Bound

by Piper Malone

  My jaw drops. He’s been trying to reach me? Well, that would explain the random calls from three different numbers I didn’t recognize. “Why didn’t you leave me a message?”

  “Who leaves messages anymore?” he counters with a shrug of his shoulder.

  “People who want a return phone call!” I bite back. He’s not blaming me for having to come home to Boston from Walter Reed because he didn’t leave a voicemail. No way, bud. Your rear end, albeit perfect, should be sore.

  He rolls his head back, hands scrubbing his face. When a road-weary growl rumbles from his chest, Blake’s exhaustion is palpable. “Look, I don’t have time to argue with you. You’re the only resource I have. Are you going to help me with Reagan or not?”

  The thought of Reagan struggling, needing my help, makes every protective nerve I have stand on edge. “Tell me everything.”

  An hour later, Blake Roman, stud-muffin extraordinaire, is standing in my living room looking too delicious for words. Trying to focus on packing is futile. All I can think about is the tight package of his ass moving with muscular grace as I followed him out of my office.

  “You know,” I call from my bedroom, “I can drive up on my own.” His offer is sweet but I’m a little worried about being trapped in a car with him.

  “It’s no problem,” he yells back. “Nick and I have been taking turns sitting with Reagan. If you need to come home, he might be the one driving.”

  His words rile the independent warrior in me. “I’m really quite capable of taking care of myself, you know.”

  “Obviously,” he says, leaning in the doorway to my bedroom. I didn’t hear him come down the hall. His presence in my bedroom ignites a shimmery glow of want. Blake is potent, purely masculine. “You’ve got some nice digs here,” he says without surprise. It’s pure compliment. “I’m sure it’s unorthodox for you, but let me drive. Caleb charged me with making sure Reagan was safe while he was away. I feel like I’m sucking at the task. You’re Reagan’s family, so you’re under the umbrella of my watch. I need to take you.”

  “I don’t need to be watched,” I counter. He’s a whisper away from getting a verbal bitch slap.

  “You’re misunderstanding, Katya.” His firm voice fills the room. He straightens his body, the expanse of his shoulders eating up the doorframe. “This is about making sure everyone is safe and cared for. Don’t get in your head about my intentions. I saw your discomfort at Reign; everyone did. Just take a step back from your own crap and help me with Reagan.”

  His words have me biting my tongue. They saw how freaked out I was? I’m a little embarrassed that my emotions were so transparent, but, then again, I’ve never been good at bottling my feelings. Now is not the time to dredge up the past or force him to understand that the high-handed bullshit he thinks is normal is not for me. He’s right; I need to help Reagan.

  “Fine.” The word is clipped, sharp. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  He leaves me to finish packing, flustered by his challenge. I can’t just step back from my past. My history has molded me, changed me. It’s what propelled me. I’ve accomplished everything I’ve set out to do, including a kick-ass career and buying this condo. The fact that I’m uncomfortable in a sex club shouldn’t mean anything. I’m allowed to have my feelings, even if they contradict my bestie’s. Right?

  Reagan was fine at Reign. She was surrounded by people who genuinely care about Caleb and, in turn, her. And now I’m the one called in to help pull her from the mud.

  I just hope I have what it takes.

  After hauling my bag down the hall, I find Blake in the living room. He took no time in making himself comfortable at my place as evidenced by his huge body sprawled across my couch. One arm resting on the back, his muscular thighs spread wide creating the perfect line to the prominent and enticing bulge between his legs. My belly clenches, sharp lines of desire stabbing to life the pieces of me that have been dulled from one meaningless hookup after another.

  “I’m ready.” My voice cracks, raspy from the introduction of Blake’s stellar attributes into my consciousness. I knew he was hot, but holy shit. I’d love to see him naked, just once.

  Blake stands up, his body hovering over mine. His blue eyes pin me in place, a smirk curls the corners of his mouth. “Me, too,” he growls.

  Before I linger on the knowledge of his mouth mere inches from my own, he moves. Blake picks up my bag and stations himself by the door as if he didn’t just take my breath way.

  Blinking away the haze of lust for Blake Roman, I pray that this car ride is quiet. If he talks to me in that deep, sensual voice, I’ll be naked before we hit the interstate.

  Blake

  “No way! Bourbon and whiskey are the same thing.”

  “You’re wrong.” Kat is emphatic, passionate as she argues her point. “I’m telling you. All bourbon is whiskey but not all whiskeys are bourbon. It’s all in how it’s made and distilled.” She crosses her arms, supreme satisfaction glowing from her porcelain skin. She’s gorgeous and can argue the merits of hard liquor.

  “Okay, you win that argument for now. Do you want to stop for dinner? I’m sure we can find a bar somewhere and you can continue to educate me on your expansive knowledge of booze.” Maybe if I get Kat a little tipsy, she’ll ease up.

  Our road trip back to Walter Reed has become infinitely more comfortable the farther away we are from home. It started out as a painful car ride; both of us were awkward and edgy. Maybe it was the tension of knowing Caleb is still sick. Or the fact that Reagan is falling apart. Maybe I should have taken advantage of her apparent interest before we left. The smug bastard in me knows if that had happened, we’d be wrung out on the living room floor.

  “I could definitely eat, but I’m anxious to get to Reagan. Can we hit a drive-thru and just grab a bunch of stuff? I could totally use a bacon cheeseburger and some onion rings.”

  My dick, still hard from our verbal sparring in her house, surges with a new rush of primal need. Holy fuck, I just found my soul mate.

  “Sure,” I say, clearing my throat, “there are some fast-food places close to the hospital.”

  “Awesome,” she says, looking out the window at the passing landscape. For the entire ride, she’s never once asked me to stop so she can pee, or yelled about my liberal interpretation of the speed limit. We’ve bantered about work, booze, and she’s cool with eating dirty fast food. Katya Boytsov really seems too good to be true… There is only one way to test the theory.

  “Golf or basketball?”

  “Hmm,” she responds without missing a beat. “If I had to rank them, I’d choose college basketball first.” She looks at me, her perfect nose wrinkled as she says, “I don’t really like the NBA.” Kat tucks one leg under the other and shifts, her body is relaxed against the seat but angled to face me. “I like golf because it means spring is coming and guys in white pants are hot. Football is above all of them, but the quarterback needs to be good. I like a technically sound game, not all muscle and brute force. I’m not opposed to ice hockey.”

  I have never been an overly spiritual man, but dear God please let her be real.

  “Does your boyfriend take you to games?”

  She snorts, a derisive laugh trapped behind her silly smile. “Smooth, Blake. Very smooth.”

  I shrug. “You can’t blame a guy for trying, Kat.”

  “I guess,” she says sweetly. “No boyfriend. No pets. No kids.”

  “Well then, Katya. What else do you do for fun?”

  She nails me with a daring, seductive look. “Anything I want.”

  Kat

  The words fell out of my mouth, typical saucy guy-bait banter for a night at the bar.

  I never should have said them.

  Blake Roman is just too…intense. He smells amazing. I can’t stop thinking about the glorious mountain of man meat between his legs. He’s funny and can argue a point without getting mad. And he has killer lips. I want that mouth pressed against every in
ch of my skin.

  There has to be something wrong with him.

  “Oh, I’m sure you get and do everything you want, doll.” He beams an easy smile, the delicate skin around his eyes crinkling slightly.

  Damn, guys like him should be illegal.

  “Hey, uh, how close are we?” I need to change the subject or this has potential to go down a path I’m not sure I can handle.

  “We’re almost there. About ten minutes.” Blake shifts in his seat. “Kat,” he says, the playful banter in his voice replaced with firm conviction, “I feel like I need to warn you about Reagan.”

  His tone stalls me, anxiety sliding down my spine and seizing my heart. “Why?”

  *

  I almost don’t recognize her. My beautiful friend looks older than her years. Her hair hasn’t been washed. The outfit she’s wearing is limp from days of excessive use.

  Reagan, the powerful, intelligent force for good, is deteriorating.

  From the nurse’s station, I see someone watching us. Nick and Blake have taken residence in the far corner of the room to watch me work my magic.

  “Reagan?” I don’t want to startle her. She looks so fragile.

  She sits up, looking stiff and tired from her time here. As she rubs her eyes, I’m worried she might fall back into the abyss of exhaustion.

  “Hey, Reagan,” I call, using more force, hoping it will snap her to attention.

  My name bubbles up, sopping with teary emotion. Reagan’s face crumbles, unrestrained anguish explodes from her the second she sees me. It’s awful and I have no clue how to fix it.

  I wrap her up in my arms, holding her tightly and allowing her the freedom to unload everything. I might not know exactly how to make all of this right again, but I’ll try.

  That’s what people who love each other do.

  Blake

  “Kat’s here and she took Reagan back to the hotel room to freshen up. I’m sure they’ll be back soon. You’ll be happy to know Reagan ate a little and cracked a smile.”

  I feel like my words echo in Caleb’s room. There’s no indication he heard me. He lays in the bed, lifeless.

  The beeping of the machines sounds louder with each passing minute.

  “So, uh,” I struggle to come up with the words, “once you get over this infection, you’re going to have your hands full with Reagan.” I keep hoping that if I talk to him about her, he’ll pull through. I can’t even think about him dying.

  The memories of David’s funeral flash through my mind, dredging up the fears that I’ve tried to keep at bay. My cruel imagination twists the pictures, placing Caleb’s body in the casket.

  My knees give, forcing me to fall into the crappy chair next to his bed. I take a deep breath, not allowing myself to succumb to the possibility of losing another best friend.

  “Now you listen to me, you bastard,” I snarl, unwilling to let the stabbing pain in my eyes linger. “You are going to get better. You have a beautiful woman out there waiting for you. There are people at Reign who need you. Whatever you are fighting, fucking deal with it.” My throat feels the deep pressure of emotion. “You are stronger than any of the shit trying to take you down, man.”

  I sit with him for a few more minutes, the pressure of the days building to a breaking point. Maintaining a confidant stance for Reagan is taking its toll. The weight of the world is dragging me down.

  The nurse enters the room, stating she needs to do vitals. I nod to her before turning back to Caleb. “Okay, man, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Back in the waiting room, Nick and I don’t have much time to talk before the girls come back from the hotel. For a brief bit, we chat until Nick heads out for the night. Crazy ass has been sleeping in his truck for the past week. He takes camping to a whole new level.

  Kat yawns, tired from the drive and the day.

  “Can I take you back to the hotel?” I offer.

  Reagan’s eyes light up. Kat shoots me a disbelieving look.

  “Yeah, you guys should go back to the hotel. I’ll be fine here.” Reagan’s eager response is a little shocking; it’s the most energetic she’s been in days.

  Kat narrows her eyes, glaring at me before turning to her friend. “Are you sure? I feel like you’ve just started to return to the land of the living. I don’t want a quick backslide.”

  “Nope,” Reagan says, weary but chipper. “It will be good for me to have some time. I’ll text you if I need something. I promise.”

  Kat focuses on Reagan for a moment before looking at me. “What are the sleeping arrangements? There’s only one bed.”

  “Yup. One king bed and a couch,” I reply.

  “I call bed,” she chirps. “You,” a delicate finger pointed at my face, “are on the couch.”

  “Fine.” I don’t have the energy to argue. The day has been too emotional.

  We bid Reagan good-bye and a few minutes later are digging through our things in the hotel room. She washes her face and changes into her pajamas, which is nothing more than short shorts and a tank.

  I jump in the shower and try to scrub away the grimy feeling of the hospital. No matter how hot I make the water temperature, the nagging worry that I’m going to lose my best friend clings to me.

  This entire situation is shit. I feel helpless, which is worse than fucking something up. If you’ve screwed up a situation, you can actually do something to fix it. Right now, I can’t do anything. Being powerless is a million times worse than any mistake you could make.

  The desire to smash the thin drinking glasses lining the bathroom sink is fleeting. Nothing is going to fix this except time. Which sucks.

  When I exit the tiny bathroom, I’m surprised to see the room lights are still on. Kat must have been so exhausted she fell asleep without turning them off. When I turn the corner, her thin form hunched on the edge of the bed stalls me.

  Her legs are folded under her, eyes trained on the floor, looking at nothing.

  “Kat?”

  Her body jerks, startled by my voice. “Oh, hey,” she sniffs, sounding a little stuffy. “I didn’t hear you.” A delicate hand reaches out to grab a tissue. With her back still to me, she dabs her face before tossing it in the trash. “I didn’t want to leave you in the dark.”

  “Hey,” I inch closer, “are you okay?”

  Her head bobbles on her neck; the attempt is to look like she’s fine but she’s not. “Yup. I’m good.” Kat’s head tips back, exposing her face. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Kat’s cheekbones shine with the remnants of her tears.

  I sit next to her on the bed to her immediate protest. She puts a hand on my chest, her voice pleading, “No, Blake.” Her voice cracks over my name. “I can’t.”

  “You can.” I grip her wrist, pulling her close to me. Kat’s body falls against mine, her back rising and falling as her tears spill out.

  “I-I didn’t know she was so b-bad,” she stammers. “I shouldn’t have left her alone.” The tearful admission shakes her with a force that compels me to hold her close.

  “You can’t think like that,” I say, the guilt over not contacting her sooner mixing with the realities of today. “This isn’t something any of us have dealt with before.”

  Kat pulls back, nodding her understanding. She scrambles for the box of tissues on the nightstand. “Sorry,” she says, unable to look at me. “I don’t do stuff like this.”

  “Again, this is new territory for everyone.” Even in tears, she’s beautiful. I feel the need to touch her, ease her pain. I reach out, brushing the soft crest of her cheek with my fingertips. Kat tilts her head, accepting the affection for a moment before she snaps back to reality.

  Her hands wrap around my wrist, pushing me away. “Blake…” she says softly, “I think we should get some sleep.”

  “Okay.” I nod, unwilling to fight an emotionally distraught woman. I’m exhausted and this day needs to end. “If you need me,” I point to the corner of the room, “I’m right over there.”

 
The couch is small; the cushions are made of a fabric coated in plastic. My only guess for the reinforced upholstery would be to keep bugs out or that housekeeping could easily wipe away any fluids. Perfect. Just what I want to put my face on.

  My attempts to get comfortable are useless and noisy. My legs dangle over the side. I can’t curl up because the seat isn’t wide enough. With every movement, the smell of cleaning solution blooms from the couch.

  After five minutes, I hear her move. “Blake,” she snickers, “come over here.”

  The possibility of an invitation has me leaping off the couch to her side. Maybe this evening will get better.

  She flicks on the light, propped on one elbow. Her tank top hugs her breasts, the tiniest gap giving me a glimpse of her beautiful body.

  “What’s up, doll?”

  “First of all, I’m not your doll,” she says firmly. “Secondly, I’ll allow you sleep in bed with me if you agree to keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Hmm,” I stroke my chin, trying not to laugh at her exaggerated sour face, “will you be keeping your hands to yourself?”

  “Much to your disappointment, yes.” She pulls back the comforter on the opposite side of the bed. “This is an invitation based on the fact that I refuse to hear you flop around on plastic wrap all night.” Kat turns off the light and quickly settles under the covers. She seems to take careful steps to ensure she isn’t touching me.

  “Well,” I say into the darkness, settling into the pillowy comfort of the bed, “from what I hear, you do get what you want.”

  Kat

  This bed is so warm. The pillows are the perfect combination of firm, silky perfection. The soft sheets have a crisp scent, like mountain air in the morning. It smells like Blake.

  “Good morning, doll,” he says, shifting to pull me closer to him.

  It’s a delightful feeling, curling around the length of his body, snuggled under his arm, my head resting comfortably in the crux of his shoulder. My hand fanned across his bare chest…

  “Goo—What!” I try to scramble away but he holds me in place. “Blake,” I struggle against him, “this isn’t a good idea.”