Fighting for What’s His: A Warrior Fight Club Novel

by Laura Kaye

  Shayna grasped at it like it was a lifeline.

  It was, of a sort.

  Because putting the viewfinder to her eye narrowed her field of vision down to what was immediately in front of her. To what was manageable.

  From behind the camera, she could control what she saw, and with what clarity, and at what distance.

  It was part of what made her fall in love with cameras in the first place. That and the fact that when you held a camera, people looked at the lens, not at the photographer. You could observe exactly as you wished without being observed in return.

  At least, that’s the way it felt sometimes. And years of looking at the world through a viewfinder had trained her to find the light and the dark and the detail and the emotion of life.

  Right now, she felt grief for Dylan and fear that her family blamed her the way she blamed herself.

  And in those emotions, what stood out to her on this beautiful day were all the shadows cast by the sun. The gingerbread cutouts cast intricate shapes upon the siding of Lincoln’s cottage. The circular spokes of a Civil War cannon’s wheel upon the grass. The way her own shadow laid on the ground next to that of an angel’s statue, as if they were both nothing more than a formless play of light.

  Shayna finally allowed herself to wander into the heart of the cemetery, where rows of little white grave markers made interesting patterns of lines and diagonals depending on just how you looked at them. And she grabbed those images as well. The strange geometry of it. As if the grave diggers had attempted to impose some order on death.

  When there was nothing orderly about it. Because it couldn’t possibly make sense that an otherwise healthy twenty-seven-year-old man should get killed by a drunk driver. Two months before his wedding. Because his stupid sister had asked him for help.

  Yet that was exactly what’d happened to Dylan.

  Suddenly, Shayna was bone tired. From the drive yesterday. From sleeping in a strange bed. From the long walk she’d taken in the heat today. From the way that grief could sneak up on you years later, as if reminding you to never get too comfortable in your own skin.

  She wanted to go home. But the cemetery was a maze of paths, and from behind the view finder, she hadn’t been paying the closest attention. She followed the sound of traffic, hoping to get to the road, but found herself blocked by a tall, ornate iron gate. Locked.

  Which was when she realized that her cheeks were wet. She batted the tears away and headed back in the direction from which she came, where she took a different path hoping it would lead her out.

  “Are you okay, miss?” came a deep, rolling voice. An older black man sat on a bench, a brown and white dog laying against one foot, and a cane leaning against the opposite knee.

  “Yes, thank you. I just got turned around.”

  “Easy to do in here, unless you come all the time like me and Ziggy.” Upon hearing his name, the dog’s tail pounded out a rhythm on the sidewalk.

  “Now I know,” she said, mentally pulling herself together. “I was taking pictures and wasn’t paying attention.”

  The man tilted his head. “Well, I imagine you were paying attention to different things.”

  Shayna blinked. “Yeah, I guess I was. Would you…mind some company?”

  His smile offered the kind of warmth that made her think of seeing an old friend after a long time apart. The kind of friend who was so close that neither time nor distance could impact your friendship. You just picked up right where you left off every time.

  “I like nothing better than company. Isn’t that right, Zig?”

  Shayna’s butt had no more hit the bench then Ziggy sprang into a sitting position against her calf, so close that his paw was on her foot. She laughed. “Well, hello to you, too.”

  “Now, now, Ziggy,” the man said.

  She guessed that the dog was a terrier/pit bull mix. And as it looked up at her, its mouth fell open and its tongue fell out, making it look like the dog was goofily smiling up at her. “It’s okay,” she said as she patted his big block head. “I like dogs.”

  “Well, I’m just warning you that once you start you can’t ever stop.”

  Grinning, Shayna nodded. “I suppose that’s fair.” She looked up at the man. “I’m Shayna, by the way.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Shayna. I’m Reuben.”

  She held out her hand, and they shook. “Nice to meet you, Reuben,” she said, laughing as Ziggy put a paw on her knee as if protesting the pause in her petting.

  “Told ya so,” Reuben said, chuckling.

  God, Shayna felt so much better being around the friendly man. No longer lost or alone. Which she knew was an exaggeration of the situation. But clearly she felt that way on some psychic level, too.

  Which was why she was here. In D.C. After messing up so badly, she desperately wanted a shot at a fresh start. She really hoped such a thing was possible. And that she deserved it.

  “You new around here then, Shayna?”

  She nodded. “Just moved in with a friend on Farragut Place.”

  “No kidding? We’re on Farragut, too. A new friend and a new neighbor, then. What do you think of that, Ziggy?”

  The dog pushed his head into her hand, making her chuckle again.

  “He’s a very good judge of character,” Reuben said. “I’d say he likes you.”

  “Well, the feeling’s mutual,” she said, scratching his ear.

  Reuben looked out over the cemetery, where the shadows were beginning to stretch out across the grass. “I suppose we best be getting back. Would you like to walk along with us?”

  “I’d like that,” Shayna said, being sure to match her stride and pace to Reuben’s. He walked sure, but slow, and with a slight limp on the side where he used his cane. Off leash, Ziggy trotted right between them, never leaving his owner’s side.

  On the way back to their street, she told him about her new job, and he told her about his daughter and grandkids who lived outside the city in Maryland. His wife had passed away five years before, so it was just him and his dog in the row house where they’d raised their family.

  “Well, this is me and Zig,” he said, pointing to a row house with an old lawn chair on the front porch.

  Shayna nodded and pointed down the block. “We’re the fourth one from the end.”

  “Good to know. If you need anything, just come on down and knock.”

  “I will,” she said, bending down to pet a wagging Ziggy. “I hope you’ll do the same.” She rose and felt so grateful to the man for being there for her, whether he realized she’d needed that or not. “Maybe you can come over for dinner some time, Reuben.”

  “I know I can’t refuse an invitation to dinner. You just tell me the time and date,” he said with a wave. “And have a good night, now.”

  “You, too,” she said, continuing down the sidewalk. At home, she opened the door—and nearly walked directly into Billy. “Whoa, sorry.” She braced her hands on his chest in surprise.

  He grasped her by the biceps to steady her. “Hey, there you are.”

  She blinked up into dark eyes unsettled with worry. “I’m sorry. Did you need me?”

  Billy peered down at her for a long moment. “Uh, no. I mean, I guess I was just curious where you’d gone because your car was here but you weren’t.”

  “I was learning my way around,” she said, aware that he was still touching her. She wasn’t complaining. Up close, Billy Parrish smelled like soap and man and sin and she was in no rush to give it up. “And I made a new friend.”

  He arched a brow. “Did you now?”

  “Reuben? Do you know him?”

  Expression suddenly guarded, he shook his head.

  “Old man, walks with a cane. Has a brown and white dog named Ziggy. His house is in the middle of the block.”

  His expression softened, which was when the question occurred to her—was he jealous that she might’ve met someone? No. Couldn’t be. Probably just protective. That made way more sense.


  He gave her arms a light squeeze and stepped back. “If you met one of our neighbors, then you officially know one more than me.”

  He said our. It was a little thing that probably meant nothing, but she still found it sweet. Not that she was going to mention it. “Really? But you’ve lived here a while.”

  “I know the immediate neighbors enough to recognize them and to give them a wave if we happen to be outside at the same time, but otherwise I’m usually either working, sleeping, or at the gym.” He shrugged as he went in the direction of the kitchen.

  Shayna shut the door and followed. “Well, I’ll have to introduce you to Reuben because he’s very sweet and he helped me today.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d even thought about what she was saying—or admitting.

  Billy frowned. “What did you need help with?”

  “Oh.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I just got turned around and he pointed me in the right direction.”

  His frown deepened. “You know you could’ve texted or called me, right? You need anything—anything at all—you can come to me, day or night.”

  The words were infused with a sincere intensity that spiked her pulse. “Yeah, okay, Billy. Thank you. And I will. I promise.”

  Chapter Four

  Shayna was going ten kinds of crazy. It was nearly eleven o’clock in the morning, and she hadn’t heard a peep out of Billy. And she really needed to ask him a question.

  She needed desk space, but she didn’t want to move things around on his desk without asking. They might only have lived together for two days, but she’d had plenty of occasions already to notice him straightening up after her or putting things away. And he was nearly fastidious in cleaning up after himself. So she was certain that he would not love her pushing his things to the side to make room for her laptop, photo printer, and supplies.

  She’d debated long and hard on the idea of knocking on his bedroom door. But that felt too intrusive in case he just wanted to sleep late.

  Instead, she sent him a text. Hey, you feeling okay?

  When she didn’t get a reply, she wrote a note, slipped it under his door, and left the house to solve this problem another way.

  When in doubt, there was always Target. And luckily there was one not too far away.

  And because Target was the land of things-you-didn’t-even-know-you-needed, she not only bought a desk and chair, but she also loaded up on some desk organizers, office supplies, two new lip glosses, a super cute pajama set, and groceries for the week, because it wasn’t like she could expect Chef Billy to cook for her every night.

  The nickname made her chuckle, even though he was a really good cook. But she wanted to do her share, so she also bought a few replacements of his things that she’d been eating.

  About mid-way through the magical, mystical land of Tarzhay, her phone dinged an incoming message from Billy. Finally!

  Yeah, sorry I didn’t see this sooner.

  No worries, she replied. Need anything from the mecca that is Target?

  He didn’t answer for long enough that she thought he wasn’t going to, but then he did.

  Large non-stick bandages and medical tape. Only if it’s not a PITA

  Shayna frowned at the request, and immediately thought of the cut he’d had on his shoulder yesterday. Though, it didn’t precisely look like a cut. More like an irritation had rubbed his scarred skin raw.

  Yup I’m on it

  She finished getting the things on her list and his, checked out, and headed home. Unable to find a parking spot on their block, she double parked on the street out front, grabbed as many bags as her arms and fingers could possibly hold—because she was too stubborn to want to make more trips—and waddled in through the front door looking like a pack mule.

  Billy stood at the kitchen counter, head tilted back, drinking a glass of water. Shirtless.

  Shayna did a double take that nearly had her dropping everything on the floor.

  Her eyes couldn’t decide where to focus first. On the obviously hard muscles of his shoulders and pecs? On the actual ridges of muscles on his abdomen? On the way his gym shorts hung low enough on his hips that they hinted at the muscled indentations that she’d find beneath? If she ever looked. Which she totally would, except she didn’t have an invitation to go down under…

  He arched a brow. She was so busted.

  “Um, hey,” she managed, brazening it out even as her face filled with heat. “Sleepyhead.”

  “Slept worth shit until it was time to get up, of course. Then all I wanted to do was go back to sleep.” He watched as she awkwardly settled all the bags on the counter, then extricated her wrists from the looped handles. “Need help?”

  “Um,” she said again, because this close, she noticed two other things.

  First, that he was a little sweaty, and the sheen of it over all those muscles was sexy as hell. It made her want to shower with him. Or lick him. Or both, but maybe not in that order.

  And second, she saw for the first time just how extensive his scarring was. Save for the area around the cut on his shoulder—which looked bigger today—most of the scarring wasn’t a markedly different color, but it was smoother and shinier in some places and raised in others, compared to the skin that hadn’t been burned. And it covered the whole right side of his ribs and part of his back, from the waist of his shorts to his arm pit.

  “I kinda do need help…in the form of muscles…which you seem to have a lot of.”

  Now her face was on absolute fire, but she didn’t care, because she wanted him to know that her staring was about those hot-as-fuck muscles, not the scars.

  “Is that right?” he said, eyebrow arched.

  Shayna rolled her eyes. “Do you need confirmation of this fact?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Doesn’t suck hearing that a pretty girl noticed, though.”

  Pretty girl! That internal squee was her first—ridiculous—reaction. Clearly, his muscles made her a little stupid.

  “Woman,” she said, arching a brow of her own.

  A slow smile crept up his handsome face. “Okay, woman. What is it you need muscle for?”

  She led him outside to her car, then popped the hatch. “Meet my new desk and chair,” she said, pointing to the boxes that filled the back. Of course the desk needed to be assembled.

  He frowned. “You could’ve used mine.”

  Shayna shrugged. “I didn’t want to assume. Besides, I’m messy and you’re not, so I didn’t want my stuff to drive you crazy.”

  He peered down at her like he was trying to figure her out, and something about the look made her belly go on a loop-the-loop. “I appreciate that, but I still would’ve made room for you.”

  Before she could think of how to respond, he tugged the heavy box out of her trunk. His biceps bulged under the strain of the desk’s weight.

  She managed the box containing her new chair and followed Billy back inside.

  As they dropped the furniture in her bedroom, he said, “Gimme your keys. I’m going to give you my parking spot out back while you’re here. That way you don’t have to circle looking for a space or end up having to walk a couple blocks at night.”

  “That’s really sweet, Billy, but I don’t want to put you out—” Her gaze latched onto his shoulder, where a thin stream of blood oozed down his back from his cut.

  He turned, saw where she was looking, and frowned. “I’m fine, Shayna.”

  Could he not feel the blood? “No, it’s not that, Billy. You’re bleeding.”

  His head whipped to the side, and he strained to see over his shoulder, but couldn’t. He went into her bathroom and hit the lights. “Aw, shit.”

  “I got the bandages you asked for. I’ll grab them,” she said.

  Without looking at her, he nodded once. She heard the frustrated breath he released as she left the room. It only took her a moment of sorting through the bag to find what she was looking for—and to stumble upon the ice cream which she t
hrew in the freezer.

  When she came back up, he was waiting at the top of the steps. “I got it from here, thanks.”

  “I can help—”

  “I’ve got it,” he said again, not quite meeting her gaze.

  “You helped me, so why can’t I help—”

  “Shayna.”

  “Billy.” She understood how guys like Billy and her brother thought. She’d been around enough of them to know they hated needing help. But that didn’t mean they didn’t actually need it. “You won’t be able to reach. Let me help.”

  He let out a harsh breath, then turned away. “Fine.” He disappeared into his bedroom at the back of the hallway.

  Shayna followed. His room was all dark blues and browns, with a big queen-sized bed dominating the space. And it was as neat as the rest of the house, with not even an errant sock on the floor. She followed the rectangle of light spilling from the master bathroom and found him gathering supplies from the medicine cabinet.

  For a moment, she just stood in the doorway, because she could feel the anger rolling off of him. “I’m sorry that carrying my stupid desk made your shoulder worse.”

  He slanted her a look, and it was clear that he was attempting to beat back his temper. “It didn’t, so don’t worry.”

  “I’m kinda predisposed to think things are my fault, so it can’t be helped.”

  He frowned, and this time all the frustration bled from his expression. “Why do you say that?”

  Because my idiocy and stubbornness killed my brother.

  That was what she thought, but what she said was, “I don’t know. Old habit.”

  Billy shook his head. “Well, this isn’t your fault, Shayna. And I’d be willing to bet that whatever else you’re worrying about isn’t either.” He closed the toilet lid and sat heavily, and Shayna was glad that he looked away, because his words had unleashed a sting at the backs of her eyes. “I hate that I need help with this, not that you’re the one helping.”