I woke to the gentle sound of rain, pattering on the leaves in my courtyard just outside the bedroom window. It was still dark, and the mellow music of soft, distant thunder and whispering breezes lolled me into a welcome lethargy. I snuggled deeper into my pillow. An early riser, this was a new and pleasant experience. That, and the blessed warmth of John's body, just inches away, his even, sleep breath adding to the lovely morning symphony.

I turned. John, like me, was naked, sleeping atop the sheets, reaching for the comfort only such a summer morning could bring. It had been unbearably hot all week. The coming storm front titillated relief, dangling it like a Godiva chocolate in front of a starving woman with PMS. The soft white curtain floated in. John stirred then drifted back into deep slumber.

I bunched my pillow and gazed at him. John Biebe. So loving, so steady. Uncompromisingly honorable, with the biggest heart I've ever known. And so beautiful. His dark lashes lay calm on his cheek, his perfect soft lips, slightly open, as a bear-like snuffle ruffled his nostrils. I gently pushed back his silky hair then brushed a tender kiss on his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, exposing eyes the color of a summer sky. Then he smiled. "Was I drooling, ay?"

I shook my head and lowered my lips to his, sucking a delightful kiss that made us both sigh.

"We saying good morning in the bed today?" he teased.

Usually I was already up, puttering around the house long before John, and unlike most couples, our morning sex took place, ah-hem, in other parts of the house. I nodded and buried my face in his neck, licking the sweet moisture there. His arm curled around me, pulling me over him. He's so big, I felt like a little kid. His heart thumped an easy rhythm against my breasts and I whispered, "I love you."

His hands kneaded my back, my hips, my ass. His mouth found mine and John did what he does better than any Brother. He loved me with the passion of his lips, kissing me with prefect pressure, sliding his tongue against mine and moaning with pleasure.

Pale lightning brightened the room and I awaited the thunder. One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three. I'd lost count, John's mouth had found my breast, lapping and sucking. I crawled higher, offering him full access, and his hands cupped and massaged. A tingle rushed to my center, teased in my teeth. When he released his hold I was already wet, weakening with uncontrollable desire.

I shuffled lower, watching his eyes watch mine, carefully positioning myself. He grasped my hip with one hand and slid the other into the slippery folds, finding the treasure before guiding me down onto him.

The slow press of his solid cock was welcomed, ushered in with waves of delightful spasms that sent chills up my back. I sat tall over him, his finger moving a sure pace, matching the rhythm of our heartbeats. A flash of white lightning cast a sharp shadow of our lovemaking on the wall. I lowered my mouth onto his, wanting nothing more than to feel completely connected to him. My love. My safety. My John.

As I climbed toward fruition, my heart lurched with joy. John's entire body was truly loving me. His hands, working me into complete pleasure, his hips rose, pressing his cock deeper inside; his mouth caressed and sucked mine. And he waited for me. Using every muscle at his disposal to bring me up slowly and hold himself at bay. "Baby, I love you too," he whispered as he pressed me close, my face deep in his neck.

His passion grew, pressuring a slide on the sweat that puddled between us, pounding his hips up as I pounded mine down. With a loud crash of thunder, lightning flashed and a blast of cool, damp air rushed trough the curtain. Orgasm gripped me, sudden and hard, shaking my body. John's hands pressed my hips down. "Jesus!" he cried, filling me with his seed, taking me on his journey, higher and higher until we dropped together. Panting, grasping for each other. Holding on to everything we are, everything we wanted to be.

We slept through the storm and late into the morning.

I got up, slid the window closed, regretting the need to turn on the air conditioner. Both John and I dislike that refrigerated feeling. I dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, then ran a finger over his belly, tickling the soft fur there. His hand covered mine, but his eyes remained shut.

"It's 11:30. Would you like breakfast or lunch?" I asked.

He rubbed his temple. "Breakfast," was all he said.

***

It was going to be one of those ugly, hot summer days in Pittsburgh. Raining. Misty. Steamy dog days, filled with downpours that makes it not only humid, but stuffy. Oh, well. Typical. I'm used to it.

John woke with a headache, in a dark mood I'd never seen before and even the puppy seemed to be tip-toeing around him. I made breakfast then watched him flip through the newspaper while he ate. An occasional, "hummph," or "fuck," were the only words I'd heard since "thank-you, baby," right after our easy, early morning sex. He stood with a groan, gave me a peck on the cheek then headed down to the family room. I shook my head, hoping the aspirin would work soon. This was not the John Biebe I knew. Sophie followed him at a safe distance as I cleared the table.

"Riley," he called from the landing.

"Yeah?" I stood at the top of the stairs and watched him rub his temple with one hand, finger the items displayed on the shelf with the other.

"I didn't realize you were such a sports buff." His voice was reproachful; his red eyes turned up to me, lips tight, hair falling over his face. Damn, he didn't even shake it back; his head must have hurt something awful.

"Ah." Shit. How to answer? "John, those things aren't mine." I swallowed hard.

"And you're keeping them . . . why?"

I thumped down on the top step. Damn, tears filled my eyes, dropped down my face and onto my chest. I couldn't stop them. And I couldn't answer his question, no matter how hard I tried. So I lied. "I'm sorry. I just haven't had a chance to . . ."

Sophie was hopping onto my lap, trying to comfort me and John was just blinking.

Taking two steps at once, he reached out and wrapped me and the dog into his arms. "Damn. Don't cry, ay?"

He sat beside me and scratched Sophie's head till she snuffled and left us alone. One big arm around me, he sighed. "I'm gonna be a fucking bear today. My head is splitting. Do me a favor, baby."

I looked into his aching eyes.

"Ignore me. Just till the drugs kick in, ay?"

I smiled, kissed his forehead tenderly and left to finish the dishes. I knew what he was talking about with that headache. It was summer cold season, but it was also deep hay fever and sinus pain season. I sympathized. And ignored the issue of the sports paraphernalia on the landing shelf.

But of course, that wasn't the end of it, and there is no way on the face of the earth that I could ever ignore John. I sighed, started the dishwasher and draped the damp dishtowel to dry. Turned, and slam! The mail hit the counter right beside me, making me jump.

He'd taken the dog out and gotten the mail. There, on top of the stack, a letter from Lachlan. I blinked. I got a letter from Lach every few days. And lately, every time John brought in the mail, it was right on top of the pile. I braced myself, determined not to cry again. "Thanks."

John leaned back against the fridge, arms folded over his chest. I looked into his face. Nope, the aspirin hadn't done a damn thing to make him feel better. And now, I was supposed to keep a promise I never even made. Did he really think I could ignore him? His eyes held me still. I cleared my throat. "Ah."

His chin jerked toward the mail. "What the hell do you two have to write about?"

I shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just stuff. We're friends, John. That's all. And," I walked toward him with full intentions of comforting him with a kiss. But his head tilted and he glared right into my heart. "John. They're just letters, baby. Words on paper."

"Yeah, Riles," he hissed. "Isn't that what brought you and me together? Words on paper?"

I swallowed hard. He was right. I wrote a story for Isobel's site, and the rest just happened. It was magic, amazing, blessed. "John, how can you compare that to silly letters between friends?"

He was silent, those poor bloodshot eyes hard on me.

"John, you can't think . . ."

He pushed away and left the kitchen. You'd think I'd know better, me of all people. But I followed. "John, talk to me about this, please. If it bothers you so much, I can stop writing to Lach."

He swung around. "Don't you get it?"

John Biebe actually shouted at me. I stepped back, fighting every urge to run from a man's fury.

"I don't need this shit, Riley! I've been through enough!" His face leaned in and I began to lose myself in fear.

"Between your beloved Lachlan's letters, and Gary's fucking shit all over the place, I don't know . . ." He leaned even closer, his voice hard as nails. "I'm thinking there are just too many fucking men in this house, ay?"

My heart cracked. Without realizing it, I'd crumpled completely into a corner, was down on the floor, curled in a protective ball, my face buried in my knees and shaking like a leaf. What is it about learned behavior? Why couldn't I stand up to this? I knew I was safe. Even in his black mood, John would never hit me. So why was I so afraid?

If my heart cracked, John's must have fucking exploded. With a loud slam, his was on his knees, trying to hold me as I fought him off. He was talking gently, and crying too. Deep, loud sobs. Shit! How had this happened? Would I lose him? How could I have been so insensitive? Hurt him so much?

I couldn't even guess how long it went on, but finally, his embrace reached my core and I melted inside, close to John's big heart. I don't remember one word he said, just the mellow sound of his voice, the touch of his fingertips, his wet lips.

He carried me to the bed and lowered me so gently, pushing tears from my face, speaking softly, soothingly. He undressed me and tucked me under the blanket, saying sweet things. And apologizing.

"God sakes, baby. Jesus, I'm so fucking sorry. Please. Riley, forgive me." He sniffed then ran sleeve across his face. "I'm such a fucking jackass. Jesus, baby. I'm sorry."

And I saw him, clearly. I swear. I've never loved another human being as much as I love John. Never. I reached up and pulled him close. And I told him that.

I don't think you could have called it make-up sex. It wasn't the kind of sex that comes from a huge epiphany. It wasn't the kind of sex you reach for when you know it's over. It was more like a sacrament, a ceremony. It was not quite a renewal, but a coupling that expanded the parameters of John and I, who we are together. It was a communion, a marriage.

Flushed and safe, cradled on his chest, John again apologized. But this time, without desperation. With truth. And this, I could accept.

"I'm scared, baby," he said, his mouth brushing the top of my head. "If I lost
you . . . I don't think I could take it."

I looked up. "John. I don't know how to explain this. But I love you so much, sometimes it hurts, here." I pressed my hand on my chest, and he took it in his, lowering a soft kiss on my palm.

"You know I'd never hurt you. I can't believe I let my fucking temper go that far."

"Shhh." But even as I tried to soothe him, I felt a tremble deep inside.

"Riley, I do know what you mean about loving so much. How good it feels, how much it aches. I don't want to lose you, baby. Not because I'm too fucking stupid to realize how I could scare you. I swear I would never hurt you. "

"I know that. I really do. You can't lose me, John. Ever. I love you."

He cleared his throat and pulled me close. "Lachlan?" His voice was raspy, weak.

"If it will make you feel better, I'll stop writing to him. We're friends. He cares about me. About us, John. Lach wouldn't do anything that would upset you or hurt us. He's the one who made sure I got to you. Did you know that?"

"No." He sighed deeply. "I didn't know that. But what if . . ."

"What if, what? There's love, John. And there's the pull. I love you. Completely. If we weren't in this world, and I could have met you in yours . . ."

"I know. I know." His hug was so warm, so all encompassing, taking my soul into his own. "I don't want to tell you not to write to him. It makes you happy. Maybe I just don't understand it. I've been in this world for a long time, honey. And I just don't understand, you know, why you chose to be just friends. I don't like to be like this, but I keep feeling like he has a part of you I don't. And that, well . . ."

I leaned up on an elbow, smoothed his hair back and looked into his beautiful eyes. "Tell me what to do, John. Because I am pulled to Lach. He's my best friend. And I love him, too. His sweetness, his advice. His humor. But I love you so much more, and you need to know that. So I'll do whatever you want."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Ask for him."

I swallowed hard. It was exactly what had been on my mind for weeks. And I wondered why Lach hadn't pushed harder when he'd suggested it and I balked at the idea. "That would make you feel better?"

"Yes. It's the way it works, baby." He settled back, head on his arms, staring at the ceiling. "It's better. No secrets."

I was almost afraid to ask. "Is this because of Reagan and Max?"

"No, it's about you and me. It's about our pasts . . . before this world." He continued to stare up, his eyes intense on the plaster texture and the ceiling fan. "Yeah, maybe it has a little to do with losing Reags. But it has more to do with what happened between Meredith and me." At the name of his first wife, John drew in a deep breath, let it out painfully slow. "See, I lost Meredith to her best friend, Riley. Someone I trusted. Trusted with my life."

He turned to me and I held my breath.

"Riley. I lost Meredith to my dad."

I sat up, wrapped my arms around my knees. "Jesus, John."

He nodded, the hurt still in his eyes. After a long moment, he pulled himself up against the headboard. "Here, it's different. Maybe more complicated. Maybe simpler, I don't know. But here we have the pull. And I expect that. I feel it toward all the Sisters. Some more than others. And I know you and Lach have to be feeling it. And I'm okay with that. It's the Game. You and I will always come back home to each other. Love each other this much. Always. What I'm not okay with is the --"

"Secrets." Man, I felt like shit. "But there are no secrets, John. I've posted most of the letters. You've seen them."

"Yeah, I have."

But it was obvious he knew the power behind them too, the threat that comes with buried passion. The pain that follows.

"I've been an idiot."

His hand cupped my cheek. "No sweetheart. You just haven't figured it out yet. That's all." He pulled me into a deep kiss, his hands warm on my back. "But."

My ears perked.

"There's that other man."

I sat back. "Gary?"

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair and chewed his lip. "Why haven't you pitched his stuff, Riley? Do you still love him?"

God, the look in his eyes could have stopped my heart. "No, John. I never loved him."

"Why, then?"

I started to shake again, swallowed hard and croaked. "Because . . . I'm afraid to. John, I'm afraid of what he'll do to me if he comes for his stuff and it's not where he left it."

His eyes became intense, eyebrows knotted. "There's no fucking way he's going to hurt you again, Riley. I won't let him."

"But you're not always here. John, you coach. Soon you'll be off on visits."

Again he slid down, stared up into the air. Then he reached out for me and I cuddled beside him. "He's never gonna hurt you again, baby."

***

Several hours later, I woke with a start. John had sat straight up in the bed, pulled on his sweats and was heading downstairs. I was afraid to move, knowing what was on his mind.

Then I heard it. The thump of cardboard boxes, the crash of glass as the expensive, framed, autographed photos of sports greats slammed against each other. When I got to the landing, John was sweeping his arm across the shelves, pushing everything off in a shattered heap. He lifted the box with a grunt then brushed past me, through the kitchen and into the garage.

I watched him heave the load into his jeep and open the garage door as he dialed his cell phone.

"Hey, mother fucker. If you want your fucking shit, come and get it right now, or dig it out of the fucking dumpster."

Silence as he slammed the tailgate closed. John listened then shouted.

"You wanna know who the fuck I think I am, ay? Get your ass over here and I'll show you who the fuck I am."

Another pause. His face was red. "Yeah, you fucking prick. Now!"

My heart went into overdrive. I ran back to the bedroom and dialed Darcy's cell number. She and Bud weren't far away, having dinner at a restaurant. I told her what was happening.

By the time I'd desperately pulled on my clothes and got back to the garage, John was pacing, looking like a crazed goalie. Gary's car pulled up with a screech. He leapt out and charged right at John, who was charging right at him.

Gary's a big man. Six foot four. Not in great shape, but brutal with his fists, take it from me. I was paralyzed, watching it all in slow motion. Then I saw Darcy's caddy pull up. Bud was out the door before she even stopped the car.

You'd think my eyes would be on the men, but Darcy fucking amazed me. She jumped out of her car, swinging a "club" . . . you know, that metal gadget you put on a steering wheel to prevent theft.

Bud caught her arm and tossed her out of harms way, while grunting a solid blow deep into Gary's gut. He braced Gary's shoulder and slammed a knee up into his ribs. John was swinging for his face, catching it with his substantial fist and "mother-fucking" at the top of his lungs. Gary was like a locomotive, brushing the Brothers away, occasionally focusing on John and slamming his broad, meaty shoulder up against John's face, butting him like a manager arguing with an errant umpire. Bud pulled him away, and again forced a brutal slug, pinning him between the two Brothers.

And Gary was trying to free himself . . . to get at me.

That's when Bud lost it completely. Even John stepped back to watch. Darcy's mouth was wide open and I . . . well, you won't believe what I did.

I stood and watched the whole thing, like it was a fireworks display. Ohh, ahh. Bud was absolutely out of control. At one point, he actually lifted all 260 pound of Gary and tossed him against the brick wall. Then he simply plowed into him, causing Gary to double over and drop like a boulder. John stepped in and tried to pull Bud away, just to be flipped aside as if he was nothing but an annoyance, a mosquito. When Gary was finally subdued, Bud gave John an apologetic nod and ran his jacket sleeve across his sweaty brow.

Sighs all around, except for Gary, who groaned miserably.

Remember that learned behavior I mentioned earlier? Well, this Little Sister managed to temporarily overcome it. I stood straight, squared my shoulders, and walked right up to my bloody, battered, wife-beater ex-husband. Bud's knee was on Gary's neck, grinding the side of his face in the wet, cement driveway. Bud looked up into my eyes then gave me a smile that could melt ice. John watched my every move, protective, his fists ready. I stepped close then knelt down on one knee. Bud ground Gary's face harder, pressing with his elbow.

Gary cried out in pain then moaned. His eyes snapped up at me, and his voice, a threatening growl from deep in his black heart. "You fucking bitch. What do you think you're doing? I'll fucking kill you!"

Bud twisted Gary's arm back, pressed his weight heavier and I swear I actually heard the bone break.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he shouted at Bud. His reward; one of those wrestling moves. Bud literally jumped, and pounced right back down on Gary's ribs. Blood sprayed from his mouth and he groaned. "Fuck!"

"Gary," I said smoothly. "This is my husband John, and his brother, Bud. And I think it might be a wise idea if you never show your face here again, don't you?"

Gary struggled under Bud's weight then endured yet another indignity. John leaned down and lifted his head by the hair. "You never come near Riley again, motherfucker. Next time, I'll let him kill you." Then he stood and began to turn away. But with a sudden grunt, John swung his foot deep into Gary's groin. "Fuck that," he said. "I ever see you again, I'll kill you myself."

Bud jerked Gary to his feet with a swift yank and literally tossed him into his running car. He slammed the door closed and leaned into the open window. "You have a nice day, sir."

As the car pulled away, every nearby neighbor ran out of their houses and started to cheer and applaud. Frank, John's Harley buddy trotted across and clapped a bear hug, then shook Bud's hand.

I stood, steadied only by Darcy's arm. Then I melted into John's chest. "Thank you," I whispered, then kissed his bleeding lip, sucking it gently.

Bud ran a huge hand over my back then reached for Darcy, taking the "club" from her shaking hand. "I think everything's under control here, Sweetheart. Let's go home."

John reached out and shook Bud's hand, and for the first time, I saw the similarity between them. No one would ever hurt their women. Ever.

"What can I say, man." John said, rubbing his aching knuckles. "She's mine."

Bud nodded.