I’m expecting the house to be empty when I get back, but when I head to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a snack, I find John at the table looking tired and stressed, hand gripping the roots of his hair as he stares at typed pages in front of him.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Everything okay?’
He looks up at me, eyes taking time to register. ‘I’ve got an assignment due. I skipped practice. Told Coach I wasn’t feeling good.’
‘What’s the assignment on?’
He slides the paper across the table, and I scan over the text. It seems straightforward, which I tell him, but all my reassurance does is make his face fall. ‘Have you thought about approaching it this way?’ I sit and go through my idea, and he starts to take notes, nodding as his facial features relax.
‘How did you do that? I’ve been wracking my brains for the last two days.’
Shrugging, I rise to open the fridge, finding a drawer filled with apples, which is just what I wanted.
‘I don’t know, really. I just… I guess I just saw the way.’
As I bite into the apple, the sweet juice coats my tongue, and my stomach growls in anticipation. ‘That’s a talent,’ John says. ‘What are your plans for after college?’
Leaning against the counter, I shrug. ‘I wanted to finish. I had all these plans and dreams for what I’d do with my life, but other things are a priority now.’
‘You can still finish, you know?’
‘How, with a baby strapped to my front? I don’t think that will go down well with anyone.’
‘People do it,’ he says, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
‘People with support.’
‘You’ll have support.’
‘My mom works,’ I say. ‘She’s already exhausted from raising me singlehandedly. I can’t ask her to do anymore.’
‘Your mom lives miles away from here,’ John says. ‘If you stay here, we’ll help.’
‘That’s…’ I pause, not wanting to hurt his feelings or speak out of turn. ‘That’s a kind offer, but my college is miles away.’
‘You could transfer…’
‘And you’d help when? In between practice and work and assignments? Or when you’ve all graduated and have jobs? You guys are already so busy, and… well, this is my responsibility.’
‘It’s not something you have to shoulder on your own,’ he says. ‘We’ve told you that.’
‘And I’m grateful, but…’
‘But…’ John says, nodding. I don’t need to tell him the buts. He knows.
‘I can help you… with the paper. And after, we can do more of Dad’s room?’
John inhales deeply, trouble glancing over his face like a ripple across a midnight pool. ‘I should do it myself.’
‘Why is it okay for you to offer to help me, but not okay for me to help you?’
‘Because that’s who I am,’ he says. ‘It’s what makes me feel whole.’
‘I need your help with Dad’s things, and you won’t be able to help me with that if you haven’t done your assignment. I’m selfish really, not selfless.’
John’s smiles fleetingly at my efforts to placate him. ‘Okay then.’
It takes us until lunchtime to finish the paper, and when it’s done, John slumps back against his chair. There’s color high on his cheeks from relief.
‘I’ll fix us a sandwich, and then we can head upstairs.’
We eat and talk. John tells me about the team coach and how hard he is on the boys. He suspects it’s because he’s worried that they might start to slack off now they don’t have Dad to keep them in line. ‘He doesn’t understand that Dad showed us the benefits of having a good work ethic. Now, we’re all there because it’s what we want.’
‘So tell him that.’ I wipe my mouth with a napkin. ‘He’ll listen.’
‘You haven’t met our coach.’
‘But I have met you. There’s no way he could listen to you explain and not see your sincerity.’
‘Maybe.’ John takes my plate and his to the counter, washing his hands and drying them on a towel. Everything he does is methodical and precise. ‘Let’s see how far we can get with this room.’
And we start with good intentions, filling bags with some of Dad’s clothes for Goodwill, but when we discover a box at the back of the closet containing photos, I can’t do anymore. There’s one of me as a baby at the top, as though Dad had been going through them, and that was the last one he saw. I wish so much that I could know how he felt. John’s arm goes around my shoulder as I place the box on the bed, and then he’s pulling me into a reassuring hug that feels so good.
‘It’ll get easier,’ he whispers.
‘I hope so,’ I say, drawing back. John may feel safe, but there’s an underlying intention that I feel lurking behind his care. An intention that feels anything but safe. Our eyes connect, and a shiver runs through me. He wants to kiss me, but there are so many doubts in my mind. Is the pull between us real or just generated by grief or by the vote he had with his brothers? Should I even care when my lips feel tingly, and my heart feels shattered? Then he’s lowering his mouth to mine, and I want it. I want to touch him, to feel him. I need him close to anchor me.
And he’s here. John is real and solid and present, where I feel like dust motes that are visible only when the sun shines. The kiss is everything I need, soft and warm and teasing, and my mind floats to a place where I’m happy, and there is nothing weighing me down. His sweater is soft in the grip of my hand, his body big and looming protection against all the darkness in the world, and it’s what I need.
It’s my hand that searches for his warm skin beneath his sweater. It’s my fingers that find the muscled strength of his back and can’t stop roaming. It’s me who stands on my tiptoes to deepen the kiss that goes from tentative to frantic. When his hands grip my ass so he can lift me, it’s me who moans.
John carries me out of Dad’s room and further down the corridor as though I weigh nothing. He’s built so solidly that he must be like a brick wall within the defensive line. His room isn’t what I expected at all. There are no posters of ballplayers or women without enough clothes on. Instead, there’s a large, tie-dyed wall hanging and photos of him and his brothers through the years. It’s a room more about family and peace than anything else.
He lowers me onto the bed, looming over me with eyes misted with lust. Lust and kindness. ‘Is this what you want?’ His big hand strokes my cheek, the callouses a reminder of how hard he works to be the best he can be.
‘Yes.’ I pull him down onto me, reveling in the size of him and the weight. He must be two hundred and fifty pounds, and I love how small he makes me feel, even with my curves. Now we’re on his bed, everything slows. Kissing him, touching him, it’s like walking in warm water. No rush to remove our clothes, each new part discovered by unpeeling another layer. There’s a sweet intimacy just being here with John, a focus that is lost when there are more men to please and more men to please me.
Does Danna get one-on-one time with the Jackson brothers? I hope she does.
It’s quiet when he takes my nipple into his mouth. No brothers to tell him how it looks or ask me how it feels. My hands slide over his scalp to let him know, and he presses his cock against my still-clothed pussy in response. Rumbling deep in his throat, he bites down enough to make me jump.
‘You make me crazy,’ he says. ‘Not just your body, but the way you are, the way you think. So tentative in some ways but running headlong into this plan like you need to live it to know if it can work.’ John doesn’t wait for me to agree or disagree, just tugs down the cup concealing my other breast and feasts like a starving man.
I reach to pull off his sweater, wanting to see the big, muscular body that I’ve mapped with my palms. It’s me who reaches for his belt buckle, tugging leather through the loops of his jeans in a whoosh that sends heat pooling in my belly. John is everything I could have hoped for and far more than I could have dreamed. The curve of his big shoulders, the broadness of his chest, the solidness of his pecs, and the undulating perfection of his abs. He smells good, of the outdoors, and something spicy that reminds me of Christmas. But it’s the way he looks at me that spreads that heat from my belly between my legs. It’s those chocolate eyes that have everything inside me melting into liquid.
‘Take everything off.’ My voice is more gravelly than I’ve ever heard it, the need for him inside me like a tidal wave of longing, and it scares me to feel so deeply so quickly. Struggling out of my clothes, I’m breathless, and watching John remove his jeans and underwear steals the last air from my lungs. He’s stunning, in a way that a Viking would be. Strong from his bones outward, a force to be reckoned with. A contradiction of a man, with the frame of a warrior and the heart and mind of a protector.
He lifts a handful of my curls, letting them slide through his fingers like sand on a volcanic beach. He trails his hand down my neck, mapping the bones and tendons beneath my skin, cupping my flesh as though he’s weighing my soul. The air crackles with intensity, and I’m trembling with it. When he’s looked his fill, he asks me to turn over, helping me until I’m resting my head on my arms. Again, he strokes over my body, lingering on my ass, the roughness of his palm grazing the tender skin there. Everything about the way he touches me feels reverent. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he says. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Get what?’ I push my hair out of my eyes and strain to look at him.
‘Why the father of your child isn’t holding you tight and never letting go.’
‘He’s not like you,’ I say, a lump building in my throat. ‘He’s not like any of you.’
The slide of his hand up my spine seems aimed at soothing me. ‘It’s his loss.’ John leans in to kiss the base of my spine. ‘And my gain.’
Nudging my legs open, he reaches down, fingers parting me until he finds my clit, stroking it slowly as he continues to press hot kisses over my back. I want to wiggle from the pleasure, but something about me being in this position makes me feel the need to be still. It’s like I’m an instrument, and he’s playing me, rubbing, and strumming until he hears the required sound. Oh, God. I moan a quiet whimper that causes John to huff out a breath. ‘You’re wet,’ he says. ‘So wet.’
‘I’m ready,’ I say because I am. So ready, I’m certain he’s going to be slipping and sliding to get inside me.
I don’t know what I expect from John, but I’m shivering with anticipation by the time he kneels between my thighs. When he lowers himself over me, it’s like being covered by a warm weighted blanket, and when his cock nudges my entrance, I’m practically begging him to do it. Fuck me. Hold me. Make me feel it.
And oh, he does. The stretch of his big cock is exquisite, and the way he holds me against him, gripping my hair in that perfect way that adds a little bite of control, makes me close my eyes with pleasure. I’m so lost, drifting in the space between hope and reality, and it’s beautiful. He tells me everything I need to hear; how good I make him feel, how amazing I am, how if we believe it can work, everything will be perfect, and for a while, I believe him. All we have to do is try. Open our hearts and hope that nothing but love and affection is returned.
There’s a purity in John, an almost innocence that contrasts with the fierce grip of his hands and unbelievable strength that vibrates through every muscle and bone in his body. Maybe he could hold me tight enough that I could trust him. Maybe John and his brothers could be my anchor.
And as I come, my mind slides over that hope, drifting and drifting.
It’s only when I come back down to earth that all the flickers of doubt in myself and everyone around me start to return.
