Page 80 of Hello Quarterback

I’d never stop fighting to be the man who deserved Mia’s love.

45

MIA

I wokeup knowing I loved Ford.

But somehow, seeing the way he looked at me, feeling how much he loved me, making love to him in the stream as the water rushed by... I loved him even more than I did before.

After making love, we splashed and played around for a little while, and when my hands started to prune, I said, “I’m going to lie out on the blanket and dry off.”

“I’m going to swim around a bit,” he replied.

I watched for a moment as he lay back in the stream, floating with just his face and chest breaking the surface. He looked so much younger here, at peace. When we made this agreement, I didn’t quite understand why it was so important to him to stay in Dallas when he had enough money to fly back any time he wanted and could play football anywhere. But I was starting to understand. It wasn’t just about living close to home and being near people he loved; it was about being anchored to this place where he could be fully himself.

With a small smile, I walked out of the stream. The sandy soil crunched under my feet as I walked to the picnic blanket and lay back on the gingham. Grass and twigs broke up the textureunder my skin as I looked up at the canopy of cottonwood trees with small patches of bright blue sky peeking through.

Between the water covering me and the breeze, goosebumps formed on my skin, tiny peaks and valleys. Shivering slightly, I went to get my clothes, sliding them over slightly damp skin.

It was great being out here in the middle of nowhere, unconcerned with the world around us. Soon, I’d have to get back to reality, checking my phone, responding to emails and such. But for now... I was at peace.

I finished buttoning my pants, moisture from my hair dripping down my back. I wrung it out and took in Ford swimming down the stream and back, arm muscles powerfully slicing through the water, feet casting splashes behind him.

When he got closer to parallel with me, he stood, shaking water from his short hair and wiping moisture from his face. He cast me a sultry smile before walking from the water, droplets cascading down his hard stomach, falling to his semi-hard cock.

I licked my lips, ideas racing through my mind of the next thing that could occupy our time.

His foot must have landed unsteadily, because he stumbled slightly. I thought it was no big deal, until he let out a cry, water splashing around him as he fell to his hands and knees.

My heart lurched, and I yelled, “Ford! Are you okay?”

I fully expected him to jump up and say he’d lost his footing on some mud. But he stayed on his knees, crawling out of the water. I raced to him and saw blood dripping down the side of his foot, mixing with mud caked there.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to tell how bad it was.

He moved to sitting, studying the gash on the side of his foot—it had to be at least three inches long, and it was gaping open. My stomach sank as I knelt beside him. “Ford, you need stitches.”

His expression was stony, not revealing a thing. “I need you to get my clothes.” His voice was so emotionless it scared me.

I got up, running to the picnic basket to get a bottle of water and his clothes. Then I hurried back. “Let me rinse it out before you put your clothes on.”

He nodded stiffly, not offering any more words before I emptied the water over his wound. He hissed sharply as more blood rushed out of the gash. The mud had hidden some of the damage—it was worse than I had feared. Ignoring the guilt and worry threatening to take over, I got to work, helping him dress in his pants before wrapping his shirt tightly around the wound and tying it together.

“My phone,” he said.

I felt faint as I walked to get his phone from the blanket where he left it. Forcing myself to take deep breaths, I carried it back to him. With a few shaky taps on the screen, he held it to his ear.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Dad, I need you to come pick up Mia and me... We’re still at the creek... I think I stepped on some barbwire or glass or something.” His voice broke. “It’s pretty bad.”

At the emotion finally showing in his words, my heart ached for him. I sniffed back my tears, hurriedly packing things away into the picnic basket. And at the roar of a truck engine, Ford stood up. He had on one of his cowboy boots, the other in his hand.

“Let me help you,” I said. “Put your arm around me.”

He didn’t say a word, choosing to hop toward his dad, who was already out of the pickup and rushing toward us. Instead of asking, Gray just grabbed Ford’s hand, drawing it up and around his shoulder. Gray’s arm was tight around his son’s waist as he led him toward the pickup.

My heart clenched, and I felt so awkward and alone as I gathered up the picnic blanket and basket and rushed after them, picking my way through the grass and branches until I reached the truck. It was only a single cab, and Ford sat on the passenger side. “You can sit in the middle,” Gray said to me. “Go in on my side. I’m getting the horses.”

Gray ran off, and with Ford’s gaze hard on the dash, I asked him, “Do I need to ride a horse back?”

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