by Josie Kerr
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Clincher
A DS Fight Club Novel
Josie Kerr
This is a work of fiction and does not in any way advocate irresponsible behavior. This book contains content that is not suitable for readers 17 and under. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
Any resemblance to actual things, events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, products, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and ownership of any location names or products mentioned in this book. The author received no compensation for any mention of said trademark.
Editor: Bethany Pennypacker
Cover image:
Dreamstime.com ID #53364764
Photographer: Fabio Formaggio
Copyright © 2017 Josie Kerr
Published by Hot Words and Cold Coffee, LLC
All rights reserved.
Digital Edition
For Tiffany and Yvette, my warrior readers
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Epilogue
Bridget and Nolan’s Playlist
Sneak Peek of Matchmaker
Acknowledgments
Also by Josie Kerr
About the Author
Chapter One
An envelope. White, standard legal size, the return address embossed importantly in the upper left corner. A warning near the center.
Penalty for private use.
Bridget Doherty received the envelope two weeks ago and still had not opened it. She couldn’t bring herself to do so. She knew the contents of the envelope would not actually change her life, but they certainly would provide a reality check that she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for. She’d put it on the small table in her entryway, separate from the other mail, to be sure she wouldn’t mistakenly open it before she was ready. And there it sat.
Her phone chimed, giving her a warning. Well, that was that. Bridget grabbed her gym bag and her house keys and strode out the door, leaving the envelope unopened and its news unacknowledged.
Chapter Two
Bridget waved to the gym manager, Nanda DiGiacomo, as she hurried through the entrance of DS Fight Club.
“Any news?”
Nanda shook her head. “No. She needs to hurry up.”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“Having virtue is overrated, especially when it comes to getting my mitts on a new baby,” she said, rubbing her hands together in glee. “Thanks for filling in at the last minute. Your guy just got here. I told him you’d be filling in for C.”
“He okay with it?”
Nanda grinned. “Yeah, he’s fine.” Nanda leaned over the high countertop, looking toward the locker room, and then motioned for Bridget to come closer.
“I wouldn’t normally say anything, but this guy? He’s a little different than the usual gym rats who want C as a personal trainer. Maybe go a little easier on him than you usually would.”
Bridget snorted. Great. God save her from snowflakes, though if this guy had survived Colin Carmichael, he most likely was tougher than Nanda gave him credit for. Colin, as the principal owner of DS Fight Club, while an excellent trainer and fighter, was not known for his tact or charm. That’s probably why he and Bridget got along.
“Don’t worry, Nanda. I’ll use my Southie charm on him.”
Bridget walked away, laughing, as Nanda yelled, “For God’s sake, be nice, Bridget!” behind her. It’s not like Bridget was mean or disrespectful. She was just blunt and had a tendency to say what everyone else was thinking but didn’t have the balls to give voice to—which, you know, might have caused her some grief in the past. But this was a new fight club, with a new team and new clients. Hell, she had a whole new life in Atlanta, and she was going to make the most of her new start.
Bridget had an epiphany as she pulled some kettlebells off the storage rack: that envelope contained a tangible proof of the end of an old life, and her avoidance of it hampered her fresh start. So she took a deep breath and vowed that when she got home, she would open the envelope, read the dreaded letter, and be done with it.
“Miss Doherty?”
The use of her maiden name—no, just her last name—coupled with that particular salutation immediately directed Bridget’s attention to the man who stood in front of her. She was about as much of a “miss” as she was a virgin, an idea which caused her to snort unattractively. The man’s uncomfortable smile morphed to a discernable grimace at the snort. He dropped his outstretched hand, wiping it on his shorts before tentatively repeating her name.
She stuck out her hand and grinned. “Call me Bridget. You must be Nolan.” She breathed a sigh of relief when the shy smile returned to his face and he nodded.
“Yes, ma’am, I am. Mister Carmichael left me a message that you’d be doing my session today due to the imminent arrival of a new little one.”
Bridget blinked. “Wow,” she blurted. “You’re . . . really Southern, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.”
Bridget could see a flush of red creeping up Nolan’s neck and immediately regretted her words. Great start, Birdie. Thirty seconds in to her first private session, and she’d already embarrassed her boss’s client.
“I’m one to talk, right?” She shrugged, hoping to smooth over his embarrassment
and pull her foot out of her mouth. “So, uh, you ready to get started?”
Another shy smile, and he nodded.
Two hours later, Bridget burst into the small refurbished Craftsman she called home and made a beeline for the entryway table where the envelope sat festering for two weeks. She snatched up the flat white envelope and made quick work of opening it, using her house key as a makeshift letter opener.
She pulled the letter from its wrapper, took a deep breath, and unfolded the paper. Her eyes roamed over the document, not registering the words, just taking in the general shape of them. When she finally acknowledged the message, she huffed a laugh at how paralyzed she’d been. She felt ridiculous, completely, utterly ridiculous. That piece of paper wasn’t scary at all. No, that wasn’t true. The piece of paper was scary as shit, but in more of a “door to Narnia” way rather than a panic room sort of way.
Bridget leaned her back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor, the letter still clutched in her hand. She tentatively touched the paper, as if afraid the words “divorce decree” would scorch her fingers. She huffed another small laugh. She’d been waiting five years for this day—five long years. She should probably be . . . something. Celebrating? Mourning? Both?
Knock, knock, knock.
Bridget stood up, and still holding the letter, answered the door.
“Hey, Bridget, would . . . honey, what’s wrong?” Annie Hedges, the shy woman next door, peered at Bridget. “May I come in?”
Bridget moved aside and motioned her neighbor inside. Annie stepped across the threshold and laid her hands on Bridget’s shoulders. “What’s going on, Bridget?”
“I’m divorced.” A semi-hysterical laugh bubbled up and out of Bridget’s mouth. “I’m, uh, officially single. Not married anymore.”
“Oh, honey.” Annie pulled Bridget into a tight hug. “I didn’t realize. Oh, I wish you’d told us.”
Bridget gave Annie a squeeze and then stepped back, wiggling out of the embrace. “We’d been separated for a long time. It was more paperwork than anything, but . . .”
Annie nodded her blonde head knowingly. “It’s still a shock, no matter how expected it is. I was able to get everything done in a little over a month, and I still threw up when I got that piece of paper.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I mean, I’m not glad you threw up, but . . .” Bridget wiped her face with her hands, surprised when her fingers came away damp. “It’s kind of weird, huh?”
Annie nodded. “Yeah.”
“Um, I’m assuming you didn’t come over for me to blather at you about the end of a marriage that you didn’t know existed.” Bridget sucked in a breath and then exhaled noisily. “So, what’s up?”
“The baby’s here! Nora Ann!”
Thankful for the distraction, Bridget listened to Annie babble on about the highly anticipated newest member of the DS Fight Club family.
“She weighed almost ten pounds! I mean, Colin is a big guy, but Bailey’s pretty small. No wonder she was waddling—that’s a lot of baby to be carrying around.” Annie shook her head in wonder. “But that’s the news. Nanda got the call right after you left after your personal training session.”
“Yeah, I needed to get home to . . . yeah.”
Annie reached over and gave Bridget’s arm a squeeze. “I understand, Bridget. I really do. What can I do for you? Anything?”
“Thank you, but I don’t need anything. I’m fine.” Bridget exhaled again. “Do you know when Bailey and baby Nora are coming home?”
“Oh, I think the day after tomorrow? Maybe the day after that?”
Bridget nodded. She’d most likely be doing at least one more training session with Nolan Harper, then, but she’d wait for a phone call from Colin. That was good—something to keep her occupied for the time being.
Annie excused herself, and with one final hug, left the house. Bridget sat on the couch, alone, and contemplated her future. Now that she was really free to live her life as she pleased, without having to run anything by anyone, Bridget planned to take full advantage of the situation.
Chapter Three
I’ll say one thing about doing meal prep—it’s easy to clean up.
Nolan rinsed out the divided container and put it alongside the other divided containers in the dishwasher. It might be all the rage and great for portion control, which he definitely needed, but the sight of all those little containers lined up in his dishwasher depressed him and made him think of little old ladies who shared their meals with their cats.
Not that there was anything wrong with that.
With a heavy sigh, Nolan shut the dishwasher door. He looked around the small galley kitchen and tried not to be glum.
A large tuxedo cat hopped up onto the kitchen counter and sat up on his hind legs. He yowled piteously, and Nolan scratched him on the chin.
“I know, Iggy. But you’ve got to lose some weight, too. It sucks, though. I’d much rather be eating fried chicken.”
The cat sat down and seemed to sigh. Me, too, Iggy. Me, too.
Nolan picked the cat up off the counter and carried him to the living room, where he plopped both of them down onto the couch.
“So what are we going to do for the rest of the evening, Iggy?”
“Mrrrowp.”
“Too hot still. We’ll go for a walk when it gets closer to sundown.”
“Mrrrowp.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The phone’s ringing interrupted their conversation.
“Hello?”
“You were talking to your cat, weren’t you?”
Nolan closed his eyes and sighed. He loved his eldest brother, but the man never called unless he had something to badger Nolan about.
“Hi to you, too, Toby. What do you want?”
“Wow. You taking lessons from Cal?”
Nolan snorted at the reference to the middle Harper brother. No one would ever accuse Calhoun Harper of being subtle.
“No, I just know you. What do you want?”
“Hell, I was just checking in to make sure you were doing all right.”
“I’m fine, Toby. I’m always fine.”
Nolan could hear Toby grunt and then sigh on the other end of the line.
“Good, then you’ll be up for my show on Friday.”
“I don’t get off until six, and you know Atlanta traffic. I won’t be able to get up there until later, and then I have to be up and at ’em early on Saturday.” Nolan crossed his fingers and hoped his brother would accept his excuse.
“Not going to work this time, Nolan. I’m playing in midtown, just a few blocks from where you are. You’ll have plenty of time to make it to the show, which starts at nine, by the way. You’ll be home by eleven. You’re not getting out of this one.”
Dammit.
“Nolan, man, you need to get out more. Meet some people. Life’s too short to do nothing but work.”
“Boy, that’s the pot calling the kettle black there, Toby.”
“That might be the case, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true. And my job forces me to be social. How many people do you talk to at this new gig of yours? And I’m not talking about the people you talk to for your job, because I know you spend all day on the phone. I’m talking about pure socializing.”
Nolan sighed. His brother had a point. Since he’d stopped working at the restaurant and taken an office job, he didn’t interact with many people.
“I talk to people at the fight club,” Nolan fibbed. He talked to Colin Carmichael, his personal trainer at the fight club. And today, he’d talked to that woman fighter, Bridget.
“Oh yeah? How’s that going?”
“It’s going well. I can tell I’m getting into better shape. It’s tough, but it’s good.”
“I bet there’re a lot of good-looking women at that gym. You talked to any of them?”
“I talked to one today.” Not exactly a lie.
“Was she cute?”
Nolan paused. He wouldn’t us
e the word “cute” to describe Bridget, mostly because he had the distinct feeling that she would not take kindly to it. He generally tried to avoid pissing off women who could kick his ass.
“She’s good-looking, yeah. Very fit.”
“Well, I would think so, seeing as she must spend her free time at a fight club.”
“Well, actually she was subbing today. My regular trainer’s wife was having a baby, so . . .”
“So, in other words, you haven’t really talked to anyone.”
It was Nolan’s turn to grunt. “I’m fine, Toby. I’m happy. Hell, I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s something we didn’t know I was going to be not too long ago.”
“Nolan . . . man, I’m sorry. We all just worry about you, you know? We don’t ever want you to get to that place again.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll come to the show on Friday. Text me the particulars, okay? I wanna take Iggy out before it gets a lot later.”
“You still taking that cat out on a leash?”
“He likes it.”
“You can’t convince me that any cat likes to be walked on a leash.”
“Iggy does. He’s more like a dog than a cat.”
Toby snorted. “If you say so. He’s about as big as a damn dog.”
“We’re both working to get healthy.”
“And you’re doing a great job, Nolan. I know we don’t tell you that enough, but Cal and I are really proud of how far you’ve come, with everything.”
Nolan swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thanks. Um, I’m going to take off, okay?”
“Sure, Nol. See ya Friday night.”
“See ya, Toby.”
Nolan clicked off the phone and tossed it onto the couch, barely missing the cat, who gave him a dirty look.
“Okay, Iggy, let’s go. I could use some fresh air.”
Iggy hopped off the couch and ran to the front door, where he waited patiently for Nolan to get the harness and leash. Nolan put the harness on his seventeen-pound cat, and then they headed outside for their nightly walk.
The evening was clear and warm as they made their way down the sidewalk toward the pool. Nolan had chosen the apartment complex because it was close to work and featured a green space that ran adjacent to the river. Situated almost in the middle of the city, the location, which had all the advantages of city life, still seemed like it was out in the country, which was where he grew up. He could still hear frogs singing and watch the flickering of fireflies, but he didn’t have to fight traffic to get those things. It was pretty perfect.
