Fighter: A Bad Boy Romance (10 page)

“I should blow your fucking brains out,” Barry says, cocking back the hammer on his gun. The Lumberjack simply stares up at him, his ice cold eyes taunting him, daring him to do it.

“Don’t,” I say softly. “Barry, don’t do it.”

Barry’s hand is shaking. As much as it would solve my problems if he squeezed the trigger, I just can’t stand to see any more death. I should have never come on this job. I should have told the boys no, but I owed them. And now look what happened.

“You’re dead,” the Lumberjack tells me from the floor. He knows I’m not going to kill him. I should. I have every reason in the world to, but I have my own reasons why I won’t.

“We’ll see,” I reply before turning and walking out of the shop.

I
can’t believe
I fell for it.

I wake up in my bed alone.

I should have known better. This is why I don’t see men from the club. This is why I don’t bring men back to my apartment, and this is why I don’t let my kids meet men I’m seeing. Not that I’m seeing Ty anymore—not like I ever was. I gave myself to him last night, and even though it was the most amazing sex of my life, he used me.

He used me up and tossed me aside. I’ve never been so played before. He had me convinced that he wasn’t just another asshole. I really thought he was different. I should have listened to my life experiences. And I’d broken my rule: you don’t date guys you meet at the club.

Kristen is going to give me so much shit.

I leap out of bed and hop in the shower, not even bothering to turn the water on hot. I’m so pissed off that I need the cold water to cool me down. Part of me wants to punish myself for being so stupid. How am I going to explain this to Josh and Ella?

I focus, trying to calm myself down. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s just trouble with another man. I’ve been through this before. I’ll tell them I was just doing him a favor and nothing more. They won’t be seeing him again. They’ll forget about him, and faster than I will.

The feel of his hands around my waist … I can’t shake it. I fell asleep so happy, so content, one big mess of happy post-orgasmic bliss, his big strong arms wrapped around me.

Stop thinking about him!

I want to scream, but I just clench my fists and pound them against the tiles of the shower. Was I really picturing a future with him? I mean, what did I expect? He obviously has issues too. What was all that business when we drove through town? I tell myself I don’t want to know. I tell myself he’s probably just an overly dramatic asshole—but I don’t believe it.

I shut the water off and stand there a minute, letting my body drip dry. Finally, I pull my towel from the hook and wrap it around my body, lazily drying my hair. When I get to the kitchen I see Ella at the table, on her phone, stuffing her face with a bagel and cream cheese.

“Where’s the dude?” she says. My heart sinks.

“He had to go,” I say. “He was just staying for one night. I owed a friend a favor.”

“Oh. Okay,” she shrugs. Well that was easier than I thought. We’ll see how Josh takes it. I head to my room and throw on some clothes. The bed’s a mess, and I can still see the impression from Ty’s body on the mattress. Images of last night come flooding back, but I take a deep breath and push them from my mind.

Forget it. It never happened. He never existed.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, gently knocking on Josh’s door. “You awake?”

“Yep!” He says from his bed. He’s reading one of his astronomy books. Can’t keep the books out of his hands. I hope it stays that way.

“Want some breakfast?”

“Yep! Just let me finish this page,” he says excitedly.

I make breakfast for Ella and Josh and they head off to school. My car should be ready today, and I eagerly stuff last night’s money into my purse and head out. The walk seems to take forever. I’m so excited to finally have my car back and not have to bum rides from everyone and pay for overpriced taxis.

But when I get there, it’s more bad news.

“A few more problems, Jenny,” Greg tells me, looking less apologetic than he’s trying to sound.

“You’re kidding me,” I say, feeling ready to explode.

“Your rotors are pretty worn down, and there’s a few other things—“

“How much,” I cut him off. I don’t even want to hear it. This is when I wish I had a brother or a father around who was handy and could help me out. I know I’m being screwed over, but there’s really nothing I can do about it. Taking it somewhere else at this stage would just mean it’s even longer before I get it back on the road.

“Another eight hundred probably,” he says.

“Great,” I reply, turning and walking away. I was supposed to have a man in my bed and a car in my drive way today, and now it looks like I’m not going to have either. It’s hot and humid today, and by the time I get home I feel sweaty and filthy. Walking down the main road like that isn’t the most fun thing in the world. It’s loud and the cars and trucks kick up dust all over the place. I need a shower.

I kick open the front door and almost have a heart attack.

Ty is sitting on my couch, his hand laid out on the coffee table, with what looks like a big hunk of metal sticking through it.

“Hey,” he mutters, barely even acknowledging me.

“Hey!?” I shout indignantly. “That’s all you are going to say to me? Hey? Where the hell did you go this morning? You fuck me and then just leave me—”

“Do you mind?” He snaps, looking up at me. “Do you not see what I’m doing here?”

I look down at his hand and feel my stomach turn. There’s a
nail
going right through his hand from one side to the other. I bite the inside of my lip, feeling my whole body tense up.

“Oh my God. What happened?”

“Bit of a scuffle,” he grunts, mopping at the blood with a paper towel.

“Does it … hurt?” I ask stupidly.

“Nah,” he says quite calmly. He sounds like he’s serious. I take a step towards him. “It will when you pull it out though.”

“Me!?” I practically shout. “I can’t do that!”

“Well you’re gonna have to,” he tells me. “I need you to. I’ll hold back when it starts to hurt.”

He picks up a cork he must have gotten from my kitchen and wraps a piece of paper towel around it.

“Come here,” he tells me. As though I’ve been hypnotized, I walk right over and sit down beside him. He picks up a pair of pliers and carefully tightens the teeth around the nail. When he presses down, they lock in place. “Take this,” he tells me.

“But—”

“Jenny,” he says, looking right into my eyes. “I need you. Now take this.”

I see the look in his eyes and I know I have to help him.

I need you
, he said. I never expected to see him again, and now he is here telling me he needs me. My heart flutters.

Calm down!
I think.
This is not the time for that!

My hand is shaking. I take a deep breath and try to focus. I have to do this. No matter how hard it is, I have to help him. I look at the pliers in his hand, clenched down on the bloody nail sticking through his palm. With enormous effort, I reach out and take hold of them.

“Okay,” Ty says, visibly summoning up his own courage. “I’m going to hold my hand down like this, and you’re going to pull. Okay?”

“Okay,” I stammer.

“Now, Jenny. When I say pull, you have to
keep pulling
, okay? You can’t stop. You just have to keep pulling until it’s all the way out. Don’t stop. Got it?”

I can only nod. Ty positions his hand so half of it is hanging off the coffee table and presses down with his other hand. He looks up at me, and I can see the sweat running down the side of his cheek.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” I say.

“Pull.”

I pull as hard as I can. I feel the nail sliding up and out through his flesh. Ty groans with pain and closes his eyes. Blood spurts from the wound. I feel my stomach turn. This is too much. But I need finish. Ty needs me. I keep pulling and finally feel the nail pull free.

“Fuck!” Ty shouts, clamping a wad of paper towels over his hand. He slumps back on the couch, cradling his hand in his lap. Bruno and Chester both whimper and come over to his side, licking his arm gently.

“Are you okay?” I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder. He’s sweating heavily and is obviously in a lot of pain. “Here, I’ll get you a cold towel.”

Quickly, I race to the kitchen and wet a fresh dish towel with cold water and bring it back to him. I dab the sweat off his forehead and cheek.

“That feels good,” he says softly. I leave it on his forehead, letting it cool him down. He looks like he’s starting to feel better. My eyes wander to the pliers and nail now sitting on my coffee table, and I wince, feeling my stomach tighten up. If this is what I’m going through, I can’t even imagine what’s happening to him.

“Do you have some gauze and like an ace bandage or something?”

“Yeah, hold on,” I say, getting up and heading to the bathroom. Somehow my kids have managed to avoid any real serious injuries, but I always have something on hand in case of emergencies. I just never thought it would be anything like this. Buried in the back of the vanity is a smashed box of ace bandage and a packet of gauze. I snatch them out, spilling stuff all over the sink, and race back to Ty.

He’s sitting up now, gently pulling the paper towels off of his wound. He’s already laid out a bottle of peroxide on the coffee table and is trying to get the top off with one hand.

“Here, let me get that for you,” I say, unscrewing the top. “Do you want me to pour it over?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Just dump it on. Go for it.”

Without hesitation, I pour a shots worth over his hand. He winces. That must hurt like hell.

“Okay, gauze,” he says. I gently place the end of the gauze over the hole and begin wrapping. The white bandaging instantly makes things feel better, and I feel my body relaxing as I start to calm down.

“Doing okay?” I ask him. It’s hard to believe when I woke up I wanted to kill him and now I am tending to him like a worried mother. Could life throw me for any more loops today?

“Yeah,” he replies. “You’re doing good.”

I smile, finish the gauze and move on to the ace bandage. I wrap it tight, but not too tight and fasten it with the metal clip.

“Thank you,” he says, collapsing back on the couch. He looks like a rugged wounded soldier. I want to be mad at him. I want an explanation for his behavior. I know I shouldn’t say anything right now, but I just need answers.

“So,” I say gently. “You were just running out on me and now you need me to patch you back up?”

I flash him a smile to let him know I’m not trying to be a jerk, but that he does need to explain himself.

“I wasn’t bailing on you,” he says. “I had … somewhere to be.”

“Somewhere to be,” I repeat suspiciously. He opens his eyes and looks at me, seeing the inquisitive look in my eyes.

“Listen, Jenny,” he says. “I don’t want to get you into any trouble, so there’s some things I just can’t tell you.”

“Oh, God,” I say, blowing out a pouty breath of air.

“Seriously. I know it sounds absurd, but it’s for your own safety.”

What is he talking about? It occurs to me that I don’t even know what Ty does for a living. I don’t know anything about him. This mysterious act has been attractive, but after him showing up here hurt twice, I think it’s time for him to explain some things.

“Ty,” I say. “What is it you do?”

“I run a tattoo shop,” he says plainly.

“And that makes you scared for my safety?”

“Well …” he says, twisting his lips in thought. “There’s a bit more to it than that. I fight too.”

“You fight.”

“Underground bare knuckle boxing,” he replies. “Not exactly legal.”

That explains the physique and the ass kicking he gave those guys outside the club. “And that’s where this trouble comes from?”

He nods, sitting up slightly.

“I fucked up a bit with this pretty scary guy and he’s gunning for me,” he explains. “I don’t want to get you caught up in things. And before you say anything, don’t worry, no one knows I’m here. I’d never put you or your children in danger. And I want to keep it that way.”

I’m not sure I should believe him, but I do. People always want to say they’re doing the best for you when they’re doing the exact opposite, but I trust Ty when he says I’m safe.

“But listen,” he says, changing the subject. “What’s going on with you? You looked pissed off when you came back here.”

“Ugh, I can’t even tell you,” I moan, slapping my hand against my forehead. “My car. Just more car problems. I need another eight hundred dollars to get it back on the road and I don’t have it. Even after all the money I made last night. And I
would
have it if my ex-husband wasn’t such a scumbag!”

“He doesn’t give you child support? Alimony?”

“I haven’t seen a
dime
from him,” I rant, feeling the anger starting to rise up again. “Thirty thousand dollars. That’s what he owes me. Give or take.”

“Wow,” Ty says. “That’s a lot of dough.”

“You’re damn right it is!” I grumble, feeling myself tense up again. “And here I am working at that stupid club, busting my ass, and I can’t even afford to fix my car!”

“He live around here?” Ty asks.

“Yeah, about ten minutes away,” I reply casually, slumping back on the couch.

“And you know he’s got the money? He’s not just broke or something?”

“Oh, I know he’s got it all right,” I say, picturing the Colin’s nice car, the jewelry he buys his girlfriend, and the vacations he always tells me he’s going on. “He thinks I don’t know, but he only reports half his income because so many people pay him in cash.”

“Let’s go see him,” Ty says coolly, rising to his feet. I look up at him, suddenly reminded of just how tall he is. Even with a bandaged right hand, he still looks like someone you’d have to be stupid to confront. As a matter of fact, the hand makes him look somehow even more tough.

“What?”

“Yeah, let’s go have a chat with the guy,” he says as though he were suggesting we go see a movie. “He probably just needs a good talking to. Come on.”

“Are you serious?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah, what else have we got to do? Come on. You can drive my truck.”

And without waiting for my reply, Ty walks across the room and heads out the front door. I stand there in shock for a minute, just staring outside.

“Come on,” I hear Ty shout from outside. His words kick me back into gear and I race outside and pull the door shut behind him.

D
riving
Ty’s truck feels weird and amazing at the same time. I’m not used to a pick up, and I haven’t driven stick in years, but the fact that he’s even letting me drive has me feeling embarrassingly giddy. I keep looking over at him, half expecting him to scold me for the way I’m shifting, but he doesn’t say anything, and I think I can see him smiling occasionally out of the corner of my eye.