Page 79 of Losing a Piece of Me

He places his hand under my chin and forces me to look at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I stayed for you, you didn’t make me stay.”

“Wow, Gary was right. You two are intense.”

We both look at her, confused.

We all stare at one another.

Suddenly, Striker sits back. “Yeah well, that’s kind of what you get when you were raised the way we were.” He sits up, placing his arms on the table. “We didn’t have anyone but each other.”

She nods, understanding. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to look you up so many times, but I just couldn’t. I knew you would blame me for everything. I couldn’t face you.”

“I don’t blame you, Mom. Maybe when I was younger I would’ve, but after finding out the truth I know you did the only thing you could. You thought he would take care of me.” His eyes fill with fear and sadness. “After seeing that picture of you in that hospital bed, I’m glad you escaped. I could handle Dad, but you couldn’t. He almost killed you.”

“I know. I just wish things could’ve been different.”

“Well, let’s start over. Tell me what you’ve been doing.” He sits up, watching her every move.

I know this isn’t my Striker. This is Striker as a little boy. The beaten boy who finally got his mother back. I lean back in my seat and watch them in awe. Being able to see her love, sadness, and regret pains me greatly. I believe her when she says she thought he would be taken care of. I remember Ken before she left. He had been an attentive father, nobody could’ve seen it coming.

* * *

We sit and have lunch, moving on to coffee when we finish. When dinner rolls around and the night air becomes cool, we all stand to go our separate ways. Striker and Kate say goodbye with a hug and a few shed tears. He promises to keep in touch while we walk her to her car.

I move to get inside the truck, but stop when I realize he hasn’t moved. I turn around and see him watching her drive off.

I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his stomach. “I think that went pretty well.”

He spins in my arms and looks down at me to meet my eyes. “Thank you for coming with me.”

I smile. “I would follow you anywhere.”

He bends down and presses his lips to mine. I move my hands around his neck and keep him close as he pulls me even closer. Our bodies are practically welded together. He hardens against me and I shudder, needing to feel him inside me. My need for him is overwhelming, it controls me entirely.

Someone driving by honks and shouts and we pull away. My cheeks are hot with embarrassment when I realize we're making out in a parking lot.

Striker tugs me toward the truck. “Let's get back to the hotel.”

I leave the football game just as it starts. I'm supposed to meet Striker here, but if I know him, he's hanging out in the parking lot.

I cross the street and walk into the gravel parking lot. He always parks in the same spot: in the last row, right under the lamppost.

He finally comes into view and I head towards him. He's sitting on the hood of his truck, leaning back against the windshield with his ankles crossed and a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.

Gemma is sitting next to him, smoking a cigarette, talking a mile a minute even though Striker isn't listening at all. I can tell because his eyes have found me walking up.

“Hey,” I say to them. Brett stops throwing rocks at the metal sign and spins around to greet me with open arms.

He picks me up over his shoulder and smacks me on the ass. “It's about time you got here. The cannons are going to go off any minute now.”

“What's the deal with the cannons?” I ask as he sets me on my feet.

“Brett!” Striker shouts before nodding his head toward Gemma, who is walking toward the field.

Brett nods and chases after her.

I turn and close the distance between Striker and me. “What's with the cannons?”

He gives me a cocky grin. “Oh, just a little anniversary present.”

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