Stay: A Second Chance Badboy Romance

by Melinda Minx

  There’s a two-hour break until the grand finals. Since the ten-block chop is an endurance competition, they want us to have as much time to rest as we can get. More important, the big furniture sale happens now, which is Ornsley’s real reason for holding the competition. In the two hours leading up to the grand finals, beer is two for one, as drunk people are more likely to make impulse purchases.

  As tempted as I am to have a beer, I need to stay clear-headed. I sit down on one of the wooden benches and give my body a rest. I close my eyes and run my fingers along my ring. I wear it on my neck. It’s a thick, gold ring, and wearing it on my finger gets in the way of my job. But my father gave it to me before I went to war, and it’s all I have left of my family. It’s been in our family for over six generations, and my father giving the ring to me is one of the only things he ever really did to make me feel like I was his son. I like to keep it close to me, even if I don’t wear it on my finger.

  2

  Elisabeth

  “You see this ring?” Aldus says, shoving the photo in my face.

  “Stay away from my sister,” I say, swatting the photo out of his hand.

  When Jane came by for Thanksgiving, I grabbed her from behind to tease her, and she winced in pain. She seemed like a shell of who she used to be, and when I finally pressed her--really hard--she admitted she’d been dating a guy.

  I made her show me all the bruises. All around her neck and arms.

  She defended him at first, and then I pushed. I pushed hard, and she admitted she’s tried to run away from him a few times. But he’s rich, and he always finds her again.

  I finally got his name. Aldus.

  And now I’m staring the asshole down in his swanky apartment, telling him that if he doesn’t leave my sister the fuck alone, I will bring him down.

  “Do you know how many people have threatened me like this?” Aldus asks, shaking his head. “It never works. I’m influential and rich, and you’re nothing.”

  “And you use your influence to beat on women?” I hiss. “I don’t care if you think I’m nothing, I will stop you.”

  He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out another photo. It’s of Jane, and she’s naked and bruised. Tears are staining her face, and a man is with her, though his face is out of the frame. He’s dominating her. I nearly vomit.

  He puts the photo away. “I have hundreds of photos like this. Some are much worse. I’ve really broken your sister. She lets me do almost anything, though--as you can see--she certainly doesn’t enjoy it.”

  “I’ll fucking kill you,” I hiss.

  “If you do anything you’ve threatened to do to me,” he says, “These photos will be sent to everyone in your family. And that’s just how I’ll start. I’ll bring your entire family down after that, though you and your sister will get the worst of it. I promise you that much.”

  He picks the photo of the ring back up and shows me. “This ring, it belongs to me. My stepbrother has stolen it from me, and I want you to get it back for me.”

  “Why would I do anything you ask,” I say, my voice trembling with fear and anger.

  “If you get me this ring,” Aldus says, “I’ll let your sister go. I’ll never do a thing to harm you or your family again. Just get me the ring.”

  “Why don’t you get it yourself?” I ask.

  I can’t believe I’m thinking of taking this deal from him, but it seems like my only option at this point.

  “My stepbrother is a dangerous man. He’s ex-military, and he hates my guts--”

  “Can you blame him?” I say, scoffing.

  Aldus flares with anger. “He stole this ring from me! It was mine! My father’s! But if I try to get it back--even if I hire someone to steal it--he’ll know it was me. I don’t need my deranged half-brother coming after me with a gun.”

  “So you send me to steal it? Won’t he see through that?”

  “That’s your job,” he says. “Make him think it was you alone. The ring is thick, solid gold, encrusted with jewels. It’s valuable enough. It doesn’t just have sentimental value. Get close to him and steal it, and make sure he think it was you acting alone when he realizes it’s gone. Do that, and Jane is free.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  “I’m sick of your sister,” Aldus says. “I enjoy...breaking women. Once they are already broken, I lose interest.”

  “So just let her go then.”

  “If I did that,” he says, “I couldn’t get what I want out of you. Do you see? I’ll keep Jane close to me until you agree to do this. I was going to have her do it, but then you came knocking at my door. You’re much more beautiful than your sister, I’m sure you can seduce my half-brother better than bruised and broken Jane could.”

  I tear the photo out of his hand. “You’re inhuman. Tell me where your half-brother is. I’m doing this for Jane, not for you.”

  3

  Jack

  “Hey,” a soft voice wakes me up. My hand is still clutching my ring.

  I put it back under my shirt and look up. It’s her. Those green eyes are so close to me now, and I can fucking smell her. I want to take her right here, right now. Though I haven’t even said a word to her.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She smiles.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, holding out a hand. “I’m Jack.”

  She takes my hand. “Elisabeth. And I know your name, Jack the lumberjack.”

  Her hand is so soft and small against my big calloused hand. I reluctantly let go.

  I laugh. “I don’t usually compete.”

  “What do you usually do?” She asks.

  “Real lumberjacking,” I say. “In Oregon.”

  She smiles. “I’m from here, so I guess you’ll be going home soon?”

  “Well,” I say, licking my lips. “I do have a hotel while I’m here.”

  Her eyes lock onto mine. I struggle not to look down her shirt. It’s low-cut, and her cleavage is calling out to me. I sneak a peek.

  “I”m going to win this,” I say, “And then we can get a drink together.”

  She laughs. “Are you asking me out?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m telling you. We’re having a drink together.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “You do want to, that’s why I didn’t bother to ask.”

  “Okay,” she says, “So maybe I want to. But if you want me to go back to that hotel with you, you had better win.”

  The crowd roars as Paul Bunyan and I step up to the logs. All ten are lines up in front of me, and Bunyan’s logs are just across from mine. This way we can see each other as we chop, adding to the tension.

  I clutch my axe as the announcer goes through his spiel. I’m not listening to him. I look into the crowd and find Elisabeth. She smiles at me and blows another kiss.

  It’s just lust, isn’t it? Something is off about this woman. What is she doing at fucking Choptoberfest all by herself? What kind of woman sees a furniture store is holding a lumberjack tournament, and says, ‘That’s what I’ll do on Saturday.’

  Shit, for all I know, maybe she isn’t here alone. Maybe she’s with some guy, and she’s just sadistically flirting with me. Or maybe she really just likes competitive lumberjacking? There must be women out there who are into this shit, right?

  I shake my head. All I really want to do is take her back to the hotel with me. I want to get my dick wet, and I want to win the $30,000. Even if she just wants to brag that she fucked the Choptoberfest grand champion, that’s fine with me. As long as I get to fuck her. It’s not like I’m going to date her or something. I’ll go back to Oregon after this is over, and she’ll stay here.

  “L-L-L-Lumberjacks!” The announcer shouts in his best Monster Truck announcer impression. “R-R-R--Ready your axes!”

  I step up to the first block. The rules say you’ve gotta touch your axe to the first axe before the whistle blows. Bunyan is about ten feet across from me, and he glares at me as he raises h
is axe to his log. “You’re going down, rookie,”

  “I don’t think so, Clarence,” I sneer back at him.

  The whistle blows, and our axes explode in a flurry of wood and steel. Bunyan and I tear throw our first logs in mere seconds. We both are using the same technique: alternating overhand and underhand chops. As soon as we cut halfway through, we both spin around and alternate to the other side of the log, chopping away again.

  I’m not longer facing Bunyan, but as my log begins to fall, I hear the announcer shout with excitement that we’re both neck and neck.

  I rush to the second log, and I swing at it even before I plant my feet into the ground. I rip into it, and when I turn around again to hit the other side of the second log, I notice that Bunyan is already taking his first swing from the other side. Fuck. He’s slightly ahead of me.

  My adrenaline surges when I realize how close I am to winning--or losing--and I swing in overdrive. I make up for some lost time, and our logs both fall in half at the same time.

  We tear away at log after log. By the 7th log, we’re still within a few chops of each other. Sometimes I manage to take the lead for a brief moment, but Bunyan overtakes me just as soon. It seems as if either of us could win.

  As we reach the 8th log, our furious chops from the first log have become more subdued, more steady and methodical. We’re both drained and running out of stamina, and it’s becoming more and more important that each swing is accurate and efficient.

  I reach the 9th log before Bunyan does, getting two swings into it before his first. As I’m about to switch over the the 10th log, my axe sticks into the wood. I have to kick with my booth and press to pull the axe out, and by then Bunyan has pulled ahead of me. He slays his 9th log and lets out a battle cry as he charged the 10th and final log.

  Fuck! I let out a roar of my own as the 9th falls. And red-faced, I slam my axe against the final log. Bunyan is screaming now with each swing, as am I. The logs explode in a splinters of wood, and my own sweat and spit joins the fray as I swing with a barbarian rage. My muscles are bulging so hard that my shirt might just pop the fuck off.

  I don’t even look at Bunyan as I take the final swings. I can tell there are only two or three swings left, and I channel every last ounce of energy into those final attacks.

  One. Two. Three. The third strike hits with such force that the log flips up into the air. I look over to Bunyan. Did I win?

  His axe hits the log--later than mine--and the log breaks. His last swing hits overhand, and it slams the log to the ground. Mine broke first. I won.

  I throw my arms into the air and roar. I look over to Elisabeth, but she looks surprised. Then I notice that everyone looks surprised.

  The announcer screams out, “Only the judge can decide now!”

  Bunyan’s voice booms over toward me. He’s out of breath and red-faced. “Fucking rookie! I told you I’d win!”

  I grab one of the the judges by the arm. “What the fuck is going on? I know I broke my log first!”

  The judge shakes his head. “Yours broke first, but the log doesn’t count as chopped until the piece touches the ground. Yours spun up into the air, and Bunyan’s went straight down. We have to look at the replay.”

  The replay? Are you fucking shitting me? Did me spinning the log up into the air lose me $30,000?

  I grab my axe and pace back and forth. A minute or two passes, but it feels like a fucking century. I watch as the two judges talk to each other. They examine a computer screen together, pointing at it. They start to nod, then walk over toward the announcer. They’ve decided. Fuck, I better have won.

  The announcer grabs his microphone and begins to speak. “The judges have decided, and it’s conclusive. Bunyan’s log hit the ground first. Paul Bunyan is our grand champion!”

  Everyone cheers, and I throw my axe down into the ground.

  4

  Elisabeth

  He lost. Just barely. I sigh.

  I don’t know why I really even care. I came here for one reason, to save my sister. Jack may just happen to be one of the hottest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on, but I’m here to steal the ring from him, not to fall for him.

  In another world, a world where Aldus didn’t exist, and where I had just run across Jack in a bar, I would definitely have been into him. But Aldus has forced me to do something awful, to manipulate him. To steal from him.

  Stealing from him would feel awful either way, but I was hoping he’d win the $30,000 grand prize so that it would at least somewhat soften the blow when he realized his ring was gone.

  I sigh. I need to do this. For Jane.

  I find Jack with a beer in his hand. He’s with two of his friends, and they’re both giving him a hard time. Even next to his two friends--both lumberjacks--Jack looks massive. His arms are nearly as thick as the logs he chopped through, and his chest is wide as a tree trunk. His dark hair contrasts with his deep blue eyes, and his sharp cheekbones look as if they are carved from marble by a Greek sculptor.

  He smiles wide at me. “Sawyer, Hutch, this is Elisabeth.”

  They both eye me up and down, and then they grin at Jack.

  “Buy me a beer?” I ask.

  Hutch grins, but Jack elbows him. “I got it.”

  “Mister big ten-thousand-dollar man,” Hutch says, laughing. “You sure you don’t want Bunyan to buy you a beer instead, Elisabeth?”

  “I’m sure,” I say, smiling up at Jack. “I heard his real name is Clarence anyway.”

  “Give me 30k,” Sawyer says, “And you can call me Clarence.”

  “You two jealous of my big second place not-quite-win?”

  “Hell yeah, we are,” Hutch says, chugging half of his beer down and then taking a big breath as if he just surfaced from a deep dive. “But you managed to get us 5k each just for showing up here, Jack, so I’m not jealous enough to try to steal your girl.”

  They all grin. I can tell they’re joking--that probably they respect each other enough not to steal from each other.

  Shit. Stealing. That’s why I’m really here, isn’t it? The guilt stabs at my insides. Jack isn’t just stunningly, mind-numbingly gorgeous, but he seems like a genuinely good guy. His friends all respect him and look up to him, and it seems he looks out for them too. No wonder a snake like Aldus hates him so much.

  “You wanna get out of here, Elisabeth?”

  I bite my lip. I can’t do this. Can I?

  An image of Jane battered and bruised flashes into my mind. I have to do this.

  “Let’s drink more,” I say, smiling. “Then we can get out of here.”

  I have two more huge 1-liter glasses of Bavarian beer. My head is spinning a bit when two of the Canadians come over and join us.

  “Buddy,” one says, grinning. “You can’t feel bad about losing to the winner, eh?”

  “Guess not, buddy,” Jack says, shaking his hand.

  “This is Mike and Yannis,” Jack says, introducing the two Canadians to the rest of us.

  I try to give a small smile and nod, but my face is burning red from all the beer, and I’m pretty sure that I give a big, dumb, sheepish grin while swaying back and forth on the bench.

  “Oh,” Yannis says, smiling, “I know Hutch already, we had a nice close competition together.”

  “Fucking Canadian politeness,” Hutch mutters. “You whipped my ass!”

  “Oh,” Yannis says, pursing his lips, “I wouldn’t quite put it like that now.”

  “Say it! You’re in America!” Hutch says, slamming his glass down so hard that some beer spills over onto the table. “Say you whipped my fucking ass.”

  Yannis grins. “Okay there, buddy, I whipped your ass.”

  We all laugh and order another round.

  By the time I get in a cab with Jack to go back to his place, I’ve drank enough to blast stark reality mostly out of my mind. In the back of my head--somewhere--I know what I have to do, but I’ve managed to 99% convince myself that I’m just really into Jack, and that
I want him to fuck my brains out. Hell, that’s all true. I am into him, and I can’t wait to let him do whatever he wants with me...there’s just one little bad thing I have to do. And I’ll think about that later. Only when I have to.

  “So,” Jack says, taking my hand in the backseat of the cab. “How’d you get interested in competitive lumberjacking?”

  Oh, God. I hadn’t even thought of that. The only reason I was there was because Aldus told me he would be there. It is weird, isn’t it, for someone like me to go to a lumberjack contest?

  “Well,” I say, smiling and giggling, “I have this Wal-Mart nightstand, and it’s so wobbly that I spilled a glass of water all over my phone and ipad and books in the middle of the night. I got so annoyed I through the thing into the dumpster in the middle of the night. The next day, I realized it really sucks not having a nightstand, so I went to Ornsley’s, and--”

  “Putting a glass of water on the nightstand is never a good idea,” I say. “You gotta use a bottle.”

  “Do I look made of money to you?” I say, smiling, “Mr. $10,000!”

  “I’m a lumberjack,” Jack says, “Not a billionaire. I re-use the same bottle, fill it with tap water.”

  “Anyway,” I say, this story is actually true, except I actually just went to Target instead of Ornsley’s. Like I said, I’m not made of money. “I go to Ornsley’s, and there’s this big picture with all these buff, jacked lumberjacks on it. I’m sure it was just stock photos, but one really looked a lot like you.”

  “So hot lumberjacks was enough reason to go?”

  I smile and nod enthusiastically.

  “What do you do?” He asks.

  “I work in HR, at some big grey building. Brutalist architecture.”

  “Huh?” Jack asks.

  “Brutalist! It’s like--come on--your job is tangentially related to building construction. Don’t you know anything about architecture?”