Seaside Nights

by Melissa Foster

  And in the next second, reality sank in.

  No matter how great of a kisser he was, or how she felt like they’d connected on so many levels, he was still a fighter.

  A boxer.

  He stepped into a ring and beat someone up. For money.

  For his father? At least partially, but she knew that was a rationalization.

  He was a fighter, a competitor.

  She’d challenged him with her body, and he’d won her with his words—but could she win their biggest challenge? Her acceptance of his career?

  Chapter Six

  SAWYER RAN DOWN the beach with the sun at his back. It was just after dawn, and he was nearing the end of his six-mile run. His house came into view, sitting high atop a dune in the distance. The summer house that his parents had called a cottage had been in his family for generations. Sawyer was the only one living in the large bay-front home, and it was much larger than he needed. But the familial history was important to him—and to his parents.

  In the years between when his parents had sold their summer house and when Sawyer had bought it back, his parents had lost too many good summers, during his father’s strongest years. But at least it was back in the family. Sawyer’s parents never asked for a damn thing from him, besides for him to be an upstanding citizen and follow his heart—but they gave him unconditional love, emotional support, and strength every day of his life. Buying back the cottage, and winning the upcoming fight, couldn’t compare to what they’d given him, how they’d taught him to succeed and to believe in himself.

  He sprinted the last quarter mile over the dunes. He might have run toward Wellfleet to seek out Sky at the Seaside community, but he had a feeling that if he was lucky enough to find her, his training would fall by the wayside. And that was not an option, no matter how much he enjoyed her company.

  He tossed his gear into his truck and drove down to Cape Boxing in Eastham. Sawyer had trained in many clubs, but Cape Boxing had become his second home. He trained there several hours each day.

  Boxing clubs weren’t like the more-common fitness centers where families went to work out with plush child-care centers, lavish planters and other decorations, bars serving overpriced fruity drinks, and Top 40 music playing overhead. Fight clubs had one purpose—to provide a training ground for fighting. It was a tough, bloody sport, and there was no room for froufrou anything. Concrete walls and painted floors served them well. The clubs Sawyer enjoyed most were located in warehouse-style buildings with open trussed ceilings and heel-scuffed floors, like Cape Boxing. When he was training, he didn’t want distractions of any kind. He needed to be highly focused—mind, body, and spirit.

  Today the club environment wasn’t an issue. He wondered how he would rein in his focus with thoughts of Sky lingering in his mind.

  Before heading inside, he snapped a picture of himself and scrolled through his contacts to find Sky’s number. He found it under Sweet Summer Sky, and smiled at her programming his phone with the name he’d called her.

  You are my sweet summer Sky.

  Their evening together made this his sweetest summer yet. He typed a text message: See the empty space beside me? Wish you were here. Then he attached the photo of himself and sent it off to Sky, before heading inside for his training session.

  The sound of gloves hitting a heavy bag was like music to Sawyer’s ears. His steps became more determined as he strode past the front desk.

  “Hey, Songbird,” Brock “the Beast” Garner said from behind the desk. Brock was a local fighter. He was six four, two thirty, with thick blond hair and a smile that softened him like a gentle giant. He owned the gym, worked as a trainer, and was one of Sawyer’s closest friends.

  “Beast,” Sawyer said in return. Most of the fighters called each other by their boxing names. Songbird had been Sawyer’s nickname since he first met Roach, because when he’d first started training as a kid, Roach had made him scrub down the gym, and he’d sung under his breath while he worked. Roach had coined the nickname, and it had stuck ever since.

  “Can you spare some training time this week?” Brock asked. “I’ve got a group of adults and a group of teens dying for training. They’re going into Hyannis to Eagen Boxing because I don’t have the time to train.”

  “I’d love to make time each week, but between my own training, renovating the house, and getting over to see my folks, I’m swamped.” And now he had Sky to think about spending time with, too.

  “One day I’m going to kick your ass and make you commit,” Brock teased.

  “You know I’ll do you a solid and train when I can. Right now my time’s a little tight. Is Roach here yet?” Roach was one of the best-known boxing trainers on the East Coast. He trained world champion boxers and UFC fighters, and Sawyer knew how lucky he was to have him as not just his trainer, but his mentor and friend.

  “In the back,” Brock answered. “Hey, we’re all going down to Undercover tomorrow night for a cappella night. You want to drive down with me?”

  “Nah. I’ll meet you guys there.” Years ago, on a dare, Sawyer, Roach, and Brock had sung a cappella at the bar Brock’s brother Colton owned, and they’d continued doing it every few weeks since then. It was a great stress reliever and a lot of fun. Sawyer knew that when Brock said we’re all going, he was referring to his younger sisters, Jana and Harper. Brock’s siblings had become the siblings Sawyer never had. They got together often and supported each other through bad times and good.

  Sawyer walked through the club, passing the bag area, where heavy bags, double-end bags, and other training bags hung from thick metal chains. He nodded at the two guys working out there, then passed the two boxing rings off to his left and found Roach talking on his cell phone and pacing by the locker rooms. Roach nodded at him, then turned his back and continued his conversation. He was a formidable man with massive arms and a thick barrel chest. The breadth of his shoulders was twice the size of his waist. He kept his jet-black hair cropped close to his head, giving him a startlingly tough look, and like his three brothers, when Roach was working, he was about as gruff as they came.

  Sawyer set his bag down and began wrapping his hands for his bag workout.

  He looked across the room at the boxing ring, and his gut churned. He was sparring after the bag work, and for the first time ever, as his doctor’s warning rang through his mind, the ring looked slightly menacing. He couldn’t allow himself to give the warning a second thought. Second thoughts led to doubt, and doubt led to carelessness, which in turn would likely lead him to exactly what gave him the second thought in the first place—the threat of permanent brain damage.

  Roach ended his call and slapped Sawyer on the back. “How’s your pop, Songbird?”

  “Not bad. You know. Good days, bad days,” he answered as he finished wrapping his hands and reached for his gloves.

  “You get a clean bill of health from the doc?” Roach shoved his phone in his pocket and looked over the bags while Sawyer mulled over his answer.

  “About as clean as you’d expect.” He handed his gloves to Roach, who eyed him suspiciously while he helped him put them on.

  “Meaning?” Roach had eyes that could flash hot as fire or cold as ice. Either way they could elicit fear from anyone within a ten-foot radius. At the moment they were riding a fine line in between.

  Sawyer had no interest in pushing him over either side, so he chose silence and took a step toward the bag.

  Roach grabbed his arm. “Spit it out or you don’t train.”

  “Roach. Let it go.” Roach had been right there in the trenches with Sawyer when he’d learned of his father’s diagnosis, and he’d stayed with him every step of the way as his father’s disease progressed. Roach worked him hard when he needed it and gave him space to run off the pain when the ring was too confining. He was also a veteran in the industry, and Sawyer had no doubt that his savvy coach knew exactly what he was trying his best to hide.

  Roach wrapped a thick arm over Sawye
r’s shoulder and pushed his forearm against his neck, slowly tightening like a vise grip. “Three. Two—”

  “Fine.” He flung Roach’s arm away from his neck and muttered, “Asshole.”

  Roach crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at Sawyer.

  “One more punch to the head,” Sawyer said with a piercing pain in his gut. Somehow saying it out loud made it more real. “You know the score. They try to scare the shit out of you to cover their butts.”

  Roach didn’t say a word. His biceps twitched, and his eyes shifted to the ring.

  “Say something or let’s train. I’ve got a lot of shit to get out of my head.”

  “What’s your plan?” Roach’s dead-calm tone made Sawyer edgy.

  “Train like a bastard and win the title—then I’ll think about retiring.”

  “Goddamn it, Sawyer. You can’t disregard what he said with a generalization like he’s covering his ass.”

  Sawyer stepped closer, challenging him with a narrow-eyed stare. “I’m going to fight with or without you. I’m going to win with or without you. And my father is going to have every fucking penny he needs. Now, either train me or step aside.”

  Roach stepped so close Sawyer could smell the anger on his breath and feel the ice in his stare. “You stubborn ass. I haven’t trained you all these years to hand you over to some other trainer who will run you into the ground. If you’re stupid enough and determined enough to do this, you’re sure as hell not doing it without me. I actually give a shit about you, and no other coach is going to. It’s your head and my rep on the line, so don’t fuck it up.” He paused, clenching his teeth repeatedly. “But you’d better think long and hard about this, because I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one greeting your mother in the hospital to tell her that now she not only has a husband to look after, but a son, too.”

  Roach walked away, leaving Sawyer to stew in his own effed-up situation.

  ***

  AT NINE O’CLOCK Sky was still sitting on the deck of Amy and Tony’s cottage, having breakfast with Jenna, Amy, and Bella. She loved mornings at Seaside, when she and the girls caught up from the night before and their husbands went jogging together. The last few years she’d come to Seaside for breakfast several times each week even though she hadn’t been staying there. The girls and their husbands had welcomed her into their lives when she moved back to help her father with his store, and they’d become as close as family.

  Leanna Remington came out of her cottage with her fluffy white Labradoodle, Pepper, trotting along beside her. She held up two jars of jam as she crossed the gravel road and joined them. Her dark hair hung loose and wild over her shoulders, and her batik tank top had streaks of red jam on it. Leanna had married probably the only man on earth who could put up with her disorganized and messy ways, which was funny, because Kurt was as methodical, organized, and neat as they came. He was forever cleaning stains from her clothing, and the girls never failed to tease them about it.

  “My newest creation!” Leanna set the jars of Luscious Leanna’s Sweet Treats jam on the table while Pepper wound around the girls’ feet and licked their bare legs, whimpering for attention, which they happily lavished on him. Leanna had started Luscious Leanna’s a few summers ago, and now her jellies and jams were sold all over the Cape and used in restaurants as well.

  “Wait until you try my Moon-Shine Jelly,” Leanna said with a wide smile. “I’m spelling it with a hyphen between moon and shine just to give it a little something special. It tastes just like apple pie. It’s made with chardonnay, apple, cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar. It’s so good I’m surprised I haven’t gained ten pounds while perfecting the recipe.”

  “That sounds amazing.” Jenna reached across the table for a jar.

  Bella smacked her hand. “You can’t have moonshine.” She laid her hand over her very pregnant belly and eyed Jenna’s smaller baby bump. “Your baby needs calcium, not alcohol.”

  Jenna’s jaw was still gaping when Amy giggled and reached for a jar. “The alcohol burns off, Bella.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances.” Bella brushed her thick blond hair from her shoulder.

  “Don’t be silly.” Leanna slathered jelly on a piece of toast and set it on her plate. “I know you’re worried about what Evan and Caden will say, but I’ll explain to them that it’s fine.” Evan was Bella’s stepson. As soon as he’d found out Bella was pregnant, he and Caden, Bella’s husband, had begun watching every move she made and everything she put in her mouth. They were so excited for the baby to be born that they’d decorated the entire nursery before she was even three months along.

  “Evan has turned into quite the doting stepson, hasn’t he?” Jenna spread jelly on her toast, then fed a piece to Pepper, who had curled up at her feet. “I can still hardly believe he’s almost nineteen. Where has the time gone?”

  “Speaking of time,” Amy said. “I think the guys will be back from their run soon and I wanted to talk to Sky before they get here. How was your date with guitar boy?”

  “Guitar boy…” Jenna raised her brows in quick succession. “I bet he knows how to strum your strings.”

  “I bet he’s got good rhythm, too,” Bella said with a smirk. “Does he like it fast and hard or soft and melodious?”

  Sky couldn’t stifle her laugh as she said, “That man can strum like nobody’s business.”

  Jenna, Leanna, and Bella burst out laughing. Amy squealed and hugged Sky.

  “You naughty, naughty girl,” Bella said. “I’m so proud of our little Sky. She’s growing up to be just as dirty as all of us.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself,” Amy teased.

  Jenna tugged at her maternity top, which was stretched tight across her enormous boobs. “Sky’s been strummed! And? Are you going to see him again, or was this a one-hit strummer?”

  “We didn’t sleep together,” Sky clarified.

  “So he just strummed?” Leanna wrinkled her brow. “Strumming is good, right? We like strumming.”

  “Strumming,” Bella repeated. “His fingers took a walk on the wild side.”

  Sky covered her face. “Oh my God.”

  Leanna’s cheeks flamed. “Oh. Oh! Sorry. You guys are much quicker to catch on with this stuff than me.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Leanna. You just have a cleaner mind than we do.” Jenna leaned in closer to Sky and lowered her voice. “But she gets more sex than all of us combined. You should have heard them last night.”

  “Jenna!” Amy snapped.

  “Kurt.” Jenna crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. “Right…there. Oh, yeeeeeeessss.”

  Leanna turned beet red. “Did we forget to close the window again?”

  “Do you ever remember?” Bella patted her hand, then turned to Sky. “When are you seeing strummer boy again?”

  “Tonight, at Pete and Jenna’s bonfire, but don’t you dare call him that.” Sky dug her phone from her bag. “He’s so hot. I mean, sexy hot, super-sexy hot, ultra-sexy hot. Not just hot, but…scorching freaking hot.”

  “We get it—he’s hot,” Jenna said as Sky handed her the phone. “Jesus. He looks even better than he did at Governor Bradford’s. I’d let him strum me as much as he wanted. You lucky girl.” She handed the phone to Bella.

  “Don’t let my brother hear you say that, or he’ll kick Sawyer’s ass for being hot.” Sky closed her eyes and tipped her face up toward the sun, thinking about how sensually and erotically she and Sawyer had danced together. Her body flamed with the memory of his hips gyrating against hers, his hands traveling over her—

  “Hello? Earth to Sky.” Bella’s voice drew her from her reverie. “I love that he said he wished you were with him this morning. And your response was perfect.”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “You read my response?” She’d texted, Maybe tomorrow we’ll wake up together.

  “Our little Sky has a sexier side than we thought,” Amy said as she gazed at the picture of Sawyer and the tex
t. “I’m glad someone else can be the brunt of the jokes this summer instead of me.”

  “You can tease me all you want, but you guys know I don’t sleep around.”

  “We know,” they said in unison.

  “We were plotting Operation Get Sky Laid just yesterday.” Bella winked.

  “He’s muscular, like Tony,” Leanna said as she handed the phone back to Sky.

  “Yes, he is, which reminds me. He boxes.” She knew her tone made it sound as awful as if she’d said, He never bathes.

  “That makes him even hotter,” Jenna said as she reached for another piece of toast.

  Leanna turned empathetic eyes to Sky. “Are you okay with him boxing?”

  Sky shrugged. “I’ve been compartmentalizing. I think about his romantic, poetic, warm, and sexy sides.” She pointed down the hill toward the pool. “And somewhere way down there, far, far away, are thoughts about his boxing.”

  “Mm-hm,” Bella said. “You’re in denial.”

  “Big-time,” Amy added.

  “He’s a good strummer. Give her a break,” Jenna said. “We’ve all ignored certain things when the sex was too great to walk away from.”

  “We didn’t have sex,” Sky reminded her.

  “But you want to,” Jenna said with wide eyes.

  “More than you can imagine, which probably makes me a slut, because we’ve gone out on only one very long, very fun, very revealing date.”

  “Well, you’re definitely not a slut,” Amy said. “If you were, you would have slept with Blue.”

  “Oh, gosh,” Leanna said. “Does Blue know? He’s so protective of you.”

  “Yeah. He met Sawyer, actually,” Sky said. “He seemed to like him, but he got a little funny.”