Three hours later, I finally surface to catch my breath. It’s almost seven in the evening and no one’s even come to check on me. No one’s even called. What the heck is going on? I decide to go back down to the gym and see if anyone there has seen them. But first, on a lark, I decide to check The Archer’s room again. I start knocking, softer this time. I don’t want to piss off the man across the hall, any more than I already have. I stand there for a few more minutes before giving up and heading downstairs to the gym.
By now, I’m pretty sure I’ve been fired. I decide to just check the hotel lobby one last time. To my surprise, I stumble upon Archer, his doctor, and Mad Max. Instantly, I’m ready to go to battle. I storm over to them and fire the first volley.
“You know, if you’re going to fire me, you could have told me instead of hiding from me for two days!” I’m looking right at Archer when I’m saying this, daring him to speak up. He looks back at me, then down at the table. The nerve of this man! Since I fully expect to be fired, I really don’t care what I say at this point.
“I have been running around all night and all day. And you guys have been hiding out God-knows-where, and nobody thinks to even leave me a note?”
“You didn’t check with the front desk, did you sweet lips?” asks Mad Max.
“Well, no...I just—I’m not in the habit of picking up messages at some hotel front desk.”
“Had you checked, you would have found you had no fewer than four urgent phone messages," The Archer interjects, "and three written notes with instructions to contact us.”
I have a terrible sinking feeling in my gut. This never would've happened if these cave men weren't vehemently against using cell phones. But either way, I don’t like where this is going. “Uh...So, had I checked those messages, what would have been the gist of them?”
I’m finally seeing their faces clearly for the first time, and can tell that something is terribly wrong. Then it dawns on me. I don’t see Andy anywhere. Anytime anything important is going down, he is always involved.
“Where’s Andy,” I croak.
Archer finally speaks, and it sounds like someone’s ripping his voice forcibly out of his throat.
“Dead.”
“Excuse me. I thought I heard you say ‘dead’, but that can’t be right. I was with him at, like, two in the morning or something like that.”
This time it’s Mad Max who clarifies the situation. “I’m afraid it’s true, missy. He’s with the Lord now.”
I sink down into a chair and bury my head in my hands. This cannot be happening. “What happened?” I ask.
The doctor fills me in. “He was at that all night diner down the way when some schmuck came in and tried to rob the place. Apparently, the guy started to rough up one of the waitresses. Andy thought he was Archer, and tried to do something about it. He was shot twice. Fatal shots to the chest.”
They come without warning, deep aching sobs. I sit there at the table as hot tears stream down my face.
“Eva,” says Archer's deep voice. “There’s something else, Eva. He left his computer for you.”
“What? Why would he do that? What am I gonna do with the man’s computer?”
“I don’t know. Were you helping him with his work, maybe?”
“No...I—I just d-don’t understand. Was he the target or—”
“Totally random,” Mad Max replies. “He wanted to play hero…”
“And he died immediately?” I am still having a hard time getting my head around this.
“No, he was awake for a little while before they put him under for emergency surgery. But he just didn’t make it,” The doctor looks at his watch. “He died about three hours ago. I’m sorry no one got you. You’re always around, and everybody just assumed you were with us. When we realized that wasn’t the case, well...we didn’t want to leave to get you. We did leave the messages…”
It suddenly dawns on me just how selfish I’m being right now. I look over at Archer. One quick glance at his eyes and I have to look away. The anguish there is too great. I cannot share in that without getting sucked down into his personal darkness. But maybe he needs someone to take that journey with him? He shouldn’t even be sitting here, on display for the whole wide world. It occurs to me that the men may not know what to do for Archer in his grief. Sadly, I do.
“Uh, guys, we need to get Archer to his room. People are starting to notice something is wrong.” No lie there. People have been stealing glances at us for the last ten minutes. Some of them are beginning to stare.
At my urging, they get up. But Archer is still sitting there, staring off into space. I’m going to do something that up until now I would never have dreamed of doing. I walk over to him, take one of his beautiful tanned hands in mine, and gently tug. I have no idea if this is the right thing to do with him, but someone has to do something.
He gets up slowly, like an old man struggling to make his rheumatic knees work. When he finally straightens his back, I realize just how big the guy is. I always see him next to other big guys, fighters, not little old me. He is one impressive specimen of a man. He is wearing a lose pair of workout shorts and a tight, muscle-hugging tee. I look at the way the thin material caresses his chest, and wish I was that shirt. I would just love to stretch my body out over his chest, becoming one with his physique...Jeez, how can I even think this right now? I steal one more glance at him. He towers over me by at least a foot. I would feel so safe with those massive biceps around me...
I lead Archer and the other two men upstairs. We are met there by his cook, who has been crying as well. I shoo her away. Archer doesn’t need to be surrounded by people who are grieving right now. He needs someone around that he can lean on, not the other way around.
As Archer and I walk into his room, the others start to follow. I stop, blocking the entrance. “Guys, why don’t you let me stay with him a bit?”
They don’t understand why, but they don’t argue. Mad Max hands me Andy’s computer. I thank him and set it down as I lead Archer to the bed.
He sits down. I fish around in his room’s mini fridge until I find what I’m looking for. Two tiny bottles of Jack. I’m pretty sure Archer doesn’t drink anything with alcohol, so this will probably knock him for a loop. Better water it down. I take a two glasses and pour one half of a tiny bottle in one glass and add a couple inches of water, then hand it to him. He sniffs it and makes a face, but downs it and coughs.
Yup, definitely not a drinker. I save the other half for after I have said my piece. He’ll need it. I uncap the other bottle of Jack and down half of it straight. He looks at me with his anguished eyes and says nothing. Sitting down next to him, I take one of his hands, luxuriating in the way it feels. I swear, his hands must be as big as a bear paws, and just as deadly. As I hold his hand, I catch myself fantasizing that we are sitting somewhere in a café. In Paris, maybe. He has just taken my hand in his, and we are happy together. I’m enjoying the company of a contented man, not comforting a man who is dying inside.
“Archer,” I begin, “I want you to listen carefully to me.” He nods. “You need to know that it gets better. Time heals all wounds. That’s not just some cliché. It really does. Three years ago, my little sister and I were in a car accident. She died in my arms right there on the side of the road as a paramedic tried to save her life. She just bled out, and there was nothing I could do. But that’s not what I told myself.
For two years, I told myself I could have done something to prevent it. I was crushed with guilt and grief for years until I received a visit from the paramedic who was there that night. You’ll never believe it, but those two years had been hell for him too. He kept telling himself it was his fault I lost my sister, that he should have been able to save her. Truth was, a bone was pushed into one of her major arteries, severing it. Even if she’d had been on the operating table the instant the crash happened, doctors still would not have been able to save her. It wasn’t my fault my sister died, and it wasn’
t the paramedic’s fault either. It was just an accident.”
I pause for a moment and look up into his eyes. They are wet with new tears. I want to wipe them away, but now’s not the time to take liberties.
“I understand your brother wanted you to give him self-defense lessons and you never ended up doing so. I bet you think he is dead because of you. Archer, your brother is dead because he had the heart of a lion, and you should be proud of that. He died because some dirt bag shot him, and if you had been there, you both would have died that night. I know you may think that would have been better, but think about your fiancée. How would she feel losing a brother-in-law and her soon-to-be husband all in the same night?”
It suddenly occurs to me that there has been no talk of her. Someone should be calling her. She should be getting a ticket so she can come see her man and help him through the worst time in his life. But she’s not here, I am. It’s my duty, no, my pleasure to help him, just like that young paramedic helped to keep me from going over the edge. Someone needs to save Archer from the same thing.
“I’m sorry about your sister, Eva.”
I am stunned.
“It’s OK Archer. Like I said, it takes time. At least instead of being sharp and agonizing, it will eventually become dull and achy.”
“You can call me Bobby, you know.”
I’m speechless. I take the last of the Jack Daniels and empty it in a plastic cup, add a little water, and give it to him. He downs it in one gulp. This time he doesn’t cough. I gulp down the other half of mine.
“Time to get you into bed...Bobby.”
He lies back on the bed, making no effort to even take off his shoes. I decide that’s a service I can provide, under the circumstances. I undo his laces and slip off his Nikes. Then, just because I want to, I slip off his ankle socks. It figures. Even his feet are sexy, and I don’t exactly have a foot fetish—not by a long shot. I look at them. They’re tanned and so damn soft. How is it that even his feet are soft? Doesn’t he kick the shit out of people with these? It’s a mystery to me.
“Too warm,” he says.
“Too warm? I think I can fix that. There has to be thermostat somewhere around here.”
I wander over to the door, looking for the temperature controls, but they’re nowhere in sight. I turn around and nearly fall over. Archer—Bobby has shucked off his sweat pants and is wearing a tight pair of black briefs. I can feel myself getting flushed. I think I’d better sit down before I fall down. I wonder if he is even aware that I'm standing here.
Archer begins to slip off his shirt. I watch the ripple of his muscles as he takes off his shirt. I tell myself I’m going to sit down, but I just keep walking over to the bed. What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? I let my eyes wander down over his chest. I wish I could take off these silly clothes I’m wearing and just rub myself all over him.
Suddenly, I’m aware that he’s watching me. I’m standing a foot from the bed.
“Sorry,” he says, sliding over to the other side of the bed and patting the spot next to him.
If I sit down on that bed next to him, I just might jump him. He’s watching me. I better do something before I start to look like a psycho. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I kick off my shoes and lie back down next to him. We’re not close enough to be touching, but the proximity has my whole body buzzing with energy. If he touches me, I might just go through the roof. I am trying to control my breathing, but it takes an extreme effort. His manly scent is making me ache in places that shouldn’t ache for a man who belongs to another woman. It’s just not right.
He touches me. At first, I think it’s accidental, because his hand just brushes against mine. My skin is burning where his hand has brushed it. I have to slow my breathing down.
Just when I think I have my body under control, he places his hand on mine, lacing our fingers together. I cannot believe this is happening. The Archer is lying on a bed in his hotel room, I am lying here with him, and he is holding my hand. If I were to die right now, I would die happier than I have ever been in my entire life.
I feel like my whole body has been reduced to just my hand in his, and I am content. I feel my own heart beating in the palm of my hand and I wonder if he can feel it too. I just lie here focusing on the feelings and I hope I’ll never forget what this feels like. Just lying here like this, I feel closer and more intimate with Archer than I have ever felt with any man. I close my eyes and listen to his rhythmic breathing for a few minutes before I realize he’s fallen asleep. Now I can relax. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
Chapter Eight
Mr. and Mrs.
I think it’s the moonlight shining in through the window that wakes me up, but I can’t be certain. I take a deep breath and snuggle deeper into Archer’s embrace.
Wait a second. His embrace? Archer is spooning me. That’s right. He’s spooning me and oh, does it feel good. He’s got his face buried in my hair, and I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. His left arm is draped over my hips and his forearm is nestled between my breasts. I snuggle deeper into his warm body and he tightens his grip, just a little. Content and purring like a kitten, I drift off again.
The next time I wake, I think I must be on a boat at first, rocking up and down rhythmically with the waves. There’s a warm pillow beneath my cheek and an arm across my back.
I dare to open my eyes. I'm lying across Archer, my face pressed up against his massive chest. If I twist just a little, I could take his nipple in my mouth...No! This will not get sexual. He has a fiancée. An almost-wife. I feel him stir a little, then relax again. I decide I want to see what the formidable Archer looks like asleep. I raise my head off his chest and crane my neck back to get a look at his face.
His eyes sparkle in the faint light. He’s watching me. How long has he been watching me? I lay my head back down and freeze, wondering what to do. Is he upset? I start to move to look at him again, but his soft voice stops me.
“Sleep,” he coos.
When I wake up next, I’m alone in his bed. I roll over and look at the clock. It’s 7:30am. He will have just started his workout. Well, on a normal day he would. On the heels of his brother’s death, I don’t know. Everyone reacts differently to loss.
I get up, grab Andy’s laptop, and head down to my room. I’ll just freshen up, grab my camera, and it’ll be business as usual. We’ll just forget that I just spent the night tangled up in Archer’s arms and go about training.
In three days he’ll take to the ring again in a must-win situation. He cannot afford another loss this late in the game. If I know anything about Archer, he will continue the tour, fighting in his brother’s name. Andy would have wanted that. I arrive at the gym at 8am sharp and, like I thought, Archer is deep into his workout routine. He’s in a makeshift ring, sparring with none other than Koenig. Damn, I was hoping to avoid him as much as possible.
I flip the camera on and begin taping. I am constantly amazed that neither man gets hurt. They are striking with such force it just doesn’t seem possible that something won’t break. Archer has a different look on his face this morning; one I’ve not seen often. Rather than in his relaxed cat-like style, he’s fighting more like an enraged bear.
Rather than using his opponent’s energy and momentum against him, Archer is standing heavy on both feet and taking a pounding while he’s giving one. This is all wrong. I look over at Mad Max. He’s watching the fighters, but he’s not saying a thing. I feel like I have to point it out before Archer gets in the ring and fights like he is now. I walk up to Mad Max.
“Isn’t anyone going to say anything to Archer about this?” I ask.
“What do you say, little lady?” he asks me.
“What? Look at his foot work.”
“What about it?”
“Well…he hasn’t got any, for starters. He’s just standing there taking a beating. Are you really gonna allow this?”
“The maggot knows what he’s supposed to d
o.”
“Yes, and he’s deliberately not doing it, and you’re letting him get away with it!”
“Now, hold your horses missy. I wasn't aware that he hired you as his new trainer. Just because you two're shacking up doesn’t give you the right to comment on how I do my job.”
“For your information, all we did was sleep! I am well aware that he is promised to someone else, and I have no intention on causing him to break any vows he has made to her.”
“So, you think she would be perfectly fine with a seductress snuggling up with her man all night long? Is that how you were raised?”
“You don’t get to make comments about my parents. You’re his trainer, stick to training and tell him to get the hell off his heels and move around!”
A sudden burst of laughter stops our argument in its tracks. Archer is watching us and laughing. “She learns well,” he says, and this time he goes up on the balls of his feet and launches himself into Koenig.
Koenig is so totally surprised by the attack he is bowled over backwards and ends up on the mat on his back with Archer straddling him and pounding him like a jackhammer. Now that is the Archer I know.
When he finally finishes pounding Koenig into the canvas, he turns to me and flashes a brilliant smile. It is so unexpected, and such a genuinely happy smile it melts away any of the earlier frostiness that had pervaded the room a moment ago. I feel like a kid in a candy shop who’s just been handed a twenty and told she can have anything she wants. Although what I want is on the mat now, systematically destroying Koenig.
But there’s another guy, a trainer I presume, and he’s getting the stuffing knocked out of him too. Archer is in rare form, and I am glad I’m getting it all on tape. It’s still a little weird, though. The guy lost his brother a little more than 24 hours ago and he’s fighting like his world didn’t just collapse around his feet.
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