Fall for You: Boys of Alabama

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I drag my ass through the front door of my house and drop my purse on the kitchen table along with my phone and my keys. I must have beat Clarissa home. She said something about needing snacks when she was leaving the field. The text from Jase really has me shook up. I snag a bottle of whiskey that I keep on the top shelf of a cupboard and grab a glass, pouring myself a double shot. I take a sip, nervously glancing around my quiet kitchen. I’m terrified knowing he’s watching me. I spent years allowing this man to control my life. I can’t go back to that.

Being with Crawford is like nothing I’ve ever felt before, he’s incredible and I’m pretty sure I’m falling head over heels stupid in love with him. I refuse to let Jase take that from me, but I also refuse to allow him to hurt Ford or either of the kids. He’s a wild card, especially since I left him the way I did.

A floorboard creaks in the front of the house somewhere and I freeze with the glass to my lips. Holy fuck. I quietly sit my glass on the counter and reach for the knife in my knife block. My hands shake and my breathing quickens as I make my way towards the dining room. Another sound comes from the direction of my room. I cut a glance to my phone on the table, wondering if I should grab it and call 911. I doubt they’d get here before Jase killed me if he was in my house.

I press myself against the hallway, the knife positioned in my hand, ready to lash out at whoever the fuck it is that had the nerve to break into my house. I reach the doorway to my roo

m and let my head fall back against the wall for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I feel my free hand along the wall for the door handle. Twisting it, I turn, ready to attack whoever is there, but it’s empty. The window is wide open, and I know it was shut when I left for the game. My dresser drawer is also open part way. I press my hand to my chest somehow thinking it will slow my racing heart. Letting the knife clatter on the top of the dresser I take a deep breath.

Someone was here, I’m sure of it, but the window open makes me believe they’re gone. I close it, making sure it’s locked, and grab the knife from the dresser. I go room to room, checking every window to make sure they’re closed and locked. Maybe I’m just paranoid. I head back to the kitchen where I pour myself another drink and deadbolt the front door before I get ready for bed.

Ford

Saturdays at our house are always about being lazy. If we didn’t have somewhere to be we spent the entire day in our pajamas, watching movies, eating junk food, and playing Candyland with Aria. I woke up at 8 a.m. to a five-year-old bouncing on my bed and begging for chocolate chip pancakes.

I drag myself downstairs to get started. Pulling out all the ingredients we need while she brushes her teeth, I hear my front door opening. Only two people have a key: Zander and my mother. And since my mother is planning on having the kids over tonight while I got out with Lex, I’m assuming it’s Z. The door slams shut, and I can hear his boots clomping on the hardwood floors as he makes his way down the hall towards the kitchen.

“Aw, making me breakfast, sweetheart? You shouldn’t have.” He drawls while helping himself to a cup of coffee that just finished brewing. I toss a handful of chocolate chips at his head. He snorts as Aria scrambles in from brushing her teeth, crawling around on the floor to eat them. Zander props his hip against the counter and looks down at her. “Shit Aria, that’s disgusting.” She is giggling hysterically.

“It’s fine, I’m sure she eats worse at school,” I move to start mixing the batter and Aria gets bored eating off the floor, so she runs off to play. “To what do I owe the early morning intrusion?”

“I got called out. I leave in 36 hours,” he sits his cup on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. I sigh.

“Shit man, already? You just got back a month ago.”

“I know,” he scrubs his hands over his face, looking much older than his 29 years. “I think this is it. I’m really considering getting out.”

Same old song and dance with Zander. He wants out but he isn’t fooling anyone, he loves being in Special Forces. I wash my hands and toss the towel on the counter, settling back against the island and leaning back on my hands.

“What would you do?” I ask, “You know that you live for this shit.”

“I don’t know, maybe start my own security company, like private investigation but more hardcore, because ya know, I’m a bad ass.” He puffs his chest out.

“You might be a bad ass overseas, but you know I can still kick your fucking ass.”

“Daddy! That’s a dollar for the swear jar!” Aria shouts as she scrambles off the floor, her chocolate chips finished. Zander laughs and she throws herself at him, but he’s prepared and catches her, swinging her up onto his hip. “Are my pancakes ready? Uncle Z, is you gonna stay and eat with me?” She looks up at him with her sweet little face that makes it so hard to say no. He brushes her blonde curls away from her face.

“I wish I could, peanut, but I was just coming to say ‘see ya later’ because I have to go to work and I’m gonna be gone for a while.” She pouts her little lip out and Zander bops his finger on her nose. “Now none of that. You know Uncle Z always comes home.”

“Promise?” She questions as she wraps her little arms around his neck.

“Promise,” he whispers against her hair right before he kisses her head before releasing her and she skips over to her plate that I just sat down at the table, forgetting all about the conversation she just had with Zander and only caring about the sugar rush that is sure to come from that stack of pancakes.

I head down the hallway with Zander as he shouts upstairs for Zane. They say their goodbyes, Zander giving him his usual speech about needing him to check in on grandma since he has to go away. After agreements and man hugs, Zane heads to the kitchen for his breakfast and I’m left standing at the door with my little bro. He pulls me into a man hug. I clear my throat. We’ve said ‘see ya later’ a lot, but for some reason this time feels different. More meaningful.

“You come back in one piece; you hear me?” I say, shoving him in the shoulder. He winces and rubs it before opening the door. He trots down the front porch stairs and out to his F250 that is sitting in my driveway.

“You know me, big bro. I can’t come back in pieces. Who else would give you shit for all those gray hairs you're sporting?” I laugh a little as he rounds the front of his truck.

“Don’t forget to stop and see ma!” I shout just as he slams the door. He waves to me as he backs out of the drive.

“Daddy! Can I have a glass of milk?”

Duty calls.

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