by Lexi Whitlow
“Don’t call me that.” I make a decision to get my shit together, here and now. I handled a lot worse than this, going back as far as New York and the gambling. Four years I’ve known this man. He might have crept into my thoughts every day since I saw him last, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job.
He arches an eyebrow and raises his hand like he’s going to reach for me, then he drops it to his side. My hands still shake as I get the sutures prepared, but then an otherworldly stillness takes me over, and I slip into the zone that I know all too well. When your boss tells you that a bomb might fall, or you’re working out in the fields in below freezing temperatures, you know your zone. And that’s kind of what this is. It’s a hazard situation, just the same as any I saw abroad. Before I can think, I sit him down on the bed, clean the gash on his arm, and inject him with lidocaine. He talks to me but I shut him out, his voice coming to me from a long way off, almost like he’s underwater and I’m listening from above. I start to suture him, and he grimaces.
“Summer, are you listening to me?” My eyes meet his for a moment, and I notice that the tips of his eyelashes are blond. I never noticed that before. And to think, there was a time I should have known him better than anyone. “Summer?”
I clip the last of his sutures, then start cleaning the cut on his face. It’s a clean cut, and deep. My stomach flips. It was intentional. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I’ve seen this before—on him and on a dozen other fighters who worked for the family back in New York. He owes somebody. He sees the change come over my face, or at least I think he does.
“It’s not what you think,” he says.
“What do I think, Ash?”
“It’s from fighting. Clean fighting. I have my own place. I’m coaching—not drinking, not gambling. I broke ties when I came down here to find you.”
My throat feels like it’s going to close, and the lights seem like they’re flickering. “I sent you the papers. You never signed them, did you?”
“No.”
“I tried to find you in New York the first month I was gone.”
And after all that I lost in Syria, I was too numb to look anymore.
“I was here instead.” He flinches when I numb his cheek and begin stitching him up. There will be another scar, among the many he already has.
“How convenient. Thanks for letting me know.” My voice registers as sarcastic, but I can’t conceal the hurt.
“I couldn’t find you either, Sunshine. Your mom didn’t know who I was, and your aunt wouldn’t speak to me. I didn’t know if it was Syria—or some other place.”
I roll my eyes. Bianca had every reason to refuse Ash, and every reason not to tell him where I was. I clip the last of his stitches. It won’t be gorgeous, but it’ll go along with his hawk-like features and the web of scars on his face. I touch his cheek for a moment, fingertips grazing over the red and blond stubble. “Get on out of here,” I say. “You’re done.”
He catches my hand. “We’re not done, Sunshine.”
“Oh, we’re done.” My voice is cold, and I snatch my hand away. “We were done three years ago.”
“I have a marriage certificate that says otherwise.” The look he gives me is exactly the one he gave me when we were together so long ago, the gaze that told me he owned me, that I was his until he said otherwise—that look that undid me every time and made me forget every shortcoming, every disappointment. I clench my jaw. He’s right. There’s a piece of paper out there that ties us together—but that’s the only thing that does. If he’d signed the papers when he said he would, there would be nothing. I can’t deny that his touch on my skin makes me remember what it was like with him—but that was only his body.
“Well, will you look at the time?” I say, my voice hoarse from the anger rising in my throat. “I’ve got to tend to a few other patients. Wouldn’t look good on my first day to hang around a man I barely know all morning.” I press the call button. “A nurse will come shortly, and she’ll get you the hell out of this hospital.”
Ash tries to catch my hand again, but I dodge him and walk out of the room. I hear his voice through the door as it swings shut behind me.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you. You won’t get rid of me that easy.” He chuckles. I hold my head up and walk away, but there’s a piece of me that wants to turn back, that wants to prove him right.
I never got over him.
I’m totally fucked.
CHAPTER THREE
Three Years, Six Months Ago
“I’m going to take you upstairs, and I’m going to fuck you until your legs are numb.”
She’s just a girl to lose myself in for a little while. But there’s a different feeling as I lead her inside, pulling her dress over her head and watching it fall to the floor in a little heap. She’s not special—she couldn’t be. It’s just that her face is particularly beautiful, that her hair smells of honey and peppermint, and it’s the same color as the late afternoon light when it’s warm.
“I don’t do this kind of thing—” Her voice trails off, and she pulls a stray lock of her sunshine-colored hair behind her ear. She looks down at her purple bra and panties like she’s shy. She shouldn’t be. I put a finger to her lips and run my thumb over the bottom one, pouting and dimpled and unnaturally pink.
“No words, Sunshine.” I unhook her bra and let it fall to the floor with her dress. Her breasts fall free, and she steps out of her panties obediently. She’s neatly trimmed, her sex a perfect V, her thighs warm and thick and welcoming. “I do this kind of thing.”
But not often with a woman like this.
She looks at me with a grin, eyes sparkling. “Arrogant.”
I laugh and trail my lips over the creamy skin of her neck, tasting her, teasing her. “There’s a reason for that, sweetheart,” I whisper into her hair as I take her breasts into my hands. I find one nipple and then the other with my lips, licking and sucking until I hear her whimper. My cock stiffens against my jeans at the sound. She wants me, and I want all of her, all at once. I want to bury myself inside of her until I forget who I am, watch her rosy pink lips around my cock as she takes me all the way. I’m not a sentimental man, but this is the kind of woman that could make all of the worst things about life fade into the background.
“Prove it,” she sighs.
“With pleasure.” I kneel in front of her and sweep my fingers over her clit. She gasps and throws her head back. Smell and taste and sound—it all comes together in a symphony. I replace my fingers with my tongue, circling it over and then kissing her there, sucking and licking, taking in her sharp, rich essence. She begins to shake against me, crying out, her wetness coating my lips.
“Oh God,” she moans. She keeps repeating it, babbling like she can’t figure out what to say. She’s close, and I’m rock hard now, like I might explode if I can’t have her. The tension inside my body builds to an untenable height, and I pull her down to the floor with me and unbuckle my pants, throwing them aside so I can press my skin to hers. She pulls my shirt off over my head as she clings to me, her fingers trailing over my skin, exploring each inch of my abdomen.
This is what it feels like to be touched, for real. This is what it feels like to be a man.
I shake away the thought—it’s far too intense for a one-night stand—and instead, I grab a condom from my pocket and undo the foil wrapper with my teeth. She gasps, her eyes going wide as she reaches out to stroke me, encasing my length. I groan—her hand is soft and delicate, just like the insides of her wrists and the sweet, vulnerable skin of her neck. But I want more.
“None of this old-fashioned stuff, Sunshine. That’s not going to get you there—but I am.” Her hand drops to the side and I slip the condom onto my length. With my other hand, I slip two fingers inside of her. She moans and bucks against my hand in pleasure. Then I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into me. I guide the head of my cock to her entrance, holding myself there and listening to her breath quic
ken. Her body stiffens under my touch, and I can feel her shake slightly against me.
No, she doesn’t do this kind of thing often.
“Relax, baby.” She lets go of a heavy sigh, and I slide further inside. I watch her face change, lips pursing and eyes opening wide as she takes me deeper and deeper. “You’re going to take every inch, I promise.”
“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice hitching in her throat. I bury myself all the way inside of her and thank the damn universe for the whiskey surging through my veins. Otherwise, with her legs wrapped around me and the tight fucking grip around my cock, I might come all at once. And I don’t want to do that, not yet. Not before I watch her face as she comes, not before I feel her shake against me and see that blush rise over her tits and those broad, freckled cheeks.
“Holy shit,” she mumbles. “You’re so big, oh fuck—you’re too big—” She shudders against me, but she takes me to the hilt, sighing and moaning. Her voice echoes in my ear, sending chills down my spine. I don’t even know what she’s saying, and it doesn’t matter. I fall into a rhythm, hitting against her clit with each movement. The tension inside of me winds tighter and tighter, like a coil reaching its breaking point.
“I’m coming,” she cries out, the raspy quality coming back to her voice. I urge her on, thrusting hard and riding her through her orgasm as she clenches tight around me. She whines, her body shaking, flushing red. She doesn’t just come—she glows with pleasure.
I groan, thrusting hard as I release myself inside of her. “Good girl, Sunshine,” I murmur. I brush her hair away from her face and kiss her hard. “So good.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “I guess you have a reason to be arrogant.” She laughs and throws her arms around my shoulders, burying her face in my neck.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman like this, since I’ve felt anything at all.
For a minute, I think I might be able to go again. Normally, I’d be flinging my shirt back on and calling an Uber, but I like feeling this girl against me, like how her body works with mine. I flip her over so she’s straddling me, and she laughs, drawing her hay-colored hair away from her face.
“Stay the night,” I say.
Her face pales, and she shakes her head. “I have... other obligations.” She tries to get up, but I pull her against me and kiss her. Instead of falling into me like I want her to, she pushes her hand against my chest and gets up, throwing her dress on in a hurry. “This has been great, but I have to go.”
I lift myself up on my elbows. “I’ll walk you home.”
What the fuck, man? Since when have you walked a girl home?
“There’s no need. I’m fine on my own.”
Before I can gather my thoughts or pull on my boxers, she’s headed out the door. I hear her heels clicking down the wooden steps, a sharp creak ringing out when she hits the last one. Then the front door slams, and she’s gone.
This girl just ghosted me. Holy hell. I look around the empty room and laugh. “Advanced move, Sunshine. And I don’t even know your name.”
Present Day
I’m left with my own thoughts, which is never a good thing. More often than not, that’s what got me in trouble with gambling, and drinking as a substitute for the gambling. Alcohol was never a real problem. I always liked the feeling of cash in my hands, and drinks were a poor substitute.
But I’m rid of those vices—running fights through an illegal ring and smoking are the only vices I have left.
And when I forfeit my old gym and start a new one with my fighter Josh, it’ll just be the smoking.
If Summer tells me to quit that, I might do the same.
I shift slightly on the table. My arm and face feel weird and numb, and the morphine Josh slipped me in the waiting room feels like it’s starting to take effect. I need the nurse to come get me the fuck out of here so I can figure out how the hell to get that woman alone.
It’s not the blond-haired nurse I saw before who comes to help me. It’s that friend of Summer’s, the one who told me she was in Syria when I came here, drunk and angry, three years ago. I’ve seen her a few times since then, always when I’ve come in with one of my fighters, and she’s nodded each time, not saying anything. This time, she looks at me like she wants to preach my funeral. But instead, she sighs and checks my sutures without a word and keeps staring at me like I’ve run over her dog.
“I didn’t know she’d be the resident on call,” I tell her. “There was a rough fight over at Frank’s gym, and I stepped in the middle of it—I wouldn’t have surprised Summer like this.”
The woman—Della, Debra, something like that—puts a bandage over the stitches on my arm and shoves two containers of polysporin at me.
She looks at me like my explanation doesn’t warrant a response. “You can use this or bacitraicin three times a day. Should help with the scarring. Wounds like this need to be a little bit moist to heal up properly. Unless you want a scar. I’ve heard some of the other fighters at Frank’s place say that’s what they want.” She spits the last words at me and then gestures to the door. “You can go now.”
“I’m not one of Frank’s fighters. I’m just there temporarily until I get a new gym going. Then I’ll be his rival. He’s an asshole, and I’m not anything like that.”
The way she keeps looking at me makes me feel like I just shit myself. One hand goes to her hip, and she cocks her head to the side. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I had a gym. It failed—but my best fighter and I, we’re starting a new one. Getting out from under Frank. We’re taking him down.” The morphine has started to pulse through me, and the words tumble out of my mouth, one after the other. I can tell I’m saying too much, and that my tone is bordering on obnoxiously arrogant, but I can’t stop.
“Oh-kay. That still doesn’t change the fact that you completely ambushed Summer on her first day at work. She’s only been back from the Ukraine for a couple weeks. I don’t know exactly who you are, but I can guess that you’re no good for her. Even if you’re trying to get out of a bunch of criminal bullshit, you still reek of it.”
“I said I didn’t know she’d be here. I was going to find her apartment—” I look at the woman’s name tag. “—Debbie. I was planning on—”
She looks at me like I have a horn growing out of the middle of my head, and then she lets out a long, weary sigh. “And why in the hell would you do that?” Debbie looks at me with her deep brown eyes. She’s curvy, round-faced and short-haired, and her eyes look like they’re usually kind, but none of that kindness is reserved for me. “Why would you think it’s appropriate to go to a woman’s apartment—”
“Maybe it’s not. But it’s the only plan I came up with.” I run my good hand through my hair, and at that exact instant, the lidocaine feels like it’s starting to wear off. The morphine still makes everything feel a little like it’s glowing, but it doesn’t do much for the sharp pain of the cut on my cheek anymore.
“A plan for what? Showing her what a big man you are? A big fighter?”
“I’m not half as bad as what I used to be, Debbie.” I laugh, but her face stays cold. I could describe in detail what I used to do before Cullen sent me packing, but I somehow don’t think that would go over too well. My thoughts drift back to Summer. She seems smaller now, more fragile, like she hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a long time. And her eyes—they’re harder.
“Leave her alone.” She looks down at my chart. “She’s never mentioned your name before, but I know you and her have history from the way you came storming in here a few years ago, drunk and looking for her.” She huffs and puffs her chest out like my very existence is offensive to her.
“That was a lifetime ago.”
“Two years, three years. That’s not a lifetime—”
“It is when you’re waiting for someone who you weren’t meant to let go.” I look deep into Debbie’s eyes, hoping the words are as romantic as they feel in my mouth. Debbie clearl
y doesn’t view anything I’ve said as romantic, because she’s lifting up from where I sit and trying her best to shove me toward the door.
“Out,” she says. “You can make your own way back to whatever dumbass horse you rode in on. Summer’s been through enough. She’s barely gotten back home and she doesn’t need some ex of hers trolling around and causing her problems.”
I snort. This isn’t the Summer I knew back in the city. But Debbie doesn’t take kindly to my meaning, and she pushes me again.
“I didn’t mean—” I didn’t mean what? To cause her any problems? My gut twists, and I remember the last time I saw Summer, standing with my friend instead of me at Penn Station, searching the crowds for my face and never finding me.
Debbie keeps pushing me, her hand centered between my shoulder blades, and I stumble forward, still a bit unsteady on my feet from the morphine pill. “I should get a wheelchair, but there’s a shortage, and it seems like you can walk well enough on your own.” She pauses. “There’s an urgent care center up near Currituck. You might be best suited to go there until Summer gets her bearings.”
She pushes me out the door, and I’m left standing in the hallway, alone.
One look at Summer—that sideways glance, her cunning, intelligent green eyes—and I feel just like I did when I left her to get on that bus alone three years ago.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and now it feels like I’m right back where I started.
CHAPTER FOUR
Three Years, Five Months Ago