Fighting for What's His

by Laura Kaye

  “Yeah? Corinne?”

  The woman yawned and nodded as she waved her in, and Shayna could immediately smell the cat. “So, this is the place,” Corinne mumbled as she shuffled her fuzzy slippers against the badly scuffed wood floors.

  They passed the galley-style kitchen first, which was a little messy but not terrible, before arriving into the living room with attached den.

  And Jeebus fannyflaps Christmas. The living room was a seven-layer dip of actual carpet, cat hair, discarded clothing, gum and PopTart wrappers, magazines, and hairbands. The coffee table bore the load of more than a few dishes growing their own ecosystems.

  “This is the shared space and my room’s beyond the curtain,” Corrine said, still mumble-showing her the apartment despite Shayna’s growing freak-out. “Your room is there.” She pointed to a mostly closed door near the den.

  Shayna was afraid to look. Like, legit had no idea what to expect.

  She pushed the door open and was hit by a wall of acrid cat urine odor. Because the litterbox sat against one wall. Otherwise, it was empty. Unless you counted the tiny ants parading across the windowsill and the bug carcasses in the grimy ceiling light fixture. Stomach dropping, Shayna peered out the window and wasn’t at all surprised to find a view of an alley.

  “I appreciate your time, Corinne. But I think I have too much stuff to fit here. I’m a photographer so—”

  “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Can you see yourself out?” she said, collapsing into the futon couch.

  “Uh, sure.”

  Out on the street again, Shayna didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She almost wished someone had been with her so that she could’ve gotten a reality check about whether all that craziness had actually happened.

  Thank God she hadn’t tried to rent a place sight unseen before she’d arrived in DC, because if she’d have been locked into either of the two places she’d visited tonight, it would’ve been terrible.

  She arrived home at nearly eight o’clock still feeling a little shell-shocked. Billy stood at the stove sautéing vegetables in a big wok.

  “Hey,” she said, too fuzzy-headed to remember that things were weird between them. From the way she’d broken her word to talk to him and run out of his room in the middle of a near panic-attack. After they’d given each other oral sex.

  Amazing oral sex. Like, mind-blowing oral sex.

  And then her past had caught up with her and ruined everything. Like it always did. On a sigh, she dropped into a chair at the breakfast bar. “That smells good,” she said, realizing she hadn’t eaten. Although dish ecosystems didn’t necessarily inspire an appetite.

  Billy was studying her, a wariness in his eyes that she couldn’t quite read. “Want some? I made plenty. It’s just chicken and vegetables in soy sauce. And I steamed some rice.”

  “Sounds amazing,” she said, heavily dropping her purse onto the chair beside her. Scrolling through her phone, she saw that a few other potential roommates and landlords had responded to her inquiries and wanted to set up meetings.

  “You okay?” Billy asked after a long moment.

  “Um, yeah. I, uh…” She put down her phone. No way could she respond to anyone in her current frame of mind. “I went to see a couple of apartments and they were legitimately terrible.”

  The pan knocked loudly against the stove like Billy had nearly dropped it. “Sorry,” he said, intently stirring the veggies. “Apartment hunting already? No, uh, no rush, you know.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said, her belly doing a little flip. Because she wasn’t sure if she believed him after their fight—or whatever it had been—on Saturday night. Or maybe he did mean it because Saturday just hadn’t been that big of a deal to him? Shayna really didn’t know. “But it’s obviously going to take a while, so I figured I shouldn’t wait until the very last second.”

  Billy nodded as he turned off the burner and set the pan aside. He scooped out a portion of rice for each of them and topped it with the stir fry. “Did you go alone, Shay?” he asked as he settled a plate in front of her.

  She moved her purse from the other chair to make room for him and dropped it to the floor. “Yeah. I mean, I was meeting with women so it seemed okay.”

  He sat and dug into his first bite. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think you should take someone with you.”

  “Really?” No doubt, it would be more fun to do with someone, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t handle herself.

  He threw her a look that was almost hilariously identical to one Ryan might’ve given her. Typical overprotective Rangers.

  She shrugged as she savored how perfectly he’d sautéed the vegetables. Sexy and a good cook. It was a killer combination. To say nothing of the fact that he was, without question, also a trained killer. Maybe that shouldn’t be hot, but it was in a heroic soldier kinda way.

  She glanced at him and caught him licking sauce off his lip, which reminded her of what else he was good at doing…

  Because, dear God, that man’s mouth was lethal.

  He frowned at the way she was looking at him, and she ducked her chin. “Well, no worries, I’m being careful. I even have pepper spray in my purse—a gift from Ryan.”

  “Which is great if you have time to fish it out from the bottom of your bag or unless someone jumps you from behind,” he said, eyebrow arched.

  She made a face at him. “Well, thanks, numbnuts, I wasn’t worried about that before.”

  “Sorry, I’m not trying to freak you out, but I’m kinda wired to think through and prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

  She softened at that because of course he was. “You don’t have to be sorry. And it would be fun to have a wingman to look with. But I don’t really know that many people here yet. And I hate to feel like I’m impos—”

  “Seriously?”

  His tone made her look at him again, and his expression called all kinds of bullshit on her. “What’s that for?”

  His eyebrow arched higher. “I told you I’d help you with whatever you needed.”

  Her belly went on a loop-the-loop. “You’re doing enough.”

  “Shayna.”

  “What? I wasn’t going to bother you after…” She couldn’t figure out the best way to finish the thought, so she let her words trail off. She didn’t need to spell it out for him to know what she was talking about.

  “Fuck.” He dropped his fork noisily against his plate. Shayna’s heart tripped into a sprint. “This was why I shouldn’t have started something with you. Because I was an asshole and now you’re too uncomfortable with me to ask for what you need. And my helping you getting settled in here was the whole point of this arrangement.” He put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Shayna. I know you’re pissed and you have every right to be, but—”

  “Wait. What?” She blinked at him as she struggled to take in everything he’d said and figure out her reaction to all of it. “That’s not…I’m not mad at you. I thought you were mad at me. And that you had every right to be.”

  His whole handsome face slid into a frown. “Why the hell would I be mad at you?”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. Jesus. I was a pushy, invasive asshole.”

  Relief flooded through Shayna so hard and so fast that she grasped the edge of the counter. “I thought you were disappointed in me for going back on my word and running away.”

  Billy shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t the right time to bring any of that up.”

  “Oh,” she said, a burning sensation suddenly tingling against the backs of her eyes. He wasn’t mad at her. Wow. Okay. But why was it impacting her this way?

  She glanced down at her plate again, blinking fast to try to stem the tears before they started. And then the answer smacked her in the face—this emotional letdown was because of how scared she’d been to lose Billy from her life altogether. Because she’d already had quite enough loss in her life as it was.

&nbs
p; “Hey. I’m really fucking sorry, Shay.”

  “Me, too,” she managed.

  He pulled away, picked up his fork again, and took a big bite. “So, consider me your wingman whenever you need.”

  The sweetness of the offer was not helping get rid of the sting in her eyes. Or the ballooning warmth in her chest.

  “My wingman and my muscle?” She gave him a hesitant smile, part of her not quite believing that they were okay and therefore not quite sure he’d appreciate the humor.

  He frowned for a moment and then his whole expression morphed into amusement as he remembered that earlier exchange.

  He smirked at her. “You better fucking believe it.”

  Over the past ten days, Billy had accompanied Shayna to see three apartments. One with a roommate and two studio apartments without.

  And Billy was fucking horrified at the idea of Shayna living in any place remotely similar to what he’d so far seen.

  There’d been the studio above the fish store that fucking smelled like death in the heat of the afternoon. There’d been the very clean but twelve-by-twelve windowless box of a studio.

  Which just, no. Fuck, no.

  And there’d been the sublet with the horror show bathroom, in which the toilet was covered in pubes and the shower surround was outlined in furry mold. Billy had nearly wanted to puke.

  No, no, and no.

  And that was to say nothing of what she called the ‘cave basement’ and ‘seven-layer-dip’ apartments she’d seen without him.

  So far, Shayna was oh for five.

  He felt bad for her because she was clearly frustrated and nervous about finding something. But there was also a part of him that fucking prayed every new place would be a nightmare before they walked through the door.

  Because something was happening inside him—the more time he spent with her, the less he wanted her to go.

  It wasn’t just the apartment hunting, it was that they’d go to dinner after, and Billy would get to try to cheer her up. They ate good food and had interesting conversations and he got to go to bed at night knowing he’d made Shayna Curtis smile. Which was maybe a stupid fucking thing to feel so satisfied about, but he couldn’t deny that it hit him that way—like he was doing something important, something meaningful.

  She’d also come to WFC with him again—in large part because she’d wanted to have the chance to see his friends at least once more, and last Saturday was the last day of her week-long visitors’ pass. But it made him wonder if she maybe saw herself moving on from not just his house, but his life—and hell if that didn’t poke at some uncomfortable shit within his chest that he was avoiding examining too closely.

  And when they weren’t out visiting potential apartments, they were at home on the couch or at the breakfast bar looking at listings together, because the dearth of decent housing options that she could afford was making him fucking crazy.

  In all that time spent together, they talked. They talked about everything.

  It was only a slight exaggeration to think that he’d had more deep, consequential conversations with Shayna during the weeks since she’d moved in than with any other single person since he’d discharged from the military.

  So much of his life operated at the surface these days.

  He was coasting through a job he was good at but didn’t love. He had friends, but not as many close friends as he’d once had. And outside of WFC, there was nothing in his life about which he felt passionate anymore. Once, that’d been the military and the mission and the Ranger creed. Now, he wasn’t sure he gave “one-hundred-percent and then some” to anything like a Ranger pledged himself to do.

  Amid all that superficial bullshit, his time and conversations with Shayna stood out as different. Deeper. Important.

  Even though the one conversation Billy was dying to have with her they still hadn’t had. About her secret. He’d learned his lesson there.

  If and when Shayna was ready to talk to him about the burden she bore, she’d let him know. Maybe she wouldn’t ever be ready, but he was familiar enough with burdens to know that he couldn’t force her to share it. As much as he wanted to know, he had to be okay with that.

  Which brought them to apartment number four, for him. A fourth-floor walk-up near Catholic University, which he liked because it wasn’t too far from his house. It was a two-bedroom place and a sublet, and the potential roommate was a thirty-year-old woman who worked as an administrative assistant. Shayna had threatened to smother him with a pillow if he ran a background check.

  He’d run one anyway, she just didn’t know it.

  “Maybe sixth time’s a charm,” she said hopefully.

  “Well, to find out what’s behind door number six, you gotta knock,” he said.

  She did. A woman opened the door wearing a smile. “You must be Shayna. Come in. I’m Clara.”

  “Hi, Clara. Thank you. This is my friend, Billy. He’s along for the apartment-hunting ride with me.” They all shook and made the necessary pleasant noises, and then he and Shay followed Clara from the little hallway into the living room.

  Billy nearly swallowed his fucking teeth.

  Clowns. There were fucking clowns everywhere.

  Porcelain figurines and stuffed dolls and framed paintings. Like, not a few clowns. Not a squad’s worth or a platoon’s worth or even a whole goddamn company of clowns. Easily a whole fucking battalion of clowns inhabited just this one room.

  “Oh, wow,” Shayna was saying. “How fun is this? How long have you been collecting them?”

  Billy blinked at her. Was she serious?

  Shay went up to examine a two-foot-tall doll in a stand that had an absolutely grotesque face, its features like wax that had melted. No. No way she thought this was okay. There was a hundred-and-twenty-six-thousand-per-cent chance these fuckers came alive at night and would kill Shayna in her sleep.

  And then Ryan would kill Billy. And just fucking no.

  “Oh, for years,” Clara said, smiling at Shayna’s interest. Clown lady crossed the room to a glass cabinet and opened the door. Shay followed at her invitation to see what the woman wanted to show her and threw Billy a glance as she did so.

  One that clearly read help me God!

  Billy just managed to bite back a laugh that he had to cover with a feigned cough.

  Finally, Clara led them further into the apartment. Except for the clown infestation, he had to admit this was the nicest of the places they’d seen. The kitchen was decent sized and spotless, which he appreciated. Same with the bathroom.

  “This one’s my room,” Clara said, inviting them to look in…to see more fucking clowns. How could anyone in their right mind sleep with all those clown eyes boring down on them? “And this one would be yours.” She pushed open the door.

  “Hey, this is a nice size,” Shayna said, flipping on the lights and walking into the long rectangular space.

  Billy’s gut dropped because he wasn’t imagining the cautious hope in Shay’s voice.

  “What’s this?” Shayna asked, pointing to a square card table in the far corner. It was the only thing in the room.

  Billy walked over to find it covered with beads, candles, incense, and doll-shaped things made of dried husks. No clowns, though. Still, WTF. He reached out a hand to examine a jar filled with strange-looking—

  “Don’t touch that! Don’t ever touch anything on this table. Ever!” Clara yelled, rushing over and worrying over the table like he’d broken an irreplaceable antique.

  Billy looked at Shayna’s wide eyes and was about two seconds from fucking exfiltrating her right out of this place.

  Clara placed a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, this would be your room, Shayna. But a male spirit lives over here.”

  She gestured to the table, and Billy’s gaze followed to look at the empty air over the table with a refrain of are you fucking shitting me running through his head.

  Clown lady continued, “He’s pretty friendly overa
ll. He just occasionally makes things hover or move or fall. But if anything on this table gets touched, well, it’s just better not to touch anything on here. Ever.” She gave Billy a pointed stare, unblinking for so long that her eyes had to have air-dried.

  “O-oh okay. Well, it’s such a big room, I’m sure I can share my space,” Shayna said, her tone no longer cautiously hopeful. Nope, now it was just south of hysterical. Thank fuck.

  Clara smiled. “Oh, good. Well, if you want the room just say the words and it’s yours. I think we’d get on well.”

  “I, um, I have a few more appointments in the next couple days but I am interested and I will be ready to make a decision without too much more delay.” She delivered the words in the same rehearsed way she’d said them all the other times her answer was in the negative, so Billy hoped that was the case again here.

  They’d only made it to the second-floor landing when Billy grabbed Shay’s arm.

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her head was shaking and her shoulders were shaking and she grabbed his arm right back and hauled him down the steps.

  “Not yet. Not yet,” she gasped, sputtering with humor she could barely restrain.

  Billy grinned. “Fucking clowns,” he whispered back. “Like, a whole fucking army of clowns.”

  She held out her hand as if to tell him to stop, and finally they spilled out onto the front sidewalk laughing and crying and gasping for breath.

  “The ghost…the ghost table. You should’ve seen your face when she yelled at you.” Shayna clutched her stomach and fell against his arm. Tears streamed down her face, which was red from how hard she was laughing.

  She was so fucking pretty. Happy and funny and full of life.

  “I know. ‘Bout had a goddamn heart attack,” he rasped. “But Shay there were bones in that jar, I swear to Christ.”

  She burst into laughter again, so hard that she was leaning nearly all her weight against him, her face buried against his chest. And it felt so damn good.

  “Those clowns come to life at night,” she managed. “You know they do…”