Kingdom quarterback, p.18
Some Like It Fox, page 18
She deserves to live the life she wants.
I shift my head to look at her more fully. “I want you to be happy, Taylor.”
She blinks and nods. “I know.” Then she leans forward and her lips press against mine, her hands smoothing up my chest to my shoulders.
Want and fear swing through me, yanking me in opposing directions. The kiss is equal parts tender and frantic. She nips at my lip and then soothes it with her tongue, shooting lust through my body.
This woman.
I flip us over, coming between her legs and aligning our bodies with practiced ease. Keeping my eyes fixed on hers, our fingers entwined on either side of her head, I slide into her slick warmth. The urge to slam into her and take her quickly, over and over, burns through me, almost impossible to deny. But not tonight. Tonight is for worshipping.
So I proceed to do just that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Taylor
For the first time this summer, I wake up to the sun shining and Atticus’s arms wrapped around me.
Unlike the last time we spent a full night together back in December, I don’t have the urge to sneak away. I could lie here forever, actually, drinking in the press of his skin against mine, the smell of his cologne, and the slow thump of his heart under my cheek.
Last night was incredible. Sex with Atticus is always fantastic, but it was different this time. More intense, more desperate. He worked me with his hands, with his cock, until we were both drunk on the need for release. He shoved me over the edge with the plunge of his tongue in my mouth, licking and nipping while he rode me in long strokes.
He twisted me into knots and then wrung me out to dry, then held me tenderly, his fingertips stroking against my skin in lazy circles like he never wanted to stop.
It made my chest ache.
When I told him about the job, he didn’t ask me to stay. I don’t know if I appreciate that he’s not pressuring me or if I’m pissed he didn’t try harder to keep me.
Of course he didn’t. He wants me to be happy, and he thinks this job will make me happy, and it will. Won’t it?
The thought of leaving cleaves me into pieces, but I can’t tether myself to Whitby because of a guy. Can I? What if I were to give up the job, stay here to be with him, and then we don’t work out? What then?
When I inevitably return home to visit my family, we’ll cross paths. He works at the camp. I won’t be able to avoid him.
And I won’t be able to touch him, taste him, breathe him in like I’m doing right now.
I’ve never been in a serious relationship. I’m probably going to screw something up at some point.
I’ll have to stand by while he moves on with someone else.
The thought twists in my stomach, making me physically ill.
What’s the alternative though, never coming home? Impossible.
Every potential path rolling out in front of me looms like a craggy mountain that’s impossible to ascend.
“Are you okay?” His voice is husky with sleep.
I lift my head to meet his sleepy-eyed gaze. “Did I wake you?”
“Not really. But I can feel your tension.”
“I’m sorry.”
His arm clasps me tighter. “No need to be sorry.” The worried crease between his eyebrows is so cute. I stretch up to kiss it.
Something clatters outside the tent.
“What is that?”
I twist toward the tent door right as the zipper slides down and Jake sticks his head inside. “Taylor, you awake yet? It’s almost ten—oh Jesus.” His head disappears, the zipper still half down.
I tuck my head into Atticus’s neck, shoulders shaking with laughter. I turn my head to call out, “Jake, I told you, you need to learn how to knock.”
There’s no reply for a few long seconds, then he replies in a tortured voice, “This is a tent, there’s nowhere to knock.” He releases a long-suffering sigh. “Ace, please tell me you are both fully dressed under those blankets and there’s a logical reason for the spooning that doesn’t involve you boning my sister?”
I scramble out of bed and fumble for my clothes, dragging my T-shirt over my head.
Atticus sits up in the bed, making no moves to get dressed. “I can neither confirm nor deny our nudity and or the boning situation.”
Jake groans. “Gross, man. We’re best friends. I’m so hurt.” He doesn’t sound very hurt, actually.
I yank my pants up and then pull the zipper on the tent the rest of the way down. “It’s fine Jake.”
He leans against a tree trunk nearby. “I know. Trust me, I’ve seen way worse from our sisters.” Then he waggles his finger at me. “You’ve been keeping more secrets, Taylor.”
I sigh. “This isn’t anyone’s business except me and Atticus, Jake.”
He stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re right.”
I freeze. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? And hold on, I’m going to grab my cell phone and record it.”
He waves a hand at me. “I just wanted to let you know people are packing up to leave. The cleanup crew is here, and the stage is being dismantled.” He kicks at the dirt, ducking his head and lowering his voice. “And if you and Ace are happy, I’m happy. He’s a great guy. You’ve done way worse.”
I chuckle and then glance over my shoulder at Atticus, lying in the rumpled sheets we shared last night, hands behind his head, body like a Greek god.
My stomach dips.
Leaving is really going to suck.
The next three days are a whirlwind. I blink and Veronica returns, full of stories about her new precious grandbaby, delighted about how our little musical festival went off without a hitch. And my bus is fixed and ready to take me on to the next adventure.
I made enough in earnings and the proceeds from the festival to fund the repairs to the bus and then some.
My family is surprisingly chill when Jake spills the beans about Atticus and me. Maybe because I’m leaving and anything that might be between us is over before it begins. Maybe because they know me, and my longest relationship thus far has been with a bottle of wine.
Yep. That’s me. Noncommittal, go-with-the-flow, breezy Taylor.
Is it, though? Am I still that person?
“You’ll be home before Thanksgiving, right?” Finley asks, stepping back from our goodbye hug, her hands on my shoulders.
“Yeah. I’ll call you.”
We’re standing outside the main house, next to my bus. It’s all packed up, the tank is full, and I’m ready to head out to Silvertongue headquarters in Sacramento.
Jake is the next to tug me into an embrace. “Drive safe. Call when you can. Don’t do drugs. Oh, and don’t ever lie to me ever again.”
I squeeze him tight. “I promise. And you too, baby brother.”
Mindy left yesterday to meet up with Luke at his next tour stop. She was beyond excited about my new job, jumping up and down and squealing like a banshee when I gave her the news. I joined in her glee, ignoring the sinking in my stomach at the thought of leaving. I said my goodbyes to Archer this morning before he left to take care of camp duties, along with Atticus.
I stayed the night at Atticus’s last night. We made slow, torturous love, wringing orgasms out of each other like it was our life’s mission. I didn’t sleep. He didn’t either. In between bouts of sex, we lay together, not speaking, only touching and thinking.
We drove here together this morning, the drive drenched in the silence of unspoken words. What is there to say? It’s not like we’re breaking up, we were never together. Not really. This was just a fling.
I hate this. I hate everything about it.
But hey, I have a great new job.
Why isn’t the thought as exciting as it should be?
Jake lifts his brows at me.
“What?” I ask.
He jerks his head to the side and looks pointedly at something over my shoulder.
I turn around.
Atticus is standing behind me, by the bumper of the bus, his hands shoved in his pockets.
Finley pats my shoulder as she passes, Jake following behind her up into the house, giving us our moment.
My heart thumps so loudly in my ears, their retreating footsteps barely register. “Hi.”
“Hey.” His gaze lifts to mine, dark torment shining in his eyes. “I hate this.”
Unable to withstand the pull of his presence, I take a few quick steps and then my face is pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around me.
My throat burns. I never wanted to stay in Whitby. The thought of living in this small town for the rest of my life always made me ache to bolt. It was akin to a prison sentence.
Then why is this so hard? Why is my heart ripping itself into little pieces?
I tip my head back, and like he plucked the intention from my mind before it fully formed, his mouth is already there.
The kiss is wild, abandoned, and reeking of desperation.
Abruptly, he yanks away.
I’m left with my arms empty, half raised in his direction.
“I’m sorry.” His breathing is heavy. His face, usually as readable as a book, is carefully blank. Closed off. Shutting me out. “I wish you every happiness.” Then he spins around and stalks away.
Blindly, I get inside my bus, sitting in the driver’s seat, trying to catch my breath and push down the tornado of emotion clawing through my chest.
I have somewhere to go. My dream job starts in a week. My life has never been better.
Then why is anguish searing through my veins, as if everything that truly mattered is over?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Atticus
Taylor’s been gone for three days, four hours, and fifteen minutes, but the hole in my chest hasn’t decreased in the slightest, despite Jake’s best efforts.
I frown down at the fabric in my hand. “Are you sure this is going to help?”
“Not at all. Will you pass me the purple thread?”
I reach over to the side table and hand him the spool, then turn back to the piece I’m working on. It’s supposed to be a heart but it looks more like a lumpy, jagged rock.
Appropriate.
We’re in the living room, working on cross-stitch. Finley and Archer are out to dinner at Veronica’s. Paul and Moira are off for parts unknown and I couldn’t handle another night staring at the couch where Taylor and I began, or the bed where it ended, so I stupidly agreed to this “super fun activity” with Jake.
Moira offered to postpone their travels, but I insisted they not change their plans for me, and this time I meant it. I work all day, and I can’t stand being home at night, so I’m not much fun to be around. They’ve called and texted every day to check in on me.
He reaches into the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, popping a couple kernels in his mouth and chewing. “I’m just really glad there’s finally someone more messed up than I am. It’s nice to be the caretaker, instead of the caretake-ee.”
A small laugh huffs out of me.
“See.” He points at me. “The activities are working already. That almost sounded like a laugh. Let me see your cross-stitch.”
I turn it toward him.
He winces. “Man, you suck. I’m making this one for you. The words are done, I just need to add some flowers for the border.” He holds it up and reads it out loud at the same time. “ ‘Get your shit together.’ ”
I sigh.
“You can hang it in your bathroom,” he adds with a satisfied grin.
We work in silence for a few minutes. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what Jake’s doing, because I do, but it’s not working.
The job helps. The kids are distracting, but the Fox family is not. Every time I’m with Jake and Finley, I’m reminded of Taylor’s eyes, the shape of her mouth, and the sound of her laugh.
In two weeks, I’m taking a weekend off to meet Paul and Moira in Stony Point for golf. Maybe by then, the searing torment will have settled into a dull burn.
The side door in the kitchen creaks open. “Jake,” Finley’s voice calls out. “Are you home? You’ll never believe what Veronica said.” Footsteps clatter through the house, Finley’s tread followed by Archer’s louder clomp. “She wants to retire and move closer to her son so she called Taylor to offer to sell her the bar and—oh, Atticus. Heyyyy.” She smiles at me, but it’s halfway to a grimace.
They’ve been very careful about not mentioning Taylor around me. I’m sure they’ve talked to her. I’ve been tempted to call her myself, my thumb hovering over the Empress of Awesome listing in my contact list.
“It’s okay,” I tell Finley. “She’s your sister, you can talk about her.” But my heart is racing at her words. Veronica offered to sell Taylor the bar? What did she say? Is she coming back?
What if she turned Veronica down?
My emotions swing wildly from ecstatic hope to doubtful fear.
Finley and Archer exchange a glance, and then Finley makes her way into the living room, perching between Jake and me on the sofa. Archer folds his frame into the recliner facing us.
“So,” Jake asks. “What did Taylor say?”
“I don’t know.” Finley clasps her hands in her lap. “Veronica got her voicemail. Her phone is probably dead. Again.”
“Ace, you should go after her.” Jake pokes his needle through his fabric, his gaze fixated on his work.
I grip the embroidery frame in my fingers so hard, the wood creaks. “What do you mean?”
“Did you ask her to stay?” Finley angles toward me.
Setting my cross-stitch on the coffee table, I lean back on the sofa. “No. I couldn’t.”
“Did you want her to stay?”
I scrub my hand through my hair in frustration. “Of course. But I couldn’t ask her to give up her dreams for me. I want her to be happy.”
Jake huffs. “I’m pretty sure she’s as miserable as you are, my dude.”
Miserable? “Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah,” Jake says.
“Definitely,” Finley says at the same time.
Hope curls around my heart. I could go after her. But then what? What if I show up and she doesn’t want me there? What if they’re wrong? What if she’s already moved on?
I swallow. “What if she says no?”
Finley and Jake exchange a glance.
Finley reaches over and pats my knee. “At least then you’ll know you tried.”
She’s right. If I don’t try, if I don’t at least ask her to stay, as selfish as it might be, I’ll regret it forever.
I’ve already regretted every moment since she left.
Jake reaches around Finley and smacks my shoulder. “Go get our girl.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Taylor
I’m in Reno when I finally get a chance to charge my cell phone and return all the calls and messages I’ve missed.
“You want to sell Veronica’s?”
In her voicemail, she said she wanted to talk. I thought maybe she had a question about the new filing system, not that she wanted to retire and offer me the opportunity to purchase Veronica’s from her.
“It’s time for me to move. Past time, really. When I was with my son and his family, I realized I didn’t want to miss out on the little one growing up.”
I stare out the windows of the bus at the broadside of a white casino towering nearby. I stopped at an RV park for the night. I wanted a little rest and a little time to sort through all of the tumultuous emotions twisting through me. “I-I have to think about it.”
“Of course, honey, take your time. I know this might be the worst timing since you just started your new fancy job and all that. But I know how much you love this place. You’re like family to me, Taylor. I needed to make sure you didn’t want Veronica’s before I sell it off.”
“Thank you, Veronica. It really means a lot to me that you would ask.”
She clears her throat. “How is it going, by the way? With the new job?”
I rub my head. “Fine. It’s fine. Yeah, it’s great.” I inject enthusiasm into my voice.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Confusion and concern coil around the words.
I’m confused too. And angry. And terrified. “It is good. Listen, I have to go, but I’ll call you by the end of the week with an answer, I promise.”
“Okay, sweetie, no rush. You take care, okay?”
We hang up and I slump back in the seat. What am I doing?
I spent the last week going through orientation at Silvertongue headquarters. It wasn’t exactly like I thought it would be.
Everything was so . . . corporate. Lots of meetings, people in suits, paperwork, and formalities. Sure, that might change once I’m on the road, in the trenches.
The work I did at Veronica’s, like for the festival, was small time, sure, but it was an opportunity to help artists that hardly anyone knows about. Bringing attention to musicians who would go unnoticed otherwise. Silvertongue only works with big names. It’s an incredible opportunity, it’s just not for me.
Not to mention, I’ve been miserable since I left Whitby. There’s a hole in my heart and it’s shaped like Atticus.
I quit before the week was out. I couldn’t stay. The urge to bolt was back, biting at my nerve endings and I had to leave.
Now I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to go back to Whitby, but anxiety is making me freeze up in confusion.
What if Atticus doesn’t want me? He didn’t ask me to stay. He didn’t even try. He wants me to be happy, even if it’s not with him.
I’m so angry I want to scream. How dare he be so noble and wonderful and caring?
I hate him.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t hate him. Not in the slightest.
I’ve spent every minute of every day since I left dwelling on my past, examining every minute of my interactions with Atticus and how Aria’s death, my subsequent guilt, and then the whole fight with Mindy has impacted me over the past eight years.
