Liberty rose. “You’re both the good ones.”
I snorted. “No. I’m really not. I almost ran Harper out of Nate’s life because I thought she was just using him. I nearly ruined his relationship.”
“It’s understandable to transfer that kind of suspicion,” she said softly, rounding the table to stand in front of me. “And in the end, it seems to have worked out. Harper’s very protective of you.”
“She shouldn’t be.” I shook my head. “And you know what still kills me? Every time I take the field, there’s this part of me that knows I’m living the life he should have had. Like I have to live it for both of us. I have to throw the most yardage. I have to get the best contract. I wear the number nine because his birthday was September ninth, and I carry him with me every single time I run through that tunnel.”
“Because you love him.” She took my hand.
“Because if I’d just gone to Notre Dame in the first place, I would have been the one to take the hit. I would have died, and he would have lived.” There. I’d said it. She could damn me, or she could accept me as I was, but I’d cut my soul open and served it to her on a platter.
“Oh, Nixon,” she raised her hands to my face. “That’s not how it works.”
“You don’t know that.” I backed away slightly, putting a few feet between us. “No one knows that. I tried to buy my parents a house for years after I joined the NFL, and they’d never take it. But Nate gets picked up for the NHL years later, and now they’re living in the house he bought them while my dad won’t even drive the truck I gave him. They might not say it, but they blame me, and they’re right. If I hadn’t thrown that ball with him so much. If I’d taken the first scholarship…” I sucked a breath through my teeth. “And I’m not telling you this so you can do your whole psychoanalyze thing on me.”
“I would never,” she promised, letting her hands fall, and resting one on the top of the curve that held our daughter.
“I’m telling you because you have to know that the shit that’s wrong with me will always be wrong. There’s a reason I have to control everything. A reason I keep the spices in alphabetical order and organize my shirts by color.” I gestured back toward the cabinet where the spices were kept.
She looked but didn’t speak.
“I have to maintain control over the things that don’t matter because when it comes to the things that do, I’m powerless. I can’t control if Harper breaks Nathan’s heart, or if he gets hit too hard in a game. I can’t control if my father will ever drive that goddamned truck, or if my mother will ever watch me play and not think about Nick. And you…” I shook my head and backed away until the counter of the kitchen island hit my back. “God, I have no control over what you do, and I’m terrified because I’m in love with you.”
Her lips parted, and her eyes glistened in the kitchen light as she followed me.
“So I figured I had to tell you exactly what’s fucked up with me to even deserve a prayer that you might choose to build a future with me. A real future that’s not just based on how much we both love our daughter, but what we feel for each other.” I raked my hands over my face, wishing I’d just kept my fucking mouth shut.
“You’re in love with me?” she asked softly, tugging my wrists so she could see my face.
“Yeah. Guess I can’t control my feelings either, right?” I tried to lift my lip into a smirk, but it didn’t happen.
She let go of my wrists and took my face in her hands. “You can’t control the way you feel. Trust me, I’ve tried. Loving you is the best and scariest thing I’ve ever felt. Not because you’re not amazing—you are, and I swear I’ll make you believe that if it’s the last thing I do—but because you make me want things like a home and roots, when all I’ve ever known are wings and freedom.”
“Your name is Liberty,” I noted with a slight curve to my lip.
“Not the time, Nixon.” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
“You love me, too?” I asked, clinging to that one sentence of her confession.
“So much it hurts.” She had the same look in her eyes that I did—wild, joyous, and ringed with the sharp edge of fear. “I love you.”
I kissed her, sweeping inside her mouth and laying claim to the woman I loved. I shoved all that fear to the side, and just for the moment, chose to live in the joy. I buried my fingers in her hair and tugged her closer, giving myself over to every emotion that came over me.
The timer beeped.
“Leave it,” Liberty ordered, shutting it off as we kissed our way by.
I glanced over to make sure the oven had turned off simultaneously, then I carried her upstairs, undressed her slowly, and made love to her even slower than that. Every touch was a feeling I hadn’t voiced. Every kiss was a promise I had every intention of keeping. I worshipped her with abandon, knowing that she was my life, my future, my family…all of it.
She was the only woman I would ever want. The only woman I would ever have beneath me again. And if something happened and she left—don’t even think like that—well, she’d still be the only one for me. I would love Liberty until the day I died.
When I finally slid inside her, slow and deep, we both moaned at the perfection of our fit. “I love you. I will always love you,” I vowed against her lips.
“I love you, too,” she swore. Then she raised her knees and took me deeper.
Fuck, she felt divine, wrapped around me. She was the closest to heaven I was ever going to get.
I slid a pillow under her hips to ease any pressure on her belly, and then I started moving in slow, rhythmic thrusts that had us both straining for the other. Our eyes locked, and our fingers laced.
She turned her head and bit the heel of my thumb gently. “Harder.”
“Are you—”
“Harder,” she demanded. “You feel so good inside me, Nixon. Right—oh God—right there!”
I swung my hips and took her deep and hard, pushing us both over the edge with a quick roll of my fingers between our bodies. We took each other so high in those moments I knew we’d set a new standard for the way we’d touch each other from now on. It might be slow and sweet or hard and quick, but there would be love in every single touch.
We both cried out as we came, and the aftermath was just as powerful as I held her in my arms.
Once we’d cleaned up and put minimal clothing on—me in athletic shorts, and her in my t-shirt, I served us both dinner…which was shockingly edible after being left in that oven for an hour.
“Thank you.” Her voice was as soft and sweet as she was.
“For what?”
“For sharing yourself with me.”
“Anything of mine is yours, Liberty. It’s all yours.” My lips pursed.
“Oh, God, what now?” Her eyes narrowed.
“In that spirit of everything of mine being yours…” I took a deep breath and readied my heart for rejection. “Will you please, for the love of God, let me buy you a new car? That thing doesn’t even have airbags, and you’re driving around on the highway. And it’s not just about the baby—”