Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
I jerk my chin up in greeting to Penny—the nurse my grandma tried to set me up with three months ago—before I continue striding down the corridor of Caramine Care.
Although Penny has the naughty-nurse getup down pat, I’m glad I steered clear of her tempting offer. I’ve got enough on my plate with a certain feisty princess to be adding any more into the mix.
I knocked on Clara’s door for a good ten minutes last night, only to be asked to leave through a crack the width of an inch. I only left when she guaranteed me she wouldn’t take the bus to work on Tuesday. Even though she agreed to my demand, I have an inkling she won’t adhere to my advice.
She better, or she will find out the hard way that I’m a man of my word.
Just as I’m about to enter my grandmother’s room, the quickest glimpse of a profile stops me in my tracks. Clara just exited a door a few spots down from my grandma’s room. She stops halfway down the corridor to chat with a man in a navy-blue suit and a white doctor’s coat.
A woman of Clara’s caliber could never be referred to as dowdy, but with her pale face and red rims around her eyes, her usually bright appearance is a little more tarnished than normal. Even tired, her beauty can’t deter her male companion’s longing glance at her backside as she saunters away from him.
Clara’s composure is so off-kilter, she doesn’t notice me gawking at her as she strides down the narrow hallway. Even stepping into her path doesn’t slow her brisk pace.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, her voice barely recognizable as she sidesteps me and continues for the door.
Her brisk pace only falters when I ask, “Why are you in such a hurry, Princess?”
Her hands dart up to rub her face before she slowly spins to face me. I take a step back, uneased by the look on her face. Bitchy, hormonal women I can handle, but a crying one? Not so much.
Acting purely on impulse, I draw her into my chest and guide her into my grandma’s room. Thankfully, the room is empty. Clara stiffens like a board the instant I curl my arms around her shoulders, but surprisingly, she doesn’t fight against my hold. I expected her to shove me away or yell at me to “get my filthy beast hands off her.” But she does nothing. She just accepts my comfort without a single qualm spilling from her lips.
Hell must have frozen over.
I’m confident she can hear my heart hammering my ribs, but I don’t care. I continue to hold her in as tightly to my body as I can, relishing a moment of reprieve from the bickering we’ve endured the past three months.
My bliss doesn’t last long.
“Let me just grab my coat then… oh, hello, Brax,” my grandma gr eets me with her rheumy eyes bouncing between mine before they lower to Clara plastered against my torso.
Clara freezes before pulling away from my embrace. Her red-rimmed eyes stare into mine for numerous heart-clutching seconds before she swings them to my grandma standing in the doorway. The whiteness of her face grows when her eyes absorb my grandma’s flushed cheeks and gaping mouth. “I’m sorry.”
Not waiting for a reply, she bolts for the door.
“You don’t need to leave, dear,” my grandma advises Clara’s quickly retreating frame.
Either not hearing a word my grandmother spoke or choosing to ignore it, Clara continues for the door.
“Clara!” I shout when she flees into the corridor without a backward glance.
By the time I make it to the hallway, being extra attentive not to bump into my grandma, Clara has already exited the automatic double doors of Caramine Care and climbed into the back seat of a taxi idling at the curb. Although I’m grateful she was smart enough not to take the bus, I’m not sure how her bank balance will handle the forty-mile cab fare from here to her apartment building.
Once Clara’s taxi disappears from my view, I walk back into my grandmother’s room. She has seen Mrs. Porter off and is sitting on the edge of her pale blue bedspread-covered bed. Her face looks as shocked as Clara’s did when I told her she had secured a two-week trial at Inked.
“I didn’t realize you knew the McGregors.”
While rubbing the back of my neck, I take a seat on the recliner next to my grandma. “Yeah, Clara’s been working with me for the past few months.”
My grandma’s eyes rocket to mine. “Clara works at Inked?” Her voice is smeared with uncertainty, and she looks the most dumbfounded I’ve ever seen her .
“Yeah.” I nod my head. “Don’t look so shocked, Grandma. We aren’t all tattoo-covered Neanderthals.”
My grandma slices her hand through the air. “It’s not that, Brax. I’m proud of you and the crew at Inked. They’re my family. I’m just surprised a sweet young thing like Clara would be seen over that side of town, let alone need a job.”
“You’re not the only one surprised. I’ve been asking myself the same question for the past three months.” I scoot across the leather seat and rest my elbows on my knees. “Do you know who Clara was here visiting?” My voice is shaky, hampered by the guilt I feel for prying into Clara’s personal life.
My grandma locks her glistening baby blues with mine. “When she wants you to know, Brax, she will tell you.”
I sink deeper into my chair before running my hand down my tired face. I shouldn’t have expected a different response from my grandma. She’s never seen politeness in snooping.
After giving myself a few minutes to gather my strewn composure, I ask, “Do you know if Clara has any family out this way?” When my grandma’s eyes thin, I add, “I’m not prying into her personal life, Grandma. I’m just trying to keep an eye on her. She had her car towed last night, and when I drove her home, there was an eviction notice taped to her front door.”
The concern in my grandma’s eyes intensifies with every word I speak. “Oh, Brax, you’ve got to help her,” she requests, her words pleading.
“I’m trying, but she’s the most guarded woman I’ve ever handled. Unlike you, she holds in her inner dialogue and protects her secrets with an iron fist… or knee .”
I confessed my prior run-ins with Clara to my grandma the Sunday following the knee-to-my-balls incident. It wasn’t that I felt forthcoming. It was the fact I couldn’t walk without grimacing that had me spilling the beans. It was only my crippled status that stopped my grandmother from issuing her own form of justice.
My grandma’s lips tug into a wry grin, but the concern in her eyes doesn’t dampen the slightest from my witty comment. “The McGregors were based in Hopeton up until a few years ago. When Clara’s momma got sick, they moved her to a superior care facility in New York City. Since most of the children were young, they moved right along with her.”
A niggle hits my chest. “Is her momma still sick?” Concern for finding out Clara’s mother is unwell is evident in my voice.
My grandma nods. “There’s no cure for dementia, Brax. No matter how much money you throw at the fancy doctors.”
The niggle in my chest turns into a full stab. “How old is her momma?”
Clara is only twenty-five, so even if her mom had her late in life, she’d still only be mid-fifties to sixties now.
“I’m not sure, but way too young to be dealing with dementia. Some days she recognized her kids. Others, she couldn’t tell them apart from the nursing staff.”
I run my hand over my recently clipped hair. “Tough break.”
My grandma connects her sorrow-filled eyes with mine. “Yeah, especially after everything Clara has been through. She needed her momma, but unfortunately, her momma needed her more.”
The pain in my chest turns catastrophic.
A s sweat rolls down my back, my head cranks to the side in super slow motion. My teeth smacking together shrill into my ears as I plummet to the ground. While I was distracted by my conversation with my grandmother yesterday, Diesel’s right-swung fist connected with my left jaw. He knocked my jaw into the next century, right along with my ego.
I spit out my mouth guard before running the back of my hand across my mouth, removing a smear of blood his hit produced. Diesel stands in the corner of the ring as instructed by Hank. His grin is smug, but his eyes show his correct response—regret.
Hank, Diesel’s trainer, squats down in front of me. His nearly black eyes assess my face as he runs his thumbs along the edge of my jaw. “Nothing appears broken, although you may end up with a nasty bruise in a few days,” he advises.
He stands from his crouched position and offers me his hand. His strong yank on my arm has my feet lifting from the ground. For an older guy, Hank is ripped and extremely fit. He has dark afro hair clipped close to his scalp, his mocha skin is covered with a collection of tattoos Ryder inked on him, and his eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen.
Hank’s son, Derrick, was not only a customer of mine, but he was also a longtime friend. I was devastated when I was informed he was gunned down four years ago as he and Hank left a boxing tournament. It’s one of those moments I will never forget. Derrick was set for greatness, all to have it snatched away by a man who couldn’t grasp defeat. It was a truly senseless tragedy.
I’m ashamed to admit before Diesel started training with Hank, I hadn’t seen him since the day of Derrick’s funeral. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I just didn’t know what to say to Hank. Derrick was Hank’s world, and no measly words I could have offered him would have changed that fact. Although now, while scanning my eyes over the old, desolate gym we are working out at, I wish I’d taken the time to make sure Hank was doing okay.
Four years ago, this gym was the number one spot for wannabe fighters. Hank’s training services were in high demand. Now, the equipment is outdated, the gym is devoid of clients, and Hank’s once full-of-life eyes are bleak. I had heard his marriage was on the rocks after Derrick’s passing, but I didn’t realize things had gotten this bad.
My attention diverts from staring at the boxing mat when Hank cranks his neck to Diesel and asks, “Did Brax go and get himself a weak spot?”
Diesel’s smug grin turns massive before he nods. I bounce my bleary eyes between Diesel and Hank, trying to work out what the fuck they’re on about. They eyeball me with a glint of amusement sparking their eyes, but they fail to ease my curiosity.
Ignoring the two grown men glaring at me like imbeciles, I mumble a curse word under my breath before untying the laces of my boxing gloves with my teeth.
After pulling apart the boxing ring ropes for Hank to exit, Diesel comes and stands next to me. “I don’t need to ask who has your mind, but I’m willing to play along.”
Arching my brow, I stare into his hazel eyes. “I don’t have the faintest fucking clue what you’re referring to.” My words are rough like I dragged them over a gravel road before spitting them out.
Diesel smirks. “I know boxing isn’t your thing, Brax, but even you’re off your game today. My first guess was you had an issue with your grandma but considering you wouldn’t be here if it were a problem with Grace, I’m going to say it is a woman who has you kissing the pavement… a certain blonde member of the Inked family.”
The smugness he’s been wearing most of the morning increases when I attempt to shrug off his insinuation. I don’t know why I bother trying to deceive him. He knows me well enough to know where my mind has wandered to.
“What makes you say it’s a personal problem? You catching me in a moment of weakness might have something to do with work,” I reply while running a white towel over my head to absorb the mountain of sweat running down my face.
Hank has always been a hard-assed trainer. Nothing’s changed.
Diesel takes a seat on the boxing mat to unlace his shoes. “Inked is your baby, Brax, but it isn’t your first love. It might keep your bank balance in the positive, but it doesn’t keep the blood pumping to your chest.”
I grin but don’t refute his statement. Inked is my business, but at the end of the day, it is nothing but a pile of bricks and mortar. It is family and friends who keep my blood pumping. And if I’m being totally forthright, it has been pumping a little faster since my run-in with Clara yesterday.
Clara can spar with the best of them, and she can dish out scornful words like grenades, but I hated seeing her upset. Every tear shed from her eyes cut me deeper than I ever anticipated.
Even though she’s icier than any woman I’ve ever handled, there’s something about her I’m drawn to. Call it a case of machoism, but I want to wrap her up in cotton wool and protect her from the world. And if that isn’t a shocking enough confession, my desire to protect her has nothing to do with my cock’s fascination with her. I don’t know if this revelation should have me running for the hills or running to Clara to seek confirmation on what the fuck she’s doing to me. Yes, I’ve always been a sucker for helping a woman in distress, but it’s never been this profound.
When Diesel spots the expression on my face, he smirks. “It’s not just your cock she’s gone and twisted up, is it?”
“What are you, a psycho? Get out of my fucking head,” I mutter, throwing my sweat-soaked towel into his mocking face.
“It’s called ‘psychic,’” he replies while yanking my towel off his head. “But I don’t need to be a psychic to recognize that glimmer in your eyes. You got it bad, man. You’ve let her get under your skin. I just hope you know what you’re doing. There’s no way to predict how chasing a woman like Clara will go. You’ve just got to work out if she’s worth the risk of having your heart decimated.”
I scoff. “Fuck, Diesel, no one is talking long-term commitment. It’s all about a bit of fun. A few hours between the sheets. Nothing permanent.” I keep my words strong, vying to undermine the seriousness of our conversation. My efforts are less than stellar as deceit has never been a game I can play for long. “Besides, I can’t mess with a member of my crew. A few hours of fun wouldn’t be worth the legal complications.”
Diesel etches his brow high into his sweat-slicked hair, but he doesn’t need to speak. His skeptical gaze speaks volumes without a peep spilling from his lips. He knows as well as I do that bedding a woman like Clara would be worth any hassle.
“Well, I wish you luck, brother, because you’re going to need it.”
Not giving me the chance to reply, he darts between the boxing ropes and hotfoots it to the outdated locker rooms at the side of the gym.
I ’m straddling my bike, recalling the conversation I had with Diesel yesterday when Clara enters my peripheral vision. I was so immersed in wading my way through the massive mess of confusion muddling my mind that I hadn’t noticed her exiting her apartment building and walking down the street until she stopped directly in front of me.
“What are you doing here, Brax?” she questions while shoving her hands into the front pockets of her mid-length skirt to conceal their shake. “If it’s about Sunday, I can assure you I’m fine. You just caught me during a weak moment. It won’t happen again.” Her words are stronger than the pain in her eyes.
“It’s not about Sunday.”
She stares at me in shock.
“I just want to make sure you get to work safely.” I keep my tone low, not wanting to spark another Jerry Springer-inspired battle between us.
Her eyes widen as she sucks in a lung-filling gulp of air. “I can’t get on the back of your bike again… I-I can’t.”
“I know.” I stop her retreating steps. “But I still want to make sure your travels are done safely.”
The feared expression on her face morphs into confusion. When bus 57 pulls into the curb in front of us, I gesture my head to it. “You can ride the bus to Inked, but only when I’m following you.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “You rode all the way to this side of town just to follow me to work?”
Nodding, I reply, “Yep,” without a smidge of hesitation.
“Why?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Why not? You’re my friend. I want to help you out.”
Call me pussy-whipped or any other name you like, but this is the only solution I could come up with for Clara’s predicament. Although she may be a smart-mouthed lady when she wants to be, that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have someone looking out for her. Considering no one appears willing to fill that role, I’ve stepped up to the plate.
When Clara remains quiet, I stare into her confused eyes, wordlessly advising that my offer comes with no strings attached. It is nothing more than a friend helping another friend. No matter how much she makes my cock ache, I’m not here trying to find a way into her panties. I’m just looking out for her.
“If you don’t hurry, your chariot will leave without you, Princess.” I nudge my head to the bus driver, who’s glaring at her as he impatiently waits for her to board.
Clara’s massively dilated eyes bounce between the Asian bus driver and me for numerous heart-clenching seconds. Her pulse is throbbing through her veins so furiously, the entire left side of her neck is twitching. I don’t know if her freaked-out expression is about her upcoming bus trip or at my sudden attempt to call a truce between us. Either way, she needs to board the bus before it leaves her stranded on the sidewalk.
My heart thrashes my ribs when she snatches my helmet resting on my thigh, throws it on her head, then hooks her leg over my bike. Even though I hoped this outcome might be a possibility, I honestly didn’t believe it would actually happen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m beyond stoked. I’m just shocked as well.
Clara plasters her torso as close to my back as possible before muttering, “Go before I change my mind.”
I tighten her grip around my waist before kicking over my bike. Even the deep rumble of my engine can’t overtake the mad beat of her heart pulverizing my back. Not wanting to scare her, I keep well under the speed limit and leave a good three car spaces between the motorist in front and me. Although I can’t see her, I’m fairly sure her eyes are snapped shut as tightly as her arms are curled around my waist.
Twenty miles later, the loud boom of my engine bellowing down the alley secures the attention of Charity and Diesel as they make their way from the parking lot to the employee’s entrance of Inked.
When Charity notices Clara on the back of my bike, she smiles a broad grin and playfully winks. Even though Diesel bowed out on his endeavor of pursuing Clara months ago, he still looks like a kid who had his lunch money stolen. If I were as respectful as him in our little black book game we’ve been playing since our school years, I could inform him that his assessment of the situation is misguided. But unfortunately for Diesel, I have no intention of doing that.
If he fails to see the true meaning of my relationship with Clara, so be it. Nothing against him—he’s a great employee and an even better friend—but I’m not an idiot. I’ll do anything I can to ensure his greasy mitts stay off Clara. Even going as far as pretending I’ve sealed the deal when I haven’t and have no intention of doing so.