"We can make it work," I repeated stupidly, tears spilling into my eyes.
"Now come here," he said roughly, beckoning with his fingers. I ran into his arms and he crushed me to his chest. "What time are you leaving in the morning?"
"Early."
"Who's taking you?"
"I'm driving up myself."
"No you're not."
I glanced up at him. "Ben, you don't have to … don't you have practice or something?"
His eyes were on my mouth. "Nope. Our next exhibition game is Wednesday so I've got this covered. I'll drive you to school and get you settled, but … " His lips were now inching their way across my jaw until he was nestled at the corner of my mouth.
"But what?" I said huskily.
"I'm gonna need a month's worth of loving tonight in order to get my quota in since I'm headed for a long dry spell again."
"A month's worth?" His hands were under my jersey and he jerked back, lifting the edge and peeking under. "No bra," he said.
"No."
"Huh." His other hand inched down into the waistband of my jeans and he grinned. "Commando?"
"Yep."
He whistled and stepped back. "Take your shirt off."
I cocked my head to the side and smiled, a tremulous, happy, smile. "You first."
But I didn't have to say anything else-he was already on it-and we never made it back to the house until much later, and even then I wasn't halfway done fulfilling my man's quota.
I let Ben Lancaster love me and I gave him back as much as he gave me. And later, much later, when he held me in his arms and drifted off to sleep, I stared up into a perfect night sky, content, in love, and for the first time in forever it seemed, I was hopeful.
The pieces inside me, the ones that sometimes moved fast and loose, were still. They were quiet. Peaceful.
And for that I was grateful.