“My man, the eternal optimist,” I say, fighting a smile. “But I was talking about getting you horizontal so you can rest.”
He bends his head and gives me a soft kiss. “I like my plan better. But keep calling me your man. It soothes my weary soul.”
I roll my eyes but put my arm around his waist. “Come on, hot shot, we can negotiate terms in bed.”
Finn slings his arm over my shoulders and gives me a light squeeze as we slowly move to his bedroom—our bedroom now. “I love coming home to you,” he says with a content sigh. “I have from day one. But now…” He glances down at me. “It makes it all worth it.”
A lump rises in my throat and I press my lips to the side of his chest, just breath him in for a moment. He smells of soap, the clean cotton of his shirt, and the warmth of his body. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Once inside the bedroom, I grab the fireplace remote and turn on the gas fireplace. It flares to life, soon to send warmth radiating into the cool room. The bedside lamps give the bedroom a soft, golden glow. And I realize why his decorator did his room up in muted earth tones and luscious fabrics. This place is a haven for his tough days.
“Want some dinner,” I ask him.
“Downed a cheeseburger and some fries on the way home.” He heads straight towards the bed.
“No soaking bath?” I ask him.
“Had an ice bath after the game, then a hot shower.” Finn toes off his sneakers. “I have no interest sitting around in more water.”
Gingerly, he moves to pull off his shirt, and I help him. My breath catches as we lift the shirt past his ribs. “Jesus, Finn.”
His sides and back are red and covered with a patchwork of nasty bruises.
“Ugly game,” he says flatly. “Got sacked a few times.”
I rest my hand on his lower back, barely touching him, and he shivers. But when I try to snatch my hand away, he stops me by covering his hand over mine. “No,” he says. “It feels good when you touch me.”
“Finn…” My heart aches as I brush my lips over his shoulder blade, my other hand slipping around to his front to stoke his stomach. We stand in silence, Finn breathing slow and deep, leaning into me as I pepper soft kisses across the back of his shoulders.
I hold him as if he’s fragile.
In this moment, he is. And I resent every hit that he’s taken.
Another tremor goes through him and slowly, slowly, he disengages from me, turning to sit on the side of the bed. “Come here,” he whispers, taking my hand.
“Don’t you want to lie down?” I ask as he settles me on his lap.
“Gotta do this is stages,” he says with a grunt, then arranges me to his liking.
“Baby…” I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my forehead against his. “You are killing me.”
Finn touches my cheek, his blue eyes searching mine. “You worry for me, Chester?”
I run a finger over his jaw. “I ache for you, Finnegan.”
His hand slides into my hair and he pulls me close. Our kiss is slow, easy, deep. There are words in the kiss: mine, yours, always. His lips clings to my lower one is a soft suckle before he pulls away to meet my gaze. “I don’t like the idea of you hurting. Especially if it’s for me.”
“Not something you get a say over,” I tell him, kissing his temple.
He makes a noise, half a laugh, half an objection, and his hand trails down my cheek to my collarbone.
We’re quiet then. I play with the short ends of his hair, kiss his cheek, his jaw, anywhere I can get. Finn strokes my neck, watching his fingers move along my skin as if the sight soothes him. I’m accustomed now to seeing him hobble home from a game. But this is different. He seems soul weary.
Cold fear and hot regret surge through me at the thought that I might be responsible for this.
“What happened,” I ask him as he finds the top button of the soft cotton work shirt I’m wearing.
He flicks open a button. “Dex totally lost it today. He’s been on and off all season, but some dumb ass lineman tried to fire him up and he fell for it.” Finn ducks his head and kisses the side of my neck. His breath is hot against my skin. “Don’t blame him, but everything went to shit after that.”
I rest my hand on the top of his head. “Why did he lost it?”
Another button slips free. Finn’s fingers trace his progress. “Press got compromising pictures of his girl. Dude started making comments about her tits—breasts.”
“That would do it.”
Finn grimaces. “Everything went to shit after that.”
“I’m sorry.” I smooth my hand over Finn’s head in an absentminded stroke.
“And it’s all on me, Chess. Doesn’t matter who’s at fault. If we can’t get the job done, I look bad.”
His cheek touching mine. We’re so close, I feel the sweep of his lashes when he blinks.
“The pressure gets to me sometimes,” he says. “I tell myself that it’s all in my head. To ignore it. But some days are harder than others.”
“Maybe you don’t ignore those fears but just face them,” I say in a low voice. “Let them play out in your head and then let them go.”
Finn sighs. “I know I won’t play forever. But it’s one thing to retire, walk away with your head held high. Getting cut? Never finding a new team? How do I face people then?”
“You face them head on, because you, Finn Mannus, are fucking brilliant with or without football.”
“Chess…”
“This is a rough patch, Finn. But I believe in you. In who you are as a man, not just as a football player. You’re not going to fail because you’ll never give up. That’s the only failure in life.”
The curve of his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “Everything is right when I’m with you.”
He sounds so forlorn that I kiss his closed eyes. “You’re here now. Let me take care of you.”