The Harder You Fall

by Gena Showalter

She wasn't Tessa, either. And now this conversation was over. "All right. If I've passed today's sobriety test, I've got work to do."

  "Happy to say you passed the sobriety test. Sad to say you failed the asshole test."

  "Not that. Anything but that." He shook a fist toward the ceiling. "Why? Why me?"

  "And now you've failed the shithead test. Where's my thanks for showing up just because my best friend is a workaholic and he'd throw a he-hissy if I suggested we take an ice break?"

  "Here." West flipped him off. "This is your thanks."

  Grinning, Beck stood and gathered his discarded garments. "Heartwarming. I'll be in my office if you need me."

  Alone, West admitted that, despite his levity, he wasn't actually in a good place. Could he pass a true sobriety test?

  Let's find out.

  He unlocked and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. A bottle of Lagavulin stared up at him. He traced a finger over the cold glass.

  Drink me, the whiskey said. Just a sip. I'll help you relax.

  Truer words had never not been spoken. But West knew the sense of relaxation would only last for a little while. Later he would fall back into his foul mood and he would need another drink...and then he'd turn to coke. The bane of his existence. The demon on his shoulder.

  There'd been many mornings when, in the prime of his addiction, he'd frantically raced through his apartment on a hunt for money. He'd checked for loose bills under couch cushions and inside the washer and dryer, and when he'd found nothing, he'd snuck into Beck's bedroom to rifle through dresser drawers. His desperation had been greater than his shame.

  He'd needed a fix, and he'd needed it bad, but without cash, he wouldn't get anything but grief from his dealer. He'd even contemplated doing what his mother used to do to get her fix...

  He scrubbed a hand down his face, tried to forget... Can't ever forget. His mother allowed her addict "friends" to do whatever they wanted to her body as long as they shared their supply. Sometimes she even sold herself to strangers. Anyone with a few dollars to spare.

  One guy--

  Call me Uncle Sam.

  West shuddered. Whenever Sam had finished with Della he'd come looking for West. Not knowing what else to do, West had hidden in cabinets, under his bed and even inside the trash can. Sometimes he'd stayed hidden. A few times, he'd been found.

  The fact that he'd ever considered selling himself...

  He gave his head a violent shake to dislodge the claws of the past. His self-disgust remained.

  "Drinking isn't on my schedule." He slammed the drawer shut, turned the lock and breathed in and out with purpose. He always stuck to his schedule. A habit he'd developed in rehab. Structure kept chaos--a trigger--at bay, every task a baby step that required time and attention to ultimately walk him to the end of his day as clean as a man like him could be.

  Too many stains on my soul.

  Speaking of his schedule... Four little words stared up at him from the screen of his phone. Follow Jessie Kay home.

  Why had he penciled in such a thankless task?

  Because he liked the way her sun-kissed skin flushed to a deep rose whenever she got angry? Because he liked the snarky things that came out of her mouth? A mouth he longed to taste. Because he liked the burn in his blood every time she stepped into a room? Liked the rush of matching wits with her?

  Because he didn't want the madness to end?

  Idiot! Fool! A man could become addicted to a woman like her. Especially a man like him. And yet he still picked up the phone and pressed the button to connect him to Beck.

  "I'm heading out for a little while."

  *

  SATURDAY MORNING, WEST dressed in running shorts and a T-shirt that read "Goal Scouts." During soccer season--March through October--he coached a team of underprivileged kids. Off-season, he played indoors with the big boys. A great source of therapy.

  He anchored his shin guards in place, tied his shoes and glanced at the clock--8:59 a.m. Right on time. He smoothed the wrinkles in his comforter, ensured the lid to his dirty clothes hamper was closed and sailed into the kitchen to mix three protein shakes.

  "Hey, man." Jase strode around the corner, dressed and ready for the game.

  Both Jase and Beck opted to join the indoor team rather than watching the action from the bleachers.

  Jase played goalie. He had the body of a tank, and nothing got past him. Also, other teams tended to soil their pants with a single look at him. Everything from the spikes in his dark hair to the feral glaze in his green eyes said screw with me and pay the ultimate price.

  Not exactly an idle threat. Having spent nearly a decade behind bars, he had a few issues and a whole lot of pent-up rage.

  Aaand just like that, guilt burned through West like acid. "Hey." He couldn't meet his friend's gaze as he slid one of the shakes across the counter. "Drink up."

  "Seriously?" Jase got in his face, forcing eye contact. "This is how you're going to start the morning?"

  "Since when do you have such a beef with protein?"

  "I don't care about the protein, and you know it. I care about the way you're looking at me right now. Or trying not to look at me."

  Right. Jase actually expected West to forgive himself for the part he'd played in the prison sentence. And for a while, he'd tried. But guilt was the monster in the back of his mental closet, always there, always lurking, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. His friend had suffered unimaginable horrors, and for what? So West could throw his life away?

  So, no, West wouldn't be forgiving himself anytime soon.

  "You're the reason I'm what Brook Lynn refers to as a romance novel lover's dream. Reformed and rich," Jase said. "I'm grateful."

  West started WOH simply to keep himself busy during his recovery, but the hobby quickly became a cash cow. "You wouldn't have gone to prison at all if I'd reacted differently to Tessa's--"

  He couldn't say the word.

  The night it happened, he'd been a newly minted eighteen-year-old kid fresh out of the foster system. He'd lived with his boys and had his eye on the prize: a happily-ever-after. Tessa had invited him to a party, but at the last minute he'd opted to stay home and tinker with a new motherboard. He could sell it, make money and buy his girl the world. She'd gone with her cousin, instead. Beck had gone on a date with a girl he'd met earlier that day, and Jase, a carpenter, had still been at work.

  A sobbing Tessa had returned in the middle of the night. She'd always been an emotional girl, so he hadn't reacted at first. Then she'd thrown herself into his arms and gasped out, "He...he... West, he forced me," and everything had changed.

  Dark rage swallowed West whole. He'd gotten the rest of the details out of her, picked up Jase and Beck, and hunted down the piece of shit responsible. The guy had been sleeping peacefully in his bed.

  Yeah. They'd broken into his apartment.

  West threw the first punch. When he felt cartilage shatter and saw drops of blood leak onto lips that had assaulted Tessa, he smiled without humor. He only wanted more blood, more destruction--wanted to deliver more pain.

  The guy fell to the floor and cried, "She begged me for it!"

  As he tried to crawl away, West kicked him in the ribs. A starting bell. Jase and Beck joined the boot party, and it was a brutal, savage thing. Wrath unleashed. Violence without equal. The three of them continued until the bastard stopped moving...stopped grunting...stopped breathing.

  "West." Jase's voice drew him back into the present.

  "You shouldn't have asked us to hide our involvement." Back then, they'd lived by a strict code. What one requests, the others do. The end. But West had soon found himself trapped in a prison of a different sort, one built from guilt and shame. "Especially me. You expected me to move to Massachusetts, to finish school and start a family with Tessa." He released a sharp breath. "I never even set foot out of Oklahoma. And you know what happened to my girl."

  "I don't regret my decision. I never have."

>   No. Not true. "You must." Emotion clogged his throat. "Beck and I used to visit you every week. I saw your bruises...know what happens to young, scrawny boys behind bars..." At eighteen, Jase had been extremely scrawny.

  A muscle jumped in his friend's jaw. "That's the past. Over. Done."

  "Is it?" Sometimes West woke up to Jase's screams.

  Shouldn't have brought this up. Too painful for us both.

  I can do this. He pasted on a happy face and rolled with the punches. "You're right. Of course. Over and done. Now drink your breakfast like a good boy."

  Jase peered at him for a long while, silent, before finally sighing. He tasted the shake and grimaced. "What'd you put in this thing? Arsenic?"

  "Can't be that bad." West took a swig and shuddered. Yeah. It was that bad. "Arsenic would taste better. Brook Lynn awake?" The girl was magic in the kitchen. She could throw together--

  "She left earlier this morning for a dress fitting. Something about gaining a pound and seams busting."

  Women and their weight. When would they realize skin-and-bones only impressed other women? Men preferred soft and lush...like Jessie Kay, rounded in all the right places.

  Down boy. "Maybe Harlow--"

  "Nope." Jase shook his head. "She's helping Jessie Kay with breakfast deliveries."

  First he'd thought the name. Now he'd heard the name. Can't escape her.

  "Oh, and before I forget," Jase said, mercifully changing the subject, "I selected a construction company."

  "Good." A few weeks ago, they'd decided to build two additional homes on the acreage. One for Jase and Brook Lynn, one for West and his misery. Beck and Harlow would keep the farmhouse since she'd grown up here and loved the place almost as much as she loved her fiance. "What do you need me to do?"

  "Call the owner on Monday and tell him what you want. I'll text you his number."

  Beck stumbled into the kitchen. He was dressed and ready to go, but his hair was unkempt and his eyes rimmed with red. "What are you two yakking about?"

  "Your bachelor party," Jase deadpanned. "You want one stripper or four?"

  "Dude." Beck scratched his chest. "My life was a bachelor party. I don't need another one."

  Jase snickered. "Afraid the little woman will protest?"

  Like he wasn't just as whipped.

  "Actually, I'm afraid the little woman will ask the strippers for tips and I'll die of a heart attack before I have the privilege of saying my vows."

  West handed him a shake. "Stop bragging about your love life and drink your breakfast, Becky. You need it." The guy was an attacking midfielder, his skill with a ball unsurpassed. He remained calm under pressure, dishing out all kinds of abuse. "You step into the arena half-asleep and you'll have your ass handed to you."

  "I should be so lucky." Beck drained half the glass without reacting to the bitter taste. "It's a nice ass."

  "Your modesty humbles me." West was fast and agile, so he played center forward, stealing the ball--his ball--whenever it needed stealing. And it was his ball. Always. When he stepped onto the field, a sense of possession overtook him. Mine. Which was probably why he ended up the top scorer of every game.

  That, and his skill, tenacity and strength. He spent a good portion of every day in the gym. He would never be weak again. He despised helplessness almost as much as he despised chaos.

  "My modesty is just one of the many amazing things about me." Beck finished off the rest of the shake. "Good stuff. Thanks."

  West glanced at his wristwatch. 9:28 a.m. All right. "Time to go."

  He grabbed the duffel containing a change of clothes and climbed behind the wheel of his Mercedes. Jase had called eternal dibs on the front passenger seat, so he claimed his prize and Beck settled in back, all without protest or complaint. The two respected West and his schedules.

  My soul mates.

  He drove through the town square, where different families meandered along the sidewalks. Everyone was bundled up for warmth, and everyone paused to smile and wave as he passed.

  To West, it was a scene straight of out a movie, too picture-perfect to be real, but he smiled and waved right back.

  "Who we playing today?" Jase asked as they crawled along the highway. Ice had been sanded and salted, but there were still slick spots. At this rate, they'd reach the downtown Oklahoma City arena in fifty years.

  "The Ball Busters."

  "Last year's league champions." Beck grinned, the baring of teeth a little evil. "That'll make our win today a thousand times sweeter."

  "Exactly. Show no mercy." West adjusted the air vents, ensuring blasts of heat reached the backseat. "After we wipe the field with their faces, they'll be knocked out of this year's play-offs."

  "Trash talk already." Jase nodded his approval. "I raised you boys right." A beep from his phone. He checked the screen and cursed.

  "What?" West and Beck demanded in unison.

  Jase rubbed the back of his neck. "Brook Lynn will be late to the game."

  Such an extreme reaction over so little? As if the guy couldn't go half a day without seeing his girl?

  If West ever dated Jessie Kay--

  Are you kidding me? Could he not go one day, one hour, without thinking about her? Without hating her and craving her, practically foaming-at-the-mouth eager to get his hands on her. To shake her and learn her... And anything else that came to mind.

  "Jase, my man, I love you. I really do." West turned on his blinker before changing lanes. "But codependency is an ugly bitch."

  Beck reached out to pat Jase on the shoulder. "What he said is true, but it doesn't matter. Bitches adore us."

  Very true. Young, old, single or married, females simply couldn't get enough, bad boys like Beck and Jase their kryptonite. West attracted his fair share of attention, but never in droves. The multitude must suspect he wasn't just a bad boy; he was damaged beyond repair.

  When he reached the arena, he parked in back, grabbed his duffel and beat feet inside, the frigid air like needles against his skin, smelling of car exhaust and burning wood rather than wild strawberries, a scent that somehow pervaded Strawberry Valley even in winter. A scent that had somehow come to represent home.

  When Jase had voiced a desire for a fresh start in a small town with wide-open spaces and the sense of community he'd never gotten in foster care, West had panicked. Leave his penthouse apartment? His routine? Never! Except at the behest of his friends. Then he'd do both in an instant. He owed Jase and Beck his life, and by all that was holy, he would pay his debt.

  Always better to be the lender rather than the borrower.

  At first, he'd hated Strawberry Valley. Residents considered his personal life a reasonable topic of conversation, and his bank balance open to public scrutiny. And yet, those same residents had had Jase's back at a time when anyone else would have chased him off with pitchforks and torches.

  Now there was nowhere else West would rather live.

  A few feet past the door, he drew up short, feeling as if he'd just been punched in the chest.

  No. Please, no.

  Jessie Kay was here.

  She and Harlow stood in line at the concession stand, completely unaware of the crowd of drooling men staring at them, some of those men basically pawing at the ground like bulls about to charge.

  Little wonder. Harlow had hair so black it gleamed blue and eyes the color of a morning sky. She was a Disney princess come to life. And considering her love of romance novels, the description couldn't have been more perfect. Meanwhile, Jessie Kay was the villain of the tale. The merciless evil queen so beautiful, so utterly flawless, her every movement and word so touched with black magic, she entranced everyone around her.

  It wasn't just the skin that looked as soft as silk, or the waterfall of pale hair that begged for a man's hands, or the eyes so deep and blue you drowned a thousand times with only a glance. It wasn't even the lush, red lips made for sucking--and being sucked. It was the essence of her: pure, luscious seduction.

>   Her hands danced through the air as she spoke to Harlow, her chest heaving. A succulent chest covered by a too-tight T-shirt that read "Goal Scout Deliveries Free Today Only." Her jeans appeared painted on, and the cowgirl boots she wore had enough rhinestones to outshine the sun.

  She stole his breath.

  Jase came up beside him and hammered his shoulder with enough strength to crush an ordinary man. "Now you know. Brook Lynn sent Jessie Kay in her place. I'd hoped we'd beat her here, and you'd never know she'd come. Sorry."

  Well. The guy's he-fit after reading Brook Lynn's text suddenly made more sense.

  Beck stalked past them, an arrow with a target. As always, he devolved into an intense, possessive manimal whenever his fiancee was near, casting a warning glare at every man in her vicinity, all mine, I'll kill before I'll share.

  Harlow squealed, happy to see him. Jessie Kay stiffened and slooowly turned toward the door, as if she needed a moment to prepare herself for a coming blow. Her gaze linked with West's and...just like that, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Desire burned through him, even vibrated in his bones. The air between them thickened, suddenly supercharged with enough electricity to bring down a rhino. Breathing was far more difficult--when the ability at last returned.

  How did she do this to him? How did she ensnare him so easily? And with only a look?

  A drug. She's a drug.

  She had to be. Only cocaine had the same effect on him.

  At the moment, he didn't exactly care what she was. Devolving...

  Mine. Want.

  A group of people spilled through the entrance, and someone knocked into him. As West stumbled, managing to catch himself before a fall, the...whatever he had going with Jessie Kay ended, broken abruptly.

  Anger replaced his fascination, and he growled a curse at the person responsible. A curse he then turned on himself.

  "Sorry, sorry," the guy called as he continued forward.

  West returned his attention to Jessie Kay, unable to stop himself, hating himself, but she'd reached the front of the line and now worked her black magic on the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter.

  Grinding his molars, West strode to the locker room to store his bag.

  "--see the blonde?" some guy was saying. The guy who'd plowed into him, in fact. Without a coat to block the view, West was able to see the black-and-crimson shirt proudly boasting "Ball Buster" on back.

  "The one in the cowboy boots? Dude. How could I miss her?" another member of BBs responded. "Those tits were spectacular."