Whitlow Lexi Long Shot (An MMA Stepbrother Romance) (ang)

CONTENTS © 2015 Lexi Whitlow Sneak Peek Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Epilogue Coming Up from Lexi Whitlow About the author

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© 2015 Lexi Whitlow All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over. Kindle Edition Want her mailing list? Click here.

Like her page on Facebook here and get opportunities to win prizes and participate in contests. Want to help Lexi and receive free books? Sign up here for her ARC team, and you’ll receive free advance copies every damn time she releases a book. *** Dedication: To my dear and loving husband. “If ever two were one then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.” Thanks for giving me the idea for Long Shot, and thanks for seeing me through to the end.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to the romance writers online community that I’m so lucky to be a part of. Thank you for the advice, the friendship, and all the writing magic. Cover Design: Cormar Covers

Sneak Peek “Let me go,” I say again. “No, not this time. I’m not letting you go, Natalie.” My body is on high alert, like there’s a coil growing tighter and tighter deep inside of my body, sparks radiating through me where his hands make contact with my skin. He slips his hand under my baggy UNC shirt and touches the small of my back, and a shock rolls straight through to my sex. The yearning I’ve felt since high school is apparently not going away, but I think, for one foggy moment, that I should pull away again,

that I shouldn’t let this happen. But instead I moan, my lips parting slightly before he claims my mouth. And then the thing happens—the thing that’s happened only once before. He kisses me, hard, his tongue finding mine. This time, though, it’s different. The kiss on the night of my father’s funeral was unprompted, hurried, probably drunk, full of bravado. But not this kiss. This kiss is long and full, deep and slow. It’s the kiss of a grown man, patient and tender, belying a passion I haven’t felt anywhere else—ever. I pull away and bring my fingers to my mouth, running them over the swollen bottom lip he took between his teeth. My body feels like

it’s melting, and just like before, I want to sink into the wall. “We shouldn’t, Josh. This isn’t—” “It’s okay, Nat. I understand.” He brushes the thumb over the small of my back, and my sex throbs in response. We shouldn’t. But it’s not like I don’t want this. It’s not like I don’t want his lips again, not like I don’t want his hands on me, brushing over my breasts, taking my waist, moving lower. “I’ve been waiting for years, and now that you’re back, you’ll have to put up with me. I’ll bide my time until you tell me otherwise.” “It’s not wise,” I say, because

nothing else comes to my mind. His left hand still holds my wrist, and he kisses me there, on the pale, sensitive inside of my wrist. He pulls me in closer, his hand gripping my waist, and I feel his cock, hard and hot, pressing into my thigh. “I can see that—” “That I’ve been thinking about you too, like you have been at night. See, I sleep light nowadays,” he says. He pushes into me again, and I think about what I wanted that night, what I needed to take the pain away. And I still want it. God help me, the need that pours through me nearly obliterates everything in my mind. My body pulses with it, reaching out to the man in front of me. Is that

what he is now? A man? My left hand still rests on his forearm, and I glance at my watch. “Shit,” I mumble, pulling away from him. “I have to go to my shift.” He nods, doesn’t say anything else. “I’ve gotta go to my shift,” I repeat dumbly. “When I get back, we’ll work on some more exercises...” “Sure, Nat. Whatever you want.” He nods at me again, and I avoid looking down at his ever-present basketball shorts. If I think any more about his body, my brain will fucking explode. I grab my scrubs and stuff them in my purse, and I run out of the house because

now I’m running late, and I never run late for anything. What is he doing to me? ***

PROLOGUE

Three Years and Four Months Ago She isn’t my type of girl—well

wasn’t. I’ve been reconsidering whether she is my type of girl over the past month or so of this endless damn summer. She’s been finishing up nursing school, and much to everyone’s surprise, she decided to go straight to medical school. I never heard anything of the damn sort. But there you go. That in itself makes her not my type of girl. Or it should make me stay far, far away. I’ve never gone for the straight-A class president, the college graduate, the crooked-toothed island girl turned medical professional.

But Natalie and I, we’ve got history. Back when I met her, I decided I hated her right off the fucking bat. Her Daddy was the one who came and took my recently sober mother back to the townie bars, got her sloshed every night and married her on some kind of whim. I hated Natalie for what she represented, for all the ways her family screwed up mine. But it wasn’t long before I realized we were really one in the same, victims of our parents screw-ups, Roanoke Island white trash born out of violence and living next to a trailer park. At least we’re next to it, she’d said. Not in it.

I watch her as she takes the plates off the table. Even in a plain black funeral dress, Natalie looks as fine as any woman I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen just about every woman in this town. I’ve bedded more than a few of them too. But those other women are just passing entertainment, compared to Natalie. It’s not like I want to be with her. That would be a fucking disaster for both of us. No one ever heard of an MMA fighter and a doctor getting together, and they never will. What’s that song? “I know where I belong, and nothing’s gonna happen.”

The words get stuck in my head, and I can only remember that one part and the cheesy-ass refrain. I cross my arms and lean against the wall of the shack my mom called a “bungalow” when we first moved in. Natalie’s old man had owned the damn thing for years and never kept it up. I admit, it would have been cute if he’d actually given a shit about his home. But he never did. Nor did he give two shits about my mom, or even his own daughter. Today’s wake was a joke. Everyone just came for Natalie’s sake. Natalie had babysat everyone’s kid at one point or another, she’d made meals for new moms, and she’d been a doula for a bunch of these crazy ladies who

wanted to have their kids at home. Ask me if I knew what a doula was before Natalie went to nursing school. I watch as she wipes everything down in a house that ain’t her home anymore, and she’s agitated, I can tell. We haven’t seen each other in so long— it’s mainly been emails and texts, some flirty, some not—and the space between us has felt a mile wide. But in this light, in this house, it almost seems like no time has passed at all. Her blond hair cascades over her shoulders, and the hint of makeup she’s wearing makes her amber brown eyes deeper and lovelier than ever.

“Today reminded me of what trash I am, Josh. You better get on out of here before I start crying to beat the band.” Her father’s funeral didn’t have many people in attendance—some of his drinking buddies, a few family members here and there. More people came to the damn wake, just because there was alcohol. “You’re nothing like your old man, Nat.” She takes a wet rag and wipes down the dining room table, clearing away the crumbs, then shakes it out into a trashcan and starts wiping down the hutch. Her body shimmies when she wipes down the glass cabinet where my

mom keeps her Precious Moments figurines. That ass. Even before I liked Natalie, I liked her ass. It’s always bounced a little when she walks. I know she’s self-conscious about it, but I’ve always kinda wanted to take a bite out of it. For a second, I imagine what I’ve fantasized about a thousand times. I’ve always wanted push her up against that cabinet, bury myself hip-deep inside of her from behind, feel her as she comes on my cock. I feel blood rushing to the area in question, my eyes locked on Natalie’s ass. Down boy. Now’s not the time. Like she’s reading my mind, Natalie

swivels around, biting her lip hard. That bottom lip is all swollen and red, and I know she’s been worrying it all day. The look she gives me is so fucking sexy I can hardly stand still. I want to take her right now, part those sexy fucking lips— and fuck, make her come like a million times. I barely hear what she says next. I don’t think anyone would blame me. Nat’s hips and ass make for a pretty distracting picture. “I stole medical supplies. I am just like him.” Tears form on her eyelashes, and she wipes them away. It takes me a moment to process what she said, not only because I’m having a hard time looking away from her tits stuffed tight

in a dress that’s clearly too small for her girls. Let them free, Nat, I’m thinking when she speaks again. Let them be free! “Did you hear me, asshole? I stole medical supplies. Bandages, and sutures, and fuck! I stole morphine. Not to get high—it was for one of the moms in labor and delivery. I went to take care of her after she came home from the hospital and she needed her stitches redone, and she was hurting so bad. But I stole that shit!” She’s totally worked up, and she’s angry-crying like she used to do with me when I’d come and throw

stones at her window after her daddy kicked me out. “You what?” I take in Natalie’s bitten lip, the messy makeup under her eyes, the blond hair hanging loose and wild over her shoulders, and the rage she clearly feels—all directed at herself. Nat’s always been slick just like her father, but that’s maybe the only thing that’s like him. I think of her sneaking into the clinic in the middle of the night and stealing a few vials of morphine and a bandage or two here and there. It made sense. A lot of these women on the island couldn’t take care of themselves and couldn’t afford to go to the hospital. It was good, what Natalie’s doing. Even

if it’s ever so slightly illegal. I grin as I watch her get all worked up. She’s about to bust, and she thinks she’s a thief just like her father. She might be a thief, but I never knew her father to help anyone with anything. “Oh God, even you think I’m awful.” Gulping, I try to hold it in. But after a second I can’t, and I slap my knee and laugh. It’s just a chuckle at first, but then I’m laughing as hard as I can. And Nat’s getting angrier and angrier. She picks up the dirty rag and starts wiping the table down again. “Get the fuck on out of here,” she drawls. Her Carolina accent is strong as

hell today, probably from all the stress she’s been under. “Seriously, go home. I don’t know why you’re still hanging around here anyway. It’s not like you’re helping anything. You’re making me feel even worse.” I take a breath and stop laughing. “That ain’t intended, Nat.” Nat picks up the rag again and starts wiping the dining room table all over again. Something riles up inside of me, and I want to hear her curse just one more time. “You just love that rush, though don’t you? The rush of going out… under the cover of dark, sneaking into the clinic like a cat burglar—”

“Seriously, get the fuck out.” The country is rising in her voice. I try to keep a straight face, but I fucking love it. If she were mine, I’d get her riled up just to hear it. Out of her mouth, it sounds like the dirtiest, sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. And that ain’t intended either. “Nat, you’re nothing like your daddy. Nothing like he was. He’s gone now. You use those things to help people that no one else cares about. Now you might have a little of that talent for thievery, but as long as you use it like Robin Hood, I think you’re fine. Just don’t get caught.” I lean back against the wall, and I can’t help that my eyes are drawn down to her tits again. She looks up at

me with those big brown eyes, and immediately, I move my gaze to meet hers. Tears stream down her cheeks. “You’re better than everyone here, Nat. I’ve always known that. You’re prettier, smarter—” “Since when did you care about someone having any kind of a brain?” She lowers her gaze and wipes a tear from her cheek. “Since I met you. I just didn’t understand that’s what I wanted till I got to know you.” “You never acted like that’s what you wanted.” Nat’s voice is a mixture of

sadness, hurt, and anger. She stops wiping the table and just stands there, holding the rag in her hand. “You have no idea what I want, Natty.” Acting on instinct, I walk over to her and take her into my arms. She drops the rag on my foot, and her body goes rigid. She grips me hard, her hands clasped around my shoulders. I smell the top of her head—fruity and tropical— and I kiss her there. “What the fuck are you doing, Josh? Why the fuck—” She tilts her head up toward me, and I look down at her sweet face. Her lips are the color of ripe raspberries, and her amber eyes are big

and wide open. Her eyebrows are arched up high, and I find myself thinking for a moment that there might be a world, a place, a time where she is my type of girl, and more importantly, that I’m her type of man. “Maybe I just like to hear you curse. You used not to, not ever,” I tell her. It’s the wrong thing to say, but it’s true—I like just about everything that comes out of that gorgeous mouth of hers. Without thinking, I cover her mouth with mine, groaning just a little as her full lips soften. She tastes better than any woman I’ve ever kissed, her lips unbelievably delicious, like they were fucking made for kissing. Lifting her by the hips, I sit

her down on the edge of the hutch. She looks up at me and runs her tongue over her bottom lip. Her eyes are big and bright, her hair even wilder than before. She lets out a little moan, and the sound of her voice makes my cock stir. I kiss her again, but this time she’s hesitant. I remember that time, after prom, we almost kissed, fumbling in the dark. We’ve been skirting around it for years. And here I am, still a little drunk, I might admit, and I want her now. “What are we doing?” She wraps her legs around me, puts one arm on my chest and taps me gently. My mouth hungers for more, my body still wired

from the shock of touching her like I’ve wanted to for so long. “What do you mean, ‘What are we doing?’ I kissed you—just like you’ve always wanted me to.” She taps her fingers against my chest again. Tap tap tap. “And how do you know that?” “Come on, Nat. It’s always been obvious. You’ve always wanted this… us.” The words tumble out of my mouth, and as I’m saying them, I know they’re the dead wrong things to say. I chuckle, nervous, then realize that the chuckle just makes all that shit sound even worse. It’s

my biggest flaw, among many. When I’m drunk, I sound even more like a cocky asshole. Natalie purses her lips and pulls her legs away from my body, letting them dangle against the drawers of the old hutch. “I’m an easy score, am I? With such an obvious crush on you since high school? What, you couldn’t get some MMA fan girl from the gym for tonight? Trying to book me instead?” “No, Nat, of course not. You’re different—you’re—” “The only girl in town you haven’t slept with?” She pulls her knees up to

her chest and pushes me hard. I stumble backwards, and I can feel Natalie slipping away from me, retreating back into herself. “And I’m your stepsister too. A fucking novelty. The boys at the gym must really like that one.” “Natalie, no—” “Then what is this, you and me? Friends? Friends with benefits? Something more?” “I haven’t thought that far ahead, Nat. I find it’s best not to overthink these things.” I step towards her again, but she pushes me away, this time with her foot.

“You don’t think that far ahead. That’s your problem. What? Tonight we fuck, then you sneak out in the middle of the night? You’re back at the gym in the morning, training for another fight? Do I drive back to Chapel Hill by myself and wait another year to see you? Do you follow me there—no job, no degree, Frank’s debts on your back?” “Natalie—” “Is this a casual something else?”

hookup? Or

“Nat, we’ve always wanted—” “Stop with that ‘we’ shit, Josh. You

don’t know what I wanted way back when, and you sure as hell don’t know what I want right now.” She slides off the hutch and adjusts her dress. With sharp, assured movements, she pushes me out of the dining room and towards the front door. I raise my hands up, fumbling, swaying, unsteady. “Nat, shit, I didn’t mean to upset you. It could be a casual thing. I’m happy to make it one and done, Natty.” “Fuck you, Josh. I know one thing for sure, there’s nothing casual about you fucking me on the night after my daddy’s funeral. You’re my stepbrother. You were my best friend for years. There’s

nothing casual about any of this.” “Technically our parents divorced, and your dad just passed on, so I could be any random guy on the street.” I smile and cock my head to one side. Inside, there’s a voice trying to watch out for me, telling me to shut the fuck up, that Natalie’s the finest woman I’ve ever known, that chances like this one don’t come along every day. But that voice is overpowered by my own cockblocking idiocy. Her sweet round face shows growing anger, eyebrows knitting together, lips pursing tight. “You take everything way too seriously.” Bam.

Natalie makes a loud, frustrated noise and shoves me so hard that the screen door almost rattles off its hinges when I slam into it. My body is on the edge, wired, cock still at half-mast from the whiff of Natalie’s hair and the momentary taste of her lips. “I’m twenty-one, Joshie. I’m not taking things too seriously. And I’m not serious about finding a man right now. I’m going to fucking medical school. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to ask you what your intentions are. Fact is, you ain’t some random guy off the street. You and me? We got a history we can’t erase.”

“Nat, I wasn’t thinking—” “You never are.” She leans in and smells me, not sensually. Not like she’s taking in a lover’s scent. “Are you drunk? I mean, I know there were people drinking here. There always are, with anything having to do with Daddy. But hell, Josh, you smell like you’re both hungover and drunk. What the hell? And you try to kiss me like this? While I’m vulnerable and distraught?” “You’ve never been vulnerable for a second, Nat. That’s what I like about you.” I smile, and I know it’s not genuine like I mean it to be. Women talk about

that resting bitch face thing, but I’m wondering why men don’t complain about resting asshole face. Or resting douche face. I’ve seen plenty of terrible cases in my time. I gulp and try to wipe the grin from my face. Natalie softens for a moment and brings her hand to my face. “I’m glad you see me that way. But that’s not who I really am. If we do this —I don’t want it to be like this. I want it to be something we both want—” “I do want this, Nat.” “Tonight, you do. I’m leaving town after this, Josh. What do you want then?”

“I—I don’t know—” “Then I suggest you go on and figure out—go down to Frank’s Gym and find a fight to get into or—” “That ain’t what I want, Natty.” I open my mouth to say more, but the frustration is clear on Natalie’s face. I think about her words, roll them over in my mind. “Then prove it,” she says. “What?” “Prove.

It.

Come

back

here

tomorrow and help me sort through all of Daddy’s things. Help me pack up for school. Don’t disappear into thin air tomorrow. Then maybe I’d consider kissing you again.” “I’m not looking for some kind of relationship.” I cross my arms, defending myself against what she’s saying. My heart pounds even as I’m speaking, and there’s a small but insistent voice trying to tell me not to be such a gigantic dick. “You don’t get to put parameters on me.” She laughs. “You’ve hurt me again and again. And it’s not in the context of any relationship. For me to put myself

out on the line, you gotta prove that you got basic human decency, that I’m more than a warm hole to stick your dick in for a few seconds.” Her words sound harsh, but there’s affection in her voice. It’s the way we talk to each other, and maybe that’s a good thing, and maybe that’s a bad thing. “It would be more than a few seconds, Natty. Much more.” She punches me on the arm, hard. “Get out. Come back tomorrow morning, and help me. Then we’ll see what happens. I don’t need a hook-up. I need help.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll come back and help you, I swear it.” “All right, Joshie.” She brushes a lock of hair away from my forehead, and her fingers are soft and cool against my forehead. Her eyes are skeptical, but her lips curl into a smile, and that pouty mouth opens something up inside of me. Even after a year, even after I swooped in, thoughtless, on the day of her father’s funeral, she musters a smile, and all that’s bad fades away. “You want me to leave now?” “Yeah, now. If you stay any longer, I might…” I want to hear what she has to

say next. Even in my slightly drunken state, I can tell that she wants me. Her thighs are pressed against mine, even though her arms are crossed. There’s still a slight part to those full, heartshaped lips, and the way she’s breathing even sounds like sex. I lean into her again, trying for a kiss, but she turns her head. Instead, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “Just come back. Show me you can. And we’ll see what happens tomorrow night. I want you, Josh, but right now I need something different.” When I look at her, something in my chest fills with warmth—a warmth that no other woman has ever made me feel. It’s why I’m standing here right now, I

guess. It’s why I stayed to help her clean up, though I realize I didn’t do anything but get in the way—that and try to fuck her. I gulp. I don’t let myself get into situations like this. This isn’t me. Natalie’s always made me feel something like this, which is why I always pushed her away, held her at arm’s length. But now, after her daddy’s death, after my mother’s disappearance, we’re left standing face to face. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut, like I’m on a boat, swaying back and forth as a storm is about to start. That feeling—it makes me want to push her out of my way. At the same time, I want to kiss her again, taste her against my lips, let my fingers trail down lower and look into

her eyes when I make her come for me. If I start, though, I won’t be able to stop. You’re just drunk and making shit up, I tell myself. But maybe you’re sober enough to get out of here. Best to get us both out of the storm before it starts. It occurs to me that this feels dangerous for Natalie too. I gulp and nod and step back with an overwhelming feeling of needing to get the hell out, as fast as possible. “Okay Nat. I think you’re right.” I back up slowly to the door, and she’s watching me the whole time. Her gaze shows disappointment, like I’m not quite doing what I’m supposed to do. “I’ll be

going now.” “See you tomorrow?” “Yeah, yeah. Totally. You can count on me.” I see doubt already forming on her face. It hurts, but I already know I won’t be back. It ain’t right. I’m not a man who does this complicated emotional bullshit, and I could have stayed away from all of it—this whole uncomfortable situation—if I’d just steered clear of her daddy’s funeral. I turn and walk out the door, marching my ass out to the old ’67 Camaro that I bought after my first big fight. I turn back, and I see Natalie

watching me. Her gaze meets mine, and my heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Her beauty strikes me hard. She kinda looks like a mess from kissing me, from almost letting me feel her up. I didn’t plan to kiss her. I’ve thought about it a million times in my life, but today I fell into it. Natalie can be impulsive too, like me, but she’s more thoughtful about when she lets her impulses act up. Looking over her body one more time, I wonder if I’m more scared of the fact that she wanted to give into me, or the fact that she ultimately wouldn’t. What have you done, Josh? You’ve gotten your thoughts so tangled that

you don’t know anything. I watch her for a minute, maybe more. Her eyes stay glued to mine the whole time. Finally, I just wave and turn away without looking back again. I get into the old Camaro and start it up, then head out to the causeway that connects Manteo to Nags Head. Instead of stopping at my old apartment, I grab a couple of six packs of beer from a Brew Thru and head north on Highway 12 until I’m at the very end of the Outer Banks. I sit on the beach all night, drinking and trying not to think about Natalie, until I fall asleep sometime near dawn. When I wake, the sun is blazing

down on me, and there are twelve messages from Natalie on my phone. I click it off and put it aside. I know I won’t be seeing her for a long time, maybe years. When I see her again, maybe the conversation will be different. A man can fucking hope, anyway.

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day Go in quick for the first round.

Shuffle to the side, avoid his punches so he thinks you’re afraid. Take one punch and then another. That’s the way it goes down. Right hook, left hook. Make it look like a pattern. Knock him down for a second, run a tight ground game, and choke him out in the last. I practice my formula on the punching bag in the corner. I’ve been training for weeks, and my body is tensed as tight as a hot coil, ready to spring into action. Tonight’s the real thing. Well, as close to the real thing as I get in the underground fighting world.

Think about going pro, Joshie. You’ll get there. You just gotta get through this fight first. I can’t believe I’ve signed onto yet another fight with fucking Frank. He’s used and abused his fighters in all the years I’ve known him—and no one more than me. Tonight’s just another in a long series of shitty, horrible fights where I throw down an opponent in front of an audience of drunken idiots. I think back to the first fight I lost—I didn’t have a trainer like Ash back then. It was Frank, all Frank. And he’d taken me back to the locker room and punched me so hard that it took my breath away. I was sixteen. Just like a lot of the kids fighting for the

club right now. I shake off the memory and look to the side of the gym. My opponent walks in, head shaved bare, tribal tattoos adorning his shoulders. I know my opponent tonight is bigger than I am, a middleweight from out of town named Cade. His record is twelve wins this season, two losses. But I’m not weak from having to make weight. I’ve bulked up, and he probably spent yesterday trying to lose five pounds in a sweatsuit. Today, I’ll consider my weight class an advantage. Welterweight champion of the Outer

Banks, last fight of the tourist season. That’ll be me. Last year, I would have been happy to get this opportunity to fight at Frank’s club. But last year, I was still working the steps, still saving money. I needed Frank’s Gym as much as it needed me. But this fight is only one of many loose ends to tie up, a game I’m playing to come out on top. The courses, the forms, the money. But the other loose ends involve people. Natalie. Frank. Natalie. She’s back, and I didn’t know it until three days ago. Just the thought of her

takes over my mind, my body, throwing me into a world of distraction. I try to keep reminding myself that I don’t need a woman caught up in this mix. Frank is fucking dangerous, and I’ve got secrets that neither he nor my trainer know. But I know I’ll be drawn back to Natalie, even if it’s a terrible fucking idea. Her full pink lips the night I kissed her, her face when I left her behind. Text messages and emails asking if I’m still alive... Those have died off in the past year. Hitting the punching bag with two

knee strikes and an uppercut, I wonder if she found someone new, someone who wouldn’t hurt her. The thought makes that place in my gut twist again, this time with jealousy. That’s why I left, wasn’t it? The fear of destroying her, possessing her, taking her under with me. I left to fix my life and get the drinking under control. I’ve done that now, more or less. Mostly less, since Frank’s been breathing down my neck and trying to figure out what I’m doing. I pause, crack my neck, shake out my arms to loosen up. Reminding myself

that this is a fight night, that people will be arriving soon, I punch and shuffle to the side again, trying to push her face from my mind. Jab, uppercut, get him from the side. Let him think you don’t know what you’re doing, that he’s going to break you. Make it believable for the people watching, the writhing mass of tourists in their seats. I know the way the game is played. I’ve known it for a long time, since I got kicked out of my house at sixteen. Back then, Frank wasn’t as mean as he is now. That sounds almost impossible when I think about it. Frank had me convinced

—and hundreds of others over the years —that we were the golden boys of the Outer Banks, that we’d rise in the ranks and take over the damn town, that we’d go pro and book fights in New York. Fifteen minutes tonight. That’s all it is. You got this, Josh. You own this cage. I shake my head and warm up with a few more punches to the bag. The people are starting to pour in now—townies and tourists alike, all coming for a taste of blood. If there’s one thing Frank’s good at, it’s providing blood—booking dirty fights, getting fighters as young as sixteen hooked on steroids, hiding razor

blades in our gloves. A cut to the forehead bleeds and bleeds. The audience goes fucking nuts and throws money into bets, thirsty for more. From the first row of chairs around the chain-link cage, Katy smiles at me and blows a kiss. Girl’s pretty, with redblond hair and a tall, lanky body that looks slick while she’s holding up the cards. But I wrote her off long ago. I know I fucked her at some point, but I barely remember it now. It’s one of those memories that slips away from me until I see her carrying the cards and booking the bets on nights like this. She works for Frank sometimes, works hard for fighters on other nights. Always hits on

me, though I don’t take the bait anymore. She’s not the one I want. None of these girls are. Katy smiles broadly again and squeezes her tits together. I turn my gaze back to the punching bag without acknowledging her. Word is that she’s staying with Frank, so I know whose side she’s on right now. “Hey Long Shot,” she yells. “Good luck tonight!” I nod back to her, but I keep punching the bag, listening to the sounds of the audience as they pour in. From the swell of voices and the chatter swirling around, I can tell that the other fighter has arrived. I turn to see him

walking through a doorway on the other side of the gym. Shit, that’s a big dude. The middleweight towers over the men standing next to him. His chest looks like it might be twice as broad as mine, and his muscles are ropy, twitching, ready to fight. His head is shaved and covered with tattoos, and his trainer looks almost just as mean as he does. Frank claps Cade the fucking monster on his shoulder, and then Frank’s beady dark eyes dart over to me for just a moment. Frank’s wearing his button-down shirt tonight, his black hair slicked back and his shoes polished bright. It’s occurred to me before that he looks like a fucking

mobster, and tonight is no different. I watch as Frank shakes Cade’s hand, and I watch as his trainer leads him up to the cage. My coach, Ash, appears from the sidelines and walks me up to the cage to meet my opponent. Ash’s blue eyes meet mine, and I look over at his stern, angular face. He’s serious about his own beef with Frank, and he’s worked through my plan with me again and again. Not only has he given me the best training I’ve ever had—far better than Frank had ever done—he’s gotten me to where I am today, in every way. “Remember the plan, Josh,” he says. “Get him hard in the last round. Run that

ground game so he can’t flip you with his legs. Drag it out.” I put in my mouth guard and nod as Ash ushers me into the cage. Frank doesn’t even bother to check us for weapons before the fight starts. After all, blood is best when it comes to fighting. Ash puts my gloves over the yellow tape that coats my knuckles, and Katy walks along one side of the chainlink cage, carrying her round one card. The other fighter’s eyes are glued to her body, and the audience roars with appreciation. “First fight of the night is the Outer Banks’ own Long Shot McRae.” Katy gestures to me. “And for his first fight in Frank’s cage is middleweight and small-

time champ, Cade Davis!” The din of the crowd is deafening now. They’ve risen to a fever pitch. “Fight one! Round one!” Katy yells in her shrill, nails-on-achalkboard voice. The ref steps between us and nods, then blows his whistle. “Gentlemen, let’s fight!” The crowd roars, and soon we’re shuffling. Cade fakes a punch and comes in with a knee strike. It’s sloppy, and there’s no grace in it, but it gets me in my left side good. I deliver a roundhouse, pretending I’m sloppy too, barely hitting him in the face. I like to see them overconfident, make them sweat before I

move in at the end. He nearly knocks me down in the first round, but I’m still standing as we move into the second. I hold and wait, watching Cade’s face as he tries to size me up. And then I’m playing my game, entering the second round hard as the crowd erupts into loud, insane cheering. Cade’s face is angry now, especially when I start with the carefully designed pattern of side strikes and punches. I hit him where it counts—nose, side, close into the groin. He gets in a few punches, and the sucker is strong as hell. He comes at me with shots to the face I don’t expect, and I end up with a gash on my forehead and on my side. The fucker

has razors, and I didn’t even know. We’re both angry going into the third round, and I let the rage take me over. It’s good for me now, fuels me through to the end. The sweat pours down Cade’s face, and the audience is deafening now. I scan the audience. Natalie’s friend Summer would have told her I have a fight tonight. There’s a flash of blond hair, and I wonder if I’ll see her, hope to god I will. Cade slips in three knee strikes and slams me into the side of the cage. There’s a sickening crunch, and I know something’s broken or dislocated, but the pain’s not coming yet. I’m still able to turn him, able to get a hold and choke him out until he drops to his

knees. When Cade comes to, the ref is already calling it. “Another win for Long Shot!” Katy screams. Ash gives me water and leans in close. “You okay kid?” “Partially dislocated shoulder, I’m fucking betting,” I say. “Gonna hurt like hell.” The crowd is still cheering, and Ash leads me down, holds my right hand above my head. The flyweights—both of them probably sixteen, though Frank somehow reports them as eighteen—are in the cage now, and I can get the hell out of dodge. Frank spots me heading back

to the locker room and hands me my money unceremoniously. “Purse is light tonight.” I look down and count about three hundred dollars. If it were any other night, I’d give Frank a piece of my mind. I don’t fancy Frank putting his boot in my face and grinding the grit into my skin—he’s taken me by surprise and done it more than once when I questioned his authority. These days, he’s more likely to get someone else to do his dirty work for him, but he’s meaner than he ever has been. And that makes me sure as hell that I don’t want to fuck with him tonight. Not if I’m going to try to see Nat.

Like he’s reading my thoughts, I see Frank coming towards me from the corner of my eye. He’s got his buttondown shirt on and that plastered on grin that I know he thinks looks cheerful. He claps me on the shoulder—fortunately not the one that’s likely dislocated. I try to smile back, but I’m betting it looks more like a grimace. “Good job, kid. You like the purse tonight?” I nod and don’t respond. He knows damn well how I feel about it, but I ain’t trying to start anything, not when pain is starting to pulse through my entire body, threatening to knock me unconscious at any moment. “I said, you like the purse kid? You enjoy that fight?”

“Yeah, man. It was alright.” I pull away from him and keep my head down. I’d give anything to rise up and beat the shit out of this piece of trash, but sometimes, being in control of your body and mind is the highest form of domination. Not giving in to what he wants me to do. That’s what I need in this moment. “I’ll see you in tomorrow?” Frank asks, catching my eye and staring hard. “Naw, man. I need some time to get healed up.” “We better see you around soon,

Long Shot. Or I’ll find a way to make your life a living hell.” There’s nothing I can say that won’t be angry or sarcastic, so I shrug and pocket the money. Frank’s threats are usually empty, but I’ve seen him find ways to do exactly that. I nod at Frank and turn to head outside. “I’ll be back next week sometime,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. I look back and see Ash, who strides past Frank and up to me, ushering me out of the door before Frank can say anything else. “Hurt pretty bad? Need a ride somewhere? Preferably not the hospital?” I nod. I know I need the

shoulder back in place. I know I need somewhere I can lay low for a week, or Frank’ll be pushing me for the next big thing. Frank’s made it clear that the hospital’s off limits—I’m betting I could get in and get out without the police getting involved. “Natalie,” I mutter. The pain buzzes through me now, mixed with adrenaline. I put my hand to my knee and bend over, feeling a wave of dizziness, then squint my eyes and look up at Ash. “Take me to the island, the old house.” Ash looks at me sideways. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say. “I got an excuse now, Ash. It’ll all work out fine.” “If you say so, kid. Frank’ll be pissed as shit when he realizes you’ve left the peninsula. He wants you to be training now and honestly—” “Ash, I’m hurt bad. Get me to Natalie’s now. She’s the only one who can fix it without taking me to the fucking hospital. And Frank would like that even less than me being away. I’ll be back in a coupla days. She’ll probably kick me the fuck out after she stitches me up.” “Whatever you say Joshie.” I look back as we walk out of the gym. Frank is

watching us with an evil flash in his dark eyes. “I’ll be back soon,” I shout back to Frank, stumbling out into the night before the man can say anything in response. Ash grips me tight and helps me into his truck. I’m already hurting pretty damn bad, and even though I know seeing Nat is a damn bad idea, I know Ash will take me there. He has to. I’m hobbled and limping, broken to the bone, but I won, and I got the goddamn purse. Every bit helps me pay back Ash, and every bit helps me get to the point where I can conquer all that I’ve been fighting against.

By the time Ash starts driving, my shoulder and ribs feel like they’re on fire. Not even Nat would turn me away like this.

CHAPTER TWO

I hate this town. “There ain’t nothing tying me here,” I mutter, kicking in the door of my house

—it was my father’s house, but now it’s mine. I’m back here like I always said I wouldn’t be, just so I can live free and pay my med school loans. The windows leak in cold air in the winter, the basement floods with every hurricane, and bits of wood keep splintering from the baseboards. I walk inside and throw my purse down on the table. After I finish the residency, I’ll leave this damn tourist town behind me. This place… all these memories and disappointments… it’s all too much. My cat Beatrice meows in return, staring at me with her bright yellow eyes. I strip off my scrubs and throw

them on the floor. I worked a sixteenhour shift for the first time today, and now I know why people drop the fuck out of the doctor game. Medical school was no big deal for me. I could close my eyes and pass every test, every practicum. I know the human body inside and out. But being on my feet for sixteen hours at a time, that shit is going to ruin me. I feel it deep in my bones, the longing for sleep that started to take me over about four hours ago. Beatrice meows again. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you, Bee. It’ll be you and me, none of these ghosts from home. And no Josh either.”

I know paying off the bills is a lame excuse—I coulda found cheap rent anywhere else in the great state of North Carolina. Maybe I’m here because I feel a kinship to Roanoke Island. My people have been here for generations, though it’s not like we have a proud family name. We’re poor, white trash dirt farmers—and the worst of the worst, my father and stepmother. Josh’s mama is still somewhere on the island stirring up trouble, but Daddy died three years ago. And still, I came back here. Drawn back to my ancestral home. Josh, on the other hand, is stuck here, an indentured servant in his own right, serving Frank, the worst kind of criminal

who promises his fighters the world and never delivers. Well, that’s the life he’s chosen, and he’s made it clear I’m not changing his mind any time soon. He’s a fighter, a manwhore, a loser of the worst kind. The kind our two families have produced, year after year, polluting the Carolina coastline like oil. Beatrice follows me through the house, meowing plaintively. I glance and see that she has food and water. The wind is starting to kick up outside, a storm about to come off the water. Maybe she’s warning me, in that weird animal kind of way. I stop and listen for a moment. There’s a banging outside, probably one of the live oak trees

slamming its branches against the rickety old roof. “I hope Josh ain’t out on the beach, Bee. We’re in for a whopper tonight.” The cat meows in response and rubs her face against my leg. She looks at me like she knows who I’m talking about, like she’s judging me for even thinking of him. But I do think about him, still and always. The anger inside of me ebbs and flows, mixing with the deep hurt he left me with. “Let me tell you, cat. Josh McRae’s not the reason I’m still on this island. Stop thinking it. It’s because I still love the water, when all is said and done. I do like a good island sunrise.” My voice sounds a bit stilted, and I

know I’m not even convincing the cat. I stroll back to my bedroom in my bra and panties, and I brush out my hair. After the hospital, even my hair smells like sweat and piss, and I wonder if there’s anything I can do to keep the hospital residue down. I fall onto my bed and turn off the light, my body drawn down into sleep. My brain starts to cycle back through the shift, images of sutures and x-rays swirling through my head. The road is hard and long, but it’s worth it to get ahead, to be the woman I need to become. As I dive into that place that exists somewhere between sleep and waking, I hear a scratch at the door. Or I think I do.

My eyes flutter open and slowly adjust to the dark. There’s another faint sound, almost like knocking, but too low, too soft. Beatrice hops on the bed and walks up to my face. She meows, like she’s telling me that something is wrong. “Let me sleep, Bee. I was at the hospital all fucking day.” I start to shoo my cat away, but then I hear something like a moan outside. I pause, and my ears perk up despite my aching desire to sleep. It’s quiet for a moment, then there’s a moan again, louder this time. A shiver runs down my spine, and I bury myself

under the sheets with one eye peeking out. “There’s definitely someone out there, Bee. Go get ‘em. Be the guard-cat you were always meant to be.” She pats at my face with her hand, pulling the covers away. “No, Bee. Whoever it is can go next door, or home, or fucking somewhere that’s not here.” Beatrice meows again, and there’s a shift in the wind outside. A flash of lightning lights up the room for a moment, and a deep rumble of thunder isn’t far behind. “Natty.” It’s the voice again. “Natty, come on.”

There’s a louder knock at the door. I hear a cough, then another moan, then gentle drops of rain beginning to fall. The voice is dark, masculine, with an edge of pain in it. I’d recognize it anywhere. I sigh and pull the covers completely over my head. He hasn’t seen me in three years, hasn’t responded to one email in that whole time, hasn’t even let me know he’s okay. And since I’ve been back on the island, he hasn’t once called to wish me well. Of course, tonight would be the night. The night of a storm, the night after my very first long shift. Josh always had a flair for doing the most inconvenient thing, ever. “Paging Doctor Natalie!” His voice

is louder now, more insistent. As if in response, the rain matches his volume, beating down harder on the tin roof. “Natalie!” His voice rings out. This is it, there’s nowhere I can really hide, nothing I can do to make him go away. His car is probably broken down outside, or someone is after his sorry ass for something he did. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stomp across the ancient hardwood floor. The door sticks when I go to open it the first time, and I pull hard on the doorknob. Lightning flashes again and a great clap of thunder follows it. The rain beats down harder still. “Open the fucking door, Nat!”

“I’m trying!” I shout. I yank the doorknob hard, half-expecting it to come off in my hand. “You fucking asshole, why the hell are you here anyway?” I yank the doorknob one last time, and a shirtless Joshua McRae comes tumbling through the doorway, landing hard on one shoulder. He turns to me and assesses me with his cool hazel-green eyes, and then gives me that pantymelting grin that made him so popular in high school. His chestnut hair is still cropped close in the style of a fighter, and besides the slight filling out of his face, there’s nothing that’s changed in three years. The jawline is still long and strong, the lines of his face jagged and

masculine. But there’s something off about him, something different, but my eyes are locked on his. I realize I haven’t moved since I opened the door. Josh is silent, and his grin widens. “I guess I came by to see you in your panties, Nat. And I have to say, I’m not disappointed at all.” He laughs and then grimaces, clutching his stomach. I look down at my body and realize I’m still mostly naked. I hadn’t put my scrubs back on, hadn’t even grabbed a robe. And now, just like in the dreams I still have of high school calculus class, I’m standing in front of Josh in my bra and

panties, completely exposed. I put one arm up to hide my breasts and scowl at him. I have the sudden urge to kick him in the stomach and shove him right out back that damn door. “Asshole,” I say. “I’ll toss you a blanket, and you can sleep on the sofa. But it’s one night, that’s for damn sure. I don’t even know how you—” I stop. Josh is grimacing, his eyes wide with pain, and a groan escapes his lips. The grin is gone, and there’s pain in his face. I notice a long cut on the side of his head. He grips at the side of his torso again and pulls his hand away. There’s a smear of dried blood on the left side of his body, and a mottled, brown and

purple bruise spreads over his ribs. “I’m hurt, Nat. Not sure how bad,” he says and looks at me again. His cocky grin is wiped clean. “Damn you, Josh. What the hell happened this time?” I sigh. I want to stomp my foot and scream at him—he knows I won’t turn him away if he’s hurt for real. The very fact that he’s shown up here at all is another act of manipulation —just like the night he left me. I stand and stare at him a second, my pulse rising and my stomach dropping out all at the same time. I want to curl up in a tiny ball and pretend he isn’t lying right there in front of me, but the doctor part

of me wants to take over. It’s that part that knows he’s hurt bad—and I gotta ignore the angry, hurt part so I can move on and help him like he needs. “Nothing much. Nothing out of the regular,” he says, but the expression on his face tells me otherwise. Arms still crossed over my breasts, I look him over, noting the gashes that need stitches and the left arm hanging limp at his side. My doctor brain is already taking over, and I’m moving lightning-fast, grabbing my doctor’s kit and a pillow to prop up Josh’s head. Shit, I think as I rifle through my bag. Ain’t got a needle that’ll stitch him up

proper. And no damn iodine, no nothing that’ll get those stitches done. He probably knows I’ll take him to the damn clinic where I used to work. I used to take him there when he begged me not to take him to the hospital, and damn him, he knows I never let go of that access card after I quit. I think of the rush of sneaking him there in the middle of the night back when I was in nursing school, and I almost roll my eyes at myself and sigh deeply. Get a grip, Natalie. This is just his same old shit. You can’t get involved. But as I’m taking his pulse and guessing at his blood pressure because he won’t stop fucking moving, I know he’s making

me get involved just by being here, rolling here into my apartment like no time has passed at all. I throw the pillow under his head. He lies down and lets out a groan, like he’s been holding it deep inside, hiding how hurt he really is. Kneeling next to him, I take his wrist in my hand. His skin is hot to the touch, his pulse rapid. The long, straight line of his jaw starts to quiver as he grabs my hand and squeezes it hard. A shock runs through me, heat spreading through my belly and down into my thighs. This is how it is with him, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m mostly fucking naked. My body responds, betraying me. But it’s a betrayal he

doesn’t need to know anything about. I put on an annoyed look and bat his hand away, trying to hone in on his pulse again. “Thank you, Nat,” he says. He knits his eyebrows together when he looks up at me, and I smile for just a second. His eyebrows have always been darker than his hair, and because his hair is cropped so close, the contrast makes him look unnaturally serious and intense. “I haven’t done anything yet,” I say, nervously running my fingers through my hair. I haven’t been this close to Josh in years, not since that one night where it almost happened, him and me. He’s

probably forgotten about it. And I should have too. It’s not right that it affects me to be near him like this, not after all this time. Not after the chasm that’s formed between us. “Thanks for opening the door, I mean.” His voice is softer now, almost like it’s an effort for him to speak. There’s no hint of his characteristic sarcasm, and though his eyes show pain, there’s an honesty I haven’t seen there before. “What the hell else was I supposed to do?” I ask. He shrugs and cringes hard, favoring his left shoulder. “All right, your pulse is officially rapid.

You’re in pain, and something is fucked up. That’s my doctor’s assessment. Now, asshole, tell me what hurts.” “My shoulder, and my side. My ribs on the left side.” “What about that nasty gash on your forehead?” I touch my hand to his head and turn his face to get a better look. The cut is down to the bone in one place, but the blood is already thickening, forming a scab. “That’s fine. Seriously.” “It needs stitches, so we’ll tend to that… when we tend to it.” I shake my

head, silently chastising myself for even keeping a civil tone with him, let alone offering to give him stitches. He’ll live without stitches, and he’ll see the light of day tomorrow even if I kick him out now. But that part of me that needs to help is stronger than anything else. What made me strong all the way through nursing school—and through med school, too—it’s the same thing that’s always made me weak with Josh. “At the clinic?” The pain is evident in his voice, but I ignore him. I’ll have to see what his condition is before I make any idiotic decisions. Well, any more idiotic decisions. Letting Josh in was probably the first one of the bunch.

“I’m going to move over to your left side and look at whatever horrendous damage you caused there.” I walk over and sit down next to him. His eyes follow my body and rest on my face as I sit. “It could hurt,” I add. He nods. I’ve got a bad feeling I know just what he’s done, and I’ve got an even worse feeling that he probably should have gone to the hospital right away— but that he didn’t because he’s an idiot and because his boss is an evil dick. Placing my hands on his ribs, I feel for evidence of swelling. There is some, and the bruise has darkened even in the time since he’s arrived. I move my hand

to his shoulder and feel around the joint. Nausea hits me. “Dislocated,” he says and sucks in a quick sharp breath. “Ya think? God, how the fuck did you get here? Don’t tell me the Camaro is idling outside.” I’m taken back in time just thinking about that thing, how impressed I was when he bought it, how excited I was when he took me for my first ride. But back then I was easier to impress. If I ignore the tight, chiseled muscles, the high cheekbones and somehow sexily broken and re-broken nose… I wouldn’t be impressed at all right now.

“Ash. My trainer. He brought me over from the club.” The club. The goddamn club. Ever since Josh turned sixteen, he’s been fighting at that gym. At first, I thought it was good, thought he was focusing some of his anger, some of his brain’s penchant for destruction. But it was clear, even then, that Frank’s gym was anything but a clean operation. “Well, I hope you tipped. Dammit, Josh. We’re going to need to get this back into joint. I’ll take you to the E.R.” Even as I say it, I know he’s going to resist. “I probably shouldn’t even be driving after this shift, but—”

“No, no, not the hospital. Please, not the hospital. Frank says—” “I don’t give a shit what Frank says. You’re twenty-six. You’re a grown-ass man. Or at least you should be.” “You don’t understand.” Moving fast, I reach for his right hand and ease him up. I catch a glimpse of the network of tattoos over his shoulders—some tribal, some numbers and dates I don’t understand. They accent his muscles, make him look hard and far older than he is. I suppress a shiver and bite my lip, looking down so he doesn’t see me checking him out.

“Good thing you landed on your right shoulder when you pushed the door open, you idiot.” Working with patients all day has made me stronger—maybe not strong enough to get Josh’s shoulder back into place, but I’m going to try anyway. It’s here or at the hospital, and doing it here will make the car ride in a rain storm a fuck of a lot easier on him, and on me. I usher him over to a dining room chair and sit his ass down. “No hospital, Nat. Frank told me—” “I’m going to do this on three, Josh. Can you count with me?” He shakes his head furiously. I lock my hips and take his arm, my right hand at the top of his

shoulder, his elbow propped against my knee for leverage. “Nat, wait!” “One,” I say. “Oh fuck, one,” he groans. “Two,” we say together. I launch my body against his and pop his shoulder back in place. The sound that comes out of him is something between a groan and a wail. I let out a sharp laugh before examining his shoulder to see if it’s actually in its proper place. His eyes bug out and he grimaces, gritting his teeth hard and growling loud.

“That wasn’t three,” he says. He groans again. “It’s better if it’s not on three,” I say and snort. I grab my scrub pants from the floor and fashion a makeshift sling. The knot at the top might not be the most comfortable, but it’s the best I can do in a weird, awkward, and highly irritating situation. I slip the pants over his head and help him secure his elbow in the sling. “What the hell is this? I see you’re already throwing your pants at me.” He chuckles at his lame joke, but he lets me assist him.

“You—sit right here while I grab some clothes. You need fluids, you need food, you need to get an x-ray on those ribs.” I walk to my bedroom and grab a maxi dress from the floor. Before I pull it over my head, I hear desperation in my stepbrother’s voice. “Natalie, you don’t understand. I can’t go to the hospital. The police are after Frank’s club for hiring underage fighters. They’re looking for any way they can to get at him. I can’t—” I pull the dress on and walk back to my half-naked, still-bleeding stepbrother. Even like this, he looks like

heaven on a platter, and it’s hard to stop myself from stealing glances at him. Petty insults seem to be the only things that pop into my head, so I stand still for a second, with a look on my face that I hope says Nat is figuring out what to do. I gulp when I glance again at him. Desire pricks at my body, starting slow and feeble but undeniably there, like the engine of a car that’s been sitting out in the weather unused for three years. Angry. Aroused. Angrily aroused, fuck. That’s exactly what I am. Insult. Hurl an insult, Nat— “Haven’t you fucked someone on the police squad? There was that girl from

high school—” “Cupcake?” He snorts and then breaks out into a laugh. “No, I haven’t fucked Cupcake. I don’t think I’m really her type.” I laugh in spite of myself. It’s been so long since I’ve thought about the nicknames we used to have for our classmates, so long since I’ve thought about the friendship we used to have. Even at the thought of the jokes we used to share, a jolt of pain sears through my body. Even after three years, the hurt of his departure still feels so real. “Seriously, what would be so wrong about leaving Frank in the dust? You’re bigger than this stuff.” The words fall

out of my mouth before I can stop them. We’ve had this fight before, and I never win. He’s silent for a moment, and then he sighs. “We can’t go over this again.” “You’re right, Josh. We can’t. I’ll drop you at the hospital, and then you can decide what you want to—” “Nat, I need your help. I can’t tell you what’s going on right now, but I’m begging you. I know I’m an asshole for disappearing like I did, but I need to play to Frank right now. He’s more of a threat than he seems.” I try to help him up, but he resists, leveraging his weight

against my much smaller frame. “Listen to me, Nat.” He catches my gaze, and holds it for a moment. Too many times, I believed he’d get his life together. And too many times, he’s disappointed me beyond measure. “No,” I say, trying to pull him up again. “Asshole doesn’t even begin to cover it. So again, fuck no.” “I’m getting out, Nat. I swear it, or I wouldn’t have come to you.” “I want that for you, Josh. I really do. But you can’t come here and make these pretty promises, these lies. Not this shit all over again. I’m too old for it.”

“You’re as old as me. Youngest person in your graduating class in med school. I read it in the paper.” I blush. Now, intellectually, I shouldn’t trust a damn thing this boy says. My heart never quite catches up to my brain when it comes to Josh, though. “Mighty impressive,” he adds. “I didn’t even think you knew I was back home, Josh.” “You’re my best friend, Nat. I’ve read every email and every update. And your friend Summer at the hospital told me that you were back at the old house.” Heat pricks behind my eyes, and I look

away. I won’t let him see me tear up. “Please Nat. I won’t bug you again. But there are things in motion here, and I need your help.” “Fine,” I say. “But you need stitches, and I guess I have to drag your sorry ass up to the clinic to do it.” I pause for a second and wonder if it’s worth risking my job for this man. The head nurse there had told me I could come any time, but the hospital would probably take a different view entirely. Josh grabs hard onto my arm and catches my gaze. “Thank you,” he says again.

“Come on, you trifling douchebag. I’m not getting any younger.” I try to ignore the laughter that bubbles out of Josh—and the rush of excitement I feel as we walk out of the door and into the rain. As good as I was, I always loved sneaking around with him. And if I get him out of my house in two days’ time, well, it won’t do me one bit of harm to take care of him for a spell.

CHAPTER THREE

The wind rocks Natalie’s car from side to side on the bridge. Her poor Civic can’t keep up with the thunderstorms that

blast through the sound in the early autumn. I haven’t sat in the passenger’s seat since the day I left Manteo high school for good, and fuck, she cursed me the hell out that day. Dammit, Joshua. “Dammit” was a big deal for her back then—she still bought into that religious ideal her daddy preached, even when he was hitting the bottle hard and robbing the convenience store at three o’clock in the morning. Fine to steal and drink, terrible to curse or take the lord’s name in vain, God forbid. Dammit Joshua. You’ve gone and got me cursin’, dropping out of high school like every other idiot in this town. I laugh, and I can feel her

rolling her eyes next to me. I can’t turn, but I know she’s got her eyes rolled so far back in her head she can probably see her big brain. “You think this is funny? Coming out of nowhere and dragging me into your mess?” Her voice is ragged around the edges, and her eyes are bloodshot. I feel a pang in my gut. I shouldn’t have come to her, not yet. But the desire for her grew so great—especially when the hurt started consume me. “No, I don’t think it’s funny. I was just thinking about—” “You got a lot of nerve, boy. I’ve

been worried about you for years, and you show up out of nowhere. I don’t even know if my car can make it in this storm.” Her voice is hoarse, knuckles white against the steering wheel. As if in response, the Civic nearly spins out when we hit a deep puddle half way across the bridge. A tractor trailer zooms past us, adding a gritty spray of water to the blinding sheets of rain. “Might not. But as righteous as you are, I know you can’t resist this medical shit. I’ve got a really weird gash on my head, and I know your fingers are itching to stitch on it.” She laughs, breathy and fine.

“You got me pegged, I guess. That cut looks ragged. And I’ll sew it up, even though you disappeared and I ain’t heard from you until this very moment.” She sighs. I can almost feel her gripping the steering wheel. Her stress, her worry, and her anger all swirl together like a living thing in the dark, humid air. The car swerves again and nearly hits the guard rail this time. I’m betting she didn’t have money to get new tires when she was supposed to. I looked up what the average pay for a resident was at a tiny hospital like this one, and I knew damn well it wasn’t enough to pay for her loans and a set of tires like she needs for the shitty, watery roadways around here. What she really needed was a Jeep

with four-wheel drive, but as long as the Civic was running, she’d probably keep it till it fell apart. She got the damn Civic right when she turned seventeen—she was determined to be like everyone else, even though we were poor as shit and picked on all the fucking time. She scrimped and saved her babysitting money, the tips from waitressing at Darryl’s Fish House, and she bought the damn thing. Nearly a decade later and it’s still running. It ain’t perfect on the bridge. It wobbles and protests, and the wipers ain’t worth a good goddamn. I’m trying to ignore the waves crashing against the side of the bridge. I crane my

neck to look over at her, and it sends a pain through my shoulder, and shit does it ever hurt. But the way she looks in the spotty streetlights, filtering in through the rain, it’s a sight for sore eyes after so many years away. Her silken blond hair tumbles over her shoulders, and I close my eyes, remembering for an instant just how it felt to touch her hair, bring her face close to mine. But it all went to hell that night. And it should have. I’d be a weight, dragging her down. It was easier to stick to my role. Keep fighting, keep fucking disreputable women, keep my head down and my fists up.

Natalie pulls off the bridge and breathes a deep sigh of relief. “I’ll get you fixed up at the clinic, but you can’t tell no one at the club that I did it. Else, I’ll have three or four boys a night knocking on my door. You got it?” She turns to me, her amber eyes serious. I try to keep a straight face, but her accent has gone deep country. Cain’t tell no wonnn. Her accent always comes out when she’s tired. I crack a grin as she turns onto Beach Road and drives to the little urgent care clinic where she used to work. “You sound like a fisherman’s wife, Nat. You’ve gone island on me.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s because you showed up after the longest damn shift I’ve ever pulled. This whole doctor thing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” “You’re good at it, Nat. You’ve got a knack for making people feel better just by being in the room with them.” “If that’s the way it worked, I wouldn’t have bill collectors up my ass. Nor would I be pulling sixteen-hour shifts.” She groans. “And you need to stop sweet-talking me, Josh McRae. I thought I was done with you when you barreled out of my daddy’s house right after his funeral. You certainly showed up out of nowhere tonight, and if you

weren’t fucked up as shit, I’d be kicking you out on your ass in the morning.” She pulls into a parking space at the urgent care center and turns off the car. Her face has always betrayed her feelings, and now I see hurt and anger reflected in her gaze. She frowns. “As it is, you’ve got two days to recover, and then I’m driving you back to your shitty apartment in Nags Head. You still live there, don’t you?” “Yeah, close to the gym. But I swear, I’m getting out of that.” “I’ll believe it when I see it, Josh. I have plenty of reason to doubt you.” I open my mouth to speak but think better

of it. This woman is planning to stitch me up and stick me with needles in a minute or two, and it’s best not to argue with your doctor about ancient history. There’s a lull in the rain, the drops lighter now. “We best get on inside, Josh. I’ll tend you, and we’ll both get home so we can sleep.” She gets out and hauls my heavy, broken body out of the passenger’s side door, sighing as she takes my weight on her much smaller body. I put my one mobile arm around her, and she walks up to the door and waves her key card, as easy as pie. I don’t ask how she still has the key, but I’d bet it was some old Shaw family trick. You can take the slick

redneck out of town and fancy her all up with a medical degree, but she still knew how to steal her supper at the end of the day. Else, neither of us would have survived childhood. “If we get caught, it’s the end of my career as a doctor, Josh. We need to be in and out.” She looks from side to side when she says it, and I’m pretty sure she’s laying it on thick for my benefit. I move to turn on a light switch, but she catches my hand. “Not a peep, no lights except in the exam room.” I nod. She walks me to one of the rooms and sits me down on the exam table. She slips on a pair of latex gloves and closes the blinds before switching on the lights.

Before she exits the room, she looks back at me, and I see the vulnerability and pain in her expression. She walks away, and I listen as she gathers supplies. I’m an extra-special, sharp and sticky thorn in her side tonight, but it had to shake out this way. I knew I was putting her in a bad position tonight, but Frank needs to see me as his golden boy, the most valuable fighter in his stable. And getting detained by police sniffing around at the hospital isn’t going to match up with that. I wasn’t ready to set eyes on Natalie yet. But the plan has to stand, and I guess it’s okay if it works out this way. I shift on the table, trying not to put pressure on

my left side. My shoulder is burning like there are fire ants crawling inside my joint, and the bruise on my ribs is pulsing in time with the crawling fucking ants. I grit my teeth. I can take this. I can. It’s all for one goal—well, two goals— but I’m pretty sure that the second goal isn’t attainable. I fucked that up a long damn time ago. Natalie wheels in an IV drip with a fat bag of saline in it. “All right, man. I’m the only doctor at the hospital who can get a needle in without a bruise. All thanks to doing nursing school first.” She takes my hand and puts it on my leg. I close my eyes for a minute and

listen to her breathing as she wipes an alcohol pad over my vein. She leans in close to me, and I breathe in, taking in the scent of her. She partly smells like the hospital, partly like her home. But underneath it all, there’s the essence of her. On my mama’s good days, she said to me that the top of the head was the piece of a person that always smelled just like them, that you could get addicted to someone by getting to know that scent. And the way Natalie smelled, well it was just like coming home. Natalie slides the needle into my hand, and I wince. I’ve done plenty of drugs to get through fights—and to recover from them afterwards—but I’ve

never shot anything up. The needle makes me queasy, but this is no time for me to show weakness. I open my eyes and look at her. Her eyes have gone distant, and her hands are moving quick, like she’s in the zone, assessing what to do next. She squeezes the IV bag and gets the saline flowing in my veins. She takes a syringe and empties whatever it is into the IV port. Almost instantly, the fire ants’ crawling begins to fade, and the pulse in my side stops hammering. There’s a rush of sweet, clouded happiness that sings through my veins, and I grin, sinking down into the feeling. “You like that, huh?” She puts her hands on her hips in a deliciously sexy,

sassy stance. I stare at her, look over the luscious curves of her body, unabashed. The fluorescent light seems to glow around her blond hair in a halo of perfect light. “They all love the morphine.” I laugh. When the sound comes out of my mouth, it’s goofy and far away. She smiles too, or is that a sneer I see on her face? I can’t properly tell. I feel like reaching out and taking her in my arms right now. The warmth of that perfect body, her legs wrapped around me—I’d had that feeling once, and I’d let it go. You’re so pretty, Nat. I want to say it, but the words are stuck in my throat.

She’s risen so high above everyone else, it’s like she wasn’t even human anymore. “Quit lookin’ at me like that.” She sneers at me as she secures my IV in place, but I almost detect a faint blush creeping over her chest, over the apples of her cheeks. I might be hallucinating it. “Like what?” I watch as she prepares another syringe, her movements expert, precise. “Like you’re hungry.” I laugh, and she steps closer to me, puts the needle up to my head. “Like I’m a burger. That

ship has sailed.” The sneer stays in her voice, but she can’t help that sarcasm from slipping out here and there. “Hey, what are you doing? I’ve already been stuck with one needle, Nat.” “Lidocaine. For the stitches. Hold still there, big guy.” I feel a few small pinches around the gash in my head. I was so worked up about my shoulder and ribs that I’d barely noticed the pain there, but I knew it was fucking nasty. I was thrown hard tonight. It’s a wonder I’ve lasted as long as I’ve had. But I’m getting out, moving forward, going on. Natalie cleans me with a hot washcloth

and then another alcohol wipe. I barely feel the needle as it goes in—she’s an expert at this kind of shit. She fastens a bandage over the stitches and helps me out of my makeshift sling. I’m just watching her, the whole time, enjoying the view of the girl I’ve missed for three years. Not a girl. A real woman, now. Smarter and more gutsy than you or anyone you know. Before I know it, she’s shooting me up again at the wound on my side and setting my aching left arm over her back so she can stitch me up where the other fighter caught me with a razor blade on

my ribs. “Fuck Natalie, no more needles.” I try to wrench out of her grip. Even under the haze of morphine, the lidocaine stings as it goes in this time. She ignores me and holds me steady. “What got you here, Joshie?” I open my mouth to tell her as she finishes stitching up the wound, but I think I’d better keep this one to myself. It’s a good story. I beat down yet another fighter from out of town. My MMA name is “Long Shot,” and I’ve lived up to it by messing up some of the best fighters along the coast. The purse at Frank’s club is always fat, and Frank lets us all

fight without any kind of rules. So we’ve usually got out-of-towners coming through, hoping to beat the club’s favorite fighter. But I prove them wrong. This one got me with a razor blade. But he looks a hell of a lot worse than me. “Dunno. Probably hit up against the side of the cage.” “The cut is awfully clean.” She makes a small sound, like she knows what I was really up to. She probably does. The audience wants blood, so we make sure there’s blood. Frank does, anyway. Natalie grabs a roll of gauze and tapes up my ribs the best she can. “They’re just bruised, I think. I’m not

going to risk an x-ray here. If they’re broken, you’ll just have to deal.” Whatever dose of morphine she’s given me is starting to wear off, and those fire ants feel like they’re back inside my shoulder. The throbbing in my side starts again, centering on the stitched-up wound. I put my fingers to the stitches—clean, professional, perfectly tiny. “Nice job, Nat.” She swivels around, her wavy blond hair falling in a cascade over her shoulders. Her dress dips just a little, so all I see right now is that golden Rapunzel hair and an eyeful of her round, full, perfect tits popping out of the

deep v-neck of her dress. “Stop touching those stitches, Josh.” She slaps my hand away like she used to do when we were kids and I was messing with her schoolbooks. The touch of her hand is familiar and intimate in a way she doesn’t realize. To me, it feels good, feels like things are back to normal. It feels like this chasm of time has somehow closed, and we’re right back where we used to be before I stormed out after her daddy’s wake. “You’ll get it infected.” “Will not,” I say. My eyes are drawn back to her cleavage. Time has been very, very good to her. She probably

thinks the few pounds she’s gained make her look frumpy, but that little bit of weight has filled out her curves and turned her into the woman she was meant to be—the kind who has regular meals and doesn’t skip dessert. “Will so.” She slaps a bandage over the stitches, and I groan. “That fucking hurts, Nat.” She fastens tape over it. “Serves you right for coming back in the middle of the night and staring at my tits the whole time I’m tending to your sorry ass. Good-for-nothing, womanizing, inappropriately flirty...”

“You forgot ‘extremely handsome’ and ‘athletic.’ Oh and, ‘brilliant.’” I can tell she’s suppressing a smile. She rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time since I arrived at her house. “I should have kicked you out of the damn house, cocky asshole.” I grip Natalie’s arm for support and slide off the table while she unhooks the saline bag and carries it in one hand. With both hands occupied, her dress falls a bit more. I laugh and try to look away, but my eyes are drawn back again and again. Those breasts are the subjects of my eighteen year old fantasies, and it’s been years since I laid eyes on them. I might

be imagining things, but it seems like I notice her eyes connecting with my body, meeting mine for a second and then looking away briefly. “I’m only cocky because I’m the best fighter the Outer Banks has ever seen. And because I can get any lady, tourist or townie—” “Enough, Josh. You ever listen to yourself?” “Not enough to learn anything, I’m sure,” I say. I know it’s what she believes, what she wants me to say. We’re falling into our old routines. She shuffles around, trying to figure out the

best way to get me out of the room and take the saline bag at the same time, then she sighs and shoves the saline bag into my hand. She looks at me again, her eyes sweeping over my body. That spark sings through me, the spark I’ve always felt with her. “You take this, Josh. It’s best we keep the saline going since I imagine you’re ridiculously dehydrated as per usual after your fights, and I’m going to bet we need another dose of morphine before the night’s over.” I nod and lean into her body, gripping the saline bag tight. She throws her bag over her shoulder and pushes me out into

the hall. The heat comes off of her body in waves, and I feel her breast brush up against my bare torso. Even with the sedating effect of the morphine, blood rushes down to my cock, and I feel it stir. I close my eyes as we limp along and try to think about fighting, about Frank, about my GED test, about my sponsor, about anything but Nat. But I can’t focus, and the images of our last night together keep rushing through my mind. She pushes open the front door and leads me out to the car. If she sees the outline of my cock, she doesn’t say anything. She’s too classy for that anyway. And besides, she probably

doesn’t want anything to do with a guy like me—a guy like I used to be, anyway. When we pull out of the clinic parking lot, the rain is pouring down hard again, and I know her Civic will have a tough time on the bridge. For one night, though, I’ll be in the same space she’s in, and I won’t have to wonder where she is. I might be used to living in hell, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate heaven right when I’m in it.

CHAPTER FOUR

Halfway across the causeway, the storm lightens up, and I feel like I can see again. Of course Josh would choose a night like this to come barreling back in

my life with a dislocated shoulder and two nasty, bleeding gashes. I pull up to the stoplight at the end of the bridge and look over at him. He’s still not wearing a shirt, and the dampness of the rain makes his suntanned skin shine like burnished bronze under the glowing streetlights. I take a deep breath and turn back to focus on the road. Looking at Joshua’s lean, muscular body isn’t a rabbit hole I need to fall into right now. He’s six feet of perfection, broad chest and shoulders, his green-gold eyes framed by the thickest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. His chestnut hair was thick and perfect before, hanging over his forehead. But now it’s shaved close. It makes him look hard. It makes him look

like someone I don’t know. He’s always been my blindspot. But here we are. I’m doing the same damn things all over again, just for a crooked grin and a pair of beautiful eyes. No, Natalie. You do not need to think about Joshua McRae. Not now, not ever. It’ll be dawn soon, and I’m due back at the hospital in another twelve hours. By that time, I’ll need Joshua McRae back out of my life for good, no matter how pitiful he is. I’ll fill him a scrip for painkillers and drive his ass back to Nags Head where he can settle back into his questionably legal “job.”

Josh’s eyes are closed, and he’s probably drifting into the sweet sleepiness of the meds I gave him back the clinic. True to form, he didn’t stop to consider the effects his choices would have on others. He just showed up and got what he wanted. Like an idiot, I took him right in and stitched him up. I sigh and turn onto my street. I could lose my license to practice medicine before I get a chance to actually practice medicine. Typical. My stepbrother hasn’t ever been one to consider the feelings of others before acting. I pull in the driveway and turn off the car. The rain comes in thick, fat drops.

It’s better than it was before, but there’s still the occasional crash of thunder, and I know there’s a damn surf warning. I wonder why he couldn’t have invaded my space when there wasn’t a fucking tropical storm. “Wake up,” I say. Wake up sleepyhead is right on my lips, but I fight the urge to say anything sweet. “Wake up, dick bag,” I add for good measure. I resist the temptation to poke at his left side. Instead, I put my hand on his thick forearm and rest my hand there for a moment. Even the muscles here are tensed and hard. There’s a jagged, pink scar that runs up to his elbow, breaking up the smooth surface of his skin like a

twisting river on a map. Gently, I run one finger over the scar, and Josh wakes up with a jolt. I pull my hand away and hold it to my chest—I barely realized I was touching him. That’s what got us in trouble before, that first simple touch. It’s what threatened to destroy me at the dawn of my career, and I don’t need to get sucked into that shit again. Not with all I have to lose. Josh yawns and stretches with his good arm. The simple movement is languid, powerful, like the movement of a lion. Like a predator. Remember that, girlfriend. “Can I go back to sleep when we get

inside? Pretty please don’t kick me out just yet?” His voice is full of sleep and somehow sexy, even at this godawful time of morning. His eyes are hooded and half open, and I think for a moment that this is what he might look like waking up next to me. It feels like there’s a lump caught in my throat when I think it, but I can’t shake the image this time. “Whatever, Josh.” My voice sounds more like a croak, and I’m hoping he’s so high that he doesn’t notice. “I guess you’ll be needing help getting up those steps, won’t you?” “Hold me, Nat, I’m so weak.” He grips the saline bag still, his knuckles

white. I know he’s in a good amount of pain, but he grins broadly. I throw the car door open and go about helping him out of the car. When he leans his weight into me, something like an electric shock makes its way through my body. It’s true that my stepbrother is drop-your-panties on the floor hot, but I’m a professional woman. And I’ve spent the whole of the last three years working to forget him. Now, if he would just stay forgotten and stop making me have intrusive sexual thoughts. I help him up the steps and put him on the sofa in the living room. I move my coat rack over to the sofa and hang the saline bag on it, squeezing it a few times to get it adjusted.

“It’s almost empty. I’ll start another,” I say. I flick my eyes over his body and note that there’s no redness around the wound on his side. The tattoos on both of his shoulders probably cover a vast network of fighting scars, and maybe that’s why he got them. They weren’t there when I saw him last, but I think better of asking him what they mean. I don’t need to get sucked in any more than I already am. Like he’s been reading my mind, he catches my hand in his before I can walk away. “I know this is hard on you, Nat. I know what you did for me back there.” I let my hand rest in his for a moment, the tiredness in my body mixing with an

undeniable wave of desire. “You got no idea, Josh.” Taking my hand back, I go to work putting in another bag of saline and a good dose of morphine. It’s the last bit I have, but it’ll get him through the night before I can get to the drug store for more proper painkillers. “You put your job on the line, and I appreciate it.” Not really. But I won’t disabuse him of the notion. He can afford to keep a little gratitude in his mind. “Quit talking like that, or you’ll lose

your rep as a dirty-talking bad boy.” “I wasn’t that person with you, Nat.” He closes his eyes and falls down onto the pillow in a state of bliss. I shouldn’t have wasted my batch of morphine on this asshole, but I know it’s the only way he’ll be able to sleep. I touch his left shoulder and gently run my fingers over his tattoos, wondering just what he did to get his damn shoulder out of joint in the first place. “Keep petting me, Nat,” he says. “It feels so nice.” “I was just checking your shoulder. The morphine’s got you all kinds of out of it, Josh.” It’s hard to keep my hand from touching him, from exploring the

chiseled nooks of his muscles. But instead, I go back into my nurse-doctor mode and pull off his shoes and cover him with a light blanket. I try to ignore the heat beginning in my thighs as my hands hover near his body. Even in his pathetic state, my body cries out for his, probably responding to some primal need that I haven’t filled in far too long. If I were getting laid on a regular basis, I wouldn’t be standing over my stepbrother right now, my eyes drawn to the line of his abdominal muscle, the one that leads down lower. “Enjoying the view?” My eyes go wide for a second, and

my heart beats fast. I look away even though I know his eyes are still closed, swallowing hard. “Just making sure you’re okay, Josh. You’re an asshole, but I need to make sure you’re okay.” “That’s good to hear,” he says and yawns, rolling over onto his right side. I glance at his shoulder, at the bandages over his stitches. I know he’s going to be okay after tonight—if not okay, at least passable. And if he’s passable, he can go, for the sake of my sanity. He’s taken advantage of me, being here like this. And I’ve let him. He knows I won’t turn away someone who’s hurt—I just don’t

need him to convince me that he needs to be here for more than a couple of nights. I keep staring at him, and there’s an almost physical pain that rises in my gut. That’s just old memories, Nat. Don’t pay a damn bit of attention to how he makes you feel. Just bandage him up and ship him out. “Go on Nat,” he says. “You gotta go to bed. Stop fussing with me.” He takes his hand in mine again and raises it to his lips for a moment. “Not that I don’t like beautiful women fussing with me.” I jerk my hand away. Beatrice jumps up on the arm of the sofa and walks gently over Josh’s legs.

“I’m sure you’ll survive the night without my attention,” I say. My cat has always been a traitor when it comes to Josh. She liked him more than she ever liked me—right now, she’s staring at him like he’s her lord and savior come to rescue her from the boring doctor woman. “Bee’s gonna take care of me.” He pets Bee, running his fingers between her ears and down her back. The cat curls up next to his ass and starts purring mightily, pawing gently at his shorts like she’s about to die and get lifted away to heaven.

“There’s no accounting for taste, Bee,” I say to the cat. “But he’ll run off with another pussy by the end of the week.” Josh snorts, and I check his IV bag one last time. The morphine I’ve given him should be enough to knock him into bliss for the rest of the night. And a good thing too. He won’t come knocking on my door. “Don’t be nasty to me, Natty. I’m in pain.” He lets out a dramatic groan and pets the cat with his good hand. “Another pussy. Ha, that’s a good one.” There’s a goofy smile on Josh’s face, and I can see his chest start to rise and fall slower. I pause for a moment, my

eyes roaming over the carved muscles of his chest and abdomen. But this isn’t a road I want to go down, and I need some damn sleep. “Goodnight, asshole. Remember, you’re out of here as soon as possible.” I march off to my bedroom and turn off the lights without giving him another look. How could it be that a man could give me so many conflicting emotions? I’d always known I was a helper, that I took in whoever needed me without thinking. Daddy said it was because I needed to feel worthwhile, that helping people made me feel better since I’d come from such shitty stock. And since Josh had always been right there, well, I helped

him first of all, even before myself. I’ll be damned if I fall into that same damn thing all over again, but I felt myself slipping into it tonight. Those old roles follow us wherever we go. I step out of my maxi dress and fall into bed again, this time for keeps. The sun is coming up over the sound now, and the light is filtering into the room. I try closing my eyes against it, but all I can think of is Josh lying out there on my goddamn couch, using an IV that I lifted for him from the Outer Banks Urgent Care clinic. Each time I find myself sinking off into sleep, I jolt awake. There have been so many nights I’ve spent worrying about Josh, so many

unwanted dreams—both good and bad. I’ve lost sleep over him, and he’s out there, never once considering what he put me through. *** “You’re better than everyone here, Nat. I’ve always known that,” Josh had said. “You’re prettier, smarter—” “Since when did you care about someone having any kind of a brain, Josh McRae?” I picked up the plates that people had left scattered over the dining room table and dumped them in the trashcan. The wake had been a joke. No one had ever liked my daddy,

and I was willing to bet they’d just came for the food and the booze. “Since I met you. I just didn’t understand that’s what I wanted till I got to know you.” A flush ran over my body, rising over my chest, making me feel hot and uncomfortable in the black chiffon dress I’d gotten from Penny’s for the funeral. Avoiding his gaze— which I knew was on me—I kept wiping the same spot on the table over and over. “You never acted like that’s what you wanted.” I paused. If I said another word, I knew I’d be getting myself in too deep. Josh wasn’t like me.

He didn’t take life the same way I did, serious and true. All he did was fight and run after women who were obsessed with his MMA persona, the way he acted on that big stage. I lifted my eyes and met his. The hazel of his irises, ever changing, looked gold in the evening light. “You have no idea what I want, Natty.” He stepped toward me, and acting on instinct, I backed up, my ass colliding with the hutch behind me. Before I could dart out of his way, Josh pressed himself into my arms. “What the fuck are you doing, Josh?” We’d spent so long running in

circles with each other, both of us dancing back and forth around that undeniable spark of attraction that blazed between us. “Why the fuck are you—” “Maybe I just like to hear you curse,” he growled. He covered my mouth with his before I could even think, biting and nibbling on my lower lip, then lifted my hips and sat me on the edge of the hutch. His mouth was warm, powerful, overwhelming. I’d kissed boys before, and I’d even gone all the way once or twice. I wasn’t a saint. But this kiss, it knocked everything before it out of the water.

I try turning over again in my bed, pulling the pillow over my head. As many times as I’ve gone over what happens next in the story between me and Josh, the further I fall down into the rabbit hole of might-have-been. I think of that kiss, the dress falling away from my body, the flick of his rough fingers over my nipples. I open my eyes and stare straight at the ceiling. The heat begins to pool between my thighs, sending little shocks of longing through my belly and down my legs, all the way to my toes. My exhaustion compounds my desire, making it pulse harder. Searching for relief, I reach down inside my panties

and touch myself. There’s already a flood of wetness between my legs, and I groan softly. I try to conjure up the image of one of the doctors at the hospital, one of the surfer guys I met on Match, anyone but Josh. As my fingers move in circles over my clit, Josh’s face is all I can see —the jagged line of his nose, his full lips, those eyes, green and gold and amber and copper all at once. I think of the kiss that night. And more—I think of his fingers on my body, moving over my waist, flipping my dress up and lifting it over my thighs. I moan softly and increase my speed, and I’m wondering if his cock is really as big as it looks through his shorts.

“Josh,” I moan, my mind starting to tip into oblivion. I imagine his cock, long and thick and hot against my thigh. In my thoughts, I’m naked now, and his fingers are buried inside of me, gently hooked and massaging my g-spot as his palm rocks against my clit with aching slowness. In my bed, I spread my legs and slip one finger inside. I’ve repeated this scene over and over in my quiet moments, but never with Josh in the next room, never with his perfectly muscled body lying on my couch, only a room away. I slip another finger in and rock against my hand. I’d wanted Josh to fuck me with his expert fingers, my back pushed against the cabinet that held his mother’s china figurines. I imagine

rocking back against the glass pane, my pussy drenched and throbbing against his hand. I imagine coming for him, the tea cups and Precious Moments dolls clinking in protest behind us. And then he’d cast his shorts aside and fill me with his cock, slipping in easily and grinding against my clit with every thrust… Biting my lip, I come hard, my toes clenching against the covers. After that, dreamless.

I sleep,

deep

and

CHAPTER FIVE

I wake up with a raging boner and the need to piss out the two liters of fluid Nat gave me. I groan and try lifting

myself up on my right arm. My shoulder burns with the same crawling pain I felt after my stepsister jammed the thing back into joint—no, fuck that, it hurts worse than it did last night. How do I know if she even did it right? She’s got every reason to try and fuck up my shoulder even worse. I finally manage to stand up and I gently pull my IV needle out. There will be a bruise three inches wide from where I slept on the fucking needle, but at least she got me good and hydrated. It was worth it. The fight was good, relatively clean. Well, besides the razor blades. I chuckle.

This is all you fucking think about, Josh. No wonder she ain’t pleased to see you. I manage to make my way down the hallway to the bathroom. The walk is difficult. The flesh is barely willing, and the fire ants seem to have taken my entire body over, not just my shoulder. I’m able to coax out my dick—no, make that my boner—and I have to wait nearly a minute before I can actually piss. I pull my shorts back up and wash my hand the best I can, the whole time reviewing the disjointed thoughts and dreams of the night before.

“That can’t be right,” I mutter as I think about the moan I heard coming from Natalie’s room. I think I hallucinated the sound of Natalie... coming. I definitely hallucinated that. That was not a thing that happened. It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve touched anything like morphine, and I have to think that I had some sort of wishfulfillment opium dream, starring Natalie and her long, sexy fingers running over her tight—and quite likely perfect— pussy. I splash water on my face and try to think back to the fight instead. Before I leave the bathroom, I’m hoping my dick cooperates with me for once.

Despite my undying certainty that Natalie would never want the man who had walked out on her after her father’s funeral, the man who had never proven himself, my dick responds to the thought of her in bed, thinking about me. I groan and try to position my cock so it won’t bulge against my shorts, but it’s gotten the message that Natalie lives in this house, soaps up her tits in this shower. Do women soap their tits up in the shower? Some of them must. There’s no justice in the world if they don’t. I let out a heavy sigh and drag myself back to the living room. I feel off

balance, dizzy, probably because the blood is rushing to my cock, my shoulder, and the throbbing stitches on my forehead all at once. I stand against the wall, right where I once stood when I tried to kiss Natalie. I wonder if she ever thinks about that night, about me. But it’s not worth worrying about what might have been, if I made the right decision to let her go on to Chapel Hill thinking I didn’t give two shits about her. But if Natalie was in her room, doing what I think she was doing— “That ain’t the plan. She comes to you in her own time, if that’s what she wants.” I have to remind myself again,

have to stay steady. If I hadn’t thrown my shoulder completely out of joint, if I hadn’t needed stitches—if I hadn’t been so fucking stupid to keep taking fight after fight, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be saving my money, biding my time. But God, she’s fucking perfect—her body’s curvy and flirty and sexy, and she’s got no idea how goddamn gorgeous she is. Maybe I was drawn here because it is time. “What wasn’t the plan?” Natalie steps out of her room, clad in tight black leggings and a baggy UNC shirt. I try to keep my eyes on her face, but my confused body wants me to look down to

see if she’s wearing a bra. I can almost sense the soft outline of her nipples under the white cotton shirt, and I firmly suspect she’s bra-free. She’s always looked like walking sex to me, like she needed to have her lips wrapped around my cock, like her ass was made to be spanked. But this morning, she looks even better, and I wonder what it would be like to wake up next to her, to see that wavy blond hair like a shock of gold across her pillow, to kiss her lips, bite down, to slip my cock inside her as she spreads open wide and— “Josh, what the hell plan are you talking about? Getting your arm almost ripped off—was that part of the plan?”

She smiles at me, and I see she’s still got that tiny gap between her top teeth. Her daddy never gave a shit about getting her braces, she always told me, and I guess she never got those invisible braces she was talking about. She’s shy about it in pictures, but I always fucking loved that tiny little space. I heard once that it meant you were good in bed—and now I’m thinking of Natalie in bed again, but this time she’s riding my dick and I’m smacking her perfect ass, and I’m unable to focus on her words. “Earth to Josh.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “You still high from the morphine?”

“Uhhhh... I...” “Because it wasn’t my plan to take you in after you walked off into the sunset three years ago. Now that you’re conscious and feeling better, we need to get you all gussied up and back to your place. I’m sure you have some girl who can come take care of you?” She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arm. Oh shit. Shit. I have to stay here or Frank’ll get me training at the gym, book me for fights. Dammit. “I’m not exactly ‘feeling better,’ Nat. I feel like shit.” Her gaze roams over my body and lands on my enormous boner,

still straining against my shorts. “I see one part of you is feeling just fine.” “That happens in the morning.” I shift, uncomfortable. My cock throbs in response to her voice. After all this time, it still has that Pavlovian response down pat, trained through many sessions of abuse where my thoughts rested solely on Nat’s beautiful body. “Oh? I didn’t know. I’ve never seen like a thousand boners before, at the hospital.” She smirks and walks across the living room to the kitchen. The same dining room table still sits in the

breakfast nook, next to the old hutch where my mother kept her things. Nat must have long ago gotten rid of that shit, but the hutch still stands. Maybe she sent off the Precious Moments figurines to the crackhouse in Wanchese where my mother supposedly stays, but I somehow doubt it. I sit back down on the couch where I slept and watch Natalie as she makes coffee. Her movements are jerky, angry. She keeps running her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face, and she nearly drops the coffee beans several times before grinding them. I shift again, trying to will my morning wood away, but the only quick cure is

jerking off, and I somehow think Natalie would like me even less if I started jerking it in her living room. I’d also probably be staring at her tits the whole time, which would make things extra creepy. “Can I get some coffee, Nat? And some ibuprofen or something.” She stuffs coffee into the French press just as the water in her kettle starts to boil. As she pours the water, the smell of the fresh ground beans fills up the little house. My stomach rumbles, and I’m suddenly hungry and absolutely fiending for a cup of coffee. Natalie doesn’t respond. Instead she flashes me a withering look. “Nat? Please? Maybe some breakfast.”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “Let me call the coffee fairy, Josh. I’ll see if she has any painkillers. Maybe she can crush them up and insert them in your ass while I make you some breakfast.” “Nat.” I’ve had this same feeling a million times talking to Nat—I blurt out exactly what I’m thinking, and it turns out to be the worst thing I could possibly say. “I’m a fucking dick. I’m sorry Natty. But the pain is godawful. I’ve blown out my shoulder a million times, but this one’s a bad one.” She sighs. “It’s probably because your ribs are bruised as all hell too.

Shit’s painful. And yes, you’re a fucking dick.” She bites her lip. A jolt runs through my body, like I’m being taken back in time, back to the night when I kissed those pink lips and tasted her sweetness. It was like time stood still that night, and all my thoughts slowed down and made sense. The months that followed were a dark, deep hole of selfloathing and anger, but for that one moment, Natalie’s lips helped me make the right decision—to leave her be. It seems like time turned me around and brought me here again, to redo it all over again. And maybe this time, I can earn her back, show her why I left. “You were nicer when I showed up

last night, Natty.” My voice is too jaunty for the way I actually feel—but that’s always been one of my shortcomings. Cocky, arrogant. “Because you were hurt, probably. Or maybe because I was actually in shock—like the medical definition of shock. I couldn’t respond how I wanted to because I literally couldn’t process what was happening. But I can now. And I want you out.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “That’s probably not the best idea, Nat.” “Why the fuck not? You haven’t needed me once in three years, not even

enough to respond to my emails, my texts, a phone call on Christmas day. So I’d like you to go.” She wipes a tear away. But I know Natty, and she won’t let herself cry in front of me. She never has. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.” “I did, Josh. I wanted an explanation. Why did you leave that night? Do you even remember why?” “Yes, I remember.” She looks at me like she expects me to say more, like she wants me to tell her why. But it’s best if I don’t have a why for her right now.

Who knows? It might be worse if I tell her what my plan was, what my drunken reasoning led me to. That day I woke up on the beach was the worst day of my life, and I know now that I should have gone to her no matter what. I should have told her I was leaving for her, but my world, finally full of possibility, was so big that I couldn’t. If I tried to explain all that, I know how fucked up it would sound, how selfish. “Well?” “Well, nothing. I was an idiot. I got drunk, I was hungover. My trainer booked a fight for me three days out, and I was at the gym training as soon as I

was marginally sober.” She purses her lips and pours coffee in two mugs. Before she brings it over, she looks at me for a long, silent moment, as if trying to comprehend my meanness. “I get that you didn’t want me Josh, but all I was asking for was a little bit of help—some kindness. I wasn’t trying to tie you down. I know you don’t want that.” “Nat, I—” “I know you have all these girls falling all over you at the gym, and I wasn’t going to take that away from you.” She walks over and hands me the

coffee but doesn’t sit down next to me. “None of them compare to you, Nat,” I say. The words come out before I realize what I’m saying. My eyes meet hers, and her mouth opens for a moment. She holds her cup close, and the steam rises in front of her. Taking a sip of my coffee, I avert my eyes. I can still feel her stare, her “medical state of shock,” if that’s what she wants to call it. For a minute or so, she just stands there. “I’ll get you some Motrin, Josh. Then I’ll drive you back to your apartment. Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of clean bandages and a scrip for painkillers. You need to use them at night

—and only at night. Not when you’ve been drinking. And for God’s sake, you better not take one before a fight. It’ll be tempting, since you’d be able to take more without falling down. But doing any kind of intense physical activity with an opiate in your system can lead to serious injury.” She puts her coffee down and fishes through her purse, then pulls out a container full of fucking giant horse pills. I smile and look at her face, reading her serious expression. “What are you smiling about? I’m kicking you out so that you don’t get drunk and have your girlfriends showing up in my bed, like that time I came home from college—”

“I just like it when you turn into a medicine geek,” I say. She rolls her eyes hard, but I can see the corner of her lip turn up into a small smile. “Catch,” she says and throws the pills at me. Reaching out my right hand, I snatch the bottle from the air. “Shame,” she says. “I was hoping it would hit you in the head.” Grinning, I turn the bottle over in my hands. “I can catch, but I’ll need some help getting this shit open.” “God, you even need me to open

your damn Motrin.” She comes and sits down next to me, her body warm and close. She smells like something tropical and fruity, and I realize she must have showered before I woke up. The light scent of her hair makes me think of her in the shower again, naked, soaped up. My dick, which had settled down before, responds to the thought with an insistent pulse. I try to think of something else, anything else, as she takes the bottle from my hand and opens it for me. She pours out one of the giant pills in my hand. I think of pulling her close with my good arm, putting my hand to the back of her neck and kissing her until she can’t say anything else with that smart mouth of hers. But I don’t. The way I am right

now, even with what I’m planning, I’m still a fucking anchor for a woman like this. Would I have come if I’d had another choice? It occurs to me that I had plenty of other choices—my trainer, maybe Summer, one of the guys at the gym. But Nat was the only one who would give me stitches without batting an eye, who’d take me in no matter what even if she shouldn’t. “Take it,” she says. The consonants are sharp and crisp in her mouth, and I can feel her breath against my cheek. “And let’s go.” She brushes her long blond hair behind her ear. I take the pill

dry and then force down a big gulp of coffee. Since I quit drinking, I need my coffee in the morning, and I’ll be damned if I try to tell her what I intend to without something in my system. “Nat, we can’t go. I have to stay here, at least for a little while.” “What the hell do you mean you have to stay here?” I grin, but the words come out with an edge of sharpness. “You said two days back at the clinic, Natty.” Her eyes are dark, stormy in response. “I’ve changed my mind, Josh. You

can’t even offer an apology for... for anything. For walking out on me, for disappearing, for pushing your way into my house and making me risk my job for you.” “I didn’t make you do anything. You insisted on taking me to the clinic—” “Because you couldn’t go to the hospital, because of your precious, idiot job. It’s not even real MMA fighting. The one thing you’ve ever done, and you haven’t even tried to go pro. You could, you know.” “Yes, Nat, I could.” The frustration rises in my voice. “And I might.” This

gets her attention, and she looks at me, her eyes focused, questioning. “It’s not just that I’m injured, right now. I am. I can’t hardly move my damn arm, Natalie. I need your help, and no, I don’t have some other girl who’s able to do it. None of those skanks give a damn about me. Not that you do either, but at least you know me some.” She smiles at this. Maybe it’s just instinct, and I bet she has no idea what the hell she’s doing, but she puts her hand on my arm and rests it there for a moment. Just that gesture sends warmth through me, steels me up for what I’m about to say. “I guess I do know you some,” she says. I close my eyes for a second and

expect her to take her hand away, but she doesn’t. “Frank’s a slave driver, Nat. He’d have me training on this shoulder, maybe even today. And I’m betting he’s pissed at me too. The kid I was fighting last night let it slide that he’s seen me fight in other arenas, and Frank caught wind of it, so—” “You’re fighting at another gym?” “Dammit, let me finish. Yes, I’m fighting at other gyms, plural. My coach —Ash—he’s been getting me gigs other places, and Frank is goddamn pissed. I think Ash will still be able to get me the

big fight—” “What big fight?” She grips my arm slightly and then pulls her hand away like she’s touched something hot. “There’s a big fight coming up—in October. Frank’s going to be fucking pissed. The purse is $50,000. It’s enough money to take care of my entire debt to Frank, and I’ll be visible to some big recruiters there.” Her face is blank, and I’m betting I know what she’s thinking. “You’ve fucked things up like this before,” she says. Almost imperceptibly, she moves away from me on the couch. “For every ‘big fight’ I came to, I saw

you hungover or high—and even when you won, none of these ‘big recruiters’ ever came through for your unreliable ass—” “Nat, stop. Yes, I know. I’m a shithead piece of island trash. But I have a gesture of good faith, one good thing I’ve done in three years. It might make you feel different. Only don’t pour me a glass of scotch to celebrate.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “Go in my pocket. My left pocket.” Natalie purses her lips and raises an

eyebrow. “Not that, Nat. God, get your mind out of the gutter.” For the first time that morning, she cracks a smile. But she still looks incredulous, and I don’t fucking blame her. “Seriously, go in my pocket. I’d get it, but I can’t turn my body like that right now.” “Fine. What the hell are you on about this time?” She reaches across my body, the soft skin of her arm brushing against my abdomen. When she slips her hand in my pocket, I close my eyes and try to think of anything else but her hand brushing against my leg. Keep cool, man. Keep cool. I open my eyes after

she fishes it out and watch as she turns the small bronze coin over in her hand. “What the hell is this?” Looking at her, I can see the hint of recognition in her face, but I know that it’s not registering in her brain. Why would it? I’m the perennial fuck-up. I couldn’t accomplish something like this. I still don’t even believe it myself. “Three years this month, Nat. Not counting the morphine. And I ain’t counting it, since it wasn’t me that shot it up. Opiates ain’t my thing, anyway.” “This is an AA chip? Three years? Are you fucking with me?”

“No, I’m not fucking with you. You can ask Ash. He’s my sponsor.” “You started going three or four months after I last saw you?” “That’s about right. Three months of hard drinking. You’re the last person I have to make amends to, but this ain’t really how I want to do it—” “Fine,” she says. “You can stay. But I’m not really ready for amends. Maybe tomorrow.” My pulse rises as she looks me in the eyes. Her lips are full, pink, and it looks like she’s been biting them a little. For a moment, I think she might

lean in and kiss me, but instead, she puts the chip back in my hand and closes my fingers around it. “Good job, though,” she adds. I’m about to lean in, take her in my good arm, kiss that worried bottom lip— but she gets up and marches back to her bedroom, shutting the door between us. For the next six days, I get myself off thinking about her sweet curves, the fullness of her lips around my cock. And by the time the weekend rolls around again, I’m certain of what I’m going to do. Natalie is the plan. And it occurs to

my sorry ass that she’s what drew me here—and I’ll be damned if I don’t get her after I’ve struggled so hard for so long.

CHAPTER SIX

Every morning, I try to wake up and get out of dodge while Josh is sleeping or taking a shower. I’ve been leaving notes for him with detailed exercises and reps

that he needs to be doing. Am I encouraging him to go back into fighting hell with that asshole Frank? Or is he doing something better —something real? I haven’t been able to figure it out. Maybe I should stay around more, ask him about it, accept his “amends” or whatever. But my body is a betraying bitch, and it wants him too much for me to hold a serious conversation. When I’m around him, I end up fidgeting with my hair, my clothes, everything—and he can read me like a book. That’s why I haven’t been around.

This morning though, I’m giving it a try since he claims he needs my help to regain his balance. I watch him as he centers himself over the masking tape line I have in the hallway. He leans slightly toward the left, even standing still, like the sling is pulling him down. “It’s been a week, Nat. Can I take it out of the sling?” Josh raises one foot off the floor and places it against his ankle. I know he’ll be training for the big fight soon, whether I like it or not. Regaining his balance will help him—he’s right. He stumbles, but I don’t reach out to catch him, partly because he needs to do the exercise himself, and partly because touching his body might kick mine back

into high gear. “Only to take a shower, Josh. You’re cutting it close with that fight of yours. Your arm should be in a sling for at least two weeks. The shoulder was entirely dislocated.” Josh looks at me like I have a horn growing out of my forehead. “We’ll work on some extension and flexion, but we can’t do too much else.” “How am I going to fight in five weeks? I need to train.” He tries the yoga tree pose again, but this time he holds his foot steady. “You should have thought of that before you went and got your shoulder

pulled out of socket, bro.” “It’s not like I can predict how every fight goes, Natty.” “All right, hold your palms together, now, and raise your foot to the side of your calf.” Josh does as I say, swaying slightly, but still standing steady. “Hold for ten seconds.” I watch his face for signs of annoyance, but he’s holding the pose, showing only concentration. I keep wondering when I’m going to see him falter, when he’s going to give up on the idea of winning a real fight. Each day, I come home from the hospital and expect to see him gone, but instead he’s here, watching TV or sleeping, and all his

daily exercises are crossed off his list. I know he’s got to be itching to go. There hasn’t been a time he wasn’t itching to get lost, sober or not. He might be able to pull it off. I push the thought out of my mind—I’ve bet on Josh before, and it hasn’t exactly worked out. “Good?” He looks at me, palms still together, right foot raised and perched perfectly on his calf. “Yes. Better than expected, especially since you’ve been doing so much lying around.” He smiles, genuinely pleased. I smile back for a

second and then grimace. I shouldn’t be letting him stay here, let alone helping him do physical therapy. “Okay, outta tree pose. You have to do that one at least three times a day—twice on the right and four to five times on the left. Balance is how you might win this thing, Josh. Now we gotta get you to walk down this line without falling.” I point to the line of masking tape that runs the length of the hallway. “I’ll walk you through it first.” I take Josh by the arm and guide him down the line of tape I’ve put in the hallway. Despite the exercises, his balance is completely off. With the bruised ribs and the shoulder like it is,

I’m not terribly fucking surprised. “Thank you, Nat. I know this is a big ask. There ain’t no way I’d be ready to train in the gym.” “Speaking of which, where does Frank think you are?” “He knows I’m recovering. Maybe he thinks I’m staying with Ash. He’d already be working me if I were around, probably shoot me up with HGH, maybe get me lined up to throw a fight in the next week or so.” “I still don’t know how you got fucked up so bad,” I say. The heat

radiates from his body, and he grips my arm hard as he stumbles. As per usual, he’s prancing around my fucking house completely shirtless. As his fingers tighten around my forearm, warmth runs through me, almost like a current of electricity. I glance up at him as we walk down the line in the hallway. He gives me that grin—the one lights a fire in the pit of my stomach every time I see it. I step away from him, and he lets go of my arm. Immediately, he leans against the wall. “He had me fighting up a class. Guy was middleweight, insanely violent. I choked him out in the last round.”

“With a fucking dislocated shoulder.” “Adrenaline,” he says, as if that explains anything. My stomach drops as I think of him in the cage, blood running down his face, down his torso. Josh stumbles at the last bit of the line, leaning hard to his left and almost pulling me down with him. If he favors his left side like this during the fight, the other fighter will know right away. “Again,” I say. “This time without me.” I turn him around at the end of the line and let go of him.

“This is pansy bullshit, Nat. Give me some real balance exercises. I can hold a book on top of my head while I do this or something.” “It’s physical therapy. Go on. Try it. It’s harder than it looks when you’ve got one arm and three hundred old injuries hindering your balance. Doesn’t your trainer know anything?” “He knows plenty. But he doesn’t make me walk down a line of tape like a cop with a drunken teenager.” “Try. It.” Slowly, Josh steps away from the wall. He straightens his body, cringing as the sling pulls against his

shoulder. He lifts one foot and holds it up for a moment, then puts it down on the floor, gently. He wobbles and pitches forward before catching himself on the wall with his hand. “Fuck.” “Faster, Josh. Let’s hurry this up. I don’t have all day.” “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed here if this is the kind of treatment I get during my recovery.” He cuts his eyes at me. They flash green, and for a moment, my stomach flips. This is always how he’s affected me, since the moment we met when we were fifteen. Maybe I’m the

idiot that shouldn’t have let him stay here. I shouldn’t have. He knows it, I know it. “I agree, hot shot. Isn’t that what they call you?” “It’s ‘Long Shot,’ Natty.” He tries walking the line again and makes it to five steps before he tumbles against the wall again. “Why? Because it’s a long shot that you’ll win this fucking fight?” “I’m known for winning fights that no

one else will take. Against the meanest and the dirtiest fighters. And there are a few other reasons I’m a Long Shot. Though if we’re being entirely accurate, I’d add in ‘thick’ too.” I blush hard and take a step back, hitting the wall behind me. There’s not a lot of space between me and Josh in this hallway, and it feels like it’s closing in on me, closing in on both of us. His gaze meets mine, knowing and unflinching. Has he heard me? Did he hear me? I gulp, and my mouth goes dry. Last night, I saw him stretched out on the couch… and in my room, with the lights off… I can’t help it—he’s always draped over a

piece of my furniture, half-naked, practically rippling his abs in my direction. How could I not— “I... uh... you...” I stutter. “Just kidding,” he says and takes his place at the beginning of the line of tape. He tentatively steps forward and doesn’t stumble. “Or am I?” I try to back further against the wall, and I wish it would open up and swallow me whole. The flush on my body isn’t fading. It’s evidence of my embarrassment, and, by the lasting smirk on his face, I can tell that he probably likes it. He’s always loved doing this shit to me.

“Great job,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. I cough. This time, he navigates the line with greater ease and only a few stops and starts. His movements, even with his injuries, are languid, fluid, sexual. Arousal courses through my body, and I feel wired, my hair standing on end. It might be better if I looked away from him, but now all I can think about is what he said. Since high school, I’ve heard of Josh’s legendary cock, and I’ve imagined it a thousand times since then. Regardless of the pain he’s caused me, I wanted him before I wanted any other man—and far more than I’ve wanted anyone since them.

Stop, Nat, just stop. He’s only using you as a distraction. Inadvertently, I lick my lips. His gaze meets mine and then travels down to my mouth. I clear my throat, trying to regain some composure. “Great. Let’s do some arm exercises next. If you’re going to be a dipshit and start training for real next week, we’ve got to get your strength back up.” “Who are you? My coach? I liked you better when you didn’t curse so much.” He leans against the wall and gives me the cocky grin that’s always undone me, from the moment I met him when I was fifteen.

“You were the one who taught me to swear, Josh McRae. And you were the one who gave me a reason to swear.” My stomach flips as I step closer to Josh. I hold out my arm to him, but he stays where he is. “Are these exercises enough to get me ramped up for training?” “They’ll have to be. You’ve dislocated before right? And I’m sure you were an idiot and got right back in the cage?” “It was my right side last time, so it was even worse. Didn’t have the bruised

ribs at the same time, though.” He steps over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself. My lips part slightly, and I take a breath. His scent fills the air around me, strong and clean and masculine. It makes me giddy, and I find I can’t remember the exercise I was going to ask him to do next. Long and thick, I think. God, what is wrong with me? I’m thinking about cock while I administer medical care. I look at the tattoos covering his arms and shoulders. There’s one tiny tattoo that sticks out—a date in small script lettering, less than an inch tall. I brush my fingers over his skin where the tattoo sits.

“What’s this? July 20, 2012?” “First AA meeting,” he says in a tone that tells me he doesn’t want to discuss it. “Weren’t you supposed to do some exercises with my arm?” “Mmm,” I nod, still looking at the tribal swirls and the scars that cross above his defined pectoral muscles. Even after a week of limited activity, he looks like a man who stays in the gym all day, all the time. Back when I saw him last, he was scrawnier, the bags under his eyes darker and deeper. “First, we’ll take your sling off.” I reach up and gently unhook the sling. “Hold your arm

in place, Josh.” “I thought you said I could only take it off when I shower.” “When you shower, and when I say so.” I take the sling down over his arm and toss it down to the end of the hallway. I brush my fingertips over his bicep, and he shivers. I can see the goosebumps forming on his arms. “You’re giving me commands now, Nat? And I thought I was supposed to be the domineering one.” I open my mouth to comment, but I can’t think of anything that’s not dirty or at the very least, inappropriately flirtatious. Taking his

forearm in my hands, I bring it forward, extending it a few degrees at a time. He takes a sharp breath and lets out a sigh. “God,” he says, his voice raspy. “I know it’s tender. The shoulder, I mean.” “How do you know it’s not because you’re touching me? It might be, Nat. You never know.” Warmth pools between my legs. But there’s a flicker of anger there too, my body torn between arousal and annoyance. “Cut it out, Josh. See how I’m extending your arm? That’s as far as you need to extend it right now. But if

you do this a few times a day—only with me, I don’t want you hurting yourself— you’ll build up to throwing a few punches in a week’s time.” He looks at me, his eyes wandering down to my breasts. “Cut what out?” “Flirting with me. We’ve been doing just fine the past week, without you getting things all complicated.” I extend his arm again and roll his fingers into a fist. “You can make fists while the sling is still on,” I continue, as if we’re not having an entirely different conversation on the side. “That’ll help get the blood flowing in your arm, speed up the healing process.”

“Nat, you haven’t even been around. Today’s the first time I’ve even seen you for more than five minutes.” He shoots me that cocky grin again. “And besides, you’re the sexiest girl in the room.” I pull away from Josh, and he nearly falls against me. “Hey, what was that for?” He quickly recovers his balance, and it makes me wonder if the whole stumbling thing was a show before. Shit, I have no idea what to believe now that he’s in my house after so much damn time between us. “Is that it? You can’t see the girls at the fight club, so you’re turning your eyes to me instead?” My words come

out sharper than I intend, with vitriol hidden just beneath the surface. I wonder, not for the first time, if I should have tried to process Josh’s presence here. Or if I should have him here at all. “Natty, that ain’t—” “It sure sounded like that.” I cross my arms. The anger and desire blend together in my body, hurt and pain rising and cresting along with it. I want to go to him, pull him into me—and I want to hit him, to yank his shoulder right back out of its stupid socket. Hot tears prick at my eyes, and I wonder if he notices, or if he cares.

“I didn’t intend it. It was a joke.” He runs his hand through his hair, exasperated. Anger flares again—he’s got no right to be frustrated with me. “Is that what I am to you? Please, tell me. You came in here for my help, I risked my job—” “That was interrupts.

your

choice,”

he

“Dammit! You think I was going to let you suffer? You’re not that stupid. Of course I was going to help you. But Josh, I spent the last three years not even knowing if you were alive. I finally found out you were still at Franks after

calling them ten or twenty times. I guess someone told the front desk not to tell me anything, but one day I got a young guy who was nice enough to tell me that you weren’t dead on the beach somewhere.” All the words come tumbling out at once. “I didn’t come— because I knew for sure you didn’t want to see me—” “Natty—” “Stop fucking calling me that! I’m Natalie at work, and as your doctor, you can fucking call me Natalie. Or Dr. Shaw, whichever you prefer.” I realize I’ve stepped almost a foot closer to Josh, and that I’ve been waving my

hands around like an Italian grandmother. I take a deep breath and huff before I turn away and head for my bedroom. There’s a stumbling lunge behind me and Josh catches me by the arm with his right hand. His grip is strong, and he’s able to yank me around so I’m facing him again. If you meet his eyes, it’s all over, Nat. You’ll get deep into his mess, all over again. Josh takes my other arm with his left hand, even though he shouldn’t be using the damn thing at all. “Natalie, look at me.” He moves his right hand up to my chin and tilts it up so I’m looking right

into his hazel green gaze. “First of all, you can’t wander away from a fighter in the middle of a fight.” “Dammit, Josh, let me go.” I could pull away from him—the man’s shoulder is obliterated. But his hand holds my chin, and now searing heat has replaced the warmth between my legs. “My loud mouth is my biggest flaw, Natalie—” “Really? I thought you had a lot of other flaws besides that one.” “I do, Nat. But that one is the worst, because it gets me in trouble with people

I care about. You’ve gotta know that I care about you. Do you know that?” “I didn’t know you cared about anyone but yourself.” My words are meant to bite, but they don’t come out that way. Instead, my voice is breathy, sexy—everything I don’t intend. “I do. I care about you. I never stopped for a moment. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re the most beautiful woman I know. Not pretty. Not cute. Beautiful. And fucking sexy too.” “Then why did you leave me, Josh? Why?” My voice cracks, even though I don’t want it to, even though I don’t

mean to say any of this shit. I should walk away. I should go to my room and ride it out like a storm, but I can’t turn away. His words are pretty, but his past actions still sing louder. It occurs to me then that the AA chip barely means a thing since I didn’t have a fucking clue he was doing it. “Natalie, I’m sorry. I couldn’t come back here—” “You ‘couldn’t?’” “No, Nat, I couldn’t. Let me tell you what I did.” I try to pull away this time, my heart pounding. I’m not even sure I want to know what he did.

“I went to the beach—” “That’s just like you, leaving me behind for something better—” “Natty, let me finish. Natalie. I went to the beach, and I drank all night. I was piss-fucking drunk. I went and I trained that whole next day until I was exhausted, and I fought that night, and I beat down a sixteen year-old runaway in the cage because Frank told me to. That’s not a man you would’ve wanted to be with—” “How could you know that?”

“That’s not a man you would’ve wanted,” he said again, shaking his head. “I knew then—that night—that you didn’t need another anchor tying you to this island. I could barely believe it when you came back. That’s another issue, but I’m not about to criticize you—” “Free rent,” I say and shrug. “No one wants this fucking place—it’s beat up and in the wrong part of town. It made sense for me—” “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re back, but I keep wondering what the hell you’re doing here, why you slipped back into this life.”

“It ain’t none of your business, really.” The island country accent slips back into my voice, and I can see him smiling. “It is. I gave you up that night because I thought you’d leave for good, that you’d have no reason to come back again.” “So you’re saying you left that night so I wouldn’t stay here? So I’d get on out of here and stay away because of you? I’m sorry, but that wasn’t your choice.” I push Josh in the middle of the chest, just like I did the night he left. Quick, always quicker than I am, he leans against the wall and catches my

wrists. “Let me go, Josh.” “You can go at any time, but I’m back here now, and I’m wondering why you’re still upset with me. If you hate me —like you should—you wouldn’t have taken me in,” he says. He slips his right arm around my waist and grips my wrist with his left hand. Even at half-strength, even injured, he’s still a lot fucking stronger than I am, and that sends another message of heat, a lightning bolt of desire, straight through my body. “Let me go,” I say again. “No, not this time. I’m not letting you go, Natalie.”

My body is on high alert, like there’s a coil growing tighter and tighter deep inside of my body, sparks radiating through me where his hands make contact with my skin. He slips his hand under my baggy UNC shirt and touches the small of my back, and a shock rolls straight through to my sex. The yearning I’ve felt since high school is apparently not going away, but I think, for one foggy moment, that I should pull away again, that I shouldn’t let this happen. But instead I moan, my lips parting slightly before he claims my mouth. And then the thing happens—the thing that’s happened only once before. He kisses me, hard, his tongue finding mine.

This time, though, it’s different. The kiss on the night of my father’s funeral was unprompted, hurried, probably drunk, full of bravado. But not this kiss. This kiss is long and full, deep and slow. It’s the kiss of a grown man, patient and tender, belying a passion I haven’t felt anywhere else—ever. I pull away and bring my fingers to my mouth, running them over the swollen bottom lip he took between his teeth. My body feels like it’s melting, and just like before, I want to sink into the wall. “We shouldn’t, Josh. This isn’t—” “It’s okay, Nat. I understand.” He

brushes the thumb over the small of my back, and my sex throbs in response. We shouldn’t. But it’s not like I don’t want this. It’s not like I don’t want his lips again, not like I don’t want his hands on me, brushing over my breasts, taking my waist, moving lower. “I’ve been waiting for years, and now that you’re back, you’ll have to put up with me. I’ll bide my time until you tell me otherwise.” “It’s not wise,” I say, because nothing else comes to my mind. His left hand still holds my wrist, and he kisses me there, on the pale, sensitive inside of my wrist. He pulls me in closer, his hand gripping my waist, and I feel his cock, hard and hot, pressing into my thigh. “I

can see that—” “That I’ve been thinking about you too, like you have been at night. See, I sleep light nowadays,” he says. He pushes into me again, and I think about what I wanted that night, what I needed to take the pain away. And I still want it. God help me, the need that pours through me nearly obliterates everything in my mind. My body pulses with it, reaching out to the man in front of me. Is that what he is now? A man? My left hand still rests on his forearm, and I glance at my watch. “Shit,” I mumble, pulling away from him. “I have to go to my shift.” He nods,

doesn’t say anything else. “I’ve gotta go to my shift,” I repeat dumbly. “When I get back, we’ll work on some more exercises...” “Sure, Nat. Whatever you want.” He nods at me again, and I avoid looking down at his ever-present basketball shorts. If I think any more about his body, my brain will fucking explode. I grab my scrubs and stuff them in my purse, and I run out of the house because now I’m running late, and I never run late for anything. What is he doing to me?

CHAPTER SEVEN

I watch Nat’s ass as it sways out of the door. The door slams behind her, and I nearly say a prayer of mourning. My

cock strains against the fabric of my shorts, and every tiny movement of my body sends shocks through my body. Apparently my dick hasn’t gotten the message that Nat’s gone to work for another shift. I’ll be left wondering if she still hates me, if she responded to that kiss just because I caught her off guard. “I feel like a fucking pussy. Waiting for a woman,” I mutter. I think of the fight, try to focus on it, but all I can see in my mind is Natalie, sweet Natalie, pushed up against the wall, looking like she was ready for me—like she needed it bad and was just trying to hide it all week.

I try the masking tape line again. I don’t do as well this time, but it’s probably because my dick is still semihard, and my shoulder is still fucked up. The shoulder wasn’t part of my plan either, but it happened. And it brought me back to Natalie before I intended to see her again—scratch that, it gave me the opportunity to see Nat again, to change the plan, to win her once and for all. “Fuck, man. What now?” I stumble into the bathroom and turn the shower on, letting it run until a cloud of steam fills the tiny room. The bathroom is immaculately clean—leave it to Nat to keep such a shitty place

feeling so fresh—but the linoleum is peeling up in the corners of the room, and the paint is flaking off the ceiling. If I thought I was an anchor, this place is far fucking worse. I strip down my shorts and kick them off, leaning against the wall to steady myself. And then I do what I’ve done a million times since seeing Natalie again, but it’s far more intense today, far more imminent. I step in the shower and grip my cock. I let my hand rest there for just a moment, letting my thoughts drift off to Nat. The closeness of her body—her softness and her curves—it felt so real today. Despite all my planning and saving money and hard-won sobriety, I

still can’t see myself as someone different, someone who Nat would actually want, for real. I can see her fucking me once, getting it out of her system, and then moving on with her life. My mind settles on Nat, just Nat. Her blond hair wavy over her shoulders. Her plump, swollen bottom lip. She looked like she was up to no good after I kissed her. I think of what that curvy body would look like if I stripped her of her scrubs, if she’d look just as good without her rumpled loungewear as she does in it. “Better,” I say, groaning. I stroke

faster, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip of my cock. “Fuck, Natalie.” I think of kneeling between her legs, of making that stressed out look on her face disappear as she comes hard for me, on my tongue, her sweet taste all over my lips. I stroke faster, the images disjointed and blurring together in my mind. I think about what would have happened that night three years ago, if I’d come back, if she’d let me stay. In my mind, I take her and own her on that couch she’s got me sleeping on. I put her ass in the air and rest my cock against her entrance, make her beg for me to fuck her, make her beg for my cum inside of her. I think of her ass rocking against

me, her pussy throbbing against my cock. I’m almost certain she’d be a freak in bed, that she’d end up wanting it all the damn time, that she’d lust after the taste of my cock, the feeling of me buried inside her. I stroke faster, holding onto that image of thrusting inside of her for the first time, grabbing onto her luscious hips and fucking her until she can’t remember her own name. The thought sends me over the edge, and I come, harder than I have in a long fucking time. I stand there for a moment afterwards, the aftershocks of pleasure running through my body. I wash, nearly falling once. I close my eyes as the

water washes the soap away, washes my slate clean. There might not be a chance for me with this woman, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least fucking try. I stop the shower and dry off, hanging the towel around my waist. After I pull on a fresh pair of boxers and my shorts, I keep checking my phone, ignoring the twelve text messages from Frank. He wants me to train, wants me to fight, wants me to make weight by next week for a battle with a new kid. For the first time since everything has started to come together for me, I don’t respond to Frank, don’t try to move everything forward. All I’m worried about right now is sitting still, waiting

for Natalie. After a while, I doze off, and when Natalie finally appears, it’s like she’s coming out of a dream, my dream. She’s got that baggy shirt and leggings on again, and I wonder if she changed at the hospital. She sits down next to me and puts her hand on my arm. “Hey,” she says. “Hey yourself.” I sit up and wipe the sleep away from my eyes. Natty is tired, the way she looked after I first showed up at the house—and about a thousand times since them. It occurs to me that I’m the reason she’s so fucking tired this week, but fuck it, I have limited chances before Frank or Ash pushes me to start

training. “Natalie, about this morning—” “Yeah, you really need to work on your balance or you’re going to get clobbered in the ring. Or the cage, or whatever.” She smiles, but I see concern in her face too, and it’s probably not due to my lack of balance this morning. “But about the other thing—” “The kiss? There’s more where that came from.” I grin. She raises her hand to stop me, purses her lips in seriousness. I can tell she wants to say something sharp, something sarcastic, but she’s desperately trying to be serious. Serious hasn’t ever been how we do things, this girl and I.

“I can’t.” She opens her mouth to say more, but she doesn’t. It’s just out there, like that. She can’t. Didn’t I always know she couldn’t? But right now, after this day, it’s not good enough. I raise my hand up to her face and turn it to me. Her amber gaze meets mine, her eyes flashing gold in the dim light of the room. “I know I can’t convince you with words, Nat. I’ve tried and failed here a number of times.” I inch closer to her. I don’t want to scare her off. The need— intense and raging in my blood—it makes me want to take her by both shoulders and corner her against the arm

of the couch, rip her cotton t-shirt. Not yet. Slow, gentle, I think. I tip her face toward mine, and she draws in a sharp breath. The sound of it sends a shock to my core. She doesn’t move away, doesn’t get up to go to her bedroom, doesn’t say a word. I cover her mouth with mine, drawing in her full lower lip. She’s still for a moment, rigid, like she wants to shout or leave. I lift my hand to her cheek again, brushing a stray wave behind her ear. Then she responds, finally, kissing me back, her tongue finding mine, her taste sweet on my lips. I feel her melting into me, her body going slack, responding just like it did this morning. I move my good hand down her back and slip it under her

shirt, squeeze her side. She squirms, but then she moves closer to me instead of pulling away. Gently, I put my thumb in the waistband of her leggings, and I bring my hand around to the front, slipping my fingers inside her panties and angling my body so I can get to her pussy—if she’ll let me. To my surprise, she keeps kissing me, and I tease her, pulling her panties away from her skin. She gasps and moans a soft little moan into my mouth. I pull my hand away and her eyes flutter open, looking into mine. I’ve seen this look on her face so many times—like she’s holding this heavy burden, like she’s thinking too much about everything.

Well, that’s my girl. She’s always been thinking way too much about everything. If I can touch her, if I can make her come, maybe she’ll let her mind run free for just a moment. I kiss her once more, then move my right hand over her waist and then between her thighs. “My one hand can’t do everything it wants all at once, Nat.” She smirks, doesn’t say anything. I bet she thinks if she does, it’ll all be over with—at that point, she gives in, or she doesn’t get the release she needs, the climax waiting for me underneath her skin. I bring my hand around to the perfect orb of her breast, and slowly, I move my

other hand over and lift her shirt and bra up so they’re sitting on the top of her lovely, ample breasts. I cup one and then the other, grazing my thumb over one nipple and watching it rise under my touch. She whimpers, and I swear I’ve never heard anything so beautiful. Moving to kneel in front of her, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I take one pink nipple in my mouth, sucking and licking on it until I hear her breath coming in shorter and shorter rasps. I move my mouth to the other breast and cover her nipple, bringing it to stiffness with my tongue and biting down until I hear her moan, feel her fingers combing through my hair.

“Fuck, Josh... we can’t... we shouldn’t...” Her voice trails off, and I suck hard against the nipple one last time before pulling away and letting my hands fall to her waist. My shoulder throbs, but the aching need in my cock outweighs the pain. “Do you want me to stop, Nat?” She shakes her head, stays sitting there, exposed and ready. I bring my mouth to her breasts again, kissing one and then the other, flicking my tongue over the soft swell of her nipple. She groans again. “No...don’t stop,” she says. Her

voice comes out like a whine, not sarcastic, not authoritative, not brainy— not all the things she usually is. I take my mouth away and stand up in front of her. I don’t give a shit if she sees how hard my cock is. By the end of this, she’ll be begging for it anyway. “Then stand up, Nat. Take your pants off.” “Wha—what? What am I doing?” She shakes her head like she’s out of it, like she didn’t hear me right. “Take off your pants, Nat. I’m going to make you come.” She gulps and stands up slowly, then puts her thumbs in her

waistband like I did. There’s a flush rising over her neck and into her fair cheeks, and I try not to smirk, try not to let on any of my usual self. I run my fingers through her hair and place my hand firmly on the back of her neck. “Take off your pants for me, Natalie. All the way. Then kick them aside.” I kiss her again. Her lips are soft, yielding, not hesitant like they were before. “But I—” She bites her lip, as if she’s suddenly shy about her body. I think for a second that she’s going to stop, but then she pulls down her leggings right to the top of her hips, and it’s a fucking perfect sight. She pulls them all the way down and kicks them to

the side, just like I asked her to do. “Good girl,” I say, and I lead her over to the wall by her bedroom, my hand never leaving her neck. “What are you doing, Josh?” She looks at me, and the flush has grown deeper, redder. “You’ll need the wall for support, or you’ll fall the fuck over.” I move my hand to the front of her neck and gently push her against the wall. She doesn’t resist, and I feel her throat move in a swallow under the flesh of my palm. “I’d keep my hand here, sweetheart, if I had a hand to spare, but I don’t.”

“Josh,” she whimpers, and I smile. She’s pretty much naked, except for the shirt and bra on top of her perfect tits, and I like that just where it is. It frames her tits—and that works, because they’re a fucking masterpiece. I move my hand down to her hip, squeezing hard before sliding my palm between her thighs and feeling the sopping wetness along her slit. She melts into me, pushing against my hand. “I’m in charge,” I growl, my voice rough. The beast inside me—the one that was in control of me for so long—comes out when I feel her. I let it out as I move my fingers over her pussy, carefully

avoiding her clit. “Jesus,” she says, and I know she’s probably not calling on the lord. I chuckle and keep running my fingers over her pussy, nearly touching her clit on every second stroke. But I’m still avoiding it. I know that the flesh there is sensitive, that she feels vibrations of need every time I near that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Please, Josh, oh fuck, stop doing this...” “Please what? Should I take my hand away—or am I not understanding you?” “Please, please, make me come. I can’t handle it anymore.”

I gently press my thumb against her clit when she says please in that breathy little voice, and I lean in close, kissing her again and listening to her breath grow short. Her skin is flushed bright pink, and her lips are pliant and willing against mine. Goosebumps rise on her flesh as I begin to circle her clit, and I savor each moment of this sweet memory because I know it might not happen again. She’s likely to come to her senses by tomorrow, to kick me out when she realizes I’ve healed enough to take care of myself on my own. Now, though, she’s mine. “Natalie, look at me,” I say. Her eyes

flutter closed as I circle my thumb faster, harder, more insistent. Then she looks at me, her eyes faraway, lost in her secret world of desire. “I want to see your face, baby.” I shift position and slip two fingers inside of her, then press my palm against her clit and rock it back and forth. All the while, I watch her face, listen to her breath as it catches in her throat. She lets out an exquisite, soft moan, the kind I’ve imagined she might make when I enter her for the first time. The very thought of taking her like that for the first time sends sparks through my body, and I feel wired, my body and brain buzzing with electricity. I want her now, but tonight’s

about her. Slowly, I begin to move my fingers back and forth, tapping her g-spot softly with every thrust inside. Her embarrassment is gone now, and in its place there’s only desire, slickness, readiness. Her pussy throbs against my fingers, and she’s moaning, crying out, saying my name low and soft and quick. “Come for me, Natalie.” The words come out like a command. “Fuck, Josh, oh God,” she says. She moans longer, louder, and I cover her mouth with mine as her pussy tightens and pulses against my fingers. She pushes down, bucking hard against my hand, her back arching away from the

wall. “You coming for me, baby? You like that?” She nods her head as the climax starts to wash away from her body, the pulses coming slower now, like she’s cooling down. I watch as she begins to snap back to her senses, her gaze growing sharper, more skeptical. I draw my hands away, and try to stretch out my arm like Nat has shown me. It aches from twisting my body, from bending it out of the position it should be in, but it was worth it to see her face when she came for me. “I have a shift tomorrow, pretty early,” she says and pulls her shirt

down. The shirt barely covers her ass, and my dick throbs. She pauses for a moment. “You need rest,” I say. “I know.” “I don’t know what this is,” she says, raising a hand to my cheek and then letting her finger trail down to my torso, sending shivers through my body. “But you can sleep in my bed. If you want to. I don’t have a condom...” She looks down, and runs her fingers through her hair. When she looks back up at me, the shirt pulls up again, and I can see the sweet, soft lines of her body. I’ve never taken anything slow—if this could be considered slow, anyway. I don’t want

to take anything slow, and I don’t want to wait. But I nod, and she holds my hand, walking me into the bedroom.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I’m nervous when I take Josh into my bedroom. My body and mind are still buzzing with what we just did—with what he did to me. Josh has been the

fantasy—the one that got away, or well, the one that ran away—for three years. There were missed chances a hundred times, crossed wires, and the quiet violence of living with our parents. We were always drawn together, from the time we were fifteen, the children of addicts. For so long, we were just surviving, and now, we’re together again, finally living out the chance we never took. I pull my bra off and toss it to the floor, and I wonder if I should bother putting on panties. Josh stares at me, watches me as I grab a pair from my dresser, pulling them on under my shirt. I blush and slide onto the bed.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We can just sleep.” His eyes are still on me, and from what I could feel when he had me in his hands, his cock was pretty damn hard. My body pulses, screams out for him. But my mind hesitates. When I look at Josh, I don’t see what other women see. They see how cut and hard his body is, how graceful and fluid he is when he fights. But I see the man who missed my college graduation because he was hungover, and I see the man who walked away from me when I asked him to stay. I see other parts of his history too—the kindness underneath his arrogant exterior, the hurt he suffered when he was kicked out of this very house. After

tonight, after getting to know Josh again, after starting to understand that he’s changing, my feelings are mixed up, confused. He climbs into bed beside me and gathers me in his arms, then puts his lips to mine. I melt into him and try to clear my mind of the past, banish all the pain. It’s easy when his arms around me, when he’s here with me. I nearly drift into sleep several times, but his presence seems to demand my attention. The electricity buzzes in my veins, and soon, I’m wide awake, heat pulsing through me. Josh is nearly asleep when I start trailing my finger over the ridges of his abs, following the trail down to the

waistband of his shorts. I gulp when I think about how he commanded me to come, and the heat comes crashing into me in waves. Gently, slowly, I tug at the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down over his hips. He groans and shifts so that he’s on his back, and his eyes pop open. “Nat, what are you up to?” He grins, and I keep pulling down his shorts until he’s able to kick them to the side. Josh’s cock is still hard as a rock, and shit, it’s fucking big. I wrap my hand around the base of it and then move my hand higher until I brush my thumb over the head.

“Repaying the favor.” “It wasn’t a favor. It was—” I hold up one hand to stop him and stroke him with the other. “We can talk about what it was in the morning.” Josh groans and nods. I run my fingers up and down his length, exploring the map of his skin, its smoothness, its heat. I push aside the whole of our history as my hand moves over his cock, and soon enough, I’m not thinking about anything at all besides the man in front of me. Kneeling beside him, I kiss him hard as I stroke him and then move my mouth over his neck, and down lower, to the head of his cock.

“Natalie,” he moans, grabbing a fistful of my hair. My spine tingles as I run my tongue over his hard length, coming back up to the head and taking it into my mouth again. I run my tongue over it, its taste salty and alkaline all at once, and I bend over, taking as much of him as I can all at once, all the way back to my throat. It’s been a while—a long while—since I’ve been this intimate with anyone, but it feels right, natural with Josh, like it’s what we both needed all along. He groans as I take him in, and he tugs my hair gently, controlling the rhythm, showing what he wants from my mouth.

“Nat, I’m going to come, baby, just like that.” His words come low and soft, and I feel his body tighten, begging for relief from deep inside. “Fuck, that’s good, baby,” he says, tightening his hold on my hair. I take him in all the way, listening to his groans as he comes. Before we both fall asleep, I wonder if Josh is the force of nature that drew me back here—because, a week ago, I never would have expected anything like this. *** I wake hours later, sometime near dawn. But dawn is a fuzzy thing in the

late summer, and I wonder what the hell time it is, and exactly how long I have before my shift at ten. They shouldn’t do this to me—schedule me for back-tobacks, but the hospital is understaffed, and the administration is all about taking advantage of the residents desperate enough to come here. “Josh,” I mumble and roll over, expecting his body to be in the space next to mine. But it’s not. The bed is empty, save for Beatrice, who purrs steadily behind the crook in my legs. My pulse quickens. Is he gone? Was this too much? No, it couldn’t have been. He was the one

who— I lay still in the darkness and listen for movement in the house. “Yeah, okay, Katy, I get it,” I hear Josh say. Footsteps follow. It sounds like he’s walking on the hardwood floors, his movements quick and rhythmic. Then he stops, and I hear him talking again. Slowly, I get out of bed and walk over to the door, careful to be silent. The door is open a crack, and I listen. His voice sounds agitated, and his words are so quick and low that I can barely make out what he’s saying. “Of course he wants me to train,

okay. But Ash—” I catch that much and then Josh’s voice goes low again. “Katy, I told you not to call me. I’m at—” Who the fuck is Katy? I swallow hard. Something that feels like jealousy curdles inside my chest, and I want to growl, stomp across the room and grab the phone from his hand. But I have no more claim on him than any other woman he’s messed with, even if I’ve taken him in, even if I stitched his cuts closed. And even if I worry about him more and want him more, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Closing my eyes for a moment, I think of his first fight. I went, of course,

because we were both dumb and seventeen, and he was my best friend. He’d begged me to come for weeks after Daddy kicked him out and Josh decided to run to the peninsula and make his own way in life. When I got there, he was talking to some other girl, brushing her dark red—probably dyed—hair behind her ear. She was taller than me, and prettier, and her tits were bigger than mine. I stayed and watched the fight anyway, and I cheered for Josh the whole time, whooping along with the crowd when he won. But afterwards, he didn’t acknowledge me, didn’t come find me. He walked off backstage with that girl, and I was pretty damn sure he wasn’t just showing her the locker

room. It would have hurt less if I hadn’t thought that I would be that girl, that the night of Josh’s fight would be the night he finally kissed me. I didn’t want to lay claim to him—I just wanted him to kiss me, to make me feel that fluttery feeling I’d always felt when I was close to him, but more. It seems like you got what you wanted last night, Nat, I think. I watch Josh as he moves. The movements of his left arm are almost normal, even though he’s been refusing to wear his sling. It leaves me wondering if he was faking his balance the other morning, if he was

trying to get me to stay around, trying to get that kiss out of me. Fuck if I know. This is a man I do not understand. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell is going on when I realize that I smell pancakes—and coffee. I see a smear of batter on the shirt I picked up for Josh, which is cute, I must admit. Or it would be, but I don’t have a damn bit of food in this house. He must have left and— Before I can finish my thought, he scowls and clicks the cell phone off, placing it back in his pocket. His eyes move over to the door, and I back away, but he’s seen me. I sit back on the bed,

but I can’t find an especially appropriate way to sit since I’m still only wearing my t-shirt. When the door opens, Josh cocks his head and grins. “There are pancakes! I made them,” he announces. Then he comes to the bed and sweeps me up with his right arm, kissing me tenderly and bringing his left hand to my breast. “Oh fuck,” he moans, his lips barely touching mine. “I love it when you don’t wear a bra, Natty. Always have actually. You didn’t at prom, remember? You had that dress with the tiny straps, and—” “How do you remember that? You came with that cheerleader—”

“Monica. But I kept finding you so I could look at your tits.” He brushes his thumb over my nipple, and a searing heat rips through my body. And God help me, the undeniable throbbing has returned to my core. He keeps circling my nipple, kissing my lips and then moving his lips to the sensitive hollow of my neck. Josh. Who was that girl on the phone? I open my mouth to ask him, but instead I say something else entirely. “Josh…” I start, “I’m so wet.” I blush as soon as I say it, but Josh laughs. “Fuck, Natty.” He brings his mouth close to my ear, then pulls my earlobe in

his mouth. “You tell me that and I’ll be getting you to sit on my face. Why you gotta get me all worked up like this when I just wanted to cook you breakfast before your shift?” “Josh—last night—” I try to get my thoughts together, try to say that we should take things slower, that we should stop and think about what we both want. The reasonable, rational Natalie wants that conversation, but the woman part of Natalie is stronger. And that part of me just wants Josh—it doesn’t matter how. “I know I should let you decide, give you time—and I meant to.” He bends down and puts his mouth to my breast,

pulling my nipple between his lips and sucking it gently, slowly, until it stands stiff in his mouth. He flicks his tongue across the surface and bites down gently before pulling away. I’ve never come from a man simply touching my breasts, but it feels like I might as Josh cups my tits with both hands and circles his thumbs over my nipples. The fire sears through me, threatening to crest and burn hot, high, not relent until I’m satisfied. I melt into his hands, and he pulls me in and keeps circling around my nipple rhythmically, as he covers my mouth with his. Another flood of wetness rushes between my legs, telling me that my body wants him, needs him, bows to him like it did last night.

My body, my mind, they both remember what it felt like when Josh left me standing right here, in this very house, on a day not unlike this one. But that pain seems worthless now, if I can have something like this. “I’m so hard for you, Nat,” he says, his lips brushing against my ear. “I thought I could be a good boy around you, but I can’t. Not after I felt you on my fingers, after you sucked my cock and made me come harder than I ever had in my life.” He presses his cock into me, and I sway, dizzy with the arousal that consumes me, threatens to swallow me whole.

“What do you want, Josh?” The rational part of me wants to win out, but I’m not drawing away from him, and I’m pressing into his fingers as he brings them between my legs. I look up at him, meeting those hazel green eyes, and I can see the perfect flecks of gold buried within. “I want you, Nat. Haven’t you gotten that?” “I do, uh, get that, Josh. But I don’t know if you want a one-night stand or— oh Jesus—” He finds my clit with his fingers, pushing against it insistently.

“I want you, Nat. I want it all. I want you bent over, serving yourself up to me whenever you want it. I want you to wake up when I’m buried between your legs, licking you, tasting you—and with every moment, I want to show you how much I regret leaving you that day.” The fire threatens to take me over, and the desire is crashing through me like an unstoppable force. “I want you, now.” “We still don’t have a—” I can barely get the words out, I’m so lost in wanting him—needing him inside of me. All the pain of the past has evaporated into the charged air around us, and I’m at his mercy.

“I went out and got some condoms this morning,” he says. His voice is gravely, raw with desire. I can’t process what he’s just told me—it doesn’t fit within the framework of what the last ten days have been, his need for recovery, his not leaving the sofa. “With what? How? What?” I pull away from him slightly, my brain still confused, thoughts still hazy from being so close to him. “Walked over to the lot where I’m keeping my Camaro and—” Something starts buzzing against my thigh, and I absently wonder if Josh has figured out a way to get his dick to vibrate. Come to

think of it, it wouldn’t surprise me a damn bit. “I need to take this, Nat.” “What? No, no, no. You don’t need to take this, Josh. I want you to fuck me. Every other girl in town has had the chance.” He snorts and then laughs, but still he pulls the phone from his shorts and answers it, stepping away from me. My mouth drops open. He can’t do this. “Yeah?” he says into the phone. I lean back against the wall, watching him, dumbfounded. His eyes dart over to me. “This isn’t a great time—I get it. I don’t want the police involved either...

No I can’t fight tomorrow. Hell no. My stepsister—my doctor—she says— Okay, I get it. Maybe next week, yeah. I can train some, I think.” Stepsister, doctor. Not Nat, not Natty, not the sexy, raspy way he says my name. Where do I fit? Who the fuck knows? I’d take fucktoy right about now, no bones about it. Well, lots of boning about it. I look down. My nipples still stand stiff. I pull my shirt down to hide them, to go back to normal. His eyes meet mine again, but the glimmer has vanished. “Fine, yes, I can come today,” he says, clicking the phone off.

“What the fuck, Josh?” I say, heat pricking at the backs of my eyes. I want to cry—I want to scream, but I’m not that kind of woman. I’ve kept my cool for so long with Josh. That’s the role I fit into in this situation. Still, I’m fucking angry, and I probably couldn’t articulate why if someone asked me. Because he called me his doctor? Because he’s leaving? Because I’m horny? What’s worse, the arousal still courses like fire through my body. I’m unsatisfied. I need to be filled. “Nat, I’m sorry to do this, but they need me at the gym—”

“They who?” “Ash. My trainer, my sponsor. He says Frank is breathing down his neck, wants me to fight. And if I don’t show up, Frank will get suspicious. And if Frank gets suspicious, then—” “Okay, I get it. Then he might do something to wreck the big fight, or he might find out about it or whatever.” Josh nods, his face solemn. I flip my hair to the side, pretending I didn’t think he was talking about Katy. Thank God he wasn’t. Oh God, am I becoming that girl? I can’t. I’m fucking twenty-four.

“I hope you understand—” “Sure, you can make your own decisions, Josh.” My voice comes out a little too casual, and he raises an eyebrow. “But you do need your sling, even if you’re healing remarkably fast.” He doesn’t catch the undertone in that last comment, but Josh has never been one for catching undertones. “I didn’t mean to leave you like this, Nat. It’s not what I want.” “It’s what you’re doing, so go,” I say. Just like that, my real fantasy come to life is over. I watch Josh as he hurries out of the house, keys jangling in his

pocket. I realize I didn’t even know he had keys—I didn’t even know he still had his car. And here I was, about to dive into his world without a second thought. I stand there, frozen to the spot, minutes after the door has closed and Josh has disappeared again. My deeply unsatisfied, angrily aroused body wants something. When I move, I’m slow as molasses, heading toward the smell of pancakes in the kitchen. I fix myself a plate without thinking, making my stack seven pancakes high, and I drown it in syrup and butter. Standing at the counter, I methodically eat my way through the stack. And even when my stomach is

full, I still feel a nagging emptiness that has nothing to do with hunger. Silently, numbly, I get ready for my shift while Beatrice watches me. The cat meows every now and then, like she’s worried about me. I look down at her and scratch her head as she massages her face against my leg and kneads my foot, trying to get my attention. “It’s fine, Bee. He’s his own man. He can do whatever shit he pleases.” I still crave the release of his body next to mine, him entering me, owning me. I try to let it go while I get ready to go to work far too early, but even after the comfortable daily routines, I still feel

undone. And when exactly hasn’t this man undone me? When I head out, I leave the door unlocked so Josh can get back in when he comes back—if he comes back.

CHAPTER NINE

The drive back to my apartment is the worst—and longest—drive of my life. My shoulder still smarts, so I’m mostly

driving with my right hand. The damn sling is in the passenger seat. I try not to look over at it, because it makes me think of Natalie, and it makes me think about how much of an idiot I am. It was foolish of me to ever show up at her house. I should have known I’d be bringing trouble with me. I always do. That much hasn’t changed in three years. Katy had told me on the phone that Frank was looking for me, trying to find out where I’d gone. She said he’d been around to my apartment three times, even though she kept telling him I wasn’t there. Even Katy sounded scared shitless when she described what Frank was

doing with the newest kids, getting them roughed up before they even stepped in the cage. But it’s Ash’s words that stick with me. “He wants you back here, Josh,” Ash told me. “He’s getting angry, and I tell ya, he needs to think you’re still part of his crew. I don’t have a girl—or anyone I care about around here—but you do. He’ll find Nat if you stay there a day longer.” I think of the horror movies where the kid stays in one place like a fucking idiot, and you’re screaming at the TV to get them to move, move, move, because the serial killer is right behind them.

That ain’t going to be me. It can’t be. It’s not just me anymore, and I hadn’t fucking thought that through. I beat against the steering wheel as I pull into my apartment complex. I run up the stairs, holding my left arm against my body, wondering how I’m going to convince everyone at the gym I’m ready for training again. I pick up the manila folder I keep at the edge of the counter— if Frank’s sniffing around, wondering where I am, this’ll be his first stop. And I’m fucked if he finds this folder. I stuff the folder into a grocery bag and grab a pair of shorts, my boxers, an extra shirt. I’m not ready to go back to the gym, but I have to.

I hear a muffled knock at the front door. My first thought runs to Frank, if he’s come looking already. He knows I needed at least a week to recover, and with the bruised ribs, maybe more. If he wants me to be back—to really fight, he’d leave his top fighter alone for more than a few days at a time. But hell, he’s only interested in the bottom line. “Fucking asshole,” I mutter under my breath. I pause for a moment, hear the thudding at the door again, this time louder. Fuck. It’s Frank. It’s gotta be. My heart races. I wonder if he’s been

looking for the place I’m staying, or if he came here first. Natalie. I have to protect Natalie—by staying away or by going back to her? I walk over to the front door, my step falling into the practiced swagger of a fighter. Instinctively, I clutch my hands into fists, even though it sends a shooting pain up my left arm. Like Frank taught me a long time ago—before I figured out what a worthless piece of shit he was—I was always prepared to fight, always prepared to defend myself. Fists raised, I put my hand to the old brass doorknob and listen for signs of more than one person lurking around

outside. I turn the knob, and I feel the soft gasp of air as the door creaks open. I fling the door open hard and step outside, ready to shuffle, ready to strike. “What the fuck do you want?” I almost can’t process what I’m seeing— it’s not Frank standing in front of me, but my coach. “Fucking hell, Joshie. One bad fight left you kind of touchy, no?” I relax my hands, and the anxiety starts to fade from my body. Even at my own apartment, I’m afraid of Frank—of what he can do. And worse, I’m afraid of Natalie, of what I’m doing do her—what she’s doing to me. I think back to last night

with Natalie, how perfect her body matched mine, how much I wanted her. I shudder, and my stomach drops. With my right hand, I wipe sweat away from my forehead. Not much scares me, but even the idea of Frank finding Natalie activates the deepest reactions in my subconscious—fear, rage, the instinct to protect what’s mine. “Goddammit, Ash. What the fuck?” I shuffle on my feet again, still poised to fight. Ash reaches over and lowers my hands to my sides, but they’re still coiled into fists. I breathe deep, the relief of seeing Ash flooding through my system. Even though the dude looks scary as fuck—a scar running the length

of his cheek, his red hair cropped close, making him look like an Irish mobster— he’s the only good thing that’s ever come out of Frank’s Gym. “Katy said you might be back here. It’s about time, man. You need to be training, and you can’t be around your lady when Frank’s going off the rails like this.” Ash smiles, laugh lines appearing around his eyes. I clap Ash on the back, and as I usher him inside, I look around to see if anyone else has seen us. My heart speeds up again, and I think of the cage, how I need to get back—and how far I want Natalie away from it all.

Ash stands by the door, looking uncomfortable, hands in his pockets. I stare at him for a moment, wondering why he ever got involved with Frank— and why he ever took me on after all the shit I did for the man. Ash showed up at the gym right after I left Nat that night, and I never saw anything but loathing for Frank in Ash’s eyes. Ash had been a thug in New York in the years before, but he never mentioned the jobs he’d done—or the debts he might owe to Frank. “What the hell, man? I’ll be training soon. And then I’m in for the next fight in the arena. I thought you knew all that shit, Ash.”

“It’s not that, Joshie. I know even with that fucked up shoulder, you’ll do fine in the fight. Hell, you’ll probably win in the first round. What I’m worried about is Frank. Right now, he’s telling everyone that he’s looking for you, that he wants you back in the gym—” “Fuck man, I thought I had a few days before he expected me back.” I cross my arms. I don’t let it on, but the shoulder hurts like shit. Natalie would be shitting frisbees and throwing me back in my sling before I could say a damn thing if she saw me posturing like this, getting ready to give in and go back to fighting before I’d healed. I grin and lean back against the wall to take pressure off my

shoulder. “He’s keen to what you’re doing, Josh—with the kids. I think he’s saying, you know, get Josh back here so he can train, so he can be an example for the gym, but he knows you’re doing shit he expressly told you not to do.” My heart starts to pound a little harder, fire running through my veins. My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. I’d always figured Frank would be too caught up in his own shit to notice what I was doing. “That’s it? That’s why you came here?” “Yeah,

that’s

it.”

Ash

pauses,

studying my face for a moment. “I was worried, Josh. With Frank getting wise to what you’re doing…” His voice trails off. Ash points at the scar on his face, the one Frank gave him when he found out Ash had his own gym, was running his own fights. “How much does Frank know?” I try to make the question sound nonchalant, but Ash raises an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know about the gym or me selling mine, and it’ll stay that way for a little while longer, I think. Is there anything else I should know about, Joshie?”

I dunno, Ash. Copying records, keeping files, saving money, shit that would get me sent to the hospital if Frank knew it—or to the damn morgue, in a body bag. “Nothing,” I say. I flex and release my arm, like Natalie showed me. “I should probably still be recovering.” I look at Ash, trying to read his face. The scars, the lines that age him past his thirty-five years—they show nothing. But his blue eyes are worried. “Joshie, it’s not just that we need you back—I do need you back around, to train. You’re not going to be ready for the fight, man.” Ash pauses. “But it’s

Frank too—he’s bullying the fighters more than usual. He beat in Cole’s face after he lost the fight last night.” “Fuck, man. You know we can’t do anything about that. All we can do is make sure Cole’s okay right now—” “He’s at the damn hospital, or he was when I talked to him last. We need you now more than ever, Josh. The kids depend on you.” I crack my knuckles, shuffle from side to side. I should be training, prepping to take the welterweight title in five weeks, like I was meant to—instead of sitting around here pining after a girl

like a little bitch. “I swear I’ll be back at the gym in two days. Hell, maybe less if I can get myself in reasonable shape. I was going to go back to—” “Natalie? The stepsister right?” “Yeah, but she’s not really my stepsister anymore. I mean, her dad is dead, and my mom is—wherever she is —” If Ash could raise his left eyebrow any higher, it might escape his head and fly up the ceiling. “And I was just going to go back to explain, to say goodbye for now. I’ll be back at the gym in the morning.”

“Listen to me, Joshie. If this is what I think it is, you’re better off leaving her alone right now.” There’s a trickle of fear running through me. I need to be here right now, but I’d do anything not to hurt Nat again. And this will. If I were smart, and I’m often not, I’d leave her completely alone again. But I think of the taste of her lips, her tongue against my cock. It was everything I’d ever imagined, and hell, I think it made me stronger, better. My better half. I purse my lips for a second and nod sharply at Ash. He’s right. He’s fucking right. “Could you train me with my arm like this?” I point to my shoulder. “It

ain’t that bad.” “Yeah, kid. You’ve been through worse. We can get you some HGH too. Should speed things along.” I nod. It’s not as bad as the steroids, but not exactly harmless either. But hell, I’ll do it this once if it means keeping my head down, keeping out of Frank’s line of fire. “Can you get me back to the gym, Ash? The ride over here was hell. I shouldn’t have driven.” “Yeah I can take you. You did the right thing, leaving her for now. You can go back when it’s all done.”

“She’s expecting me to disappear at any moment. It won’t exactly surprise her when I live up to her low-ass expectations.” There’s a pang in my chest at the thought of Nat. I came to her because I wanted to possess her, to take her and make her mine once and for all. I was fooling myself to think that I wouldn’t pull her in, that I wouldn’t drag her down with me when I started to fall. “You ready?” “Fuck no,” I say. He shrugs, and I follow him out to the car, the plastic grocery bag slung over my shoulder.

CHAPTER TEN

On the ride over to the Outer Banks Hospital, my body feels like a live wire, sparking with uncontrolled electricity. I know my lips are swollen from kissing

Josh, that my hair is tousled and messy. I’m fucking unsatisfied, stuffed with pancakes and butter, and angry as all hell. You’re a grown woman. No one’s going to know what you’re doing with your free time. No one’s going to know that you were kissing a boy—a man— you shouldn’t have been kissing. No one’s going to know that he left you again this morning. “No one’s going to know,” I mumble as I pull into a space. I keep repeating it to myself, like a mantra, as I walk up to the revolving doors outside of the hospital. And why would anyone care? It

wasn’t like I was committing a sin, putting my medical license in danger. Well, I had done that on the first night Josh had come to me. I used my lifted morphine on the son of a bitch, and I’d stitched him up at a clinic I didn’t even work at anymore. I smile, thinking of him stumbling in the hallway—and then catching me so fast, holding me in place so that I couldn’t move. A jolt shoots through me at the thought of him pulling me close, his thumb making circles on the delicate skin of my lower back. And then there’s anger, hot and searing. I shouldn’t be angry. He didn’t promise me anything. Last time, he did promise. Somehow, it feels worse now.

Even if everything he said was just to get into my pants, his words felt like they held hidden promises. His touch felt like it held something greater than just a hookup. “How’s Josh?” My friend Summer Colington’s voice is chipper, even though she’s probably closing out her own sixteen-hour shift. I haven’t seen her since the night Josh came to my house. I haven’t exactly been avoiding the one person who knew Josh had come to find me—but I hadn’t been seeking her out either. “Did you get my texts today? Or were you...busy?” “I was... I just didn’t check my

phone.” I sit down on the bench in front of the lockers and pull off my stretch pants, carefully avoiding Summer’s gaze. “Is Josh still at your place? I went by the gym on my way in, but I didn’t see his car there. I assume if he’s not training...” “He was there until this morning. Now he’s gone back to training. Guess the shoulder he got me to fix is all better.” I shrug. “No big deal.” “No big deal? This is the first time he’s shown up in three years and—”

“You know I don’t talk about him anymore, Summer.” I pull on my pants, and my body still feels wired, shaky from my anger—and still, from my unfulfilled lust. I blush, hard. “But he was at your house. He’s coming back, right? And your hair’s not straightened—and you’re blushing.” “Summer, I don’t want to talk about this—” “Because you’re as smitten as you were in high school? Or because he’s sneaking off again? Or because he might not come back? Or because he didn’t apologize—”

“I wasn’t smitten in high school.” “You were. Remember when he showed up at prom? You barely paid attention to your date. You were with Josh the whole time. And Josh only had eyes for you.” She crosses her arm and tries to meet my gaze. “This isn’t high school, and it’s definitely not the prom. I’ve got a seriously injured fighter who ran off and is trying to get back to training.” “So you guys are talking? I was wondering if he was going to tell you about the fight—”

“How do you know about the fight, Summer?” I cross my arms and look at her. Her face is inappropriately, unabashedly cheerful. I’ve been so boring since I’ve been back, and hell, probably most of my life. And now Summer is pleased as punch that she’s got someone to tease. “I hear things. I go down to the fights sometime. Hang out with Ash every once in a while.” Summer looks away for a second. I catch her blush, but it disappears after a moment. “Oh yeah? He’s a lot older than we are.” I cross my arms and sigh. Why was

I the last person on the face of the earth to know about Josh? “I’m a year older than you, anyway. He’s only thirty-five. He’s in the same generation, isn’t he?” I shake my head and nearly burst out laughing, but Summer’s face is serious. “Definitely not. I don’t think anyone is going to accuse Ash of being a Millennial.” I smile and bite back my laughter. “So, Josh... Dislocated shoulder, right?” I nod. “Did you snap it back in place?” Summer’s face lights up with morbid glee, and I can’t help but laugh.

Somehow, that one laugh helps me let go for a moment, undoes the tension in my body. “I fucking snapped it back into place, my friend,” I say. Summer holds her hand up, her smile lighting up the room. “High five?” I laugh again and slap my hand against hers. She smiles and sits down next to me, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “Has he... kissed you? Like he did that night? You can’t hide it from me. I know he never got over you.” “He never had anything to get over. That’s all it was—just one kiss.”

Summer winks and opens her mouth, likely to give me more shit about Josh coming back around. But before we can talk anymore, our pagers start going off. “Shit,” she says. “Come on, let’s go.” “But you’re about to go home, right?” “Nope, just starting. You’ve got sixteen hours to answer questions about Josh and I swear—” The pagers buzz again, and Summer pulls me up. I sigh, and she marches me out of the door and down the hall like I’m her personal wind-up toy. “I’ve got a bad feeling I know what this is about, since I think it’s

Marcy who’s paging us in particular.” “Crap. Summer, you know I don’t do fighters. Marcy knows it too.” “You’ve got an area of expertise that Marcy already knows about. And we’re also not going to go mouthing off to the police—” “The police? What the hell? I’m training to be an OB, and I keep getting pulled into this bullshit. That’s what I get for coming to a tourist hospital.” “Yes, it’s what you get.” She pushes me down the hall and straight toward trauma room ten, where the head

resident always stashes the boys from Frank’s club. I’ve studiously avoided Marcy’s calls to stitch up fighters since I got back to town, and it’s been quiet on the fighter front for the last few weeks— probably since Frank told them to stay away. My stomach drops, and I think of Josh, bruised and beaten, cradling his left arm even as he fell to my floor. “Plus, is this really my ‘area of expertise?’” “Sneaking around and getting a fighter stitched up? If the shoe fits... Didn’t you used to do that for Josh when you were home from nursing school?”

“I was stupid to do it then, stupid to do it now.” I flush again at the mention of his name, the memory of his lips crisp in my mind. All those nights when I helped him, stitched him up, got him ready to go back to the club—wasn’t I just sending him back into the fire? Was I doing the same thing now? I stop in my tracks, and Summer has to push me to the door of trauma room ten. When I walk inside, I’m transported back in time— before us sits a kid, not much older than eighteen, if that. He has a laceration on his cheek bone, a cracked and bloodied nose that’s likely broken, and the telltale marks of razor blade cuts along his forehead and upper torso.

Summer picks up the kid’s chart. “What do we have here? Looks like we’ve got a fighter, right? What’s your name, kid?” “Cole,” he says and looks down to the gash on his arm. “Are you eighteen, Cole?” I ask as I check his vitals. The kid nods, though I’m not sure if I believe him. It’s not like he’s going to provide ID, and the very fact that he’s at the hospital at all tells me that he doesn’t have another option, no parents to go home to. He’s likely one of the runaways that Frank coerced into fighting for him, racking up mythical “debts” that never seem to end. It was

one thing to be a pro fighter. It was something entirely different to fight in Frank’s cage, without hope of a future, likely addicted to some drug or juiced to hell on steroids. When I look at Cole, I see a younger version of Josh looking back at me—the kid who ran away from home, the kid seeking glory that will never be real. “All right Cole, let’s take a look at what you need.” Summer touches his arm tenderly, looks at the bandages slapped on in the emergency room. My guess is that Marcy got him the hell away from the E.R. as soon as she could. Word has probably spread that police are coming around—but it’s not the police everyone

is afraid of, it’s Frank. Summer looks at the kid’s nose, touching it gently on the side. Cole doesn’t even flinch, his shocked gaze locked on the wall in front of him. “The nurse got you the good drugs, right Cole?” I ask. Cole nods and looks at me, but it seems like he’s looking through me instead of at me. “I’ve seen worse,” I say, looking at Summer. “But we need plastics to take a look at his nose. I don’t want to touch this—” “You got Josh’s shoulder back into place,” she says. “Why not this? It’s just

a nose. We can’t have other doctors snooping around. Marcy trusts us. Her brother fights for Frank. We have to get Cole here stitched back up.” “So we can send him on his way to get beat up again? I think it’s about time we inform the authorities—” Summer cuts me off. “And risk Josh getting hurt—or worse?” “Why would Josh get hurt if we tell the police?” I stare at Summer for a second, my brain not quite computing what I’m hearing. “I don’t even understand why we’re supposed to keep them away.”

“Because,” croaks Cole, “Josh is the one who’s getting us out.” Summer and I both look at Cole. My eyes go wide, and Summer glances at me, quickly looking away. Cole’s eyes move slowly between the two of us. “You’re his sister, right?” “Stepsister,” I say. Summer sighs, so small I can barely hear it, but I know what she’s thinking. “Yeah, he talks about you,” says Cole. His eyes move back to the point on the wall. “Cole, this is important,” I say. “What’s Josh doing?” I look to Summer.

“And why might he get hurt?” “He’s getting them help,” Summer says. “Especially the young ones. Frank thinks Josh is itching to get the police involved. They’ve come to blows a couple of times.” She puts her hands on Cole’s shoulder. He looks at her and smiles weakly. “I thought you knew—I thought he’d tell you.” “He got me clean needles,” Cole says. “And he helped me get off the steroids last year.” “I can’t believe—” “Believe it,” Summer says. “Why’d

you think he still kept in touch with me? He told me not to tell you when you first got back, but seriously, I thought he would. I don’t know why he wouldn’t.” The pieces start to fall together in my mind, and my stomach drops. I knew Josh’s plan was foolhardy, likely idiotic, more than a little dangerous. But dismantling Frank’s system was dangerous. “Well, okay,” I say. My nerves are rattled, that wired feeling coursing through my body again. “Cole,” I start, “Can you tell us what happened?” “Frank had me fighting up a class.”

“Same thing with Josh,” I say. “Is that what he’s doing now?” “Yeah, he said it makes for a good fight, said he’d pay me good if I won,” Cole says. “But you didn’t win?” Summer asks. She starts cleaning the gash on Cole’s arm and goes through the same song and dance I did for Josh a week ago. Cole shrugs. I sigh heavily and take out a pen light. Sitting down on a rolling stool, I move my ass in Cole’s direction. I flash the light in his eyes quickly, trying not to let my thoughts go back to Josh and the madness he’s getting himself into.

“Follow the light, Cole.” His pupils dart in the right direction. Gently, I put my fingers on the bridge of his nose. “It’s broken, my friend. But you already knew that.” I turn to Summer. “You got anyone you trust in anesthesia?” Summer shakes her head. “Get me a local. We’re doing this old school.” Cole’s mouth drops open for a moment, and Summer squeezes his hand. I walk to the sink and scrub up while Summer fixes a syringe. “We ready?” I say. Cole shrugs again, and Summer shoots the kid up with lidocaine, more or less in the right places. “We’re good, Nat,” Summer says and

stands back. “All right,” I say, “We’re going to all count to three together, and then I’m going to get your nose back into place. I’ve done it for Josh twice before, so I think we’re gonna be able to handle this one. Maybe.” Cole quivers and grips Summer’s hand. “All right... here we go. One...” I start. “One,” Cole echoes. “Two...” I place my palms on either side of his nose and crack it hard. “Oh fuck!” Cole shouts. “That wasn’t on three! Goddammit!” The blood starts to flow from his nostrils, and I hand the

kid some gauze. “Did the same thing for Josh. He never remembers that I go on two. He’s expecting one or three.” Cole smiles weakly. I feel the sides of his nose and he winces. “Good enough for government work,” I say. “Don’t listen to her. It’s all good, Cole,” Summer says. “You’ll be fine.” “Summer, you get the bridge of his nose until it stops bleeding.” Summer nods, still smiling, and grabs the bridge of Cole’s nose, probably harder than she should. I step back and take a look at my handiwork. The nose is more or less

back in place, enough that we can get sutures in. I stitch up the cut at the top of his nose. “That’s as good as we’re gonna get without any involvement from plastics.” “I don’t need any more doctors knowing about this,” Cole says. “We know. It’ll be okay. You got anywhere to stay?” Summer asks. “Josh has me at a place with a former fighter. He’s taken in a few people,” says Cole. I nod, and I wonder why Josh hasn’t shared any of this with me. He’s been living in my house for a

week, but as he pointed out to me today, he hasn’t even talked to me—not until today. And today, he had me distracted. There was no chance for any of this, but I wonder if he would ever tell me, if I was just a stop along the way, a place to ride out the storm in safety. I purse my lips together and pull my gloves off, my mind filing through the things Josh has told me. There’s the big fight, with press, and recruiters, and people who book fights that aren’t dirty. He wants the money. That piece doesn’t surprise me, given Josh’s personality. Which is what? Do I really know anymore?

“Earth to Natalie,” Summer says. “You’ve gotta get to the E.R. for your shift.” She places a cool washcloth against Cole’s head and murmurs to him that it’ll be okay. For the first time, there’s a look in the kid’s eyes that accepts that it might just be okay. And does Josh really have anything to do with that? Is the man itching to leave my apartment—to train, to recklessly damage his shoulder in the name of winning—a person I don’t even know anymore? The Josh I knew had his moments... but he was far more interested in women, and in booze. I idly clean up while Dr. Summer

tends to Cole like she’s a nurse. I roll my eyes. Our old candy-striping days are still part of us, no matter what our titles are now. Summer is thinking of specializing in pediatrics. I know she’s good with kids, but I hadn’t seen her with a teenager before—she’s like the abused kid whisperer. I guess all of our talents take us different places, places we weren’t sure we’d end up no matter how hard we tried. I toss my gloves in the medical waste bin, waving at Summer before I shove the door open and walk down the hall to the E.R. It’s going to be another afternoon of dipshits, tourists and townies who come in with injuries from

surfing or from partying too hard. I float through the remaining hours of my shift, thinking of Josh and his plan as I trudge through the many sets of stitches, the broken arms, and the bouts of stomach flu. When I’m done, there’s a fluttery feeling in my stomach. I pause in the locker room as I strip out of my scrubs and put my baggy t-shirt and leggings combo back on. Maybe I should borrow some makeup from Summer. Or hell, maybe I should buy a dress or something. I pull my hair up into a bun and look in the mirror, and then I let it fall back down over my shoulders. From a brief glance

in the mirror, I see the dark bags under my eyes, the sallow look to my cheeks. I turn and look at my ass, wondering if Josh has noticed I’ve put on weight. Again, I think of the kiss—that consuming moment where I melted into him. If I hadn’t come to the hospital, I’d be in bed with him right now. My eyes pop open. “I wouldn’t... would I?” I say to myself as I pick up my bag and walk out to the front entrance of the hospital. When I get to my car, I still don’t have an answer for my question. I’m usually patient, slow to act, thoughtful... but there was something about that kiss that made me want to throw caution to the

wind. As I drive across the causeway, the starry night sky opens up before me, rich with possibility. If Josh can be a new person, maybe I can be too. By the time I get home, the promise of dawn is on the horizon, and soon the red sun will be reflecting over the water. It’s not yet September, so the nights are still short, which is a blessing for doctors and nurses everywhere. I stumble up the steps, and the fluttering in my stomach becomes more intense, more present. The hype of energy builds and builds in my body until I feel like I’m about to explode. It’s not all anxiety either—

there’s heat gathering between my legs, a gentle pulse of need that I’ve denied for years. I stand in front of the chipped green door for a second, biting my lip before putting the key in the lock. Slowly, I turn the key... and it sticks. The door is already unlocked, and I push it open, my heart beating hard. I walk into the darkened house, expecting to see Josh draped over a chair in the background. But there’s nothing. Beatrice appears at the doorway of my bedroom and meows loudly, padding over to me and pushing her nose against my leg. I walk over and peer into my bedroom, Beatrice on my heels. I look down the hallway, but it’s empty and dark.

“Josh? You here?” My voice echoes through an empty home. I look around, and my heart drops. The surfaces of the coffee table and the kitchen tables are bare. There are no notes left, no explanations. “Fucking asshole,” I mutter as I slump down onto the sofa. I bury my face in one of the cushions. It still smells like Josh from his nights sleeping here. My body pounds and pulses as I take in his scent. Tears come to my eyes and roll silently down my cheeks. I lie there for a long time and drift off into a fitful sleep. When I wake, I sit up and wonder

why I’m not angrier, why I’m just sad. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. “He must have had a reason to leave,” I say to Beatrice. She’s curled up on top of my hip. Since Josh arrived, she’s refused to sleep with me, opting instead for the nook behind Josh’s legs. I guess she’ll have to settle for me from now on. I scratch Bee’s head and listen to her purr, again going over the parts of Josh’s plan that he shared with me. “He wouldn’t go without...” But he would. And he did. I close my eyes again and try to work

up the anger I should feel. But instead, I sense the beginnings of worry in my chest, a pang of concern gnawing at my insides. I get up and go through the motions of the day, but a part of me feels like it’s missing, like something essential has been amputated. I wipe down the tables where Josh left crumbs of yesterday’s breakfast, and I vacuum each room twice. Still, I feel drawn to Josh—to the gym, where I know he is. No amount of cleaning covers that desire, that pull I’ve felt since he arrived. But there’s a real life I’m living, a career I need to tend to, pieces of my life I need to put together before I can leave this place.

And if I leave, Josh will be left here, fighting his own battles. Maybe that’s best for both of us. I get out the Windex to start wiping down the windows, but instead, I stand in the middle of the living room for minutes—I don’t know how long exactly —and I wonder what the point of leaving would be, if my heart is drawn back here again and again, washing up on these shores without my permission.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My heart beats hard as we ride along to the gym. I find myself wishing I was in Nat’s beat-up civic, heading out of this

town once and for all. Instead, I’m in Ash’s pick-up truck. It smells like cigarettes—the one vice that Ash still sticks to. He says it helped him through rehab, that smoking saved his life even if it might one day end it. “I owe the cigarette company a debt, Joshie,” he’d said when I first met him at Frank’s club. It was the day after I’d beaten up the kid, and I was hiding out in the back of Frank’s gym, angry and undone. “Frank said I’d find you back here. He said you’re a promising young fighter.” Ash had found me in the locker room. It was ten in the morning,

and I was already drunk, cursing myself for leaving Nat behind, cursing myself for hurting a kid who was young, homeless, and stupid—just like I’d been. It was like hitting a younger version of myself, over and over again, the din of the crowd drowning out all of my rational thoughts. “I’m nothing of the sort, Mister,” I’d said. Ash had ignored me. “Name’s Ash. Well, Jonathan Ash. But Johns are a dime a dozen, and there ain’t many men named Ash.” “What do you want from me?” I slurred, the anger flickering in my gut

and rising in my body. My cheeks were flushed in the hot locker room, a deep purple bruise forming on my cheek. That was before Frank figured out that the razor blades drew a crowd. There were plenty of bruises back then, but far fewer deep cuts. “You’re drunk,” Ash had said. “Damn right. I’m celebrating the big win.” I hadn’t meant the words to come out sarcastic, but they had, and Ash nodded. He was sizing me up even then, and I knew it. “The kid was sixteen, yeah?” I nodded and kicked at the dirty locker

room floor. Ash had paused for a long moment. The gravity of my misdeeds hung heavy in the air. The kid’s nose was pummeled to hell—he’d be fine, but I was sure that I wouldn’t be. “Well, Josh—it’s Josh, ain’t it?—let me tell you something. Frank used to be a better sort, but he ain’t anymore.” I looked up at Ash and saw the sincerity in his eyes. I couldn’t imagine a time when Frank didn’t pit kids against kids, when he didn’t demand that we beat the shit out of each other, that we fight outside of regulation, that we accept low pay, that we draw a crowd no matter what. “I can train you, Josh. I can train you to fight regulation, start

getting you some more reputable fights. I’ve seen you a couple of times, and you’re good. But you’re rough, and you’re a drunk. Washed up at twentytwo.” “You’d train me? What about Frank?” “I’ll give you a hint—he doesn’t know what I do at my own gym. And he wants me to train you some here, to fight dirtier, harder. I can do that—and I can train you to go pro, granted that you stop drinking.” “Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?”

“You’re not the only one who wants to go pro. If you get there, I have a chance to be a real trainer again.” It took me months to stop drinking for good, but after I did, Ash was true to his word. Three years of working, planning, getting fights behind Frank’s back and driving to Greensboro or Raleigh at four o’clock in the morning. If we could get this one fight, we’d be set to move Ash’s gym into the new place, we could make all those dreams a reality. “You think we can really win it?” I

ask. I look out of the window at the beach houses rolling by. “If you don’t dislocate your shoulder again, we’re golden. Oh yeah—and if you don’t go running off to chase after your stepsister.” I look down at my hands. “How’d you know that?” “Summer.” “Hell, she knows everybody’s business. Didn’t even know she knew you.” “Well, there might be a lot of things

you don’t know about Summer.” Ash smiles, and I see a glimmer in his eyes. “I met her back when I was in New York. It’s her personal mission to make sure Frank doesn’t destroy the young kids in this town—we both know what men like him are capable of.” “Shit. It’s messing with fire, going up against that guy,” I say. Ash just looks at me sideways and raises an eyebrow. The tattoo of a tiger on his neck has long faded, but I can imagine he looked mean as hell back in the day with the ink that covers his neck and shoulders, all the way up onto his scalp. These days, he wears a baseball cap, shirts that cover how fit he still is. He could deliver a

beat-down even still, but Frank’s long since written Ash off as a loser, a fighter who lost his fight before he moved down South. But here’s an example, I think, of a man who stuck to everything he believed in. And here he is, a far better man than the one trying to make money off of innocent kids. And if Frank’s figured out that runaways are funneling out of his gym as quickly as they come in, it won’t be long before he comes knocking at Ash’s door. It won’t be long before he comes knocking at mine, after that. Frank ain’t no quick thinker—but he thinks long, and he’ll see the pieces for what they are when everything

starts to fall together. I never thought about how Nat fit into all of this. I followed that pull—like the rise and fall of the tide—that drew me back home to her. When I first learned she was home, it was all I could do to stay away from her. When I was hurt, beat to hell and panting on the floor of Frank’s locker room, I made the decision to go to her, to find her again and make everything right, show her that I might be able to give her all the things she needs. If I’m tied up with all this fighting shit, I can’t be the man she needs. I can’t possess her, bring her into my fold, make her mine like I always

wanted. Ash pulls into the gym and turns off the car. Like he’s been reading my mind, he turns to me and speaks. “I know you like this girl, Josh. I never seen you stay the night, anyway.” He grins. “Naw man, she’s just a holdover from my old life.” I don’t meet his eye. Instead I look at the entrance of Frank’s gym. It looks like any other dilapidated gym in the Outer Banks, but it’s huge, taking up the space of an entire strip mall. The letters Frank bought after I first came here at sixteen just read “GYM,” though the M doesn’t glow anymore when Frank bothers to turn on

the neon lights. “That’s not what Summer said, Josh. More like an old flame. Summer said she helped you when you ran away, brought you food, came to your fights and watched you even you were high out of your mind. Says she stitched you up a hundred times and did it again this time even without seeing you for three years.” I shrug. “Natalie’s my friend. We ain’t even family anymore. Our parents tapped out a long time ago.” “Don’t drag her into this if you want to go pro. She don’t need Frank’s wrath.

When he figures out he’s losing you and a whole bunch of other boys all at once, he’ll be mad as fire. And you know what happens—” “Yeah, man. I said it was no big deal. She’s not my lady, got it? She deserves better, even if I was stupid enough to go back and try to get back in her good graces. Shouldn’t you be thinking the same thing, if you’re involved with Summer?” “Summer can take care of herself. She’s got a mean streak a mile wide, even if you ain’t seen it,” he says. I look at him, but his face is blank, unreadable. Ash claps me on the shoulder. I know

he’s trying to reassure me, but the pain shoots through me, waves of it radiating through my body. “Oh fuck man, be careful.” I shove his hand away and cradle my arm. The pain is whatever Natalie said— exquisite. That was the word. Undeniable, immediate, can’t ignore it. “That’s what it means,” she’d said. “Jesus, Josh. I didn’t know it was that bad.” “Fighter threw me hard,” I say, trying the flexion exercises that Nat showed me earlier. Nat. I think of her, coming back

home, finding the place empty. I’d run out on her again. “I think I’ll sit in the car a while, Ash. I’ll come in when I’m ready. Can’t let Frank see me like this, man, even if it just happened.” “You okay, Joshie? Okay to start training again?” “No, man. I’m not. But I’m going to anyway.” “It’s a risk, Josh.” “I get paid to fight in a cage, Ash. This is a comparatively small risk, man.” I smile and keep trying to flex my arm.

“All right, man. I’ll see you in there.” Ash exits the car and heads into Frank’s gym. For years, Ash has held up the image of working for Frank. Meanwhile, we’ve been squirreling away money, and Ash has prepped the few workers at his tiny gym for a big-ass move. Now, if we can only pull it all off. I sigh and lean against the window to take pressure off my shoulder. I try to steel myself for going into the gym, for warming up and throwing a few punches. I know it’ll only be with my right arm, but everything still feels tender, raw, sore to the touch. In the stillness of the truck, my mind roils with uncertainty, and I think of Natalie. With my right hand, I dig my

phone out of the sad plastic bag and turn it on. I go to write a text to Natalie, but my fingers won’t move, and I’m not sure what to say. I left, Nat, just like before, I think. I’m a loser, a degenerate. I’m trying to change, but if I can’t, I don’t need to drag you down. None of it has a very good ring to it. Stalling, I scroll up through the old messages. The texts from this year are slim, since I stopped replying a long while back, but there’s the yearly “Merry Christmas,” a “Happy Birthday,” and one, more recent, sent just before she moved back. “I still miss you,” it

reads. I suck up my pain and write to her. This is not something I’ve done before, and I don’t know how I feel about it. I don’t text women unless I want to hook up, and I never tell them goodbye—I find it’s better not to give reasons for leaving. But Nat’s always been different. I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid her, but I finally came home. It occurred to me then—that’s what she was—not family, not a friend, but my home. I care about Nat. I want Nat, body and soul. In my murkier moments, that womanizing asshole kicks in, and there’s a pang of panic in my chest—like I’m

falling over the side of a cliff and there’s no way to stop it. It’s just that the macho bullshit keeps coming out of my mouth, keeps invading my thoughts just when things get serious. Fuck. This is not a girl you walk away from. Not this time. No matter what kinda confused shit’s going on in your brain. “I fucked up,” I grumble. “Goddammit.” An ache spreads through my body at the thought that she might not text me back, even if I reach out now. A normal guy might have said, Hey I got some shit to take care of. Here, let me explain this shit. I will hit that fine ass

when I get home, or you can come to my place, and I’ll hit that fine ass there. Dammit. My thoughts are eloquent as fuck, but I know I should send a sentence or two that doesn’t mention her ass. I just don’t know what those words might be. I left home, Natty, I type. Her phone would be set to silent from the time she got in the car until the end of her shift— but at least she’d know that I wasn’t that callous. This time, she’d know. But I didn’t leave, like for real. I’m at my apartment. I don’t blame you if you want to leave me be for the rest of my

life. But I just wanted you to know where I was. Come by if you want to. I look over the text before sending it. Something about it looks cold, looks wrong. But anything else would be over the top, so I leave it at that and press “send.” I type one more message. I’m wearing the sling. I promise. Send. Sighing, I get out of the car and walk up to the gym, adopting that swagger that I’ve always pulled when walking into Frank’s gym. The man himself, his grin shining like a mad Cheshire cat’s, nods at me when I walk in the door. Frank is

working with one of the younger fighters at the punching bag in the front of the gym, telling the kid to kick it over and over, but he ignores the kid once he spots me. He walks over and shakes my hand, gripping my left arm hard with his other hand. The pain rises within me, undeniable, exquisite. “You’ve been gone a while, Joshie. Where you been?” His beady dark eyes search mine, and to me, it looks like he’s been using. His nose is red—from drinking, from snorting coke, from both. “Been staying with Ash,” I say. “Oh yeah?” That’s all he says, like

he doesn’t quite believe me, but he turns and starts working with the kid again. My heart pounds hard for a moment, and I wait for him to turn back to me, to tell me he knows exactly where I’ve been and who I’ve been with. But he doesn’t. He just keeps working, and I walk over to join Ash in the cage. I’m careful not to favor my left side too much, raising the hand up to my cheek to protect myself, just like Ash always taught me—but Frank never had. He was strong, Frank was, but he was never meant to be a trainer. Washed up old asshole, Ash always said. But this washed up old asshole played an important part in getting me out of the place I was in. I hit Ash’s mitts, practice a few knee strikes,

and then throw punches over and over with my right arm, slipping in an occasional movement with my left. I imagine each strike lands on Frank’s face, that I’m beating him bloody, stepping on him, punishing him with every movement. If Natalie’s smart, she won’t even read my message. If she’s smart, she’ll stay the fuck away from someone like me. As much as I want her, I have to admit that I can’t have it all, not if I want her to stay away from this crazy fucking world.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I never texted Josh back when I saw what he wrote. To me, it represented years full of hurt. At least this time he had the decency to tell me he was alive.

Instead of responding, I went to sleep, dreaming fitfully the entire night. It’s been days since he left, and I’ve been going through my routines like a robot, slipping into my routine, finding comfort there. I’ve been thinking of Josh— dreaming of him—and getting off thinking about his touch. This morning, I woke, and there was something off—a malfunction in my system. I intended to go to the hospital and wait for my shift to start in twelve hours, but I found myself turning onto Beach Road, heading for Josh’s apartment as fast as my Civic would go. He’d left me shaking with desire that day. And he hadn’t given me the courtesy

of telling me why. I barely realize that I’m headed for him, driving to him, ready to subject myself to his inconsistencies all over again. But here I am, pulling up to the string of apartments that house most of Frank’s fighters. When I pull up in Josh’s parking lot, I’m ready for a fight. My heart is beating hard, my body careening between worry and anger. And I wonder if this is how he feels when he gets into the cage, when he’s facing an unknown opponent for the first time. I look around. His car is in the parking lot of the run down building— he’s always called it beach chic since

Frank got him the place at seventeen, but it’s really just a shithole. “Be here, come on, be here.” I don’t know whether I’ll tell him off or find him and melt into his arms. At this point, it’s clear I have no idea what the hell he’s up to, or what his grand “plan” is supposed to be. I get out of the car and slam the door, dashing for the steps that lead to Josh’s second-story apartment. “Beach chic my foot,” I mutter, preparing myself for the grimness behind the door. I knock on his door and wait. I knock again and try the doorknob. To my surprise, it’s open, and I push my way into an apartment I don’t recognize. I inhale sharply, looking around to see a

spotless room, free of the trash, the beer cans, and, one time at least, a pair of pink panties draped over the arm of his recliner. I hear footsteps on the stairs and whip around. “Who’s there?” My heart pounds hard, and I don’t know if I’ll see Josh on the other side of the door—or what condition he’ll be in. And with what he’s doing, there’s a chance I might see someone I really don’t want to see— one of Frank’s cronies or the man himself. The door opens, and I let out a long breath of relief, nearly falling against Josh’s couch. “Natty? What the hell are you doing

here?” Josh steps over and grabs my arm, and at once, I feel steady, like I’m where I belong. I look up at Josh’s face and see that he has a black eye forming. I lift my hand to smooth his brow, to place my fingers against his wound. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be recovering—and you were supposed to stay where that asshole can’t find you.” “He thinks I’m with Ash. That’s what Ash told him, anyway. I went to the club to help one of the kids there. Ash was the one who drove me to your house—” “He what? There’s one of them who

knows where you are?” I can’t hide the panic from my voice. I think of what could happen if the club members can find us, what they can do if they get to Josh. “Ash is fine. He’s on my side. He’s working outside of the club most of the time now. Nobody wants to work with Frank anymore, Nat. It’s just that they have to.” “And you’re helping them get out?” “I am. What? Did Summer tell you?” Josh smiles. “Well, what do you think?” He asks the question like he’s a teenager again, asking for my approval on his

math test. “What do I think? I think you probably should have told me what you were doing. I had no idea about any of this—you just told me about the fight.” He fidgets nervously, shifting from one side to the other. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body, and I know he’s been training. “And what the hell are you thinking? Going from your first exercises to training at the gym?” “I worked through the pain pretty good,” he says. His eyes dart over my body, and I can’t help but feel a pang of desire so deep and immediate that I almost swoon.

“You shouldn’t be doing this—this fighting shit. You’re destroying yourself, Josh.” “And you shouldn’t be here at all.” He stops for a second and makes a zipping motion across his lips. “Rewind. That was a shitty way to say what I mean,” he says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Natalie.” “Like I said before, Josh. It’s not for you to decide.” I close my eyes and think back to all those stolen moments, the times when I thought he might kiss me, the night I drove him home from the prom and we drank tequila, sitting on my

back porch. Pretty badass for a dork, Nat, he’d said. He’d leaned in close to me and kissed my cheek, sending a tingle down my spine that had nothing to do with the tequila. It was easy back then because it was a crush—something that wouldn’t ever happen. But here I stood, in Josh’s apartment. Even after he’d left, even after he’d run from me, I was here. I purse my lips and look at him. His arm isn’t in the sling, and he’s sweaty. He’s been training for a fight that any good physical therapist would say he shouldn’t take, even if he is healing faster.

I glance to the kitchen counter and see a catalog of courses for the local community college, casually sitting on his kitchen counter, next to a certificate that says GED in bold letters. My stomach drops for a moment, and I think I might have entered a time warp or some alternate universe where my stepbrother figured out his life while I wasn’t watching. “What’s this, Josh? Can you step away from your fighter brain one minute to tell me what’s going on?” “You know what it is. Says it right there on the front. I know you can read,” he says. He smiles a little bit, but the smile is sad, wistful. I flip through the

papers, my eyebrows knitting together as my eyes skim over the letters. “It’s your GED certificate. And there’s a transcript for classes from Dare County Community College. Statistics, accounting, a business services workshop.” “That’s about right,” he says, leaning into the sofa. In the past week, I don’t think I’ve once seen him in a damn shirt. There’s perspiration across his broad chest, and the fading afternoon light highlights the sharp, perfect lines of his muscles. His permanently tanned skin makes him look like he was made out of bronze. It’s a body built for fighting, and

he always knew it. He ran away to make money, to break free from his mother and my father, but he stayed because his body was a beautiful machine, and he’d found the only thing he’d ever been good at. The papers I hold in my hand are evidence that something more happened while I was gone—more than getting sober, more than getting healthy, prepping to go pro. “They’re old,” he says, kicking his foot against the floor. “I did better last semester.” “Dammit Josh. This seems like something you should have told me.” “What’s to tell? I’m one of millions —another dropout who took the GED

test. Another adult student at community college.” His expression is blank, but his tone drips with sarcasm. “Why aren’t you proud of this?” “I am, Nat. But I’m not exactly where I wanted to be. The inspection hasn’t gone through on the new place—” “What new place?” “A gym.” “For Ash or—” “For me, Nat. I made a down payment last month. It’s part of the

reason I came to see you. I mean, coming to see you was kind-of a last minute decision. But I was planning to find you and tell you about it.” “So you could tell me, and then run off again? So you could—what? Prove yourself, somehow? Lead me on?” “Nat, you can’t want someone like me. I’m serious. You can’t. The pretty doctor getting involved with a fighter. I don’t even do relationships.” He shakes his head. “It ain’t right, what I did to you the other day. The shit with Frank, it’s more dangerous than I thought. He’s onto me—”

“And you’re doing what, exactly?” “Helping the kids get out before he gets them hooked, mostly. Recruiting talent for the gym. Working with Ash to get a new place started. Simple stuff to get my life in line.” He looks down and cracks his knuckles. He winces slightly, but it’s enough for me to notice. I walk over to him and touch his shoulder gently, then check the stitches on his side, the healing pink skin on his forehead. “And this fight is—” “Security. It’s a chance at owning my own business, a chance at going pro and

hiring good coaches, good management. It’s everything.” I nod. I get it now. Tears prick at my eyes, and I feel for a moment like I’m falling. I get it. I was a passing thought, a stop on his journey. When he kissed me, I’d thought for a moment that there was a chance this was it, that this was what I’d wanted it to be for years, that this time he’d truly changed. He’d stopped by to impress me, to get what he needed, and yes, maybe there was some emotion there— some untidy, lingering desire from long ago. I step away, flustered, angry with myself for coming here, for invading his private choice to leave me behind.

“I can get you in with a good physical therapist, Josh. And with you training—at a reasonable rate—you could make the fight just fine. I’ll call Steph. She works at the rehab center in Currituck, but she’s down here a few times a week. She owes me a favor— she can work you in.” I start walking over to the door, but I stop just before I reach it and turn. The tears are starting to flow now, and I don’t want him to see. I turn for a moment, just to look at him, and he walks toward me, his movements more confident, filled entirely with purpose. If I hadn’t shoved his shoulder back into place, I’d think he’d never been injured at all. A shout is caught in my throat, and I cower like I’m afraid of

his touch. “Don’t go,” he says. He catches me, his grip warm and strong. My body starts to melt, my mind only able to focus on the places where his fingers meet my skin. He pants and steps closer to me, his breath hot against my cheek. “You told me I shouldn’t be here.” “I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it. Stay for right now, and in the morning, you can decide where you want to be.” “In the morning?” I look to him for an answer, but he just brushes his fingers through my hair and pushes a stray lock

behind my ear, sending tingles down my back. Heat pools between my legs, and a rush of wetness comes to my sex, even with that one touch. Even after my anger —after my certainty that he shouldn’t be doing any of what he’s doing—my body pulls for him like a drug. His touch makes my skin so hot, so needy that I nearly cry out in pain, in shock. He trails the fingers of his left hand up over my belly and cups my breast, pinching the nipple through the soft cotton of my shirt. “I don’t know what to do, Josh. You tell me to go and then… Ohhh... you...” My voice catches in my throat as he reaches up to my breasts, cupping them

gently and rolling my nipple with his fingers. “You can go, if you want to, after this. But I have a way of making women want to stay once I get started with them.” “You’re so fucking…” I pause and lick my lips, my breath coming in short pants. He moves his hand to my other breast and pinches my nipple ever so slightly, sending a shudder down the length of my body. “Confusing,” I moan. He presses into me, and I feel it again— his cock, hard and hot against my thigh. “Jesus, Josh.”

He snickers, and with his right hand, takes my shirt off over my head, letting my bra drop to the floor. “Selfless idiot Josh told you to go. But as you might be able to tell, I want you to stay, at least for a little. And then you can decide.” He pulls me in and kisses me hard, his lips strong and searching against mine. I lean into him and press my body against his. Goosebumps light up my flesh, and I’m wired again, unable to move, bound to him in a whirlwind of electricity. He wraps his right arm around my waist and pulls me in, shoves me hard against the wall. “Josh,” I whisper. “You’ll hurt

yourself.” “I’ve healed pretty good. And I thought you weren’t coming back. You can’t blame me for getting a little excited that you responded to my text.” His lips travel over my cheek and down my neck, to the place where my shirt meets my collarbone. I close my eyes, sigh, melt into him like I’ve always wanted. He kisses me there and nibbles my flesh. To my surprise, he licks me there. “It doesn’t have to be for more than one night—but let me—let us both have this one thing.” “Just this once,” I murmur. I don’t have my wits about me, and I can’t quite

communicate what I want to say. This should never happen, I think. But my lips part, and I feel my eyes closing as he trails his lips down to my breasts. He pushes me roughly against the wall, pinning his knee between my thighs so that I can feel the warmth of his body against my sex, even through my jeans. “Just this once,” he says as he cups my breasts with both hands and kisses my exposed flesh, moving his lips over one nipple and then the next, barely grazing my skin. That light touch is enough to send arousal coursing through my body, wetness flooding between my

legs. A moan escapes my lips, and I feel Josh pause, his lips millimeters away from my breast. “You like that, Dr. Shaw?” “Yes?” My tone makes me sound unsure, like my yes is more of a question than an affirmation. My brain is foggy, fuzzy with the rush of being close to Josh, addled with the desperate, aching need for the man before me. Josh just stands there, bent before me, his hands still cupping my breasts. I open my eyes and look down. “Don’t... stop...” I pant. “Tell me what you want, Nat.” I feel the vibrations of his voice against my tender flesh, and I want him, him over

everything, his body against mine. But I’m silent. Heat rises in my cheeks. No man has ever asked me what I want. Part of me wants to turn and run, to make him wait, to hide so that I don’t get burnt by his fire. “Tell me what you need, Natalie.” “I want—I need—your lips on me,” I stutter. He reaches down with one hand and squeezes my ass hard. He grins, looks up at me, and brings his mouth around my nipple, sucking it into his mouth, making circles over it with his tongue. “Jesus,” I moan. He squeezes my ass again and brings his hand around to unbutton my jeans, ripping them down along with my panties and exposing my

pussy to the cool air. “God, Natty, I fucking love these curves.” He kisses my breast again, licking and sucking, sending shocks of need straight to my sex. Then he brings both of his hands to my ass and turns me around, shoving me against the wall. “Wha—what are you doing?” Josh pins me against the wall, one hand gripping my waist. I feel him raise his other arm, see the shadow as it plays against the wall in front of me. There’s a subtle whoosh of air behind me, and he brings his hand down hard and quick on my ass. I yelp and try to pull away from him, but he spanks me again before I can

move. To my surprise, I’m moaning, sticking my ass out, grinding against his hand as it comes down against my bare skin. “That’s for looking so good and then trying to leave.” I turn my head and look at his face. He’s grinning. “You’re the one who needs to be punished, Josh.” Frustration and anger are woven into my voice, but my smarting ass throbs in time with my arousal, and my core aches, making me miserable with need. “That might be, Nat.” He spanks me again as I watch him, and then his fingers

travel lower and forward to the slippery cleft between my legs. I know he’ll find dripping wetness there, slick and prepared. “But I’m the one who’s got you pushed up against the wall.” His fingers find my clit and gently circle the sensitive bundle of nerves. I respond with a sigh, pushing hard against his hand. His gaze locks with mine as he slips one finger and then a second inside me, gently pumping, sliding in and out. “Fuck me, please,” I hiss. He smiles at me and keeps moving his fingers, his speed increasing. “I don’t know, Natalie. Is that really what you want?” I nod.

“Please, Joshie. Please. I’m ready.” The words come from somewhere deep inside, words I’ve never said to anyone. Josh takes his fingers away and steps back and we lock eyes, drinking each other in. His body has been on display since he first came and found me, but this is different. For this moment, the lust written on his face belongs to me. Even if it is only just this once.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I’ve never seen Natalie like this. I’d heard her whispers, alone at night in her bedroom, my cock growing hard at the

thought of her touching herself. But she stands before me now, a pink flush visible on her chest and on the tops of her perfectly round tits. I can just see the pink traces of my fingerprints on her ass. There’s a flicker of anger in her eyes. She doesn’t want to respond to me like this, but hell, she’s right here, she is, just like she’s mine. Like she always has been. I throw her over the side of the sofa, and I thank God silently that I’ve cleaned up my act. If she’d come to my apartment three years ago, she would have been stepping over greasy sacks of halfdevoured fast food, and her face would probably be next to an empty bottle of

bourbon right now. I laugh, still gripping her waist. Would it be crass to say that I’m mesmerized by her ass, the shape of it, the way it filled out her jeans when she walked in, all angry and totally fucking beautiful? I give it a little squeeze, and it feels so fucking good in my hand. “Josh,” she says and looks at me, her hair hanging in her face. This picture— this tableau—is set up just for me, and I’m taking a minute to enjoy it. Her eyes betray her desire. “Just this once,” she said. Once I have her here like this, I’m pretty sure my cock will know she’s mine, even if she doesn’t catch up with the sentiment. “What are you laughing

about?” she mumbles. “Ain’t nothing for you to worry about, Nat.” I raise my hand and bring it down on one ripe ass cheek and then the other. She makes this little sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a whimper. I wish I could bottle up what that sound does to my cock, because if I was hard before, I’m like a rock now. I laugh again and spank her. I’m pitching a serious tent in my shorts, and they don’t leave much to the imagination. She moans again, and from the angle she’s at, I can see the glistening sweetness on her pussy. “Goddamn,” I whisper. “This is a

seriously pretty picture.” She giggles, and I spank her hard, watching in amazement as the red marks rise on her ass. “Hey, what was that for?” Her voice is annoyed, but she’s certainly not moving away. Her eyes stay on mine. She’s still looking over her shoulder, her lips plump and raspberry-red from kissing me. “I’ll spank you when I like. Just this once,” I say with a grin. She rolls her eyes, and I spank her again, my hand coming down hard on one cheek and then the other. She moans, and I trace my finger over the slickness I see between

her legs—just to hear that sound escape her lips, just for that one second where she’s bound to her desire and nothing else. That might be all she ever gives me, if she sticks to this just this once thing she’s telling me. It’s no matter. I’ve waited years, and if this is my one reward, I’ll die a happy man. Now, I’d die a happier man if it weren’t just this once, but she ain’t there yet. “Please,” she moans, her voice so low I almost can’t hear it. “Please what, Natalie?” I slip my fingers over her pussy, carefully avoiding her clit. This woman doesn’t know what I’m capable of, doesn’t know

how long I’ve been waiting to make her come. It’s all that kept me alive on some nights, especially those early ones. I held the image of her lips against mine, bright in my mind like a beacon. It’s not exactly the purest desire that anyone’s used in AA, but it worked for me. “Please... please...” she whines. “There are a lot of things I can do, Nat. But I want to hear it from your lips.” I trail my fingers over her pussy again. It’s neatly trimmed, and I wonder, as I move my fingers up and down over its sweetness, if she did that for me before she came over here. The thought makes me want to explode. God, I know

she’s angry, she’s frustrated. And I know that’ll make it even more delicious when she comes on my cock. And she will. But first, I want her to beg for it. “Make me come,” she says, her voice soft, pleading. I slip my fingers inside of her again, press my thumb against her clit, circle it until she’s shuddering on my fingers. “How, Natalie? Tell me what you want me to do.” “I want you to...” She pauses. I see the blush rising over her neck and into her cheeks, and I brush the hair away so I can see it better. I want to feel her

embarrassment, to own it. It’s part of the process of her becoming mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet. Even if this was never part of the plan. “What Nat? Do you want to come on my cock, or on my tongue... or both?” She blushes hard again, and I have the thought that she’s like a lot of women: no man has ever asked her what she wants, what she needs. “Both,” she breathes. “I want it all.” I growl and bring my hand to my cock, then I step back and slip off my shorts. Nat looks back at me and inhales sharply when she sees my cock.

“Impressed?” I ask and raise an eyebrow. “I’m a doctor,” she says, but she’s still blushing. “I’ve seen a lot of—” “None like this, and not just for you. Because I tell you what, Natty. You’re a country girl at heart, sassy and quick and clever as hell.” I flip her over and pull her to the cushion of the sofa. In one swift movement, I have her legs spread open and her ass pulled to the edge of the cushion. “You’re not just a doctor. You’re a woman, too. Now what was it you wanted me to do?” I kneel down and spread her thighs further apart, running my fingers over her pussy lips again.

She’s soaking wet, hot and slippery, moaning and arching her back as I guide my fingers over her skin. “Make me come,” she says. Her voice has a sudden ring of confidence to it. “Please? Can you say please for me? That’s what I want to hear.” “Make me come, please. Lick me.” She emphasizes the hard consonant at the end of lick, and I chuckle, leaning in closer to her. I plunge a finger deep inside, and it slides in without hesitation. She moans and nearly lifts her ass off the sofa. Bringing my face

between her legs, I take her clit into my mouth and suck it gently, flicking my tongue over the top. Her little gasps and sighs are like music, her taste sharp and sweet and all the things I’ve ever imagined she would be. I lick down the length of her sex, replacing my finger with my tongue for just a moment. Natalie tightens her legs around my neck, traces her fingers through my closecropped hair. Her pussy throbs against my tongue as I lick her, darting my tongue in and out before traveling back up to her clit and sucking it in my mouth again. I swirl my tongue over it until she’s writhing against me, the sounds from her throat primal and raw, like an animal. She arches her back and starts to

come against me. At the last moment, I thrust my tongue inside of her once more. “Oh shit, fuck...” The stream of profanity coming from her sweet little mouth as she bucks against my mouth only makes me harder. There hasn’t been a woman yet who’s made me come with just the sound of her voice, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Natalie was the first. With a growl, I pull away from her before she stops writhing, and I flip her back over on the couch, ass in the air like I like it. I lean down and grab the condom from the pocket of my shorts and roll it onto my length. She’s still moaning, and now she’s touching herself, still on all fours just like I want her.

“Jesus,” I mutter. “That’s so fucking hot.” “Just fuck me,” she says. Her eyelids nearly flutter shut with lust, and she keeps moving her fingers over her clit. I move behind her and grab her waist, pushing the head of my cock against her slickness. The heat of her entrance almost undoes me, almost makes me lose my mind. But then I come back to my senses and pull her hips toward me, pushing my full length inside her. She exhales, letting all of the air out of her lungs—it’s like a sigh of relief. Maybe she’s been waiting for this too. Maybe through all my idiocy and all the risks I

took and all the pain I put her through just to save her from me... maybe it’s all been worthless. Maybe we’ve been headed to this place all along. I start fucking her, slowly, savoring each stroke, each movement where my body collides with hers. I try to be gentle, try to hold back. She feels so fucking tight, completely encasing my cock, that I feel like I’ll hurt her if I fuck her like I want. But then she turns back to me with that look in her eyes again. “Harder,” she says, her voice breathy. I grind into her, driving deeper and faster into her pussy. “Oh my God, yes, like that. Keep going,” she says.

“Touch yourself again,” I say as I bend over and grab her hair, bracing myself against the couch with my other hand. My left shoulder aches, and I know I should be gentler on it, but there’s no way I’m going to let this woman down due to a little discomfort. The sensation of filling her up takes me over, and I keep fucking her hard. I can feel her pussy swelling around my cock, and I know she’s close again. Her release prepped her for this, and she wants it. I can tell from the way her muscles tighten and release in the small of her back. “Come for me. Come on my cock, Natalie.” She

moans,

throaty

and

wild,

impaling herself on my cock over and over as she reaches back with her hand to touch her clit. I bury myself inside of her again and again, my balls slapping against her with every movement. “Come on Nat, come for me baby,” I say again. I keep pumping my cock into her sweet tightness, crashing into her. I grip her waist with one hand, using the leverage to reach her deeper. I can tell she’s close to the edge, but she’s holding out, hanging on to that idea of herself— the good girl, the one who got away. But I see it now—she never did get away from me. And for once, I’m fucking thrilled. I fuck her harder until she begins to let go. “You’re mine baby,

you’re mine… you can let go now,” I groan. “Oh God,” she says, her voice raspy. “I’m... I’m... oh fuck…” Her voice trails off, and I slide my hand under her body and cup one of her tits, her fine perfect tits, rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Her pussy swells and throbs against my cock as she lets out a long, breathy whimper. Thrusting back against me, she comes hard, and I ride her through wave after wave of her orgasm. When she shudders against me, I feel the fire rising inside of me, releasing all at once as I come deep inside.

I fall against her, kissing her neck, brushing her golden waves over her shoulder. Sometime later, we fall into my bedroom. And it’s only when we wake up that I realize she might not have been ready for all of this. But here we go. It’s all happening.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I’ll let you stay until the fight, Josh, but no longer than that.” I trace my fingers over his bicep. The muscles are firm and tense, like they’re poised to strike at any

moment. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his face still turned away. “That’s the best thing, isn’t it?” His voice is blank, flat, almost like it’s purposefully devoid of emotion, like he’s hiding something underneath that he doesn’t want me to find. Worry flickers through my chest, making its way down to my belly. “What happened last night...” I start, but my thoughts won’t translate to words. Instead, I feel the place where his shoulder separated from its joint, checking for signs of healing, for signs of further injury. He doesn’t flinch, which is good, but the training will slow

his recovery. He won’t stop it, no matter what I tell him to do. Even if I let him know I think it’s a train wreck waiting to happen, he won’t stop, he won’t relent. When he explained it, when the pieces finally fit together in my head, I saw the determination in his eyes, saw what he’d put at stake. But where do I fit in all of this? I’m still not sure. For a moment, heat prickles at the back of my eyes, and tears start to form. I roll away. Josh follows my body and swallows me up in his warmth, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his body against mine. “What were you going to say? That it

can’t happen again?” Josh brushes my hair away from the back of my neck and kisses me there. “Don’t say that.” His voice, deep and raspy with sleep, vibrates against my ear and sends tingles down my spine. I shiver, and he pulls me in closer. A thrill runs through me, and again, my body is responding to Josh without my consent. I melt into him, let him hold me. There is no response I can give. How did I let this happen? I can’t let it happen again, not now, not ever. Josh doesn’t hear that thought—instead, he’s listening to the warmth of my body, and his cock is rising against my ass. Leaning forward, he kisses my earlobe,

darting his tongue out to touch its surface. He pulls it into his mouth and bites down gently, and I respond with a moan. His hand finds my breasts, rolling and pulling at each nipple, his rough, calloused flesh biting into the soft skin, heightening my pleasure even though it hurts. “Josh,” I sigh, my voice urgent, needy. Heat is already pooling between my legs and my sex pulses with need. My body is waking up from its anxiety and falling hard into arousal, fire coursing through my veins. Josh chuckles, the heat of his breath sending shocks through every reach of my body.

“Are you wet, Natalie?” He speaks my name with sarcasm, in a tone I haven’t heard since we were in high school. It should disgust me—it should make me think about all the woman he’s practiced these lines with. But hell, the way he says my name sounds dirty as hell, filled with innuendo, filled with all the things we did last night. “Is your pussy wet for this cock?” He pulls his hand away from my breasts and strokes himself. I listen to him as his breath grows faster, and a flush creeps over me. I inhale sharply, and my pussy throbs. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, it is.” “Tell me what you want, baby. Tell

me what you want me to do to you.” I close my eyes and blush hard. I’ve never had a man speak dirty to me—and if he had, I’m sure I wouldn’t have responded. Sex has always been pleasant, a sweet way to connect with a man, but it’s never been filthy like it was last night. I think of Josh’s words, of his voice when he told me how beautiful I was. His voice right now doesn’t sound anything like that—and nothing like anything I’ve ever wanted. But fuck, right now, my sex pulses with primal need. I reach down and spread my thighs, feeling the wetness between my legs, pulling it up over my clit. It occurs to me then that I want both the man who tells me I’m beautiful and the man who

fucks me raw and tells me I’m his. And here he is, all in one person, the man I’ve wanted for my entire adult life. Things that seem too good to be true often are, Natalie. “Tell me what you want Nat, or you get nothing at all.” He reaches over and grabs my hand, pulls it away from my throbbing clit. “And you don’t get to touch yourself—not this time.” He leans in and kisses my neck, nibbling, licking, sucking. He forces his knees between my legs from behind and moves so that the tip of his cock is pressing against the entrance of my pussy. “If you don’t tell me, then I get to do exactly what I want,

and I swear you won’t walk for a week.” I think of his hands coming down on my ass, smarting and throbbing as he fucked me. “I want you... I want you to fuck me, Josh.” My voice comes out in a sigh, and he chuckles again, pulling my fingers to his mouth and licking off the wetness from my pussy. “Are you sure you don’t want me to eat your pussy?” He thrusts against me, the head of his cock strumming over my wet folds and meeting my clit. Everything in my body tenses, cries out to be filled. I shake my head emphatically.

“No,” I breathe. “Fuck me. I want your cock.” I say the last words firmly, emphasizing the hard consonants, the word erotic and naughty as it falls off my tongue. I move my hand down to his cock, placing my fingers over his, stroking it, listening to his sighs. When he entered me for the first time last night, I felt like I knew lust, desire for the first time. I’d had sex plenty of times, not much compared to some other women I knew in their twenties, but what Josh had given me was different. Gentle one moment, rough and hard the next.

“It can’t happen again, but...” My voice trails off, and I roll back toward him so that the front of my body faces his. I swing my leg over his thigh and keep stroking his cock. He takes his hand away and closes his eyes, panting and groaning softly as I stroke him. A bead of precum appears at his tip, and I move my thumb over it, spreading it around the head of his cock. He moans and thrusts into my hands. “Nat, how can you expect me to not want you... not to touch you...” “You’ll have to take this moment for what it is.” I release my grip and slide down the bed to kneel between his legs.

I’ve wanted his cock between my lips since I first met him, since I first understood that I could bring him pleasure. I’d been thinking about him since them, denying my attraction to anyone who suspected. He was always my stepbrother, always the bad boy who didn’t match anything I wanted. But here, in this bed, we’re just Natalie and Josh, flesh meeting flesh, desire fulfilling desire. We’re not fighters or doctors, or any other label someone might put on us. I stroke Josh faster and bend forward to take his cock in my mouth. “Fuck yes,” he sighs, his voice thick with desire. His cock is hard as steel in my hand, the head of it hot and smooth

between my lips. I cup his balls in my hand, rubbing the sensitive area beneath as I hold the head of his cock in my mouth. I flick my tongue over the bottom side of the tip, and Josh shudders. I can see a ripple through his muscles, and I imagine the tension of need building deep inside his body. From below, Josh thrusts hard into my throat, and I moan as he hits the back of my throat. I sputter for a moment but I keep on swirling my tongue over his cock, tasting his essence. “Natalie.” He groans my name. “Stop, baby, come on.” I sit up, pulling away from his cock. “What? Was I doing it wrong? It’s been a long time...” I wipe my hand across my

mouth, and Josh laughs out loud. “No, Nat. If you kept going, I was going to come in your mouth.” He grins. “Isn’t that good?” “Not when I know how wet your pussy is. Not when you’re straddling me, looking like that, no it’s not.” He reaches over to the nightstand and rips open a foil packet, pulling out a condom. His gaze doesn’t leave my face as he slides the condom onto his formidable length. I’m mesmerized, watching his body— even the small movements of his muscles as he slips the condom onto his cock are perfect, full of languid, smooth sexiness.

He reaches for my hips and pulls me on top of his cock. I nearly topple onto him, and a blush of embarrassment rises over me. My body still feels wired, pulsing in time with Josh’s, the need deep and insane, like nothing I’d ever felt before last night. But he can see my body, all of it. Time seems to slow down, and I watch his eyes as they travel over me, my cheeks growing hot. “Ride my cock, Natalie.” He groans and tightens his grip on my ass, grabbing it and bringing my body forward so that my pussy slides to his tip. I blush hard, my heart beating fast. I pause and pull the hair away from

my face. “I’ve never—” “You did last night.” He reaches up with his right hand and cups my breast, twirling the nipple and sending shocks through my system, straight down to my sex. It is dripping, ready for him, but I’m still frozen. “I mean, not this way. I’ve gotten... I’ve gained weight since I went away to school—” “Natalie,” he says, looking me in the eye and pulling me down on top of his body. He pulls my hair and brings my face to his, then covers my lips with his, his tongue searching mine out for a brief

moment. He pulls my hair gently, and the biting sensation of pain mixes with the excitement coiled deep inside my body. “Don’t ever let me hear you doubt how fucking beautiful you are. Call this whatever you want—this thing between us—but know that you’re perfect in my eyes.” His hazel-green eyes meet mine and he pulls my hair harder, bending his head to kiss my neck, nuzzling and licking. “Nat, right now this pussy is mine. In this bed, you belong to me. And I want you to do as I say. Do you understand?” I let out a soft moan. “Yes.” My voice comes out in a whimper, a whine —desperate, miserable with need. Close

to him like this, I can smell him, fresh like the pines that cover the island, salty like the air on an autumn day. The heat of his body radiates against me. His command resonates in my mind, and I swear if he told me to walk on the ceiling right now, I would. Josh pushes me up, and positions me over his cock. “Now ride me,” he says. This shouldn’t happen again, a voice says somewhere in my mind. He’ll break your heart all over again. My thoughts are hopeless against the insistent throbbing of my sex as it rests against the head of Josh’s cock. I shake my head and push the thought away as I

slide onto Josh, taking in his cock completely. The thoughts that keep nagging me all fade when I feel his length inside me, when I look down and see his eyes, filled with lust, with longing, only for me. I begin to rock my hips against his, slow at first, listening to his sighs, his soft pants as I lift myself high and thrust down again. His fingers grip my ass, digging into the flesh that he spanked last night, and I cry out, gyrating against my body as the tension inside me builds, tighter and tighter until I think I might explode into pure pleasure. I lean over, and my breasts brush against his muscles, the warmth of his body meeting mine. Inside, his cock is swollen tight, throbbing, hitting me in places I never

dreamed were so sensitive, so fulfilling. “You’re so tight, so sweet, Natalie, baby,” he whispers. With every movement, my clit meets his skin, shocks rolling through me and bringing me closer and closer to the edge. “Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,” he whispers as I ride him. “You’re mine baby, you’re mine.” I moan his name again and again, the syllables blending together with my moans as pleasure vibrates through my clit, through the fullness in my pussy. I have the distant thought that I’m not this woman—the woman who takes in a man who wronged her, who whimpers and begs for his cock, who stays the next

morning and does just as he asks. My logic feels weak in comparison to the pleasure rolling through me, waves of heat crashing through my core, threatening to consume me. As the tension builds and builds in my center, Josh brings his mouth to my breast and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh, setting me off into a raging climax, the perfect release that’s been building all morning. I cry out, moan, my body shaking and quivering. “Fuck,” he groans as I ride him through my orgasm. “You’re going to make me come, baby.” I cry out again, and it seems my orgasm only builds in intensity, never stopping, never slowing

down as he comes inside of me, thrusting hard from beneath me and filling me up to completion. I realize I’ve been gripping his arms, that I might have hurt him. Releasing him, I fall down against him gently, putting my fingers against his left shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Did I hurt you?” I know he’s been using the damn shoulder to fight—and to move my body around so he can fuck me how he wants to—but I still worry. And from the finger marks I see on his skin, I can tell I was gripping him hard. I blush, and I feel him flipping me onto my side. He’s grinning, and he pulls me to him again, throwing my leg over his. He laughs, his voice

deep and melodic. “God no, Nat,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again. “This is the kind of physical therapy I was hoping for anyway.” I roll my eyes, but he covers my mouth again and kisses me hard. “I hope you’re okay for the fight. That’s all.” “I’m better now that you’re here— that you showed up.” “Josh,” I say. “This can’t be—” “Don’t say what it can or can’t be, Nat. Not right now. I kept saying that to

myself when I was staying at your place, but when I saw you last night, everything made sense. I won’t ask you to stay—” “Well that’s fine and dandy,” I say, rolling out of bed. “Because you’re staying with me until the fight.” His words nag me, start that place in my brain again, the place with doubts and guilt and anxiety. I said it right before he did but I realize, frozen still in his bedroom, his eyes on my body, that I want to see what would happen if he did ask me to stay—for good, with him. “For right now, we can be friends,” I say, the words tumbling out. “Friends don’t do this, Nat,” he says

simply. “You’ve had a lot of female ‘friends’ who do exactly this, Josh. Remember? I’ve seen them. You’ve ditched me for them.” I don’t mean for the words to tumble out, and I don’t want the thoughts that go along with them. My whole life, I’ve just wanted things to be uncomplicated. Josh watches me as I dress, his eyes roaming from my breasts and back down to my ass. My body tenses again, just like it did when he had me straddling his cock, when he got me to ride him, completely exposed—like I’d never done with any man. He’s silent for a while, until after I’ve put my shirt on and combed through my hair with my

fingers. “I have eggs and bacon I got yesterday,” he says, swinging his legs out of bed and pulling on his boxers like he’d never had a shoulder injury at all. He walks over to me and kisses me hard, adding warmth to the tension in my body. My nipples are raw from where he’s sucked them and pulled them, my pussy sore from taking his cock again and again. He’s written himself all over my body. It’s undeniable, and I kiss him back, my lips hungry for his. He pulls away as the heat begins to pool inside me again. “You know Nat, I didn’t think you’d come.”

It’s the last thing he says before he saunters off to the kitchen to make breakfast. I sit back on the bed and listen as the bacon starts to sizzle, the smell of it igniting insane hunger pangs in the pit of my stomach. If I’d wished for uncomplicated, I never should have come back to this town. This is anything but.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I watch Natalie eat bacon and eggs between sips of coffee—I’m not sure I want her to notice that I’m watching her.

She’s got her hair up in a messy bun, tendrils of hair framing her round, smooth face. “Hungry?” I ask. A bit of egg yolk gets caught on her lip, and it’s all I can do not to leap across the table and lick it off. That would go over the edge from watching her eat and into certified creeper territory. “Hell yeah, I’m hungry.” She blushes and takes a long swig of coffee. “I mean, there are reasons I’m hungry.” I contemplate those reasons, thinking of her slickness, the warmth and tightness wrapped around my cock. I’m growing hard again thinking about it, and it’s only

been twenty minutes since I fucked her last. Since that first, perfect blow job, I’ve been thinking about those fuckable lips wrapping around my cock again and sucking me dry. She almost got me there last night, but now I think I want the full service again. Seeing how she’s acted in bed, I think I can arrange it too. “Yeah, you look pretty much like you’ve been fucking all night.” She nearly spits out her coffee, her face showing that she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to slap me from across the table. “Is that supposed compliment?”

to

be

a

“Yes. A big one. And I’ve got something else big hiding out down here —” She rolls her eyes, but I see a faint flush creeping over her neck, rising into her cheeks. I bet if I reached between her legs right now, I’d find a pair of very wet panties, and a sweet throbbing pussy, ripe and ready for me. “Let me eat, for Pete’s sake. And dammit. We can’t continue in this vein.” “In this vein of what?” I widen my eyes and look at her like I don’t know what she’s talking about. “In this vein of sex. You shouldn’t be

doing it anyway, with your arm and all.” “Arm’s healing fine, Natty.” I finish off my coffee. “I’ve got plenty of energy to keep helping you relax. And you seemed to be pretty pleased with my cock this morning.” There’s a small voice in my brain shouting, Retreat! Stop talking! But I’ve already dug myself in too deep, and it shows on Natalie’s face. She’s not a woman who thinks she’s beautiful, even though she sure as fuck is. And she doesn’t understand that I’ve changed—or that I think I have anyway. She’s seen the evidence lying around, but the disappearance and the bravado ain’t helping a damn thing. Still, the part of

my mind that defaults to cocky asshole in times of stress keeps talking. “And if you’re stressed out, baby, you can always take down those skinny jeans and I’ll see what I can do for you.” “Oh goddammit. Can we even have a serious conversation for five minutes?” She groans and clutches her head with her hands. It reads as pure exasperation, but something about it is glorious— especially since I’ve sampled the goods. “Yes. We can. I was being serious. I will help you relieve your stress. I volunteer as tribute.” “Oh my God,” she says, burying her

face in her hands. “I slept with a teenager.” “Naughty cougar that you are.” Natalie gives me a withering look. “I mean you sure could shape up to be a naughty cougar, some day. In like twenty, thirty years. But I’ll always be a year older.” The word vomit keeps falling out of my mouth, and I have the thought that I should keep complimenting her body. But fortunately, my eyes are drawn down to her ample tits, which are rising and falling in time with her growing anger. “I knew this was a bad idea. One night stand with my asshole stepbrother.” She moves the chair out like she’s

getting ready to go, but I put my hand out and grasp her wrist. She watches me like I’m a caged lion and she’s not exactly sure what I’m going to do. “Who said it was a one night stand?” This is a better direction, I think. Tell her she’s pretty, that she smells nice. Anything not idiotic. “I guess I thought—fuck, Josh, it doesn’t matter. You got me into this whole complicated thing, and it feels a little like I’m dealing with someone I don’t know.” I purse my lips and think for a moment. “I guess you’re right.” Natalie’s

gaze meets mine, and I think about how I used to try to pinpoint the color of her eyes. Burnt sienna, more gold than brown. “But you came back here and found me.” She bites her lip for a moment before releasing it, and I think about taking it in my mouth, tasting the coppery sweetness of her inner lip. “I did. I was worried. And when you left me—I was in a state.” Despite the frustration I see in her eyes, there is a spark when she looks at me. Sometimes, anyway. I’ve done so much planning, and it ain’t something I’m used to, but I threw a wrench in my own works when I came back to her. I open my mouth for a moment—I want to explain that she’s the

reason for this. She makes me better, even when she’s far away. It occurs to me that I should have figured out just what I wanted from her. “You were in a state, weren’t you? Came back for… all that I could give you.” She whacks me on the arm, but this time she smiles too. I know it’s not subtle, the way I’m treating her right now. But my inner teenage boy is rejoicing that he got the girl. And the inner teenage boy, well, he’s kind of an asshole. “Sure, Josh. It’s all good fun. Best fun I’ve had in a long time.”

“Just fun?” “Just fun for now.” She sighs. “Like I said, I don’t know you no more. You didn’t tell me you got a GED. You didn’t tell me you bought a gym. And you didn’t tell me you were getting kids away from Frank. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you became some kind of vigilante superhero in the past three years.” “Just trying to set things right. And hey, why wouldn’t you want a relationship with a vigilante superhero fighting for justice?” I grin at her, but she rolls her eyes.

“A relationship? Who said anything about a relationship?” I clear my throat. I want to say something suave and convincing. But all I can think of is, Of course I want a relationship. You’re mine. I somehow don’t think that’ll fly, so I stick with changing the subject. “You got a shift today, Nat?” “No. I was planning on getting you back to the house—” “The house might not be such a good idea today,” I say. I clear my throat and pause for a moment. “Frank’s silent right now, but if he finds out where you’re staying, he might show up to harass you,

or to find me there. He’s done that to me when I was staying at Ash’s.” I expect her to flip out, but she just pauses for a second, thinking. “I have a favor to call in. You know the Island Guest House?” I nod. “Okay, well, Summer’s mom Linda works there, and I temped for her last summer—” “We can stay there?” “Well, you can—I think that’d be best. You, by yourself.” “Nat, no. I need to be able to protect you if I can, if Frank is anywhere around.”

“Is it really that serious?” She thinks for a moment. “And if it is, why the fuck did you bring me into this, Josh?” “I think—” I’m about to explain to her what Frank is capable of, that the Frank she met five or six years ago is different from the man he is now, that he’s a capable criminal with ties to the Russian mafia in Richmond. He’s grown harder, colder, far worse than he was. But before I can get the words out, there’s a knock at the door. I jump up and curl my hands into fists like I did when Ash came here. I watch as fear flickers over Natalie’s face, and she nearly falls out of her chair trying to stand up.

“Natalie, it ain’t Frank. It’s not his style to come around like this.” Even though I’m hiding it, there’s worry in my blood too. “But doesn’t he have a gang backing him?” “Hush, Natalie. He has people, not a gang.” I step over to the door, trying to wave Natalie back to the other side of the room. “Do not tell me to hush or wave your hand at me like I’m a dog,” she whispers. I know it’s not loud enough for anyone on the other side of the door to

hear, but still, my body fills with adrenaline, like I’m prepping for a damn fight. I step closer and curse the damn apartment complex for not having peep holes—seems like it should be a necessary thing for such shitty apartments in a run-down area, but I guess that’s the point. Shitty apartments ain’t got shit. There’s another knock, and I curl my fists up like I’m going to bash in whoever is on the other side of the door. The knob jiggles back and forth, and there’s another, more insistent knock. I slide the lock open and ready myself, lifting my hands up to block my face. “Open up asshole.” It takes my brain

a moment to process what I’m hearing: an exasperated female voice on the other side. “I said, open up. I know you’ve got your lady in there, so get decent if you need to and—” I swing the door open and see Katy, red hair hanging over her face, her lip cut and swollen. “Katy? What the hell are you doing here?” I grab her arm and pull her in, and she looks at me with those huge puppy-dog eyes that she uses on the new guys at the club when she’s helping Frank “break them in.” Her gaze moves to Nat, sizing her up in an instant. “So that’s your stepsister, huh? Makes sense. You always did bang

anything with a pulse.” She smirks and crosses her arms, but it’s hard for a tiny woman with a split lip to look smug or intimidating. “Katy, listen, you know you and I aren’t a thing, right?” She laughs. “Let me stop you right there, Long Shot. Regardless of whether you and I are a thing, you and Frank are a thing, sweetheart. And he just got wind that you’re going in on the big fight, that you’re trying to go pro. It’s without his approval, without his promotion.” “That’s my business. Not his.”

“Cut the shit, man. You got debts to pay, and he says if you won’t fight for him, you won’t fight for no one.” “What’s he going to do? Slap me in the face? He hasn’t fought in years— there’s nothing he can do. Did he give you that lip or did he have one of his guys do it?” Her eyes grow dark for a moment, and I see the answer there. She raises her hand to touch her lip and flinches a bit. “This? Yeah, he got one of the young guys to do it. Said he was trying to find out where you’d been staying before you came back here. Even if he can’t hurt you himself, he’ll find someone who

can. And it’s a good thing for your girl over there that he doesn’t know who she is, or he’d add her to his shit list. And when he’s got those young ones good and coked up, they’ll do anything he asks.” “Don’t you involve her in any of this shit.” My voice comes out like a growl. “You didn’t tell him anything about her, did you?” “Plenty of the guys already know she’s your stepsister. One of those bitches finds out and it’s like gossip club in the high school girls’ bathroom.” She pauses and looks over at Natalie again. “But no, I didn’t tell anyone about your stupid stepsister bullshit. One of the

reasons why I got this beautiful fresh cut.” She points to her lip, and I soften for a moment. “Thanks,” I mumble. “I’m sorry he —” Natalie steps up and takes Katy by the arm. Katy is still as hell for a moment and she almost pulls away. But Natalie works her magic, first smoothing Katy’s hair to the side and then pulling her to sit down on the sofa in the living room. “What are you doing, sister?” “We gotta get you cleaned up. You’re Katy?” She nods and watches Natalie like a hawk while she runs back to my

bathroom. A few seconds later, she appears with peroxide and gauze, shit that I wouldn’t have known I even had. “I know we probably won’t be best friends, Katy,” Natalie says, sitting down next to her, “But I can clean up your cut. Do you have somewhere to stay?” “Not really.” Katy’s voice changes when she responds to Natalie. She’s hardwired to snap at women—I’ve seen it one too many times—but her voice shakes when she responds to Nat, losing the hard edge it had before. “I was staying with Frank, but I was going to stay at the club tonight.”

Natalie dabs peroxide on Katy’s lip and talks to her in gentle tones. Every now and then, Katy answers or shakes her head, but now Natalie’s talking too low for me to hear. I pace back and forth in the hallway, wondering what the hell we’re going to do—or more specifically, what the hell I’m going to do. My shoulder is doing better, but I haven’t been training enough to fight someone and win. And if Frank knows I could lose one of his rigged up fights, he’s probably got someone on tap who can beat the shit out of me and put my shoulder right back where it was. If I go into hiding, I look like a pussy, and I have no way of reaching out to the boys at the club—no way of maintaining

control over my scheme to take Frank down. And if Frank is threatening to find out who Natalie is, then it’s only a matter of time before he does. I curse myself again for going to her before I’d worked my life out. I go back to my bedroom and fill up my plastic shopping bag with fresh clothes. I’ll have to take Nat up on her offer for now, especially since I think she’s offering up my apartment to Katy. I hear her out there, fixing up a plate of bacon for Katy and asking her how she wants her eggs. “Scrambled,” I hear Katy say. And by her tone, I can tell that she doesn’t quite know what to make of Natalie. This is part of what draws me back to

her, and it’s what made me know she’d take me in when I came back. The damn woman loves to take in a stray. Before she got her cat Beatrice, she had two one-eyed dogs and a cat with three legs. It’s a wonder that Bee has all her parts and that she doesn’t have five or six foster siblings all vying for Nat’s attention. It’s likely because she hasn’t been back in town all that long, I think. Stick with her and she’ll open up a home for abused animals and battered women in need of breakfast. Stick with her. There’s a thought. In the past three years, there were days that I only thought of Natalie, and now here we are, both skirting around the issue.

And for what reason? It probably hinges on me and what a risk I am, and how unlikely it is that a relationship—any relationship—with me would work. I drop my toothbrush into the top of the plastic bag, and I walk out into the living room to see a strange scene—Katy still talking to Nat, both of them sitting and eating off a plate of my bacon. Nat slips Katy a small wad of cash and stands up, brushing a couple of bacon crumbs off of the flowy tunic thing she’s wearing. “Katy’s gonna stay here,” she says. I pause for a second. There are a few ways this could go, and I don’t like the way where I’m telling a beat-up woman to get the hell out and go stay with a man

whose prone to keep on beating her—or getting someone to do the beating for him, anyway. Katy nods at me, and I see genuine thanks reflected in her gaze. She’s still eating when Nat comes and takes my arm. A surge of warmth rolls through me, even if I’m not pleased at the prospect of having Katy at my house. Hell, though, there’s nothing here now that she or any of the boys could get ahold of. I just have to make it three more weeks—then the big fight is here, and I’m free of Frank and able to pay Ash back for the down payment on the new gym. “Come on along,” says Nat. She pushes me toward the door and waves

back at Katy. “Now you can’t say no to the Island Guest House. I got that girl taking up space here, and we’ll be somewhere no one can find us. Well, if they looked in every house in Manteo, I guess they would. But I don’t think Frank’s guys are that smart.” “Probably not.” She starts walking over to the Civic, and I catch her arm. “This shit, it’s all more serious than I wanted it to be, Nat. If Frank’s looking for you—” “It’s a good thing he won’t be able to find me, then, isn’t it?” The corners of her pouty pink lips turn up in a smile.

“Come on now. Leave that Camaro here. It’s too easy to spot. You ever think of that when you were restoring it, hot shot?” “Naw, you got me there, Nat.” “No one’s gonna follow a shitty old Civic. We’ll park it somewhere discreet. No one will know the difference.” The breeze whips around us, and Nat’s hair starts to fall loose from her bun, whipping around her face in soft golden waves. “Natty, I’m gonna have to fight.” “You don’t have to do anything

except get your shoulder healed, Josh.” She purses her lips and then blows out a little puff of air. “If you have to fight, we’ll see about it. But give yourself a few days to get better. Please.” “All right then.” I think of Nat in one of those little guest cabins at the Guest House, and I wonder if she’ll continue seeing me through like she already has. I think it better not to mention the whole sex and relationship thing since we’ve dealt with enough shit, but there’s a handful of condoms at the bottom of my plastic bag suitcase, and I know all the spots on the island where I can buy more. My cock stirs at the idea, and I walk to her, shaking it off before we

both get in the car and drive off to the little bed and breakfast, away from everything that’s dangerous, everything that’s bad. We ride on in comfortable silence. I’ll have one last night, according to what Katy implied, and Frank’ll expect me back in the gym tomorrow morning, training before I’m ready. This is the calm before the storm. But I’m going to enjoy it while I can, and I’ll fight like hell to keep it all together. Especially for Natalie. Everything for Natalie.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When we shut the doors of the Civic, I feel like we’re back in the real world— like all the shit that Josh has gotten us into isn’t real, and the only real thing is

that we’re two people who slept together, and we’re going away, getting away. I drive out onto Beach Road and then hit the highway. Surprisingly, Josh doesn’t say a word until we’re about to cross the causeway. Maybe he knows he’s spewed enough bullshit for the day. When we’re halfway to the island, though, he speaks. The sound is jarring, and it disturbs the peace of my little daydream. “About a relationship—” “Don’t start. And do me a favor.” I cut my eyes at him. The asshole still isn’t wearing a shirt, and there’s an almost painful throbbing between my

legs when I look at him. It’s all I can do not to think of the way his skin feels when it touches mine, the way his muscular legs and hips feel when they’re thrusting against me. No, maybe thrusting isn’t even the right word. When Josh fucks me, it’s more calculated—patient and deliberate, like he’s been planning each move for years. And maybe he has been. But his words don’t match up. Maybe that’s the pitfall of falling for a guy like this. He has all the skills to make a woman keep coming back, and exactly zero ability to communicate—or even show—how he really feels. “What’s that?”

“Don’t talk until I tell you to. Let’s see how you do if we’re not saying a damn word to each other for a bit.” We pull up to the stoplight before the quaint little bed and breakfast. He nods, and I turn onto the street and pull in all the way behind the house. I know that what I’m planning is probably a miserably bad idea—the second I touch Josh again, I’ll be pulled in deeper. And once I’m deep enough, I won’t know how to pull myself back out. It was almost like that at the end of high school, and I’ll be damned if I want to do that again as a woman on the brink of her perfect career. But here I go anyway.

Josh carries my bag up to the little house. Its quaint yellow shingles and white trim make me feel like I’m stepping back in time, like there’s something better than all this shit we’re dealing with. He holds the door open and I walk in. This cottage—Summer calls it the Sunset Cottage because you can see the sunset over the sound from the far window—is just one big room. Wide-planked hardwoods, tall open ceilings, and hand-wrought wooden furniture with leather cushions make the place feel sumptuous and rich, an oasis in the center of a tiny island town. There’s only one king-sized bed, and it sits right in the middle of the room like a damn invitation. I’m sure the sheets are

Egyptian cotton, and the blue and white coverlet looks like it was finished in raw silk. Maybe this is sending Josh the wrong message—but then again, I sure as fuck don’t know what the right message is. Josh drops my bag down in the middle of the floor and puts his sad plastic grocery bag on the small dining room table. I move my bag to the corner, still silent, trying not to break the spell. He walks around the room, brushing his hand over the leather cushions of the chairs, picking up the driftwood knickknacks on the shelves. I watch him, wondering just how his arm healed up almost completely in two weeks, and

how the hell he looks so healthy, his movements cat-like and suddenly graceful again. He turns to me and looks me up and down. A little smirk appears on his face, like he can read what I’m thinking. I stand in front of him, arms crossed. I know what I want, what I need—but it almost seems excessive now. It seems like this isn’t something I should want at all. My sex is still raw and throbbing from fucking him last night and again this morning, but the slight pain makes me want him more. His smirk turns to a fullon grin and he walks over to me and puts his hand on my waist. I nearly melt then, succumbing to the strength of his arms,

giving myself to him. “Let me taste you,” he says. “Even if you won’t stay here with me.” I nod but put my finger to his lips. His words send a shiver through my body, and I more than appreciate the raw, husky quality of his voice. But we’re both better when we’re not talking, arguing the same thing over and over again in circles. He kisses my fingers and then takes both of my hands, raising them above my head and pulling off my shirt in one quick motion, so quick that I can barely catch my breath. Goosebumps take over my flesh, shivers spreading out to the far reaches of my body. As soon as he unhooks my bra, his hands are on my breasts,

kneading, pinching and rolling my nipples, sending shocks and sparks of pleasure deep into my center. My sex responds with pulsing, with the rush of slickness that Josh has always inspired. But unlike every encounter in our history up until this past month, it’s been unrequited. Some women might feel grateful, but instead I’m confused and afraid. Still, there’s no denying my body —I’m holding onto the fireworks he creates during these stolen moments because I understand them better than the rest of what I’m feeling. His gaze meets mine for an instant before he kneels in front of me and yanks down my jeans and casts them onto the

bed that seems far too classy for either of us. “If you don’t want me to talk, sweetheart, then I need something for my mouth to do.” He buries his mouth against the lace of my panties, his tongue pressing against the fabric, seeking out my clit and circling it, pushing against it. I feel like I might fall, but he grabs my ass with both hands and holds me up, burying his face between my legs. He gently sucks on the sensitive button, pulling flesh and lace into his mouth at once. My panties are soaked with evidence of my desire, and arousal courses through every cell in my body, its epicenter focused on Josh’s tongue as

it searches my pussy. “Oh God,” I moan, drunk on my own lust, bringing my fingers to Josh’s thick, chestnut hair. Josh pulls hard on my panties, ripping the lace away from my body, and I gasp. He chuckles and moves his lips right back to my pussy, moaning and licking up and down my slit like he’s starving for me, like drinking me in will be his salvation. Stroking me steadily with his tongue, he brings me to the edge, and I’m moaning so loud that I’m sure that anyone walking down the street would be able to hear me as I start to come. He brings his mouth back to my clit and sucks it in hard, then slips two fingers inside of me and presses against

the ridged texture inside, tapping against it and sending exhilarating waves of pleasure through my center. I meet my release, crying out, the sensation fluttering through me, slow and delicate and sweeter than all the times before. Josh kisses the tops of my thighs and lets his mouth travel up the naked expanse of my body. He stands and takes me into his arms, lowering his lips to mine before I can recover completely from my climax. My body is still pulsing, my thoughts still blurry and thick, aftershocks still pouring through me. I move one hand over the ink he’s spent so much of his fighting money on, and for the first time, I see it as

beautiful, as part of him—and not as a waste. For the first time, I get it. It’s the display of his scars on the outside; it’s how he’s come to terms with who he is, how he understands and relates to the world. “That was… God, that was…” I can’t get the words out. “Just the beginning.” He opens his mouth to say more, but instead he smiles and lifts me with ease. I wrap my legs around his waist, and I don’t protest when he walks me over to the bed and throws me down. Closing my eyes, I listen as he drops his shorts to the floor. There’s the distinct sound of a foil

packet ripping, and my body responds with the same starving need that I felt in Josh’s lips. I need him inside of me, and I wrap my legs around him again and pull him down on top of me. He laughs and rolls me over on top of him, lifting me up and placing the head of his cock against my entrance. As I open my eyes, I grab onto his waist and slide onto his cock effortlessly. He sits up and brings me in close, kissing me as I begin to ride him. His tongue glances against mine, and I start to ride him hard, my sex swelling and throbbing with each movement. Inside of me, he’s hard as a rock and throbbing, and his breath is coming faster and faster. Just when I think he’s going to explode inside of me,

he rolls me over again and thrusts into me hard. Grabbing my hips, he drives himself into me again and again, kissing me on my forehead, my cheeks, and down my neck. “Josh,” I whisper, and I’m babbling now, saying his name over and over. “Natalie,” he moans gently. I wrap my legs around him and he slows down so that each thrust makes contact with my clit. Shivers expand over my body, and I’m pushed to the brink again. With my body nearly elevated to another plane of existence, I barely hear what he says next. “I love you, Nat. Tell me you’re mine. You’re all mine. This body, every

piece of you.” His voice is a deep whisper, but my mind wakes up enough to process each word. “Say it,” he says. “Tell me you’re mine.” “I’m yours,” I groan. “I am.” I arch my back against him, and he pushes into me hard, driving my orgasm home, the pleasure spilling through me, unstoppable, irrepressible. “I’m coming, baby,” he moans. “You’re making me come with that sweet, perfect pussy.” My head is still reeling with all of it—his words, the heights of pleasure I never thought of reaching. He swells inside of me and his muscles tense against my body, and

finally, he lets go, shuddering and falling against me, kissing my lips and biting down on the lower one for just a moment. We lay there, tangled together for minutes, and I’m guessing he’s trying not to speak—even though he had a difficult time with that during our most recent sexual encounter. The words swirl in my head in a mist of confusion—words I’ve never said to anyone but my mother back when she was alive. I’ve thought those same words about Josh, maybe a thousand times over the ten or more years I’ve known him. But I never thought they’d be real. I worry at my lip, pulling it through my teeth and burying

my face against Josh’s neck. His scent— fresh and clean and masculine—fills my consciousness, and I feel comfort lying here. Despite all the shit that lies in our path, we’re here, and for once, everything makes sense. “Josh?” “What? I thought supposed to talk.”

we

weren’t

“I said you weren’t supposed to, but you didn’t listen.” “Couldn’t help it,” he quips. “There was this hot, sexy woman—and I was trying to get into her pants—”

“I don’t think you had too much of a problem with that.” “Naw.” He controls his country accent just like I do, but it slips out sometimes, the warm drawl creeping in when I least expect it. “I feel the same way you do. I think. But it’s hard right now—” “You don’t need to explain, Nat. There’s plenty of world and time ahead of us. For all that. At least I hope there is, Natty.” I nod against him, and we lie there

for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep. For the next three days, we only left the cottage to grab take-out from the pizzeria across the street—and gelato once from the place down the road. I begged off of two shifts, and Josh told Ash that he had caught a stomach virus and couldn’t come into the gym until the following Monday. No fights, he said. Nothing like that right now, Nat. We existed only in our own selfish, hazy bubble. For those few days, there was nothing and no one but us. It was what we always wanted.

What we didn’t realize—what we refused to realize—was that there was a world rolling on without us, and there were people that were bound to come looking for Josh. For all of his planning, for all the thoughtfulness he’d developed in the time we’d been apart, he was still prone to distraction. This time, the distraction was me. And I hadn’t yet realized how serious his words about the gym had been.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Shouldn’t you be training by now?” Natalie sits on the leather sofa that faces the picture window. For the past three

evenings, we’ve sat here together, watching the sun set over the Roanoke Sound. It’s been a peaceful few days— deceptively peaceful. I ignore her question and look out the window to the street and the sound beyond it. It’s the view we’ve grown up with, but being here, alone, with her, has brought the place back into perspective. I feel like I’m seeing this little town for the first time. “Hey, hot shot, did you hear me? It’s not like I want you to go back to the gym, but a few days ago, it was all this and that about getting back to Frank and making him think you were on his side.”

“He’s been quiet.” “Is that good?” I hear Nat shift on the leather sofa again. There’s apprehension in her voice, and I can’t say I blame her. Ash knows we’re here, but as far as Frank is concerned, I’ve gone into hiding again—and I’m taking money away from his gym by refusing to fight. We’ve gone back and forth to feed Bee each day, but other than that, we’ve been ghosts, hiding away. If I’m being honest, I could go back in the cage any time. With each day my body is healing more, and with each day, I’m getting closer to the culmination of a plan I put in place years ago.

“It’s good—for now. Nat, honestly, I’d bash that guy’s dumb fucking face in. He’s stepped on me too many times.” “Don’t do that—” “I’m not, Natty. Because that’s the weak thing to do. I’m not about that anymore. I’ve used my fists over my brain for a long time.” I pause and clench my fists together, imagining the crunch of Frank’s nose against the base of my palm. It’s a comforting thought, and he’d be easy to dominate physically. But there’s something far greater that I’m after: Frank’s destruction, a complete dismantling of his business. It’s something I haven’t shared with anyone,

and I’ve only hinted at it around Natalie. But the semi-pro fight coming up is the perfect place to bring him down. Frank more than likely already knows that I’m headed for the damn fight. Even though it’s a little earlier than I wanted him to find out, I have to roll ahead just like I meant to before. “But doesn’t Frank want you back at the gym? That’s the whole reason why we’re here, so you can have a save home base for going to practice, right?” I look back at her. Her blond hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders, and a tightness comes to my chest. That’s what she thinks: She thinks she’s been keeping me safe by staying here with me. In

reality, Frank probably knows exactly where I am and is devising some way to fuck with me so that he can maintain dominance over his chief fighter, just like he always has. The reason I came here, the reason I’m with Natalie—it’s to be with Natalie. These few days are pieces of stolen time, and it’s what I need to keep me going, keep me strong for the fight that’s ahead. The last part of my plan hinges on winning the damn pro fight, on attracting the attention of bigger promoters and on my ability to call Frank out in front of everyone. All that shit involves a lot of ifs—and I wouldn’t blame Natalie for a second if she went running as soon as all of it started to go down.

“Yeah, l know Frank wants me back at the gym. But I told him I was having complications with my shoulder. Frank’s already pissed at me, Nat. He thinks I’m up to something, but he doesn’t know what.” The phone in my pocket starts to buzz, as if it’s calling on my thoughts, making them real. “Josh, I feel like there’s still a lot you’re not telling me.” Her amber eyes rest on me, waiting for me to explain. I’ve tried, but it just falls flat, sounds stupid when I repeat it all in my head. If I spelled everything out, it’d sound just like my idea to go into fighting in the first place.

“I’ve told you, baby.” I pick up the phone and glance at it before hitting the ‘reject call’ button. It’s Frank, for the tenth time this morning. He wants me to pick up some fight, according to the message he left me this morning. I roll my eyes. His ploy this time isn’t going to work. I have enough saved to get through the month, and I’ve got the gym, even if it is in Ash’s name right now. I can’t do what Frank wants—at least not yet. A message flashes across the screen before I put the phone down. He knows where your girl lives. The message is from Katy, and it’s just been sent. A rush of anger makes its way

through my body, and I feel my muscles tensing up. There’s a phantom bit of pain from my left shoulder, but I know I could fight if I needed to. And he’s planning on finding the both of you. He’s pissed as hell you’re not back at the gym and not booking fights under his name. I won’t need to fuck him up, I think. I can figure this out rationally. But by the time the thought is complete, I’m putting Nat’s car keys in my pocket and checking each window to see if there’s anyone watching it. I know my next move will be to head out of the damn door and drive to Natalie’s, but that might be exactly what Frank wants.

“Dumb fucking fighter,” I mutter. “Should have known better.” I start pacing, and Natalie scoots off the sofa and walks toward me. She catches my arms and pulls me into her. The only thing she’s wearing is a long t-shirt—no bra, no panties. My cock stirs when she stands up on her tip toes and puts her lips to mine. I kiss her back roughly and cup her breast, flicking my thumb over one hard nipple. She moans into my mouth, her tongue seeking out mine. But before I entertain the thought of bending her over and fucking her until she can’t move, I need to think about what’s more important: taking care of her, making sure she stays safe, even if it means exposing her to the baser parts of my

personality. I step back and look at her. This beauty is a thing that needs protecting. Maybe, as far off course as I’ve veered, I haven’t actually lost sight of what’s important. It was Natalie all along. It always was. I kiss her on the forehead and bring my hands to her shoulders. It’s a shame that holding a woman’s tits isn’t seen as a fond, casual gesture—I’d rather hold onto those soft mounds than take her by the shoulders and look her in the eye. But something tells me that wouldn’t be in the best taste. “Can you get over to the hospital,

Nat?” “I cancelled my shift for today. And if you’re not heading to the gym, I don’t see why we can’t just stay here and fuck.” She emphasizes that last word. I’ve learned she likes using it a lot, and I’m damn glad she’s let a little of that dirty girl inside come out. God knows I like hearing her say it. I shake off the urge to forget Katy ever texted me and push Nat to the floor and shove my cock in her mouth. The image sends more blood rushing to my cock—not just at the thought of slowly and fully fucking her face, but at the thought that she’d fucking love it. She licks her lips like she’s reading my mind, and I take one more

step back from her. “Nat, I’m serious. Katy just texted me and said Frank found out where you live. He’s trying to fuck with me, and damned if I know what his next move is. I know he’s fucked up fighter’s apartments in the past—and I wouldn’t put it past him to do the same to yours.” “Shit, are you sure he knows where I am? How would he know?” “He’s got ways. And I’d be a lot more comfortable if you were gone.” “Send the weak woman away?” She raises an eyebrow at me, but there’s a

quiver in her voice. She knows I’m right —she just can’t resist getting in one jab before I leave. “You need to leave, Nat. You can borrow Linda’s car from the main house, right? Promise me you’ll get out of here pronto.” She nods and brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. “I promise,” she says. I look back at her once more before walking away. Her steady gaze reminds me of the look she gave me when I left her at her father’s wake, mourning and confused. I shake off the old feelings of guilt and shame. Even now though, when

I look at her, there’s a drop in the pit of my stomach. I’m not the man who falls for the girl, who lets a woman take him over like Natalie’s done to me. Maybe I’ve just been kidding myself about what type of man I am. Nat’s always been my soft spot, even when I’ve walked away from her. All for her, I think. It’s all for her. The thought somehow steels me against what lies ahead. I walk out to her Civic and hop in. I pull out, feeling strange, like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing. But soon I’m en route to Nat’s, and I swear I’ll figure out what Frank’s up to—and then I’ll be on my way to the gym and back in the game I planned.

*** When I get to Natalie’s, the air feels quiet—eerily so. Her house looks untouched, sitting there among the row of identical little shacks that adorn the street. The crepe myrtles out front have just started to drop their flowers—the first sign of real autumn around these parts. Since the trailer park moved out from behind these places, the whole row looks kind of peaceful. “This can’t be,” I say. I park the car carefully, pulling up right in front. I’ve driven to some of the young fighters’ places with Ash before when Frank’s

been in the intimidating mood. It wasn’t pretty: furniture destroyed, piles of burned pictures in the middle of the room, walls ripped open. It’s amazing what you can get young kids to do when they’re amped up on steroids and cocaine—and that’s what Frank did. He pitted kids against kids, targeting anyone who tried to leave, making up debts and issuing icy threats to each of their family members. And most of them were just trying to do what I am—get the fuck out of the underground fighting world. I shake my head at the thought as I walk up the steps. There are hot pink petals from the trees dusting the steps—all intact. Not a one of them is crushed under a heavy boot print, and the door is still

locked. Even though I know I’ll just find Beatrice on the other side, I unlock the door anyway. Her meow greets me on the other side, and I feel the gentle nudge of her jaw against my ankle before my body is even all the way inside. “Hey, Bee. No suspicious activity to report?” She looks up at me and meows again, plaintively. She’s used to being alone for long stretches of time due to Nat’s classes and shifts, but our stay at the Island Guest House has thrown her for a loop. I reach down and scratch her ears. The old grandfather clock that has been here since I moved in back when I

was fifteen ticks on in the hallway, emphasizing the silence. Funny, I barely noticed that thing when I was here. I stand in the middle of the room, and there’s a pang deep in my gut. Something isn’t right. When Frank bullies a fighter, it’s very direct. It ain’t like this. Maybe it’s Katy. Maybe she’s the one who’s fucking with me here. My phone buzzes again. My movements slow down, and time seems to stop for just a moment. When I answer, I hear heavy breathing. There are wind chimes in the background. “This girl looks a bit too classy for

you, Joshie.” My pulse quickens, and my throat grows tight. Frank. Fucking Frank. How did he find out— “Where the fuck are you, Frank?” I already know the answer, but there’s the slightest possibility that this isn’t what I think it is, that I’ve jumped to conclusions that aren’t reality. “Standing outside this nice yellow cottage. Doesn’t seem like your style, Joshie. Looks like you must really like this one.” “Frank, I swear to Christ, I will kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try, Long Shot. I got Cole here with me—and you know how that sweet kid gets when he’s snorted a little blow—” “Frank!” I yell into the phone, the sound echoing against the empty walls of Nat’s house. There’s a click on the other end. This time, Frank’s the puppet master, and I’m playing right into his hands. But I don’t give a shit—because one of the pieces in his little game is Natalie. And he’s going to fucking pay.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Come on, Nat, get your shit together, girl.” I talk to myself as I pull on my panties and leggings, trying to get myself in some sort of presentable manner for

the hospital. It’s not like it’s a super formal work environment, but I don’t think they’d want me to show up without any pants. A lot more people would be applying for medical school if that was what being a doctor was all about. I giggle at the thought, but the sound is thin and nervous when it comes out. Frank has been a looming threat for our entire time at the quaint little cottage. The problem is, I don’t know what that threat truly means. This is Josh’s world, not mine. The threats in my world are predictable: there’s the threat of fucking up a patient, the threat of having a patient die, and the threat of getting sick from a supervirus. That last one doesn’t cross

my mind too much—only on particularly bad days. “Josh knows Frank,” I remind myself as I pull on a bra under my shirt and stumble into my shoes. “And if he says that I’m fine just heading off to the hospital, then I’m fine.” I bite my lip and pull on the long cardigan I picked up last time we went to feed the cat. The mornings are cooler now, which means Josh’s fight is approaching. The promise of that money hasn’t seemed to propel him forward in the past week or so. Instead, he’s standing still. It’s nice that he’s standing still with me. But nothing about this sits right, not now that the haze of lust is clearing, and I’m in an empty

cottage, pulling together my shit so someone won’t come and beat me up. I buzz Linda from the landline right as I’m about to walk out of the door. She answers, and I hear that same teasing tone that Summer gets when she’s giving me shit during my shift. “You folks need some food or anything? I’m happy to send along some sandwiches, as long as y’all are decent.” “No, Linda. That ain’t—isn’t—uh, necessary. I’m needed at the hospital, and Josh just left with my car. I’m wondering if you’d let me borrow yours, just for a couple hours.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Linda’s got you taken care of, no worries at all.” Her accent is as thick as molasses, and something about it is comforting to hear. “You just go ‘round back to the garage, and you can take it right on out. Keep safe, darlin’.” I hang up and sling my purse over my shoulder, then head for the door. When I go to twist the knob, there’s resistance on the other side. Then I see a familiar face. “Cole, what on earth are you doing here? You should be—” Cole pushes the door open and pulls me into a choke hold before I can say another word. I claw at his arm with useless hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “Frank said his guys in the mob know where my mama lives in…” I can’t quite make out the name of the town as my hands go slack and I can’t claw anymore. The colors around me start to fade out, turning gray and then black. I hear what sounds like Frank’s voice in the distance. It’s the last sound I hear before my thoughts drop out and I slip into unconsciousness. *** I wake up some time later—groggy and lightheaded, bumping up and down in the back seat of an old pick-up truck. I

feel around and try to pull myself up, but my wrists are bound together with what feels like a zip tie. I know that I wouldn’t have gone unconscious for more than a few moments with a knockout like that, and from the sore spot on my arm, I can only guess that someone got me with a sedative. And how in the fuck did they get that? Josh always told me Frank had his ways, but a short-acting sedative like that would be hard to get ahold of. “Fucking asshole,” I mumble. “What the hell do I have to do with this?” “Oh you’ve got everything to do with

this, kid,” Frank says. “It looks like our man Joshie has a thing for you—that true?” I don’t respond. Instead, I’m working out how to get the zip tie to loosen up. Fucking zip ties. It just feels tighter now than when I started fiddling with it. “I said, is that true, sweetheart?” “It’s none of your goddamn business, Frank,” I spit. The truck slows to a stop, and I see the red glow of a traffic light just ahead and to the right. When Frank turns away to look at the road, I crunch my legs up and kick hard against the door handle, screaming as loud as I can. The car door doesn’t budge, even when I angle my toes under the door handle and

pull as hard as I can. “It’s locked,” Cole says dumbly from the front seat. “You can’t get out.” He chuckles a little bit, and I realize his voice sounds different from when I last saw him. There’s none of that sweetness anymore—it’s like it’s all been drained out of him and replaced with ugliness. There’s an edge in his tone that I’ve heard before, and it dawns on me that he’s coked up. I open my mouth to yell at Frank, but Cole turns to look at me with a hard look in his eyes. “Don’t even think about it, princess,” Frank says. “You’re some kind of doctor or something? Well, this kind of situation

doesn’t exactly require brains or any kind of fancy degrees. It just requires that you shut the fuck up and let us get what we want.” “Josh is smarter than this. He’s not going to come.” Even as I say the words, I know they’re not true. Josh is smart— far smarter than he thinks he is. But he runs hot, and he’s ready to fuck Frank up. “He ain’t smart, honey. He came back to my gym, and then the stupid motherfucker disappeared again, because why? Because you told him to? Because you wanted him to come back?”

“He knows he’s better than you, Frank. He knows he can go pro without you, and he knows you’ll have to back down when he breaks big.” Frank chuckles and then starts laughing. “Oh you think that’s what this is about? Joshie is trying to steal my gym out from under me, and you think I care that he’s trying to go pro? Or did you not know that, sweetheart? He was back for a whole week, and these kids kept disappearing—kiddies I was training myself. He’s got a whole goddamn underground railroad, and he and that motherfucker Ash have been getting the kids out of dodge. Those are my fighters, honey. And if he thinks he can do this,

he’s a goddamn moron.” Frank’s New York accent is thick, his words spilling out fast, one after another. “I guess you think you know a lot about what Josh is doing, don’t you? Does it make you feel big, picking on fifteen year olds, getting injured fighters high on cocaine, and then getting them to kidnap women for you?” I laugh, the sound sharp and loud in the truck. “Fuck you, you fucking asshole. I don’t know who you think you are, but Josh knows the illegal shit you’re up to, and he can prove—” “Cole, I’ve decided I don’t want to hear this little bitch talk anymore.” I start

screaming and don’t relent, and Frank swerves on the road. A car honks somewhere in the outside world, and Cole reaches back and smacks me squarely across the jaw. The pain sears hot, pulsing through my consciousness. Before I can open my mouth to react, Cole presses a piece of duct tape across my mouth, and my screams turn into quiet, innocuous moans. “That’s better,” Frank says. He pulls into a parking lot, and the car stops. He looks back at me for a long moment and sighs. “You’re a pretty girl, sweetheart. But you’ve got mixed up in shit you don’t belong in. I’ve got that file, by the way—the one with all of my accounting

shit for the past year, and the copies of the IDs for the kiddies. Very nice move on Josh’s part. But I was one step ahead of him. I always am. Always will be.” Cole ushers me out of the car and grips my arm roughly. “Sorry to do this, Natalie. But the boss wants what the boss wants.” I can’t respond, but I look into his eyes as he pushes me towards the door of Frank’s Gym. Cole’s coming down now, and he’ll either be fiending for more—or coming to his damn senses. Frank may think he’s always one step ahead, but he doesn’t know everything. He thinks he can rely on Cole, but I saw the twist of hatred in Cole’s face when

he talked about what Frank had done to him. The kid is under duress. And we’ll just see which way the wind blows.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Linda’s car sits in the space next to the cottage. I pull in behind it and park, but I feel like I want to ram into it, destroy it,

or drive my car right into the yellow shingles of the cottage. But I don’t. There will be a release of this rage, but it won’t come at Linda’s expense. I know exactly who will pay for this shit —for involving someone completely innocent in a dispute that only involves me. “I should have known!” I shout. “So fucking stupid!” The cottage door sits partially open, but still, I get out of the car and rush forward. I shout inside the empty cottage and run around its perimeter. There’s no response apart from the rustling of the wind through the sea grass. Pressure fills my chest, and I taste salt and metal at the back of my

throat. My hands clench into fists again, and I take a swing at the side of the house. I back away right before my hand makes contact. Adrenaline courses through my body, and I run back to the car, pulling away just as Linda runs out of the door of the main house, her face a mask of confusion. But before she can shout at me, I’ve pulled out of the driveway and I’m speeding for the causeway. Frank’s many things, but he’s not a creative man. He wants me to find him. Even in the heat of my rage, I know that he’s taken Natalie to the gym. My mind locks in to finding her, taking her back. This small taste of her—this slice of a

normal life—it’s all I can think about. I crack my knuckles against the steering wheel, gunning the old Civic up to ninety, and then a hundred. I screech into the parking lot of Frank’s gym and slam the door so hard that it’ll probably fall off the car. “I’ll get you another one, baby. When I can actually fucking fight again. And not for Frank.” When I barge through the doors, Frank’s standing front and center, his back against the cage where I learned to fight, where I first felt the power of a knockout. My impulse tells me to go knock the shit-eating grin off of his face, but his arm is dangerously close to Nat’s neck. Even if Frank’s hands are fucked

from years of bare-knuckle fighting, he can still hurt her. “Frank—man—what the fuck? We got no beef.” I stand before him, frozen in place. We’re ten feet apart, but it feels like the world is separating us. His fingers tap against Natalie’s skin, and something in my chest clinches tight. She moans beneath the duct tape covering her mouth. “We’ve got plenty of beef. Want me to name it? You’re fighting outside my gym, and you’ve turned my best trainer against me. You’re not welcome here anymore—and Ash ain’t either.” I lunge forward, but I’m still about five feet

from Frank, punching the air. “Easy there, Joshie my boy. I wouldn’t want to bring Cole back out here.” Nat’s eyes flick over to the door to the locker room. Frank has his arm thrown lazily around Natalie’s neck, and he’s patting her shoulder, like he’s known her for a long time. With his other hand, he holds her arm behind her back, his sausage-like fingers digging into her skin. “Cole’s a good kid, Frank. What the hell did you do to get him involved in this?” “Everybody’s got family, kid. You

just gotta find the right buttons to press. Cole’s is his mom, out in Greenville. Plus, you know Cole just loves getting a little bit high. With the right combination of motivators, you can get anyone to do anything.” “Goddammit, Frank. Who else you got involved in this shit?” “It’s just us, kid. For right now. But under the right circumstances, I can get just about anyone involved. It’s not just you who’s got control of the kiddies. I know what you’ve been doing, Josh,” he says. “I just don’t know why. Wasn’t I the one who gave you a job—and a home—when you didn’t have anything?

You think getting your GED and paying off your debts through some big fight will get me off your back?” “Nah, not even I’m that dumb. You’ll just have to wait and see what I’ve got up my sleeve, Frank.” Nat’s face is blank, and Cole stands in a corner behind the two of them. The kid usually looks as calm as the surface of a lake, but he’s edgy as hell right now. This is eating at him—he’s not this type of kid. I crack my knuckles, and punch my right fist against my left. After weeks of rest and rehab—and the small bit of training I did with Ash last week—my left shoulder feels almost as good as new. And I know I could take Frank—but I

watch as his hand tightens around Nat’s neck. Fear flickers in her eyes, and Frank laughs, long and hard. “I know exactly what you got up your sleeve, kid. I got what you got up your sleeve. It’s all locked up good and tight.” Frank’s Cheshire grin appears on his face, and I swallow hard. It feels like my face is starting to go numb, like everything around me is fading out. “How the fuck?” I’ve been keeping those papers with me every waking moment, even when I’ve gone to Natalie’s house to feed the cat. But in my rush, I’d left them sitting right on the dresser in the cottage.

“Just picked it all up, as easy as pie. What did you think you were gonna do with that shit? Hand out copies to all the other promoters in the area? They certainly don’t give a shit. Give it to the police?” My face must betray my plan, because Frank nods like he’s got me all figured out. “Yeah, the police, they fucking hate me. Good plan, kid. You would have put me away for a good while—or tied me up in court so long that I wouldn’t be able to get to you while you set up your business. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Setting up your damn business?” “Shouldn’t you be proud, Frank? I

learned from the best. It took you a solid fucking year to realize what I was doing. I call that a win in my book.” “Not when I’ve got your little bitch right in my grasp.” He’s goading me, and it’s fucking working. But I bite down. Think, man. Think. There’s one thing that’s important, and it’s Nat. I glance over at Cole and see that he’s sweating like a goddamn pig. His eyes dart around the room, and I know he doesn’t want to meet my gaze. “You got me there, Frank. You do.” My words come out slow, purposeful. Frank watches my face, and confusion flickers in his eyes for just a moment.

“What do you really want here, Frank? You want to fight me? What is it that you’re hoping for?” “Cole, go get him,” Frank says, nodding to the scared young fighter in the corner. The coke may have given him a little bit of bravado, but he ain’t got much left at this point in the day. “Boss—I—you know Josh has been training—” There’s something in his voice akin to fear. This is good. This can be used. “Cole, buddy, how’s your nose?” The kid lifts his fingers to the scar that runs between his eyebrows, the skin tight

and pink over his nose. I know Nat and Summer stitched it. And I know the world of suffering he would have been in if they hadn’t—or if they’d gone through procedure and worked on him in the E.R. “Fine. It’s fine.” “He ain’t your buddy, Joshie,” Frank snarls. “He’s my fighter, and he’ll do what I say. Won’t you Cole?” “I... I don’t know, boss. If you want me to fight tomorrow, Josh might put that… in question. You know how he is.” A grin comes over my face. Cole’s still fucking afraid of me—looks like Frank

picked the wrong fighter to do his dirty work. Cole might have been able to wrangle Natalie at the beginning of his coked up afternoon, but the doubt is hitting him strong now. And he’s scared. He’s a goddamned little kid, just like I was, even if he’s rippling from head to toe with muscle. I watch Frank’s face for the signs I want to see. His eyes are stony, the anger growing behind them. Good. Perfect. Go in for the kill. Natalie’s shaking her head at me, the frustration evident in her face. “You a pussy, Frank? Those old hands too arthritic and disgusting to fight me? Huh? You used to beat the shit out

of me when I was a kid—you can’t do the same now?” Frank narrows his eyes. “Cole, get him, or you’re fucking out of here too.” Cole stutters behind Frank, not making much of a damn bit of sense, and the rage takes over Frank’s whole body. He tenses up and finally—he fucking does it. He lets go of Natalie and pushes her back to Cole, almost knocking the kid over. “Pussy,” I hiss. And then I look Frank dead in the eye and wink. For a moment, he looks like a bull about to charge, and then he fucking does it. In one swift

motion, he’s lunging at me, striking my cheek with his elbow and then kneeing me hard in the ribs. But I know all of the old bastard’s weak points. He knows mine too—but his scars run deeper, buried in his gnarled old fingers, the pain driving him to prescription drugs several times a day. He lives in a haze of his own nasty creation, and I know just how to undo him. Lightning quick, the underside of my right palm makes contact with his nose, and I hear the crunch of cartilage that I’m looking for, see the blood starting to pour down his face. But the rage still has him, and he’s kicking me on the inside of the groin, even as I get his face locked under my arm and start punching him in the side of

the face, my knuckles cracking against his bone with every strike. Behind Frank I see a flash of activity, and as I deliver strike after strike to Franks face, the side of his head, knee strikes up to the ribs, and a kick square in the groin, I hear Natalie’s voice coming to me through the haze of my anger. I land the last punch on the side of Frank’s head and he falls down, clutching at his face, moaning. His eye is bloodied and swelling. Natalie’s voice keeps coming to me, but I’m panting hard and can’t make out the words. I look up, and her lips are free of the duct tape, her hands swinging by her sides as she runs to me and grabs my arm, pulling me

toward the door. “We’ve got to go before Frank pulls some other asshole into this.” She jerks my arm so hard I’m afraid it’s going to come out of joint again, and my hand is starting to burn this time—my right hand, my fighting hand. I manage to stumble after her, and she shoves me in her car. Right before we’re about to pull away from Frank’s, Cole runs out after us and pulls away on his motorcycle, headed for God knows where. Before I can protest, Natalie pulls up in the parking lot of the Outer Banks Hospital.

“We’re getting a splint on your hand, like now. And you’re not fighting any time soon.” “Nat, yes I am.” “Fuck, Josh. You can’t do this shit to yourself anymore.” “What? Get hurt? It’s what fighters do.” The anger boiling in my gut shouldn’t be directed at Natalie, but somehow it is. I try to swallow it, try to push it away. “Not that, Josh. You can’t just fly off the handle and—”

“Save your ass from a dangerous situation?” She sighs heavily, and pulls me in the revolving door of the hospital. She yanks my left arm harder than she should—especially for a doctor. Silently, she moves me through a small crowd of people and takes me back to an empty bed in the trauma clinic. “Natalie,” I say. “Nat, I didn’t have any choice.” She looks at me, her usually warm eyes steely. “I don’t want to thank you, but I probably should, goddammit. I hate that you fucked up your hand, and I hate that we’re right back where we started all over again.”

“We’re not where we started.” I pull her in close to me, and she yelps. I’ve gotten her off balance, and she falls onto me, her curvy ass right on my lap. Bringing my lips to hers, I bite down gently. Despite her anger, and despite mine, a spark lights between us. I bring my lips to her ear lobe flick my tongue against it. “And I am going to wear your ass out when we get home, splint or not.” “Why me? Why did I get involved with a fucking fighter?” She groans and tries to get away, but I only hold her tighter, my unharmed hand gripping her waist hard. A few of the nurses walking

by start to giggle in Natalie’s direction, and then that sweet pink flush comes over her chest. It reminds me that she’s mine. I let her go and watch her as she goes to work. There’s nothing prettier than watching a beautiful woman like that, all flustered. I barely notice when she resets my hand. Barely.

CHAPTER TWENTY

We’re both silent as we get into the car and pull away from the hospital. I’m heading straight for my place, whether or not Josh likes it. Frank already knows

where we’re staying—he’s made that perfectly fucking clear—and he already knows where I live. There’s no point in hiding now. He’s got Josh right where he wants him: injured, with little hope of winning a fight. But Josh will still enter. I know him, and I know he will. But he won’t win the purse, not with a fractured knuckle and a broken pinky finger. He might be able to pull one over on the promoters and the refs, but when it comes to delivering punches, he’ll be all fucked up. I’ve seen him fight enough to know that much for sure. Frank has already accomplished

exactly what he wanted, even if he did lose a fighter in the process. It doesn’t matter to that kind of man who he loses. Desperate, rock-bottom, grabbing on to any opportunity for power and refusing to let go. I pull up to the stoplight that leads to the causeway, and I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. There’s a pang in my chest when I look over at Josh, and it feels like my heart might stop for a moment. “What were you thinking, Josh? Frank wouldn’t have hurt me.” The words come out all wrong. I wonder if this is how Josh feels, like all the time. “How in the hell do you know that?”

He knits his eyebrows together when he looks at me, like he’s contemplating what an idiot I truly am. “He told me as much. That’s why he had the damn tape over my mouth. He said he didn’t want to risk getting in trouble with the police over a ‘nice girl that everyone would be looking for.’ But that fucking guy—” “Light’s green, Nat.” I scowl and press my foot down on the accelerator. The car growls and lurches forward onto the bridge, and the sound changes beneath us. The asphalt is textured, and driving over it sounds almost melodic. For once, I look forward to reaching the

island. I look forward to going home, to sinking into the sofa and pouring a big glass of wine. “Listen, Josh. He told me that he wants you hurt. Not dead—hurt. He said it’s worse for a fighter if they’re hurt. I think he was planning to have Cole fuck you up way more. It’s a good thing the kid intervened when he did, or you’d probably be staying in the hospital for a week or more, with no chance of even entering the fight.” “He’s right. It is worse for a fighter if he’s hurt. But I’ll be entering anyway. And if you can’t handle that—”

“I can handle that, Josh. Just why do you think I took you to the hospital? And why am I taking you back home right now?” “You can’t take us back home—” “Just listen. I’m on your side, but you have to tell me everything from now on. Don’t leave out any details because you think I’m too sensitive or too weak to handle it.” “I don’t think you’re weak, Nat. I just don’t want you involved in my shit.” “You involved me when you stepped into my house that night. You involved

me when you decided to stay with me for days on end, ignoring calls and texts from Frank and Ash. You involved me when—” “Fine. Honesty. I owe you that, Nat. You’re right. I did involve you. There’s no turning back on that. I’m another dumb fighter—” “Dammit Josh. You’re not dumb. You’re going to college for God’s sake, and you didn’t even tell me until a few days ago. You and Ash put money down on your own gym. You’ve got fighters lined up to come with you, small-time promoters lined up to support you. I don’t even understand why you need this

money from this fight. You’ve got to tell me this shit.” “I don’t want you involved, Natty—” “I told you. I’m already involved, hot shot. I’m involved because you put me in this situation. And I’m involved because I love you. There, I fucking said it. I love you too, you asshole.” Josh laughs, but his body is still turned, and he’s watching the water as it speeds by. “Okay, okay. I get it, Nat. You want to know why I need the fight? I need the big recruiters interested, like I said before. I need the money as savings. I fucking need to pay Ash back. And I

wanted a public place to humiliate Frank. To announce to the world—when I win—that he’s the same thing as a slave driver, that there are good fighters suffering at the hands of this asshole. I was going to go to the police after that with a big-ass file I have on Frank. But you know where the file was, Natty? It was in the cottage at the Island Guest House, and I didn’t see it when I was in there looking for you. I left it right on the dresser before I ran off to your house like a fool.” “You got copies?” I ask as I pull into the driveway of our house. “I got exactly zero copies. I thought

of it a million times, but I didn’t think Frank would ever find out. Turns out he knew a lot more than I thought he did, Nat. I’ve failed. We haven’t even gotten to the big fight, and I’ve already failed.” I get out of the car, the wheels in my head turning. That file still exists. I barely registered it when Frank took me, but I saw him put something in the lock box by his desk when he had me tied up in the gym. I help Josh out of the car and up the steps to the house—our house, where we’ll stay until everything sorts itself out, one way or another. “He’ll come back for you, Natty, even if he said he won’t. The only way

to protect you is to do exactly what he says. All I’ve ever wanted to do is to protect you, Natalie. But now I can’t, not unless I bend to him. And that ain’t the man that I am.” “It’s all about figuring out what kind of man you are, Josh. Who do you think you are?” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I help him onto the sofa. His white tshirt clings to his skin, and I can see the definition of his muscles beneath the fabric. A jolt runs through me, and fuck if I don’t want him right now, even with that miserable look on his face and the splint on his broken up fingers. I sit down on the coffee table, facing him. It’s best if I’m not sitting next to him, or I

might forget what I mean to say entirely. “Nat, I don’t know. I’m a fighter. I guess that’s what I think of myself as.” “What else? There’s a lot more that I see. But yeah, you’re a fighter. And from what I’ve seen, you’re a damn good one.” “Well, I’m an asshole, too.” He laughs and looks at me for a moment, his hazel eyes looking almost gold in this light. “I’m not going to deny that, hot shot. But the man I’m getting to know—the man—he ain’t just a fighter. He’s also

gone through a damn tough recovery.” “Lots of people do that, Natalie.” “They do not, Josh. For every recovered alcoholic out there in the world, there’s ten more people having ten drinks. And you’re a student. A business owner. You’ve changed, Josh. Or, I dunno. Maybe all those things were in you, and you just didn’t see them, so no one else did either. You’re stronger than Frank. There’s a way to get back those files. He might not let you back in that gym to train, and he might be strongly suspicious of Ash if he came on in there. But there’s got to be other people on your side.”

“Charlie, the ref. Katy, maybe.” “She’s at her breaking point with Frank. It’s a risk. But if it means putting him out of business for good, if it means getting him off your back for good, then you can get it done.” He nods and puts out his hand to me. For someone with such confidence and verve, it’s a strange gesture. In the bedroom, he’s been rough with me, dominant, and he’s only shown small moments of tenderness. But I take his hand and feel it for real, that beautiful thing he keeps inside of him, the thing I’ve loved ever since I first met him.

“We can’t risk it, Nat. Katy’s too unpredictable. She’s fucked with me before when it comes to Frank.” “I know what you think of Katy, Josh. But maybe you’re not seeing her clearly. She’s—” “No, Nat. We can’t go to Katy.” He looks down and away, though he’s still holding my hand. I squeeze it and look over to his other hand, the one that Frank ravaged just hours ago. “Trust me. We can’t.” “Josh, she’s our only chance. Cole is gone. Ash is barred from the gym, and so are you. Katy’s the one person we might

be able to convince to help us. She owes us one.” “That’s because you let her stay in my apartment, Natty.” He lifts his gaze and one corner of his mouth turns up in a grin. “She may owe us, but that doesn’t mean she’ll actually deliver.” I huff and pull back my hair with my free hand. “Not everything is black and white, Josh. Katy’s ready to leave. She says Frank is escalating, that he hits her on a daily basis, that he hurts the kids that he’s trying to train as fighters.” Josh sighs and lifts his other hand. The flesh on the back of his hand is so

bruised it’s almost black, and his fingers are swelling even under the weight of the splint. “Is this what you want? More of this? This is what Frank will do to me if I go back to that gym. I’d love to go in there and fuck him up for even touching you, but you don’t want me to, remember?” His smirk grows into a fullon grin, but there’s no humor in his expression. “It’s too dangerous, for both of us. It’s too risky to try to get in that gym. Frank is there, day and night. He might have gotten rid of those fucking papers by now, anyway.” “Then what? He’ll be on your back when you start the new business, and he won’t ever leave us alone.”

“There’s no real guarantee that selling him out in front of everyone would do a damn bit of good. The cops might not be able to convict him, and I might just humiliate him for no goddamn good reason. If he’s escalating...” Josh grows quiet and hangs his head. “What? What’s changed? I thought this plan was everything you’d been working for the past three years, Josh.” “Everything has changed, Natalie. You’re a part of this now. And he could hurt you.” Josh purses his lips and squeezes my hand hard.

“I’m not here to be your weak spot, Josh. I’m here to make you stronger. I’m here to help you win it all. Goddammit, I’m just as invested in this win as you are.” “Then let it be just the win. We can take the money and leave town.” “Is that really what you want?” My gut grows tight, and anxiety starts to flood my body. This isn’t Josh. I’ll be damned if I’m the woman that lets him throw what he’s worked for away. “Yeah, Nat. There’s a chance I could still win if I start training now.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding. Something clenches inside my chest when I look at this man, his body a well-trained machine, graceful, ready to fight. That piece of him is beautiful. I’ve seen him fight, and there’s nowhere he’s sexier than in the cage. He’s trying to leave his mind behind, to discredit the plan he’s made, and all for my sake. But I’m in it now. And there has to be another way. I’m an island girl who grew up in the sticks, and I’m a goddamn doctor now. Part of that was smarts, sure. But it took cunning, patience, waiting for the right opportunities and striking them hard.

Why should getting a handful of papers be any harder than that? I smile placidly and get up to put together some dinner for the man with the broken hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

At first, I told Natalie that it wouldn’t fucking work. The gym wasn’t approved for commercial use yet. But Nat’s got an

answer for everything, and fronted her own money to set up the damn cage. The punching bag came from Ash, who drove thirty miles each day to come and help me train. Two weeks. That’s all we had. After nearly a month of fucking around, and getting injured over and over again, I was back. I had to be. And it couldn’t be at Frank’s. Nat injected me with cortisone three times the first week, and then once at the beginning of the second. My knuckles keep on suffering, and God help me, I’m still favoring my left goddamn side. But there’s no way in hell I’m missing the fight of my life just because Frank Martinelli wants me to. He might think I’ve dropped off the face of the earth, or he might think I’ve run

away with Nat. Or he might know exactly what the fuck I’m up to. Whatever he knows, I don’t give a shit. At this point, I have no fucks left to give when it comes to Frank. I’m absolutely focused on this fight. And if I have to break my hand all over again or pull my shoulder out of joint myself, I will win this fucking thing, and I will take Frank down one fucking way or another. “Last cortisone shot, Josh. Tomorrow you gotta make weight, and after that you’ll be fighting. Regardless of whether I approve.” Nat hasn’t hesitated to tell me that she thinks I should wait. It’s her

job as a doctor, I fucking guess. But every morning, she drags my ass out of bed, hands me a Nalgene bottle full of her secret electrolyte mix, and fixes a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and burnt toast. I haven’t had the heart to break it to her that her bacon is way too crispy, her eggs are runny, and the fucking toast is burnt to shit. I just eat it and don’t say anything, but this morning I got up before she did and took over breakfast-making duties. I think she was pleased that I was up and about, but sometimes I can’t tell whether she’s pleased or disapproving. Nat’s been taking fewer shifts though, and she’s been meeting me and Ash at the gym. She watches me fight Ash, and sometimes Summer comes along with

her. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m acting anymore. The grace, the power, the feeling of fighting... It’s coming back to me, and Nat’s the one standing by my side, taking me in her arms at night, giving me what I’ve always needed. “All right, there. It’s done,” she says, and I look at her. I shake my hand out and realize that she’s already put the cortisone in. “Nice technique. And nice job lifting the cortisone from work, shady lady.”

“Yeah, well. Old habits die hard. If you must know, I obtained this cortisone somewhat legally.” She smiles, and for a moment I’m lost in the pink fullness of her lips, the tropical, clean smell of her hair and skin. I pull her close and claim her mouth with mine, biting down gently on her bottom lip. It’s comfortable now, settled, less urgent. She’s mine, and she knows it, accepts all that it comes with it. In some moments I don’t know why she chose me, but in others, I remember what she’s said she sees in me. She makes a gentle noise when I bite down on her lip again and raise my hand to her breast. My other goes between her legs. I trail my fingers up to the top of her jeans and pull the button open so I can

see the lacy top of her panties. “Oh yeah? How’s that?” I breathe the words in her ear and snake my fingers inside her jeans, loosening them, teasing her, watching her squirm. “Even a shady lady has her secrets, Josh. And, oh fuck—” I’ve found her clit with my fingers and I’m circling it now, feeling the delicious wetness as it grows under my touch. “Ash is going to be here soon, Joshie. Don’t make me...” She pants and closes her eyes, then leans back and spreads her legs so that I can slip my fingers inside of her. She may be the one who whips me into shape in the gym, but she knows know that I’m in

charge when it comes to this. “But I haven’t fucked you in the gym yet, Nat. And I want to. It’ll help me train today.” “That’s some bullshit,” she says. “You’re all wet, though. Might help you get to work and enjoy it a little more.” “Fat chance,” she says, her amber eyes flickering with humor. But her legs are still spread, and I see a hot pink flush creeping over her chest. It’s the sign she wears when she’s ready for me, when she needs it just as much as I do.

“I want to see you come, Nat.” “I guess we’ve got a little time.” She spreads her legs more and wiggles against my hand. “Oh God.” Despite what she says, I know she’s deep in it right now, and she doesn’t give a crap that Ash will be here soon, and Summer might just walk in alongside him. I pull down her jeans, ripping her panties in the process. Fighting like this, getting back in the game, it all makes me want her more, makes me crave her like a drug. She pants and whines, then brings her hand down on top of mine, pushing my palm against her clit. I push her hand away and kneel in front of her, bringing

my mouth to her clit and sucking on it until she’s a mess of panting and moaning. “Now, now. Please, baby, fuck me now.” I lower my mouth and lick down over her folds, tasting her sweetness. My cock is rock hard and I stand, slipping down my shorts and kicking them off. In one swift movement I pick her up and carry her with my good hand under her ass, then press her up against the side of the cage. “Oh fuck, you’re crazy,” she says, but she wraps her legs around me. I pull a condom from my pocket and slip it onto my length before thrusting into her all at

once. It takes her breath away for a moment, and I just hold myself there, standing by the cage in my own goddamn gym, fucking the woman I’ve wanted for years. I use the weight of my body like a piston, thrusting into her hard and fast and full of the rage that I’ll need to win this fight. Her moans increase in volume, bouncing off the blank concrete walls of the gym, and Nat is kissing me hard, crying that she needs more, that she needs to come. I feel her muscles growing tight against my cock, and it nearly sends me over the edge. But I hold on and ram into her harder and harder until I feel her start to let go, her muscles tensing and growing slack in quick succession.

“This is mine, baby. All of this is mine.” I slam into her hard and the release comes to her. Her nails dig into my skin, and I thrust gently now, making sure that I hit against her clit each time. She cries out, and her eyes meet mine when she comes, her body shaking. I keep fucking her, controlling my movements so I can extend her pleasure. I can’t hold it in any longer though, and I come deep inside of her just as her climax begins to fade. “Holy fuck,” she moans. “I’m going to have bruises on my back from that damn cage.” Her legs are wrapped around me but she can barely hold them

still because she’s shaking so hard. I let her down and start to pull her back to the showers so we can clean up before the day really begins. I feel like I could fuck her again, but Ash might not like it if he comes in to find his fighter balls deep— and absolutely unfocused on training. “Good. You’ll remember me all day, Nat. I like it that way.” She pulls away from me and slides on her jeans without any panties. I resist the urge to pull them back down and take her again, even though my cock is already growing hard at that sweet good girl without any damn panties on. Fuck. “I’ll remember you when I’m on my

shift and I can barely walk because you keep throwing me up against random walls—” “And fucking you so hard that you need more of me when you get home?” She smoothes out her shirt and throws her arm around my neck, kissing me hard, like she’s desperate for my touch. “You go shower, Long Shot.” I smile. It’s the first time she’s called me that. The name was hard won in my early days as a fighter, and for some reason, it sounds sweet coming off of Natalie’s lips. “I’ve gotta run right now.” “Where you running off to?”

“I’ve—I’ve hospital.”

gotta

get

to

the

“I didn’t think you had a shift till noon. It’s only ten, and we’re five minutes away.” “Summer needs my help before then.” “Sure, okay. I thought you were going to stay a while.” I cock my head to the side and watch her. She laces her fingers through her hair and tosses it back over her shoulder, then nervously ties it all up into a bun. My pulse quickens. I don’t like the feeling she’s giving me, don’t

like the idea of her going off on her own. But I need this training session today before I try to sweat off seven pounds tomorrow to make weight—and she’s been tending to a fighter long enough to know that. “Don’t look at me like that, Josh.” “Like what?” I knit my brows together, and I can feel my face tensing up. She can read me like a book now, just like I can read her. “Like you’re worried. I’m fine, seriously. Nervous about the fight, and I need to go to Food Lion. We got like no time before that fight, and I need to pick

up some groceries. I’m gonna fatten you up as soon as you do that weigh in.” “You can do that after your shift.” “Can’t do that, Josh.” Cain’t do that. That Carolina twang lets me know she’s got something on her mind. I see Ash’s truck pull up, and I know I need to get in the shower before he walks in and gets a whiff of his fighter smelling like sex. Nat kisses me quick on the cheek and bolts out of the door before I can do anything to stop her. I sigh heavily and walk back to the showers. I might own that girl when she’s got her legs wrapped around me,

but there’s no telling what she’ll do when she gets a mind to do it. I can only hope she’s not fool enough to mess with Frank. But why do I get the feeling she’s exactly fool enough? I adjust my shorts and walk over to the door, watching her as she drives off in the direction of the hospital. The door almost hits me in the face when Ash rolls in, a toothpick between his teeth. “Go shower, asshole. You smell like you’ve been fucking in our gym.” He claps me on the shoulder and catches my eye. “I know you’re thinking about

following her, man. But you ain’t going a damn place until you can knock me out without using that right hand.” I nod and walk off to the showers, trying to dispel the looming feeling that Natalie is going to do something very, very stupid. In the past few days, we’ve talked about our plan again and again. It’s set in stone, and we’re not getting Katy involved. And she’s promised me, again and again that she won’t do anything dangerous. Imagine that—me telling Nat not to get her self in trouble. That’s a new one on me.

Hell, she’s a grown-ass woman and the smartest person I know. And she’s backing me up on this plan. She wouldn’t mess with Frank again, would she? I stifle the worry and then go do what I do best—fight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I pull out of the parking lot and wave to Ash as he walks into the gym. Ash cocks his head to the side when he sees me— he’s used to my schedule by now and

knows I usually stay with Josh at the gym until I’m ready to go. I keep a placid look on my face and give Ash a wide smile as I pull away. Even if they suspect something is up, the two of them are so wrapped up in training that they won’t be able to give my departure too much thought. Or at least, I’m hoping. If Josh figured out I was leaving to do his dirty work for him, he’d be pissed as hell, and he’d rage into Frank’s gym like an angry bear. And right now, we don’t need the angry bear. We need the architect, the man planning his victory. That’s the Josh I believe in—the one I know is underneath all of the bravado and the insane sex drive.

I don’t mind that last part so much, I think. The corner of my mouth turns up into an irresistible smile. I think of Josh pushing me against the cage, the pain in my back heightening the pleasure as he fucked me. It was macho. It was reckless. It was the height of masculinity to fuck his woman in the gym he’d fought hard for—and right before a day of intense training. But I can’t even lie a bit and say I didn’t like it. I fucking loved it. Goddamn that man—maybe I’m changing too. I pull into a nearly empty parking lot that sits across from Frank’s gym. If I weren’t driving the most common damn car on the road, I’d be scared someone

might notice me. But a woman with messy hair and smeared mascara driving a beat-up Honda Civic is as present in the Outer Banks as she is anywhere else in the world. I scope out the gym and spot Frank’s pick-up truck. It sits up on those ridiculously huge tires that the townies around here seem to love, and it’s decked out with chrome fishing rod holders and a big fucking gun rack. “Wonder if he’s compensating for anything,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. The bright blue truck is anything but inconspicuous, and it’s tacky as shit. Fear twists through my body, and I sit in the car for a while, I don’t know how long, just watching the gym. I know I

shouldn’t be doing any of this shit, that it means serious trouble. I swallow hard and push away the tightness that’s filling my throat and my chest. “It’s now or never, Nat.” I pull out my phone and pull up Katy’s number. I know Josh says she’s sketchy, and I know she’s been involved with Frank for years. But I saw a woman on the brink of collapse when I met her. She’s looking for a way out, a way through. And maybe I can provide that for her if I can work everything out. It’s all a big fucking risk, but hell, isn’t everything worth having? I tap the number and listen to three rings before

Katy answers. “Katy? stepsister.”

It’s

Natalie,

Josh’s

“Yeah? What do you want?” “I want to help you get the fuck out of there. You there right now?” “Yeah—what the hell is this about? I promise I’ll be out of the apartment—” “We don’t care about that, but there is something we need. And I think it might help you in the long run too.” Katy pauses for a moment, and I only

hear her breathing, heavy and deep on the other end of the line. In the background, I hear Frank’s caustic shouting. Josh has told me it’s his method of training new fighters— breaking them down so much that they’ll do anything he says. “Okay, shoot.” “You know the combination to Frank’s lock box?” “Maybe I do,” she says. I can hear the quaver in her voice. “If that’s a yes, then I want you to tell Frank that Cole’s back at the hospital,

and he’s talking to police. Say he’s planning to send a team Frank’s way, that he has a copy of the papers Josh had. Act like you don’t know what you’re talking about when you tell him.” “That won’t be too hard. You here now?” “I’m across the street. I’ll be there when I see Frank leave.” “All right. Fine.” She hangs up the phone without another word and I see her move past the big window that sits at the front of the gym. I wait for one minute, and then two, my heart pounding far faster than the seconds as they tick

by. Nervous adrenaline floods my body, and my palms start to sweat. I wipe them on my jeans and take a deep breath. But the deep breath doesn’t quite work, and instead, I’m shaking. Katy could be telling Frank that I’m across the street and that I’m looking for information that could very well put him in prison. Don’t do this, Natalie. This is stupid. You know better than this. Even Josh told you it was a bad idea. There is nothing that is not bad about this idea. “Fuck,” I say and ram my hand into the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuckity fuck.” As the last syllable leaves my mouth,

Frank storms out of the gym and makes his way to the blue pick-up. The truck starts and pulls away from the gym, heading back toward the hospital. “Oh thank God,” I say. My hands are still shaking when I turn my car back on, but I’m able to drive back across the street without killing myself, just barely. Even though the day is cool and crisp, my body feels like it’s been set on fire and like I’ve drunk ten coffees all at once. I go to open the door, but it’s locked. I shake the handle and bang on the door. “Katy, come on! Let’s get moving!” I estimate I have about twenty minutes before Frank figures out that Cole’s not at the hospital.

“Katy, let me the hell in!” I see movement inside and finally, Katy strides toward the door, her movements unhurried. She unlocks the door and I nearly come crashing into her. “Easy there, Natalie.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Frank’s freaked the fuck out. He’s not coming back here until he knows for sure that Cole ain’t at the hospital.” “Okay fine. But we need the shit from the lock box, and like now.” She takes me by the arm, like I did to her when we first met. “What the hell’s in the lock box,

Nat?” “Shit that shows that Frank’s a criminal, that his business is set up to launder money. That he’s using underage kids. It’s all in one place. Josh has collected it over the past three years. And he needs it to make his move on Frank.” Katy grips my wrist hard and turns me toward her. “And where does that leave me? I know you’re all concerned about your stepbrother boyfriend back home, but I’m not invested in his pro fighting career.” “Well, if it lands Frank in jail—or if

it scares him out of town—it leaves you wherever you want to be, Katy.” I shrug, trying not to panic and jerk her over to Frank’s desk. “And Josh is starting a new gym. He’ll need a receptionist. He’ll need staff. And you know this game better than anyone.” Katy pauses for a moment, looking me over with darkly skeptical eyes. “Dammit. Fine.” She leads me over to Frank’s desk and sits down behind it while I stand and watch. “I don’t have the key to get in the desk, shoulda told you that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get it open.” She jiggles the top drawer and then hits it hard. There’s a sharp clank, and I watch as she pulls

the large bottom drawer open. “This motherfucker should have a safe, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed if you ask me. Just the meanest.” “Can you open the lock box?” “I can. I think.” Her voice wavers a little bit. “Like I said, he’s not the brightest.” She pulls out the lock box and sits it on the desk. She sits back and closes her eyes, then knits her eyebrows together. “Katy, I thought you knew the combination. Fuck.” I don’t hide my frustration, and her eyes flicker open.

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Did I say I knew the combination?” “No, but—” “No, I don’t know it. But I can probably guess it.” She fiddles with the lock and tries one combination, then another. “Hurry up,” I say. My leg is starting to shake, and there’s a nagging nausea starting in the pit of my stomach. “Hold the fuck on. I’m trying the date the gym opened. I just tried his birthday and the numbers of his favorite football players. It’s some combination of

these…” Her voice trails off and she starts working on the box again, smashing her hand against it in frustration. “Let me try this one more time.” “Seriously, please. Just get the damn thing open.” I look around to see if there are any other fighters lurking in the gym. There might be a couple in the locker room, and if I listen hard enough, I think the shower might be running. My stomach flips, and I put my hands over it. I’ve been through fear in the emergency room a million times, but it’s much worse when you’re on the wrong side of the knife. And that’s what Frank is—he’s the threat behind the curtain.

“I’m trying. Dammit. If this thing won’t open, I fucking swear—this is the last time I put my neck out for Miss Perfect over here.” Her gaze meets mine and she smirks at me, jostling the box. There’s a satisfying click, and the top of the box pops open and falls against the old metal desk. “Oh, thank fuck,” I say. I breathe again and step around to see the contents of the box. Just like I saw when I was here before, the manila folder with all of Josh’s information sits at the top of the box, piled on top of fake identification for young fighters.

“There’s more shit in here,” Katy says, glancing at me. “I just need the folder.” I yank it away from the box and stuff it into my purse. There’s a humming noise outside and then the distinct roar of an engine. “Hey don’t take it—” “Katy...” I say the word carefully, my eyes moving over to the door. I can’t see who’s parked outside, but there’s the unmistakable sound of a door closing, followed by boots falling on pavement. Nausea hits me hard, and I almost swoon with fear. Frank is the man who hurt me before, the one who’s not afraid to fuck

with a woman. I should have known better than this. I’ve done some stupid shit, but this is by far the worst. I taste salt and metal at the back of my throat, and my breath comes in shorter and shorter gasps. “What?” She looks over to the door, and we both see Frank walk by the window. She looks at me, and I see my own fear reflected in her face. This man has tangoed with her before, and we both know that we’re standing here just like targets. “Oh shit.” In a flurry of movement, Katy slams the box closed and shoves it in the bottom drawer where it was. She pushes me to the side

and gets up from the desk, slamming the top drawer shut. “What the fuck are we going to do?” My throat tightens more, and I swallow hard. “Okay, okay. Let’s just act like we’re chatting.” Katy leans in and whispers in my ear. “You got the fucking files in your purse right?” I nod slowly, gulping again as I watch the door open, followed by Frank’s lumbering body walking inside. “Looks like we’re having a little family reunion, Missy. Katy, I didn’t know you hung around with the likes of her.” Frank steps over to us, his body

filling up the space around us. His black hair is perfectly coifed, as usual, a bit out of place next to his sweatpants and the Frank’s Gym shirt that he’s wearing. My face grows hot, and I feel like grabbing on to Katy for support. His gaze moves between the two of us. The guilt must be apparent on my face. The fear stirs inside of me again, creeping through my body, overtaking me. “We were just chatting,” Katy says. “I’ve been staying at Josh’s place, and she wants me to get the hell out. Isn’t that right, Nat?” “Yep.” I swallow hard. “That’s exactly right. She needs to get out since

we know Josh isn’t welcome here anymore.” “Oh, she talks,” says Frank. I look him directly in the eye, trying to read whether or not I see fear there. I don’t think I do, but that doesn’t mean he won’t guess that I’ve got the files. He looks down to my purse, and I feel like the air might be entirely sucked out of the room. “Is that really why you’re here?” “Well...” Katy starts and glances over at me. “She told me that you’re not welcome at Josh’s fight. He’s been training hard, and he’s planning to win.” I freeze. Katy doesn’t know about Josh’s

injuries. Sure, Josh is planning to win. But he and I both know he might not. Fuck. “Oh is that right?” Frank looks at me, his black eyes filling up with anger. “Yep,” I say again. Christ, I sound like a fucking idiot. Think. Think. “His hand has healed at like, lightning speed. He’s been training behind your back, with your trainer, and he’s going to show everyone how pathetic you are. He doesn’t need anything else but his talent to do that. He’ll show the world what you’re losing, and when he opens his own gym, every one of your boys will go along with him.”

“Sweetheart, I think you’re sadly mistaken if you think all that’s going to happen. I know the kid he’s fighting, and that kid is not injured, and he currently stands undefeated. I wouldn’t miss this shit for the world. And Josh ain’t got nothing on me, beautiful. There’s no way my boys will abandon me.” “You’ve been warned,” I say. I grip the leather of my purse and hope his eyes aren’t drawn there again. “He doesn’t want you there. And he’ll... He’ll fuck you up if you are.” “It ain’t like that boy to send his little woman to do his dirty work for him. I’m

guessing you came by yourself, didn’t you sweetheart?” “Yeah, I—like I said, I was just telling Katie when she had to leave.” I raise my chin. “Even if he doesn’t win, he’s—” “Nat, stop. You’re pissing him off.” Katy steps in front of me and puts her hand up. She looks back at me, and when she does, Frank moves faster than I would have thought possible for a man Josh claims is “weak.” Frank moves in and catches Katy by the arm, flipping her down on the hard concrete floor. Before I can react, he grabs me by the shoulder, and an icy anger creeps through my

body. I try to stomp down on his foot, but he moves back, laughing. “Get your fucking hands off me, you creep.” I swing my leg up and aim for his balls. At the last second, he moves again, and my foot meets only air. The whole time, his hand has been on my shoulder, gripping me, holding me still like it’s an iron vise. He steps back, lining his body up with mine, and delivers a punch that lands squarely on my eye, followed by another. Katy screams and climbs to her feet, trying to pull Frank away from me. I’ve seen a lot of black eyes in my time—on patients, on Josh, on my daddy. But I’ve never had one, not for real, and I’ve never

been punched with a man’s full force. The pain is searing hot, setting every nerve in my body on fire, taking my breath completely. “I’m fucking done, don’t worry about your friend here, Katy.” Frank pushes me away and my back hits the cinder block wall. I slump down and raise my hand to my tender eye. Frank turns to Katy, and I barely comprehend what’s happening through the pain singing in my body. “I think you’d better get her out of here. Both of you can tell Josh that that nice black eye is a message of bigger things to come.” Katy stares at him, wide-eyed. “Go on. Get the fuck out.” He waves his hand in her face and steps

toward her again. She shudders and then falls into action, helping me to my feet and stumbling toward the door and out into the parking lot. “I’ll drive you home,” she says. I nod and let her help me into my car. She starts driving out to the island, tears in her eyes. I’m guessing she’s seen Frank hit a lot of people, but she’s really starting to realize who he is. I only speak to offer directions, and I lean my head against the coolness of the window, staring out until she pulls up into my driveway. The rest of the day happens in a blur, but it all revolves around Katy keeping

her shit together—and me completely losing mine. I lie on the couch crying for a long time, watching as Katy makes me an ice pack contraption out of old pantyhose she finds in my room, listening as she calls the hospital to say I won’t be in. The fear and shock mix together with the crazy pain that envelops my head. She even presses a Vicodin into my hand and gets me to take it. After that, I sleep. When I wake, the sun is going down, and Katy’s arguing with Josh in the background. Ash and Summer are here too, and I open one eye to watch the spectacle. For once in the past month, the drama is happening without me in it,

and I’m pretty fucking grateful for the relief. “I’m going to kill that fucker,” Josh says. His voice comes out in a growl that I don’t like, but I don’t want to sit up. The ice pack is mostly melted, but it’s still cool and soft against my face. Katy’s made it so that it stays in place with the waistband of the hose. “That’s what he wants you to do. Don’t you know anything? He’s probably waiting for you right now,” Katy says. Josh tries to storm out of the door, but Ash and Summer both hold him back. I have to say something. I open my mouth, but it doesn’t feel like I can form the

words. “And why the hell are you here, Katy?” Josh snarls. “Frank kicked me out too—and in case you’re interested, I was helping your girlfriend over there. I don’t care how you feel about me, but she’s got a plan that will get us all out of Frank’s shit.” “What are you talking about?” Josh tries to pull free of Ash again, but the older man holds him tight. “The files,” I croak. “Katy helped me get them.”

“What?” Josh rushes over to me and helps me sit up, putting his arm around me possessively and pulling me into his body. “You got the files!” “Katy figured out how to open the lock box. And she’s right. Frank’s not going to let you get out of dodge this time. You gotta make weight tomorrow, and you’ve gotta fight, no matter what.” My words are slurring together, but Josh nods and kisses me on the cheek. Even in the hazy glow of painkillers, I can see him thinking. He turns to Katy and nods at her. “Thanks, Katy. You can stay here for the

night if you need to. We’ll make sure you have a place to be.” Katy nods, and I start to drift off on Josh’s shoulder. He still holds me fiercely, protectively. I hear the lilt of Ash and Summer’s conversation in the background, the sounds of Katy cleaning up the kitchen and then the gentle hum of the dishwasher. For the first time, the sounds of home seem comforting. I guess that’s what home is—a place with people in it, doing human things, making human sounds. Josh pulls me in tighter, and I fall down into sleep, waking in my bed many hours later.

A note on my pillow tells me that Josh is at the gym, training and working to make weight for the fight. Ash is with him, Summer is working a shift at the hospital, and Katy has gone back to Josh’s apartment for the time being. They’ll all be at the fight tomorrow night, and so will Frank. Katy and I made sure of that. Tomorrow it’ll all shake out, one way or another.

CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

I pace around the arena and survey the scene. It’s nicer than Frank's arena,

which ain't much of one. Some of the other places Ash has shown me were bright, bustling, full of people who don't look like a bunch of drunk tourist assholes. This place falls somewhere in between. I can tell the cage was set up hastily, and I can only hope that it holds two fighters trying to beat the living shit out of each other. But it's bright and open, and the people filing in while I warm up are smiling and chatting. Some of them look like they could become drunk assholes, given the opportunity. But here, drinks are only served outside, and they're called "refreshments." There's no sloshing keg, no frat boys down for beach week. This place doesn't have the rougher edges of an

underground arena, but it ain't quite the big leagues either. Every once in a while, though, when I look up, I see a recruiter that I recognize. A UFC guy I've seen in passing on ESPN, a few bigger promoters that come to Frank's fights very occasionally, and a couple of dudes who were at the last big fight in Raleigh. This fight right here—it's as big as a fight gets in coastal North Carolina. "You're distracted, kid." Even though Ash is barely ten years older, he always calls me "kid," and I half-bet he does it because he knows it'll make me pissed off before a fight. I look back at him, and

he grins. "Just wondering when Frank will get here,” I say. Ash shrugs. "He might not come. You never know." "Nat goaded him, probably got pretty deep under his skin. He'll fucking be here. According to one of the guys back at the gym, he might not even know I've got the files." I turn back to the punching bag and deliver a few elbow strikes, envisioning my opponent's ribs, the underside of his chin. "What the hell was I thinking, man?" A pang of anxiety hits my gut, and something twists deep

inside. Frank's proven that he's more like a cockroach than a real man. Tonight, I'm pretty sure he's fucked— but I might be too. Beneath the protective tape, I flex my knuckles, bending my left arm out and then making a fist with my injured right hand. Every part of me has been damaged by the stupid game I've been playing—and for what? So I could come here and get a chance at going big. The more I think about it now, the less sense it makes. I guess that's how it goes with big plans: there's always a letdown when you realize that it might fall the hell apart. Just before the clock in the gym

strikes eight, the announcer calls the fighters out from their respective corners. "Rage" Wilson is the fighter I'm going up against tonight—and he's undefeated in the semi-pro fighting circuit in North Carolina. Not that that's saying much. I could cough up a pretty good record myself, if we fudge away some of the fights I've thrown for Frank in the last year. I crack my knuckles, and Ash leads me up to the cage, then helps me with my mouthguard and my gloves. "This is it, kid," he says. "You can do this." I nod to him and step in the cage. The din of the crowd has heightened. Even

though it's nothing like the whoops and hollers I hear at Frank's, the noise increases in volume and amps up that fighting place I keep deep inside. The other fighter turns around, and after an insane month of preparation, I see him for what he is. The face, I feel like I recognize that face. He smiles broadly at me and then winks. One of his front teeth glints gold in the fluorescent light of the arena, and I'm transported back in time to one of my very first fights with Frank. He was one of Frank's fighters, and his name wasn't Rage back then. It was

just Liam, and he was only eighteen when he beat the shit out of me in my second or third fight. He was part of Frank's hazing process, just like I've been for the past four or five years. A twist of anger hits my gut, and I shuffle in front of him, warming up, punching the air. It's not him you're fighting tonight, not really. I close my eyes and envision the punches I'll land. I'll move quick and dodge out, show him that I work in a pattern. He'll think I'm lazy, think that's my strategy. When he's gotten used to it, I'll switch it up at the beginning of the second round. I'll make him complacent again before I take him down. I try to

remember whether Liam favors a certain pattern, but my mind is drawing a blank, and it's not cooperating with me. "You okay, kid?" I still have my eyes closed when I hear Ash's voice. "You know this fighter?" Ash whispers through the chain link walls of the cage. I nod and look over at "Rage" again. The ref is getting ready to announce us to the arena, getting ready to start the whole fucking fight. The only thing I can remember right now is that I never won when I fought Liam. And that whatever he did, I always ended up blacked the fuck out. "I'll be fine, Ash. No turning back

now." The ref calls out our names, and before I blink, the bell sounds. We take our places facing each other. Somewhere in the crowd sits Natalie. I imagine her for a moment before I shuffle to the side and fake a first punch. Blond hair cascading over her shoulders, the perfect bow of her upper lip, the curve of her ass when I'm inside her. I shuffle again and land an elbow strike on Rage's left side. But he's quicker, ripping into my face with a left hook. I feel an impact on my right thigh at almost the same time, and in a second I'm on my back, the broken pieces of me smarting in pain.

I roll over and jump to my feet before Rage can leap on me and keep me down. I go in with another elbow strike and then a right hook that Rage expertly blocks. He lands a blow on my nose, and then another blow, and I'm dazed, dizzy, shuffling away from him by the end of the first round. The bell sounds, and Ash comes up with water. The ref called the round in favor of Rage, but I have to carry on, no matter what happens. "Kid, this ain't like you," he says. "What the hell is going on?" "I'm not strong enough," I whisper. "I thought I was, but I ain't, and—" The ref beckons us back up, but before the

second bell sounds, I spot Natalie, sitting in one of the front rows. Her face is calm, and her hands are in her lap like she's a prim little lady. She smiles, and I'm struck by the lightness I feel. The next round is back and forth. I draw on the strength in my left hand, fast on my feet, channeling the grace that I'm known for. And every so often, I catch a glimpse of Natalie. This is the first fight she's come to since we were both kids, and I have to take pride in that, show her what I'm made of. I change up my movements at the end of the round and land a strike square in the middle of Rage’s nose. He stumbles

back, and the ref calls the round in my favor. Everything starts to pick up, and I feel my strength returning. I sip water and scan the arena for Frank. There, on the side, sitting next to Rage's trainer. Fuck. Fuck. I see him slip the man some money, and... I don't know what the fuck is coming next. There's no way to rig a fight like this, not unless the trainer knows something that no one else knows, not unless Rage is a fucking powerhouse and he's been holding back on me on purpose. The bell rings for the final round. One of us will land this victory. The only thing I can do is keep my mind clear

of Frank and everything he stands for. Natalie is sitting in the audience. She has the papers. And this time, they're copied. Right about now, they should be sent via email to both the Currituck and Dare County police units. Frank might not go down tonight, but the information is there. It's undeniable. And Frank has too much pride to run away from a fight like this. The police will know exactly where he is. Even if this battle is lost, that one is won. The bell sounds. Rage looks over at his trainer, who's stalking back and forth beside the cage. The trainer nods at him, but I have to block out every pang of

anxiety, every bit of fear that this fight might not be the professional experience I'd thought it was. A lot of things aren't what you think they'll be. I land my first punch of the round and hit Rage's inner groin with a knee strike that's close enough to his balls to make him pay attention. But when he meets my eyes, there's no fear there, only the rage that he's known for. His gaze is distant, cold and calculating, and I'm suddenly transported back in time to the days when I had to fight bigger guys like him. Rage is a powerhouse for a welterweight, and I'm betting he struggled like hell to lose pounds for his weigh-in, but it paid off.

It occurs to me that he's bigger than I am, even though he's not supposed to be. I keep delivering strikes, seemingly at random. But I have a method. I hit sensitive spots that a fighter thinks he can manage—but together, they'll wear a fighter down, string him out so that he's an easy target. Rage responds like I want him to. Dizzy and sore, he stumbles around the cage, falling to the ground for a moment. Right before the ref is about to call the third round in my favor, Rage shakes off the dizziness. Was

he

faking

it?

Was

I

hallucinating? He lunges at me, and that cold look takes over his face again. He shuffles in front of me and starts landing punch after punch, putting me in a position I don't want to fucking be in. Rage has his gloved hand pressing down on both of my shoulders, and there's a cracking pain through my left side as he knees me repeatedly in the ribs, landing strike after strike. This is what Frank paid for. The asshole knows exactly where to— My thought doesn't form, not fully. Instead, Rage grabs my right glove and

yanks it off, twisting my ring and pinky fingers hard, right where they were fractured when I beat Frank down. I cry out in pain, and Rage knocks me to the ground. The ref is yelling now, trying to get us to stop. I hear Ash's voice in the distance, steps coming into the cage. But it's too late. I'm down, and Rage has his knee in the middle of my back. He hits my left shoulder over and over again, and I scream with anger. Bright bursts of light flash in front of my eyes. The pressure on my back lessens, and I know Ash must be pulling him off. The moment I feel Rage’s body leave mine, I’m up. His body is still thrashing, and he’s still

lashing out at me. “I should feel sorry for you, you piece of shit,” I say. I spit in his face and it turns bright red. My voice is so loud that everyone in the arena can hear my own rage, pulsing through my very words. “How’d he get you to do it? Forfeiting a fight in front of everyone— missing your chance to go pro after an undefeated season.” Rage is silent, still struggling against Ash. But Ash is a heavyweight from way back. I know from experience that Ash’s grip is like steel, and Rage won’t be moving any time soon. My hands curl into fists, but I don’t notice the pain

anymore. I want justice. I want victory. But more than that, I want to go back in time and have a clean fight. But I can’t have any of that shit, and bashing this guy’s face in just because I can—because Ash would let me—it won’t accomplish a fucking thing. I glance over at Frank. His round face is pale, like all the blood’s been drained from it. Beside him the trainer sits frozen, stilled in time. Behind me, the ref is talking to Ash and then to Rage, but I raise my hand to stop him. The pain is coming to me now, thick and heavy, but Natalie’s out there in the audience,

and the shit I’ve got to say is important. More important than all the planning, all the hours spent working, the time spent training. There’s an eerie hush in the arena. They’re waiting for me to speak. “You wanna know what’s going on?” My words are thick. There are bruises forming on my face just like there are after every fight. But this time, it feels a fuck of a lot worse. But I came here for a fight. And I’m not leaving without winning. There audience.

are

murmurs

from

the

“This man had this fight rigged, probably weeks ago.” I raise my damaged left arm and point it at Frank. Despite the pain, my hand is steady, and all eyes land on Frank and the trainer next to him. “This man—Frank Martinelli—knew where I was injured. Why’d he do it? Because I tried to walk away, and because I tried to take the young fighters he abuses every goddamn day along with me. He’s spiteful and fucking petty—and he’s a washed up, worthless sack of shit that couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.” Frank’s face has gone from pale to bright red. But I’m here inside the cage, and the audience knows exactly where

I’m pointing. There’s movement in the audience across from me, and I look to see Natalie running into the lobby. If she’s doing what I think she’s doing, she’s read my thoughts exactly as they are. She’s ready for a win too. All along, she’s made me stronger. Me and her, we’ve changed each other. Six weeks ago, I might have made it to this fight. I might have called Frank out. But I wouldn’t see it as a victory, not like I do right now. I lower my arm, but my feet are planted firm. “This man runs fights with underage

runaways. He gets them hooked on drugs, and he threatens their families if they try to leave.” The volume of the audience rises as I speak my last words, and all eyes are on Frank. The crowd came for a fight, and what they got was a charade. I fall to the floor and sit my ass against the back of the cage. Rage’s trainer is dragging him away now, and the ref makes an announcement about a rematch as I fall back into a daze of pain. Just as the audience starts to move, Frank makes a beeline for the lobby. Good. He hasn’t even paused to consider we might have that shit from the gym. Sometime last night, Katy went in and placed a set of copies back inside

that damn lock box, so when the police go to raid his gym, Frank won’t be able to deny that every bit of it is his. The doors of the lobby swing wide open, and Natalie greets him, smiling wide. I can’t hear what she’s saying, because the audience is moving and talking again, some voices angry, others just in a rush to get away from the theatrics. A police officer steps out from behind Natalie and takes Frank by the arm, saying something to him that may or may not be his rights. The whole thing is silent, almost anticlimactic. But I watch Frank walk away, hands cuffed behind him, head

hung low. There’s a swell of pride inside of me as Ash helps me up and leads me down the steps, straight into Natalie’s arms. “It’ll work out next time, Joshie,” Ash says. But for the first time after losing a fight, I smile. I take Natalie in my arms and kiss her, claiming her lips with mine, running my hands down over her beautiful body, cupping her breasts briefly, gently. “Not here,” she whispers. “Fuck everyone else, Nat. I’d lift you over my arm like a caveman if I could. But I sure can’t right now.”

She throws her arms around my neck and rests her head against my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.” “Yeah, well. I didn’t win.” “Close enough,” she says and shrugs. “Works for me. Now, you’re not going to be an idiot and not let me take you to the hospital this time, right?” “I don’t need to—” “Well, I cain’t take you to that clinic. And I’m the one who’s driving. So I guess you’d just better let me take care of you.”

“All right. You got it.” Ash waves awkwardly and heads in Summer’s direction. She must have been here with Nat, but I never did see her. I guess this was Ash’s fight too, and he’ll need some tending to now that it’s all done—and he won’t be getting that purse any time soon. I’ll get it the next time I fight. As Natalie leads me out to her beat-up Civic, I feel lighter than I ever have after a fight, like there are big possibilities out in the world. She helps me in the car and pulls out of the lot. I don’t care much about the pain,

because I see it all clearly now. Nat was always the reason, and in her book, I won. It doesn’t get much simpler than that. I lean back and close my eyes for a minute. All victories come in their own packages, and this victory seems to be mine. Hopefully, the first of many.

EPILOGUE

“You got a shift today babe?” Josh draws me into him and whispers in my ear. The sky is still dark outside— somehow that happens so quickly in the

fall—but the day should be unseasonably warm and breezy. If I close my eyes, I think I can hear the gentle waves of the Roanoke Sound washing up on the shore of our island. “Nat… did you hear me? You got a shift?” “Mmm, yeah. Later. Like an hour or so. You—you’ve got to train, don’t you?” I yawn and sink deep down into the sheets. If I open my eyes, I’ll see all the moving boxes and trails of stuff that we’ve left all over the place. And it just might drive me over the edge into insanity. But still, it’s a good feeling. It’s better than being back at the old bungalow, where there are so many memories, so few of them good ones.

No, this is a good place. It’s the place we rented together with the bit of money we scraped together while we’re getting the old place ready to sell. It’s the living room where we sat when one of the recruiters called. He’d seen the fight, he’d said. Josh had heart and ambition, and the recruiter would promote Josh and his gym. Fighting ain’t all about winning. That’s what the guy had said when he offered Josh an advance, a sponsorship at his gym, and five fights on the professional circuit for the East Coast. Fighting’s about confidence, about verve, about honesty. And son, you got

that in spades. We didn’t get the purse, but we won the prize anyway. There was no meltdown, no drama when Josh had to forfeit the fight. We just picked up and moved on, brushed the past off and let it fall behind us. I guess sometimes doing the most reasonable thing pays off. Who knew? Welcome to adulthood, population Josh and Natalie. Josh doesn’t respond. I can feel him looking at me, and a hot blush rises to my cheeks. “Don’t you have to train--and then

that meeting with Ash and the new sponsor?” “Yeah, but not yet, babe,” he says. I snicker, my eyes still closed. Josh has taken to calling me “babe” just like we’re an ordinary couple who got together in an ordinary way. “What? What are you laughing at?” “You,” I say. “You in bed, with me. Calling me babe.” “Why’s that so funny?” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me hard, tangling his fingers through my hair. I

sink into his warmth and realize that my body is already starting to respond to his. “You weren’t laughing last night after dinner.” No, I wasn’t laughing. I was begging for him, desperate for this man who rolled into my life like a hurricane. The exhaustion had hit me hard after yesterday’s shift, and I had wanted him-needed him--to take me, to make me submit to him. Something about this man speaks to my body in a way it’s never heard before. Now he knows the depth of my desire, all the dark things I kept hidden so deep, for so long. My lips melt against his, my body

responding with that same need, but less urgent now. He bites my lower lip gently, and the heat stirs inside as he pulls my naked body flush with his. I trace my fingers over the muscles in his arms and nuzzle against his neck. The ink that adorns his body used to scare me because it represented a life outside of us, a life I knew nothing about. But now, he’s finally let me in, and I understand all of the space between us, all of the years. “You want to get up... or?” His words are raspy in my ear, and I feel his cock growing hard against my thigh. Now there’s no space between us at all. The pain has finally been erased, and

here we are, skin to skin, body to body. I shake my head no and drape my leg over his. “Again,” I say. He guides my body on top of his and grabs my waist, the tip of his cock pressed against my cleft. Pulsing need sweeps through my body, and I try to struggle, try to push down onto him. But he resists and holds me still--and that cocky, lopsided grin appears over his face. A small, throaty moan escapes my lips. “Come on, Josh. This isn’t funny.” I try to move again, but he holds me in place. “Say please, Nat.” His voice comes out in a throaty growl, and he

pulls my hair, tilting my head back and trailing his lips down over my neck. “I want to hear you say please, Natty.” I bite my lip, trying to keep quiet. I still don’t quite want to give in to Josh McRae, not every time he demands it. He likes it too much, and he notices it every time that shattering desire rises in my body. I groan again, but his hands grip my waist tighter. “Please,” I moan. “Come on. Please.” I look down at his hazel eyes, and they flash green for a moment. He lowers me down onto his cock, and inch by inch, I take him in.

When we're finished, she falls against me, far more comfortable than she was that first time she rode me. There's something far more relaxed about this woman. It strikes me as I watch her shake out her hair, as she pulls into me and kisses me again, that there are pieces of this Natalie that I don't know. I've only seen the Natalie who cut school just to go to the library, who

skipped homecoming to go on a trip with the debate team. This Natalie, the wild one, is one I'm just starting to learn about. In all the years I've known her, I've never seen her so bright, so vibrant, like she's lighting up the whole room. I might say that I have something to do with that, but she'd tell me I'm an arrogant asshole. And she's probably right—no, she definitely is. But secretly, when I think about that thing that connects us, I can tell it's something different, something special. It's changed both of us, and it's allowed us to be here, in this moment. I watch Natalie as she stands and

starts to get ready for her day. I know she doesn't think her body is beautiful, but she holds her body with more confidence now, moves somehow in a different way. “I’m heading out. Gotta get some coffee and then get to the hospital.” She leans in to kiss me and I sit up, pulling her in close for just a moment before letting her go. “What’s all this about?” She laughs and tilts her head back. The sound is melodic, almost hypnotizing. I catch her hand before she pulls away. “It’s not like we’re keeping it casual

anymore, Nat. We moved in together last week. Can’t I just look at you for a second before you run off to work?” “Oh we aren’t keeping it casual?” She laughs again. “Color me surprised. I never would have guessed with the moving in and all that.” “I mean, can you come sit down for just a second?” “What? You wanna go steady? I think we already are. You even told me you love me.” She smirks and then tilts her head back and laughs out loud. The sound is intoxicating to me, just like it always has been. That laugh has brought

me this far, and I hope it’ll carry me on all the days of my life. That’s what I want to tell her. I just don’t know how. I take a deep breath and let it out. “Hey, I don’t mean to tease,” she says. “I mean, I do, but I know all this shit is weird sometimes. It’s a different life for both of us.” She sits down next to me on the bed and runs her fingers through my hair. It’s growing out a little now, maybe longer than an inch. Hasn’t been that long in years. Man, a lot of things are changing. “You can tease all you want, Nat.” I take another deep breath, and I know I look like a total idiot. I laugh and bite my own lip, just like Natty. Out with it.

“In fact, Nat. You can tease me any time, all our lives.” Her amber eyes meet mine, the perfect arches of her eyebrows raised and pert. “Uh, Josh?” “Maybe we could make this situation… permanent. That’s what I mean.” I pause and lift my hand to her cheek, touching its sweet softness. She just stares at me. Her expression hasn’t changed, and I’m beginning to sweat, like I did when I met with that recruiter from the big fight. Maybe more than that. That was just my career. This is my life, my everything. I start again. “Nat, you know I’m not the best at being eloquent

or anything. I don’t have a ring because you know we can’t afford it.” The smile starts to form on her face, and I wonder if she’s going to laugh at me or if she’s pleased. She’s fooled me before. There’s no telling with Natalie. “Nope, we certainly couldn’t afford it.” She’s keeping her face blank, but those amber eyes are dancing. There’s nothing I can do but go in for the kill. I’ve already started the conversation, and there ain’t no getting out of it. “I mean we can’t get married now. I mean we could. Could we?” “Are you asking me to marry you?

Josh McRae? Married?” She arches one of those beautiful eyebrows so high it might fly off her face. “Yeah, I reckon I am. I know we’ve only been living here six months, and I know I’ve only just started fighting regulation. But the money’s rolling in and—” “I don’t need a ring,” she says simply. She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “And I reckon I don’t need a date for a wedding either.” “So yes?” Even though I think she said yes, I’m still nervous. It ain’t quite like me to be nervous with a woman, but

Natalie’s not like the other women I’ve known. And I guess I’ve known that for a long time. “Yes,” she says. “Definitely yes. I love you. And yes. I believe in you, and I’ll be right there, Josh.” She kisses me, and her full pink lips melt against mine. “We’ll celebrate tonight.” I fall back on the bed and watch her as she brushes out her hair and pulls it into a ponytail for her shift. I sit back and think about all the things I’ve accomplished in the years since I walked out on Natalie. I might not have won the battle, might not have gotten the money that would change everything—

but I won the war, got the victory I always wanted. “Love you,” she whispers as she walks from the bright, sunny bedroom and disappears from the front door. I close my eyes and smile—I know it wasn’t the traditional way to ask, but we’ve never been a very traditional couple. I should be prepping for my meetings with sponsors and recruiters. I should be training with Ash for my next big fight. But for just right now, I’ll pause and think of Natalie. And I’ll just be happy before embarking on the next big adventure.

Stay tuned for Summer and Ash’s story:

Nobody really knows Summer Colington, not even her best friend, Natalie. Far away from her home town of Manteo, small-town girl Summer Colington chose New York College of Medicine for graduate school. Her level of genius allows her to breeze through courses that make other students drop

out. Summer soon learns that New York has a lot more to offer someone with her type of brain—and gambling and conning become far more interesting than anything Summer can learn in med school. She didn’t expect to get so far in. She didn’t expect to get in trouble, that they’d send Jonathan Ash, former UFC champ and thug for the Irish mafia, to deal with her. Hell, she never expected one bit of Jonathan Ash—and he didn’t see her coming, either. What happens when a bad boy meets a bad girl who everyone else thinks is

sweeter than Southern molasses? Maybe he’s the only one who can handle her… ~~~~ Stay on top of what Lexi’s doing… Want her mailing list? Click here. Like her page on Facebook here and get opportunities to win prizes and participate in contests. If you are interested in being a member of Lexi’s ARC team, you can sign up right here. ARC team members will receive free advanced copies of Lexi’s books in exchange for honest reviews on Amazon and Goodreads.

About the Author:

Lexi Whitlow is a small-town girl from Virginia. She spent her early years growing up between Virginia and North Carolina, playing in the dark rich dirt of Eastern North Carolina at her granddaddy's farm. She's a Southern girl at heart, and she spends her days chasing her five-year-old and her puggle and writing as much as she can between drop

off and kindergarten pick-up. The settings in Lexi’s books are all places that are near and dear to her heart—especially Manteo, North Carolina. She recommends you go and grab a beer there or book a spot on the pirate cruise if you’re ever in the Outer Banks. She holds a master's degree in English literature from the University of Virginia, and her

mom is so proud she's "using her degree." Lexi harbors a not-so-secret love for bad boys. She loves fighters, tough-as-nails cowboys, bikers, and criminals. Her husband is a scientist... but he has the heart of a bad boy for sure.