Delay of Game (The Baltimore Banners Book 6) (22 page)

"Val—"

"No, I'm not done." She blinked back the tears threatening to fall. "You're not a fuck-up, Justin. Your father is. He had no right to blame you for your mother's death. He has no right to hold that over your head. Fathers don't do that to their kids."

"Val—"

She brushed her cheek against her shoulder and stepped even closer, refusing to let him speak. "You're not a fuck-up. You're wonderful and…generous and talented and…and funny…"

Val swallowed, trying to catch her breath, trying to stop the stupid tears that were making it so hard for her to speak. "You're not a fuck-up, Justin. Stop saying that. It doesn't matter what your father says. I love you, and I don't love fuck-ups."

She wrapped her arms around Justin's waist and pressed her head into his chest. Holding him close, as if that would help him feel everything she felt.

A long minute went by. Justin's body was tense, hard against hers. Then he slowly relaxed, just a little, his good arm wrapping around her and pulling her even closer. She felt the gentle kiss he placed against the top of her head and she held her breath, wondering if he had heard her, wondering if she had just made a huge mistake.

He eased away from her, barely more than an inch. Val knew he was looking at her but she kept her head buried against his chest, too afraid to look up. Then he moved his arm and eased it between them, his hand cupping her chin and tilting her head back.

Tears came to her eyes again when she saw the look in his gaze. Soft, uncertain and bewildered. And hopeful. "What did you say?"

Val tried to look away but he wouldn't let her. And she wouldn't try to hide what she felt from him, not anymore. "I love you."

He looked stunned at her admission, like he didn't believe the words. Or couldn't believe she would feel that way. His tongue came out and swiped across his bottom lip, his brows lowering into something that almost looked like a frown. "You love me?"

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe—"

His mouth crashed against hers, swallowing her words. The kiss was searing, intense. His tongue swept inside her mouth, seeking, dominating, demanding surrender. And surrender she did, her body leaning into his, her hand fisting in his shirt, desperate to get closer. She wanted him, needed him, now.

But he pulled away too soon, leaving her breathless and wanting more. His own chest heaved, each breath harsh as he stared down at her. "I love you, too."

His admission startled her, made her own breath hitch in her chest. For a fleeting second she was afraid he was only saying it because he thought she wanted to hear it. And she did—but only if he meant it. But the truth of his words was reflected in his eyes, his beautiful dark eyes. She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand, ran her thumb along his full lower lip. He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss in the middle of her palm then offered her a crooked smile.

"I love you, Val."

She smiled and tried to step closer, frowning when he pulled back. "But—"

"I am not making love to you when I reek of shit."

The laugh came out of nowhere. Val clapped her hand over her mouth and tried to smother the sound. She swallowed, brushed her hand over her face, then smiled at him. "I guess that is a bit of a mood killer, isn't it?"

"A bit." His eyes darkened, grew a little heated. "Unless you want to help me clean up."

Val didn't waste any time, helping him peel off boots and clothes, helping him wrap the cast in plastic. Then they were in the shower, Justin standing under the spray of warm water as she scrubbed him, running her hands over each bare inch of his body.

He pulled the washcloth from her hands and tossed it to the side then stepped closer, using his hard body to pin her against the cool tile. "I love you, Val."

"I love—"

His mouth was on hers before she could finish, his tongue delving, probing. Heat coiled inside her, need tightening deep within as he ran his hand along her neck, her shoulder, down to cup one breast.

He followed with his mouth, teasing her skin with tongue and teeth. His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking, creating an answering pull between her legs. Her head fell back and she gripped his shoulders, holding on as he continued to suck and tease.

His mouth drifted lower, his hand easing between her legs, his finger stroking her clit in one long move. Val gasped as he spread her legs, opening her even more. Then he pressed his mouth against her, his tongue teasing her clit with long slow strokes as he eased his finger inside her. In, out, each stroke meant to pleasure, to tease, to torment.

"Justin." Her throaty whisper was lost in the steam around them, lost in the heat between them. She spread her legs wider and fisted her hands in his hair, holding him to her, her hips matching the rhythm of his mouth and tongue.

Need coiled inside, the pressure building, promising release. She hovered on the edge, waiting. Waiting.

"Justin. Please."

His finger delved deeper, in and out, as he ran his tongue over her. Then he twisted his wrist as he gently nipped her clit, hurling her over the edge. Sensation exploded over her, shattering her. She pressed one hand against the wall, reaching as her knees buckled and she started falling. But Justin was there, holding her, supporting her. His mouth closed on hers, swallowing her cries as the waves crashed over her.

Then he was lifting her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. He pinned her between his body and the wall and plunged into her. Her head dropped back and she screamed his name, holding onto him as he drove into her, over and over.

She didn't know where she ended and where he began, didn't care. It didn't matter, not with Justin. She wrapped her arms around him, her hips matching his own rhythm, thrusting, reaching, searching. Her head dropped forward as sensation exploded through her, over and over, each wave stronger than the last.

Justin's hold tightened around her. He called her name, his voice hoarse with need as his own climax burst between them. Over and over, each holding the other as they fell into oblivion. Together.

Val's hands clenched the steering wheel, her knuckles white as the truck bounced into the drive leading to the house. Justin turned his head to the side, glancing out the window and squinting against the bright sun that peeked through the edges of his sunglasses. He should be smiling, celebrating, grinning like a madman.

Val loved him. The words repeated in his mind, the memory of her voice, soft and sweet and so passionate, as clear as the blue sky around them. He should be rejoicing.

Instead, his good hand fisted around the hand hold above the door, the hard plastic digging into his palm. The knot that had been sitting in his gut for the past hour was growing bigger as they got closer to the house.

He didn't want Val to be here, had done his best to convince her to just drop him off then go back to the hotel. The knot in his gut had appeared as soon as she told him no. She wasn't dropping him off, she wasn't going back to the hotel and she wasn't leaving him alone. Justin tried to change her mind but she merely shook her head, frowning. Two stubborn lines formed between her eyes and her soft lips thinned into a tight line. He'd seen that look before and thought it was cute—when it was directed at her brother. Having it directed at him was a completely different experience.

Now he knew why Randy always had a hard time saying no to his sister.

Justin should have tried harder, though. He should have insisted, no matter how angry she may have gotten. The tension building in the cab of the truck was already thick and unsettling. Tense, nervous, wired too tight. It made him wonder if this was how the soldiers felt all those years ago before going into battle, running across wide open fields as guns and cannons fired around them.

Because no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, there was no doubt there was going to be a battle. He didn't know when, he didn't know about what, he only knew it was going to happen.

Looking at Val's clenched hands, he was pretty sure she felt the same way.

He reached up and touched his cheek, fingering the small scab and puffy skin surrounding it. Yeah, there was going to be a battle. But it was his battle. It was time he stood up to his father, time to take his life back. To look ahead instead of behind him.

He glanced over at Val and felt warmth build in his chest. Yes, definitely time to look ahead. But he didn't want Val here, didn't want her exposed to the ugliness he knew was coming.

"You should just drop me off."

"No."

"You don't need to be here."

"I know."

"Then drop me off."

"No."

"Are you always so damned stubborn?"

She didn't even bother to look over at him but he could still see the small smile that curved the corner of her mouth. "Yup."

"Val, please."

She stopped the truck at the end of the drive and put it in park before looking over at him. He wished she wasn't wearing sunglasses, wished he could see her eyes. Maybe she could read his mind because she pushed them to the top her head, the stems catching her silky hair and pulling it off her face. Her eyes, so bright and expressive, fixed on him, watching, studying.

"Why don't you want me to stay?"

"Because you've seen enough, Val. I don't want you dragged into this ugly mess any more than you've already been."

She glanced down, her brows lowered in a small frown. Then she sighed and reached across the console, resting her hand on his thigh. "I just want to be here for you."

"I know. But I need to do this on my own." He leaned across the console, meeting her halfway for a gentle kiss. "How about a compromise?"

She leaned back, almost cautious. "Like what?"

"You wait out here. Let me run in, do what I have to do."

"And how long do you think that's going to take?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?" Val didn't look like she believed him. She looked over at the house, then back at him, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. "If it's not going to take that long, then why did you want me to drop you off?"

Because he had planned on clearing the air. On trying to have a real discussion with his father, to see if he could make sense of the last eighteen years. But he didn't tell Val that. He didn't want her to know that part of him still craved the approval he'd been missing ever since his mother died.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, either. Just like he didn't want to admit that the idea was nothing more than fantasy, that deep down he knew he'd never get the answers, never find a resolution.

Never get that approval the young boy in him still needed.

"Because you don't need to be here." He squeezed her hand then sat back. "Fifteen minutes."

He climbed down from the truck and headed to the house, the heel of his boots crunching in the dirt and gravel. The wooden steps of the porch creaked under his weight and the hinges of the screen door squeaked when he opened it.

Just like when he was a kid growing up.

He paused in the hallway, pulling his sunglasses off and looking around. Why had he never noticed how little had changed over the years? The paint and wallpaper, the faded runners. The furniture and pictures.

No, the pictures had changed, been added to over the years. He looked closer, swallowing back his disappointment when he realized the new ones were of Gary. Prom. High school graduation. College graduation.

Justin clenched his jaw and walked toward the back of the house. His father was sitting at the table, a sandwich in one hand, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He didn't even bother glancing up when Justin walked in, just turned the page then smoothed it out.

"You're late."

What had Justin expected? That his father would be worried he wasn't here? An apology for yesterday? For the last eighteen years?

He clenched his jaw then leaned against the doorjamb, refusing to step closer. He took a deep breath and held it, let it out slowly. His father finally put the sandwich down and turned, looking at Justin over his shoulder. A permanent frown was etched on his weathered face, his thick brows lowered over eyes identical to those Justin saw in the mirror each morning.

"Is there a reason you're just standing there? You have work to do."

"No, Pop, I don't."

"Is that a fact?" His father stood, unfolding his large frame from the chair and grabbing the plate from the table. He paused, staring at Justin, then walked to the sink. Strained silence stretched between them while his father washed the plate and carefully placed it in the dish drain. He dried his hands and folded the towel, each move short and concise. Then he turned and leaned against the counter, his eyes flat and distant.

Justin wanted to look away, to drop his gaze to the floor and squirm under his father's stare. To tell his father never mind, he had been wrong and he'd get straight to work. Hadn't that been what he'd done just as recently as yesterday? When he tried talking to his father down at the barn and got backhanded for the trouble.

He brought his hand up and touched the swollen flesh of his cheekbone. No, not backhanded. He'd been hit, with fists. He was twenty-nine years old and still cowered in front of his father, the young boy inside him still seeking approval. Seeking the love of his only living parent.

"Let me guess. You're going to tell me you're too sore to work." His father gave a short bark of laughter then shook his head. "Why am I not surprised? Too much of a pansy. You never could do anything right."

"Enough!" Justin took two steps into the kitchen, his hand fisted by his side. "Why, Pop? After everything I've done, why do I keep having to prove myself over and over to you?"

"Everything you've done? You've done nothing. Do you hear me, boy? Nothing." His father pushed away from the counter and closed the distance between them, his own hands fisted as he fixed Justin with cold, emotionless eyes.

"Nothing? How can you say that? I paid for everything around here. I cover all the expenses. I paid for Gary's college. Everything. But it's never good enough!"

"Good enough? That's just money, boy. Nothing more than what you owe me for raising you."

Justin stepped back, his father's words hitting him harder than a backhand to the face, killing the last hope Justin had of ever getting his father's approval. The sharp bite of loss burned his eyes and tightened his chest, squeezing his lungs until he couldn't breathe. He wanted to turn around, to just walk out and never come back. All these years, wasted years of trying to win something he would never have, no matter what he did. Of believing his father's cold words, of letting his father's scorn shape him.

He should just turn around and walk out, never look back. If he was smart, he would do just that. But he couldn't, not without asking the one question he'd always wanted to know but could never find the courage to ask.

"Why, Pop? Why do you hate me so much?"

His father laughed, the sound rough and bitter, nothing more than a cold rush of air that froze Justin's blood. Those eyes, too close to Justin's own, ran over him from head to toe, filled with contempt and dismissal. "Hate you? I don't hate you. I want nothing to do with you. I never did. You're nothing to me, boy. You never have been."

Justin's lungs seized, trapping air he desperately needed to breathe until stars popped in his vision. He wanted to move—needed to move. But his body was just as frozen as his lungs. All these years, trying to prove himself and always failing, trying again and still coming up short. And why? For what? To be knocked back down, over and over again? To be belittled and demeaned until he actually believed what he was told? That he was worthless. A fuck-up.

Only to learn his father didn't care at all, not even enough to hate him. Justin thought he could live with the hate, that he could use his mother's death to excuse it. But he'd only been kidding himself.

Memories came back, startlingly clear. Biting words from his father years before his mother's death, harsh and unforgiving. Being called a failure, never being able to measure up even as a young child. His mother, arguing with his father over and over, defending Justin, giving Justin hockey as an outlet.

Why had he blocked those early years? Why hadn't he remembered it had always been this way? It had never been about his mother's death. Never.

Justin reached behind him, his hand blindly searching for the doorframe, for support. He stumbled back, leaned against the wall, fighting to pull air into his lungs. Bile exploded in his gut, burning his throat as he tried to swallow it back.

All these years, secretly hoping, always fighting for approval. For what? Nothing. All these years, wasted. For nothing.

Justin squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the ache in his chest, his arm, his head. He pulled air into his lungs, deep breaths over and over as he tried to push everything away. The pain, the disappointment, the regret of the last twenty-plus years.

He forced his eyes open, his gaze searching out his father. No, not his father. The man in front of him, the man watching him with derision and disappointment and contempt, was nothing more than a cold stranger who wielded too much influence over him.

Not anymore.

Justin pushed away from the wall, standing up straight, his head held high. Inside, part of him was dying, wanting nothing more than to curl up and writhe in pain at the searing loss of something he never really had. But he wouldn't let the man in front of him see that. No, he'd rather die instead.

He shook his head and turned around, needing to get out, knowing he'd never be back. Val stood a few feet away, pity and horror etched on her pale face, her eyes filled with tears. Justin paused, shame and humiliation sweeping through him as their gazes met. Then he looked past her, his focus on the door and the freedom beyond it. One step, then another and another, until he moved by Val and pushed through the screen door, away from a suffocating past that had kept him prisoner for far too long.