When he tried to ask her more questions about Cole on a more personal level, she quickly shut him down, telling him she had to go and that her flight was leaving soon. She didn’t have enough time to stop by the house and grab her bag, so would he please ship it to her. Not that she had a lot in it, anyway. Most everything she had was ruined, but then again she was a pro at having nothing but the clothes on her back and starting over, right? At least this time she was going home, and she knew she would be safe. Besides, who cared about a half-filled duffel bag when she was leaving her heart behind?
All right, it’s been over a week, dude. You’ve gotta snap the fuck out of it.”
Cole shot a murderous glare at Kruze as he slid into the empty seat beside him, most recently vacated by the third woman attempting to get him into the private VIP room in the back for a quick fuck in the last hour. Damn, this shit was old—the parties, the cage bangers, the countless opportunities for casual, meaningless sex. Had this really been his life once? Had he actually found it fulfilling? Cole tipped back his brandy and Coke, draining the glass. He was fully aware he was breaking his own rule about drinking hard liquor in public, but he wasn’t sure he could take another minute of this shit sober. If it weren’t Kruze’s postwin party, he never would have come, but the fighter had worked his ass off for this, fought his heart out for this win, and he deserved to have his friends here supporting him.
Working with Kruze this last week and fixing the holes in his game had been the only thing keeping Cole sane. He thought of Katie constantly, missed her like crazy, and worried about her incessantly . . . His only peace of mind was in knowing that bastard, Carter, was behind bars, so at least she was safe. Marcus had been beside himself with guilt and regret when Cole had told him what happened at the gym. Cole had shown up at the old guy’s place looking for her and just lost his shit when he’d discovered she’d hopped on a plane and flown back to Wisconsin.
Fuck, he still couldn’t believe she’d just left like that, though he probably shouldn’t be surprised. A part of him understood why she’d done it. She’d warned him more than once she was damaged, and he knew she had trust issues—big trust issues. He’d just never thought she’d run from him. And that was what pissed him off. Her anger, he could handle. They could work through that. But how in the hell could he have a relationship with a woman who took off every time she got upset? He never claimed to be Dr. Phil, but even a fucking moron could see this for what it was. She had feelings for him, and it scared her. She didn’t know how to deal with them. So when she’d thought he’d lied to her, instead of talking to him about it like any other rational adult in a healthy relationship, she’d chosen to believe the worst about him and bailed.
Of course she was hurt. Who wouldn’t be if that had actually been the truth, but it was the furthest thing from it. He loved her, and in telling her so, just as he feared, he only succeeded in driving her away. She wouldn’t trust love, and she obviously didn’t trust him, which really fucking hurt. And that pain was the anchor he clung to, keeping him rooted right here instead of chasing her halfway across the United States to make an even bigger ass of himself.
No way would he pull a Carter on her. Not only would chasing after Katie freak her out, but believe or not, he actually did have some semblance of pride left—what she hadn’t shredded before getting on that fucking plane and flying home without looking back. It wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was. She had his number, and yet she hadn’t even done him the fucking courtesy of telling him she was home and safe. Nor did she tell him she was transferring his care to another PT. Yeah, that little nugget he’d learned from Marcus when his medical records had arrived at his doorstep courtesy of Fed-fucking-Ex.
A camera flashed to his left and Cole muttered a curse under his breath, shooting a glare at the photographer who snapped another pic as if to say, Fuck you. Just wait until you see the headlines for this one. The paparazzi had been on him like damn lice since he’d been back, which did absolutely zero to improve his surly mood. The brave ones who had a death wish asked him about his relationship with Katie, because, yeah, some asshole sold that pic of him and her in the airport together. But mostly, the press wanted to know about him and De’Grasse. Did Cole think he would ever fight again? Was he nervous to get back in the cage with the man that nearly ruined his career? Yes, he’d fight again. No, he wasn’t scared. Finally, he’d caved and told Marcus to set up a CFA-sponsored interview to get all this shit out in the open. Perhaps then, the vultures would finally leave him the hell alone.
The whole damn thing was just so fucking daunting, he found himself longing for the simplicity and slower pace of small-town living. He’d never considered it before, always thought Vegas was where he’d live. MMA was his life—until he’d met a certain fair-haired slip of a woman who’d rocked his world and turned his life inside out. He was a fighter, dammit. It was what he’d been made for.
But after meeting Katie, he’d begun to wonder if there wasn’t more. Was he missing out on a whole other life? Who the fuck knew . . . Before he’d gotten a chance to wrap his head around the idea, she’d bolted on him, leaving a huge, gaping hole in his heart. In the last week he’d been coaching Kruze, and after cornering him tonight, Cole was finding he enjoyed developing the talent of other fighters as much as he enjoyed being in the cage. And that he could do anywhere. The only problem was, where he wanted to be, the person he wanted to be with, didn’t feel the same way.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, bro, but you’re obviously too fucking stubborn for your own good—and a total killjoy, in case you didn’t know. This is supposed to be a party! I still can’t believe it. I KO’d Mallenger forty-seven seconds into the second round with that hook kick you taught me. Man, this is as much your win as it is mine. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Kruze slapped him on the back and yanked him in for a hug. “Next stop is the middle-weight title, baby!”
“And you’ll take it, too.” Cole waved the bartender over and bought his friend a drink. “You looked great out there tonight, and I’m proud of you. You fought hard and prepared well for this. You deserve all the credit. ”
“Thanks, man.”
They toasted and tipped back their glasses. Cole drained his in one chugging gulp. When he set his glass on the table, he noticed Kruze watching him. He recognized that look, had seen it more than his fair share of times when they’d been out partying in the past. It was that same amber-eyed warning Kruze gave him whenever he was concerned Cole was about to do something stupid or wild—the I disapprove of what you’re doing, but I’m trying like hell to keep my mouth shut look—which only proved you can take the guy out of the law office but you can’t take the lawyer out of the guy. Kruze was a walking, talking, breathing contradiction. If anyone was a fucking mess, it was this guy. Though admittedly, most of his problems weren’t of his own doing. But when your father was a US senator, and you’d been groomed your whole life to be a lawyer and take over the family business, the fam doesn’t smile too kindly when you walk away from it all and join the CFA.
“What?” Cole challenged, returning his scowl, the booze numbing him just enough to lower his brain-mouth filter, but not enough to help numb the constant pain in his chest.
“You’re fucked up.”
“I’m not fucked up. You’re fucked up. Who the hell walks away from Daddy Warbucks to climb in a cage and get his ass kicked?”
Kruze’s scowl darkened. It was a low blow, and Cole felt like a royal bastard for dealing it.
“First of all, my ass isn’t the one getting kicked. And now I know you’re drunk, because sober Easton doesn’t shoot below the belt. But now that you’ve pissed me off, I’m going to say what I’ve been wanting to tell you for the last week, and I’m not even going to feel bad about it. You’re a moronic asshole if you let that woman walk out of your life without fighting for her. I met her all of two seconds, and I could tell she was worth every bit of the fucking hassle it’s going to b
e to get her back. You were miserable before you met her, and now I even want to start on Prozac just from being around you. If you love her, fight for her. If not, then go get with one of these cage bangers that have been throwing themselves at you all night, and fuck that woman out of your system, because, bro, you can’t keep going on like this.”
Cole exhaled a frustrated sigh and dragged his hand through his hair. “You don’t understand. It’s not that easy. She’s not that easy.”
Kruze chuckled and downed his drink, then held the iced glass against his bruised cheek. “No woman worth her salt is, and if they were, you wouldn’t want them anyway.”
“Point made, counselor,” Cole grumbled. Arguing with a lawyer was fucking pointless.
“Thank you. Now you know why I’ve never lost a case. So why don’t you get out of here, and go get your woman?”
With a slap on the back, Kruze got up and headed straight for a gorgeous redhead sitting at the bar. The seat wasn’t open ten seconds before a leggy blonde with dark brown eyes and red painted lips sat down beside Cole. The heavy scent of smoke and perfume assaulted his nostrils. Doing his damn best to ignore her, he waved the bartender over for one last drink while he mulled over Kruze’s advice.
As the man behind the counter slid another drink in front of him, the heel of a stiletto slowly dragged up his calf. Unable to avoid it, Cole slowly turned his head to look at the woman. She smiled at him. The stir stick she’d been chewing on was trapped between her teeth. Her ravenous gaze boldly dragged over him, making him feel like a big, juicy steak. The woman’s too-large, too-round boobs nearly spilled from the top of her peacock-blue, curve-hugging dress.
“Hi-ya,” she purred when Cole didn’t speak.
He made no effort to disguise his disinterest, not that the buxom blonde seemed to notice. She was a typical cage banger, looking for a good, hard fuck—nothing more. The woman couldn’t be more the opposite of Katie if she’d tried. Thinking of Katie, comparing her to every woman who’d approached him tonight, only drove home his need to see her, to talk to her, and try to fix this misunderstanding between them.
“You’re Cole Easton, right?”
She’d known damn well who he was before she ever slid her curvy ass into the empty seat beside him. In no mood to play her coy games, he removed his leg from the heel of her shoe and pushed his chair back before standing. “Yes, I am. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told the last nine women who approached me tonight, I’m not interested. I’m seeing someone.”
Maybe. Hopefully. If she’ll have me. But he kept that part to himself. Digging into his pocket, he tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar and told the man behind the counter, “This’ll cover my tab and whatever she’s having.” Turning away from the shocked woman who couldn’t seem to conceive that he was turning her down, Cole took his friend’s advice and cut out of there. He hailed a cab because, truth, he was in no fucking condition to be driving at this point. Once he was headed toward the airport, he pulled out his cell and dialed Katie’s number before to could sober up and convince himself this was a bad idea.
Her phone immediately rolled over to voice mail, so it was either off or dead. At least she wasn’t answering because she was screening his calls. He checked the clock on the driver’s dash. It was getting late, almost too late to call her parents’ house, but what the hell, he was committed now. The phone rang—no answer. Marcus had told him Katie was staying with her parents. The cleaning crew he’d hired to put her place back to rights had just sent him the bill, so he knew the house was put back together. Maybe she’d gone back there?
He was about to call there when his cell rang. Swiping his thumb across the screen, he answered the unavailable number. “Hello?”
“Mr. Easton?”
“Yeah.”
“This is Officer Wyatt. I’ve been trying to get ahold of Katrina Miller. You wouldn’t happen to know how I could reach her, would you?”
A knot of dread fisted in Cole’s gut. “No. I haven’t been able to reach her myself. What’s going on? Why are you trying to get ahold of her?”
“I wanted to notify her that Carter Owens’s bail was set today. He posted it and was released about an hour ago.”
Cole swore under his breath.
“Yeah, my thought exactly. I’m on patrol tonight, so I’m going to swing by her parents’ house and her place and check things out. She has an active restraining order against him, and he knows if he comes within five hundred feet of her, he’ll be back behind bars with no bail.”
“You really think that’s going to stop him from going after her?”
The officer hesitated before answering. “Truth? Not a chance. That’s why I’ve been trying to get ahold of her.”
Hearing the officer confirming Cole’s fears sent his pulse racing. The adrenaline flooding his veins burned through his buzz, leaving him stone-cold sober. Feeling violent and helpless, he shot an impatient glance out the window and told the cab driver to step on it. Here he was, stuck three and a half hours away from the woman he loved—the woman who could right now be in serious danger, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“I’m in Vegas now, and I’m heading to the airport. Please let me know if you get ahold of her, and I’ll keep trying from my end.”
Without a doubt, this had been the most miserable week of Katie’s life—and she’d had a lot of shitty ones to compare it to, so that was really saying something. She sat beside her father’s hospital bed, holding his limp hand while thinking about how much she missed Cole. She wished he were here with her right now, lending her that ever-present strength and a broad shoulder to cry on.
When he told her he wouldn’t chase after her, a part of her hadn’t believed him. But then the days passed, and he’d been true to his word. He hadn’t even tried to call—not once. In the last week, when she wasn’t filling out statements or down at the courthouse meeting with a judge, she’d done little else but reflect on that day she’d walked out on him. The things he’d said haunted her, and the way she’d reacted shamed her.
With the heat of the moment faded, and her hurt feeling somewhat soothed by the balm of time, she could see that he’d been right. Sure, she was hurt to discover Uncle Marcus and Cole had conspired to deceive her, but that being said, the bottom line remained unchanged. She was scared—scared of her feelings for Cole and how vulnerable they made her feel.
These past weeks she’d spent with him had been a whirlwind. He’d made her feel things both physically and emotionally that she didn’t think she’d ever feel again. Then add the stress of Carter to the mix and she’d finally cracked and was utterly shattered emotionally. And in the process, she’d lost the best thing in her life: a chance for happiness with Cole.
The monitor beside her dad’s bed began to sound, the display flashing 88 percent. “Hey, Dad,” she whispered softly, “take a deep breath.” Reaching up, she readjusted his nasal cannula to make sure the oxygen was getting up his nose properly. His eyes fluttered open and she smiled, holding her breath to fight against the tears stinging the back of her eyes. He was so weak, so tired . . . She could hardly wrap her mind around it—another stroke. They’d been so careful with his Coumadin, so diligent in monitoring his INR. How could this happen again?
She’d been upstairs in the shower when he’d collapsed yesterday morning. After hastily dressing and racing to her father’s side, the ambulance had arrived and rushed her father to the hospital. She and her mother had followed behind them, and in the chaos, she’d forgotten her phone on the bedroom dresser. Katie hadn’t left her father’s side since then, and neither had her mother. The nurses had brought a small cot into the room for her mother to sleep on. She was resting now, emotionally and physically exhausted.
Her poor mother wasn’t the only one. Katie had been up for the last thirty-six hours, and as much as she didn’t want to leave her father’s side, she was going to have to head home and get some rest. “Hey, Daddy, I’m going
to go home for a little bit, all right? Mom is here. She’s resting on the cot. But I’ll be back really soon, okay?”
He nodded. A good sign that he understood her. He hadn’t been able to speak since the stroke. Doctors were optimistic the impairment was temporary, but Katie feared the worst. Setting his hand on the call light, she brushed his finger over the button.
“You feel that? Press this button if you need anything.”
He nodded.
“I love you, Daddy.” Katie stood and bent over him, kissing his forehead. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she said with more certainty than she felt.
He nodded.
Straightening, she turned away before he could see the tears of truth clouding her eyes. Wiping her cheeks, she dried the evidence and forced a reassuring smile as she glanced back over her shoulder. “See you in a little bit.”
Katie was numb. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, leaving her physically and emotionally drained. She drove home on autopilot, going through the motions without really seeing, unable to think about anything beyond the soft down of her pillow and the cushion of her pillow-top mattress that would soon be cradling her weary body.
She could have gone to the other house. It was closer, and the cleaning crew Cole had hired contacted her the other day and informed her it was finished. But the thought of being there without him made her heart ache more than it already did. It would only stir memories she couldn’t deal with right now.
Pulling into the driveway, Katie parked her RAV in the turnaround. She had just gottent her SUV back and hadn’t switched the spare garage door opener back over yet. She’d have to remember to do that. It was a pain in the ass getting out of a warm car and trudging across the snowy driveway and up the porch steps. Fumbling with the keys through her bulky mittens, she unlocked the door and kicked it shut with the heel of her boot.
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