by E M Lindsey
Fortune and Fate
By E.M. Lindsey
Fortune and Fate
E.M. Lindsey
Copyright © 2019
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, jobs, or events is purely coincidental.
Fortune and Fate
A Baum’s Boxing Novel
Book Two
Being brave means to know something is scary, difficult, and dangerous, and doing it anyway, because the possibility of winning the fight is worth the chance of losing it.
-Emilie Autumn
1.
“Anderson!”
Ryan jumped, then cursed as hot coffee spilled over his hand, and his eyes narrowed into a glare as he shoved his hand against his lips, trying to soothe the burn. Turning slowly away from the machine, he blinked at the man standing a few feet away. “Meyers,” he said flatly.
Evan Meyers, one of the senior attorneys with an ego the size of the capital, crossed his arms and gave him a small smirk. “Long weekend?”
Ryan swiped his hand down the side of his trousers and clenched his jaw. The guy had never liked him, had fought against his appointment, and even attempted to accuse him of receiving nepotism in spite of Ryan’s very humble beginnings. Fortunately for him—and unfortunately for Meyers—the Attorney General had enjoyed Ryan’s work during his internship and provided the key letter of recommendation Ryan had needed to secure an ASA position. It hadn’t exactly earned him any favors, but he wasn’t there to make friends.
Meyers wasn’t wrong, though. Ryan’s weekend had dragged into what felt like oblivion. His ex, Noah, had been dealing with some piece of shit professor attempting to blackmail him, and the last Ryan had seen him, Noah was shit-faced drunk and half-passed out on his sofa. He’d also agreed to let Noah handle it, which was probably a mistake, but Ryan had a bad habit of not being able to tell Noah no.
“Is there something you need?” he asked, turning away now to reach for the bottle of non-dairy creamer. He ignored the pointed silence as he added more cream than coffee and stirred with a frayed wooden stick.
When he finally turned back, Meyers was watching him with a light in his eyes that worried him. Meyers was a sadistic fuck—which made him a good lawyer, but difficult to work with, especially when he didn’t like you. “I wanted to introduce you to the new guy.”
Ryan blinked, confused because Meyers rarely lowered himself enough to rub elbows with the newbies. “Okay?”
Turning, Meyers waved his hand in a come-here gesture, and the conference room door opened, and a man sauntered out. The first thing Ryan took note of was how tall the guy was. At least six-four, and so thin he almost looked like a walking skeleton. He had very blonde hair clipped so short Ryan could see bits of his pink scalp, and his thin lips were twisted into what he probably thought was a smile, but it looked almost grotesque.
“Ryan, this is Christopher McCaig. He’s just been brought on last week.”
When the man extended his hand, it took everything in Ryan’s iron-clad control not to recoil. “I’m Ryan Anderson,” he said.
“Yes, Evan has made me aware of who you are,” he said. He had a soft accent—Scottish, if Ryan heard right—and higher pitched than he was expecting for a man of his size. “I reckon we’ll be working closely together in the next few weeks.”
“Uh, why’s that now?” Ryan asked, directing his question to Meyers.
Meyers spread his hands and his smile widened. “John overheard you on Friday saying how overwhelmed you were with everything and I thought I’d…help.”
Ryan clenched his jaw, trying not to fly into a rage. He had said that in a private phone call to Wes, and he was most certainly not speaking about work. But he couldn’t exactly tell Meyers that. “I see.”
“Since we’re bringing a few new people on, I thought it would be a good time to relieve you of some of your case-load. I’ve had Sandra leave a few files on your desk of the cases you’ll be transferring over. You and Mr. McCaig can get together this week and you can bring him up to speed before he takes over.”
Ryan realized he had no control over what cases were going, which of course would be the most prestigious of them all. It was a dick move. Strategic, but a dick move. He curled his hands around the coffee cup and let the heat burn against his fingertips. “Not a problem,” he said, not bothering to hide how fake his smile was. “Why don’t we get together around lunch.”
McCaig’s smile was even creepier when he widened it. “I look forward to it, Mr. Anderson.”
Ryan swallowed thickly and nodded, turning on his heel and hurrying to his office. Something about the guy screamed danger, and he didn’t know why. Ryan had always trusted his gut, so at the very least, he would be keeping a very close watch over this new guy.
***
Probably one of the most difficult things Cole Price had to get used to was dealing with the sudden appearance of people in the room. Or well, sudden for him. And yes, it was true, adjusting to not just the lack of sight but the utter absence of it was probably the hardest to cope with, but he hadn’t really considered everything that came along with it. He’d never been a particularly trusting person to begin with, and now his entire life revolved around trusting any and every person in his path to keep him from total disaster. The first time his makeshift guide had run him into a support beam at the rehab center, he knew that not only would he be trusting people who hadn’t and would never earn it, but that he had no other choice.
Beyond the trust came honing his other senses. He’d been a little disappointed to learn that he wouldn’t hear better, or taste better, or be gifted with more sensitive touch. He would just rely on those things to discover his new reality. Everything became abstract the moment he realized he had irrevocably lost his ability to see. Distance was simply an idea, space a concept, depth something he’d understood but now had only a few ways to judge.
People startling him though, that had been a bit much. It had been a year and seven months into his total blindness, and he was no closer to adjusting to a person suddenly making themselves known. His occupational therapists, his orientation and mobility specialists, they all told him it would just get easier with time, but that time was yet another abstract concept—a goal he would reach in theory, with no promise as to when it would stop making his heart thud straight out of his chest.
Of course, it also didn’t help he’d decided to scarper from the country, to take a plane with his brand-new guide dog, cross the pond, and set up shop in America. Cole had never really had any feelings about America in particular. In the Marines, he’d worked with the American forces from time to time, especially with his particular job. Cole had always had something of a knack for technology and language. He was one of the few who’d been able to decrypt intercepted messages with enough time to take action. He’d also been something of a genius when it came to computers—something he’d been recruited for after getting caught hacking into St. James’ records to adjust his failing English marks—not because he wasn’t any good, but because he and the lads preferred the pub to filling out their study-guides.
Cole’s upbringing had been a tricky one, but something he supposed was a bit typical of the men who threw themselves into a military career without regard to those they left behind. Mostly, he knew, because boys like him didn’t have anyone left behind. He’d experimented with people of non-discriminate gender
, but there was no relationship to speak of when he signed his name on the dotted line and suited up in his first uniform. He had his mum—a working-class, single mother of two whose oldest had passed on from a bad accident after drinking too much and deciding a joyride in his mate’s car was the best idea in the world.
Until it wasn’t.
It was at the funeral where a thirteen-year-old Cole decided that wouldn’t be like his brother, Connor. He looked at the sea of people with dry eyes and smiles of pity and obligation and knew that wouldn’t be his life. When he did die, it would be for something bigger, and better, and more important. He wouldn’t be just another lost youth with nothing going for him. It took almost no convincing at all when the recruiter found him, and his mother had been so pleased to know he’d have most of his future financially secure from it, there was no push-back.
Life had been good up to the point he’d made his single mistake. Too much to drink, the condom too old, the girl too interested in wanting something from Cole he wasn’t able to give her. Isabel had told him about his daughter when he was on leave. Claire was a month old with eyes just like his, and her mother’s dark hair. He hadn’t been able to do much for her after that, but he’d showed up on her birthday every time he was in the country, and he never failed to send her letters and money to help with her care. But then he’d been on the wrong side of a chemical attack. He could recall with vivid clarity, the way the thick fog had seared into his skin. The last thing he’d ever seen was the fading image of his boots, and the way his hands curled into themselves in an effort to stave off the pain and get the fuck out of the cloud. It hadn’t worked. He’d been stuck between the mangled seat and the door and by the time someone had come along to drag his body out, a fire had broken out and half the skin on his right shoulder was missing. The chemicals had seared his upper face, and his eyes were permanently destroyed.
After the accident Isabel had come to see him once. She’d called and promised on the phone that her second visit she’d bring Claire, but he supposed the sight of his mangled face behind a compression mask to minimize the scarring was enough to scare of her off for good. She hadn’t answered any of his messages after that, aside from a single one.
“I’m sorry, Cole, but I can’t bring her and let her see you in that state. It would be too much. She’s too young. I just…I just don’t think it will be a good idea. Ever. Maybe when she’s older. I…I hate to do this right now, but I have to trust my gut and it’s telling me this is best. I’m sorry.”
It was weeks after he returned to full consciousness, when it was clear his cognitive abilities hadn’t been compromised that he’d been made the offer. To remain an active duty member of the Royal Marines, to learn adaptive technology and to work with an organization in America intercepting and decoding, much as he’d been doing before. He wouldn’t be in the front lines ever again—no more racing after armed cars with the hope they were locking in on one of the most dangerous groups in the world—but it was something. He wouldn’t be useless. It would mean leaving any chance of being part of his daughter’s life, but Isabel had made it quite clear she didn’t want him part of that anyway. He would be offered a pseudonym for public purposes, and his identity partially hidden. It was a tough choice until his Captain General sweetened the pot.
When Cole was told that a surgeon in the States could reconstruct enough of his eye-sockets so that he might be fitted for prosthetic eyes one day, and repair his destroyed tear ducts, and that he could still be useful to Queen and Country whilst doing it, he jumped at the chance. It meant leaving his daughter behind, but it was difficult to think of it as a bad thing. He couldn’t stomach the idea of his daughter cowering from him, fearing the way he looked. So, he spent his remaining time in England learning to navigate the world with his cane, with his guide dog, and honing what was left of his senses as his body attempted to heal.
With Kevin’s harness in his hand, his trust became something he could treasure again. There were no ulterior motives from the dog, no pity, no distractions. He simply took Cole where he needed to go—and safely—and gave him a sense of independence right there at his fingertips. Alone, and lonely, but his life still belonged to him.
Then one of the techs at the rehab center had pressed a brailled name-card into Cole’s hand bearing the words Baum’s Boxing, and with one phone call, and one appointment for a private session, Cole’s entire life changed. Or rather, the day when he’d been trying to figure out the damned sinks in the locker room a voice said, “About a foot to your left.”
2.
Ryan swore if he heard one more simpering, “Motion denied, Mr. Anderson,” he was going to lose it. He had enough going on with whatever his ex, Noah, had gotten himself into, and every single one of his motions in court had been denied. Judge Thornton had it out for him today—probably because the charity golf event the month before, and Ryan wiping the floor with him—and he was half tempted to call the old bastard out on it.
But his work day was finished and frankly he needed either a good dicking or maybe a few rounds in a ring with one of the guys at Wes’ place to take the edge off. Wes could probably provide either, though he had a feeling the former wouldn’t be for much longer. Ryan and Wes had a quiet thing going on between them, benefits and friends with the blessing of Wes’ wife, but Wes and Anna now had their eye on a cute new trainer, and he had a feeling something more solid would be coming out of that before long.
It meant Ryan’s easy hook-up would be ending. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t find another. Ryan hadn’t ever had trouble getting his dick wet when he needed it. He was a good looking, charismatic guy and people were drawn to him, but it was starting to feel a little hollow. His therapist would probably ask him why that was, ask him if he was still punishing himself for the mistake he made with Noah all those years ago.
And the answer would likely be yes, but Ryan wasn’t sure he was ready to absolve himself of the crime. Noah was one of his best friends now, and he loved him more fiercely that way than he had back when they were lovers trying to make ends meet in their shitty little rental. In hindsight, it was obvious why he and Noah were never destined to make it work, but Ryan had never really been the sort of man who developed healthy coping mechanisms for anything. He was panicked and unhappy and he took it out on the dog-walkers tight ass.
It had been fantastic right up until the moment Noah walked in. Ryan had seen it all play out on Noah’s face. The surprise, the pain, the resignation because Ryan had given Noah every reason to believe it would end like this—and he hadn’t disappointed. The only real shock was that Noah had never fully cut him out of his life, and then when Noah needed someone most, he’d called Ryan.
Of course, that was also due to the fact that Noah and his mother didn’t get along, Noah’s brother was a useless waste of space, and Noah’s two best friends were in Europe for four months. But all the same, while Noah was recovering from a violent accident that had fucked with his brain and taken one of his eyes, Ryan had been there for him. Ryan had helped get Noah back up on his feet, talking full sentences again, ready and willing to live on his own and go back to work.
Something had changed between them in that moment. Something had settled, become permanent, had turned into a love which Ryan would cling to the rest of his life. He didn’t want to be with Noah—the guy deserved far better than him—but he wanted to be in his life, and he was bound and determined to earn his place there.
So it was no question at all when the asshole at the university began fucking with Noah, that Ryan threw his hat in the ring. Noah wouldn’t want the help, of course. He was a stubborn, self-sacrificing bastard who would set himself on fire to keep others warm, but Ryan wasn’t about to let that happen. Noah was slowly integrating himself into the lives and business of Wes, Anna, and Adrian who was falling just as hard and fast for Noah as Noah was for him.
It was easy after that, to do a little recruitment, to sow the seeds of revolution and protection. W
es was happy to help—ever the hero, and Ryan respected him for it. He was heading around the corner of the block, straight toward Baum’s when he saw a burly looking man with hunches shoulders giving off a vibe like the guy was up to no good. He looked vaguely familiar, and when Ryan pushed past him and made it to the gym, he saw Wes in the corner of the lobby with his hands on a short, pretty girl’s shoulders, talking softly to her.
Ryan immediately recognized her as Connie. She’d been working there for the better part of a year, and though Ryan hadn’t been around much, he knew she’d just escaped a shitty, abusive ex and everyone who came around the gym was on high alert for the guy. Ryan hadn’t gotten a look at him, but he’d bet every dollar in his bank account the guy he’d passed was him.
Biting his lip, he decided to walk over and offered a small smile her way as she looked up at him past Wes’ arm. “I just walked by a real douchey looking guy on my way in. Why do I get the feeling I should have punched him in the face?”
Connie’s brown eyes went wide, her head shaking slightly. “That wouldn’t have been a good idea. He’s in a fucking mood today.”
Ryan saw the side of Wes’ jaw twitch with tension and he pulled back away from the smaller woman. “Ryan could have taken him, and probably found a way to charge him with assault. That was Mike, and you’re right, he’s a huge douche. I just warned him if I caught him here one more time I don’t care if it gets me brought up on assault charges. I’m taking his ass down. He can enjoy the victory while spending the next year sipping every meal through a fucking straw.”
Ryan didn’t miss the way Connie’s eyes went a little wide and starry, and it both made him happy and made his heart sink a little because he’d been hoping to work some of his frustration off in a naked way. Ryan had been fooling around with Wes for the last few years, not anything frequent, and never anything serious. That wasn’t his thing and he wasn’t sure it ever would be. His single attempt had hurt the one person he cared about, and he wasn’t interested in doing that again.
