Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
BASH
I’m late for work.
Of course I am.
After leaving Romilly’s yesterday, I ended up at Harbor Strike MMA, the closest decent gym—which, of course, was all the way in Portland.
And turns out, the long drive was worth it because the head coach, Greg, recognized me the second I walked in.
Apparently, he’s seen the viral clip of me against four guys in a parking lot and had also caught my pro debut.
So, instead of brushing me off, he offered me a spot right then and there to train alongside the other fighters. I didn’t even have to ask.
And this morning, the welcoming scent of the sweat and rubber matting in the gym woke me up in the best way.
Even if it was the kind of smell that stuck to my lungs long after leaving.
Thankfully, I’ve been doing plenty of strength training and cardio before now, but grappling and sparring with the other pro fighters had me struggling.
And that wouldn’t do. I lost track of time, and after three hours, realized how late I was about to be for The Paw Spa.
As I drive home to change, I overthink my lunch with Romilly the same way I did last night. I can’t help it. The woman is taking over my mind.
I still can’t believe she made those sandwiches. With fresh bread. I don’t feel worthy.
I’ve been wondering if she’s the woman of my dreams, but the moment I tasted the meal she effortlessly crafted, my suspicions were confirmed.
Romilly is perfect. She’s too good to be true, and definitely too good for me. It’s even more evident now that she’s willing to sponsor me over something as trivial as helping her rating go up. She hardly knows me, and she already believes in me. Something my own parents aren’t even capable of.
Shake it off, Bash. To be in a relationship is to be controlled.
Just like how Mum is with Dad. I recall the way they’ve always bickered, how Mum is always hurling insults and names at Dad whenever he so much as meets with a friend during the week after work.
I’ve seen what a relationship looks like, and I want no part of it.
But when I try to imagine Romilly in my mother’s shoes, yelling at me and calling me names, my mind goes blank. She simply doesn’t fit that bill. Not with her gentle tone, her kind demeanor, or the way she’s always going out of her way to think of others before herself.
Besides, it’s impossible to be controlled by someone who wants nothing to do with you. And Romilly obviously has no interest in me. She’s made it more than clear.
I park at home and head to my room so I can strip out of my gym clothes and rash guard.
Shaking my head to scatter the intrusive thoughts, I shower and dress for work in a hurry.
Thankfully, Romilly provided me with a pair of black scrubs to wear to work in case I don’t want to ruin my regular clothes.
I’ve never considered wearing them before, but I don’t have clean laundry right now, so I put them on.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I realize I won’t even have time to read a few quick verses on my phone by the lake out back. Not today.
I brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, add a spritz of cologne, and I’m out the door in less than twenty minutes.
The drive goes quickly. I ignore my “check engine” light and speed down the tiny, narrow streets of Meadow Hills.
It’s such a quaint town, one that reminds me of a fairytale, with its cobbled pavement downtown and the baskets of autumn florals hanging outside the windows of passing shops.
Even though Romilly’s salon isn’t on the same street as all the other downtown businesses, it doesn’t take long for me to arrive.
I stride from my parked car to the entrance. And freeze.
There’s a man outside The Paw Spa, backing Romilly against the side of the building.
He’s wearing a sweatshirt with holes in it and tattered green trousers.
The man’s back is facing me, and over his shoulder, Romilly’s smile is frozen on her face.
To the average person, it might look as if they’re having a friendly conversation, but I know better.
I’ve seen that smile before. It’s the one she wears when a customer gets upset, or I antagonize her slightly too far, or she gets stuck watching kids last minute at church.
At first, I think I’m imagining it, but as I get closer I notice her hands shaking at her sides.
She’s afraid.
I’ve never ran so fast in my life. The moment she sees me approaching, her shoulders loosen.
The idea that she’s currently distressed enough for the sight of me to bring her comfort makes me feel an array of emotions.
The most notable of those emotions? Anger at this man, and a surge of possessiveness toward her.
It doesn’t matter what’s going on because all I know is that I’ll protect her.
“Is there a problem, mate?” I grit out them moment I’m standing beside her. Now that I’m facing the man, I take in his scraggly beard, the murderous expression on his pale, deeply wrinkled face, and the powerful stench emanating from his body.
“I know you have more money than that,” he spits in her direction, ignoring me. Romilly’s body tenses beside me, and by instinct, I step in front of her so I’m between her and this man.
“Did you hear me?” I raise my voice. “I asked if there’s a problem. You can talk to me now, not her.” Turning to her, I say, “Go inside.”
“Romilly isn’t going anywhere.” The man shakes a fist. “Not until she gives me the same amount I’ve seen her give others.”
My final thread of patience snaps. I grab the man by the front of his shirt, ignoring Romilly’s sharp inhale beside me. “She’s not giving you a dime,” I grind out. “Now get out of here, before I hurt you.”
“Sebastian,” she says softly and touches my arm. “It’s alright, just let him go.”
I release him, but my gaze remains locked on him. He glares right back at me.
“Like I said before,” she continues, “I just need to go inside to see if there’s any cash left in the tip jar, so if you’ll excuse me?—”
My eyes jerk to her face. “Absolutely not. Romilly. This man is harassing you. Do not give him any money.”
She looks torn, so I take out my wallet and shove a fiver at him. “If I see you here again, you’d better hope she’s not here to save you.” The words come out low and gravelly.
He tucks the money in his pocket and runs off toward the street.
When I face Romilly again, I take her hand and pull her against me. All I can think about is that I’m glad she’s okay and that I don’t want her to be scared. And for a moment, she relaxes as I tighten my arms around her. “Are you okay?” I murmur into her hair.
“I’m fine.” She pulls away to stare at me wide-eyed. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Oh, yes I did,” I say. “Because you were practically moments away from giving him the shirt off your back. He could have hurt you. You need to be more careful.”
At that, she frowns. “I’m fine. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Oh, really? Tell me then, why on earth were you backed into this corner looking as if you’ve never been more terrified in your life?”
She huffs, turning on her heel toward the salon entrance. “I’m not doing this with you, Bash.”
“Doing what?” I’m right on her heel.
“This thing where you pretend to care about me.”
Her words stop me in my tracks. She continues to unlock the entrance, and I follow her in. She shuts the door behind us, and I blurt, “I do care about you.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m grateful that you stepped in, but I don’t need you getting all up in my business. I’ve always done fine handling these kinds of situations on my own.”
“Then why were you shaking?”
“Because…” She shrugs. “It’s still a little scary.”
I frown as it dawns on me that she’s referring to this incident like it’s happened before.
“How many times have you been cornered by a strange man?” The thought makes me so angry, I can’t see straight.
Romilly is gentle, so kind. The thought of anyone taking advantage of her generosity makes me want to punch a hole through the nearest wall.
“Just let it go, Bash.”
“How many times?”
She sighs. “It’s happened once or twice. It’s just something that comes with volunteering sometimes. But there’s no way I’m going to let anyone ruin it for the people who really need help. Guys like him are few and far between.”
I clench my jaw. “This isn’t right.”
“It’s really no biggie.”
I shake my head. “No biggie? No biggie? Romilly, you have no idea what some men are capable of.”
My words invoke a strange reaction in her.
Something plays behind her eyes, something I can’t see.
It’s as if she completely gets lost in her thoughts for a moment.
The openness in her expression dims, like a light being shut off.
I know that look, because I’ve caused it before.
Not to her, but other women, past flirtations that barely had a chance to form before I shut them down.
Someone hurt her. Someone broke her heart.
My thoughts are confirmed the moment she says, “Believe me. I know exactly what men are capable of.”
“I only meant?—”
“And I know I said yesterday that I’d be at your sister’s brunch, but I can’t make it. I’m sorry.”
No. “Wait…please don’t cancel. This brunch is a big deal to my sister.”
She barely looks at me. “Bash…”
“Please.” I take her hand. It’s meant to be friendly, comforting, but the moment our fingers come together, a pleasant tingle races through my spine. I swipe my thumb across her palm. “Please.”
She takes an unsteady breath and looks up at me. She looks like she’s fighting for control, like the ease in which she usually wears her polite smile has dissipated.
I can’t help but wonder if she feels it too, this connection between us forming, taking root and growing quicker than I can comprehend.
She takes her hand out of mine. “I’ll think about it and let you know soon.”