Working It

by Christine d'Abo

  Just . . . not now.

  Next went his watch, which he carefully tucked into the pocket of his shirt. He turned and tried to relax his jaw. Shit, his teeth were clenched so hard his head was pounding.

  Fuck it.

  Without any sort of finesse, he got into his stance, pulled his bare fist back, and slammed it into the bag. Pain immediately exploded across his unprotected skin where it connected with the damaged canvas. He didn’t care. Another jab, this time followed by a cross. Then another. And another, until he couldn’t feel anything but the pain in his hands.

  He kept going.

  Dust filled the air, making it difficult to breathe properly. And he kept going. It was only when his knuckles began to mark the bag with blood that he finally let his hands fall to his sides and stumbled backward. Sweat and dirt covered his torso in muddy streaks, and blood welled up bright and thick on his hands. He didn’t care. He knew he deserved every bit of pain for all the suffering he’d caused others over the years.

  His parents, Miranda, Nolan, the team members whose fate he’d decided today; they all deserved better than what he could give.

  He caught sight of the letter poking out of his shirt pocket, and marched over. If Miranda had wanted him to know her thoughts before she died, then he would damn well give her that honor. He tore into the envelope, yanked the contents free, and started reading. When he was halfway through, his legs gave out on him and he sat down on the floor. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye and started the letter again.

  Dear Mr. Anderson,

  By now, I’m sure you’ve learned that I’ve made the decision to take my own life. Most people say this is the coward’s way out, and maybe they’re right. But I’ve never been a particularly brave person, so it seems fitting.

  I’ve been sick for a long time. Not just physically, though I have my problems, but mentally. My sister is a wonderful person, but the weight of her personality was too much for me. I always needed to keep up, to find a way to be better. I started stealing when I was younger. As long as I didn’t get caught, it gave me a rush, made me feel special, different from her. It was my way of sticking it to people I didn’t like. I hated myself for needing to do that. I still do. I had to steal, but at least I could usually control who I stole from and tell myself they deserved it.

  When I first came to work for you, I hated you immediately. You were an asshole who didn’t care about anyone. Day one I took your stapler and stashed it in my car. You didn’t even notice. Then I took the laptop. When you caught me and you believed my story, I thought you were an idiot. But when you fired me, I wasn’t surprised.

  What did catch me off guard was what you said to me before security escorted me out of the building. I wonder if you even remember.

  Zack did remember. She’d looked so sad that day, as though she’d lost more than her job. He’d put a hand on her shoulder and simply said, “You’re a good person. Don’t give up on yourself.”

  It wasn’t anything earth-shattering as far as comfort went, and in the end it hadn’t been nearly enough. But something had resonated enough with her that one of her final acts was to write him this letter.

  It doesn’t really matter if you do or not. I remember. Those words stuck with me for a long time. When the police didn’t show up for me and I knew you hadn’t turned me in, I felt even more ashamed. I tried to get better, do better after that. Worked harder in therapy, got back on meds. A part of me wanted to make you proud.

  I’m writing this letter to say that I’m sorry I gave up, but the world was just too hard. You’re a good person too, Mr. Anderson. Thank you for your kindness.

  Miranda.

  Zack read the letter over a few more times until the words were burned into his brain. The poor woman had tried to turn her life around alone. He couldn’t imagine dealing with that sort of pain without someone to talk to, to help him work through the anger and frustration. Russel had seen the pain lingering below his skin as a teen and done everything he could to get Zack on the right path. Zack could only imagine Nolan had gone through much the same thing after his accident, relying on help from scores of doctors, therapists, and family members to piece his body and mind back together.

  Nolan.

  Zack closed his eyes and hoped Nolan was okay. When he’d left the office, Nolan was beyond rattled. With his sister in Vancouver, he would be alone if he had one of his attacks. Zack wanted nothing more than to go to his apartment and check in on him. Be the person he relied on for help. But given the way Nolan had looked at him, the things he’d said, that would undoubtedly be a bad idea. So he’d come here instead.

  The throbbing in his hands was getting worse, forcing Zack to finally move. He’d picked up a large first aid kit for the gym office a few weeks earlier, and it was still sitting in the corner of the main room next to a stack of protective goggles and some other safety gear the kids had been using while they worked. Carefully popping the giant plastic box open, he saw that all the bandages and cleaning supplies were still wrapped in plastic.

  “Shit.” His fingers were too painful to move much. Picking up the bandage pack, he tried to tear into it with his teeth as he gingerly held it with both palms.

  “What the hell did you do?”

  The package fell to the floor as Zack spun around, then froze. Nolan was coming toward him, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that hung loose on his too slight frame. Zack couldn’t move, even when Nolan bent down and picked up the package, ripped it open, and took out a spool of sterile gauze.

  “God, you’ve destroyed your hands. Is there any peroxide?” Nolan didn’t wait for him to answer, instead dug through the first aid kit to retrieve the supplies he needed. “If we don’t get the dirt out of it, you’re going to get an infection.”

  Zack let Nolan take his hands out so they hovered between them. “Why are you here?”

  Nolan flashed him a scowl. “Apparently to clean you up. Don’t move.”

  After cracking open the seal on the peroxide, Nolan poured a generous amount across his knuckles.

  White bubbles fizzed up, obscuring his skin and the cuts. Zack sucked in a breath at the sting. “Shit, that hurts.”

  “It would hurt more if it was alcohol. What were you doing? If there’s something that can hurt the kids, I need to let their teacher and the contractor know before they come back next week.”

  Ignoring the pain, he took Nolan’s hands in his. “Stop.”

  Nolan’s eyes went wide. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Nolan cleared his throat as his gaze slipped away to a point behind Zack. “You were boxing?”

  “I was. That happens here.”

  When Nolan’s gaze returned to Zack, it was actually funny. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

  “Took it off to hit things.”

  “You’re sweaty. And dirty.”

  “I’ll shower later.”

  “That’s probably mold, if it came from that old bag. You should get cleaned up so you don’t breathe too much of that—”

  “Nolan.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you here?” Even as he asked, he realized he almost didn’t care why. He was just glad to see him, touch him, hear his voice and know Nolan was all right.

  Nolan stepped back, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk to you. When I called the office and your cell and you didn’t pick up, I thought I’d try here. Well, first stop was Frantic. The club, not my state of mind.” A blush crept up Nolan’s cheeks. “Do you mind putting something on? I can’t talk to you when you’re looking all . . .” He waved his hand around Zack’s chest, as though that said it all.

  The anger and frustration that had grabbed Zack in a python’s grip began to release. “Sure. Give me a second.”

  His dress shirt was dark, so at the very least it wouldn’t be ruined by the sweat, blood, and dirt. He ignored Nolan and took his time doing
up the buttons of his shirt, needing a few moments to wrap his head around what was going on. Because it really did matter why Nolan was here.

  Okay, Nolan had come looking for him. He was willing to go to multiple locations so they could have a face-to-face conversation. That had to be a good thing, right? Maybe he wasn’t as angry at Zack as Zack had first assumed.

  “Jesus.”

  He turned around to see Nolan holding Miranda’s letter. “Put that down.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Now.” He let out a huff. “Please.”

  Nolan folded the note in half and held it out for him to take. “Did you do that to yourself before or after you read her note?”

  “Before.”

  Nolan frowned. “Why?”

  Seeing him standing there, Zack was beginning to wonder the same thing. “I was angry at myself for what I had to do to you.”

  “You didn’t have a choice. I know that now.” He gave a little shrug. “I have some savings that will cover my rent and expenses for a month or two. I should be able to find another job by then.”

  Another job, where Zack wouldn’t see him every day. But that was how things had to be. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  “That was actually one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.” Nolan glanced at Zack’s hands again. “And I’ll be happy to tell you if you let me wrap those up.”

  Zack could continue to be stubborn, but it was hard to maintain the edge when Nolan was standing there looking cute but stern. “Sure.”

  They moved to the rickety old bench by the wall, where Zack sat and held his hands out.

  Nolan squatted in front of him, lifting the edge of the gauze from the spool. “I spoke to Max.”

  “What? When?”

  “About an hour ago. I wanted to run something by him before I brought it to you. Someone who knew you and the situation.”

  Nolan’s hands were gentle as he wrapped gauze around the wounds. Zack shifted so their faces were closer. “What’s that?”

  “I want to be the project manager for Ringside.” Nolan cast him a quick glance, but continued. “What I’m proposing is this: I’ll come on and look after the construction, organize the fund-raising, and oversee grant applications. If I’m able to make progress, and if we get some money, then I’d like to ask for a small salary. Just enough to make sure I don’t get thrown out of my place or starve. You can’t do this and your job at Compass. It’s too much for one person. Max means well, but he has a business of his own to handle. Though I do have plans to use Frantic as a base to launch some fund-raising, but we can talk about that later. There, one done.”

  Zack let his bandaged hand fall to his lap and held the other one up. “I’m surprised you want anything to do with me at all.”

  “What do you mean? Ringside has so much potential, both as a gym and as a chance to give teens a safe place to figure things out. You know how much it helped you. I wish I’d known about it when I was younger. A chance to be a part of rebuilding that would be a privilege.” Nolan finished fixing Zack’s hand before he slid his own onto Zack’s thighs. “And it will give me a chance to spend time with you.”

  “My previous statement still stands.”

  “Why? Because you were forced to fire me? Don’t be an ass.” Nolan tightened his grip on him. “You were the first person in over two years to treat me like a person. You didn’t let my disability define or limit what you believed I could accomplish. You pushed me, yelled at me, treated me exactly the way you’d treat anyone else. Did I have a few setbacks? Sure. But even so, I feel more like my old self. I even looked in the mirror this morning and didn’t hate what I saw staring back at me.”

  God, how could anyone hate anything about you? Zack cupped Nolan’s face with his bandaged hands. “I’m glad I fired you.”

  “You are?” Nolan’s voice shook. “Why?”

  “So I can do this and not worry.”

  The kiss was unlike anything he’d shared with anyone else. Love welled up, all-encompassing and bright. The scrape of stubble against his face sent chills through him, making every cell in his body burst with awareness. The swipe of his tongue against Nolan’s had them both groaning, clawing at each other to get closer. He pulled at Nolan’s shoulders until Nolan climbed into his lap.

  Now that they were at the same level, it was far easier for him to bury his fingers in Nolan’s hair. His fingertips brushed against the scar hidden beneath the surface. Nolan stiffened for a moment, so Zack deepened the kiss as he deliberately traced the ragged trail.

  “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.” Zack nipped Nolan’s chin. “And I still don’t even know what happened to you.”

  Nolan’s lids were heavy and his lips swollen from their kiss. “Do you want to know? It’s not pleasant.”

  “Tell me.”

  So, sitting on his lap in a defunct boxing gym, Nolan Carmichael told him every detail of the horrific accident that had forever changed his life. And Zack Anderson, frustrated, angry, and sometimes dragon-like, fell in love.

  The gym was a zoo. Or it could have passed as one, given how many people were currently careening around Nolan. Sawdust-coated teens carried lumber and tools around the perimeter of the room, hammered away at the framework of the center ring platform, and scrubbed away the final decades of grime and old paint from the walls. Seated on a pair of overturned plastic buckets, a pair of future interior design consultants pored over a booklet of paint swatches, happily debating about the best shade of something called “greige.”

  They’d made tremendous progress on Ringside in the four months since he’d come on as project manager. Not that he was completely responsible for the success; Zack had worked hard as well.

  He’d be working even more soon; he’d officially resigned as CTO of Compass the previous week.

  “Nolan?” François, the contractor, sauntered over. “Did you have a chance to review the list of trades I want to use?”

  He’d learned so much about contracting it was terrifying. Not that he understood it all—that was why he had François. “You’ve worked with them all before?”

  “They’re my normal crew. I trust them.”

  “And I trust you. When will they start?”

  He fought the urge to check the time again, though it was hard to avoid given the giant-ass clock they’d installed on the back wall. The second hand ticked away, taunting him by seeming to slow down, stretching out the interval before he knew Zack was due to arrive.

  Considering how much Zack had needed Nolan’s help when they’d first met, it was strange how quickly Nolan had come to rely on Zack as well. Not regarding things like healthy workplace communication or empowering team dynamics—their boss-assistant days were well behind them—but rather in little ways.

  He loved how Zack made him coffee and brought it to bed first thing in the morning. He adored the way Zack refused to treat him differently than anyone else, but was there with a supporting hand the instant Nolan indicated a need for help. And he could no longer do without those moments in bed when brash, impulsive Zack placed kisses across every one of his scars . . . and slowly, patiently, mended his heart.

  François looked around at the calamitous bustle. “It’s too quiet here. Where’s your partner?”

  Yes, Zack might no longer be Nolan’s boss, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t up to bossing everyone else around. “He’ll be back soon. I sent him on errands this morning. Figured you’d appreciate having him out of your hair for a while.”

  “Sure you can’t convince him to go back to work?” The Frenchman chuckled. “Those kids will want lunch soon. I think they have some sort of thank-you planned.”

  “Oh right. I forgot this was their last week.”

  “They’ve had a great time and learned a lot. If it’s okay with you, I’ll give them a bit longer today.”

  “Yes. Actually, take them over to the Pear Tree for lunch, and charge it to our tab. I�
��ll call ahead to let them know you’re coming. A little thank-you from us.”

  It was then that Zack returned. Strange how Nolan could tell without seeing. The air in the room changed, became charged with the excess energy that floated from him. “Why don’t you head over now?”

  François winked. “Will do. Children, pack up. Mr. Carmichael was so annoyed with you that he’s sending you to lunch early. His treat.”

  Zack stood to the side as the teens left, banging against one another and laughing as they went. Before long it was just the two of them.

  “Our treat?” Zack lifted an eyebrow. “That’s going to be expensive.”

  “I’ll take it out of my grocery bill.” He leaned in and gave Zack a quick kiss. “Did you find everything okay?”

  “I did.”

  “I only wanted a few paint samples. I figured you would be back long before now.” It was weird, but Zack seemed nervous. That couldn’t be right. “Are you okay?”

  “Yup.” Zack let out a little sigh and reached into his pocket. “I was hoping you might be interested in having this.”

  The object glinted from the overhead lights. Nolan looked at it, then looked again to be certain it was what he thought it was. “A key?”

  “To my condo. I figured you spend three or four nights a week there now, you might like to be able to come and go whenever you’d like.”

  “To your place?”

  “You could even move a few of your things in. More than a spare toothbrush and toiletries. Clothes. Books. Some of your physio equipment. I could set up the spare room as a place for you to work out.” Zack licked his lips. “If you’d like.”

  “Are you . . .” Nolan took the key and held it in his hand. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

  “Yes.” Zack cupped the back of his head and kissed him softly. “I haven’t been this happy before in my life. Even Max said so. I can’t wait to see you every day. I need you. You’ve become the strongest drug in the world. I’m an addict, and I never want to be cured. Move in with me. Please.”