After We Fall

by Marquita Valentine

  Honestly, I don’t know why I’m so scared of men anymore. Penn served his time in jail and has moved on, living it up in some tropical country while his family maintains that he’s getting healthy. Always, they want to blame the drugs and alcohol and his post-traumatic stress disorder from serving in Afghanistan. Yes, I know those things fueled his rages, but as the one on the receiving end of his fists and kicks, I don’t give a good damn.

  My lawyer told me I should be grateful he got any time at all because most sons of prominent political figures don’t serve at all.

  “Grateful—ha!” I mutter. The only thing I feel like I should be grateful for is the easy divorce. Although waiting for twelve months to be allowed to divorce is a joke, especially when you consider the circumstances. Or the pictures of what he’d done to me.

  In any case, Forrestville was supposed to be where I start over, not relive my past. Officer Hunter Sloan is not the person I want as my neighbor. He’s not someone I’m interested in at all. The entire male species is off-limits until further notice.

  And there’s no way some hot cop with a sexy smile and—

  “Stop it,” I snap. That’s how things started with Penn. I was nursing a broken heart and met him. A very sexy bad boy in Army fatigues—the exact opposite of my pacifist Boy Scout of an ex-boyfriend who was the epitome of a good guy.

  Apparently, I find extremes very attractive.

  Obviously, I am a stupid girl.

  Dust motes fall, catching the last rays of the sun. They seem to fill the room and sparkle. Reaching out my hand, I try to catch them, but they fall through the cracks between my fingers.

  It’s useless, just like me.

  I have no use.

  I’m empty, but I don’t want to be filled anymore.

  —

  The next day, I go for a walk around the block. I hate running. Mostly I hate running because my right kneecap hasn’t completely healed from where Penn stomped on it.

  The day is already humid, heat rising in waves from the sidewalk on the side of the street that isn’t shaded by trees. It would be better to walk on the shaded side, but I want the sun. I want a tan, but thanks to Penn’s handiwork, I have scars and bruises that haven’t faded completely, so no beach daycations for me.

  Besides, who would I go with? I have no friends or family nearby. In fact, my friends are no longer my friends—Penn had put a stop to that, claiming that my friends were sluts who didn’t respect their husbands. As for my family, they think I’ve moved to the West Coast and have a new job that won’t allow for time off until Christmas.

  My phone rings and I sigh at the familiar tone.

  Somehow my mother knows when I’m thinking of her and always calls. She even called the first time Penn hit me so hard that I couldn’t see straight, which made answering the phone difficult.

  “Hello?”

  “Evangeline, sugar. I was thinking of you,” she begins and I brace for the lecture about coming to see them.

  “I still can’t come home until Christmas.” My heart catches at the sight of a group of mothers pushing strollers. They look so happy in their group, like best friends who have been together for years.

  Quickly, I step into a yard dotted with pink flamingos that have mini HAPPY FIFTIETH, PAULA banners across the front of each one to avoid them.

  “Which is why your father and I are going to fly in to see you,” she says excitedly. “But not until Thanksgiving.”

  Panic fills me and I stumble into a flamingo, sending it to the ground and causing pain to radiate up my leg. I bite back a curse and kneel in the yard to fix the stupid bird.

  I can’t tell her the truth. She doesn’t know the reason why Penn and I separated, only that things didn’t work out and he’s in rehab. I think my parents are sympathetic to that, and maybe even a little disappointed that I would leave my husband in his time of need. Yet another thing that’s my fault.

  But I can’t tell them the truth. I can’t admit that my husband abused me and I stayed with him for six years before finally escaping that hell.

  I just can’t.

  “That sounds great, but I’m not sure if I’ll have my own place by then—”

  “We can get a hotel room.”

  As if that will solve all our problems. Standing, I practically limp out of the yard, hoping that the caravan of moms didn’t see me looking like a fool.

  “It’s not that…” I begin, my mind whirling as I try to come up with another excuse as to why they have to stay put in Holland Springs.

  “We miss you—I miss you,” she says simply, and I cave like a sand castle hit by a wave.

  Tears fill my eyes. “I miss you, too. Maybe…maybe I can find a way to come home instead.” I swallow. “Please don’t buy plane tickets until I know for sure. Okay?”

  “If that’s what you want.” It kills me to hear the disappointment in my momma’s voice because it’s not what I want. The last six years of my life have been all kinds of not what I want.

  But I can’t share that.

  Because I’m a coward.

  “It’s what would work best for me right now,” I reply softly. “Well, I better go. I’m out walking and don’t want to run into a tree or something.”

  “Oh please,” my momma huffs. “You are the most graceful of all my children.”

  “Except when I’m not.” Except when I had to make up stories to explain the bruises. And when I couldn’t…I simply stopped visiting my family and made up excuse after excuse as to why they couldn’t come see me.

  We say goodbye and I end our call, then tuck my phone into my armband. While my yoga pants have no place for a phone, they are long enough to cover everything I need. They’re also black and absorb the sun like nobody’s business.

  As I continue to walk, sweat starts to gather at the small of my back and between my breasts. Looks like today is another scorcher and I’ll be forced to hang out in my apartment again. Alone.

  But you like being alone, I remind myself. Alone is a million times better than with Penn. Or any other man.

  I glance at the shady side of the street, the pull of the shadows enough to make me stop and consider crossing.

  The pounding of shoes on the pavement makes me glance to the side. The sight of my neighbor makes my heart speed up without my permission. I suppose I can blame it on his lack of clothes. On the way his chest is freaking glistening in the sunlight. On the way there’s a dark trail of hair that disappears under the waistband of his running shorts. Or even the hair on his chest—not too much and not too little.

  His mouth is set into a determined line and the muscles of his thighs are clearly defined beneath the material of his shorts as they pull tight across them. A part of me wants to continue to make a study of him, or even compose an ode to his biceps, but that girl is long gone.

  My soon-to-be ex-husband beat her out of me.

  Like me, he’s not wearing any sunglasses, and the moment his gaze locks on to mine, I freeze, like a deer caught in the headlights. My stupid legs won’t move, not even to get into the shade my body craves.

  His lips curve into a smile as he slows. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Lucky me,” I grumble. The old me would love the way he looks at me, but the new me, the wiser me, doesn’t trust him as far as I can throw him. Based on his size, it wouldn’t be very far at all.

  “Are you a runner?” he asks, as if I haven’t been purposefully rude.

  I stare at him for a moment. While I don’t have time for any man, this man did rescue me. This man took me to a safe place. He didn’t lay a hand on me, didn’t tell me it was my fault or ask what I had done to make my husband mad.

  “No, I—”

  “Damn. You’re bleeding.” His gaze drops to my legs.

  “What?” I manage to gasp before he grabs my arm and begins to pull me to one side. It’s not rough, but it’s not what I want. Sheer terror slams my body, nearly forcing me to my knees, but I refuse to cave. I refuse. �
��Let go of me.” The words sound barely human.

  Immediately, he lets go of my arm. There is concern on his face, enough that I start to calm down. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”

  I rub the spot where he’d touched me, but I’m not sure if it’s to rub his touch away or in. “Yeah, you should have.”

  “I really should have. Again, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” He’s serious, sincere, and genuinely concerned, I realize.

  Swallowing down my pride and embarrassment, I nod. “Thanks. My knee is fine. I ran into a flamingo to avoid getting bulldozed by strollers.”

  His mouth quirks and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Despite his intimidating size and overprotective manner, he has nice eyes. Warm eyes. They’re the color of the forest behind my parents’ farm. Penn never had warm eyes, never had eyes the color of warmth. His were icy, cold…colorless like a glacier in the shadow of the clouds.

  Then again, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I could be just as wrong about the man standing next to me as I had been about the man who stood in front of me while he vowed to love, honor, and cherish me.

  “You attacked a defenseless bird?” he asks, pulling me from my head.

  “No.”

  His dark brows draw together, as if he’s questioning my story. “It attacked you?”

  Flustered at the line of questioning, I snap, “It was stationary. Look, I wasn’t breaking the law.”

  “You were trespassing on Paula Case’s yard.”

  My jaw drops. “You saw that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s against the law to spy on people.”

  “You were in plain sight.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, muscles rippling. I can’t help but stare. The tattoos on his biceps and at the top of his hips don’t help things. “My eyes are up here, gorgeous.”

  My mouth opens and closes a couple of times even as my gaze snaps to his face. “I wasn’t—”

  “You were.”

  Yeah, I totally was. “Don’t call me gorgeous.”

  “Wouldn’t have to, if you’d give me your real name.”

  I flush hot. “You already know who I am.”

  “Fine.” His lips flatten. “My eyes are up here, angel.”

  That was not the response I was expecting. Actually, I don’t know what to expect at all. I don’t know how to act around men anymore.

  “My name’s not angel.”

  “It was either that or demon.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.” Uncrossing his arms, he rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Pretty hard to make demon out of the name Evangeline, but not for lack of trying.”

  “You—you…arg!” I can’t say anything to that. I don’t know why I’ve engaged in conversation this long with him as it is. “Stay on your side of the street, Hunter.”

  A slow grin appears on his face. It’s both sexy and infuriating. “Yes, ma’am.”

  With a little growl, I check both ways before storming across the street.

  “You forgot to look right again,” he calls out. “That’s not very safe, angel.”

  “I got your angel.” I flip him off, uncaring who sees me. Uncaring that he’s a cop who could probably find a reason to arrest me for being a jerk to him.

  His laughter follows me almost all the way back home.

  Chapter 3

  Hunter

  I head in to work that afternoon with Evangeline on my mind. Once she stormed off, I didn’t see her again. Not that I expected to, but her car didn’t move all day. There was no movement within her apartment, either. To be fair, we don’t share a wall, and besides that, our apartments have thick-ass walls with extra insulation between them so that they’re extremely energy efficient and keep our electric bill down.

  Keeping my bills down is what spoke to me the most when I decided on moving to Rose Haven. The name reminds me of an old folks’ home, but the manager of the place insisted it was named for the large rose garden in the back.

  Regardless of the lower utility bills or the name of the place, I screwed up this morning by touching that beautiful woman. Pure panic had entered her gaze a beat before she ordered me to not touch her.

  I won’t make that mistake again.

  Besides, I’d rather have her telling me off. Or even better, flipping me off. That show of sass was damn hot. Almost as hot as when I caught her staring at me. Again.

  Earlier, I thought she was staring to show me she wasn’t frightened or intimidated by me. But now I know she likes what she sees.

  Not that it will do me any good.

  “Sloan, Holcomb, get in here,” the captain calls from his office.

  Dwight shoots me a look and I shake my head in response. “Looks like it’s going to be one of those nights,” my partner says as we make our way to the captain’s office.

  “Shut the door behind you,” he says as we walk inside.

  Yeah, it’s really going to be one of those nights.

  —

  When I was a kid, my father liked to take me to underground fight clubs. He liked to put me in the ring with guys who were twice my size. I was a scrapper, he’d say with pride. Of course, he never went into the ring, preferring to beat up on my mom and me when we pissed him off for breathing or some shit like that. I used to hope and pray that he’d go into the ring, that he’d start taking his first-world problems out on men his own size, but that never happened. That kind of thing never does.

  Back then, underground fighting was strictly illegal. But now…

  I dodge a left hook and nail my opponent in the face with a quick jab.

  Now it’s popular. A thing, if you will.

  He gets me with a sharp blow to the side of the head, and I see stars. The crowd boos and hisses as the stars fade away. Apparently, I’m the popular one tonight.

  Shaking off the pain and dizziness, I dig in deep to finish off this punk.

  Dude’s got a long reach, but mine’s longer. I pull back my left arm and let it fly, clipping him square in the chin. He goes down like a ton of bricks, landing on his side. Blood flies from his mouth, spattering on the floor in a grotesque half halo.

  The ref grabs my hand, yanking my arm in the air while I suck in all the oxygen I can get. Blood and sweat run down my body, my side hurts like a son of a bitch, and I think I broke one of my toes.

  All in all, not a bad night.

  “Winner by KO.”

  The crowd goes wild. They like the show, the blood, and they like a quick fight even more. I blame it on social media, really. Most people have an attention span the size of a gnat.

  The ref lets go of me and Hayden comes out onto the floor. He’s kind of like my manager and takes care of the business end of things. Either way, trying to work out a schedule that is good for both our jobs is a bitch. We make it work and I give him twenty-five percent of the purse.

  “You killed it tonight.” He hands over a bottle of water and I drink most of it up before we’re out of the cage.

  I glance over my shoulder at my opponent, who is being dragged across the floor by his manager and an assistant. He lifts his head, pinning me with a snarl.

  “Better watch that one. He’ll be back and he’ll want revenge. He’s not just here for the purse,” Hayden warns.

  “What a surprise.” You can always tell when fighters are here because they like the violence of it. They love the blood and bruises. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fucking angel, but I don’t revel in the gruesome. Fighting like this is a way to make sure I never become my dad. I hit on guys who pay entry fees and willingly step into the cage.

  My chest heaves as I make my way to the locker room in the back.

  “Think I broke a toe,” I say as we step inside.

  Hayden sucks in air through his teeth. “Hope not. That’s a bitch to heal.”

  The door shuts behind us and the noise of the crowd dims. Endorphins that had flooded my body during the fight are almost go
ne, and the pain that I could barely feel before is steadily rising to son-of-a-bitch levels.

  “Hit the shower,” he says.

  “Aye, fire captain.” I shuffle off to the back of the room. Once I’m feeling mostly human again, I exit the shower, towel off, and pull on a pair of athletic shorts.

  “Where’s Cortez?” I ask, referring to the medic who’s always on staff.

  “Busy with Franz, but you’re in luck. Owners hired more staff.”

  Hayden glances at my face, chest, and hands before motioning the second medic over. While Hayden is trained to take care of minor injuries, it’s not his job here at the Laboratory. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

  While the new medic examines me, I lean back against the chair and watch as Hayden speaks to another manager. They leave, presumably to settle things up.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” the medic asks.

  I lift my gaze. “Three.”

  “Good.”

  While she checks my vitals, I scan the room. The locker room is tricked out like one at a professional sports team arena. The owners have absolutely no problem shelling out major bucks for top-of-the-line employees and amenities for us.

  “Just a sprain,” the medic says. I don’t know her name because she’s new.

  “I’m Hunter and you are—?”

  She smiles at me. “Nora. Nice fight tonight.” Grabbing her bag, she searches through it and produces some antiseptic as well as Band-Aids.

  “Thanks. First day?”

  “No. Second.”

  Laughing, I reply, “You’re practically a veteran now.”

  Her smile turns into a grin. “This is going to hurt.”

  I hiss a little at the first sting. “You’re not kidding.”

  “It’s a nasty little gash on your arm—looks like he cut you with something, which is illegal as hell.” Blowing on the wound for a few seconds, she gives me this long, slow look. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah,” I all but grunt. “I’ll get my manager to check things out for me.”

  The light catches the red in her hair. She’s pretty, capable, and knows about fighting. “Do you think your manager would mind if I took you out for a drink later?”