Chapter 5
Nick paced outside the Kroger, one hand mashed to his thumping chest. Holy shit, Aubrey MacLean.
Aubrey fucking MacLean.
She’d just . . . appeared, out of nowhere, like some kind of ghost. Or hallucination. Or, more accurately, the physical incarnation
of a wound he’d carved into himself seventeen years ago and never let heal.
It was her hair that had given her away. He’d passed the aisle and caught that singular glimmer of garnet, and, for a moment,
thought he was dreaming.
But no, Aubrey had been all too real, and she’d nearly knocked him senseless just by existing. And damn, had she looked different.
So polished, with her red hair cut on an angle, longer in front and shorter in back—the kind of haircut only women with pin-straight
hair could get away with. Not to mention her clothes. Fashionable in a way that left him excruciatingly aware of the thread
coming unstitched from the hem of his tank top and the grime still clinging to his skin.
He’d probably repulsed her, and now he groaned just thinking about it. But that hadn’t even been the worst part. No, that had been the frosty glint in her eyes, so cold he still felt clammy all over, despite the thunder in his veins.
Aubrey hated him. Still. One glance had made that painfully clear, so he’d defaulted to what had always come so naturally. He’d shielded himself.
Retreated behind a hard blank wall, even while his heart had clawed itself to ribbons.
Now he turned a circle and stared at his empty hands. He couldn’t remember what he’d gone into the store for. He couldn’t
think at all. He just needed . . . hell, he couldn’t even say. Probably the same thing he always did.
He pulled out his cell phone and shot a text to Jackson. Meet at the gym in 5? A moment later, he added an uncharacteristic Please.
His phone buzzed in seconds. Does 15 work?
I’ll be waiting, Nick typed.
The MMA gym was eleven blocks away, but he elected to jog. Just minutes ago, he’d been too exhausted to even consider an after-work
gym session, but now he blazed with the fiery need to move.
Aubrey MacLean. The woman who haunted his dreams. What the hell was she doing back in Henderson?
Nick was already waiting on the mat when his best friend strode into Wilder’s MMA Academy. Thankfully, Jackson had shown up
in his gear. All the guy had to do was toss down his duffel and slip on his gloves.
“Hey, asshole,” Nick said, mostly because Jackson never swore and always fought harder if Nick said something dickish beforehand.
“Took you long enough.”
Jackson glanced at the wall clock. “Jeez, man. You kiss the ladies with that mouth? What’re you all fired up about, anyway?
You texted me twelve minutes ago.”
In lieu of answering, Nick put his fists up.
The truth was, he didn’t kiss the ladies with that mouth.
Except for that one time, four years ago, when he’d taken Nisha Hansen to dinner with the misguided notion that if Tansy was dating, he should be, too.
They hadn’t even made it into the restaurant when Nisha had grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down for a kiss, saying she couldn’t resist a face like his.
Funny, since she’d resisted just fine in high school. Back then, she hadn’t even given him the time of day.
Even so, he’d been hopeful, at least for a moment. But then the great white nothingness had set in, that depressingly familiar
desert of feeling, as if someone had bleached him of all emotion. Close on its heels had come the equally familiar jab of
guilt, like a knifepoint drilling into his sternum. That one felt suspiciously similar to how Nick imagined cheating did,
which was more than a little incredible, considering you couldn’t cheat on your high school ex-girlfriend’s memory.
But his heart didn’t seem to realize that. Why would it? It hadn’t with Tansy, either.
So he’d ended the date with Nisha right there in the parking lot and hadn’t bothered to try again.
Now he bounced from toe to toe, his gloves on and his mouth guard in, impatience like a snapping whip inside him. “I’m not
fired up. Come on, let’s go.”
Jackson stepped onto the mat. The overhead lights warmed his ebony skin and gleamed on his freshly shaved scalp. “Something’s got you wired. What’s up? Tansy hounding you for money again?”
Nick dropped into a fighting stance. Tansy had asked about Paige’s internship fee again. Seven times, to be exact. And in the almost-week since he’d posted the love-letter
ad, not a single person had responded. Which meant if the idea didn’t pan out soon, he’d have to come up with something else.
But that was the least of his worries right now. “Paige just needs money for this internship thing. Not a big deal.” Nick
punctuated his answer with a right hook.
Jackson dodged without any apparent effort. “You don’t have it?”
“Not yet.” Nick followed up with a low kick.
Jackson danced away. “You wanna borrow it?”
“Nope.”
Fuck it. This was taking way too long, and Nick wasn’t in the mood. He dove, abandoning any pretense of strategy or form.
Surprise flitted across Jackson’s face, but he didn’t call Nick on the breach of code. He just met him grapple for grapple,
punch for messy punch. The conversation devolved into an exchange of grunts and splattered sweat. Gloves slapped bare flesh.
Nick nearly wept his relief as rational thought receded. His world shrank to a blur of effort. Punch. Kick. Grunt. Pain.
Fire bloomed in his muscles, scorching away the frigidity in Aubrey’s eyes.
Jab. Uppercut.
The in-and-out pull of air scraped at his lungs, erasing her scent.
Overhand. Sprawl. Dance out of reach.
Damn, there wasn’t anything else he’d rather be doing.
Still, desperation made him sloppy. Within minutes, Jackson had him in a clinch, using it to rain knees against Nick’s torso.
Each strike left a blossoming flower of hurt behind. Nick jostled for position, but Jackson, taller and stronger, took him
down. Nick hit the mat on his back, air driven from his lungs. Before he could counter, Jackson locked him in an arm bar.
The sinew of Nick’s shoulder popped and stretched. He gritted his teeth, his mind clouding with a blessed haze of white.
Jackson grunted. “What’re you doing, man? Tap out.”
Nick didn’t, which prompted Jackson to pull harder. Only when Nick’s humerus bent in a way it absolutely shouldn’t did he
finally slap the mat.
Jackson let go and scrambled away. Nick lay there, his arm throbbing, his chest working like a bellows. Overhead, the lights swam in and out of focus. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
“Dude.” Jackson shook his head. “What is going on with you? That was a hot mess.”
True. But it had also swept Nick clean inside.
He levered upright and pulled Jackson into a sweaty hug. His best friend clapped him on the back in that perfunctory way that
said Jackson had him covered, even if he didn’t understand why.
“Don’t worry about it,” Nick said. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Sure, man.” Jackson huffed. “I’ll beat the crap out of you whenever you want.”
“Yeah, yeah. Why else do you think I keep you around?”
Once outside, Nick walked the eleven blocks back to the Kroger. He still couldn’t remember what he’d stopped for, so he climbed
into his truck and headed home. He should’ve been back half an hour ago, anyway. At least for Paige’s sake. Tansy never cared.
When he walked in, his co-parent and his daughter sat at the dinner table. Tansy barely glanced up, but Paige squealed like
she hadn’t seen him in weeks.
“Daddy! You’re back! How was your day?”
Nick dropped into his chair. “Hey, Peanut. It was . . . uh, interesting. How was yours?”
She launched into a gleeful accounting of her latest math team competition.
He sat back, basking in her youthful effervescence. For all that he’d fucked up everything else in his life, at least he’d
done this one thing right. He had the sweetest sixteen-year-old daughter on the planet.
Other parents griped about the challenges of teenage girls, but privately, Nick pitied them, because Paige was a breeze—smart, driven, curious, responsible, perpetually happier than a pig in mud.
Everything he could possibly have wanted for her, she had in abundance.
Sharing a house with her felt like living with a spill of sunshine.
Which was astonishing, considering her parentage. She didn’t resemble him or Tansy in temperament and hadn’t inherited much
from Nick physically. Paige’s pleasant features came straight from Tansy, right down to the blue eyes, the only real difference
being the addition of a strawberry tint to Paige’s otherwise buttery hair.
“Isn’t that amazing?” Paige cooed. “No one else got that problem right. Only me.”
Nick grinned. “It really is, Peanut. You make an old man proud.”
“Yeah, well . . . you are pretty old.” She scooped lasagna into her mouth, then dodged his attempt to ruffle her red-blond
ponytail. “Hey, so can I sleep over at Maria’s tonight? She promised to take me to school in the morning.”
“Is your homework done?” Tansy cut in.
Paige looked affronted. “Of course.”
“Your room’s clean?”
Paige rolled her eyes. “Mom.”
Nick suppressed a chuckle. Tansy would say yes, of course. Even her stoniness crumbled in the face of Paige’s unending enthusiasm.
And as far as he was concerned, their daughter had earned the right to come and go as she pleased, provided no boys were involved.
That was where he drew the line. No getting pregnant. No getting trapped.
Mother and daughter traded a few more comments, a rare smile blooming on Tansy’s face. Once acceptable terms had been reached,
Paige dropped a kiss on Nick’s cheek and sashayed out. Maria lived half a mile away, and Paige liked to walk.
The moment the door closed, Tansy’s warmth cooled to neutrality. “So. Any luck with—”
He held up a hand. “I said I’d handle it. When have I ever said I’d do something and not delivered?”
She nodded, conciliatory. “Okay. But she needs the money by next week.”