Zach fist-thumps one of his pecs then the next. “I got all the power I need right here.”
No joke, the guy is swollen.
“Alright.” Jonah eyes the far wall. “Whoever gets there first, wins.”
Zach flips his baseball cap backwards. “Nope, let’s go there and back. Mason can call winner.”
I scoot off to the side to watch, completely fascinated by Zach’s confidence.
Mase claps his hands and rubs them together. “This is gonna be good.”
Jonah and Zach line up, and after a quick check to make sure they’re ready, Mason yells, “Go!”
They take off toward the wall, Zach’s arms building up speed and Jonah’s legs firing at a full sprint.
I wonder if Jonah will go half-ass to ensure Zach’s the winner—as I do with Jack every time we race—but the dude is moving quick for a heavyweight. There’s no way he’s throwing this on purpose.
It would be insulting to Zach if he did.
They hit the wall about tied, and Zach whips his chair around then builds up speed again. Jonah’s ahead, but just as Zach catches up, he fires his arms faster, like throwing a car into overdrive, and darts ahead of the fighter.
“Winner!” Mason yells, pointing to Zach, and Jonah slows as he crosses the finish line slightly behind him.
He folds over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Damn, you’re a quick little shit.”
I move toward them, and as I approach, Zach’s eyes come up to meet mine. “That’s some impressive speed you got there.”
Zach’s breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his hairline, and he smiles. “Thanks.”
Jonah motions to me with a quick tilt of his head. “Zach, this is Braeden Daniels, Blake’s brother.”
I shake the guy’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” His gaze lands heavily on my arm, which has somehow ended up pressed back into my body.
Jonah’s now caught his breath and pulls in close. “Brae’s a Marine.”
“No shit?” Zach’s grin widens. “Army.”
“Iraq?”
He shakes his head. “Afghanistan, until a grenade took my legs.” He nods to my bad arm. “Souvenir from Iraq?”
I can’t help but grin, something about Zach’s ease helping the words come out easier. “Yep.”
“Are you a fighter?”
I recoil at the ridiculousness of his question. How can he go from looking at the melted shit that is my arm and then ask me if I’m a fighter? I’m readying a super smartass reply when I remember this guy just beat a professional athlete in a foot race . . . and he has no legs!
“Nah, I, uh . . .” I shrug. “I don’t have a lot of mobility in this arm.” And why the fuck does saying that make me feel like such a Nancy around this guy?
He doesn’t respond, but his eyebrows drop low in a way that says I’m a big fat fucking pussy.
Jonah must sense the tension because he jumps right in. “I met Zach at the Injured Heroes event and invited him here to work out with us. You’d be blown away to see what this guy can do. He benches 400 pounds!”
“No fuckin’ way.” I stare at Zach.
“I usually work out at Fitness X. The place isn’t outfitted for people with disabilities, but I manage.”
“I’d say you more than manage.” Would it be too much to tell Zach he’s my new hero?
“Zach!” We all turn to see Cameron roll up with as much of a smile as I’ve ever seen him wear, morphing his hardened face. “You made it.”
They all chat with Zach, and Cameron invites him to come back whenever he wants, stating it’ll make his fighters less whiney to have him here kickin’ their asses.
I turn to head to the car, my thirst for booze that I was feeling earlier tempered with the weight of guilt and humility that I picked up after visiting with the Army amputee.
If he can do what he does without legs, for crying out loud, surely I can drive my GTO.
“Braeden!”
I whirl around to see Zach wheeling up to me. “Let me give you my number, ya know, in case you ever want to hit the gym together.”
“Sure.” I pull my phone from my pocket and see I have one new text message. I ignore that for now and open my contacts then hand my phone to Zach so he can punch in his digits. “Thanks, I’ll hit you up soon.”
“Cool—”
“Zach, get over here!” Wade calls from a set of pull-up bars. “Show Cam your pull-ups!”
He spins on his tires and wheels himself back. With a quick lift from Jonah, Zach does perfect pull-ups with the weight of his wheel chair strapped to his waist.
Yeah, this guy is an animal.
He obviously lives with the same shit I do, the fear and terror, but he’s exorcising his demons. Literally.
I move to the parking lot, climb into Layla’s car, and open my unread text.
It’s from AJ.
Do you have plans tonight?
Tux fitting.
I don’t hear back from her until I’m home, wet from a shower and staring at a bottle of vodka. Just as I reach for it, my phone buzzes. I blink away the fog of lust that has my mouth watering for a drink and snag my phone.
Perfect! I’ll come with. Be there at 5.
Damn, she’s pushy.
It’s three o’clock now. If I hit the booze, I’ll be a mess at my tux fitting, and the last thing I want to do is fuck this up for Axelle.
I’ll make it quick. AJ will feel like she’s helping, and I can get back to my old reliable friend Grey Goose before the shakes get too bad.
~*~
AJ
I’m dying.
Okay, maybe not dying, dying, but I’m definitely melting. I’m slipping through the back gate of Blake and Layla’s house, headed for Braeden’s, wiping my forehead and second-guessing my choice to wear makeup.
I just figured, if we aren’t going to be exercising, a little effort put forth might be smart. I know Braeden only looks at me as a friend now, but that doesn’t mean I want him to think I’m a sweaty stink monster with makeup dripping off my chin, which is exactly what I am when I knock on his door.
“Come in!”
I tuck my hair behind my ears, hoping he won’t notice how my roots are damp with perspiration, and walk inside. He’s standing in the kitchenette, one hip propped against the counter and a glass of clear liquid in his good hand. I sigh at the heavenly blast of chilled air conditioning while also absorbing the blow that he’s drinking.
“What the hell happened to you?” He takes a full-mouthed gulp from the glass while keeping his gaze steady on me.
So much for him not noticing how icky I am. “Aw, look at you being all charming.” I self-consciously push my hair off my face and gather it at the back of my neck, hoping to cool my skin.
“I’m serious. You alright?” He takes another gulp.
I stare as he empties his glass and sets it down on the counter. “Are you?”
He seems to understand my meaning, his eyes darting between me and the glass. “This?” He picks the glass back up. “Water.” He crosses to me and stops just close enough to extend it to my nose. “Smell if you don’t believe me.” His eyebrows are dropped low over those deep green eyes.
I lean in, sniff, and sure enough, it’s odorless. “Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s cool. I get it.” He sets the glass back down on the counter. “Now, tell me what happened to you? It looks like you ran here.”
“The AC in my car doesn’t work, and I swear today is hotter than usual.” I pinch my top between my fingers and pull it out to fan my skin. “I drove here with my windows down, but even the air coming in felt like flames.”
He snags a large glass from the cupboard and sets it down, opens the freezer, and pulls out a heaping handful of ice, then uses the filtered water on the fridge to fill it up. “You look like a cherry. Here.”
I grab the glass from him and drink greedily, draining the entire cup. “Ahhh . . . thank you.”
“Sit down.” He takes the glass and refills it, handing it back to me as I drop to the couch. Then he backs up, putting space between us as he leans against the counter. “Is it making noise?”
“Yeah, like a tick-tick-tick-woosh-tick-tick-woosh kind of sound—why are you laughing?”
He rolls his lips between his teeth. “I’m not. Swear.”
“It’s fine. I’ll find a mechanic—”
“I’ll take a peek at it. No use paying out the ass for a mechanic.”
“You don’t have to do that. You’re—” My eyes dart without warning to his bad arm, and he visibly tenses. “I’m sorry.”
“Just say it, AJ.” His glare slices right through me. “I’m a cripple. Just call it what it is.”
“No. And don’t you dare put words into my mouth. That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Oh yeah?” He spits through clenched teeth. “Well, fucking enlighten me then, Adeline.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Why not? Because only guys with money get the honor of using your real name?” He smiles, but it’s far from friendly. “Is that why you don’t want me under your hood?” He nods to the apex of my thighs. “Already pretty crowded under there what with Daddy Warbucks and his stacks of cash.”
“Stop it.”
“I bet if you ask him real nice . . .” He makes the motion of a blow job with his hand and his tongue punching one side of his cheek. “He’ll buy you ten new cars.”
“Wow. Bravo.”
The intense slash of his brow softens.
“Takes a big man to kick a woman when she’s down.” I set my glass on the table and try to calm the rage that’s building behind my ribs. “Do you feel better now?”
The muscles in his jaw relax, and he frowns then dips his chin. “AJ, I—”
“Tell me to leave and I’m gone.” As much as his words hurt, they make me angry more than anything because they reaffirm my fear that the Braeden I once knew really is gone forever.
“No. I don’t want you to leave.” He looks up at me and there’s apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Now, I’d love it if you could take a peek at my AC, and while you’re at it, maybe flush and replenish your asshole fluids, but not now. You have a tux fitting to get to.”
“AJ—”
I slap my hands on my thighs and push to stand. “We really should go.”
He stares at me for a few poignant seconds before nodding. “’Kay, but I’m driving ’cause there’s no way I’m gonna sweat my balls off in your car before I try on some monkey suit.” He snags his keys.
I drink what’s left of the water, feeling a lot cooler. “Mind if I use your bathroom really quick?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you out front. I need to go get the address to the place from Layla.”
I nod and head to his bathroom, hearing his front door close shortly after I’m in. I take in the decent-sized space while peeing, noticing how tidy it is and wondering if he cleaned up for me.
After I’m through with my business, I wash my hands and do the best I can to save what little makeup hasn’t sweated from my face. I finger-brush my hair, grateful that I went with a beachier look, opting to keep it down and allow it to air dry with its natural waves.
I could use a little deodorant, not that I smell . . . yet. But I don’t want to start stinking. I search in the medicine cabinet and find a stick of Old Spice and pop the top, lifting it to my nose. I close my eyes at the peppery clean scent that I’ve smelled on Braeden since we first met. I’m applying it to my underarm when I wonder, is it gross to use his deodorant? He’s had his mouth on parts of my body I blush to even think about; surely this isn’t a big deal. I finish up quickly and put it back when something catches my eye.
A row of prescription medication bottles. I lean in and read they all belong to Braeden.
Sertraline, hydrocodone, oxycodone, trazodone, alprazolam . . . my gosh, it’s like a pharmacy in here. I shut the cabinet, stare at my reflection, and whisper, “God, Braeden . . . what have you been through?”
~*~
Braeden
Layla hands me a business card for the tux shop, and her lips are uncharacteristically tight.
I accept the card. “You obviously have something you want to say; just say it already. I’m afraid your jaw will crack if you don’t.”
She tucks her wallet back into her purse and looks up at me with overly wide eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You insult me. Like I don’t fu”—I check the living room for Jack, but he’s nowhere to be seen— “cking know when you’re holding something back? Just spit it out already. I can’t stand to see you look so . . . constipated.”
She shrugs and starts stacking and rearranging magazines on the coffee table. “No clue what you mean.”
“Layla!”
Her eyes snap to mine, and she takes pity on me and sighs. “I was just thinking that it’s really cool of AJ to go to your fitting with you. Maybe if you’re hungry after, you could . . . oh, I don’t know”—she goes back to the magazines— “take her to dinner.”
“I knew it!”
“What?” She shrugs and feigns innocence.
“This isn’t a date.”
“Maybe it should be.”
I lean in close to ensure I don’t get overheard. “She has a boyfriend, a millionaire boyfriend who could fly her to China for real Chinese food. You think she gives a shit about me?”
She shakes her head and moves through the house to the kitchen. “Money isn’t everything.”
I follow on her heels. “It is to her. She loves money like you love nineties rock.”
“I don’t believe that.” She pulls shit out of the fridge.
“You don’t know her. Look at her for fuck’s sake. She has rich-ass clothes bought by her rich-ass boyfriend. I can practically smell the money pouring off her. She even quit her job so she could live off his money.”
Layla slams the refrigerator door and turns to look out the front window where she just stares. I follow her gaze, and out parked in the street is AJ’s old Saturn with faded paint, a missing hubcap, and now broken AC. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying now. I mean only a girl who drives a car like that and buys her clothes from Target would be money-obsessed.”
“Target? But—”
“You know what?” Her eyes burn with a fire I’ve only seen a few times. I take a step back when I notice her knuckles going white on a head of lettuce as I fear she might chuck it right at me. “I love you, Brae, but sometimes you’re a complete fuckface.”
“Fuckface . . .?” I whisper.
“You only see what you want to see, and because opening yourself up to someone is so damn scary, you’ll paint her out to be something she’s not so you don’t have to.”
“That’s not true.” Is it?
She holds up her hand. “Don’t waste your breath. I have more important things to do than listen to all that hot air coming out of your mouth.”
“Ouch.”
“Go to your tux fitting and stop being a dick to that sweet girl who’s been putting up with your shit just to be near you.” She doesn’t stomp off in some dramatic way but instead turns her back, officially dismissing me.
“Fine!”
“Fine.”
“I will!”
“Then go.”
“Enough you two!” Blake comes in and curls up behind his wife. “You guys sound like kids in here.”
Lettuce flies all around her as she rips at the innocent vegetable. “It’s his fault; he’s being a pain in the ass.”
I gasp and point at my sister-in-law. “You lie! She’s lying!”
“Bro, seriously . . . you can’t win. Don’t even try.”
Layla looks up at me with a proud little smirk.
I glare back. “I’m outta here.”
I stomp out the garage door to find AJ tucked in the shade, waiting for me. With Layla’s wor
ds fresh in my head, I do a quick once-over of AJ’s clothes: cropped jeans, brown Jesus sandals, and a frilly sleeveless shirt. Target? Impossible. The way the fabric hugs her body, I assumed it must be expensive, but what the hell do I know about chick shit? “How long have you been waiting out here?”
She smiles, but something about it looks sad, and I can see the heat is turning her cheeks pink again. “Not too long.”
I open the passenger side door of Layla’s car. “Get in. I’ll crank the AC.”
She walks over, and before she ducks inside, she looks up at me, her gaze asking a million questions I don’t understand. “Thanks.”
I nod and close her in, then hop in, crank the AC, and point the car toward the freeway.
This is most definitely not a date.
Twenty-nine
Braeden
“You sure you’re okay in there?” AJ’s voice carries through the thin-walled dressing room at the tuxedo shop.
“Fine,” I growl as I continue to struggle with the buttons of the tuxedo shirt. The thing is starched to near concrete, and using one hand to force the buttons through the holes is proving harder than I thought. Why can’t they make man-sized buttons? These things are so fucking small I keep fumbling them in my fingers. “Dammit.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m fine—fuck!” Another button slips.
“That’s it. I’m coming in.”
Ha! Like she’s coming in. The door’s locked. She’s not doing shi— “What the hell are you doing?” I stumble back as AJ gracefully slides her body beneath the door that’s only giving her about one foot of play. She arches her back, her tits brushing the carpet, and then dips low to get her round ass and legs the rest of the way through.
“What does it look like?” She struggles a little pulling her legs through, but stands to her full height, which brings her face right to my chest. Thankfully I’m wearing an undershirt, so she’s not able to eyeball my mutilated skin. “Is it the buttons?”
I expect her to step close and start doing them up for me, which has me wanting to crawl the walls to get out of this tiny cage, but instead she locks her hands behind her back and waits for my answer.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“Have you tried using both hands?”
The Final Fight (Fighting Series Book 8) Page 26
