Hard Silence (18 page)

“I’m glad you got here,” Evan said.

“Me too, buddy. You did a great job! Just like we practiced.”

“We all did a good job,” Evan said. “I only got one RBI. Kyle Sullivan got three. Did you see Allie Logan? She’s a good catcher...for a girl.”

He walked between them to the crowd of parents and players. “Did Abby tell you I’m going to spend the night with Kyle? We’re going to Herb’s for pizza and ice cream, and then we’re going to play games on Kyle’s PlayStation.”

Abby’s courage faltered, slowing her steps as they neared the group. They were nice people, but she was used to standing on the edge of their lives, not being in the middle.

Jeff’s fingers tightened on hers. “I’m right here.”

True to his word, he kept her hand while she accepted celebratory hugs, introduced him to the other parents, and talked to Don and Melanie Sullivan and gave them her numbers in case there was a problem. After making sure Evan had money to pay for his share of food, she waved as he drove away.

“I hope he remembers his manners.”

“They have an eight-year-old. They’re used to it,” Jeff reminded her as they walked to her SUV. “Relax.”

Gray and Maggie joined them.

“You’re a pretty good hitting coach, Crandall,” Gray said. “I’ll bet Mike and Nate wouldn’t mind a little help. Even if it’s temporary.”

“You should,” Maggie chimed in. “We never win the first game of the season.” She turned her attention to Abby. “What are you going to do with a night to yourself?”

“Wine, bath, book,” she lied. Tiffany always said that when she had time on her own. It sounded better than canning vegetables and missing Evan’s endless questions.

As she climbed behind the wheel, Jeff closed her door.

“Do you need help with chores?” he asked.

She shook her head. A large, fat raindrop splattered on the brim of his cap. She turned the key in the ignition.

“Go before you get wet,” she whispered. “Get some rest.”

She arrived home to the sight of her anxious horses lined up at the stable door. While she’d outrun the rain, thunder rolled in the distance, and lightning split the darkened sky. Abby raced through the paddock and threw the door open. The herd trotted on her heels, threatening to knock her over.

After securing each horse in its stall, she calmed nerves where necessary before serving feed and checking water. The rain on the metal roof went from smattering drops to a noisy torrent. She opened the door to rivulets of mud and puddles in the paddock. Thunder now crashed immediately—sometimes simultaneously—after bright lightning. Toby left the doorway and curled on his bed in the corner, keeping a wary eye on the water inching over the threshold.

“Prince Prissy-Pants.” The dog hated to get wet, and she couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he could hover under an umbrella.

Looking around the stable, she groaned. Neither could she. All her rain gear was in the car—in the driveway. For a moment, she considered staying in here. Then a stiff wind rattled the metal walls and roof. Thunder boomed overhead, and the lights went out.

Abby looked over her shoulder at the cavernous dark space and the hulking shadows. It didn’t matter that she knew each item. The darkness and the cold made everything a threat.

Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped into the rain, slammed the door behind her, and bolted for the house. She was drenched in seconds, sloshing through mud in waterlogged shoes, and wiping her hair out of her eyes. After almost slipping and falling on her face, she gave up running for a resolute trudge. It wasn’t like she could get any wetter.

Once in the house, she stripped from her clothes and left them in a neglected puddle before grabbing a flashlight and quick-stepping to her room. She chafed a towel over her skin and then pulled on her thick chenille robe and fleece-lined slippers to seal in the warmth.

After washing the ruined makeup from her face, she rubbed the towel through her hair as she crept through the dark house with a white-knuckled grip on her flashlight.

For years she’d struggled to light fires in the fireplace. Then Hank had helped her install a gas starter. Now it was just a matter of newspaper kindling, dry wood from the box on the porch, and a butane lighter.

As the wood crackled and caught the flame, Abby lit candles throughout the rooms she’d use tonight. The flickering light lengthened the shadows and gave the house a gothic glow, but at least she wasn’t sitting in the cold dark jumping every time the house creaked in the wind.

She hung her clothes over the shower rod. The drips echoed through the quiet, making it sound like it was raining inside. The roof of their Alabama house had leaked, and it had infuriated Wallis to be cooped up with it while Ron was working. She’d lashed out every time she stepped in a cold puddle on the floor.

Abby used a dishtowel to mop the water she’d tracked in, and then relied on the batteries in her speaker dock and a soothing playlist to drown the sound and the memory. She picked up a book, but reading was useless in such low light. Left with nothing else to do, she leaned back in her favorite chair and closed her eyes.

The stillness made her toes twitch. No Toby, no Evan, and too many memories of what it had been like in those dark, frightening, early days.

She walked to the kitchen and pulled a pint of ice cream from the freezer and a spoon from the drawer.

A loud banging at her door stole her breath. The rhythmic pounding came again, and a flashlight danced in the window.

“Abby?”

The voice sent a hot tremor down her spine, to her hips, and lower. She pulled the curtain aside. Jeff was wearing a heavy rain slicker and the hood hung almost to his nose, shading his eyes but not his brilliant smile.

“Open the door, darlin’. It’s cold out here.”

He brought the chilly damp in with him, and Abby wrapped her robe tighter as she closed the door.

He pulled a bottle of wine from under his coat. “I knew you didn’t have any.”

Abby lifted her ice cream container. “Changed my mind.” Watching his face, she reached behind her for another spoon.

“Vanilla bean? That’s sorta bland, isn’t it?”

“Not with the right toppings.”

“Bowls?” he asked.

She wiggled the spoons. “Bite-sized sundaes.”

While he rifled through the fridge, she got a tray and pulled her favorite toppings from the cabinets. To her cinnamon, peanut butter and Nutella, he added chocolate syrup, caramel sauce and strawberry jam.

“Those are very
normal
toppings,” she said in mock disappointment.

“What would you suggest?”

She plucked the sriracha sauce from the fridge and balanced it on the heaping tray. He reached behind her and grabbed the can of whipped cream.

“I’m embarrassed that you own whipped cream in a
can
,” he teased.

“Then I won’t even tell you about the spray cheese Evan likes on his crackers.”

She carried their feast to the fireplace and heard him open the hallway linen closet door. He came back with a quilt. “Hang on a second.” He dropped to the floor, balanced himself against a chair, and spread his legs. “Come here.”

He put her back to his front and covered their legs with the quilt. “You’re freezing. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s part of the fun.” She pried the lid from the ice cream. “Hot and cold at the same time. Maggie and I used to do it at her house when she came home on Christmas breaks. I’d sit under a blanket and shiver while she told me about college.”

“What did you tell her about?”

She stuck a spoon in the ice cream and added a dollop of chocolate syrup. “Canning tomatoes.”

He opened all the lidded containers, and loaded his first bite with strawberry and chocolate. “This is a great idea, changing flavors like this.”

“I always thought so.”

She settled in against him and watched the fire, and they ate spoonful after spoonful in silence.

“Try this,” Jeff whispered as he hovered his spoon in front of her mouth. Hazelnut, cinnamon and vanilla coated her tongue.

It started a new game, introducing each other to new flavors. Abby finally loaded a bite with a dash of Sriracha and a coating of chocolate. He liked chocolate best. “Here.”

Jeff hesitated for so long, she thought he’d lost his nerve. She was readying her tease when the ice cream plopped on her shoulder.

“Hey!” she squealed at the waste of perfectly good ice cream. If he didn’t want it—

The protest died as he sucked the bite from her skin and then swirled his tongue to lick her clean. “That is good,” he rumbled. The jars on the tray rattled, and his cold finger stroked behind her ear. “But how did you get Nutella back here?”

He used his tongue and teeth to torment her until Abby was panting, begging for him to move to other places. He caught her earlobe between his teeth, and his hot breath flooded her ear. “Fuck. You taste better than the ice cream.”

Her robe gaped open as he tilted her. A cold drop of ice cream hit her other shoulder and the rivulet trickled down her back before he caught it against his tongue and devoured it in a long, flat lick that ended as he nibbled her shoulder. Reclining her against his shoulder and kicking the quilt away, he ripped his fingers through the loose knot at her waist and tossed the folds of the robe aside. He was hard against her hips, and his chest heaved with every breath.

More ice cream ran from her collarbone down between her breasts. This time he dragged his finger through it. Abby twisted, begging him to explore other places. Instead, he touched his sticky finger to her lips. “Open.”

Beneath the flavor of ice cream and strawberries was the salty taste of him. She went from licking to sucking, encouraged by his legs writhing against hers.

“Shit,” he panted as he pulled his finger free. “You’re incredible.”

Back against his shoulder, Abby closed her eyes and tracked the movement of his slick finger down her chest and abdomen as he nudged her calves with his heels.

“Open your legs,” Jeff rasped in her ear.

Guessing his goal, she draped her legs over his ankles and felt her legs spread wider. His hand passed her navel, and she arched as much as possible. “Please.”

His other fingers laced with hers as he slid his hand between her legs. Abby’s senses centered on every stroke, every rub, every touch. Soft and slow, short and fast, flicking, fluttering. When screams reached her ears, she realized they were hers. She opened her eyes and stilled. She had one hand around his thigh and the other in his white-knuckled grasp.

“Don’t stop now,” Jeff gasped. He resumed his torment, this time sliding his finger inside her and out, dragging it over her center before reversing the path and delving back inside.

He freed his other hand and grasped her nipple between his fingers, rolling it and tugging in time to his strokes. Abby flailed for a handhold, something to ground her, and found his shoulder even as he spread her legs wider and the pressure changed.

Opening her eyes, she watched flames from the fireplace cast shadows across her body, throwing his hand on her breast into relief, and adding extra shadows as she flexed against his hand between her legs. He had three fingers buried inside her, pressing a spot she’d never known existed, as his thumb strummed her sensitive flesh.

Abby released her hold on his leg, only to grab his wrist and hold him captive against her as she shook, until her world went black.

She roused when Jeff shifted her to the floor. He stood and stripped his shirt over his head, and she marveled at his body as he continued to undress. His cock sprung free, and its thick length made her mouth water. Without thinking, Abby rolled to her knees, put a drop of hot sauce on her tongue, followed it with a large bite of ice cream and then slipped her lips over him.

“Oh
fuck
.” Jeff burrowed his fingers in her hair as he pushed deeper and withdrew. He returned, deeper, groaning when Abby flexed her tongue against his salty, musky skin. His taste, as much as his response, drove her wild with hunger, with a need to satisfy him.

Instead of letting her, he pulled free. “Your turn.”

After rolling on a condom, he joined her on the floor and gently pushed her down, following until he loomed over her. His kiss was sweet and sinful as he traced his fingers over her shoulders and arms, then her breasts and abdomen, and finally her hips and thighs.

The jars and bottles rattled, and then his fingers were back, slick and cold, tracing her collarbone, her nipples, her stomach. His hot tongue followed them, licking her before coming back to her mouth so she could taste the flavors on his tongue.

He trapped her nipple between his teeth and tongue, and she arched off the quilt, opening her legs and making room for him. The torment of his mouth was joined by a teasing set of fingers. Roll one nipple, suck the other, then switch. Over and over again until she was mindless underneath him.

He pushed her back down and shook the can of whipped cream, leering at her as he sprayed it from her sternum to her navel.

As he followed the trail, tickling her skin, evading her hands, humming in pleasure, Abby writhed, alternately giggling and whimpering. She was torn between pulling him up to kiss her and pushing him down her body, begging him to satisfy the ache he’d caused.

Spreading her legs wider, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her thigh, traveling down to her knee, grinning against her skin when she flinched at the sensitive spot. Then he switched legs and traveled up again.

She remembered the scar only when she felt his fingers on her skin.

“It was a long time ago,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

He nuzzled the spot as if he could erase her memory of it, and then paused. His breath cooled the wetness already waiting on him. Then he licked it and curled his tongue into his mouth.

Her gaze locked on his heated one, and she saw the change from playful to hungry, saw him lick his lips and crouch—just like the wolf she’d always compared him to.

Grasping her hips, he held her down while he devoured her. The only thing Abby had for an anchor was him, so she dug her fingers into his shoulders and watched his muscles bunch and flex, stared at his dark head bent over her like she was dessert.