Maya Cross - Grace for Drowning -

Contents Title Page Copyright Prologue (Logan) Four Months Later Chapter 1 (Grace) Chapter 2 (Grace) Chapter 3 (Grace) Chapter 4 (Logan) Chapter 5 (Logan) Chapter 6 (Grace) Chapter 7 (Grace) Chapter 8 (Logan) Chapter 9 (Logan) Chapter 10 (Grace) Chapter 11 (Logan) Chapter 12 (Grace) Chapter 13 (Grace) Chapter 14 (Logan) Chapter 15 (Logan) Chapter 16 (Logan)

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Chapter 17 (Grace) Chapter 18 (Grace) Chapter 19 (Logan) Chapter 20 (Grace) Chapter 21 (Logan) Chapter 22 (Grace) Chapter 23 (Grace) Chapter 24 (Logan) Chapter 25 (Grace) Two Months Later Chapter 26 (Grace) Chapter 27 (Logan) Epilogue (Logan) Thank you About the Author Other Titles

Grace for Drowning By Maya Cross

Copyright © 2014 by Maya Cross All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. Cover image taken by Simon Fuller http://www.simonfullerimagery.com/ A big thank you to my beta readers: Karen, Charlene, Beth A, Beth M, Roberta, Shannon, Leslie, Messy, Jane, Janice, Kristine, Vicki, Kim and Sarah. Your help, as always, was invaluable.

Prologue Logan "Get your fucking hands off me." Those six charming words were the first she ever said to me. It was a phrase I was used to hearing at that point, and it almost always came laced with anger and a waft of beer. I didn't take offense anymore. It was just part of the job. When you work the door of a popular bar, fifty percent of your job is laying hands on people who most certainly don't want to be touched. What I wasn't used to was hearing that phrase from the mouths of tiny, pixie-haired girls who looked barely out of high school. Young women typically weren't angry drunks. If you asked them to leave, they were more likely to flirt than fight¸ and when that didn't work they usually tried to depart with some scrap of dignity intact. But judging by the way this girl had stumbled straight into

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me, she'd long since thrown dignity to the wind. "You walked into me." It was the first thing I'd said in hours, and my voice was hoarse, raw from a night full of desert air. Most people in this town aren't stupid enough to work outside. The heat here isn't like other heat; it's Vegas heat. Scalding, mineral, fry-a-fuckin'-egg-on-the-sidewalk heat. But I'm not like most people. The desert climate suits me just fine. I don't feel at home without a dry throat and a lather of sweat. The girl pushed off my chest and tottered backward, sizing me up with glassy eyes. She was beautiful, or at least I thought she would have been under other circumstances, but there was something heavy in her expression now, an invisible weight that pulled everything tight. Her eyes were the worst. Hollow, haunted, empty. It was a look

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I knew all too well. I saw it every morning in the mirror when I woke up. Somehow she'd managed to smuggle a drink past the guys inside. A little of it had splashed down my shirt; straight vodka, judging by the burn in my nostrils. A serious drink for a serious occasion. "Whatever," she slurred, before stumbling away and planting herself on the curb. I knew I should just leave her alone. I wasn't looking to make friends, and she clearly wasn't in a talking mood, but something about her manner called to me. This wasn't just an 'end of a crappy week' bender. This was something bigger, something much more dangerous. I didn't have much to offer. Hell, I could barely keep my own shit under control, but I felt compelled to say something nonetheless. I'd spent my fair share of time hunting salvation at the bottom of a bottle, and I knew you always came up empty-handed.

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I crossed the sidewalk and squatted down next to her. "You think maybe you've had enough?" She glared at me. "What the hell do you care?" "I'm not trying to interfere, but Charlie in there," I nodded to the bar, "will kill me if I let you make off with that glass. He's particular like that." It was a lie, but it was all I could come up with. Defiance flared in her eyes, and without breaking her gaze she raised her drink and downed the entire thing in one long swig, wincing as she swallowed. "Satisfied?" she asked, waving the empty glass in my direction. So, she wasn't going to make this easy. Transferring my weight to my hands, I dropped until I was sitting next to her. Her scowl deepened, but she didn't move. We sat in silence for maybe thirty seconds. Since she'd dodged my clumsy

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attempt to intervene, all I had left was the direct approach. "It doesn't help, you know." Her head whipped around. "What?" "Drinking. It doesn't help. Believe me, I've tried." She narrowed her eyes, as if she was trying to work out what my angle was. "What the hell do you know?" I shrugged. "Not much, but I know when someone is hurting." Her expression softened for a moment, her mouth dropping ever so slightly open as though I'd caught her off guard, but it didn't last long. "Go to hell," she spat, and this time she did leave. I watched her stumble away, shoulders slumped and already glistening with sweat. Strangely, I felt a pang of guilt, like I should have done more. I hoped that I was wrong, that whatever had driven her to this was just a passing sadness, but I couldn't make myself believe it.

Four Months Later

Chapter One Grace A girl greeted me as I approached the bar. "What can I get for you this afternoon?" She was pretty, with long red hair and impossibly milky skin, and she wore the kind of beaming smile usually reserved for people on serious drugs and children's television hosts; the two of which may not be mutually exclusive, if you ask me. I had no idea where anyone got the energy to be that happy. Even in better times, I could only muster that much enthusiasm in short bursts, usually ones that involved ice cream or reruns of Jersey Shore, yet here she was, at three in the afternoon, grinning like a maniac at someone she'd just met. It had to be an act. A thirsty lump began building in my throat as I eyed the bottles lined up behind her. It was tempting. I was pretty sure drinking in front of my future colleagues before my first shift was the definition of getting off

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to a bad start, but, then again, most of my decisions lately hadn't been particularly well thought out. I gave my head a small shake. Focus. You need this. "Nothing, thanks. I'm actually supposed to be starting here today. My name's Grace." Somehow her grin managed to widen further still. "Oh my god. Charlie told me you were coming today. I'm so happy to meet you." She extended her hand. "I'm Joy." Joy? Seriously? My name's a noun too, but I'm about as graceful as an elephant on a carousel. Some people get all the damn luck. "Well, I'm happy to be here," I said, returning the gesture. The bar was nice — run down, but in a charming sort of way, with scuffed wooden floors and a host of beer posters from the fifties and sixties adorning the walls. It felt like it belonged in a small town in the middle of Nowheresville, rather

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than just a hop skip and jump from the Vegas strip. Something about the place seemed vaguely familiar, but that might have just been because I'd spent more than my fair share of time in bars over the last few months. Drink enough and they all start blurring together. Joy clapped. "Okay, we need to get you a shirt, and then I'll start showing you the ropes. Have you worked a bar before?" "Not as such. I'm more of a restaurants and cafes girl." "Oh cool! They're not that different. I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time." She looped her arm through mine, as though we'd been friends for years, and led me toward a door at the back of the room. "This is going to be so much fun. It's been ages since we had anyone new through here." That enthusiasm was strangely infectious and, in spite of myself, I found a genuine smile creeping onto my face. Maybe she

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was right. Maybe this was a turning point. God knew that after the last four months, I needed one. The sight that greeted me on the other side of the door caused me to freeze in place. "What the hell is all this?" The bar out the front was a fairly sizable for somewhere off the Strip, but the room back here absolutely dwarfed it. It was at least two hundred feet across in both directions. Spilling from each wall down to the center of the room were tiered bleachers, the front rows of each all coming to rest just a few feet from a massive circular platform that rose up out of the floor — a grimy white disk hemmed in by heavy black netting, like some giant spider's lair. Joy hesitated. "It's the ring. Your friend didn't tell you about it?" I shook my head.

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"Oh boy. Well, in a nutshell, Charlie doesn't just run the bar, he also has his little side project. Final Blow." "Final Blow?" "You know what UFC is?" I shrugged. "Kind of." "Well, it's like that. An ongoing mixed martial arts league. It's not nearly as big as UFC, or Pride, or any of the heavy hitters, but it's gradually making a name for itself around Vegas. In fact, these days, I'm starting to think the bar might be the side project." I blinked a few times, struggling to process this new info. I wasn't exactly one for sports, and I wasn't quite sure I was in a place where I wanted to start learning. "So, what, two guys go in and beat the crap out of each other until there's only one standing?" She tilted her head from side to side. "Kind of. There's rules, but that's the general gist."

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"Sounds charming." She laughed. "I felt the same way when I started here, but it's not that bad. It's kind of exciting, to be honest. Plus, the bodies on some of these guys," she made an elaborate sign of the cross, "sweet Jesus." I tried to share her conspiratorial smile, but the truth was, ogling guys was about the last thing I wanted to be doing right now. "So how often do the fights run?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. "It varies, but about once a month." "And we work them?" "Yep. They tend to be pretty crazy nights, so you've gotta keep your wits about you, but the tips are more than worth it. You can make a week's worth in a single night if you're on your game." "Now that I can get behind." I followed Joy into a storage room that sat nestled under the bleachers. She

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rummaged in a box for a few moments, and came up holding a black T-shirt with 'Charlie's' printed across the front. "Try this," she said, handing it to me and turning her back. "So what brings you to Charlie's, anyway? The boss just said you were a friend of a friend looking for work." "That's pretty much the sum of it." In truth, that was only the tiniest fraction of the story, but I wasn't about to bare my soul to someone I'd just met. Those tears were mine and mine alone. "Things at my last job didn't work out, so now I'm here." I slipped the new shirt over my head. "Seems to fit." Joy spun back toward me and smiled wickedly. "Perfect. Now you're one of us." "Should I be afraid?" I asked. "Probably," she said, in a mock serious voice, "but it won't help you now." I laughed. It felt good. God, how long had it been since I'd laughed?

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"Charlie will be in later," Joy continued. "When it's quiet it's usually just a few of us and Rafi in the kitchen. You'll be behind the bar with me for the first week, so if you've got any questions, I'm just a shoulder tap away." "Great." "Come and I'll show you where we keep everything." And so my new life began. It didn't feel like much yet, but it was a start. ***** The first two hours were a blur of information. Charlie's wasn't just some holein-the-wall bar with a house red and Bud on tap. They had ten draught beers available and a wine list that would have impressed several of the sommeliers from my past life. Then there were the cocktails. "Ah, Sludge. An old bar favorite," Joy said with a grin, eyeing the toxic looking monstrosity I'd just poured from a shaker. I

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had no idea what I'd done wrong. All the ingredients had been such pretty colors, but through some strange alchemy, when I'd shaken them together they just came out looking like runny mud. I can spend an entire day making a perfect seven texture chocolate cake, but I can't even mix three liquids together to make something called a Bumble Bee. Awesome. Joy laughed at my expression. "Don't worry, I'll take you through them all after the shift if you like, show you the ropes. It's not that tough." "Are you sure? I don't want to take up your time." "It's fine. It'll give us a chance to get to know one another." I nodded, although I felt something tighten in my chest. I appreciated the effort she was making, but I didn't know if a friend was what I needed right now. Making friends

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meant answering questions, and that wasn't something I could easily do right now. The bar was quiet at first, and just before the trickle of patrons turned into a stream, a man arrived and slipped in behind the bar. "You must be Grace." I nodded. "Charlie?" He made a finger gun and shot it at me with a click of his tongue. "Got it." He looked to be in his late fifties, but still strong. A weathered oak that had stood the test of time. Despite the silver hair and crinkled brown paper skin, the thickness of his arms and the straightness of his back said he could still throw a younger man out of here himself if push came to shove. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," I replied. "Likewise. You settling in okay?" "Yeah. Joy has been wonderful." He nodded. "She's a real sweetheart."

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"I know I already said it over the phone, but I really appreciate you taking me on. I know the economy isn't exactly great right now." In truth, 'appreciate' wasn't close to a strong enough word. This job was the only thing between me and eviction, but I didn't want to sound too desperate. "Don't worry about it. We were looking for someone anyway, so when our mutual friend asked if I had anything available, the timing was perfect. Really, you're the one doing me a favor." I liked him instantly. He had that sternwith-a-kind-gooey-center vibe that most great dads have. Winding up here was one big lucky coincidence. A friend of a friend who just happened to mention my situation to the right people at the right time. I didn't deserve that sort of good fortune, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "If you say so."

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"I do. Anyway, I'll let you get back to it. I'll be in the office if you need anything." "Thanks." As night fell, I began to slip into a rhythm. It was mindless work for the most part. Pull, twist, pour, shake, smile, repeat. The air took on a malty heaviness and the volume gradually rose as the booze began to wend its way through veins, loosening tongues. For the most part, I took it in stride. The one problem was vodka. When everything had gone to shit, that had been my drink of choice. There's something cathartic about the burn it leaves behind, like it isn't just numbing, but cleansing too. And tonight, whenever I was asked for a screwdriver or a vodka and Coke, I got a little whiff of that pungent, sterile heat, and I felt a yearning stir in my stomach, an invisible hand shooting up to snatch desperately at those precious fumes.

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I know, I know, getting work in bar wasn't exactly the smartest decision after I'd managed to drink myself out of my last job, but the truth was, I didn't have much of a choice. Nowhere else was hiring, or at least they weren't hiring me. I must have left resumes at every restaurant, department store and cafe in town. But Vegas is a city that runs on disposable income, so the financial crisis hit it harder than most places. Everyone was tightening the purse strings and hanging onto what they had right now. It had been a little over a month since I'd been let go, and my credit card was already maxed. Another week and I wasn't going to be able to pony up my rent. I had to take what I could get. Besides, that whole drinking thing had just been a temporary lapse. A little grief induced meltdown. I'd been sober a week. Not a drop since I heard I had this job. This was a new beginning for me, and I could

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handle whatever curve balls it threw my way. I had to. The evening ground on. At some point, during one of my brief reprieves, I happened to glance up and found a pair of fierce blue eyes looking back at me. I froze. The guy was leaning against the wall next to the front door, about ten feet away. Most of his body was cast in shadow, but I could tell by the bulging darkness that he was huge. Like, bench pressed Buicks in his spare time kind of huge. I glanced around, figuring maybe that look was for someone else, but the area around me was empty. When he was still staring thirty seconds later, I sidled up to Joy. "Is that something I should be worried about?" I asked, nodding subtly in his direction. She glanced over and gave a little laugh. "That depends on if you have a weakness for six packs and ink." The way she said that

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made it abundantly clear how she felt on the matter. "His name is Logan," she continued. "He works the door here most nights. Kind of intense, right?" I nodded. "That's one way to put it." He'd looked away now, his eyes systematically scanning the room, but the memory of that gaze still lingered in my mind. "He was staring at me." "Probably just wondering who you are. He's been here a while — longer than me, anyway. He and Charlie go way back. He used to be in the army or something. For all his scary cavemanness though, he seems like a nice guy." "Seems?" She shrugged. "He's pretty quiet. Doesn't give much away. We've worked together for over a year, but I wouldn't really say that I know him." For the next hour, I kept a discreet eye on my new friend. Most of the time he

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simply surveyed the crowd, but occasionally I caught him watching me. I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't the look of someone just sizing up a new colleague. It had a weight to it, like a tangible presence against my skin. The bar was busy for a Thursday night, and the later it got, the more the booze began to take its toll. A couple of guys were ejected before their shoving match could escalate into something more dangerous, with Logan and another man rushing into the crowd and pulling them away from each other and toward the exit. Joy glanced over at me and gave a good-natured roll of her eyes, as if to say "business as usual." Which probably should have prepared me for what came about ten minutes later. "Two bourbons and cokes," mumbled the man who'd just staggered up to the bar. It only took one look to work out that this guy was well past the "good time" part of

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his night. Glazed eyes, red cheeks, swaying stance, he checked all the boxes. This was one part of the job I'd been dreading. In my previous life I'd been a chef, and when you work in a kitchen, you never have to deal directly with customers. All of that, both the compliments and the nastiness, goes through the diplomatic filter of the wait staff. But working behind a bar, you're the filter, and that wasn't a role I had any experience with. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think you've had enough." It was bar policy not to serve anyone who was clearly drunk. He blinked a few times, his eyes slowly focusing on me. "Excuse me?" "I can't serve you if you're already drunk, sir." "Drunk? I've barely had nothing." "Well I'm sorry, but I can't help you." His face twisted into a scowl and he leaned down on the bar so he was looming over me. Not that that was particularly

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difficult to do. You know that saying "she weighed a hundred and twenty pounds dripping wet?" Well that's me to a T. I can hit five foot three if you get me the right heels, but I was wearing flats tonight, and so even though this guy wasn't particularly large, he towered over me. "Now listen here," he slurred, dousing me in rank alcohol breath. "You don't get to tell me when I can and can't drink. This is America! I do what I damn well want, and what I want is to have another bourbon." I began to move to the other end of the bar, hoping that would end it, but he reached out and caught my wrist. "Now where are you going? I'm talking to you. Look, all..." He trailed off as a huge hand fell on his shoulder. "You're done talking," Logan said, his shadow engulfing both of us as he appeared at the bar. It was the first real look I'd had at him, and I found my breath catching in my

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throat. He had a solid three quarters of a foot on the guy in front of me, which made him truly gigantic, and the way his body swelled beneath his black tee said he had to weigh over two hundred pounds. A perfectly proportioned slab of a man. His skin was scarred in several places — angry, brutal markings that seemed like they could only come accompanied by horrible stories. But what really caught my eye was his tattoos. Snaking out from both of his sleeves were two intricate explosions of colored ink that hugged his arms like another piece of clothing. It all added up to one incredibly intimidating package. Apparently, the drunk guy felt similarly. He released his grip instantly. His throat pumped, his eyes widening as they gradually traveled up and up. For a moment I thought that was the end of it — it would have been like a Chihuahua standing its ground against

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a Great Dane — but they don't call it Dutch courage for nothing, I guess. He paused, then steeled himself. "Hey, we're all cool, buddy," he said, flashing a cautious smile. "I just want another drink, that's all." Logan didn't even blink. "There won't be any more drinks. I'm going to give you a choice, which, after laying hands on a lady, is more than you deserve. Either you choose to leave on your own, or you choose to make me remove you. Think carefully." His voice was low and utterly calm, although that only made him sound more dangerous. The guy got the message. A tremble rolled through his body that I suspected had little to do with the booze, and he nodded quickly. Shooting me one last dirty look, like I was somehow responsible for the sudden inadequacy of his pectoral muscles, he made his wobbly way toward the door.

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"Thanks," I said, although a part of me was annoyed that he hadn't given me a chance to handle it myself. I wasn't going to be much of a bartender if I couldn't deal with a little lip from someone who'd had too much. I might have spoken up, but the truth was I felt a little wary myself. I wasn't afraid to admit this giant man frightened me. He shrugged. "Just doing my job." He looked fairly young, maybe mid twenties, although there was nothing boyish about his face. It was all hard planes and strong angles, masculine in every sense of the word. With sun-darkened skin, close cropped raven black hair and a dusting of stubble, everything about him felt rough, raw, like he'd just wandered in from a lifetime living in the jungle. As my eyes roved over his features, I was struck by a strange sense of familiarity. Had we met before? It seemed impossible I'd forget such a striking man, but nothing came to mind.

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It seemed like that should have been the end of the exchange, but he didn't leave. He just stood there, pinning me in place with those captivating eyes. Up close they were startlingly blue, like a postcard ocean, and the longer I looked, the deeper I sank. That gaze seemed much older than the rest of him, like it was from another time, another place, and it had seen things you couldn't even imagine. A strange sensation rolled down my spine and I looked away. "Well, I appreciate it." He reached out and took my hand, moving my wrist into the light, and I felt a jolt of energy at his touch. It was a gentle gesture for such a powerful man. His fingers completely swallowed mine, and I couldn't help but glance at them. They were gnarled, brawlers fingers; a chaotic cartography of muscle, bone and scar tissue. His physique wasn't just an idle boast. This was a man

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more than capable of delivering on that promise. "Did he hurt you?" he said. "It's fine," I replied, my voice strangely thin. I pulled away, uncomfortable with the way that contact made me feel. "I'm Logan." "Grace." He nodded, as though he wasn't surprised. "Enjoying your first night?" "Aside from getting manhandled, it's been fine. A lot to learn." "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it soon enough." I nodded. "Well, if anything like that happens again, all you have to do is raise your hand. This place being what it is," he nodded toward the back door that led to the arena, "the crowd here can be a little rough, but don't worry, I've got your back." He flashed a quick smile, exposing a single dimple in his right

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cheek. It was the first change in expression I'd seen from him, and it managed to completely cut through the hardness of his features. "Good to know," I replied. Again, I was overcome with the sense that I knew him. I could picture that smile in my mind, only it was somewhere else. I just couldn't remember where. "This might be a weird question, but have we met before?" He hesitated. "A few months back you came here. We talked briefly outside. You'd had a...big night." A sudden bolt of clarity, and I remembered. It had been just a few days after I found Tom; the first time I'd decided to get truly shitfaced just to see if it would ease the agony even a little. I hadn't been to Charlie's before. I wasn't even sure how I got there or what happened when I did. But I remembered sitting on the curb with my stomach and head churning as one and having

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Logan loom up behind me. I remembered a brief moment of fear, followed by resignation and even a hint of relief. This thug was going to do something horrible to me, but maybe he'd put me out of my misery. Only he hadn't. He'd just wanted to talk. "You wanted to take my drink away." I tried to make it sound like a joke, but my voice cracked a little as I said it. Suddenly I was right back there, feeling everything open up inside me all over again like a fresh wound. Heat pooled in my eyes, and I blinked furiously. Even now, it didn't take much to set me off. Pull your damn self together. There was sympathy in his smile this time. Or was that understanding? Whatever it was, I appreciated it. Even more, I appreciated that he didn't comment about the way I'd reacted. "Only after you poured half of it down my shirt."

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"I did? Oh shit." I laughed as the memory returned. "I did! I'm sorry." He shrugged. "No big deal. Comes with the territory. Once you've been thrown up on three times in one night, a little vodka doesn't seem so bad." I scrunched up my nose. "Lovely. I can't wait to join that club." "Fingers crossed you won't have to. That's my job, get to them before they lose their dinner." "How heroic." His eyes crinkled in amusement, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between us, and that feeling of unease returned. Joy had been right: intense was the perfect word for him. There was something more, though. When he looked at me, it felt like he was searching for something. I didn't know what to make of it.

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Someone approached the bar a few feet away, and I saw my opening. "I should get back to it," I said, gesturing to the customer. Logan nodded, although he lingered in place for a few moments before returning to his post. Thankfully, the rest of the night was fairly tame. Everyone who approached the bar was coherent and respectful, and nobody gave Logan any cause to wade back into the fray. But despite him being back near the door, I felt his presence as though he were standing right behind me. He filled the room, and I found myself constantly stealing glances at him just to reassure myself he'd stayed put. My mind wandered back to that evening outside. Most of it was still a blur, but I got the sense that there was something important I was forgetting. ***** As midnight came and went, the bar gradually emptied out. New York may be the

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most famous "city that never sleeps," but anyone who has laid eyes on the epileptic neon of the Vegas Strip at three in the morning knows it's not the only one. Vegas has a nightlife that's all its own. In most other cities, the bar clientele in the weeknight small hours is fairly predictable; cab drivers, stock traders, shift workers, lawyers looking for a little liquid numbness to soothe their corporate guilt. Here though, things are different. In a city that is one giant twenty-four hour performance, you get a much more eclectic group. Dancers, cocktail waitresses, card dealers, professional gamblers — these are the people that haunt Vegas once the rest of the city retires. Some things remain the same though. Working as a chef, I was intimately familiar with the rhythm of the world after most people were tucked up in bed. There always comes a time — usually an hour or two after midnight — when something in the air

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changes, a kind of unspoken mutual agreement that you've now reached the reflective part of the night. Scotch and gin replace beer and cocktails, and everything seems to get just a little heavier, a little more downbeat. It's the sort of time when mid-life crises are born. Charlie's reached that point pretty soon after the clock struck one. By then we were technically shut, but it was apparently a "soft close," which meant the regulars could hang and finish their drinks as long as they didn't disturb the clean-up. Charlie and the others had left a little while back, leaving Joy and I to handle close. Logan had disappeared at some point too. I think I was relieved by that. This part of the job was slightly more familiar. Loading dishwashers, storing leftovers, melting sinks full of ice; it was very similar to cleaning a commercial kitchen. Once we'd finished out back, we moved to the front. "So, that wasn't so bad, huh?"

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Joy asked, tossing me a cloth and nodding at the bar-top. "Drunk grabby guys aside, I guess not," I replied. She smiled sympathetically. "Hey, we've all been there. Security is pretty quick at making sure that stuff doesn't happen. I'll tell you though, get people drunk enough, and they all turn into animals. You wouldn't believe the stuff you see if you spend enough time in this gig." She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Two weeks ago, there was a couple sitting at that table in the corner. At first they seemed to be minding their own business, but eventually I noticed them acting kind of odd. The guy started jiggling around like he was having some kind of prolonged mini-seizure, while the woman sat perfectly still next to him with her hands below the table just staring ahead at the wall."

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The implication was not lost on me. My eyes widened. "No way. In the middle of the bar?" She nodded. "And this was a Friday night so we're talking full house." "Jesus." She grinned. "Wait, it gets better. So, once I worked out what was happening, I decided to wander over there and spoil the mood a little. I'm all for free love and what not, but we have to clean up enough grossness without adding some random guy's spunk to the equation. Anyway, I rocked up at the table and began making conversation, just asking them all sorts of questions, and generally making it abundantly clear that I knew what was up. The woman looked mortified and just got up and left, but you know what the guy said? 'Bitch, I was almost done.'" We both burst out laughing. "Jesus Christ," I said.

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"I know, right? You can't make this stuff up. Anyway, the moral of the story is, you certainly won't be bored here, but you need to be prepared for anything." "I'll keep that in mind." The last of the patrons gave us a nod then disappeared through the door, leaving Joy and I alone. She moved out onto the floor and began to wipe down tables. "Speaking of being prepared for anything," she said, glancing over at me with a twinkle in her eyes, "Logan certainly seemed to be taking an interest in you. Perhaps you do have something to worry about." I felt a tingle of discomfort. "Wasn't that just him doing his job?" She laughed. "Kicking the guy out, sure, but hanging around to chat afterwards? That's not his style at all. A man of few words, that one. Not that he really needs them. Women practically throw themselves

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at him. He could be mute and I bet he'd still get laid whenever he wanted." "Bit of a manwhore is he?" "Used to be, but he seems to have shut up shop recently. He had a string of girlfriends back when I was just starting here, including one or two of the other bar girls, but they all ended messily. I haven't seen him with anyone in the last year." "So you two have never...?" She laughed like I'd said something ridiculous. "No. I've thought about it — to be honest I'd be suspicious of any girl that hadn't — but he's a bit too brooding for my tastes. Besides, I have a rule about getting involved with co-workers." She grinned suggestively. "But that's not to say you can't take a shot. Maybe he's ready to end his sabbatical." "There will be no shots here," I replied, a little too quickly. "Getting involved with

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anyone is the last thing on my mind right now." Joy studied me with curiosity in her eyes for a few moments, but her expression quickly brightened once more. "Well, good. I'd hate to get to know you, only to have you quit a month later because some jackass ruined you." Too late for that. I nearly said it out loud, but she seemed to get the message anyway. We cleaned in silence for the next few minutes.

Chapter Two Grace Over the coming days, I met the rest of the Charlie's team. Unsurprisingly, Logan wasn't the only guy on security. There were six men in total on the payroll. Louis was my favorite; a gigantic, dark-skinned Samoan man whose laugh was as big as his belly. Despite the extra meat on his bones, he somehow didn't come across as fat, just solid, like you could hit him with a car and just wind up with a dented fender. Unlike the others, he would talk your ear off if you gave him an opportunity. Then there was Rafi in the kitchen, who was polite but a little cold. I got the sense he didn't like me. Perhaps he felt threatened having another chef on staff. Charlie had made it perfectly clear that he was hiring me for the bar not the kitchen, but the occasional narrow-eyed glance from Rafi said that maybe he didn't believe that.

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The rest of the bar staff were all friendly, in that gregarious, insubstantial way that bartenders tend to be. They were pleasant company, but nothing more than that, as though everything that happened now was transient and thus not really worth the effort. To be honest, I felt a little like that myself. This was a stopover for me, the first port in rebuilding my life. But there was one exception. Joy. That bubbliness I'd felt the first day we met wasn't an act. That was her, twenty-four-seven. At first, I thought it would be annoying, but there was a charming relentlessness about her that just wore you down until you couldn't help but see things through the rose-colored glasses that she did. It was almost impossible not to like her. I could see us being friends for a long time. Logan, on the other hand, was still a mystery. There were long periods of each shift where he was nowhere in sight, but

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every so often, I'd look over and he'd be resting casually against the wall, surveilling the room. Apparently there were at least two guys on security at any time, one outside checking IDs and the others inside. "Logan normally takes outside," Joy said, nudging me suggestively. "I can't remember him ever coming in quite this much." I didn't catch him staring again, and he made no effort to talk to me, but somehow just his proximity made me acutely aware of him, like a splinter in my mind that I couldn't quite dig free. I never saw him during the day though, and soon enough I learned why. The Sunday after my first night, I was working the afternoon shift when Charlie called me into his office. I arrived to find him talking urgently into his phone. "You know we can't guarantee— hold on a sec." He glanced over at me. "Hey, Grace. I

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need you to do me a favor. There's some food bagged up in the kitchen. I need you to take it over to Logan. He's a couple of doors down at Parker's Gym." My brow furrowed. "I didn't realize we did delivery." "We don't, but Logan's a special case. He prepays his meals a week in advance and gives us a little extra to run them down to him. Saves him having to shower and change and all that. I normally do the runs myself, but I've kind of got my hands full here." A nervous energy flared in my chest at the thought of talking to Logan again. I didn't know why he had that effect on me. Sure, I was willing to admit that there was something attractive about him, in a wild, feral kind of way. But after what I'd been through, the thought of anything even remotely romantic made everything inside me knot up.

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"Sure," I said, throwing up a smile. "I'd be happy to." "Thanks." He returned to his phone call. I nabbed the bag from Rafi and wandered out into the Vegas heat. Parker's was just a few buildings away on the corner, but even those thirty seconds outside left my throat parched and my skin sticky. The gym wasn't what I was expecting. I'd walked past it before but never been inside. I assumed when Charlie said "gym" he meant treadmills and barbells and roided-up frat boys whose vocabulary mostly consisted of the word "bro." But Parker's wasn't like that at all. It had a few cardio machines nestled in the corner, but most of the room was open, with big blue mats spread out across the floor and punching bags dangling from the ceiling. And then I spotted Logan.

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He was working one of the big punching bags at the far end of the room, and he was wearing nothing except a light pair of shorts. It was as though all of the moisture in my body evaporated in an instant. It had been obvious from day one that he was built, but imagination and reality are two very different things. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. Every muscle, every tendon, was perfectly accentuated, rippling and flexing beneath his skin as though trying to escape. He looked like a poster, like a piece of perfectly manipulated advertising material. Even the slick sheen of sweat that coated him seemed somehow Photoshopped on. I had no idea how someone could appear so powerful and yet so lean, but he embodied both of those words perfectly. Then there were the tattoos. I say tattoos, plural, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly where one ended and the next began. His entire upper body was a vicious splash of

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color that burst out from his chest and ran down his arms. I caught snatches of imagery between the eruptions of violence; a skull, a flower, a clenched fist grasping a handful of dog tags. I'd never seen anyone with so much ink before in person. He was a work of art, in more ways than one. The scars I'd seen earlier weren't confined to his arms either. Several more marred the skin on his torso, including a particularly ragged slash across his right side, but even that didn't detract from his appeal. If anything, it made him seem rougher somehow. Fiercer. There was another man holding the bag while Logan kicked it. He wasn't exactly small himself, and he had his knees bent in a brace position to absorb the impact, but nonetheless he was being driven steadily backward under the relentless assault. It was such a primal display of strength. The crack of the bag, the guttural grunts that spiked from Logan's throat, the blaze of his eyes, it

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strummed something deep inside me. Heat surged beneath my skin. It was only when the other man yelled, "Take two," and dropped the bag that I realized I had just been standing and staring. Guilt rose in my stomach, and I looked away, closing my eyes momentarily. What the hell is wrong with you? "Grace?" It was Logan's voice. I opened my eyes to find him just a few steps in front of me. He was panting, although there was a hint of a smile on his lips. I swallowed heavily. "Hey. Charlie asked me to bring you this." He nodded and stepped toward me to take the food, and I couldn't help but draw in the scent of him. It wasn't what I was expecting. Despite the sweat, he smelled clean, earthy, sweet; perfectly masculine. My lungs hitched, suddenly struggling to draw breath. My cells were rioting. "Thanks," he said.

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Like last time, he let the silence dangle. I hated being close to him like this, hated the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I was about to excuse myself, when I happened to glance around once more, and everything clicked into place. "You're a fighter." His lips quirked up further. "You think?" Good work, Captain Obvious. "I mean, you fight at Charlie's," I said quickly. It made sense. Those rough knuckles, the dangerous aura and now the gym. "I do," he replied. "I've never seen a fight before," I said, my voice pathetically airy. Jesus, when did I turn into one of those girls? "Ah, a virgin. It's not as scary as it sounds." "I don't know. It looked pretty intense," I said, nodding to the bag he'd been kicking.

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He let out a little laugh. "Let me rephrase that. It's not as scary as it sounds if you're not in the ring." "I'll be sure to keep clear." Another few seconds passed. "I should go," I said, desperate to be anywhere but in his presence. "I'm still on the clock, you know?" "Sure thing. Thanks for this," he held up the bag. "I'll see you there later." The next few hours were an exercise in frustration. I tried to forget about my visit to the gym, but whenever my mind was idle, I found it wandering back there. I'd never seen anything so raw, so powerful before. It obviously wasn't a sexual act, but something about seeing him that way triggered an almost irresistible longing inside me. I didn't understand how my hormones could be so at odds with the rest of me. "You didn't tell me Logan is a fighter," I said to Joy, as we were cleaning up.

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"I didn't?" She grinned. "Oh, well, Logan is a fighter." I rolled my eyes. "Really? Thanks." I hesitated. Part of me was annoyed that I was buying into the whole dark and mysterious thing he had going on, but I had to admit I was curious now. "Is he any good?" She shot me a "you know nothing" look. "You could say that. He hasn't lost a single bout. He's half the reason the league is growing so fast. Fans want to see the hottest new fighter on the block, and other fighters want to test him out and see if he's as good as they say. It's a perfect combo." A twinkle appeared in her eyes. "You know what they call him?" I shook my head. "Blackjack." "Why?" "Hit, hit, hit, bust." I rolled my eyes. "That's terrible."

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"Indeed it is." She gave a sly smile. "Anyway, why are you so curious all of a sudden, Miss 'I'm not interested?'" My cheeks reddened. It was a good question, and one I wasn't sure I knew the answer to. "Just want to know my colleagues a little better." "If you say so," she replied, in a way that made it very clear she didn't believe me. "I thought you didn't approve of getting involved with coworkers?" "I don't. I just like watching you get all flustered." I laughed and threw a friendly punch at her shoulder. "Some friendship this is turning out to be." She rubbed the spot in mock pain. "You see, you're even starting to act like him." A tightness began to form in my chest. "Can we talk about something else?" She sighed dramatically. "Fine. So, New York, hey? What's that like?"

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I did a double take. "I never said anything about New York." I'd always thought my Manhattan accent was pretty soft, but apparently not. "I picked it the minute I met you. Accents are kind of my thing." She cleared her throat. "Get da fuck outta hea, da bot a' yous," she said, in a hilariously corny Sopranos-style voice. I laughed. "Nailed it. Especially the part about us all being gangsters." "What can I say? It's a gift. So, why'd you leave?" I licked my lips. Now we were venturing into ugly-crying territory again. My survival instincts were kicking in, telling me to turtle up and brush her off, but there was something so refreshing about her optimism. I felt like we'd known each other a lot longer than just a week. Besides, I'd been bottling up my pain for so long, just letting it fester. There wasn't anyone else here I wanted to

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talk to. My social circle had been all tied to Tom, poker players and their friends. They were nice enough to me, but I always felt peripheral, like I was just visiting. Besides, I couldn't be around them anymore, much less talk to them. I'd tried, but it hurt too much. That was the world that had swallowed him, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. Maybe it was time to open up just a little. Maybe it would help. "I came over here with my fiancé, Tom, a bit over a year ago. He was a professional poker player, and he wanted to experience 'poker Mecca,' as he called it. I had some contacts from school that hooked me up with a job at one of the nicer restaurants on the Strip, so it seemed like a good move all around." Those words left a bitter taste in my mouth. Coming here had been the worst thing that had ever happened to me. "Ah, a Vegas dreamer. We get plenty of those. People watch some shmuck win a few

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million at the World Series of Poker, and suddenly they get delusions of grandeur because they play with their buddies once a week." I shrugged. "As far as I can tell he was good at it. He supported himself for two years before we moved, just playing poker online." She studied me for several seconds. Despite her irreverence and breezy personality, she was sharp. I knew she was putting two and two together. "I take it by the way you're talking that he's no longer in the picture," she said cautiously. I pushed down the retching feeling that was rising in my throat. "He killed himself four months ago." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh Jesus, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you bring that up." "It's okay," I said woodenly. "It's good to be able to talk about it."

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I wasn't sure if that was true. It didn't feel bad exactly, but nor was it some great weight off my shoulders. I just felt hollow. Cold. But that's what you were supposed to say, right? Talking was meant to soothe the soul, ease the pain. That's what people wanted to hear. I'd had my fair share of consolation after it had happened, and everyone always said the same thing. "Let me know if there's anything I can do, or if you just want to talk." Part of me wanted to scream at them how ridiculous that idea was, that talking could do anything to stem the anguish and self-loathing that was hemorrhaging through my body. This was beyond words. Sharp and constant and permanent, like a bullet lodged in my stomach. How do you even begin to talk about that? Joy's brow furrowed in sympathy, and she reached out to take my hand. "Still, I can't even imagine what you're going

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through. If that had happened to me I think I'd still be in a ball on the floor." "That's actually my plan for tomorrow," I replied, only half joking. She flashed a tiny smile. "Nothing wrong with going fetal, occasionally. It's cathartic." We cleaned in silence for a while, the weight of my revelation suddenly feeling impossibly tangible. I could tell Joy felt the same way. That was another thing I hated; being the person that killed the conversation. The one that made people feel intensely awkward, like they weren't allowed to have fun in my presence. To make matters worse, in some ways they were right. Part of me resented their happiness when all I could do was sit there and wonder if I'd ever have that feeling again. It was illogical and petty and completely unfair, but it was how I felt. I didn't want to be that person, but I didn't know how to stop. Of course, now all of this

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was probably running through Joy's head, sabotaging whatever chance at a friendship we might have had. Who wants to go to the effort of befriending someone who is clearly working through some serious shit? But then she surprised me. "You know what we need?" she said, after a few minutes. "Pie!" The complete ridiculousness of the suggestion took me be surprise, and I actually found myself laughing. "Pie?" "Pie!" Her trademark grin was back. "There's this fantastic shop called Pie Tin just a few blocks away. They have every kind of pie you can imagine, and they're open until three AM." "I don't know," I replied, "I'm not sure I'm in the mood to go out, right now. Besides, there's still stuff to do here." She took the cloth from my hand and threw it dramatically into the sink. "That's exactly why you need pie. Nothing cheers me

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up like a huge slice of blueberry pie and a big pile of cream." She punctuated this with an excellent impersonation of Homer Simpson drooling. "Cleaning can wait." I felt my stomach rumble, reminding me exactly how long it had been since I'd eaten. "I'm more of an apple and ice cream kind of girl." "Sacrilege! But because we're trying to cheer you up, I'll make an exception. You may eat your pie however you wish." "That's so generous of you." What was the worst that could happen? I raised my hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, as long as you stop saying the word 'pie' so much!" "I make no such promises."

Chapter Three Grace The next day was my first day off, and it was one I'd been dreading. Time alone is the biggest enemy after you've experienced a tragic loss. In the months after it happened, I still had my cheffing job, and it was the only thing that kept me even remotely sane. The pain didn't dissipate, but with something to focus on, it at least faded into the background a little. My days off, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. Tom's schedule was as flexible as he wanted, so those days used to be our time. When he died, I had nothing to fill them except loneliness and self-loathing. Soon, that turned to alcohol, because it was the only thing that numbed me enough to feel like I might actually make it through the day. Of course drinking on my days off led to poor performance in the kitchen, and eventually, all my days were days off.

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My pie date with Joy had buoyed my mood a little, and so I tried to maintain that momentum and set about doing something positive. Menial tasks had felt so pointless over the last few months, and as a result, my place currently resembled something you might see on Hoarders; another quality TV show, if I do say so myself. To put it bluntly, there was shit everywhere. After ducking out to the store, I came back armed with trash bags, rubber gloves and enough Lysol to kill the bubonic plague. It was a daunting task, but over the next few hours, I gradually transformed my apartment from a hovel into something vaguely respectable. It felt wonderful to actually be taking charge of my life, even if it was only in the relatively trivial area of hygiene. I began telling myself that maybe there was something symbolic in that act, a fresh home for a fresh start. I should have known it was too good to last.

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The problem with depression is that it can sneak up on you. There were small periods over the last few months where I really thought I'd hit a turning point — little windows where it felt like maybe the darkness was lifting — but then I'd hit a trigger, some tiny inconsequential thing that reminded me of Tom, and everything would go cascading back into oblivion again. It was a book that did it this time. Fooled by Randomness, something Tom had read a few months before his death. He'd always been fascinated by the human mind. I think that's what drew him to poker. There's a strong psychological element to the game, and he spent a lot of time trying to understand the intricacies of that. I'd given the book to him for his birthday last year. It had been the first reward in a long series of treasure hunt clues I'd laid out around Vegas. As he solved each one, he received another gift. I'd been so goddamn

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proud of that surprise. It had taken me two weeks to organize, and the look of sheer adoration on his face when he found me in the restaurant after solving the last clue would stay with me forever. The memories came flooding back, drowning whatever good vibes I'd managed to generate. I hated how little control I had over my emotions. I knew Tom wouldn't want me to be this way. He'd want me to let go, to move on and be happy, but his death held such power over me and, try as I might, I couldn't escape it. I fled to the bedroom. When things first fell apart, I spent days pouring over my keepsake box; everything that remained of Tom condensed into a single fourteen by ten inch container. It was intensely painful, but I couldn't make myself stop. I wanted to hold onto those memories as tightly as possible, lest they float away and vanish.

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At some point I realized how damaging it was, and I stashed them in the bottom of my wardrobe. I hadn't looked at them since, but without really thinking about what I was doing, I found myself fishing through them again. Tom had been big on writing notes. He'd leave them on the kitchen bench for when I got home late, or on his pillow for when I woke. They rarely said anything meaningful, stupid little jokes or sweet nothings, but I loved them nonetheless. They were personal and special and utterly mine, something he'd never shared with anyone else. I'd kept every one. Good morning, my love. The sun says HELLO =) A little bird may have left you some ice cream. He also bought some more OJ and TIVO'd a documentary about sushi. Happy Sunday!

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But there was one note in there that wasn't like the others. It was the note that broke everything apart. I danced around it for a while, wending my way through the bittersweet portions of the box, but eventually my fingers found their way to the fold. Dear Grace. I don't know how to do this. My hands are shaking so much I can barely write. I'm sitting here with this paper in front of me, thinking about what this is going to do to you, and it's just destroying me. I came so close to ending it a hundred times over the last few months, but I always wound up thinking of the moment that you find me, your beautiful face, the shock, the tears, and I couldn't go through with it. All I've ever cared about was making you happy, and now here I am, poised to break you. I fucking hate myself for it. I wish to God there was another choice, but I'm out of time.

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I owe some people a lot of money. And we're not just talking banks, we're talking bad people; the kind you never in a million years want to be in debt to. I didn't know it was them at the time, but that's neither here nor there. We're well beyond the point of excuses. I've been hiding it for the last few months, trying to figure some way out, but there isn't one. The hole is too big. I know you, Grace. I know how kindhearted you are, how selfless. I know you're probably saying to yourself right now that we could have worked it out, that we'd have found some way to pay it off, but the truth is that if we tried, it would have followed us forever. That future we wanted, your future, would have gone up in smoke, and I'm not willing to let you ruin your life for my mistakes. You're too special, and you've got too much to offer the world.

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I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you so fucking much. I know that doesn't make any sense since once I'm gone, I won't be feeling anything, but when I think of the two of us not being together, it just rips me in half. I don't want to leave you. I want us to have everything we talked about. I want to travel the world with you by my side, waking up to your smile every morning. I want to buy that house with the perfect kitchen and the big back garden and watch our kids grow up in it. And I want to see you open the restaurant of your dreams and take the food world by storm. I want all of that more than anything. But I've ruined it for us now. This is the only way I can salvage even a little of that dream. I need you to understand that this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done. I've made mistakes, and now I have to own them. I still love you with

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everything I've got. I love you so much it hurts. I've got the pills in front of me. God, I'm frightened, but I'm happy that I won't be living under this cloud anymore. I know this is going to hurt like hell, but please, don't let this break you. Go and live the life that we wanted. Go and cook and travel and find someone else who isn't as weak and stupid as I am. You deserve the world, and the only solace I can take from this is that I'm still leaving you with a chance to have it. I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me. -T Tears stung my eyes, running hot down my cheeks. I wanted to rip that note into a thousand pieces. I wanted to burn it until it was nothing but ash. Anything to erase those words that condemned me so completely. He said there was nothing I could have done, but how could that possibly be true? I was his fiancé, the person closest to him in the

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world, and yet somehow I let the love of my life fall apart before my eyes without even realizing. I'd known he was in a rut. I'd seen it in his eyes, in the tightness of his smile, but I didn't look any closer. He'd been down before. Poker players' lives are a rapid-fire series of highs and lows, and at the time I just assumed it was part of that rhythm. Now, it was so incredibly obvious that wasn't true. Since he died, I'd spent every spare moment agonizing over his behavior. No fancy dinners, no stupid spontaneous purchases, spending sixteen hours a day at the tables — how the fuck hadn't I realized something was deeply wrong? He was there for me through so much, but when he needed me, I was nowhere in sight, too stupid or blind to even understand that he was in trouble. The worst part was, he did it for me. That hurt so much I didn't even know how I was still walking around. It was like a knife

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to the chest, jagged and ice cold. I would have done anything for him. I'd have lived in a shoebox for the rest of my life if it meant we were together. But instead, he took matters into his own hands without even giving me a choice. I couldn't destroy the note. I deserved to be reminded, deserved to feel this for the rest of my life. I owed it to Tom. I'd deluded myself into thinking that Charlie's was a new start, but there were no new starts from this, no moving on. This was forever. Careful not to crinkle or crease it any further, I folded the note and placed it back in the box. After stashing it back in its place, I moved out into the lounge and turned on the television. I used to love trashy reality TV as a means to escape, but at that moment it was just so much unintelligible noise in the background. It did nothing to cover the abyss that was opening up inside me, beckoning.

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Was this really going to be my life now? Alone, afraid, working a meaningless job and pining after a ghost? I used to have so much to look forward to. I loved my work, I loved coming home to Tom and I loved all the plans we made. We had a whole future mapped out together, but now all that waited for me when I woke up was darkness. I had nothing. It was only fifteen minutes before I was in the bathroom, calmly opening the cupboard under the sink and fishing out the bottle I'd stashed there. When I got the job at Charlie's, I poured every drop of alcohol in the house straight down the drain. Every drop that is, except for a single bottle of Smirnoff. I cracked the top and took a long slug.

Chapter Four Logan I landed a long series of punches on the bag in front of me, letting it feel the full weight of my frustration. The leather cracked, a rapid-fire percussion, and my coach, Tony, who was bracing it, rocked backward with the force. "Jesus, what's gotten into you?" I shrugged. "Dunno. Just one of those days, I guess." He nodded. "Well, keep it up. You punch like that next time you're in the ring, there ain't nobody gonna stand in your way." "Ain't nobody gonna stand in my way anyway," I replied, mimicking his southern drawl. "That's the spirit," he said. It was the sort of comment that should have been accompanied by a smile, but not from this man. Tony didn't smile.

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Despite my reply, I did know what had me so fired up. Grace was drinking again. I'd spent enough time with Jack and Jim to know the signs. The red eyes, the pale face, the glazed expression; it was textbook. I shouldn't have cared, she was nobody to me, but ever since that night out on the street, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. She was so goddamn beautiful, and the pain on her face had been so sharp, so raw. I could see terrible things etched on her future. I'd tried to help in some small way, but it was a ridiculous idea. One comment from a random stranger stacked up against whatever storm had hit her life. It just blew away in the wind. That should have been the end of it. Vegas is a transient town — a temporary sinner's paradise — and even if she was local, the odds of seeing her again were astronomical, but then, out of the blue, she showed up behind the bar. She looked better in that first

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week. Not healed, but healing. I really thought I'd been wrong, and she'd made it past the trough, but it had been temporary. The deadness had returned to her eyes now. I don't know why that twisted me up so much, but it did. I struck the bag again, a lethal blur of fists and elbows that would have sent a real person straight to the emergency room. Every blow eased the tension in my stomach a little more. I love the sensation at the moment of impact, that perfect transfer of energy that flows up from the soles of my feet, through my muscles and out into the world. It's kind of fucked up, but that's basically my therapy. Everything builds up inside me until I have no choice but to let it out through my arms and legs. I need that adrenaline now, that focus. It keeps me sane. I had no idea about Grace's situation, and I had no right to interfere with her life — fuck knows I hated when people tried to do

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the same for me — but the thing was, I knew about seeking refuge at the bottom of a bottle. I'd been there myself, more times than I cared to count, and each time I only just managed to drag myself up again before I drowned. I also knew people who hadn't been so lucky, people I'd tried, and failed, to help, and the thought of her joining that number made me sick to my stomach. I don't believe in God, but karma? The jury's still out on that one. I've been involved in some fucked up stuff in my time, stuff that there's no excuse for. I don't know how to moralize it. I'm not smart enough for that. Everything is a gray area these days. Maybe this life now is me being punished, or maybe it's just how the cards fall. I've got no idea. But either way, this was a chance to put something right, to help someone who couldn't help herself. It might not make up for my past failures, but it was worth a shot.

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"High kicks," Tony said, shifting his grip on the bag. I slipped into the zone. ***** She never came into work tanked. If she was anything like me, that didn't come until bed time, but I could tell she was starting well before her shifts. Soon enough, I figured out it was also continuing at work. Nobody leaves an eight hour stint looking as buzzed as when they arrived unless they've given themselves a little lift in the interim. That was a big problem. Charlie didn't spend a whole lot of time in the bar anymore — he had bigger fish to fry now — but he was bound to notice eventually and, when he did, Grace could kiss the place goodbye. I didn't know much about her, but I knew her job was important. You didn't get work tending bar when you were as depressed as she was unless you had no choice in the matter, and that meant she had everything to lose.

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Getting fired now would be the worst kind of trigger, the kind that could send her over the edge. The following day, I traded with Louis to work the entire night inside. I hate being in that place for too long, especially on Friday nights. The people, the noise; too many threats, too many variables. It always feels like the walls are closing in around me. But it was the only way I'd catch her. Even had I not been concerned, I would have found myself watching her. There was something so alluring about her; tiny, but with curves that seemed to go on forever. And that little pixie haircut, Christ, it made her look so fucking hot. I hadn't had this sort of reaction to a woman in a long time, not since my ex-fiancé. For a while, when that relationship ended, I spent a ton of time fucking anything I could get my hands on. I was angry and hurt and it was the only outlet I could find to

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get any kind of rush, but ultimately it just made things worse. However you slice it, sex leads to attachment, and for a guy with the kind of baggage I've got, that's a really really bad idea. I don't do emotional conflict well, and things got ugly more times than I care to count. For that reason, I don't go down that road anymore, and for that reason especially, I couldn't even think about pursuing Grace, whatever her body did to me. I could offer support and try to help, but anything more was beyond me. Putting two people with our issues together was a fucking powder keg. I wanted to help her, not damage her more. As usual, I caught her glancing at me several times when she thought I wasn't looking. Army training goes a long way when it comes to surveillance. You miss something out in the field, you're as good as dead. I still couldn't tell what that look meant. Was she suspicious of me? Curious? Afraid? They were probably all legitimate reactions.

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She wouldn't be drinking in the bar. Too obvious. But all the staff got a short break every three hours, and I suspected that's where the crime went down. Sure enough, when her time came up, she excused herself and ducked out toward the back door. I went out the front and looped around the building, coming up on the alley from the street. No need to draw attention to her. She was leaning up against the wall, shoulder slumped, head bowed. There was a glint of something silver in her hand, reflecting the moonlight. I watched as she raised the flask and took a short slug, her face twisting ever so slightly as she swallowed. "Feeling a little on edge?" I asked. She jumped. "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing sneaking up on people like that?" "Sorry." She glanced at the flask as I stepped closer, but apparently decided it was too late

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to hide it. Instead, she opted for the defiant, angry approach. "What do you want?" "To help," I said. She blinked in confusion. "Help? What the hell are you talking about?" "I know what you're going through," I said, nodding toward the flask. "Not the specifics, obviously, but I get it. I've been there." She studied me for several seconds, and then let out a sour little laugh. "Trust me, you haven't been here. And you haven't got a clue what I'm going through." I shrugged. "If you say so." She glared at me, but didn't leave, so neither did I. Eye contact; I could work with that. "If Charlie catches you, you're done. You know that, right?" I said. She shrugged, almost petulantly, like she was suddenly sixteen again. "Are you going to tell on me?"

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"No, but he'll work it out. He runs a business with the sole purpose to get people drunk. You think he can't tell when someone is on the sauce?" Her expression slipped a little, and her teeth grazed over her lip in a way that turned my insides to jelly. She didn't seem to have a response to that. Instead she gazed down at the ground for a few seconds. Then her eyes whipped up again. "You tried this before, that night we met," she said. "You said, 'It doesn't help.'" I nodded slowly. I hadn't been sure if she remembered that. She'd been well on her way to a total blackout that night. Her eyes narrowed fractionally. "Why do you care what happens to me?" "I dunno. Maybe I just don't like sitting by and watching somebody else drown." She let out a sick little laugh. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

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"Maybe. If not, I think you're on your way. And if you lose this job, I think that will seal it." I took a step forward, and she shrank into the wall. I couldn't blame her. Six foot five with a motley collage of scars and ink, I wasn't exactly the friendliest looking guy, but I felt this overpowering urge to be closer to her, like I could just scoop her up in my arms and that would make everything alright. Fucking ridiculous. "Look, I get it," I said. "You don't know me from Adam, and I don't know shit about what's going on with you. Quite frankly, I don't want to know." That was a lie. For some reason I was curious. But asking someone in her position to throw all their problems out in the open, to a virtual stranger, was a fast track to having them close up for good. "But you aren't going to beat this thing alone." I stepped closer again, leaving less than a foot between us. She gazed up into my eyes

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looking ready to bolt, but all I could do was stare at her lips. Such a tiny, insignificant part of her, but they held me in a trance. I desperately wanted to know what they'd feel like; against mine, against other parts of me. It took all of my willpower not to lean in and find out. I gave my head a little shake. Christ, what was I doing? "That chaos that's raging inside you," I continued, "you need to do more than just douse it in booze. That puts it to sleep, but it doesn't get rid of it. And later it comes back with a vengeance. There are ways to beat it. You just need a little help." Her expression softened ever so slightly. I could see a yearning in her eyes, a powerful desire to believe that I might be telling the truth. Nobody with an alcohol problem really wants to drink. They just don't know how else to handle whatever is eating away at them.

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That hope only lasted a second, however. Her face tightened and she swallowed hard. "There's no help you can offer for this." She really believed that, which made me incredibly sad. "Maybe that's true, but isn't it worth a shot? When I was where you are now, Charlie reached out to me, and that changed everything." "Charlie?" She seemed surprised. I nodded. "He saved me. Alcoholics need support, someone to talk to." She blinked sharply. "I'm not an alcoholic." I let out a short laugh. Like I said: textbook. "You think regular people take hip flasks to work?" It was the wrong thing to say. Her lips twisted into a sneer. "Fuck you. Who are you to judge me?" "I'm not judging—" I began, but it was too late. I'd lost her.

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"That's exactly what you're doing." Shoving me backward, she slipped out under my arm and headed for the bar. "Do me a favor," she said, pausing at the door. "Keep your nose out of my business." Then, she was gone. I exhaled slowly and let the wall behind me take my weight. Great fuckin' job, Logan. That hadn't gone how I'd hoped, but then again, was I really surprised? I hadn't exactly been receptive when people tried to pry into my shit. Why should she be any different? Maybe the whole idea was just straight up ridiculous. Even if I did get her to listen, what good would it really do? Yeah, I'd gone through something similar, but I handled it my own way. I had no idea if that would work for anyone else. But try as I might, I couldn't convince myself to throw in the towel just yet. She needed someone.

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I breathed in deeply and caught the faintest trace of her scent on the wind, and tried to convince myself that was the only reason.

Chapter Five Logan The next night, Grace was working the closing shift. Joy had decided she was ready to handle the cleanup alone, and this was her trial run. Once two o'clock rolled around and the bar was officially shut for the night, I usually took off, but tonight I had other plans. The middle of the night is the only time I really like the city. By day it's too much to bear; a roiling, cacophonous circus that makes it almost impossible for me to function. The closer I get to the Strip, the more under assault I feel. If it weren't for Charlie and the cage, and the fact that I liked the desert so much, I'd probably have moved to the middle of nowhere a long time ago. Instead, I just spend my days holed up in the gym, doing my best to lock all those threats outside.

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When the last red-faced customer staggered out of Charlie's and off into the electric Vegas darkness, I moved inside. Grace was alone behind the bar, mechanically wiping down the benches and staring off into space. She didn't notice me until I was just a few feet away. "Jesus," she said with a start, "what is it with you and sneaking up on people?" "That would be my ninja training," I deadpanned. "Sorry. Old habits die hard." That actually generated a ghost of a smile, but then she caught herself and her expression quickly darkened. We hadn't spoken since our confrontation in the alley. In retrospect, it was clear I'd made a mistake charging in head first. She was strong-willed and stubborn, just like me. Getting through to her was going to take some work. "What are you doing here?" she asked eventually. "I work here."

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She exhaled sharply. "I mean, what are you doing here now?" She nodded toward the empty room. "In case you hadn't noticed, the crowd isn't exactly rowdy this time of night." I shrugged. "You can't be too careful. There might be more ninjas around." This time, nothing. Oh well, one out of two ain't bad. "I'll take my chances," she said. "Well, perhaps I have ulterior motives." She rolled her eyes. "You don't say." "The truth is, I've been thinking about branching out, career wise. You know, grow my experience and all that good stuff, so I thought I could help you with the cleaning." She did a double take. "Cleaning?" I nodded. She folded her arms across her chest. She was clearly pissed but, truth be told, that only made her look hotter. There's something about tiny women with huge

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tempers that just pushes my buttons. The fact that her current stance was squeezing her tits together also helped. Yeah, I know, I'm a pervert, but you try being an athlete on a bout of self-imposed abstinence and see how long your thoughts remain pure. I swear to God, some days I felt like my blood was pure testosterone. "I've got it under control," she said, in a tone that could have frozen water. I shrugged. "Well, I think I'm going to stay, all the same. I'll get these tables over here." I leaned across the bar to scoop up a spare washcloth, unable to ignore the way her body tensed when I drew near. Fuck, what kind of bastard fantasizes about a girl who is obviously going through some major shit? Even if I wasn't on sabbatical from all things feminine, that was going to be the last thing on Grace's mind. Obviously my presence wasn't welcome, but what was she going to do? Run to

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Charlie? An employee offering to do extra unpaid work was hardly grounds for a complaint. She had no choice but to tolerate me, and she knew it. I cleaned in silence for a while, acutely aware that Grace was still staring at me. I wished I knew what was going through her head. I was walking a tightrope, and I had no idea how much pressure I could apply before it snapped. "Why are you doing this?" she asked eventually, her voice now very small. I turned, looking her dead in the eyes. "Like I said, I just want to help." I knew the double meaning of that wouldn't be lost on her. She drew a long breath and then her tongue grazed her lips, and I found my thoughts hurtling back into inappropriate territory. Eyes on the table, Logan. Nothing else was said that night, but that was fine. Forcing conversation hadn't

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worked with her so far, so I was happy to try sitting back and letting it come when she was ready. For now, it was enough to let her know that I wasn't giving up, and that I'd be there if she needed support. Companionship is one of the best defenses for people in her position. Even silent company is better than nothing. It's when you're alone with your thoughts that shit can really get dark. Besides, nobody likes exposing their weakness in front of others. Charlie taught me that. Deep down, anyone who drinks knows they've got a problem, and they're not proud of it, which is why they usually do it alone. Sure, shame is a pretty low way to approach this issue, but I'd take what I could get. Obviously I couldn't be there all the time. The periods at the end of her shift were just a drop in the bucket. But everything starts from a seed. *****

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We continued in that rhythm for some time. There were nights when Grace wasn't rostered on late, and others where Joy hung around to keep her company, and on those occasions I kept my distance, but whenever she was alone, I slipped in there and made myself busy. The first few times, she looked poised to say something, but then her jaw took on a stubborn set I'd come to think of as her "fuck you" face, and she'd simply turn her back and ignore me. So we cleaned in silence. It was a little odd at first, but soon it became something of a ritual, almost meditative. Even with no conversation, I enjoyed watching her work. Hell, I think I could have enjoyed watching her do just about anything, and in this particular environment, there were plenty of things that required attention both up high and down low, which made the view all the more irresistible. I did my best not to make it obvious, but occasionally, my

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concentration lapsed and she caught me, which always resulted in this adorable little huff and a furrowing of her brow. It made me feel like an asshole, but what could I do? I could ignore her about as easily as I could ignore my hand if it were on fire. Look but don't touch, that was my mantra. I wasn't the only one with a wandering gaze. I often noticed her studying me out of the corner of her eye, sometimes looking curious, but usually just exasperated. My unique brand of stubborn love was really starting to piss her off. Despite my stony reception, I was making some progress. As far as I could tell, she'd stopped drinking mid-shift. She still showed up looking buzzed, but that always seemed to have faded by the time cleanup came, and I never noticed her slipping out back again. It was a small victory — most of the damage was happening when she was firmly out of sight — but it was something.

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Finally, after a week and a half of ghostly quiet, she cracked. "What are you, a fucking monk or something? How is this not driving you nuts?" I suppressed a smile and turned slowly to face her. She was behind the bar with her hands on her hips, her eyebrows slightly raised as if to say, "Yeah, I'm talking? So what?" "I was in the military. On a mission, talking can sometimes be a great way to get yourself shot, so I learned pretty quickly how to shut up." "Would it change anything if I told you I was getting ready to shoot you myself?" I chuckled. "I've been shot at before. Still here." She glowered. "You'd be doing this alone if I wasn't around," I continued. "Can't you just pretend like I'm not?"

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Her lips compressed. "Believe me, I'm trying." I'd known guys like her in the army, guys that couldn't stand the quiet. They were the ones that would talk your ear off during downtime, just for the sake of making noise. They'd usually grown up in big cities; children of bustle and noise. In light of the sort of shit we went through, I wondered if they still felt the same way. "I actually like the silence, truth be told," I said. "It's peaceful." "Well, it's driving me crazy." "I can see that." I gave her my most innocent smile, which I admit, probably doesn't look innocent in the slightest. "I guess we'll just have to find something to talk about then." The glare she shot my way told me exactly how she felt about that. I shrugged and returned my attention to the floor I was mopping. The ball was in her court.

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It only took another five minutes. "Are you fighting this month?" She continued to scrub the bench below, not meeting my eyes. It was a victory, but I wasn't about to make a big deal of it. As far as I was concerned, we were just two colleagues killing time. "Yep. Charlie's found some new guy for this round. A hotshot from a bigger league over in Chicago. Calls himself 'Caesar.' Apparently he's a bit of a hero over there. Should be interesting." "You're not worried?" "Worrying doesn't get you anywhere. I'll get in there, do my thing, and whatever happens, happens." She raised an eyebrow. "That's very Zen of you." "That may be the first time anyone has used the word Zen in reference to someone being punched in the face repeatedly."

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She didn't stifle her laugh this time. It was a wonderful sound, exuberant and full of energy, and it brought a smile to my face. In that moment, I could picture her before whatever tragedy had stormed through her life; a gorgeous, effervescent, carefree girl who warmed the room around her. That image only hardened my resolve to help. There were traces of her old self in there somewhere. She could beat this, whatever the hell it was. "I'm still not sure I understand how your friendship with Charlie works. You two are close, yeah?" she asked. I nodded. Charlie was the only thing I had left resembling family at that point. "But he spends a good amount of his time scouring the country for guys who might be able to beat you to a pulp." Now it was my turn to laugh. "When you put it like that, it does sound kind of fucked up. But he knows why I fight. He

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knows I welcome the competition. I wouldn't have it any other way." She studied me for several seconds. "And why do you fight?" I hesitated. Working in a bar, chatting with hundreds of random strangers every night, you get pretty good at small talk, but I wasn't much for going any deeper than that. Once you start delving down that rabbit hole, you're liable to fall in and never see the light of day again. Since I'd been back, I could count the number of real honest-to-god conversations I'd had on one hand. But if I wanted her to open up, I couldn't expect it to be a one way street. "It's the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore." Her eyes widened a fraction. "That's kind of messed up." I shrugged. "I know. The military is a messed up organization, and it produces some messed up individuals. Sometimes,

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when you spend years running on fear and adrenaline, your wiring starts getting crossed. Your body doesn't work right, anymore. I've tried doing other things, but I can never make myself concentrate on them for very long. Eventually, I always wind up back in the ring." I wasn't sure how she'd react to that. On the personal baggage scale, that answer sits somewhere between "unhealthy" and "this dude is a goddamn psychopath." But she didn't run screaming for the door. If anything, she seemed more curious than frightened. "So why not just stay in the army?" she asked. My body tensed. We were heading down a dangerous path now. There were limits to what I wanted to share, to what I could share. "Being back home may be hard, but it's nothing compared to being over there. I can't do that again."

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I expected more questions, but she simply appraised me for a few seconds, then nodded and returned to work. It was a relief not to have to delve any deeper. "What about you?" I asked, not wanting to lose momentum. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess pulling Buds and shaking margaritas doesn't exactly get your blood pumping." She flashed a wry smile. "It's not so bad, but my real passion is food." Cooking. I could totally see that. "I wish I was a better cook, but you try finding fresh food in the middle of the desert. And now, with my training, it's just not practical." Her head cocked to one side. "Not enough time?" "That's part of it, but it's a little more complicated. I'm at the gym six hours a day at least, and we're not talking a light jog on the treadmill here. Tony gives me hell. I figure I need about nine thousand calories just

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to break even, and they have to be quality calories — lean meat, lots of veggies etcetera. If I concentrated on making every meal a culinary sensation, I'd never leave the kitchen." "I guess that makes sense. So, what, your diet is all chicken breast and broccoli? Olympic athlete style?" I nodded. "Wild, hey?" I leaned in close, like I was sharing a secret. "When I'm feeling naughty, I sometimes try and sneak some tuna fish in there. Keep that on the down low, though." She laughed. "You rebel." "You better believe it." "Don't you ever get bored eating like that?" she asked. "A little, maybe, but at this point I'm kind of used to it. It's not like my adult life has been full of options. You know what an MRE is?" "Nope."

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"It stands for 'meal, ready-to-eat.' Basically, they're pre-prepared ration packs for soldiers. They made up a lot of our diet when we were out in the field. They usually taste like ass, but they have all the nutrition and energy you need in a simple, no-fuss package. Eat that shit for a few years and you start seeing every meal that way; just fuel in the tank." Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "God, I can't imagine thinking like that. I never get sick of trying new things, mixing flavors. There was a time when I'd go entire months without eating the same thing twice." I loved seeing her so animated. Just the mention of food had set her eyes sparkling. "So, this is probably at the top of the list of 'questions chefs are sick of hearing,'" I said, "but what's your favorite food?" Her gaze rose to the ceiling and she began pacing. "Oh God, I don't know. There's

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so many. Sushi, maybe? I love Japanese. It's simple and fresh, but the flavors are so unique." I made a face. "Never been able to do the raw stuff. Something about that texture just doesn't work for me." "Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure?" "I guess I must have left it over in Afghanistan." I let my face grow serious for a few seconds, just long enough for her to freak out that she might have offended me, before breaking into a smile. She laughed. "Touché." "Is that the kind of stuff you cook then? Japanese?" The slip in her expression told me I'd hit a nerve. "I can do the basics," she replied slowly, "but sushi and some of the other stuff is deceptively complicated." There was a wary pause, as if she was weighing how much more to say. "Most of my experience is

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with European styles. I worked in an Italian place back in New York, and then here..." She trailed off, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to put the basic picture together. Before I got my shit under control, I lost two jobs due to my drinking, and those were just entry level retail gigs. Low stress, low responsibility. I couldn't even imagine trying to hold down a position in a high-powered kitchen while running a twenty-four-seven buzz. "Let's just say that I haven't cooked in a while," she said. "That's a shame." She nodded, but the heart had faded from the conversation now. We were back in murky waters. We didn't talk for the rest of the night except to share a limp goodbye, but still, it felt like progress.

Chapter Six Grace "God, they're all so shiny and orange, like bodybuilding Oompa Loompas," said Joy. It was one of the rare nights where both of us were off work, and so we were holed up in her apartment with pizza and a lethal dose of ice cream. I was trying to introduce her to the wonder of Jersey Shore, but it was not going well. "Think of it as a nature documentary," I replied. "You're learning about a more primitive form of man." She scrunched up her face. "I don't know, it makes me feel kind of dirty somehow." "But don't you feel better about yourself too? You know, by comparison?" She laughed. "Ah, it's a self-esteem booster. I guess I can see that. And it's certainly wiped out any lingering desire I had to try fake tan."

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I couldn't believe how much fun I was having. Our conversation was totally mundane — news, movies, music, just ordinary people chatter — but that was exactly what I needed. It made me feel like a normal person again, passing time the way everyone else did. Ever since Tom's death, I'd felt detached, like I no longer had any idea how to relate to this world, so it was wonderful to find that I was still capable of just being. Seizing the ice cream tub, Joy spun to face me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Anyway, no more avoiding the question. Is your new late night friend still paying you visits?" I let out an exasperated laugh. Initially, I'd kept Logan's behavior to myself. I didn't want to have to answers any questions about why he was being so tenacious, and I figured that eventually he'd get the hint and give up. But it was like trying to stare down a stone. He just kept showing up, day after day. Eventually I caved and told Joy. I'd already

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opened up to her about Tom, and I really wanted a second opinion. "Yep. Every damn time." I gave my head a little shake. "I actually talked to him the other night." Triumph flashed across her face. "I knew you'd crack!" "Yeah, yeah," I said, rolling my eyes. "It was just so confusing and so awkward, and he clearly wasn't going to stop. I figured maybe if we talked, I could find out what he wanted." Obviously I already had some idea what he wanted. That night outside the bar all those months ago, and then again in the alley the other week both pointed in one direction; he wanted to play the white knight. I just had no idea why. It didn't make any sense. The curiosity, the earnestness, the concern, they didn't belong in a man who barely knew me. And yet there he was, poking his nose where it wasn't wanted, silently inserting himself into my life. That brute

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force approach made me angry. I didn't need his help. I had things under control. Hell, I'd stopped drinking at work, just to show myself that I could. "Isn't it obvious?" Joy asked, carving out a snooker ball sized chunk of ice cream and stuffing it into her mouth. For a girl who had to have a single digit body fat percentage, she ate like nobody I'd ever seen before. On our pie date a few weeks earlier, it had been like watching a carnival sideshow. "Step right up, step right up, and see the amazing bottomless Joy! Marvel as she consumes twice her bodyweight in pastry and stewed fruit!" "E got da hot fo you," she continued, her cheeks now puffed out, her throat madly pumping like a pelican with a fresh catch. I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. "Has anyone ever told you how charming you are when you eat?"

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With a mighty swallow she downed everything, then grinned. "All the time." "You really think that's it?" I asked. "I thought you said he wasn't chasing girls anymore." "Maybe he got a look at all this," she replied, gesturing to my body while waggling her eyebrows, "and decided to make an exception." With almost anyone else, this sort of discussion would probably have sent me into a downward spiral, but Joy's unwavering optimism was infectious, and instead I just found myself shaking my head ruefully. "If that's the case, he picked the wrong girl to break his streak with." It wasn't like the possibility hadn't occurred to me. Somehow, he saw through my act. He knew that all wasn't right in Graceland, so to him I probably had "vulnerable girl" written all over me. But, at the same time, he didn't seem like the sort of guy to

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take advantage, and he hadn't done anything untoward. Well, nothing except stare at me with the sort of intensity usually reserved for lingering close-ups in old school Patrick Swayze movies. I couldn't imagine myself actually being with anyone else. That part of me had died with Tom. But as much as I wanted to deny it, there was a powerful sense of friction whenever Logan and I were close. Sparks, guilty electricity. I hated it. I hated that my body suddenly seemed to be uncoupled from my mind. Joy's mouth curled into a sympathetic smile. "I know. Think of it as a compliment." She hesitated. "I assume he has no idea about Tom." I shook my head. "That's one card I'm keeping close to my chest." "Well, if he's really making you uncomfortable, maybe you need to make your situation clearer. You don't have to spill the

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beans, just tell him point blank that you're not interested." I sighed. "Maybe you're right." I wasn't sure if uncomfortable was the right word. Confused was more appropriate. Part of me was afraid of him; this towering tattooed warrior who was addicted to the ring. But on the other hand, he was clearly trying to look out for me. I didn't understand why, and I certainly didn't want his help, but it did mean there was no way I could see him hurting me. If anything, I felt strangely safe around him. Joy clapped. "Anyway, enough of this. You've shown me your guilty pleasure, now it's time for mine." "I don't feel guilty about it in the slightest," I replied. "That's the spirit!" She got up and wandered over to fish out a DVD from a nearby bookshelf.

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Glancing over her shoulder, she shot me an "oh boy you're in for it" grin. "So let me ask you, how familiar are you with Doctor Who?"

Chapter Seven Grace The next night found Logan and I alone in the bar once again. "You haven't seen Casablanca?" he said. "Seriously?" Tonight our conversation had turned to movies. It surprised me to learn that Logan was actually a major film buff, and he had a big penchant for what he rather pretentiously called "the golden age of cinema." Apparently there wasn't much to do on a foreign deployment during quiet times besides watch things on people's laptops. I shrugged. "I'm not really into love stories." He threw up his hand dramatically. "You young people — no appreciation for the classics!" I bristled in mock offense. "Young, hey? And exactly how old are you?"

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"How old do you think I am?" he replied, with a twinkle in his eye. I studied him for a moment. It was honestly hard to tell. There was nothing boyish about that strength and hardness, nor the soulful cast of his eyes, but every so often he'd smile in this mischievous way that made him look like a teenager. "Twenty eight?" I said cautiously? He clutched his hands to his heart. "Twenty eight? You wound me!" I rolled my eyes. "I'm twenty six," he said. "Then who are you calling young? You're only a few years older than me!" "Hey, a few years is a few years." He shook his head and grinned. "Kids these days, no respect for their elders." I snorted. "Whatever, Gramps." I felt a ripple of shame as I realized what I was doing. Tom had barely been gone four months, and there I was laughing and joking with another guy. It felt too easy, like

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the rapport of a long-term couple, not two strangers passing time at work. My conversation with Joy had been weighing on my mind all day. The situation was more complicated than she realized, but the longer I thought about it, the more I decided she was right — I had to confront him. I had to understand why he was doing this. "Is this what you come here each night to do? Joke about movies?" His smile fell away and he let out a little sigh, like he'd been waiting for this. "Not exactly." No going back now. "Well what is it then? Because I have to say, I'm super confused. The alley, that night outside the bar, and now this. You seem like a nice guy, but it's all a bit weird. Why are you so interested in me, Logan?" "Like I said before, I want to help." "No, that doesn't answer the question. I know what you're trying to do. I just don't

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understand why. Why me? We met properly, like, a few weeks ago. We barely know one another, yet here you are trying to ride in on your white horse to save me. It doesn't make any sense. The only thing I can think of is that it's some elaborate attempt to get in my pants." A short laugh escaped his lips, but there was no mirth behind it. "I'm sorry I'm making you uncomfortable." Not a denial, just "sorry." "That's not an answer either," I replied, feeling a tingle roll across my skin. He stared at me, those stunning eyes seeming to reach down inside me to squeeze the breath from my lungs. I swallowed hard and willed myself to think of Tom. "You don't have anything to worry about," he said eventually. "I'm not hitting on you. Just trying to do a good thing." "Are you sure?" He nodded.

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"Well, just in case, let me make it clear. I'm not interested. My last relationship..." My chest hitched, but I steeled myself. "I'm just not in a place where that is a possibility." He looked thoughtful, and I realized that once again I'd given away more than I'd intended. "I understand," he said. I wasn't entirely certain I believed him, but I'd put it out there and he'd given me an answer. What more could I do? "Well, I'm glad we've cleared that up," I said. "But it still doesn't answer the initial question. If that's not it, why are you putting yourself out there for a virtual stranger?" He exhaled slowly. "I honestly don't know. It just cuts me up seeing you hurt like this. I know that sounds stupid, but it's true. I felt that way the moment I met you. I know what it's like to have something eating away at you, that fucking grinding feeling in the pit of your stomach that never goes away. If I

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can do something to protect you from that, I feel like I should." The way he said that, the tightness of his face, the tremble in his voice, the words he chose, I got the sense that maybe he really did understand. I found myself wondering what pain he'd been through. Was there a chance he really could help? Whatever his trauma, he seemed to have found a way to cope. But those thoughts didn't last long. There wasn't anything he could say that could fix this. It was too big, too deep, and it would require me to share my shame, which was something I just wasn't willing to do. "I appreciate the sentiment, Logan, but I don't need any help. I know you think I'm this damsel in distress, but I'm just going through a rough patch, that's all." His mouth opened a fraction, but no words came out.

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"I know I can't stop you," I continued, "but I'm asking; could you please just leave me alone? I can't deal with this right now." It hurt to send him away. I really did enjoy his company, and I felt like if we could get past all the heroic bullshit we might be really good friends, but I wasn't sure it would end there. Despite what he'd claimed, there was something between us, something potent and crackling that flared inside me like wildfire. My hormones had a mind of their own around him. It was too dangerous. He didn't speak for a long time. I thought perhaps he was preparing to stand his ground, but eventually he gave a curt nod. "If that's what you want." "It is." I had to force the words out. He nodded again, then dropped his cloth and walked toward the exit. "If you need me, you know where to find me," he said, pausing at the door. "Thanks."

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When I was alone, I buried my face in my hands. It shouldn't have been so hard to ask him to leave. He was practically a stranger and he was intruding, stubbornly trying to bully his way into my business. He didn't know me or anything about what I'd been through. It was the right thing to do. It was the right thing to do.

Chapter Eight Logan Well, I tried. I really did. I could have kept pushing, but there's a thin line between persistence and just being an asshole. Ultimately, you can't force anyone to change. They have to want it enough to put aside their shame, their anger, or whatever is holding them back and move forward. Apparently Grace wasn't at that point yet. Maybe she never would be. Perhaps it was better this way. It wasn't like I was exactly a fucking model of mental stability. There was every chance I'd have done more harm than good, or worse, wound up dragging us both down. Besides, I had my own shit to focus on. Training, my upcoming fights; I didn't need the distraction. Despite what I'd said to Grace, I had my concerns about this Caesar guy. He was in a whole other class from the rest of us Final Blow schmucks. Ivy League school, parents richer

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than sin. He trained at one of those private Chicago gyms with a host of professional UFC fighters plastered across their roster and a panel of experts on staff. Meanwhile, there Tony and I were at Parker's with its patchwork matting and tattered equipment, just trying to get through each training session without breaking something. Throw in my thirty hours a week at Charlie's, and you've got a pretty big deficit to make up. I don't lack self-confidence, but at some point it just becomes a battle of resources. Simple math. Don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous. I never set out to be a big name. Hell, I don't think I could handle it. Those UFC guys are like fucking show ponies; they spend eighty percent of their time posing for the camera and talking to the press. I couldn't do that. Too much pressure, too much attention. I fight for the rush, the pure physical competition. There's a series of moments in there

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when you're deep in the zone where everything else fades to black. It's just your body and theirs. Kinetics, power, action and reaction. It's electrifying, terrifying and utterly intoxicating. It's those moments that make me drag myself to the gym, day after day. They're what keep me going, keep me sane. Money, trophies, newspaper articles — I couldn't give a shit about those. Instead of freaking out, I used his advantages as motivation. I thought about him, holed up there in his swanky Chicago apartment, utterly certain he was going to jet over here and wipe the floor with me. Guys like that never see a loss coming. They've had everything handed to them on a silver platter. They've never experienced anything real, and if it was within my power, I was going to change that for him. Tony was working me as hard as he ever had, and I ate it up. By the time I got to the bar some days I could barely raise my arms,

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and even then, I found myself going back and working the bags some more after my shifts, or running the long way home. I told myself it was just extra training, but deep down I knew the truth. I was distracting myself. To the casual observer, it probably seemed like Grace was fine. A little curt maybe, but nothing noteworthy. But I knew better. Those nights talking together had shown me glimpses of the real her, the one that shone like a lighthouse in the dark, and that girl was nowhere in sight now. Even from across the room, I could feel her slipping further down. The only time I noticed a genuine smile on her face was when she was talking to Joy. I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd briefly mentioned her ex. I got the sense that he was the source of her problems. Had he hit her? Or worse? The thought set my blood on fire. I would have given anything to know more, but of course that was

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none of my business. I just wished that ache in the depths of my belly would get the memo. A few days later, I came into work a little early to meet with Charlie. He wanted to go over some details for my fight against Caesar. It was still weeks away, but big fighters came with big demands, and his team wanted to make sure everything was going to be to his liking. It made me a little wary. On one hand, I was happy that Charlie's business was taking off. The guy had given me so much, and I wished him every success. I just hoped it wouldn't turn Final Blow into another circus. Caesar's demands were very specific. Everything from locker room contents to which corner he fought in. "He seriously wants a whole tray of mangoes?" I said, running my eyes down the list. "And 'light bulbs no brighter than thirty watts?'"

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Charlie nodded wearily. "Who is this guy, Mariah Carey? What a prima donna." "I think some of it is just him fucking with us," Charlie said. "Seeing how far he can push." "Sounds about right." "Anyway, what princess wants, princess gets. You good with all that other stuff?" Charlie asked. There were a few demands that affected the fight itself. Shorter breaks between rounds, notes about scoring, that sort of thing. It would be a bit of a departure from the normal Final Blow rules, but this was a marquee event that had been months in the making, and in Charlie's mind, a few alterations were a small price to pay. I nodded. "You know I don't give a shit about any of that. Just get me in the cage with him. It's been too long already." The gap between this fight and my last had been larger than normal; another gift from

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Caesar's management. Being out of the ring this long made me edgy, but there was nothing I could do. "Good." He grimaced and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Well I better head out front. Got some more unpleasant business to take care of." "Yeah?" His mouth drew into a thin line and he shook his head. "It's that new girl, Grace. She's been drinking on the job. I didn't want to believe it at first, but I've been in this game long enough to know when someone is loaded. I don't know if she's been taking it from our stock or bringing her own or what, but either way she's out of here." Everything inside me seemed to tighten all at once. I'd partially been bluffing when I told Grace this would happen. I'd figured the odds were about fifty fifty. But Charlie was sharp. I should have known they'd be worse than that.

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"She's not stealing it," I said slowly. Charlie blinked in confusion. "You knew?" I nodded. "Why didn't you say something?" "I was trying to help her. Thought maybe she could get it under control; no harm no foul, you know? But she wasn't interested." He blew a long breath out of his nose. He had every right to be angry. The legal ramifications if anything went wrong were enough to sink this place, and he knew I knew that. "Well, what's done is done, but I can't have that shit in my bar." He got to his feet and began moving toward the door. You ever experience one of those choices you know is going to ripple throughout the rest of your life? Joining the army was one for me. The army isn't just a job, it's a way of life. I knew that once I went through that door, everything would be

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different. My values, perspective, friends, career prospects. An entire future altered on a simple yes or no. I had that same feeling now. Helping her would change things. I think it had already. I'd been back in the real world for two years, and for the most part I'd kept to myself. This was the first time I'd felt a real connection with another person besides Charlie. I wanted to write it off as a selfless act, like maybe I'd finally found my altruistic side, but that just wasn't true anymore. There was more to this than just being a good person, and that frightened me. It had taken me a long time to get my world back to equilibrium, and the balance was precarious at best. One stumble and the whole house of cards could come crashing down. But then I thought about the alternative, just letting Charlie do his thing, and I knew I'd regret it forever. Grace would walk out that door into the darkness, and I'd never

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see her again. She'd be alone with her pain, and it would burn through her like an infection until there was nothing left. That story, the one where I did nothing, definitely didn't have a happy ending for her. The other one? The odds were slim, but maybe there was a chance. "Give me one more shot," I said. He paused at the door. "What?" "Let me talk to her once more. Maybe I can bring her round." "You said she shut you down." I nodded. "Yeah, but this might change things. She needs this job, Charlie." "I can't take the risk, kid. If anything happens—" Even now, with me having forty pounds and several inches on him, he still called me "kid." Not many people could get away with that, but from him it just felt like a sign of affection. "It won't. Look, if she doesn't agree to work with me, you can do whatever you

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want, but just let me try, okay? I can help her, Charlie. I know what she's going through." His expression remained blank. "A year ago, you took a chance on me when you didn't have to," I continued, "and it saved me. She deserves the same chance." He studied me for what felt like an eternity. He was a hard man in almost every way, but he had a soft spot for me. I prayed it was enough. "If she drinks so much as a drop before or during one of her shifts, you tell me, understand?" I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Got it." He moved to leave, but then hesitated. "You sure you know what you're doing here?" He had the sort of weathered face that looked older than its years, a landscape shaped by sun and wind, but still, I could see

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lines of concern etched there now. He wasn't just talking about Grace's problem anymore. I shrugged. "No, but I'm doing it anyway." I found her behind the bar. "Grace, you got a minute?" A variety of emotions played across her face as she turned to me. Surprise, annoyance, curiosity. "We're kind of getting smashed here," she replied, nodding to the queue of people waiting for drinks. "So no, I don't." "It's important," I replied. She looked hesitant, but something in my expression must have gotten through, because she turned to Jonah, the other bartender working tonight, and said, "I need to take five." Jonah's shot her one of his trademark greasy smiles and nodded. I'd never liked him. He was one of those guys who used this job as an excuse to hit on anything in a skirt

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and, amazingly, girls seemed to find his whole preppy frat boy shtick appealing, because damn if he wasn't good at it. Grace followed me out back and into the alley. "What is it, Logan? I thought we cleared everything up the other day." She sounded tired, defeated, like even the simple act of talking required more energy than her body could muster. "The situation's changed," I replied. "Charlie knows you're drinking." That brought some life to her face. Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "I knew it," she spat, jabbing a finger at me. "I knew I couldn't trust you to just let this be!" "I didn't tell him. He worked it out himself. I caught him just before he was about to come out and fire your ass." She didn't seem to believe me at first, studying my face for signs of deception, but eventually the anger melted away. She closed

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her eyes and drew a long, shuddering breath, then turned away from me, her hand darting down toward the pocket of her jeans. "Don't," I said. "Why does it matter? You said it yourself, he's going to fire me." "He was going to fire you. I convinced him to hold that thought." "How?" "By telling him I'd offer one more time to help you." She let out the most bitter laugh I'd ever heard. It was an awful sound. A person so young shouldn't have been capable of that sort of emotion. "Is there an echo out here? Because I swear, we just keep having the same conversation over and over again." "Maybe we do, but this is the end of the line. After this we're done, one way or another. Either you agree right now to try working with me, or Charlie is going to fire you, and

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there won't be anything I can do. You'll walk out that door and be alone with this shit." She stared up at me with wide, glistening eyes. The fear in that look wrenched at my heart like nothing I'd ever experienced before. You know the saying "a deer caught in the headlights?" Well that's how she looked, only magnified a thousand times. I could almost see the last dominoes of her life tumbling over in her mind. It took every ounce of my willpower not to reach out and pull her against me. "I know it's embarrassing," I continued, "and I know it hurts like hell and all you want to do is get through the day so you can knock yourself out and forget, but this right here, this is your chance to take a step forward. That's the way to beat this thing. One step at a time. I can't promise miracles. You're not going to wake up in a week and feel like a million bucks. But doing something is better than doing nothing."

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She didn't speak for a long time. "You keep saying you know what I'm going through," she said eventually, her voice barely more than a whisper. "What do you mean?" I closed my eyes momentarily. It was easy enough to tell someone else what they needed, but opening up myself was a whole different kettle of fish. I had my own triggers to worry about, and this was diving right into the center of them. But she had to hear it. She had to understand that we were on the same page. "A lot of us veterans wind up with substance abuse problems once we're back on home soil," I said. "You know how if you go on vacation for a while, then come back home and try to do something like drive a car, it takes time to adjust?" She nodded. "Well, imagine that sensation, except you haven't been in The Hamptons for three weeks. You've been in a combat zone for

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years, with bullets and IEDs and death all around you." I leaned back against the wall as images flashed unbidden through my mind. I hated that sensation, not being in control of my thoughts, like someone was playing a horror movie in the back of my head that I couldn't pause or stop. "That shit leaves scars. And then you come back here to a place with supermarkets and traffic jams and street performers, and none of it makes any fucking sense. I felt like a goddamn alien. Some days I still do. You try to explain it to someone, and they nod like they get it, but they don't. How could they?" I drew a deep breath, feeling myself getting choked up. I hadn't talked about this in detail with anyone, not even Charlie. He was a vet too, so words weren't necessary. He understood. Saying it out loud was painful. It made me feel weak, like I couldn't handle my shit.

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"I drank like an Irishman for the better part of a year, just trying to wash all that away. Looking back now, it's pretty obvious I was in self-destruct mode. A bomb with the timer ticking steadily down to zero." Her face was pulled tight, although I couldn't tell if it was with grief for me or fear for herself. "And Charlie really helped you get that under control?" she asked. "Yep. I have no doubt I'd be six feet under now if not for him. He's a family friend. Served twenty years before mustering out to open the bar. He's one of the reasons I enlisted in the first place. He saw I was circling the drain, and for some reason he decided he wasn't going to let that happen." Her eyes fell to the floor and she leaned back against the wall, her body deflating like a balloon. "You make it sound so easy." I shook my head. "It wasn't easy. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. Still is. It never goes away, not completely. I'm

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probably going to be fighting it for the rest of my life, but at least now I know how to fight it." There was a long pause, and when she spoke, her voice was trembling. "I don't know if I have the strength to fight this." My hand found hers before I realized what I was doing, and I gave a comforting squeeze. Her body stiffened, but she didn't pull away. The gesture felt so easy, so natural, like I'd done it a thousand times before. "You have to try." "Why?" For me. God, that sounded insane, but it was the first thing that came to mind. "Because the alternative just isn't an option," I said instead. She studied my hand in silence. It looked almost ridiculous, wrapped around hers — a gigantic battered glove cradling a delicate porcelain doll. She rolled her fingers gently across each knuckle, charting their

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peaks and troughs. Her skin felt impossibly soft, like something that should have just scattered at the first hint of a breeze. My blood accelerated. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, bringing me back to Earth. I breathed a sigh of relief. "I've got two missions for you, soldier." A ghost of a smile broke through on her face briefly. "First, I want you to visit the gym every day for at least an hour." "Seriously?" I nodded. "Exercise helps. Focus, energy, endorphins, all that good stuff. It tires you out, makes you feel good, gives that anger somewhere to go." And it would keep her nearby. I couldn't say that, but it was the truth. She winced. "I don't know. Physical activity and I aren't exactly on the best terms, right now."

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"All the more reason to get reacquainted. Maybe it won't work for you, but it's the only thing I know, so you need to give it a shot." She still seemed unsure, but eventually she gave a resigned nod. "And the second task?" "I want you to cook every day." Her brow creased. "Cook?" "You need something to pour your energy into when you're not at work. Something that makes you happy and reminds you that life is worth living." "I guess I can do that," she said slowly. "That's all?" "For now. The most important thing is that you promise to call me if it all gets too much. I meant what I said; one more drink and you're done. And that doesn't just mean at work, that means everywhere. It only takes one slip to wind up right back where you started."

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"Okay." "That's not good enough. I'm putting myself out on a limb here, but I'm not willing to cover for you again, so I want to hear you say that I won't have to." Her mouth tightened a fraction, and for a few seconds I thought maybe she was going to turtle up again, but eventually she gave a quick nod. "I promise. No more booze." "Good. You got your phone handy?" She passed it to me. "Here's my number. You can call me any time, day or night, whenever you feel the urge to reach for a bottle." She gave a wry little shake of her head. "Does this make you my sponsor or something?" "It makes me your friend," I replied. Her eyes narrowed a fraction at that. "Right." She turned to leave, but I called after her. "One more thing, Grace. Eventually,

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you're going to have to tell me what happened." I didn't receive an answer.

Chapter Nine Logan I wasn't sure she'd actually show up. Following through on a decision like that is easier said than done. But at one o'clock in the afternoon, the gym door opened and in walked Grace. For a few seconds, all I could do was stare like an asshole. Women's workout clothes are a perfect example of how you don't have to show a lot of skin to be knockout sexy. I usually only saw her in the Charlie's shirt and jeans, and while that always made her look good, this was something else entirely. Between the three quarter black tights and the form fitting red tank top, every gorgeous inch of her was on display. I don't think I'd have gotten a better idea how perfect her body was if she was naked. My mind was already peeling those layers away, relishing the sight of her, those spectacular tits, that tight little ass. I felt a

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hunger growing in me that shot straight between my legs. Tony clicked his fingers next to my head. "Earth to Logan. Earth to Logan. This is ground control, do you copy?" Jesus Christ, pull yourself together. "Sorry," I said, giving the bag he was holding a few more cursory punches. "I need a minute." He chewed his cheek for a few seconds. "Alright, but just one. Don't want your muscles coolin' down." I nodded and walked toward Grace. "You made it." She flashed an embarrassed little smile. "Only just. I nearly talked myself out of it about a hundred times." "But you didn't." "I guess not," she said with a shrug. In one hand she held a plastic bag, which she offered to me. "These are for you."

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Inside was a clear container stacked high with cookies. "Oh wow, you didn't have to do this." She shrugged. "You told me to get back in the kitchen, so I did. It actually felt really good to be back there. Besides, I wanted to make you something. Consider it a peace offering." She drew a purposeful breath. "I do appreciate what you're trying to do, Logan. I'm still not sure I understand it, but I appreciate it." "Well I appreciate these." I glanced over my shoulder. "Just don't tell Tony or he'll have my balls. A big box of carbs doesn't really fit the training diet." "What if I told you I packed them full of canned tuna?" I laughed. "Disgusting, but that might do the trick." I cracked the lid and a whiff of freshly baked sugar hit my nose. "Christ, these smell fucking amazing."

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"Old family recipe." She clapped and then gave a mock salute. "Anyway, Sergeant Thomas reporting for duty." I couldn't help but grin. "Sergeant already, hey?" "What can I say? The general liked the cut of my jib." "Then the 'general' sounds like he belongs in the navy, but I'll let that slide. Anyway, for now, I just want you to work up a sweat on one of the machines over there," I nodded to the corner that held the meager collection of cardio equipment. "The goal is mainly to get your endorphins flowing and burn up as much energy as possible. You'll be amazed how easy it is to fall asleep later if you just tire yourself out." The skeptical look on her face said that she didn't believe me. I couldn't blame her. Sleep was always one of the strongest motivators for my drinking. When you're desperately trying to blot things out, but all you do

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is lie awake at night with a racing mind, drinking yourself into oblivion starts to feel like your only option. Finding a way to get to sleep unassisted was going to be crucial to Grace's sobriety. "Once I'm done with my session, I'll come run you through some other activities." "Okay." She gazed at the machines dubiously for a few seconds then shrugged and headed for the bike. Over the next half an hour, I did my best to ignore her. Tony had me interval training, alternating sprints and jogs along the length of the gym, and it wasn't long before all I could think about was the fire in my lungs. But even so, I couldn't help but sneak a peek every now and again. Grace appeared to be taking my request very seriously. She wasn't just idly peddling her way toward being slightly puffed. Sweat was running down the back of her neck as her legs pumped in a furious rhythm. She looked like a woman on

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a mission. Or perhaps a woman being chased. When my body could take no more, I collapsed on one of the mats. "Good stuff," Tony said. "I'll see ya in an hour and we'll do some grappling." I nodded, unable to summon the breath to speak, and then closed my eyes. My sessions often ended this way. People don't understand the conditioning required to be a professional fighter. They think that since we're not running lengths of a football field it's somehow all about strength, but the truth is, there are few things more tiring than trying to go five rounds in the ring. Each strike uses your entire body. It's an explosion of energy from every muscle at once. Your heart and lungs need to be in premium shape to stand any kind of chance. A minute later, I felt another weight join me on the mat. "You look how I feel," wheezed Grace.

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"So, not good then?" "I think I'm dying," she replied. I choked out a laugh. "Welcome to the club." She spent a few seconds trying to catch her breath. "You do this every day?" "Yep. Several times usually." "Christ. You must be some kind of masochist." "You get used to it." She gave a disbelieving little snort. "Well, thanks for reminding me why I never exercise." I rolled to face her and propped myself up on my elbow. "Seriously? Not at all?" "Nope. I tend to prefer activities that don't make me want to violently throw up. Why is that so hard to believe?" "I don't know. I just figured that with a body like that..." I trailed off, realizing I was venturing into dangerous territory.

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Her mouth curled into a curious little smile. "A body like this, huh? What exactly does that mean?" "Just that you look fit and healthy," I replied, hating how lame my voice sounded. "Given how much you love food I assumed you had to do something to keep in shape." She shrugged. "Nope. Just got good genes I guess." She could say that again. "Anyway," I said, hauling myself to my feet, "it's time for your first lesson." She groaned. "Come on. I just cycled, like, a million miles. Give me a few minutes." "Nope. If you lie there much longer, in about two hours you're going to regret it. It's gonna hurt anyway, but if you want to be able to walk later, you can't just stop dead like that." I held my hand out for her and she reluctantly took it and pulled herself to her feet.

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I led her over to one of the heavy bags. It was a tattered, lumpy thing, more duct tape than bag at that point. It probably weighed more than she did. "Okay, let's see you punch." "Really? This is your grand plan? Turn me into the next Karate Kid?" "Ah, so you do have some appreciation for the classics then." "Wax on, wax off," she replied solemnly. I grinned. I missed joking about movies with my squad. Those had been some of my happiest memories in a sea of shit I'd otherwise rather forget. "Well, maybe there's hope for you yet. But to get back on track, this isn't about turning you into anything. It's about making you feel good. Boxing is a great way to release tension, and it also happens to be a hell of a work out. Now, show me what you've got."

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She considered this for several seconds, then her eyes flicked to the bag. She took a hesitant step forward, arranged herself in something that looked more like a dancer's pose than something that belonged in the ring, then flung her fists out through the air several times in wide arcs, striking the canvas awkwardly. "You hit like a girl," I deadpanned. "Oh hahaha. Like I didn't see that one coming." I grinned. "The joke may have been obvious, but it wasn't as obvious as that punch. If you swing your arms like that, you're telegraphing to the whole world 'I'm going to punch right here.' Anyone with half a brain is just going to take a step backward." "So you'd just stand there and take it then?" It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Yep, dumb as a pile of bricks over here," I replied. "Anyway, first, we need to correct your

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stance. Turn slightly to the side, but not all the way. Your back foot should be pointing to the side and your front one should be about forty five degrees." I demonstrated by dropping into a fighting stance. "The goal is to present the smallest target possible while not restricting your visibility or movement." She shuffled her feet uncertainly. "Here, let me show you," I said, stepping behind her and placing my hands on her hips. I'd always been a natural at hand-tohand combat. I studied a whole bunch of martial arts as a kid, and I drank each one up like I was just remembering something I'd learned long ago. By the time high school ended, I was a black belt several times over. As a result, during quiet times on duty, the brass sometimes had me running combat training courses for other troops. I'd taught my fair share of people to fight. I'd made adjustments to stances and techniques a

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thousand times, even with women on occasion, and it never felt anything but professional, but touching Grace this way was something else entirely. It felt intimate, exhilarating, and utterly sexual. I couldn't help but be conscious of the fact that I was mere inches from touching her ass, that fucking perfect ass that just begged to be squeezed. It was the same sort of grip I'd have if I was taking her from behind. Just that image had me growing hard. She stiffened and drew a sharp little breath as my fingers tightened involuntarily. I don't know why, but that sound just turned me on more. Christ, I had to pull myself together. I was trying to help this girl, and all I could think about was fucking her, which was most certainly going to be the opposite of helpful. One of the mantras Charlie had instilled in me was that I was in control of my life. Booze didn't rule me. Nothing did. But in that moment I didn't feel in control at

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all. I felt almost helpless, helpless to this tiny girl and her fucking magnetic curves. I cleared my throat and forced my mind back to the task at hand. "Like this," I said, turning her until her body was parallel with mine and nudging her feet into position. "And you need to loosen up. You're rigid as anything, right now. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee and all that." "Sorry," she said. If what I'd guessed about her boyfriend was right, she was probably freaking out about having some giant scary dude manhandle her. I uncurled my fingers and stepped away, and some of the tension bled from her muscles. God, I was a dick. "Better. Now, there's several different types of punches." I moved back around in front of her, raised my fists and unleashed several quick blows against the bag. "When you punch with your front fist, that's called a jab. It doesn't look like much, but it's your

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most versatile weapon. It's fast, it disorients people and it sets up your big hits." I switched to a combo using both fists. "Now this is your most basic combo. Left, right. A single good right can end most fights, but you need the jab to make it effective. The technique is also different. Contrary to what most people believe, a lot of punches aren't just about the arms. They're whole body actions. See how my legs spring up and my hips twist as I attack? That's where all the power comes from. You don't need to swing wildly. Just punch straight and fast and your body will do the work." She tried to mimic me. It was better technically than before, but she clearly wasn't putting in maximum effort. "This is stupid," she said. "I've never been in a fight in my life. I've never had any reason, and I don't see that changing." That was interesting. Maybe I was wrong about her boyfriend after all. But it

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didn't change anything. "This isn't about whether you'll use it or not. Quite frankly, it'll make me very happy if you never have to. This is me trying to help the only way I know how. Maybe it won't work for you, but you promised you'd try." She considered this for several seconds, then her jaw tightened and she gave a brief nod. "Okay." "Just practice that one-two combo. Left right. If you want to mix it up a little, throw in some extra jabs." I demonstrated, left, left, right. "The other thing to focus on is your footwork. Circle the bag, stay moving, stay light on your feet. In a real fight, it makes you harder to deal with, and in here it makes the workout that little bit better." She turned to the bag once more, a hint of determination in her eyes now. Again, she started timidly, but as she slipped into a rhythm, she gradually began to throw more

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and more energy into each punch. Soon, she was hitting with everything she had. "Good," I said. I could almost feel the anger fueling her movements now, and if she was anything like me, it felt really good. I've never found any activity that is nearly as cathartic as hitting something. I wondered what she was picturing as she did it. Everyone pictures something. Maybe a shrink would say that wasn't the healthiest way to deal with the situation, but I never had much time for men in white coats. I was just glad she was doing something.

Chapter Ten Grace If you've never experienced true addiction before, it's impossible for you to really understand the pain of trying to quit. I used to think such poor self-control was just a sign of weakness, that you were making a choice to drink or smoke or eat, in spite of the consequences, but there's so much more to it than that. An addiction is a living thing. It's insidious, it's powerful, and it will do anything to ensure it is fed. It hijacks your body and whispers in your ear, and it knows exactly what to say to snake its way past your guard. I nearly broke a hundred times, in those first few days. Drinking had become like scratching an itch, an almost subconscious gesture. My mind would wander somewhere dark, and before I knew it, my hands would be searching for a bottle. It would have been so easy to give in, to just sink back below the

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surface and let nature take its course. That's what it felt like to me, inevitable. Several times I made it as far as reaching for a bottle, but whenever I raised it to my lips, I found myself thinking of Logan. For some inexplicable reason he had faith in me, and strangely, that gave me faith in myself. Maybe I felt like I owed it to him, I don't know. He'd put himself out there for me, and I didn't want to let him down. I'd been skeptical, but to his credit the exercise was definitely helping. Working myself to the bone at the gym took some of the edge off at night. I still felt that yearning on the back of my tongue when I walked in to my empty place — I hated how big it seemed now, how hollow — but once I showered and forced myself to go straight to bed, I usually found I could drift off. Of course it had its downsides, too. When I dragged myself from my sheets each morning, my body complained loudly. My

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workouts were calling a lot of my longdormant muscles into action, and they weren't shy about voicing their displeasure. The first morning I could barely walk, although it got progressively better each day and, soon enough, I actually found myself taking a kind of perverse pleasure in those aches and twinges. It was a healthy pain, almost like a badge of honor. It was a symbol of the fact that I was taking charge. I'd spent months marinating in self-loathing and helplessness, unable to muster the energy to fight back, but finally I felt a flicker of hope. I was doing something, being proactive. It wasn't much, but it was a start. It had been a long time since I hadn't dreaded waking up. My usual mornings were a montage of aspirin, regret and self-pity, typically chased with vodka. But after a few days following Logan's regimen, I actually lay in my bed feeling vaguely human. I'm not going to lie and say everything was peachy,

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but I didn't loathe the idea of getting up either, which was a notable improvement. But first I had to get through today. It was my first day off since going dry, which meant it would be the toughest one yet. If I could stay dry until tomorrow with no distractions, it would be a big milestone, but it wasn't going to be easy. After a light breakfast of fruit and handmade granola, I suited up and headed for the gym. It was reasonably early, but I knew I wouldn't be alone — sometimes it seemed like Logan lived in that place. Regardless of what time I made my daily visit he was there, working the bags or off in the corner lifting some absurdly laden barbell. I didn't understand how his body survived that sort of punishment. An hour a day was enough to nearly break me, and he was doing that many times over. He was mind bogglingly fit. That morning when I walked in he was on the mats grappling with another man.

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They were both shirtless and coated in sweat. To the casual observer, it almost looked like they might be making love rather than fighting. Logan had tried to explain the intricacies of some of the close-quarter moves, but that stuff was well beyond me. It looked so much more complicated than simply hitting someone. Besides, the thought of having his body wrapped around mine like that set off all sorts of unwanted reactions in me, so I told him I just wanted to stick to the simple stuff. His opponent was big, probably his equal in terms of pound-for-pound muscle, but Logan seemed to have the upper hand. He had the other man pinned to the floor, locked in some elaborate knot of limbs I couldn't even begin to decipher. With a groan, the other man tapped the mat twice and Logan released him. "Fucking armbar again," the other man said.

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"You leave it open, I'm going to take it," replied Logan with a shrug. "Good morning, Sunshine," he said, hopping lightly to his feet and turning to face me. Somehow, no matter where he was looking, he always knew when I entered a room. I'd taken to actively sneaking in, just to see if I could get past his guard, but so far it hadn't worked. I was actually beginning to wonder if that joke about ninja training was really a joke at all. "Morning." I tried my best to look nonplussed, but some of my annoyance must have leaked through because a grin lit his face. Even after spending days here in his company, the sight of that chiseled body still took my breath away. I kept telling myself that it was simple biology, something I could acknowledge and then ignore, but that didn't stop the inevitable surge of guilt.

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Tony shot me a glare, then sighed. "I'm going for a piss. Take two." "I don't think he likes me very much," I said, when he was out of earshot. "Don't take it personally. He doesn't like anyone very much. 'Tolerate' is about as good as it gets with Tony." "Doesn't that frustrate you? He's your trainer. You spend eight hours a day with the guy." "Exactly, and I want him to work me until I drop. If he liked me, he'd go easy. As it stands, he has no problem pushing me until I puke." I shook my head, thinking back to our talk about Charlie. "You have a lot of messed up relationships." He chuckled. "I guess I do." He clapped his hands. "Okay, well you may as well get started. Same as yesterday. Warm up, cardio, then hit the bags. You know the drill; five two minute rounds with one minute breaks.

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And after that I'm going to show you some kicks." "No worries." "If you need anything just give me a yell." "I'm a big girl. I'll be fine." He returned to his sparring, while I headed for the cardio machines and did my best to ignore him. If only it were so easy. Despite my best intentions, I found my eyes constantly drifting back toward him. There was something so primal about watching Logan fight, like I was witnessing the epitome of the male form doing exactly what nature intended. I was both excited and a little horrified at the thought of seeing him unleash all that power against an actual opponent. I spent forty minutes on my aerobic workout, switching between several machines to keep things fresh, before Logan beckoned me to the bags. For the most part,

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he left me alone to do my own thing, but at the end of every session he taught me something new that I could then use the following day. Those little interactions were a stronger test of my resolve than any actual exercise. He hadn't touched me again since that first day when he'd corrected my stance. If anything, he seemed intent on keeping his distance, which was probably a good thing, since I was fairly sure I'd explode if he didn't, but the memory of it was still burned into my mind, brighter than the sun. Part of me longed for him to do it again, and another part wanted to run away whenever he was near. There had been nothing inappropriate about that contact, but it had felt that way nonetheless. Illicit and sensual. He'd said he wasn't interested, but I didn't know how that could be true. Was this really so one-sided? Was I simply imagining the tension between us? That thought made me feel like an idiot,

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getting all hot and bothered while he was just trying to do a good thing. He ran me through a new combo, one that involved my legs as well as my hands. He seemed more downbeat than before, and soon enough I discovered why. "No work today, right?" he asked, as I was getting ready to start. "Nope." His mouth turned down a fraction. "So what's your plan?" I shrugged. "Cook lunch, read, try to stay out of trouble." "Is Joy working?" "Yep." He didn't seem pleased by that. "Well, if you get bored later you can always come back and hang out here. I've been hitting it pretty hard lately. I could probably use a break." This was how we talked about the situation now, in code. "Bored," "stay out of

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trouble," we both knew what these words meant, but this made them more palatable. "I bet Tony would love that," I replied. "I'll be okay. I have to be alone eventually, Logan." He hesitated for a few seconds before nodding heavily. "I know. You're right." I threw myself into the workout with even more gusto than usual. Logan's concern shook me a little. Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn't ready for this. But what else could I do? I couldn't spend my life being babysat. By the time I wrapped up, Tony had disappeared. It was just Logan and I alone in the room. He came over as I was getting ready to leave, his face once again laced with mischief. "You know, as of this morning, I'm officially out of cookies." "I'm sorry for your loss," I replied. He nodded in mock solemnity. "It's tragic really. I can't imagine where I'll get any more."

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I had to admit, I enjoyed seeing Logan so relaxed. The more time we spent together, the more I was able to read him. When he was out in public, even if it was just a quiet afternoon in the bar, he always carried this tension with him. It was subtle — hunched shoulders, ever-darting eyes — but noticeable, like just the act of socializing caused him immense stress. But he seemed more at ease when we were just one on one. He smiled, he joked and he was genuinely good company. I sighed dramatically. "Perhaps a good natured friend will come to the rescue." "Perhaps," he said with a grin. "I'll see you tomorrow?" "Yes sir," I replied. "Sergeant Thomas out." The workout had performed its magic. I walked out into the Vegas sun feeling surprisingly alert. I'd never been one for heavy exercise before, and it still baffled me that

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working so hard could make you feel so energetic, but it did. That buzz made all my muscle aches worthwhile. Before I'd made it halfway down the block, my phone buzzed. Logan: Remember. You're stronger than this. The message brought a smile to my face. That little show of faith was exactly what I needed. The apartment was sweltering when I returned, and it would take a while for the air conditioner to cut through the heat, so I ate lunch on the balcony in the breeze, catching up on the day's gossip on my iPad. I did my best to ignore the fact that I had no plans left for the rest of the day, but my empty afternoon loomed in my mind nonetheless. As I headed back inside to clean up, I found my eyes wandering to the cabinet by the front door. When I made the decision to go dry once more, I did another dramatic

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purging of my liquor, pouring almost all of it down the sink. Almost all. I licked my lips. There was a lump building in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Logan was right. I was stronger than this. I turned, headed purposefully toward the kitchen and began unloading ingredients from the cupboard. He wanted more cookies, but he didn't specify what sort, and I had a few ideas that needed a guinea pig. ***** Getting over the hurdle of that day off felt like a big achievement. I spent the afternoon baking all manner of sugary treats, then caught up on some much needed sofa and TIVO time. I won't say that the urge to pour just one drink didn't flare up from time to time, but I managed to ignore it. Soon enough, I was back behind the bar. As you might expect, Saturday nights were always a notch above the others at

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Charlie's. The place was never full to bursting, like a lot of the swankier places on the Strip, but it did a good imitation as the weekend rolled around. To be honest, now that I'd settled in, I actually enjoyed the atmosphere of those nights. The job itself may have been fairly menial, but the pace and energy of it was invigorating. As usual, I slipped into a kind of trance-like rhythm and just let the night flow around me. "Grace?" It took a moment for me to pick my name out from the roar of the crowd. I scanned the row of faces lined up along the bar until I spotted one that looked vaguely familiar. I stepped closer. "Can I help you?" "Wow, it is you. What a coincidence." He stared expectantly for a few seconds. "You don't remember me?" I thought back. Everyone I knew here was a friend of Tom's and, aside from the

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occasional token drop in shortly after he died, I hadn't seen any of them in months, but after a few seconds, I came up with a name. "Jared," I said. He smiled. "Got it." We'd only met a handful of times. He wasn't really a friend of Tom's so much as just a floating acquaintance in their extended circle, one of those all too common Vegas hustlers who can never quite define where they make their money. He'd always given me a bad vibe. His darting eyes and narrow features reminded me of a weasel, and I got the impression he was only hanging around Tom's group because he viewed them as potential marks. But according to Tom he was good company, and he was tight with some of the other guys, so they let him stay. He looked worse now than when I'd last seen him. Sunken cheeks, pale skin, bones poking out everywhere. As he fidgeted with

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his arm, I caught sight of several track marks just below the elbow; puckered little punctures that spoke of more than just the occasional dabble with a needle. Just what I needed. I considered simply having Logan throw him out, but depending on whether he was actually high right now or not, that could get messy very quickly. Besides, he hadn't actually done anything wrong yet, so instead I threw up my best "tolerant bartender" smile and prayed he'd leave quickly. "Good to see you again. Can I get you a drink?" "Sure. Coors, thanks." He threw one arm down on the bar. "You know, this is really convenient running into you. Been out of town for a few months, taking care of some stuff back in Denver, you know? Just got back yesterday. Was planning on coming to check in on Tommy boy when I had a moment."

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My hands faltered on the beer tap. I thought that when it came to Tom's death the grapevine had done its work, but apparently some people had slipped through the cracks. My chest tightened and I closed my eyes. This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have, not here, not now, but it seemed like I didn't have a choice. The alternative was to have this junkie show up at my place in a couple of days' time, looking for Tom, and I wouldn't have the benefit of Logan and a room full of people for protection then. "Tom's dead," I said, a little more harshly than I was intending. His eyes widened. "Seriously?" I nodded. "Shit. I'm real sorry. I mean...shit." I drew a few ragged breaths. I wanted to cry. It was stupid, just saying those words shouldn't have had that kind of effect on me, but it did. Apart from Joy, I realized I hadn't told anyone about Tom's death since the day

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it happened. I'd considered calling my parents a few times, but I wasn't exactly on the best terms with them. It had been over a year since we'd talked, and even if they would hear me out, I couldn't stomach the idea of giving them an excuse to say "I told you so." "That about sums it up," I replied. Despite his words, the compassion was already fading from his face. "That must have been awful for you." He licked his lips. "I don't suppose he said anything about me, you know, before it happened?" I blinked in confusion. "What? What would he have said?" He begun wringing his hands. "It's just — and I hate to bring up business at a time like this — but he owed me a little cash, you know? Football bets and the like." I was struck by this immense sense of vertigo, like I was falling down an endless tunnel. I couldn't believe this was happening. Tom was dead, and all this creep could think

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about was his debts? Even here, the world seemed to want to remind me of what I'd been so blind to before. It felt like it was going to haunt me forever. "Are you serious?" I asked. He shrugged. "I didn't mean no offense. I'm just going through a rough patch, you know? Thought maybe he left a little something. The debt was a few grand, but even a couple of hundred would..." he trailed off as Logan appeared behind him. "If you're not out that door in three seconds, you're going to regret it." I'd never heard him sound so cold, so dangerous. One look at his face told me he was seconds away from exploding. Jared didn't take long to make the same assessment. He visibly wilted under Logan's shadow. "Sorry. Sorry. Forget it." As he turned to leave, Logan spoke again. "And don't you even think of speaking to her again."

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Jared nodded quickly, then made a beeline for the exit. The threat was gone, but the damage was done. It was too much. I needed some space. Before Logan could say anything else, I was fleeing out to the back alley. He followed, of course. "I'm okay," I said, leaning heavily against the wall. "I just need a minute." "Who was that?" he asked. "Just some friend of Tom's," I replied, without really thinking. Great job, Grace. "You mean your ex?" he asked cautiously. Well, there was no taking it back now. I nodded wearily. "What did he say to make you so upset?" I gave a dismissive wave. "It's not important." "Bullshit. He comes in, speaks to you for thirty seconds and you just fall apart." He

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stepped closer, those hard features heavy with concern. "Look, I'm no idiot. It's pretty obvious your ex has something to do with all this. I get that it hurts and you just want to bottle it all up so you don't have to feel it all the time, but if I don't know what's going to set you off then I can't protect you." I shook my head. "You can't protect me. Not from this. It's too late." "Maybe, but I can damn well try to protect you from yourself." His eyes blazed, radiating intensity. For the hundredth time I wondered, who the hell was this guy? He was so stubborn, so relentless in his desire to help. I wasn't sure I had the energy to keep fighting him. "Tom was my fiancé. He was a poker player, that's why we moved here." I closed my eyes, my hand shooting up to cup my mouth as though in a last ditch effort to hold the words back. "He killed himself about five months ago. A massive dose of painkillers."

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"Jesus Christ," said Logan, pulling me in for a hug. It felt so easy, so natural. "I'm so sorry, Grace." "Me too," I replied, pressing myself against him. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back. "Do you know why he did it?" Logan asked carefully. "Gambling debts. I don't know the details." Logan nodded, but said nothing. With my ear against his chest, I could hear his heartbeat, slow and powerful and rhythmic, like crashing waves. It was a soothing sound, so I concentrated on it, letting the vibration flow through me. "I can't get the image of it out of my mind," I said after a while. "His body slumped on the sofa like that. He was so limp, so...empty." A shiver rolled through me. "It will get easier.

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"And what if I don't want it to get easier?" My voice was tiny, and I had to force each word from my mouth. "What if I deserve this?" "You don't." He sounded so certain, but that just egged me on further. I'd been nursing my guilt for so long it was a part of me now, like another limb, and he was trying to take it away. "I do! I was supposed to be his confidant, his closest friend. I was supposed to love him, so why did I ignore the signs? What kind of fiancé does that make me? I should have known! I should have known..." The words dissolved into a sob as the pressure finally grew too strong. I pulled away and buried my face in my hands. For a few moments, I cried in silence, but then I felt an impossibly strong arm slip around my shoulder. "I know what it's like; full of rage with no one to blame, but you can't take responsibility for his decisions. I

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know it hurts to hear, but he did this, not you. Punishing yourself like that will eat you faster than any grief." My chest constricted, and a bolt of anger shot through me. This was what I wanted to feel. Not self-pity or hope, but white hot rage. "How dare you!" I pushed his arm away, shooting to my feet. "You don't get to assign blame here. You don't know!" I screamed. "You don't know at all. You're full of all this sage advice, but it's not the same. I held his fucking body in my arms. How could you possibly know what that's like?" I stormed toward the street, everything inside me churning. "I know." Something in his voice made me pause. I turned slowly back toward him. His eyes were fixed firmly on the ground in front of him, his expression grim as night. It took him a moment to continue. "My best friend in the force was a guy named Connor, although everyone just called him

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Ace on account of him being fucking awful at cards." He gave a sick little smile at the irony of that. "We came up together in training and just clicked. He was one of those guys who would just do anything for you, you know? "Eventually he wound up in my squad when I shipped out the last time. One of our jobs over there was training the local security forces, teaching them to deal with the insurgents themselves. One evening, we were winding down in a little village after a session with the Afghani military, when I sent Ace out to check in with our guys on watch. It wasn't standard procedure, but something in the air had me on edge, and I wanted an update. About ten seconds later, the attack came. "By the time I got outside, it was fucking chaos. A ton of our guys were already down and there was shit flying everywhere; smoke, bullets, blood. Fighting back wasn't

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an option. Somehow I made it behind a rock without taking a hit, and that's where I found Ace." Logan's voice was soft and unfocused now, like someone talking in his sleep. My anger ebbed. There was no ignoring how painful this was for him to recount. "His vest had soaked up a few rounds, but his arms and legs were shot to shit and he'd taken some shrapnel to the chest. I managed to carry him back to the medical chopper, and they got him to the hospital, but it wasn't enough." He paused for a few seconds and sucked in a long breath. "He died on that bed a day later without ever regaining consciousness. I sat with him the whole time, talking, praying, and he just slipped away." His eyes refocused on me. "I really do get it, that guilt. What if I'd sent him a minute later? Or not at all? Would we both have made it? Or what if I followed my instincts earlier? Maybe we'd have stopped the

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attack all together. We'd have saved a whole lot of lives that way. So many questions, so many possibilities." There were fresh tears rising behind my eyes now, and this time they weren't for me. I felt like the world's biggest bitch. "I...I'm sorry, Logan. I'm sorry." He nodded, seemingly not trusting himself to speak. I couldn't blame him. That scene was more horrific than anything I'd experienced in my life. I was struck by an immense sense of shame. How much death had Logan seen? How many friends had been ripped away from him, before his eyes? It didn't bear thinking about. And here I was crying over one lost life. I probably looked so childish. If Logan could find a way to overcome his pain, then so could I. "How do you stop it destroying you?" I asked. "By acknowledging you don't control the world. We all make choices. Some of

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them are good, others are a fucking disaster, but very few things are the result of a single action. What if our CO had sent us to another village, that day? Or the insurgent leader was slow with his dinner and the attack came five minutes later? What if Ace had never enlisted at all? There are a million variables to everything. Blame isn't black and white. I know I contributed to his death in some small way, but I also know I'm not responsible. You need to realize that, too." He stepped closer and reached out to brush my face where a single tear had leaked down. "There's a girl in here somewhere who deserves a second chance, and you owe it to her to make that happen." The tenderness in his voice filled me with warmth. I stared up at him, everything inside me in tatters. I hurt for me and for him, for Tom and for Ace. There was so much pain, and right then it felt like we were both ready to drown in it. I desperately

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wanted something to cut through all that, if only for a moment. There was barely a foot between our faces now, and slowly but surely, that space was shrinking further still. His hand lingered on my cheek, his eyes locked to mine. I could feel the heat of him enveloping my skin like steam, his scent swelling in my nostrils. There was something stirring in my stomach, something hungry and desperate and lonely. I knew I needed to look away, to break the spell of that moment, but his sheer presence held me in a trance. He stood poised over me for what felt like a lifetime, gaze hungry, breath trembling, fingers dancing tiny circles across my skin, then with a low growl he pulled back. My reaction was sharp and physical, the wind leaving my lungs as though I'd been punched. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, then cleared his throat. "Anyway, if you're

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feeling alright, we should probably head back in." That guarded expression was back now, like the heat of the previous moment had never happened. I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. I was dropping back to Earth now, the electricity beneath my skin gradually dissipating. I didn't know whether I was angrier at myself for letting us get so close, or at him for pulling away. "All right," I said woodenly. Ironically, all I wanted now was to be back in the bar, lost in that simple rhythm. I needed to be away from him, needed time to think. I turned to leave, but he caught my arm. "Grace, if anyone else bothers you, you know where to find me. I meant what I said about protecting you." I nodded. Back inside, the moment played through my head over and over. I had no idea how to make sense of his reaction at the

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end. Was it really possible I'd imagined the whole thing? A desperate little hallucination to fill whatever emptiness our talk had dredged up inside me? I wanted that to be the case, but all I could think about was the fire in his gaze, his hand against my skin, his lips just inches from my own. No, we'd shared something in that moment, I just didn't know what to do with it.

Chapter Eleven Logan Well, I truly fucked it all up this time. Grace finally opened up to me, and I responded in the worst possible way. I really thought I had myself under control around her, but that pain in her eyes triggered something inexorable inside me. In that moment, all I could think about was kissing her. I knew I needed to back off, but it was like trying to tell my heart to stop beating. I'm amazed I managed to stop when I did. Another few seconds and I'd have been tearing the clothes from her body. I felt like the world's biggest asshole, and judging by the way she reacted, she thought the same. Sure, for a few moments there it looked like maybe she wanted it too, but that didn't mean shit. She was vulnerable and afraid. In that state of mind, people will do all kinds of things to not feel alone. She'd just confessed to losing the love of her life,

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for fuck's sake. Not to mention the fact that she'd straight up told me she wasn't interested. The idea that she might have actually wanted me pawing at her was insane. I half expected that to be the end of everything. How was she supposed to feel safe around me now, knowing I might jump her again at any moment? But at about ten the next morning, as I was letting out some of my self-loathing via my fists, she marched in through the gym doors. My heart leapt. "Hey," I said cautiously. "Hey." She hadn't even looked at me for the whole rest of last night, and most of that coldness still remained. She stared for a couple of seconds, seemingly on the edge of speaking, then nodded toward the cardio machines. "I'm going to get started. Treadmill, then a few rounds on the bags?" So, that was how it was going to be. No more small talk. Just down to business. That

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stung more than it had a right to, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. "Sounds good. I'll be here if you need me." She gave the barest hint of a nod, then walked off. I returned to my training, but my mind was elsewhere. The fact that she hadn't just thrown in the towel was a huge relief. I'm not sure I could have handled it if she relapsed because of me. Maybe there was actually a chance that we could rebuild what we'd had but, for that to happen, I had to reign myself in. I wanted to believe I could do that, but it was becoming increasingly clear how little control I had where Grace was concerned. It didn't make any sense. Sure, she was sexy as hell, but I'd had sexy before. Could have it again too, if I wanted to deal with all the shit that followed. That wasn't enough of a reason for me to feel this powerless. I needed a plan before I ruined things once and for all.

Chapter Twelve Grace "So, something happened between Logan and I the other night." It was a few days after my encounter with Logan, and Joy and I were sorting stock in the back room. I hadn't really been planning on telling her, but the words just kind of came out. Despite my best efforts, that night was still messing with my head pretty badly. I hadn't done anything drastic — I still went to the gym and clung to my routine — but things with Logan were awkward, at best. I didn't know how to be around him anymore, my mind flitting between anger and confusion like a hormonal teenager. Joy spun toward me, eyes full-moon wide. "What? When? Where? Details. Me. Now." "It was a few nights back, out in the alley," I replied. "I was having kind of a rough

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night and I ducked out to get some air. He followed." Her smile grew more eager. "And then?" And then we shared one of the most intimate moments I can remember that involved only words. And then we bared our souls to one another. "And then...it got complicated." "Did he kiss you?" "No." She looked a little disappointed by that. "I think he came close though." "You think?" I shrugged uncomfortably, suddenly unable to find the words to express the depth of the situation. "I don't know. Maybe I was just imaging things. Forget I said anything." But Joy wasn't going to let me off the hook that easily. "Uh uh. There's no going back now. You need to let your poor neglected friends who aren't getting any live

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vicariously through you. It's part of your sisterhood agreement." "I didn't realize we had an agreement," I said, feeling a smile tug at the edges of my mouth. "We broke ice-cream together," Joy replied solemnly. "It is an ancient ritual. We're sealed to one another now." I laughed. "If I remember correctly, that involved you shoving most of it down your throat before I could get a second scoop." "Still counts! Anyway, enough dancing around the subject, Missy. Give up the goods!" I sighed. "It was just one of those moments, you know? Where you're both just staring at one another and everything else fades away. He had his hand on my face, and this look in his eyes..." I trailed off. "Okay, stop, you're giving me shivers now."

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Reliving the moment was doing the same to me, although I didn't want to say that. "So then what happened? Did you stop him?" I licked my lips. "No, he kind of stopped himself." "Seriously?" "Yep. Then he tried to act like nothing happened. It's so goddamn confusing." "Well, it sounds like you're pretty sure it wasn't just nothing, right?" I nodded slowly. Any doubts I'd had disappeared when it became clear that he felt as awkward as I did. You don't behave that way over nothing. "Okay, well first, five points for Joy, because I totally called it. He wants to jump your bones." I laughed. "Noted."

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Her voice softened a little. "And second, that might mean it's time to start asking yourself the tough questions." I felt a lump building in my throat. "Like what?" "Like, if he hadn't stopped himself, would you have?" And there it was, the crux of issue. The doubt I'd been carrying in the back of my head like a lead weight. "I think so," I replied, but my tone wasn't convincing either of us. Whatever my mind may have thought, my body had made no move to act on it. She hesitated, chewing nervously on her lip. "You know if something did happen between you two, that's okay, right?" "What?" "I just mean...Your fiancé, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that he wouldn't begrudge you a kiss, or anything else for that matter. He loved you, right?" I nodded. "So he'd want you to be happy. I know it's trite,

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but there it is. If you're not in the right place for this, then that's obviously totally fine, but if you are, you shouldn't just dismiss it out of loyalty to someone who isn't asking you to." "And what if I have no idea what sort of place I'm in?" I asked. "That's where it gets tricky." Understatement of the year. "I know Tom wouldn't want me to be unhappy," I said. "But it still hurts so much. The thought of being with anyone else is kind of terrifying." She nodded. "Then don't force it. You take as long as you need." She chewed her lip for a moment. "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately, so I'm guessing you told him what happened?" "It came up," I replied. "So he gets how rough this is for you." I thought back to his story about Ace. "Yeah, I guess he does."

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"Then hopefully he won't push the issue." But what if I want him to push the issue? His behavior made so little sense. That attraction was real. It had to be. Which meant there was something he wasn't telling me. The whole situation was a mess. I'd never been more confused in my whole life. ***** Charlie found me the next evening when I was out the back checking stock. You might think this was fairly innocuous, after all, he was my boss, but for all the time we spent together in the same building, we hadn't ever really had a proper conversation. He mostly just left the bar to run itself, and when he did make an appearance to give the ship a gentle nudge back on course, he was all business. That had been just fine with me, given that he'd been about five seconds away from firing me a few weeks back. I had half

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hoped the whole thing would just quietly fade from memory without comment, but I guess that was asking a little much. "How you holding up out there tonight?" he asked me. I shrugged. "Fine. It's a little quiet, truth be told." He nodded, as if that's exactly the response he was expecting. I got the sense that was about all the small talk I was going to get before he said whatever he'd really come to say. The way he studied me made me uncomfortable. It was the same sort of look Logan leveled at me from time to time, one that saw far deeper than you wanted it to. Perhaps that was standard issue in the military; one set of fatigues, one rifle, one penetrating gaze. "And how about in general? You doing okay?" he continued. He had every right to be angry, but I had no idea if he was. His expression was utterly unreadable.

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I debated trying to brush the question aside with some vague answer, but we both knew what he was really asking. "Yeah, I think so. Maybe not good, but better." I took a deep breath. Time to bite the bullet. "Listen, Charlie, I'm really sorry. I know drinking on the job was stupid. Not to mention thoughtless. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just haven't been myself lately." I had no idea how much Logan had told him, but I really didn't want to get into the whole thing now. He chewed on those words for several seconds. "I appreciate the apology." "Sorry it came so late. I was embarrassed, to tell you the truth." And scared, but I didn't want to admit that. "I get it. I know plenty of people who've been where you are. I may not have much tolerance for that shit in my bar, but I understand it."

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It was a warning, but also a show of support. Some of the tension bled from my muscles. "Well, thank you for giving me another chance. I'd be out on the street if it wasn't for this job." "Don't thank me. Thank Logan. He's the one who stood up for you." "I know, and I'm really grateful, but you didn't have to say yes." "Maybe not, but I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress." He gave a wry little laugh. "Besides, I think Logan might have introduced my head to the table if I hadn't." The idea of Logan getting so worked up over my wellbeing still confused me. "Well, I won't make you regret it." "I hope not." That felt like it should have been the end of the conversation, but Charlie didn't move, and since he was standing in the

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doorway of the storeroom, that meant I couldn't leave either. "You need to be careful with him," he said after several seconds. "Careful?" I didn't like where the conversation was going. "That's right. I don't know what's going on between you two, but it worries me. Logan looks tough, but that man has been through hell, and believe me when I tell you that hell leaves scars." Apparently it wasn't just Joy who had noticed the tension between Logan and I. That was unsettling. The clearer it was to the world, the harder it was to ignore. I sighed. "I don't know what's going on between us either." I could have lied, but I got the sense he wouldn't buy it. "But Logan seems like he can take care of himself." "You might be surprised." I didn't know what to make of that. Logan obviously had his share of pain and

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trauma, but by all appearances he seemed like he had it under control. "I'm not trying to step on any toes here," Charlie continued. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt." "Well, I appreciate your concern." He gave a curt nod, and then was gone. It was a confusing exchange. Clearly he cared about Logan. Perhaps he was worried I'd be a bad influence? That I might cause him to slip back into old habits? I didn't want to be the source of any more trouble, but the longer this went on, the more sense I got that trouble might find me, regardless of what I wanted. ***** The bar had grown busier as the week progressed. Logan's fight with Caesar was just a few days away now, and the anticipation was like a tangible presence hanging in the air. The crowd was louder, the drinking freer. It made for tiring nights, but at least it

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kept me busy. Idle hands lead to idle thoughts, and right now my head was full of an awful lot of stuff I didn't have any idea how to process. The tension between Logan and I ebbed a little, but as much as I wanted to, I couldn't just forget what had happened. When we were together, I did my best to ignore him, but I found my eyes wandering nonetheless. Could I really see myself with him? It was a strange image. My past boyfriends had all been nice, ordinary guys. At the time, I'd thought each was amazing, but when I weighed them against Logan in my head, they all suddenly came up...less, somehow. I hated that I felt that way. There had been nothing wrong with any of them. Tom had been good looking, in a slim, hipster sort of way, but there was none of Logan's raw, masculine presence in him. I think I finally understood the allure of the bad boy. The man was dangerous, and that still scared me,

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but it was the sort of fear that comes tinged with a frisson of excitement, more thrill than outright terror. The night before the fight, I was wiping down a bench shortly before closing time, when Joy sidled up next to me and nudged my elbow. "You should probably see this." The gravity of her tone told me I wasn't going to like what I found. I followed her gaze toward the door and spotted Logan chatting to a tall brunette in a red cocktail dress. This in itself was not unusual. Logan received plenty of advances from female customers. I mean, how could he not? What was different was the fact that he wasn't rebuffing her. He had his hand curled possessively around one hip while she leaned in to whisper into his ear. What really got to me though was his smile. Logan was a serious guy at the best of times. Knowing what I did about his past, I kind of understood. But that wasn't the case around me.

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He had this way of smiling at me that made me feel like I was the only person in the whole world who mattered. It was stupid, but I felt like that was my smile. Only now it wasn't because he was directing it at someone else. "Maybe he's just being polite," I said, but there was no conviction in it. "Maybe," Joy replied. Logan glanced up and caught me staring, and some of his enthusiasm leeched away. Was that guilt playing in his eyes? Or anger? He was so difficult to read, I had no idea. He swallowed hard and then turned back to his new friend. I tore my gaze away and fled to the other end of the bar. Nothing had happened between us, and I wasn't even sure I wanted it to but, nonetheless, I couldn't watch that. It was irrational and unfair, but the thought of him with anyone else drove a spear of jealousy up through my stomach.

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Joy followed. "Want to talk about it?" I shrugged, racking a tray of glasses with more energy than necessary. "There's nothing to talk about. I guess I was imaging things after all." It didn't make any sense, but what other explanation was there? "Anyway, I'm fine. It's probably better this way." Her mouth tightened. "If you say so. But just FYI, if you want me to beat him up for you, I'm happy to oblige." In spite of that betrayal, the image of this slight little red head trying to take out that mountain of muscle brought a smile to my face. "Think you can take him?" "Definitely. He may be strong, but he's a guy so he's got a weak spot." She leaned in close, and in an exaggerated voice whispered, "It's his balls." I managed to summon a half-hearted laugh. "Solid plan." I tried to resist, but about a minute later, the masochistic part of me won out and

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I glanced back over. Neither Logan nor the brunette were anywhere in sight. My stomach sank. There was every chance he'd left alone, but I couldn't make myself believe it.

Chapter Thirteen Grace The next night I was scheduled to work the little bar that was tucked into the corner of the arena. Ninety five percent of the time it went unused, but on Final Blow nights Charlie opened it so people could get their drink on without missing any of the action. It was my first fight, and despite my relative indifference to the sport itself, I couldn't help but enjoy the spectacle of it. The arena always seemed hollow and dingy in the light of day, but the swelling crowd, thumping music and bright lights brought it alive. Right now, it felt more like being in a big top than a bar. The night was structured around what Charlie referred to as a card; basically a series of fights culminating in the clash between Logan and Caesar. Their bout was the talk of the room. Logan had seemed nonchalant about it, but the buzz around the bar said his opponent was serious business. He

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had a perfect record in his league over in Chicago, and it was rumored he was being courted by the UFC. I didn't know much about the sport, but I knew that meant he was no slouch in the ring. Ask me a week ago, and I'd have told you I was excited to see Logan fight. Part of me still was, but I couldn't deny that I was hurt by his sudden back-flip. He didn't owe me anything, and I knew that logically it was better if nothing happened between us, but every time I pictured his hand around that hussy's waist, I found my jaw clenching. The me of a few months ago would have let that send her hurtling toward rock bottom again, but now I was more determined than ever to stay on the path. I'd made such progress over the last few weeks. I felt better than I had in a long time, and I wasn't about to let one dubious moment between us throw all of that into jeopardy. In a week or two I'd forget all about it. I had to. For now, the

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mission was to stay positive and try to have fun. And fitting with that goal, tonight my partner in crime behind the bar was Jonah. He'd grown on me a lot, recently. When I first started at Charlie's, he'd struck me as just another immature player who'd happily chat up anything in a skirt, but there was something vaguely charming about his shamelessness. No amount of rejection seemed to stem the tide of one-liners and pick up attempts. All in all, he was fun to be around, and I figured that as long as he didn't push the issue too far, he was harmless enough. "First fight?" he asked, during one of our rare lulls. "Yep." "Did Charlie give you your goggles yet?" "Goggles?" I asked. He frowned. "I guess that's a no. That's okay, there's a spare pair here." He reached

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under the bar and fished out a pair of clear Perspex goggles, the kind you'd typically find in a woodworking shop. "What the hell are these for?" I asked, turning them over in my hand. "You don't know?" I shook my head. "Oh, shit. Well basically, when you work these fights, you're supposed to put on a pair of goggles. Stops you getting blood in your eyes. Something to do with OH&S." I felt a lump building in my throat and I glanced at the arena, which was at least fifteen feet away. "Blood? But they're all the way over there." He stared at me like I was an idiot. "It's a fight, of course there's blood. These guys hit hard. I mean, some nights are worse than others, but you'll always get at least a few splashes. Ever wonder why the Charlie's tees are black?" He let me dangle like that for several seconds, images of the two of us painted

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scarlet-red from head to toe playing through my mind, before bursting out laughing. "Works every time." My cheeks turned hot and I aimed a not-too-gentle punch at his shoulder. "Not funny," I replied, although I felt a smile tugging at my lips. "If you'd seen your face, you'd disagree," he replied. "In all seriousness, don't worry. These nights are fun, and if you get into any trouble, I'll take care of you." I rolled my eyes. "My hero." The room filled quickly, and by the time the first fighters were announced, there wasn't a free seat to be seen. A familiar voice rang out through the room. "Ladies and gentleman, welcome to another action packed night of Final Blow." Charlie stood in the center of the cage, a microphone in hand and a giant grin plastered across his face.

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The crowd roared in response. Logan had told me the room held five hundred, but I swear to God, it sounded like a Yankees game from the inside. "We've got a fantastic show for you this evening," continued Charlie, "including one new face from all the way over in Chicago." A few audience members let out good natured boos. "Now, now, be nice, folks. We're all friends here. And on that note, I'd like you to give a warm welcome to our first fighters tonight. You've seen them both before, but never in the ring at the same time. In the blue corner, we've got a fan favorite. A local boy. He's two hundred pounds of raw punching power. Give it up for Joe 'Kitty Cat' Thomppppsssson." The rumble from the bleachers grew louder still, and Charlie drank it up. He'd always seemed reserved to me, but he was every bit the showman now, his voice rising

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in a trembling crescendo that made me think of the boxing matches my dad used to watch on TV. Jonah leaned over until his shoulder lay against mine, which wasn't difficult considering how cramped it was behind the bar. "You know why they call him Kitty Cat?" I shrugged. "Because it's so intimidating?" He shot me what I'd come to think of as his panty-dropping grin. It didn't do much for me, but I'd seen plenty of women go weak at the knees before it, so maybe I was just missing something. "Because whenever people knock him down he seems to always wind up on his feet." "And here I was expecting some joke involving the word 'pussy.'" "Then you obviously don't know me very well. I'm nothing but serious when it comes to pussy." I laughed. "And there it is."

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By now, Charlie had welcomed both men into the ring. They were shirtless, and while neither quite had Logan's sheer size or tone, they each cut rather intimidating figures. God, when did I start comparing all men to Logan? After a little more ceremony and a touching of their thin black gloves, the two men took a few steps backward, and the fight was on. I'd watched Logan train a lot, but that didn't prepare me for the reality of this sort of combat. This wasn't a gentleman's game in any form. Almost any kind of damage they could inflict with their body was allowed. The men circled one another, probing and testing, before one of them would snap forward like a snake to land a bone shuddering punch. Each impact left me wincing in sympathy, but somehow they soaked up the punishment. One of the men seemed eager to take things to the ground, but the other kept him

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at bay with a lightning quick array of punches and kicks. They slugged it out like that for several rounds, and it felt like neither really had the edge, but moments before the bell rung for the third time, one of those punches connected, and the other man dropped like a stone. The crowd roared their approval. I wanted to be mortified, but the energy in the air was infectious, and I found myself screaming too. The next two fights weren't quite so intense, both ending in submissions rather than knockout blows, and before I knew it, Logan's time arrived. "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for," called Charlie. "This is going to be some fight, folks. The local hero against the Illinois powerhouse. In the blue corner, hailing all the way from snowy Chicago, give a warm Las Vegas welcome for Martin 'Caesar' Bianco!"

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A few more boos rang out from the crowd, but this time most people showed Caesar the same respect as the other fighters, cheering and hollering as they'd done all night. The guy that stepped into the ring certainly looked like he deserved it. He was a ridiculous specimen of a man — broad chested and long limbed and padded from head to toe in thick slabs of muscle. If I had to guess, I'd have said he was even taller than Logan. Objectively, he should have been good looking, with the kind of strong chin and blonde shaggy hair usually found in glossy magazines, but the movie star smirk on his face was so off-putting it ruined any sense of appeal he might have had. It was a look that said "everybody is paying attention to me and that's exactly the way things should be." "And in the red corner, the reigning Final Blow champion. He's a Vegas legend in the making. Make some noise for Logan 'Blackjack' Anderson."

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My lungs hitched as Logan strode into view, muscles flexing in the spotlights. I'd seen him training many times before, but this was different. There was an intent to his movements now, a sense of gravity and power that set adrenaline surging through my veins. He walked out there like he owned the place, like he owned the world. There wasn't a man in the room that could compare to that raw strength and sheer masculinity. I'd thought the crowd was loud before, but that was a whimper compared to the cacophony that erupted as he stepped up to meet his opponent. I'd been right, Caesar was taller by at least half a foot, which made him a truly intimidating foe. But Logan didn't look fazed. He just radiated steely confidence. I yanked my gaze away. His actions last night proved he didn't want me, so I certainly didn't want to pine after him. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to do but

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watch. The queue in front of us had evaporated. Now that the main event had started, apparently nobody even wanted to miss the thirty seconds it would take to get a drink. "Is this normal?" I asked, nodding to the empty space. Jonah shrugged. "When Logan fights, yeah, it's pretty much all eyes on him." That smile bloomed on his face once more and he raised one eyebrow suggestively. "In fact, we could basically get away with whatever we want until the end of the first round. Quick shag behind the bar?" I laughed and raised my hand to my brow in a mock swoon. "Two minutes on a bar room floor? Who says romance is dead?" A tingle suddenly rolled over my skin, and I glanced toward the ring once more to find Logan's eyes on me. That intensity was still there, but his brow was now furrowed, his mouth twisted ever so slightly downward. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he

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looked pissed off. I returned his look and gave an exaggerated shrug, and his jaw tightened further still. It was actually strangely satisfying. Yeah, that's right, I can have fun with other people too. Our staring contest was interrupted by Charlie calling for both fighters to assume their positions. Logan's gaze lingered a moment longer, then he turned to face his opponent. Caesar studied him, still wearing the same look of casual superiority. It felt bitchy, but there were a few moments in there where I actually didn't hate the thought of seeing Logan get knocked on his ass. The bell rang, and the fight was on. It started slowly, the two men circling one another, probing and testing with short sharp attacks. They seemed almost evenly matched. Caesar's long arms gave him superior reach, letting him fling fists at Logan from relative safety, but Logan was much faster, almost impossibly so for a man of his

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size, and those blows only found empty air. The smugness gradually fell from Caesar's face as he realized this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. As the clock ticked, the ferocity intensified. Logan paced around the ring slowly, methodically, but then with scorpion speed, his body would uncoil like a spring, unleashing a vicious blur of muscle and bone. The two fighters found their rhythm and their attacks began to connect. Caesar threw a monster of a punch, the kind that looked like it would shatter concrete, and for a heartbeat it seemed like it was going to end things on the spot, but Logan dropped his body low and the bigger man's fist glanced off his shoulder. Logan used that momentum to drive himself forward, unleashing a staggering uppercut of his own. Caesar twisted, but the blow still caught him on the side of his stomach. I couldn't help but wince at the impact. Nobody should have been still standing after

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a punch like that, but Caesar recovered quickly, darting backward with a growl and raising his guard once more. I began to feel light headed and realized I was holding my breath. I tried forcing myself to think about what I'd seen the previous night, but my brain and my hormones were two totally different beasts. Watching Logan's muscles flex and explode as he tried to pummel his opponent into the ground was one of the hottest things I'd ever seen. My whole body felt flushed. Moisture pooled between my legs. They traded blows until the bell rang again, neither making any effort to take the fight to the ground. I got the sense that this had become about more than simply winning. This was something masculine and primal, and they were going to beat each other with their fists until one man was on the floor.

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Back in their corners, they both shone with sweat, but looked focused and full of energy. Caesar simply stared at his opponent while his coach whispered advice in his ear, but from the moment Logan sat down, his gaze never left me. It was actually making me uncomfortable, but there was nowhere to go, so I just stared back. "Looks like you've got a friend," said Jonah. "Looks that way," I replied. He paused for several seconds looking poised to speak. "What's the deal with you two anyway? For a while I thought you were hooking up on the sly, but then last night I saw him hitting it off with Chrissy, so..." I let out a long breath. "That's her name?" "Yeah. She's around the bar quite a lot. Has a bit of a reputation for being...extra friendly, if you catch my drift."

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I did, and it made my stomach twist. I'd done my best to convince myself their conversation hadn't been what it seemed, but that was basically a waste of time now. How could I have been so wrong about Logan? Was I really such a bad judge of character? He'd seemed so genuine, and the spark between us seemed so fierce. Jonah must have read the turmoil on my face. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. Logan's eyes followed the gesture, his nostrils flaring, but his anger only fueled my own. He had no right to be pissed. No fucking right at all. "I didn't mean to upset you," Jonah continued. "I was just passing the time. We can talk about something else." I shrugged. I was so damned sick of bottling everything up, of being pitied and tiptoeing around everything. "It's okay. I thought maybe there was something there, but apparently I was wrong."

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Jonah chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully for a moment. "Fair enough." His grin reappeared. "Well, if you feel like making him jealous, you know where to come." Perhaps the heat in Logan's gaze should have told me not to prod the bull, but he'd hurt me, and in that moment all I wanted was to do the same to him. Reaching out, I looped my fingers through Jonah's and turned toward him, doing my best to smile seductively. "That's very generous of you." Of course, I had no intention of taking him up on his offer. All I wanted was to provoke a little more of a reaction in Logan. Unfortunately, I got much more than I bargained for. As I watched him out of the corner of my eye, the bell sounded to start the next round. He lunged to his feet, tearing his eyes from me just long enough to unleash a staggeringly quick blow straight at Caesar's head.

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The bigger man stood no chance. He didn't even have time to raise his hands. One moment he was bouncing lightly on his feet, the next he was a crumpled heap on the floor. The crowd sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, then erupted, but Logan seemed utterly oblivious. The menace radiating off him as he strode toward us was almost palpable. Jonah felt it, pulling his hand away and recoiling, but there was nowhere to go. We were both trapped back here. Fish in a barrel. "You stay away from her." Logan's voice was low, like scraping gravel, a sound that seemed to echo up from the floor around him. Jonah eyes were wide as saucers. He nodded rapidly. I didn't blame him. This wasn't just some bar room pissing contest. One look at Logan's clenched jaw and balled fists and you knew he was taking the phrase "deadly serious" to a whole new level.

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But he wasn't the only one in the depths of full blown rage. "What the fuck are you doing, Logan?" Despite the fact that I was screaming, my voice was nearly lost in the roar of the crowd. "You don't get to decide who I can and can't talk to. Hell, you don't get to decide anything I do." He turned his gaze to me, his brow furrowing. There was a kind of madness playing across his face, a desperate confusion, like he was only a passenger and some other dark force was driving his body. I began wondering for the first time if perhaps he really was unbalanced. His behavior made no sense. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, seemingly lost for words. "Say something for Christ's sake," I said. I felt physically ill. Nobody had ever created such conflict in me. I wanted to just be angry, but it was muddied by a host of other emotions all raging like a whirlpool inside me.

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The cheering in the background began to drop to hushed whispers as people realized there was something going on beyond the usual celebrations. Several seconds passed in silence with Logan's eyes boring into mine, then, without another word, he spun and made a beeline for the exit. He broke into a jog, passing Caesar's still limp body without any acknowledgment. Charlie stood in the center of the ring, microphone in hand, apparently torn between following his friend and assuaging the crowd. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I had to do. There was no doubt in my mind about where Logan was going. When I walked in through the gym doors, he was already working the bag. He hadn't even bothered to switch on the lights. He just stood there punching in the dark, a formless, staccato hammering sound.

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He must have heard me come in, but he didn't stop. "What the fuck, Logan?" I said again, after a couple of seconds. My eyes were adjusting now, the room gradually taking shape in the moonlight around me. Logan continued to attack the bag, throwing his whole body into every blow as though his life depended on it. "Hey, I'm talking to you," I said, walking around until I was directly in his line of sight. "You can't punch your way out of this conversation." He slowed, finally meeting my eyes. For a man who'd just won the biggest fight of his career, he looked awfully defeated. "I'm sorry." "You're sorry? Seriously? That's not even close to good enough. Who do you think you are going all alpha male over me? You don't own me!"

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His fists dropped to his sides. He looked almost ready to dispute that, but then he squeezed his eyes shut and drew a deep breath. "I know. I just saw you with him and I lost control." "Understatement of the year. Christ, I can't deal with this anymore. You know I can't. I'm barely keeping it together as it is." I knew if we kept on this way, I'd break down again. It was time to put all of my cards on the table. "You said you wanted to help me, but all you do is mess with my head. You nearly kiss me, then act like nothing happened. You pick up some floozy right in front of me, then make Jonah shit his pants just for talking to me. How the fuck am I supposed to interpret any of that?" Logan's expression looked pained now. "I didn't pick up Chrissy," he said, after a few seconds. "I mean, I did, but nothing happened. I changed my mind a few minutes after we left and sent her home."

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"Why?" He shrugged. "It didn't feel right." I searched his eyes for hints of deception, but found none. I believed him. A wave of relief washed over me, the strength of which was almost frightening. "So why chat her up at all?" I asked. "I needed to distract myself." "From what?" There was a long pause, long enough that I thought maybe I wasn't getting an answer, but then he spoke. "From you." My stomach constricted. As guilty as it made me feel, it was exactly what I wanted to hear. "Why would you need to do that?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, are you going to make me say it?" He stepped closer. "Because I can't stop thinking about you, Grace. Because I'm afraid of what I might do around you. Christ, the other night you poured your heart out to me, and all I could think about was pushing you up

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against the wall and..." He closed his eyes momentarily and swallowed hard. "Look, I know you don't want the things I want. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just trying to keep my shit under control. You're doing so well, and I want to keep helping you. I thought maybe that was the answer, that it had just been too long since I got laid. But when the time came, I couldn't do it." Well, shit. My mouth felt impossibly dry, my skin tingling with the promise of that unfinished sentence. That hunger was stirring inside me again, cavernous and irresistible. "Who says I don't want the things you do?" I asked, my voice shaking ever so slightly. He frowned. "You did, a few weeks ago. In fact you went to pains to tell me how you weren't in that place right now." "Maybe...maybe I've changed my mind."

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"You're kidding, right?" I gave a tiny shake of my head. It felt like a big gesture, one that should have set the earth shaking and the sky falling, but it was strangely liberating at the same time. A moment of clarity in an ocean of confusion. I wanted him. I couldn't deny that anymore. I wanted everything those absent words implied. His hands on my body, his lips on mine. I knew that given a few days, a few hours, maybe even a few minutes, my pain and self-loathing would resurface and start sabotaging this again, but right now I was free of that. Before I could talk myself out of it, I lunged toward him. He was so tall that I had to stretch up onto my toes, wrapping my hands around his neck to pull his mouth down to mine. It sent a powerful longing through me, that height, that sheer bulk. I normally hate to be reminded how diminutive I am, but I liked how small he made me

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feel. There was something strangely comforting about it. His body stiffened and he mumbled a curse against my lips. For a moment, he barely moved. I could feel the war playing out behind his eyes. But then the fight drained out of him, and his arms enveloped me as he began kissing me back with an urgency strong enough to be almost frightening. Part of me expected it to feel wrong, a betrayal of everything I'd had with Tom, but instead my body simply melted against his like it had always been there, and all other thoughts disappeared. All my other first kisses had been timid affairs, but this was something else entirely, fierce and hungry; an explosion of everything that was simmering inside us. Though I'd initiated it, Logan quickly seized control. This wasn't a man who simply stood by and had things happen to him. Leather-rough palms ran amok across my back and

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shoulders, pulling me against him as though he was afraid I'd be snatched away at any moment. I moaned involuntarily into his mouth as his tongue darted and teased. In some distant part of me I felt ashamed, but it was dwarfed by the fire that was coursing through my veins. I'd never been kissed like that before. Not by Tom. Not by anybody. It felt like a matter of need rather than want. Life or death. I'd seen him shirtless plenty of times of course, but the sight was different now. Erotic, sensual, and above all, mine. I could barely breathe for how magnificent he looked. Sculpted and tanned and lit with moonlight; a living breathing Greek statue. I wanted to touch all of him, to feel each inch between my fingers, in my mouth, in every part of me. I'd never been so intoxicated by another human being. My hands took on a mind of their own, dancing hungrily across his bare chest. His

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muscles were so hard, like his entire body was just skin stretched over stone sculpture. Everything inside me seemed to clench as my fingers took it all in, the perfectly defined grooves between his pecs and his abs, the mountainous curl of his biceps. He was still slick with sweat and hot from the night's exertion, but that only excited me more. Images played through my head of him in the arena, his body a perfect primal machine, leveling all of that power at his opposition. My lack of control seemed to trigger something in Logan. He reached for my shirt, tugging it over my head, and then his hands turned ravenous, squeezing my breasts, my ass, the curve of my hips. It felt like his fingers were everywhere at once, and my body tingled and burned in response. It was so good to be touched again. I hadn't realized how long it had been or how much I missed it, but there was something exquisite about it — a tactile euphoria that kept me

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centered in that perfect moment and scattered all my problems to the wind. He broke away, breathing heavily, his face twisted into some bizarre combination of pain and desire. Pressing his forehead against mine he locked eyes with me. "Are you sure?" His voice was low, the primordial growl of a man who was just below the cusp where words were no longer relevant. "I'm sure." For a few seconds he simply stared, pinning me in place with that penetrating gaze, but eventually he nodded and his eyes turned smoky once more. Scooping me up like I weighed nothing, he carried me toward the mats and threw me down. There was a desperation to his actions now, a kind of voracious animal certainty that stoked something deep inside me. He studied me with undisguised lust. I could feel his eyes ravishing my body, as though he were taking me with a mere gaze.

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It had been a lifetime since anyone had looked at me like that. It made me feel nervous and sexy and powerful, all at once. "Take off your bra," he said. There was no question in his voice now. This was a command, and one I felt compelled to obey. He let out a long breath as my breasts fell free. "Fuck you're beautiful," he said, and then like a panther he was on top of me. With my body pinned under his weight, I could barely move; a helpless little thing trapped beneath this powerful network of muscle. I'd never been with someone as strong as Logan, someone as potent and dangerous. It was exhilarating. This was a man capable of taking whatever he wanted from just about anyone, and now all his attention was focused on me. He began kissing his way downward; my neck, my shoulders, the dip of my collarbone. The softness of his lips and the hunger of his movements created a delicious

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contrast that seemed to roll through every fiber of me. A moan escaped my lips as he took one nipple in his mouth, teasing with his teeth and flicking with his tongue until I thought I was going to explode. How the hell could something so simple feel so good? He shifted to the other breast, his movements rough and hungry, and I arched beneath him, lost in the sensation of his mouth. With his body pressed up against mine, I could feel his hard-on through his shorts, hot and needy. I loved the way he ground it against me, stroking me with it, as if it was a promise. I wanted it more than I could remember ever wanting anything. The wetness that had been building between my legs went into overdrive. I barely noticed as his hands slipped lower still, deftly unfastening my jeans and sliding them free. It felt so right, so natural. He paused momentarily on his knees, studying me with wide eyes as I lay spread-eagled

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and shameless before him. I felt a moment of guilt once more, but I shoved it away. I wanted this as much as Logan did, and I had to take ownership of that, to acknowledge what I was doing or I didn't think I'd ever be able to move on. "Stand up," I said. An amused little smile appeared on his face, but he did as I asked. The bulge at the front of his shorts threatened to burst through the material at any moment. With trembling fingers I reached for his waistband and pulled, and his erection sprang up before me. Desire surged in my stomach. Like the rest of him it was huge and beautiful, flushed red with blood and perfectly smooth. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but reach for it, drawing a low growl of pleasure from his lips. He was wide enough in the middle that my fingers didn't even wrap all the way around. I stroked gently up

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and down, savoring the searing heat of it, the trembling hardness, the way it seemed to grow in my hand. I could feel the steady pounding of his pulse through the thin skin. Having all of that inside me was almost too much to contemplate. I could have played with it for hours, but apparently he had other ideas. "Enough," he said, seizing my hands and pulling them free. Dropping back down to his knees he moved between my legs, tugging my panties to the side with enough force that I felt sure they were going to tear. And then he was touching me. Electricity surged through my body. "Jesus Christ, you're so fucking wet," he said. I could only moan in reply. His skin was rough against the softness of my folds, and my body trembled with pleasure. He moved with undisguised hunger, darting up to tease

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my clit before dipping low and pushing inside. My hips turned possessed, grinding and shifting as he explored me. Some distant part of me was dimly aware that I was lying there naked and writhing in the middle of a public gym, but any sense of restraint or propriety had long since fled. I don't think a team of photographers snapping pictures could have stopped me at that moment. Logan's free hand had slipped down to his cock and was sliding gently up and down as he played with me. It was an incredible sight watching this glorious man pleasure himself while he pleasured me. Eventually, he drew a sharp breath and rose to his feet. "Fuck, I can't take this." He disappeared into the bathroom momentarily and returned with a condom. It took only moments for him to tear it open and stretch it over his length, but that was moments too long.

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Sliding close and lifting my calves to lie on his shoulders, he brought his swollen head to rest tantalizingly against my cleft. "Last chance." Even through the desire, I could hear a note of concern in his voice. I can't tell you how much I appreciated that. Even now, in the height of his passion, he was looking out for me. He was so much more than he seemed, powerful and dangerous, but also tender and caring. "I want this. I want you." There was no hesitation. My whole body felt like it was on fire. I didn't just want him. I needed him. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that." I gasped as he pushed inside me. It had been a long time, and he was so big, my body struggled to accommodate to that immense pressure. He began rocking back and forward, easing himself deeper and deeper, until he'd buried himself all the way to the root. The initial sting gave way to a glowing

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warmth that seemed to flow out from between my legs, enveloping my entire body. "Fuck your pussy is tight," he said, his voice deep and heavy. I felt myself blushing, although there was a frisson of excitement too. Nobody had ever talked to me like that before. It should have sounded corny, but in the heat of the moment it was incredibly sexy. "That's because you're so damned big," I replied, trying my best to play along. I half expected it to make him laugh, but it only seemed to spur him on. He pulled his shaft all the way free, leaving a desperate emptiness behind, but then with a massive thrust of his hips he rammed himself back inside, drawing a sharp cry from my mouth. He began taking me harder, leaning forward until his hands found mine, pinning me to the mat and driving me into the ground with each powerful stroke. My legs were pushed down toward my shoulders, curling

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me over like a contortionist, and the shift in angle sent intense bursts of pleasure through my stomach as he struck some exquisite new place inside me. Never before had I been so aware of the power of his body. I could feel it vibrating through him with every thrust, that raw strength that seemed like it could break the world in two. His breath was coming sharp and fast now, punctuated by animal grunts as he forced himself deeper and deeper. I felt like I was unraveling, like I was coming apart at the seams. There was nothing between us. He filled me; the pressure of him, the heat, that delicious earthy smell. The world faded to black around us. A powerful ecstasy was building in my core, trembling and thrashing like a caged animal trying to break free. I wanted to beg him to slow down. This couldn't end so fast. As lost as I was in the moment, some tiny part of me still knew what waited on the

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other side. But I couldn't find the words. My body had a mind of its own. "Oh God," I cried. "I'm coming." With unbridled ferocity, he pushed me over the edge. There was a flash of heat and then the world seemed to burst. It had been half a year since I'd done anything even remotely sexy, and in that moment it felt like my body had been keeping a pretty good ledger of the debt. My vision shattered and my body buckled as those months of frustration and pain and anger radiated out into the world. It seemed to go on for ever and ever. The sounds that spilled from my mouth were unlike any I'd ever made before, moans that echoed up from the deepest part of me. My climax seemed to set him off too. A thundering rumble began in his chest and his body stiffened. He slammed himself into me almost to the point of pain, but I didn't care. I wanted him, as much as I could get.

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We lay in silence for some time when it was over, as though speaking would shatter the beauty of what had just happened. I could have stayed like that forever, shielded in the crook of his arm, feeling the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. For that brief period, it was just the two of us. Nothing else. No ghosts. No specters of the past. Unfortunately, reality has a way of forcing itself upon you despite your best efforts. With the glow fading and the world swimming back into focus, the truth of what I'd just done came looming up before me. "Oh shit," said Logan. "Are you crying? Shit." I wanted to reassure him that I was okay, that this was okay, but I was no longer sure that was true. It was like a valve had been opened behind my eyes. The tears came hot and fast, and that pressure seemed to flow down throughout my whole body, my chest and mouth seizing and heaving. There

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was this terrible keening sound that I eventually realized was coming from my throat. Logan looked torn between pulling his naked body away and comforting me, but I took the choice away from him by rolling over and burying my face in his chest. This wasn't his fault. He'd played a part but I'd done this and, however contradictory it was, I needed him to help me through it or it was going to be too much. He still felt tense, but he seemed to understand, curling one long arm around me and holding me close, while my tears scored little rivulets down his skin. "I miss him," I whispered, when my tongue was finally my own again. "I miss him so much." Logan's fingers traced a gentle pattern through my hair. "I know." "So how do I stop it hurting so much? How do I move on?"

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"You don't. People always use the phrase 'move on' in situations like this, but that's bullshit. You never move on from anything. That's what people are, just layers of all the shit that's happened to them before. You don't need to move on, you need to keep building more layers. Tom will always be there, but eventually he'll just be a part of you, instead of all you can see." I prayed that was true. I didn't say it, but he was wrong about one thing. Tom wasn't all I could see, not anymore. Logan had carved out a space inside me, and it was frightening how fast it was growing. "I'm sorry," I said, suddenly embarrassed by what a basket case I was. "I throw myself at you then burst into tears. That's crazy bitch one-oh-one." "No, I'm sorry," he replied. "Fuck, I should have had more self-control. I should have stopped." "I didn't want to stop."

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"Well if I'd known it was going to end like this, I would have." "I'm sorry," I said again, feeling utterly pathetic. "Stop it. I didn't mean it like that." His hand snaked under my chin, tugging my gaze to his. "You never have to apologize to me, okay? Never." I gave a slow nod. I believed him. That was what made Logan so special, that understanding. Other people offered support, but they didn't really get it, not like he did. He saw through me. He knew my demons and the way to slay them. "I don't know what to do now," I said. "Me either." "I can't keep pretending anymore." He shifted beneath me. "Pretending?" "That there's not something here. It hurts, it feels like a betrayal, but it's there. I can't ignore it."

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He took a long time answering. "You should." After what we'd just shared, that stung. I lifted my head, propping myself up on my elbow so I could turn to face him. "Why?" "Because this," he gestured to the space between us, "is a recipe for disaster. I told you I wanted to protect you, and part of that is protecting you from me." "You'd never hurt me," I said. I'm not sure where that conviction came from, but it felt true. I was safe with him. "Not intentionally, but that doesn't mean I won't." He hauled himself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to run a hand through his hair. There were tired lines around his eyes now, as if the weight of the conversation was pressing down on him. "I had a fiancé once, too. Fiona. Beautiful girl, half American, half Filipino. We met at the end of high school and I just fell, hard. Up until that moment, everything had been

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simple for me. I had a plan — enlist in the army, fight for my country, save the world, all that ridiculous macho teenage crap — but suddenly I had a reason to stay. I put my career off for a while, but she didn't like that. She wanted me to be happy, even though it would be tough for us, so a year later I shipped out. "Somehow we made the long distance thing work despite the odds. I loved her and I like to think she loved me, too. One summer, two years later, when I was back on leave, we got engaged. We had so many plans. Start a family, a business, buy a house; the fucking American dream." He gave a sick little laugh. "It turns out they call it a dream for a reason. "I told you that what happened over there affected me, but I don't think you understand the extent of it. I'm not the same guy I was before I left. Some pretty fundamental shit inside me is just broken. In

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retrospect, I think she saw the signs, but she played them down. She wanted it to work as much as I did. But as soon as I came back for good, there was no ignoring it anymore. Fi tried, fuck knows she tried, but there's only so much a person can take. I don't blame her for leaving. I don't blame any of the women since. I've come to realize that that sort of thing is just beyond me now. I've accepted that. I don't want to cause any more pain." "And what about what I want?" I asked, my voice soft and trembling. His fists bunched and he shot to his feet. "You don't get it! Wanting it isn't enough. This is about survival. I'm messed up, Grace. You saw what I just did with Jonah. I came within a breath of pounding him into the floor just for talking to you, a girl I don't have any claim over. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Nothing about my life is normal. I'm a psychiatrist's wet dream. I can't give you what you need."

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I knew he was telling the truth, and part of me was frightened by that, but it didn't matter. When I thought of all the possible paths that could stem from that moment, only one of them wasn't shrouded in darkness. "What I need is to keep feeling like there's some hope that things will get better," I said, "and I didn't have that until I met you. Everything has been dark for so long. Every happy memory I ever had seems to involve Tom, and now that he's gone I'm terrified I'll never have any more. But ten minutes ago, when we were...together, for the first time since he died, that feeling was gone. I felt peaceful. You have no idea what that means to me." He looked shaken, his mouth pulled into a tight little line. "Jesus," he said, closing his eyes. "I know you want to protect me and I appreciate that, but I'm a big girl, Logan. I can make my own decisions. Maybe this

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really is a terrible idea. Maybe I'll wake up in a week and it will hurt too much. Maybe it will break me. But we both know we can't go on like this, torturing one another. If it's a choice between losing you all together or taking that risk, then for me it's no choice at all." His breath was coming long and hard. Conflict raged across his face. "I need to think." "Okay." The irony of the situation did not escape me. Here I was wrestling with the ghost of a dead lover, yet Logan was the unsure one. But what else could I say? "You should go home," he said, pausing at the door. "In a minute." All I got in reply was a quick nod. When he'd left, I lay there alone on the mats, fresh tears brimming in my eyes. Was he correct? Was this a recipe for disaster? I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was

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that it felt right, and that had to count for something. ***** Logan didn't come to the bar the next day. Whether he wasn't scheduled to work or he traded his shifts, I don't know. I stayed away from the gym. That was his realm, and if he wanted to think then he deserved space. I'd said my piece. My shift moved at a snail's pace. I tried to distract myself, but my mind only wanted to focus on one thing. There was this immense anxiety clutching at my chest, like I was waiting to hear my prognosis from some crippling illness. I wanted to hate myself for what I'd done, but I couldn't. I'd told Logan the truth: what I felt for him was real. But my feelings weren't the only ones that mattered. Logan was even more conflicted over this than I was. I didn't know what I'd do if he said no. I was making progress, but losing him would

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be another blow, and I didn't know if I had the strength to recover from that. There are only so many times you can fall before you don't get back up again. It seemed like he was going to drag his decision out further, but as I was cleaning up after my shift, I heard a voice from across the room. "I'm not just afraid for you." I glanced up to find him standing in the doorway. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I know you think I've got my shit under control, and most of the time I do, but it's by the skin of my teeth. Routine, repetition, knowing my limits, that's how I get by. But last night, that wasn't part of the plan. All that stuff you said about being happy for the first time in forever, that's how it was for me too, and it scares the shit out of me. I told you that when Fi left, I didn't blame her, and that was the truth, but it still hurt like hell.

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Everything was falling apart around me, and she was the only good thing I had left. After that, I just let myself go numb. It was the only way to cope." He stepped closer, his face a mask of intensity. "But I'm not numb anymore. I can't be. What I felt for Fi was like a candle next to the fucking sun compared to this." He gave a little shake of his head. "I don't know if I can come back from this one." It made my heart ache hearing such sweet words, but there was a tremble of fear there, too. He was right. The connection between us was potent, which meant that the stakes were impossibly high. If we went ahead, it could spell disaster for both of us but, at the same time, I think we'd already gone too far to turn back. For better or for worse, we were in this. "So what are you saying?" He hesitated. "I'm saying that I'm terrified, but I don't think I've got a choice. I can't ignore this either, Grace."

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Relief surged through me, and I ran to embrace him. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tightly against his chest. That position already felt scarily like home. "It's going to be hard," he said. I didn't have any illusions about that. "Nothing can be harder than the last few months." He didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded. I liked that he was willing to be vulnerable with me. At first glance, he came across like one of those guys who is all machismo, but beneath that rugged exterior lay an emotional, sensitive, wounded man. In the silence that followed, I once again found my gaze wandering. Despite the emotional turmoil the other night had spawned, my mind kept coming back to the things we'd done, to the way his body had felt on top of mine. I wanted him more than ever, and now I officially had his permission.

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Stepping closer until my chest was pressed up against his I leaned up to kiss him, but he stopped me with a finger over my lips. "What's wrong?" I asked. "If you do that, I'm not sure I'll be able to control myself." "So? There's nobody around," I said, feeling an uncharacteristic rush of boldness. Something about him brought that side of me out. He made me feel sexy. He let out an amused little laugh. "That's true, but we've done things backward so far. I don't do things by halves, and even if I did, I couldn't with you. We're going to do this right. I'm going to take you out." I raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't do 'normal?'" "For you, I'm willing to try. Besides, it'll be good for me." His voice wavered ever so slightly when he said that. I got the sense this was a big deal. "What did you have in mind?" I asked.

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"Is dinner and a movie too college for you?" I laughed. "It sounds perfect." "When's your next night off?" "Not for four days." "Can we lock it in, then?" "Deal." He looked poised to turn and leave, but then his eyes raked over my body and his expression turned hot. "Maybe one kiss couldn't hurt." I loved that I had that effect on him. "Okay," I said, sounding far too "swooning Hollywood damsel" for my liking. Wrapping his hands around my hips he pushed me up against the bar. Even in such a simple gesture, I could feel the innate power of his body. He wasn't one of those guys that acts dominant because of ego or arrogance. For Logan, it was simply his nature. Strength and control.

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His mouth was hot and oh-so soft. Drawing my lips between his, he sucked on them gently, a deep rumble rolling up from inside his chest. Without realizing what I was doing, I backed myself up until I was sitting on a bar stool, my legs parting to welcome him. He followed my lead, sliding closer until there was nothing but cotton between us. I could feel the heat of his excitement through his jeans, hungry and iron hard. I was close, so close to slipping into that zone where my mind was no longer in control, when suddenly he pulled back. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wild and beautiful. He took a moment to recover, then flashed a cheeky smile. "To be continued." I couldn't help but let out a frustrated groan. It had only been a kiss, but after six months of gathering dust, my libido was apparently desperate to make up for lost time. "That had better be a promise," I said. "It is."

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After Logan left, my mind wandered back to Tom. He'd told me he wanted me to move on. I still wasn't sure if that was possible, but maybe today I'd taken a step in that direction. One layer at a time.

Chapter Fourteen Logan I left the choice of food to Grace. I know about as much about restaurants as I do about brain surgery. She settled on some new Mexican place, buried in the suburbs, which was fine by me. Part of me had been afraid she'd pick something complicated and fancy and leave me looking like an idiot trying to translate a menu full of truffles and foie gras and shit that was too pretentious to be called by its real name. Burritos and tacos I could handle. We organized to meet outside the place at seven o'clock. It annoyed me that I couldn't do the whole proper gentleman thing and pick her up from her place, but it had been years since I'd owned a car. I like to run, and I'm not much for traveling outside my comfort zone, so my own two feet work well enough most of the time.

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She rocked up right on time wearing a jaw dropping little black dress that did nothing to hide that ridiculous body. I actually stopped in my tracks for several seconds when I first laid eyes on her. I'd already seen her naked but, bizarrely, I thought she actually looked even sexier like this. Classy, but hinting at so much. Her face lit with a smile as I approached. I didn't think I'd ever get sick of that sight. "Wow, you're really pulling out the big guns," she said. "I didn't know you owned anything with a collar." I grinned sheepishly. "I didn't until a few hours ago." "You didn't have to do that." With any other girl, I wouldn't have, but with her it felt somehow wrong to just rock up in a tee shirt and shorts. Like the idea of picking her up, for some reason I felt compelled to do things properly this time. It was

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early days, but something deep in my bones told me this wasn't a throwaway romance. This was the real deal. She deserved to be treated like a princess, and if that meant spending forty bucks on a shirt I'd never wear again, then so be it. I shrugged. "This is what people wear on dates, right?" "Some people." "Besides, I didn't want to be the underdressed bum with the beautiful girl on my arm." I gave her an exaggerated look up and down. "But apparently that's going to be the case anyway. Fuck, you look good." She blushed and my eyes zoned in on her lips once more. I'm not much for caked on makeup — I prefer my women to look like women, not clowns — but she had this subtle shade of lipstick on that made her whole mouth look fuller somehow, more sensual. It was driving me fucking crazy. I wanted to kiss her, but past experience told me I wasn't

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going to be able to stop there, and I didn't think the Vegas streets were quite ready for that particular show. The way she returned my gaze told me she was having similar thoughts. I had no idea how I managed to restrain myself last night, but I was certainly regretting it now. I could already feel all the blood in my body rushing south. If we kept standing there like that, it was going to be very obvious to everyone in the restaurant exactly what I thought of my date. Before things downstairs could get too out of control I said, "Shall we?" She nodded and took my hand. I drew a deep breath, the kind everyone tells you will calm you down. Crunch time. It wasn't just my ignorance about food that led me to avoid restaurants. Any room full of people is a challenge for me, but I was determined to do my best. Grace deserved more than a broken down hermit. If she could overcome the immense guilt and

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grief of a lost partner to be here with me, I sure as hell could try to put aside my fear of noise and company. It still amazed me that we were here at all. Even the other night when we were lying there naked together, after she'd thrown herself at me, I couldn't quite believe it was what she wanted. It didn't seem possible that there was space for me next to all that pain. It frightened me. The things she'd said had been so raw, so sincere, but nonetheless part of me couldn't help wondering if she was just looking for a distraction, a few moments of warmth and passion to help keep her afloat. When the dust had settled and the thrill had worn off, and she understood how fucked up I really was, would she still be interested? I'd do anything to help her through this, but that would break me. I think that's part of why I was trying so hard. The shirt, the date, I desperately wanted to live up to her expectations. I knew

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I'd never be normal in every sense of the word, but if I could just force myself to do a few simple things, perhaps that would be enough. Besides, it had been a long time since I'd even tried to put myself out here like this. I'd been keeping it together lately. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. The restaurant was smaller than I expected, maybe forty seats in total, but the bulk of them were full. It had an air of restrained energy to it, not quite the din of a Friday night bar, but not an intimate romantic venue, either. The hostess led us to a small wooden table in the middle of the room. "This is cool," Grace said, glancing around as she slid into her seat. I, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. The space between us and the nearby tables was small, maybe three feet, which meant we were ringed in on all sides by people. "You don't have any other tables do you?" I asked,

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trying to keep my voice steady. "Maybe one in a corner?" The hostess almost seemed put out by the request. "Sorry, we're fully booked tonight." "What's wrong with this one?" asked Grace. I gave myself a mental slap and tried to focus on her. It was only a room full of people out having a good time. Just like us. "Nothing. I'm just being stupid. Never mind, this is fine." "I'm glad," the hostess replied, shooting me an insincere smile that said "don't you dare cause any trouble." She placed two menus down in front of us and began to read out the specials, but my ears were already elsewhere. That's the thing about the military, they teach you to be aware of everything at all times, and the training is burned so deep that you never quite shake the habit. Hyper-vigilance, they call it. Right now, all I

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wanted to do was concentrate on the beautiful girl in front of me, but the room wouldn't let me. The clatter of cutlery, the scrape of a plate, the murmur of another couple whispering quietly to our right — they filled my awareness. I had this desperate urge to try and look at everything at once, to make sure it was what it sounded like, but of course that was impossible from our current location. Blood was beginning to pound in my ears. "They sound good," said Grace, squeezing my hand and bringing me temporarily back to Earth. "Just give us a minute." When the hostess was gone, Grace's smile slipped a little. "Are you sure you're okay? You look about ready to snap that thing in two." I realized my fingers were locked in a white-knuckle grip around the table lip and I forced them to relax. "I'm just not good with crowds."

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She furrowed her brow. "Then let's go. We can find somewhere else. It's no big deal." It was tempting, but if I couldn't even get through five minutes in a tiny restaurant then what the hell did that say about me? About what sort of boyfriend I'd be? I shook my head firmly. "No. This was my idea. I want to stay. Really, I do. I'll be okay." She looked uncertain, but she nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help?" "Keep talking. It helps me focus." "Okay." She gave a thoughtful pause. "What are you thinking of ordering? I hope Mexican was an okay choice." "Mexican's great," I replied, my pulse steadying. Scrape. Rustle. Bang. Focus! I glanced at the menu. "I'm a big fan of fajitas." "Good choice. Apparently they're one of the chef's specialties. And they're, like,

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seventy five percent chicken breast, so even Tony would approve!" I found a ghost of a smile then. "Ah, I forgot about that. Better order some dessert too then, just to spite him." She laughed. "Speaking of your training diet, that fight with Caesar sure was something. You just flattened him out of nowhere." "Yeah it was a pretty clean strike." In truth, I barely remembered it. Once I noticed Jonah, Caesar had gone from an opponent in probably the most important fight of my career to just something that was in my way. Not much could pull me from a fight like that, but seeing Grace being hit on apparently did the trick, and when something tugs at my emotions, crazy shit can happen. I'm not proud of it, hell, I wish it wasn't the case, but that's just how I'm wired now. It's zero or a hundred, nothing in between. "I know I've

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said this before, but I'm really sorry about that." "I didn't mean it like that. It's fine." "No, I know. I just want you to understand. I get...angry, sometimes. I don't know why, exactly. A switch just triggers and I see red. Some part of me knows I'm overreacting, but that reaction goes beyond logic. It doesn't happen often, but if it does, I want you to be prepared." She studied me. No fear in her eyes, just a hint of compassion. "Okay. I appreciate you telling me." There was an awkward pause. Christ, five minutes into the date and we were discussing my rage issues. Am I a charmer or what? Thankfully, she pushed on. "You know when you're fighting next?" I shrugged. "A few weeks, probably. That's the usual."

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She nodded. "You know, I wasn't really expecting to, but I really enjoyed watching it. There's something so visceral about it, something that goes beyond regular sport." "You should try being in the ring." "Not sure I'm quite ready for that yet," she said with a laugh. "I am kind of curious though, what it's like in there I mean. You talked a little about how alive it makes you feel but, to be honest, I can't imagine anything more terrifying." "It is terrifying, but that's the appeal. That sense of risk. I was always hyper competitive, even before I shipped out. And for people like me, the greater the stakes the greater the reward. I used to be able to get that rush from anything at a high enough level; football, basketball, whatever, but now it needs something more. It needs that danger. When you're in the ring and it's just the two of you, your fists against theirs, your body, maybe your life, on the line, everything

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else just fades to black. All your problems drop away. There's no space for anything else, and there's a strange sense of peace in that. I've never experienced anything so pure before. I know it sounds fucking insane, but there it is." She took a few seconds processing this. I didn't expect her to get it, but she surprised me. "It's not insane. It's just the epitome of survival." That was a remarkably simple way to put it. "Yeah, I guess it is. To be honest, I kind of wish I got more fights like that last one. Charlie works hard, but Final Blow is still a small fish in a giant pond. A lot of the guys involved just fight casually. I'm not trying to dis them — they do well for the work they put in — but Caesar was a whole different ball game. That guy is a fighter, one hundred percent. It's been a long time since I felt that sort of adrenaline."

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"Well, maybe Charlie can get more guys like that now that you've proven yourself." "Maybe." I drummed my fingers on the table, realizing I was dominating the conversation. "Anyway, enough heavy shit. First dates are meant to be light and fluffy, right? Hobbies, siblings, childhood. So tell me about New York. Did you grow up there?" She nodded. "In Brooklyn. I love it there. I'm definitely a city person. There's nothing more exciting than having a million different things to do at your doorstep. You never get bored in a place like New York." I could totally see her as this sophisticated, cultured, urban girl. Theaters, book stores, trendy little cafes. It made me wonder what the hell she was doing here with the likes of me, a guy who spent ninety-nine percent of his life in the same three places. "Have you thought about going back?" I asked. "Not that I don't appreciate you being here. It just seems like the logical choice —

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head home, move back in with your folks until you get back on your feet." She scoffed. "Yeah, fat chance of that. I'm not even sure they'd answer if I called." There was a hint of sadness in her voice, although she tried to hide it. "They never approved of Tom and I, of what he did. 'Degenerate' and 'irresponsible' were some of their favorite words. We fought about it constantly. Dad was worse than mum. He's a lawyer, an old school scotch and cigars type, and he has very particular ideas about the way families should be. Mum didn't like it either, but she tried to keep the peace, kept reassuring him it was 'just a phase.' Then I told them we were moving over here together, and they couldn't hide behind that anymore. They told me that if I followed through, that was it, they were washing their hands of me. And then they did." "That's horrible," I said.

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She shrugged. "They're fairly horrible people, all things considered. I did think about contacting them, but every time I pick up the phone, I just get this knot in my stomach. Even if they did take me in, the selfrighteous 'I told you so' shtick would be too much. I can't deal with that." "What about friends? People you could stay with?" "A few, but nobody super close. Most of my cheffing buddies moved away and took positions in different cities. There's just not a whole lot left for me there. Besides, coming out here was meant to be a new start. Crawling back to New York would feel a little too much like going backward." "I can understand that." "What about you?" she asked. "Parents? Siblings?" I felt a twinge of sadness, but I pushed it away. "I've got a brother, but we don't talk

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anymore, and my parents were killed in a plane crash when I was sixteen." "Oh God. I'm so sorry." "It's fine. I mean, I still miss them, but at the same time, it feels like a lifetime ago now, to be honest." For a few seconds she stared into space. "So much for light and fluffy, hey?" "Maybe we're just not light and fluffy people, right now." She gave a little nod. "Maybe." In the silence that followed, I realized Grace had held my attention for the better part of ten minutes. The restaurant was still buzzing around us, but it had stayed in the background, where it belonged. Regardless of the weight of the conversation, that was a victory for me. "What's that smile for?" she asked. I took her hand in mine. "I'm just happy to be here with you." She found a smile of her own. "Me too."

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We ordered, and the conversation moved into simpler waters. We talked about our childhoods, about movies, about school. It came so easily with her, nothing forced, no awkward small talk. Every so often the room would intrude, pushing its way into our little bubble, but for the most part my anxiety was held at bay, nothing more than a faint pulse running under my skin. It wasn't dissimilar to being in the ring, just the two of us talking while the world faded away. After settling the bill we walked to a nearby mall to catch a movie. Grace had been lively so far, but outside in the cool night air, her mood seemed to sink. "Everything okay?" I asked. She blinked several times, as if coming back from somewhere far away. "Yes. No. I don't know." There was a pause. "I was just thinking about Tom, about the sort of dates we went on. He'd have enjoyed that place." "Ah."

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"Does that bother you?" It was something I'd thought about a lot, but I still took my time answering. "I feel like it should, but honestly it doesn't. Nobody belongs to anyone completely, not even themselves. There's pieces of me everywhere; Ace, Fiona, Charlie, just like there's a piece of you that will always be Tom's. You spend too much time worrying about it, you miss the stuff you've got right now. We're here now and we're together, and it makes me happy to just take whatever you're able to give me." Her eyes shone in the streetlights, two amber jewels, as a single tear traced its way down her face. "Oh shit, I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to upset you." "No. Happy tears," she said, her lips curling into a smile. "They're happy tears." I didn't quite understand what had happened, but as she pressed herself against

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my chest I pulled her close, glad to not have ruined things. After a few seconds she broke away, trying in vain to wipe the redness from her eyes. "Anyway, we should keep moving or we're going to miss the film." Despite my passion for movies, it had been forever since I'd actually gone to a theater. Crowds, noise, you know the drill. Normally the thought set my pulse racing, but after dinner had gone so well, I was feeling cautiously optimistic. We both love comedies, and there was a new Will Ferrel film playing that looked hilarious. We spent the rest of the walk quoting Anchorman and discussing which of the two of us, in fact, loved lamp more. The mall was busier than I expected for a Sunday night. It took us five minutes just to buy our tickets. "Popcorn?" I asked.

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"Jesus, do you want me to explode? Or maybe you've got a secret fetish for larger girls? Trying to fatten me up?" She had a point. We did eat an awful lot, including the spite dessert I'd insisted upon, which turned out to be far larger than anticipated, but that wasn't going to stop me. I wrapped my arms around her, leaning in close and cupping her ass. Just the feel of it in my hands was enough to sending something primal rolling through me. Goddamn, I wanted her. "Believe me, this body is perfect just the way it is." I whispered it, but we still drew several disapproving looks. Apparently groping your date in public is frowned upon. I kept my hands where they were. "Is that right?" she asked, her voice suddenly soft and fluttering. This was hardly first date behavior, but I think we both knew we were well past that. Besides, she was enjoying it as much as I was.

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"It is. I think about your ass a lot, you know." "That's slightly perverted of you," she replied, mock offense with a healthy dose of mischief in her tone. "Maybe, but I can't help it. I think about how it feels, how it will look when you're bent over in front of me." Her breath was coming faster now. I'm not sure why, but even that was a turn on. I'd always had pretty good self-control where women were concerned, but there was rarely a time where I didn't want to throw Grace over my shoulder, carry her to the nearest room with a door and fuck her senseless. "Anyway, popcorn," I said, doing my best to act like I wasn't already rock hard. "You don't have to get any, but I haven't been to the movies in ages and I'll be damned if I'm not eating stale popcorn covered in butter out of a bucket."

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"And I'll be damned if I don't steal just a little." She grinned at my expression. "What? Other people's food has no calories. It's a well-known fact." "Is that right?" She nodded firmly. "Yep." "Well, you're the chef, so I'll defer to your expertise." By the time we got inside, the theater was half full, and the stream of people didn't let up. My chest tightened. It was the restaurant on steroids. People everywhere, no matter where you sat. I nodded toward the back corner. "Any chance you mind if we sit up here?" It was a ridiculous request considering there were still great seats free in the middle, but she must have seen the tension in my muscles because she nodded quickly. "Of course." "It helps to have my back to a wall," I said, by way of explanation. I felt like an

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idiot. A child. "That way I can see the whole room. I know it sounds nuts, but it makes a difference." She took my wrist, pulling us to a halt. "Stop saying stuff like that. Nothing you do will make me think you're nuts, Logan. It's fine, really, I don't care where we sit. Whatever helps." I nodded, grateful. The room continued to fill. Our section was the worst in the house, but eventually the final stragglers had no choice but to take the seats nearby. By the time the lights dimmed and the screen came alive, we were completely hemmed in. I locked my eyes to the front and wrapped Grace's fingers in my own. I was going to be fine. It only took a minute for me to realize that wasn't true. It was the darkness that did it. So many dangers lurk in the dark, dangers you can't see until it's too late. The room seemed to swell around me, the flickering

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light of the projector making ghosts of everything and everyone. A cough, a popcorn rustle, a jostling elbow; my brain struggled desperately to take it all and file it away in the right boxes, but the space was just too big, the stimuli too varied. It all bled together until it felt like the world was a single writhing entity forcing itself steadily closer and closer. I couldn't breathe. Ice ran in my veins. I closed my eyes and tried to count to ten, but that only made things worse. I could still hear the threats, but now they were totally invisible, and they loomed there in the dark, reaching for me. A cleared throat became far off gunfire, a scraping shoe was an enemy in the brush. My mind was there now, in an earlier time. I could feel the hot desert air on my face, taste the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline on my tongue. There was smoke on the wind, burning my nostrils. Men lay dead and dying around me, good

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men, friends, ripped to shreds by gunfire that they never even saw coming. Their screams were like nothing I'd ever heard before, tearing at me like shrapnel. I wanted to help them, but they were beyond help. We were all beyond help. I reached urgently for my rifle, longing for the comforting weight of it, the fleeting peace of mind that comes with being armed, but my hands only found empty air. I was defenseless. Helpless. It was too much. I shot to my feet. Some distant part of me was aware of Grace talking behind me, her voice heavy with concern, but I didn't have space for that right now. My flight instincts had taken over. The people in our row recoiled as I shoved my way past, frightened by whatever horror they saw on my face. It was good that they did. I don't know what would have happened if there had been anyone in my way. At moments like that I'm not

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in control, my mind reverts to something animal. Someone may have wound up hurt. It had happened before. As soon as I was in the open, I ran. I ran as though the memories were a physical thing, a snarling beast snapping at my heels. I ran until my muscles ached and my lungs burned. I needed that pain, those endorphins; they grounded me, brought me back to reality. I don't know how much time passed. I had no conscious direction, just an overpowering need to flee. The streets grew emptier as the shops around me turned to tumbledown houses, then windswept scrubland. When I finally came to rest, I found myself at the edge of a nature reserve. Anthem Hills Park. I always gravitate toward the desert when shit hits the fan. It doesn't make much sense, since that's where most of my messed up stuff went down, but I feel at home there like no other place on Earth.

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Footsteps rang out on the pavement behind me. I felt a surge of panic, but it was only Grace. Somehow she'd kept pace with me. She came to a halt a few meters away and doubled over to catch her breath. "Jesus," she wheezed. She looked about ready to pass out. "You scared the hell out of me." Even now, free from that place, images still ran amok in my head. Talking to Grace, that felt like the dream. She was hazy, faint, and the battlefield loomed vivid and terrible. "I'm sorry," I said. "Are you okay?" I wanted to explain myself, but it was too soon. I was too on edge. "I need a few minutes." I wandered a few feet out onto the hard earth and sat on a rock. After another few seconds of panting, she joined me. The view was spectacular: open space, red earth, mountains rising in the darkness, painted

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with moonlight. I sucked in a deep breath, as if I could draw that serenity into myself through the air. Normally I enjoy the desert because of the solitude. I never brought anyone there. But Grace's presence wasn't an imposition. It felt...right, somehow. She didn't speak, seemingly content to let me take my time. I had no words for how much I appreciated that. With other women, this had been the time for questions, for screaming, sometimes for tears. And Grace had every right to lose it like that. I'd run off in the middle of a date without saying so much as a word. That's pretty much the fucking epitome of a faux pas. But instead of freaking out, she took it in stride. Minutes passed and my anxiety gradually bled away. My mind cleared and my heart slowed. "I get flashbacks," I said eventually.

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"To Afghanistan?" she asked. She seemed hesitant, like she was afraid just the word was going to set me off again. I nodded. "And I'm not talking about just regular old memories. These are something else entirely. They take over. It's hard to understand if you haven't experienced it. For a while then, I was back on the battlefield. The theater was gone. You were gone. There were bullets whizzing past my head. Mortars going off. My friends were dying three feet away. I could smell it, hear it." "Jesus," she said, her hand finding my knee. "Usually it's triggered by something simple. Some innocuous noise tweaks something in my brain and boom, I'm right back there." "That sounds horrible." "It is." I closed my eyes. "I hate that I can't control it. Even when you try and explain, people just look at you like you're

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crazy. They don't get it. A blown off leg? Shrapnel wounds? People can see those. They can touch them. Can understand them. Those wounds fit into a nice neat little box. But this shit? It scares people." She studied me for several seconds. "It doesn't scare me." "It should. It sure as hell scares me." "Maybe, but it doesn't." I searched her face for insincerity, but found none. Seriously, who the fuck was this girl? Not many people were strong enough to stare my issues in the face, but she did it without even blinking. "Do you ever have those attacks in the ring?" she asked. "I imagine all that noise and movement would be a trigger." "Under most circumstances, it would. I could never be in the audience of one of those things. But when I'm preparing to fight, I'm already in combat mode. I can see

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my enemy, and I know where the threat is. That focus keeps all the bad shit at bay." She nodded. "That makes sense." "Anyway, I'm sorry I freaked out," I said. "It's okay. I should have pushed harder for us to leave at the restaurant. I knew it was more than you were letting on." I shrugged. "I wanted to give you a proper date." "Why do you think I care about that?" "Because that's what you're used to. You always talk about the restaurants you used to visit, how you love always have something new to do. I could see how excited you got when I asked you to pick a place to eat. I don't want you to have to make sacrifices for my sake." "Well I don't want you putting yourself at risk for mine. Look, I appreciate the effort, but you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not. I want to be with you because I

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like your company. Because you make me feel good. I don't care what we do with that time. A night on the sofa with you is better than an infinity of nights out on the town." I couldn't help it; I found myself smiling. Normally an attack like that leaves me on my ass for hours, but those few words, that simple acceptance, swept all the selfloathing from my mind. "A night on the sofa I can definitely do." Nothing moved in the space in front of us. If you stared long enough, you could almost convince yourself the whole world stood absolutely still. A sense of peace began to descend on me, and it wasn't just the peace of seclusion and silence, it was something deeper. Something that seemed to seep through me all the way to my bones. That constant undercurrent of tension that underlined everything I did felt more muted than it had in years.

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"Will you sit here with me for a while?" I asked. "As long as you want."

Chapter Fifteen Logan A night on the sofa with Grace was easier said than done. Between our rotating schedules and my training, simultaneous nights free were few and far between. We squeezed in time together where we could. We had the gym, but there was only so much goofing around Tony would tolerate before he got that look on his face, the one that said "you don't pay me enough for this shit." If it was any other time, I'd have just said "fuck it," but I had another fight coming up and I needed to be ready. Thankfully, there was still one place we could reliably be together; cleanup time at Charlie's. We weren't always alone, but with everything between us out in the open, there was nothing stopping us from being that sickening new couple that's all over one another, much to Joy's chagrin.

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"Seriously, I will pay for a hotel room right now," she said. "I'm not even joking. It's my gift to you." Grace pulled her mouth away from mine. "But there's a perfectly good pool table right here." She seemed to take great pleasure in torturing her friend. Joy made a retching sound and dramatically thrust a finger down her throat, though she grinned as she did it. It was obvious that despite the song and dance, she approved of our relationship. I'd never made much effort to get to know her — more to do with my general approach of keeping everyone at a distance than anything personal — but the last few nights had taught me she really was a lot of fun. More importantly, she was good for Grace. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't be everything for her. She needed friends, people to look out for her when I couldn't, people to bitch to when my shit got out of

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control, and I got the sense Joy was one of those. That impression was only confirmed when she pulled me aside a few minutes later while Grace was out back. "I need a word, mister." She wore a look of mock severity, but something in her voice told me that this really was important. "What's up?" She glanced over her shoulder. "This is the part where I go all pseudo big sister on your ass." I couldn't help but smile. "Is that so?" "It is." And then more seriously. "You better not just be messing around here, Logan. Grace may not have been here long enough to remember Sheryl, but I sure as hell do." I grimaced. Sheryl had been a bartender here about a year ago. We'd had a fling during my "fuck anything that moves" phase. I'm not proud of it but, at the time, I was in a

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really dark place and just snatching whatever moments of light I could. I never intended it to be serious, but apparently I wasn't clear about that and it blew up in my face. After a screaming match one busy Friday night, she quit, and nobody ever heard from her again. "This isn't like that." "I hope not. Grace has been through a lot. She cares about you, and if you screw her over, it's going to crush her." She was absolutely right. "I don't do that anymore. This thing is the real deal. I'd cut off my own arm before I hurt her." Joy stared for several seconds, weighing my words, then gave a quick nod. Apparently I'd passed the test. Her smile reappeared. "Well, good. Just keep in mind, you'll be answering to me if you're lying. You may be some hotshot in the ring, but we fight street rules, out here. You'll never even see me coming." I laughed. "I believe you."

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Half an hour later, I was out on the sidewalk with Grace, lips locked together. My hands had started around her hips, but it had only taken a matter of seconds for them to gravitate downwards. I swear to God, that ass was fucking magnetic. I could have played with it for hours. In fact, I planned to. After what was probably far longer than appropriate in public, I broke away. "So I'll see you at the gym?" Disappointment flashed across her face, although she hid it well. "Sure." We may not have had much time together, but we had plenty of opportunities to sneak in a quick fuck after work. I think if it were up to her, that's exactly what we'd have been doing. But despite the fact that certain parts of me were vocal advocates for that course of action, I'd held off. It felt too cheap, too familiar, like all those throwaway relationships I'd had in the past. Obviously the dinner and movie plan was beyond me, but

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that didn't mean we couldn't have some semblance of a normal relationship. Thankfully, after a week of negotiating, I'd finally changed shifts so we both had tomorrow off for a quiet evening on the sofa. Twenty four hours, and that body was mine. "Do I need to bring anything to your place?" she asked. I gave her a playful little slap. "Just this...and maybe some chips." She laughed. "Ass and chips. Got it." ***** For the entire next day, I could barely concentrate. Normally, nothing can distract me once I slip into the zone, but today all I could think about was Grace's hot little body and all the things I wanted to do to her. It was driving me fucking crazy. I left the gym a little early to give my house a once over. It was the first time Grace had been to my place, so I wanted to make a good impression. I'm not messy, but I'm also

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not the most social person, so my place usually isn't in a state to receive guests. Thankfully it didn't take long. I've always lived a pretty minimalist life. In the army, you don't have much beyond what you can carry on your back and I've continued that philosophy out of habit. It doesn't look fancy, but it makes cleaning a breeze. As I looked over the Spartan furnishing of my living room — bare walls, dull carpet, just a television, a sofa and a coffee table for adornment — I tried to picture it through her eyes. It wasn't exactly the friendliest place. In fact it kind of had the look of one of those bare bones serial killer apartments from Law and Order. I briefly entertained the idea of ducking back out to buy a rug or something, but I had no idea what the fuck I'd be looking for. They didn't exactly teach interior decorating at the academy. She was just going to have to take me as I was.

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About thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. "Hey," she said. "Hey yourself," I replied. Despite how casual our plans were, she'd clearly put some effort into dressing up. She was wearing a tight little red dress that clung everywhere and barely covered the top half of her thighs. It wasn't cut too low in the chest, but the slim shoulder straps also made it fairly clear she wasn't wearing a bra. I swallowed hard. "You normally watch movies dressed like that?" "You don't like it?" she asked coyly. "I most definitely do like it. I'm just worried about how much watching is going to get done." "I can restrain myself if you can." There was a mischievous glint in her eye. She knew what she was doing to me. I'd made her wait, and now she was getting a little revenge. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

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She held up a bag of chips, then turned on her side and popped her ass out. "As requested," she said, dragging out the "s" just a fraction longer. It took a ridiculous amount of effort to keep my hands by my sides. That dress was in serious danger of ending up a shredded heap on the floor. "Thanks," I replied, taking the chips and doing my best to keep my eyes on her face. "Come in." Despite the fact that I stepped aside, she managed to brush up against me as she walked past. And just like that, I was hard. Did she want me to bend her over and fuck her in the doorway? Because that's where this was headed. "Welcome to my humble home," I said. "It's nice," she replied, scanning the room. I shrugged. "I wouldn't go that far. It does the job."

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"Hey, it's got a sofa, a TV and you." She smiled. "It'll do just fine." She headed toward the far doorway. "Of course I'll have to inspect the kitchen. That's where you learn all the real secrets about a person." "You might be disappointed." "No bodies in the freezer?" she called. "Only a couple. Emergency corpses, you know?" "Of course." I followed her into the back to find her already riffling through my cupboards. "Where's all your stuff?" she asked. "You're looking at it." She held up my lone saucepan. "One pan?" "Why would you need more than one?" "I can literally think of a million reasons." "That doesn't surprise me."

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She shook her head in disbelief. "Owning one pan is like only owning one pair of underwear." "Wait, you have more than one pair of underwear?" I deadpanned. "I know, I know, I have a problem." She began poking through the drawers. "Seriously, there's like one knife in here. Where's the grater? Where are the measuring spoons?" "Have you tried measuring chicken breast by the spoonful?" That got a laugh out of her. "That might be tricky." "I warned you it was going to be bad in here." "I know. I guess I was just hoping you were exaggerating." She tried her best to look mortified, but there was amusement in there too. "I wasn't." "So I see."

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I walked over and wrapped her in my arms. "I guess I failed the kitchen test, huh?" "You failed worse than anyone I've ever met. I'm not sure this will work between us anymore." "Not even if I bribe you with pizza?" "That's a start." We ordered dinner, then moved into the lounge when it arrived to put on a film. Although the Will Ferrel movie we'd missed wasn't out on DVD yet, Grace had found a cam version online — one shot in the theater by a handheld camera. The quality wasn't great for obvious reasons, but there was a kind of charm to watching and hearing everything that was going on in the room. "Seriously, if that jackass yells at the screen one more time, I'm going to punch him," Grace said. "You're going to punch the man on the TV?" I asked.

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She scowled. "Don't give me that look. I'll find a way!" I couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, this was your idea." "I know. I guess I didn't realize it would be quite so distracting." "I kind of like it," I replied. "Makes me feel like I'm back in the theater, minus all the hyperventilating and the freaking out. It's nice to get another shot at the date that wasn't." "Hey, we made it halfway. That's better than a lot of first dates." "That's true." To be honest, I couldn't really focus much on the film anyway. My sofa only seats two, and the way Grace was curled up against me with her head on my lap was doing all sorts of things to my imagination. Soon enough, I couldn't wait anymore. A man can only take so much. I was done playing games.

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Sliding a finger under her chin, I tilted her head back until she was staring me in the eyes. My intent must have been clear on my face, because the humor dropped from hers. Her breathing quickened. I loved that I could do that to her with just a look. This wasn't a one way street, she wanted me as much as I wanted her. Guiding her into a sitting position, I pulled her close, kissing her gently. There was this incredible urge building inside of me to just tear her clothes off and take her then and there, but I shoved it down. Our first night together had been fast and frantic, but that body begged to be explored. I was going to take my time with her tonight. Parting her mouth with my tongue, I began teasing her. She smelled so fucking sweet and tasted sweeter; honey and flowers, a delicious feminine scent that set my blood racing. She moaned softly as I drew one of her lips between mine, sucking gently. The

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tiniest sound from her did ridiculous things to me. I wanted to make her moan like that a thousand times over. I wanted to make her scream. Wrapping my hands around her I lifted until she was straddling me. I let out a growl of my own as she came to rest on my swollen cock. There was so little between us now. I swear, I could almost feel her wetness soaking through my jeans. I broke away. She sat there staring up at me with unrestrained lust. The bedroom hair, the flushed cheeks, that swollen little mouth; it was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. I zoned in on her lips, full and pink. Fucking hell they were sexy. I couldn't help but visualize her on the floor in front of me with that mouth wrapped around my cock. No. There would be time for that later. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this properly," I said, toying with the straps of her dress. "To take my time

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exploring every inch of you." With two flicks of my wrist, it slipped down to her stomach, revealing those spectacular tits. I took one in each hand, squeezing gently, savoring the softness of them, the weight. Fucking incredible. She let out a sharp little moan as my lips found one nipple. "I love how sensitive you are," I said. "Well, I love the way you touch me," she replied, eyes closed, voice breathy. My hands slipped around to her back, pulling her closer as I continued to play, teasing her areolas with my tongue before engulfing the whole thing with my mouth. Her skin was so smooth, so intoxicating. I kissed my way around her chest in a slow circle, relishing the sight of her gradually coming apart. The way her body rocked back and forward atop mine was driving me insane. I was harder than I could ever remember being, so hard I thought I was going to burst at any moment.

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Her hands were doing some exploring of their own, dancing across my shoulders and knotting through my hair. "I want to see you," she said, and with a gentle tug, she had my shirt over my head and was stroking my back. Her hands were so small, so delicate, and they felt wonderful against my skin. I'd let her play as much as she wanted, but not until I'd played first. I dropped my fingers lower, snaking up and under her dress to cup her ass. Something tightened inside me as I encountered bared skin. "No underwear at all?" I asked. Her lips curled into a sly smile. "Nope." "Fucking hell," I replied. "You are so insanely sexy." Her ass was deliciously firm in my hands. I squeezed, parting her cheeks, slipping just low enough to feel how wet she was without actually brushing her pussy. She let out a little whimper, shifting positions,

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trying to force that contact, but I held firm. I was going to enjoy her. Slowly. "Get rid of that dress and get on all fours. I want to look at you." She did as I asked without any hesitation. That instant compliance was so fucking hot. The sight of her bent over in front of me took my breath away. She was perfect. Pronounced hips, that gorgeous little bubble butt, but slim in the waist and legs. And there she was presenting herself for me, mine to do with as I pleased. It took all of my control not to plunge myself into her then and there. Instead I reached out to give her ass another squeeze, then pulled my hand back and landed a sharp little spank on her left cheek. She let out a cry of surprise, but it was tinged with excitement rather than indignation. Interesting. "You like that?" She hesitated, then gave a small nod.

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"No. I want you to say it." She turned to stare, a hint of incredulity on her face, but my expression told her I was serious. "Yes, Logan, I like it when you spank me." "That wasn't so hard, was it?" I replied, giving her another quick smack. Both her cheeks had hand prints on them now, little pink brands staining pale flesh. Christ, there were so many things I wanted to do to her, I barely knew where to begin. I reached out and stroked her upper thigh, parting her lips ever so slightly. There's nothing sexier than seeing a woman's pussy squeezed together in that position. Her skin there was flushed a deep pink and slick with moisture. "You're so fucking wet for me, and we've barely started." With purposeful slowness, I drew a finger along that hot little opening. She moaned. "Oh Jesus."

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She felt impossibly soft, and my skin came away glistening. "Goddamn," I said. I'd been meaning to make her wait, but I couldn't help myself. I had to know what she felt like inside. There was no resistance as my finger slipped past her folds. Her walls parted, welcoming me, her hips grinding backward, forcing me deeper. A second finger joined the first and I shifted angles, curling my grip into an "okay" symbol so my thumb found her clit while my fingers stroked her g-spot. She let out another cry. I played with her like that for half a minute, relishing that slickness and heat and the sensual little sounds that spilled from her mouth, but soon I'd had all I could take. "Hop onto your back and spread your legs," I said. "Please, don't stop," she whimpered. The tightness in her muscles and the desperation in her voice told me she was close.

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"Hop onto your back," I repeated. "I'm going to take care of you, but I'm doing it with my tongue. I need to taste that hot little pussy. Now." That got her attention. She spun, gazing at me with desire burning in her eyes. God, I wanted to watch her come so fucking badly. With her spread-eagled before me, I leaned in close, taking a moment to breathe her in. That smell set something raging in the depths of my stomach, and with a low growl, I dragged my tongue slowly up her opening. She sank down into the sofa with a long groan. She tasted incredible — sweet and feminine — and I lapped it up eagerly. I didn't give her what she wanted straight away, taking my time teasing her folds and thrusting inside her while she squirmed above me, her clit flushed and throbbing just an inch away. With two fingers I spread her open, brushing that swollen nub ever so slightly before pulling back.

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She moaned in protest. "Patience," I said. "I told you I wanted to take my time. I want to tease you like you tease me every second we're together. I want to watch you fall apart." Her breathing quickened as I continued to pleasure her. I began licking that sensitive bundle of nerves intermittently, caressing just long enough to stoke her fire a little more, before focusing my attention elsewhere. She wasn't just going to come for me. She was going to have the mother of all orgasms. I drew her lips between my own, sucking gently and stroking with my tongue. Her skin down there was impossibly soft, and I wanted to taste it all. I could tell the pressure inside her was mounting. There was a vibration rolling through her muscles now, her body bucking desperately, trying to guide my tongue where she wanted, but I didn't relent. I wanted her to beg. Soon enough, she did just that

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"Logan, please." I pulled back, my mouth poised over that gorgeous little nub. "Please what?" "Please make me come." "Like this?" I asked, my tongue darting out ever so briefly. She sucked in a sharp breath. "Yes." "Well, because you asked so nicely." I honed in on her clit, licking fast and firm. The time for teasing had passed. "Oh God, shit, yes! Just like that." It didn't take long. Her muscles tensed, her voice spiking as her orgasm tore through her. It was an incredible sight, her body trembling and arching as I milked every ounce of pleasure I could from it. I would never get tired of watching that. "Wow," she panted, when it had finally passed. "Wow indeed," I replied, grinning up from between her legs. "You seemed to enjoy that."

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She leaned forward and glanced down at my jeans. "So did you, by the looks of things." "You're about to find out." She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, am I, now?" "Yep." I said, standing up. "You didn't think you got to have all the fun did you? I've been fantasizing about having those lips around my cock since the first day we met." She laughed. "Now that really is perverted." "Your fault for having such sexy lips. Get on your knees." Again, she complied instantly, her hands reaching hungrily for my belt buckle. In a moment, I was as naked as her. She reached for my cock almost gingerly, but there was lust on her face once more. I let out a groan as her fingers closed around my shaft. Jesus Christ it felt good. She jerked it

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gently up and down, an expression that vaguely resembled wonder on her face. "It won't bite," I said. "But maybe I do," she replied, flashing a wicked little grin. I laughed. "I guess I'm just going to have to take the risk." She leaned closer, her mouth just an inch from my tip. I could feel her breath hot on my skin, those moist little lips staring up at me, beckoning. She drew one between her teeth, biting softly, and I thought I was going to lose my shit then and there, but then she was engulfing me. Her mouth was soft and warm and wet, and it was basically the best thing I'd ever felt. Something low and primal rolled out from deep in my chest. This was what I'd been waiting for. She was tentative at first, just teasing below the head, but as she found her rhythm she began to relax, gradually taking me

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deeper. Soon, she had more than a third of my length down her throat. Meanwhile, her tongue was doing something magical to the underside of my shaft, teasing and stroking like nothing I'd ever felt before. "Jesus, where did you learn to give head like that?" I asked. She pulled back momentarily. "I don't know. I'm just kind of winging it." "Seriously? Well, in that case, keep winging it. That feels fucking incredible." She grinned, and then her lips were on me once more. The sight of her kneeling before me with my cock buried several inches inside her mouth was so ridiculously hot. And that devious little smile only made it better. She was enjoying herself almost as much as I was. I've never been one for the whole face-fucking thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm in control in the bedroom, but there's nothing hot to me about gagging. Having a girl on the ground in front of you

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sucking you off is basically perfection already. I'm very happy to just sit back and let them do their thing. Grace's hand began to pump in time with her mouth, sending powerful waves of pleasure rolling through me. Soon, a second hand joined the first, working the base of my shaft, meaning my entire length was being stroked with every motion. My knees buckled momentarily, and I actually felt lightheaded. Jesus, that sensation was fucking unbelievable. There was an immense pressure building in my balls. "Oh fuck, I'm close." A lot of other girls would have pulled away at that moment, but not Grace. She simply sped up, honing in on my swollen head, jerking rapidly up and down while her tongue caressed those sensitive nerves. It was too much. With a mighty roar, I exploded into her mouth. For a few seconds I lost control as my hips pumped like out of

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control pistons. The world faded to black. When I came to, I found Grace smiling shyly up at me, her face and body completely dry. "Did you seriously swallow all of that?" She gave a proud little nod. "Jesus. That felt like a huge load." "It kind of was." I shook my head in disbelief. "Have I mentioned how ridiculously sexy you are?" "It came up." "Well, don't let me stop reminding you." My eyes rolled over those curves once more, and I felt another surge of desire. I wasn't done with her yet. Not by a long shot. "Stand up," I said. "You don't want a break?" "What I want is to be inside you. Now. Stand up." She gave a tiny nod. "Okay." I guided her a couple of steps to the left until she was pressed against the sofa, then I pushed her down so she was bent over the armrest.

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"Fucking perfect," I said, spreading her ass cheeks once more. This was the position I'd dreamed of having her in. She was incredibly turned on. I ran my fingers gently up her entrance, picturing what that slickness was going to feel like around me, the way she was going to sound when I was fucking her. She shifted against me, her breath coming short and sharp as I played with her. I wanted to draw it out further still, but I was hard almost to the point of agony. I had to have her. I fished a condom from my pants and tore it open. "You know, I've actually got a birth control implant," Grace said. "And I've never really liked condoms." "Are you sure?" She nodded. "I trust you. And I want to feel you that way." That was music to my ears. The thought of being inside her with nothing between us

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was impossible to resist. "Well I want to fuck you that way. In that case, you should brace yourself." "Why?" "Because I'm about to do this," I replied, and then seizing her hips, I slammed myself inside her. There was no resistance, she was completely ready for me, and we both cried out as my entire length entered her in a single thrust. Her body rocked forward with the force of it, and her hands curled around the sofa cushion. "Oh shit," she moaned. "Logan, you feel amazing." "So do you." She looked incredible like that, ass in the air with my cock entering her. She was impossibly soft, all silk and heat and moisture. I started slow, long strokes that let me feel every part of her. I'd pull my hips back until I had nearly withdrawn, only to ram myself back in all the way to the root. It

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wasn't enough. I wanted to go deeper, to claim all of her. Grace writhed beneath me, wordless moans tumbling from her mouth. My hands traversed her body, squeezing and caressing, relishing those incredible curves. Those hips, that ass — my god. I landed a playful smack on one cheek, drawing a sharp little cry of pleasure. "Again," she said. And so I did. That cracking sound, the way it marked her, the way her body trembled, it was intensely erotic. Something animal was rising in my chest now, some primal imperative that set my blood burning. Wrapping my fingers around her shoulders, I began fucking her harder, yanking her body toward mine as I thrust inside her, grinding our hips together. Beneath us, the sofa shook under the weight of my assault, but I couldn't care less. I had space for just one thing in that moment.

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She was so little, part of me was worried I might hurt her, but she seemed to relish when I lost control like that. Her pussy hugged me like a glove, muscles shifting and tightening as I took her. I could tell by the pitch of her cries that she was close. Without slowing, I leaned down close so my lips were poised just above her ear and whispered, "I want you to come for me again, Grace. I want to feel you tighten around me as I bring you over the edge." Those words were all it took. With one final sustained groan, her entire body clenched around me. The sensation was exquisite, and I felt my own orgasm coming on. With almost rabid urgency I plunged myself deeper still, and then the world seemed to burst apart at the seams. My body became possessed, my muscles flexing to the point of pain as I spilled inside her. *****

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There were no tears when we finished. Grace lay against my shoulder, her hand idly stroking my chest. "Are you okay?" I asked tentatively. I knew she wanted this, but I wouldn't have blamed her for breaking down again. "I'm not sure." Not the ideal answer, but I'd be a selfish prick if I expected anything better. "What are you thinking about?" "I'm thinking about how happy I was just now, and how guilty that makes me feel. I'm thinking about you, about the fact that I've never felt anything like that before, not with anyone." The pause that followed said more than words could. It was her asking permission to continue. "It's okay," I said. Of course I didn't like her thinking about Tom. I'm not a fucking saint. In an ideal world, I'd be her everything. But I'd learned long ago that there's no such thing as

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an ideal world. There's just this place, capricious and ruthless and cold. It doesn't give a shit what you want, and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you can go on with the business of surviving. I know I sound grim, but I'm starting to think maybe there's a method to the madness. If it wasn't for Grace's fiancé, for the hurt he'd caused, what we had now wouldn't exist. We were two broken halves making something that vaguely resembled a whole. Well-adjusted Grace and decorated soldier Logan didn't belong together. She'd never get me without the shit she'd been through, and I'd never get her without mine. Pain has a way of stripping you down, burning away your masks until it's just the core that's left. We found each other because of that, and so I couldn't begrudge it, no matter how much I might have wanted to. "I'm trying to remember what it was like with Tom," she said, "if it was that raw,

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that...explosive. But I can't. I've got bits and pieces, but they're dim, like I'm looking at an old photograph that's aging before my eyes. He's fading, Logan. I can feel it. I've still got the big stuff — his face, his laugh, his voice, the things we did together — but the details are slipping away." Her fingers looped through mine, turning my hand so she could study it. "I can't remember what his hands felt like anymore, what he smelled like, tasted like. All the little things that made him him. Meanwhile you're here and you're so real. I can touch you, I can kiss you. You're filling in those spaces. It terrifies me, the idea that I might lose all of him, but at the same time, a tiny part of me, a little voice swimming in the guilt, is wondering if maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's better if he just fades away. It would make things so much easier." It sure as hell wasn't healthy, but I understood that compulsion. I'd spent plenty of

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time myself trying to expunge the past from my head. "He'll never fade. Not completely. Part of him is going to be with you forever." "That's what I'm worried about," she replied. I laced my fingers through hers and gave a gentle squeeze. "I know it hurts, but like anything, the bad stuff has a way of drowning out the good. You obviously had some great times with him. Focus on those. They're what will get you through this." She didn't seem at the point of tears. Introspective, rather than upset. It was a huge improvement. "You're right," she replied. "It's just scary." "Yes, it is." That seemed to satisfy her. We lay in silence for several minutes. Eventually, her fingers found their way back to my chest,

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tracing the lines of my tattoos. "You have so many." I nodded. "I started on my first tour. We had a guy on our base who was a fucking genius with a needle. He runs a tattoo shop somewhere out in LA, now. Originally it was just a way to commemorate people, you know? Kind of got addicted to it though. I've been adding to it ever since." "Does it hurt?" "Yeah, it hurts like hell. The ones on my back were the worst. Anywhere that's close to bone." I considered what I was about to say next. It was something I'd never told anyone — part of the long list of shit that probably should have consigned me to the nut house — but she was so open with me, and I felt compelled to be the same way with her. I wanted her to understand me, and that was a compulsion I hadn't had for many years. "To be honest, the pain is part of the allure. You see a lot of things during war. You

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do a lot of things. The pain helps. I don't know if that makes sense, but it's true." "It makes sense," she said. Nothing more to it. She began studying my skin more intently. At that point, it wasn't really multiple tattoos anymore. Everything had blended together into a single sprawling collage that covered most of my upper body, but there were distinct images within the piece, and her hand began to move between them. "Ace?" she asked, pausing on the black playing card on my right shoulder. I nodded. "What about this?" she asked, fingering a red rose that stretched up the length of my bicep. "Rosy. Another guy from my platoon." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Rosy?" "He was young when he started — a nice little Christian boy from a nice little

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Christian family. He hardened up fast enough, but in the beginning, he wasn't prepared for the sort of shit army guys talk about. It was rare a day went past when something didn't make him blush. And so, Rosy." She laughed. "That's horrible." "It's a term of endearment," I replied. I actually found myself smiling too. It had been a long time since I'd thought about that. I needed to follow a little of my own advice. Given all the shit that we'd been through, it was easy to forget that some of my best memories involved those guys. They were gone, but those moments weren't. I'd never explained my ink to anyone before, not even Fi. She'd remarked on how beautiful it was, but she never asked questions, which meant she didn't really get it. It was more than art. It was personal, intimate. I'd chosen to have these symbols etched onto my body forever, and they were part of who I

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was. Sharing them was sharing pieces of my soul. I'd have given that to Fi if she'd asked, but the mere fact that she didn't meant that maybe she wasn't worthy. Grace, however, was worthy. She understood the pain behind those symbols. I'd never felt so close to her as I did in that moment. She continued to explore me, fingers dancing across images of dog tags, sugar skulls, a battlefield cross, before eventually coming to rest on the largest piece, the one that covered both sides of my chest. It was beautiful work; tombstones set in dark soil with a storm brewing behind them on the horizon. "And this?" I hesitated, feeling my mouth go dry. "That's not for a friend. It's...worse than that." She didn't ask for more. I think she could tell from my voice that this wasn't an easy topic to discuss. I could have left it at that — she wouldn't have pushed — but I felt

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strangely compelled to continue. She knew most of my secrets now, and she hadn't fled. That still seemed incredible. I never thought I'd actually find someone who would tolerate my bullshit. But now I wanted to know if she really could take it all, not just what had happened to me, but the things I'd done as well. There was more to my pain than loss. There was also guilt. So much guilt. Part of me was afraid of where the conversation might go, and how she might react, but I found my mouth opening nonetheless. Maybe I wanted her to absolve me somehow, or maybe I just needed someone else to understand. "That tattoo is for all the other people who died over there." "The other people?" I nodded. "I had a pretty fucking naive view of military life before I joined. I had all these visions of heroic battles, fighting the good fight and protecting our freedom and

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all that propaganda bullshit. But the war over there isn't anything like you expect. It's not two armies digging ditches and charging with bayonets in the middle of an open field. It's sneaky and messy and brutal. Ambushes, night strikes, suicide bombers, air raids." Memories were playing through my mind again, ruined buildings, bodies, smoke and screams. I forced them away. I didn't want to break down in front of her again. "A lot of the fighting took place in local villages. The enemy was ruthless, and they were happy to use whatever they could to gain an edge, including civilian lives. People died because of us, Grace. Regular people, just minding their own business." "But that's not your fault," she replied. "You were there to protect them." "I'm sure our good intentions will be appreciated by all the families that we ripped apart." It came out harsher than I intended. I could almost taste the bitterness on my

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tongue. "I'm sorry. I know that objectively we were doing a good thing, but theory and reality have never been further apart than they are over there. The bottom line is, we brought the war to them. All those bombs, those bullets, they wouldn't have been there if not for us, and a lot of civilians would still be alive." She exhaled slowly, her eyes pinched with concern. "Maybe," she replied, "assuming they weren't killed by their own government. And the ones that did survive would be living in fear, always looking over their shoulders. Look, I'm not going to pretend war isn't awful. It's an ugly, heartbreaking thing, and I'm sure a lot of innocent people lost their lives, but nonetheless, I think you were incredibly brave going over there. You risked your life to make the world a better place. You stood up for what you believe in. Not many people have that sort of conviction."

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"I don't feel brave. I feel like an idiot." "Well you're not." I shook my head. "You don't understand! The things I saw, the things I was a part of..." I felt this horrible grinding sensation take up residence in my stomach. We were delving into the heart of my guilt now, the stuff that kept me up night after night. Maybe it was pointless. Maybe it was impossible to get it if you hadn't been there. But I had momentum now, and the words kept coming. "Toward the end of my second tour, our forces were making a big push into the center of the country, trying to pry a little territory from enemy hands. My unit was always on the front lines, in the thick of the fighting. One day, we had a group of militants on the run, and they retreated into a nearby village. Our intelligence said they'd been using it as a base for the past few weeks, after the residents apparently fled, but we didn't have any

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more information. We pinned them down in there, but they had some heavy firepower and we weren't making any headway, so I called it in to get further orders, maybe some support. It was standard procedure, but this time..." I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut tight, as though I could just sink into that simple darkness and forget all of this. "Of all the things I've ever done, that's the one I'd give anything to take back." Grace's hand wrapped around mine and she gave a comforting squeeze, but she didn't speak. It was one of those pauses that can't be filled, one that trembles under the weight of what is coming next. "Halfway through the call, our radio died. The fucking thing never seemed to work right. I kept meaning to replace it, but..." I gave my head a shake. I was drifting, my brain desperately fighting to avoid finishing the story. "The brass sent support, but it was in the form of an air raid. We hadn't

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scouted the village properly. We had no idea who was down there. Normally, that would mean the bombers would stay away, but somewhere along the line wires must have gotten crossed." The way she was staring at me with wide eyes said she could see where this was going. "I tried everything I could to reestablish connection, but it was pointless. There was nothing I could do. They leveled the place." I drew a long, shuddering breath. My chest felt like it was filling with cement. "The first thing I saw after the explosions finally stopped was a child stumbling out of the smoke. A fucking child!" "Jesus." The horror in her voice mirrored what was rising inside me, that aching guilt that had threatened to swallow me so many times in the past. "I can see that moment in my mind like it happened yesterday. He was so goddamn

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small, and he was just painted black with dirt and soot from head to toe. What really sticks with me though were the sounds he was making, this fucking gut punch of a cry that just made me want to burst into tears on the spot. I've never seen a more frightened person in my entire life. His world had literally exploded around him. I felt this overpowering urge to run to him and scoop him up and tell him it was all going to be okay, but that wasn't true. Nobody else walked out of that place. When the dust finally settled, we found fifteen villagers in the wreckage — all women and children. The militants had been holding them hostage." She sat in stunned silence for several seconds. I didn't blame her. That was how I'd felt ever since that day. "But that wasn't you, Logan. You tried to stop them." "But I was a part of it!" My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "I was the one who called it in. I was the one that didn't

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stop the enemy before they found shelter. We killed them, Grace! There are no excuses for that!" I turned away, no longer able to look her in the eye. I half expected her to make an excuse and leave. In the end, it was this guilt that drove Fi away. She'd said she was there for me, but it was a superficial offer. She didn't really want any part of my torment. She wanted the carefree man I'd been before, the one that had died back in that desert. Once she understood that he wasn't coming back, she began looking at me differently. I couldn't stand seeing that sadness in her eyes, that tiny tremor of fear. But Grace didn't react that way. I felt her arms embrace me from behind as she planted a gentle kiss on my neck. "I'm so sorry you went through that, Logan. I can't even imagine how horrible it must have been, but you can't blame yourself. You did everything you could."

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I didn't know how to reply. My breath was coming in fits and spurts now, and I realized I was crying. I blinked hard, trying to will the tears away. I didn't want her to see me like this, so fucking broken. "It's not just that day," I said. "How many other times did that happen without me even realizing? How many other orphans did our war make? Even if you ignore the civilians, soldiers have kids too. I just don't know how to justify it anymore." She exhaled slowly, seemingly lost for words. What did I expect? What response is there for this? "A lot of the stuff I saw over there, I'm never going to forget." I continued. "It's fucking burned into my brain so deep that I see it even when I'm sleeping. Even now, some days the guilt is so strong I just want to end it. That's actually why I joined Final Blow. When Charlie came to me and suggested putting me in the ring, I didn't do it because

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I wanted to fight. I did it so someone would put me out of my misery. That first night, I showed up at the cage after an all-day bender. I hadn't slept, I'd polished off a bottle of Jack and I fully expected the guy who was waiting inside to put me on the ground, but as soon as fists started flying, my body just went on auto pilot, and before I knew it, he was the one who was down." I shook my head. "Couldn't even get that right." I felt the overpowering desire for a drink, that unquenchable itching at the back of my throat that set all my nerves alight. If Grace hadn't been there, I'd probably already have been out the door and sprinting toward the liquor store. But the feel of her fingers against my skin, that soothing contact, held me back. She was still here. I'd given her everything, and she was still here. She brought a hand up under my chin, tilting my head up until I was staring her right in the eyes. There was such compassion

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there, it was almost heartbreaking. "Remember what you said to me that night in the alley when I asked you how you coped?" she said. "You can't take responsibility for other people's actions. You didn't force the enemy to take hostages. You didn't command any attacks or drop any bombs. All you did was follow procedure and try to keep your men safe. Your team may have been present, but that doesn't make it your fault." I desperately wanted to believe her, but the memories and tears were coming thick and fast now. Some things you just can't rationalize, no matter how logical they seem. "I guess it's a case of do as I say and not as I do then, isn't it?" I managed to choke out. "That's not good enough. You need to forgive yourself, Logan. You're a good man. Maybe the best I've ever met. You put your life on the line to try and make a difference. You went above and beyond the call of duty

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to help me, and you didn't know me at all. Those aren't the actions of a monster. They're the actions of a hero." "A hero would have done something more." We didn't speak again for the rest of the night. In spite of how raw the conversation left me, I was glad we'd had it. She had all of me now, all of the chaos and the anger and the guilt, and she hadn't flinched. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve her — in fact I was damn near positive I didn't — but now that she was mine, I was going to make sure she stayed that way. Nothing was going to take her away from me.

Chapter Sixteen Logan Two days later, I was due back in the ring. My opponent was a local guy named Brock, an amateur who was a plumber by day. We'd fought once before, and I had won. From what I'd seen he was improving and would probably put up a good contest, but after the daunting prospect of taking on Caesar, it was a bit of a letdown. Still, I threw everything I had into my preparation. I wasn't one for half-assing things. The morning of the fight, I woke with the familiar tingle of anticipation in my stomach. I love that sensation, like there's a potent electrical charge raging beneath my skin. It would be there for the entire day, heightening everything. Booze and drugs have nothing on that high. I went through my usual preparation, two light training sessions followed by some alone time in the gym as night fell. A lot of fighters like to

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psych themselves up with aggressive music before stepping into the ring, but I've always preferred silence. I already carry around all the aggression I need inside me. Calmness and focus is what I'm lacking. At just before eight o'clock, I headed out behind the bar and into the fighters' room. It wasn't much, some dented lockers and a couple of hard wooden benches, but it did the job. Brock was already inside, preparing, when I arrived. We nodded to one another, but didn't exchange any words. That was normal. Ordinarily, most of the Final Blow guys were friendly enough, but on fight nights, everyone turned into the strong silent type. It's kind of hard to hold a conversation with someone who you'll be attempting to knock unconscious in a few minutes. I began my warm-up, which mostly consisted of a series of rapid body weight movements — think television aerobics on steroids. A lot of people are still under the

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impression that the best way to warm up for exercise is with static stretching, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Stretch an elastic band too much, and it loses some of its spring. Muscles are the same way. If you're going to be doing anything where power is a factor — punching, throwing, swinging a bat, running, basically any form of sport — then you want your body to have all the elasticity it can. That's how you generate force. My goal when warming up is to get my blood flowing, my heart pumping and my muscles warm. I did that for fifteen minutes, and then my name was called. A surge of excitement hit me. It was time. The lights in the arena were almost blinding. I walked out across the floor and up into the cage, the roar of the crowd swelling like a jet engine in my ears. That noise tweaked something deep in the back of my head, but I forced it away. There was nothing

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to be scared of here but the man across from me. I knew what I was here to do. My eyes went instinctively to the bar, to Grace. Just seeing her was like a fresh shot of adrenaline. She flashed me a nervous smile and then gave a little nod of encouragement. It was strange having her here. Fighting had always been so personal for me but, for the first time, I actually felt the urge to prove myself to someone else. This was me in my purest form. This was what I did best, and I was going to put on a show for her. I found a smile of my own and winked at her, and some of the tension visibly bled from her muscles. The crowd cheered again as Brock stepped up to join me. He was always an entertainer and was well liked around these parts. As we went through the pre-fight ritual, I took the time to study him, running through what I remembered from our previous fight. He was a few years older than me

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and a few inches shorter, with hulking shoulders and the kind of stocky frame that is much more powerful than it looks. His fists weren't all that dangerous, but if he could get me on the ground it might spell trouble. He also had a penchant for flashy kicks, which was something I planned to use against him. Charlie finished his speech. Brock and I touched gloves, and then the bell sounded and the world faded to a dull blur around me. There was just him, me, and thirty feet of canvas. He came in fast, launching himself at me with a rapid series of punches which I easily blocked and evaded. That sort of vicious opening told me he was really feeling the adrenaline tonight. I countered with my own attack, a string of lightning fast jabs designed to probe more than damage. He raised his guard, taking them on the forearm, and then darted backward. He didn't look rattled at all, which was impressive. If

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anything, he was quicker than I remembered. With the initial formalities out of the way, we began circling one another. I continued to test him, searching for weaknesses, using my superior reach to keep him out of his comfort zone. We traded punches. None of his connected with any force, but I landed two good rights on his chest. That took some of the wind from his sails, but he kept coming, responding with a stinging kick to my upper thigh that sent a shock rolling through my body. There was a determined glint in his eyes, a kind of hunger I rarely saw in my opponents. Something primal stirred inside me. This was a real contest. He advanced again, trying to crowd me, fists tearing through the air as I ducked and wove and defended. He knew his best chance was to find an opening and take me to the mat, and I foolishly gave him one. I put too much into my counter attack. Maybe I was

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trying to end it then and there, I'm not sure. In any case, I extended too far, my strike shooting out over his head as he dove in low. He slammed into me, knocking me to the floor, tangling his body around mine. The impact drove the air from my lungs. The next minute was as intense as any in the fight. Ground work doesn't appear particularly exciting at first glance, more like a casual embrace than a vicious battle, but it's actually an intense contest of strength and technique. The goal is to get your opponent into a body lock, applying pressure either to one of their joints or their neck, forcing them to concede the fight. Even the tiniest mistake can give the opponent the opening that they need, and if you don't tap out fast enough, it can lead to serious injury. The two of us rolled across the mat, desperately jockeying for position. Brock had the upper hand, and was trying to work himself on top of me so he could trap my leg

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against his body. He was going for a kneebar — a lock that hyper extends the knee — which can be one of the most devastating moves if it goes too far. I fought with everything I had, desperately struggling to keep him to one side of my hips. He was incredibly powerful, and he displayed an uncanny amount of patience. He knew we were evenly matched down here, and if he forced his way between my legs, I wouldn't have the strength to stop him. Blood was raging in my veins, and all my muscles burned. Even in that moment, mere inches from defeat, I felt a powerful sense of euphoria. You're never more alive when you're staring out over the brink. His grip weakened ever so slightly, and I spotted my opportunity. With a great heave, I yanked myself free and shot to my feet, stumbling backward. He followed with a snarl. I could have tried to use that opening to my advantage and get him in a lock of my

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own, but the truth was, I was a little shaken. Besides, I'm a striker at heart, and I knew that when we were on our feet, I had the advantage. I wouldn't underestimate him again. The struggle on the ground had left us both panting, and we were content to slow things down until the bell rung to end the round. As I returned to my corner, my eyes once again returned to Grace. There was concern on her face now, but I once again found a smile. I had this. "What the hell was that?" Tony asked, handing me a bottle. I shrugged. "He got lucky." "No, you got cocky. You wanted to go for a fancy knockout, and you nearly paid the price." I sucked in some water, just enough to wet my mouth. Tony was right. "It won't happen again." "You're damn right it won't."

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I shook my head. "He must have been training like a motherfucker. His ground game is through the roof compared to last time." "So don't let him take you down again. Keep your distance." "That's the plan," I replied. The bell rang again, and Brock leapt up, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he moved to the center. The break had done him good. He looked fresh and full of energy. That first round performance must have buoyed his spirits, and rightly so. He was in this, which was more than a lot of people would have expected. I changed tactics, doing everything I could to keep space between the two of us. Whenever he tried to charge, I kept him at bay with long defensive punches that forced him backward. They weren't really capable of causing serious damage, but that was fine. I wasn't trying to hurt him yet. I just needed to

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keep him from getting close and tire him out. My fitness is second to none. I can go five rounds with the best of them and still have some left in the tank. But a lot of guys don't have that luxury, and when they get tired, they get sloppy. After a minute of dancing around the ring, I could see the frustration on his face. He'd thought he had a winning strategy, but now he couldn't execute it. I was too tall, too fast on my feet, and I didn't make the same mistake twice. His breath was coming short and sharp and his skin was slick with sweat. I was wearing him down and he knew it. So he went to plan B, which was exactly what I was waiting for. He began throwing a series of brutal head-high kicks. If you watch a lot of kung-fu movies, you're probably under the impression that fancy kicks win fights, and it's true, if they connect, they can end things on the spot. But they're also slow and they leave you

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vulnerable, which means you need to be pretty sure you're landing a winner if you want to use them without getting punished. Brock had no such certainty. I let the first few swing through open air, content to learn his rhythm. On the fourth one, I struck. Rather than darting backward like he expected, I ducked forward, taking the blow on my shoulder and kicking his other leg out from under him. He dropped to the canvas, and I was on top of him before he had time to blink. He tried to protect his face, but it was useless. My position was too strong. Four solid blows later, and the referee ended it. The crowd exploded. Charlie stepped back up into the ring and shot me a quick smile before taking my hand and raising it above my head. "The winner by knockout...Logan Anderson!" The medic was already on stage tending to Brock. I didn't think I'd done any serious damage. Sure, there was blood running down

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his face, but he was already conscious and sitting up. I took a moment to soak it in, reveling in the last seconds of that glorious high as it gradually bled away, and then Grace was there next to the ring. "That was freaking awesome!" she said, pulling me in for a kiss. She looked like I felt — skin flushed, eyes blazing with excitement. I loved seeing her so animated. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," I replied. "I did. A lot. Although for a minute there, I thought maybe he had you." I nodded. "I underestimated him a little, and he took advantage." Her smile grew sultry and she leaned in close. "That's a coincidence. I was hoping to give you the opportunity to take advantage later. You know, assuming you have a little left in the tank for me." With enough testosterone circling my system to kill an elephant, I had to resist the

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urge to throw her over my shoulder and drag her into the back office at that very moment. "I always have something left for you," I replied. "Excellent." She glanced back at the bar where a crowd was now forming. "Well, I should probably get back to it, but I'll see you in an hour or so." "Definitely." I waved to the crowd as I made my way back to the locker room. I wasn't exactly the most fan friendly fighter on the Final Blow roster, but they all knew that by now and they didn't seem to begrudge me a little eccentricity. If they really wanted autographs, they knew where I worked. Once inside, I began my cool down procedure. Much like before a fight, I enjoyed being alone afterward too, but a few minutes into my routine, there was a knock at the door.

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I turned, expecting Charlie or maybe a bold fan, but the man in the doorway was clearly neither of those. He was impeccably dressed — suit, tie, boardroom-winning smile. He looked to be about fifty, still fit, and tall enough that he could almost look me eye to eye without craning his neck. Also, he was vaguely familiar, although maybe that was just because I'd noticed him in the crowd. "That was an impressive performance," he said. "Thanks." Something about him made me wary. He didn't belong in a place like Charlie's. We were a casual bar that attracted a casual crowd. The Madison Avenue getup made him stand out as much as if he were wearing an Elmo outfit. "I was hoping to have a few minutes of your time." I shrugged. "You've got one. What can I do for you?" No good was going to come of

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this conversation, I could feel it. Men in suits wearing predatory smiles don't visit places they don't belong unless they want something, and I couldn't see those goals aligning with mine in any way, shape or form. But part of me was morbidly curious. If my rudeness insulted him, he showed no sign. "My name is Alex Task." He paused, apparently looking for some sign of recognition. He got it, but it wasn't what he expected. "You were at my last fight too. The one with Caesar." I remembered him now, an out of place suit in a sea of tee shirts and faded jeans. At the time I'd registered then ignored him — the seven foot Italian meathead in front of me had been a slightly more pressing concern — but my brain had a habit of storing anything out of place, just in case. He'd been eerily calm, watching proceedings with a clinical eye while the room screamed around him.

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He nodded slowly, like his respect for me had just gone up a notch. Bully for me. "Where possible, I always make an effort to watch my fighters. I'm the owner of TPW." "Ah." That stood for The Perfect Warrior, AKA, the league Caesar came from. Things had just gotten more interesting. They were a fairly big deal in the fight world. UFC still had the industry by the balls, but there were a couple of leagues in the second tier, and TPW was at the top of that list. They'd been struggling for years to break through, but it's hard when your competition has the money and prestige to poach your best guys out from under you. I don't think anyone had really expected me to beat Caesar. I'm good, but that dude is a machine. It was the closest fight I'd ever had. I honestly wasn't sure what would have happened if I hadn't gone all rabid dog over Grace and Jonah. But there's no point wasting time on hypotheticals.

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I studied the man in front of me. His face betrayed nothing besides a hint of amusement, but I got the sense he was a man accustomed to disguising his emotions. Was he pissed that I'd KO'd his star? Maybe he wanted a rematch? I decided to test the waters. "How'd your boy shape up after the other week?" Task chuckled. "He's fine. A little bruised, but I think his pride was hurt worse than anything." I nodded. He hadn't taken the bait, so now I was done with small talk. The ball was in his court. Five seconds of silence later, he cleared his throat. "Well, the reason I'm here is to talk about your future." I felt a sick little sneer creep onto my face. My "future." What a fucking joke. People like him love to use those big sweeping terms. They sound a hell of a lot better than the dirty reality of their pitch. The army

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had talked a lot about people's "futures." Free training, travel, lifelong comradeship. It was all true, to a point, they just neglected to mention the fine print. That's what you've got to watch out for. "Oh yeah?" I replied. "What about my future?" "In a nutshell, we want to offer you a contract. You were very impressive against Caesar, and the way you recovered tonight just confirms it. We think you'd be a valuable asset to our organization." A "valuable asset." This guy had the corporate lingo down, alright. With just a couple of words, he'd effectively reduced me to my monetary value. Numbers on a page. "And what would this contract entail?" I asked. His smile widened a little, apparently taking my curiosity for enthusiasm. "The details need to be finalized, but our goal is to make you one of our A-listers. Fights in every

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state we have a presence in, major publicity, not to mention what I expect will be a sizable increase in compensation. We think you've got what it takes to be the next big thing, and we're willing to invest heavily in making that happen." Scenarios ran through my head. Media tours, fan signings, my body crushed against an airplane window with businessmen crammed in like sardines around me. More money would be nice, sure, and I'd welcome some stronger competition, but the rest of that stuff was unthinkable. And then there was Charlie to think about. "That all sounds very generous, but what happens with Final Blow?" He made an apologetic face. "Exclusivity is standard TPW practice. When we invest in someone, we want to know they're not going to get hurt fighting anywhere with...lower standards, let's just say."

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"Lower standards?" I spoke softly, but there was no disguising that he'd made a mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. "Charlie has done very well for himself out here, all things considered. We just like to have complete control over our fighters, that's all." He spoke with the sort of neutral business voice designed to keep everything friendly and polite, but I could hear the undercurrent of condescension. I took a moment to compose myself. I was on thin ice with the police as it was. I didn't need the shit that would come from knocking this guy out. Even if he wasn't pissing me off, there was no question of taking the offer. I couldn't walk away from Charlie. I wasn't conceited enough to think Final Blow would collapse without me, but it would certainly be set back. Charlie had given me everything. He'd

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saved me. I couldn't abandon him. Besides, I finally had my life under control. I had a rhythm and structure that worked for me. Rocking the boat was the last thing I wanted to do. "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks." I returned to my cool down, but the dismissal was apparently lost on him. "Think about it for a few days. This is a big opportunity. You don't want to rush your decision." "I don't need to think. I'm happy where I am." Task's smile slipped. This wasn't a man who was used to being turned down. He'd expected this to be a cake walk. And why wouldn't he? Most unknown fighters would kill for a chance in the big leagues. But I wasn't most fighters. "You're happy wasting your nights working in this dive, instead of reaching your full potential? You're happy getting paid peanuts when you could be

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clearing six, maybe seven, figures a year? That's right. I've done my research. I know all about you Logan. This is a chance to turn your hobby into a career. Don't throw that away." Something inside me snapped. "I've got a career," I replied, stepping in close and letting the full weight of my anger play across my face. "It involves throwing unwanted customers from this 'dive' out on their asses. And guess what? You just made the list." To his credit, he maintained eye contact for several seconds before looking away. "I'm sorry that you feel that way." For a man who was a split second away from having his head introduced to the floor, he didn't sound particularly afraid. He began to walk away, but then called back over his shoulder. "Until next time." I didn't like the way he said that. *****

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The next couple of weeks felt almost like a dream. Ostensibly, very little changed. I still spent my days training and my evenings working, but now I had Grace to look forward to at end of it all, and that made a world of difference. That night watching films at my place seemed to have unlocked something between us. Without any words being exchanged, we found ourselves spending every night together. The speed of it frightened me, but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. When we were together, I felt more human than I had since the day I shipped out. I'd been detached for so long, unable to relate to the world or the people around me, and then along came this tiny pixie-haired goddess who just didn't give a shit about any of my issues. It was a goddamn miracle. All that positive energy was doing wonders for other parts of my life too. My anxiety had never been better, and I was training

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with the sort of passion I could usually only muster before a big fight. I actually felt hopeful, for the first time in as long as I could remember. The future wasn't just a blur of fists, sweat and loneliness anymore. There was light now, too. My next opponent was a guy named Billy — another Final Blow regular I'd fought before. Despite the fact that he was really just another average competitor, I was excited to get back in the ring. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Charlie called me into his office the morning of the fight. "We've got a problem." "What?" "Billy just pulled out of tonight." I grimaced. "Injured?" "No." He seemed almost morbidly amused. "Apparently he's now contracted to a rival organization."

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That was odd. Billy was good, by Final Blow standards, but between his job and his family, he trained even less than I did. He was a mid-tier beater. He didn't have anything the other leagues would be desperate for. "Which organization?" "TPW." It only took a few seconds for things to click into place. My fists bunched. "That fucking bastard." I'd told Charlie about Task's visit. He'd laughed and shrugged and seemed to take it in stride, but I knew him to well enough not to miss the concern in his eyes. Concern that was apparently well founded. Charlie gave a weary nod. Apparently he'd already made the connection. "It looks like he didn't take your rejection very well." "There's no way it's just a coincidence, right?"

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"At first, I hoped maybe it was, but then an hour ago Johnny told me they'd signed him, too." I blinked in disbelief. "Seriously?" Johnny was my next fight, the one scheduled a few weeks from now. I threw myself down in one of the guest chairs and tried to remain calm, which is pretty hard to do when you're picturing all the different ways you can make a man bleed. "Can we get anyone else?" "For tonight? No way. Not on six hours' notice. For next time, sure, but I don't think it will do much good. This is Task sending a message, and I don't think it ends here." "He can't buy everyone," I said, but I didn't really believe it. When he'd approached me, I got the sense he wasn't someone to mess with, and apparently my instincts were spot on. This was him saying, "if you won't fight for me, you won't fight at all."

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"TPW may not be the UFC, but they don't have to be, to afford our guys," said Charlie, "and from what I've heard, Task is ruthless. If he wants you as badly as you implied, then I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what he did." Tension was building like a rock in my chest, causing my breath to come in fits and starts. Fucking business intrigue. It was so goddamn petty, and I wasn't equipped to deal with it. I solved problems with my fists. I didn't know the first thing about waging war with contracts and checkbooks. All I wanted was for the world to leave me alone and let me do my thing. Was that really too much to ask? "So, what do we do?" I asked. He shrugged. "Well, no sense in panicking until we know there's a problem. I'll line up someone else for next month. Make Task work for his dinner. My gut says it probably won't do much good, but maybe he's had his

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fun. In the meantime, keep thinking. Maybe we can reason with him." I grunted in reply. I felt an overpowering urge to hit something. As I reached the door, Charlie spoke again. "Logan, don't do anything stupid." I nodded, more because I couldn't come up with anything stupid to do than because of any sort of self-restraint. I worked the bags in the gym for a solid twenty minutes without a break. A torrent of rage and fire poured out of me through my limbs, but it didn't help. The supply seemed endless. Finally, I collapsed on the mats. Everything burned. I was going to be stiff as hell the next day. "Fuck!" I screamed to the empty room, because what else was I going to do? The situation made me feel so powerless. Fighting was all I had. It was my passion, my crutch, my life. And now, because some

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company I didn't care about in some city I'd never been to needed to pad its bank account, they were trying to take that away from me? It was bullshit.

Chapter Seventeen Grace That night at Logan's house changed things. The sex had been like nothing I'd ever experienced before, but it was our talk after that really drove home how fast I was falling for him. That conversation had been so intimate, so raw. Logan had bared his soul to me, and it was as wonderful as it was frightening. I couldn't believe one man could carry so much pain. That story he'd told me about Ace was just the tip of the iceberg. I was quite certain if the roles were reversed, I'd have buckled under the weight of it all a long time ago, but Logan was a rock. Obviously it left its scars, but it didn't break him. I had so much admiration for that strength. For a little while afterward, he was in great spirits. We were spending all the time we could with one another. Charlie had even

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altered our shifts to give us as many nights off together as possible. But then Logan's fight was mysteriously canceled, and most of those good vibes evaporated. He made an effort to act unperturbed, but I could read him now. I could see the extra tension he carried in his muscles, feel the extra weight in his silences. For a few days, I left it alone, figuring maybe it was just garden variety annoyance. Fighting was important to him. It was more than just a hobby, it was a kind of therapy, and so it made sense that he'd be a little off after missing out. But when days turned into a week and his mood continued to decline, I began to realize there was something more at stake. "Is everything okay?" I asked one night when we were alone in the bar. He shrugged. "Fine." A few weeks ago, I'd have gotten some quip about how of course he was, because

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wiping down benches was one of his lifelong dreams, but now he just went monosyllabic. Everything we had was founded on communication but now, all of a sudden, he'd decided to close up. "We both know that's bullshit. You haven't been the same since your fight was canceled." He stared into space for several seconds. "I'm sorry," he said eventually. "It's okay. I just don't like seeing you like this. Did something else happen?" He sighed. It looked all wrong on him, a gesture of defeat from a man who seemed indestructible. "You know how I told you about that guy, Task? The one that offered me a contract?" I nodded. "Well, he's the one who poached Billy." "What, as revenge for you saying no or something?" He shook his head. "Revenge I could have dealt with. This is worse. The same day,

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he contracted Johnny, as well. The guy I was supposed to fight next month." It took a few seconds for me to process what he was saying. "He's trying to bully you into joining?" "It looks that way." Logan reached into his pocket and handed me a slip of paper. "We weren't sure, but I found this taped to the door of the gym when I rocked up today." The note was plain and concise. There are plenty of people who'd love to fight you in TPW. It had no signature, just a phone number underneath, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to identify the author. "Jesus, what an asshole," I said. I couldn't believe someone would go to those lengths to get their way. "How long do you think he'll keep it up?" "As long as it takes, probably. Charlie says he's as stubborn as they come. We won't know for sure until we book someone else."

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"What are you going to do?" Another sigh, deeper than the last one. "I don't know. Charlie doesn't use contracts, too small time for that, so it's not like we have any claim over these guys. They can sign if they want to." His nostrils flared and he slammed a fist down on the bar. "It's such a fucking joke. Task doesn't care about them. He's just using them. I doubt they even get one shot on a big card." "Would it do any harm to at least look at the contract then? Maybe it's not as bad as you think." He shook his head vehemently. "And abandon Charlie? No. No fucking way." "I know it sounds like a scummy move, but think about it. If this guy really is willing to stop you fighting for as long as it takes, from Charlie's point of view, it's basically like you're already gone. At least if you do sign, he'd stop having his other fighters poached for no good reason."

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The way he averted his eyes told me that deep down he'd already realized the same thing. Which meant there was more to it than simple loyalty. I slid up onto the bar next to him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Would it really be so bad, fighting somewhere else?" I asked, as gently as possible. "It's not the fighting that's the problem," he replied. "It's everything else. Photographers, journalists, fans, airports. I can't deal with any of that shit. I mean, can you honestly see me trapped in a tube in the sky with five hundred other people? It'd be murder at thirty five thousand feet." I managed a half smile. "So, maybe you sit down with him and talk it over. Maybe there's a compromise in there somewhere." His jaw clenched. "I don't want a compromise. I just want him to leave me the fuck alone."

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"At dinner you mentioned the fact that you wished Charlie could find more opponents like Caesar. And now you've got a guy with a whole league of people that good. You can't have it both ways. Things can't change while also staying exactly the same." "If those are my two options, then I'll pick staying exactly the same every single time." It seemed like that was going to be the end of the conversation but, after a few seconds, his expression softened and he pulled my head in against his chest. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a dick. This is just stressing me out. Getting in that ring each month is what keeps me going. It's all I've got. If I lose that, I don't know what I'll do." "It's not all you've got. You've got me," I replied. There was a long pause. I looked up to find him staring down at me with an odd expression, like he was seeing me for the first

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time. Some of the tension had leaked from his muscles. He actually managed a hint of a smile. "I do, don't I?" he said. "I know how important this is to you," I replied. "We'll come up with something. It'll all work out. You'll see." "I hope you're right." We stood like that for a minute or so. "What you said before, is that really what you want?" I asked. "For nothing to ever change?" He didn't seem sure how to answer. "It took me so long to put all my pieces back together into something that vaguely resembles a life," he said eventually, "and I know it's only going to take the tiniest gust of wind to make it all collapse again. I can't take that risk. What I want doesn't even factor into it." It felt like an impossibly sad thing to say, but I didn't know how to argue with

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that. Logan had his problems but, considering the life he'd led and the things he'd seen, it was remarkable he was here at all. Who was I to question his methods?

Chapter Eighteen Grace Logan's tension eased a little in the coming days, but I knew the TPW stuff was still weighing heavily on him. I wracked my brain trying to come up with a solution. It was a world I knew so little about, but there had to be a way. Things were finally starting to look up, and I refused to let some greedy businessman ruin that for either of us. In the meantime, I set about doing my best to cheer Logan up. I'd had a seed of an idea in my head for a while, ever since our failed attempt at going to dinner, and now seemed like the perfect time to put it into action. After a few days of preparation, everything was ready. I had Logan meet me at an unobtrusive street corner on the outskirts of Henderson. He'd seemed quite bemused when I insisted that we each show up separately, but he went along with it.

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He rocked up right on time wearing a pair of faded black chinos and a navy tee. I appreciated the effort he'd gone to with the collared shirt, and it definitely looked good on him, but the truth was I liked him looking a little rougher, and I'd told him as much. There was something masculine about it that just looked right on him. Even in the simple act of walking along the street, he looked dangerous, like a lion on the prowl. I still couldn't believe he was mine. That chiseled face and those powerful muscles never failed to set my heart racing. He had a curious smile on his face as he approached. "Well, as far as I can see, there's nothing to do for miles around here. What the hell are you planning?" "That is top secret information, soldier," I said in my best "military superior" voice. He grinned. "Is that right? Well then." Wrapping his hands around my waist, he

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leaned close so his lips could brush my neck. "Is there anything I could do to improve my security clearance?" With his body pressed against mine, a whole lot of things came to mind, but I was enjoying the element of mystery too much to give the game away just yet. With more than a little regret, I replied, "Unfortunately, it's out of my hands." His mouth lingered on my skin for several seconds, before saying, "That's disappointing, although that does mean your hands are free to do other things." I laughed. "Pervert." He seemed in a good mood tonight, which made me happy. I just hoped he liked what I had in store. Peeling myself from his grip, I nodded down the nearby street. "Come on, it's this way." It didn't take long for us to hit the edge of town. He raised an eyebrow when I

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continued across the road and up a narrow dirt trail. "Planning to murder me and bury my corpse in the wilderness?" "I wasn't, but if you don't stop asking questions that might change. Trust me." The trail wound through a group of low hills. It was rocky, but the sky was clear and the moonlight helped us keep our footing. It would have been a little creepy under other circumstances, all shadows and silence, but it was impossible to feel frightened with Logan two steps behind me. The man was a force of nature. I couldn't think of a threat that could topple him. About two minutes later, we rounded a corner and arrived at a clearing. "Holy shit," he said. The smile on his face was worth every ounce of preparation I'd put in today. "Welcome to The Little Desert Cafe," I said.

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The area in front of us was set up like a restaurant, complete with a table, two chairs, cutlery, napkins, candles and all the other trimmings. It was a beautiful spot, with a wide uninterrupted view of the Vegas dunes. It had taken me days of hunting to find the right place. Out of the way, small enough to be empty at a time like this, but large and flat enough to hold everything for our little sojourn. "How did you get all this stuff here?" "We spent the afternoon lugging it up here, obviously. Joy has a friend with a pickup, which made it easier." He shook his head in disbelief. "Well, shit. This is amazing." "I'm glad you like it, sir. Now, shall I show you to your table? We've saved the best seat in the house for you tonight." He laughed. "You don't say." I led him over to the table.

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"Would you care for something to drink?" I asked, pulling a cooler from under the table and popping the top to reveal a stack of icy bottles. "Sparkling water? Juice? Soda?" "You actually bought all of those?" "Of course, sir. This is a real restaurant with a real drinks menu." "I'll have sparkling water then, I guess." I couldn't help but grin at the way he was looking at me: complete and total awe. "Seriously, this is insane. You didn't have to do all this." I shrugged, dropping character for a moment. "You wanted us to be able to have dinner out together, well this is about as out as it gets. Besides, I know you like it here." "I've never liked it as much as I do right now." I felt a burst of pride. It had hurt to see him struggle so hard to impress me, and I loved that I could return the favor. As excited

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as I was when I came up with the idea, part of me had been worried he might take it the wrong way. "Well, I hope you brought an appetite, because there's a mountain of food to get through." "I eat mountains for breakfast," he deadpanned, drawing a laugh from both of us. I set about laying out our makeshift meal. I'd made food for Logan before, but this was the first time I'd really put on my cheffing hat and cooked for him. I'd spent the better part of two days in the kitchen; Greek salad, Moroccan cous cous with chickpeas and raisins, chili garlic shrimp, lemon chicken — it was a feast fit for a king. Keeping food hot under those circumstances was not an option, so everything was served cold, but Logan didn't seem to mind.

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"You're some kind of food witch," he said, shoveling a spoonful of cous cous into his mouth. "It's the eye of newt that does it. Really brings out the flavor." He grinned. "Hell, if this is what eye of newt tastes like, sign me up. Seriously, I may be forced to kidnap you and chain you up in my kitchen." "So I can fry chicken breast three times a day?" "Fuck the chicken breast. I've seen the light!" "What about 'the diet,'" I said, making air quotes. "Won't Tony kick up a fuss?" "We'll bribe him with some of these shrimp. Nobody could say no to these bad boys. He might even smile, for once." That was a hilarious image. I struggled to imagine anyone bribing Tony with anything. The man was harder than an oak tree.

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"Well, I'm glad you like it. I'll cook a proper meal for you at home some time, you know, with food that actually comes out hot." "This is most definitely a proper meal, but still, I'm holding you to that," he replied, spearing another piece of chicken on his fork and attacking it. "You know, with food like this, you could be running your own restaurant." "That's the dream," I replied, feeling a twinge of sadness. "So what's stopping you?" "Oh, I don't know, how about everything? You need money and connections and experience, none of which I have. I'm not even a working chef, right now." "So maybe it's time to get back in the game? In the least sexist way possible, this meal basically convinces me that you belong in the kitchen." I punched him in the shoulder, feigning mock offense. "How dare you?"

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"Oh don't get all feminazi on me. You know it's true. I've been watching you watch me eat. You get some kind of perverse joy out of pleasuring people's taste buds." "What can I say? I give good food." I wished I could just deflect the topic with jokes, but Logan continued to stare while the question hung in the air. "I've thought about going back to it, but a few months ago, when I tried, nowhere was hiring." "So maybe it's time to start trying again? You're clearly passionate about this stuff. It'd be a crime to let that go to waste." "I know. You're right," I replied, but I didn't sound convinced. The idea of getting back into that life was certainly tempting, but also intimidating. The pace of it, the long hours, the stress; I didn't know if I could cope. Things right now were simple, comfortable. The bar was easy work and Logan and Joy were constant fixtures. I felt better than I had at any time since Tom died, but

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that didn't mean I was in the clear. Things could spiral out of control again in the blink of an eye. Again, Logan displayed an uncanny ability to read me. "Hey. You'd be fine. You've been doing really well." "I know," I said again, "it's just a little scary. Things are good right now, and if I wind up back in a restaurant, a lot of stuff is going to change. My schedule would be crazy, for one thing. I don't know when we'd get the time to see each other. And I wouldn't want to leave Charlie in the lurch like that." "Now you're just making excuses. Charlie would be fine, and we'd find time for one another. I'll do what I have to do. I'm not saying it has to be right now, just think about it, alright?" I nodded. "I will." We didn't speak for a few minutes besides the odd mumble of approval. Logan was right; just watching him enjoy the fruits

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of my labor brought me a huge amount of satisfaction. Food made me happy in a way few other things did. Maybe it really was time. Gazing out at the dessert, I began to understand why he liked it here so much. It gave off this amazing sense of peace. Nothing moved in that space. It was just the world, pure and open before us. If I ignored the hum of the city to our backs, it was easy to imagine that we were the last people on the planet. You'd think that would be a scary thought, but it wasn't. A simple life with him was the most perfect thing I could imagine. "Tell me about your restaurant," he said, as he began loading up his plate for round three. "What?" "If you were to open a restaurant, what would it be like? I know you, Grace. There's no way you haven't thought about this."

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I couldn't help but smile. He was right. You know how some girls plan their dream wedding from the time they're old enough to twirl their hair at a boy? Well that was me, except replace "twirl my hair at a boy" with "pick up a wooden spoon," and "wedding" with "restaurant." I went through phases of course — the angsty fusion place where everything is a foam or a deconstruction, the ultra-hip and minimalist modern Japanese den, the eco-friendly vegan hang out — but once I left the hormones behind, I settled on something and haven't looked back. "It would be Italian. Lots of pasta, pizza, garlic, prosciutto. Real comfort food. I want it to be the kind of place you're just as happy ducking down to for a weeknight meal as you are booking a romantic Saturday dinner for two. And it wouldn't be too big; thirty or forty seats. Nice and friendly. I want regular customers that know me by name and come in and order the same thing every

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week. Of course, I'll also have three Michelin Stars and be in Bon Appétit magazine and I'll be friends with Heston Blumenthal and Ferran Adria and go to all kinds of parties with them." His expression had grown increasingly confused as I talked. "I'm not sure what any of those last things you said are, but the restaurant sounds good." I laughed. "Yes, yes it does." A few minutes later, Logan pushed his plate forward. "Well, I'm officially stuffed." "Hopefully not too much. There's still dessert." "Seriously?" I nodded. "Back at my place." His expression turned sly. "Do I get a choice of options? Because I think I know what I want." The way he ran his eyes up and down my body left little doubt about what he was referring to, but I decided to play dumb. "Of

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course there's a choice." I stood up to begin packing. "What sort of thing are you in the mood for? There's cake, there's ice cream—" Logan interrupted me by rising to his feet, stepping closer and scooping me up in his arms. A tingle rolled through me. Christ he was strong. "You know what I'm in the mood for." He kissed me, our lips parting, our tongues colliding in a delicious flurry of passion. Heat prickled my skin. I had to restrain myself from just letting go completely then and there. One kiss from him was all it took to undo me. No man had ever made me so shameless before. "Well, how about you come back home with me," I said, breaking away, "and then you can have whatever your heart desires." He pressed his forehead against mine, staring intently into my eyes. "That sounds perfect."

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Joy's friend Brad had graciously agreed to come and pick up our gear once we were done, so I sent him a text to let him know we'd be down soon. Despite the fact that it had taken Joy and I three trips to move everything up the hill, with Logan there, it took only one. I would probably have been embarrassed if it wasn't such a fantastic excuse to watch him lift and bend. His body barely strained at all, even when it was laden down with the table and both chairs. "You guys need a ride anywhere?" asked Brad. "I think we're fine to walk," I said, glancing at Logan. "We've got a meal to work off." The twinkle in his eye said he really wanted to make a joke about the way we were planning on doing that, but instead he just said, "We definitely do." "Alright, suit yourselves." "Thanks, Brad."

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My apartment was a couple of miles away. We spent most of the walk in silence, enjoying the night air. A current was running below my skin, the promise of what was to come filling my mind. I loved that he had the ability to do that to me, to hijack my senses and blanket everything in passion and electricity. That anticipation was almost as good as the real thing. We arrived at my apartment, and I reached for my keys, but Logan stepped closer, seizing my hands and pressing my back against the door, pinning me in place. I felt his lips brush my neck, his mouth darting up to nip my ear lobe. We hadn't even made it inside and he was already all business. "You know, you've got some desert on you," he said, stroking my hip softly. I glanced down and noticed he was right. We'd kicked up a fair bit of dust on our little trek,

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some of which was now clinging to our clothes. "So do you," I replied. "You're right. We're both filthy. Who knows where else it's gotten. There's only one thing to do." "There is?" I asked breathily, barely able to focus on his voice at all. How the hell could he talk while still doing so much with his mouth? The man had serious skills. "Yep. We need a shower." The way he said "we" sent a pulse of desire straight down to my sex. The idea of getting him all naked and soapy was an incredible turn on. "You know, I think you're right." I couldn't get the key in the lock fast enough. We made our way awkwardly down the corridor, giggling as we tried to walk, make out and shed clothing all at once. By the time I had the water running, we were both naked. I took a moment to marvel at his

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body once more, those pecs, that perfect V, his beautiful cock that was already growing before my eyes. Logan was every woman's fantasy, and he was completely mine. The lust on his face as he gazed at me said he felt the same. "Fuck you're beautiful." I loved how sexy he made me feel. After steeping myself in self-loathing for so long, it was incredible to actually feel good about myself. "Right back at you," I said. His mouth curled into a smirk. "It's time for you to get wet." "Might be a little late for that," I cooed, stepping under the water. "Is that so? Well, I'll need to see proof." He followed me in, seizing my hair in his hands and bringing his lips crashing into mine. I reached for him, letting my fingers play across the taut coils of his shoulders. His skin was already hot and slippery, and it felt incredible beneath my touch.

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Logan broke away, reaching for the soap and wash cloth. "Let's get you cleaned up." "I think that's a good idea," I replied, almost giddy with anticipation. He took his time, as I knew he would, starting at my shoulders and working his way down in slow circles. My breasts and my butt he ignored at first, covering the less erotic parts of my body in a thick lather. Even that contact felt amazing — the heat of the water, the slickness of the soap, the rough cloth, it was an incredibly sensual experience. The reverence with which he touched me set my heart soaring. I'd never been so lavished upon before. "That's a good start," he said eventually, "but some parts of you are going to require special attention." "Whatever you think is best," I said. He dropped the cloth on the floor and began rubbing the soap in both hands,

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coating them, then he was reaching for my chest. Jesus Christ it felt incredible. My breasts slipped through his hands like they were liquid themselves. The roughness of his palms was still there, but it was tempered by the moisture and the foaming suds. Despite the heat, my nipples were hard peaks, and he honed in on them, stroking and teasing until I thought my body was going to catch fire. I closed my eyes and threw my head back under the shower stream, reveling in the host of sensations that were coursing through me. His hands dropped to my hips and spun me around until my back was to him. "Put your palms against the wall," he said. I did as he asked without even thinking. The more commanding he became during sex, the more I enjoyed it. He was so powerful, so in control, and there was something wonderfully sexy about giving in to that.

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I heard him drop to his knees behind me and a shiver rolled up my spine as his hands went to my ass. "You have no idea how sexy you look like this," he said. With almost torturous slowness, he began to massage my cheeks, squeezing and caressing as they slid through his grip. His fingertips were incredibly close to my sex, and every motion would cause them to brush against me ever so softly, drawing sharp little moans from my mouth. "I believe you needed to see proof of something," I said, doing my best to keep my voice even. He chuckled. "I did, didn't I?" This time he didn't make me wait. His finger slipped inside me with ease, and all the muscles at my core tightened, savoring that foreign sensation. "You weren't kidding," he said, his voice now heavy with lust.

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His free hand rose to my ass once more, spreading my cheeks, while his thumb looped underneath to tease my clit. My knees shook. Most other guys I'd been with had been timid down there, but Logan worked with the dexterity of a master, his hands moving in perfect harmony. I'd never felt anything like it, a tantalizing chorus of sensations that seemed to immerse my entire body. A second finger joined the first, curling deep, teasing parts of me I hadn't even known existed, and my hips pushed against him in response, trying to force him deeper still. Already, there was a pressure building inside me. That luscious foreplay had left my body on a hair trigger. But before I reached that crest, he slipped out of me. "I think you're clean enough," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. I started to object, but he rose to his feet, pressing himself against me, and suddenly all I could think about was the throbbing heat that was

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digging into my back. "Me on the other hand, I'm still extremely dirty." I turned to face him. "That's true," I said, grazing my hand across his chest. "This will require a fair bit of work, but I think I'm up to the challenge." The prospect of getting to explore that body in detail was irresistible. I scooped up the soap and began. His muscles still felt impossibly hard, and I took my time dragging my fingers through every groove and channel. Every part of him was so well defined. The man had eight abs, for Christ's sake. I didn't even realize that was possible. It was even sexier now that I knew what that body was capable of. He wasn't just big for aesthetics' sake. This was real strength, potent and dangerous. I could almost feel that latent power lurking just below the surface. Like he had, I took my time, occasionally brushing his cock, but never actually taking it in my hands. I loved the way his body

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tensed at those brief moments of contact. I think he was almost as ready to explode as I was. But I wasn't ready to give up my toy just yet. Like he'd done to me, I spun him around, turning my attention to the mountainous landscape of his back. I teased him, brushing my breasts across his skin while my hands cupped his ass. And, my God, what an ass it was. Tight and firm and perfectly proportioned. When a guy looks that sexy from behind, you know you've found something special. Finally, I was done waiting. "Maybe you should turn back around," I said. "With pleasure." I dropped to my knees and wrapped two soapy hands around his length. He let out a long growl. There was something intensely erotic about being on the ground before such a ferocious man, gradually bringing him undone. His hips pumped gently as I

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stroked him, my slickened hands gliding effortlessly over that hot skin. Somehow, he continued to grow, that gorgeous mushroom head swelling and pulsing in my grip. I wanted him so badly. All I could think about was what it was going to feel like fucking me. Soon enough, I got my wish. His hand shot down to catch my wrist, and I expected him to make another joke about cleanliness, but the way his eyes smoldered said the time for jokes was past. "I need to be inside you," he said, and without even waiting for a reply, he pulled me to my feet, looped his hands under my legs and lifted me until my head was level with his. Locking his lips over mine once more, he took a step forward to put my back against the wall, and then he slammed himself inside of me. The whole motion happened so quickly, I barely had time to react. The sheer ferocity of it, that primal explosion, lit a fire

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underneath my skin. He held me against the wall like I weighed nothing at all, his mouth plundering mine while he rammed himself up inside me. I could feel every iron inch of him as he sheathed himself deeper and deeper. A low rumble was emanating from his chest, rolling through his body and into my own. I'd never felt so taken before, so completely possessed. His body looked spectacular in this position. The strain of supporting me was doing all manner of incredible things to his chest and arms. Every part of him trembled and flexed. Despite the roughness of his motions, it was an incredibly sensual experience. The chill of the tiles, the steam misting my skin, the air swirling around us, hot and heavy. I was utterly lost in the moment. Lost in him. I felt my orgasm beckoning in the distance, and Logan seemed to sense it.

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"Look at me," he barked, pressing his head to mine once more. "I want you to look at me when I make you come." I didn't really have a choice. Those spectacular eyes seemed to hold me in a trance. My world ignited, everything inside me exploding as waves of ecstasy rolled through every muscle. And all the while, Logan watched, masculine satisfaction flaring in his eyes. "You are so fucking gorgeous when you do that," he said, as my cries finally subsided. He slipped out of me, leaving an aching emptiness between my legs, and lowered me to the ground. He was still rock hard, and unless I'd somehow missed it, he hadn't come yet. "We're not done already are we?" He shook his head, smiling like I'd said something hilarious. "I'm not done with you yet, Grace. I'll never be done with you." Now that I liked the sound of.

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"I just want to have you another way. I want to watch you ride me." He turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. "Come and get dry." I enjoyed the sight of him toweling off for several seconds, then found one of my own, and soon he was leading me to the bedroom. He sat on the bed, bringing his head perfectly level with my breasts, drawing first one and then the other into his mouth. I responded by reaching out and wrapping his length in my fingers once more. Despite the break in proceedings, his excitement hadn't faded even a little. I didn't think I'd ever get sick of touching him. He played with me like that for half a minute, coaxing the coals inside me back to life, then spun me around so I stood between his legs with my back to him. "Fuck me, Grace. I want to watch that ass bob up and down on my cock."

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I was only too happy to oblige. With one hand resting on his leg for support, I used the other to guide him inside me. A thunderous moan escaped his lips. I rode him slowly, savoring that fullness, the way he spread me open, the feel of skin on skin. I loved the way he seized control, but this was exciting too. It made me feel powerful and incredibly sexy, having him just lie there while I drove us both to ecstasy. He didn't last long. As his climax took hold, his hands shot out to seize my hips, driving me down, impaling me on that shaft as deep as possible. I clenched my muscles, milking him, until he collapsed backward with a long sigh. "That was incredible," he said. I lifted myself off and turned to face him, my lips curling in a cheeky smile. "Was? Who says I'm done with you?" He stared at me with amazement painted on his face as I climbed back on top,

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this time facing him. His cock was finally softening, but it began to swell once more as I pushed it back inside myself. He let out a short hiss, no doubt still sensitive from what had just happened, but he didn't stop me. Instead he leaned up into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close until our chests were touching. "My mistake," he said. "Please continue." I rode him faster now, pumping my hips back and forward rather than up and down, grinding my clit against him. Despite having nothing behind his back, Logan stayed upright, supporting himself with the strength of his abs alone. His stubble grazed across my skin as he brought his mouth to meet mine, kissing me passionately. It was such an intimate position, our eyes locked just an inch apart, our bodies knotted together as if they were a single entity.

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We came together, a wordless eruption, each of us clawing at the other's backs and crying each other's names. The connection I felt in that moment was devastatingly intense. It almost brought tears to my eyes. Logan didn't speak for a long time after. He just stared up at the ceiling with a strange expression playing across his face. "What's going on up there?" I asked. He blinked, as though coming back from somewhere far away. "Nothing. I just...Thank you for this," he said. "You have no idea what it means to me. And I'm not just talking about the sex, I mean the picnic, everything. It's been a long time since anyone went out of their way like this for me. This has been one of the best nights of my life." "Me too," I replied. "I kind of don't want it to end."

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He grinned. "I guess you'll just have to make feasts for me more often then, won't you?" "Only if you promise to follow it up like this every time." "You have yourself a deal." He continued to stare at me, the smile gradually dropping from his face. It was a searching look, his eyes scanning mine as though he was trying to see below the surface, to uncover whatever secrets still lay hidden. "I was thinking about you," he said. "What?" "Before, you asked what was going on up here. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how you're the most amazing person I've ever met. You don't judge me, you don't recoil, or run, or patronize. I feel normal around you, and that's something I never thought I'd have again. A few months ago, this TPW shit would have left me on the

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floor — hell, it might even have left me reaching for a bottle — but you were right about what you said the other day. Fighting isn't the only thing I've got any more. Now I've got you too, and that makes me the luckiest guy on the planet." He paused with his lips drawn tight. I could feel the weight of whatever he was going to say next hanging in the air. My skin tingled with it. "I'm falling in love with you, Grace. It may be too early to say that, and it fucking scares the hell out of me, but it's true." I closed my eyes, pushing back the heat that was rising behind them. I hadn't thought of it in those terms, but the moment the words left his mouth, I knew I felt the same way. Logan made me happier than I could ever remember being. He got me in a way that nobody else did, in a way that made me forget all my pain and guilt and just let me focus on what was good in my life. When

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I thought of the future, I couldn't picture one without him. "You're not the only who's afraid. I've never felt anything like this before. I feel awful for saying that, but it's true. I love you too." Four words had never tasted so bittersweet. Our lips met, and it felt like magic. Pure fairytale bliss. I didn't understand how we'd navigated the pitfalls of our past without tumbling into the abyss, but somehow we'd made it. It no longer felt like a betrayal. It felt like a new beginning, and for that I couldn't have been more thankful.

Chapter Nineteen Logan Three days before I was due to fight again, the confirmation came through. Task had poached my new opponent — a young guy named Trevor who I'd never faced before. Charlie had taken his time finding a replacement for Johnny, hoping to give Task as little warning as possible, but apparently it did no good. The man was watching us like a hawk. When I heard the news, any hopes that maybe this was just a short term thing were shattered. Task was going to keep fucking with me. My fighting career was effectively on hold unless I did something. I spent a few days flitting between rage and depression. Occasionally, I even found myself eyeing the bottles shelved behind the bar at Charlie's. On the outside, it tends to look like I've got my shit together, but the truth is it's a constant struggle. Alcoholism

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isn't cured, it's just held at bay. It had been over a year since my last drink, but there were plenty of moments in there where the desire for a few fingers of scotch was almost overpowering. I think this might have been the thing to knock me off the wagon, if not for Grace. She was right; fighting wasn't all I had anymore. I still wanted it, still craved that adrenaline, but I wasn't empty without it, either. Grace was filling the void inside me, giving me something to live for besides the next punch. I still couldn't believe I'd said those words to her. I'd never expected to say them to anyone again. But it was true, I loved her, and for whatever bizarre reason, she loved me too. Whenever I felt like reaching for a bottle, I thought back to that picnic out in the desert, and I couldn't help but smile. She'd given me one of the best nights of my life, and that was just the beginning. I could

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see a whole future ahead of us, a future of nights just like that one. I couldn't ruin that by breaking down again. I owed it to her. Besides, as long as I had Grace, things were far from hopeless. Preparing all that food seemed to trigger something inside her. She was spending more and more of her free time in the kitchen. Almost every day, when she arrived at the gym, she had some new delicacy for me. Tony's frown grew a little bigger each day, but I wasn't going to tell her to stop. I loved seeing her so happy and full of life. It was becoming increasingly clear that she didn't belong behind a bar. I hoped she'd follow through on trying to get back into the restaurant game. That way, at least one of us would be doing what they loved.

Chapter Twenty Grace Two days after our desert meal, Logan greeted me at the gym looking extra pleased with himself. "What's that look for?" I asked, dumping my bag in the corner. "What look?" he asked innocently. "That stupid little smile on your face, the one that makes you look like a twelve year old that has just stolen all the cookies." It was kind of an adorable look, to tell you the truth. "Now why would I need to steal the cookies when I've got you to bake them for me?" "Are you sure you still do?" He pouted, which somehow managed to make him look even cuter. "That's a low blow. Okay, how about a compromise. You promise to keep up the supply of sugar and,

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after your workout, I'll tell you what your surprise is." "You, sir, have a deal." I began my circuit. After several months of constant exercise, I was finally seeing some reward for my effort. No longer did my body complain after ten minutes of strain. My muscles now slipped seamlessly into rhythm, driving me forward, reveling in the exertion. My lungs still burned, but it was a pleasant ache rather than the agony of those first few weeks. I was even starting to develop a little definition in my arms and back, something I never thought would happen. That said, my mad guns were still nothing compared to Logan's. The way he threw his entire body into every activity was a sight to behold. If he was running, it was at a dead sprint. If he was boxing, he left only the tiniest pause between combos. Everything he did was designed to push his body to its absolute limit, and the more I understood how

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hard he was working, the sexier I found it. This was a man with a purity of purpose unlike any other. Of course it helped that that purpose left him a taut, ripped, broadshouldered god. I finished my final exercise and wandered over casually, trying not to seem too eager to claim my prize. Logan was practicing strikes with Tony; landing short, sharp combos of fists and elbows against pads that were strapped to the older man's hands. Tony shot me a warning look as I approached. He'd actually warmed a little to me lately — which meant I warranted a nod hello instead of just a grunt — but he was still incredibly protective of Logan's training time. He hated anyone interrupting a set. After another thirty seconds or so, Tony dropped his hands and Logan stepped back. "You're getting fit," he said, glancing over at me. "You don't even look winded."

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I shrugged. "I had a good trainer. Now, I believe you mentioned something about a surprise." "I did, didn't I?" He paused dramatically. "I got you a job interview." "I've already got a job." "Not like this one." I realized what he was saying. "Holy crap. You mean in a restaurant?" He nodded. "It's got a kitchen and everything." "Oh my god. How? Where?" "Charlie's been in this town a long time. He knows people. I had him ask if any kitchens were hiring, and this morning someone got back to him." God, my debt to Charlie just kept growing. For a man who barely knew me, he'd done an awful lot to help me in times of need. "The restaurant is called The Apollo," he continued. "It's a little Greek place just off

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the Strip. They're looking for a new junior chef and they agreed to speak with you, see if you're a good fit." "But they haven't even looked at my resume." He shrugged. "They'll want to, but the owner trusts Charlie. That said, it's not a guarantee. His word gets you in the door, but you have to do the rest." "Wow, okay." It was a lot to digest. I'd told Logan I was ready, that I was going to start looking, but I hadn't expected things to move so fast. I figured I had a little time to adjust to the idea while I got my resume in order and started hunting. Instead, he'd just thrown something into my lap. "You alright?" he asked. I pushed my fears aside. This was a fantastic opportunity. I hadn't had a drink in months, things with Logan were going great — this was the next step to getting my life back on track.

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"Yeah," I said, beaming up at him. "I'm great." I slipped in close and embraced him. "Thank you so much, Logan." "You're welcome. And all I ask for in payment is free meals whenever I want." I laughed. "I'm not sure that's how it works." "Fine, I'll settle for seeing you smile, then." "Now that I can do." ***** The Apollo was a super cute little place tucked in the back of an old strip mall. It had the kind of homey decor that made you feel like you were just eating in someone else's living room; colorful table cloths, mismatched furniture, paintings on the walls. I liked it immediately. My interview was set for three o'clock — right between the lunch and dinner rushes — but, despite the hour, more than half the tables were occupied when I arrived. I

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imagined that during peak times the place absolutely packed out. As I was led out back to meet the chef, I found my mind already analyzing everything I saw, dissecting dishes, studying the wait staff, trying to get a picture of how the place was run. Restaurants come in many flavors: cheap and hurried, lavish and exorbitant, dim and quiet and romantic. The Apollo had a good vibe, relaxed and competent. Smiling staff, simple plating, generous serving sizes — it was exactly the sort of place I enjoyed. The maître d stopped outside the door. "He's expecting you." "Thanks," I replied. As I passed the threshold to the kitchen, I felt a flutter of nerves. Logan was right, I was ready for this, and God knows I wanted it, but that didn't make me immune to a little old-fashioned apprehension. Job interviews are intense at the best of times, and I still wasn't sure how I'd handle the pressure.

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There was also the small matter of my ungracious exit from my last position. I had no idea how much my new potential boss knew, but the last year of my life wasn't exactly employee of the month material. The chef was standing in the middle of the kitchen armed with an iPad and a frown. Checking stock, most likely. People don't understand how difficult it is to run a commercial kitchen. There's so much more to it than just cooking. Every day requires precise planning. Buy too little of an ingredient and you run out halfway through the night, but buy too much and it can wind up spoiling, taking a huge chunk out of your profits. You need to get the balance just right. Multiply that calculation by the number of dishes on the menu, and you have a ridiculous number of balls in the air. "I'll be with you in just a sec," said the chef, not even glancing up. He was a portly

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man of about fifty, with graying curls and olive skin. After thirty seconds, he let out a long sigh then set the tablet down. "Grace, is it?" "Yes, sir." He let out a wry laugh. "No need for that. Name's Milo." He extended a hand. I shook it, feeling some of the tension bleed from my muscles. It was a friendlier welcome than I'd been expecting. Chefs are notorious for being surly, basically around the clock. It comes with the territory. "Good to meet you," I replied. He nodded toward a door at the back of the room. "I need to get off my feet for a few minutes. Let's sit." I followed him into a cramped little office. "Now," he continued, "Charlie tells me you're looking for work." "Yep." "Okay, so why don't you tell me a little about yourself."

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And so I passed over my resume and then gave him the CliffsNotes on my training and experience. He sat and listened, occasionally glancing down at my qualifications, not giving away anything. "I know Le Pelican" he said, when I finished telling him about my last job in Vegas. "Is Jason still in the kitchen there?" "As far as I know," I said cautiously. Jason was the sous chef during my time there. He was also the guy that fired me. "So why did you leave?" I felt a surge of panic. If he knew people from Le Pelican, any story I made up would be pointless. All Milo had to do was pick up the phone and the truth would come out. Jason had seemed sorry about firing me, and I doubt he held a vendetta, but that didn't mean he'd lie for me, either. I had no choice but to put my cards on the table. "Honestly, I was let go. I lost my fiancé shortly before it happened and I wasn't

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dealing with it very well. I don't blame them; I wasn't fit to work at the time." His expression turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss." "Thank you." "And I appreciate your honesty." I nodded, waiting for the "but" that seemed sure to follow. He licked his lips. "What about now? Do you think you're fit to work?" "I do. I'm in a much better place. I've been working at Charlie's for a few months, just getting back on my feet. It's been great, but I'm ready to jump back into doing what I really love." I neglected to mention that I had been moments away from losing that job, too. I assumed Charlie wouldn't ask around on my behalf only to go telling everyone about my drinking, but I couldn't know for sure.

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Milo studied me for several seconds. He had shrewd eyes. I didn't know if that was good or bad for me. Eventually he clapped his hands. "Well, Le Pelican wouldn't have hired you unless you knew your way around a kitchen, which makes me inclined to give you a chance. I'll put you on a one week trial. Can you start tomorrow?" I found myself grinning like an idiot. "I'm not sure. I'll have to check with Charlie." Milo got to his feet. "Okay, do that and let me know. And hopefully I'll see you tomorrow." "I'll do that. Thank you. Thank you so much." I walked back out onto the street in a daze. I couldn't believe it had been that easy. I had a job! For the first time in forever, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be. *****

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The Apollo felt like a dream come true. I was a little shaky at the beginning, but after a few hours I found my rhythm and everything started coming back to me. It was so good to be back where I belonged. The sounds, the smells, the hustle and bustle — it all felt like home. The work was hard, but I'd been expecting that, and the other staff were all super friendly, which made it much more tolerable. "You better not forget about little old me, slaving away back here at the bar," said Joy, when I was filling her in on my first day. "What the hell are you talking about?" She shrugged. "You're with your people now. Soon you'll be off having soufflé parties and dipping oysters in fois gras while laughing about micro herbs, or whatever it is you foodies do." "Okay — first, if I ever do any of that, you have my permission to hit me." "Noted."

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"And second, you're being an idiot. Of course I'm not going to forget about you! We broke ice cream together, remember? We're basically blood-sisters." She grinned. "That's true." The smile slid from my face. "Seriously, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your friendship, Joy. I don't know if I'd have gotten through all of this without you. We'll hang out just as much as we did before, I promise." That seemed to mollify her, and before long we were discussing the finer points of The Bachelor and gorging on cooking chocolate. It felt good to know things weren't going to change too much. I liked the life I'd built. I didn't get home most days until after eleven, but Logan made some adjustments to his training schedule, and true to his word, we still found a few hours for one another here and there. I think it might have been more difficult if he'd had any upcoming

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fights, but that asshole from TPW still hadn't let up. Logan was effectively locked out. He did his best to stay in high spirits, but I could see that it was weighing on him. I hated how powerless I was to help. He'd done so much for me, but now he was in trouble and all I could do was sit there and twiddle my thumbs. I resolved to talk to Charlie and try to come up with a plan. When I'd been at The Apollo for a week, I decided that it was time to explore a little. There were a ton of cute little shops in the neighboring area, and it had been a long time since my wardrobe had received any sort of love. During my lunch break, I scoffed down a quick bowl of pasta and then headed outside. It was a warm afternoon, and the streets around me were thick with cars. I plugged in my headphones, cranked up some Rihanna and headed for the crosswalk. There was a text from Logan waiting for me on my phone.

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Movie at my place later? I have ice cream. I smiled. He knew the way to my heart. The pedestrian light turned green, so I began to cross as I replied. I got less than halfway before it happened. If I'd been looking up, perhaps I'd have seen the car coming. If my ears had been free, perhaps I'd have heard it. As it was, though, the only warning I had was a brief moment of terror as the roar of the engine finally penetrated my music. I had just long enough to realize that the sound was far too loud and far too close to be an idling car, and then something slammed into me and the world went black.

Chapter Twenty One Logan I didn't remember the ride to the hospital. There was a phone call, and then everything just went dark. All I have from that period is an overpowering sense of terror. I've never felt something so all-encompassing before, like I was submerged in it a hundred feet down. I wanted to keep sinking, to go so deep that the darkness swallowed me, drowned me. Anything was better than what I was feeling at that moment. But, of course, it wasn't that easy. Somehow, I got there without incident. The doctors couldn't tell me much. They used words like "critical condition" and "surgery," and a hundred others that all just blurred together to tell me that everything was fucked. "All we can do is wait," they said. And so that's what I did. Everything about the hospital was too bright, too vivid, like some horrible lucid

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nightmare. The sickly white of the walls seemed to leer at me, sucking the life from my muscles. Antiseptic stung my nostrils. I hate those places. I hate how haunted they feel, like there's an army of ghosts cursing and wailing in every shadow. Nowhere is closer to death. Charlie was there with me. Joy too. I think maybe they took me there, although I couldn't be sure. They talked and tried to calm me, but they were dim and blurry and unimportant. Only one person existed for me at that moment, and she was fighting for her life somewhere in a room full of strangers. They wouldn't let me see her. I wasn't sure I could handle it if they did. My stomach churned. I had an overpowering urge to do something, like I could talk or think or fight my way through this. I wanted to force my way into the operating theater and command the doctors to save her. I wanted to find the guy who'd hit her

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and beat him to a bloody pulp. But none of that would make any difference. This was out of my hands. It made me feel so impotent, so helpless. Everything was coming full circle. I'd spent years drowning in death and blood and loss, more than any man should have to tolerate. And when it was all over, I promised myself I was done with that. I couldn't handle any more. People died. It was a fact of life. But I didn't have to be close to them. I didn't have to care. And then she'd come along, and suddenly that wasn't true anymore. I tried to fight it, God knows I did, but it was like wrestling gravity, a pointless battle. I think I was lost the moment I met her. Part of me had been expecting this from day one. Nothing ever lasts, I knew that. The most painful thing wasn't that this happened. It was that I let myself believe that maybe it wouldn't.

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"This isn't fair," I said, to no one in particular. The words didn't feel adequate. It was well beyond unfair. If there was anything resembling karma in the universe, it surely owed me better than this. I'd paid my fucking dues a thousand times over. Charlie let out a weary sigh. Right now, he looked every bit of his fifty five years. "No, it's not." "A fucking car." I shook my head. "It doesn't make any sense." This wasn't supposed to happen here. There were no bullets, no IEDs. This was the real world, where people were supposed to be able to walk down the street without thinking twice. It was meant to be safe here. Except now I saw that for the bullshit it was. Death lurked around every corner. Maybe it wouldn't come today, or tomorrow, but it would come. I'd lose her eventually. That was a guarantee. "She's strong. She'll get through this," said Joy, although I'm not sure if it was for

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my benefit or hers. I wanted to believe her, but I'd been in this situation too many times before. Hope is a dangerous thing. When the pain came — and it would — it made things so much worse. What felt like a lifetime later, someone coughed from the doorway. My eyes darted up. "She's out of theater," the doctor said. He was new, maybe one of the ones who'd actually been in surgery with her. He looked like I felt; skin pale, eyes sunken, fingers trembling. A wreck of a man. I couldn't even ask the question. My lips wouldn't form the words. I just stared. Charlie took the reins. "How is she?" The doctor ran a hand over his face. "We did what we could, relieved the pressure in her head. Her internal injuries were severe, a lot of bleeding, a punctured lung, several broken bones. For now, she's stable. When her body recovers a little, we'll take

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her back in for more surgery. In the meantime, all we can do is wait." Hearing that phrase again made something snap inside me. "I've been waiting for hours!" I yelled, shooting to my feet. "Is that really the best you can do? You're doctors, you're meant to have more to offer than that!" I knew I sounded like an asshole, but it didn't matter. All the emotion bubbling away inside me needed an outlet or it was going to destroy me. The doctor took my attack with wellpracticed tolerance. "I know this is hard, and I'm sorry I don't have better news. Unfortunately, it's a slow process. We can only do so much before we start doing more harm than good. She's young and healthy, and that helps. Now she needs time to heal. Try to stay positive." I wanted to say more. I wanted to scream and yell and tear him limb from limb,

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but a solid hand fell on my shoulder and squeezed, and I felt something loosen in my chest. "We appreciate everything you've done," said Charlie from behind me. It wasn't this man's fault. He was just trying to help. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "Can we see her?" I asked. He nodded. "She's not conscious, but I can take you to her room." The walk felt impossibly tiring. We were led through a maze of sterile corridors and murmuring voices, until the doctor eventually stopped outside a closed door. "This is it. I should warn you, she's been through a lot. She isn't going to look like herself." I nodded, words failing me again. "I have other patients to check in on, but you can call a nurse if you need anything."

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I stood by the door for what felt like a lifetime. I didn't want to see this. It made the whole nightmare so real. Charlie sensed my hesitation. "Maybe we should come back—" "No." I couldn't break. Grace needed me. I reached for the handle. The doctor was right. The girl in the bed barely resembled the Grace I knew. Her body was a terrifying network of gauze, tape and tubes. I stepped closer, struggling to breathe as my eyes tracked across bruised skin, a sickening collage of cuts and purple swelling. She seemed impossibly small. I wanted to scoop her up and pull her against me, but she looked like she might fall apart at the slightest breeze. It was a horrifying sight, but not an unfamiliar one. I swallowed hard as my mind traveled involuntarily back to Ace. He'd looked like Grace did now: a broken, unnatural shadow

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of who he used to be. That room could have been a twin of the one I stood in now. Stale light, sparse furniture, a wall of machines whirring and beeping while they fought to keep death at bay. I sat in that room with him for twenty four hours, praying and begging anyone that would listen to save him. But it did no good. He slipped away. They always slip away. I realized I was shaking. Not just a tremble, but an uncontrollable, body-wracking convulsion. This was a mistake. I couldn't be here. I couldn't do this again. I'd promised myself I wouldn't have to. If it were anyone else, I think maybe I'd have been okay. I could have summoned that comfortable numbness and let it all just wash over me. But I couldn't watch Grace die. Not her. I wouldn't survive that. In a heartbeat I was through the door and then out onto the street. Joy was yelling something behind me, but it was just noise

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in the background. Everything inside me was at war. Guilt surged in my stomach. Leaving was a betrayal. It was the worst thing I'd ever done. I tried to will my legs to stop, but they wouldn't. I wasn't strong enough to be there for her, just like I hadn't been strong enough to reject her, and now we were both going to pay the price.

Chapter Twenty Two Grace Everything hurt. For a while, that was all I was aware of. I drifted in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of the world along the way. Concerned voices, crying, people poking and prodding. I knew I should be able to put all of that together into a picture of what was happening, but my brain wasn't working properly. I felt like I were floating, and any time I tried to grasp a concrete thought it just drifted away on the wind. I wasn't even sure I was awake at all. It felt like a dream. Time passed. I couldn't say how long. Gradually, I began to become more lucid. I opened my eyes to find myself lying on a bed in a drab white room. There was a TV bolted to the wall in one corner and a bag of clear fluid hanging near my right arm. A hospital. I felt an inordinate amount of happiness that I managed to find that word.

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As the fog faded from my mind, questions began to replace it. What the hell had happened to me? Despite the giddy euphoria that wrapped my mind like a warm blanket, I could tell something was seriously wrong. There was an undercurrent of pain lapping just below the surface, held at bay but not vanquished. A quick glance down at my torso confirmed my fears. At first, I felt like I were looking at someone else. My body was all bandages and bones. I almost laughed at how ridiculous it was, to think it might belong to me. I couldn't possibly be this thin, this damaged. I tried to drag myself into a sitting position, but even that slight movement sent a lance of agony through my chest. I groaned, and then coughed. My throat felt like someone had used it to sand back a chair. Perhaps it really was my body. A few moments later, a nurse appeared in the doorway. "Easy now," she said,

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striding over to check my wounds. "You've been through a lot. You need to move slowly." She was a kind looking woman of about forty, and she wore one of those genuinely compassionate smiles that seems like it would take a hurricane to remove. "What happened?" I rasped, sounding like a lifetime smoker on her deathbed. Panic was rising in my stomach now. All I'd done was shift my body a few inches and it felt like I'd torn myself in half. She studied me for several seconds, as if assessing how much truth I could take. "You were in an accident, but you're going to be fine. The doctor will be very happy to see you awake and talking." That didn't ring any bells at all. The last thing I remembered was leaving my shift at The Apollo. "How long?" I asked, feeling my eyes growing heavy. She was right. I needed to

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take it easy. Even the simple act of talking was exhausting. The nurse licked her lips. "Three weeks." Three weeks. God. That was terrifying. An entire chunk of my life effectively gone without a trace. I sucked in a long breath and summoned what energy I had left, but everything was already dimming at the edges. "Logan?" "I'll call your friends. In the meantime, you need to rest." She didn't sound entirely comfortable anymore but, before I could ask why, the darkness took me again. ***** When I woke for the second time, it was to Joy's face. She sat on one of the chairs next to the bed, gazing out the window with a worried expression. "Hey," I said.

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She jumped, then her lips curled into a huge smile. "Oh my god, you're awake!" she squealed. "I mean, they told me you were, but still, oh my god!" She seemed to realize that half the hospital could hear her and took a moment to compose herself. "That is to say, hey." I laughed, and instantly regretted it. It felt like an army of tiny men were trying to chisel their way out of my chest. "Take a memo: no laughing," I said, when I could talk again. "I'll have to keep my razor-sharp wit in check then," replied Joy. I tried the safer option of a smile, with no ill-effects. "Indeed you will." "How do you feel?" "Honestly? Awful." She grimaced. "That sounds about right. Do you remember anything?" "Nope. Nada. What happened? All the nurse told me was 'accident.'"

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"You were hit by a car. The driver ran a red. They think maybe he was drunk, but they haven't actually caught him, yet. Three witnesses and nobody got a license plate." I should probably have been angry, but the whole situation was so unreal. With no memory of the event, I felt strangely detached from it, like it had happened to somebody else. "I find it so weird that I can just forget something that important. It creeps me out. One minute I was walking along the street, the next minute it's three weeks later and I'm here." I glanced down at my broken chest. "But then a part of me doesn't want to remember, since I imagine it hurt like hell." "I imagine so. On the plus side, they must have you on some wicked drugs." "Damn straight. I feel like I'm on a cloud, right now." In the silence that followed, I felt that little spark of good cheer evaporate. I appreciated that Joy had come, and I was super

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happy to see her, but I wasn't so intoxicated that I missed the absence in the room. She seemed to sense it too, because her expression fell. "Where's Logan?" I asked. I almost didn't want an answer. The fact that he wasn't here told me something was seriously wrong. Had he been involved in the accident too? Was he in a bed in the next room, trussed in bandages just like me? Or worse...I couldn't even finish the thought. The fact that Joy took her time choosing her words only made my anxiety worse. "He was here," she said eventually, "when it first happened. But when he came in and saw you like this, he kind of flipped out." "Flipped out?" She winced. She looked like she'd rather be doing anything else in the world than having this conversation. "He tore out of here like he was being chased by a demon. I tried

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to stop him, but it was like I didn't exist. He hasn't been back since. I'm so sorry, Grace." I felt like the ground had opened up beneath me. Logan was fine. He wasn't here by choice. "Maybe if he knows I'm awake..." The sadness on her face said more than her words. "I think he already knows." Those words hit me like a punch to the stomach. Tears stung my eyes. I understood what had happened. I'd seen Logan run like that before, that night at the theater. Something had snapped inside him. But it had been three weeks, and he hadn't returned. That didn't make any sense, not after the things we'd shared and the words we'd said. If the situation had been reversed, nothing would have kept me from his bedside for as long as it took for him to wake, but he'd left me alone, not even sure if I was going to live or die. I'd never felt so abandoned before.

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Not when my parents cut me off, not when Tom died. Nothing compared to this. "Can you just try calling him? I could speak to him." She gave a helpless shake of her head. "I don't even know how to reach him. He's not talking to anyone. He hasn't been back at the bar. He hasn't even been at the gym. Charlie can contact him, but nobody else has heard so much as a word." I wanted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep again, so I could wake up and have this all be some horrible nightmare. That's what it felt like, some impossible reality that could only be conjured by all the fears swirling in the back of my head. And then it got worse. "There's something else you should know," said Joy. "You've got some other visitors waiting for you outside." Guilt flashed across her face. "Your parents. I know you probably don't want to see them, but after

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the accident, we didn't know if...well you know. Anyway, we decided we had to track them down. I'm sorry." I shook my head slowly. At that moment, there was nobody on the planet I wanted to see less than those two people but, a few seconds later, as if reacting to some invisible cue, they came bustling into the room. "Oh my god," cried my mother when she saw me, raising her hands to her cheeks dramatically like a daytime soap star. It had been a long time, but she looked exactly as I remembered; slim, vulpine and blond as a Playboy bunny. She wore her fifty years well — with the help of a bevy of creams, dyes and toners — and even now, in her daughter's hospital room, she was dressed as though she expected a surprise charity ball to spring up around her at any moment. My father followed a moment later. "Oh, Grace," he said, shaking his head. Somehow the gesture conveyed more

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disappointment than concern, as though he were saying "you didn't listen to us and now look at you." He was older than my mother, but still looked sharp and sturdy and, like her, he was dressed to impress in a finely tailored charcoal suit. Impressions were important to my parents, even in a place like this. Perhaps especially in a place like this. I didn't know where to even begin talking to them. They knew nothing of what I'd been through, nothing about who I was now. Their intentions for showing up here were probably good, in the most warped way possible, but that didn't mean anything good would come of it. I felt that tingle at the back of my throat, that yearning for something to blot the world out. Obviously a drink wasn't possible though, so my body reacted the only way it knew how. The tears that had been ebbing from my eyes became a torrent. Of course my mother took this as a sign of

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incredible happiness, and soon I was embroiled in the most awkward, physically painful family hug in history. "Look what they've done to you," my mother said, after I'd begged them to back off. Seeing them was unnerving, almost surreal. I'd spent a lot of time since our falling out thinking of all the things I wanted to say to them, but now that the moment had arrived, I was lost for words. There was so much more going on inside me at that moment. The hurt they'd caused was a matchstick next to the bonfire left by Logan's flight. All I could muster was a tiny nod. "Are you comfortable?" my dad asked. "Do you need anything?" "I'm fine," I said, which was obviously far from true, but all I wanted was for them to leave me alone. "Really, anything at all," chimed my mother. "We're staying at a hotel just a few

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blocks away, and we'll be here as long as you need." It was creepy to have them fussing over me again like nothing had ever happened, like there wasn't a fucking enormous unacknowledged elephant taking up seventy five percent of the room. "We've been talking to the police," my dad continued. "They haven't caught the fiend that did this yet, but they're following some leads. Whoever it is won't escape justice." "That's good," I replied. I was surprised to find I didn't really care about justice or retribution. Maybe later, but it wouldn't change anything now. "I haven't seen Tom around," my father said with a trace of hesitation in his voice. My eyes darted to Joy, who just shrugged. Apparently nobody had told my parents anything more than they needed to know.

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"Tom's dead, Dad." I searched their faces for some trace of happiness, because that's how I imagined they'd react. To their credit, I found none. "I'm sorry to hear that," my father replied, his voice utterly neutral. "Are you?" Part of me knew it was a bad idea to go down that path. I barely had the energy to keep talking, much less get into an argument. But I was pissed off. I was pissed off at the world for fucking me over. I was pissed off at Logan for his betrayal. And I was pissed off at my parents for waltzing in here and acting like everything was suddenly fine again. "Just because we didn't agree with your decisions doesn't mean we don't care about your feelings." "Really? Did you think that maybe kicking me out and cutting me off might hurt my feelings just a little?"

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He didn't even have the grace to look guilty. "We were trying to help you. You have to know we've only ever wanted the best for you." The sad part was, I knew he believed that. My parents weren't cruel people, they just had an incredibly narrow perspective of the world. For them, everything fit into neat little boxes, and if something was astray, they'd push until it fit as well. I closed my eyes momentarily, feeling light headed. My mother spotted a chance to diffuse the situation. "Surely we can put aside our differences for a little while. Right now you need your family." My family was the last thing I needed, but they weren't going to leave, regardless of what I told them. They had me pinned in place for God knows how long, and they smelled blood. This was their chance to get me back on track. "Right now, I need to sleep," I replied. I desperately wanted to get rid of them, but it

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was also the truth. It was frightening how exhausted I felt after just a few minutes of conversation. "Of course," my mother said. "I've left our numbers on the table there. You call us any time, night or day." "Thanks." I wasn't sure I would actually drift off. Everything hurt, inside and out. But the moment I closed my eyes, the blackness rose up around me, familiar and welcoming.

Chapter Twenty Three Grace Charlie visited three days later. I think he'd been avoiding me, but he could hardly refuse when I had Joy ask him directly. He showed up at the door with a bunch of flowers in hand. A gentleman, even at times like these. "Oh, you didn't have to do that," I said. He shrugged. "Didn't seem right to show up empty handed." "Well, they're beautiful." He set them down on the table and sat down next to the bed. "So, how you feeling?" "Like hell," I replied. He laughed. "I'm not surprised." "The doctors say I'm lucky to be here at all though, so I'll take it, I guess." I tried to make myself sound grateful, but it was hard. The longer I was awake, the more I wished I wasn't. It would have saved me from feeling like this. The pain of Logan's absence only

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grew worse with each passing day. I kept expecting to wake up and find him perched there beside my bed, lamenting his mistake. I'd have given anything just to see his face, to hear his voice, but the chair remained empty. It was like everything that had happened between us suddenly meant nothing. The hope he'd instilled in me was revealed as a lie. I hated him for that, and I hated myself more for falling for it. Things didn't get better. There wasn't light at the end of the tunnel. I'd known that, but somehow I'd let him convince me otherwise. "Yeah, you gave us quite a scare," replied Charlie. "Some more than others, apparently." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn't an idiot, he knew why I'd asked to see him. "Why hasn't he come?" Despite my best efforts, my voice shook.

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Charlie looked away. "Grace, I don't want to get caught in the middle of this." "Well, I don't want to be trapped in a hospital bed alone with no idea what the hell is going on, but here we are." It came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn't make myself care. Next to me was the only person who might be able to give me some answers. The only real connection to Logan in the whole world. It was so frustrating. I couldn't go to him myself and look him in the eyes and ask him to make me understand. I had to rely on second hand information, pried from the mouths of hesitant friends. Conflict played across his face. "Logan hasn't said anything to me. He's not exactly a talker at the best of times, and now he's basically shut up shop completely." "But you know him. Why? Why would he just abandon me?" He let out a long sigh. "Logan's not like other people. I can't pretend like I know

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everything that goes on in that man's head — he's a mystery, even to himself — but I know the things he's been through and, like I told you, that shit leaves scars. Deep ones. The kind that can hijack your brain, make you do things you don't want to do." "I know, I mean, we talked a lot. I just thought..." I didn't know how to finish that sentence. What had I thought? That love would conquer all our problems? That we were destined to be together forever? Everything had felt so idyllic between us, but obviously that was just naivety, the calm before the storm. "I guess it wasn't what I thought it was." He chewed some invisible object for several seconds. "He does care about you, Grace. A lot. He wouldn't have reacted this way if he didn't." "Apparently not enough." I spat the words, as if I could cleanse some of the

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bitterness from my body by hurling it out into the world. "If anything, it's the opposite. I think he cared too much. I've known the man a long time. I saw him with Fi and with the others, and he never looked at any of them like he looked at you. He was...better, around you. Lighter. It worried me, because I always knew it had the potential to break him, but it was also wonderful to see. He deserved a little happiness." My heart constricted. I wanted to believe that was true but, even if I did, it only made the pain worse. It meant some problems were just insurmountable. "How is he now?" I couldn't help it. I wanted to know. Despite what he'd done, I couldn't just stop caring about him. There was a pause. "Not good. Probably the worst I've ever seen him, to tell you the truth."

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I didn't know if that made me happy or sad. Part of me wanted him to be hurting, because it meant our relationship had been real and had meant something. But, even now, I hated the idea of him being in pain. "Are you sure he won't come?" I asked. "Maybe if you just ask him again..." Charlie shook his head sadly. It was such a tiny gesture, but it crashed over me like a breaking wave. "So what do I do?" I felt this incredible sense of dread descending upon me like an avalanche. Until now, there had still been some shred of hope. I didn't even know if I could forgive Logan for what he'd done, but maybe I'd have found a way. Now that didn't matter. He wasn't coming. I was alone. I had no idea how to go on. Everything suddenly seemed hopeless. I realized I'd made all these plans for the future, and Logan was in every one. Why did this keep

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happening to me? First Tom, and now this. Once again, I was left with just the abyss. "You focus on getting better." "Why?" I asked. I really wanted him to come up with something, some tiny motivation for me to keep going. "Because Logan would want you to." I wasn't sure if that was enough.

Chapter Twenty Four Logan She was awake. She was actually awake. I couldn't fucking believe it. The last time I'd seen her, she'd been at death's door. Nobody should have survived that. Yet she had. She was expected to make a full recovery, and I wasn't there. It was the most bittersweet news I'd ever heard. When Charlie had first told me she was conscious, all I could think about was going to her. I wanted to see her smile, to touch her face, to hold her and tell her how goddamn sorry I was. But with that urge came a crippling wave of shame. She wasn't going to welcome me with open arms, not after I'd abandoned her. I'd committed the ultimate crime, one from which there was no coming back. She may not have died, but that didn't matter. For me, she was as good as gone. I seized my whiskey and took a long slug, polishing off the last fifth of the bottle.

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It burned so sweetly on its way down, and I felt my muscles relax. I hated that I was so weak. A year of fighting the booze, of fighting myself, and now it was all for nothing. I was back at square one. But what the fuck was the point in sobriety when everything had been stolen from you? My world had crumbled to dust around me. First I lost the ring, and then I lost Grace, too. Those were the only two things that kept me sane. Now, I had nothing left except an army of ghosts and regrets, clawing at me twenty-four hours a day. Deep down, I'd always known this was going to happen. Things with Grace had been too good to be true. I'd thought maybe enough time had passed that I could be the man she needed, but it was clear now how much of a fucking joke that was. I was always going to ruin this. It was just a question of when.

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I hated myself for hurting her. Nothing I'd seen on deployment compared to this. I'd betrayed the woman I loved. There was no getting over that. The only solace I could take from it was that, ultimately, she'd be better off. I'd torn myself from her life, and now she could start to rebuild without the weight of my past constantly bearing down on her. She had her family around her again. She had Joy and Charlie. She was strong, and she was going to get over it. As for me, well, I deserved everything that had come to me.

Chapter Twenty Five Grace My parents visited every day. I went through the motions, catching them up on the first year of my life out here and being caught up on New York in return. It was empty chatter, but I think it made them feel better. Plus it offered something of a distraction. At first, I avoided talking about Tom or anything that had happened since. It felt pointless to give them any more ammunition. But one day I opened my mouth and it all came spilling out. I think maybe I was challenging them, challenging the universe to shit on me one more time, but, to my surprise, I was greeted with sympathy and understanding. I don't know if they really got it, but they reacted exactly like parents should; no backhanded comments or judgmental looks, just hugs and kind words. I felt like I were eleven years old again, pouring my

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heart out to my mother after whatever pseudo-disaster had rocked my little childhood world, and it felt really good. The only thing I didn't mention was Logan. I didn't know how to begin talking about that. Some days I was angry beyond belief. I had visions of tracking him down and yelling until my throat was raw, of releasing my rage through my fists, just like he'd taught me. Other days I spent staring mutely at the ceiling, overcome by fear and confusion. Often, the urge to drink became so strong I contemplated dragging myself from my bed and crawling out the doors in search of booze, but my body was still too broken to even allow that. I had a morphine button, which let me pass some of the time in a blissful haze, but it wasn't enough. For most of my waking hours I was trapped in this hell I'd made for myself, with only my thoughts for company. I felt like nothing more than a

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passenger in my own life, being pulled along toward a future that loomed, dark and empty, ahead of me. The healing process was agonizingly slow. Aside from my multitude of external injuries, I'd broken five bones, fractured seven more and torn two tendons. Apparently it was a miracle I hadn't damaged my spine, although most days I felt like a quadriplegic nonetheless. I could barely move for all of the plaster and bandages and stitches and, for the first few weeks, even the tiniest flexing of my muscles sent a lance of pain through my system. It was terrifying. You don't understand how much you take your body for granted until it's stolen from you. All I could do was lie there while the world rolled on around me. Gradually, though, I began to heal. They moved me back on to liquid food, and then eventually solids. Everyone made out like that was a big deal, because obviously being

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able to chew steamed carrots is the epitome of achievement. It just made me feel like a child. My legs were still too damaged to allow proper walking, but once they felt I was strong enough, I began being taken for wheelchair rides around the corridors. I spent the bulk of that time fantasizing about taking control of the wheels and pushing myself out the doors. Nothing waited for me out there, but at least I'd be free to deal with it as I wanted. My position at The Apollo was filled before I even woke up. Milo sounded truly sorry over the phone, but I didn't blame him. He had a business to run, and who knew when I'd be mobile enough to actually work a shift in a kitchen again. Maybe I never would be. Ordinarily, that thought would have left me curled in the fetal position, but now it just felt like another entry on the long list of ways the world was trying to screw me.

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You know that phrase "in the blink of an eye?" Most of the time when people use it, it's an exaggeration. They just mean something happened really quickly. But in this case, it's perfectly accurate. One moment, I had everything — health, happiness, a fantastic job and a man who loved me. Then I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, all of that had been scoured away, gone in the blink of an eye. It's horrifying that everything can change so fast. About two weeks after I woke up, they caught the guy that hit me — some combination of security footage and DNA left in the car, apparently. He said he was high when it happened and he didn't even remember it properly. Funny how he could do something to me that I'd never forget, but it just slipped through his mind like water down the drain. Now that the ramifications of his actions had sunk in, my apathy had faded, replaced by a low burning rage. Whatever happened to the

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guy, it wouldn't be enough to make up for what he'd done. Joy visited most days. She did her best to cheer me up, coming armed with ice cream and Jersey Shore DVDs and a litany of stories about what was happening around the bar. I loved her for that, and the few smiles I found during my recovery were due to her efforts. She never asked about Logan, but the way she looked at me when the conversation lapsed said she understood how much his betrayal had hurt me. I think she felt as powerless as I did, in some ways, knowing there was nothing she could do to ease my pain. One day, a month or so after I'd regained consciousness, she came into my room looking grimmer than normal. She tried to hide it, but the conversation was distant and distracted. "Is everything okay?" I asked. "You seem...down."

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Her brow furrowed and she looked away, as though she was suddenly uncertain. "I saw Logan yesterday." My mouth dropped open. "What? How?" "Charlie let slip that he had him stashed away in some cabin he owns, so the other day I snuck into his office and found the address, then I drove out there." A million questions flooded my mind, so I picked one at random. "Why?" "You haven't been yourself since the accident. You put on a brave face, but I can see how much you're hurting. I was worried. I thought maybe I could convince him to come back. I know how important he was to you." I couldn't believe she'd gone to those lengths. "And what happened?" She shook her head. "It was bad. He was bad. He looked like he hadn't slept in about ten years. To be honest, I barely recognized him. He was so gaunt, and he was

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wearing these filthy clothes. I'm not sure he's actually left the cabin this whole month." "Did you talk to him?" "I tried. He told me to leave. Then when I wouldn't, he threatened to throw me out. I would have kept trying, but I think he was serious. He got all up in my face, and he didn't look like he had much self-control right now. It was eleven in the morning and he was already drunk. Judging by the bottles on the floor, he's been doing a lot of that." He'd fallen off the wagon. I guess I expected as much. Charlie had said Logan was "the worst he'd ever seen." Even though he hadn't given any more details, it told a pretty clear story. I felt a pang of sympathy, but I shoved it aside. Logan didn't deserve my pity. He'd made his choice, and now he had to suffer the consequences. I didn't know if he was driven by guilt or anger, or something else, but it was irrelevant. "Well, I appreciate the effort," I said.

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"It was worth a shot, right?" I nodded, although it felt like a lie. I wanted to believe that if he walked through the door at that moment, everything would be okay, but that just wasn't true. Too much had happened for us to have any kind of easy reconciliation. Joy's expression drooped further. "It frightened me, seeing him like that." "Why?" She hesitated for several seconds. "Because I'm scared the same thing is going to happen to you." I tried to contain my surprise. I'd never talked to Joy about my drinking. In the beginning it had just been too embarrassing, and later, I thought it was under control. Was her comment specifically about that, or just general self-destruction? "To me?" I asked carefully. "I'm not stupid, Grace. The puffy cheeks and red eyes, the constant trips out to the

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alley, the fact that you lost your last job — I can put two and two together. I know that for a while there you were drinking more than you should have. I can't say I blame you, after the things you've been through." "You never said anything." She shrugged. "I didn't want to make you feel bad. Besides, we barely knew one another. I decided I'd just be there for you, and if you wanted to talk about it you would. And then things seemed to get better, so it wasn't an issue anymore." I felt like an idiot. Logan and Charlie had both noticed, so why wouldn't Joy? "Well, I'm sorry I never told you." "It's no big deal. I wouldn't have brought it up at all, except that I'm scared. You've got that same look in your eye that you had when you first arrived at Charlie's, the one that says you don't give a damn about anything. Like I said, I can put two and two together. You and Logan started

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getting close, and you started to get better. I pick up things about the bar. I know he went through something similar, a couple of years back, so it makes sense that he helped you." "You have no idea." Her frown deepened. "And now you've been knocked on your ass again, in more ways than one. So what happens when you get out of here and you don't have him anymore?" And there it was. The question that had been bouncing around my head since I woke up. Joy had a talent for getting to the heart of things. "I don't know," I said. "My parents want me to go back to New York with them." "Do you think that will help?" "Maybe." It wouldn't. They were trying, and I was grateful for that, but they just weren't equipped to deal with this. They didn't know the extent of my drinking, and they didn't know about Logan. I could see it

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in their eyes — they thought whatever "phase" I'd been going through was over now, and they were going to get their daughter back, the one they'd always thought I should be. When they found out I was messed up beyond repair, I'd become an embarrassment, a secret to be shuttered away in rehab clinics and AA meetings. I didn't belong with them anymore. I didn't belong with anyone. Judging by the way Joy was looking at me, she knew the truth too. She sat down next to the bed and then, cupping her hands in her mouth, she let out a long sigh. "Logan looked so...broken. Like he was just passing the time waiting to die. I can't bear the thought of seeing the same thing happen to you." She sounded so sad when she said that, and I wanted to reassure her that it wouldn't, but I couldn't make myself say the words. She was right to worry. The scene she

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painted was scarily familiar. It was me from nine months ago, in the wake of Tom's death, stumbling around my apartment aimless and hammered out of my skull. I thought I had my problem under control. I didn't want to become that person again, but I could already feel the bottle beckoning me with numbing fingers. In light of everything that had happened, I didn't know if I was strong enough to hold it at bay. "Have you ever lost someone?" I asked. I couldn't reassure her, but maybe I could make her understand. She shrugged. "Grandparents, an uncle, but nobody unexpected. I've been lucky." I nodded. A year ago, I'd been in the same position. Don't get me wrong, those deaths hurt, but they're not people you see every day, and they don't come out of the blue. They don't rip through your life like wildfire. Losing a partner is something else entirely. "When Tom died, it was like the

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world had ended. There was this enormous hole inside me, and it felt like my soul was slowly draining away through it. I hated myself. I didn't want to do anything. Some days I couldn't even get out of bed. "I didn't think anything could feel worse than that, but somehow this does. Logan's not dead, but he might as well be. I can't touch his face or run my hands through his hair. I can't kiss him or hold him. I can't even speak to him. And it's not because of some mistake, or some cruel act of fate. It's because he chose not to be here. He abandoned me when I needed him the most. How am I supposed to get over that?" The last half of my speech turned to mush as tears choked my body. Crying hurt like hell, but I didn't care. I needed to let some of that emotion out or it was going to consume me. Joy took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know, I know. He's an asshole."

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"Charlie says he still cares about me," I said, when I could talk again. "In fact, he said he cares too much, that's why he ran off." "Well, maybe he's right. It's been six weeks and, like I said, Logan looked absolutely awful. I'm not sure I've ever seen a more miserable human being in my life. Whatever reason he had for doing this, he hates himself for it, Grace." I didn't want that to be the case. Denying it made the situation so much simpler; anger without complications. But, deep down, I couldn't believe it. We'd shared too much for him to walk away from this this unscathed. "Maybe he does, but at this point, does it even make a difference?" "That's up to you, I think." She licked her lips. "Do you still love him?" God, how did I even begin answering that? "That's a complicated question."

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She nodded. "I guess that's to be expected." "I want to hate him for what he's done, but love isn't a switch. I can't just stop caring about him. He helped me through so much. He helped me at a time when I was sure I was beyond help." I squeezed my eyes closed to stop a second round of tears bursting forth. "So what the hell do I do? How do I weigh those things against one another?" "I don't know, but I don't think you'll get your answers unless you talk to him." "I don't know what's left to say. What words are there for this? 'I'm sorry?'" I let out a bitter laugh. "The damage is done. I'm not sure we can repair this, no matter what we do." "Maybe not, but if there's any chance, you need to try. When he first left, I hated him for it. I didn't think I could ever forgive him. But I've seen how this has affected you both. I'm not sure either of you can survive

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alone. As weird as it sounds, he needs you to get through this, and obviously you need him. Without each other..." She trailed off, but it didn't matter. I understood. "I'll think about it," I said. She left me with my thoughts a little while later. The situation was impossible. We couldn't be together, yet we wouldn't survive apart. I'd thought about tracking him down, of course, but I just didn't know what it would achieve. Even if I could find it in myself to forgive him, he didn't want to see me. He'd made his choice. And beyond that, how could I possibly trust him after this? How could I commit to a man who could cause me such pain? On the other hand, I desperately wanted to understand why all of this had happened. I wanted to hear it from his mouth. It would hurt, but maybe that was reason enough.

Two Months Later

Chapter Twenty Six Grace The car pulled up in the drive. "Are you sure about this?" Joy asked for the tenth time. We were outside Charlie's cabin. I'd convinced Joy to drive me up here when I was finally well enough to make the trip. My body still ached, and I was walking with crutches, but according to the doctors, given what had happened to me, it was better progress than I had any right to expect. They said I'd eventually make a complete recovery. I'd been discharged a week ago into the care of my parents, who, true to their word, had stayed in town throughout the whole ordeal. It didn't quite make up for exiling me, but it was a start. "It was your idea!" I replied. "I know. I just...I'm nervous for you, I guess."

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"Well that makes two of us." I let out a long breath. "You were right though. I need to do this." She grimaced, but then nodded slowly. "Do you have a plan?" "I don't think there is a plan for what's going to happen in there." "You're probably right." She looked like she was searching for another reason to keep me in the car but, after a few seconds, she said, "Well, good luck. And remember — I'll be here if you need me." I managed a tiny smile. "I know. Thanks." The cabin was in a lovely area — lush woodland, birdsong on the air, a small lake in the distance, gleaming in the sunlight. It was a refreshing change from the barren beauty of the Vegas landscape. If the circumstances had been different, the idea of spending an afternoon there with Logan would have been wonderful, but as it was, all

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I could focus on was the churning in my stomach. I couldn't believe I was actually going to see him. It had been three months since the accident, and I'd spent a good amount of that time trying to talk myself out of coming at all. It was going to hurt, and it probably wouldn't achieve anything, but I couldn't let it end this way. I needed closure, one way or another. I hesitated at the door, my hand poised on the knob. Last chance, Grace. I closed my eyes, letting all of the happy memories from our time together play through my head. Focus on the good, Logan had once told me. I prayed that would get me through this. I steeled myself and stepped inside. The room was dim, with only the snatches of sun sneaking under the curtains for light. It smelled musty; mildew and sweat and the stale smoke of old scotch. It was fairly basic looking inside — lots of rough wood, gnarled furniture, an open fire place

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against the far wall. It felt rustic, like a cabin should, although the vibe was somewhat ruined by the liquor bottles that littered the floor. Logan was lying on the sofa, an open bottle of Jack Daniels precariously propped up against his chest. Even without the obvious clues, I'd have known straight away that he was drinking again. The transformation was incredible. He looked hollow, shrunken, like a wilting flower that had been cut at the stem. It had been over three months since I'd seen him, and that time had wreaked havoc. I almost couldn't reconcile the broken wreck before me with the man I used to know. At first, all I could do was stare. I felt tears rising behind my eyes, and I had no idea if they were for him, or for me, or for the things he'd done. I wasn't the only one who'd been destroyed by this. I couldn't understand how we'd reached this point, how we'd caused each other so much pain.

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Initially, I thought he was asleep but, as I took a step forward, his eyes flicked open. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, then he started to laugh. There was no mirth in it. It was a horrible sound, the laugh of a man who feels like the universe is playing one last giant joke on him. "Why are you here?" he asked, making no effort to get up. His voice was coarse. I suspected he hadn't spoken in a while. No hello. No apology. He seemed almost angry that I'd come. "I needed to see you." He spread his arms. "Well, here I am." Somehow he even managed to make that sound bitter, like it was an affront that he was still alive at all. Thankfully, he didn't seem too deep into it yet. That's why I'd arrived early in the day — hoping I could catch him relatively sober.

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I moved closer and sat on a nearby stool while he continued to watch me with glassy eyes. I'd rehearsed this moment in my head a million times, while lying in that damn bed, but now that it had come, my tongue was frozen. The things he'd made me feel were so raw, so intense, that I had no idea how to even begin putting them into words. "You fell off the wagon," I said eventually. He laughed again. "I didn't fall. I jumped." His eyes danced across discarded bottles. "May have set the fucking thing on fire on my way down, too." "Why?" He shrugged and took a long slug from his whiskey. "Maybe I was thirsty." I sighed. Part of me had seen this going a different way. I had images in my head of Logan being so overcome with emotion at seeing me alive and well that he just broke down and apologized for everything.

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Obviously that was just naive optimism. I hadn't exactly been a picnic to deal with when I was drinking. There was no reason to think he'd be any different. "What happened, Logan?" He looked away and gave the barest shake of his head. "I don't want to do this." There were cracks forming in his facade now. His expression sagged, his muscles tightened. The bitter humor was falling away, revealing the broken man underneath. If I'd had any lingering doubts about the way his choices had affected him, they were now gone. "Well I do." His mouth twisted into a snarl, and he looked poised to get to his feet. "That's too bad, because you need to leave. I'm not joking. I don't want to see you. Get out!" "Or you're going to throw me out? Go ahead, but I'm going to come right back in.

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I'm not going anywhere until you start talking, Logan. You owe me that much." Conflict raged across his face. Even now, I knew he'd never actually lay a finger on me. Eventually, he changed tactics, fixing his eyes to the floor and doing his best to ignore me. I couldn't believe I'd gotten this far without breaking down. Inside me, it was chaos. I wanted to burst into tears. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run over and wrap him in my arms and tell him it was all going to be okay. Most of all, I wanted to snatch the whiskey from his hands and down it in one go, to hit the self-destruct button and let nature take its course. Somehow, I'd managed not to pick up a drink since being discharged. It had taken every ounce of willpower I had. But being so close to an open bottle had my nerves on a hair trigger. The scent of it burned my nostrils, coaxing that ravenous hunger to fever pitch. I closed my

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eyes and focused on my breathing. I couldn't break. Not yet. "Did you really think I was just going to move on?" I asked. "Forget about you? About this?" "You should." Anger flared in my chest. "Don't do that. Don't you dare act like I could just brush this off. This meant something, Logan!" This time he did stagger to his feet, agony painted on his face. "Something? This meant everything, Grace. Everything!" He spat the words at me, as though it was my fault we'd fallen for one another, like it was some heinous act that I'd made him care. In spite of his rage, it was exactly what I needed to hear. That fire he had for me still burned in there somewhere. "Then why did you leave?" He glanced away and cupped his hands over his face. "I freaked out, okay? Is that

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what you want to hear? I saw you in that bed looking so fucking broken and I just...I couldn't be there. I couldn't watch you die." "But I didn't die." "That doesn't matter." "I don't understand." He took his time replying. There was pain swimming in his eyes. So much pain. "Everything I've ever loved has been stolen from me. My parents, my friends, Fi. I've experienced enough loss for a hundred lifetimes, and I swore I wouldn't experience any more. Seeing you like that, it made me realize the risk I was taking. Even if you lived, would you still be here a year from now? What about five years? I'm a fucking wreck, Grace. Look at me. I can glue myself back together sometimes, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm in a million pieces. I was going to break down eventually, and when my shit really hit the fan and things got dark, you wouldn't have stayed. One way or

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another, I was going to lose you. I just accelerated the process." I couldn't believe he'd doubt me like that. I knew it was more a reflection of his insecurity and self-loathing than it was his real feelings, but still it ripped me open. My voice trembled as I spoke. "You can't actually think that. I gave you my heart, Logan. You saved me, and there wasn't anything I wouldn't have done to save you in return." He shook his head helplessly. I didn't know if he really didn't believe me, or if he simply didn't want to. I'd always thought his issues were something we could deal with, something that could be tamed by patience and compassion, but now it was clear that might not be true. How do you beat something that is burned so deep? It was like a parasite, draining the joy from everything good in his life.

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"I warned you that I was going to hurt you," he said. It was half plea, half accusation. "Yeah, I guess you did." "Why couldn't you have just listened?" "I did. I just thought it was worth the risk." "And what do you think now?" I sucked in a long breath. I didn't know how to answer that. Was anything worth this? We sat in silence for several minutes, contemplating, thousand-yard stares on our faces. I was glad for that. The conversation had shredded me, but nonetheless, being near him still brought me a modicum of happiness. If this was going to be the last time I ever saw him, I wanted to take whatever I could from the experience. "It's not like I didn't think about coming back, once I heard you were awake," he said eventually. "I thought about it every second

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of every day." The lull seemed to have drained him of rage. Now, he just sounded impossibly tired. "And why didn't you?" His expression twisted in disgust. "I couldn't face you, not after what I did. I fucking abandoned you, Grace." "I might have forgiven you." He scoffed. "Then you'd be an even bigger idiot than me. You deserve so much better than this." He gestured to himself and the bottles on the floor. "You deserve someone who doesn't break down at the first hint of trouble." "I hate when you say things like that. This whole time you've been worried you're not good enough for me, like I can't make my own decisions." "Look at me. This isn't the last time this will happen. You know what I am." "I thought I did. I thought you were the man I loved. The man who loved me."

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His nostrils flared and he opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but then he seemed to change his mind. Instead, he rose to his feet and turned away. "Why did you really come here? Did you want an apology? Did you just want to make me feel like an even bigger asshole?" I wished I had an answer. "I don't know. I just needed to see you." "Well, you've done that. I'm not going to throw you out, but I can throw myself out. I can't be here anymore. It's too hard. Please, I'm begging you, just leave. Go and live your life. Go and cook beautiful food and travel and find someone who has the strength to be there when you need them." He stumbled toward the entrance, pausing momentarily at the cusp. "There's nothing left for you here, Grace." And then the door was closing behind him. He didn't look back.

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I sunk down into the sofa, fresh tears streaming from my eyes. The familiarity of that parting line struck something deep inside me. It was eerily similar to the final words of Tom's suicide note. Two men, both willing to destroy themselves because they thought I'd be better off. My emotions were in tatters. I'd known Logan had issues — that selfloathing he carried around like a virus inside him — but I hadn't realized the magnitude of it, the way it fed upon itself. Charlie and Joy were right. Logan hated himself for this. It didn't feel like a choice at all. He'd hurt me more than I'd ever thought possible, but he was a much a victim here as I was. Maybe it was just a no win scenario. Maybe our relationship had been doomed before it even began. But seeing him like that, so bitter and full of rage, made me think of the way I'd been when he first met me. He fought for me at a time when I wasn't

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even willing to fight for myself. I didn't know if I had the strength to fight for him now, but maybe I owed it to him to try.

Chapter Twenty Seven Logan By the time I returned, night had fallen. The house was dark and silent, and Joy's car was gone. I waited at the edge of the woods for a few minutes, listening, trying to catch a hint as to whether Grace was still there. I didn't want to face her again. I didn't have the energy. Five minutes passed and there was no sound. I walked toward the porch, stumbling briefly as a tremor shook my muscles. It was the longest I'd gone without a drink in months, and my body was already rebelling. Alcohol is such an insidious fucker. Drink too much and you want to die, but cut it out and you feel just as wretched. Despite the fact that I was barely exerting myself, my heart was racing and my skin burned. I felt like I could sleep for a hundred years, but first I had a conversation that desperately needed blotting out.

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I'd done the right thing sending her away. I had. She deserved so much better than an emotional cripple who collapses at the first sign of trouble. For Grace, there was still hope. For me, there was none. If I gave in, I'd only wind up hurting her again. Staggering into the main room, I felt around for the light switch. The place looked like a bomb had hit it. I felt bad about trashing Charlie's property, but I couldn't muster the willpower to actually do anything about it. I didn't have the willpower for much anymore. "You're wrong." I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Fucking hell," I said, turning to find Grace slouched against the wall in the corner behind me. "You scared the shit out of me." "Looks like I finally got one back on you then," she said, flashing a sick little smile. "What the hell are you still doing here? Joy's car is gone."

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She shrugged. "I sent her home. We're not done talking, and now I've got no way to leave even if I wanted to." I let out a long sigh. I shouldn't have expected her to just give up. She was as stubborn as me, when she put her mind to it. Crossing over to the sofa I threw myself down opposite her. Mental anguish aside, she looked good. She still seemed a little stiff, and she moved with crutches, but compared to the last time I'd seen her it was a fucking miracle. I still couldn't believe she'd made it through that. Even after everything that had happened, just being near her again was a temptation. I'd spent months cementing my decision in my head, but with every word from her lips, I felt my resolve waver a little more. I still had an incredible desire to fix her, to do whatever it took to stop her hurting. But this was different. Now I was the source of that pain.

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"What am I wrong about?" I asked wearily. "About there being nothing left for me here. It's the complete opposite. The only thing left for me is here. I think it's been that way since the moment we met." Such sweet words, Jesus, why did she have to make this harder than it already was? "How can you say that after what I did?" She shrugged. "Because it's true. It might not make sense, but love never does. I think if it ever did, the magic would be gone." She hesitated. "I forgive you, Logan." I closed my eyes. It felt like everything inside me was unraveling. How was this even possible? It didn't make any sense. Nobody should have this much compassion, this much understanding. "Well, maybe I can't forgive myself," I replied.

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"Or maybe you're just afraid to. I know what you're doing. I spent a good amount of time trying to push you away, remember? I was terrified and angry and I hated myself, hated the world. I just wanted to be left alone, but you didn't give up. You cared when no one else would, and you refused to let me self-destruct. Well, now the shoe is on the other foot. I had a chance to help Tom when he was hurting, and I didn't get there in time. That is going to haunt me forever. But this time, I'm not too late." Even now, she refused to let my issues get the better of her. I felt like crying. I betrayed her in the worst possible way, and yet she still wanted to fix me? "So what are you saying?" I asked. "We should just go back home and make nice and pretend like nothing's changed?" She shook her head. It was such a profoundly sad gesture. I hated that I was responsible for that emotion. "No. Too much

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has happened for that. But maybe we can start again, from the beginning, and rebuild. Maybe we can find a way to get past this." The urge to just stop fighting and wrap her in my arms was almost too strong. God, how I wished the things she was saying were possible. But I'd tried that already, squashing my fears to be with her, and look where we ended up. "I don't know if there's any way past this, Grace." "What have you got left to lose by trying?" She nodded to the room around us. "If I walk out of here and leave you alone, like you're asking, you're going to drink yourself into the ground. I'd hate myself forever if I let that happen." "And I'd hate myself forever if I hurt you again." "You're hurting me by saying no." "But you'll get over it."

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She gave a tiny shrug. "I'm not so sure. You've got it in your head that I'm better than you somehow, less damaged, but the truth is, we're exactly the same. We're two people walking a constant tightrope. I haven't fallen yet, but..." She reached into the shadows and pulled out a bottle of Jack that she'd been hiding behind her body. "I picked this up almost as soon as you left. It pulled me like a fucking magnet. I've been staring at it for hours. I'm not really sure how I haven't cracked it open yet. God knows I want to." Her hands shook, her fingers locked in a white knuckle grip around the glass, as if to relax them was to let them take over and follow through with that threat. My stomach twisted. It was my worst fear coming to life before my eyes; everything I'd worked so hard to stop. "Grace, please don't." We both stared at the bottle, hunger blazing in our eyes. I never thought anything

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could hurt as much as this. Watching her poised to throw it all away was the worst kind of agony. "You were better," I said. "I saw it." "We both know there's no getting better from this. There's just strong enough, or not strong enough, in any given moment. You know what I was waiting for more than anything while I lay in that goddamn hospital bed? I was waiting for the day there was nobody watching anymore so I could go out and buy a bottle of vodka just to blot out some of the agony you left behind. And right up until I walked through that door, I was planning on following through with that. But then I saw you on the sofa, looking so utterly wrecked, and I realized how much I don't want to be that person again." She set the bottle down purposefully on the ground in front of her, and I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

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"I don't know if I'll still be this strong tomorrow, or the next day," she continued, "but one of us has to try, or I don't think either of us will get through this. You need me, Logan, and I need you. Together, maybe we can beat this." I ran a hand through my hair. My mind was going a million miles a minute. Everything hurt. The situation felt impossible, nightmares looming at the end of every possible path. "How do you know it won't blow up in our faces again? How do you know that in six months or a year I won't freak out and break you for good? How do you know?" My voice shook. I realized I was screaming. "I don't," she replied with a shrug, her eyes still fixed on the bottle. "I know you're scared. I understand that. I am too. For two months, a very loud voice in my head has been telling me to just let you go so you don't have the opportunity to hurt me again. Most

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days, I wanted to listen to it. But you know what I was thinking about, while you were gone just now? That question you asked. Did I still think all of this was worth the risk." Her gaze snapped up to me. "The answer is yes. I wouldn't trade our time together for anything, Logan, and if you told me things would play out exactly like this, I'd still make the same choice. Before I met you, I really thought life wasn't worth living anymore. But you showed me that wasn't true. You showed me there was light at the end of the tunnel. Things may be dark right now, but I have to believe it's still out there somewhere. I love you, Logan, and I know you still love me. Maybe that's enough for us to find it again." Hearing those four words again broke something open inside me. Jesus. She was right. Of course she was right. And I felt the same way. Even if I'd known how it would go between us, I would have done it anyway.

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Grace was the most amazing person I'd ever met. She was still here, after everything I'd done. She'd shown me that I was more than the sum of my past. That was a fucking miracle. It was worth the pain. I'd started out trying to save her, but really she was the one who'd been saving me. I opened my mouth to reply, but all that came out was a sob. How could I have been so selfish? How could I have tried to throw this away? "Okay," I managed to choke out, tears running down my face. "Okay?" There was a trace of hope on her face now. "Okay," I repeated. For the first time in three months, I saw Grace smile, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world. She dragged herself to her feet and limped over to the sofa, and I pulled her against me, my hand knotted in her hair, her face against my chest. Jesus Christ it felt

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good, like returning home. I wanted to hang on to her like that forever. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I know." She didn't say "that's okay," and she was right not to, because it wasn't. But maybe it didn't have to be. "What do we do now?" I asked. "Well, Joy isn't coming back until tomorrow, so I guess maybe we get rid of all this," she nodded to the bottles, "and then we sleep." "And tomorrow?" She looked up at me, eyes shining. "Tomorrow, we start fresh."

Epilogue Logan The ground shook — five hundred voices at fever pitch, vibrating through concrete and wood. It registered dimly in the back of my head, but I tuned it out. It wasn't relevant, just background noise, like wind through a gully. The crowd roared as I stepped into the arena, and my eyes went instinctively to Grace. She smiled up at me from the front row, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. She looked absolutely radiant. It felt like a miracle to see her that way again, vibrant and full of energy. It had been three months since she came to me in Charlie's cabin, and her injuries were mostly healed now. She'd carry some scars for the rest of her life, but scars can be helpful if you look at them right. They can be a reminder, a warning. It still made me cringe, thinking of her lying broken in that hospital bed. I'd come so

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close to losing her, in more ways than one. Even now, I still had no idea how she'd found it in herself to forgive me — I sure as hell didn't deserve it — but I was done second guessing things. She'd saved me, and it was something I'd never forget. There were still moments when I became terrified about what the future might hold for us, but I didn't let them overwhelm me anymore. Right now, we were together, and that was enough. I shot her a grin and blew a suggestive little kiss that she caught in one hand, swooning dramatically. Moments like this were worth a lifetime of pain. They were worth the risk. We still weren't back to the place we'd been before the accident. After everything that had happened, rebuilding wasn't easy, but we were making progress. She had to learn to trust me again, and I had to learn not to hate myself for what I'd done.

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The first few weeks after returning to the world were rough for both of us. Going cold turkey is agony and, even with life returning to "normal," there were plenty of occasions where the allure of a quick drink was almost overpowering. What kept it in check was Grace. She was a goddamn inspiration. I'd seen the truth in her eyes that day in the cabin — she came incredibly close to breaking down too. After the things she'd been through and the pain I'd caused, I couldn't blame her. But somehow, she found the strength to stay dry. If she could manage that, then I could do the same. I'm not sure Grace's parents felt the same way. They were still in town, and they made no secret of the fact that they didn't like me. I understood. If I had a daughter, I sure as hell wouldn't want her with a fuckup like me. They didn't know the details of everything that went on between us, but they could spot trouble when it was lurking

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nearby. I didn't know if they would be a problem yet, but for now we seemed to have reached an impasse. I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders. I felt good. It had been hard work getting my body back into combat shape after the damage I'd done. At the time I'd been sure I'd never fight again, so what did it matter? But there I stood in the ring again, the only place I was truly at ease. My body felt loose, my muscles primed. I was ready. In the end, Charlie had solved our problem. He'd sold Final Blow to Task, on the condition that it was folded into his own league. In return, Task promoted him to general manager, putting him in charge of the day-to-day running of the league. Charlie acted like he did it for my benefit, but a few days watching him in his new role told me how excited he was about the opportunity. Now he got to play puppet master with a much bigger set of toys.

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Running a national league is a big step up from the nickel and dime stuff of Final Blow, and he soon realized he had to take a step back from the bar to dedicate himself full time. He hired some new manager, a woman named Beth, who seemed competent. I could have ditched my job too, if I wanted. My new contract combined with the huge TPW winners' purses was likely enough to keep me sitting pretty, but there was something about Charlie's that stayed with me. It's where I found my feet after everything went to shit, it's where I found the ring, and it's where I met Grace. I wasn't ready to throw away all those new beginnings just yet. I still worked a couple of nights a week — short shifts that still left plenty of time for training. I had another incentive for hanging around too — Grace was also back there. She was determined to get back into a kitchen soon, but until a position opened up, the bar paid the bills. In some

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ways, I think that was good for us. It took us back to the beginning, those nights cleaning up once everyone had left. The best way to rebuild is going back to where it all began. Even if I did quit, I wouldn't be gone from the place totally. My deal with Task meant that most of my fights would stay in Vegas. Charlie gave him this idea about setting up a home town hero in each state and having other fighters try to knock them off, so I was the new guinea pig. I still had to travel to other cities occasionally, but they'd all be on the west coast and easily accessible by car. Maybe one day I'd be ready to get on a plane, but that would be like trying to run before I could walk. Right now it was just one foot in front of the other. Part of me still didn't like that we caved to Task's bullying, but some wars just can't be won with brute force. We lived to fight another day, and that's what was important.

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Charlie announced my opponent, who stepped up beside me, studying me with derisive eyes. He was blonde and baby faced, and he moved with that limber arrogance of a youth who feels like he has the world at his feet. Charlie had told me to be careful of him. He'd steamrolled his last five TPW fights, but that only made the moment sweeter. A real threat was exactly what I needed. I could feel my pulse through my clenched fists, slow, but gradually increasing. Long dormant electricity was building in my veins, that heady rush of adrenaline that would set my reflexes on a hair trigger and send my mind soaring. I glanced once more at the girl who had saved me. Grace grinned and raised a fist, giving an exaggerated whoop. This was what I lived for, now. Grace's smile and the thrill of the fight. Hope is a dangerous thing, but now it's a risk that I'm willing to take.

Sequel Info Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed following Grace and Logan's journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. I poured a lot of heart into these characters, and I couldn't be more thrilled with how they turned out. If you did like the book, the best way you can show your appreciation is by helping spread the word and leaving a review. Even just a couple of lines and a star rating goes a long way. Authors survive on word of mouth, and the more people hear about our work, the better the chance that we can keep producing more of it for you to enjoy. As for this particular book, there is likely to be a sequel later this year that will follow the couple as they try to rebuild their relationship and struggle with Logan's growing fame. If you would like to be the first to find out when it's available, you should join my mailing list here. Signing up also gives you access to exclusive giveaways and bonus

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content. I promise not to share your email with anyone else, and I won't clutter your inbox (I'll only contact you when a new book is approaching or I'm having a sale). Thanks again for supporting my work! -Maya

About the Author Maya Cross is a writer who enjoys making people blush. Growing up with a mother who worked in a book store, she read a lot from a very young age, and soon enough picked up a pen of her own. She's tried her hands at a whole variety of genres including horror, science fiction, and fantasy, but funnily enough, it was the sexy stuff that stuck. She has now started this pen name as an outlet for her spicier thoughts (they were starting to overflow). She likes her heroes strong but mysterious, her encounters sizzling, and her characters true to life. She believes in writing familiar narratives told with a twist, so most of her stories will feel comfortable, but hopefully a little unique. Whatever genre she's writing, finding a fascinating concept is the first and most important step. The Alpha Group is her first attempt at erotic romance.

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When she's not writing, she's playing tennis, trawling her home town of Sydney for new inspiration, and drinking too much coffee. Website: http://www.mayacross.com Facebook: http://facebook.com/ mayacrossbooks Twitter: https://twitter.com/ Maya_cross Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/ 6217503.Maya_Cross

Other Titles If you're interested in reading more of my work, you could check out my first series, The Alpha Group. All three books are available at every major ebook retailer. The Alpha Group Locked (Book 1) Lockout (Book 2) Unlocked (Book 3)

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