Complicated Creatures: Part One

by Alexi Lawless

  “Guys,” Jack started. “Thanks for being my corner men,” he told them sincerely. “I probably wouldn’t have lasted that long without your help.”

  “No sweat,” Talon replied, an ornery smile lighting his face as he tied his hair back into a ponytail. “Call me anytime you have a death wish.”

  “We’re just glad you didn’t get killed on our watch,” Rush joked. “Well, we’re gonna go out and celebrate for ya,” he said, glancing at Samantha’s face. “Good luck with that,” he murmured, patting Jack’s shoulder as he and Talon turned to go.

  Manny excused himself as well, with a caution to Jack to take care of himself over the weekend, leaving him alone with Mitch and Samantha. Jack struggled alternately with wanting to take her into his bruised and battered arms or tell her off for finally showing up and inserting herself where he didn’t want her.

  “You got this?” Mitch asked Samantha.

  “Yeah,” she confirmed. “Jack, I didn’t see your car outside. Did you drive?”

  He shook his head. “Mitch can take me.”

  “Don’t be an asshole,” she snapped, a fissure appearing in her cool composure. “I’m heading home now anyway.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t know it the way you’re never there,” he snarked. “Besides, I don’t need you—”

  “Jack,” she interrupted. “I talked to Jay. He confirmed that you have a concussion. I’ll also be checking on you a few times tonight, so let’s get that argument out of your system now if that’s going to be a problem.”

  Samantha had the don’t-fuck-with-me-while-I’m-issuing-orders voice she used with her men. It made Jack want to toss her over his shoulder and spank her while he manhandled her into the bedroom. He suspected he wouldn’t have the physical wherewithal to pull that fantasy off any time in the near future. But he was agitated and turned on by the mental image nonetheless.

  “I’ll swing by tomorrow. Call me if you need anything,” Mitch told him as they walked outside. “I’ll let your parents and Jaime know what’s going on tonight.”

  Jack nodded stiffly as he folded himself gingerly into the passenger side of the ’vette.

  Mitch shut the door for him and leaned in, winking at Samantha. “Have fun playing nurse.”

  She rolled her eyes, turning the engine over.

  The drive back to the Whitney was thick with what remained unsaid between them. Samantha made no effort to break the silence, and he sank back in the bucket seat, closing his eyes against the pounding headache and the burning pain in his ribs, pressing the gel pack to his face.

  It had been years since he’d fought rounds in earnest, but the adage was true…getting back into the ring was like riding a bike, so to speak. His dad had started him boxing at a young age at the neighborhood gym and in the Italian American youth leagues, conditioning him to take his knocks and teaching him the mental and emotional endurance to make it through round after round.

  “You were born into luck, Gianni, but life is hard. It won’t always be easy for you. You need to learn now how to make it through with discipline and fortitude. Get up when you don’t think you can; take a beating and still come out on top. My father taught me this. Now I’m teaching you.”

  He remembered his dad’s coaching like it was yesterday. His father, Sandro, had become a senator by the time Jaime was old enough to box, and he hadn’t been around as frequently to teach him, so Jack had taken his little brother under his wing, showing him the basics. But Jaime had never loved it the way Jack did—that raw, visceral exchange of power in the ring. Jack had learned young it wasn’t just about how fit you were or how hard you could throw a punch. It was the mental stamina, the strategy, and your ability to read others. It was the internal drive that made you push yourself beyond anything you thought possible. Jack leaned his bruised cheek against the cold glass, grateful for the momentary numbness.

  Samantha pulled into the garage and parked. They sat in silence for a moment, the engine still rumbling. She turned off the lights and sat back.

  “You need help getting out?” she asked, her voice cool.

  He shook his head.

  “Alright.” She turned off the car and slid out quickly, leaving a waft of jasmine and orange blossoms behind her. Her scent triggered memories of her skin sliding against his, blooming with perspiration. Jack squeezed his eyes closed before following her to the elevator bank slowly, his body blazing with pain. Samantha keyed in their floor code, staring at the illuminated numbers as they rode up.

  He, in turn, stared at her.

  She walked with him to his door, waiting silently as he opened it before sauntering into his kitchen like she owned the place. Samantha checked out the contents of his subzero before handing him a Gatorade. She lifted out the large ice container and a couple gel packs, carrying it all upstairs to his suite. Jack followed, gulping down the drink. She was already pouring a cold bath when he got to her.

  “Strip,” she told him, her voice brisk and businesslike. Jack pulled a face at her tone and the idea of an ice bath, but he knew his body would thank him for it later. He shivered and sucked in a breath as he sank into the cold water of his Jacuzzi. She tossed the ice into the water over him as the water lapped his stomach and his bruised ribs before slapping the fresh gel packs into his hands.

  “Put these on your face and try to relax. I’m going to fix you an electrolyte protein shake,” she told him, turning to leave.

  Jack grabbed her hand. He slid his fingers through hers, not speaking as he lay back, his body adjusting to the numbing sting of the cold water. He watched her face as she looked at him, all the micro expressions that crossed her mouth and eyes. She was struggling. Her expression was cold, but her eyes flared with emotion. Jack thought he could begin to see past anger in her eyes to the worry, the flash of fear. After long seconds, she slid her fingers from his, stepping out of his bathroom and leaving him alone.

  He wasn’t sure how long she was gone. He lazed in the cold bath as the dull ache of his muscles numbed, his body sinking like stone, deeper into the water while his mind drifted. Jack thought about waking to find her gone. The vague note. The calls she didn’t answer. The unanswered voicemails and texts that had made him feel like an exposed, raw nerve. He thought about how he’d never felt this way about anyone. How he’d never been tied up in knots of anticipation, trigger-hair angry at the merest of slights, bitter at a rejection he’d never experienced. He’d avoided nearly everyone, wondering if he was crazy to be feeling like this, why he couldn’t let it go. He’d rewound their time together in his mind until his head had become such a disaster that the only and best way out of it had been to fight.

  Jack didn’t hear her walk back into his bathroom until she lifted his hand and put a shake in it. He pulled a gel pack off his face to look at her. She’d changed into leggings and an old Texas A&M tee, hair up in a messy knot. She sat on the edge of the bath, watching him.

  “You look like a student again,” he murmured, his voice sluggish with exhaustion. “Didn’t know you were an Aggie.”

  She snorted quietly. “Yeah, not in years. Drink your shake. It’ll help,” she told him, pushing the glass up to his mouth.

  Jack wasn’t sure if it was because he felt hungry and hadn’t realized it or if he was just starved for nutrients, but the thick shake she’d made him was up there with some of the most delicious things he’d ever tasted. He groaned, gulping it down. “What’s in this? It’s heaven.”

  “Coconut, bananas, strawberries, lemon, salt, orange, and honey.”

  “Thank you,” he gasped between gulps.

  “Come on out. I’ll rub you down with some arnica.”

  She hadn’t lost her get-down-to-business voice despite the dressed down appearance. Jack was too tired and lethargic to do more than help her dry himself off. He followed her naked to his bedroom, sprawling out on his stomach, the room blissfully dark with the exception of a single reading lamp. She crawled up over him, knees bracketing his ass as she rest
ed on the backs of his legs.

  “Jay said you wouldn’t take any painkillers,” she murmured, rubbing arnica cream into his shoulders and back, her fingers smooth and efficient.

  “Can’t,” he muttered into the bedspread.

  “Why not?” she asked, spreading the cream along one of his arms, finding and rubbing out the knots.

  “I got addicted to pills a while back because of the insomnia. I can’t take the chance again,” he admitted quietly, shame tinging his cheeks. No one outside of his family and Mitch knew about his struggle, but he felt somehow that her knowing everything about him was an inevitability. It seemed every time he saw her, he laid himself barer, stripping himself down to the quick in slow, inexorable degrees. Maybe that’s why it hurt so goddamn much that she didn’t care enough to stick around for the rest. And if that were the case, admitting one more thing wouldn’t matter.

  “I’ll give you more Tylenol before you pass out,” she told him, her voice softening. “Thank you for telling me,” she added quietly, her hands working the strained muscles in his arm.

  Samantha stroked and kneaded for long, interminable minutes, and Jack relaxed completely under her silent, thorough care. She gave him more Tylenol before he turned over to lie on his back, groaning as he jostled his ribs. She propped him up on his pillows, rubbing more arnica gently on his chest, ribs and stomach before pulling the sheets up over him, tucking him in.

  “Get some sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning,” she told him, reaching for the light on his night stand.

  “Samantha, wait,” he said, stilling her hand.

  She paused, standing by his bed.

  “I was angry with you,” he admitted. “I was angry with myself. I needed to do this. To work it all out,” he admitted in the quiet dimness of the room.

  She nodded once, her eyes on the lamp.

  “Will you look at me?” he asked quietly, stroking his thumb across the back of her hand as he drew it down from the lamp and to his chest, cradling it.

  At one point during these long, hellish weeks, he’d convinced himself that he was alone in this. That he’d finally been on the receiving end of what he’d been accused of more than once—drawing someone out only to leave them alone, heart in hand, feeling foolish. He’d never really understood it, considered those accusations an overreaction to the natural end of a liaison. And though he tried to avoid doing it by playing on the level, being open about what he wanted with his lovers, now—now he got it. He suddenly, painfully grasped how inexplicably bewildering it was when the one you wanted so badly didn’t want you back. He understood. But this—this wasn’t it. He felt the current of attraction between them like a live wire as Samantha turned her gaze on him.

  “I don’t want to fight with you tonight, Jack,” she finally said, her voice a little hoarse.

  “Thank God,” he answered, dropping his head back on the pillow. “Because I’m all fought out. Come here,” he said, drawing her down by him. She didn’t struggle as he gathered her into the crook of his aching arm.

  Jack pressed a kiss to her brow. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he murmured, squeezing the hand on his chest. “I know you didn’t have to do any of it, but I appreciate it. And I know I have no right to ask, but please stay with me. It’s been an awful couple of weeks, and I just want to hold you now,” he told her, closing his eyes in exhaustion. “Please, tesoro. Tonight, let me…”

  Samantha held still against him for a long time, and as he drifted off, he felt her press a gentle kiss to his chest.

  Then…nothing.

  Just peace.

  Chapter 17

  October—The next morning

  The Whitney, Chicago

  J A C K

  Jack swam awake to the sound of his phone ringing, his whole body screaming in protest. Samantha was holding the mobile out to him as he blinked blearily up at her.

  “I protected you as long as I could. Now it’s ringing every five minutes,” she told him wryly. “I have a feeling you’d better answer or Jaime will be beating down your door,” she said as he saw Maddie’s face on his phone’s screen.

  “Christ,” he groaned, struggling to sit up. He felt like he’d been hit by a Mack truck, backed over, and then hit again. Every muscle in his body felt abused.

  “Jaime?” he croaked into the phone.

  “What. The FUCK. Were you thinking?” Jaime shouted. “Ma is having conniptions! I think she’s debating getting on a plane today. I could strangle you. I’ve been freaking out since Mitch called. What the fuck were you thinking?!” Jaime switched abruptly to his soothing “daddy” voice. “Sorry, Maddie. Uncle Jack just made Daddy really mad. Everything’s fine, baby. Watch your cartoons in the den. I’ll bring you some pancakes soon.”

  “Jaime—” Jack began painfully as he palmed his cracked ribs, trying to sit up. Samantha left his room, presumably so he could speak with his brother in private.

  “The paper is calling you ‘Jack the Ripper’, didya know that, che cazzo?8 How quaint,” Jaime huffed. “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? This Vidal guy could have massacred you! He’s like…eight years younger than you! Man, you’re fucking lucky you knocked him out!”

  “I’ve been training. It felt right. I know it was a risk—”

  “You’ve been training for less than a month, you stupid asshole!” Jaime corrected.

  “And I boxed for over a dozen years growing up. I knew what I was doing,” Jack answered. “Is Mom coming? Really?”

  “You’d better call her,” Jaime grumbled. “When she hasn’t been calling you last night and this morning, she’s been on the phone with Mitch and me. I think the only comfort she’s taken is that Dad is giddy with pride that you nailed that guy, and we told her Sam’s taking care of you. Considering your neighbor’s background, she figures you’re in good hands.”

  “You told mom about Samantha?” Jack asked.

  “Of course,” Jaime sounded surprised. “After Mitch called her and told her she had you see a doctor—”

  “You meddling sonofabitch,” Jack groaned.

  “Hey, don’t talk about Ma like that—”

  “I’m fine. I’ve got a couple cracked ribs, and I won’t be doing any photos anytime soon, but other than that, I’m okay. Non mi rompere i coglioni.9 Kiss Maddie for me,” Jack interrupted before he hung up.

  His conversation with his mother was in half-Italian, half I-am-disappointed-in-your-decisions English. He’d learned from a young age to just sit and listen. His mother’s flare for a good diatribe wasn’t lost on anyone. At some point, in the middle of her lecture, Samantha came in with two mugs of coffee. Jack smiled gratefully, putting the phone on mute as he thanked her. When she turned to leave, he snagged her wrist, eyes pleading with her to stay. She climbed on the bed, sitting cross-legged as he tried in vain to interrupt his mother and end the call.

  “Jack, the doctor is here to check on you,” Samantha called out after a couple minutes, loud enough to be heard by his mother.

  “Ma, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry I upset you. That really wasn’t my intention—” Jack started before his mother launched into another string of pissed off Italian. “Right. Right. I love you. Mi dispiace. Perdonami.10 Say hi to Dad for me. Tell him I still have the check hook. It’s rusty, but it’s still there. Love you, Ma. Gotta go. Ciao, ciao, ciao!”

  Jack’s hasty ending had Samantha chuckling into her mug as he tossed the phone away. She was still wearing her clothes from last night, though she looked as if she’d been awake for a while. Despite the physical agony he was in, he was so relieved and happy to see her still there, his bruised face stretched with a smile.

  “You stayed,” he murmured, reaching out to rub her leg.

  “I didn’t want to risk you getting into another altercation if I didn’t,” she answered drily.

  Jack snorted at that, glancing out the windows. He guessed it was mid-morning. He must have slept at least ten hours. If he’d known that
was all it took to get a full night of sleep the last couple weeks, he would have taken the beat down earlier.

  “Breakfast?” she asked. “You hungry enough to eat real food, or do you want to stick with another shake?”

  His stomach growled at the thought of food. Jack leveled a lopsided smile at her.

  “Put some clothes on,” she suggested. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to try to move around a little today, maybe take a swim. It’ll work out some of the soreness. I’ll be down in the kitchen.”

  Who would have thought getting dressed could be so excruciating? Jack was exhausted and aching by the time he pulled a shirt and pants on. The bruises on his ribs and his face had fully developed overnight, leaving a smattering of interesting, if somewhat revolting, colors. He didn’t bother with shaving after washing his face and brushing his teeth. He’d be working from home this week for certain.

  Samantha had whipped up some steel cut oatmeal and honeyed dates, more coffee, and another shake for him. He sat down at the table slowly, gingerly, thanking her for the layout as he dug in, groaning at how good it was. He was relieved it was all food his aching stomach would be able to digest with relatively little work.

  “Everyone’s pissed off with me,” he muttered, spooning another mouthful.

  “Well, yeah,” Samantha shrugged, sliding into the seat across from him with her coffee. “You behaved like a jack ass and left everyone to find out after it was too late to talk you out of that insanity.”

  “If you’d talked to me in the first place instead of leaving the city to avoid me, I might not have done it,” he retorted, feeling a little belligerent.

  “So…” Samantha began, putting down her coffee, her expression hardening. “We’re gonna do this now?” She fixed him with her obsidian stare.

  “I told you I was angry,” he pointed out.

  Samantha watched him, her face morphing into the unflappable mask she donned when she was getting ready to negotiate. Jack had come to not only recognize that mask, but to hate it. It made him want to go head-to-head with her to chip it back. He looked for the flare in her eyes he’d seen last night. This morning, the fury had cooled to an ember.