Parker (Striking Back #3)

by S. M. Shade

  My weak ankle aches as I stand in the shower, reminding me I’ve not been on it unsupported for this long. Oh well, I’ll rest it later. I’ve also forgotten to eat lunch. Parker would have a fit.

  My determined mood instantly falls as Parker’s smile flashes in front of me. It hasn’t been a day and I miss him already. I just have to stay busy. Stay strong. I have plenty to do to get my life in order and I damn sure don’t need a man holding my hand to get it accomplished.

  I manage to keep myself together until Jensen is standing in my living room. The night before comes flooding back and I burst into tears. This man saved my life. He killed for me. “Thank you,” I sob, grabbing him in a tight hug.

  “Hey now, don’t cry. Everything’s okay.” He awkwardly rubs my back.

  “I’m so sorry. Sorry you had to kill someone.” I step back and wipe my eyes.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. I don’t regret shooting that asshole. I’m just sorry I didn’t get him the first time, before he could hurt you.”

  “Let’s just call it water under the bridge. I need to put all this behind me.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “By the way, my P.A. Janet has a huge crush on you,” I tell him as we make our way to his car.

  “Little blond at your office?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, you need to hook that up, sweetheart.”

  Laughing, I agree.

  Our visit to the police station isn’t as bad as I feared. My eyes keep darting to the door, afraid Parker will show up to give his statement, until Jensen assures me he’s already been here. Less than an hour after we left the house, we’re back at my apartment.

  “Shit,” Jensen curses, rounding the car to open the trunk. “I almost forgot. Parker asked me to give you your stuff.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat when he pulls out my suitcase and laptop bag. “Thanks. Do you know if Striking Back accepts furniture donations?”

  “Absolutely, you looking to get rid of something?”

  “Everything in the living room and bedroom. I have new stuff being delivered tomorrow.”

  “Sure, let me make a call.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this minute.” I laugh. “You’ve done enough, really.”

  “It’s okay. Just takes a second. They can send a volunteer. Would you rather they come today or tomorrow?”

  I lead him into the living room. “Whatever works.”

  “Would you like me to wait with you until they show up?” he asks, after making the call.

  He really is a sweetheart. “Nope, I’m good. Just going to grab something to eat and start cleaning.”

  I’m surprised when he hugs me. “Take care of yourself, girl. Go easy on that ankle and don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks for everything,” I mumble into his neck.

  “I mean it. I never had a little sister so you’re now stuck with the position.”

  “I’m honored.”

  See, I tell myself as I close the door behind him, there are still good guys out there. And maybe someday when I’m able to think about Parker without my stomach knotting up, I’ll find another one.

  Ms. Den shows up with two volunteers to retrieve the furniture. “I just had to see how you’re doing,” she says, giving me a big hug. “And feed you of course.” She places two aluminum pans on the table.

  “Thank you! You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You cleaning house?” Her wise eyes dart around the living room as the volunteers begin carrying furniture to the panel van out front.

  “I need a change.”

  “My grandma used to say a change is as good as a rest. Of course, she also used to tell me to quit going around my ass to get to my elbow, so take that as you will.”

  It feels good to laugh. “I’m glad you came. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done. When things settle down, I’ll be sure to pop in Striking Back to help out.”

  “You do that, honey, and don’t let none of Parker’s bullshit keep you away. I swear if that boy had a second brain it’d be lonely.”

  I giggle until tears roll down my face. We chat and laugh until the van’s loaded and they have to go. Like Ev, Mason, and Jensen, she makes me promise to call if I need anything or just want to talk. I may be single, but I’m not alone and that really helps me keep going.

  When I settle into my double size recliner—my lone piece of living room furniture—to sleep, I realize I’ve made it through the day without breaking down over Parker. No crying or panic attacks. I’m a little proud of myself. With reruns of an old sitcom playing on the T.V. for company, I fall into a deep sleep.

  I don’t know what wakes me, the nightmare or the fact I can’t breathe. The clock tells me it’s nearly five a.m. when I stumble out of the recliner. Not knowing where to go, I sit down on the cool floor and try to talk myself through the worst attack I’ve had in weeks.

  Dizziness is making me nauseous and the dark encroaching on the edges of my vision makes me afraid I’m going to pass out. Parker’s voice sounds in my head. “Breathe, doll. In and out. The air is there. Just breathe. You can do it.”

  I can do it. I force myself to focus on my breathing and my vision slowly clears, the nausea abating. I grab for the T.V. remote and switch to a movie. Distraction, that’s what helps the most. I crawl back into the recliner and cuddle up with my blanket.

  As I watch the window for any sign of dawn approaching, I’ve never felt so lonely in my life. My eyelids grow heavy and the next thing I know, my eight o’clock alarm is blaring. I made it through the night. Time to start day two of my new life.

  * * * *

  The new furniture looks great and with the new airy lace curtains in the living room, the room is much brighter, more cheerful. I’ve always loved the yellow walls, but it was so dreary with Al’s dark curtains. I make up my bed with clean sheets and a new body pillow, bought because I need something to cuddle at night.

  By that evening, my apartment is sparkling clean and doesn’t have a trace of Al left in it. The man down the hall works for a thrift store and was more than happy to take Al’s clothes. Since he has no family to claim anything, the rest gets tossed.

  Janet is thrilled when I call to tell her we’re going back to the office. We make plans to meet for breakfast first, and I find myself really looking forward to the next day. After pigging out on Ms. Den’s chicken alfredo, followed by a large slice of chocolate cake, I crawl into bed.

  Despite feeling exhausted, I can’t sleep. I’ve tried to block out all thoughts of Parker, but as I lie here, the bed feels massive. And so damned empty. I remember the magical night in Vegas, watching the dancing fountains as he whispered his love into my ear. Was that really only a few days ago? I was so happy. When it comes to Parker, I guess the saying is true. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

  I’ve been so strong and I can’t help but be a bit disappointed in myself when I cry myself to sleep. Another day. Another nightmare. Another panic attack. At least this one waited until my usual wake up time. I can’t keep going on like this. As much as I hate to, I’m going to have to see a therapist if I want to move on.

  I’m feeling better by the time Janet comes bouncing into the corner café, all smiles. “Macy! I’m so glad to see you looking all healthy. You scared the shit out of me, and your hot bodyguards wouldn’t let me see you.”

  “Don’t take it personal. They kept everyone away. I’m sorry you were there that day. I never meant to put you in danger.”

  She flops into the seat across from me and shrugs. “You didn’t, he did, and from what I hear, he got what was coming to him.”

  “That he did.”

  “So,” she chirps, “I have some amazing news. A.L. Primm contacted me about editing her new series.”

  My jaw drops. A.L. Primm is the hottest new romance writer and it’s no secret she’s been trying to break her contract with her publisher to go Indie. Apparently, she was s
uccessful. This is a huge account.

  “Don’t screw with me, girl,” I warn, and Janet giggles.

  “Five books, Macy. She saw the work you did on Mina Kull’s books and tracked you down.”

  “This is huge! We’ll get more work than we can handle!” I cry.

  “She wants to meet you this week if you can.”

  “Are you kidding? Anytime, anywhere. Set it up.” Damn, did I need some good news.

  “You got it.”

  “I have some news for you too.” Her eyebrows climb her forehead at the sight of my teasing smile. “Jensen wants to take you out.”

  Confusion clouds her face. “Jensen?”

  “Giant muscled bear of a man? My bodyguard the day I was attacked?”

  Janet’s blue eyes nearly fall out of her head. “Are you serious? Did you give him my number?”

  “I wanted to check with you first.”

  “Do it! Text it to him now!”

  Laughing, I do as she asks. “Finish your breakfast. We’ve got to kick some ass to finish our existing projects if we’re going to work with A. L. Primm.”

  * * * *

  Indecision is my biggest enemy as I stand outside the therapist’s office. I hate this. I shouldn’t have to go whining to a stranger to solve my problems. I just don’t see any other option.

  The panic attacks are exhausting and I have a ton of work to do. Determined to see this through, I venture inside. A short wait later, I’m ushered into the office of a kind eyed older woman. “Um, I’ve never done this before and I don’t know what to say,” I mumble.

  “Why don’t you just tell me why you think you need therapy?” she encourages with a soft smile.

  I spend the next forty minutes pouring out everything. Al’s abuse, my time in the shelter and safe houses, my relationship with Parker, Al’s death. It all comes spilling out, leaving me feeling strangely relieved.

  “You’ve been through a great deal in a short period of time, Ms. Tanner. I’m not surprised by any of the symptoms you’ve described. You seem to be coping very well, considering it’s only been a week since you’ve resumed your everyday activities.”

  “I’m trying to be strong, but the attacks still keep coming almost every day.”

  She nods. “It will take time, but if you’re willing to work with me, I’m sure I can help you alleviate these episodes.”

  “I’ll do anything, but…I’d rather not take drugs if it can be avoided.”

  Her smile widens. “I’d rather you didn’t either. We’ll try talk therapy. Now, let me teach you a few techniques you can use when you feel anxious.”

  When I walk out of her office a few minutes later, I’m feeling more hopeful than I have in months. “Hello,” I chirp, picking up my cell phone on the first ring.

  “Macy! You sound happy. How are you doing?” Everly asks. She calls to check on me every day.

  “I’m having a good day.”

  “Great. Well, since it’s Friday night, I’m coming over. Should I bring wine or ice cream?”

  “Wine,” I reply with a giggle. “I have a month’s supply of ice cream.”

  “Really? Just like that? No argument?”

  “I’m celebrating. I just landed a huge account at work.”

  “Do you mind if Marie comes along?”

  “Sure, bring her and I’ll invite my friend Janet.”

  “Girl’s night!” Everly squeals. “See you soon.”

  Parker

  Every step away from Macy feels like a step in the wrong direction. All I want is to go back and tell her I was wrong, that I love her and we’ll find a way to make it work. I just can’t. I can’t do that to her or myself.

  She’s better off without me and the danger my job could bring. She damn sure can’t count on me to protect her. I need to let her go, try to forget her. Deep down, I know that’s not going to happen.

  I’ve never hurt like this before, not even when my high school girlfriend of three years cheated on me. I thought I loved her. I thought she broke my heart. I was wrong. This is what heartbreak feels like and it’s fucking brutal. When Everly broke Mason’s heart, he stayed drunk for two days. I head to the gym. We all have our ways to deal, to escape.

  Reed Brothers Gym is empty. It’s still too early for classes and past the morning workout rush. I nod to Janice at the counter and continue to my locker. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone. After a quick change into shorts and a t-shirt, I jump on the treadmill for a warm up. Over the next hour I steadily increase the speed until I’m running flat out, my lungs burning for oxygen, sweat soaking my clothes.

  It’s no good. I can’t outrun her. I can’t outrun the musical way she laughs, her adorable smile, the feel of her flawless skin beneath my fingers. No amount of physical pain can mask the aching emptiness in my chest. I need to hit something.

  After weeks away, I’m stiff, my muscles tight. I’ll never be able to get my leg up if I don’t stretch out. That’s how Alex finds me thirty minutes later, sitting on the floor doing the splits.

  “Ow, just because you don’t need them at the moment is no reason to squash the nuts, man.”

  “Gear up. I came to whip your ass.”

  “Give me ten.” Alex pauses on the walk to his locker. “I’m sorry, Park. Mason told me what happened.”

  “She’s better off. We both are.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Alex, brother, I love you, but I’m warning you…not now.”

  With a nod, he heads off to get changed. A few minutes later, we’re face to face on the mats. “I’ve only got a month until The Children’s Hospital Tournament, so don’t go easy. Brandon Taylor is entered in the beginner thirteen to fifteen year old division so he’ll be in later to train.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Good. Keeps dropping his left and crossing his feet, but we’re working on it.” Alex flashes a grin. “You know, Jules Fleming from East/West dropped out. Tore a ligament in his knee. They have an empty slot for your division.”

  “Sign me up,” I order, and he looks up in surprise.

  “I was just screwing with you.”

  “I need the distraction.”

  “You’d only have a month to train,” he points out. “And it’s been a few years since you’ve competed.”

  I’ve never really been into the competitions. As a kid, MMA was my life. I threw myself into it, determined to be as good as my brothers. I still love it, the training, the adrenaline coursing through my veins during a fight, but I’ve never had the desire to make it a career like Mason did.

  I enjoy teaching and watching it brighten the faces of children who have been through some of the same things I have, but tournaments aren’t high on my to do list. Right now, though, it’s just what I need. “I can do it.”

  “All right, let’s hit it then. Get your saggy ass in shape.”

  Macy sure as hell didn’t think my ass was saggy. Shit. Not going there.

  Alex and I put each other through the ringer for the next hour and a half. It’s a relief to focus on blocking and countering. One thing fighting has always been good for is clearing my head.

  “I’m done,” Alex pants, stripping off his gloves when his phone rings. “Brandon will be here in an hour.”

  “I’ll work with him.”

  Nodding, Alex jogs to the back office, scooping his phone off the bench on the way. Judging by his distracted expression, there may be some trouble in his paradise as well.

  My eyes fall on the back staircase as I guzzle a bottle of water. I should never have brought Macy here. Now, I’m stuck with the memory of her wrapped around my body while I carried her to the roof, kissing her soft lips under a spray of fireworks. Fuck.

  I need a distraction, a project. Now would be the perfect time to remodel the second level and create a space for a women’s self-defense class. I’ve seen the look on women’s faces—hell on some of the men’s too—when they walk in for the first time and see two fighters beating the c
rap out of each other. It’s intimidating. The new space would need to be more welcoming with less of a “lose a tooth here” feel to it. A safe place.

  Grabbing a notebook and pen, I take the stairs two at a time to start a list of what needs to be done. “Parker! Taylor is here!” Alex pulls me out of my head and back into the dusty room. Has it been an hour already?

  “Let’s do this, Mr. Reed,” Brandon Taylor calls across the gym, a wide smile on his face when I appear at the bottom of the stairs. He dances around punching the air. I can’t help but smile at the kid. He’s a poster child for how martial arts can boost self-confidence. A year ago, he was a bony, shy kid being terrorized by bullies at school.

  When he stepped through the door with his anxious mother, misery and fear battled on his face. Now, he’ll fight a kid twice his size and smile while he does it. We like to tease him about his crush, Karen Michaels, one of our intermediate students. “Are you in that much of a hurry to get knocked on your ass?”

  “Alex says you’re slow today and I can take you down no problem,” he taunts while I wrap my hands.

  “You know by now not to listen to him. He was eating that mat an hour ago.” I grab two target pads and hold them up. “Show me a backfist followed by a reverse punch. Don’t let me touch you with the bag.”

  Following my directions, he falls into a rhythm. Backfist, reverse punch, duck the bag when I swing at his head. “So, have you invited Karen to the tournament?” I ask. His rhythm falters and I’m able to clip his ear.

  Alex laughs. “See what girls do? They make you lose focus.”

  “They can be distracting,” Brandon agrees, still running the drill. “I hated fighting that woman who came in last week.”

  I know exactly who he means and it cracks me up. A woman from out of state asked if she could workout with us while she was in town. It’s not out of the ordinary and of course, we welcomed her.

  Turned out she had some titties that belong in the hall of fame. Her sports bra and compression shirt did nothing to keep them under control. “Kid, I couldn’t look away either. She could’ve beat me to a pulp before I knew it was coming. Those jugs were huge.”