Authors: Jami Davenport
Derek opened one eye and yawned. “Hmmmm?"
"You've had your fun, big guy. Untie me."
He stretched and checked the bedside clock. “Untie you?"
"Yes. Please."
He stretched and yawned, shut his eyes.
"Untie me!"
He opened his brown eyes. “I like you like that. All spread and ready for action. Mine for the taking.” He rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand. He assessed her naked body with a slow smile. Leaning forward, he tasted the creamy skin on her breasts. She squirmed, already wet and tingly.
"Then either take me or release me."
"I don't think you're in a position to be demanding."
"I don't think you're in a position to refuse my demands.” She directed her gaze to his hard cock.
"You have a point.” He straddled her. His erection pressed against her crotch. He slid inside her slick opening and met her demands.
Several minutes later, he fumbled with the handcuff key and finally removed her bindings. Then he untied her feet. Rachel rubbed her wrists, getting the circulation back into them. Derek rubbed her ankles.
"Bondage turns you on, doesn't it?” Rachel ran a hand across his washboard stomach.
"
You
turn me on.” He sprawled on the bed, his long limbs spread in four directions.
"Next time I get to have my way with you."
"Hit me with your best shot, baby. My body is yours."
"Why did I think you'd say that?"
"Because it's true."
Now if only his heart was hers, and she was in a position to accept it.
Flipping fate the finger, Ryan gritted his teeth and wheeled his ride through the stadium gate and toward the sidelines. The guy who said life wasn't fair knew what he was talking about. Life sucked at times, but death sucked worse.
Wiped and almost whipped, he'd refused Andre's offer to push him. A guy had his pride even though it came with a price. He panted harder than the class nerd after bagging the Homecoming Queen. His shoulders ached, and his arms, once strong enough to bench-press his weight and more, shook from the effort.
Mara, a former girlfriend, fell into step beside him and chattered about nonsense. He kept his silence and stared straight ahead. She didn't notice. Her familiar scent wafted toward him, reminding him of wild times and late nights in his beat-up truck. Mara had a hot body and knew how to use it, but she didn't use it on him anymore. As soon as cancer destroyed his jock status, she'd dumped him for a hotshot quarterback from a neighboring school.
Not that it mattered; he couldn't perform anyway, on or off the field. His days as a jock were long gone, not that he'd ever been a typical jock. Even during the best of times, he'd prided himself on being a nice guy. Everyone liked him, even his ex-girlfriends, which said a lot. Derek Ramsey wore the same nice-guy suit, which explained why Ryan felt an affinity for him.
Mara tossed her blonde hair and stared down at him as if waiting for a response. He faked a smile, hoping he wasn't agreeing to her hair looking like crap or some other trivial bullshit. Duty fulfilled and conscience eased, she waved good-bye and bounced off to join her girlfriends. She couldn't wait to get away from him, almost as if he were contagious.
He tried not to let it hurt. But it did. The sicker he got, the more people avoided him, even his mother. And he
was
sick. Really sick. The cancer in his body was winning. It was third and goal, no time-outs left, and the clock was running out. Tonight the disease slammed him down hard, but he fought it. He was here for his team, his buddies, his coaches. Winning this play-off game would put them in the state finals and one win from the state championship. He might be sidelined, but he still had a few trick plays left in him. Cancer had sacked his dreams, but it damn well wouldn't cheat him out of living vicariously through his team and being there every step of the way. It wasn't over till it was over.
"Hey, buddy, how's it goin'?” A strong hand gripped his shoulder.
"Hey, Derek, you came.” He twisted his neck, looking up to smile at Derek standing beside his wheelchair.
"I said I would.” Derek's dark eyes assessed him and clouded with concern. “How's the battle?"
I'm losing. Big-time. And you can see it as clearly as Tyler can read a blitz
. “I'm still in the game.” He shrugged; no use stating the fucking obvious. “Hey, Rachel."
"Hey, Ryan.” Coach's sister flanked Derek, as usual. She leaned down and squeezed his cold hand. She was a looker—clumsy as hell, but wicked hot. Derek hovered near her, ready to catch her when she stumbled, and she stumbled a lot. Derek found it entertaining. Rachel didn't.
He grinned and felt better for some reason. Watching those two pretend they weren't hooked up amused him. Like they fooled anyone, especially Coach, who got a stick up his ass whenever he saw them together. Some bad history there.
"Great game last week."
"Yeah, we liked it.” Derek grinned. “Seven straight wins. Who woulda predicted that?"
"I would have.” A note of smugness crept into his voice.
"Ah, of course.” Derek winked at him. “We play next on Thanksgiving day."
"I know."
"So do you have Thanksgiving plans?” Derek pried. It made Ryan uncomfortable.
"Family stuff. You know.” Ryan forced his face into a calm mask. He'd be spending the day alone with stale cornflakes.
"Good. You have a big family?"
"Uh, yeah, big enough."
Derek frowned and scratched his chin but didn't press for more information.
Ryan hung with them for the entire game. Derek held Rachel's hand. Coach noticed, and he looked ready to take on the Dallas Outlaws D-line.
Tyler swaggered into the stadium for the second half, causing every girl within miles—and their mothers—to wet their panties. While Derek flew under the radar, Tyler flew above and beyond it. He devoured attention faster than the Jacks’ running back had racked up the yards last week. Slumming with Ryan's team, he took his place on the sidelines and shouted orders to the offense, much to Coach's irritation. Tyler lived to irritate people, and Coach's annoyance only encouraged him.
Both teams fought hard, but Ryan's team squeaked out the win to advance to the state finals. Derek stayed at his side the entire game, listening to Ryan's opinions on certain plays, defensive formations, and offering his own. Ryan forgot about his troubles for a while. Derek made it easy because he treated him like a normal guy.
Afterward Derek and Tyler treated the entire team, their families, and the coaches to pizza. They sang, separately and together, as the karaoke DJ played all sorts of tunes. Ryan wheeled his chair to the front of the room a few times and sang with the guys. He'd pay for this late night, but who gave a shit. He wasn't sure how many late nights he had left in him.
Still high from the victory, Ryan put off going home as long as possible. He hated his dreary, cold trailer. Unfortunately all things come to an end. A buddy drove him home and helped him up the ramp to his front door. No way in hell would Ryan invite him inside. He hated pity. Cancer was bad enough, but his living conditions were even worse. Waving good-bye, he wheeled his chair through the unlocked front door.
Ryan flipped on a light. It cast a dull, yellow glow over the dingy living room. He breathed a sigh of relief he still had power. Shivering, he nudged the thermostat higher—might as well enjoy the heat while it lasted, not that it warded off the gloom.
His stomach growled. He wheeled into the kitchen, pissed at himself for being too wired to eat earlier and too proud to bring home the leftovers. Leaning forward, he reached for a box of cereal in the almost empty cupboard. His fingertips grazed it. Gripping the sides of the wheelchair, he strained with all the strength his cancer-ravaged body had left in it.
His arms gave out. He slumped into the chair, breathing as if he'd run a marathon. A cold sweat broke out on his face. Frustrated, he swiped at his forehead. Just last week, he'd been able to stand and walk somewhat. How quickly he'd gone downhill shocked him.
Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. Loneliness seeped through him, empty and looming, a wolf ready to devour what the cancer didn't destroy. He needed someone. He couldn't do this alone. He stared at the door and willed his mother to walk through it and show him she cared.
Who the fuck was he kidding? Over a week ago, she'd come home late. He'd heard a car idling outside, movement in the bedroom. Rummaging in the bathroom. A few minutes later the front door slammed. The car pulled away. The place had grown quiet. In the morning, he found a twenty on the counter. No note. She hadn't been back since and wouldn't be. She'd fucking abandoned him when he needed her most.
Sucking in a deep breath, he rallied his strength. Pushing with one hand on the arm of the wheelchair, his body shook from the effort. As his fingers touched the box, his hand slipped off the chair arm. The damn thing spun backward. He flew out, hitting his chin on the edge of the counter. Twisting his body at the last minute to protect his head, he slammed to the floor. His hip, elbow, and shoulder absorbed the brunt of the impact. The contents of the cereal box scattered around him. To add insult to injury, he peed his pants.
He was screwed. Major screwed.
Mortified, humiliated, and pissed, he lay on the floor, too spent to heave his body into a sitting position. He pounded his fist on the cracked linoleum and welcomed the pain. Tears welled up inside him. He jammed his fist in his mouth. He
would not
be a frigging baby. He wouldn't cry. Dammit. He wouldn't.
He did.
Sobs racked his body. He quaked from the sheer desperation of it all. Tears flowed down his cheeks and puddled on the floor. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the cool, wet flooring. Corn flakes stuck to his face. Blood trickled from the cut on his chin. His hip and elbow throbbed like hell, not that it mattered at this point. The smell of urine assaulted his nose. He breathed through his mouth and tried not to gag.
This was not supposed to happen to him.
As a junior, he'd been second-team all-state in football and baseball. PAC-10 coaches wooed him. His teammates respected him. Girls fell at his feet. Everything was on track and on time. College, then pros, big bucks, busty cheerleaders, and a one-way cruise out of this hell hole.
Then the bad news...
He hated this crap destroying him cell by cell and leaving his mind imprisoned in a dying body. He didn't want to die. He was scared shitless of dying. He didn't know if he believed in an afterlife or heaven or hell. Didn't know if he'd just disappear into dust. Had never given it a thought because he'd been young and invincible. He might have had a shit home life, but his talent gave him an out.
Not anymore.
He shut his eyes, slept for a while. When he woke, darkness engulfed him. Rain ran down the dirty kitchen window, leaving streaks. His weary body hurt everywhere. Despair swallowed him whole, but he refused to give in and give up.
With a groan, he rolled onto his good hip and fished his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, the one Coach had given him for emergencies. He tried Coach, but no one answered.
He tried a couple of friends. No answer.
His mother didn't have a cell, so that was out, not that she'd give a fuck or pick up when she saw it was him.
With a resigned sigh, he dialed one last cell phone number and waited.
Rachel's breath caressed Derek's skin like a warm breeze drifting across Puget Sound on a hot summer day. Her lips nuzzled his neck. Her nipples rubbed against his bare chest. It was enough to drive a man insane.
Tremors vibrated through Derek's body stronger than an earthquake in a fault zone. More than lust. He knew it, just didn't want to know it. Because if these tremors weren't lust, they were something else. Something he didn't do because being vulnerable was so not going to happen. Not in this lifetime. Not with any woman, and especially not this woman.
Yet he owed her some kind of explanation regarding this situation they'd fallen into. He avoided the word
relationship
even if this thing between them was beginning to feel like one. He didn't do relationships. They were too permanent, too confining, too emotionally dangerous.
Pulling her close, he both loved and hated how well she fit. “Where do you think this is heading?” He held his breath and waited. The only sound in the room came from Simon's snoring and the rain beating on the window.
Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but his cell jangled and startled them both. Derek groped in the dark for it. People didn't call this late unless something was wrong.
"Don't answer it if it's my brother.” Rachel sat up beside him and clutched his arm.
Derek checked the display and didn't recognize the number. “Hello?” He hoped like hell it wasn't some rabid fan. The more the Jacks won, the more the crazies crawled out from under the bleachers.
"Uh, Derek, hi, it's Ryan.” The kid's voice broke, and every nerve in Derek's body went on alert.
"Hey, bud. Everything okay?” Derek forced his tone to be nonchalant, while he strangled the life out of his cell phone. He glanced at the clock and frowned. It was late, really late—after two in the morning. Not good. Not good at all.
"I, uh, this is embarrassing, but I can't reach anyone else. You said I could call you if I needed something.” Ryan's ragged breathing alarmed him.
"Sure. Are you okay?"
"I fell out of my wheelchair. I can't get up.” Ryan's voice shook with emotion.
Derek's heart dropped on his big toe. “You okay?"
"Nothing's bruised but my pride."
Derek heard the weary humor in the kid's voice. He chuckled. God, he loved that kid. “I'm on my way. Hold tight."
"I'm not going anywhere."
He jumped out of bed and flicked on the nightstand light. Hopping on one leg, he yanked on his jeans, not bothering with the boxers. Taking care not to catch his package, he zipped them up.