I laugh at the expression on her face. “Just can’t stop running into you.”

She clears her throat and pushes herself up.

“Well, fuck.” I hear Logan laugh behind her.

She stops in a seated position and looks behind her. “Well hello, Links.”

“Aw, she remembers me.” He smirks.

“Wasn’t sure it was you without a blonde mounted on your lap.” She shrugs and I can’t help but laugh.

“Like you are on my boy now?” He gives her shit.

She turns and looks back at me, as if she just realizing she’s straddling me.

Before she has the chance to get up, I sit up, ensuring we’re nose-to-nose again.

She lets out a little puff of air and pushes my chest as she gets up.

“You plan this?”

She looks down at her shirt, this time covered in coffee. Little braless nips protrude, saluting me again.

She hisses at them before crossing her arms over her chest. “Ridiculous.”

I correct her real quick. “Stunning.”

She shakes her head and tries not to smile.

“I’ll give you four a minute.” Logan laughs as he walks away.

I’m going to kick his fucking ass for noticing. Going to kill anyone else who does the same.

I look back at her, and she asks, “Four?”

“You, me, and your nipples.”

She palms her face. “Oh, my God.”

I reach behind her and pull out the hair tie holding back her hair in a ponytail.

“What are you doing?” She looks around as if she’s worried someone will see us.

I fuck with her hair to cover them up as I ask, “You with someone?”

She rolls her eyes and looks away from me.

“Truth, Ray.” I tug at the end of her hair I just fucked with.

“No, geez.” She bats my hand away, and I can’t help laughing. “Truth, your highness.”

“Here’s some truth for you, Ray; I don’t think fucking you will ever be a good idea. Every time I touch you, your eyes get this doe-eyed, pre-orgasmic look; your cheeks get this pretty little virgin pink blush; and—”

She looks around, stammering back at me, “Will you be quiet?”

“Oh, God no!” I yell.

She hits me in the stomach, fucking hard, too, and starts laughing.

I grab her hand and pull her closer to me. She doesn’t hit me, but the moment her chest hits my abs, I hear all the breath leave her lungs and feel it leave mine. Something shifts, and not just in my fucking pants.

That shift terrifies me, but it excites me at the same time.

I grab the back of her head and use my thumb to push her chin up so she’s looking at me. “I’m gonna kiss you.” I give her five seconds. Five full seconds to push me away. She doesn’t.

In the faintest voice, I hear her whisper, “Don’t hurt me.”

I kiss her softly, so fucking softly. I don’t even know if it’s actually considered a kiss.

Whatever it is, it just changed my life.

And that scares the fuck out of me.

CHAPTER SIX

Knocked off my feet

Keeka

For nearly a week, I have floated through my days on cloud Trucker, and I’ve only seen him once. Saturday night, after he knocked me off my feet twice. Once literally, and the second time, he did so by way of a kiss. I’m not even sure anyone else would consider it a kiss, but I do. I so do.

When he came to the bar later that same day, he was with his friends, teammates, and was drunk. He didn’t even come up to the bar, but he watched me the entire night from a distance, and I felt like he was right next to me.

There were so many times I could have gone over to the table. So many times I could have used the bathroom at the same time he did. So many times I could have, yet I chose not to. I will never chase a man. I will never lose myself in a man.

Today, six days later, I lie in bed, relishing in the memory of my first kiss, my very first kiss.

I hear a knock on the door that startles me.

Looking at the wind-up clock on my bedside table, I see it’s nearly one in the afternoon.

I jump up and grab the nearest sweater off the chair beside my bed and throw it on before running to the door. And when I throw open the door, I find Reda.

“Hey, doll, it’s going to be insanely busy tonight. First home game. You think you could come down a couple of hours early?”

“Sure.” I nod.

She grins. “You ready for this?”

She’s told me how much money can be made, as well as how busy and rowdy the crowd can get.

“I’m actually pretty excited.”

“Phone not working?” she asks.

“Just haven’t added any minutes to it in a while,” I tell her.

“You need to borrow some money?” she asks. She always asks.

I shake my head. “I’m fine, Reda. But thank you.”

“You’re working your little tail off, girl. I don’t get it.”

“Apparently, I’m bad with finances.” I make a joke out of the situation I’m in, because it’s easier than being honest about it.

“If you need anything—”

“I know, Reda.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “I’m overstepping again. Lou tells me all the time.”

When it seems like she’s about to hug me, I step back, causing her to look shocked.

“I’m sorry,” we say at the same time.

“I just—”

Her smile interrupts me, and then she says, “I’ll leave you to get ready.”

As I watch her walk down the stairs, I feel a bit ashamed for making her uncomfortable, because Reda and Lou have been amazing to me.

Taking a deep breath, I try to stop the shame from overtaking me, not wanting to be that girl ever again.

After showering, I warm up some Ramen in the microwave then get ready to face the post-game crowd.

The bar is crowded, and Lou has installed three new flats screens, adding to the four already hanging, so you can see the game wherever you sit.

Looking around, I see men and women, old and young, all of different races and social economical statuses. It’s beautiful to see them all sharing a common interest—the Syracuse Orangemen.

The love for the team is overwhelming, the comradery inspiring, and the excitement is contagious. Whenever number 21 passes a ball, they yell his name and cheer him on. Trucker Cohen.

Number 42, Logan Links, is the other crowd favorite. From what I have gathered, they attended a local high school together.

As busy as it is, I try to eavesdrop on conversations, wanting to learn about the game and the players, especially Trucker.

Football has never interested me. I could never sit and watch a game with Shakeeka’s sons without having a sketchpad on my lap to keep me entertained. I would draw, and they would cheer on UConn or Pitt, who I remember played against Syracuse because of Otto, or Lou, as I fondly remember him as. But here, with no way to distract myself, I kind of get swept up in the game. Not because it’s football, but because the comradery and the energy within these four walls. And truth be told, because of Trucker.

Holding a tray of draft beers, the most popular drink here today, I weave my way through the sea of Orange and deliver the drinks, just as the entire crowd erupts in loud applause, chanting, “Truck, Truck, Truck, Truck,” and some yelling “Keep on trucking!”

I look up at the TV to see number 21, Trucker, hasn’t passed the ball. He’s running it, and he’s fast, so incredibly fast. I see him jump over piles of men that number 42, Links, has knocked down like he’s paving the way for his friend and teammate to run to the end zone.

Passing number 42 and the ten-yard line, his speed seems to increase, and when he’s inside the end zone, he spikes the ball then reaches between his legs, adjusts himself, and the crowd goes wild.

Syracuse won their first game of the season, and apparently, Trucker is the reason. Links was the reason he made it as far as he did, though. He, too, should get credit. But, what do I know about football?

An hour after the game, the bar is nearly empty, which is perfect because I have to pee so badly that I’m dancing, and I don’t dance anymore.

After using the bathroom, I decide to straighten out the money in my apron, the one that reminds me of a fanny pack, even though Lou doesn’t think so.

When I count out three hundred and seventy-seven dollars, I begin to panic, wondering if I mistakenly placed money in the apron that was given to me from a drink order. I have made that kind of money here before on several occasions, but not in under four hours.

I walk out to the bar where Lou and Reda are sitting, eating nachos and discussing the game. I hate to interrupt them, but I have to. I need this job, this place to live, and if I screw it up here, I will be living under the 690 Bridge … again.

Standing on the opposite side of the bar, I look at Lou, who is listening to Reda talk. She’s always talking. When she looks at me, I blow out a breath. She nudges Lou to get his attention away from the local news playing highlights of the game.

“I think I screwed up.”

When his eyes narrow a bit, I pull out the wad of cash out of my apron and set it on the bar.

“Looks like you did a hell of a job,” he says, wiping his mouth, ridding it of the chicken wing sauce. Then he looks back at the TV.

“There aren’t any tickets in here for orders, but there’s a lot of money, Lou. A lot,” I continue. “So, if the drawer is short tonight, it may be my fault.”

He looks at me briefly, and then back at the TV. “Till’s fine. You made good money. Now grab me a beer.”

When Reda nudges him, he looks back at me, pushing the money back at me. “Please.”

I shake my head. “There’s no way I made this amount of money in under four hours.”

“She’s adorable,” Reda says to him.

“Yeah, she’s cute. Adorable if she gets me a beer.”

Smiling, I turn to grab him a draft.

“You should eat something, Keeka. If all goes well, in half an hour, our hometown heroes will be coming in tonight and bringing half the campus with them. You’ll make as much tonight as you did this afternoon.”

Holy shit. I think about what I can do with all the money.

Holy. Shit. I smile to myself when I think about seeing Trucker again.

I eat a chicken salad sandwich, and not because I’m hungry. I’m not. There’s a fight in my belly between the butterfly infestation and the nausea caused by not wanting to feel the way I do when I see him, hear him, or remember that kiss. I eat it because Reda made it for me, and honestly, if I wasn’t a mess right now, I would enjoy the best chicken salad sandwich I have ever eaten—Reda’s.

I close my eyes and touch my lips as softly as his touched mine. When I hear the bathroom door open, I open my eyes.

“You want some gloss?” Reda asks, setting her bag on the countertop and opening it.

I look in and see a whole drug store of tubes and compacts inside.

“I’m okay,” I say, turning the faucet on to wash my hands while watching her swipe mascara over her lashes, press powder to her face, and swipe red lipstick across her lips.

She looks at me as I watch her. “You sure?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never really used makeup. My mom used to say natural was the way to go.”

“I agree, but on special occasions, enhancing your natural beauty is fun.”

Ten minutes later, I’m looking in the mirror. My eyes look bigger, and my lips shinier.

“I wish I had your coloring.” Reda smiles. “Your skin is tan all year round, and those eyes … it’s like the sun surrounded by the ocean. God must have been inspired the day He created them.”

I feel my cheeks burn.

She laughs. “You don’t take compliments well.”

“Thank you?”

She laughs again then nods as she closes up aisle 10—her purse.

As she’s walking out the door, I tell her more genuinely, “Thank you.”

She smiles at me and nods.

“And Reda, someday, you’ll have to teach me how to make that chicken salad. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

If I thought the bar was busy during the game, now it’s madness, and the team isn’t even here yet. I did overhear the overdressed, overly made-up group of girls mention they would be here soon as I mixed drinks, the kind girls prefer—cosmopolitans, Blue Hawaiians, daiquiris, and of course sex on the beach.

“I’m impressed, kid,” Lou says as I mix up a pink passion. “They ask me for that froo-froo shit, and I give them a glass of boxed wine with a cherry in it.”

“And you get five bucks a drink, Lou.” I laugh as I pass the drink across the bar to the blonde and tell her, “Ten dollars.”

I see Lou out of my peripheral and smile to myself when I see him smile.

“Hey,” a blond-haired, preppy man calls for my attention.

I nod to him, expecting a drink order.

“Didn’t we go out on a date once or twice?”

“Here we go.” Reda grins.

“Possibly once, but I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

His buddies laugh then shout out their drink orders—beer, all beer—while he stews.

“You want to make as much as you did this afternoon, you need to work on your flirting.” Lou chuckles.

I hand the dark-haired one back his change, but he shakes his head.

I smile, turning to Lou while holding up the ten-dollar bill. “I think I’ve got it all under control.”

The same group of guys continue coming back to me, waiting longer than necessary.

“What would you say if I asked you to marry me?”

My reply: “Nothing. I can’t talk and laugh at the same time.”

“Haven’t we met before?”

“Yep, I think so.” I nod.

He looks back at his friends and smiles. By the sour looks on their faces, I get the impression he just won some kind of bet.

I can’t let that happen.

“I’m a receptionist at the local STD clinic. Gonorrhea, right?”

They all laugh, and his head hangs low. After I fill his drink order and hand him back his cash, he drops a ten on the bar.

I hear Lou chuckle, and I can’t help laughing, too.

When I see Links and Trucker walk in, I look away so he doesn’t see me smile. As good as that moment, those moments, made me feel, I can’t allow myself to get swept up in a fairy tale that will inevitably be overshadowed by reality that will possibly cause me to crash. I never want to crash.

I steal a glance and see him sitting with the group of guys who have been coming up one by one and tossing lines at me. Then I look away when he glances over and laughs.

“Hey, baby, what’s your sign?”

When I look up and see Links, I roll my eyes. “Do not enter.”

He laughs. “Our win today probably has a lot to do with that. I‘ll take five double Jacks on the rocks.”

I place the glasses on the bar. “To do with what?”

When he laughs again, I look up at him and push the drinks toward him.

“Testosterone build up?” I ask.

He lays a hundred-dollar bill on the bar, and I grab it to make change.

“Keep it.”

I shake my head. “That’s too much.”

“Comes with strings, Keeks.”

I look up at him.

“Don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t hurt who?”

He rolls his eyes and answers, “My brother.”

“Your brother? You mean Trucker?”

He nods.

“I haven’t seen him in a week. How could I hurt him?”

“He’s been busy. Practice, school, avoiding you.”

“Avoiding me?”

“Don’t hurt him.” He winks.

Don’t hurt him? I think as I fill order after order, wondering how the hell it’s even possible to hurt a man like him. A man who was strong enough to be knocked down by an entire line of opponents, sacked twice, once hard enough to knock his helmet clean off his head, yet he still jumped up, looking eager for more.

“I’d really like to get in your pants.”

“No thanks. There’s already one asshole in them.”

I look up to find Trucker laughing.

“Sorry. I thought you were one of them.”

“So, does that mean I can get in your pants?”

“I’m wearing shorts.”

He leans over the bar, brushing his shoulder against mine, and looks down. “And still no bra.”

“Hey.” I nudge him, and he laughs. “You were looking at my shorts.”

“I’m looking at all of you,” he whispers as he leans back.

“What can I get you?”

“Your number,” he says, looking at my eyes, my lips, my boobs. Every part of me he looks at feels as if it’s being caressed.

“Out of minutes.” I shrug.

He lays a fifty on the bar. “Get more.”

When he turns to walk away, I call out his name, and he turns around.

“Great game today.”

A near blinding smile fills his face. “You watched?”

I nod and point to all the TVs.

“Thanks, Little Ray.” Then he looks at me that way again, the way that caresses me. “You want to know what I was thinking when I ran down that field and made the game-winning touchdown?”

I nod, maybe a little too eagerly, because his eyes and smile look at me with amusement as he walks back to me.

My body stiffens as he leans in toward me and whispers in my ear, “The end zone, Ray, was you spread wide for me, and I couldn’t get there fast enough. When I spiked the ball, that was me bringing it home the way I will when that day comes. When you’re ready.” He steps back as my brain scrambles to say something, anything to shoot down the line he just gave me, one I bet he uses on everyone. Then he leans in again and kisses my cheek as he whispers, “But you told me not to hurt you, and right now, I can’t promise that, because all I want to do is own you.”

Stepping back slowly, he gives me a wink that’s just as slow as he reaches between his legs and adjusts himself, just like he did after he spiked the ball. But then he does something else, something different. He holds up four fingers and points at me.

I watch his back as he walks toward the table where all the guys are now cheering. He reaches in the middle of the table, grabs the ever-growing pile of cash, shoves it into his pocket, and then gives them all high-fives.

That son of a bitch just won some sort of twisted bet, one I know without question had everything to do with me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

B’s

Trucker

Leaning against my truck, I wait outside the bar for her to come out. When she does, I yell to get her attention, because after I made my intentions clear to her, she wouldn’t even look at me.

She looks back, her eyes shooting daggers. “Go away, your highness.”

I hurry toward her as she puts the key in the door to the upstairs. Before she turns it, though, I reach around and grab her hand, stopping her.

“Where do you think you’re going, Little Ray?”

“It’s been a long day,” she replies, batting at my hand with her other one.

I don’t let go, not yet. Instead, I spin her around to face me. “It’s gonna be a longer night.”

When she pulls her hand back this time, I let go, because Ray has that I’m-not-playing look on her face. One I have seen used on other guys, but never me.

“Still not trying to fuck you, Little Ray. Just wanted to take you out for breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” she retorts, backing up until her back hits the door.

“I’m starving.” I look down to see her barely B’s starting to pebble.

She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Eyes up here.”

I look up and lick my lips that suddenly feel like the Sahara Desert.

“I’m not a stupid girl. I know what you and your boys were up to tonight. You already won, so why don’t you run along and find the next victim of your childish little games.”

When I smirk, she shoves me. “I’m serious! Just leave me the hell alone.”

“I didn’t come to your bar after a week of fucking my hand, thinking about you, to play a game.”

“Save it, your highness.”

When she starts to turn, I stop her. “I have saved it. Haven’t even allowed anyone to so much as suck my—”

She covers my mouth with her hand. “The truth, Trucker.”

I step back, and she places her hand on her chest.

“I mean …” She shakes her head. “You don’t …” She pauses again, turning her back to me. “Just forget it, okay?”

Jesus, she’s more of a mess than I am.

“You’ve gotten the truth from me, and nothing but. When I walked in tonight and found them all talking about the hot Latin piece of ass behind the bar, I wanted to wreck the place.”

She looks over her shoulder, confused.

“Logan reminded me that you aren’t mine. Reminded me that no one could be, because the truth is I’m gonna do everything I can to go pro and won’t be here after May. Even if I don’t go pro right out of college—”

“You will.” She smiles shyly looking away and nods. “You will.”

“When those fuckers were hitting on you, it pissed me off. But as Logan reminded me, you don’t seem like the type of girl who just wants to fuck, keep for cuddle season, or—”

“Cuddle season?” Amused, she turns fully toward me.

“After football season ends, we like to let shit go. Eat, drink, veg out… you know. We watch pro ball and get chunky and shit. But we still like to fuck.”

She sighs loudly and rolls her eyes.

“You want the truth or bullshit, Little Ray?” I ask.

“The truth.” She nods.

“Some of the guys keep the same chick around until the end of the fall semester. Most because it’s easy ass. We find it lazy as hell, but …” I stop mid-sentence, because what I’m about to say might come off as offensive as fuck, and I don’t want to offend her. I want to own her while I’m here. “I don’t know … A girl like you sure as fuck isn’t easy. You’re no bullshit. And, to be honest, Ray, I’ve never laid eyes on something as fucking perfect as you.” With the hard part over, I take a deep breath and continue, “But I can’t promise you shit.”

She looks down.

“That’s not true. I can promise you the truth, and the best fucking sex you’ve ever had, or ever will.”

“That won’t be hard to beat,” she whispers then looks up at me. “I’ve never—”

“If you’re about to bullshit me, pretend I didn’t even come here. I don’t need you to play the virgin card, Ray. As a matter a fact, you tell me you’re a virgin, I’m gonna walk.”

“Then you better walk.” With that, she turns her back to me again.

“Truth or tale!”

She turns back and looks at me again as she swallows hard and says, “Truth.”

I see it in her eyes. I do. Little Ray, the twenty-one-year-old bartender who can toss lines like she was raised in a fucking truck stop, is a virgin.

And my cock is stone.

“I think I’m gonna come in my pants.” I turn around and walk to my truck. As I open the door, though, I look back at her standing there, looking at me. “You work tomorrow?”

She nods.

“What time?”

“Six to close.”

I look at my phone to see the time. “Gives me nine hours to try to jerk off enough to drain my dick or pull the fucking thing off trying.”

“What?” She laughs.

“Be ready at noon. I won two hundred bucks tonight because of you. I’m taking you out.”

“Trucker, I’m not going to have sex with you,” she says as I get in my truck.

I roll my eyes. “The only person who’s gonna rid you of that cherry is me.”

I shut the door and start the engine. When I start to put it in gear, she runs up to my door.

I roll down the window as she asks, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Did I kick any of their asses tonight for hitting on you?”

She shakes her head.

“That’s because I didn’t drink.”

She smiles, and it’s makes me even harder.

“Ray, get that sexy ass inside or you’re gonna witness an eruption the size of—”

She turns toward the door, unlocking it before stepping inside. Then she looks back at me and waves while I unbutton my pants with one hand and grab tissues out of the glove box at the same time.

When a light turns on above the bar and I see her watching me, I stop my hand from pulling my cock out of my jeans.

“Well, we’re gonna have to take this on the go.”

When I walk into my place, it’s wall to wall ass.

“There he is,” Sarah, a girl I played with last season, comes up and plants one on me. I grab her shoulders and push her away from me.

“What’s wrong, Trucker?” She reaches for my dick, but I step back.

“It’s been drained tonight already,” I tell her, turning around.

“You nailed that hot little ass from Lou’s?” Mitch holds up his hand to high-five me, and I start to see red. “Trucker wins the kitty!”

I grab him by the collar and push him up against the wall. “Talk about her one more fucking time like that, and I will make sure you’re pissing in a bag.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder pulling me back, and I raise my arm to swing on whoever the fuck it is who dared touch me.

“You got a fucking minute, brother?”

I stop myself mid-swing when I see Logan is the one who would have been wearing my fist.

“Come with me.”

I follow him back to his room where he shuts the door behind me.

“You need to chill the fuck out.”

“I need to chill the fuck out?”

“Yeah, you need to chill the fuck out!” he yells back at me. “The guy you just pinned against the wall blocked your ass this afternoon so you didn’t get sacked.”

“It’s his fucking job,” I snap.

“It’s not a job; it’s a fucking choice.”

“He wants to win, it’s his job!”

“That’s not you talking, man. That’s not SU’s captain talking shit about his fucking team. That’s straight-up stupid. And we’ve avoided stupid for years by not letting pussy get in the way of a game.”

He’s fucking right, but I’m pissed, so I hit him where I know it will leave a mark.

“Well, I guess it’s a good fucking thing it wasn’t London Fields he was talking about.”

He looks at me and shakes his head. “You know that’s not even the same.”

“She’s something you want but can’t fucking have. So, yeah, it’s the same.”

“She’s a senior in high school with a father and brother who’d kill me. Plus, I don’t want London.”

“So, we roughed up that kid who asked her to junior prom for what?”

“Because he didn’t deserve her,” he answers, looking away.

“Well, those fucks don’t deserve Ray,” I tell him, and his head snaps back.

“Ray?”

“Fuck,” I sigh out.

“Her name’s Ray now? Or is that a cute, little pet name a week into meeting her? That’s not the Trucker Cohen I know.”

I explain, “She was a bitch to me, so I was fucking with her and called her a ray of sunshine to fuck her back.”

“Freudian slip?”

“Fuck you, man.” I laugh.

“That’s a good damn point, Trucker. You get all frustrated, you fuck with me, not them. They don’t know you like I do. They don’t give a shit if you go pro.” He pokes me in the chest. “So you get pissed, need to vent, let of steam, you fuck with me.”

I laugh. “Freudian slip?”

He sighs. “You know what I mean. I know you and love you. I fucking get you. Those guys, they don’t. But scouts are gonna start coming after the game you played today. They’re gonna watch you and how you work within this team, our fucking team this year. They see anger, hostility, you’re fucked, Trucker. Is that ass worth losing a dream over?”

I shake my head.

“Good. Now go make nice with Mitch. Tell him you are dating her, seeing her, fucking her, or whatever, but end the shit with, I’m sorry for being a dick.”

I scowl at him. “It won’t be honest.”

“Then fake that shit.”

I wake up to a pounding headache and a mouth full of cotton as I roll over to look at the clock. It’s twelve thirty, which means I’m fucking late.

I hit the shower, using the good-smelling shit, skip the shave, and throw on clothes.

Heading out of my room, I see I’m not the only one just waking up. Logan is just walking out of his room, too.

I see one of his regulars walk out of the bathroom and am shocked.

“She stay the night?”

He looks around and sees her. “If she did, she slept on the couch.”

I give him a fist bump.

“Where you heading?” Logan asks as we walk out to the kitchen.

“He’s going to see bar titties.” Downs chuckles.

Everything goes red.

Downs continues, “I swear Lou made her sign a contract. No bra allowed with those fine little things.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear Logan say, “A little respect, man.”

“Respect?” Downs laughs. “This is the pounding palace. We don’t do respect here.”

Logan responds quickly, “Yeah, respect. If that were a friend of mine, or my sister, I sure as fuck wouldn’t want anyone shit-talking her.”

I look at Logan, and he nods to the door. “See you later.”

Turning off my truck, I see it’s twelve forty-five. I’m really fucking late.

I jump out and jog to the door. When I turn the knob, it’s locked.

I knock and wait a few seconds before knocking again, this time louder.

“You lost, Trucker?” I turn to see Lou smoking a cigar with a key ring the size of his hand, walking past me and toward the bar door.

“No, I’m not lost.”

“Warned you not to mess with my girls,” he comments, flipping through the keys.

“Not messing with her. Just taking her to do some shopping.”

“She goes with Reda on Mondays when we’re closed and takes a taxi to the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings.”

I look over at him.

“She’s a nice girl, Trucker. I swear—”

“I know she is. No need to threaten me.”

“Already made the threat once.” He pushes the key into the doorknob. “You hurt her, you’re done on Marshall Street.”

I respect the old man, but he’s stepping over a line. Before I can tell him so, he’s inside the bar and the door is shut.

I knock on the door, louder now. Then I hear Reda.

“She left about half an hour ago, Trucker.”

“You know where she went?”

She cocks her head as she thinks. “Sundays, she goes to Walnut Park for the fresh air yoga class.”

“Harrison Street?” I ask.

She smiles and nods before walking into the bar.

Not wanting to appear too fucking eager, I wait until she’s no longer visible through the window before running to my fucking truck.

“Sunday fucking drivers.” I hit my horn when the car ahead of me is still sitting when the lights green.

When the driver turns around, I feel guilty when I see the white-haired man wearing an Orangeman baseball cap, until he gives me the finger. I’m tempted to give it back, but I don’t.

When I attempt to go around him as we approach the next light, the old fuck crosses the line, driving in both lanes.

“Oh, come on, man!”

By the time I get to 700 Harrison, I am ready to lose my mind, and it’s now five minutes after one.

I see the yoga class and throw the truck in park, jumping out of the vehicle then run to get closer. Then I slow down so I don’t look as much like an idiot as I surely do already.

I look for her in the group, but all I am getting is an ocean of ass in the downward dog position.

I wait for them to face me. And wait and wait.

“Pervert,” I hear and turn to see her standing with her arms crossed, scowling as she looks at her feet and kicks at the dirt. She’s mad, and she has every right to be. But hidden behind the hurt is anger.

“Reda told me you’d be here. Then I got stuck behind an old man driving slow as hell, who …” I stop when I realize I’m rambling like an idiot. “Sorry I’m late. I overslept.”

She takes in a slow breath before looking up at me, shielding her eyes from the sun and cocking her head. “So, what did you want to do?”

I smile at her, and she fights hers, but caves.

Fucking stunning.

We walk to my truck, and I open the door for her.

A smirk hits her lips as she gets in.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re really working this date thing, aren’t you, your highness?”

Before I shut the door, I let her know, “I don’t do anything half-assed, Ray.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Yeah, real cute..

Keeka

“So, yoga, huh?” he asks as he starts his truck. A truck that has no top, which I find fascinating. “Flexibility is always a plus.”

Before I can say anything, he leans closer, putting his arm behind my seat.

“What are you doing?” I ask as his face gets closer and closer to mine.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles.

I take in a slow breath, waiting for what I assume is going to be another kiss, one that has haunted my dreams for a week.

He looks down at my chest. I already know what’s happening. I feel my nipples beginning to ache.

“Gotta ask you something, Ray,” he says slowly, looking back up into my eyes.

I’m afraid to speak, fearing the thickness in my throat will cause him to be even more aware of how attracted I am to him, so I nod slightly.

“Do you ever wear a bra?”

I shake my head.

“That much of a free spirit, huh?” He reaches up and tugs the braid hanging over my shoulder. Then he rubs the ends between two fingers. “Is it because you like the way the fabric of your shirt rubs against them? Is it because you like the attention you gain? Or is it to tease the hell out of all the men, like me, who want your attention?”

I swallow hard as I take in his words, all of which makes my heart thump harder against my chest.

“Truth, Ray.”

I take a deep breath and look away. “When I moved here, I didn’t bring much.”

He nods. “What else did you leave behind? Panties?”

The way he says it sounds like he’s playing with me, so I look at him and, sure enough, he’s smirking.

“Say yes and I’m gonna end up in the same predicament I was in last night. And Ray, it was really fucking hard. Painfully hard. So hard I thought my skin was gonna split.”

“You’re a pervert.” I suck in my lower lip so I don’t laugh.

He sits back and gasps, bringing his hand from behind my seat and producing two white hats. “I was talking about leaving you.”

“Your skin was gonna split because you were leaving me?” I do laugh now.

“Ray, I’m not sure what the hell you’re talking about, but I like the way you think.” He leans over and pulls my braid up, feeding it through the hole in the back of the hat as he puts it on my head. He then uses one finger to lift my chin, looking me over, inspecting me. “Tell me you look like shit when you wake up.”

“I look like shit when I wake up.” I laugh. “And that’s the truth.”

“Good. Because, when I spend the night with you, I wanna be able to leave or kick you out when I have shit to do.”

“Maybe I’ll kick you out because I have shit to do.”

“All you’re gonna be needing to do is rest and recover. I play hard, Ray, and I don’t quit until I fucking win.” He puts the other hat on his head backward then grabs his sunglasses out of the cup holder. Winking at me, he puts them on.

When he hits the gas, I feel the wind pick the hat up off my head. Clamping my hands over it to hold it in place, I can’t help smiling.

He’s smiling, too. Beaming he’s so happy, so very happy. I want to be, too, but the fear I thought I left behind remains in the shadows.

He reaches up and turns on the radio. A song I have heard at the bar a million times plays. “Click Click Boom” by Saliva. It’s loud, but I hear him singing along.

He taps his large thumbs to the beat on the steering wheel, moving his body to it as well. I don’t have to wonder if he can dance. I saw him on the dance floor.

I laugh to myself, thinking about how my mom once told me white boys can’t dance. Clearly, she had been dancing with the wrong ones.

When the song ends, he looks over and holds his hand out to me, palm up. My heart accelerates as I place mine in it.

“That’s what I thought.” He smirks.

“And what’s that?”

“You want me.”

I hold our hands up. “You wanted me. I just complied with your nonverbal request.”

His deep, low chuckle gets drowned out by the next song as he hits the accelerator and heads up the on-ramp to 690 West.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other holding mine, singing, sometimes to himself, others looking at me while he does it. I like that. I like it a lot.

When Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” comes on, I decide to sing along, too. He laughs and begins hamming it up, big time, and I get swept up in the moment.

When he whips the truck into a gas station, laughing, he hits the control on the phone and starts the song again, blasting through the speakers. Then he hops out of the truck without opening the door.

I watch him hurry in front of the truck and am confused when he opens my door, holding his hand out.

“Dance with me.”

I look around to see half a dozen people pumping gas, all turning to look at us.

“No way.” I shake my head profusely.

He reaches in and unbuckles my seatbelt.

“No. No way. Trucker, no!” I squeal as he grabs my waist and lifts me.

“Comply, Little Ray.” He laughs as I squirm. “Ticklish?”

“Oh, my God.” I laugh as he lifts me and twirls me in a circle.

“ ‘Just a small-town girl’,” he sings loudly, drawing more attention.

I cover my eyes and laugh at how ridiculous he’s being, but God how I love it.

“ ‘Just a city boy’,” he sings even louder, and I uncover my eyes to look down into his. “Sing with me, Ray.”

“ ‘He took the midnight train going anywhere’.” I smile at him as I sing.

“Louder, Ray.” He holds me up above him higher now as the guitar solo plays.

“ ‘A singer in a smoky room’,” he continues singing as he lowers me.

When my feet are on the ground, but my head is still on cloud Trucker, he leans down toward me, closing his eyes as he grips my hip with one hand and tips my chin up with the other. He strokes his thumb across my lower lip, and I close my eyes, taking in how good it feels to simply be touched. It has been months, maybe years, since I took comfort in … comfort, before Trucker’s ghost-kiss last week.

I pucker my lips and kiss his thumb as Journey’s beautiful music surrounds me.

He removes the hat from my head, pulling my braid free. When he sets it back on my head backward, I open my eyes.

The timing couldn’t be more perfect as I watch him lean in, eyes closed, until his lips touch mine. It’s not like the ghost-kiss this time. It’s warm, wet, and soft.

I gasp, and he surrounds my lower lip with his, sucking on it gently. When he pulls on it, still sucking, I close my eyes and reach up, placing a hand on each side of his face that has a light dusting of soft hair on it.

When his lips leave mine, I pull him in closer and find his lips again. But this time, I suck his lip, wanting to taste him. I trace it with my tongue, and then … then his lips surround mine as he grips my hip and pulls me closer.

We alternate between pressing our lips together, sucking one another’s flesh, and tasting it, too.

His breaths become more labored, his grip on my hip less gentle, and I pull his face closer to mine.

He pushes his tongue into my mouth and licks inside it as he moans.

Everything is good, better than good. His touch, his taste, his smell … him. Trucker. My first kiss.

When I suck on his lip again, he hisses, “Fuuuuck.”

I open my eyes and lean back, breaking our connection.

“You ever kiss someone else like that, you’re gonna ruin me.”

I shake my head, and he nods slowly.

“I don’t know what the future holds, Ray, but you’re mine until next year.”

I nod and smile, thinking of all the moments like this, ones that feel good and make me smile, ones I will have over the next four months.

“Cuddle season?”

He nods. “Fuck yes.”

When he leans in and kisses me this time, he holds the back of my head and pushes his tongue in harder and more hurried. It feels good, so good.

When we hear horns and applause, he steps back, and we both laugh.

He moves us until the backs of my legs are against the truck. Then he grabs my waist and lifts me onto the seat. “Buckle up, Ray. We need to jet before the self-proclaimed internet reporters blast us all over IG, Twitter, and Facebook.”

He shuts the door and walks around the truck to get in. He doesn’t hold his hand out for me to take this time; he just takes it.

In that moment, I know I will let him take whatever it is he wants from me, just as long as he keeps kissing me like he did seconds ago and keeps smiling.

He pulls into the open parking lot of Destiny USA and turns off the truck.

I reach up to take off the hat.

“Leave it on.” He winks.

“Okay.”

He leans over and grabs the back of my head, pulls me close, and kisses my cheek. Then he takes the hat off, grabs my braid, and feeds it through the hole in the back before pulling it down. He then grabs the cord attached to his phone, unplugs it, puts the cord in the glove box, and locks it. Getting out, he walks around the truck and opens my door, unbuckling my belt before taking my hand. “Let’s go.”

Walking into the mall, he holds my hand a little tighter and pulls me a little closer. Everyone we walk by looks at us.

“Told you the hat was a good idea.”

I nod and point to the sunglasses. “Maybe they’re looking at us because we look like we’re in disguise.”

“Nah, they just wish they could be us.”

Us? What does us mean? I think as we step onto the escalators and ride up.

When we step off, he leads the way. I have no idea where we are going, and I don’t care.

When we walk into Victoria’s Secret, I hesitate.

“Ray, if I hear one of my teammates talk about your perfect little tits again, I’m gonna end up beating the hell out of them, and then they’ll let me get pummeled on the field.”

“I didn’t bring my wallet. And if I did, I’d be in a store that cost a lot less for a bra than this one.”

He looks down at me. “Your tits should be in satin or lace. This place will have to do.”

When I pull my hand back, he looks at me.

I didn’t want him buying me gifts, not like the men who came in and out of my mom’s bedroom did for her.

“I don’t have my wallet.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “We won enough last night to get you a few.”

“You won—”

“We, Ray.” He squeezes my hand gently. “We won it.”

Walking behind him, I look around, feeling completely out of place.

When he asks me what size, I tell him the truth.

“I don’t know.”

A look of confusion crosses his face, but it fades quickly as he looks around. “I could measure them with my hands, but that’d be a little inappropriate in public.” He winks then looks around, catching the eye of a sales associate. “Can you measure her?”

I look toward the door, trying to judge how long it will take me to run out and never look back. But when he grips my hand, I look at him and realize, if I did that, I wouldn’t get four months to look at him, see him smile, feel his full, soft lips against mine.

Inside the dressing room, I’m internally freaking out. What have I gotten myself into?

“You can take your shirt off.” She smiles pleasantly at me. I must look terrified, because she continues, “Your bra can stay on.”

And now I want to drop to the floor, crawl past the nearly six-foot-tall … in heels, perfectly put-together blonde, slide out from under the dressing room door, become invisible, and run, never looking back.

She smiles again. “I’ve seen boobs before.”

“Well”—I cross my arms in front of myself, grab the hem of my shirt, and lift it over my head—“here are two more.”

“Wow, they are so cute!”

Kill me now, I think as I close my eyes, and she begins to measure me.

“Your boyfriend is—”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I interrupt.

“Oh, well, is he …?” she trails off, and I open my eyes.

“Is he what?”

She whispers, “Are you a professional?”

“Did you just ask me if I’m a hooker?”

Her face turns bright red. “I’m not judging. I watched Pretty Woman and thought it was a beautiful—”

“You thought wrong.” I close my eyes again. “Can we just finish this up?”

Thankfully, it only takes a couple of seconds more.

“All set,” she says as she jots down a number on a piece of paper while I hurriedly put my shirt back on.

When we walk out of the dressing room, she tells him, “Twenty-eight B.”

He nods and takes my hand, walking past the sale racks and to the corner where all the prettiest ones hang against the wall. He grabs four very quickly. All lace, all different colors. Then he walks to a table where underwear sits.

“Extra small?” he asks, and I nod.

He grabs four pair, all matching the colors of the bras, and all thongs.

“I’m going to wait outside.”

He looks at me, puzzled.

“This just isn’t me.”

“It’s a bra store, Ray. It’s a hell of a lot more you than it is me.” He pulls me behind him. “Go look around; see if there’s something you like better than these.”

The bench outside, I think as he lets go of my hand and leaves me standing there while he walks over to a rack of sexy nighties. When he turns around and holds up a white lace number that looks like scraps of material, I just look at him.

He holds it against his body and smiles. “Would this make my butt look big?”

I look around and meet the green eyes of the sales associate who thinks I’m a hooker, and then I back at him. As his smile melts away some of the insecurities, I nod.

He shrugs. “Well, damn.” Then he turns around and keeps looking.

I’m standing in the middle of a store that sells beautiful girlie items and feel so out of place.

Blend, I tell myself, just like you had to learn to at the bar.

I look around and allow myself to consider buying things like these on my own one day.

My wardrobe consists of black shorts, my work shirts, workout attire with built-in bras, a few pairs of leggings, two hoodies, ridiculous socks that are fluffy and feel good on my feet, one pair of white canvas, no-name sneakers, a few pair of sandals, and one pair of Ugg knock-off boots that Shakeeka bought me. All mom-approved, no frills, natural beauty enhancing items.

I naturally gravitate to a rack of athletic type clothes and grab a black pair of jogging pants. When I see the price tags of seventy-three dollars and ninety-nine cents, I look for something that makes them better than the ones at Walmart that I paid under ten dollars for. Splayed across the butt is the word PINK.

I laugh to myself, thinking people must be nuts to spend that kind of money for a black pair of pants that are covered with the word of an entirely different color. Then I set them back on the rack.

I look around for Trucker and don’t see him. For a brief second, I panic. Will he find me? Then I realize how stupid that makes me sound and feel.

I’m not a little girl who’s lost. I’m not depended on by someone else anymore. And the way Trucker looks at me doesn’t give me the feeling or impression he would be a guy who would leave a girl standing in the middle of a store with no intention of coming back.

Those are old feelings, Brooklyn feelings. I’m not that girl anymore.

When I see him walking out from the farthest section back, he’s smiling at me while carrying a pink and black striped bag.

I shake my head from side to side, unable to help catching the Trucker effect. That smile could cure cancer, and his highness seems to know it.

Done. Totally done. For four months, I remind myself.

He grabs my hand with the one not holding a bag of … intimate apparel, and then we walk out the door.

CHAPTER NINE

So Cute

Trucker

“Wow, they are so cute?” I look down at her, and she gives me a sideways glance. “Tell me; was she talking about your barely B’s?”

She gives me an elbow but doesn’t respond. Her face is turning pink, and I love—no, like—it when I cause that to happen, so I sure as hell won’t back down.

“Well?”

“We’ve established they are actually B’s, so you can cut the barely, your highness.”

I can’t help laughing.

She looks away, and I see the corner of her eyes crinkle. I don’t like it, not one bit.

“What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head.

“I want the truth, Ray.” And I want a smile, not the blank expression she so easily switches from.

She gives out a loud sigh and shakes her head. “Apparently, she thinks I’m a hooker.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “What the fuck did you just say?”

She looks around like she always does.

“Ray, that pisses me off almost as much as what that big-tittied, bleached-out, saggy ass, wannabe Cover Girl bitch called you.”

I stop when she smiles. She smiles really big, too. A smile I could just lie there and soak up. Hell, I have been for a week now.

I shake my head. “Don’t sidetrack me with sunshine, Ray. Give me the truth, or I’ll go back in there and—”

I stop when she puts her finger over my lips. “Shh … Okay, fine. She called you my boyfriend. I corrected her by saying you weren’t. She likes the movie Pretty Woman.” Her nose scrunches up when she says the name of the movie, like it disgusts her.

“She likes a movie, so she assumes you’re a fucking—.”

Again, she puts her finger over my lips. “Look at me, Trucker. Then look in the mirror. I mean, seriously.”

“You look like the farthest thing from a fucking hooker I have ever seen. You’re naturally beautiful. You don’t show off your barely …” I stop and hold up the bag. “Your B’s.”

She smiles softly, almost sadly, and I wonder if anyone has ever told her how fucking gorgeous she is.

“You need to look in the mirror, Ray, and see shit straight, not by the way of bitches who would drop their panties for free just to have my cock tear them apart.”

We stand there, looking at each other, her eyes smiling. Those fucking eyes are everything. God. Damn. What is it about her?

I feel a tug on my shirt and turn to look down at a kid, maybe five or six years old, holding a pen and a receipt of some sort.

He lifts his chin. “Sup?”

I give him the same look and ask, “Sup with you?”

He throws his thumb over his shoulder, toward a man with brown hair. “My pops thinks you’re Trucker Cohen.”

“He does, does he?”

He nods again. “I don’t. Trucker looks bigger on TV.”

I cock my head and look down at the little shit as I hear Ray giggle.

“Anyway, if you are, you wanna sign this for my pops?”

I reach down and take the receipt and pen. “You ‘Cuse fans?”

“Heck no. We love Pitt. SU tanks.”

Little fucker.

I stop signing and look down at him. “Then, why the hell would you want my autograph?”

“Trucker,” Ray whispers, warning me to check the temper she clearly knows I have.

I don’t like kids, but she sure as hell doesn’t need to think I’m a monster because of it. I’m not. I just don’t like the little shits.

“ ’Cause Pops said, if you keep playing like you did yesterday, you’ll probably get drafted. Then we’ll have your rookie signature and be able to sell it.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Snot-nosed little bastard.

He shrugs. “A man walked on the moon, right?”

I wanna kick his dad’s ass in front of him.

“Trucker,” she whispers again.

I scribble on the paper then hand it back to him. “Tell your pops, when he sells it, he should buy you some manners.”

He snatches it out of my hand and huffs at me, “Okay, fool.” Then he runs away while Ray tugs my arm so I don’t go after his little ass.

“Come on; people are staring,” she says, clearly amused.

“Can you believe that little shit?” I ask, following her.

“Hey! Hey, Trucker Cohen!” I hear Mr. Manners yell from behind us.

“How fast can you run?” I ask as I pick up the pace.

“Why?”

“HEY!” the demon kid yells.

“That’s why.” I laugh.

We run to the escalator and down them, all while that damn kid yells my name. I hear her behind me.

“Pardon us. Excuse me. Oops, sorry.”

I can’t help laughing as we run out of the mall and toward my truck.

I open the door for her, and she jumps in. Then I run around the truck, pulling out my keys. Inside, I start it up.

“Buckle up, Ray. We need to get the hell out of here.”

“What did you do?” She asks while laughing as we peel out.

“Fuck!” I can’t help laughing when I see the kid and his dad running toward us.

I slam on the brakes, throw it in reverse, and then hit the gas. When there’s room, I crank the wheel, head us in the opposite direction, and floor it.

“Trucker! There’s a big curb. Big. Curb.”

I glance over and make sure she’s buckled. She is.

“This is a big truck. Big. Truck. Hang on, babe.”

When we hit the cement, she lets out a squeal, grabs the ‘Oh shit’ handle, then starts laughing again. She has the cutest laugh I have ever fucking heard. Not fake, not forced or practiced. It’s real. It’s genuine. It’s … her.

Holding her hand, I weave in and out of traffic as the fresh air mixes with her scent, along with the sun blasting down on us while music plays loudly. She’s smiling, beaming … squinting.

I pull my spare key out of my wallet and hand it to her. “Grab the sunglasses out of the glove box.”

When she opens it, I look over. “Right … there.”

She laughs. “Next to the five boxes of condoms?”

“After what we just went through, I’m gonna wrap it with every one of those fucking things so I never have one of my own.”

She laughs as she asks, “What did you write?”

“I signed my name on the damn receipt,” I say, trying not to smile.

“Truth.” She laughs. “Truth, Trucker Cohen!”

I was beginning to like your highness, but the familiarity, the pure joy in the way she says my name, trumps that of any other female I have spent time with moaning, Fuck me, Trucker.

“Spill it.”

“Your attitude sucks as bad as your team and your loyalty to ‘Cuse Nation. Sell that.”

She laughs out loud, from the bottom of her belly, and shakes her head. “That’s not nice.”

“That, Keeka …” I pause and laugh when I realize I don’t know her last name. “What the hell is your last name?”

“Garcia Lopez.”

Someone stirs in my pants. Boom. “That’s fucking sexy.”

Thankfully, we are at a stop light, because I have to have those lips.

I lean over. She’s already turned the hat around so I have immediate access. As soon as my lips touch her soft, plump, sexy as fuck lips, a little burst of hot, sweet breath escapes, and I realize it’s like fucking heroin to a junky, something I crave. Thankfully, I have a four-month pass to it.

I suck on her lower lip, and then both. I lick them and suck them again before a horn is blown and she pulls back, eyes closed, smiling.

“What are you smiling about, Keeka Garcia—”

“Ray. I like when you call me Ray.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, if you keep letting me feast on you.”

To that, her eyes pop open and fuck if she doesn’t smile.

God. Damn.

Sitting on the blanket I grabbed from my truck, I watch her nibble on a damn Big Mac. “You’re lovin’ it, huh?”

She smirks and nods. “Haven’t eaten one of these things in forever.”

I look up at the sky. “I tell her pick anything, and she wants to go through the McDonalds’ drive-through.”

“No drive-throughs in New York.”

“You lived in the city?”

She nods and continues, “It’s the special sauce.” She takes another bite then licks the “special sauce” off her lips.

“I have something better.”

“You got a chicken sandwich.” She rolls her eyes, totally missing what the special sauce is that I’m talking about.

“Still can’t believe you wanted this shit.” I lean down, resting my head on my elbow.

“It was always a treat.”

“Eat at home a lot?”

She nods as she takes another mouse-sized bite then licks her lips again. Boom notices. “Organic, whole foods. Not this poison.” She laughs and holds it up.

“What’s your mom? A doctor or something?” I bite into my sandwich.

She shakes her head. “Just very health-conscious.”

“She’d die if she saw you McLovin’ that thing.”

I see her trying not to smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing at all.” She looks up and shakes her head.

“Come on, Ray; truth.”

She’s thinking, trying to figure out the truth.

“Truth doesn’t require a lot of thought.”

“When you’re trying to spare feelings, it does.”

“My feelings or your mom’s?” I laugh.

She laughs softly. “You’re not making this easy at all.”

“Spill it.”

She scrunches up her nose. “She’s dead.”

Talk about feeling like a fucking idiot.

“Jesus, Ray, I’m sorry.”

She laughs. “You didn’t know that. And you’re right; if she was alive and saw me eating this, she might toss herself over a bridge or something.” She lies back, looking up at the sky.

“Ray, seriously, I’m sorry.”

“See? Sometimes the truth is hard.”

“Didn’t mean to make it hard.”

“I’m talking about it’s hard for you. I lived it. I’m good. I literally packed a bag and hopped a train to get away from the memories, to start over, you know?” I nod, and she smiles. “It made you uncomfortable, and I don’t want that. I’m having more fun than I’ve had in … forever. I just want to enjoy moments and not relive bad memories.” She rolls to her side and props her head up on her hand like mine is. “The truth is, Trucker; even when you’re running into me, acting like royalty, getting me called a hooker, or bullying little kids—”

“Hey, he started that shit.” I smile like she is.

She leans forward, licking her lips. Then she plants one on me. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s the first time she’s done it.

When she pulls back, she nods. “Moments, Trucker. Moments that are happy. I just want to be happy.”

I nod, knowing exactly what she means. Endless fucking falls. Then I kiss her back, not as soft as she did me.

When my phone vibrates in my pocket, she starts to pull back from our kiss.

“Fuck it,” I say then kiss her harder.

I roll onto my back, pulling her on top of me. The weight of her feels less than when I’m suited up to play ball. When I run my hands up her sides, I can actually feel her fucking ribs.

“I’m gonna feed you McDonalds until you’re fat.”

She laughs against my mouth then licks my lips. “This will do.”

I hear a little girl’s voice ask, “Mommy, what are they doing?”

“Oh, my God!” a woman gasps.

Ray laughs as she rolls off me and starts gathering the wrappers, shoving them in the bag.

“You see why I don’t like kids?” I laugh, sitting up and helping her. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We run to the truck, her hands full of McDonalds’ trash and mine full of the SU blanket we were sitting on.

I throw the blanket in the back then open the door for her to climb in.

“Hot damn, Ray,” I say on a laugh, closing the door.

“What?” she asks after I run around the front of the truck and jump in.

“You may be a tiny little thing, but you got an ass that is like boom.”

“Like boom, huh?” she asks as I start the truck.

“Can’t wait for you to meet Boom,” I whisper under my breath.

“What?”

I look over and can’t help smiling. “Nothing, Ray, nothing at all.”

“Tell me.” She reaches over and grabs my hand.

I pull her hand up and kiss it. “When the moment’s right.”

“What happened to truth?”

“Truth based on facts, Ray. Feelings and shit. We can keep thoughts, like very private thoughts I may have about your ass, to ourselves.”

Her eyebrows rise, and her cheeks pinken.

I’m McLovin’ it.

A block before her place, I pull over and hand her my phone. “Call yourself so I have your number.”

She looks at me.

“What? I can kiss you, hang out with you, but I can’t have your number?”

“Is it bad that I don’t know it?”

I shake my head in answer as I reach over and open the glove box, grabbing an old envelope and a pen, jotting down my number.

She looks at it and laughs. “Did you pay for your jersey number to be a part of your phone number?”

“Didn’t have to pay, Ray. Just batted my eyelashes. The chick at the cell shop did a search of 2121. Just so happened to be available.”

“Just had to bat your lashes, huh?” She bats hers, and I lean in and kiss her forehead.

My phone blasts off again. I grab it and look. Logan’s called three times.

“That Links?”

I nod.

“You should call him back.”

“I have twenty minutes more with you. He can wait.”

I start to set the phone down when it sounds off again.

“Apparently not.”

“Apparently not,” I agree, hitting accept.

“What’s up?”

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Logan sighs.

“What are you talking about?”

“The kid at Destiny?”

“He was an asshole.” I look at Ray, who cocks her head to the side like a puppy when you say walk or treat. I reach out and scratch behind her ear, and she scrunches up her face.

“Well, the asshole sent a tweet saying, Trucker Cohen, number 21 from ‘Cuse, says Pitt sucks and posted a picture.”

I laugh out loud. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Bro, it’s not fucking funny. They’ll be all over you at next week’s game.”

“So?”

She cocks her head again, so I scratch behind the other ear. She bats my hand away.

“You can’t say another team sucks.” He’s trying to scold me, but I know him. He’s cheesing.

“You said there’s a picture. Read what I wrote, Links. Never said Pitt sucks, even though they do.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“You love me, regardless.” I laugh.

“No fucking way,” Logan gasps.

“What?” I ask, cocking my head like she did.

She scratches behind my ear.

I move the phone away from my mouth. “You’re quick, Ray.”

“Remember that, your highness.”

I wink, returning the phone to my ear and catching the tail end of what he said.

“Can you believe that shit?”

“What shit?”

“Are you fucking listening to me, man?”

“Kind of, sort of.” I smile at Ray.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just get on Twitter. You’re tagged all over that shit.”

“Will do. Love you, man. And by the way, your ass better be working overtime to protect your boy on Saturday.”

“Such a dick,” he mumbles before hanging up.

I look at my phone, hit the app, search my name, and then laugh. “That little asshole.”

“What?” She leans in, and I show her. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, keep reading. Pitt is giving them sideline seats for being loyal fans.”

“Wow, he must be super excited.” She smiles and sits back as I scroll and I read the shit outloud.

“At bombshell replied: He’s not that much of a dick. He bought his … friend some sexy undergarments from #VictoriasSecret #DestinyUSA #CUSENATION. At PITT replied: Those were for him #crossdressingQB. What the fuck!”

I look at her, and then we both start laughing.

I scroll down and see a picture of her and me running out of the park.

@jesuslovesmoms: His morals are questionable.

I hold it up and show her, “What the hell?” I laugh, but she doesn’t

I look over to see she is looking down when my phone rings. Logan again.

“What?” I laugh.

“You just made her the most sought-after piece of ass on campus, Trucker. She down for that?”

“That shit’s not funny, man.”

“No, it’s not, because it’s about the game, Trucker. You wanna fuck Shakira, the hot little Latino bartender, you better keep it behind closed doors. I know you’ve been acting like an idiot because of her. I don’t need to break up fights or to do this shit alone. You want pro, keep it pro.”

“Later.” I hang up then lean back, letting out a slow, held breath.

“Would you be offended if I said we need to keep kind of quiet?” I don’t even want to look at her. I don’t want to see the disappointment or hurt—none of that shit.

“I don’t want my picture blasted all over the internet, or for all those girls you’re with when you’re not with me causing issues at my job. I like hanging out with you,” she whispers. “Kissing you. But like I said, I’m really trying to live each moment I can just being happy, Trucker.”

“You think I’m playing with anyone else?”

She shrugs. “Just make our moments fun like today. When it’s no fun for you anymore—”

“I’ll make them fun as fuck, Ray. But what the fuck do you mean other girls? You wanna hang with other guys, let me know. I’ve turned down ass after ass since I met you.”

“I don’t, but—”

“No buts, Ray.” I take her chin and turn her face toward me. “Cuddle season, Ray.”

“And before that?”

“From now through that. Who the fuck knows what’s after?”

She smiles then wraps her hand around my wrist. “You’re going pro.”

I nod. “You bet that hot little body I’m gonna be.”

“I know you are.” She leans in and kisses me. Then she whispers, “I know.”

CHAPTER TEN

On the ledge

Keeka

Trucker calls the bar, and when I answer, he asks for my damn number so he can text me goodnight.

“I’ll grab a card tomorrow.” I laugh.

He sighs. “You okay? Not freaked out by your picture on the internet?”

“I’m good.” I yawn as I wipe down the spot on the bar that’s already clean. “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay. We’re going to crush Pitt on Saturday. The entire team is high as hell over what this little shit did. It’s actually cool.”

“That’s great, Trucker.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Let me take you to get that card tomorrow, first thing in the morning, before classes start.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle walking five blocks to the cell shop.”

“Who’s your carrier?”

“My what?”

“Carrier. Verizon, AT&T, Sprint?”

“The one with the T.”

“You better have unlimited text or some plan that lets AT&T messages come in by the boat load. I wanted to text you like a hundred times already tonight.”

I swear my heart smiles. “I’ll have to see.”

“Speaking of seeing … When am I gonna see you again?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Keeka, I seem to be empty.”

“Give me just a second, Gary,” I tell him then whisper to Trucker, “I gotta go.”

“Who’s Gary?”

“A regular.”

“How regular?” His voice is deeper.

“I’ll message you sometime tomorrow.”

“You remember my number?”

How could I forget?

“Twenty-one, twenty-one.”

“Remember cuddle season. Fuck … pre-cuddle season, Ray. I’m your number one, not Gary.”

“Ew.” I laugh. “He’s … old.”

“Good. See you later, Ray.”

“See you later, your highness”

I hang up the phone and put it back on the bar. “Same thing, Gary?”

“Same thing, doll.”

My figurative toes are just touching the clouds. I’m on my tippy-toes. Closer to the sun. I’m practically floating on air. New, clean, fresh air that Trucker Cohen has breathed into my lungs.

I sit with my legs crossed on the rooftop ledge and look down at my sketchpad. I haven’t drawn since I left Brooklyn behind.

It’s a picture of the Dome, from memory of course, because aside from the flashlight sitting next to me and the few stars visible in the sky, it’s pitch-dark.

It’s also one o’clock in the morning.

A knocking sound disrupts me, and I look down. It’s Trucker.

“Hey,” I yell down, and he looks up. “Bar’s closed.”

“Ray, what the hell are you doing up there? Jesus, you’re gonna fall.”

“I’m fine.” I set my sketchpad down and stand. “See? Nothing to it.”

“I’m gonna kick the damn door in and drag your ass inside if you don’t get down, right the fuck now.”

I stand on one foot.

“Stop fucking around.” He points an angry finger at me.

I set my foot down, and it slips on the sketchpad.

“RAY!”

“I’m fine,” I say when I get my balance back.

He grabs my sketchpad off the ground where it fell. “I’m not, so get the hell off that ledge and get your ass down here.”

“It’s late.” I smile. God, I have smiled so much lately that my face is starting to hurt.

“I swear I’ll kick it in. Then Lou will call the cops, and you’ll be all over the paper as the girl who drove me crazy enough to show up at one in the morning because I can’t text you.”

“That’s kind of sweet, you know.”

“Then be sweet back, Ray. Get off the damn ledge.”

I look down at him, illuminated by the street light. He’s model perfect.

“Please, Ray, for me?”

How can I say no to please?

I jump back and land on the rooftop, because there’s no way I can.

Downstairs, when I open the door, he immediately takes my hand and holds it over his chest. “Feel this?”

His heart is beating a million miles an hour.

I nod.

“You scared the fuck out of me.”

“You’re afraid of heights?”

“No, but I’m deathly afraid of the fall. Of you falling. Don’t do that shit again, okay?”

I look away because I will do it again. I always do.

“Ray, seriously, especially not when no one’s around. Not cool.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He looks down at my drawing. “This is good. Real good.”

“Lemme see.” I pull it away from him to look at it.

“Did you draw it?”

I nod.

“Then, why do you need to see it?”

“It was dark up there.” I shield my eyes from the light above him as I look up at him.

“You gonna ask me to come in?”

I shake my head. “It’s kind of a mess.”

“I came all this way, and you’re gonna deny me?”

I nod.

“I live with four other guys; messes don’t bother me.”

He’s not going to give up, and honestly, if we are going to continue to hang out, he’s going to see it someday.

“Just remember it’s temporary. Someday, I’ll be able to afford a bigger place.”

“Ray, I came to see you.” He steps back and grabs a bag. “Besides, I can’t have this thing in the truck when I have a vehicle full of guys getting in it when we hit the gym at seven in the morning.”

“How could I have forgotten those?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t want old Gary staring at my tits another night without some coverage.” He looks down. They are already hard.

“I swear this only happens when you’re …” I stop when I think about how desperate that sounds.

He takes my hand and pulls it toward his … Oh shit.

“May I?”

I nod slowly as he pulls my hand to his obvious erection.

“This only happens when that does. You drive me fucking crazy, Ray.”

And now, I’m touching a dick. A very hard, very big dick. And what’s worse is that his hand isn’t even on mine anymore and I’m still touching it.

“You like what you’re feeling?” His breath is labored, lower, heated.

I nod.

He closes his eyes. “You gonna take your hand off it or you gonna wait until I come all over myself?”

I don’t move, feeling it thicken beneath my touch.

“Fuck, Ray,” he hisses, right before he wraps his arm around me, picks me up, and instructs, “Wrap ’em around me.”

I try to reach between us, so I can feel what I do to him again.

Through his teeth, he hisses, “Ray, your legs, babe.”

“Oh, my bad.” I bury my head in his neck as I wrap my legs around him.

He palms my ass and groans, then starts up the stairs. “You’re so fucking hot.”

I grab his face with both hands and kiss him like I want him to kiss me again. I kiss him like he’s mine because, for four months, he is.

He drops the bag at the door as he pushes my back against it. Then he opens it.

“We keeping this PG or are we a go?” He kisses my neck, and my head falls back.

“13,” I whimper. “PG-13.”

He sighs as he nips my earlobe. “Okay.” Then he sets me on my feet.

“PG-13 involves kissing and maybe some heavy petting, right?”

“Give me a damn minute. And fuck, Ray, don’t say heavy petting unless you’re ready for it.”

“I am.”

He turns around and growls as he leans forward with his hands on his knees. His ass in workout pants is … mouthwatering.

I wipe my mouth, fearing I may have actually drooled on myself.

“You okay?”

“This is the part where I blow it all over myself if you say one more word.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Don’t be fucking sorry, Ray,” he sighs out. “Just … fuck, you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve seen my share of porn.”

“Ray,” he hisses. “What the fuck?”

“My mom’s boyfriends used to leave the TV on, and I’d go shut it off and see all sorts of things.” I laugh.

“Well, I can assure you, you haven’t seen it all. I’ve got moves a porn star would be envious of.”

I laugh. “Sure you—”

He looks back at me from over his shoulder, his eyes telling me without even saying the word that he’s telling the truth.

I snap my mouth shut. “I’ll be quiet.”

He nods then looks away. After a couple of minutes, he stands up.

I hate that I mentioned pornos. They actually disgust me. I hate that I gave him the wrong impression.

“I don’t like pornos.”

“I see that.” He laughs.

“I don’t. They’re kind of gross. I guess I was just doing what felt right, good. You know, following my body’s—”

“Ray,” he sighs, leaning down again.

“Sorry. I just really like the way you make me feel.”

When he stands up and turns around, I can’t help looking down. “You’re big. Like really—”

“Yeah, I know. And I really like the way you make me feel, too.”

I nod and finally take a deep breath, looking around. “So, this is my place.”

I watch as he looks around, glad he doesn’t look disgusted.

“It’s nice.” He walks over to the crate table I put an old door on and painted and swipes his finger across it. “Clean, too.” Then he takes a deep breath and crosses his arms.

“I know it may not look like much.”

“It’s not much, Ray.” He chuckles, and I immediately feel self-conscious. He turns and looks at me. “But if it’s everything you need to be happy …”

I nod and smile.

“Then it’s perfect.” He leans back on the table.

“Oh, you should be—”

Too late. The door falls backward, and so does Trucker.

“Are you okay?”

He laughs as he stands up. “I’m good.”

“I’ve been meaning to, like, attach it. It’s just …” I blow out a breath and look up. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know.” He smiles, a very different smile. It’s sweet. It’s a smile that one would give a child to. But he doesn’t like kids, and I sure as hell don’t want him to think I’m one. I’m not. Never have been.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper, looking away.

“Like what?” He walks over and takes my hand before pulling me toward the bed then stops. “This thing secure?”

I nod. “It’s a real frame, box spring, and mattress.”

He smirks. “A frame and a box spring?”

I look away, because now, now I wish I hadn’t let him in.

He grips my chin and makes me look back at him. “I had a mattress.”

I nod.

“No, Ray. I had a mattress on the floor, in a double-wide trailer. I didn’t have a frame or a box spring. I didn’t have shit, actually.”

“Truth?” I whisper.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. It made me hungrier. It made me want to fight harder. It made me who I am today.”

I smile, but he doesn’t.

“Did you have a nice childhood, Ray?”

I look up. “I had just enough. I assume that’s the case with you as well?”

He nods. “I knew there was something different about you. Something so familiar in your eyes. Something that made me look at you and think she’s truly fucking different. Something special.”

“Special all right,” I try to joke.

He shakes his head sternly. “Don’t do that.”

My voice cracks a bit when I say, “Okay.”

“My best friend and his father are the reasons I fell in love with a sport.”

“Logan Links?”

He nods. “I owe them so much, yet they wouldn’t take it if I offered.”

“They sound like Shakeeka’s family.”

He tilts his head to the side, and I smile and reach up, scratching behind his ear. He takes my hand and kisses it.

“Is she your Logan?”

I shake my head. “Kind of my mom’s. She was her best friend.”

“So, you were named after her?”

I nod. I hate deceiving him.

“My past is the reason I fight to be one of the best on the field. My future is why I will make damn sure I stay that way.”

“That’s kind of beautiful, you know.”

His eyes smile. “What are you fighting for, Ray?”

“Happiness, finally being able to figure out who I am with a mother who’s …” I stop mid-sentence.

Shit, shit, shit, now what?

“It’s okay.” He reaches out and pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. “I’m kind of envious that you were that close to your mother. Me and mine are far from close.”

“How about your dad?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his massive, hard body.

“He’s a hard worker, but there’s no balance in his life. Mom kind of fucked him up. Your dad?”

I look up at him. “Never knew him.”

“That’s fucked up. How does a parent have a kid out there whose mom died and doesn’t reach out? I should find him and kick his ass.”

“Trucker?”

“Seriously, Ray. He’d love you if he met you just once. If he didn’t, I’d kill him.”

I can’t help laughing, the Shakeeka coming out of me.

“Think I’m joking?”

“Trucker, he’s dead.”

When his face falls, I push my forehead against his chest and laugh again.

“Truth?”

“Yeah.”

“Christ, that’s twice today. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t worry about it. I survived. And Trucker?”

“Yeah, Ray?” He rubs my back.

“Can we never talk about our past again? I want to live—

“In the moment,” he finishes my sentence.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dizzy

Trucker

I wake up with arms and legs wrapped tightly around me. I look down to see she’s still sleeping, and my fucking arms are just as tight around her. I have no idea what came over me last night—to just show up here. Looking at her, though, I don’t regret it. Knowing her on a deeper level is cool, but it scares the fuck out of me.

Four months promised to a girl, and I can’t go four minutes without thinking about. A girl who’s been through some shit and seems stronger than me at times. Times when I get insanely jealous, way over the top protective, and needy as fuck. I would reach down to see if I was wet, but I can feel Boom and the boys are swinging heavy.

I get pissed when I think about Gary, whoever the fuck he is, and guys like him. It’s dangerous. Really fucking dangerous. I need to make sure, whatever the fuck happens at the end of our four months, she’s happier than she is right now. Not sure if that’s possibly because I’m not sure if she always sleeps with the most adorable smile on her face, but she better still have one when the season is over. I need to make sure she’s good. Better than good. And I hope, maybe even pray, that five or, hell, even twenty years down the road, when she’s found her “football,” her passion, she and I may run into each other again.

“What the fuck are you thinking?” I ask myself.

Girls think shit like that, not men. Well, not me anyway.

I glance over at the old-school, wind-up alarm clock on her little crate she uses for a bedside table. It’s five in the morning, and we stopped talking and kissing at three thirty.

I close my eyes and try to shut off … every-damn-thing about her.

Little Ray, my ass. She’s as big as the moon in my head. Big Ray, with the bare-naked B’s. I laugh at myself then stop right quick when I think of those asshole roommates of mine talking about her, saying the same shit I’m saying … But she’s not theirs.

“You’re mine,” I whisper then kiss the top of her head.

Mine when we get our schedules to mesh. Which I suppose we did last night. She has Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays off. She works when I’m out of school, so seeing her is going to be a pain in the ass, but we both think it’s a good thing. It will keep us excited to see each other when we can.

Fuck. I’m lying here, wrapped up in her, and I’m excited to see her again when I haven’t even fucking left.

Stop being a bitch, I tell myself. Just. Fucking. Stop.

Christ, I like this girl, and she fucking likes me, too.

“Trucker?” she whispers.

“Yeah?” I whisper back.

“Thanks for staying.” She yawns. “Feels good to be held.”

“It does.”

She opens her eyes and looks up at me.

Fucking gorgeous.

“You lied to me.”

“What?” She cocks her head, and I give the spot behind her ear a little scratch. She smiles.

“You lied. You look just as damn beautiful in the morning as you do every other time I see you.”

Still smiling, she closes her eyes. “I didn’t lie. It gets ugly after a full eight hours. Trust me.”

I walk down the street with a smile on my face, heading toward the twenty-four-hour parking lot I left my truck in. I didn’t want to park out in front of her place because that little asshole was still twittering.

When she and I were lying next to each other, me waiting for my dick to stop pulsing and my balls to stop tightening, we checked it out.

She told me she was sorry, and then licked those lips and looked down. I told her she would be if she kept it up. I have a damn good idea that she’s game for go whenever I say the word. I’m not sure why the fuck I’m holding off but being pent up worked out really well at last week’s game.

Before I left, I added minutes to her phone. Fucking thing was so old-school I expected to open it and see a rotary dial. I want to text her now and tell her that, when we win against Pitt on Saturday and I come back from PA, she can give me a treat. But I kind of like her calling the shots.

I also kind of like the buildup and let down, which is so fucked up, but it’s different. Definitely different.

Apparently, PG-13 to Ray is dry humping and hand over clothes groping. That shit was PG-10 in my book.

Head in the game, Trucker, I tell myself as I pick up my pace to get to my ride, Boom.

Before I left, I messaged Logan to see if he had room for the guys, and he said they could run or pile in the back. It’s seven in the morning, and I’m dog-ass tired but heading to the gym. If Logan gives me shit, I’ll let him know I got it handled. Then I’ll show his ass.

Fuck, I smell like her. I slow down my pace as I think, maybe I will go back and show her my version of PG-13.

I look back, contemplating just that. Then I remind myself, head in the game.

When I walk into the gym, Logan looks over at me as I get on the treadmill beside him.

“When it’s so good you sneak out the back door to get it.”

“Haven’t gotten it yet.” I wink.

He stops dead in his tracks and has to grab the handles to stop his dumb ass from falling off. Then he starts laughing, and so do I. Him at me, and me at him, both for two totally different reasons.

“So, you want a girlfriend in your senior year of college? You wanna fall in love and have a white picket fence with a dog and—”

“Fuck no.” I laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. “We both know that shit doesn’t last. First loves just fuck you up. I ain’t looking for none of that shit.”

He reaches out a fist, and I tap mine to his.

“I will tell you, as fucking backed up as Boom and the boys are feeling, Pitt doesn’t stand a chance.” I laugh again as I up the speed. “So, when you get pissed and miss me, be jealous of Shakira.” I wink at him.

“I’m not fucking jealous,” he huffs as he increases his speed, trying to match mine.

“Remember, baby”—I wink again—“you’re always my first choice.” I increase my speed. “Try to keep up, would ya?”

“Fuck you, man.” He laughs as he does the same.

Mondays are hell, and I kick myself for stacking classes the first three days of the week so I can have Fridays off. The reason was always because of the game, my game, but Little Miss Ray of Sunshine has all fucking day off and has yet to message me. I know she’s got shit to do—yoga, shopping with Reda, and … well whatever else she does—but, damn, she can’t just send a text?

Instead of stewing about it anymore, I slide my phone out of my pocket and hide it as I send her one.

Trucker

Ray, what’s up?

Waiting for a reply, I watch the screen. No dancing bubbles, no text, no nothing.

I send another.

Trucker

Okay, I see how it is.

I wait for her to send a text, and as I start to put it away, the fucking thing blasts off, loud as fuck with the damn ringtone I picked for her.

The entire lecture hall turns and looks at me as I hit deny.

“Mr. Cohen, is there a problem?” Professor Ikes asks.

“Forgot to shut off the phone. Won’t happen again.”

But it does. Fucking Journey blasts out of the thing, and everyone starts giggling.

“Sorry.” I stand up and grab my bag. “Must be important.”

“This class, Mr. Cohen, is important. Your grade in this class is very important,” she calls behind me as I jog out of the lecture hall.

Just as I open the door, Journey sounds off again, and the entire class erupts in laughter.

When the door shuts behind me, I answer the phone. “What’s up, Ray?”

“Hi.”

I don’t even have to see her to know she’s smiling. I hear it in her voice.

“You’re giving me sunshine, aren’t you?” I can’t help smiling, too.

“What’s that mean?”

I picture her head cocked to the side and wish I could scratch behind her ear.

“You’re smiling.”

She laughs. “So I am.”

“Good.”

I think about the warmth in my chest that causes. The fact that me, Trucker Cohen, can make her feel the same way Logan becoming my friend way back when we were young made me feel.

“Trucker?”

“Yeah, Ray?” I say quietly.

“You’re quiet.”

I’m thinking about how fucking much I know I can mean to you, and how much you are starting to mean to me. I’m thinking about how big a burden, a responsibility, it is, and it dawns on me that that’s why relationships, first loves, don’t last.

“I’m thinking, Ray.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t,” I joke. “Texts, you can see. Conversations, you hear.”

“Oh, wow, his highness is correct.”

“Most of the time.”

“And cocky.”

“Some of the time.”

She laughs.

“So, Ray, I was just in class when I sent you the texts and my phone rang.”

“Oh, my gosh, I’m sorry.”

“Why no texts?”

“I tried. It wouldn’t send. Then you seemed upset, and I didn’t want you to be, so I called.”

“Do you know how to text?” Sounds like a silly question, but her phone is fucking ancient.

“Um, yeeees.” She giggles, but it’s almost like she’s nervous.

“All right then. How about I call you after practice?”

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

I’m fucking exhausted after the sword fight of sorts at the gym with Logan, five classes, tutoring, Coach Browns lecture on my “autograph,” and then the pounding taken during practice because Coach Brown thought I needed a lesson to go as a side dish to the lecture.

The boys and I watched Pitt videos until we all started falling asleep. Then they went to bed and I snuck out the back door, again.

Getting out of my truck, I grab the AT&T bag and yawn as I walk down the road and around the block, closer than last night this time.

When I knock on the door, I hear a voice say, “Bar’s closed on Mondays.”

I look up to see she’s sitting on the ledge … again.

“I’m gonna kick that ass of yours.”

She laughs then disappears.

When the door is opened, she’s smiling.

“You’re cute as hell, Ray, but seriously, that’s dangerous.”

She leans forward and hugs me.

“You think you can sidetrack me with a hug, you’re wrong.”

When she jumps up and wraps her legs around me, I can’t help chuckling.

“Did you have a good day?” she asks, leaning back so she can look at me while running her fingers up the back of my neck and into my hair.

“I don’t remember,” I say right before I kiss her, fucking hard, too.

I take the stairs two at a time while I lick down her neck and squeeze her ass in my hand. Then I walk through the door she left open before kicking it shut behind us.

Walking over and sitting on the bed, I reach behind us and unclasp her heels so she can straighten out her legs. Then I flop back on her bed.

“You look beautiful.”

She closes her eyes, her cheeks pinkening, and she smiles softly.

“Why does that embarrass you? And why the hell do you close your eyes?”

She shrugs.

“The truth, Ray.”

“Because I can’t believe someone like you would say that to someone like me.”

I sit up and kiss the top of her head. “Believe it, Ray, because it’s the fucking truth.”

She wraps her arms around me and hugs me.

I hold her as she holds me, and it feels so good, so damn good.

After a few minutes pass, I hear her phone and look at the table that has a hammer and nails next to it. I look back at her. “You fixed the table?”

She smiles big and nods.

“You wanna get your phone?”

Her brows knit together, and then she looks down while shaking her head no.

“Why?” I ask then try to joke, “You have another guy blowing it up?”

She sighs and wraps her arms around me, then rests her head against my shoulder. “No.”

“Then, why won’t you answer it?” I pick her up and set her on the bed, knowing damn well that, if she’s on me, I won’t be able to press her for a straight answer.

She lies down on her side and props her head up on her hand.

When she just looks at me, not answering, I get up, walk over to her phone, and pick it up.

“Here. Take the call.”

“I’ll talk to her later.”

I open the phone and see SM.

“Who’s SM?”

“My mom’s friend, her Logan,” she answers on a sigh.

The way she says it makes me not believe her, so I hit the button and the messages pop up, all in symbols.

“Just … please don’t,” she whisper-pleas.

“Hearts, arrows, more hearts.” I drop the phone on her bed. “Nicely played,” I tell her as I start walking toward the door.

I hear her sniff.

“It’s not what you think, okay?”

“Bullshit,” I say, opening the door. “Have a good life, Keeka.”

As I step out, I hear her whisper, “I can’t read.”

I look back at her.

“I can’t read,” she says louder before covering her face. “I really do hope you have a wonderful life, Trucker Cohen.”

I shut the door behind me, hearing her take a deep, quivering breath, and then she sobs slightly.

“Fuck.” I turn around and open the door. .

She looks up, uncovering her eyes as she nods. “It’s okay. I had fun and … well, it’s okay.”

“I’m not stupid, Keeka. You were reading the fucking tweets.”

“I recognize some words.” She stops, her chin quivering. Then she sniffs back tears and continues, “Victoria’s Secret, Pink, McDonalds, the cell shop with the T—things I see often and hear on the TV. ‘Cuse.” She smiles. “I see that all the time. Numbers, I get.”

“You dyslexic?”

“No.” She laughs.

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because nothing is wrong with my brain.” She rolls her eyes. “I really think it’s best that you leave and just hope you can be nice when … if you come in the bar. And please don’t tell Lou. Like I said, I recognize things, but—”

“How did you get through school?”

She looks down.

“Truth, Ray.”

She shakes her head. “I never did.”

“What?” I gasp.

“I just, well … I was homeschooled for most of my life, and then after Mom died, I went to public school, but it was so hard, and I … I … quit.”

She peeks up at me. “I really just wanna be happy, Trucker, okay? I hope you …” She stops. Her eyes fill up, and her lips quiver. “Just please don’t be unhappy with me. Be happy, Trucker Cohen.”

“You’re saying goodbye. You’re saying it four months too early. If I were smart, I would leave.”

She forces a big smile and nods. “I totally understand. I’ll still root for ‘Cuse.”

“I’m not smart, Ray.”

She scrunches her eyes shut when I say Ray.

“There’s something seriously wrong with my brain.”

“Trucker, it’s okay.” She opens her eyes and wipes her nose on her shirt.

“You may not be dyslexic, but I am, so I get that it’s hard to read, and I get that it’s frustrating as hell. I get that. If I didn’t have Logan in school and now in most of my classes, it would have been frustrating enough to quit. But I didn’t. I see a tutor once a week, because that’s all I need now. And Ray”—I close the door behind me, and her hands cover her heart—“don’t think I’m fucking better than you, or that any other asshole out there is.”

“Okay.” She sniffs again as she nods.

“And you don’t get to quit. You learn to read. You get your GED. And you …” I point to her. “You be fucking happy.”

She covers her face and silently cries into her hands.

I’m looking at a female version of me as a kid. A lucky fucking kid because I had Logan, and I had his family. But Ray, she has no one. Well, she didn’t until now.

I grab the bag I dropped and walk over to her, sliding behind her and hugging her.

“I’m sorry I’m crying. It’s stupid. So stupid.”

“Shh …” I kiss the back of her head. “It’s gonna be okay, because you have me for four months.”

“Four months,” she whispers.

“But who knows what will happen.”

She looks over her shoulder at me, and I wipe the tears off her perfect fucking face.

“You’re going pro.”

“That’s fucking right I am.” I wink, and she smiles. “But not until you learn to read and find your version of football.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Reading

Keeka

As hard as it is to open up to him about my past, it always somehow ends up making me feel better. It also allows me to feel closer to him, because he isn’t who he appears to be, and he appears to be perfection.

Even with those things that should have broken him down, he has come out on top. It gives me even more hope that I will, too. That this move I made will be exactly what I wanted it to be—a chance to start over with nothing holding me back. A time for me to become.

After several wonderful moments of him holding me, he asks, “So, the texts are really from your mom’s Logan?”

I look back at him. “Truth.”

“I don’t think we need that game anymore. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your tone. I trust you, Ray. Knew I could from the moment I saw you.”

I close my eyes tightly and smile as he kisses my nose.

“She doesn’t get as upset as I do when you don’t text back? When you’re out of minutes?” He laughs nervously.

“Honestly, it’s super hard to communicate with her all the time. I love her, she’s been an angel to me, but memories, you know?”

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I get it. And I have good news.”

I open my eyes and meet his beautiful smile.

I hear a bag ruffle a bit, and then he holds out his phone. “I upgraded today. This one’s now prepaid and …” He pauses, grabbing something else out of the bag and handing it to me. “I batted my eyelashes and got this number.”

“Zero, one, zero, one.”

“Was going to give it to my number one fan, because her phone didn’t seem to be able to send texts.”

“It’s true. Just symbols.”

“Well, check this out.” He holds up the phone, hits some numbers, and then says, “Trucker, this is Ray. I’m your number one fan. I plan to be for the whole season, because I think you’re sexy as sin and your ass looks amazing in those football pants. XOXO. Your number one.” He holds out the phone and shows me that the words he said are now on the screen. “Now push the blue arrow.”

I do, and then I hear the beginning of “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

“Shit.” He chuckles, and his face turns red.

“What was that?”

“It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is.” When I smile, he continues, “A ringtone telling me it’s you.”

“That’s kind of sweet.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Cuddle season hasn’t even begun.”

He leans back and pulls a phone out of his pocket and shows me the word RAY. “Says Ray sent a message. I better see what it is she said.” He opens it and laughs.

“What?”

“It says: Fucker, this is pay. I’m your number one fun. I plan to be your hole for the season, because I think you’re sexy as sin and your ass looks amazing in those foosball paints. XOXO Your number one.”

I laugh. “It does not.”

“Spell check on these things can be a bitch, so don’t send a message to someone like Gary, you got it?”

“If I accept this, I’ll only send my favorite player messages.”

“So, you know Gary’s number?”

“No.” I laugh. “And I told you, ew, he’s old.”

“Good damn thing. I’d hate for you to get too attached to someone I’d end up beating the shit out of.”

“I’m not like that.” I sigh. “I never intended on dating until I had nothing to hide, like the fact I can’t read.”

“And when you learn?”

“I’ve promised you four months, right?”

He nods.

“I don’t break promises.”

“Not true. You were on the ledge tonight.”

“I didn’t promise you I wouldn’t be.”

“I told you not to do that shit when no one was around, Ray.”

I shrug. “I never agreed to it. I said I’d think about it.”

He thinks about what I said then nods. “I guess you did.”

“And I thought about it.”

“Think harder, Ray, okay? It’s dangerous.”

I don’t say a thing, because I won’t stop … ever.

He lies back, pulling me beside him, and ghost-kisses me. Then he looks down my body. I feel my nipples begin to harden.

“I do think you agreed to wear bras, though.”

“I wore a baggy sweatshirt when we were out,” I whisper as he leans in and kisses me.

He pushes his arm under me and pulls me tighter to his body. Then he uses his other hand to push my hair back as his lips engulf mine. He skims his hand down my neck, his lips following. Goosebumps follow his lips, and I feel the heat begin to build between my legs.

He rubs across my hard nipple, causing me to gasp out a breath as he continues kissing and licking my neck, slowly moving lower. And as he continues to kiss me, he traces his finger down between my breasts, continuing until it’s at the hem. Then he pushes himself up and looks at me with eyes steaming.

He moves down the bed and straddles my lower legs as he lowers, kissing the skin that he exposed while lifting my shirt. Inch by inch, he kisses and licks my torso, causing my back to arch and goosebumps to cover the freshly kissed surfaces of my body.

When the shirt is just covering my breasts, he growls and sits back, grabbing his crotch and gripping himself.

I sit up and lift his shirt, not stopping at his chest. I lift it farther up, and then he lifts his arms. Together, we remove his t-shirt, and he tosses it on the ground.

I look him over then clench my eyes closed, trying to take a memory photo and sear it into my brain so I never forget what he looks like.

“Ray,” he pants my name as I trace my finger up the divide between his abs.

“I’ve never looked at anyone and thought, he’s so sexy,” I whisper as I lean in and kiss his heated abdomen.

“Christ,” he hisses.

“Never even used the word Trucker.” I kiss his exposed hip bone. “Never knew what it was.” I kiss the other.

A low rumble escapes his chest.

“I’ve heard it used by …” I pause, not wanting to picture my mom when I am kissing Trucker. “Others. About men older than you.” I rub my nose up the light sprinkling of dark hair that starts at his waistband and ends at his belly button. “I’ve never seen a man who’s as beautiful inside as he is outside. And that’s so damn sexy, Trucker.”

He takes a deep breath and holds it.

“You show me integrity, vulnerability”—I kiss up his rock-hard abs—“confidence, intellect.” I grip his hips so I can guide him to his knees as I slide out from under him and get onto mine, wanting to kiss higher as he looks down at me. “You look at me like I’m beautiful.”

“You are, Ray.” He grips my neck lightly, tracing his thumb up my neck.

“I’ve never felt it. Never wanted to until I met you.” I lean in and lick his nipple like I want him to lick mine.

“Fuck yes,” he groans.

“You’re warm.” I kiss across his chest. “And way too generous.”

“I’d give you anything you asked for right now.”

“Good,” I say as I kiss lower and lower. Then, with a shaky hand, I start to unbutton his jeans.

“Can’t fucking believe I’m doing this,” he snarls as he covers my hand with his, “but Ray, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything.” I rub my nose over the hair again.

“I need you to …” He pauses then hisses, “Fuck my life.”

“I want you.”

“Fuuuck, I want you so fucking bad, too, Ray. But you gotta do me a favor.”

I look up at him and see anger in his eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He leans back on his heels and moves my hand to his mouth, placing soft kisses against it. “You gotta give me a little at a time and make me earn it, okay?”

“You’ve earned everything I have.”

“You’re so fucking hot, Ray, but …” He groans and closes his eyes. “If you would tell me you’ll give me … I don’t know, a handjob if we beat Pitt, then let me feast on your pussy when we beat UConn, then—”

“You want me to deny you those things unless you win?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“Yeah, Ray,” he sighs. “Yeah.”

“Wow, okay.”

He opens his eyes. “You’re pissed?”

“Shocked.”

“Yeah?” He tries not to smile.

I nod. “I didn’t want to move so slow that you got bored of me and—”

“Never,” he says, holding my hand to his lips again. “I just think you falling into my life is for a reason.”

“Or a season.” I try to hide the sadness in my smile.

He smiles back. “I’m not using you, Ray, I promise. I’ll never take more than I can give. You just promise me the same.”

I smile genuinely now, and nod. “I kind of like this.”

“Well, I hope you like the next part, too.”

“I’ll like every part as long as it involves you.”

His smile broadens. “Glad you think so, because you can’t give me a handjob when we beat Pitt unless you read me a book.”

“Trucker, I can’t—”

“We start small. Like Dick and Jane books or something.”

“That’s embarrassing,” I whisper.

“Well, if you can already do that, you’ll have an easy week.”

When I look away, he grabs my chin and turns my head back to face his beautiful face. “I can’t do this unless you get something out of it, too. Not with you, Ray.”

“Why?”

“Because there is something about you that reminds me of myself. I’ll never let myself down, so there is no way in hell I’m gonna let you down.”

“You …” I blow out a slow breath.

A look of concern crosses his face, “Me what?”

“You’re perfect.”

He grins from ear to ear. “Week by week, inch by inch, you’ll figure out just how perfect I am.”

I smile back at him just as big.

“Fuck the gold stars and the four-point-O, Ray. You’re working for the Boom.”

“The boom?”

He laughs. “You’ll meet Boom and the boys soon enough. I have faith in you.”

“Boom and the boys?” I laugh.

“Ray, there will be no laughing when Boom is making you scream and the boys are high-fiving that ass.”

I cover my eyes and laugh. “Oh, my God.”

Laughing, he adjusts himself as he gets up off the bed. He grabs his phone and sends a message.

The phone he gave me starts to play the song “Click Click Boom” by Saliva.

I laugh, and he grins a mischievous grin, then gives me a wink.

“Now, how about we check out these bras together.” He walks over and grabs the bag, bringing it to the bed. He pulls pink tissue paper out and shakes his head. “You haven’t even looked at them.”

“I just wasn’t sure I would …” I stop because I don’t want to sound ungrateful.

“We won the money. You and me. I get that it’s hard to receive, trust me, but this didn’t take a damn thing away from me or anyone else, so suck it up, butter”—he pulls out the first one, an orange one, and smiles—“cups.”

“B’s.”

“Yeah, and apparently, they are so cute!”

I laugh as he tosses it at me.

I hold it up and inspect it. The ones I had back in Brooklyn didn’t have clasps in the front.

He reaches out. “Come here.”

I take his hand, and he pulls me up, turns me so my back is facing him, and then reaches around me and grabs the hem of my shirt. Then he clears his throat.

“Arms up, Ray.”

When I hesitate, he whispers, “This is a teaching moment. I’m not trying to take advantage of you … yet.”

I lift my arms, and he pulls the shirt over my head.

I hear his chest rumble, and then I feel him trail his finger softly down my spine. I arch my back.

“What the fuck was I thinking?”

“Teaching moment,” I whimper out.

“Right,” he sighs then whispers, “Fuuuuck.”

I can’t help smiling.

“Arms out.” His voice is thick, and his breath is hot against the back of my neck.

He slides the material up one arm slowly, tracing his finger behind. I’m unsure if it’s intentional or not, but it teases and taunts me.

I slide the other arm through, and then he reaches in front of me and holds out his hands.

“I don’t want to touch where I’m not supposed to, Ray,” he whispers. “Guide me.”

I lean my back against his purposefully and knowingly, allowing him to see what it is he is avoiding touching.

“Ray, you’re teasing the lion.”

“I’m only giving you back what you’re dishing out.”

His lips turn up on one corner as I take his hand and guide it to a bra cup, and then the other.

“Do you know how to do this?”

I shake my head. “Only had a couple that clasped in the back, and a couple sports bras.”

“Then look down and pay attention.” His voice is deeper now.

I wet my lips, and he groans the only name I ever want him to call me.

“Ray, pay attention.”

I look down at his hands, each large and strong, holding delicate gold clasps. Then I glance up as he leans farther over my shoulder.

“Is it okay?”

“They’re fucking perfect.” He clasps the bra and sighs.

I smile up at him. “I was talking about the bra.”

“I wasn’t.” His eyes are growing darker and appearing heavier. I love the way he’s looking at me.

I take his hands and hold them over the lace.

“Fuck, Ray,” he groans then asks, “Do you think the fit’s, right?”

“I think I can make it work.”

His mouth comes down on mine as he grips my breasts harder. He licks inside my mouth, and I press into his touch while angling my head so he can get deeper. Butterflies are dancing in my belly. The heat, the electricity, the pulsing is everywhere.

When he slows down, I’m trembling and can’t stop myself from turning around to face him.

His lips curl up and his abs flex. It’s so sexy.

Grabbing his face, I pull him harder against me. I don’t want it to stop or slow down … ever.

His fingers are tangled in my hair as he overpowers my needy tongue with his stronger, more skillful one, slowing the pace.

I walk into him, pushing him lightly so he has to sit on the edge of my bed. Then I climb onto his lap, straddling him.

He kisses me differently now. All lips and sucking. All slower. He’s slowing us both down on purpose. I don’t want him to.

When he sucks on my lower lip, I trace his with my tongue, making him moan and shift until I feel his hard length against me.

“Ray, we have a plan. Don’t make me fuck it up already.” He sighs, burying his head in my chest. “They look like they belong to me.”

“They do.”

“Fuuck,” he sighs out as he leans back. “You’re killing me.”

“No, Trucker. Not ever. I just want you to be happy.”

“And I need the same for you.”

I nod. “I am.”

“Don’t you ever stop.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We’ve all got issues

Trucker

When I woke up this morning, I was feeling all the fucking effects of yesterday. My body ached from the workout and practice, and my balls were so tight a good, strong wind would have set me off. Add all that to the fact that I didn’t leave Ray’s until three in the fucking morning because we downloaded a bunch of apps to help her learn to read, and I’m fucking done.

She told me that if I was going to make her learn how to read, she was going to use every spare moment she had to make sure she could. When I told her that I knew she would, she looked at me like I was something better than I know I am.

Then she told me, if she wasn’t going to disappoint herself, then I better not disappoint myself and make sure I put every moment I could into becoming the best damn player, not only at SU but in all of college football.

I upped the ante and told her that, if I did that, she needed to start GED classes so she could earn her diploma. She looked scared as hell, but she nodded once, took a deep breath, and then said, “Okay.”

We decided we will text throughout the week and see each other on Thursday nights for a couple of hours, because Fridays, I had to stay at a fucking hotel. It was mandatory to ensure we rested and were ready for Saturdays’ games. Then on Saturday nights, I would come and see her after my home games and after she closed up the bar. Away games, Sunday afternoons, if we got back in time. And Mondays after practice would be us, all us.

Each week, we would give a little more, do a little more. I told her, if we lost, I would need to release stress. She told me, if I lost, I would be doing it myself.

Little Ray is amazing.

At the gym, Logan looks at me funny. I give him the what? look.

“You’re dragging ass, man. Hope she’s worth it.”

“She is.”

He drops the hand weights next the bench he’s on. “The fall isn’t the time to start getting stupid, Trucker.”

“She’s—”

“Different?” He laughs.

“Whatever, man,” I huff, continuing my bench presses.

“Don’t whatever man me.” He gets up, walks over, and stands over me. “Her pussy taste like chocolate and shoot fucking skittles?”

I laugh. “Shut the fuck up.”

“She do some trick with her mouth that makes you come in seconds?”

“Don’t know yet, but—”

“Oh, this is worse than I thought. She’s got you begging, doesn’t she?”

“No, she’d have fucked me last night, but—”

“So, you’ve all of the sudden started bra shopping and disappearing at night so you can what, man? Do crossword puzzles? Knit blankets?”

“Never been good at crossword puzzles. You of all people know that.”

“She reading you bedtime stories or some shit?”

I shake my head, trying not to let him see that what he just said tripped me up a bit.

“Spill it, Trucker.”

“Not everything I do is your business.”

He chokes on a laugh. “Since fucking when?”

He’s right. We have always shared everything. Every. Fucking. Thing.

“She can’t read me bedtime stories, dick. That’s still all you.”

“What do you mean she can’t read—”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” I snap at him as I look around to see if anyone heard.

“Holy fucking shit. She can’t—”

“Logan, I’m serious. It’s no one’s fucking business.”

“So, what? You’re gonna help her? That’s like sending Ray Charles to teach Stevie Wonder how to drive.”

I try not to smile, but it’s fucking funny. Even funnier because he’s not cracking jokes. He’s dead fucking serious.

“You better back the truck up. You’re too close to tapping into crazy.”

“She’s not fucking crazy. She’s had a shit life, and I get it. She knows my plan is to go pro. She and I have it all worked out. Four months, we tap out.”

“So, right after the fall semester?”

I nod and lift the barbell. “Sure. I don’t know … Could last through school or end tomorrow.”

“That’s three months. The backward E, Trucker.”

I smirk, and he shakes his head.

“Already agreed to four. No backing out of that; we gave our word. Neither of us have anything else but that.”

“You’ve got me, you’ve got football, you’ve got a hell of a lot to lose if you don’t play the game right.”

“Yeah?” I sit up. “She’s got her job, a place to live, and me.” I stand and look at him. “She’s got me and an upside down, backward h.”

As he nods, I walk the fuck away.

Sitting in the library, listening to a lecture to prepare for the test I have in my communications class, I close my eyes and lean back.

The day I found out I had dyslexia, I didn’t feel like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t think, well, that makes sense, because I know damn well I’m not stupid. I didn’t take comfort in the fact that it was just something I had to overcome. It pissed me off.

My old man was quick to sign me up for all the extra help the school offered, and I was quick to tell him I didn’t want it. He was even quicker to give in.

Logan and I got in our first ever fight because he seemed happy as hell that there would be a fix to it, and then I wouldn’t hate reading out loud in class, and I wouldn’t get into fights when assholes made remarks about me being stupid. I told him I didn’t care, that I just wanted to play football. Then he gave me a line like: “You have to put in the work.” I gave him one back: “Just leave me alone.”

He did … for a week. Then he and his dad stopped by the house when I was alone, lying when I told them that my dad was in town so I didn’t have to go to their place. So I could avoid them and wallow in my own misery.

Knowing I wouldn’t refuse a meal, Logan’s father, Lucas, said, “Let’s go to dinner.”

When we got there, Jade, Logan’s neighbor and a social worker, walked in, and Lucas invited her to eat with us. They had some bullshit conversation about a few of her clients, and surprise, they all had dyslexia.

Logan and Lucas ended up making another excuse to leave, something about Ava, Logan’s sister, and Jade offered dessert.

We talked until the restaurant was closing. We talked about Frank Gore, who played for the 49ers and won a Super Bowl; Muhamad Ali; Pete Rose, who has three World Series rings; Magic Johnson from the Lakers; Nolan Ryan, who played for the Mets; Coach Rex Ryan, who wasn’t diagnosed until he was an adult; Olympian Carl Lewis; Dexter Manley of the Redskins; Mark Schlereth, who played for the Broncos; Jason Conley, the NCAA Division one lead scorer; and then she said the name of my favorite player, Tim Tebow, who has played for the Jets, the Broncos, and the New England Patriots.

We left the restaurant and went back to her house, where we sat in her office and looked at books. I told her what I was seeing, that the letters moved for the first five to ten seconds after I turned a page, and then I could get them to stop.

I worked with Jade and the reading specialist, Miss B., at Jade’s home after school every day. They used a method called the Davis Dyslexia Correction method. Clay formed into letters made them look three-dimensional and real to me. Cs and Es were easier to distinguish between. Then it was onto words. I would mold the word, and then the object that represented the meaning of the word. Words and letters became symbols, and oddly, that worked for me.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and pull out my earbud.

I look over as Logan sits down. “Don’t wanna fight. Just wanna remind you how fucking hard you worked to become one of the best, and how hard it was to get in here, man. You busted your ass.”

“We both have mommy issues, bro.” I shrug. “But she’s not our moms. It’s for the season.”

“Truth or tale?”

I look him dead in the eyes. “Truth.”

“And if you fall in—”

“Fuck that.” I laugh.

He nods, continuing to look at me.

“Logan, she’s cool, she’s funny, and I don’t get an I-wanna-be-your-baby’s-momma vibe, okay?”

He nods, knowing there’s more.

“Truth is, she wouldn’t stop me from going after my dream, and I wouldn’t let her if she did. You and I both know that. But Logan, ten years down the road, I come back here all banged up from playing NFL and settle back in ‘Cuse, I’m gonna walk back into Lou’s place, and if she’s there and single, even if she’s gotten fat and grown a unibrow, I’m still gonna wanna be around her. She’s like fucking genuine and nice.”

“So, nothing I say or do is gonna matter?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, I got your back.”

Lying in bed, I hit her name on my phone and look through the messages she has sent, all in emojis.

This morning, I sent a text saying, good morning, and she sent me the sun.

I sent three more texts. The first an S, the next a U, and as I was about to send her the N, I got a football emoji and the word CUSE.

I sent her the N.

Her reply was a question mark.

I sent a typewriter emoji and the letters S-U-N.

She sent back a smiling sun.

This afternoon, I sent her a sleepy face with Zs and the word TIRED.

She sent back praying hands.

Tonight, I send her goodnight and Ray, and she sends me the moon.

Walking out of my sports law lecture, for the first time in my life, I think about how much I would like to skip practice.

“Who the fuck are you?” I laugh to myself.

“Trucker Cohen. You’re Trucker Cohen.”

I turn my head toward breathy and familiar voice. “I’m busy,” I tell her, walking faster.

“I’m sure I can squeeze you in,” she says, catching up to me.

“Football season, no time.”

She grabs my hand. “I’ve see you squeezing other things in, Trucker. Trips to the mall, the park … I’m just asking for the Boom.”

“Gonna be late for practice.”

She moves in front of me quickly and stops.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“So, you’re off the market?”

“I’m in love with a game and I’m not cheating on it. You understand?”

“You ate my pussy last season.”

“You were sucking my cock, and threw your leg over me, and were about to sit on my face. I stopped your asshole from descending on my nose.”

She laughs like I’m joking. “You licked my pussy so good, Trucker. I want it again.”

“That was a fluke, babe. I was wasted.”

“Get wasted again with me.” She steps in closer, pushes her tits against me, and goes in for a kiss.

I step back. “Not interested.”

“How about your boy Logan? I chose you over him.”

Walking faster, I laugh. “I remember.”

“You told me I gave the best blowjob you ever had.”

Told you and all the others, I want to say, but I won’t.

“So, it won’t bother you if I get on my knees for Links?”

“Nope. Have a good time.”

“I bet he eats pussy better than you.”

I laugh. “I can guarantee he doesn’t eat pussy at all.”

“We’ll see about that,” she yells from behind me as I jog to my truck.

Desperation is the mother of all turn offs.

When I walk into the locker room, I nod to Logan. “Heads-up, Sarah’s coming for you.”

“She any good?” he asks, pulling up his practice pants.

“Yeah, sure, I guess. But she seriously has a hard time with the word no.”

“Fuck that then.” He laughs then stops immediately and asks, “When the fuck did I start getting your toss-offs?”

“You want anything I had before, go for it. I’m set for the season.”

“Oh, can I please have your seconds?” he jokes.

I smirk. “I can even let you know which ones are good and which ones to avoid.”

“Thanks, brother, but I believe I got this.”

I wake to a text.

Ray

Good morning, Trucker Cohen.

“Fuck yes.” I smile. “That’s my girl.”

I send her back the word clapping and the emoji of clapping hands.

She sends back … sunshine.

It’s finally fucking Thursday.

I have waited all week for this day. Hell, I may be as excited to see her as I am to play Pitt in two days. All damn week I have prepared for it. All week I have done two gym sessions on top of practice. Add to that, my focus on classes has been stronger than they were over the past three years.

If I expect her to read and get her GED, then I’m going to lead by example and try my hardest to make the Dean’s list for the first time since starting college.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

New Friends

Keeka

Looking down at the pile of books, I realize I never owned my own book. Now I have an entire box, and workbooks to go along with them.

On Tuesday night, when I was sitting up on the rooftop ledge, drawing, I looked down and laughed.

“It’s not Thursday yet.”

“I’m not Trucker, Keeka. But I’d like to have a conversation with you.”

I’m a little nervous that Logan Links is here, but I trust Trucker, and they’re best friends.

I stand up on the ledge, and he gasps out, “What the fuck?”

I hop down, smiling at the fact that these two men, who actually enjoy getting beat up on the field, seem terrified of heights.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I open the door just a little and slide out before closing it behind me.

He bends down and picks up a box. “This is for you.”

I shake my head, remembering all the gifts Mom received from all the men who wanted to spend time with her.

“I know you can’t read, Keeka. They’re just books.”

I feel my heart almost fall apart. I trusted him with something, something I didn’t even want to share with Trucker, let alone a stranger.

I look up and begin to tell him to leave, but I stop when I notice he’s watching a car drive by slowly.

He rolls his eyes. “You mind if we go inside?”

Swallowing down the hurt, I answer, “Actually, I do.”

He turns and looks at me, his eyes narrowing with a nonverbal question. “Look, Keeka, the car that just drove by is a girl who our boy Trucker told to fuck off today. I don’t know if she’s following me or looking for you, but I don’t wanna stand on the sidewalk.” He points to the little red sports car turning around.

I stand firm. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Neither did he when we found out he was dyslexic. But look, he’s hell-bent on making sure that, when he leaves here, he leaves you with something. So, being his best friend, I’m gonna make sure I help him do that.”

“He sent you?”

He looks at the car coming back down the street. “Fuck no, and he’ll be pissed if he finds out. I’m guessing she’ll tell him soon enough.”

I step back and open the door. “I’m letting you in because I don’t want what you’re doing to hurt him.”

When I step in, he closes the door behind him and looks up. “After you.”

“I don’t know—”

“He’s my best friend, Keeka. If he trusts me, you can. Truth.”

“Truth?”

“Yeah, it’s something—”

“Truth or tale?”

“He playing that game with you, too?” Logan shakes his head. “That’s been ours since we were kids.”

“I’m sorry?”

He smiles genuinely. “Don’t hurt him, and you—”

“I want him to be happy.”

He shakes his head. “But, what do you want, Keeka?”

“The same, of course.”

“He’s going to leave here, you know.”

“He better.”

He looks at me oddly. “How will it feel when he leaves?”

I smile. “When he goes pro, when he’s done everything he’s dreamed of, I’ll feel happy.”

“And what happens when you miss him? If you fall in love with him?”

“Well …” I scratch my head and look up at him. “Then I will consider myself lucky that I met a man like Trucker Cohen.”

“And then what?”

“I’m living moments, Logan Links. You should try it.”

He smiles then chuckles. “All right then, Keeks.”

“Keeks?”

“Suits you.” He points toward the stairs. “You want our boy to be happy, let’s get this shit going.”

“Logan, I think I can handle it.”

“Not one to sugarcoat things, Keeks, but you’re a grown woman who can’t read. Accept help when it’s offered.”

“Trucker—”

“Trucker’s dyslexic, and it takes him a hell of a long time to read what he has to for classes. Took tutors and friends to get him where he is. If he thinks he’s not helping, it’ll bruise his ego. I need him high as fuck on the game, not worried about a girl.” He wrinkles his nose when he says girl.

I smile. “I’m sure Trucker can handle both. He’s had years of practice.”

“Believe it or not, he’s steered clear of relationships.”

Walking up the stairs, I look back at him. “Why?”

“He talk much about home?”

“Just said he doesn’t have a relationship with his mom.”

“Which means he doesn’t trust women. The one woman he might have trusted is my mom, and she fucked up. So, this, Keeks, is new territory.”

I walk through the doorway and brace myself to see how he reacts to my very humble dwellings.

He looks around, and then back at me, expression unreadable. “Let’s do this.”

Each book has a worksheet that I am supposed to answer questions on, based on the book. He told me to figure it out because writing and reading go hand in hand. It made me nervous as hell, and there were times when I wanted to stop.

Then Logan showed me how to take a picture with my phone. I send him worksheets as I finish them, and he sends me constructive criticism … in text.

I stayed up all night Tuesday working on the first one. Actually, doing the work was much easier.

In kindergarten, I learned the basics, and although I thought I had forgotten over all these years, I hadn’t.

Standing in front of the mirror, I look at myself for the tenth time in hopes that I look good for him.

When the phone rings, I hear “Click Click Boom” and smile so big it almost hurts.

“Trucker.”

“Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice. This texting thing’s cool, but damn, Ray, you sound good.”

“You, too.”

“What do you wanna do tonight?”

“I wanna read you a book about Dick and Jane.”

“Wait. You seriously can read a whole book?” He sounds shocked.

“I have a very focused brain when the incentive is seeing you.”

“Seeing me or touching me, Ray?”

My body heats up and things tighten. “Both.”

“Don’t try to sidetrack me with sunshine. How the hell did you learn so quickly?”

“I did go to kindergarten. I learned the basics. And oddly, without worrying about what everyone in the class is thinking about your … struggle, it seems easier.”

“I get that.”

“So?” I ask.

“So.”

“What do I get to do to you tonight?”

“You read me that book, you’re the one who’s getting something. I win Saturday, I get something.”

“Something better than a gold star?” I whisper.

“Yeah, Ray, much better.”

“I can’t wait to see you. Have fun at practice, Trucker.”

“See you soon.”

When I hang up the phone, I hold it to my chest and smile. I can’t think of the last time I was so excited about something. When it hits me, I wish it hadn’t. But it was a good memory. A moment when things were good, so good.

It was when Mom had crashed for a long time. It was when I began to draw.

“It’s going to be all better, baby girl.” She kisses my head as she kneels beside me. “I’m back now. Mommy’s back.”

I try to pile together all the papers scattered around the floor, all my drawings, so I can put them away, so I can save them for the next time she crashes.

“Who’s this?” she asks, pointing to my friend, the one I play with when she’s sleeping or in her room with an uncle.

“No one, Mommy,” I tell her, placing another picture on top of it.

“This is you.” She picks up the picture she thinks is of me. “I know because of the ribbon and the blue in the eyes.”

I shrug.

“You’re really good at this, baby girl. Who needs school, huh?” She stands up then leans down to kiss my head before tugging on the ribbon. “I’m going to take a shower.”

We had been in New Jersey at the time, maybe a week, maybe three weeks after leaving Syracuse, and after she crashed. The round ball, the orange one, was my new friend Lou.

A knock on the door makes me jump, and then I look in the mirror one more time.

“God, I hope he likes the way I look,” I whisper.

Before I can turn around, I hear, “He does, Ray, he does.”

I freeze, and he laughs.

“You gonna turn around so I can see the rest of you?”

I look up and into the mirror, seeing him biting his lower lip, blue eyes slowly moving down my body.

“You did something different with your hair.”

“How can you tell when you’re staring at my butt?”

“It’s a real nice butt, Ray.”

“And I thought it was my smile you liked the most.” I turn around and look at him.

His eyes smile. His lips do, too, but just a little. It’s the kind of smile that makes me feel so special.

“Hi, Ray.”

“Hi, Trucker Cohen.”

Three steps is all it takes for him to reach me, lifting me up and pressing his lips against mine. My arms are around his shoulders, my hands in his hair, immediately.

His lips surround mine at the same time I wrap my legs around his waist. He grips my butt rougher than ever as he pivots his hips and pushes against my core.

Friction.

My mouth opens as I let out a gasp of pleasure caused by our bodies’ connection.

He pushes his tongue into my mouth and groans as he licks inside my mouth. I open wider to him, taking in the taste and smell of Trucker, as he takes in mine.

When he sucks on my lower lip, the butterfly garden in my belly wakes up from its three-day slumber, and I grind against him.

He bites into my lip and growls as my back hits the wall.

Something inside me pulses, and I whimper as he grinds against me again and again and again.

“Oh, God.” My head falls back and hits the wall … hard.

“Shit.” He removes one of his hands from my ass and grips the back of my head. “You okay?”

My head falls to his shoulder. “A little dizzy.”

“Shit, Ray, I’m sorry.” He walks backward and sits on the bed before taking my face in his hands and tilting it back. “How bad is it?”

“I can’t believe what you do to me.”

He smiles. “Focus, Ray. Your head.”

I close my eyes. “It’s fine.”

The burn and throbbing between my legs is so hard to ignore that I don’t even care about the ache on the back of my head.

“It’s swelling up, Ray. You have ice?”

I look at him and shake my head.

He grips my hips, sets me beside him on the bed, and then stands up, kissing me on the top of my head. “Be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To grab some ice.” He winks. “Trust me, Ray; I have plans for you.”

“I trust you, Trucker.” Totally and completely.

I hear him run down the stairs, and my heart feels like it may burst.

Outside of work, I have two people right now. Two real people who are incredibly kind to me. Two people who visit me and seem to genuinely care about me, who aren’t connected to my mom or my life before I moved here. Two people who I have made friends with, and it makes me so happy, so very happy.

I hear him come up the stairs and sit up, feeling a bit dizzy from the rush.

He holds up two bags of ice. I recognize the bags. They are from the bar.

“Don’t freak out. It was the closest place to grab ice. Lou wasn’t even there. Lie down and roll over.” He smirks. “I’m already getting you facedown, ass up, and I haven’t even heard you read.”

I start to get up.

“And you’re not even listening to me.” He chuckles.

“I need to grab the book.”

“I can get it.” He ghost-kisses my lips.

“Thank you. It’s on the table.”

He walks over and grabs the notepad. “This isn’t a book.”

“I copied it.” I smile as I lie on the bed. “Might as well work on my reading and my writing at the same time.”

“And your drawing, too, huh?” He looks at the picture and smiles.

“Drawing is cathartic for me.”

“Oooo … that’s a big word, Ray. Kind of sexy.”

“C-A-T-H-A-R-T-I-C.”

“Damn, Ray,” he whispers as he puts the bag of ice on the back of my head. “You sure you don’t know how to read beyond kindergarten?”

“It’s coming back fast. And thanks to your phone and the voice memo app, I can say a word and see how it’s spelled.”

“Damn, I never thought it would be hot to be around girls smarter than me,” he says as he lies on his side next to me. “Until now.”

“Smarter because of you.” I smile as he pushes some hair behind my ear.

“Nah,” he says, looking my face over. “Just a ‘right thing at the right time’ situation.”

“I’m a lucky girl.”

“And I’m a lucky guy.”

I wet my lips, leaning in to kiss his, but he leans back.

“I think you have a book to read to me.” He sets it on the bed.

I push myself up on my elbows and take a deep breath.

“You got this, Ray. Hell, you wrote the book.”

I let out the breath slowly and begin to read … out loud … as he holds the bag of ice to my head.

When I finish, his eyes are beaming with what I think is pride. “Nailed it.”

I get a ghost-kiss, and that is better than all those gold stars I never received.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Pride and perks

Trucker

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Ray. So damn proud.”

She reaches over her shoulder, takes the bag of ice, and then rolls to her side.

“I’m glad I trust you enough to”—she shrugs—“not share my issue with anyone.”

Oh fuck, I think, looking away from her for a second.

“It’s nice to have someone who will keep all your secrets safe.”

“Ray …” I lean in to kiss her to shut her up.

She turns her head. “Seriously, you are the best, Trucker Cohen.”

“I told Logan!” I sit up and turn my back to her. “I told Logan, Ray, but I’m telling you, he’d never say a word.”

I turn around to see she’s sitting up.

“He won’t.”

“He did.” She smiles and shrugs. “He did say something. He said something to me.” She slides off the bed.

“Ray—”

She picks up a box and turns toward me.

“No, fuck that. The bras and shit are yours. You can tell me to leave, which would be a really bad fucking idea and suck, Ray, but I don’t want the shit back, okay?”

She sets the box on the bed and looks up at me. “I’m not gonna give you back the bras.” With that, she grabs the hem of her gray V-neck that is way too big on her, lifts it over her head, and tosses it on the bed.

“Ray …” I start to take a step toward her.

She holds up her hand, giving me the stop sign, and then opens the box with the other. “I’m not that mad at you. I kind of like Logan.” She dumps the box on the bed and books fall out. “He’s your Shakeeka.”

“Not if he said some shit to you. I can’t believe he fucking—”

“First of all, he didn’t speak shitty to me. Second, Trucker, if I had a friend who loved me as much as he loves you, I’d probably—no, definitely—forgive him for saying some shit to me. Third, Logan doesn’t seem to be the dick type; just a little rough around the edges like you.” She picks up a book and looks at me.

“He brought those to you, didn’t he?”

She nods.

“Fucker never listens,” I huff.

“Fucker loves you,” she says softly.

I start to take a step, but she again holds her hand up, stopping me.

“Ray, I’m sorry.”

She shakes her. “I trust you won’t be angry at him.”

“Gonna give him a lot of shit.”

“Then I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, Trucker Cohen, because your best friend has been acting as a tutor.”

“He comes over here to see you?”

When she smirks and scrunches up her nose, I feel my eyes begging to pop out of their fucking sockets for the pressure building up in my head.

“Ray, give me something.”

She blushes. “I tried to on Monday.”

I shake my head.

She smirks. “You’re super attractive when you seem to be jealous.”

I step toward her, and she steps back.

“But no, he doesn’t. I send him a picture of the worksheets he insisted I do in texts every day.”

“Still makes me jealous.” I take another step closer.

“Although there’s no reason to be. I’d really like to see what it is you’d do if you thought there was any way possible I could even look at another man when all I do all day is think about the next time I get to see you.”

“Well, Ray”—I grab her hips—“you’d better step it up, because I think about the girl who sends me the sun every morning and gives me the moon at night.”

“I’d give you the stars, too.”

“You do that, Ray”—I let go of one of her hips to run my finger up the center of her sexy as fuck abdomen—“I promise I’ll keep taking your breath away.”

“Yeah,” she says with the little burst of air she gives me, the one that makes me feel like she’s giving life to me.

“You give me that every time you think I’m gonna kiss you.”

She closes her eyes.

“I’m gonna take more this time.” I flick my fingers over the clasp, and the bra comes undone.

Her eyes open, and she takes a deep breath.

“Oh, Ray, you took it away.” I lift her up so I’m eye level to her perfect, little reddish-brown nipples. Looking up into her eyes, I see she’s still holding her breath. “I’m gonna need that back.”

I lean in with all intention of going easy, but fuck if I don’t want her breath back.

I suck hard on the perfect fucking B’s that have been begging me from day one. And I don’t just get her breath. I get a fucking angelic choir in one word.

“Yes …”

I grab her other tit and squeeze it as I suck a little lighter now, afraid I may suck the fucking thing right off. I can’t get enough of her sweet-tasting skin, her scent that’s not perfumed but sweet, so fucking sweet, her sexy little noises, the way she gasps then breathes out a yes. Fucking yes.

I cup her ass in my hand as I suck her tit and let go of the other, placing it on her back to lay her down on her bed. Then I push the straps of her bra down each arm, one at a time, and pull it out from behind her, dropping it on the floor.

When I reach behind my shoulders and pull my shirt over my head, her eyes widen.

“No need to get nervous, Ray. I have B’s to suck. Just getting comfortable.”

She makes an almost painful face then cups her tits and squeezes them.

“Let me help you out.” I push one of her legs over with my knee as I grab her other ankle and pull it up to my hungry as fuck mouth, kissing down her leg while watching her squirm and whimper.

When I get to her shorts, I push them up and lick as close as I can get to her pussy with the shorts still on her body. She takes a deep, quivering breath and arches her back.

I lick her lower belly from hip bone to hip bone, then nip one, and then the next.

“Truuucckkkeerrr,” she whimpers, squeezing her titties.

“Oh, Ray.” I sit up on my knees and look down at her. “New plan.”

“Anything.” She nods eagerly. “Everything?”

“Holy fuck, you’re killing me, Ray.” I reach down my pants and stroke myself a few times to ease some pressure, but it doesn’t fucking help.

I watch as her eyes grow bigger.

“Offensive?”

She shakes her head. “So incredibly hot.”

I pull my hand out then lean down and grab her tits, pinching her nipples between my thumb and finger. “You’re the sexiest woman I have ever fucking met.”

She clenches her eyes shut. “I love you touching me.”

“I fucking like it, too.”

When she opens her eyes, a look of horror shows in them.

I pull my hands back. “Am I hurting you?”

“No. No, of course not. But I meant like,” she says, pulling the blanket over her body.

“What?” I laugh because I’m fucking confused.

“Nothing.” She smiles, sitting up and linking her hands behind my neck as she kisses me.

I pull back. “What just happened?”

She buries her head in my neck. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m more nervous than I thought and—”

“Okay.” I hug her tighter. “Then we slow the hell down until you’re ready.”

She sighs. “I think that’s a good idea.”

I kiss the top of her head and inhale her scent. “You smell so fucking good.”

“I like the way you smell, too.”

“I’m glad,” I say, sitting back and looking down at her. “If not, we’d have a problem.”

She puts her hand on my abs and smiles. “Yeah.”

I lift her chin. “We good?”

She nods. “I’m tired. It’s been a long week. My head kind of hurts and—”

“Shit, I fucking forgot.” I lean down and grab the bag that’s partially melted from the floor.

She pulls the blanket over her body and closes her eyes. A small smile forms, and I feel a little fucking better.

“Ray?”

“Hmm?” she says, rubbing my chest.

“I’d really like you to get some sleep while I’m gone. Take a break on the reading if you need to. We’ll be back here late Saturday night, and I’m gonna want to see you.”

She smiles up at me, a big smile now. “You sure?”

“Are you kidding me?” I gasp. “Sure as the earth is round.”

She cocks her head to the side, and I scratch behind her ear. She giggles.

“Should I get going?”

“If you’d like to stay, you can.”

“You gonna let me sleep or—”

“Yes,” she says, lying down.

I get up and dump the melted water out of the bag before wrapping it in a hand towel. Then I put the other bag in the tiny freezer so it stays cold. I turn off the light in the hallway, and then the ones throughout the studio apartment, leaving the bathroom light on.

“You need anything?”

She yawns as she says, “Just the ice is good.”

“Of course.” I drop my phone on the table next to hers then slide in next to her.

She rolls over onto her front, and I set the ice pack on her head.

“Goodnight, Ray.”

“Goodnight, Trucker.”

On Friday, I didn’t want to leave her without waking her, but I knew she was fine. I also knew I needed to get my ass back to our place because I had told Logan I wouldn’t be staying. I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been worried about her having a head injury.

That’s bullshit, too. I knew she didn’t have a concussion. I have had too many myself to not know the signs. I just didn’t want to leave her because I was sure I scared the fuck out of her being as rough as I was. Except, I was pretty sure she fucking liked it that way.

I replayed the whole night in my head over and over again, trying to figure out what the fuck caused the one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn while we were fucking around. Halfway to Pitt, I remember her saying she loved the way I touched her, so there was validation. Then it fucking hit me.

I told her I liked, not loved it, too.

“What’s up, man?” Logan elbows me.

“I think I pissed Little Ray off.”

He smirks. “Shocker.”

“No, really. It was a great night. She showed me the books you brought her after going over to her place and—

“Fuck,” he whispers, pulling his hat down over his eyes.

“Yeah, fuck. I mean, really, motherfucker?”

“Should say I’m sorry, but I’m not. You’ve gotta keep focused, man.”

“Do I need to staple a Do Not Trespass sign to her forehead?”

He sighs. “It’s not like that, man.”

“I know what it’s like, but I’ve got it, okay?”

When he doesn’t answer, I elbow him. “I got this.”

“Yeah, so you said. But you forget this conversation started with, I think I pissed Little Ray off, so don’t wait for an apology that’s not coming.”

“She said she loved the way I touched her.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I think, when I said I fucking like it, too, it freaked her out.”

“Freaked her out that you like to fuck?”

“Touch. And no. The words, Einstein. She said love. I said like.”

He laughs.

“It’s not funny, man. And today, she didn’t send me the fucking sun.”

When he quirks his eyebrow at me, I immediately regret saying a fucking word.

“Fuck it.” I shake my head. “And fuck you.”

“Fuck you back,” he quips, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Do you like getting your dick sucked?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

“Answer it.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Do you like coming?”

“Seriously?”

“Do you like or love peanut M&Ms?” he asks.

“Fucking love them. And your old man better come to the game today and bring me some or I’ll feel like the ugly fucking stepchild.”

“Do you like or love when Ava gets the giant bag of them?”

“Is she coming?”

“Not the point. Like or love?”

“I fucking love it.”

“Yeah, and Ava gets all giddy when you make a big deal and act like she just gave you a million dollars, and that’s just M&Ms.”

“Not just M&Ms. Peanut M&Ms. And you know how much I love them.”

“Which do you love more: getting a blowjob or a giant bag of peanut M&Ms?”

“Depends on who’s sucking my cock.”

“Let’s say it was Keeks.”

“You gave her a fucking nickname?”

“Keeka doesn’t suit her.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Answer the question,” he huffs

“I can’t wait till she sucks my cock.”

“Will you like it or love it, Trucker? Come on. Jesus, don’t overthink this.”

“I’ll love it.”

“Then fucking tell her that. Wake me up when we get there.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Bad choice of words

Keeka

I’m pretty sure it took me several hours to fall asleep last night.

Why?

In the heat of the moment, I uttered a word to him that wasn’t returned. And even though it wasn’t meant to be returned, since it wasn’t a question or something that needed an answer but an honest, raw emotion he was feeling, I took his response, his feeling, his reaction horribly wrong.

When I tried to understand my reaction, it all came back to her, and who wants to think about their mother in a moment like that? No one.

Since he left before dawn, I have laid in bed, trying to figure out how to get past the feeling of immense vulnerability brought on by wanting him to feel the same way I do about him. And again, my mother and her issues with men who seemed to make her happy, so much happier than anything else in her life. Then when she would burn out and crash. Then, when she decided men were the problem and began dating women, I watched it all happen the same way with them.

The common factor was: her.

She was unhappy with herself, so unhappy that she tried to find happiness in others. Happiness she never found.

I want to be happy. I came here to get out from under the shadow of darkness she left behind, and so that I never have to look at that godforsaken bridge again.

I lie and wait until nine in the morning to call Shakeeka, needing directions back to my destination. To happiness.

I pick up my old phone and call her at one minute after nine.

“Mocha angel, is that really you?”

I grip the phone as I draw my knees up to my chest. Her voice springs out emotions I have tried to hinder for nearly six months

I manage to squeak out, “Hi.”

She laughs. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Your job?”

“Good.”

“Your place?”

I look around and sigh, “Good.”

“It’s a boy then.”

“No. Well, yes, but no. It’s actually me.”

“It’s always us, angel.”

“Because we have the power to make choices.”

“We sure do.” She laughs. “Now tell me all about this boy.”

“He’s nice, really nice. He’s strong and focused and patient.”

“Oh, angel, I love him already.”

Her word choice makes me sigh then sort of laugh at myself.

“Angel, talk to me.”

“I’m not sure how to say it all without …” I pause and flop back on my bed. “He’s really nice. He goes to school here, but he’ll be moving away in the spring.”

“You’re falling for a boy, angel. There’s nothing wrong with that, unless you let it—”

“Consume me,” I whisper.

“You’re not your mother, child. Your mind doesn’t work the way hers did. But still, take her mistakes, count them as your lessons, and enjoy those moments you went in search of.”

“But I—”

“Enjoy them.”

“I will.”

“You better.” She laughs again, and so do I. “And don’t make me wait two months to talk to you again.”

I look down at the phone. “I’ll text you.”

“A heart now and again isn’t enough.”

“How about words?”

“What!”

“He’s helping me learn to read again.”

“That’s wonderful to hear! You have no idea how wonderful. When you’re ready, your mother’s journals are in that storage unit you insist on paying for.”

“I may not ever be ready.”

When we get off the phone, I look over and see the Trucker phone is now charged. When he fell asleep, I put his on the charger, knowing he would want it for his trip.

I power it on and “Click Click Boom” plays.

I hit the text alert and smile when I see the sun.

The next message takes me a couple of seconds to sound out, but when I do, I smile so big my face hurts.

Trucker

I love the taste of your tits.

Then another.

Trucker

You’re gonna love the taste of my …

I cover my mouth and laugh when I see an eggplant emoji.

I scroll to the next.

A football.

The next.

A kissy face.

The last.

Trucker

WTF, Ray?

I hit the keyboard and send him what I should have this morning. I hit the sun and start to hit send when my phone rings.

“Hi.”

His voice is muffled, and in the background, I hear the sound of what I assume is a bus full of football players.

“Don’t pull that shit on me, Ray. I’m not a mind reader. Fuck, I’m probably emotionally dyslexic, too. But there was—”

“The Trucker phone was dead. I put yours on the charger last night, so it’d be charged for your trip.”

He’s quiet, saying nothing.

I pull the phone away from my ear, hit messenger, and send him the sun. Then I place the phone back to my ear and wait.

I hear him sigh. “That’s better.”

“Yeah?”

“I love getting smiling suns from you in the morning.”

I laugh.

“What?”

“I just don’t want any of whatever it is going on to be uncomfortable, Trucker Cohen. I used a very complicated word in the heat of the moment that I couldn’t take back.” I sigh. “I made it awkward.”

“I don’t want to hurt your damn feelings either, so …” He leaves it hanging.

“And I thought maybe it scared you, and well—”

“Truth, Ray, just give me the truth.”

I exhale. “I really loved the way you made me feel.”

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“And that word, that L word, can be misconstrued, misunderstood, misinterpreted, and is too easily misspoken. I don’t want you to think I’m in—”

Damn it, I think and huff.

He laughs.

“See? It’s like a curse.” I laugh, too.

“Not when you and I both know what it means.”

“The moments,” we both say at the same time.

He chuckles. “And Ray, if you loved the way I made you feel last night, half as much as I loved touching you, tomorrow night is gonna blow your fucking mind.”

“My reward, my gold star, was given because I earned it. I don’t ever want anything I don’t earn. And you, Trucker Cohen, number 21, you better earn your reward, because it’s not just your mind I want to blow.”

“Christ, Ray, I’m on a bus full of big, nasty, hairy-assed men, and you’re making me hard.”

“Good.”

“Good? It’s not good, Ray. Not good at all.”

“I promise it will be.”

“Ray?”

“Trucker?”

“I’m gonna love filling that sexy mouth of yours with T2’s.”

“What?” I laugh.

“Trucker, generation 2.”

“Oh, my God, that’s—”

“You’re gonna love it.”

It’s a nail biter.

I have heard that phrase for over three hours.

That and: “Pitt got the fucking blueprints!”

But they don’t have number 21.

“He’s a football player!”

Well, no kidding.

“He’s carrying the team on his back!”

This was yelled every time Trucker was sacked. After the third time, I tried not to watch.

“Gonna be a tough win in this hostile environment.”

Is this the first football game you’ve ever watched? Geez.

“These two teams just don’t like each other.”

What teams do?

At half-time, Robby Rotinski, the kid from the mall, was interviewed. I couldn’t hear half of what he said because the crowd was yelling at him like he was a grown man, and like he could actually hear them.

In the last forty-two seconds, Pitt scores, putting them up by three. The noise from the crowd in the bar grows to an all-time high, and then the camera zooms in on little Robby who is now standing on the sidelines with Pitt and doing a dance of some sort that ends in him forming a V and landing outside his pelvic area. And I’m not a lip reader, but I’m pretty sure he’s saying, “Suck it.” Pitt’s players and coach are laughing it up.

When the camera flashes to Trucker, he looks amused.

“Boy’s getting cocky.”

“He should have never messed with that little demon child.”

“I hope he kicks his ass.”

Oh, my God, he’s a kid.

The camera flashes to Robby again. He’s waving bye-bye from across the field.

Then the camera flashes back to Trucker. Logan’s next to him now, glaring at the Pitt players. Trucker points to the clock and holds up four fingers, and then two. Then he points to Logan’s jersey number—forty-two—shrugs, and then smiles and points to himself before holding up one finger and mouthing “number one.”

Soon, both teams are on the field and the ball is kicked.

One of the guys I remember from the bar, Downs, catches the ball, takes it to the fifty-yard-line, and then the time is stopped. Players run off and on the field. SU goes to huddle.

“Come on, ‘Cuse! We need a miracle!”

“Play like it’s your field!”

“Don’t fuck this up, Orange!”

All eyes are glued to the TV, including mine.

Trucker passes the ball to Mitch, who runs it to the forty-yard-line before getting tackled.

“Come on! Don’t fuck this up, boys!”

Men, I think as I watch Trucker yell at his team, spit flying out of his mouth, and then he looks at Logan.

There is a look exchanged between them that wouldn’t easily be noticed by someone who wasn’t keenly aware of how much they mean to one another. It’s a look of knowing, of understanding, of brotherhood.

This is one of those moments, even though it’s not mine, that I feel privileged to witness.

When nods are exchanged, I know I’m about to witness something else, something great.

The ball is snapped, and Logan is at Trucker’s side. Trucker turns toward him, and I see something pass between them. Then Trucker cradles his arms to his chest and runs left while Logan runs right.

“They know this play, you fool, Cohen. They got the blueprints!”

Fool? The blueprints?

God, sport spectators can be such assholes.

“You’re watching the wrong guy.” I laugh, watching the right side of the field.

I look left, seeing Trucker running with the entire Pitt defensive line coming at him toward the sideline.

My body tenses. “Run, dammit!”

When he’s tackled, he goes down hard, and I hold my hands over my chest. Then I see that little asshole Robby dancing while the entire Pitt defensive line celebrates as they jump up off Trucker.

Trucker pops up like nothing happened and opens his arms. He holds up that one finger again then points down the field at Logan who is on the one-yard-line, holding his arms in the air, the ball in his left hand as he falls backward.

“Touchdown!” I say, raising both hands in the air. “Touchdown!”

The crowd in the bar lets out cheers and whistles as the camera follows Trucker, who is now running down the field toward Logan. After they hug and smack each other’s asses, the entire team surrounds them.

Out of the center of the SU football players, I see a hand holding up the number 4, and then one finger pointing.

For you.

I smile and hold my hand over my chest, thinking, No, Trucker, that was for you, for your team, for your dream. That was for you, and I am so glad to share that moment with you.

It’s two thirty in the morning when I step out of the shower and hear the Trucker phone ringing.

I grab a towel, wrapping it around me as I run to get it.

“Hi!”

“Hi, Ray.” His voice is deep and husky, sexy.

“Congratulations.”

He lets out a single, “Hm,” followed by a, “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“A little sore, a little buzzed. Stepping into a Jacuzzi tub at the Crown. Room 421.”

I try to hide my disappointment when I ask, “You’re still in Pennsylvania?”

“No, Ray, I’m a couple of blocks from you.” I hear a splash and a hiss. “Round hotel. The Crown.”

“Oh, so—”

“So, I’m going to send a car to get you as soon as you’re ready.”

“To come to the hotel?” I ask, looking around the room, at the candles, at poster board sized drawings I made to greet him with.

“I’d really like that.”

“I just got out of the shower, so I can be there whenever.”

“When you get to the hotel, just go to the elevator and hit the fourth floor. Follow the signs. Can you do that?”

“I’m good with numbers.”

“I’ll leave the door open.”

“Okay.”

“Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“No bra.”

My nipples immediately harden, and then he hangs up the phone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Best game day ever

Trucker

I watch the Uber app and see that the car is here. I set the phone beside the tub then lift my body out of it.

Bending down, I feel every hit I took today as I lift the lever to let the water drain out. Then I grab a towel and dry off my hair as I look in the mirror.

Aside from the few bruises, I look damn good. Never really gave too much of a fuck before. Well, I did, but not like I do now.

I like the way she looks at me. It’s admiration at first, and quickly turns to lust, which is where it normally starts and ends.

I towel off my hair as I contemplate whether to shave or not, look down at the razor, and decide not to. Then I look back and see the tub has emptied, so I walk back to fill it again, hoping she likes hot water, because I need it this way. That’s when I hear her whisper my name, and so does Boom.

I wrap the towel I used to dry my hair around my waist and walk out of the bathroom.

Her back is to me, and she’s looking around the room. Her long, wavy hair is loose, and I can’t wait to fist it in my hand while she gives me my fucking gold star.

I lean against the door and watch as she takes in the shape of the room as I take in the shape of her ass. Then she turns slightly, and I see a smile form before she says, “I was beginning to wonder if I was in a room with a stranger or the best quarterback in college football.”

She turns fully toward me and smiles. “What you did today was …” Her eyes drift south then quickly back to my eyes. “Amazing.”

“You talking about the game or what your greedy and very beautiful eyes just took in?”

She shrugs and crinkles up her nose. “Both?”

“Well, what’re you waiting for, Ray? Come over here and show me how good I was.”

She hesitates before dropping her little black bag on the floor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“How fast we’re moving. Is it wrong?”

I shake my head in answer. “But, if it feels wrong—”

“It doesn’t,” she interrupts my train of thought as she shrugs her sweater off her shoulders and I see her nipples standing at attention. “But we’re three weeks into this, and I don’t want you to think I’m a slut or something.”

“I think you’re beautiful. And I can assure you that I don’t think you’re a slut. And Ray, I have never waited three weeks for a handjob before.”

“Handjob,” she whispers then nods and clears her throat. “So, how would you like it? You wanna sit, stand, perhaps lie on the bed?”

I can’t help laughing. “Get your ass over here.”

She nods as she walks toward me. Then she is standing toe to toe with me. Looking up, she places her hand on my abs. “Watching you today was amazing.”

“Did it make you hot?”

“Yes.” Her eyes sparkle. Sand surrounding water. “No? Maybe.” She nods like she’s figured it out. “It just made me realize how damn strong you are and how much you love that game.” She moves her tiny little hand up my chest and ends over my heart. “You played with your heart today, and I got to watch it happen. It was beautiful. I watched you stand up and keep going, no matter how hard they went after you. You persevered. I’m in awe of you, Trucker Cohen.”

What she just said to me makes my fucking heart skip a beat, maybe two.

“I got to watch you and our best friend work toward a dream you’ve worked hard at accomplishing for years. One that I know you’ll continue accomplishing until you’ve gone pro. I’m inspired by you, Trucker Cohen.”

Fuck cheerleaders. Fuck my parents and the fact that they never come to my games. Fuck that little shit Robby Rot—whatever the fuck his name is. I got sunshine and smoke being blown up my ass by Ray.

“I’ve never smelled smoke as sweet.” I lean down and kiss the top of her head.

She pushes against my chest.

“I love all those things you said to me. But it’s really hard to take a compliment.”

As she looks up at me, I lean in to kiss her really lightly, because that’s when I get the burst of sweetness.

When I feel her wrap her hand around me, that’s when I give it to her first.

I take in a deep breath and my head falls back, hitting the wall. “Shit.”

“Oh no, no, no, no,” she says, reaching up and rubbing the back of my head.

“Ray, I took harder hits on the field today. We’re good. And besides, the head on my dick is getting all sorts of fucking jealous of the one on my shoulders right now.”

“You’re sure?” she asks, still rubbing the back of my head.

“Spitting mad.” I wink, and she looks down. “Not yet, Ray.” I grab her hand and kiss the palm. “You ever play dice?”

“Actually, I have. I was pretty good at it, if I remember.”

“I’m sure you will be.” I put her hand on my lower abs. “Same motion, just don’t toss it.” I wink.

“Oh, my God.” She closes her eyes and bites her lower lip.

“No biting either, Ray.” I joke.

She grips my cock. “Bigger than dice?”

What the fuck did she just say?

When her thumb floats across my head, I decide it doesn’t matter, not one fucking bit.

“So soft,” she whispers as she looks down. “It’s … big.”

That’s different, too. I normally get: It’s hard and huge.

“Is this okay?” She looks up.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Yes. Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure, because—”

I reach out and grab the back of her head, pulling her fucking lips to mine.

She moans loudly and grips my dick harder as I push my hand up her shirt and squeeze her tit. She strokes down the base of my cock, wraps her lips around my tongue, and fucking sucks on it like a kitten sucks on its mom’s tit.

I grab her hip and begin guiding her slowly back to the bed. When the back of her legs hit, I pull my tongue away and dip my head down to kiss her neck as I pull her shirt up and push her back to have another go at my favorite new tit cup size.

She pushes back and sidesteps me as she kisses my chest.

“Ray, we’re doing some fucked-up kind of dance, and all I wanna do is get you on this bed and have another go at your perfect little tits.”

She bites my chest then looks up. “I’m well-aware of what you’re doing, but tonight, I get to play with the this.” She squeezes my dick. “You earned a gold star, your highness.” She looks down and licks her lips. “You did really, really well. Like …” She swallows. “Really well.” She leans down, keeping eye contact with me. “Trucker?”

“If you’re really gonna ask to suck my cock, the answer is yes, Ray.”

“And if I suck at it?”

“That’s kind of the point.” I grab it and stroke as she rolls her eyes and smiles softly. “I’m gonna love whatever you do to my cock.”

I let go as she eyes it. Boom is throbbing, pulsing, and resting against my waist.

She leans in and kisses the base so softly I wonder if it’s imagined. If I’m really here, if she is the girl who I ran into a little over three weeks ago.

She kisses me again, and then I watch her looking up at me, realizing that today, at the game, was the first time I didn’t get pissed, not even once, that my dad wasn’t there. Because she was. Maybe not at the stadium, but I knew she would be watching and rooting for me.

She licks up me, and then the world turns good when she wraps those lips, the ones I love to kiss, around Boom. Fucking love it.

When she goes down on my shaft until my cock hits the back of her throat, then moves her head left and right, trying to take me in deeper, I feel the boys tighten immediately.

When she licks up, she wraps her hand around the wet, exposed root and pumps slowly as she sucks hard, so damn hard I grip the back of her hair so I have something to hold on to.

She looks up. “You taste so good.”

“Ray …” I groan.

“Trucker?” She strokes me.

“I love the way your mouth feels wrapped around me.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Ray?”

She looks away from my cock and into my eyes.

“Suck my cock.”

Her mouth descends on me, and I groan out, “Just like that.”

Her grip tightens, and she strokes it fasts, sucking it deeper, harder.

“So fucking good.”

She lets go and places her palms on my thighs, using just her fucking mouth to fuck my dick.

“Fuck yes. Fuuuuck yesssss.”

She is using her tongue to stroke the underside as she ascends. Her cheeks then hollow as she goes down and gags after going a little too deeply. She opens her mouth and almost stops.

“Fuck, Ray, please don’t stop.”

She reaches up to wipe her chin.

“Don’t do that either, baby. Feels so good wet. So fuuuuu—”

My cock is as far in her mouth as it can go, and she’s doing that thing—moving her head back and forth—trying to take it farther. Then she swallows.

I grip the back of her head and pull it back. “Gonna come.”

She grabs the base and strokes me hard, fast, and then grabs my hand and links her fingers with mine, holding them across the bed as she goes fucking down.

“Fuck yes … Jesus … God damn. Fucking perfect. Fuck, fuck, fuck …”

As the boys high-five Boom, and it’s a go, I try to unlink our hands to pull her back, but she holds on tighter.

“T2’s … T … 2’s …” I hiss.

“Mmmm …” Her tonsils vibrate along my head, and I am fucking gone.

I fill her damn mouth, and she swallows it down. I fill it again, and she swallows before opening her mouth and gasping for air.

“Can’t stop coming. Can’t … fuck … yes … Ray, fuck yes!”

I fill her again, and her lips close around me. She takes that, too.

She stays on her knees, kissing my cock, licking it, and fuck if I’m not feeling it again.

I reach down, grab her under the arms, and pull her up. “Better let that special sauce digest before you take anymore.”

“How did I do?” She smiles, knowing damn well how she did.

I wink. “Best handjob ever.”

She laughs then kisses me. Open mouth kisses me. Open mouth kisses me after T2’s filled her mouth.

That’s a no-go for me.

Her tongue pushes into my mouth, and now … now it apparently doesn’t matter.

When she stands up, she looks left and gasps.

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!”

As she runs into the bathroom, I realize what the fucking oh no, no, no, no means.

I jump up as she yells, “I hope the quarterback can catch.” At that, she starts throwing towels at me.

“Hey.” I laugh as I throw towels down before the water spills onto the carpet. “Don’t let out the water, Ray. This body needs a soak.”

“That big body gets in this tub and more water will spill.” She laughs as she wrings out the hem of her shirt.

“Did you just call me fat?” I gasp as I stalk toward her.

“I would never!” Her eyes widen, and then she laughs.

As I get closer, her eyes cast down and she smiles. “That’s fat.”

I grab her up and throw her over my shoulder. She squeals when I smack her ass.

“That thing’s your new best friend.”

I step into the tub, and she laughs as she grabs my ass and squeezes. “It spit at me!”

“And you were McLovin’ that special sauce,” I say as I sit down as more water sloshes out.

“I love your smile, Ray. So damn much.” I lean in and kiss her softly, over and over again, not giving a fuck about the T2s.

“I thank you for putting it there.”

I grab the sides of her face and look at her, just fucking look at her, and wonder if she’s even real.

“What?” she asks, stroking her thumbs against the sides of my face.

“Do me a favor?”

She cocks her head to the side, and I scratch behind her ear. She rolls her eyes and bats my hand away.

“Don’t ever fucking change.”

“Only if you promise me the same.”

I wink, but I can’t promise that, not when I like the changes happening in me now.

“One more thing?”

“Anything,” she whispers as she caresses her fingers up the back of my neck.

“Take your clothes off.”

She stares at me for a moment, and then I see unease wash away as she stands up and pulls off her shirt.

When she starts to sit back down, I tell her, “You’re forgetting something.”

And … unease returns.

“Isn’t that next week’s gold star?”

“You skipped a step. I think I have some making up to do.” I run my hand up her leg and am just about to hit the panties when she shakes her head, telling me no. “Where’s your confidence?”

“Truth?”

“Always.”

“Don’t laugh.” She crosses her arms.

“I promise I won’t.”

“You’re all cleaned up down there.”

“Manscaping.”

“Well, I didn’t prepare.”

I lean forward, and she pulls back.

“Ray, I don’t give a damn if you—”

“I do, Trucker.” She looks around. “I’m in a hotel, with a sexy superstar athlete, and would like to keep some dignity. So just let me—”

I stand up and step out of the bath.

“Are you mad at me?”

I hold my hand out, and she takes it.

“Thank you.”

I walk us over to the bathroom countertop, and then I pick her up by the waist and set her on it. Next, I reach over and grab my shaving kit, unzipping it to set the razor and shaving cream next to it.

“What are you doing?”

I step in front of her, pop her button, and then start to unzip her shorts.

“Trucker …” she sighs.

“This is a win-win. I get to do something for you, and you get to let me.” I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her wet shorts and pull them down.

“Well, thank God.” I smile, and she covers her face. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, and truth, Ray, it’s been years since I’ve seen pubs.” I run my thumb across her pubic bone, making her jump. “I kind of like them.”

“I kind of don’t.”

“I’m kind of glad you said that, because I am going to experience a first for me.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “Stay put.”

When I walk back in the bathroom, the one with a floor that’s still covered in water, I drag a chair behind me and set it in front of her. Then I sit down and set one of her feet on my legs.

“You look sexy as fuck, Ray.”

“I feel completely exposed and incredibly vulnerable.”

“I’m completely exposed and grateful—no, honored—that you trust me, Ray, as much as I trust you.” I look down at the patch of hair between her legs, “Just having one hell of a time deciding if I want to eat it or shave it.” I look up at her. “Your call. I’m down for either one.”

“Trucker?”

Still staring at the black curls, I ask, “Yeah?”

“Will you please shave me?”

“Yeah, Ray. But then, I’m gonna eat it.”

“Okay.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Before and after

Keeka

Sitting on a cold countertop, with Trucker sitting on a chair, looking at my vagina in its very “natural” and covered state, may have been more frightening had I not just had him in my mouth, or if I was blind and couldn’t see the way he looks at me, or I wasn’t cold.

“My fingers haven’t even been inside of you and I’m staring at your pussy.” He looks up into my eyes. “You really are fucking sexy, you know.”

“You really make me feel that way.”

He leans in and kisses my inner thigh, and I jump a bit again.

“Change of plans, Ray. I need you to be safe and unmarred by the end of this, and if you can’t stay still when I kiss you, how are you gonna handle it when I shave you?”

I start to contemplate the question when he begins kissing my thigh again. This time, he doesn’t stop at one kiss but continues moving up.

Pulses of pleasure explode wherever his lips touch my body, completely obliterating the worry, doubt, or fear of the unknown, all now replaced by desires. Desire for him to touch me, taste me, caress me wherever he wants to.

He now cascades his nose across my pubic bone and inhales deeply, taking in my scent. He exhales a deep rumble and sits back, running his hands through the silky hair I love to touch. Then he grips his massive cock, one I tried so hard to fit fully into my mouth, one I want in my mouth again.

“Gonna have to switch things up.” His words are a growl. “I’m gonna eat it first.” He looks up at me.

“I won’t deny you.”

“Good.” He squeezes his erection harder as he leans in, pumping himself hard and fast.

My hands grip air, wanting so badly to touch him.

“I can fucking smell how hot you are … and wet. I know your little slit is gonna fucking taste delicious, with and without the fur coat.” He kisses my thigh again then licks his lips. “Sit back, Ray, and enjoy the fucking ride.”

I swallow hard and grip the end of the counter as he kisses my most intimate area. The sensation is overwhelming as he licks while caressing me with his thumb.

“You smell so good.” He inhales deeply again before kisses me there, over and over.

I feel him pushing his tongue inside of me and cry out when I then feel … something …

“Oh God, you have to stop, Trucker. I can’t … Oh God!”

He pulls his tongue out and looks up at me. “You taste so good. Sweet, like candy, Ray. Don’t make me stop, sweet stuff. I wanna bury my face between your legs and make you come all over it.”

Scared and excited at the same time, I nod quickly.

His words come out sweet. “Thank you.”

And then … well, then he isn’t as gentle this time as he pushes my thighs farther apart and licks deeper inside of me. I feel my body clench around his tongue, and he groans as he pushes it in and out faster, harder.

“Trucker, yes … No … Oh shit …”

“Mmm …” he groans as he sucks on me now and nips at my throbbing lips. “Cunt that tastes like candy,” he whispers then pushes his face between my legs as he reaches around and grabs my ass, squeezing it so hard I know it’ll bruise. I don’t care.

“Oh, yes! Oh, oh … Ah…” I cry out as he licks the most sensitive part of me.

“Found the jewel. Now I’m gonna eat it.”

“What?”

He circles his tongue around and around the spot, and when he sucks on it, my thighs involuntarily crash against his head. My body tries to pull back and push forward all at the same time, as magic and miracles dance with the butterflies inside of me.

“Mmm …” he growls again, and then hisses. And then … then the world as I know it falls apart into tiny little pieces of pleasure.

“What was that?” I pant out as he continues to lap slowly between my legs.

He looks up at me. “That was the fucking best cum I’ve ever smelled, tasted … Fuck, Ray … Fuck.” He licks again, eyes on mine, and all I can do is purr

When I have caught my breath, I look down at him, seeing his eyes are still full of desire.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you kidding me?”

He nods and runs one hand over the stubble on his chin that is coated with my …

“Do you want a washcloth?”

“Fuck no. I smell like the sun rained down on me.” He winks then stands up, releasing his cock and reaching over to grab the shaving cream. “Now, sit back, because I’m gonna get rid of the grass, and then go back in for seconds.”

“Was it horrible? The hair—”

“No, Ray, not at all. But from what I understand, being bare is gonna make you even more sensitive, and I’m hoping for a flood next. I wanna be dripping with your cum.” His jaw tightens a bit, and then he groans when the head of his cock brushes against my leg.

When I push on his chest, he looks at me oddly. Then, when I reach down and grip him hard in my hand, he growls, “Ray …”

I push him back. “Sit down. It’s my turn.”

I slide off the counter and sink to my knees. He’s still standing.

“I told you I was gonna shave you and—”

“I think we’ve changed things up a bit tonight, and …” I lift his heavy cock then run my tongue over his smooth balls.

“And …?” he hisses when I suck one into my mouth.

I let it fall out. “And …” I lick up him, and then back down softly. “Your taste, I’m lovin’ it.”

He sits down and nods. “I won’t deny you either. Not a damn thing, Ray.”

He pulls my hair to the side and watches as I go down on him. Then he grips my hair at the scalp and raises his hips to meet my descent.

“Fuck … yes,” he hisses, pushing in and pulling out while I suck and stroke him faster, harder until I feel the knowing twitch.

“I’m gonna come so hard for you, Ray.” He grips both sides of my head as he thrusts in and out rapidly, hitting the back of my throat, making sounds of pleasure and pain.

“Knees,” he says, standing, still holding my head. “I need this, baby. Boom, the boys, the—”

His words make no sense, and he has a crazy look in his eyes, like he’s confused and pained.

I nod with my mouth still full of his thick, hard, yet silky dick.

He leans forward, causing me to sit back on my heels. He puts one of his sexy, big, bare feet on the chair and tilts my head back, beginning to fuck my mouth. I feel his balls hitting by chin and hear the sound of my mouth full of saliva, coating him as he pushes deeper into my mouth. I feel the burn between my legs and am shocked at how turned on I am by this.

When his pace falters and he throws his head back, I feel him go off in my mouth as he cries out, “Love your fucking mouth, Ray. Fucking love it.” He pulls out, panting, his sexy, broad chest rising and falling as he pants, “Fuck … That was … Fuck, Ray.” He drops back in the chair and lets his head fall back.

I crawl toward him as I swallow the rest of his T2’s and kiss up the strong, thick thighs of the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

His head still flopped back, his eyes still closed, he holds out his hand and pants, “Jesus, Ray, you can’t be that hungry. Come here.”

I let him pull me up and toward him.

“Get up here.”

I climb onto his lap, and he cradles me in his arms, holding my head against his chest that he kisses over and over again.

“You are the sexiest woman I have ever met,” he pants out.

“I was just thinking the same about you.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “Except not the woman part, because clearly …”

He huffs out a laugh. “You’re something, Ray. Something incredible.”

After we have showered and cleaned up the situation on the bathroom floor, he grabs me and sets me on the counter again. “You stay put. I’m shaving you.”

I nod as he walks out of the room then back in, holding up a brown paper bag. “Might have gotten cold, but …” He shrugs and hands me the McDonalds’ bag.

I smile and open it, finding a Big Mac.

“You’re the best, you know?”

“Gotta be the best when you’re playing with the best.”

I pull out the Big Mac and smile. “I know. You and Logan today … phenomenal.” I take a bit and moan. “So good.”

“When I said playing with the best”—he pushes my legs apart and tugs at my hair—“I was talking about you.”

I look at him and smile. When he reaches up to scratch behind my ear, I push his hand away and we both laugh.

“Okay, spread ’em,” he orders, holding the can of shaving cream in his hand and filling the other.

When I hesitate, he rolls his eyes.

“I was just face-first in home plate, and now you get shy?”

“It’s going to be awkward.”

He pulls the chair behind him with his foot and sits. “Nah. Nothing between us is, remember?”

“Okay, but we should talk.”

He rubs the shaving cream over my body and nods. “So, you watched the game?” He looks up.

I nod. “I did.”

“The whole thing?”

“Except when I knew they were going to sack—”

I stop when the first swipe of the razor causes me to jump.

“Gotta sit still. This is a straight razor, and I sure as hell don’t want to cut your sweet, little pussy.”

I nod. “I’ll stay still.”

He blows on the spot that is now hair free. “Girls pay to have their skin this tan, Ray.”

“I’m sure they’d pay to have you doing this to them, too.”

He shrugs. “Don’t care about any of them. I have perfect for the season.”

My heart expands.

He looks up. “I’m serious, Ray. I don’t give a shit about any of them. You’re what every guy wishes he had. I mean, fuck.” He swipes the razor across my skin again. “You’re perfect.”

“I feel the same about you.”

“Good. Now, talk more football to me. It’s so hot.”

“What’s hot is the confidence you have on the field. It’s like you were born to be there.”

“Wasn’t born to. Logan, he was. I have to bust my ass, eat right, work-out, and sleep to perform the way I did today on the field,” he replies as he continues shaving me.

“But it’s so obvious that you were meant to play, Trucker.” I laugh. “Not just the game. You play the crowd.”

He looks up and cocks his head in question. I reach up and he lets me scratch behind his ear. In fact, he leans into it.

I lean back and continue, “That kid, Robby Rotten—”

He chuckles. “Robby Rotten is a little douche.”

“The bar was too loud to hear the interview. What did he say?”

“Just shit talk. They all do it,” he says as he fixates on my vagina. “But I told the little fucker what the next play was.”

“Oh, my God, was that when you held up the four, and then the two and pointed at Logan?”

He looks up. “You caught that, huh?”

“Of course I did. I also saw the hand-off to Logan, but then I got as confused as the opposing team when you ran.”

“They thought I was trying to gain yards and get out of bounds to stop the clock.”

“And you planned that right on the field.” I laugh. “I saw the look you gave him.”

“He knew I was about to pull some dumb shit. That’s how we always won games in high school.”

“So, what happens if you don’t go pro together?”

“We have to.” He nods.

“Well, I’ll send positive thoughts into the universe.”

He chuckles and glances up, “You do that, and I’ll keep praying.”

“You believe in God?”

“May not live like it, but yeah.” He grabs a washcloth and rubs it between my legs. “How else would I be where I am today?” He leans in and kisses my bare skin, making me jump.

“Oh, my God.”

He laughs. “You mean Universe?”

“I mean you.”

I called out to God when Trucker’s mouth fell upon my bare skin and made me fall apart again. He called out to me when I pushed him back with my foot, slid off the counter, and dropped to my knees. Then we ended up in what I now know is a sixty-nine on the bathroom floor, devouring, tasting, and giving each other pleasure.

As we lie in the hotel bed, my head on his chest as we watch ESPN, I see the post-game interview with Trucker, the coach, and Logan.

The camera follows Logan as he signs the game ball then tosses it to someone in the crowd. When I see it’s little Robby Rotten, I look at Trucker, who shrugs.

Then I hear his voice.

“Respect the player and the game, kid.” That said, he walks out of the press room with a little extra swag.

“So, you do like kids.” I laugh.

“Don’t hate ’em; just don’t want ’em.” He looks down at me. “You want kids?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think I’d be a good mother.”

His eyes narrow a bit.

“If I do ever decide to have them, it’ll be ten years down the road, and I will make sure he or she doesn’t act like that little turd.”

He smiles and nods, then kisses my head. “It’s a huge responsibility, and I sure as fuck don’t feel qualified or the need. So many people just pop them out and leave them hanging. I have dreams, goals, a life to live. I’m not sure I’ll ever want them.”

“And that’s your choice.” I nod, knowing exactly how he feels.

After a few minutes, he yawns and looks down. “I didn’t bring any condoms with me on purpose, Ray. Had I, I would have fucked the hell out of you tonight.”

“Well then, I’m glad you didn’t, because I really liked all the kissing.”

He chuckles. “Kissing?”

I nod. “And licking.”

“And sucking. Fuck, Ray, you even sucked the boys.”

“What?” I laugh and look up at him. “Now I get it.”

“Get it? You had them bouncing off your chin and face-fucking you.”

“Boom and the boys.” I smile.

“You met the whole team, Ray.”

“Can’t wait to play with them again.”

He closes his eyes tightly. “I need some sleep, but when we wake up, I am down for a sixty-nine right here on the bed. That bathroom floor was fucking cold.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Bad run

Trucker

I slam my locker and punch it repeatedly.

“Relax, man. We played a good game.”

“We’ve lost three in a row, Logan.”

He looks at me like he’s holding back some shit.

“Spill it.”

“You getting enough sleep?”

I grab my bag and throw the strap over my shoulder.

“Well, Jesus, Trucker. Your heads, both of them, are up Keeks’ ass, and maybe your love life needs to be put on fucking hold until shit starts going good again.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t even fucked her, Links.”

“Well, maybe that’s the fucking problem.” He laughs and slaps my back. “Those fuckers must be blazing blue.”

I scowl. “Haven’t fucked her, but they’re getting plenty of attention.”

He laughs again. “She won’t put out?”

“Not that you’d get it—hell, I didn’t until her—but there’s a fuck of a lot to be said about all the shit we don’t do with our hook-ups that are just as damn good.”

“We get ’em off. They get us off. Then we get our heads in the game. It’s fucking perfect. No attachments. End of.”

“Maybe I fucked up, but I don’t wanna go back to a different girl each night when I got one who knows what I like and is eager to do it. Maybe I fucked up, but I don’t think so. We were always worried after your scare in high school with that crazy bitch saying she was knocked up and wasn’t. You should have seen the signs, man. She had you on a leash.

“Ray doesn’t give a fuck about tomorrow, or the next day. She wants to make each moment count. She doesn’t look at me and see a meal ticket or ownership. Hell, she watches the games and pays attention to shit between you and I and makes a bigger deal about our connection on the field than the win or lose. My Ray thinks you’re the shit, Links, and you’re telling me to back away from a girl who thinks my best friend is the shit and constantly says he’s my person?”

“You don’t know her, Trucker.” He shakes his head. “You don’t know her.”

“If I question anything, she gives me the truth without a second delay. She just wants to be fucking happy.”

“And you want that for her.”

“Fuck yes, I do. I do that for her.”

“So, when it’s time to leave, when you get the call, what are you gonna do? Bring her along?”

I shake my head. “She’s looking for her thing, her football.”

“And you’re becoming her person, Trucker, and fucking up your game in the process.”

“You’re jealous.” I poke him in the chest.

“No, man, I’m your fucking person. I know what you want and how to push your buttons so you go after it. I’ve known you forever. I know what it will do to you if you don’t accomplish your dream. Does she?”

I look away because I haven’t a clue. Haven’t thought about it. I’m lovin’ my moments, too.

I look back up at him.

He shrugs. “You said maybe five years down the road, bro. It ain’t been five minutes and you’re lost. You don’t even know where your fucking GPS is.”

“Fuck you, man.” I push past him and walk out of the gym.

When I’m at my truck, I hear him calling from behind me, “Fucker, we don’t do that shit. We don’t act like a bunch of butt hurt, bitch babies.”

“My fucking head is spinning, man. I just need …”

“Her?”

I toss my bag in the truck. “Maybe I fucking do.”

“Because she strokes your fucking ego, and I push you toward your goal. The Trucker I know wouldn’t bitch out.”

Every fucking thing he said is true, every word of it, but it pisses me off.

“Ease my mind and call your Little Ray. Tell her you can’t make it tonight. Tell her you and I are in need of bonding before the game, because four in a row isn’t gonna fucking happen, man, and …” He looks down.

“And what?”

He shakes his head. “Overheard Coach Brown today, talking about Timmons.”

“He wouldn’t do that shit to me.” I shake my head. “I’m a fucking senior.”

He locks eyes with me. Truth.

“Fuck.”

“I fucking love you, man.”

“Then, why not lead with that and leave Ray the fuck out of it?”

“Like I said, I fucking know you. Sometimes better than you know yourself. You can’t be pissed at Coach—it’s his job.” He shrugs. “Make the call.”

I grab the phone out of my pocket, hit her name, and pop it on speaker.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” I sigh.

“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

“How pissed would you be if I told you I couldn’t make it tonight?”

“On a scale of one to ten?” She giggles, and I look at Logan.

“Yeah, Ray.” I lean back against my truck.

“Hmm … let me think. I’d be a ten if you thought the girl who couldn’t read was so stupid she herself hasn’t told you that you need more rest. A nine if it was to go find Robby Rotten and kick his butt because he’s talking smack about you on social media.”

I look at Logan and shrug. He smirks.

“An eight if it wasn’t to spend time with Logan, because I know you miss him. A seven if you decided to do that thing you do with your mouth on him—”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Logan snaps.

“Shut the fuck up, man.” I hit speaker to shut the damn thing off then hold the phone to my ear.

“A six if you don’t put me back on speaker.”

“Ray, I’m—”

“Speaker please,” she demands.

“Fuck.” I hold the phone down and hit speaker again.

“A five if you, Logan Links, think that I didn’t know when you started sending me a thumbs-up emoji, instead of typed responses to whatever worksheet I sent you, wasn’t because you were upset about the losses and were kind of blaming me for them.”

“That’s not fucking true, Keeks,” Logan flat-ass lies.

“It sure is. Three losses, three weeks of thumbs-up.” She laughs.

I look at him, loving that he is seeing her sense of humor, the one I saw the first time I met her, and feeling a sense of pride that the girl I chose to play around with is exactly what I knew she was.

He shakes his head as she continues.

“A four if you end up having a party and some other girl does to you what I do with my mouth.”

“How the fuck is that a four?”

“I don’t own you, Trucker Cohen—”

“For the fucking season, you do. And if you think I wouldn’t kill some motherfucker if you let him do shit to you, you’re lying to yourself.”

“Oh, my God, you’re whipped,” Logan whispers.

I snarl at him, and then tell Ray, “That should be a ten. A fucking ten!”

“A three if you don’t have a really good time.”

“Still tripping on four,” I snarl.

She laughs. “A two if you don’t stop tripping.”

I sigh.

“And a one if you think that I am not totally and completely honest when I say I know you’re going pro, number 21, and I would walk away if I thought I would in any way cause that not to happen.”

Logan nods. “You’re the best, Keeks. A smartass, but the best.”

“Fucking told you,” I snap at him.

“Trucker, one more thing,” she says. “I don’t want to see you until you win.”

I can’t help smiling, and then realization kicks me in the balls.

“So, if I lose, like, two in a row, you’d deny me?”

She laughs. “It won’t happen.”

I start to get worried. “If it does?”

“Logan better learn how to—”

“You suck, Keeks!” Logan yells into the phone, and she laughs.

“Kick ass, Orangemen.”

“Ray …”

“I’ll see you Saturday night.” She hangs up.

Sitting at a corner table with my team, I watch her work. I’m so fucking ready for this night to be over, and it’s only midnight.

I watch the assholes go up and toss lines at her, and I watch how she responds to them, shooting them down. I feel sorry for the poor fuckers because, for a week, I have been without her.

Timmons comes back and drops a ten in the middle of the table. “She not only shot me down, but she told me my ID looked like a kindergartener made it.”

I glance up at her. She smirks then looks away.

“When the fuck did she start wearing bras? It’s fucking disappointing as hell,” Larson drops a ten in the center, too.

“She must be a fucking lesbian,” White grumbles, dropping a ten in the center.

“Jesus, there must be two hundred bucks sitting on your table.”

I look over at one of the frat boys at the next table as fucking Downs tells him about the bet.

“We want in,” one of the guys says as he laughs.

I shake my head. “Fuck no.”

“Dude, you afraid to get beat?”

“Not a chance in hell I’d lose.” I shrug as I watch her pat one of the bar customer’s hands. Rubs me the wrong fucking way.

I hear someone say, “We’ll go twenty in if she shoots us down.”

“Hell yes!” Timmons shouts.

I look at Logan. A blonde is kissing down his neck. He doesn’t allow that shit in public, so I know he’s fucking shit-faced.

He shrugs. “No worries, bro.”

I look at my team. My roommates have been warned, and now it’s just shit-talk to see who can get her to smile. I don’t like it, but Logan, when he was sober, reminded me that it keeps her from being chased harder by the fucks who want what I have … or had. Which is fine, I suppose. But when I watch as the first of the dick frat boys walks up to the bar, I can’t fucking sit this far away from assholes talking shit to her.

I walk up and sit next to the guy whose hand she patted.

He turns and looks at me. Brown eyes, the beginnings of a receding hairline, big nose … He could be considered average, or slightly below.

He nods. “Played a hell of a game today.”

“Thanks.” I turn back to see Ray roll her eyes.

“Are you the moon? Because I’d like you and your cheesy line about two hundred and thirty-eight thousand miles away from me.”

“Burn!” One of the guys laughs.

Ray shrugs then glances down at me.

When I nod, she looks down, her hair falling in her face, and smiles.

Douche number two leans over the bar. “Hey, baby, how would you like the washing machine experience?”

“I don’t want your dirty load.” She sets the other guy’s drink on the bar. “Seven dollars, please.”

He hands her a ten and waits for his change. Shitbag.

“Do you like whales?” douche number two yells to her.

“No interest in humpback at your place; just your drink order.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Oh, come on, guy; you just rambled off two corny pick-up lines that I’ve heard a million times in twenty seconds, and you can’t seem to form the word beer?”

“You’re a fucking bitch,” he snaps.

I start to stand, but the dude next to me puts his hand on my arm.

“Wait for it.”

“Hey, Lou!” Ray calls. “This little trust fund, sucking draft beer drinker just called me a bitch.”

Lou walks over.

The douche holds his hands up. “No disrespect, man.”

“Certainly was.” Lou scowls at him. “Can be fixed with a generous tip and an apology or you’re barred.”

“Fine,” he mumbles and reaches into his pocket.

I glance over at the guy beside me.

“Lou takes care of the ones he loves. Our Keeka happens to be his favorite.”

Our Keeka?

“I love your smile,” douche three interrupts me from thoughts about ripping off this dick’s head and shitting down his throat.

I glance at her. She’s not smiling.

Still not smiling, she replies, “Thanks.”

“What else can you do with that mouth?”

“Bitch and complain.”

She gives him his order, and then I wave her down.

She stands in front of me. “Good game.”

“That’s all I get is a good game?”

Her eyes dart around, and I lean in.

“So, Keeka, has this guy ever told you how hot you are?” I thumb toward the dick next to me.

It takes her a minute for the comeback. “Does he have two black eyes?”

The dick laughs. “Where have you been all my life?”

She shrugs and says with little to no conviction, “Hiding?”

I lean in and whisper in her ear, “How wet are you right now?”

Her voice quivers when she replies, “Stop.”

“Kiss me, and I will,” I whisper back.

“Time and place, Trucker.”

“Here and now, Ray.”

“I meant this isn’t the time or place.”

“I see.” I step back. “Jack on the rocks.”

She pours my drink and pushes it forward.

“I’d like to buy our quarterback that drink,” dick to my right says.

“That’s so sweet of you, Gary.” Keeka winks at me, then smiles.

“I can handle it,” I say, pulling cash out of my pocket.

“Trucker,” Ray scolds.

“Keeka, I got the fucking drink.” I throw a twenty on the bar.

“Everything okay down here?”

I look over to see Lou walking toward us.

“This dick—”

“Trucker Cohen!” she yells at me.

“What?” I throw my hands in the air.

“By dick, am I correct in assuming you’re talking about my nephew Gary?” Lou asks.

“If the condom fits.” I throw back my drink. “I’m out.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

First fight

Keeka

While cleaning up, I look at the Trucker phone several times to see if he’s messaged. He hasn’t.

“You do good tonight, Keeka?” Lou asks. Lou never asks.

“I’m sure I did.” I nod.

“What’s going on with you and Cohen?”

His question takes me aback. I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“What I like about you, kid, is your honesty. If you don’t want me to know, then tell me: none of your damn business, Lou.”

So, I say it. “None of your damn business, Lou.”

“Good kid. Definite star quality. Gonna go far if his attitude doesn’t shit it up for him.”

I dry off the glass in my hand before setting it on the shelf.

“He acts grumpy, Keeka. He’s either not getting enough ass or not getting enough sleep.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I look at him, and he raises his eyebrow. “I haven’t seen him in a week. And Lou, it’s still none of your damn business.”

He laughs. “You’re a damn good bartender, kid. Catching on fast. Feel free to head out. I can lock up.”

“See you tomorrow, Lou.”

“See you tomorrow, kid.”

I stand outside, looking down at the phone and trying to decide if I should text him or not. I desperately want to see him. I missed him more than I care to admit this past week, but that scares me, too.

Just over two months, and I am happier than I have ever been. I called Shakeeka and voiced my concern because it will always worry me that I will someday act like her. I have been told that, if it hasn’t happened yet, it won’t. Still, worry sets in.

There is too much of my past I can’t remember. Shakeeka tells me it’s because I was young. And I am even more aware how lucky I am to have had Shakeeka in my life.

I turn the handle and realize I left the door unlocked. I smile, knowing I feel safe here, far safer than I did in the city. But I also know it was somewhat irresponsible, so I make a mental note to double-check from now on.

When I open the door to my apartment, I see Trucker sitting on the floor, surrounded by my drawings.

I decide to turn right back around and run all the way to the city.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks without turning around.

“Running away.” I drop my bag on the floor.

He turns back and looks up at me. “Why?”

I point to the floor. “Those are private.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, turning back around and grabbing something. “This one especially.” He stands up and turns, holding the picture I drew of him. Of the way he looked lying back in that chair, in that bathroom, the night in that hotel, after he shaved me, after I dropped to my knees because I needed him in my mouth again.

His head is back, one hand rests on his forehead, and he is completely and totally naked. His cock lays against his waist, and every vein is etched out on that paper. Every bulging muscle, every inch of him is drawn on that paper.

“This is your football, Ray. I mean, fuck, it’s so good.”

I shrug. “That’s awfully conceited.”

He smiles. “The others, too. The sunsets, the bridges, the little cartoon dog and his ball. That’s raw talent. That’s what people everywhere wish they had. I mean, there are dozens and dozens of these things. You’re an artist, Ray.”

“I don’t know, Trucker. Maybe someday. But right now, I’m a bartender, whose job pays the bills I have to pay in order to find happiness in a place I knew it once.”

He nods and smiles as he walks toward me. “But this is—”

“Trucker.” I step back. “I need my job.”

He looks shocked then shakes his head. “I know that, and it’s why I left.”

I look away.

“So, what? Now you don’t want me? I fucking knew something was going on with that Gary fuck. Just like I knew you were too fucking good to be true.” He tosses the picture to the floor. “Fuck this. I’m out.”

I feel tears stinging my eyes as he walks past me and toward the door.

“Have fun finding someone like me, Ray, or Keeka, or whoever the fuck you are, ’cause right now, I don’t even know you.”

As the door slams, I walk over to where the floor is littered with artwork and squat down to pick them up.

“One last thing,” I hear as he walks back into the apartment. “You want me to sign any of those? You want me to …?”

His feet are in front of me, but I won’t look up. I don’t want him to see me cry.

“I fucking won a game today and I couldn’t wait to see you, to talk to you.”

Tears fall down my cheeks and onto my work. “You played really well, Trucker. You’re going to—”

“Go pro? You bet your ass I am. You know why?”

“Because you’re really good. Because you work really hard. Because it’s …” My voice sounds thick, and I feel my nose begin to run. “Excuse me.”

I stand up and rush to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I grab toilet tissue and blow my nose, and when I look up in the mirror, he’s standing behind me.

“I’m sorry?”

I smile and nod. “Okay.”

“That’s bullshit, Ray. It’s … truth.”

I shake my head.

“Yes, I call truth.”

I blow my nose again, and then turn to face him. “I’ve told you so many times, Trucker. I just want to be happy. But maybe I failed to mention that, if I feel like I’m making you unhappy …” I shake my head. “It hurts me and—”

“Not your fucking responsibility to make me happy.”

“Trucker, I know that, and this thing …” I shake my head again. “I can’t.”

“I’m fucking happy, Ray. I’m really fucking happy.”

“I made a promise to myself that I would never allow myself to believe that I have to make someone else happy ever again. And when I met you, I promised you that I would never want you to be unhappy. Maybe I failed to verbalize it, but—”

“Who fucked you up so badly that you can’t even handle a little fight, Ray?”

“I need you to leave, okay?”

“Who fucked you up, Ray? Your mom?”

I close my eyes. “Please, Trucker, please just go.”

Even though I want to push him away, I can’t, not when it feels so good to be held, wanted, touched.

“How did she die?”

I feel my body begin to tremble. Then I feel a tissue under my nose as he whispers, “How did she die?”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sometimes, the truth is better left unsaid.”

“And sometimes it sets you free.” He grips the back of my head as he pulls me into him, kissing the top of my head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tears fall in buckets, and he has to wipe my nose again.

“This is so embarrassing, Trucker.” I take the tissue from him. “Please just be happy, okay?”

“Not gonna be happy knowing I hurt you, made you cry. So, no, fuck that. I’m not going anywhere.”

I look up at him and shake my head. “It cannot be that way.”

“You’re crying, shaking, snotting—”

I wipe my nose and glare at him.

“And you’re pissed. And look at me. I was pissed earlier, and you want to say, go with the wind, Trucker. Be free and be happy. Well, fuck that. I’m sorry old six heads gives me the creeps when he’s checking you out. Sorry I didn’t know Lou had a creepy nephew.”

“I consider him a friend!” I snap at him.

“Well, he’s not.”

“God, Trucker, just—”

“I won’t kick his ass, but I won’t ever buy a man a drink when I wanna fuck what’s his. That’s fucked up, Ray.”

“I’m not yours! You’re not mine!”

“Sure as fuck we agreed upon that for the season.”

“When it’s not fun, it’s done. We agreed upon that, too.”

“God hates a quitter, Ray.” His tone is playful and …

“Dammit, Trucker,” I say as he presses his lips against mine.

“I’m sorry I don’t like him.”

“You’re being … jealous.”

“Not true.” He presses his lips harder against mine. “I didn’t want to beat up the frat hounds.”

“We can’t be like that.”

“I won’t be jealous, Ray.” He swoops me up in one arm and grabs the roll of toilet paper with his other hand. “But possessive? Protective? Can’t promise that.”

Angry, I squirm to get out of his arms. “You’d be more convincing if your lips weren’t still planted on mine.”

I pull them back off his. Then … Then my back hits the bed, and he comes down on top of me.

“You’re drunk.” I push on him.

“I’ve been elbowed by you before. You want me off, you give me more than that.”

He grabs my face between his hands and uses his thumb to wipe away the remaining tears as he looks over my face like he’s trying to read me. “I, Trucker Cohen, do solemnly swear that when I come into the bar and see that less-than-average-looking offspring of the great Lou, I will sit in the corner and sulk by myself without calling him a dick to his face, yours, or Lou’s.”

I close my eyes and let out the breath I had been holding.

“I owned my shit, Ray. Now tell me what it is that’s stopping you from living your best life.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll go first. I don’t trust women.”

“You don’t say?” I huff.

“My mother floats in and out of my father’s life when she’s not out fucking everyone else or fucked-up on drugs.”

I open my eyes and look at him.

“Embarrassing to have the town whore as a mom. More embarrassing to have a dad who keeps letting the bitch back in.”

I close my eyes and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. But it is your turn. Truth, Ray, it could set you free.”

“I’m terrified I’m going to turn out like her, even though I know I’m not like her.”

He strokes my cheek with his thumb, and I lean into his touch.

“She was bipolar and manic depressant.”

He kisses my nose. “You’re neither. Go on.”

“That’s it.”

“How did she die?”

I open my eyes. “She took her own life.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“On my birthday.”

His eyes widen then soften, looking at me with care and concern.

“I know I’m not to blame. I know I’m not her. I know I will be fine when I can stop worrying that I’m going to hurt someone enough to be unhappy enough to—”

“She tell you it was your fault she was—”

“Crazy?” I shake my head no.

“Good, ’cause it’s no more your fault that she was the way she was than it’s my fault that my folks are the way they are.”

I finally put my hands on his hips and am given a look that melts my heart.

“I don’t need you to make me happy, Ray. But fuck if I don’t love being around a woman”—he pauses and looks deeper in my eyes—“who is just as fucking real and honest as my best friend, who doesn’t want a fucking thing from me but to be with me, and who can play around between the sheets.”

I nod.

“And Ray, I wasn’t bullshitting you when I said you’ll never find someone like me.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, my forehead, and the top of my head before rolling off me and sitting up.

I watch as he shakes his head, afraid of what will happen next, but I am content with the fact that, if this is it, he isn’t angry at me, and I haven’t ruined his dreams.

Ruined his dreams …

I close my eyes and feel an overwhelming amount of sadness creep in.

“You really need to do something with this. They’re amazing.” He stands up and walks over to the pile before squatting down. “Especially this one.” He stands and turns, holding the one I drew of him naked.

“Thanks,” I whisper, looking toward the door.

“You want me to leave?”

I shrug, and as I feel tears threaten again, I roll onto my front.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Been a long night.”

I feel the bed dip, and then he rubs up and down my back slowly.

I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon, and I hear whistling.

I sit up and turn toward the kitchenette, seeing Trucker standing at my tiny stove, wearing track pants, a tank top, a backward white hat on his head, and earbuds in his ears. He is swaying to the beat of whatever song is playing, his muscles bulging with every move he makes.

He’s ridiculously handsome, stubborn, strong, and sweet. He’s also right; I will never find someone like him.

He stops moving and turns around. “Hey, you’re awake!”

His voice is loud, and his smile … nearly blinding.

“You passed out last night,” he continues to yell. “I didn’t cop a feel or anything, but you do know we won yesterday afternoon and I was promised a blowjob.”

“Oh, my God.” I cringe, wondering if anyone walking within a block of this building could have possibly missed what he just said.

“Ray, about last night—”

“Shhh …” I hold my finger over my lips.

He cocks his head, and I would definitely be scratching behind his ear if I were closer.

“A deal is a deal, Ray.”

I cover my face and flop back on the bed.

He laughs out loud as he pulls the tiny frying pan off the burner and walks over, sitting on the bed. “I could give you an apology licking.”

I reach up and yank one of the earbuds out.

“First …” When he finishes the word, he looks stunned, and then his lips turn up in the corner. “You don’t suppose Lou’s downstairs already, do you?”

I cringe again. “I sure hope not.”

“Because of what I said?” He rolls his eyes. “Please, you’re a grown-ass woman, paying grown-ass bills, and if he has an issue with you having company—”

“I would prefer he think my company and I are playing cards or doing a puzzle.”

He leans in and kisses me hard as he pushes his tongue into my mouth. I worry I have horrible morning breath, though, so I hesitate.

He pulls back and looks at me. “So, we’re still fighting?”

I cover my mouth. “Morning breath.” Then I crawl out of bed and hurry to the bathroom.

He laughs. “My tongue has been inside your pussy, and I’m pretty sure I licked the back door a few times.”

“Trucker …” I groan his name and poke my head out of the bathroom, “Shhh …” Then I shut the door and turn on the shower.

I pull off the bra and toss it on the pile. I hate sleeping in my clothes. To me, it feels like I never even slept. Then I finish brushing my teeth and jump in the shower. Leaning back, I close my eyes and let the water soak my hair.

“This looks interesting.”

I open my eyes to see Trucker standing inside my tiny bathroom.

He pulls his shirt over his head. “How are we both supposed to fit in that thing?”

“What happened to you?” I ask, looking at the left side of his body that is covered in a deep purple bruise.

“It’s part of the game,” he replies, looking at my tits. “God, you’re beautiful.”

He pulls his pants and boxers down in one move and steps out of them. His thick cock hangs between his legs, and it starts to grow even denser.

I see the bruise on his hip.

“Who did this to you?” I ask as he steps into the shower that is clearly not made for two people.

“Why? You wanna go beat them up?” he asks, pushing his fingers through the top of my hair to the ends. Then he grabs my shampoo and squirts some onto his hand.

He lifts my chin, and I nod.

“So, if someone hurts me, or you thought someone would hurt me, you’d turn into a little badass to protect me?”

“Yes, I would.” I close my eyes when he rubs his fingertips into my flesh.

“That’s a bit possessive, Ray.” His tone carries a smile.

“Protective,” I correct, reaching for the body wash.

“I see.”

I don’t have to open my eyes to know he’s smiling.

“It’s not the same,” I tell him.

“I don’t want another night of lying next to you while you toss and turn and I don’t know what you’re thinking, Ray, so I won’t fight with you. But I will ask that you watch yourself around that man. And please, don’t be around him alone.”

I reach between his legs and grip him hard. He groans.

“I won’t, but you have to trust me outside of the bedroom. Or in this case, bathroom.”

“I trust you, baby.” He thrusts into my hand.

“If we fight again …” I warn.

“Then we’ll make up just like this.”

I let go of his cock to grab his balls and squeeze.

“Easy, Ray.”

“I won’t fight with you again. It hurts, Trucker. It really hurts.”

He crashes his mouth down on mine and tangles his hand in my hair as he pulls it back and kisses down my neck to my chest. Then he releases my hair and cups both breasts firmly before taking one and sucking hard, then the other. He kisses back up my neck, to my mouth, and whispers, “This is gonna feel really fucking good.”

He spreads me with his finger, and I moan.

“I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers, Ray. You ready for that?”

“Yes,” I whimper as one finger pushes inside me, and then another.

“Your pussy is so tight. I’m gonna have to use a fucking tanker of lube to get my cock inside you.”

“Or your mouth,” I pant out.

“You’re going to like the fingers, Ray; trust me.”

He’s right, so right. Why we have never done this before is beyond me.

I reach between us and grab his cock, stroking it to the same rhythm as he fucks me with his fingers.

He reaches behind me and turns off the water that was turning cold, and then we both jump back as we hear loud beeps echoing throughout the apartment and, “What in the hell is going on in here?”

“Is that …?” I cover my mouth.

“You better go out there; your boss is here.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.

“No way.”

“Keeka, what the hell are you doing? Trying to burn the place down?” Lou yells.

“Go.” I push Trucker.

“Me? Won’t that fuck up the dirty little secret?”

“He knows, Trucker.”

He smirks. “You told him about me?”

“No, you did, you … you … Neanderthal. Last night when you were all—”

I stop when he plants one on me.

“Stay put. I got this.”

He grabs a towel and attempts to cover up with it. “Look like fucking Tarzan,” he grumbles.

I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh.

“You won’t be laughing when poor old Lou goes into a deep depression when he realizes that thing him and all the other men in the world call a dick is just a thumb without a nail.”

“Oh, my God, shut up,” I whisper.

“Can you imagine, Ray? Poor bastards.”

“Smart-ass,” I say as I kick him in the butt.

“On second thought, how about you go deal with your boss?”

“Please?” I bat my eyelashes.

“You win.”

I pull the shower curtain closed as he opens the door.

“What in the hell are …?” Lou stops.

“Sorry, Lou, Keeka thought there was a leak in the shower and called me over to see if I could fix it. She ran out to get some supplies. I should probably text her and let her know it works fine.”

I wish I could see Lou’s face; to see if that line Trucker came up with worked.

“Let me guess; you decided to try to cook bacon and left the damn burner on, too.”

“Sure did. I’ll make sure to air the place out.”

“So, that’s not Keeka’s toes under the shower curtain in there?”

“Nope. Logan came to help.”

“You might want to let Logan know he’d better take that red polish off his toes before he hits the showers at practice. The boys might start to think he’s a little funny.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Will do, Lou.”

“Mmmhmm,” Lou huffs.

When I hear the door shut, I peek out from behind the curtain as Trucker looks back and smiles.

“One more thing,” I hear Lou say and pull the curtain shut again. “Tell Keeka that Reda’s kid is sick and she wants to trade shifts with her.”

“I’ll let her know.”

I hear the door creak like it’s shutting.

“Hey, Lou. I bet she’d love a Saturday off so she could catch a game.”

“Bet you’re wrong, boy. She makes a ton of cash on game days.”

“Ever think of having a guest bartender on a slow night to increase business?”

“What makes you think I’d want your ornery ass behind my bar after last night?”

Shit, shit, shit, I think again.

“Sorry about that, Lou. Won’t happen again.”

“Better not, or I’ll have to choose blood over team.”

“Understood,” Trucker says with nothing but respect in his voice.

“I like you, Cohen. Don’t make me regret that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Game changer

Trucker

Sunday, after I leave her place, I spend the entire day with Logan and some of the guys, watching recordings of NC State’s season so far. Our record is 3-3. Theirs is 4-2. We need to beat them.

When Ray sends me the moon at eight, I call her.

She answers, “Hi,” like she always does, and I ask if she wants company. She laughs and tells me she won’t be great company.

“You’re always great company.”

She sighs. “Well, I have a visitor for probably a week so.”

“Your mom’s friend?”

“Um, nope. My … friend.”

“Thought you didn’t have any,” I say, flopping back on my bed, waiting for her to give me the final blow off.

“Well, this isn’t actually a friend, but it visits every now and again.”

I take a deep breath before blowing it out. “Ray, just out with it, okay? Truth.”

“I’m menstruating.”

That’s fucking not what I wanted to hear, but it’s better than what I was thinking.

“So, maybe that’s why I’ve been so sensitive?” she whispers.

“Girls do that, I guess.”

“Most are more regular. I don’t think I’ve had mine in a few months.”

“That’s different, right?”

“That’s me. Always has been.” She sighs again.

“We’re watching the last tape, man. Get your ass out here,” Logan yells to me.

She laughs. “Logan?”

“Aka my wifey.”

“You better go do your thing.”

“Ray, we good?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It certainly doesn’t feel like we are. But she’s clearly not too torn up over it, so fuck if I will be.

I push myself up off my bed. “All right then. Talk to you whenever you’re—”

“Done bleeding?”

That grosses me out and irritates me.

“I guess.”

“Hey, Trucker?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you have a great day.”

The whole week, I get the sun in the morning and the moon at night, same as last week. This week, though, she sends me an emoji of a football everyday right before practice. By Thursday, the sweetness of it has worn down, and I’m done with the bullshit.

The guys are having a party, and I’m turning down ass left and right.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, what she wants, but if it’s a friendship via text, I need to know that. Then I need to back out of it, because she’s taking up too much headspace.

I see the sun, and I think of her smile. I see the moon, and I think about the fact that I haven’t fallen asleep in her bed in too damn long. I see the football, and I think, what the fuck?

I roll my shoulder for the hundredth time to get a paw off me, walk into my room, and grab my keys off the dresser. Then I push through a room full of ass and testosterone and head toward the door.

“Where you going, man?” Logan asks, stepping away from the chicks rallying for his attention.

“Hey, Links,” they call after him.

“Bros before hoes,” he yells back then looks a little shocked by his words. Yep, he’s drunk.

“I’ll be your favorite ho, Links,” one calls out from the crowd.

He shrugs. “Guess that wasn’t as offensive as it sounded coming out of my mouth.”

“Or as offensive as what you’ll be putting in one of theirs.” I give him a bro hug. “Going to clear my mind.”

“Good. Make sure you get back in time to fly out.”

We bump fists, and then I head out the door.

Sitting at the bar, Reda fills my third Jack on the rocks. I still haven’t gotten enough courage to walk out, take fifteen steps to her door, knock, see her pretty face, and … the end.

When Gary walks in, I look down at my drink then toss it back. When I look back up, Reda is standing there.

“You all set?”

The way she smiles after she says it tells me that she knows about the thing Ray and I have going on. The way her eyes then shift toward Gary tells me she knows there is no love lost there.

I nod, pushing the glass forward and my stool backward. Then I throw a twenty on the bar and thank her for her hospitality.

“See you at the fundraiser.” She winks.

“The what?” I ask as I push the stool back in.

“Lou said it was your idea. I hope you’re ready to bartend for a cause.”

“I guess he’ll tell me when I see him.”

As I’m walking out the door, she says, “Kick ass on Saturday, son.”

“Yeah, Trucker, kick ass,” Gary yells.

“Your ass,” I mumble as I walk out the door.

I take a deep breath and pull my phone from my pocket to send her a message.

Trucker

Busy?

I watch the dots jumping on the screen, and then they stop.

“Not really,” I hear her yell down.

I look up and see her sitting on the ledge with a sketchbook in her hands. I want to tell her to get off the damn ledge, but I’m not sure where we stand, so instead, I ask, “Mind if I come up?”

She stands up and looks down. “Is it locked?”

“Will you get off the damn ledge?”

When she jumps back, I try the door then yell up, “It’s unlocked.”

“Come on up. I’ll be down in a second.”

I jog up the stairs and see the door at the end of the hall is open. Curious to know what it’s like up there, I decide to head up.

The stairs leading up are old and rickety, and narrow as hell. It’s more like a ladder than stairs and probably not safe, but far better than the fucking ledge.

Topside, I glance around and see there are potted plants, all dead, littering the rooftop and one resin chair that appears to be holding pages she’s torn from her sketchpad.

I hear her walking from around the corner and rubbing her hands on her pants. Then I hear her whisper, “Dammit.”

When she sees me, she jumps and looks down like she’s disappointed, and then she looks around.

“I was coming down.” She scrubs her hands on the sides of her pants again.

“Figured I’d check out what it is that brings you up here.” I look around.

“Well”—she points to some of the plants—“I was looking for a hobby and tried gardening.”

“Didn’t work out, huh?”

She shakes her head and holds her hands up. “If I knew you were coming over, I wouldn’t be such a mess.”

I walk toward her slowly. “You don’t look like a mess.”

“Lead smudges.”

“Signs you’re an artist. Like sweat and dirt are to a football player. No big deal.”

I stop in front of the chair and look down. I see drawings of me.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

I reach down and pick one up. It’s just my upper body. Behind me is a football with the letters NFL on it. What’s not me is the cross tattoo she’s drawn on my arm.

“You into ink?”

“You spoke of God the other day. He’s clearly on your side and in your heart, so I thought …” She shrugs then wipes her nose, leaving a black smudge across it.

“You draw that for me, and I’ll get it done right after I finish the season.”

She looks up and cocks her head. I reach up slowly, hating that I feel like I can’t touch her now. One fight, one disagreement, and I feel so fucking disconnected to the only woman I have ever felt connected to.

She scowls as she reaches out and takes my hand, placing it on her ear.

That one gesture makes me feel like I can fucking breathe again.

I scratch behind her ear, and she closes her eyes as she inhales like she’s feeling the same. Then she says my name at the same time I say hers.

We both look at each other, and again speak at the same time.

I say, “If you want this to be done, say it.”

And she says, “Just because I’m bleeding doesn’t mean you can’t come over.”

“Jesus, Ray.” I wipe the smudge off her nose. “That’s not why I wasn’t.”

I stop and look down into her eyes. “What do you want?”

She shakes her head back and forth.

“It’s not that difficult a question. What. Do. You. Want?”

She slugs me in the chest with her palm. “To be happy!”

“Do I make you happy?”

“When you’re happy, yes.”

“I’m fucking happy, Ray!”

She tries to hold back a smile.

“What?” I demand.

“Good.” She laughs and releases my wrist. “Good.” She nods. “Good.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me.

Resting my chin on her head, I look at the drawings. “You’re a little obsessed with me, huh?”

“What?” She laughs.

“All those pictures Ray. You’re a little, wow, you know?”

She shoves me lightly and looks up.

I can’t help cracking a smirk. “Care to explain?”

She shrugs and looks down at them, seeming to contemplate what to say. “You’re smiling in every one of them.” She looks up at me, a slight V between her dark brows. “You weren’t smiling last time we talked.”

“You don’t know that. We were on the phone.”

“I do know it, and so do you. Trucker, I enjoy every moment we’ve spent together, but I know we’re unbalanced. I’m gaining so much of what I lacked for all those years. It’s unfair of me and—”

I grab the back of her neck and pull her into me. “Ray, shut the hell up.”

As soon as my lips touch hers, I get the sweet burst, the exhale. Then she knots her hands in my hair, and I grab her ass, lifting her. Soft, petite legs are wrapped around me.

With my lips pressed to hers, I tell her, “You gotta tell me what you want, Ray. Please.”

Gripping my hair tighter, she looks deeper into my eyes. “I want you.”

“You got me.” I lean forward, pushing my lips harder against her.

“I. Want. You,” she whispers.

I lean back to see it in her eyes—the words her sweet breath whispered to me.

My heart beats faster, so fast I swear I can hear it. God knows I can feel it

She unwraps her legs from around my waist and slides down my body. “I want you, Trucker. And if you think it won’t mess with your game—”

“It won’t mess with a damn thing, Ray,” I cut her off before she can overthink it.

She nods, releasing my hair as she steps back, turns arounds, and then walks toward the stairs.

I watch her walk away without looking back, without hesitation, and then I do what any man in their right mind would do.

I follow her.

“Give me a minute?” she asks when I shut the apartment door behind me.

I push out the words that seem to be stuck in my throat. “Of course.”

I watch as she walks into her bathroom and shuts the door. Then I look around, trying to think of something, anything I can do to make this special for her.

“Think, Trucker, fucking think,” I whisper.

I walk to the door and reopen it, making my way back to the door that leads to the rooftop. I open it, climb the steps, and then step outside into the crisp, fall, evening air.

I see one pot of flowers that have just a couple still alive and run over to pick them. Then I hurry back to the door, down the stairs, and into her apartment.

I stop when I see her, and without turning away, I shut the door behind me and lock it.

She’s completely naked, lying on her side on the bed. Her long, black hair is freed from its braid, covering her breasts, her nipples poking through the strands. Her eyes are darker than normal as she watches me.

I hold out the flowers and walk toward her. “These are for you.”

She smiles with her lips and her eyes. “Thank you.”

When I hand them to her, I realize not only are the roots attached, but so is a clump of potting soil.

I yank them back before any of the soil gets on her sheets. “I’ll just put them over in the sink.”

Still smiling, she nods.

When my back is to her, she tells me, “I’m not, you know … anymore.”

After setting the half-ass attempt at romance in the sink, I turn around. “Your friend.”

A small blush kisses her cheeks as she nods.

“Wouldn’t have mattered.”

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it on the floor while I kick off my sneakers and watch her look me over with more appreciation than I have ever seen.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are to me?” I ask, unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them to the floor with my boxers.

She’s looking at my cock, her lower lip between her teeth. She nods.

Sliding in next to her, I reach to touch her cheek and pull her to me as I kiss her softly. “Gonna go slow.”

“Not too slow,” she says as she kisses me back.

“Gonna take it easy.” I kiss her cheek then down her neck.

“Why start now?” Her voice hitches as I lick across her nipple.

“I want this to be everything you ever dreamed it would be.” I continue to kiss her neck as I pull her leg over my hip.

“It already is,” she says on an exhale.

I reach between us and stroke my cock against her hot, wet pussy. “I fucking love your body,” I groan as I continue coating my cock with her heat.

“Show me how much,” she pants out as she rubs against me.

“Whatever you want, Ray.” I push the head of my cock into the tightest, hottest pussy I have ever felt.

“I want it all,” she whimpers.

“It may hurt, Ray.”

“I know you’ll make it feel better.”

“Ray …” I growl as she pushes her heat farther down my cock.

“Please, Trucker, please,” she begs.

I grab her chin and lift so I can see her eyes, because she is so fucking worked up I know damn well she won’t tell me if it hurts, but she won’t be able to hide it if I’m looking at her.

Inch by inch, I take it slow, and it takes everything I have not to drive it home. The noises she makes, the begging, the way she pushes against me, rolls her hips, and kisses me give no indication of pain or displeasure. It’s all lust, need, and hunger.

When she holds her breath, I know I’m about to take something from her that can never be given back. Take something that will forever be mine. Take something she gives willingly. Something that no motherfucker will ever have.

The possessive nature I have only felt with her from the moment I saw her takes ahold of me.

I roll her onto her back, lean back on my heels, and then pull her down the bed. I watch her eyes as I rub her clit, making her chest rise and fall faster, her breaths becoming ragged. Her little sounds are needy.

“This is mine, Ray,” I growl as I look down at half my cock in her pussy. “Mine.”

I drive into her, taking her virginity and losing my fucking soul at the same damn time.

“Fuck, baby,” I groan, halting any movement deeply inside her.

“I want more.” Her voice quivers.

I pull back.

“More, Trucker, please more.”

I thrust into her fully, watching her face as her eyes widen and she holds her breath. Holding myself over her with one hand, I rub her cheek, place my lips against hers, and whisper, “Ray, breathe.”

Her quivering breath exhales against my lips, and I breath it in as I slowly pull out almost fully.

“You okay?”

“More,” she pants.

I dive deeply into her again, and her breath releases immediately, with it, her whisper, “More.”

“Fuck … yes.” I slam into her.

“More!” she cries out.

With each thrust, she breathes out the word “more.” Each request is granted, giving her what she wants while I take what I need.

When she begins to move her hips to meet mine, I use every ounce of willpower I have to stop my need to come. Because, in each thrust, each exhale of breath she expels, each look she gives me, each time she begs for “more,” the need to give and take, the pounding in my chest, the changes I feel inside are far more fulfilling than a twenty second release.

I continue fucking her as a sheen of sweat covers her body. I lean down and suck on the nipples I dream about on the daily, still fucking her.

When she clenches around me, her back arching, and she cries out, “Kiss me,” I nearly lose it.

Buried deeply inside her, I lean in as she grabs my hair and pulls me into a kiss while grinding against me. When her mouth falls open and I feel her tight pussy spasm, I lift myself up, one hand on each side of her head, and drive into her over and over again until she releases her breath and cries out my name as she comes. When my balls are on fire, I pull out, lean back on my heels, and stroke myself as I watch her lay panting and trying to catch her breath while I come all over her belly and mine.

“Ohmygod,” she pants. “Ohmygod. Trucker. Ohmygod.”

I lean down and kiss her softly, rubbing my lips back and forth across hers, catching every escaped burst of air that releases from her. Then I roll to my side, putting my elbow on the bed and resting my head on it while I push her hair out of her face and watch as confusion dances in her eyes.

When she looks over at me, she sighs, “Oh, my God.”

I lean in and kiss her. “You are fucking amazing.”

She smiles against my mouth. “Yeah?”

“The best.”

I roll over and grab my boxers, using it to clean off her belly then mine. Then I ball it up and toss it next to my jeans.

“Was it … okay?”

I chuckle silently. “Ray, it was the best.”

She covers her face with her hand and shakes her head.

I pull it away. “You should know I love being inside you.” I kiss her lips, her nose, her cheek.

When I kiss her lips again, she tells me, “That’s good, because I’m pretty sure that’s my football.” She smiles at me. “Truth.”

I sleep better than I have since I met her.

When my alarm goes off on my phone, I get up, walk to the kitchenette, grab three glasses out of her cupboard, and fill them up with water. I knock the dirt off the flowers and into the garbage then put them in one of the glasses and set them on the table. I consider making coffee, but that would ensure she doesn’t go back to sleep, and I know damn well I will be as soon as I get on the plane heading for North Carolina. Instead, I grab the other two glasses of water and turn to see her sleepy smile.

“Morning,” I say as I walk back toward the bed and hand her a glass as I sit down.

She yawns as she takes it. “Morning. And thank you.”

The blanket falls, and I see her fully erect nipples peeking out at me. I lean in and kiss her head, grazing my knuckle against one.

“I have a flight to catch.”

She rolls to her back, sets her glass on the crate nightstand, and then gets up. She grabs a shirt off the floor and throws it on. Pulling her hair out from the back of the shirt, she then walks quickly into the bathroom where I hear her brushing her teeth.

I reach down and grab the mints from my jeans’ pocket and toss one in. When I push them back in, I feel the condom packet and curse myself for not using the damn thing. But fuck if it didn’t feel good.

When she comes out of the bathroom, she wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand and slides back into bed.

“Kiss me.”

“My pleasure.” I lean down and kiss her, sucking on her lower lip, so she opens to me. When she does, I slide my tongue into her mouth and push the mint inside it.

When I sit back, she smiles. “You left a little something in my mouth.”

“Yeah, about that … We need to get you on the pill, Ray, because I really wanna leave a lot of something inside you. I haven’t fucked raw in forever, and I’m not sure I ever want to again. Fucked up last night.” I lean in and kiss her. “Can’t do that again.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She leans in and kisses me, sucks on my lip, and then passes back the mint.

“Mmm …” I wink.

“Good, right?” She smiles, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping the blanket around her.

My second alarm sounds on my phone. “Fuck, I wanna stay here and do that all day.”

“I have Sunday off.” She grins.

“Yeah?”

She nods. “When you win, you can do it all day Sunday.”

“If I lose?”

She leans over and licks my lips, then sucks on them before leaning back. “You won’t.”

I pull her into a hug and whisper in her ear, “I was rough on you. How do you feel?”

“Deliciously sore.”

“Perfect. When you watch the game tomorrow, remember who made you that way.”

“I’ll never forget.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Wide awake

Keeka

The morning after Trucker and I had sex, he left to catch his flight, and I lay in bed, pondering the experiences, the moments this beautiful man from humble beginnings, the one who worked hard to one day become everything he wanted to become. How lucky am I to watch it happen?

I loved the way he touched me, from the ghost-kiss at the grocery store to the first and only time I have actually read to him when he touched my Bs, and every time after that. All those moments were magical. But that night, feeling him inside me, it surpassed any moment before, any fantasy I ever had about him over the past several months.

Growing up the way I did, with creepy uncles and aunts in and out of my life, I had come to my own conclusion about sex. It was loud, it was dirty, it made my mom tremendously high for an undetermined amount of time, and then it made her crash horrifically.

I will never forget the day Shakeeka used her key to come into our tiny apartment that was full of funny-smelling smoke, loud music, and naked bodies. I was in the bedroom, drawing a part of my story that was about a girl, who my mom assumed was me but wasn’t. In fact, it wasn’t a girl. It was a dog. And its name was Leddie.

Leddie found Lou, her talking ball, and they become best friends. They played on the beach together, where the ocean met the sand, where there was sun and wind and flying kites, and they got to watch people … families.

They were not in a room full of funny-smelling smoke and naked people making scary sounds. It was my happy place and, often times, my alternate reality for days and weeks from the moment I saw it coming to throughout one of her crashes.

I had started when I figured out that what was going on in our lives was not the norm. It was my earliest memory from on the beach in New Jersey when I saw her talking to a man who made her smile differently than the others. He had a family, too. A little girl.

I knew it wouldn’t last long, but I enjoyed it while I could.

When the phone calls began ending in anger, when meetings ended with her in tears. Then, finally, a party that ended with her and him fighting while I waited in a car, and then watched the police come in and take him.

I knew what would happen next, as sure as the sun is bright. Her eyes would go dark, and she would crash. But I would be okay. I could draw. And that was what I did in that room for what I assume was several days.

When I heard Shakeeka say my name and bang on the bedroom door, I felt like everything was going to be okay. She walked me out of the room with my head buried in her dress that smelled like cookies, brought me into her apartment, and hugged me tightly. I remember her whispering, “Everything’s gonna be all right, child.”

I slept in her bed that night, and when I woke up and looked out the window, I knew it was the afternoon. I knew because the sun was high in the sky.

When I came out of the room, she smiled, laughed, and I’m sure she made a mention of the mess my hair was. Mom hadn’t braided it for days.

After using the bathroom, I sat at her table that always had a pile of papers in the middle, and she sat a plate in front of me with a stack of pancakes on it and asked, “How long’s it been since you ate?”

She sat beside me and asked me if I knew what was going on in that room was wrong. I shook my head as I took my first bite. She told me it wasn’t normal; that it wasn’t even legal. She thought my mom was sick, but not in a way people would notice, and she told me she was going to help me. I believed her, and I asked if she could help my mom, too.

Through the years, she taught me what she called her version of normal. She was the one who helped me when I got my “friend.” She was also the one to explain to me that sex between a man and woman was beautiful and nothing like I had witnessed that night. I was comfortable enough to ask questions, and she was more than comfortable to answer them.

She told me that sex would change me indefinitely and made me promise her, but more importantly myself, that when I chose to have it, it would be with someone I trusted to be honest and truthful with, and that the overwhelming amount of exultant emotions I was sure to feel should not be confused with forever.

“Sex is not love. Love runs so much deeper than those physical feelings and emotions. Love, mocha angel, is when you look at someone and want them to be just as happy as you are. And true love, that’s when that person feels exactly the same. When sex and love meet, watch out, child, because that’s when your heart sings the songs of Psalms.”

The Sunday after their win in North Carolina, Trucker came to the bar and talked to Lou about some benefit Reda had mentioned to him. It was for a local children’s hospital.

I glanced at him while stocking the beer cooler and tried not to laugh.

Trucker agreed to do it, though. He also shocked me by asking Lou if he would consider doing another one to help kids who couldn’t read, combined with kids with learning disabilities, which didn’t shock me. It made my heart melt.

My toes were no longer touching the clouds at all. I was soaring well above them with a heart full of happiness, and I didn’t care one bit that it would be ending soon. The experiences, the happiness, the moments with him would always be the best moments of my life. Ones I would surely smile about for years and years to come.

I listened as they made plans for after the season ended. One night would be guest bartending, and the other Lou talked him into karaoke.

After their talk, when Lou walked back to his office, Trucker sat at the bar, looking me over. His lower lip between his teeth, his brilliant blue eyes hooded and dark, he leaned in and asked, “How’d I do?”

“Amazing, absolutely amazing.”

“So, you feel up to tonight?”

I laughed to myself, thinking he was talking about the game. “Yeah.”

“Any chance I can get a key so I can go crash until you’re done?”

He wore a condom that night. And as he pulled out of me, he pulled it off, too, mumbling “Fucking things,” right before he came on my belly.

I hated that it annoyed him, and honestly, the thought of him coming inside of me, with me, made my insides melt. As soon he left my place Monday morning, I asked Siri where the nearest woman’s doctor was.

When I walked into the Family Planning Center on Monday, it hit me that they might need more information than I was able to give. I was terrified to fill out the paperwork required. The words I didn’t know, I had to speak into the voice memo app and watch it appear on the screen. This gave me the ability to fill out most of the form. I have heard the expression Just like riding a bike several times. I know it’s the same idea. Then again, I have never learned how to ride a bike.

When the nurse asked about immunizations, I got a little nervous and possibly defensive when I asked why that was necessary. It brought back the memory of the time Shakeeka and my mother argued over me attending school and getting immunizations.

After Mom died, I wanted to go to school. And before I could enroll, I was immunized. A couple of days later, I suffered all the minor side-effects that were possible.

Therefore, when the nurse practitioner at the Family Planning Center offered a choice between the shot or pills, I opted for the pills.

It wasn’t as expensive as I had expected, and since my period had stopped just days before, I was able to start them immediately.

That night, when Trucker walked into my place with a potted plant in one hand and a McDonald’s bag under his arm, I didn’t feel guilty that I had nothing to give him. I gave him the spare set of keys to my apartment and handed him the bag from the clinic.

He set the plant and the McDonalds’ bag on the table, pulled off his shirt as he turned around, and then pulled mine off, telling me, “I’m going to thank you in orgasms.”

For the rest of the season, we didn’t stick to a schedule. There was no need. If he was busy, I understood completely. He was living his dream, and I was loving every moment of it. I was drawing again. I was smiling even when he wasn’t around. I was enjoying every day, loving my life, reading and laughing. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t waiting for the crashes, or worried about when I could eat again, grieving, or feeling guilty because I had nothing to give in return. I had more, so much more than I could have imagined.

The last game of the season was the only time I felt a little anxious. It was because the game was neck in neck. It was because SU had been on a winning streak since we’d had sex the first time. It was because I knew what was at stake.

If they won this game, there was The Big East Title and the Fiesta Bowl to play. Scouts would be watching and the opportunity of being drafted to pros would be far greater.

When the game ends, Trucker Cohen is at the end zone, smiling and holding up four fingers before pointing at the camera. For you.

As the bar crowd celebrates the team’s victory, I feel tears welling in my eyes. For the first time ever, though, they aren’t tears of sorrow or sadness. They are ones of joy and happiness.

I turn my back to the bar so no one will see me. They just won’t stop. Wiping them away, I can’t stop smiling.

I feel a nudge and glance to my right as Lou hands me a tissue.

After I wipe my eyes, he laughs, his whole body shaking, and I can’t help joining him. He grabs me, lifts me up, and spins me around.

“Your boy had one hell of a season!”

“Our men, Lou, our men.”

After Lou sets me down, I send Trucker a text.

Keeka

I’m so proud of you, TRUCKER COHEN! And your team! But mostly YOU.

I put the Trucker phone in my pocket, knowing he’s yet to receive the text, but wanting to make sure that, as soon as he does, he knows I was celebrating that moment with him.

An hour later, the bar is still packed. Everyone is waiting for the Orangemen to show up.

Every time I hear his or Logan’s names, I look around. And every time I do, Lou has something smart to say about customers waiting.

When my phone vibrates in my back pocket, I turn back and pull it out.

“Keeka, customers. Focus on the damn customers,” Lou huffs

Trucker

Fuck Ray, thank you for being on this ride with me. Best damn ride I’ve ever ridden. ;) At dinner with Links’ family. See you in about an hour. Make sure the old man knows half our hometown will be there, too.

“Keeka, you need a break? Oh, you’re already taking one,” Lou grumbles.

I turn around and show him the phone.

He smiles quickly then gets serious again. “Good. Now get back to making those damn girly drinks.”

And make them I do.

It’s wall-to-wall people. The bar is five deep the entire length of it. Lou even hired a DJ to play tonight, knowing it would keep the crowd here.

When the music stops, I’m making change. When a new song begins, my entire body buzzes with the excitement.

The intro to “Enter Sandman” by Metallica starts playing while the DJ announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for has come. Please take a few steps back, part the orange sea from the door to the bar, and Lou, line ’em up. Put your hands together and welcome our Syracuse Orangemen.”

“You heard the man. Line ’em up, ladies. Shots of Jack for our champions!” Lou yells.

“Jesus Christ, will you look at that?” Jody, the newest bartender, moans.

“I think my panties just melted,” Geissa sighs out.

Jana laughs. “You think that’s bad. My ovaries just exploded.”

Everyone who works here is on tonight, and we could use even more people.

I watch as they all walk in a straight line; Trucker in the front, and Logan right behind him. The entire team is wearing white SU hats, and every one of them have their hands out, high-fiving the crowd as they walk toward the bar. But Trucker is looking straight ahead with pure focus.

My entire body is buzzing as I watch his jaw muscles flex when his eyes meet mine.

I know it’s going to be a very long night, and that excites me further.

With the team lined up at the bar, the six of us push the shots forward. They all pick them up.

“Fuck yes!” Logan holds his up. “Fuck. Yes!”

They all toss them back, and then the crowd surrounds them.

Trucker is still looking at me, which makes me laugh.

He winks then turns his back to me to receive his well-deserved praise.

I can feel him watching me, but I barely have time to breathe, let alone talk to him. I suppose it should frustrate me, but it doesn’t. It makes me smile.

Throughout the night, I watch him dance and drink and smile and laugh. Seeing other women’s hands groping his chest, grinding against him, and yes, attempting to kiss him would probably make me insanely jealous, if it wasn’t for the fact he would push their hands off him, turn away, move to a different part of the floor, and always look at me apologetically. I knew it wasn’t his fault, and I also knew it would be something I would have to deal with on nights like this, when emotions are soaring over the win. Knowing it is me he’s going to be kissing, touching, having sex with, it makes it so much easier to deal.

The night flies by so fast that, when the DJ announces last call, I can’t believe it’s already over.

When the bar is empty, I’m exhausted, and my feet ache, but it doesn’t slow me down. In fact, I move faster.

When I open the apartment door, I see the bathroom door is open and I hear the shower is running. I quickly strip off my clothes as I walk toward it. Naked, I pull back the shower curtain.

He smiles. “Took you long enough.”

He glides his lips across mine as he cups my breast then pinches my nipple. I moan.

“For some reason, it was a really busy night at work, your highness.”

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why?” He rubs his lips over my cheek and kisses up to my ear.

“Some hotshot football team won a big game.”

“Did you watch?” he asks as he runs his hand down my belly slowly.

“Yeah, I have this thing for the quarterback,” I answer, taking his cock in my hand.

“Does it make you wet to watch him?” He rubs a finger up and down my slit.

“Incredibly,” I moan.

“With the season over, do you think you could get this worked up over a regular guy like me?”

I lean in and whisper, “Absolutely.”

I kiss down his neck then pause to lick down the center of his throat. He moans and pushes a finger inside of me.

Moving down his hard, broad chest, I push my fingers into his flesh and taste his skin. I flick my tongue across his nipple, and he inhales a quick breath.

I look up into his eyes, so blue but so dark and filled with desire.

His lips curl softly, and I close my eyes, moving back up to kiss his lips. He groans and tries to control the kiss.

Pulling back, I shake my head at him then kiss his chest again, moving down his six pack, licking and kissing every inch of him that I can.

“Ray,” he moans while I am on my knees in front of him.

“Let me show you how much a regular guy like you turns me on.” Taking his hard, large shaft in my hand, I swipe my tongue across its broad head, and then watch as he tilts his head back, a growl escaping past his lips.

Stroking him gently, I watch his nostrils flare and his jaw clench as he bites down hard, his lips separated, and his teeth are slightly bared. The muscles in his jaw flex, and so, too, do my insides.

It’s so raw—his response to my touch, almost animalistic. And I am so turned on by his show of emotion, his need, his desire.

I kiss and lick his head again and am rewarded with his sexy sounds.

“Fuck!” he growls.

I lightly skim my tongue across his erection and to his left inner thigh, where I suck again. His erection twitches, and he fists my hair.

“Jesus, Ray,” he growls.

The way he groans and moans is the equivalent of ten gold stars, and I’m going to make damn sure I earn them.

Taking his shaft in my hands, I stroke him as I lightly flick my tongue along his wide, throbbing tip. My reward is a small bead of his cum forming at its peak. I lick it up, savoring his taste, and then I sheath my teeth as I suck hard, moving down his length until I can’t take any more of him.

“Ray,” he praises as a deep, guttural sound escapes his chest.

I move my free hand slowly up his leg to cup him as I continue sucking up and down his length. I lick down him, tonguing the bulging veins running down the full length of him, and he grips my hair more forcefully.

“Damn …” he hisses

I suck harder as he thrusts into my mouth, causing me to gag slightly.

He looks down almost apologetically.

I reach behind him and grab his rock-hard ass, pulling him closer

“You suck me so fucking good,” he growls.

His words cause me to burn deep inside, turning me on further.

I pull back and flick my tongue across his head again, wanting to taste him, wanting more of his cum. Then, hollowing my cheeks, I go down harder, faster.

“Fuuccckkk … Stop before I come, Ray.”

I shake my head and continue giving him what he’s earned, begging for what I need.

The first hot, thick burst hits the back of my throat, and I moan in delight. He groans as I pump him and feel him twitch again. Then I suck hard down his length again, and he releases my hair to grab the curtain.

“Jesus … shitt … fuuuccck …”

The next hot burst is even more of a mouthful, followed by another.

Gasping, I lean back and swallow everything he gave me. Then I open my eyes and look up at him.

He’s biting his lip, his nostrils flaring.

Feeling him twitch again in my hand, I stroke him, and his upper lip curls. I open my mouth just as he comes again.

When he is empty, he drops to his knees, no longer shielding the water from hitting me. He glides his thumb up my chin and into my mouth.

“Missed some, Ray,” he pants out.

I wrap my lips around his thumb and suck.

“That’s my girl.” He then growls, “Mine.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

End of fall

Trucker

With the semester over and a Bowl game to prepare for, I have seen less of her than I want to. It causes issues because I want to see her, but I have so much shit to do that I’m overwhelmed. She makes no demands, though. Takes what time I can give her and never makes me feel bad when I show up after two days of emoji texts with a bag of McDonalds.

Her eyes fucking sparkle when I give her a damn Big Mac like it’s the fucking world. It’s not shit. She gave me the greatest season of my life, and I give her Big Macs and orgasms.

With Christmas around the corner and a bank account that’s near busted, I’m stressing about what I can do to make up for the lack of time I have given her. Normally, we would be hopping back to our hometown to chill, but preparing for the Bowl is crucial to Logan and me. We know scouts have been swarming, but we haven’t been contacted. Coach Brown tells us to give it everything at the Fiesta Bowl and we will be “finer than frog’s hair.”

Logan’s dad, Lucas, mentioned a couple of his properties in Syracuse need attention that he won’t be able to give it because of the holidays. He knows I don’t give a damn about the holidays, because my old man will probably be on the road.

I need the cash, but I also need to give her some time. Because of the Bowl, cuddle season looks like it’s going to be cut short, and I want more time. I want the semester, and something deep inside me knows I want a hell of a lot more than that.

As fucked up as her life has been, she’s fucking sunshine and softness. She works her ass off at learning how to read again, continues to draw, works as much as Lou allows, and pays her bills. Next to what she’s been up against and what she does to overcome it, the shit she fought to make it through makes my beginnings look like nothing. And when I really think about it, I feel like a snot-nosed, entitled, bratty kid, playing a game. But fuck if she doesn’t show me I’m a goddamn man.

The team was allowed to stay on South Campus. Coach Brown pushed for it, and we all agreed, working-out together, eating together, practicing twice a day, and watching not only our opposing team, UConn, but our own tapes from this season to learn everything we can to win this fucking game.

Standing outside her door, I look down at the phone. She sent me the moon three hours ago. It’s now one in the morning. I shouldn’t have come. I mean, what the fuck is the sense, since we have an eight a.m. gym time?

I use my key and walk into her place, quietly shutting the door behind me.

She’s asleep in bed. The moon is shining through the window. God, how I love her lips, her mouth. She even looks like she’s smiling as she sleeps, all wrapped up in a blanket with her feet covered in fuzzy, funky socks sticking out of the bottom. She’s hugging a pillow that for some damn reason now feels like a traitorous enemy and not something I have slept on comfortably several nights a week.

I toe off my boots then take my shirt off as I walk over. Sliding into bed next to her, I lift her head so it rests on my chest and toss the pillow on the floor.

I watch her sleep so peacefully that I feel guilty for wanting her so badly. I kiss the top of her head, and she wraps her arms around me and inhales. When she exhales, I hear my name escape within it.

I wake to lips … hot, wet lips, and not on my mouth.

I look down to a white blanket raised in the air.

“There’s a fucking ghost giving me a blowjob in my girl’s bed.”

Her giggle vibrates around my cock, and then I fall out of her mouth. “It’s the ghost of Christmas present.”

“Best Christmas present ever, ghost.” I place my hand on what I think is her head and push it back down. “Hurry up before she finds out.”

I feel her lick my cock from root to tip as she moans, “Mmm …”

I look over at my phone and see it’s seven thirty. “I have half an hour before I have to hit the gym.” I throw the blanket off us, and she smirks, mouth full of cock.

Reaching down, I grab her underneath her arms and pull her up.

“Hey.” She scowls at me. “Give it back.”

“Ghost blowjobs are fucking amazing, Ray, but I’m gonna have to make this fast,” I tell her, reaching down between her legs. “So fucking wet.”

I go to flip her over, but she resists.

“You okay?”

She grabs my wrists and pushes them above my head, holding my hands down.

“You know I could take you at any time.”

“But I wanna take you.” She releases one hand to reach between us, rubbing my cock against her hot, little pussy before sliding down on me.

“Fuck, Ray. Take it all, babe. Ride.”

And she does.

After practice, I call her, and she answers with, “Hi!”

She always sounds so damn excited to hear from me.

“I need to do some Christmas shopping. You wanna go with me?”

“Umm …” She pauses.

“We’ll head out of town, Ray. Just need to grab a couple things. You in?”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Do you think I should get Lou and Reda something?”

“I don’t know. Do they celebrate at the bar?”

“I’m working Christmas Eve night, so I guess.”

“I know we haven’t talked about it, but … you going to see your mom’s friend?”

“I’m working Christmas night, too.”

“What? That’s bullshit, Ray.”

“I offered,” she whispers.

I don’t push. I’m sure she has her reasons.

“So, you wanna go?”

“Sure.” She doesn’t sound convincing.

“Ray, I hate this shit. Come with me. At least I’ll enjoy the company.”

I pull up in front of the bar and start to get out of my truck, but she’s already out the door and opening the passenger side. She’s wearing one of my baseball hats, a sweater that’s bigger than her, a pair of leggings, and a pair of Ugg boots with fuzzy socks peeking out of the top. She looks fucking adorable.

“I could have gotten the door.”

She smiles and holds up both hands covered in thick, black mittens. “I have two hands.”

I grab one and pull her toward me, giving her a quick kiss that makes my dick stir. Then I wait for her to buckle up.

Pulling out on the street, I gun it, causing the truck to fishtail as we head down the road.

“You’re crazy.” She giggles, gripping the oh-shit handle.

Once Boom is all straightened out, I reach over and take her hand again.

We drive an hour away to the outlet mall in Seneca Falls. It’s snowing like crazy when we get there. Big, fluffy-looking flakes, too, and the way she looks at them makes them beautiful.

I park near the food court and get out of the truck, hurrying around it to get her door and seeing her attempt to open it.

When she sees me giving her the don’t you dare look she sits back and waits for me to open it.

When she gets out, she shivers. I shrug off my pea coat and throw it over her shoulders before taking her hand.

“Hungry?”

“I had a sandwich before you called, but if you are—”

“I ate, too. How about some hot cocoa?”

She nods and smiles. “That sounds really good.”

As we stand in line, she looks around, not saying anything. She’s not smiling, but she looks so damn content.

When I hand her the cup of hot cocoa, she wraps her hands around it and sighs. “Feels good.” She takes her first sip and closes her eyes, savoring it.

I can’t help laughing when she looks up at me with some whipped cream on her nose. I reach up and wipe it off then lick it off my thumb. “Tastes good, too.”

Walking around, she sees a wine and spirits store. “Can we?”

“Of course.” I reach out and open the door. “After you.”

Inside, we walk around and look at the mugs, flasks, wine glasses, and anything you can think of to do with alcohol.

I watch as she looks at prices. I can tell she’s trying to figure out how much she has to spend.

I see a picnic basket and stop to look at it. “Think this is cool?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Lucas and Tessa are done. Just gotta get my dad, Logan, and his sister Ava something. Then I need to figure out what to get you.”

“It’s not necessary, not at all.”

I want to ask her what she does to celebrate when she’s with family, or her mom’s best friend’s family, but I don’t want to push, and I sure as fuck don’t want to say, Christmas mornings, I wait until around ten in the morning to go hang out with the Links’ family. Then I make some shit excuse so that I don’t have to go to the Ross/Hines/Links festivities.

Ray buys wine glasses and has them engraved with all her coworker’s names, and she buys Lou a stein with his. I end up getting Logan’s sister one with her name on it, and they engrave the ones that came with the basket, as well.

Walking by a jewelry shop, I pause and look inside. “I wonder if they have footballs.”

“At a jewelry shop?” She cocks her head to the side, and I laugh as I scratch behind her ear.

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” I joke, and she smacks me. “Pendants, Ray, pendants.”

Logan and I both have platinum chains we wear, and I thought I would get him a football pendant with the year on it so he will have a souvenir of our best season yet.

“I love that idea. Very thoughtful. Mom and I always exchanged gifts we made for each other.” She laughs. “I always felt sorry for her when she’d get mine.”

“I’m sure she loved them.”

She never had a tree, or stockings hung by a fireplace or off a banister on a stairway. We both agreed it wasn’t a big deal.

But, was it?

Christmas Eve, I stop in to check on my dad and am shocked to see my mom is there, too. She sits on the couch, chewing her nails, lost in fucking space, eyes red from whatever the fuck she took that puts her in a place where she is clearly two hits away from drooling on herself.

He apologizes for not being at any of my games, and I try to act like it’s no fucking big thing, because honestly, it hasn’t been as hard this year as the previous ones.

When my mother gets up, not saying one word, and goes into their bedroom, I look at him and ask, “Why the fuck would you—”

“She’s your mother,” he cuts me off.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“That’s enough.” He stands up and walks into the kitchen that is clean … for once.

“I’m sick of being the reason you put up with that shit. She’s never been my fucking mother. Never.”

“I’m not having this discussion with you.” He pours himself a cup of coffee.

“No need for a damn discussion. Maybe a fucking reality check. I’m sick and fucking tired of the noose you’ve placed around your neck being my damn fault. You want her here, you own it. Don’t try to put one around my fucking neck, too.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I throw my hands in the air. “Merry fucking Christmas, old man.”

I walk out and get into my truck. I could go to Logan’s, but Ava is coming home and they have plans. Plans that, as a boy, I would have no problem crashing. I’m not a fucking boy anymore. I’m a man.

Where the fuck does a man go when he has no family on Christmas Eve? The gym.

As I lie on the bench, lifting, I think about Ray and what I really want to do right now—fuck her.

She insisted I go home, since she’s working anyway, but fuck if I don’t need her. And double-fuck if I don’t want to give her the gift I bought her, as well as the one I made her. That was our agreement—to give gifts we made. Took me a hot minute to come up with something, too. And since I made her gift, I have been really worried it’s not good enough.

“Fuck it,” I say as I get up and head to the locker room.

It’s ten o’clock when I get to her place. I laugh when I think that I’m only parking a couple blocks away now. Probably doesn’t matter one bit anymore, but I think about the fact that Logan was right. When I leave here, if all goes as planned and I get signed, every fucking dick in town is going to want a piece of what I had. Fuck if I would do that to her … And fuck if I will do that to myself.

I grab the bags from my stop at Walmart then shut the door behind me. Walking around to the back of my truck, I then pull out the tree I grabbed off the side of the road.

“Charlie Brown’s tree has nothing on you.” I laugh as I pull the little thing out.

Walking up the stairs, I hear Ray talking to someone, so yeah, I stop and listen because … Fuck the excuses. Because I’m that fucking nosey when it comes with her.

She sighs. “I promise to come visit soon.”

I wait to hear whoever the hell it is she’s talking to reply.

When she says, “When the semester ends and the bar is slower, he’ll need less help, so I’ll take some time off then,” I realize she is clearly on the phone.

“I miss you, too. But honestly, I’ve never been happier.”

I like that and will damn sure take credit for part of the reason she’s happier.

“No, not just because of the guy. I learned through Mom’s mistakes, just like you told me, too.”

Scratch that. Now I’m feeling a little slighted.

“He’s great. Amazing actually. But he’s not like anyone she was ever with. He’s not a jerk. He knows so much … things I never thought I would share. And when he moves on, I’ll be happy for him, not chase after him, not cry, not go into some sort of depression. I want him to be happy, Shakeeka, and I know he wants the same for me.”

Okay, yeah, I like this.

“Do I love him?” She sighs. “I love the moments we have together, and I love that he isn’t trying to control or change me, and I love that I have no desire to control or change him.”

I love that, too, I think.

“He is wonderful, and he is leaving to pursue his dreams.” Silence. “I’ll always remember him, but—” She stops and my head is screaming, But what! “I’m not looking for that, and I’m sure he’s not either. I appreciate the advice, but I’m positive neither of us are going to abandon our dreams for a possibility. We’re young and—” She laughs. “Yes, dreams. I’m drawing again.

“I’m glad, too. And yes, you told me I had talent, but you’re a bit biased. He, on the other hand, doesn’t love me, and he’s not family, so he wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, so take no offense.”

True story, I think, gripping the damn tree harder so it doesn’t fall down the stairs.

“I miss you, too. Talk to you soon. And Merry Christmas. “

“Son of a bitch!” I yell when the tree slips from my grip.

“Trucker?”

I hear her feet padding across the floor and look up.

Looking down at me, the tree, and the bags, she smiles. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Trying to surprise you.”

She pulls the little sweater she’s wearing closed. “You’re supposed to be home.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m supposed to be doing what makes me happy.”

She points to herself. “Me?”

I nod. “After we throw together a little Christmas, Ray, it’s definitely gonna be you that I make happy.”

“You just did.” Smiling, she runs down the stairs, kisses me on the damn cheek, grabs the bags, and then laughs as she yells behind her, “You better get the tree.”

When I walk up the stairs, I smell something … Christmassy. When I walk in, I see a tiny, little electric fireplace, with a sock next to it that’s stuffed. On her table are cookies and some breads.

“I thought you had to work,” I comment, looking around.

“Well, I decided maybe I wanted different Christmas memories.” She walks over and pushes herself up onto her toes to kiss my cheek again. “I guess we were both thinking the same thing.”

I could tell her about the shit I just walked away from, but I won’t because, yeah, I want a better Christmas memory, and who better to make it with?

I set the tree down and kiss her back, but not on the nose, right on her smiling, welcoming lips. “Let’s do this tree thing, and then get to the fun stuff.”

Since the tree is small, it takes no time to set it up in the stand. Then I pull out a package of bulbs and we throw them on.

“Looks like shit, huh?” I laugh, looking over at her.

“No, Trucker, it looks perfect.”

“So, I got you something.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, of course not, but you have family to visit.”

Still not willing to tell her about the argument with my father and fuck this up, I shake my head. “Already did what I have to. Now I wanna do this thing with you.”

“When do you have to leave, to go back?”

“Don’t have to, but if you have plans …” I shrug.

“So, you can stay?” Her voice nearly squeaks.

“If it’s okay with you?”

Her smile lights up the room. “Then no presents until morning. Just cookies. And I bought this.” She walks over and grabs a book. When she turns around, I see it’s the Bible. “Do you think we could read the Christmas story?”

Both of us hold back laughs.

“I think we can figure it out.”

Lying in her bed with the little fireplace going, I pat the side next to me. “Let’s do this.”

She jumps on the bed and crawls up it, a move that usually gets me hard, but I’m holding the Bible and she’s dressed in a reindeer nightshirt with candy cane socks hiked up past her knees and smiling like a kid, and … fuck if I don’t get wrapped up in that moment with her.

“You did amazing,” I tell her, kissing her head as I set the Bible on the floor next to the bed.

“Christmas miracle.” She grins then yawns.

“You tired?”

“I am. You?”

“Yeah, Ray, I could sleep.”

When I wake up in the morning with her in my arms, I look at her and just watch her sleep. We didn’t fuck last night, so I should be ready to tear her up, but I’m more excited about giving her the gifts.

She yawns, and I watch as her eyes flutter open.

“Merry Christmas.” She smiles a sleepy yet excited smile.

I go to kiss her, but she rolls away.

“I have a gift for you.”

Killing me, Ray, I think as I sit up.

As she runs into the bathroom and brushes her teeth, I push myself up and make my way to do the same.

When we are finished, she nearly skips out of the room then bends over, reaching under the bed.

“Nice panties,” I comment, wiping my mouth off.

“Candy cane stripes. They match my socks.”

Easy, Boom, I urge my cock to stay the fuck down for a while as I stare at her ass.

She turns around with a big bag in one hand and a small one in the other. “Merry Christmas!”

Her excitement is childlike, too, and it’s also contagious, like a disease.

“Let me throw some clothes on and go get your gifts out of the truck.”

She frowns. “Can’t you just open these first?”

“Nope.” I laugh and grab my clothes. “That’s not how this is gonna work.”

“Well, hurry up then!” She laughs.

When I come back in, she gasps.

“Sorry, this one couldn’t be wrapped.”

“Is that …?” She swallows hard, holding her hands over her chest.

“Yeah, it’s an easel.” I drop the boxes down on the bed and open up the one with the easel. “Thought you could keep this in the window so you weren’t up on that ledge.”

“It’s …” She swallows back her emotions as I set it next to her window and unfold it. “You made this?”

I nod. “Wasn’t hard, Ray.”

“It’s beautiful.” She walks over and runs her hands over the wooden frame appreciatively.

“What you create is beautiful. I hope you’ll use this when you draw your next picture.”

She throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly. “Best present ever.”

“Yeah?” I look down at her.

She nods then steps back and walks over to the big bag and pulls out a large album. “This is what I made for you.”

I take it, sit on the edge of her bed, and open it. “Jesus, Ray.”

The picture is of me at the end zone. Behind me is a score.

“That’s the first game of the season.”

She sits next to me and smiles. “Yep.”

I turn the page and shake my head. “This is amazing.”

“You are amazing, and when you look at this, I hope you remember how far you’ve come, and how far you’re going.”

Each page has a picture she drew of me, and the score to the game.

“There’s empty pages for the Bowl game, and then you can fill it with all the moments to come.”

“I wanna show you how much this means to me, via orgasms, but I have another gift for you.”

She bites her bottom lip and nods.

I reach up and pull it out from between her teeth. “Keep that up and I’m not promising anything.”

“Me first!” She smiles and jumps up to get the other bag as I walk over and grab the bag I have for her.

“Here. Open it.” She grins.

“You, too.” I hand her hers.

I can’t help smiling when I see the football pendant with my number on the front and the year on the back. It’s nearly the same as the one I bought for Logan.

“It’s different than his, but …”

I reach up and take my chain off. “It’s perfect, Ray. Now open yours.”

She opens the bag and gasps, “Oh, my goodness.” She pulls the stadium-length, black winter coat out of the bag.

“It’s warm, Ray. I’m sick of seeing you cold.”

She hugs it as she kicks her little feet. “I love it!”

I laugh. “I’m glad. Now, check the pocket.”

I watch as she reaches inside and pulls out the black velvet box that is longer than her little hand. Then she opens it and looks confused, so I give her a scratch behind the ear. She smirks. “It’s beautiful.”

I pull the necklace out of the box and hold the pendant in my hand. “Got you a football, too. You made this the best season, Ray. I just wanted you to know you’re my”—I flip it around and show her the engraving—“MVP.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A win and a loss

Keeka

When Trucker Cohen asked me to fly to Arizona to watch him play in the Fiesta Bowl, I swear my face felt like it may split in two, and my heart soared to an all-time high. Then, reality set in and my soaring heart crashed at knowing there was one tale I have told—my legal name. Another untold tale—my age. The two together would have made it impossible to fly since I don’t have a license. Well, not a real one anyway.

I told him I had to work. He told me that Lou would understand and offered to buy my ticket. It was the second fight we had.

When he fell asleep, I hid in the bathroom and cried with my hand wrapped around the MVP necklace. When I felt him lift me up off the bathroom floor, I realized I had cried myself to sleep.

He laid me on the bed and apologized for being upset with me, and then … then he kissed me while whispering, “Can’t help wanting you there; no more than I can help falling, Ray.”

I whispered back I was sorry over and over, and he told me … “Shhh …”

Today, I stand behind the bar, looking over the sea of orange watching the game and listening to the same old things.

“It’s a nail biter.”

“They’ve got fucking blueprints!”

“He’s a football player!”

“He’s carrying the team on his back!”

“Gonna be a tough win in this hostile environment.”

“These two teams just don’t like each other.”

“Boys are getting cocky.”

“Come on, ‘Cuse! We need a miracle!”

“Play like it’s your field!”

“Don’t fuck this up, Orange!”

It wasn’t so annoying anymore; it was kind of endearing.

The game was in fact a nail-biter. I look down at my nails to confirm that, yep, gone. Completely gone.

The first time SU had possession, Trucker got tackled so hard that Coach Brown pulled him out. He flipped, totally flipped.

I watched Logan calm him down.

The next time they gained possession, he was back on the field.

When he was sacked after the ball was thrown, he got into a fight, a physical fight, with number 88 on the opposing team. The crowd screamed at the TVs, all seven of them, because a flag wasn’t thrown. I could see anger in Trucker’s eyes.

The next throw resulted in a touchdown for the Orangeman, and Trucker grabbed “Boom” while flipping off number 88.

At halftime, the score was tied.

I sent a text, knowing he wouldn’t get it, but needing to just the same.

Keeka

Your dream, your field, your plays. Kick ass, Trucker!

I was on edge the entire game. The last thirty seconds, SU made a touchdown, and the crowd was saying it was over. Saying they had a good run. Saying everything but not paying attention to the thirty seconds remaining on the clock or having faith in the men on the field.

I stood, eyes glued to the TV, watching the return and the Orangemen lining up for the play. Ignoring drink orders and Lou snapping at me, I stood there with my hand on my necklace, wishing I was there and praying for a miracle for the first time in my life.

The final play, Trucker took it in, and I swear every man on the field was on top of him and every “fan” in the bar was against him. They said he wasn’t inside, but as bodies started being pulled off, whistles continued to blow, and both the stadium crowd and the one in the bar quieted down as one of the refs called, “Offside, number 88. Defense, repeat. First down.”

Hope was renewed.

With three seconds on the clock, Logan tackled what seemed like the entire team as Trucker dove into the end zone.

“Touchdown!”

When Trucker and the team returned two days later, there was a parade on Marshall Street, a hero’s welcome. I stood on the sidewalk, wrapped in my new, black, toasty warm coat and cheered with everyone else.

For the rest of winter break, Trucker stayed at my place. We spent our mornings having … sex and coffee, followed by before-work sex. A few times, we had stairway sex, shower sex again, and every night, we had bedtime sex.

He was high on the season, and I was high on him.

I knew without question I was in love with Trucker Cohen, and I knew without words that he had fallen, too.

In mid-January, the first weekend that students returned, the bar hosted the first of two fundraisers. This one was for the local children’s hospital.

Behind the bar with Lou, myself, and Reda were all the senior SU football players. Lou, Reda, and I made drinks and handed them off to the guys, who served the crowd, their crowd, and did shots right along with them.

By the end of the night, Trucker was loaded and his inability to whisper what he was going to do to his Most Valuable Pussy tonight had me nearly tripping over myself.

When he does another shot, I remind him, “You have a news crew coming to the hospital at nine in the morning to meet you and your team.”

He slurred, “I’m gonna fall face-first in your pussy as soon as we’re alone and eat until then.”

Logan laughs. “Fuck, you are jackass.”

I want to die of embarrassment.

“I wasn’t talking to you, you sexy fucking beast.” Trucker kisses him loudly on the cheek.

“I know what you’re like to wake up to in the morning after you get shit- and pussy-faced.”

“Pussy-faced.” Trucker hugs him. “That’s funny as fuck.”

“Funny fuck, fucking clowns. Fuck you.” Logan hugs him back.

“Salad tossing.” Trucker leans back from the hug and kisses him right on the lips.

“The fuck!” Logan pushes him back.

“Where is the love, Will-I-Am?” Trucker laughs at himself, and Logan pulls his baseball cap down, grinning like a fool.

“You two are adorable.” I shake my head, laughing. “But totally worthless behind the bar at this point.” I lift up the section of the bar so they can get out. “Go play.”

“You are not the boss of me.” Trucker tweaks my nose, and I give him a shove.

I watch him and Logan stumble into their awaiting fans, laughing.

“Good call,” Lou says with a laugh. “I think I can start leaving you alone in this place after that.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do without you barking orders, Lou,” I joke, and Reda starts laughing.

When Pitbull’s “Time of Our Lives” starts to play, I glance over and watch as Trucker and Logan get shuffled toward the dance floor, and then, well, then the girls are all over them.

“You gonna let that happen?” Lou nods.

“You heard the man. I’m not the boss of him.” I shrug.

Without the guys behind the bar, the crowd thins. “Time to work those tables, Keeka.”

I duck under the bar. “I’m on it.”

I make trips back and forth to the bar, serving drinks. And while I wait for my orders to be filled, I feel hands grip my hips and dig into my flesh, and then he whispers, “Dance with me.”

“I’m on the clock, your highness.”

“Lou!” he yells. “I’m stealing this one for a dance.”

“Whatever.” Lou throws his hands up. “I’ll just do it all.”

He practically drags me out onto the dance floor as the song “New Rule” by Dua Lipa is playing. He turns me around and winks.

“I haven’t danced in—”

“I know how your body moves, Ray; you can dance. I’ll help you get your rhythm.” He grips my hips and sways them back and forth. “Close your eyes and feel it, Ray.” When I roll my eyes, he pouts out his bottom lip. “Please? For me?”

Before I can say a thing, he twirls me so my back is to him, and I close my eyes and let him lead me.

When I look back, he’s staring at my ass, his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes heavy and filled with lust. That’s when I decide I could probably give him something more to look at.

I place my hands over his and begin moving on my own. I shake my ass, the one genetics graced me with and my mom taught me how to move.

“Fuck, Ray,” he groans, encouraging me.

When the chorus begins, I step forward, bend slightly, and twerk a bit while slowly running my hands to the beat up my sides while dancing in a small circle to face him.

“The fuck?” he growls.

I shrug. “My mom was a dancer.”

“Show me what you got, but no promises I will be able to keep my hands to myself.”

I put my hands on his hips. “I’ll teach you some moves that white boys just can’t seem to master.”

He laughs. “Ray, you fucking know better.”

I wink. “Follow along, your highness.”

“Finesse” by Bruno Mars starts, and I poke him in the chest. “Can you do this?” I shake my hips in double-time as I turn in an exaggerated circle and pop my ass back into him. Then I look over my shoulder. “Well?”

“Ray, that’s child’s play.” He laughs and does the same thing.

Gaw … he’s so damn hot.

“How about this?” I put my hands above my head, one hand gripping the opposite wrist. Then I shake my ass as I drop it down really low and bounce a bit.

His jaw comes unhinged a bit, and then he grabs my hands, pulls me up, throws me over his shoulder, and starts toward the door.

Lou yells, “Bring my girl back here, Cohen!”

He turns around, and I swear he’s going to drop me. I can’t stop laughing.

When my ass hits the bar, I look up, still laughing.

“You’re double-fucked tonight, Ray; you hear me? Double-fucked.”

An arm is wrapped around me from behind, and then someone pulls me back.

“No asses on the bar!”

I spin around and hop down.

One dance and I go from band geek to prom queen. All the girls who like to rub up and down on the boy now want to be my friend, but I have no damn time for friends.

When I roll my eyes at the them, Lou whispers, “Those girls bring the guys who bring the money. Would it kill you to be nice?”

“I am nice, Lou,” I defend, mixing up some drinks for my new fan club.

He laughs. “Try harder, would ya, kid?”

One of the girls yells to me, “Come dance with us!”

Lou nudges me, and I shoot him daggers.

He scowls back. “Play nice.”

“They think I’m an in.”

“So use it.” He holds up a card. “This one has Daddy’s black card and is buying a round for the bar.” He points to a sign, but I don’t have time to sound out all the letters.

“I’m here to mix drinks, Lou, not read.”

“Twenty percent tip added to all credit card orders,” he tells me. “That’s a big damn tip by the end of the night, Keeka. Not asking you to let her cop a feel, but a damn dance won’t kill you.”

“Fine, Lou, but—”

He swings the end of the bar up and shoves me lightly like I did to Trucker. “Go dance.”

Jason Derulo’s “In My Head” is playing, and the white girls with no rhythm are dancing. And then, then there is me.

I feel someone behind me, dancing with me. Then he says, “Nice pooper.”

I turn around and glare at … Logan.

His eyes pop out. “I didn’t fucking mean that.”

I make the sign of a zipper across my lips.

“Trucker!” he yells.

The next person dancing behind me, I know … intimately, by smell, by touch, and well … intimately.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, placing a hand on my hip.

I look up. “Lou’s making me dance with the girl who has a black card. He’s whoring me out.”

He makes his brows jump. “Is that so?”

I turn and shrug. “I don’t like girls, and I have no idea what the hell a black card is, but he’s Lou, so I do what I have to do—what he tells me to.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “You’re fucking beautiful, Ray.”

When he leans in to kiss me, I lean back, still dancing, still shaking it. He smirks and takes a drink.

I turn around, my back to him, and do as Jason says, I break it down.

As we are cleaning up, Lou is in his office with Mitch, the DD for tonight, and Logan and Trucker, the … not so sober guest bartenders, while the rest of the guys who are riding with Logan are drinking water, I can’t help listening in on their conversation. They are talking about the bright futures their captains are sure to have with admiration.

One of them laughs. “But Trucker will be the one to throw it all away by falling for some piece of ass like bar titties over there. He’ll get her knocked up, and she’ll take him for all he’s worth.”

They all laugh.

“Links will be a fucking star. He has his dad’s connections, so he’ll skate through regardless. He’ll be the Hugh Hefner of the NFL.”

So much for admiration, assholes.

“Let’s roll,” Mitch booms, and they all get up and head toward the door.

Logan turns and looks at me. “Cat’s out of the bag now, Keeks. Might as well drive his ass home and stay.”

When he walks out, I look at the floor. I don’t want to stay. I don’t want those assholes talking about Trucker that way. If I hear them do it again, I may knock their teeth out.

“You gonna take me home and take advantage of me, Ray?”

I look up and see Trucker yawn as he reaches his hand out to give me the keys.

“Get him home, Keeka.” Lou laughs. “He needs his beauty sleep. He’s gonna present a five-thousand-dollar check to the hospital, live on the news tomorrow.”

Outside, I am the one opening the door for Trucker and making sure he’s buckled in as he tries to feel me up. Luckily, he’s so drunk it doesn’t take much to get him to behave. If he wasn’t, I would let him do whatever he wanted to me.

I get in the truck and start it up.

“No chick has every driven Boom. Take it easy on her, Ray.”

“Wait. Your dick and your truck have the same name?”

He grins a sloppy yet sexy, drunken grin. “They sure do.”

I put the truck in drive and ease out onto the road.

“You’re doing great, Ray.”

At the stop light, he leans over and kisses me. And of course, I kiss him back.

When the light turns green, I take my foot off the brake and hit the gas.

I glance over as he kisses my hand. He looks up and his face illuminates, angelic.

“Ray!” he screams, and then I hear metal on metal and feel the door slam into me as the vehicle gets shoved sideways.

“Fuck, fuck! Ray, are you okay?” He grabs my face, and I nod. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch.”

He swings his door open, and I fear what he said will come true.

“Trucker!” I yell, and he stops and looks back as I fumble with the seatbelt.

He leans in and unbuckles it before helping me over the console.

Once out of the truck, he holds me. “You okay?”

I hear sirens and look up at him. “I’m fine.”

I hear Reda yelling, “Are you two okay?”

I look up at Trucker. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Fucking sober now, too.”

“Lou’s calling an ambulance,” Reda pants out. “Cops are on their way.”

“Cops?” I ask, suddenly terrified.

“Good thing you didn’t drive, Trucker.” She shakes her head. “You’d be in a world of shit.”

Think, I scream in my head. Think!

“Reda, I had a couple of drinks. My license is expired. My—”

“Then, why the fuck you driving my truck?” Trucker’s shocked.

“Hey, you two, no need to fight. I haven’t had a drop and my license is clean. I was driving tonight, okay?” Reda hugs me as I shake. “It’s okay.”

Trucker looks at me and shakes his head. “That was fucking stupid shit, Ray. Real fucking stupid.”

I stand back as the police talk to Reda and Trucker. I watch as the driver of the black car is given a sobriety test, and then he is cuffed and put in the police car.

Trucker walks over to me. “That could have been you tonight. Don’t you ever pull that shit again, ever.”

I nod my head up and down. “Okay. Never. I promise.”

“You need a ride home, Trucker?”

“That would be great, Lou.”

“Let me grab my car.”

He turns back and looks at me. “Why did you not tell me you were drinking?”

I shrug and look down.

“Look at me, Ray.”

I look up.

“When did you drink?”

When I look left, he snaps, “Truth.”

I feel my chin begin to quiver. “I didn’t.”

“So, it was the expired license?”

I nod.

“Do you know how fucked I’d be if Reda didn’t cover for your ass?”

I shake my head and swallow hard.

“I built that truck. Took me four fucking years and every dime I had extra of went into it. Someone without a license drives it and gets in a wreck, doesn’t matter whose fucking fault it is, I lose. Me, Ray, not you!”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Jesus, Ray, Logan’s truck. You fucking drove his, too. Was your license expired then?”

I can’t even look at him. I can’t allow another lie to come between us.

“It’s fake,” I whisper as a tear falls.

“What the fuck? Are you serious?”

I nod.

“Why the fuck do you have a fake ID?”

I can’t look at him, can’t breathe, can’t move.

“Holy shit, Ray, holy fucking shit.”

I see Lou’s car coming toward us. “Please don’t tell him, Trucker. I need this job.”

“How fucking old are you?” he whisper-hisses.

Again, I avert my eyes, and this time, he grabs my chin and forces me to look at him.

“Answer the fucking question, Ray.”

“Eighteen”—I swallow hard—“in two months.”

I watch his face turn from shock to disgust.

“You stay the fuck away from me, you lying little …” He stops, and now he looks hurt, and it’s my fault.

I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I think my heart is breaking.

“Stay away from me.”

I nod. “Okay.” Tears fall down my face as I say it again, “Okay.”

Walking up the stairs to my apartment after an undetermined amount of time, I close the door and lock it behind me. Then I drop the keys on the floor and walk into the bathroom, where I lean over the sink and prepare to throw up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Under

Trucker

I did the fucking fundraiser bullshit, came home, and crashed. I hated that I looked at my phone a million times, practically willing her to send me the sun so I could tell her she could shove it up her seventeen-year-old ass.

Logan keeps asking me what’s up, but I told him it was a hangover and Boom. Funny how double-edged that fucking statement is, too. Hungover as fuck from drinking the Keeka Kool-Aid for over five fucking months, Boom the truck being totaled, and Boom my cock trying to crawl up inside itself because of the shame of where it had been …

The kiddy pool.

I wish I liked hairy asses, because I would jump ship right now and mow down on a big, hairy asshole, because women are a bunch of lying bitches.

Next time I got a hard-on, I was going to fuck my hand and pretend it’s Meryl Streep or some shit.

I look down at my hand and shake my head.

I hear a knock on my door and look up. Logan.

“Got a minute?”

“Yeah.” I sit up.

“You’ve been out of touch lately, so I thought I’d tell you … Ava’s dating T.”

“T? As in, the drummer for Burning Souls?”

He nods.

“I always thought Luke Lane and her—”

“Me, too. But yeah, since Christmas.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Pisses me off. She’s like family.

“Bro, you’ve been practically living with Keeks since then.” He shrugs.

“I didn’t live with her,” I snap.

He looks at me like I have lost my shit then nods. “I get it now.”

“What do you get?” I ask defensively.

“You’re pissed she had Reda drive you home?”

“No,” I say in a voice that resembles my puberty years.

He gives me the look, the one that’s always followed by, “I call bullshit.”

I get up and shut my bedroom door. “This is between you and me. No one else. Got it?”

“Do you even have to fucking start with that? It’s always you and me. I don’t spill your shit to anyone.”

“She was driving …” I sigh, close my eyes, and continue, “She gets out and tells me that she’s been drinking. Then she tells me her license is expired.”

“Ouch.” He sighs.

“Then Reda comes out and says she’ll say she was driving.”

“That’s a friend, man.”

I nod. “Then I see bullshit, so I call it.”

“Go on.”

“She didn’t drink a drop.” I flop back on my bed.

“So, it was the license thing?”

I look at him and take a deep breath. “She doesn’t have a fucking license, so I lit into her about that. She drove Boom and Black Betty; how fucked up is that?”

“Fucked up, but it all worked out, so get over it, man. She’s cool as shit.”

I sit up and lean in to tell him, “She’s seventeen years old, Logan.”

Silence. Dead fucking silence.

“You’ve been eye-fucking London Fields for a good year now and—”

“I have not,” he snaps.

“Bullshit. And I’m not bringing it up to rub your damn nose in it, Logan. I’m bringing it up because you haven’t even attempted to tap that ass. So, here I am, doing—”

“London will be eighteen in a couple weeks, and I’m still not gonna try to tap it.”

“Well, thanks for making me feel even worse, asshole. Forget I said a thing. Just … I need to be alone.”

“You need to be alone, cool. But that’s not why I mentioned it. London’s a kid. Keeks doesn’t seem like a kid.” He pauses. “Well, except the whole I-don’t-know-how-to-read thing.”

“She can fucking read now—” I stop when I realize I’m defending her. “Still not the point. She could ruin everything I have … we have worked for.”

“I get that, but that’s where it seems like she’s older than London. She doesn’t strike me as the kind to fuck that up for you. But I’d make damn sure she didn’t.”

“How the fuck do I do that?” I huff.

“You end shit nice and neatly.”

“Fuck that. She lied.”

He scratches his head as he thinks. “Then tell her you’ll tell Lou.”

“She’d lose her job.” I sigh. “She has no one. She has nothing.”

“And what will you have if she runs her mouth?”

I nod. “Exactly.”

“End it nicely, Trucker, and hope to hell it works.”

“If it doesn’t?”

“It’s her word against yours, and you, my brother, have me. I’ll be your alibi. Hell, we raised money for sick kids. They’ll buy that we were helping her learn to read.” He laughs. “Shit, we’re even doing a fundraiser at Lou’s for that shit.”

“Wasn’t because of her I wanted to do it.”

He laughs. “Bullshit.”

I look him in the eyes. “Was because of my issues, too.”

He nods. “Issues you worked through. And look at you now. No way you’ve come through all that to end up smelling like shit when you didn’t even know you were rolling in it.”

No moon last night, no sun this morning, and because I fucked with my schedule to go along with hers, I had today off.

I have Logan’s truck to deal with insurance, the police reports, and hopefully getting a new ride. When I dropped him off, he told me to deal with the Keeka issue today and offered to go with me after class.

I have no intention of waiting.

I let myself in the door to the stairs because I have the fucking key. I want to walk in the damn apartment door, too, just to show her I can, but that’s stupid shit and I know it.

When I knock on the door, I hear her feet hit the floor.

As she’s unlocking the door, she says, “Reda, I’m fine. I have ice—” She stops when she sees me, her eyes immediately misting over.

“No need to play the fucking victim, Keeka. We both know it’s bullshit.” I try to step inside, but she doesn’t move.

“I don’t think you should be here.”

“Why? You have another guy filling the void already?” I ask, stepping forward again.

This time, she backs up. “I just … I don’t … I-I-I—”

“So, you stutter, too? Or is that another fucking lie, lie, lie?” I roll my eyes.

Tears immediately fall down her cheeks, and I look away. Fucking sorcery.

“I-I-I—”

I can’t even look at her. “I-I-I need to talk to you.”

Jesus Christ, what the fuck am I doing! I curse at myself as I look down at her again. “Five fucking minutes. Seventeen at most.”

I can’t fucking control my emotions, and I’m fucking this up in a big way.

She wipes her nose with her sleeve then takes a big, deep breath. “Okay.”

I walk in and see nothing has changed. Then I remind myself that it’s only been a fucking day. One fucking day.

I look at the bed. “You should change those fucking sheets. Unless you’re saving them to use in your twisted, little fucking plan to ruin my life.”

I hear a strangled sob and look back at her.

“I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t ever … I—”

“I don’t believe a damn word you say, little girl.”

“I’ve never been a little girl.” Her voice shakes in anger as she reaches up and bats her tears away.

“What the fuck is that?” I point to her side where an obvious bruise is marring her skin.

She pulls her shirt down and sniffs as she says, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m—”

“Enough fucking lies!”

When she jumps, I reach out to grab her before she falls over the box behind her, but she steps back into the damn thing and cries out in pain.

“Jesus Christ, Ray. Will you …?” I stop when I realize what I called her.

“I’m fine. I’m okay,” she says, choking back tears then whimpering when she steps out of the box. “Excuse me for …” She stops mid-sentence and hurries to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

I hear her sobbing quietly, and it damn near breaks my heart, but there isn’t a damn thing I can do, or will fucking do, I remind myself.

Restless, I pace back and forth in front of the door until I finally knock once. “I have things to do, Keeka. Can we end this shit?”

A few seconds later, I hear her blow her nose, and then I hear water. A couple seconds after that, she walks out.

“What’s the fucking bruise from?”

She shrugs.

“The damn truth is all I ever asked of you.”

“The accident,” she says, tugging the shirt down.

“Fuck. What the fuck? Jesus—”

“I’m fine. I’m—”

“Stop fucking lying to me! Just stop!”

“Okay. It hurts?”

I can’t help laughing, and not because it’s fucking funny, but because it’s fucking pathetic.

She scowls at me, giving me the fuck you look, and that pisses me off.

“Lift your fucking shirt.”

She does … all the damn way.

“Cover your tits, for fuck’s sake.”

She clenches her eyes shut and whispers, “You’re so stupid.”

“No, I’m not fucking stupid. You played me. You—”

“I was talking to myself!” she yells as she opens her eyes and releases her shirt.

“I wanna see the damn bruise, not your barely Bs. Do you think you can handle that? Or do you want me to spell it out for you?”

When she glares at me, I immediately regret my word choice.

In an eerily calm voice, she tells me, “I want you to leave.”

“And I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked, why?”

“I have no fucking clue why I should give a damn, but you got hurt in my truck, and you have my DNA all over this place—”

She reaches out and shoves me before limping over to her bed where she tears off the sheets and blanket while muffling pain-filled sounds. Then she turns around and throws them at me.

“Take them and get out! Just get out!”

I scoop them up. “Good. Fuck you. Or better yet, un-fuck you.” I walk to the door and pull it open. Then I walk out and slam it behind me.

Looking down the stairs, I will myself to leave. I beg my feet to move while trying to ignore the slamming and crashing I hear in the apartment, but I can’t. I can’t fucking do it.

I drop the sheets and blankets on the floor, turn around, and walk back inside.

“Why?” She throws her hands in the air. “Why are you here?”

I don’t answer her. I shut the door behind me, walk to her closet, and pull out her other set of sheets.

“I can do that!”

I don’t stop. I make her fucking bed. Hell, I even change her pillowcases and toss the others in the hall. Then I grab her other blanket and toss it on the bed.

“Lay the fuck down,” I tell her as I stomp toward the tiny fridge, grab the bag of ice out of the freezer, and wrap it up in a tea towel.

When I turn around, her hands are on her hips and her B’s are pointing at me.

“I’m being a good fucking guy right now, so lay down so I can look at your fucking side and see if you need to go to the damn hospital. And if you do, I’m going to take your ass there.”

When she doesn’t move, I drop the ice on the table, take three steps toward her, scoop her up, and watch her face contort in pain, in anger, and I am sure in some sort of sadness, caused by what she has lost because of her lies; what should have never been hers to begin with—me.

I set her on the bed, and she rolls to her side.

“Reda already stopped over. It’s fine.”

I pull her shirt up, making sure not to expose her any further to me.

“It’s not fine,” I say, pressing lightly on it. “I can almost guarantee you have a cracked rib.”

“And they do nothing for it at a hospital. It will be fine. I will be fine.”

“Well, that’s fucking great, because I sure as hell won’t be,” I admit to myself out loud as I place the bag of ice gently on her side.

“You will. You’ll be great,” she whispers. And fuck if that doesn’t hurt.

I swallow back what is threatening to come.

“You need pain meds.”

She rolls to her back and looks at me. “Reda gave me something. I’ll be fine. She said I’d sleep.”

I reach up to push her hair away from her face, but then I pull away before I do.

“I’ve never been a little girl, and I would never do anything—anything at all—to hurt you or what you’ve worked so hard at becoming.”

“You should have fucking told me, Ray.” I shake my head and close my eyes.

“Then what? Huh? You would have told Lou, and I wouldn’t have a job, and—”

“You are putting him in a terrible position. Don’t you see? He could lose his business.”

Tears slide down her face. “I guess I just thought, if someone found out, I would be the one in trouble. I’d go to jail. But you know what, Trucker? Jail is better than Hell.” She looks away.

Now I can’t help pushing her hair away and wiping her tears.

The whimper that escapes her this time is that of need. I should know. I’m the one who created it.

She presses her cheek against my hand and yawns. “I’m really tired. You should leave. I promise you that I will never ruin anything for you, ever. I want you to be so happy. I just ask that you do the same for me. I like my job. I’m good at it. And I’m … I’m … I’m almost done paying off her … her … burial.”

“Shh …” I wipe away more tears. “I won’t say shit, okay? Just … Just … Jesus Christ, now I’m stuttering.”

She closes her eyes. “Don’t you dare carry my worries. Be great, Trucker Cohen. I knew you were destined for greatness the moment I saw you.”

When I wake up to, “The fuck, man?” she’s wrapped in my arms.

I open my eyes to find Logan giving me the what the fuck look that matches his words.

“She got hurt,” I whisper as I untangle my arms and sit up. Then I lift the side of her shirt and show him.

When he opens his mouth, I place my fingers over mine. “Shh …”

He points to my phone, and I see it’s dead.

She whimpers when I get up, and we both look at her as her eyes flutter, adjusting to the light. When she opens them fully, her lower lip pops out, and she looks at me like she’s hurt.

“He has my truck. I’m done with classes. I called him; no answer. Called you; same thing. I came over; the door was unlocked.”

She doesn’t even look at him as she shakes her head. “Why are you still here? You hate me.”

Her words catch me off guard. I don’t answer.

“Look, Keeks.” Logan sits down on her bed, and I glare at him. He responds with an eye roll. “Trucker has big things in store for him and, well, you seem to have placed him in a pretty fucked-up situation.”

Out of my peripheral, I see her look away from me and down as she shakes her head.

“Told him the same thing. You’re a good chick, so he has no worries, right?”

She looks at Logan. “I’m not … I’m not … I’m not …”

Fucking embarrassing.

I give him a warning look not to say a thing.

“I wouldn’t … I—”

“And that’s perfect. You both have shit to lose, so we’re square.” Logan stands up. “And we’re out.” He nods to the door. “We have shit to do. Let’s roll.”

“The box is yours.” She swallows hard. “It’s all yours.”

“This one?” Logan asks, walking over and picking it up.

She clears her throat. “Uh-huh.”

He walks to the door and looks at me. “See you down there.”

I get up off the bed, a million things running through my head, and none of it makes any sense.

“I don’t know what to say except sorry.”

“Guess that’s it then.” I shrug then walk to the door.

“Trucker?”

I look back at her, and she smiles. “I wish nothing but great things for you.”

Fuck, I think as my chest tightens. I manage a, “Back at ya.”

She nods quickly then clears her throat. “Thank you for the best moments of my life.”

Jesus fucking Christ. This. Fucking. Sucks.

I swallow back whatever the fuck these feelings are and say, “Thank you for the best season of mine.”

She cocks her head to the side, holds her hand over her chest, and nods.

I want to turn back, scratch behind her ear, and tell her to get ahold of me when she’s eighteen. I want to tell her maybe in five years. But the way I feel right now, the betrayal, the hurt, I never want to go through this shit again. Not ever.

After shutting the door behind me, I grab the blankets and sheets from off the floor and walk down the stairs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Now do I…

Keeka

Who would have thought a broken heart would hurt so badly?

My mother.

But I’m not her. Though, now I can imagine what it was she did to lessen the hurt. She moved on. She moved on and allowed her heart to be broken over and over and over again. Even if she wasn’t mentally ill, just one chip to the heart changes everything.

Trucker seems to be doing the same thing she did. Not only does it hurt like hell, but it scares me for him.

Standing behind the bar, I watch as the football team works the crowd for another fundraiser. Just like the last one … tonight the cover charge will go to the charity of choice. Unlike the last time, there is a silent auction table set up.

The one that draws the most attention is a drawing of Trucker Cohen, my drawing, the one of him naked in the chair. It’s wrapped in cellophane and the area in which his penis would be showing is covered with a sticker that says “Boom” with three exclamation marks.

Trucker hasn’t approached the bar once, though Logan has a few times. He has given me kind smiles and is generous with the tips he leaves, but every time he tries to strike up a conversation, I pretend I can’t hear him and make myself laugh while saying stuff like, “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

Trucker’s dancing with a group of women who are groping him, and unlike other times, he doesn’t try to move away. And when he kissed one of them, I knew he would be okay. Me, on the other hand, I would never be the same.

“You and Trucker?” Lou asks.

Taking a deep breath, I force a laugh. “Boys will be boys, right, Lou?”

He looks at me as if he’s concerned.

“Girls will be girls, too. I’m thinking a basketball player next.” I wag my eyebrows.

He throws his head back and laughs.

When I’m not mixing drinks, I watch the stage to amuse myself. Bad karaoke does the trick. But when Trucker, Logan, and some of the guys start singing “Glad you came,” the air inside the club changes, and so do the actions of the women, some of whom I have already watched have intimate interaction with Trucker, throwing bras and flashing the guys.

When the song is over, I excuse myself, knowing when I see them all over Trucker and him all over them, I may not be able to fake a smile, fake a laugh, or make a joke about something not funny at all.

I’m not fine.

My heart is bruised, broken, and I care about him so much, so very much.

In Lou’s office, I sit in his oversized, black leather chair and spin so my back faces the door. Then I pull my knees to my chest and close my eyes, picturing the place where the sun meets the sand, where I feel safe and warm.

I hear the door open and shut.

“Sorry, Lou, just taking a break.”

When I hear footsteps move closer and smell an all too familiar scent, I look up to see Trucker in front of me.

“You hiding in here?” he asks, leaning back against the wall.

“Just taking a break,” I say, putting my legs down.

He steps forward, and I swallow hard.

“You enjoy yourself tonight? Enjoy looking at something you can’t have—me?”

I stand, and he steps into me.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m fucking hard, too.”

He grips my hips, and I look away from him, trying to hide what his touch does to me.

“I haven’t fucked in weeks, Ray.”

My heart speeds up when he calls me the name I wish could be mine forever.

“I want you so fucking bad right now, and I can’t fucking have you.” He leans in, his lips ghosting mine. “You did this to me, to us.”

I close my eyes and inhale, and then I walk around him.

“I know you fucking want me.”

I turn at that and look at him. “What do you want from me, Trucker?”

“I’m drunk, and hard, and you fucking gave me back bras and a phone, and all those fucking pictures, and …” He stops and a growl leaves his chest. “The fucking necklace? Why the fucking necklace!”

I open my mouth to respond, but he covers my mouth with his.

His kiss is rougher than before, his touch harsher. The feelings behind it mirror mine.

I need him, want him, and when I touch him, he sinks his teeth into my lip then pulls back. “Can’t fuck you. But you … you can fuck me.”

I push him back, and he falls into the chair. When I hesitate, he starts to stand.

“I can’t take the hurt anymore. You have to … You have to smile, Trucker. If you do, it would make it all worth it.”

“Then make me smile … Ray.”

I drop to my knees then unbutton him, unzip him, and pull him free. I lean in and kiss his broad head. Then I lick him from root to tip.

He fists my hair and thrusts into my mouth over and over again, harshly, too. When I gag and pull back, he reaches down, grabbing me under my arms and lifting me up.

Once on his lap, I grind against him, hoping to ease the burn between my legs, only to find it increasing. Therefore, I push off against his chest, stand up, and then pull my shorts off one leg before straddling him.

I grip his cock, and he growls, “What are you gonna do if I tell you no?”

I rub him against my saturated center then slam down on him, taking him fully as I cry out his name into his neck.

“You gonna sit there or fucking ride my cock?”

I rise up and slam down on him over and over again until he tries to still me by gripping my hips. I grab his hair as harshly as he is grabbing me and rock back and forth on him until I feel him swell, hear him hiss, and then I feel his cum fill me.

Panting against him, realization hits that we are in Lou’s office. I quickly move off him.

As I fix my clothes, he tucks his wet dick into his jeans then walks out of the office without a word.

The bar is pretty busy tonight, and I’m grateful to be busy. It keeps my mind off of the fact that I'm eighteen now, and all I can think about when I’m not here is how badly I want to call Trucker and ask him if we have a chance now, even though I know there is only six weeks left until his classes end, and seven weeks before graduation.

He is leaving, which is exactly what I want. I want him to leave, to follow his dreams, but I also want more moments with him.

What stops me from calling him is that the pain in missing him, missing us, has intensified since the night of the fundraiser, even though it hasn’t been him and me; it has been him drunk and me being needy. That one moment weakened my strength and will forever overshadow the day after the accident, when he left after showing he cared.

That night, after work on my birthday, I sat on the ledge and drew a moment darker than the one with him. It was, after all, the anniversary of her death.

The entire week after my eighteenth birthday, I spent in bed, missing a week of work because I had literally made myself sick.

When Reda made me go to the doctor, it costs me a lot of money, and I couldn’t afford it.

When the doctor’s exam was finished, she told me that she thought I was depressed, because I had no fever, no cough, no nothing. I insisted that I wasn’t depressed. Sad, maybe. I told her I knew the difference, and she ordered blood to be drawn to send out to a lab.

Refusing to allow myself to crash, I went back to work. I smiled. I busted my ass to prove to Lou that I was okay and that I was a good employee, worthy of this job and his trust.

Today, I still feel like hell, but I’m pushing through. That’s what I have always done.

I haven’t heard a word from Trucker. Haven’t even seen him in the bar. I know he is here on Thursday nights, though. Reda told me that they have been coming in. I act like it’s no big deal, but it is. It hurts that he’s avoiding me. He knows I have Thursdays off.

Tonight, as a few men sat talking about him, I allowed myself to feel sad again, to miss him again, even though I knew he wasn’t the same Trucker I met in September.

Seven months now seems like a lifetime ago.

When will I stop missing something that is no longer there?

I am shutting off the lights behind the bar when the phone rings. I answer it.

“Keeks?”

I know immediately who it is.

“Logan?”

“Need a favor.” His voice breaks, and he sniffs.

I grip the phone hard and hold it to my ear, ready for him to tell me that something is wrong, that something happened to Trucker.

“I’m in Brooklyn. My sister’s fiancé, Thomas, got hurt really bad—hit by a car. A family friend, Luke, was in an accident, too. And—”

“Oh, Logan, I am so sorry.”

He sniffs and clears his throat. “I need you to go the house and tell Trucker he needs to call me. I’m … I’m … I’m … Fuck.” He sniffs again. “Can you do that? Will you be there with him? I know—”

“Yes, of course,” I answer quickly.

Less than ten minutes later, I am knocking on his door.

When Mitch answers, he looks down at me.

“I’m here to see Trucker.”

“He’s right over there, Keeks.” He nods toward the couch where he’s sitting with a girl on his lap and a beer in his hand.

“You have company, Cohen.”

Trucker looks at me and shakes his head. “Did someone order a bartender?”

The living room erupts in laughter.

I swallow my insecurity. “Mitch, which room is his?”

“End of the hall, on the left.”

“If he gets up off the couch, let him know I’m in there and need to talk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I really don’t care what you think.” I push past him and walk down the hall with my head held high.

When I walk into his room, his scent surrounds me as I look around the small bedroom and see pictures of him and Logan, posters with inspirational quotes, and one that says, “If you’re in here, you should be naked or getting that way.” Then I look down and see a wastepaper basket full of empty condom wrappers.

When his door flies open, I look up to see him giving me a disgusted look.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Never mind. I get it. You’ve decided to fuck with my life and—”

“Before you continue being rude and making an ass out of yourself—”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, little liar—”

“Logan needs you to call him!” I bark out, not wanting to be hurt by his hateful words.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up. “Bullshit.”

I sigh. “Trucker, he asked that I come here … to be here when you call him.”

“What? You two fucking now?”

“Trucker, stop, okay?” I plead. “Stop and call your best friend, your person. Because, right now, he needs you.”

“Well, I don’t need you,” he snaps.

“It’s his sister, Ava, and Luke?”

He nods, looking nervous now.

“He needs you to call him, and he asked me to be here.”

As he calls, I stand still, watching him absorb the information Logan is giving him.

“I can come. Okay, I can—” He stops and turns his back to me. “Logan, it’s—” He is interrupted again.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs out. “T’s—”

He listens to Logan.

“No, man. I’ll wait for you. We do this—” He stops and seems to be listening. “I get it. You need me there. I’m—”

Again, a pause.

“I’m so fucking sorry, man. I’m so sorry …” His voice breaks, and he clears it before telling Logan, “I’m here. You call whenever. You need me, you know I’ll be there.”

He sits down with the phone on his ear. “Wasn’t necessary.” Then he clears his throat loudly. “Love you, too, brother. Tell Ava the same. Tell Aunt Jade I’m praying for Luke.”

When he disconnects from the call, he sits down with his back to me.

“I have no idea why he asked you to come. Fucking seventeen-year-old—”

“He knows I know you, the you that no one else does. And he … I think he trusts I want nothing but the best for you.”

I see his shoulders shake as he buries his face in his hands. “You’re seventeen fucking years old.”

I sit down behind him and rub his back. “I’m eighteen now, so no worries about that, okay?”

“Right,” he huffs then sniffs.

“I’m eighteen,” I whisper.

“Truth? Or is that—”

“Truth, Trucker, it’s truth.” I keep rubbing his back.

“Ray—I mean, Keeka—I gotta tell the guys, and—fuck.” He gets up and yells, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Then he hits the wall, punching a hole in it. “Son of a bitch!” He holds his hand to his chest and groans.

His door is opened and the girl who was on his lap earlier comes in. “Trucker, baby—” She stops when she sees me and glares. “You okay?”

“Get her the fuck out of here,” he hisses.

“No problem.” She smirks at me. “Let’s go, bar titties.”

“I was fucking talking about you! Get the fuck out!” When he turns around, his eyes are red, and he’s trembling. “Go!”

“Have fun with that.” She turns and pushes me. “Nothing little whore.”

Trucker flies across the room, and I jump between him and the bitch who just pushed and belittled me.

“She’s not worth it, you hear me?” I grab his shirt and shake him.

“She called you—”

“Do I look bothered?” I force a smile.

He scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head. “No, Ray. No, you don’t.”

“Let me know how I taste, bar titties.” She laughs maliciously as she leaves.

Kicking the door shut, I pull his head into my neck and hold him while Trucker Cohen, the strongest man I know, falls apart. Then I walk forward until he’s against the bed.

“Sit, okay?”

When he sits, he immediately wraps his arms around me, and I hold him as he silently sobs. I rub my fingers gently across his scalp as he absorbs what he just heard, and my heart breaks for him.

A few minutes later, he looks up at me, and I wipe away his tears.

“I gotta tell the guys.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“He’s gonna stay there. Come back next semester to finish.”

“Won’t his professors let him—”

“He says he’ll finish then.” He stands up then turns around and wipes his face. “I don’t wanna go out there. Fuck, they don’t know him, her, T, Luke. And those holes out there, it’s none of their fucking business.”

I walk out of his room and find Mitch. “Hey, Trucker needs to talk to you and to the guys, not the … holes?”

Mitch smirks and nods.

“Mitch, it’s pretty serious.”

“What’s up, Keeks?”

“Just …” I shrug. “He needs to tell you all something.”

I walk back into Trucker’s room, finding him still standing in the same place.

“Hey.”

He looks over his shoulder.

“The guys are gonna come in here.”

“Thanks, Ray.”

“You need me to stay, or—”

“Nah, I can do this. Gotta do this, you know?”

I nod.

“You gotta ride?”

“Yep, all set,” I lie then turn to walk out the door.

“Ray?”

I look back.

“I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Me, too, Trucker.” I turn back around.

“Thanks, Ray.”

“Anytime.”

Three days later, Trucker walks into the bar smiling. He looks so happy, so very happy that I can’t help getting caught up in it.

When he sits at the bar, I ask, “What can I get you?”

He looks left, and then right. “Wanted to tell you a secret.”

“Okay.” I lean in.

“An agent called me today. A fucking agent, Ray. Tells me he wants to sign me. I looked him up. He’s good. Lots of NFL greats are with him.”

“I knew it!” I laugh.

“Get this shit. I called him back; told him I’d love to sign with him. He tells me a ticket will be waiting for me at the airport, to get my ass on a plane. The draft starts tomorrow, and he tells me that I need to be there.”

“The draft, which is—”

“It’s fucking big, Ray, really fucking big.”

“Did you call Logan?”

He shakes his head. “Things aren’t good. Really bad, actually. I shouldn’t fucking even do this without him.”

I push his arm. “He’d kick your butt if you didn’t.”

“I know, but—”

“No but’s, Trucker. Go. You deserve this.”

He stares at me. He stares at me like he used to, and I smile.

“Still fucking beautiful, Ray.” He looks down at my boobs, and I can’t help laughing.

“I bought new ones.”

“None of my fucking business, but tell me they’re lace.”

“That would be a tale.”

He looks up at me. “We both fucked up, huh?”

I shrug.

He nods. “Right,” he says then stands up. “Well, I should go get that ticket; go see what the hell is waiting for me. My future.”

“Only great things, Trucker.”

He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Thanks, Ray. Thanks for everything.”

“Hey, Trucker?”

He steps back. “Yeah?”

“Can we be friends?”

He nods. “Yeah, Ray, we can be friends.”

Lou’s nose is glued to the TV the entire weekend as he watches the draft. I try not to act interested, but when The Giants take him, tears of joy burst from my eyes.

I look at Lou, who’s looking at me, tears rolling down his own cheeks as he laughs.

“Should have been a Buffalo Bill, but look at our boy, Keeka. Look at our Orangeman.”

Look at him, I tell myself. You can never be sad again, because you just witnessed greatness.

The following Wednesday, Logan calls the bar and tells me he needs me to go to Trucker’s again.

“He died, Keeks. He fucking died, and my sister is twenty-five weeks pregnant and giving birth now.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything else I can do?”

“Just tell him to call me. And I know it’s fucking hard, Keeks, and that I’m asking a fuck of a lot out of you, but—”

“Logan, we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “I guess we are.”

“Then you’re asking a friend, and that friend is saying yes.”

When I knock on the door, Mitch answers again.

“Hi, Mitch.”

“Hey.” He eyes me skeptically.

I nod. “I need to see Trucker.”

“Really not a good time for that,” he sighs.

I look past him and watch as not one, but two girls walk into his bedroom with him.

I look back at Mitch. “You think you could go stop that?”

“He’s been a fucking dick lately. I’m not stopping shit, Keeks. Sorry. You wanna come in and wait?”

I don’t have a choice, I think as I nod.

“Could be awhile.”

I’m well-aware of that.

“Does he have plans to go to the gym in the morning?”

“Fuck no.” Mitch laughs. “He’s celebrating.”

“Think I could go hang out in Logan’s room so I don’t have to be part of all this?”

He looks around the room. “Yeah, sure. Don’t blame you one damn bit.”

When he walks away, I realize I didn’t ask him which room is Logan’s. Then, when I see he’s already making out with some girl, I decide it’s best to find it myself.

I wake to my body being dragged out of Logan’s bed.

“The fuck are you doing in his fucking bed?”

“I fell asleep. I have—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Trucker screams as I scamper to my feet after he lets go of me. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, Mitch!”

Mitch?

I turn around and see Mitch jump up. “Dude, chill the fuck out.”

I jump back on the bed and run across it to get between them. “Trucker, no!”

“Do you fucking think I’m even going to listen to a fucking word you say to me ever again, friend?”

“Truth!” I yell.

He looks at me in confusion then with a pissed off look as he steps toward Mitch again.

“Mitch, get out!” I yell, grabbing Trucker’s face.

“It’s my damn room,” he sputters.

“It’s Logan’s,” I argue.

“No, it’s Mitch’s fucking room, Keeka! Don’t play dumb with me!” He pulls away from me and heads for the door.

I get between him and it. “I came here last night, and you were walking into your room with two girls, Trucker, two!”

“So fucking what? You wanted friends! That’s what you fucking said! You said you wanted friends, and fuck if I’m going to … Why the fuck did you come?”

Tears immediately fall. “I-I-I—”

“We back to that, friend! Spit it fucking out, and then get the fuck out of my house.”

I shake my head. “Logan, he needs you to call him. He asked.”

He stumbles back a couple steps and shakes his head.

“Mitch didn’t want me to go in your room, and I sure as hell didn’t want to see you with two women, friends or not, so I fell asleep. Now Logan, your friend, your only true friend, the only person you respect and will probably ever trust, needs you to call him now.”

“Why were you in his fucking room?” he yells.

“I went into an empty room to wait for you.” I poke him in the chest. “Now call your friend so I can get the hell out of here.”

He grabs my wrist and pulls me behind him and out the door, but then he stops when he sees Mitch.

“You fuck her?”

“Dude, what the hell?” Mitch laughs.

“I asked you a fucking question!”

“I was so fucked up I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to get it up. And chances are, if I wasn’t facedown between her legs, not a damn thing happened, so fuck you, big shot!”

Downs comes in and stands in front of Mitch. “Dude, he’s gone in a few days.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Trucker screams at him.

Downs looks at him. “We fuckin’ get you’re stressed, Cohen, but the bullshit you’ve been pulling, we’re done with it. You’ve been a fucking dick!”

“Fuck you all!” he snaps as he pulls me behind him and into his room.

He points the bed. “Sit.”

“No, absolutely not.” I cross my arms in front of me.

“Sit the fuck down!” His eyes are blaring red and misting over as he grabs his phone. “Just sit!”

“I’m right here, Trucker, but I will not sit on that bed where two women slept with you last night. No way in hell.”

He sits on the edge of his bed with his phone in his hand as he rubs the other back and forth over his head. “Can’t fucking do it.” He drops the phone and runs both hands over his face.

I walk over and pick it up. “Suck it up, Trucker. I certainly have.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Did you …? Did you suck his …?”

“Call your friend, my friend; he’d like to talk to you.”

I can’t even look at him while Logan and he speak. I can hear Logan’s tone, but not his words, while Trucker’s words are broken and filled with pain.

When he ends the call, I keep my back to him.

“Ray?” he whispers, and my chest feels like it’s crushing my heart. “Thanks.”

I nod as I walk toward the door, hearing him get up before he walks quickly in front of me.

“Don’t fucking go.” He sinks to his knees and hugs me. “Tell me what to do?”

“Be there for him.”

“About you. I can’t see that again, Ray, not ever.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re leaving soon then, huh?”

He looks up at me and shakes his head. “You said friends.”

“Truth, Trucker?”

He nods quickly.

“I fell in love with you. But we can never be friends, because you’ll never trust me.”

He looks shocked.

“I’ll always wish you the best.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. But I need you to give me back my keys, because I have fallen to sleep every night praying to a God who’s never heard my prayers—your God—that you felt the same. That you would understand I never lied to you. That somehow a shitty past didn’t really matter, and that two people who have overcome it could truly be happy.

“But I will never be able to forget last night, or this morning, or the fact that you will never trust a female. I just want my keys back, Trucker, and for you to go on and live your dream. All I want to do is be happy, and I need to get my keys back so that I can do that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

How could it happen

Trucker

Can’t fucking breathe.

I look at my phone, seeing it’s been two hours since she left here, and I can’t fucking breathe.

I gave her back her keys. Tried to tell her all I want is for her to be happy, too. Wanted to tell her the damn truth, that I loved her and lost her so many fucking times in the past couple months that nothing makes sense. Not a damn thing.

Logan, Ava, two babies born too soon and probably won’t live. Thomas is gone, Luke is in serious condition, and all I can do is pray for her to forgive me.

My heart, my pride, both fucking shattered, and probably of my own doing.

Shut it the fuck off! I scream at myself over and over.

I grab my phone and look at Twitter, at all the “Congratulations, Trucker’s” in the world don’t mean dick right now.

I scroll through my inbox and see even that little shit sent me a message.

Good season. You’re finally on a team I can root for. Go Giants!

The next is from a high school kid, JC Jones, who’s been messaging me all year, and I have replied “Thanks, man” to all of them. I haven’t a fucking clue what half the shit he said was; partially because I can’t focus that fucking long on text messages. Another reason is because I have been too caught up in the season.

I hit his name now and look at his clips. Fucker’s got talent. So, I message him.

@JJJONES You have raw talent brother.

I get a reply immediately.

@TCQB Coming from my favorite player, that means the world, man.

@JJJONES It’s the truth.

@TCQB What the hell does truth get you? lol. Appreciated but frustrated.

@JJJONES In the words of Journey: Don’t Stop Believin’.

@TCQB Not gonna stop till all the rejection letters come in and I’m asking folks if they’d like fries with that.

@JJJONES I hear that.

We message back and forth for an hour until I hear a knock on my door.

I sit up, thinking it’s got to be her. “Come in.”

When the door is opened, Coach Brown walks in, shaking his head at me. “Man has the world by the balls and is raising hell on South Campus. Whatever it is, this too shall pass.”

“Got a lot going on, Coach.”

“I know you do, son. What will it take for you to just leave the shit behind and look forward to the future?”

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down at the notification from JJ.

I toss my phone to him. “Look at this kid’s videos and get him in here. I’ll keep it cool and come back after my first season. Hell, I’ll clean the locker room’s toilets if I have to.”

“Seen this one. Raw talent, cocky as hell. Reminds me of someone.”

“Me?”

He laughs. “No, Logan’s dad, Lucas. Arrogant fuck.”

I nod. “He did well.”

“He left me after one season and went pro.” He tosses my phone at me.

“He supports this program to this day.”

He nods. “That he does.”

“Give this kid a shot, Coach. I have a feeling about him.”

“Keep peace in my home, and I’ll think about it.”

“Deal.”

He nods then turns around, opens the door, and looks back. “You made me proud, Trucker, from day one. Don’t stop now.”

“Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll do my best.”

“You better, or I’m gonna feed my team chili and shit up those toilets before you come back to clean ’em.”

The day before graduation, I wake up and walk out of the bedroom to see Downs looking at me from over his cup of coffee.

“You slept in Logan’s room last night?”

“My bed was full, and I didn’t feel it, so yeah. Why?”

“The girl stopped over. She’s in my bed.”

I clench my fists and feel my blood boil.

“In her defense, she walked into your room, ready to give you hell, saw it was full, and lost her shit. Something about keys and a lot of fuck yous.” He nods to the wall where I see a hole. “I told her to get her shit together and wait in my room for you. I slept on the couch. She’s still waiting.”

I walk to Down’s room and find her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her wrist. Her hand is swollen.

“I want my keys,” she hisses.

I walk in and shut the door behind me. “I gave you your keys.”

“Not my keys!”

“Ray, shhh …”

“Fuck you!”

Shouldn’t like it one bit, but I do. I like that she’s pissed.

“You should have called. It could have been arranged.”

She lets go of her wrist and picks something up off the bed, throwing it at my head.

I catch it and look down to see the keys I gave her yesterday and laugh. I was so fucking messed up that I gave her my old truck keys.

“None of this is funny. None of it! I almost believed you yesterday. I almost thought maybe …” She pauses and stands. “Less than twenty-four hours and you have a full bed.”

“Which is why I slept in Logan’s room, Ray.”

“Bullshit.”

“Straight-up truth.”

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly and lets out a quivering breath.

“I’m so fucking sorry about all this. This whole shitshow. I fell, too, okay? Then you lied—”

“You never asked!”

Damn, I have never heard her scream so much … Not true. Just not in the same way.

“I get it, okay? I fucked up, but you did, too. You fucked up, too.”

“I trusted you!” she snaps.

“And I fell in love with you,” I admit.

Her eyes snap to mine, and I shrug.

“Is all that gone now? Lost. Not even a friendship to salvage?”

She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me.

“Okay.” I chuckle nervously and reach behind me, still looking into her beautiful fucking eyes. “Come on, Ray. We need to do some shit today.”

I walk out, and she follows as I walk into Logan’s room and make it a point to let her see my clothes, my phone, and an empty, unmade bed.

Walking out the door and past her, I whisper, “Slept in here last night.”

Then I open my door and flip on the lights to grumbling, complaining females and Schooler.

“Next time, take it to your own room, man, and make sure you clean my sheets.”

I grab my keys—well, her keys— my wallet, a clean shirt, boxers, and a pair of shorts before shutting the door behind me. Then I walk back into Logan’s room and hold the door open.

“Come on in, Ray.”

Still saying nothing, she walks in, and I close the door behind her.

I stand in front of her and take off my shirt, making sure I let her see the fucking tattoo on my arm, the one she drew.

Her chin quivers, and tears fill her eyes.

I take her hand and place it over my heart. “Feel this?”

She nods and swallows hard.

“It’s fucked up, Ray, but it’s there.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear falls.

I take her face in my hands and kiss her forehead, her cheek, her nose, her lips, and then whisper in her ear, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you … us.” I let go and step back.

She opens her eyes.

“I want you so fucking bad right now, but if I can only have you as a friend, that’s good, too.”

As I drop my pants, her eyes never leave mine.

I turn and step out of my boxers before putting the fresh ones on, trying to will her to at least, at very least, want me physically.

She whispers my name.

I turn around and look at her. I see a cocktail of need, pain, desire, hurt, and fucking love brewing in her beautiful eyes.

“One last time, Ray?”

“One last time.”

I want to go slow, but I can’t; she won’t let me. And as soon as her lips are on mine, everything, every fucking thing, is lost.

Words are lost, restraint is lost and, for just a few moments, even the pain is lost.

Hovering over her, her legs wrapped around me tightly, all I can do is stare into her eyes and fuck her deeply, so fucking deep that I hope it’s felt for the rest of her life.

When she comes, I can’t even hold back enough to give her a second.

I lay on her, panting, and when I look at her, she looks away.

I push myself up and push her hair away from her face.

“I gotta go,” she whispers.

“Give me a minute, okay? Gotta use the bathroom.”

She nods.

When I come out, I grab my shorts, step into them, turn around, and look at her face that is flooded with tears. Leaning forward, I kiss them away, holding back my own. Then I throw my shirt over my head and walk into Logan’s bathroom to brush my teeth and to try to get my shit together or I’m going to be just like her—a fucking mess.

When I come back out, his door is open and she is gone.

I grab the keys she came here for off the bed, hurry down the hall, and watch as she leaves out the front door. No doubt my heart would be broken if I didn’t know for sure she would have to face me again to get her keys.

I shove my feet into my slides and walk out the door.

“Ray, stop!”

She shakes her head and keeps on walking.

“Ray, I still have your keys.”

She stops and turns around.

I hold them up. Come and get them, I think to myself.

She hurries toward me, and as soon as she’s within arm’s reach, I scoop her up, hit the key fob to my new ride, open the door, and set her inside. She doesn’t say a word.

I get in, reach over, and buckle her in. Then I buckle myself in and start my truck.

Pulling out of my spot, I ask, “Do you like it?”

She nods and wipes away her tears.

“She’s black like my soul, and I named her Tales.” Tales is my new Ford F-150 Raptor.

She scowls but doesn’t look over.

“Thought I would hate her for replacing Boom. Come to find out, I like her even more.”

She sniffs.

“Gonna take her with me, Ray. Take her to New Jersey when summer training camp starts.”

She nods.

“Five hours away,” I tell her, hoping she gets the damn point.

She doesn’t say shit, and fuck if I can bring myself to say a damn thing either.

When I pull up to University Hospital, she finally looks at me.

“What are you doing?”

“I think your hand’s broken. You need x-rays.”

She shakes her head.

“Ray, seriously, you need to—”

“No. Take me home, or I’ll walk from here.”

“Ray …”

She starts to open the door.

I grab her and pull her back. “Fine. Jesus, Ray—”

“Keeka, or better yet, Tales. Or better yet, Brooklyn.” Her hands fly to her face, and she starts to sob.

“I like Ray just fine.” I pull out onto the street, determined to give her some time to realize she needs to get some attention.

“Not gonna call you Tales, okay? And what the hell is Brooklyn?” I laugh.

She looks over at me and tells me, “It’s the bridge my mother jumped off of and killed herself. The Brooklyn Bridge. That’s what it is.”

Fuck, I think as I pull into a McDonalds’ parking spot, turn the truck off, and turn my body toward her.

She looks at me. “All I want is to be happy, Trucker. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s misery. That includes you, so please, please just take me home.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” I reach for her.

“And Trucker, I am teetering on the edge of something here. Something—”

“Okay. Shh … Okay.” I unbuckle her and get out of the truck.

I walk over and open her door before hugging her. This time, she hugs me back.

“I need you to be happy. I need you to go and live your dreams, Trucker. But, most of all, I need you to promise me that you’ll walk away and leave me with a smile so that I can stop worrying that I’m going to be the one who made your life difficult. Okay?”

“Best season ever, Ray. Sorry, I … Fuck. Sorry I hurt you. I know damn well you didn’t try to hurt me. Fuck, I wish I could take so much back.”

“Can you take me home, Trucker? I’m tired. I didn’t sleep last night.”

I lean back and look at her. “You promise me you’ll see a doctor about that hand?”

She smiles and shakes her head, tears still falling. “Yep.”

“Okay then.” I pull her in and kiss her forehead. “All right.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Trucker and Keeka

I left her sleeping with one request: come watch me graduate …

… I watched him graduate as he watched me smile.

I went to the bar afterward to tell her I love her, to take her with me …

… I left for home, hoping the hurt and pain I found there would make this easier.

When Lou gave me her letter, I knew I had lost her. When I read it and she said I gave her some fucking disease, I knew it wasn’t from me. I was fucking clean. I hated her and Downs and Mitch …

… The pain of being home was nothing compared to the fight inside of me now.

I kept busy, watching JJ Jones graduate and witnessing Coach giving him his acceptance letter …

… As my belly grew, I knew I couldn’t stay in Brooklyn, couldn’t hide the secret.

I posted everything on the fucking internet, hoping she’d see me, find me. Love. Me. I could forgive her. She forgave me …

… I made Logan, promise not to tell him, because I never wanted to ruin his dreams.

When my best friend stopped replying to my calls and texts, betraying our bond, I promised myself to never look back . Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck everyone who doubted me …

… I watched him winning and couldn’t have been happier, had it been me.

PART II

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Broken hearts and bumps

Keeka

When I found a bump on my skin after we had sex, I went to the doctors. They asked if I had unprotected sex, and I told them the truth. They ran labs before they even did the exam.

When the nurse practitioner returned, she said, “I know you’re here for a lump, but we found something else.”

I was terrified until she smiled. Then … Then I was numb.

When the exam was complete, I still felt numb. So numb I didn’t hear a word she said the entire time. All I knew was that I was pregnant and had no idea what to do about it. I thought about telling him, but I couldn’t be the one who ruined his dreams.

Later that week, I fulfilled a promise. And even though I didn’t have the results to the STI screening yet, I watched my child’s father graduate as we both smiled at one another, stealing one more moment of pure happiness to keep in my memories forever.

Watching all the families at the ceremony, on Mother’s Day, sharing in the joy, something inside of me changed. I no longer felt that this child, our child, would be a burden. It would be love and hope and truth. A truth that would be mine and mine alone.

A child who wouldn’t see its mother struggle with sanity but bask in all that is good in life and love. A child who was born of two people who once loved each other. A child who may or may not someday meet their father, but regardless, would be loved more than either parent ever was.

After two months in Brooklyn, I feared I made the wrong choice.

Shakeeka told me to go back. She told me she had never heard me sound more alive, happier than when I was there … And she was right.

When I came back to Syracuse, I did so because of what Shakeeka had pointed out. I did so because I had gone from job to job in Brooklyn, finding no joy in any one of them. I did so because Lou had called my cell and begged me to. I did so because I was not ready to tell Shakeeka that I was pregnant, and at that point, I wasn’t ready to face it myself.

Then, then I felt the baby move, and I couldn’t imagine one minute more of being unhappy. If I felt it, my baby surely did, and I wasn’t going to allow that.

Fear still creeps in from time to time. Fear that I won’t be good enough. Then I feel him or her move, and I make a moment for him, her … for us. I lie in bed, reading to my baby. I draw pictures of walks we have taken, things we have seen. I capture our moments together to someday share. To someday show the baby, my baby, how loved it is.

When I saw Logan come into the bar for the first time after being away, I was extremely nervous, but I had been able to keep it hidden for this long. I never in a million years thought he would notice.

When he asked if Trucker was the father, I told him no. Yes, I lied, but it was to protect this child, and I would do so fiercely.

He didn’t push, but he did give me a look.

For two months, he came in pretty regularly just to check in on me, which was appreciated, but not necessary.

What’s funny is poor Mitch will ask me how I am, and he does it while staring at my belly. Every time, I lean forward and whisper, “It’s not yours.”

“Is it his?”

I lied to him, too.

The best part about being pregnant and behind a bar is the idiots from last semester still hit on me, and I still toss crap back at them.

As my belly grows, I’m able to hide it behind the bar, and somehow, I convince Gary to start playing along with them, watching as he rakes in the pot in the middle of the table.

When I’m not at work, with the people I know who love me and the friends I finally have there, I’m doing yoga in the park and reading a lot.

Lou gave me a raise, and Mom’s burial plot is finally paid off.

Football season is so much better than before. I’m not worried about Trucker getting hurt on the field, or how he would feel if they lost, and then have to feel his pain, off the field.

Trucker Cohen is now the bad boy of the NFL. He is cocky and forever getting himself in trouble. He is also the best rookie quarterback in the NFL.

I always told him he was going to be great, and I would never want anything less for him.

I still love the Trucker I met last year, but to me, he’s not the same man anymore. He dates models, Hollywood types, and even a country singer. None of his relationships last long, and that brings me neither joy nor sorrow. It’s still amazing to be part of his life, even if it’s only what I see on the screen.

It’s November when I watch Logan walk into the bar without his boys. Instead, he’s with a girl I have seen him glaring at a few times when they have been in. I suspected it then, but today as they walk in together, I know I am witnessing Logan Links fall.

They sit at the bar, whispering, and she’s blushing and fidgeting. I know exactly what she’s feeling—completely and totally screwed.

She’s beautiful. Long, dark hair; her skin is porcelain; her nose is cute; and her blue eyes are vibrant. I can see why he likes her.

After a few minutes, I walk up and smile. “Well, look who’s back?”

“How are you doing?” Logan smirks.

“Fine, just fine.” I look over at the girl. “This the one who’s got you on the wagon?”

He leans in. “Can you keep a secret?”

“You still keeping mine?”

He nods.

“Then let’s hear it.”

“I used to fuck blondes because they didn’t remind me of her.”

Come to think of it, he was always surrounded by blondes.

I glance over and see her palm her face. “Is that so?”

He grins. “She used to piss me off. Then she grew up and grew on me.”

“You’ve known each other awhile then, huh?”

“Logan,” she whispers.

“I have no idea what the fuck I wanna do with my life, but I know the five weeks she made me stay away was nearly impossible.” He sits back. “But it’s also impossible for her and me to be together and for her to be able to do her thing.”

“Nothing’s impossible.” I make his new drink—not Jack anymore, but club soda and lime—and then push it in front of him while asking her, “What will you have?”

“Do you have pineapple juice?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”

When I walk back out with her pineapple juice, I hear her say, “Do her parents know?”

She looks up at me and blushes when I set her drink down. “Never met my dad, and my mom died when I was sixteen. Been here ever since. Scandalous, huh?”

“I’m so sorry.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Maybe you should look for your dad now?”

“He was married. Died in a car accident a few years back.”

She sits up straight and stares at me. “Does he have other kids?”

“Daughter about my age. My mom happened to be ‘the other women,’ so there is no sense in trying to find him.”

“Do you know his name?”

“It’s in a notebook somewhere.” I shrug. “No sense in upsetting his family. Mom cut ties with him.”

She immediately asks, “Do you know where the accident happened?”

When I don’t reply, she apologizes, appearing uncomfortable.

I think I like her. I know Logan does, so I smile and look over at him.

“Journalism student?”

“I apologize.”

I shrug, shake my head, and then give her a smile. “No need to apologize, girl. It’s all good.”

“You have a place for you and the baby yet?” Logan asks then takes a drink.

“I’m good in my studio. Babies don’t take up much room.”

“You know he’d make sure—”

“You know that’s not happening,” I cut him off.

He’s been pushing quite a bit lately, and now I think I understand why.

His girl pushes back in her stool. “Excuse me for a minute.”

When she’s out of earshot, he leans in. “I’m not letting you raise my best friend’s kid in a studio apartment in a shit part of town.”

I scowl and put my hands on my hips.

“I’m serious. By January, I’ll have something.”

I laugh. “We gonna live together? Now, how will that help Trucker?”

“No, we’re not. And I’m telling you, Trucker will do the right thing.”

“The Trucker you know might. The Trucker I manipulated doesn’t like me all that much.”

“You didn’t manipulate him, Keeks. You fucked up by not telling him how old you were. Clearly, when he found out, he was still into you, literally.” He points to my belly. “That’s on him.”

“When he fucked the others, that was on him, too. I’m not fucking up his life, and I’m not gonna fuck up this kid’s either.” I rub my belly. “I didn’t know my dad, and I’m just fine.”

“Then, what’s your plan?”

My plan? To be happy!

When I hear Gary say, “Hey, sweetheart. How are my girls feeling today?” I lean over and kiss his cheek.

“Hey, Gary, we’re good. Really good.”

I glance at Logan as he kisses my cheek and wag my eyebrows.

Logan looks upset. I don’t like it, but I don’t like the idea of Trucker’s best friend, estranged or otherwise, thinking me and my child are his responsibility.

His girl walks out and looks at him. “Did something happen?”

He shakes his head while I turn my back to grab Gary a draft.

“Nope. Let’s jet.”

“See you two later.” I smile as they walk out. Then I turn around and hand Gary his drink.

“Thanks, Keeka.”

“No problem, Gary. How was work?”

I listen to him like I do every day, talking about selling cars he doesn’t like and dealing with people who are rude. Meanwhile, I pick up the empty glasses from Logan and his date and see a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. I sigh.

Damn him.

Although it annoys me, the moment I just witnessed was amazing.

I get to watch Logan falling in love.

He will never admit it, but I could tell by the way he has acted around other females lately.

Uninterested.

With football season over, cuddle season is in full-swing. Logan is still coming in once a week, and his friend Elle is with him most every time.

He’s a true friend, and her, she’s the first female I have become close to, outside of coworkers. She’s full of life, full of hope, and she is so head-over-heels in love with Logan Links. And I can understand why.

At first, I tried to keep my distance, but Logan continues to be there, be present, and I believe the promise he made me not to tell Trucker. And from what he has said, Trucker’s too wrapped up in himself to give a damn about what’s going on here.

I know someday I may have to face him. I also know he can easily look the other way. He’s proven that with his friends.

Every day I realize there is life happening beyond people’s pasts. Places they can go where the pain doesn’t follow if they choose to look toward the future. I have witnessed it myself through the people I have met.

In my past, that person was Shakeeka, the woman who loves amongst chaos but still seems to keep order within. Also in my past, Trucker who didn’t have it easy growing up, yet his focus, his hard work, and his drive was far stronger than the invisible ties that could have bound him to it.

Presently, I’m blessed to be able to watch Lou, who has built a place where people can go to celebrate, where friendships form because of common interests. I recently found out that he was married before and lost the love of his life to another man. Despite that, he chose to keep going.

There are a million struggles, and a million happy endings, that happen through a million paths we could choose—yes, choose—to take away from pain and continue on a journey where experiences broaden what we know, and happiness is possible.

I chose life, and I chose this baby to be a blessing, not a burden. I chose that for me and for Trucker.

I know he didn’t ask for this. I know it wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t part of his journey. I want to keep him as far away as possible.

There are times, when I see him with another woman, I want to protect my heart from the possibility of feeling like I did the first time. When I see his lifestyle, I want to protect my child from the pain of being unwanted by his or her father. When I see him on the field, I want just as much to protect him from the pain I could cause him by the path I chose.

Sitting in my apartment, I look around and smile as I rub my now huge belly. “We have everything we need, more than I ever had, and I promise you, baby, you’ll never ever feel like there’s more, because you’ll always have … enough.

The semester has ended. Logan is gone in search of what it is he will do with his life. He checks in with me periodically, which isn’t necessary at all.

Do I miss him? Yes. He was a catalyst to the changes in my life. And in a weird way, he filled the void left by Trucker, my very first friend? Internally, I debate if a lover could be a friend, and decide, yes, Trucker was a friend.

Now Elle has filled the void that Logan left, in a way. Honestly, I look forward to seeing her more than I probably did Logan. I suppose it’s because, after the semester ended, after the holidays, when I saw her walk into the bar on a Tuesday night, the night Logan and she would come in, I knew she had gone out of her way to see me.

I asked her if she had heard from Logan, and she smiled, albeit a little sad, and said, “Life after higher education. I’m sure I’ll be in search of my purpose in a little over three years, just like he is.”

“And football?” I asked.

She shrugged. “He never wanted to play professionally.”

“What?” I gasped.

“He loves it, but he wants something different now.” She smiled a smile that was faint but still authentic. “I want him to be happy; have whatever it is that makes him that way.” She looked up at me and smiled a little bigger now. “You know what I mean, right?”

I nodded. “I sure do.”

Sitting in my apartment, looking over my drawings, I hear a faint knock. It’s not uncommon, so I push my big butt up off the floor and head to the front window, the window where the easel Trucker made for me still sits. The one I left when I went back to Brooklyn.

Lou never tried to rent the place. He never even moved a thing in it.

I look down and see Elle. I tap on the window, and she looks up. I hold up a finger. “Give me a second.”

Looking around my place, I shake my head and decide it doesn’t matter. I’m happy here.

I walk down the steps and unlock the door.

“Hi!” She grins, leans forward, and hugs me, causing me to laugh. Then she steps back. “Sorry, I’m a hugger. Did you know that about me?”

I start to answer when she moves past me and up the stairs.

“I’m moving back in next week,” she calls from over her shoulder as I follow her up the stairs. “Thought I’d stop by because I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see you next Tuesday. It’s going to be crazy busy.” She stops when she’s inside the apartment. “Wow.”

I walk in and look around, then at her.

She laughs, which makes me a little self-conscious.

“The way Logan made it sound, I expected a rundown pad with broken windows and no running water.”

“He what?” I ask.

“ ‘It’s not safe’,” she says in a deep, male voice. “She needs something bigger, safer.”

“I told him we would be fine.”

“That baby won’t take up much space.” She nods. “I think it’s perfect.”

She turns to me and smiles. “When my sister was born, if she wasn’t in someone’s arms, or on my mom’s boob, she was asleep in a cradle, or in a bouncy chair, sucking on a pacifier and looking out a window. You have great windows … and boobs.” She laughs, and so do I. My barely B’s are now most definitely Ds. “Just need a cradle, a bouncy chair, and a pacifier.”

“I’m not sure I want to use those. I’ve done some reading on creating a self-soothing, quiet environment—”

“When that baby starts crying for no reason, you’ll wanna shove something in its mouth; trust me.” She laughs.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. I just want her to be happy.”

“Her? Did you do an ultrasound? Do you know the due date?”

“Just a feeling. And no, I still haven’t gone to the doctor.”

She cringes slightly.

“I’m eating everything I’m supposed to. Taking all the prenatal vitamins, and even extra vitamins. Like I told Logan, I was raised without having immunizations or going to checkups, and I’m fine.” I rub my belly. “So is she, or he.”

“So, no shots ever? No dentist? No—”

“After my mom died, my … foster mother agreed to enroll me in school—”

“What? You didn’t attend school? How freaking lucky are you to have avoided all that crap.” She sits on my bed. “I’m jealous.”

I walk over to the little fridge and grab two waters. “I went to kindergarten here. Then we moved and—”

“You went to kindergarten, here, in Syracuse?”

I hand her the water and nod. “Best childhood memories. Then we moved to Jersey, and then New York. No school because Mom refused to subject me to …” I scratch my head then laugh. “The craziness of the outside world.”

“Laugh all you want, but it sounds like she was smarter than most. I hated school from the time I entered middle school, all the way through graduation.”

“And you chose to go to college?” I laugh as I sit at the head of the bed.

“So much different. I love my roommates, the people I’ve met”—she reaches out and grips my hand—“you. I also like not being lorded over by my parents, my siblings.”

“Parents? I thought your dad died.”

She nods. “My mom remarried. My stepfather is a great man, father, protector.”

“Protector?”

“He thinks by being overbearing that he’s keeping me from getting hurt. Sweet, but annoying as hell. I’m telling you, Keeks, I had never been kissed until college. If he knew about Logan, he’d probably castrate him before I even had the chance to lose my V card.”

“Wait. You’re a virgin?”

She blushes and nods.

Now I reach out and squeeze her hand. “So was I.”

“So, Trucker—”

“Let’s stick with, just some guy in my past.”

She nods. “Let’s.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Home

Trucker

Walking into my house, I drop my duffle bag on the floor and look around. It’s fucking beautiful, and every time I walk in here, I feel like it’s new to me. For a good fucking reason, too. I haven’t spent more than a couple days in the damn thing since I bought it.

Rumson, New Jersey is where I call home now. The house is seven thousand square foot, has six bedrooms, six and a half baths, a glass sunroom, basement fitness center, custom kitchen, and is the nicest fucking house I have even been in. Outside, there’s a heated pool with a slide, waterfalls, and a spa. The outdoor kitchen is nicer than the one I had growing up, times about two million, which is what I paid for the place. Even has a pool house and a guest house. Hell, there’s space above the four-car garage to put two guest quarters the size of—

I stop when she pops into my mind. There is no place for that. It was a moment, one in which I enjoyed. The rest, I seldom allow myself to revisit. When I do, I shelve that shit away, like I did my childhood. I learned from my old man that I never want to be that guy, the one who allows some bitch to walk in and out of his life. And I am steps from doing just that.

It’s in the past now.

This house, it’s my present and my future, my reward for not fucking up, even though I came damn close to doing so. It was a foreclosure and, having just gotten paid for a commercial that would start running soon, I paid cash for the place.

It is mine and nothing will ever take it away.

I turn around and see a yellow taxi cab coming up the driveway. When JJ jumps out of it, he’s smiling from ear to ear.

“This what I have to look forward to?”

I walk down the steps and meet him with a hug. “Sure as hell is. The off-season anyway.”

I walk over and throw a hundred at the cab driver. “Thanks, man.”

I turn back to JJ. “Come on in, man. My place is your place.”

After I show him his room for the weekend and give him a tour, I call up a local Italian restaurant and place a dinner order.

“So, what’s up with your contract? Your agent get you something good? You deserve something good, man.” He laughs and looks around. “You have something good.”

“Have a seat, Jones. I wanna hear about your season. I feel like a shitbag for not making any of your games.”

“No way! You got me in. You’re Trucker fucking Cohen, NFL rookie of the year. I’m blessed to have you as a mentor—”

“A friend, JJ. A brother.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, so you keep telling me. Just almost too good to be true, you know?”

“Been there, felt that. Then I allowed myself to realize it was great getting a leg up, but to succeed, you do the work. And you, JJ, you’re doing the work.”

I walk behind the oak bar and look around before grabbing two glasses out of the cupboard and inspecting them for spots. There are none. I open the built-in icemaker and smile when I see ice inside.

“It’s good to have money, JJ. You can make calls and say, get my place ready for me; I’m coming home, and boom, it’s done.”

I pour the glass of whiskey then slide it across the bar to him. Then I pour mine and hold it up. “To ass-busters and playmakers.”

“To you, man, to you.”

After throwing back my drink and feeling the burn, I can’t help looking around and smiling. I fucking earned this. Me.

“I brought the tapes, man. You wanna check it out and give me some tips?”

I laugh and nod. “Of course. Let’s go down to the theatre room and see if I can figure that shit out.”

Knowing I’m opening a door to shit I left behind, and to friends who have been too damn busy, who left me behind, I open the door anyway.

“So, how’s Coach Brown?”

“Swear that man hates me, man.”

“How so?”

“Calls me an arrogant, cocky fucker.”

I can’t help laughing. “He calls his favorites that, JJ.”

“Favorites? Logan Links, hands down, was his favorite. You two were best friends, right?”

I nod and try not to let my bitterness about the fact we fell apart consume me. I know he’s dealing with his shit, and even though he didn’t make one fucking game, hasn’t returned a call or a text since August, I get it.

“Well, he fucking hated me, too. Can’t decide if he still does.”

“Logan can be a dick, but he loves the game.”

“Not sure about that. He gave me more than one of his chances to outshine him this season. Unreal, man.”

Makes no sense. Why would he do that when he wants to go pro?

“So, clearly, he likes you.”

JJ laughs. “He also digs this Elle chick. Punched me in the face for coming on to her.”

“He what?” I can’t help laughing.

“Yeah, I wanted to tear his ass up.”

“Did you?” Please say yes. Fucker deserted me.

“Fuck no. The bartender at that place on Marshall broke it up right quick.”

The mention of the word bartender brings back the memories, but she’s not there anymore. Hell, she’s not anywhere. It’s like she disappeared. But that’s in the past. There’s no space in my damn head for her either. Still, I can’t help asking, “Lou’s?”

“Lou, the guy with red hair and a grumpy as hell look on his face all the damn time?”

I smile and nod. “That’s him. He loves the Orangemen, though. Good guy.”

“Same guy then. Loves the team.”

I try not to ask, but it can’t be helped. “How are the bartenders looking these days?”

“There’s an older chick; she’d be hot if I were into the cougar scene. A couple of blondes and a little firecracker, Latino chick with cool eyes. Blue around the iris, brown around the blue.”

What the fuck? I think as my heart beats a little faster.

“Sounds like the same crew.”

“Yeah, the little Latino is hot as fuck. All the guys used to try to pick her up. They got shot down right quick. The game stopped, too, when her belly grew.” He laughs.

“Come again?”

“She’s pregnant.” He laughs. “She’s all belly, tits, and attitude now. Your boy, Logan, was everyone’s guess to who the baby’s daddy was, but then Elle started coming around so that theory was shot down.”

It can’t be Ray, but his description is spot the fuck on. She’s fucking pregnant? What the fuck?

Took me a good month after not being able to find her in Brooklyn to move on.

“You okay, man?”

I look at him and smile. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Might not be your boy’s kid, Trucker,” he tries to assure me. “Locker room talk says Mitch and Downs fucked her. Then people started saying it was some guy who hangs out at the bar.”

“Gary.” As soon as his name leaves my lips, I look up.

“Some used car dealer, like mid-thirties?”

I stand up. “You want another drink?”

I hear him following me to the bar. “Yeah, man, sure.”

Standing behind the bar, I smile at him, and he cocks his head.

“She the same girl they said you were with?”

“I was with a lot of girls, JJ.” I laugh.

“Huh.” He sits down on one of the leather bar stools.

“What’s huh mean?”

“Nah, never mind. Math doesn’t work out.” He nods. “She can’t be more than six or seven months.”

I laugh out of relief and hold back any ounce of anger inside of me.

“Her name’s Keeka,” he says.

I look up at him, take a drink, set it down, and then tell him, “Not her then. The girl I fucked around with, who might fit the description, is named Ray.”

“Fucking good thing, man. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” He laughs, and so do I, but fuck if it doesn’t hurt.

In the kitchen, I’m taking the food out of the take-out containers and putting it on serving dishes when the doorbell rings.

“You wanna get that, JJ?”

“Sure, man, sure.”

I hear him open the door and laugh. “Coach Brown?”

I hear Coach’s bellowing laugh. “Well, look who’s here? Cocky son of a bitch.”

I walk out, wiping my hands, and see Coach hugging JJ while JJ is looking at me like what the fuck.

I smile and give him a nod. He shrugs then laughs.

Sitting around the table a little while later, the doorbell rings again.

“I’ll get that.”

I walk out and open the door. “Hey, Coach, come on in.”

Coach Billings shakes his head. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know?”

“Got my contract?”

“I do, and you better make damn sure he’s worth it.”

I see Johnny, my agent, pull up in a red Porsche and hop out.

“Looks like we’re making deals today and making dreams come true.”

“Fucking agents,” Coach Billings grumbles.

When I walk into the dining room with the head coach of the Giants and Johnny Stokes, JJ just stares.

Coach Brown stands up and shakes his hand. “Nice to see you again, Billings.” He turns and looks at Johnny. “Nice to meet you in person.”

I look at JJ and nod toward them. He stands and shakes their hands, still looking a little starstruck. Then we all sit down, and I pour them a glass of red wine.

“Wine?” Johnny laughs. “Shouldn’t we be celebrating this contract with champagne?”

“Got the Dom chilling; just wanna make sure it’s what I asked for.” I lift my wine glass up. “To hard work and dreams coming true.”

JJ is smiling and looking around the table, silently chuckling now and then. When dinner is done, he helps me clear the table.

“You’re signing right now? Right now while I’m here?”

I nod.

“Damn, Trucker, thank you for sharing this moment with me. If I never make it, I’ll always remember I was part of something great.”

“You’ll make it, JJ. I know you will.”

We walk into my office, where my agent is sitting in my damn chair. For this, though, I will let it go.

“Have a seat.”

I roll my eyes at him and point to the chair next to the one I’m sitting in. “JJ.”

He sits and listens as my contract terms are being read.

“Three years with the Giants, a signing bonus of five million.” Johnny looks at Coach Billings as he pulls a check out and slides it across the desk. “I’ll cash this and give you whatever I don’t take.” Johnny laughs.

“You’re well worth it,” I tell him.

“Before we continue with your contract, I wanna offer one to you.” Johnny points at JJ.

“What?” He laughs like it’s a joke. It’s no joke.

“I’d love to have you as one of my clients, Jones. Trucker was right; you’re good.”

He laughs again. “You serious right now?”

I look over at him and nod.

“No shit?”

He pushes the contract toward JJ, and I watch his eyes bug out then fill with tears.

“This for real?”

“It is. And it’s the same one I signed. I looked it over. All you need to do is sign your name.”

“Shit. This has got to be some sort of joke.” He laughs.

“No joke, son,” Coach Brown assures.

“Okay, now, back to you, Trucker.” Johnny pulls Jones’ signed contract back. “The other terms you—”

“Just give me the damn contract.” I didn’t want him to mention my other fucking terms, so I had to put a stop to it right now.

I sign it, push it back to him, and then look at Coach Billings.

He pulls an envelope out of his sports coat and pushes it toward Johnny. “I know this kid’s gonna get a lot of offers at the draft, but I want to offer him a place on our team.”

Jones jumps up. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

“I don’t kid, Jones,” Billings tells him, serious as shit. “This is my life. This team, my family. Hell, I like my players better than I do my own kids. You wanna wait for the draft, be my guest. You wanna sign with us now, be part of the family now, here’s your opportunity.”

I watch as Jones gets up and walks in fucking circles, laughing as tears roll down his face. Then I watch as he squats down, folds his hands, and says some sort of silent prayer. And fuck if I don’t feel my own emotions boiling inside me.

JJ then looks at me, places his hand on his chest, and stands. “All of this is because of you, man. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I stand up and give him a hug, telling him, “You did this. Your drive and determination, JJ. You owe me nothing. You owe yourself everything. Sign the contract, finish this year at SU, and then live your fucking dream, man.”

Watching the cab take JJ back to the airport two days later is bittersweet. I am part of a team, have teammates I party with, laugh with, and play a game I love with, but a true bond, one like he and I built … there is nothing like it.

Sitting on my couch in this big fucking house, I scroll through my social media page. I see Ava, who was once like a sister to me, who had lost her fiancé, Thomas Hardy, to a horrible hit and run accident eight months ago. She has twins now and is engaged to the man Logan and I always thought she would end up with—Luke Lane—and she apparently moved home.

I know from one of the guys I played high school football with, the only one who attended a couple of my games this past season, Jeff McFee, that the twins Ava had aren’t from the same father. One is T’s and one is Luke’s. I can only imagine what she went through because of that. As pissed off as I am that Logan hasn’t even contacted me, and that Lucas, his dad, my mentor, hasn’t done much but send a text after a game, I got it.

I’m not blood to them. Still hurts a bit. Nevertheless, I vowed to myself that I would never do that to Jones. Never.

What will keep me away from the town I was raised in is that fact that Logan seems to be up Keeka’s ass and has no idea how much I loved that girl, or how long it took to get over it. I won’t ever forget that the last time I saw him, we were slashing the tires of some punk-ass kid who was going to take his little crush, London, who I always call Paris, to her senior dinner dance.

I could have gotten fucking arrested and lost my chance here, but he needed me, so I was right fucking there. And where is he now? He’s doing me dirty. May as well be sleeping with the fucking enemy.

Fuck him. Fuck Keeka, and Downs, and Mitch, and fuck that creepy fuck Gary, but mostly, fuck him.

I take a picture of my roaring fireplace and load it up. I type in the words: Home, is where loyalty lies. So glad to be home. Then I post it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Chaos

Keeka

Sitting at the bar that is packed wall to wall, I could hear a pin drop.

News broke only minutes ago that a shooting had just occurred at a new dance club, Chaos. It was the same club that one of the SU players who had just borrowed my phone to call an Uber was going to. He left just an hour ago.

“Lou?” I whisper as tears fall down my face. “The kid who used my phone?”

“JJ Jones,” he whispers back.

“He called an Uber to take him there.”

He wraps his big, old arm around me and hugs me tightly. “Well, let’s just hope he got sidetracked.”

When the camera crew switches to live feed, I nearly fall to my knees when I see a truck that looks like Logan’s.

“That’s … That’s—”

“He hasn’t been in town, girl. It could be any black Chevy,” Lou says as he holds me up.

I look over at some of the team, who are sitting at one of the tables, and see Mitch stand and start to shake.

“It’s his, Lou. It’s Logan’s.” I point to Mitch.

He looks at him then back at me. “Okay, sweetheart, now’s the time to pray.”

As Lou consoles Reda, I walk over to Mitch and grab his hand. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“Fuck, Keeks.” He wipes away a tear. “Elle and her roommates are there. My girl Jamie is there.”

“Elle?”

Oh God, no. No, No. No.

I’m on the verge of losing my mind when I look over and Lou mouths, “pray.”

“I fucking love her, Keeks. I can’t lose her. And what the fuck is Logan doing! What the fuck!”

It seems like an eternity before the police arrive, and then two men jump out of a black SUV.

“There!” Mitch yells and points at the TV. “That’s my girl! Fuck, fuck. Come on, Links. Come on, buddy.”

I see three girls, girls I have seen with Elle on occasions.

“Are they Elle’s roommates?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Come on, Links; get the girl and get the fuck out.”

I hear someone in the crowd gasp, “Is that Brody and Maddox Hines?”

“Who?” I ask Mitch.

“Fucking legends, Keeks. Rock stars who live in the same town Logan does.”

When we watch them push through the police barricade, I’m further confused. Clearly, the police are as well.

“That’s badass,” I hear someone say.

Then I hear one of the guys behind us ask, “Didn’t Brody Hines kill someone?”

“Fucking hope he kills whoever the fuck is in there shooting up the place,” Mitch snaps.

Moment later, I see the two men walk out, and one is carrying a girl. I see the bracelet she always wears.

“That’s Elle! That’s Elle!”

Tears run down my face when I see him.

“And Logan! Logan is okay, Mitch! Logan is okay!” My body shakes as I sob.

Mitch hugs me. “It’s all gonna be okay, Keeks.”

“No.” I pull away from him. “Jones is there. JJ Jones, your teammate, he is there, too.”

It’s four in the morning, and we’re all sitting around the TVs, still watching body after body being brought out.

“Is that …?” I ask.

Mitch clutches my shoulder. “No, it’s not Jones, Keeks.”

He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Coach?”

I watch him intently as he seems to be receiving news, news that I know will surely devastate us.

He swallows hard as he ends the call and shoves the phone in his pocket. “Downs is in critical condition. And Jones …” His body shakes, and his face scrunches up as tears fall. “Jones is gone, man.”

Mitch and I decide to head up to my place and wait a few hours before we head to Blue Valley, the town where Logan lives.

After I shower and dress, I come out of the bathroom, and he hands me the phone. “You’re never gonna believe this shit, Keeks.”

“What?” I ask, looking down.

“Look at the pictures while I shower. But spoiler alert, Elle is really London Fields.”

“Who?”

“Stepdaughter of the rock star who busted through the police line last night. Step-sister to his son, equally as famous. And how the fuck don’t you know the names of some of the greatest legends of our times?” He laughs.

I shrug as I look through the pictures.

“Logan has known her most of his fucking life because his stepmother, Tessa, has a daughter, Harper, who is married to Maddox Hines.” He makes an explosion with his hands. “Mind. Blown.”

“London …” I say as I sit down on my bed. “Well, London, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

I try to call Logan, but he doesn’t answer. Even though I know he’s okay, it doesn’t seem real.

I hold my hand over my belly that is starting to cramp. “Sorry, baby, I’ll get you some water and food, okay? I love you. It’s just been a crazy night. These things don’t happen often, and I promise we’ll be back in a place of peace and happiness soon.”

I open the cupboard and grab the peanut butter, setting it next to the apples, and then I slice one up.

Dipping the first apple into the peanut butter, I rub my belly. “Here it comes.”

I take a bite and look up to see Mitch watching me.

His eyes narrow. “You’re gonna be a really good mom, Keeks.”

I roll my eyes at him and tell him for the hundredth time, “Still not yours.”

“You sure? Because we can’t move on until we know it’s true, Keeks.”

“We?” I take another slice and dip it.

“Jamie and I … She knows there’s a possibility.”

“Your penis never entered my vagina, Mitch. There is no possibility at all. We didn’t kiss, we didn’t play around, so again, this baby is not ours. It’s mine.”

“You—”

“Shut up about it already.” I throw an apple slice at him, and he catches it and smiles.

“If it was—”

I throw another.

“Keeks, I’m just asking: would you tell me if it was?”

This time, I throw the rest of it at him. “Would it matter? I mean, I’ve told you a hundred times it’s not, and that’s truth, Mitch.” I pause when I realize I said that’s truth. “I swear on the baby’s existence, there is no chance, okay?”

He smiles and nods. “All right then.” He takes a bite of the apple. “Give me five.”

Mitch insisted on going to the auto body shop where Logan’s truck was towed to see if his phone is there, because Mitch was sure Logan would have at least messaged him, and he was right. Back in the car, we charge the phone so that, when we get there, Logan will have it.

I wake up when I feel the road get bumpy. We pass by a large garage that seems to be a house.

“You feeling better?” Mitch asks.

I yawn and nod.

“That’s where Logan’s dad and stepmom live.”

I look out the window at the snow-covered trees and fields. “They have a long driveway.”

“It’s a whole fucking road. At the end of it is Maddox and his wife’s house. That’s where Coach said they were headed.” He chuckles nervously. “Never been here.”

“Well, if they don’t want us here, we’ll tell them that, as soon as we see Logan and Elle—I mean—”

“Right?” He laughs. “After I see Jamie and know everyone’s okay, I’m gonna kick his ass for not telling me the damn truth.”

“Well, the way I see it, sometimes you have to tell a little white lie now and then to protect what you love.” I rub my belly then notice him eyeing me suspiciously. “It’s not yours, jackass!”

“You just said—”

“First of all, I was talking about Logan. And second, I don’t love you. As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure I like you right now, so get over it.” I reach over and slug him in the arm, and he laughs.

When he pulls the car behind several others, he turns the engine off.

“Mitch?”

“Yeah?” he asks, grabbing a hat out of his back seat.

“I know we’re both happy that everyone here is okay, but not everyone made it.”

He sighs and nods. “Fucking can’t believe that fucker’s gone, Keeks.”

“Jones?”

He nods. “Saw him yesterday, and he was walking on clouds, talking all sorts of shit about an agent and an NFL contract.”

“My heart breaks for his family,” I say as we both open the doors.

He looks across the tan Maxima and shakes his head while I lean back in and get Logan’s phone.

“Kid was in foster care most his life. No family that I ever heard him talk about.”

“So sad,” I sigh out before shutting the car door.

“Well, hopefully he’s up there now, ya know?” He points at the sky.

We start walking toward an absolutely beautiful home … Well, mansion I guess is a more accurate term when I see a man walking toward us.

“Maddox Hines, Keeks,” Mitch tells me. “Don’t go all mushy like his fans, okay?”

“I don’t even know him,” I whisper.

“Well, keep that shit to yourself, too. Could bruise his ego.”

When we get to him, I notice how handsome he is, but he certainly doesn’t look like a man from a music video.

He holds out his hand. “Mitch, right?”

The next thing I notice is his accent. I think it’s British.

Mitch nods like a fool, and I can’t help smirking.

I hold my hand out. “I’m Keeka, a friend of Logan and Elle’s.”

He smiles at me and nods.

I correct myself, “I mean, London.”

He shakes my hand. It’s a firm handshake but not harsh.

“They’ve had a horrific time. Haven’t slept much, but I know they’ll be glad to see you. Follow me.”

We follow him in through the back door, take off our shoes that are covered in snow, and then follow him down the hall.

“He’s in here.”

When Logan turns around, I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Mitch points at him and starts to say something, but words start flying out of my mouth.

“You didn’t answer your phone. I saw your truck on the news, and you didn’t answer your phone.”

Logan starts to talk, too, but I can’t stop the massive, emotional—whatever the hell this is—from cutting him off as I run toward him and hug him.

“Is Elle—I mean, London okay? Is everyone—”

“We’re good, Keeks. We’re fine.” He hugs me tightly and rubs my back.

“Thank God.” I step back and look at Mitch apologetically.

Mitch shakes his head at Logan.

Logan seems to know what he’s thinking.

“Wasn’t for me to divulge, man.”

“I get that. Just feel like an idiot that I never put two and two together.” He gives Logan a hug, then steps back and laughs. “Totally blown away.”

When whatever song Logan has as a ringtone goes off, I reach in my bag. “We snatched this from Black Betty.”

“Thanks, Keeka.”

Looking at the phone, he sighs, “Fuck.”

When Mitch’s phone rings, he answers it. “Hey, Coach.” A pause. “I’m here with him now.” He pauses. “He looks good, but you know, he’s Logan.” He looks up at Logan, who is shaking his head. “I’ll give him the message.” He pauses again then chuckles. “It’s true. She’s London.”

“She’s to be left the fuck alone,” Logan demands.

Mitch scowls, turns his back to him, and starts walking away. “Sure was him.”

I watch a man come into view whose pure presence commands attention. He’s tall, broad, and his face is unreadable. He stops in front of me and says, “I’m just a concerned father today.”

I nod then look at Logan.

“It’s all chill, Keeks. I promise.”

“It may not seem like it right now, but it is.” An Asian girl stands up and holds out her hand. “I’m Lisa.”

“Elle’s—I mean, London’s roommate, right?”

“Yeah.” Lisa nods and looks down. “For now.”

“What do you mean, for now?” I ask.

“Lisa may be taking the rest of the semester off,” an older Asian woman, who I assume is her mother, says.

“Why?”

“To begin healing,” I assume this is from Lisa’s father.

“Did she get hurt?” I ask.

“As a matter of fact, she did. She has seventeen stitches in her arm,” her mother answers.

“But it’s emotionally we’re concerned with,” her father adds.

“Celebrate that you’re alive, girl,” I tell Lisa. “Twenty-seven others wish they could right now.”

“But we mourn their deaths,” Lisa’s mother seems to scold me.

“I bet they’d be celebrating that they were still alive if given the chance.” I give her the reality in how one should cope with death.

“How can you be so sure?” Lisa’s dad scolds me.

Logan puts himself between me and Lisa’s father. “I don’t know your name, sir, but she’s not being disrespectful, so I’m gonna ask you not to treat her disrespectfully.”

“Let’s all take a moment to realize we’re all on the same team here,” Maddox interjects.

“Let’s.” I nod. “Let’s think about what Jones and Downs would be doing right this moment.”

“Are they …?” I hear Elle—I mean, London—say and turn as she finishes, “dead?”

“Jones is. Downs is in critical condition at University.”

The sadness on her face makes me feel awful for being the one to tell her, but when she reaches out and hugs me, I know, even if her name isn’t the same as it was in Syracuse, she’s the same girl. Her emotions bring out mine, and we stand there crying together.

“We mourn, we give them respect, then we live like they’d want us to, London. You live because you can. They would want that,” I whisper.

“Did you know them?” The stepfather, Brody, asks.

We both tell him, “Yes.”

Still hugging London, I hear Mitch snap at someone, “You’re fucking lucky you’re okay.”

I look over to see the girl he’s pointing at.

“Jamie?” I whisper to London.

She sniffs. “Yeah.”

I hear Mitch again, “Jesus Christ, Jamie.”

Then I hear her say, “I’m fine.”

“Wasn’t gonna believe it till I saw it.” He wraps his arms around her. “No more shit. None.”

Her, “Okay,” is but a whisper.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

What now?

Trucker

I haven’t slept since Coach Brown called me. I can’t sleep, can’t even really breathe. All I can do is wait to wake up from this fucking nightmare. I know there were others, I do, but I couldn’t hear a fucking word past, a club shooting; Logan driving his truck into the place; London Fields was in there, going under the name of Elle, that she and he are okay, but JJ is gone.

JJ Jones can’t be fucking gone. He can’t. He had everything he ever dreamed of waiting for him.

I pick up the bottle of whiskey he and I drank from and throw it at the picture on the fireplace mantel, the one of him and me at his high school graduation.

“Fuck You!” I point up. “Why the fuck would You do this! Why!”

I grab a bottle of Jack, shit whiskey, old-school shit whiskey that I haven’t drank since being in ‘Cuse. And I grab my phone.

Even through blurry, tired, dyslexic fucking eyes, I can read JJ’s last text.

JJ Jones

I know you don’t want it, man, but I got some digits for you tonight. Could answer some questions you seemed to have but were unable to speak. Love you, brother. Want nothing but the best for you, which includes peace of mind.

Then there is a number I don’t recognize but have a sick feeling about.

I look at the time. It’s four in the afternoon.

I think, maybe if I send a message, I will get an answer. I don’t give a fuck who’s giving it. I just want to know how he was under an hour before he died.

I block my number and send a text.

Unknown

Got this number from my friend JJ an hour before he was killed. Just wanna know how he was. What he was wearing. If you knew him.

I hit send.

Keeka

I’m so sorry for your loss. Our community shares in your grief. Yes, I saw JJ before he left the establishment I work at to go to Chaos. He was wearing a smile, as per his norm. He had on genes and a white button-up shirt. I only know him from the phew interactions I’ve had with him. I’m sorry I won’t be able to watch him next season. My thoughts are with you.

Reading over the text, I laugh. “You spelled jeans wrong, Keeka. And phew. When the fuck did you stop trying to better yourself?”

I throw my phone across the room, grab the bottle, and try to drink my way into a state of unconscious.

When I wake up later that night, I shower and try to get my shit together.

When I step out, I see a familiar number and a picture message.

It’s a picture of Logan holding a baby, a fucking baby.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!”

I take in a few, not phew, breaths and try my best not to tell him to suck shit.

Get it together. Get it together.

I can play the fucking game, too.

Trucker

Ava’s kid?

Logan

Fucking joke. Ava’s kids are eight fucking months old.

Trucker

Been busy. I saw some shit on the news. You good?

Logan

Fuck you.

Fuck me? Wrong fucking day to play fucking hero with me, asshole, but I’m in no fucking mood for a pissing match with a man I used to consider a friend.

Trucker

What the hell’s that supposed to mean, man? Lol.

Logan

L. O. Fucking L.? Means you’re a little bitch. That’s what it fucking means.

When I get a Facetime request, I freeze all emotions and answer with a laugh.

“Hey, bro.”

“Hey nothing, Trucker. Twenty-seven people from a community you grew up near and went to school at died, and not even a call, man? Not one fucking message?” he fucking screams at me. Pisses me off, but I’m not sharing shit with someone who comes at me like that. “You’re a fucking waste of my goddamned time, Trucker.”

Now he can go fuck himself!

“You’re jealous of what I got, man. Jealous that I made it here first!”

“No, motherfucker, I turned it down. That’s why you got it. Turned it down twice actually. The Giants drafted Jones because I told them no. Guess where he is now? He’s fucking dead.”

“You didn’t turn shit down! I’m a fucking quarterback. Offense, Links.”

“So was I in high school, bitch. Gave that up for you, too, because you were too little, a bitch, and sucked at D!”

“Oh, here we go.” I can’t help laughing at his shit. “Been waiting for this my entire life. The day Logan Links comes a-calling, telling me I wouldn’t have been shit if not for him and his old man.”

I know damn well I’m being an ass, but fuck him, and fuck if my talent didn’t get me here, just like Jones’ did. I just gave it a fucking nudge.

“You wanna send pictures of a baby to me like you’re some fucking saint? That kid could be mine or anyone’s on the team, for that matter. Your new bro, Mitch, he fucked her, too. So did Downs. So take your picture and shove it up your ass!”

“So full of shit,” he growls. “But don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” His lips seal in a tight line, and I wait for whatever shit he needs to sling. “Just like my old man took care of you when your mom booked and your dad was never home.”

And there it is.

“Fuck you, Links!”

“Fuck me? Fuck me! Who the fuck are you now?”

“Not your bitch anymore! I’m living the life we dreamed of.”

“You may have dreamed of becoming a fucking shitbag, but I sure as fuck didn’t. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of your kid, fucker,” he snaps.

“Not mine, man.” I fucking laugh at his ass. “Like I said, Downs and Mitch had her in their fucking beds, too.”

“I don’t believe a fucking thing coming out of your mouth right now, brother,” he hisses.

“I don’t give a damn what you believe.” I fucking start laughing and can’t stop. “Get Springer to bring her on. Have those fuckers tested.”

“Those fuckers?” he yells. “Downs was your fucking friend! He’s in ICU right now, fighting for his fucking life!”

“Tell him I’ll add him to my prayer list, Links. And leave my name the fuck out of it. I don’t need the damn drama that little bitch is drumming up.”

“Never fucking speak to me again, you hear me? You’re nothing to me. Nothing!”

Haven’t been for months, dick, is what I want to say, but fuck if I will let him know that shit hurts. Instead, I tell him the fucking truth.

“One last thing, Links. I don’t owe you shit.”

“Bitch, I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”

“Same, motherfucker, same.”

The call is disconnected. He hung up on me

Fuck him, fuck her, and fuck everyone out there who isn’t me.

I walk over and grab another bottle, this time the good shit. Fuck the old. Fuck them all.

I typed a million messages to her over the past couple of days then deleted them all.

I planned every part of JJ’s funeral. I talked to Coach Brown about it. He’s going to make sure the team knows, and then they will fly his body down here where he can be buried near the place his dreams would have come true.

I was avoiding social media until Coach told me about a fundraiser and asked that I be part of it. I said no, that I can’t handle it. He understood. He also promised me again to keep everything about me and Jones confidential. And even though I am pissed at Downs, I’m more pissed at myself for taking my anger at Logan and turning it into disrespect toward him. I told Coach that Downs is in my prayers, and he is.

I’m in the house of my dreams, living the life I didn’t just dream of but created, and I am literally crawling out of my own skin.

I grab a bottle of whiskey in one hand, my phone in the other, and send her a text.

Unknown

Thought maybe I’d text and see how you and the community were doing.

This time, I hit send instead of delete.

Keeka

I apologize for not asking the same. The community is mourning. I know a fundraiser for the families is being put together. Are you family?

Unknown

Not by blood, but I loved JJ like a brother.

Keeka

I’m sew sorry.

So, Ray. It’s fucking so.

Keeka

I mean so. Sorry, my hands were full.

I can’t help sighing and imagining her blush.

Unknown

No problem.

Keeka

Do you know Logan Links? I could give him your information if you’d like more information.

Unknown

You too busy to text?

Keeka

Not really.

Unknown

If you don’t mind, I’d rather get the information from you. I know JJ thought you were pretty cool.

When she doesn’t reply, I get impatient.

Unknown

Too busy?

Keeka

I hope this doesn’t upset you, having lost someone, but I just had a baby, and being a new mom is something I’m trying very hard to get used to.

Unknown

Boy of girl? What’s its name? Are you and the father together?

When she doesn’t reply, I reread what I wrote. I can imagine it set off some fucking warning signs.

Unknown

Sorry. That’s a lot of questions, huh?

Keeka

Since I don’t know you, yeah. But I have no problem talking to you about Jones or the fundraiser.

Unknown

Just thought maybe, being a new mom, you’d want to gush about the kid. My bad. I get it.

Keeka

Thanks. BTW, what’s your name?

Unknown

Marshall.

Keeka

Hi, Marshall.

Unknown

Hey.

Keeka:

Feel free to keep messaging whenever. I’ll try to comment, but I have a very large family here to meet my baby. I hope you can find peace, Marshall.

Unknown

Large family, huh?

Keeka

Yeah. One I didn’t even know I had.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Keeka

Please excuse the last text.

Unknown

Will do, but you confused me. One you didn’t know you had?

Keeka

I never knew my father. Just found out who he was. He comes from a large family.

Unknown

New baby, new family, sounds like a dream come true.

Keeka

Yeah, I suppose.

Unknown

They live around the Syracuse area?

Keeka

I have to go, Marshall. Take care.

“Fuck that,” I say then take another drink. “Fuck that.”

I hit her contact info and push call.

“Hello?”

Fuck, that voice.

“Marshall?”

Keep talking.

I sigh.

“This is making me uncomfortable. I’ll give Logan your number—”

“No, don’t fucking do that.”

She doesn’t reply.

“Don’t tell him I called, don’t tell him I know Jones, and for fuck’s sake, put me out of my misery.”

“Why …? Why …? Why are you calling me?”

I sigh and lie back on my bed. “You had a baby.”

“Not yours to worry about, Trucker.”

“Where are you?”

“Why?”

“I don’t fucking know! Because … Are you safe? Is the father helping you out? Or is Logan?”

“I know he called you,” she whispers. “I was very upset at him. Very.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pissed at him, too.”

“I think …” She pauses, and I hear a little coo. Then she continues, “I think he just needed to know you were okay.”

I can’t help laughing at that. “Is that what you think?”

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

“And how about you, Ray—I mean, Keeka. Have you worried about me?”

“Not one bit. I see you on TV, and I know you’re living your dream. I’m not worried about you at all. You’re doing great things.”

It’s a compliment, yet it feels like a knife to the heart.

“Who’s your father, Keeka?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“I can keep a secret. Can you?”

“Yeah, I can.” No hesitation at all.

I start to tell her about JJ, but she cuts me off.

“I just don’t think I need you to keep mine, or for me to keep yours. I see you, Trucker. I’m proud of you, but I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Why’s that, huh?”

“I had a really few hard days, worse days of my life, in fact. But now, now I can see things better, clearer, and I can imagine that’s exactly what you’ve been doing, so why mess that up now, Trucker? Why look back?”

“Because, Keeka, I want to know if that’s my fucking kid.”

“My child is not your fucking kid. My child is my greatest gift.”

“And who’s the daddy, Keeka?”

The line goes dead.

Fuck that.

I hit redial and get sent to voicemail.

I try again and again and again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

My angels and my demon

Keeka

During my entire pregnancy, I focused on everything good I had. Part of that included all the things my mother taught me about natural and holistic living, like reducing stress with yoga. And what I had learned from our life. Namely: how to escape the outside world and focus on everything that was in the here and now, the things that brought me joy.

I dreamed. I danced. I read. I talked to this little life growing inside of me.

Four days ago, my water broke at Maddox Hines’ house—I mean, mansion. While in the worst pain of my life, I had London to focus on, which was comforting. But with London comes her mother Emma, Logan’s stepmother Tessa, and a medical nurse who asked all sorts of medical questions that I didn’t have answers to because I chose to do this pregnancy my way. Plus, Logan’s sister Ava, who I wanted to kill, was in my face, and then there was Maddox’s wife Harper who was like the sweetest person in the world.

Normally, I can keep my emotions halfway in check. Labor is not normal conditions, and I lost my shit more that day than I had in my entire life.

I had planned on my delivery being a quiet and serene atmosphere. There was nothing quiet about it.

When I was in labor, I had four people asking me a million questions about my medical history, which included my parents. When I mentioned my mother’s name, Tessa and Lucas had happened to know her back in their younger years. It was the most overwhelming experience I have ever felt emotionally.

Well, until I heard them in the hall, whispering about me and my mother. I was sure the secrets I still held would be exposed.

When I heard them talking about DNA tests, and then heard that they believed my father and London’s were the same … and worse yet, Tessa’s cousin, I was sure they were planning to take my child from me as soon as she was born.

After I had the most angelic-looking child I have ever seen, I couldn’t even look at her, fearing someone was going to take her from me. I was sure they would contact Trucker and say, “Come get your child. Her mother’s genetically prone to be bat-shit crazy.”

When London told me that she knew she was my sister, regardless of the results, I felt a little less on edge. Still, it was so hard to look at my baby.

The next day, when I didn’t have Logan or London’s familiar faces in the room, but Lucas Links singing all sorts of songs to her that had the word angel in it … calling her Angel, I knew she was going to be taken away.

I hated him. I hated Tessa. I hated the rock star and his wife who were looming outside my door. I even briefly hated Logan and London.

And then Lucas, the baby hog, and Tessa, who was Suzie Sunshine, kind of forced me to suck it up, forced me to look at her. And from that moment, she became everything to me.

Leddie Lou. I named her after a cartoon dog and the talking orange ball from my childhood drawings. I did so because she was everything good, and I promised her, without words, that she would have an incredible life.

When I told Logan I wasn’t going to live in the apartment he had ready for us, he threatened to call Trucker, again.

I was angry at him for doing it in the first place, but he assured me that Trucker wasn’t coming after Leddie and played a little on my fears by telling me that he could make sure of it from the apartment, one that he and I would share.

I still don’t have my brain wrapped around this new family thing, but Logan and my sister, London—now confirmed through DNA testing—are like watch dogs, keeping everyone away.

The apartment I live in now is more upscale than the hotel Trucker and I spent the night at a lifetime ago. Logan and the baby hog own the building, and they are renovating the entire thing. Now, Lucas, the baby hog, who irritated me to no end, is now a pretty permanent fixture, and his annoyances has become enduring.

London and I bonded before either of us knew we were sisters, although she claims she knew from the moment she saw me that we were going to be forever friends.

It’s still very hard to accept that her mother, Emma, doesn’t dislike me. I was in fact “the other woman’s” child with her husband. I do know that she seems sincere, and that she has a very fierce loyalty to family. And since London is her daughter, I believe she would support her if I had actual horns growing out of my head.

I am without a doubt the awkward duck around here, but my comfort level with them increases each day. And if by chance they are faking about the fact that they want me to be part of this family, I know there is no way they could fake the way they look at Leddie, hold her, talk to her.

Comfort levels had certainly climbed to an all-time high until it was just exposed that the person text messaging me was Trucker. Now … now I feel like a complete and total mess … again.

I have declined several calls and just received a couple of messages.

Trucker

Who’s the Daddy?

Trucker

That was a nice fucking goodbye letter you left for me, except the part where I gave you an STI. News flash: I never had one, so answer the question. Who’s. The. Fucking. Daddy?

How the hell did I forget that? I ask myself. How could I have forgotten that stupid bump. The stupid bump from shaving myself when I was lying there night after night waiting for him?

Keeka

Sorry about that. Wasn’t an STI after all. You. Are. Not. A. Fucking. Daddy.

I send the message then toss the phone beside me and pick Leddie up.

“Okay, angel baby, let’s feed you. Apparently, we’re meeting your grandmother Josie and London’s sister, your kind of, sort of aunt Lexington tonight.”

She squeaks a bit, and I smile.

“Trust me; I can’t even keep them all straight, so I don’t expect you to. You’re off the hook.”

My phone rings and startles her.

As she’s crying, I grab it and answer, “What?”

“What? Fuck you.”

“Shhh …” I say, holding the phone with my shoulder against my ear as I get her to latch on so she won’t cry. “There you go. All better.”

“Swear to God, Keeka, you’ve put me on a fucking mind-trip from hell, and now, oops I’m sorry? I looked for you! I fucking looked for you all damn summer, and no one knew who the fuck I was talking about! STI, huh? Classy shit right there.”

“I am feeding my child and would prefer it to be in a calm environment. I answered the phone because you scared … my child.”

“You breastfeeding and shit?”

That question takes me aback.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Well, fuck you.”

I see Leddie smile and can’t help laughing, even though I know it’s probably a gas bubble.

“How’s that even funny?”

“Hey, I think you’ve probably had too much to drink so—”

“No! I asked a damn question. I want an answer.”

“Okay, let’s see. I had a bump from shaving. An ingrown hair—”

“I fucking shaved you every time.”

“Well, after … Lou’s office, I thought maybe … So, you know. Then several times after that. And, well, I got an ingrown hair. It got infected. It was taken care of.”

“Truth?”

“Yes, the truth, like I’d make something like that up? Geez, like it’s not embarrassing enough.”

“Next. You breastfeeding?”

“Why is that any of your business?”

“Well, you said you didn’t want stress, so I figured you were concerned with tainted tittie milk.”

If I wasn’t annoyed with him, I would laugh.

“Yep.”

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Why, after all these months, does him whispering that word completely hit me between my freaking legs?

“My turn,” I tell him. “How did you know Jones? Get him to give you my number? And why?”

“None of your damn business, but you keep that shit to yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Trucker,” I whisper. “I really am.”

“Whatever,” he huffs.

I see my bedroom door open, and London peeks her head in. “Hey, the gang’s all here.”

“Okay, give me a second, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

“Who was that?” he asks.

“I have to go.”

“Tell Logan to go fuck himself.”

“You sure you want me to do that?”

“No, because then he’ll know I called you, and that’s none of his fucking business.”

When I hear the phone click, I end the call on my end, too.

Lying in bed, feeding Leddie, I am exhausted.

“Tonight’s been a big night, huh, Leddie? I know you slept a ton, but did you happen to catch our little auntie talking up a storm while I was breastfeeding you? Your grandma Carmen would have approved. Heck, she would have approved if I were sitting on a stage in front of thousands of people feeding you.”

I swear she smiles, even though she’s only a little over a week old.

“Yeah, your kind-of-uncle and kind-of-step-grandfather are going to be on one in two days to raise money for all the people who lost their lives the day Logan saved your aunt London for us. I want to think there was a purpose for that senseless act of violence. I want to think a part of all of them is a part of you now.

“I can’t help crying for what was lost and what was gained that day. Is it wrong to want to try to make sense of something horrific? Huh, Leddie?”

I hold her well after she has fallen to sleep while I think about all that has happened just today.

I met my father’s mother. It was like when I met London—an immediate connection. She and I stepped away from everyone, and then she broke my heart by way of sharing things that will never be talked about with London, or anyone else.

She shared things about my mom and dad. She told me that, when they met, he changed from party boy to a man ready to grow up. She talked about how in love they were at one point, and how, when they broke up, he was devastated. She told me she sensed something was off by the way he could at times turn so cool. She also told me that Troy Fields, my father, tried the best he could to understand, but Carman pushed him away.

She didn’t know they had started seeing each other again, but laughed when she said, “Not like my boy would have said, hey, Mom, I’m having an affair, just like my old man did when he was with you.”

Then she told me her biggest secret. “Troy’s father, he was married when we met, so don’t you ever think you are any less part of this family because of that, my girl. So this granny will never judge a thing you, or anyone else for that matter, does.”

She called me my girl. It wasn’t just that she said the words, but the look she gave me when she did, and the feelings in which she exuded while saying them to me. I knew she meant it one hundred percent, and that, that moment, I knew beyond a reasonable doubt that I was in fact home.

We talked about other things, too, like when I was in kindergarten and we lived here. We came to the realization that the place my mom was working was where Troy worked as an accountant. And that, when my mom went into her worst crash, when we lived in New Jersey, it was after Troy had died.

When I lay Leddie down in the bassinet attached to the side of my bed, I cry a little more.

The next day, London decided we should have a girls’ day while Logan and Lucas fought over Leddie. It wasn’t difficult to leave her, since I had pumped enough for three feedings. But it was difficult accepting that Troy had left an inheritance that London wanted to share. I felt like a mooch, and I had never been one. London convinced me otherwise, and we did it up.

The best part of the day was the Brazilian wax. It was her first time. Meanwhile, after the incident with the dull razor, I was a seasoned pro. Even though I hadn’t been sexually active, I just liked the way it felt down there—bare.

My sister, she looked freaked out after the first strip was applied and peeled, so I told her the story about Trucker and the STI. She laughed through most of the experience, and then we were off to do nails and manicures, followed by lunch.

When we returned back to the building, the place was packed and felt a little uneasy about Leddie being around so many people, even though she was strapped to Logan in the infant carrier.

I watched all the volunteers swooning over Maddox and Brody, and yes, Lucas, who was a professional football player years ago. To me, he would always be “the baby hog.”

London just shrugged. “It’s a part of it, Keeka. It’s also the reason I was Elle here. I just wanted my own thing, you know?”

I knew. I absolutely knew. And know.

That night, as I lay feeding Leddie, I told her about my day and asked her about hers. Her answers came in grunts and the filling of her diapers.

“Is it wrong to miss someone so much when you’re away from them for just a few hours?” I ask as I change her poopy diaper, nearly gagging, and laugh. “Even when she smells horrible?

“You are so loved, Leddie Lou. So very loved by so many.”

When she is asleep, I lay down and make sure my phone is on the charger.

Tomorrow, we go set up for the fundraiser, and since it will be Leddie’s and my first real outing, I want to give myself plenty of time to get ready so we don’t make anyone late.

A soon as I plug it in, I see a message and know exactly who it is from.

Trucker

Your tits free?

Keeka

I hope all is well, Trucker. I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.

Trucker

How the fuck can all be well?

Keeka

Choose happiness, even in the wake of horrific events.

Trucker The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the worm.

Keeka

I don’t understand.

Trucker

I don’t need your fortune cookie inspired bullshit any more than you need mine.

Keeka

I was trying to be helpful.

Trucker

And all I want is the fucking truth!

Keeka

Goodnight, Trucker.

I look at the text sent and cringe when I see the moon. How did that happen?

It’s okay, it’s okay, I think as I quickly type another text.

Keeka

Please ignore previous fortune cookie text.

Trucker

Not on your fucking life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

New game

Trucker

Sleep is a thing of the past. Grief and anger have taken its place.

I sigh as I get out of the cab and pull my shades down, looking up at the big marshmallow in the sky. The fucking Dome.

I walk up to security and get a heroes fucking welcome. I embrace that shit, knowing I’m about to get kicked in the nuts.

When I walk inside, I inhale the stale scent that I always caught a buzz off of as a kid. I walk down the stairs to the box that I sat in with Logan and his family for the first college game I ever watched, the place I truly caught the bug.

Leaning over, I look down at the crowd of people preparing for tomorrow’s events—the fundraiser for the families of the victims of the shooting. There was no family for JJ Jones, and there was no way in hell I was going to let his story be left untold.

Coach Brown has kept my secret, and I will forever be grateful. I was afraid of what I would face here, but after last night’s little fucking text, I decided I would come a day early and not just appear on stage and jet afterward.

I want to face her. I want to face Logan. So, today is about that. Tomorrow will be all about JJ.

I see her first. She has a little more ass than before, which would be great if it was a turn off. It’s not. When she turns, I see her smiling at London, and I see a baby carrier strapped to her chest, so I don’t know if the B’s have grown or not, but I’m assuming so. She looks good from here.

She kisses the hat on the baby’s head and bounces up and down a bit then starts to sway. I see the baby look up at her and see her mouth moving. The baby puts her hand in her mouth and seems to be chewing on it. Then she pulls it out, pulls something from the bag strapped to her, and wipes off its hand, a hand that promptly lands on the side of her face. Her head tips back, and she starts fucking laughing, right before she kisses its head a dozen or more times.

Fuck.

I sit down and watch her smile. She’s fucking beautiful and happy. If I weren’t so fucking insanely jealous of whoever’s kid that was, I would fucking walk over there. But fuck her for being that happy without me.

When I see her unstrap the carrier and London takes the baby, it pisses me off. Then she starts to hurry toward the exit, and I decide now is as good a time as ever.

I hurry down the stairs and toward where she exited. She must have gone to the bathroom, so I wait outside it, hoping I’m right. It seems like I’m there forever before she finally walks out, looking down.

I don’t say shit; just step in her way.

She doesn’t slow down, paying no fucking attention when she runs into me. Unlike every other time this has happened, I’m prepared to ensure she doesn’t land on her ass.

When I grab her hips, she laughs and looks up.

No words come out, but she shakes her head, looking fucking terrified of me.

“What’s up, Keeka?”

She does the open and closing of her mouth with no words a few times before I smirk.

“Not even gonna stutter for me?”

She’s frozen, stiff as a fucking board.

“You sent me the moon, yet I can’t even get a little sunshine, Ray? I haven’t seen you in … How many months has it been?”

She whispers, “Hi.”

I study her face. “You wanna tell me whose kid that was strapped to you out there? The one who made you smile bigger than I ever could?”

“Not-not-not—”

“There it is.” I smirk, and her face immediately turns red. “I’m not picking on you. It’s one of the many things I miss about you.”

“Trucker, this isn’t a good time.” She tries to push my hands off her hips.

“It could be a hell of a lot better if you’d just tell me. Then tell me he isn’t in the picture, and I could give you a private tour of the locker room.”

“He’s definitely in the picture.”

Her words knock the wind out of me, and she uses that to her advantage, pushing my hands away before running down the hallway.

“Truth or tale?” I yell after her. Then I lean against the wall and fucking try to catch my breath. But I realize it’s not going to happen, so I head out to face the other fuckers who hate me.

I see her hugging London and taking the baby as she says something to her.

London visibly tenses then hugs her. Logan is all over that shit, too.

I’m standing behind his ass when he asks, “Is Leddie okay?”

“She’s fine.” Keeka wipes away a few tears. “She’s got to be fine, okay? You have to promise that—”

She stops when she sees me.

“Links.”

Logan straightens up when he hears my voice and hands London a set of keys. “You get her home.”

“Yeah, of course,” London says, and then they take off.

When he turns around, he looks pissed, and all I can do is fucking smile. And not because of him, but because I’m looking at a hot piece of ass, and the chick who’s going to make this day even bearable.

Isabella Steel is helping with the fundraiser. She manages or does PR for a band who offered to play because they were friends with Brody and Maddox Hines, Steel Total Destruction. I messaged her an offer she couldn’t refuse last night.

“Hey.” I nod to her.

“Hello again.” She smiles.

“Isabella,” Logan interrupts, “what can I do for you?”

“Well, I won’t take up much of your time, but I wanted you to know that Trucker here boxed me on IG after seeing some of the live feed from last night and offered to help raise some money.”

“That’s great.” Logan gives a bullshit smile.

“Said he’ll do anything.” She winks at me. “He also said, knowing you, you’d do the same.”

Logan is fucked. He can’t say no.

“Great.”

She smiles. “We’ve decided to do closed bids for the bachelor auctions and have already calculated the numbers. We’re up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“That’s good news. The money will be put to good use.”

“He and I think that, announcing Trucker will be joining his best friend on his date, we could make a minimum of five thousand dollars more.”

“I don’t think—”

“I insist, brother.” I grin at his dumb ass.

“Wonderful.” She starts to tap away at her phone.

“I think keeping them separate will do more,” Logan says quickly.

She holds up her phone and smiles. “Already up eight hundred dollars, and it’s been under a minute. See you guys around.”

And … she’s gone.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses at me.

“Playoffs are over, bro. Season’s over. I’m here to do my part.”

“A week ago, you had no intention of doing shit,” he snarls.

“Season’s over.” I shrug.

“Huh, I didn’t even watch a game.”

Fucking stings, but I decide to give him a jab.

“Finally fucking the Fields’ girl, are you?”

“She’s none of your damn business.” Just like I thought—he’s seeing red.

“Well, she seems to be all up in some business I need to deal with, so how about you back the fuck off, stop giving that little bitch Keeka a fucking shoulder and a place to stay, and let me deal with her?”

“Call her a bitch one more time, and you’ll be shitting teeth.”

“You fucking them both?” I laugh. “Damn, Links, we had a code. We don’t swap cunt.”

He draws back his arm to hit me, and I fucking want him to. I want him to lose his shit.

“Not here.”

I look to my left and see Maddox.

“Hey, Maddox, long time, no—”

“Go fuck yourself,” Maddox snaps at me.

What the fuck? I think, and then look at Logan. “Wow, you and that little skank have pissed all over my name, haven’t you?”

“I truly hope, for your sake, you aren’t talking about one of my sisters,” Maddox growls at me.

“I haven’t changed that much, man.” I laugh, still trying to keep it light. “I was talking about the little bullshit artist London left with.”

“Then you are speaking of my sister. One more word, and you’ll be lucky to wake up in time for the fundraiser.”

“I said—”

“She’s London’s fucking sister,” Logan interrupts.

“Stay away from her and her daughter.” Maddox points his finger an inch from my face.

“Daughter?” I swallow hard, still trying to wrap my brain around what I just learned.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Logan shakes his head. “Just fucking go.”

I take a deep breath, still trying to process it all, then turn and walk away.

I see Coach Brown waving me over and nod as I walk toward what was once Jones’ team.

Lying in bed at the Crown, I take my phone off the charger and send her a text.

Trucker

Your dad Troy Fields or Brody Hines?

I wait forever to get a response.

Keeka

Troy.

I hit call, and she answers with, “I can’t talk right now, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay.”

“They’re all here, and I need to-to-to—”

“Breathe,” I say then yawn.

“How can I, Trucker? How can I when you’re suffocating me?”

“Haven’t seen you in months; how the hell am I suffocating you?”

“I have no idea what you want from me, but—”

“Asked for the truth, and all I get is a no, from you and the worst treatment from everyone around you. So answer me this, Ray: am I or not?”

“No.”

“You’re telling tales.”

“I’m not playing games, Trucker. My child isn’t a toy or a pawn. She is going to be loved and happy and—”

“Let’s discuss a game, shall we? Let’s talk about the game of custody.”

“Trucker, just shut up.”

“Let’s talk about the fact that whoever the father of the little shit you were all fucking gaga over today possibly having enough money to fight for something that is his, even though you’ve landed yourself in the middle of real life fairy tale. Let’s talk about the fact that the little shit may have to—”

“My child is not a little shit! She is sweet and innocent—”

“Well, you better make damn sure you surround her with some of those new family members of yours, Keeka, because that child sure as fuck doesn’t have a sweet and innocent mother, now does she? She has a lying, half-fucking-crazy—”

I stop spewing anger when I hear the line go dead.

I wake up angry, so fucking angry that I physically ache. My fucking knees have been bugging me, too. That hasn’t been an issue all fucking season. As a matter of fact, it hasn’t been an issue since I fucking fell on my knees before a girl who I was pretty damn sure I was in love with.

Hell, when I got the moon the other night, I felt something … Hope? And then today …

How fucking thin is the line between love and hate?

That question stays with me all day, and as I sit across the Dome, watching all the things going on around me, all I can see is her. She’s with the man who was my best fucking friend for damn near all my life. She’s found out who her father was, seems really close to her sister, and is hell-bent on making every motherfucker hate me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. It’s showtime. The bachelor auction.

I stand up, sigh, and decide Isabella Steel could be one hell of a distraction.

I watch as some of the girls who were, moments ago, hanging around London and Keeka take the stage and start talking about the night of the shooting. Apparently, they were there.

“Hello, everyone. My name’s Jamie, and I’m a student here at SU. We would like to thank y’all for coming today to help raise money for the victims’ families and the survivors of the horrific events that happened on January 27th.”

Another girl steps up, and I fucking can’t take it. Can’t stop wondering if they saw JJ. If he went fast. How …? Fuck!

“Hi, I’m London Fields—”

I look up and see her standing there, looking like a nervous wreck.

“I’m a student here and was at Chaos on January 27th when hell rained down on us.”

“You’re a hero, London!” someone in the crowd yells.

“I’m no hero. I … I just … I’m a theater student, and I can promise you it’s so much easier to be on stage when I’m not expected to be me. As I said, I’m no hero. I just reacted.” She holds her hand over her heart. “I reacted the way I felt I should, without second-guessing myself. I reacted because that’s what I have been taught to do in times of need and in times of tragedy.”

When the crowd claps again, she looks at Keeka, who smiles at her and nods.

“Looking over this crowd, I know that so many of you would have done the same if you were in the same situation. Looking beside me, I know they would have done the same if given the chance. I know this because two people’s courage are the only reason I’m here.”

“Number forty-two!” someone yells Logan’s number.

“He was one of them. Another was the woman who stood beside me, helping me boost people up so they could escape.” She looks down. “When he came through the bathroom door, she tried to reason with him.” She pauses and puts her hand on her heart. “I don’t know her name, but I wish I could thank her for all of those who survived because of her courage, including myself.”

Logan walks on stage and puts his hand on her shoulder.

When the crowd begins to chant his name, he sighs.

“For several days, we’ve mourned those we lost. We’ve questioned strangers, we have grieved, and we have been angry because we will never know why that son of a bitch walked into a place of celebration and good times and opened fire on complete and total strangers to him. Those people were not strangers to us. They were family, they were friends, they were coworkers, neighbors.” He looks at London. “They were the person we love more than we could have ever imagined.”

He turns back and looks at the crowd. “What I did wasn’t heroic. It was fucking stupid.”

The crowd erupts in laughter, while Logan shakes his head and looks down.

“Like London, it wasn’t a choice. It was a reaction. I’m sorry I didn’t hit the son of a bitch when I drove through the window. But the truth is, I can’t change the past. None of us can. What we can do is live for them and make each moment, every moment count. Today, we celebrate life and the lives lost. Today, we come together with love in our hearts and hope for a better future.”

The crowd erupts in applause, cheers, and whistles, and then Isabella Steel stands at the mic.

“Hello, Syracuse! I am Isabella Steel. I’m here today with Steel Total Destruction.”

Applause erupts.

“I kind of forced my way into being part of one of the many fundraising efforts held today. I mean, who wouldn’t want to take over the Ten Most Wanted Bachelors auction?” She laughs.

The crowd whistles and applauds her.

“While we wait for the amazing volunteers—many students here at Syracuse University and many more from the community—to take down everything you have enjoyed throughout the day and get ready for the show—”

More applause.

“—let’s see who won the silent bids for an amazing date with some of SU’s Ten Most Wanted Bachelors?”

The screen behind Isabella lights up, and an old wanted picture pops up with Mitch on it. Fucker.

“Our number ten most wanted is Mitchell Westcott. Mitch is a senior at SU. He’s six-foot tall and plays the defensive line. Come on up, Mitch!” Isabella introduces, and he walks out. “Mitchell’s date paid over five thousand dollars for a night on the town. Big Boy Limousine service will pick him and his date up and take them to Dinosaur Barbeque where they will enjoy a meal for two. After dinner, they will be taken to Destiny USA to Wonder World, where they can play laser tag, conquer the rope course, and then watch a movie at IMAX theaters.” She hands Mitch an envelope, and he opens it.

“And the winner of my date is … Tonya Ports!”

I tune the whole shitshow out, wondering how many have fucked Keeka.

When I get a text telling me I’m up, I stand and make my way closer

“Logan Links is our number one Most Wanted Bachelor, and it’s no wonder. Who wouldn’t want a sexy football star who turns into a superhero when needed?” Isabella Steel smiles at him as she hands him a similar envelope. “But wait!” She smiles. “Logan has a best friend who reached out and wanted to be a part of tonight, as well. Trucker Cohen is part of this … package. Trucker, come on up!”

I walk on stage, smiling and waving at the crowd.

“Well, this is quite the package.” Isabella Steel walks behind us. “Two men, one offense, one defense, but both seem to have tight ends.”

She walks around the front of us and stands between us. Then she looks up at Logan and smiles. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Hi,” she says flirtatiously.

He raises his hand and gives a sharp wave.

“You must be the quiet one,” she notes before turning and looking at me. She does the same flirtatious, “Hi.”

“Hey, baby.” I wink, making everyone laugh.

“And this one”—she steps forward, thumbing over her shoulder at me—“is not the quiet one.”

Everyone laughs again.

“Must be why they’ve made such a great team for …” She looks at me. “How long did you say you two have been best friends?”

“Seventeen … No, sixteen years.”

She laughs. “One bad year, huh?”

I laugh, thinking, you have no clue.

“Logan and Trucker’s shared date paid over fifteen thousand dollars for her date with the number one Most Wanted and the number one draft pick last year. The winner of this date will be flown to New York City, where she will spend two nights in a luxury suite in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, compliments of Gold Crown Resorts. They will spend one evening on Broadway, having dinner and watching a production. The second evening will be spent in the Resort’s spa, where they will enjoy a couple’s”—she laughs—“or triple’s massage and being pampered the entire night, ending with room service for three in her suite.

“Logan, the envelope?”

I watch as he opens the envelope, hoping it’s her, knowing it won’t be, and cursing myself for even thinking it.

“The winner is … Madison Brown”—he flips the card over—“who can’t be here tonight but is excited to meet us in New York on”—he shakes his head—“February fourteenth.”

“Perfect.” I clap. “Valentine’s Day is for love.”

I decide to eye-bang the Steel chick, hoping it pisses Keeka off. She throws her head back and laughs before looking off stage.

“Looks like we’re about fifteen minutes from the start of the show. Take a look at your tickets and feel free to start finding your seats, and be prepared to get rocked!”

When I walk off stage and see Lucas, I decided fuck it. Let’s see how deep this hate well runs.

“Hey, Lucas.”

“Trucker, how’s it going?” He smiles a genuine fucking smile. “Great season you had, son.”

“Incredible season.” I nod. “Hope you know I’m aware I owe you a lot.”

“You don’t owe me shit.” Lucas laughs, and I fucking hope Logan heard that shit, too. “You did the work. Proud of you. Just keep on working on what’s important to you … in all aspects of your life. Don’t let the game become everything, and you’ll be fine.”

“Sent you tickets.” I shrug.

“I know. Just had a hell of a lot going on around here. Sorry I didn’t make one.”

I force a laugh. “There’s always next season, huh?”

“You’re damn right there is.” Lucas pats my back.

“Nice to see you. I’m gonna go say hello to some of the guys.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Lucas calls after me, and I wave and nod.

I loom over when I get to the team and see her looking at me then quickly away.

“What’s up, Syracuse?”

The crowd starts to scream.

I look up and see Memphis Black, the lead singer for Steel Total Destruction.

“In case you didn’t know, I’m Memphis Black, and I’m part of this band we like to call STD.”

The crowd loses it again.

“We met Maddox and Brody Hines a few years back before STD’s were cool.” He laughs, and so does the crowd. “Oh shit, we’re the ones who made them so cool they had to change it to STI.”

The crowd laughs again, but I glare at the Keeka, because STI’s aren’t fucking funny.

She shoves her damn nose in the air.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I shake my head and look back at the stage.

“So, we were just starting out and no one else would touch us, like we were an infection and not just a disease. But these guys, they gave us a shot. Not only did they give us a fucking shot, they supported us from the go. They liked our disease. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure they loved it. When we heard about the event, we figured our invite was lost in the mail or some shit.”

The crowd laughs.

“So, we basically invited ourselves.”

More laughter.

“I’m not gonna open this show in the typical fashion.” He shields his eyes and looks out over the crowd.

The crowd cheers even louder.

I watch Logan moving London and Keeka through the crowd with a baby carried in his hand.

Fucking trespassing, Links, I think as I get more pissed off by the second.

Memphis Black laughs again and continues, “It appears to be a family affair, but we wanted to hop up here and tell you it’s time to start spreading love like a fucking STD.

“It’s time to stop hate. It’s time to stop bullying. It’s time to stop looking the other way when a neighbor is in need. And it’s time to live every fucking moment the way you want to be remembered!”

I see Maddox and Brody walk out on stage, guitars in hand, and I head toward them.

“Maddox and Brody Hines, everyone!”

“Good evening. I’m Maddox Hines.”

The lights dim and several screens turn on as Maddox begins to speak again.

“Today, we remember the lives lost, but we remember them with love and with fondness. We remember to make every moment count!”

Music begins, but it’s not coming from the stage. It’s coming from the speakers.

Watching the screen, the name Douglas Jones flashes across it, and then photos for him with loved ones, fishing, dancing, on holidays, celebrating, laughing, smiling, and hugging.

“My son was thirty-two years old …”

I quickly glance from the screen to the stage, where a woman stands under a spotlight and speaks of her son while holding an unlit candle.

“I was blessed to see his smile nearly every day. I was blessed that he called me Mom.”

She walks across the stage, and Coach Brown then Brody hug her, and then Lucas lights her candle.

Each name accompanies pictures, followed by a loved one, a brief story, and a lighting of a candle. Each one brings me closer to having to go up there, having to say goodbye to JJ in this fucking place.

My fucking heart hurts, and I look at her to find her looking at me in confusion.

I look away. This isn’t about her. It’s not about Logan or all the fuckers who seem to hate me. It’s about JJ.

When I see Jones on the screen, I walk up and stand in front of the mic. “I’m Trucker Cohen. Jones was just some kid I met during the second semester of my senior year. The guy had raw talent, no direction, no family—raised in the system—no reason to smile. But, as you can see in these pictures, that’s all he did when he was on the field. Called him my little brother. And he was like a brother for the year he and I became friends. He talked a lot about what he wanted, and I heard everything he said. The day he got in here was my proudest moment, and yeah, his, too.

“Every moment counts.” I nod in Logan’s direction then walk across the stage, where Brody lights my candle.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Done and over

Trucker

I left after I walked off stage yesterday, because I was getting shit mixed up. It wasn’t about proving myself to Logan that I was still a good fucking guy. It was about Jones, and I felt like the longer I stayed, the more it would be about my own personal hell and not about his life.

Only took a couple hours for her to message me.

Keeka

What you did was amazing. What you said was beautiful, Trucker Cohen.

Trucker

Fuck you.

I spend the next three days between the bed and the tub. I switch between watching clips of every fucking game JJ played in and looking at all the Facebook posts that the Links/Hines/Ross family posts of a big family gathering.

I mourn the loss of an amazing young man and that of a friendship I will never again have, because I don’t trust him, and he doesn’t trust me.

When I get a call from an unknown number, I answer it because I don’t care if it’s a fucking telemarketer right now. I fucking need to hear someone.

“Trucker, it’s Mitch.”

Well, fuck, that’s a voice I didn’t want to hear.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“I don’t want shit, but Coach Brown …” He pauses. “He likes your dumb ass, and he’s in rough shape. You should get to University Hospital.”

He hangs up before I can find out what the hell has happened.

I walk into the waiting room at University Hospital and see Coach. I also see Logan, but I’m going to pretend the fucker doesn’t exist.

I sit down next to him. “What’s up, Coach?”

“They’re gonna unplug Downs’ machines today.” He looks up at me. “How did you know?”

I improvise a bit. “Mitch called and said he thought you needed your team, so I’m here.”

“Everyone’s going in to tell him to come back or rest in peace.” He lays his hand on my knee. “We’ve lost enough, and I sure as hell don’t wanna say goodbye, but I’m glad you’re here.”

I pat his hand. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

After Logan goes in, a nurse comes out and asks that we hurry the process up.

“Go ahead, son.” Coach nods.

I stand at the door while Logan talks to him .

“Hey, Downs. It’s Logan. Look, man, I’ve done five years here, three with you, and until you wake the fuck up, I’m stuck here. Your folks haven’t left. Your team takes shifts. Hell, there was a rumor that Coach Brown was going to retire if you didn’t wake up, and we all know he’s done his time.”

He sighs and leans back. “I’m grasping at what to say, man. You can bet your ass, if I knew what play to call to get you up and on the line, I would.”

Doesn’t matter how pissed I am at him right now, he’s struggling, so I step in.

“That’s offense’s job.”

He looks up as I walk in.

“They want us to come in two at a time; speed up the process.”

He nods.

“Trucker’s here, Downs. You must be something special to bring his ugly ass back here from living it up down in Jersey.”

“Listen to him, Downs. Links has something special for sure. Always thought he was better than both of us on the field.” I scowl at him. “Look, Downs, the sooner you wake up, the sooner I’ll get to go back to where I belong. You do it soon, I’ll make damn sure to put in a good word for you down there. Would be really cool to play with a friend again. You do it tonight, I’ll buy you a new fucking car.”

Logan rolls his eyes at me, and I give him a fuck you look.

“More of the guys are waiting to come in, man. We need you to fight. We need you to wake up; give us some hope. You were always that guy. See you soon, Downs.” Logan grips his shoulder before walking out.

“How’s he look?” Coach Brown asks when we walk into the waiting room.

“Better. Looks better, Coach,” Logan tells him as I sit next to him.

He nods.

“You been in yet?” he asks Coach.

He shakes his head. “Can’t do it.”

“Tough shit, old man. He looks up to you. We all do.”

I give him a warning glare, and he flips me the bird but backs off Coach.

When everyone has been in and returned, Logan looks back at Coach and whispers, “I’m not leaving until you get your ass in there and tell him to fight.”

I finally sit on the opposite side of Coach. “He’s right.”

“Usually am,” he jabs.

“You two need to knock the shit off,” Coach Brown tells us. “That could be one of you lying in there right now. Think about how that would make your ugly asses feel.” He stands up and takes a few steps before looking back. “I fucking mean it.”

When he walks out the door, Logan looks at me. “This doesn’t right your fucking wrongs, you hear me?”

I lean in and inform him, “I don’t give a fuck what you think of me.”

“The hell you don’t.” He pulls his hat down and leans back.

“You sticking around?” Mitch asks. He’s sitting on the other side of Logan.

“I’m here till the old man gets back,” Logan tells him.

Mitch leans over and glares at me. “I know what the fuck you’re doing. I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’m talking to the fucking superstar over there.”

“You got a fucking problem with me, bitch two?” I whisper-hiss at him.

“I got more than one,” Mitch snaps. “You make a good show here. Act like you give a damn about any of us, then go in there and tell a dying man to fight when you just really wanna know if his swimmers got there first.”

“You better put your boy in check,” I tell Logan.

“I’m not anyone’s boy,” Mitch snaps. “And I’m not anyone’s daddy either.”

“You better shut your fucking mouth,” I whisper.

Mitch laughs. “Or what?”

“End it … now.” Logan looks at Mitch. “For Downs.”

His phone vibrates in his hand, and he answers with, “Hey.”

He smiles, so I know it’s Paris.

“Thank you for calling. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he sighs and whispers as he stands and walks away.

When he walks back in, he sits down and sees Mitch and I still glaring at each other. “You two cut the shit.” He looks at me. “Trucker, we have a flight in the morning.”

“Fucking charity date,” I grumble.

“Team, wake the hell up!” I wake to Coach Brown yelling. “Let’s go, go, go!”

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Logan asks him.

When I open my eyes, I see the old man smiling, tears rolling down his face.

“No, son, I just witnessed a miracle. Thought I’d share it with you.”

“Is he awake?”

“Praise be to God, men. Downs is awake, and he’s full of piss and vinegar.” He laughs. “Now line it up and get ready to go see for yourselves.”

Logan grabs his phone out of his pocket. “Fuck.”

Mitch grabs his. “It’s seven thirty.”

“Aw, fuck.” He glares at me.

I pull mine out of my pocket. “Mine’s dead, too. Missed our flight.”

Logan looks at Mitch. “You wanna text Jamie and have her tell London to call me on yours?”

“When you’re done, I need it,” I tell Mitch.

“Fuck. You,” Mitch snaps at me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I snap back.

“You.” He gets up and walks away.

“Leave him alone, Trucker; I’m warning you.”

“Am I supposed to be afraid of you?” I ask while standing up.

“Can’t fucking believe we couldn’t get a flight and I have to be cooped-up in a fucking vehicle with you for five miserable hours,” I grumble as I adjust the seat in Logan’s SUV.

“Feeling’s mutual, asshole.”

I sit up and look at him. “You do know you could have gone pro, too, so tell me why the fucking attitude? No, fuck that. Why the fuck did you decide to shit all over me and crawl up Keeka’s ass?”

“You fucking left, man. You left and didn’t look back, so save your bullshit.”

“I left to do what we were supposed to do all along. I had nothing to do with what went down with Ava. I was there for you, and you pushed me away. You don’t see me crying because I fucking needed you when my life went out of control.”

“I didn’t push shit. I did what I had to for my family.”

“And when the fuck did I stop being part of that?”

He looks over at me, shocked. Honestly, I’m a little shocked I said it, too.

“I tried to support you,” I continue. “I did support you the best I could while trying to keep my fucking grades up, graduate, and then leave all that was normal to me with none of the support I was used to.”

“You needed something, you should have said so.”

“When, Logan? When T died? When Luke got blown up? When you stopped fucking answering messages? I fucking tried. I tried so damn hard that I almost didn’t graduate.”

“Had plenty of time to get Keeka knocked up, even after you knew you were fucking her before she was eighteen.”

I fucking laugh. “You’d have been fucking London if you weren’t so worried about what everyone around you would say, so save the sermon for Sundays, Links.”

“You should have wrapped your shit, then you wouldn’t be in this fucking situation.”

Judgmental fucker, I think.

“You know damn well I walked away from her. She kept showing up. I did what I had to do to make a point. She kept showing up. You fucking kept telling her to come to the house! And believe it or not, brother, I was worried sick about all of you, including Ava. I was fucking lonely. Weak, too,” I huff. “Should have gotten a puppy. At least they can’t text nonstop.”

He holds in a laugh.

“I fucked up by doing her ‘one last time.’ She was on the fucking pill, and only with me,” I say in a sarcastic tone, trying to make it a jibe. The truth is, though, I needed her so fucking badly, and she needed me, too. Not his business, so I make it a fucking joke. “Should have known better when she accused me of giving her a fucking disease.”

“You what?” He laughs

“I nothing. Mitch and Downs had her in their beds after I was done.” And I believed them all that they hadn’t fucked.

“Mitch didn’t fuck her. Mitch woke up with her in his bed and had no idea how she got there. He did a paternity test. And just so you know, he’s had one fuck of a year because of you.”

“Why is it my fault she climbed in his bed? And do you believe he really didn’t fuck her?” I fucking want to believe it … I think.

“I have no idea why she climbed in his bed.” He pauses. “Did you have someone in yours?”

“Every fucking night,” I answer. “Except for one.”

“ ’Cause you were falling for her,” he comments.

Falling? I fucking fell. I fell so fucking hard it still hurts.

“Like I said, I should have gotten a puppy.”

“Two sides to each story.”

“And then some,” I add, looking out the window.

“You have family, Logan. You’re gonna always be okay. Someone’s always gonna have your back. I didn’t have shit, but now, now I don’t need it. Believe it or not, I did what I thought was best for you all. Just like I’ll fucking do what’s best for that kid, if it’s mine.”

“Keeka has no intention of going after you, so if you have no intention of being a dad, leave it alone.”

“So you can play daddy to what might be mine?”

“I’d play daddy to ten of her,” he answers. “You had us the entire time. All you had to do was say something, Trucker.”

“And like I said, I can take care of myself.” Fucker is pissing me off. “And now that the whole Ross, Hines, and Links’ crew think I’m the daddy, I’m gonna make sure that, if I am, I take care of it.”

“Her,” he corrects. “Leddie Lou is a girl, not an it. And no one will say a word. She’s their family. You know better than to think they’ll allow any drama that is unavoidable. And my dad sure as hell isn’t gonna let anyone fuck with you, so you do what you gotta do. But understand, Keeka is my sister-in-law. That makes that little angel baby my niece. I’ll go to war for her.”

“News flash, Links, you and London aren’t married. She’s not your anything. Don’t piss on my territory, or you’ll be trespassing.”

“London and I are engaged.”

I hold back a smile and look out the window. “Fucking knew you were in love with that girl.”

“Shut up and get some sleep. You’re gonna need to drive in a couple of hours. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Can’t we just shelve this date?” I ask as I lie the seat back. “Call this Madison up and say, hey, Downs woke up from a coma and we need to reschedule.”

He shakes his head. “They’re already in New York City.” Then he laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Emma bid on the date under an assumed name. London’s our date.”

“This day just keeps getting worse,” I groan. “So, why the fuck do I have to go?”

“You’re the one who made this thing a big damn deal with Isabella Steel,” he reminds me.

“Did you check her out? That woman is worth making a big damn deal over.”

“I’d be checking in on my responsibilities before I go sniffing around, looking for a piece of ass,” he advises.

Don’t want to tell him I have been trying. Clearly, she hasn’t said shit about the text messages.

“Thanks for the advice. Now I’ll give you some. Stop pissing on my territory; you’re trespassing.”

He laughs at me. “You wanna be daddy, or you wanna fuck the Steel chick?”

“Got no problem doing both, if it’s mine.”

“Say it one more time, and I will fucking throw you out of this vehicle.”

“I get you sticking up for”—I pause, and I look over, taunting him on purpose—“the kid, but how about you think about what the fuck I told you. Bitch told me I gave her a damn disease. I didn’t. Never fucking had one. That’s not enough to stop treating me like some piece of shit? How about you think about how you’d feel if you busted that cherry and London started bed-hopping in your territory?”

“If I were fucking everything offered, I’d deserve it.”

“Judgmental fuck.”

He doesn’t say shit.

Before I close my eyes, I offer to drive.

“No.”

When I wake up, we are already two steps from there.

“I told you I’d drive.” I yawn and sit up. “Jesus, Logan, you could have woken me up.”

“I’m fine,” he says, taking another drink of iced coffee.

I look at it, then in the back where four empties are sitting in a cardboard cup holder on the floor.

“Fucking ridiculous.” I yawn again.

“There’s a bag on the floor. Food in it. Got you a cup of coffee, too.” He points to the cup holder.

“You really should have woken me up.” I grab the Dunkin’ Donuts bag.

“Clearly, you needed the sleep more than I did.”

I laugh at him. “You’ve always been the one who required more sleep.”

“Well, times have changed.” He pauses. “Babies will do that to you.”

“So, you what, take care of”—I pause to piss him off—“the kid? She too busy sleeping and shit-talking me?”

“She doesn’t shit-talk you one fucking bit. She begged me not to call you,” he tells me. “And she went through some shit.”

“What kind of shit?”

“That girl has been through a lot, Trucker. No family, while trying to figure out what she’ll do to raise a baby alone.”

“Was she gonna give it up?” I ask.

“No, but she couldn’t look at her without crying the first few days. Not sure if it’s the whole baby blues thing, or the fact she found out she was Troy Fields’ kid. But we got her through it.”

He laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hell, everyone offered to take her. Brody and Emma, Dad and Tessa.” He shakes his head as he slowly follows traffic into the Lincoln Tunnel. When we come to a complete stop, he grumbles, “Fuck.”

They fucking offered to take her kid. What the fuck? What in the actual fuck is that about?

He grabs his phone, hits a number, and Paris answers immediately.

“You have one hour to get here.”

He laughs. “Well, hello to you, too.”

“Hey,” she says with a smile in her voice.

“Hi, London,” I say in a sticky sweet voice

“I can’t believe I have to deal with you—”

“London,” Logan cuts her off, “we’re heading into the Lincoln Tunnel. We’re gonna lose service. But we’re almost there.”

“Can’t wait,” she tells him.

“Me either,” I grumble.

“Unreal,” she sighs out. “What were you thinking, Logan?”

“I made nice with Reeves; you can deal with this.” He laughs.

“Fletcher didn’t knock up your sister and dodge his responsibility,” she huffs.

Pisses me off.

“You got a magic eight ball, London?”

“You wanna talk about balls with me, super sperm?” she snaps back, and Logan holds back a laugh.

I look at him . “You sure you wanna wife her?”

“Change of plans. Let’s skip the show tonight and take Trucker to get fitted for cement shoes for his swim in—”

The phone cuts out.

I shake my head. “I know you’ve wanted to tap that forever, but let me ask you: was it worth all that?”

He shrugs. “I’m sure it will be.”

Bullshit, I think and laugh at him.

When he squirms in his seat, I about die.

“You fucking seriously haven’t fucked that?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Some advice?”

“No.”

“Tough shit. If she’s holding out on you, waiting for marriage, you’re probably gonna be spending a lot of time in the shower. What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I love her and want things to be perfect. I’m thinking she’s waited this long for me—”

“You forget I was with you when you slashed that kid’s tires?” I laugh. “How do you know she’s waited for you?”

“I just know.”

I look at him, needing a little bit more in order to believe that shit.

When he doesn’t say anything, I tell him, “I really hope everything works out.”

“Same,” he sighs out.

I am sitting at a table at Juniors restaurant across from Maddox Hines. Glaring past him at Logan, who’s sitting with the oh so pleasant Paris.

I’m fucking exhausted, and the angry Brit across from me is … well, fucking angry.

“Didn’t realize we had a foursome. Was looking forward to the threesome myself.”

He leans forward. “Save your bullshit, Trucker. I’m in no fucking mood.”

I lean in just the same. “I’m in no fucking mood either.”

“Let me ask you something. How is it that you can see Keeka with a child that is more than likely yours and not feel something?”

“Not that it’s any fucking business of yours—”

“I believe we’ve already visited this. Family is family, and she is in fact my family.”

I lean back and cross my arms. “That’s great. I’m glad you have a DNA test to prove that. I fucking don’t.”

“Well, maybe you should step the hell up and request one.”

I want to scream in his face, Maybe I’ve asked a hundred times if I’m the baby’s father, and she tells me no!

The waitress delivers our food.

“Can I get another drink? And make it a double please.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

“Make that two.” Maddox leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“You’re the worst date I’ve ever had,” I tell him, forcing myself to take a bite of food.

“Likewise,” he says, cutting up the rest of his sirloin.

I lean back and look at him. “On a totally different note, I am so very sorry about T.”

He looks at me, studying me, and then nods. “Thank you. We did get the plant.”

“I’m not sure if that was a real thank you or a British fuck you.”

“The accent throws a lot of people off.” He lifts one shoulder and looks down at his meal. When he glances up, he says, “You’re still wondering because I haven’t decided which I’d prefer it to be. I’ll let you know when I’ve made my decision.”

I lean forward. “Let me ask you something, Maddox. What did you think before you met her?”

“Come again?”

“About me. What did you think about me before you met her.”

“People change, Trucker,” he answers.

“Not their character.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Date from hell

Trucker

After leaving the restaurant, it was time for the second part of the date from hell. We went to see a musical.

When it started, I wanted to fucking leave. Honestly, I paid little attention to the damn show until I noticed Logan comforting his crying fiancée. What did it remind me of? Keeka and all the fucking times I pushed her, needing her to explain some shit to me. Or when I hurt her because I was fucking hurting. Or Keeka when she was … happy.

In a nutshell, Waitress, the musical, was about a chick who hated her life. Her husband was an abusive dick, she got knocked up, and cheated on the dick with her snatch doctor, and then she had a kid who seemed to be what made her life change.

It ended up that the woman was alone, yet happy as a dick in a warm apple pie, with possibly the cutest little shit of a kid smiling her little head off.

And what was the kid’s name? Lou.

While my dates used the bathroom. I waited and saw a little baby one-piece thing that said, Lulu’s Pies. I ended up buying the damn thing.

When we walked back to the hotel that night, London tried to snatch the bag out of my hand, so I had to shove it in my pocket so she wouldn’t see it. I had no idea what the fuck I was going to do with it, but it was none of her damn business.

In the elevator, I typed out at least ten texts to send to her, then ended up deleting them all. And London was trying to look over my shoulder every time I started typing one out. Pissed me off, and it hit me right then and there that, if I was this kid’s dad and demanded to be part of her life, I would have to deal with London, Maddox, Logan, and the rest of them for the rest of mine.

After a shower, I lay in bed, looking at the newsfeeds on Facebook of the Ross/Hines/Links crew. I see her smiling, beaming the way she used to look at me every time I walked into her apartment.

She’s found her football, I think as I look at her smile, ghosting her lips with my thumb.

Unlike the last time I Facebook stalked her like a fucking high schooler with a hard-on, I allow myself to look at the baby, Leddie Lou. My chest aches. No … my heart fucking hurts as I look at the blue-eyed, black-haired, caramel-skinned little beauty with her mother’s lips, and I wonder how the fuck I’m going to proceed.

Having decided I wasn’t going to stick around for the second part of the shittiest, longest date I have ever been on, I shower and get dressed.

While sitting on the bed, trying to find the quickest flight back to Syracuse, someone knocks on my door. I toss my phone on the bed and open it.

“Good morning.” Maddox nods. “I’d like you to come with me to see London before we bow out of day two.”

“Good. I was just booking a flight home.”

“Hmm …” he says, looking around. “Let’s go have a chat with them, shall we?”

I slide my feet into my boots then follow him to the elevator.

Minutes later, Maddox knocks on the door, and London opens it.

“Morning, Paris.” I smile, and she rolls her eyes as she steps back and allows us in.

Maddox gives her a hug and kisses the top of her head. “Where’s Logan?”

“He’s still in bed.”

I can’t help laughing.

She glares at me. “He’s tired.”

I smile and shake my head.

“Still a virgin, asshat.” She rolls her eyes at me, and Maddox chuckles.

The suite’s bedroom door is opened, and he walks out. “Everything okay?”

I can’t help myself. “You tell me?”

London slugs me in the arm. I rub the opposite one.

She points to me then Logan. “You two are a lot alike.”

“Grew up together, Paris,” I remind her.

“Well, one of you grew up. The other needs to.” She’s fucking quick.

“What’s going on?” Logan asks, still groggy from sleep.

“Keeka’s mom has a storage unit that … well, I found out about it and think it’s absurd she’s paying for it every month. I was going to ask you if you’d like to come, but I think Trucker and I can get it.”

“Me?” I gasp.

“Yes, you. Then I think you and I can ride home together.” Maddox gives me a quick fuck you grin.

“This is the worst fucking date I’ve ever been on.” I shake my head.

“I’ll buy you a drink on the way home.”

Maddox smirks then looks at London. “You sure you’ll be alright if I take off?”

She thumbs back at Logan. “He drove through a building to get to me. I think I’m in good hands.”

As Maddox and Paris chat, I walk over and whisper to Logan, “Bad ass move driving through that building.”

He smirks.

Then I ask, “But still no ass?”

He gives me the finger.

I pat his shoulder. “You need to work on your game.”

“Well, you need to work on—”

“I’m planning on it,” I interrupt him.

“ ’Bout damn time.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the fucking heads-up.”

He looks at me. “She made me promise, man, and she was hell-bent on not fucking up anyone’s life.”

“Still bullshit, Logan, and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, a lot has fucking happened and—” He shakes his head. “Every moment, right?”

“You okay?”

He looks at me and shrugs. “Gotta be.”

“You ready?” Maddox asks.

I give him two thumbs-up and a fake-ass smile. “Can’t wait.”

When we walk outside the hotel, I see a white Porsche Cayenne, and a man in front of it with a black jacket with a Porsche logo on it. He steps forward.

“Mr. Cohen?”

I look at Hines, who shrugs, then back at the Porsche guy. “Yeah?”

He opens the door. “It’s exactly what you asked for. Fully loaded and all. Just need a signature.”

Out of my peripheral, I see Hines chuckle silently.

Fucker.

I walk around the vehicle and look at it while Maddox fucking Hines stands smugly watching me.

“She’s a beauty, but I think you must have misunderstood.” I look at Maddox and continue, “I’m pretty sure I asked for the S, not the entry level version.”

“Oh. Oh, well, my mistake. I can be back in two hours with the right one.”

“We’ll take this for now. You don’t mind, do you?” I pull my wallet out of my pocket and hand him my black card.

He shakes his head, hands me the keys, and takes the card. “Of course not.”

“Also, I’d like it in cherry red. And when you order the tags, I want vanity plates. I’d like them to say MVP0102.”

“Of course, Mr. Cohen. It may take a little bit longer, but—”

“You have my number; just call me.”

I look at Hines, who is covering his mouth with both hands, hiding a smile, no doubt. “You ready?”

I get in the vehicle and rev the engine as he gets inside.

I look over at him. “Nicely played.”

He shrugs. “I do what I can.”

“Buckle up.” I hit the accelerator and peel out without giving him a chance.

Thirty minutes later, we pull up in front of Safe Store in Brooklyn, New York.

A man walks out to the gates and looks at the car as Hines gets out.

I toy with sending her a text, but then he walks back, opens the door, and gets in.

“Wrong place?” I ask, tossing my phone back on the console.

“No, he’s verifying.”

“Verifying?”

He nods.

“Explain?”

He turns and looks at me. “I gave him the key, and he said he needed to verify.”

“She know we’re here then?”

He shifts in his seat.

“Let me rephrase. How did you get the key?”

“It was in her apartment,” he answers.

“She know you were in there?”

“You know, you ask a lot of questions for a man who spoke so poorly of her just a few days ago.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but since I found out she was knocked up three days before Chaos, I’ve asked her if I was the baby’s father, and she says no every time.”

“You’ve spoken to her?”

Now I’m the one to look away.

“Let me rephrase. Have you spoken to her?”

“That wasn’t actually rephrasing.”

“Well, in case you didn’t notice, I’m not much for games.” He pulls his sunglasses off.

I pull mine off, too, and lean in. “Bullshit. I just bought a car.”

He looks away, smirking. Then he says, “Tell me how you found out.”

I look away. “JJ Jones. He came to visit me after the season ended. He told me. He also told me there was a possibility of four others being a baby daddy to Keeka’s kid.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so. And he thought she was only six of seven months along. That would put me out of the running.”

“Request a DNA test then. Don’t go around fucking with her heart.”

“Her heart? She broke mine!”

He cocks his head and looks at me. “I think you’ll soon see she was protecting you. I think you’ll see she was protecting herself. And I think you’ll also see that she will protect Leddie even more fiercely.”

“I’m not the fucking enemy, Hines.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ll soon become a very formidable ally. But first, you need to know what you’re up against.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Our pasts can be ignored, but they must first be faced. I don’t think either one of you have done that completely.”

“When did Brits start making fortune cookies?”

“What?”

“Nothing, man, nothing.”

“Have you faced your past?”

“Fuck yes, I have, and I worked to overcome it.”

“A woman’s heart is much more delicate. And her emotions? Fucking confusing.”

“No shit, right?” I sigh.

He smiles and nods. “But beautiful creatures aren’t easy to look away from. And true love? A million miles, a million years, won’t change what the heart wants. What does your heart want, Trucker?”

A rap on the window saves my ass from answering the question … or so I think.

He doesn’t look away. “Well, do you love her?”

A woman knocks again.

“Someone’s at the window.”

I start to open my door, but he stops me.

“Trucker?”

“One blunt object to a heart can destroy it. It can kill a man, Hines. But I sure as fuck did once.”

She hasn’t let me close enough to figure out if I still do. She keeps fucking hurting me, telling me no, lying to me. I don’t do lies. Fuck that.

I walk around the car and look at the older black woman. “Can we help you?”

She cocks her head and laughs a deep belly laugh. “You Trucker Cohen?”

That fucking laugh, that smile, they could knock a man off his feet.

“Sure am.”

“You the one here about the storage unit?”

I nod. “I suppose I am.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Keeka pays for something she doesn’t need to. We thought we’d save her some money while we were in town.”

“Keeka …?” she begins.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Maddox Hines.”

“Oh yes, you are. How do the two of you know my girl?”

“How the hell did I miss that?” I laugh. “You’re Shakeeka.”

“Are you confused, son? You just said you were here for me.” She laughs again.

“Keeka, Carmen’s daughter?”

She looks at me in confusion. “You mean Brooklyn?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Angels and family

Keeka

We’ve spent four days in Blue Valley. Two with London, and two without. Lucas played chauffeur and blessed us with a playlist that consisted of every rock song from the 80s until now with word angel in the title.

While there, I spent a few hours behind my grandmother Josie’s bar and met some of her regulars while she showed Leddie off like she was the most amazing creation on this earth, and she is. The bar is in the country, on a small lake, and was nothing like the one I worked at. But the people who came in and out of it were treated like family, which was similar. No, it wasn’t the same as a sports bar, so there wasn’t a lot of sports talk. It seemed as though their “football,” their passion, their sport, was fishing.

I met more cousins, uncles, and aunts. A family I never searched for but somehow found, or did they find me?

At the bar, I got an idea that it had been set up that way to meet more family, and when I asked Josie, she nodded.

“I’m as social as they come when I’m in my element. You’ve seen me with my people, our people, but put me in a crowd of strangers and I’m as uncomfortable as a size six shoe on a size nine foot. But when I’m back behind a bar, those people are coming to me. It makes it so much easier.”

I couldn’t agree more.

When I left the bar that evening, I realized how much I missed Lou, and the pseudo family I had at the bar. I hope to have a job still, even though it was Logan who had contacted him when I had Leddie.

I feel just as guilty about that as I do about having not told Shakeeka I have a baby. But every time I think to do so, something comes up. And honestly, I don’t want to tell her. I want to show her, and it’s the same with Lou and Reda, and even Gary and the other regulars.

Earlier today, before Lucas and Harper, Maddox’s wife, brought us home, he drove me around town, showing me where everyone lived that I didn’t already know, including Trucker.

The home was nothing like the others Lucas had shown me. And when I saw a little boy outside the home on the other side of the tree line, sitting in grass just as tall, crying, my heart broke for him and made me want so much more for Leddie than I ever had, than he ever had.

Inside the apartment, I smile at Lucas, who brings another load of baby gear inside.

He laughs. “They need so much.”

I smile. “They need so little.”

His eyes narrow a bit, and then he nods before grinning. “But baby gear is cool as fuck, Keeks. I love it.”

Harper walks in and nudges him with her hip. “Just think of all the money you’ll make at a garage sale because Pop-Pop buys everything ten children could need.” She leans toward me. “The truth is, he needs it. He’s a giant child.”

“Hey! I heard that, Harper Ann.” He pretends to act annoyed, but then starts laughing as he walks down the hall toward my room. “She asleep?”

“She is.” I nod, knowing her sleeping won’t stop him.

Harper sighs. “Pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”

I nod.

“You handle it better than I would. Being a new mom is so insane, overwhelming, emotional.”

“You all make it so much easier, and I appreciate it.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve made it super easy.”

“I came with something irresistible.”

“That’s true.”

“We’re out.” Lucas gives me a one-armed hug and a loud kiss on the head. “She still is, too. You’re welcome.”

Harper gives me a hug. “We’re a phone call away.”

“Thank you … for everything.”

I run back and check on Leddie. It’s habit, and one I am pretty sure I will never break. Then I grab the hand-held monitor, even though I have an app, and walk out as I look down at my sleeping angel. When I run into a wall, I look up immediately, hoping my senses are off and it’s actually Lucas.

It’s not.

“What are you—”

I stop when I hear Maddox say, “I’ll leave this right here. If either of you need anything, I’ll be around.”

“What? No—”

“We’ll be fine.” His hands are still on my hips, holding me in place, and I feel his eyes burning a hole into me.

When the door is shut, I step back.

I feel betrayed, sick to my stomach, afraid? And I am afraid of him.

“What are you doing here? Why would he leave you here with me?” I finally look up at him. “I want you to leave.”

He looks down at my hand, his face contorts, and then he closes his eyes.

I look down and see the monitor. I see Leddie, and all I can think of is keeping her safe. All I can think of is he’s going to take her away, and they are going to help him.

I turn toward the room and start to run.

“Brooklyn, stop.”

All the air in the room is gone. My body freezes, and I can’t will it to move. In seconds, I’m numb and feel like I’m going to pass out, and then I am off my feet, unable to yell at him, tell him to put me down.

He sits me on the couch then sits a foot away from me, holding up his hands. “I’m here to talk.”

I shake my head.

“Well then, I’m here to sit until you’re ready to talk.” He leans back, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks around the room. He acts as if he hasn’t a care in the world, whereas I’m sitting here with the weight of it on my chest.

I look at the monitor and realize I don’t get to be paralyzed with fear anymore. I don’t get to do anything but fight for her, for us. In order to fight, you have to know what you are up against.

“How?”

He turns and looks at me. Then he stands up, walks to the fridge, grabs two bottles of water, and walks back over, sitting on the cushioned coffee table facing me.

My natural instinct is to sink back into the leather couch, but I have to fight that, too.

“I set up this double-date shit so Logan had to face me. Turned out, London was our date. Also turned out, Maddox was a chaperone.”

I shake my head and ask again, “How?”

“Yesterday morning, Maddox decided he had a better idea than a couple’s massage. Said his sister”—he points at me—“was paying for a storage unit, and it was a waste of her money. So instead of a relaxing massage, I was going to do manual labor.”

I shake my head as I try to think of what would have been in there that would have given away my name, and then I realize … everything.

I look him in the eyes now.

“Hi.”

“Don’t,” I warn.

“Okay, fine.” He sighs and leans back, looking down at my chest. A smirk plays on those damn lips of his, and then he looks back up.

“Welcome back,” I snap, and he smiles as big as the sun.

“Just had to make sure that I wasn’t tainting the—”

“What do you want? Why do you act like this isn’t a big deal? Why—”

“It’s a fucking huge deal, Ray.”

Ray.

“So, as we’re waiting for verification to go into your storage unit—which, just so you know, I had nothing to do with. Your brother, Maddox, can’t be fucking trusted. He’s British.”

Why is he making jokes? This is not a joke. My life is falling apart.

“Asshole got your key from the apartment without so much as asking you.”

“What do you want from me!”

He leans in again. “To talk. That’s what we’re doing, right? We’re talking.”

I shake my head again.

“Okay, you’re right; I’m talking, but boy, do I have so much to tell you.”

“Just say it. Say it and go.”

“Verification came in the form of a beautiful smile and a kick-ass laugh from a woman named Shakeeka.”

Broken, my heart is broken.

I cover my face and begin to cry.

“You never told her about little Lulu.”

I wrap my arms around my knees and feel my body shaking.

“Ray,” he whispers softly. “She knows about me now. Hell, she knows about Maddox and Troy being your dad. But she doesn’t know about Lulu.”

I look up and expect him to be joking.

“She doesn’t, but you and I, we’re gonna make sure she does.”

You and I? You. And. I?

He winks, stands up, and walks toward the door. “She also knows you call yourself Keeka, which she thinks is endearing. I prefer Brooklyn myself.” He stops and looks back. “But I would give anything to see Ray again.” He turns back around and continues walking toward the door. When he stops, bends down then turns around, I see a box in his hands.

I shake my head, and he nods.

“This shit, this won’t be easy, but it is necessary.”

When he sets the box on the table and opens it, he pulls out a journal. It’s hers.

Fight or flight kicks in, and I stand up, toe to toe with him, and poke him in the chest. “I’m not her. I’m not crazy. I know who I am, where I came from, and what I ran from.” I poke him again. “I was given a name that became a slap in the face.”

He wraps his arms around me, and I try to push him away, but I can’t. He’s just too freaking strong.

I look up. “And as you now know, and so does Maddox, that name was a punishment to me from day one.” I start to shake. “Do you know how Emma, Brody, London—all of them—are going to feel when they know I was named after a bridge because she was? And when they know that she told me the Brooklyn Bridge was stronger than the London one because it never falls down?”

“Brooklyn,” he sighs.

“No, no, no, no!”

I start pushing him away, this time harder.

I get turned around, and then he pulls me down onto his lap.

“You’re gonna wake Lulu.”

“Her name is Leddy!”

“You need to chill the fuck out, little fighter, because I’m about to make this easier on you.”

Exhausted and realizing he holds all the fucking cards, I stop.

“Maddox knows about your name, okay? But he’s a smart guy. He knows you didn’t name yourself. And the whole bridge thing’s pretty fucked up, but no one knows that but you and now me.”

“But you’ll use it against me. You’ve already turned him against me.”

He moves out from under me and turns to look at me. “No. No, I won’t.”

“They—”

“That stays between you and me, regardless.” He leans back and rubs his hand over his chest. “Jesus Christ, she was fucked up, huh?”

“So is your mother,” I snap.

He sits forward and smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

“Why is that funny?”

“Look, I had a three-hour conversation with Shakeeka—”

I cover my face and start to cry again.

He pulls my hand back. “Maddox stayed for about an hour then took off. She asked me a couple of questions, and apparently, I answered correctly, because she and I talked for three hours. Three hours I got to hear a timeline of events in your life. The fact that you aren’t rocking in a corner, drooling on yourself, is straight-up fucking proof that you’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. I get why you used her name. You didn’t want the reminder, and I don’t blame you.”

He reaches forward and wipes the tears from under my eye with his thumb. “I also know you’re strong enough to deal with everything in that fucking box.”

I shake my head.

He wraps his hand around the side of my head. “You are, and if you fall apart like you just did a few minutes ago, I’m gonna hold you together.” He lets go of my face, pushes some hair behind my ear, sighs, and then leans forward.

He holds up the journal. “Shakeeka told me she caught you reading it one day and you were crying. She took it away.”

“I don’t remember that.” I wipe my face.

“Emotional narcolepsy.” He winks.

“What?”

“A joke. Shakeeka said you have a knack for not remembering certain things. All she said would be traumatic. That woman should have a PHD in psychology.

“Like these.” He pulls out a bunch of white sheets of papers folded into booklets. “All sad fucking stories. Most were burnt, but these two, I kept.”

“To use against me?”

“No, to under-fucking-stand you.” He turns and looks at me. “I could go through this box and let you relive all the shit you left. The fact that she told people you were a boy, Brooks—”

“What?” I gasp.

“Shit.” He rubs his hand over his head. “Yeah. Blue blanket or ribbon?”

“Ribbon,” I whisper, rubbing the ends of my hair.

“That was from Troy. She told him you were a boy. Shakeeka thought it was the equivalent to a noose. She said your mom would panic if it wasn’t in your hair, and you would panic if you misplaced it.”

He smiles. Why is he smiling at such horrible things?

He pulls out another booklet. “Kept this one, too. Leddie and Lou?” He leans over and hands it to me. “This, Brooklyn—”

“No.” I hate my name, even more so now that I have London.

He sets the book beside me. “You have never looked like a Keeka. How about Brook?”

I close my eyes and look down. “What else is in the box? I don’t wanna do this. I don’t.”

“Glad you asked.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. Then he pushes his long sleeves up.

Why is he excited? Why is he doing this?

“Shit, before I can keep going, I want you to know that I’m not asking if she’s mine. I know she is. Leddy Lou is my daughter. And before I continue”—he reaches inside the box, pulls out a white cloth, and tosses it at me—“your sister hates me. But part of the date was to go see Waitress, and that’s the moment I decided your attitude sucked and I didn’t care.”

“Excuse me?”

“Telling me I wasn’t her dad.”

“My attitude didn’t suck, Trucker Cohen. I was protecting your dream. And after she was born, I was protecting her and my heart.”

He grips the back of my neck, and then his lips cover mine. When I don’t reciprocate, he leans back.

“Kiss me, Ray.” He lightly rubs his lips across mine, ghost-kisses. “Kiss me.”

“I can’t.” I look down from his beautiful eyes.

“Why?” he asks as he lets out a breath, a sweet, intoxicating breath.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” I lean back farther.

“Oh, Ray, don’t you get it? Everything. Every-fucking-thing.” He leans back and closes his eyes, taking in deep, steady breaths.

I don’t even bother trying to catch mine. It was gone the minute I ran into him.

After a few moments, he shakes his head and cocks it to the side, eyes darting from my lips to my eyes.

“Look at the white thing, Ray.”

Still clutching it, I release it and open it on my lap. “A onesie.”

“Flip it over.” He sounds less confident.

I read it, “Lulu’s Pies.”

“The show, Waitress, hated being there, but this little girl, she was so fucking happy, and her mom left a shitbag husband—and I’m talking shitbag loser—and she found happiness, her and her kid.”

I continue looking at him, expecting more. Because, if he was expecting that to gain him a kiss, he was wrong.

When he laughs, I realize I am giving him a look that probably screams what the hell is wrong with you.

“Hell, I don’t know.” He laughs. “You’re happy, Ray. She’s your football. I’m happy. I have football still. Why can’t we be fucking happy together?”

“I was seventeen—”

“Who the fuck cares?”

“You seemed to.”

“You hid it.”

“I did so—”

“In order to get away from all this.” He waves his hand over the box.

“And I told you that way back—”

“I was in love with a girl for the first time in my damn life. Never wanted to be, scared the hell out of me. So my past fucked with me, too. I am forgiving you for every fucking thing. Now, dammit, Ray, do the same for me.”

He stands up and walks around. “Where’s the damn bathroom?”

“First door on the left.”

When I hear the door shut, I grab the box, put it on my lap, and dig inside. I pull out the booklets and open the first. the first page, I see what I think would be a childhood drawing of my mom. She’s with a man and smiling. The next page is her crying and a giant X over his face. The pages continue the same—Mom smiling with a man, and then an X over his face. I have no idea what that means.

I grab the next. It’s the booklet I made of Leddie on the beach. I turn the page and see a drawing of when he met Lou. The drawings were better, so I was older. I flip it over to the back, hoping for a date, but there is none.

I hear Trucker and consider throwing the box onto the table so he doesn’t see me going through it, so he doesn’t think I care, but when I see a ribbon inside, the kite string with Otto on it, I reach in, take it out, and smile.

I look up to see Trucker looking down at me. His face softens, and his lips turn up slightly on both sides.

“Guess I was always meant to come here,” I say as I look at it.

He sits down on the coffee table again. “Is there a story behind that you’d like to share?” he asks, holding the other end of it.

I shrug. “Just another day on the beach.”

He huffs, and I look up. His smile is a little more pronounced.

I turn toward him. “It was after we moved from Syracuse. I remember because this little guy reminded me of—”

“Lou?”

I nod. “My mom used to work for him, you know? He was always so nice.”

“Reminded you of a big, fat orange, huh?”

I smile and shake my head, then look up. “I’d prefer that stay between us, too.”

“You have my word.”

I look down at it.

He reaches out to touch me but pulls his hand back. “Tell me about that day.”

“Just some kid.” I smile. “He probably felt sorry for me, so he gave me a piece of his kite.”

He stands up and sits beside me. “You know, I went to the beach one time when I was ten, maybe eleven, when my mom and dad got back together, after he bought a double-wide, no doubt luring her back. Worked, since she stuck around longer that time.”

I reach over and squeeze his hand.

“Is that a sympathy touch, Ray?”

I jerk my hand away, and he laughs.

“Jerk.”

“But you get it, huh? I’m sitting here, thinking all sorts of horrible shit to take my mind of touching you. Because I just lived your hell for three hours and a five-hour car ride reading …” He laughs. “Well, trying to read that journal. And all I want to do is lick away every worry you’ve ever fucking had.” He leans forward and ghost-kisses me. “But you won’t even give me your damn lips.”

When I’m about to cave, he sits back and suppresses a smirk. “Now you’ll need to try and keep your hands to yourself for the next part of my beach story, okay?”

I hold my hands up. “I’ll try.”

He winks. “Imagine, ten years old, new house, parents together, on vacation, and you’re watching them and see that, even though everything seems perfect on the outside, something’s missing. At ten, you already know her eyes don’t have the same light in them.”

He crosses his arms and leans back into the sofa. “So, you grab this kite, and you’re going to fly it and not wait for him, because he’s wooing the fuck out of someone who just doesn’t have it in her to give it back, and you’re sick of seeing dead eyes and your dad failing at something he’s worked so fucking hard to get. Failure to launch, you know? He had a dream but can’t make it fly.”

I nod as I watch the storm of emotions in his eyes

“So, here I am, ten years old, putting this shit together.” He laughs. “Trying to read the directions because all the letters are moving around and popping out and shit, but I do it. I fucking succeed.

“I look to my parents to see approval of some sort, but I don’t get it. So, fuck it, nothing new. I launch that bitch, and I’m proud as fuck, and I’m still looking around to see who’s watching when something catches my eye. I see this cute, little shit chasing something in the air. She looks terrified. Her eyes tell a story. The story that, if I don’t catch this fucking blue ribbon …” He stops and looks at me, his lips curling, looking almost angry, but it’s emotions, all emotions. “You hearing me?”

I nod.

“This fucking gust of air catches my kite, and I look away from the girl, and she runs right into me, Ray. Knocks me on my ass. Terror screams in her eyes, but she doesn’t murmur a word.

“I jump up and realize my kite’s flying away, but there’s that ribbon, and fuck it. I jump and, for some fucking reason, I catch them both. You know what the reason is?”

I blink away the tears, swallow, and point to myself.

“I fall on my ass, Ray, on my ass, and hand that girl my kite instead of the ribbon. I loved that fucking kite, but I’m looking up into these eyes and the sun is all around her face, and I handed her the kite because, for some fucking reason, I knew she wanted it more than she wanted that damn, terrifying ribbon she chased. When she didn’t say shit, I thought maybe I was wrong and pretended I was confused. I wasn’t confused, Ray.”

My lips begin to quiver, and I shake my head, because I can’t form the words, no, you weren’t confused.

“I asked her if she was sure. She was eyeballing it, eyeballing me, and looking at that fucking ribbon. She kept looking behind her, and she looked scared, but not when she looked back at me.

“I yanked a piece of that tail off and gave it to her.” He takes the kite tail and holds it up. “Took a minute for her to take it, but—”

“She was too busy staring up at you, lost in a smile,” I manage to form words. “A genuine smile, even though you were trying to give her something you seemed to love.”

“She walked away and looked back, then at the kite tail. I told her his name was Otto. You know what she told me?”

I nod and sniff back tears. “Looks like a Lou to me.”

“Exactly.”

We stare at each other silently for a minute.

“You turned around, Ray, and tried to give it back. I said no. You looked at that ribbon and seemed to want to give it to me but held back. Why?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your smile. Burden you with it.”

“You said thank you, and I said, anytime and called you Lou.”

I lean forward and tell him, “I’m gonna kiss you.”

He leans away. “No, you’re not. You’re gonna give me every blue ribbon left lingering inside you and you’re gonna take the whole damn kite this time, Ray.”

He stands up, inhales a deep breath, and then groans. “I want that fucking kiss so bad right now.”

“It’s yours.” I stand up. “It’s yours.”

“More than that, I want your trust, and I want you to just say it. Say yes, she’s mine. I already know she is, but Ray, I’ll take your blue ribbons and hers. I swear to fuck I will.” He grabs the back of my head and pulls me into his chest. Then he kisses the top of my head. “You need to think about it. I’ll give you the whole fucking world, because I have it all, Ray. But it isn’t shit without you.”

When he turns, he picks up the box and walks away, and I watch him.

When he opens the door, I take a step.

Then he looks back and says, “You came here for me, Ray. For me. All this, them, I would have found them for you. I swear to fuck I would have.”

He shuts the door, and I whisper, “You did.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Found

Keeka

My feet are so high over the clouds that, when I look back, I can’t even see them. I’m almost touching the sun, and it’s so bright and beautiful.

In one hand, I have a kite, a big, orange kite, and cradled in my arm is my greatest treasure.

I laugh as I look down at her and swear she’s smiling. She has to be. But then she burps.

“Leddie Lou, someday … someday soon I will see it.”

She gets a little fussy, so I set down the pencil and stand up. “Come here.”

I hold her tightly against my belly and bounce. “Let it go, sweet girl, and you’ll be so much happier.”

We walk around and bounce a bit more. I sway, and I even sing one of Lucas’s angel songs. When she seems content, I sit down, and her little face puckers up.

“Maybe you’re just bored?”

I walk back and forth and look outside. It’s clear and unusually warm for February. Neither one of us seems to be able to sit still, so …

“How about a walk?”

She’s all bundled up, and so am I. I’m talking to her and telling her about her father. She’s kicking and cooing like she has some of her own things to say.

When I look up, I laugh. “And this is where it all began.” I look in the window and see Gary sitting at the bar. “You wanna meet some new faces?”

She coos.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I look up at the sun, and then back at her. “We have to make it quick; it’ll be dark soon.”

I push the door open and hold it with my butt as I pull the stroller inside.

“Well, look who we have here.” Gary beams, and I smile back at him.

“I thought it was time you all met my daughter.”

He walks over and points at her. “May I?”

I unbuckle her and carefully pick her up. “Just hold her head. She’s strong, but not that strong yet.”

“She’s beautiful, Keeka.”

When he leans down, she makes a face and her lip starts to quiver. I bet she can smell the alcohol.

Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I tell him, “She’s been a little cranky today, so maybe just hold her and—”

“Gotcha,” he says, walking around with her.

“Empty bar today?”

“Yeah, should pick up soon,” he says, still beaming down at her.

“Lou in the back?”

He looks up. “He is. You should go tell him you’re here.”

“You sure you’ll be okay with her for just a second?”

He laughs. “Kids like me.”

I walk back to Lou’s office, and then tiptoe in, wanting to either surprise him or scare him. I don’t see him in the office, so I push the door back to see if he’s in the closet, and it’s like a gust of wind blows it, making it slam shut.

I hear Leddie crying as I try to open it. It’s locked.

I begin to beat on it and yell for Gary, but I get no answer.

I yank on it again, but it won’t budge.

“Gary! I’m locked in Lou’s office! Gary!”

As panic strikes, I kick and beat on the door. No one else is here, just him and I.

Trucker, he always said something was off about him.

I kick the door. “Gary, please, please open the door!”

I reach for my bag and realize I left it under the stroller, in the basket.

I run to Lou’s desk and grab his phone. There is no dial tone.

I run and slam into the door over and over again. “Please, God, please!”

When I run into it again, I hear someone ask, “Who’s in there?”

“Lou?” I bang on the door. “LOU!”

The door is opened, and I fly past him. “Call the police! Leddie, he’s got Leddie!!”

“Who’s got … who?”

“Lou, please, please call the police. Gary, he-he was holding her. He locked me in the office.”

He looks shocked.

“LOU! He has my baby!”

I run behind the bar and quickly hang the phone up that Gary had purposely taken off the hook.

“He took it off the hook, Lou. I … Call 911!”

I run out the door, screaming for her, for him as I look for tracks. When I see them, I sprint, following them. Around the corner, I see the stroller and can breathe again. He left her. He got scared and left her. When I open the shade, though, it’s empty.

“NO!”

I hear sirens coming, getting closer, and then a squad car pulls up beside me. “Gary has my baby! Find my baby!”

“Ma’am, we’re gonna need you to calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm …” I turn and bend down to get the bag. I reach in, grab my phone, and turn it around, holding it up.

When I see two guns pointing at my head, I step back and fall into the stroller. “Lower the—”

“What in the hell is going on here?” Lou’s voice booms from behind them.

One of the officers turns and holds the gun on him. “Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to put your hands where I can see them.”

The other officer reaches up and calls for backup.

“You damn fools, I’m the one who called you!” Lou’s screams.

I stand up, and the officer doesn’t lower his gun. I point to the ground where my phone lays. “It’s my fucking phone! I was going to show you what to fucking look for! What the fuck—”

“Keeka!”

I look left and see Maddox running toward me.

“Sir, step back!”

Maddox holds his hands up. “My sister’s child has been taken, you fucking idiots! You have no idea the lawsuit this city is in for if you do not lower your fucking weapons and GET THE BLOODY GUN OUT OF HER FACE!”

The officer hits his walkie again. “We’re requesting further back up to Marshall Street.”

“Why not tell them you’re surrounded by a Brit, a Hispanic, the whitest white man on the planet, and a baby carriage, you fucking buffoons?”

Keeping my hands up, I squat down,

“Ma’am, stay where you are.”

“The man in the street is Maddox Hines. The man behind you is Lou …”

“McFalon!” Lou yells.

“McFalon, he owns the bar where I was locked in his office, and a man named Gary Mc—”

“Sloan!” Lou yells.

“My name is Brooklyn Ross Garcia Lopez, and my child is missing. She’s been abducted, and you are making a grave mistake. I would hope you don’t make another.” I grab my phone and run.

“Stop, ma’am, or—”

“The child’s father is Trucker Cohen!” I hear Maddox yell. “Lower your weapons, or hell will rain down upon you in droves.”

Pain surges up my leg, and I know I messed it up when I fell, but adrenaline transcends pain as I keep yelling and screaming Leddie’s name.

By half a block, my ankle gives out and I fall.

I hear a vehicle behind me and look up. Lucas jumps out of the SUV and scoops me up. “Come on, kiddo. Leddie needs an unbroken mom. Let’s get you to the ER.”

“No! No, I need to find her.”

“Love you, Keeks, but not gonna lie; if she wasn’t found already, I wouldn’t be driving around looking for a crazy Hispanic with a warrant on her head.”

“She’s—”

“Lou called Trucker. He called Maddox. Maddox found Gary’s address. She’s safe. She’s fine. She’s at the hospital.”

“What?”

“Precautionary.” He sets me in the truck and runs around the front.

“Ouch,” I hear Harper say and look up. “Compound fracture.”

“What?” I ask, totally confused.

“Means big fucking lawsuit.” Lucas laughs as he hits the accelerator. “Means we are gonna own ‘Cuse.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Meeting her

Trucker

When I kick his door down, the fucker isn’t even in the room, yet Lulu is lying on the couch. The fucking couch! She could have rolled off or some shit.

When a door slams, I look down the hall. Fucker’s hiding.

I can’t look at her. I know if I do, I’ll be fucking done.

“You stay right here. Daddy will be right back. He has an ass to kick.”

She kicks her feet. I look. I pick her up. Shit, there is no putting her down.

“Gonna say bad words. Probably going to kill a man. Then Lulu, you and I are gonna bond.”

Her hand goes in my mouth.

Fucked.

“Who’s here?” the little bitch yells.

“The big bad wolf, and I’m outta breath.”

I pull her fingers out of my mouth, because I sound like a fucking idiot.

She coos, kicks, and grabs my ear.

Double fucked.

“So I’m not gonna huff and puff, Gary. I’m just gonna kick the”—I cover her little ears—“fucking door in.”

“I have a gun!”

“Game changer, Lulu.” I walk over and set her in a corner. “If I get shot, you should run.”

Grabby little hands reach for me.

“You can’t run, huh?”

Why am I fucking around with this?

“ ’Cause you’re adorable. Mocha-Carmel-Daddy-Chino; that’s what you are.”

She looks like she’s got something to say, something big, but then I hear a shot.

“Guess he does have a gun.”

Her lip quivers.

“Hold that thought.”

I walk down the hall quickly, and just say fuck it.

I kick in the door and see a gun drop and slide across the floor.

He throws his hands up in the air. “I was gonna bring her back.”

I slam him against the wall three times, and he pisses his fucking pants.

“Please don’t kill me!”

“Shut the fuck up!” I slam him against the wall again, and he cries like a little bitch.

“It’s Carmen’s fault! It’s her fault! She took my kid away, but she came back to me!”

I slam him again, just for saying the bitch’s name, and again for talking about Ray, and again because he took my fucking kid. Then I let him fall to the floor before grabbing the leg with the least amount of piss stains on his pants and drag him down the hall.

I scoop up Lulu, and she grabs my face.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

Her eyes widen like she is waiting for me to finish, so I do.

“More than football.”

I kiss her little face, and she grabs a lip.

I look back at Gary. Fucker’s passed the fuck out.

“Okay, Lulu, we are gonna get him to the cops.”

I turn toward the door and see a bunch of kids with phone cameras pointed at me.

“It’s Trucker Cohen,” one of the little shits gasps.

“Bullshit, like you’d know him if you saw him,” I hear another say. “Let me through.”

“You kids mind stepping back? I have some shit to do,” I tell them, trying not to act irritated. Then I see the big mouth pushing through the others.

He looks up at me. “ ’Sup?”

“Robby.” I nod.

He crosses his arms over his puny, little chest. “Heard gunshots. You get shot?”

“Sure did.”

“Where?” he asks, looking me over.

“My chest,” I answer, stepping forward.

The rest of the kids part like the Red Sea.

He narrows his eyes. “There’s no blood.”

I keep walking. “Bounced right off me.”

“You serious?” he asks.

“Sure am.”

We are standing at the elevator, and my hands are full.

“You mind hitting the down button?”

“Suppose,” he sighs like it’s a big fucking task.

I get on the elevator, kid in one hand, Gary still passed out as I drag him onto it.

“He dead?” Robby asks as he walks on.

I shrug. “Not sure.”

“He piss his pants?”

I smirk. “Appears he did.”

When the other kids, still armed with their phones pointed at me, crowd into the elevator, I look at Lulu and think, you’ll never be that fucking clueless.

“You think the shirt stopped the bullet?” Robby asks.

I look down. “Not sure. I’ll have to send it to the lab.”

“He’s got a lab,” some of the kids whisper.

“No shit. Everybody knows that.” Robby rolls his eyes at them.

“One of you wanna hit the button?” I ask.

“Which floor?” Robby asks.

What the fuck?

“The first, Robby. Number one.”

He barks out, “Hit the one, assholes. He’s got shit to do.”

He looks back at me. “Your kid?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Kinda cute.” He shrugs.

“You stay the hell away from her,” I tell him.

Little fucker smirks. “We’ll see.”

“See this man on the ground, piss all over him, unconscious, maybe even dead?”

He nods.

“He touched my kid.”

When the doors open, I see police officers, news crews, and Maddox.

At the hospital ER, they are checking her over, while her finger is gripped like a vice around my finger.

I look at Maddox. “Anything yet?”

“Lucas and Harper have her. They’re on their way here.”

“She okay?”

He glances left then back to me and nods.

“Try again,” I say, still trying to remain calm.

“Harper said she may have broken her ankle.”

“But otherwise, she’s good?”

“Yeah, Trucker, she’s good.”

I hear Lucas say, “Keeks, your ankle’s fucked-up.”

“I need to see her!” She’s crying.

I look at the nurse. “She good?”

She smiles. “She’s perfect.”

I pick her up, wrap her in a blanket, and then walk out. “Ray, she’s good.”

“I thought her name was Keeks?” a police officer says.

“Will you fucking step back, you imbeciles. The woman is injured because of you.” Maddox points at them.

“What do you mean because of you?” I sneer.

“Trucker, I need to feed her.”

“Ray, you do realize you’ve got …?” My stomach turns. “Is that a …?”

“I’m fine,” she says as Lucas sets her on a stretcher and she reaches her hands out. “Please.” Her lip quivers. “I’m sorry, please.”

She thinks I’m going to take her away.

I walk over and sit next to her. “You have a bone sticking out of your leg.”

“Ankle,” a doctor says, then yells, “Get an OR ready.”

“I’m not having an operation. I’m going to feed my daughter.” She whips her shirt up and unhooks one cup of her bra. Fucking trap door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, standing up in front of her.

“What are you doing?” she retorts.

“Shielding your … your … definite D’s.”

“They hurt, Trucker.”

“Are you asking me to rub your tits right here?”

I hear Lucas snicker.

“No, I want Leddie.”

“I want her, too.” But your tits are staring at me.

“This is one of those things a man cannot do, Trucker.”

“I’m thinking I could definitely do some things with those.”

She grabs for Leddie, but I hesitate to let her go.

“It’s not my fault, Trucker. I would have never—”

“I know that,” I tell her as I step closer. Then I bend down and kiss her head. She moans.

“Ray,” I whisper. “Time and place.”

“What?”

I step back and look down. “Well, fuck.”

“This is not sexual,” she whispers.

“You moaned,” I defend.

“Oh, my God, because my boobs hurt like hell when they’re full.”

I don’t say shit; I just keep watching my Lulu chewing down on Ray’s D’s.

“There’s something wrong with you,” she whisper-hisses.

“Nah. That’s fucking beautiful,” I tell her. “Not sexual, Keeks.” I look over and see Lucas with his back to us. “Just amazing.”

“It’s boobs and a baby,” she huffs.

“Boobs and my baby. And the woman I fucking love with a bone sticking out of her leg, still sitting there, feeding our kid.”

Dead silence.

“What?”

No one says a thing, so I repeat, “What did I do now?”

“I’m pretty sure it was the ‘woman I love’ part.” Lucas chuckles. “I mean; did she know this?”

I look up at Ray’s stunned face. “She fucking better.”

“That’s not romantic, son.” Lucas chuckles again.

“You need romance or truth, Ray?”

“Just you.” She looks down. “And her.”

“And us,” Lucas adds.

Ray laughs. “Could you all give me a little bit of privacy?”

I shut the curtain and walk back in.

She looks up. “Will you give me my phone?”

I look around when an arm reaches through the curtain with her phone in it. She sighs, and I take it.

She scrolls through her messenger and glances up at me. “Do you mind?”

I put my hands up in the air and turn around. “Something you’re not telling me?”

“All set.”

I turn around. “You sure?”

She puts her nose up in the air and looks away, immediately on the defense, which is not my preference.

When my pocket vibrates, I see her name. I open it up, seeing that she sent me the moon. I look over my phone at her, and she looks at me.

“No turning back.”

“Never did.” She looks down at Lulu.

“I swear I’ll make it up to you in moments, Ray, lots and lots of moments.”

“Can we just agree that we walked a strange path to get to where we are?” She pulls Lulu away from her tit and cringes.

“Let me.” I pull up her shirt. “Just pop the trap door?”

“I could probably do that if you could help move her.”

“I’ll do both,” I say, eyes on tits. “Okay, that’s hot. Up until Lulu is sucking on them, it’s hot. Sorry, but I’m not fucking sorry.”

“Trucker?”

I look up as she arches her back and tries to lift Lulu.

“Come here, Lulu.”

“Leddie Lou,” she corrects.

“Cool, but I’m naming the next one.”

She looks surprised.

“Six-bedroom house to fill.” I shrug as I watch Lu—Leddie gobble her up. “I know it’s something we should probably discuss, but with games, we’ll be traveling a shit ton, and it’s nice to have a home near the stadium. We can get a place here, too. Maybe on the lake? Summer here?”

She laughs. “Where is this place?”

I smile. “Near a beach, where I met this girl. She had a blue ribbon.”

She smiles then looks a little pale.

“Ray, what’s up?”

“My back; I need to lean on something.”

I kick off my shoes, climb up behind her, hang my legs over the sides of the stretcher, and then ask, “This good?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, leaning back. When her head is against my chest, she looks up at me. “I love you, Trucker Cohen.”

I reach in my pocket and grab my phone. Then I respond to her text and send it.

Trucker

If I give you the world, will you take it?

I hold the phone up again and take a selfie of me and my girls.

She looks up at me. “You just texted me?”

“And took our first family portrait.”

I hold it up for her to see. When she doesn’t say shit, I look down at her.

“Ray, you okay? You look kind of … white.”

“Tired.”

“Lucas!” I yell when her eyes close, and he runs in. “You wanna take Leddie and get a nurse? She just passed out.”

“I’m fine,” She whispers. “Just tired.”

He nods to me and steps out.

When the nurse comes in, she asks if I could please move. I tell her no.

“Trucker,” Ray sighs.

“She could be going into shock. She needs pain meds and to get into surgery.”

“Then I’m going—”

“To take care of Leddie,” Ray interrupts me. “I’ll be back.”

When I slide out from under her, they start sticking her with shit. She whimpers a little, and I want to pick up the table and throw it at them.

Lucas grabs my shoulder and looks down in his arms. “I think you need her.”

I hold Leddie while keeping my eyes locked on Ray’s. I know the exact moment whatever they put in her hits.

She grins.

“Leddie Lou, your mom’s high as hell.”

“I’m not so much that.”

“What are you so much then?”

“I’m so much happier than.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“So much. So much.”

“So much,” I agree, and Lucas chuckles.

“Can I ask you a thing?”

“A question?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Anything, Ray.”

“Have you had a lot of sex since you got me knocked up or a little?”

What the fuck?

“Can I just not answer that question in front of our daughter?”

“She doesn’t know. She’s a baby, silly Billy.”

“How about I ask you that question?”

“In the second trimes … trimest …”

I really fucking should not have asked.

I look at Lucas, who is biting the fuck out of his cheek. I glare at him then look away, convinced I will handle it like a fucking adult.

“Trimester?”

“Yeah, the second one.”

“The second one what?”

“Lots of sexy times.”

“So, you let someone poke my kid in the head?”

She giggles and keeps on giggling. “Your fault.”

“How the fu—” I stop and take a deep breath. Then I exhale really slowly, and she giggles more. “How would that be my fault?”

“Football pants.” She grins. “So sexy.”

“Mmmhmm,” the middle-aged nurse checking her vitals agrees.

“Right?” Ray smacks at her and completely misses.

“Girl, you know it. My husband sits his tired-ass on the couch all day Saturday and Sunday, watching those games. My friends ask how I can even stand it. You know what I tell them?”

Ray’s eyes grow, and she smiles big. “What do ya tell them?”

“Football pants.” The nurse nods.

“I know. So sexy, right?”

The nurse smiles. “Still right, baby doll.”

“Right?”

The nurse pats her hand. “We’ll be back to get you soon.”

Lucas is dying laughing, and I’m slightly amused, but still, what the fuck?

“Lucas, football pants are so sexy.”

“I wear them to bed every night, Keeks. Tess loves ’em, too.”

“She thinks they’re so sexy?”

“She does.” He laughs.

Serious as shit, she says, “You should get her pregnant.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Second trimester, football pants, all the sex. All. Of. It.”

“All right, Ray, I think we’re good with the football pants shit.” I force a laugh.

“Your fault, hot pants.”

What the fuck?

“All. The. Sex.”

All. The. Anger.

“Who were you having all the sex with?”

“Bad idea, man,” Lucas whispers to me.

She holds her hands an inch from her face and studies them.

“That many?” I gasp, and Lucas laughs out loud.

She holds up two fingers.

“Oh. So, just two guys. I guess—”

“No.” She giggles.

“More?”

She holds the same two fingers up. I pretend to smile and nod.

“All the sex,” she whispers, “with these two fingers.”

“Holy shit!” Lucas laughs as he pushes the curtains aside and walks the fuck out.

I pull the little black stool on wheels over and sit down. Then I take the two fingers and kiss them. “These two?”

She smiles and nods.

“No guys?”

“You.”

“So, you were playing with yourself, thinking of me?”

She nods.

“In football pants?”

She nods again.

“So, that means, during the season, you’re gonna be like a little fucking nymph and begging for my cock?”

“All the sex,” she sighs and closes her eyes.

“Before you pass out, you gonna kiss me, Ray?”

“Uh-huh.”

I kiss her lips, and when she doesn’t press hers against mine, I open my eyes. She’s out.

The curtain is opened and the surgical team comes in.

“Mr. Cohen, this is a very short procedure, very routine. She’ll be out in no time.”

I nod then situate Leddie so her lips touch Ray’s head.

“Tell Mom you love her, good luck, and we’ll see her soon.”

CHAPTER FORTY

Healing

Keeka

A month ago, I woke up in a hospital bed, a bit confused. The room was full of family, and Trucker was by my side, holding Leddie.

As soon as I looked at him, I said, “I’m so sorry.”

He looked at me in confusion

“I should have listened to you about Gary.”

“We could do this all day, Ray. I could say I’m sorry about a million things, and you could say you were sorry about a few thousand, but I’m not sure that would get us anywhere, do you?”

Grandma Josie sat on the side of my bed and rubbed my cheek. “You know, sweet girl, they all made me promise I couldn’t call you Brooklyn.”

I looked at Trucker, but then she turned my head back to her.

“Legal matters. You had them all confused; had to be done.”

I looked toward Brody and Emma.

She smiled. “I can promise you that I think it’s kind of cute. Not the tragedy behind it, but that you and your sister, you can share your not-so-pretty pasts, both of you, or you can look at each other and smile, knowing part of you and she come from him, the best part of him. We all have pasts, Brooklyn.” Her smile grew. “We overcome them. You already did.”

“The best part would be the Ross part,” Grandma Josie winked. “Even says so in your legal name. Right there in the middle.”

“Damn straight.” Lucas laughed.

I looked back at Trucker, who winked.

“We know you need your sleep, and we know Trucker here doesn’t want to let go of her, but we can all manage.”

I looked at Trucker again. “You don’t have to stay.”

He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, looking into my eyes, saying not a word. None needed.

When they left, he slid in next to me, turned my head toward him, and ghost-kissed me. When his lips covered mine, I closed my eyes and fell deeper.

The next day, I am discharged. Trucker went to get the vehicle.

When the nurse pushes me out, I see him leaning against the most beautiful vehicle I have ever seen.

“Hey.” He lifts his chin. “You wanna take a road trip?”

I laugh as the nurse puts the crutches in front of me. “Take me away.”

“I intend on doing just that.”

When I see Lucas and Tessa pull up behind him, I stop.

Lucas gets out. “Pop the back. We’ll load you up.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking at Trucker, who just laughs.

He opens the passenger door, and I sit.

He takes the crutches and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s not—”

“It was a few days ago.” He leans in and kisses my head, inhaling a slow, deep breath. Then he steps back, winks as he starts to shut the door, and says, “Car’s yours.”

“What?” I laugh.

When the back door is opened, I spin around and see Tessa putting Leddie’s car seat into a base.

“She ate thirty minutes ago. She’s burped, bathed, and ready for an adventure.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” She smiles and shuts the door.

I push myself up onto my knees and lean over her seat. She reaches up and grabs my hair, kicking her feet and screeching as she tugs on my hair.

“She okay?”

I look up and see Trucker in the back.

“She’s fine.” I laugh. “Happy to see me.” I look down at her and kiss her nose. “And I am so happy to see you. I missed you so, Leddie Lou.”

“Well, good, ’cause we will, too.” Lucas pouts.

“It’s my time now,” Trucker says. Then they hug and step back. “See you soon.”

“Real soon.” Lucas pats his back then leans in. “You two are gonna be just fine.”

“Thanks?”

“Love you, kid.” He smiles. “You, too, Brook.”

I see Tessa and Trucker talking, and then she gives him a big hug. He points up to the sky, and she smiles.

When he gets in the vehicle, he leans over and kisses me. “Family adventure?”

“Where?”

“First, McDonald’s.”

“Sounds good.

As we wait in the drive-through line, I run my hand over the dash.

“You like it?”

“It’s a brand-new car.” I laugh.

“No, Ray, it’s a fucking Porsche, and it’s your brand-new vehicle.”

“Is not.” I shake my head.

“Is so.” He nods.

“It’s too much.”

“It’s the vehicle my girls will be in; it’ll never be too much.”

He tells me about what Maddox did, and I laugh at both Maddox’s part and Trucker’s.

When he speeds onto 690 West, I smile, recognizing the direction we are heading in.

“Blue Valley?”

“Just buzzing through.”

“Heading to …?”

He winks. “An adventure.”

As we drive, I eat two Big Macs, and we talk about Mom and what Gary said. Then he tells me that he and Lou chatted.

“He was shocked you’d come back here. I let him think it was him, even though we know better.” He reaches up and tugs on something attached to the rearview mirror, and when I see the kite tail, I smile.

“We do.”

“When your mom worked for Lou, she and Gary had a thing.”

I shake my head. “He’s so much younger than her.”

“He’s thirty-eight, Ray. Would have made him about my age then. Rumor is, he was sleeping with her and got pregnant. She was happy, he was happy, then she wasn’t. I guess she had an abortion.” He takes a deep breath. “She accused him of taking you. You were gone for three days. Cops were involved, Lou was looking for you, and then they found you at Gary’s. He told the cops she’d left you there. Because of some other issues, Lou believed him and fired her. Before CPS could get involved, you moved.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“Emotional narcolepsy.” He winks. “And I’m grateful for it.”

“I think I am, too.” I sigh, and he takes my hand.

“How’s the leg?”

“I’m drugged; it’s great.” I laugh.

“When it starts to hurt, lay the seat back and put your foot up.”

“On my dash?” I gasp. “Are you kidding?”

He laughs.

“What were you thinking getting this? I don’t have my license.”

“You don’t right now, but with everything out in the open, you have no damn excuse, Brook Ross.”

I shake my head. “I still like Ray.”

He kisses my hand. “I love Ray.”

When he turns up a familiar road, I don’t know whether to tell him I know he grew up here or to just let it go.

“You okay?”

I nod.

“You sure?”

“On one of our road trips, Lucas drove me past your place.”

“Good. So you know where we’re going.”

“We’re going to see your parents?”

He shrugs. “Still talk to Dad once every week or so. He’s still my dad.”

“Of course.”

He blows out another deep breath. “Reading Carmen’s journal got me thinking. It’s possible that … you know?”

“Your mom?”

He nods. “Just wanna give my old man some information. He can do with it what he wants.”

“I think that’s great, Trucker. I really do.”

“Yeah, and maybe one day when Leddie meets her, she’ll be, you know.” He laughs. “Medicated?”

“It’s a real issue, you know?” I rub his hand, and he nods. “More prevalent than many realize.”

“You ever worry, because we both have that shit in our genes, that maybe …” He stops. “Don’t even want to say it.”

“She’ll be fine either way.”

“I know she will. I just hope she doesn’t have to deal with it.”

“She won’t do it alone.” I laugh. “Didn’t you say you wanted more?”

He looks at me and nods. “Fuck yes, I do. I missed out on …”

“I’m sorry, Trucker. I truly am.”

He shakes his head. “No, Ray, you did it for me, not to hurt me.”

“Because I loved our moments, and I didn’t want them … tainted.”

“I said some horrible shit, Ray, some horrible fucking shit.”

“You were hurting; we weren’t together to deal with it.”

“We are now, and I will never act like a dick to you again.”

I laugh. “Perfection isn’t possible.”

He laughs. “Have you looked at me lately? Have you looked in the mirror? Have you checked out our kid, Ray? It’s fucking possible.”

When we pull into the driveway, I open the door to get out.

“You can stay put, Ray. No need for …” He stops when I get out and shut the door.

“You wanna grab Leddie so she can meet her grandparents? I would, but I have this cast and the crutches.” I look around. “Where are they again?”

He pops the trunk and grabs them. “Here you go. Just … seriously, the steps, they could fall through. The house is—”

I place my fingers over his lips. “I love you.”

He nods. “All right, let’s do this shit.”

He takes Leddie out of the carrier and laughs. “Leddie babe, when I said let’s do this shit, I didn’t mean it literally.”

“Tell Daddy to grab the diaper bag. He’s about to learn how to change a diaper.”

“Ray, I really don’t need to learn all that. We could divide tasks up; do what we’re each good at. Like I can eat your pussy, and you can change shitty—”

“Trucker, be quiet.” I look around.

When I start up the stairs, I take my time and am careful. It’s easier to use one crutch than two, so I leave one at the bottom.

When the door opens, I look up at a Trucker with brown eyes, twenty years from now.

“Wow.” I smile. “I mean, hi. I’m—”

“Hey, Dad, this is my girl, Brooklyn Ross-Fields, and a few other names in-between. I call her Ray.”

“I like Ray, Mr. Cohen.”

He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Leddie.

“Mr. Cohen, this is Leddie Lou. Trucker just found out she was his. It was my fault—”

“Bullshit, it was mine.” Trucker laughs. “You gonna ask us in?”

“Um, I’m—”

“She here?”

He nods. “Just got here a couple of days ago,” he says quietly.

“I’d like to meet her.” I smile, and he looks at me oddly. “I love your son, Mr. Cohen; she’s part of him.”

It takes him a few seconds to step back.

I look around. The place is spotless. I see a huge TV on the wall that doesn’t match the rest of the furniture.

“See you got the TV put up,” Trucker says.

“CeCe wanted to watch you play.” His father nods. “Thought it should be on the TV you gave us.”

I look up when I see blue eyes and dark hair in the hallway. Both of them just look at her.

She looks down like she might turn around.

“Hi, CeCe?”

She looks up at me.

“I’m Trucker’s … friend.”

“Girlfriend,” he corrects me.

“That, too.” I laugh, and she looks up more. “This is Leddie Lou, and she’s Trucker’s and my daughter. She’d love to say hi.”

Trucker sighs. “She can’t talk yet.”

“She can chat … in her own way.” I point to the couch. “Can we sit?”

“Sure.” Cece nods.

I hop over and sit down, leaning my crutch against the couch before holding my hands out. “Gimme.”

As Trucker walks over, I pat the spot next to me. “Sit with me?”

She looks at Trucker, and he shrugs, then hands me Leddie.

“Hey, sweet girl. I think your daddy wanted to talk to your grandpa so me, you, and your grandma can chat.”

I see Cece look at Trucker as if seeking permission, and he looks at his dad.

“Take a walk?”

He nods, and then they both walk out the door.

I pat the spot next to me again and smile. “Come sit?”

She nods and comes over to sit.

I hand her Leddie, and she takes her. She stares down at her, and Leddie starts cooing.

“She likes you already.”

In the vehicle, Trucker is quiet. I give him a few minutes before asking him how it went.

He shrugs.

“Well, your mother and Leddie hit it off.”

He sighs and looks over, rolling his eyes, so I nudge him with my elbow.

He reaches over, takes my hand, and kisses it.

“I think you’re right about her eyes. Not as black as my mom’s, but she gets dark. When it’s quiet for too long, she seems to get anxious.”

He nods.

“Trucker?”

“Ray?”

“I think your dad has some depression issues, too. I think she—”

“She made him that way, Ray? I mean, fuck, how much can a man take?”

“That’s a great question. How much would you take?”

He looks over at me. He’s not happy. Then he looks away.

After stopping to feed Leddie, I’m tired, and he’s still quiet.

I lay the seat back and put my foot up on the dash.

“You hurting?”

I nod. “It’ll be fine.”

He starts the vehicle and begins to shift into drive, but then he stops.

I look over at him.

“You asked how much I would take.”

I nod once.

He looks away and shifts. “I would break my own heart to make sure yours was whole.”

“Isn’t that what he’s doing?”

He nods. “Yeah, Ray, and that scares the hell out of me.”

“Then maybe he is depressed?”

He looks over and sighs. “This fucking conversation is depressing.”

I reach over and grab his hand, holding it to my lips. “My heart’s whole.”

“It always will be.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

New Season

Trucker

Before she fell asleep, she was restless. I gave her a pill, which she was hesitant to take. However, I reassured her it was safe and that Leddie wouldn’t be affected by it.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, she was locked in a fucking office after a sociopath took our child. I met our child for the first time in the most fucked-up situation, but thankfully, she will never remember it, just like her mother will never remember what the same man did to her.

Had you asked me mid-season if I thought Ray and I would ever be together again, my head would have said no way, yet my heart would have sung yes.

Had you asked me, when I was so fucking hurt that Logan knew she was pregnant, that she never reached out to me, if we would ever be together again, I would have said fuck no, and my mind would have slammed the door to my heart shut.

JJ was the reason I reached out. In my pain, in my grief, in my anger, I fucking needed her. Hell no did I go about it the right way. For two weeks, I was a grade-A douchebag, and it was all because I was hurt.

When I saw her at the Dome, there was no way in hell I could walk away. The need was stronger than wanting her the first time. And at that point, I didn’t know for sure if Leddie was mine. She kept telling me no when I asked, and it was my uncertainty that kept her away.

My beautiful Ray wasn’t going to ruin my dreams, and she wasn’t going to allow me and my anger, grief, and pain come into that beautiful child’s, the one we created together, life until I knew.

The day of the benefit, when I was on stage, I let go, and she messaged me. Still believing that my life would always be shit, I told her fuck you.

In the vehicle with Logan, I saw how angry he was at me, and honestly, it’s not nearly as angry as I was at myself, but I didn’t realize it until then.

Then, that fucking musical, the car, and all that we found out, that’s when it hit me. I lucked out that it only took a couple days, because when I told her that I would break my own heart to make sure hers was whole, I said it because she had done just that. She had let me go, she had let me live my dream, and all she has ever wanted were moments.

I would give them to her from now until the day I die.

No, I didn’t have to fight that hard. I didn’t even scratch the surface of what I was willing to do for her. That was the second greatest gift she has ever given me.

Sitting at the end of the driveway of our home, I watch her sleep with Leddie on my lap. She’s tugging at my face and whispering sweet, little sounds to me.

“I’m listening, Leddie. I’m always gonna listen.”

When I look over, I see Ray smiling at me.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Is this part two of our adventure?” she asks as she stretches a bit and sits up.

“It’s a moment, Ray.”

She smiles. She looks so damn happy.

“You know how fucking beautiful you are?”

“You know how beautiful you make me feel?”

I’m leaning over to kiss her when I get a hand to the face.

I scowl at Leddie. “Cockblocker.”

“Trucker!” Ray laughs.

Leddie shoves a finger in my nose.

“Yeah, I know. Someone’s getting hungry, huh?”

“Give me her.” She shakes her head at me and takes our daughter. “Daddy is naughty.”

“Mommy used to love it when Daddy was naughty.”

She smiles as she lays her on her lap, lifts her shirt, opens the trap door, and …

“Sweet Jesus, Ray.”

She looks at me from out of the corner of her eyes as she rubs her nipple across our daughter’s mouth.

“And now that fantasy is gone. Cockblocker,” I joke.

“Not so beautiful today, huh?”

I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Absolutely beautiful. Just not in a football pants, second trimester, two fingers deep kind of way.”

“What?” She seems shocked.

“Oh, Ray.” I laugh. “Someday, I’ll tell you a story.”

I reach up and turn on the ignition.

She puts her hand over mine on the shifter. “She’s not in her seat, Trucker.”

“Relax, Ray. I wanna show you something.”

I start up the driveway, and she leans forward, taking it all in. When we crest the hill, she looks out over the property. I stop the car and let her look at it all.

“Should we buy this place?” I ask.

She laughs like it’s a joke. “Yeah, let’s.”

I push on the gas and pull up in front of the house. Then I reach over her and grab the garage door opener out of the glove box and hand it to her. “Hit that button, Ray.”

Still looking around in awe, she hits it, and when the garage door opens, she laughs nervously and looks at me.

“Welcome home, girls.”

She shakes her head as I pull into the garage. Then she looks at me and grins. Then she laughs. And then … then she leans toward the windshield and looks at the wall.

“That’s … That’s …”

“All the pictures you drew of me. My greatest season to date.”

She points at the one, my favorite one, that she drew of me. “You sold that. At the bar that night. You sold—”

I shake my head. “Couldn’t sell it. I like the way I look through your eyes.”

I get her hopping around the place while Leddie and I carry in all the baby shit Lucas packed up.

“There is no way in hell you need all this.” I laugh as I carry the last piece of portable baby gear out of the vehicle.

When I walk in, I look around for her. “Ray, where you hiding?”

“In the kitchen!” she yells. “Have you seen this place?”

I nod and enjoy her moment.

“I’m going to cook up a storm in here!”

“You should see the outside kitchen.”

“Show me! Show me now!” She laughs as she uses her crutches to follow behind me.

“Is that a pool?”

Before I can answer, she asks, “And a hot tub? And the water?”

“Yeah, Ray, it’s all that, and that water is close to our beach.”

“Can we go there?”

“You do see the snow, right?”

She palms her face and laughs. “Yeah.”

“Plenty of time when you’re all healed up to explore everything, Ray.

“I wanna show you something,” I say, walking back to the kitchen and through the corridor. “This is shut because it gets a bit chilly, but I think you’ll like it.” I open a door then watch her face when she sees the sunroom.

“It’s … It’s stunning.”

“I thought it would be a hell of a lot better to draw in here than on a ledge somewhere.”

“Yeah.” She grins as she hobbles around. “And you can see the ocean, and the river, and …” She turns around. “Is this real?”

“Yeah, it’s real. It’s the product of the best season of my life so far. It’s because of you, Ray.”

She shakes her head and tears fill her eyes.

“Yeah, it is.” I walk over and hug her. “Without you believing in me, I wouldn’t have shit.”

“You would have.”

“No, Ray, I wouldn’t.”

“You know you’re not in the city when people leave their doors wide open!”

Her jaw drops. “Is that …?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “I think it’s time she meets her girl’s, girl.”

She grabs my face and the crutches drop. She grips my hair with her fingers and fucking kisses me like she did before.

“Fuck yes.”

I don’t regret inviting Shakeeka here one bit, but she will not put Leddie down. She is loving on her something fierce, and if not for the fact that Ray is beaming as she watches her with our daughter, it may be a little hard to deal with.

When I’m making dinner, they spend an hour in the sunroom. I make a mental note to get heat installed in there so she can soak up all the rays, all the time.

Vitamin D, baby.

When they come out, I look over my shoulder. “Have you picked out Leddie’s room yet?”

“No.” Ray laughs.

“Why don’t you do that? After dinner, I’ll put her things in it.”

“Where’s our room?” she asks.

“Up the stairs, last door to the left.”

My phone rings, and I look around for it.

Ray grabs it off the counter.

“Who is it?”

She looks at the screen. “Johnny?”

Shit, I ignored his calls for three days.

I look for a towel. “Can you hit accept and put it on speaker?”

“What the fuck is going on, Cohen?” comes his voice. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of your ass for two days. Fucking Twitter is—”

“Johnny,” I try to interrupt, but he doesn’t shut up.

“You’re all the fuck over the place, which is really good for sponsorships, but not when you’re out playing goddamn superhero to a kid and not answering your agent’s call!”

“Things have been—”

“Who’s the hot piece of ass in the picture with the kid?”

“You listen to me, mother—”

“For fuck’s sake. Well-played, man. I hope you’re tapping that for real. If not, feel free to share her info. I’d like to—”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Ray covers her mouth to hide a laugh.

I point to her. “This isn’t funny.”

“Never said it was. It’s fucking genius,” Johnny says.

“Johnny, you got a pen?”

“Yeah, man. Why? What’s up?”

“Take a fucking note.”

“Let’s have it.”

“You’re fucking fired.”

“What?” He laughs.

“Ray, hang up the—”

“I’m heading up your driveway with a fat contract and a bottle of champagne, man. It’s pay day, Cohen.”

And … he hangs up.

“I’m gonna kill him.” I storm toward the door, but she steps in front of me, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me.

She starts shaking, and I don’t know if she’s crying or laughing.

“Show me that face, Ray,” I demand.

She holds me tighter and shakes more.

“If you’re crying, I’m sorry. I’m gonna kill him. But if you’re laughing, I’m gonna spank that ass.”

“Who’s ready to celebrate!” Johnny yells, slamming the door.

“Remind me to change the fucking code,” I sneer.

She holds on tighter as Johnny’s laughter nears.

“We should have a house full of ass and—” He stops and looks at her all wrapped around me, and then up at me. He scratches his head and starts to open his mouth.

I point a finger at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

He raises his hands, one with a bottle of Dom and the other with an envelope, in the air.

“Do I fucking look like a showboat to you?”

“Tricky question, Cohen. Not sure how you want me to answer.”

Ray laughs, and I look down.

“That’s one,” I warn.

She looks up and smiles. “I love you.”

“I know you do.” I kiss her nose then look at Johnny.

“I’m not a showboat. I don’t do bullshit to try to get attention. On the field, I play a game. And, yeah, I may seem a little over the top at times, but that’s because I am that good. The kid, her name is Leddie Lou. She’s mine. The hot piece of ass,” I snarl, “is her mother and my fucking girl, so you disrespect her ever again, I will fucking fire you.”

Ray smiles. “That was nice of you to give him another chance.”

“I’m in a good fucking mood today,” I tell her, and she starts to laugh.

“In his defense—”

“Don’t you dare, Ray,” I scold her.

“In his defense, I’m sure you didn’t tell him about your college girlfriend, and you didn’t even know about Leddie until a couple of weeks ago, so …” She shrugs.

“So what?” I narrow my eyes at her, which she grins at.

“So, be nice, Trucker Cohen, because this is going to be your best season yet.”

“Oh, I like her.” Johnny smiles, and I glare at him. “I mean, I respect her.”

“That’s fucking right you do.”

“And I am in love with your man.” Shakeeka laughs. “I’m sorry, Brooklyn, but damn, he is—”

“Mine.” She looks up and pouts out her lips.

EPILOGUE

Ten months later…

She’s on all fours, her round ass in the air.

I bend down and give it a bite

“Mmm …” She shakes it at me.

“Someday, Ray”—I rub my cock up and down her slick folds—“I’m gonna take this ass.”

“Someday, Trucker Cohan, when I see a Super Bowl ring on your finger, I’m going to give you this ass.”

I grip her black hair and pull her head back while slamming into her.

“Fuck!” she cries out, and I feel her hot, wet pussy clench around my cock.

“You better not come yet, Ray.” I pull out fully.

She looks over her shoulder, licks her lips, and pushes her ass back against me. “Give it to me.”

“Give it to me, what?”

“Please?” She smirks and wags her dark eyebrows. “Your highness.”

I slam into her again and hiss when her pussy quivers and she groans.

“Not yet, Ray.” I pull almost all the way out, and then she slams that ass against me and proceeds to fuck the ever-loving shit out of me.

“Fuck, Ray. Oh, fuck.” I let go of her hair, grip her hip with one hand, lean forward, and wrap my other hand around her sexy neck. I pull her back against my chest and give it right back to her.

“Yes, yes, yes …”

“Don’t you come yet,” I hiss as I keep fucking her pussy like it’s mine, because it fucking is.

“I have to …” she pants. “I’m going to …” she cries. “Yes, yes, yes!”

I still. “Say please, baby.”

“Please,” she damn near begs.

I push her forward, and she grips the bench. I fuck her hard, fast, and deeply, just like she likes it.

Her pussy quivers, and I feel liquid heat surrounding my cock as she comes all the fuck over me.

“Mouth or pussy, Ray?” I ask from between my teeth.

“Trucker!” she cries as she seems to be experiencing an aftershock.

“Mouth or pussy?” I growl, gripping her sexy-ass hips harder.

“Mouth!” she cries out.

“You better hurry up.” I pull out, and she turns around, straddling the bench. She opens her mouth, and I come inside it.

I look down at her tits—Ds—and her swollen belly—baby number two—and my come on her lips. Then I reach down and wipe it up before offering her my thumb. She takes it.

“You good?” I ask.

She sighs contently. “Fucking football pants and the second trimester.”

“You think it’d be alright if I get back on the field?” I ask.

She nods.

“Ray, that means you gotta get dressed.”

“I know.” She pouts as I throw a shirt on over her head then pushes her arms in lazily.

“Ray, it’s half-time.”

She smiles as she pushes her feet into the leggings I’m holding for her. “It sure is.”

“It’s also the fucking Super Bowl, Ray. A little more effort would be cool.”

I kiss her lips then step back. “You’re getting a ring tonight.”

“I better.” She walks past me, and I smack her ass.

“I’m getting that.”

She laughs as she walks out of the locker room. “Sorry, Coach, false alarm.”

Standing in the end zone with the ball in my hand, I look up and thank the man above. Then I look at her, my girl, and see her jumping up and down, tears running down her face, hands in the air, giving me nothing but sunshine.

I hold up four fingers and point them to her. She throws me kisses and smiles even brighter … and then my ass gets tackled to the ground.

The stadium erupts in confetti, reds and blues and whites, yet I still see her smiling

Standing next to my coach, who’s accepting the Super Bowl trophy, I’m beaming with pride for my team and for my family and remembering every moment it took to get to this very place.

When I’m announced MVP and am standing at the microphone, I feel my eyes mist over.

“Ray? I got your ring!”

I see her clapping from the sidelines.

I shake my head. “I need you here.”

I see my dad smiling, my mom smiling, and Ray’s entire fucking family smiling. I see Logan holding my Leddie, and London pushing Ray toward me.

“You guys wanna make room for my girl?”

She stands at the bottom of the stage, smiling at me.

“Ray, when all my dreams come true, it’s you I want next to me. Get up here.” I laugh and she walks up to me.

“I got your ring, baby.”

“I know. It’s beautiful.” She takes my hand and kisses my finger.

I look behind me and see Johnny. I hold out my hand, and he hands me the velvet box.

I look back at her, and she cocks her head to the side. And yeah, I don’t care if millions of people are watching, I scratch behind her ear. She closes her eyes, throws her head back, and laughs.

When she opens them, she looks down at me on one knee and covers her mouth.

“My moment of triumph wasn’t a Super Bowl ring; it was a moment of clarity. That moment was when I met you. Every event contradicting it was a denial of the truth. The truth is, I always was and always will be in love with you.”

I open the box and hold up the ring. “Marry me, Ray, and give me every moment of the rest of my life.”

She nods and grins. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

I stand up and push the ring onto her finger. Then I wrap my arms around her, lift her up, and kiss her the way she deserves to be kissed.

~The End~

WHAT’S NEXT IN THE FIRSTS SERIES?

Mitch and Jamie’s story (2019)

Fletcher and Lisa’s story (2019)

Please sign up for MJ’s newsletter to get more details

INFORMATION FOR DYSLEXIA AWARENESS & ADULT LITERACY

Reading opens doors to, evoke thought, allow us an escape, give us a deeper understanding of the world around us, and learn so much more about anything we wish.

There are many people, like our hero and heroine in this story, who struggle with reading.

Below are some great resources to help assist those who struggle with the written word.

I’m blessed to have a great friend, who also has a masters degree in literacy, and a huge love for helping those around her.

Much love,

MJ

Information for Dyslexia awareness & adult literacy:

https://dyslexiaida.org/

The website for the International Dyslexia association. This website showcases resources to utilize, many articles pertaining to dyslexia, as well as general information on dyslexia.

https://www.davismethod.org/about-davis/

This website is based around Dr. Ronald D. Davisâ€™ â€œmethodâ€ of brain re-training (mentioned in the book, as it helped Trucker learn how to read), and his thoughts behind how the dyslexic mind works. Â Practictioners of the â€œDavis Methodâ€, more information, and his book (The Gift Of Dyslexia), Â are all available on this website.

https://www.ortonacademy.org/resources/what-is-the-orton-gillingham-approach/

This website is dedicated to an approach to teaching phonics/phonetics in ALL struggling readers, but has been found to be systematic, sequential, and very beneficial to students who struggle with reversals and decoding abilities. Orton-Gillingham is an approach that is utilized in many school districts around the country, but there are also many practitioners who do private tutoring that are O-G certified, and this website will point you in the direction to find one in your area.

https://www.scilearn.com/products/fast-forword

This computer based program, is meant to take readers who struggle, and take them through a language and learning journey to help minimize future difficulties in reading. Again, many schools use this as an intervention tool, as it can move students quickly from struggling to mastery when it comes to their reading, but anyone can sign their child/themselves up for a subscription.

https://ldaamerica.org/adult-literacy-reading-programs/

This website, from the Learning Disibilities Association of America, has lists of resources to locate tutors, and local chapters to lead adult learners to literacy.

ALSO BY MJ FIELDS

The Steel Series (world)

The Men of Steel Series

Forever Steel

Jase

Cyrus

Zandor

Xavier

Raising Steel

The Ties of Steel Series

Abe

Dominic

Eroe

Sabato

The Rockers of Steel Series

Memphis Black

Finn Beckett

River James

Billy Jeffers

The Match duet

Match This!

ImPerfectly Matched!

The Steel Country Series

Hammered

Destroyed

Wasted

Tied In Steel

Terzetto

Valentina

Paige

Gia (Coming Soon)

LRAH Legacy Series (world)

These families’ stories are intertwined starting with The Love series, they move to the Wrapped Series, the Burning Souls series, Love You Anyways, 27 Truths, 27 Lies, Her First Kiss, His First Crush, and Their First Fall.

Many more series will spin off from these supporting characters already mentioned and each will be a standalone series but for those of us who love a story to continue I recommend reading in this order.

The Love Series

(Lucas Links story)

(Must Be Read In This Order)

Blue Love

New Love

Sad Love

True Love

The Wrapped Series

(Brody Hines story)

Wrapped In Silk

Wrapped In Armor

Wrapped In Always and Forever

Burning Souls Series

(Maddox Hines story)

Stained

Forged

Merged

LRAH Legacy Additions

Love You Anyway

Love Notes

The Truth About Love Series

(Ava Links story)

27 Truths

27 Lies

Firsts Series

(London Fields story)

Her First Kiss

His First Crush

Their First Fall

Standalone Series

The Norfolk Series

Irons

Shadows

The Caldwell Brothers Series

(co-written w/ Chelsea Camaron)

Hendrix

Morrison

Jagger

Visibly Broken

Use Me

Standalones

Offensive Rebound

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields write books that scorch pages and melt hearts. Her style is raw, gritty and authentic. Love an alpha and a strong heroine? She does too.

Join MJ’s mailing list: http://bit.ly/MJFNews

Visit her website: www.mjfieldsbooks.com

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Follow her on Twitter: @mjfieldsbooks

Follow her on Instagram: @mjfieldsbooks

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Join her readers group: Ladies of Love and Steel

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To the readers of this book,

Because of you, my past is my past, my present is beautiful and my future is brighter. Without you this unrealized dream would never be.

You are my blessings. Thank you so much for reading my words, my stories, sending messages, emails, being part of my group, commenting on posts, leaving reviews...basically thank you for anything and everything you do for the love of my words.

To the bloggers involved in this release,

Some of you have been with me forever, some are new, but all of you are gold to me.

To Colin and Breanna

Your love is clearly a blessing from above. Thank you for sharing it with us for the cover.

To Golden

Thank you so much for this amazing cover picture. Your work, amazing as always. Question… did you lose my application? Still waiting on the call for the assistant job.

To Kris

You are one of the most amazing women I know. You are invaluable to me and I hope that these words are felt and not just read… even without out you tweaking. Edits are a favorite part of the writing process for me, because of you. Your input, your advice, your messages, your encouragement, your love for the characters, your dedication and ability to deal with me… priceless.

To Asli

You are a life saver! Every last minute ‘911’ cal is answered with sunshine. You are such an amazing human being and someone I hope to meet someday. Thank you!

To Jules

The first thing a person sees s your work. As always this cover is as beautiful as you are. You are a valuable part of this ‘team’ and an amazing human. Love you more.

To Elle

I am so glad to have you back. Your smile, your passion, your encouragement, your hard work… I missed your face!!! You keep the hometown side working so much more smoothly and are always here to give me words to lift me up when I’m feeling down.

To my reader group

You’re my people! You’re where I go when I need to feel like I’m home in the book world. Thank you for loving the characters your love pushes me to continue writing.

To my ARC crew

I love your passion and support for every book I put out. So many of you have become such close friends, may we be together forever.

To Autumn

A million thank yous for taking me on and handling everything. This is the first of many releases I hope to share with you. (Meant to be)

To my girls

Bobbie, Jamie, Paige, Ivy, Laurie, Renee, Christa, KA, everyday warm hugs, hilariousness and support. I love you all… hard.

To Ally

Watching you shine is amazing. Watching you work hard to get where you’re going inspiring.

Never forget to love yourself...more. I will always, love you more.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Their First Fall

Copyright

Warning

Disclaimer

Play List

To the reader

Dedication

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Part II

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

What’s next in the Firsts series?

Information for Dyslexia awareness & adult literacy

Also By MJ Fields

About the Author

Acknowledgments