Fix You, Bash and Olivia Book One

by Christine Bell

  "It's complicated. And no, I'm not mad at him." I'm just done, I added silently.

  My thoughts drifted back to Bash again, and my cheeks burned as I recalled the half-pitying, half-disgusted look on his face. What did I care what he thought, anyway? He didn't even know me. He wouldn't be the first person to judge me, and it never bothered me before. And still, the urge to hang up the phone and go straight back to Shorty's and explain myself further was so strong, my legs shook with it.

  "Okay, well, I gotta go," Echo said before covering the phone and laughing so loud, it nearly pierced my eardrum. "Oh my God, don't you dare!" she squealed to whoever else was in the room with her. A second later, the phone disconnected and she was gone.

  I set my cell on the desk in front of my bed and flopped back against the mattress. Considering the fact that my parents were about to lose their house, I wasn't about to feel sorry for myself over missing spring break. The reminder didn't make me feel even one inch less lonely, though. It wasn’t about Cabo. It was about spending the next week here and alone when the thought of being here and alone made my chest ache.

  I sat up and stared out the tiny window into the darkness. There wasn't any real reason not to go into town tonight. I mean, I didn't even have to go to Shorty’s. I could go somewhere else and play pool or darts or something. Better than sitting around with nothing to keep me company except my depressing thoughts.

  I jumped up and grabbed the brush from my vanity, taking a second to run it through my hair. With a quick glance down at my wrinkled shirt and stretched-out jeans, I made for the closet and did a quick assessment. Now that Andy wasn't here to pick a fight, maybe it was finally time to take the jean miniskirt I'd bought last summer out for a spin. It had warmed up overnight to an almost balmy sixty degrees, and it wouldn't look too out of place in late March. Especially since there wouldn't be an Echo in the room to judge me.

  Nerves bubbled through me as I got ready, taking an extra minute to slick some peach gloss over my lips. Not for any reason. A girl could just want to look nice, after all. Then I was out the door.

  I didn't plan to go back to Shorty's. At least, not in my brain. But my feet had a mind of their own. I almost turned back a dozen times, but didn't. In fact, nothing short of a nuclear war could've stopped me. I was compelled to see him. To explain why I hadn't dumped Andy that very night. To make him understand that I wasn’t some weak sucker who couldn’t see what was right in front of her.

  And to see his face again, a little voice in my head whispered.

  I slowed to a stop ten feet from the door and stared at the sign. The S had stopped working so the lights announced that “horty's” was, indeed, open for business. An older couple brushed passed me and entered, but I stalled another minute, peering in through the quickly-closing door to see if…anyone I knew was there. From what I could tell, though, there was only one bartender and a handful of customers. Maybe Bash got off early on slow nights?

  I chewed my lip, on the fence as to whether I should walk away or not, but then took a deep breath. Right or wrong, I was here now. I had to at least see if he was here, because clearly I wasn't going to rest until I'd tried one more time to explain myself to the guy who had lost his job after sticking up for me.

  I shoved the door back open and stepped in. The music was much softer than it had been the night before. Background noise for the low hum of conversation. The median age of the patrons was about sixty-three, and I wondered if this was how Shorty’s had been before the college broke ground twenty years before. There were probably some people who still resented our presence and wished we’d get off their lawn.

  "What are you doing here again?"

  I whipped around to see Bash standing behind me. The wary look in his eyes stung a little, but I couldn't blame him. I'd been nothing but trouble for him so far. He'd be stupid to want me around. His gaze flickered lower and slid slowly upward again, taking in every inch of me, but his expression stayed cool and blank.

  I ran a hand through my hair and hoped my cheeks weren't as red as they felt. How to explain myself without sounding like a sad-sack loser? “I'm at the lowest point in my life and have no one to talk to. The thought of you being disgusted by me makes me want to die inside. Will you be my friend?”

  Gah. And there was really no less lame way to say it. Instead, I chickened out altogether and went with, "Everyone is away for break, and I'm stuck here for the week. I thought I'd come grab a sandwich and hang for a while." With two dozen sixty-year-old townies. Like twenty-one-year-olds do on a Wednesday night. Not weird.

  I resisted the urge to keep babbling and waited for his response, which was a long time coming.

  Finally he blew out an exasperated sigh. "It's already nine o'clock. By the time you eat and leave, it'll be past ten. It's pitch-dark out and you're all by yourself. Not to mention you just said yourself that everyone is gone. Do you think it's a good idea to be walking around campus alone?”

  I'd had my share of "buddy system" lectures, and knew he was right, but I hadn't really thought it through before I left my dorm. I couldn't not go to Shorty's. That was all I knew.

  "I'm grown,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and leveling him with what I hoped was a tough-girl glare.

  "Yeah, and you can take care of yourself. Like last night." He set the glass he'd been drying back into a rack behind him on the bar and slung the white dish towel over his shoulder. "Look, I know why you're here."

  His gaze drilled into mine and I could almost feel him reading my mind. I stuttered, struggling to think of a way to explain myself without sounding like a total flake, when he saved me from the effort.

  "You feel guilty for getting me fired. Poor, no-college loser got fired from his job and now he's going to have to bust his ass to find yet another dead-end job to replace it." He flexed his jaw and rolled his shoulders back. "But you can save it. I'm good. I'm only here for a couple more months and then I'll be boxing on the pro circuit. So all your little boyfriend did was push my schedule up a little. You can go back to your dorm and get a good night's sleep knowing that my life isn't ruined, okay?"

  For the second time that day, I was apparently dismissed. And why, after all the things that had happened in this shit-ass week, that was the thing that sent me over the edge, I’d never know. One second, I was standing between the door and the bar watching him walk away, the next, I'd launched myself in his direction, grabbed his biceps, and yanked him until we were face-to-face. Well, nose to shoulder, really. Jesus, he was huge.

  "I didn't come here because I feel guilty," I said sharply, tipping my head back to meet his doubt-filled gaze. "I came because I wanted to tell you something."

  His eyes narrowed as he looked down at me, and it took everything I had not to focus on that mouth.

  "I know what he did to me was wrong, and I’m not going to let it continue.” I took a breath and said the words aloud for the first time. “I'm not going to stay with Andy."

  I half expected him to say what he probably should have said. Something like, “What does that have to do with me? We don't even know each other.” Maybe that would have been enough to send me packing. To make me realize that the strange pull I felt between us was one-sided. That I was in it alone, and I should forget all about him. Instead, he stared at me for a long moment and something in his expression shifted.

  He ducked his head in a curt nod. "Well, I'm really glad to hear that."

  Warmth flowed through me, melting away just a little of the ice that had been lodged in my chest for the past week. So some stranger who helped me didn't think I was a total asshat. Huzzah. But for some reason, at that moment, it was enough.

  I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, wondering what else to say. The urge to tell him everything…explain about Andy and me…tell him about my mom and dad and the money…hit me like an oncoming train. I needed a friend right now. Maybe he did too.

  No guts, no glory.

  "Do you want to get a cup of coffe
e with me after you're done here?" At his blank look, I felt compelled to fill the awkward silence. "Or something. Like, if you don't drink coffee, we could do something else." That totally sounded like a come on. "Not like that kind of something.” I made an O with my thumb and forefinger and thrust the opposite index finger into the hole in the universal sign for sex, which I regretted instantly. Clasping my hands behind my back to stop them from moving, I pressed on. “Um, I just mean hang out. Or something."

  Dear God, make it stop.

  I was pretty sure my face was literally on fire when he finally took pity on me and halted my yammering.

  “I have something to do after work so I don’t know about coffee…or anything else,” he said, his full lips twitching with what might have been the start of a smile, “but I can definitely walk you home when my shift is over if you hang here for a while.”

  I could do that. The relief that settled over me was all-consuming. I felt like I could finally breathe again. Silly, since I hardly knew the guy. But just the thought that I’d have a few minutes walking with him was enough to add a ray of sunshine to a week when I had nothing to look forward to except a terrible breakup and a conversation with my parents that I was more and more certain would be life-altering.

  “Sure, I’ll wait.”

  Two hours later, after I ate some cheese fries, played the computerized trivia game for a bit, and then held down the pool table against a pair of octogenarians named Wally and Half-Dead Ed—his nickname for himself, not mine—Bash found me and let me know he was ready to go. Although now, in place of the half smile, he had a pained, going-to-the-dentist expression on his face that was a real ego-buster. I couldn’t bring myself to call him on it or offer to let him off the hook, though.

  He held the door open for me and I stepped through, feeling a little like Alice down the rabbit hole. Which was weird. Nothing had actually happened yet. I was a girl letting a boy walk her home. No big deal. Except it was. Some part of me knew the second we started moving, our strides oddly in sync with each other's, that this was more than nothing. That if I didn't bow out now and make up some excuse to run away, this guy was going to change everything.

  "So your friends all went to Cabo?"

  "Yeah,” I said, happy for the interruption of my jumbled thoughts. “I mean, I only have a couple here at school anyway. Most of my real friends are in Connecticut. That's where I grew up." I tugged my jacket more tightly around my shoulders and shivered a little. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees from earlier that evening, and I was seriously questioning my judgment on the miniskirt.

  "You want my coat?" He had slowed to a stop and was already stripping off his black bomber jacket.

  "No, I—"

  I meant to say more, but once he had the coat off, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. So far, I'd only seen him in his Shorty's uniform, and while he looked good in that, what he was wearing now should've been illegal. A second-skin white T-shirt clung lovingly to every inch of his rock-hard chest all the way down to an eight-pack of glorious abs. A pair of navy gym pants hung low on his lean hips in a way that made me want to give them just a little tug lower.

  When I was finally able to drag my gaze away from his ridiculously fit body, I was stunned to see a frown on his face.

  "These are just my workout clothes. I didn't expect to be going anywhere after work except home to knock the bag around. If you’re embarrassed to be seen with me like this…"

  I shook my head furiously. How had I given him such the wrong impression? Sure, Andy dressed preppy and wouldn’t be caught dead in gym pants, but I wasn’t like that.

  "No! You look fine. Better than fine. I was just"—I cleared my throat and wished for even an ounce of the cool, smooth charm that Echo had with guys—"surprised, is all. You must be very disciplined to go to the gym after working all night. Especially this late." Which was better than the truth. I was staring because you’re so unbelievably hot, I couldn’t help myself.

  To my relief, his face cleared and he offered me what could almost pass for a smile. "My brothers and I run a small gym, so it’s pretty easy. I have to walk through it to get to my apartment, which is on the top floor. Discipline is part of it but stubbornness is probably a better word.” His face went serious again and I wondered what it would take to actually get a laugh out of him. “Everybody kept telling me if I wanted to go pro, I couldn’t also work full-time. Like I have a choice. But the best fighters have to train five hours a day minimum to prep for a fight. So I do it, work or not. And unless I want to wake up at four a.m. every day, which I don't, I have to do two-a-days. One of those is at midnight."

  He leaned in close and I swayed forward instinctively, not knowing what he was going to do, but not really caring either. When he slung his still-warm coat around my shoulders, I startled. Okay, so not a kiss. That was cool. It would’ve been totally random anyway. The gesture was much appreciated, and I snuggled deeper into the soft cotton. It smelled like him. Warm and clean. I resisted the urge to bury my nose in the collar and started walking again.

  "Thanks. Are you sure you're okay without it?"

  "Yeah, I'm hot-blooded. I just brought it because you know how March can be in Boston."

  New England was tricky like that. Snow could stretch as far as April some years, and others it could be downright balmy. That's what I liked about it so much. Mother Nature was a fickle bitch, and I respected her right to change her mind if she wanted.

  As we walked, we made small talk that felt so normal in comparison to the emotionally charged and chaotic way we’d first met. It was…nice. But it ended too soon.

  I tipped my head toward Everley Hall and slowed to a stop. “This is me.”

  He looked up at the large, elegant brownstone building and let out a low whistle. “You got one of the good ones.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.” When the place wasn’t almost totally empty, leaving plenty of space for serial killers to hide. I kept my anxiety to myself and smiled. No point in letting him witness all the crazy at once. “And thanks for walking me. I really appreciate it.”

  When I handed back his coat, an icy cold seeped in that had nothing to do with the temperature. He was going to walk away now, and I had exhausted all my excuses to see him again. Damn it.

  I’d stepped through the wide, arched door before pulling up short and turning around to catch it with my foot to stop it from closing.

  “Hey, Bash!” I called after him. He turned to face me with a questioning gaze. “Do you guys teach self-defense at your gym?”

  Foolhardy. Desperate. Pathetic. I was all of those and more, but everything in me railed against the idea of him walking away. Of never seeing him again.

  He considered the question and me for a long moment before slowly nodding. “We have run some classes in the past, why?”

  “Well, I’d like to learn.”

  Until I said it out loud, I’d thought it was just an excuse to see him again. But then I realized I’d spoke the truth. I hated feeling helpless, the way I’d felt with Andy the other night. I never wanted to know that sensation again. Not that a few classes would make me indestructible, but if they could give me the confidence to handle myself or the ability to get away from a potentially dangerous situation without the help of a stranger, that could be really empowering. Now that the idea had taken root, I couldn’t shake it.

  “I’ll ask my brother Matty.” He seemed thoughtful. “But I don’t know if we have any coming up.”

  I got really brave then. “You could teach me.”

  He went quiet, his face clouding over, and I said the worst possible thing.

  “I can pay you.”

  I knew I’d fucked up the second the words left my lips, but there was no taking them back and his responding grin was anything but happy. “That’s probably the way it works in your world, but it’s not always about money.”

  “I’m sorry. I know that. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t asking for another f
avor. I’m willing to pay you like a personal trainer. It would benefit both of us.” Lucky for me, I still had a few thousand dollars left in the account my grandmother had left me. It would be enough to get me through the rest of this semester, even with a new personal trainer. I refused to think about what happened when it was gone.

  He took the stairs again, two at a time, until he stood in front of me. “I don’t want your money, but I can probably give you some pointers. I’ll give you my contact info.” He held out his hand and I gave him my cell phone. He punched in his info and handed it back.

  “Thanks,” I said before slipping the phone back into my pocket. “I’ll give you a call.”

  A second later, he was gone.

  When my head hit the pillow at midnight, I was anything but tired. My mind whirred, going over every detail of the night. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and hit my list of contacts. It took a second to find him because it filed under his last name.

  McDaniels.

  Bash McDaniels. Good name for a fighter.

  I set the phone back down and let my eyes drift shut, visions of him shadowboxing in his little gym dancing through my head.

  Chapter Four

  Bash

  “Get your head out of your ass, bro, or I’m going to bust it clean open.”

  The threat was quiet, but menacing enough to catch my attention, and I managed to dip just in time to avoid a ham-sized fist coming straight at my grill courtesy of my older brother, Matthias.

  He nodded approvingly. “Nice. Glad to see whoever she is didn’t totally ruin you for the night.” Matty bounced back on his heels and shuffled away to eyeball me hard, fists up defensively, ready to continue our sparring match. “So, you gonna spill it or do I have to beat it out of you?”

  We both knew that couldn’t happen, even on his best day. I was a light heavyweight and he fought middle when he was younger, but his hands were too slow to take him to the big time. He was finding some success in the MMA arena, but this was boxing. A whole different animal.