Fortune and Fate (Baum's Boxing Book 2)

by E M Lindsey

  With a sigh, Ryan dragged a hand through his hair. “When you got a minute, we need to talk.”

  Wes’ brow furrowed. “Is this about the shit with Adrian?”

  Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Fuck,” Wes breathed out, shaking his head. “Yeah, just go wait in my office.” He dug out a key and pressed it into Ryan’s hand. “Give me ten here to get Connie sorted.”

  Ryan nodded, giving Connie another sympathetic smile, then walked off down the hall, not wanting to witness the end of the only decent friends with benefits he had going on right now. He couldn’t be too upset about it. He knew that ultimately, Wes and Anna were looking to add someone to their mix as an equal partner. But not only was Ryan gun-shy when it came to commitment, he was also very gay. He loved Anna and she’d been present a few times when he and Wes had fucked each other, but they both knew Ryan wasn’t interested in being with her. It didn’t hurt that from what Ryan knew of her, Connie was sweet, brave, sarcastic, and the way she looked at the couple, she was clearly besotted with them both.

  Ryan let out a heavy sigh and flopped back down on the sofa. The faded, well-used leather curved around his body and he let his eyes shut, taking a momentary reprieve from the madness of the last few weeks. How Noah got himself in a situation like that was beyond him, but if anyone could fuck up their life simply by existing, it seemed that Noah could. Part of Ryan wished he could be better, wished he could love Noah harder and make this all stop.

  But he knew better than that.

  Pressing a hand over his face, Ryan let himself sink into relaxation as far as his mind would allow. He’d almost started to drift off when the door opened, and he pushed himself up to sit as Wes walked in and closed the door. Ryan didn’t miss the way he locked the door. Normally that was a not-so-subtle code for exactly what Ryan had wanted, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Is Noah okay?” Wes asked, dropping onto the opposite end of the sofa. His right leg started to spasm and he rubbed at his thigh absently, trying to calm it down.

  “He’s been better,” Ryan admitted. “The last time I saw him, he was trying to drown himself in whiskey, but he stopped answering my calls once I got him to bed. I was hoping maybe you or Adrian had heard from him.”

  Wes’ expression fell a little. “Adrian hasn’t heard anything, and he hasn’t been by for the class. This thing is turning into a real shit-show.”

  Ryan tried to calm his frustration and rage. “I’m about nine seconds away from telling you guys to go full vigilante justice on this fuck. The very fact that Noah guilted me into doing nothing…”

  “Which isn’t like you,” Wes pointed out.

  Ryan covered his face and groaned. “Unless it’s Noah, and then I can’t seem to tell him no.”

  After a beat, Wes reached over and gently cupped the side of Ryan’s neck. The motion was so unexpected, Ryan startled, but Wes didn’t let him pull away. “You have to stop torturing yourself over what you did, Ryan. Noah’s clearly over it. When do you get to be?”

  Ryan bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t come here for a heart-to-heart. He’d come to get pounded down hard, enough that he’d feel it for a few days. “Right now, I just want to talk about how there’s going to be some point where we all get tired of the people we care about getting dicked around. You know I can’t get my hands dirty, Wes.”

  “I know, and I don’t plan on doing nothing. I know plenty of people who can help me out. I’ve been thinking about talking to Cole, actually.”

  Ryan frowned. “Cole?”

  “Blind guy, trains with Adrian?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “He was discharged from the Royal Marines over in the UK. He’s been here about a year or so working with a reconstructive surgeon. He’s also contracted with our boys here on some sort of tech shit he’s not allowed to talk about. But I have a feeling if we asked, he’d be willing to lend a hand.” Wes’ hand stayed on Ryan’s neck, and began to draw small circles along his skin and Ryan knew he wasn’t reading into it.

  “Wes, I thought you and Connie were…you know…”

  “Anna likes Connie. And I like her too,” Wes interrupted softly, shifting a little closer. “You were never…you never wanted to be with us…”

  “That hasn’t changed,” Ryan said.

  Wes nodded, but he didn’t let go. “I don’t know if anything’s ever going to happen with Connie. Right now, she’s dealing with trying to move past Mike, and putting something like that on her wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan breathed, almost losing himself in Wes’ touch.

  “But Anna wants to try, and I’m not against the idea. I like her.”

  Ryan couldn’t help a small smile, even if Wes’ touch was wholly distracting and making the front of his trousers very tight. “The two of you will be good for her. And good to her. Trust me, if I could make it work with you two, I wouldn’t hesitate. But you know I can’t.”

  “I know,” Wes said softly and a little sadly. “And I can’t lie to you, Ryan, I’m probably going to want you forever.”

  Ryan chuckled quietly. “The feeling’s mutual. Trust me.”

  “I do. But what I was getting at,” Wes said, then moved his hand to Ryan’s leg and then up to cup his growing hardness, “is that I’m not committed to anyone else just yet. And you seem like you need a little relief.”

  Ryan wanted to collapse with gratitude. Instead, he turned his head, grabbed Wes by the front of his t-shirt, and hauled him in for a kiss.

  ***

  Ryan had gotten exactly what he’d asked for. He had a slight wince in his step as he left Wes’ office, and the distinct feeling that the moment had been an official goodbye. In spite of Wes saying they had a little more time before he was ready to stop, Ryan knew it was time to end things as they were. Wes was ready to move on, and Ryan needed to let him go.

  It wasn’t too much of a hardship. With Noah and Adrian trying to make things work, Ryan would be around. He hadn’t lost anything necessarily, even if his access to a quick romp to blow off steam had been cut off. Mostly he was just happy for Wes.

  Deciding to wash up a little before heading back to the office, Ryan popped into the locker room and came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. There at the sinks stood a tall, broad man with his head tipped down toward the faucet. He was standing at the middle one, where a small, yellow post-it had been stuck to the mirror reading, Sink Out of Order. Ryan watched a moment as the man’s hands ghosted over the faucet, over the sides, waving a little where the motion detector should have started a stream of water.

  He knew then this had to be Cole, the blind boxer Wes had been talking about. He hesitated, then said, “About a foot to your left.”

  The guy startled almost violently, his breathing immediately picking up, one hand gripping the edge of the counter. When he didn’t turn, Ryan realized the guy hadn’t heard him come in and he was trying to compose himself.

  “Sorry,” Ryan said quickly. “I totally didn’t mean to startle you. There’s uh…there’s a sign on the mirror right in front of you that says that sink is out of order, but the one about a foot to your left should be working just fine.”

  Some of the tension in Cole’s shoulders eased and he gave a terse nod as he shifted his position about a foot over. His hands moved out, finding the basin, then waved under the faucet and the water jetted out in a firm spray.

  Ryan wasn’t sure what he should do at this point. He felt like an asshole just standing there watching, but he couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away either. Ryan was no stranger to the wounded vets who frequented the place. He’d long-since become accustomed to visible scars and mobility aids. He didn’t think twice about the scarred, pink skin on the guy’s upper face, or the compression sleeve he wore over his left arm.

  Mostly he was caught up in the guy’s sharp profile, and his full lips Ryan could see in the mirror which were turned into a frown. He was caught up in the th
ick fingers and the corded muscles running up Cole’s arms, and the way the tank-top fit him like a second skin.

  He was annoyed with himself suddenly, getting hot and bothered by this stranger when he’d just come his brains out from a fierce prostate pounding. And yet, he felt it. A warmth in his chest and a little tightness in the front of his trousers.

  “You’re still standing there,” Cole said suddenly. His accent was soft, rounding all the consonants and vowels. Logically he knew the guy was English—Wes had explained all that—but for some reason, it still took him by surprise.

  “I’m not trying to be a creep,” Ryan said, then promptly called himself a liar. “I was waiting for the sink.

  “Ah.” Cole stepped further to the side, his hand out and searching for the paper towel dispenser. The machine gave an obnoxious whir and Cole ripped the sheet away with a firm tug. “All yours, mate.”

  Ryan licked his lips. “Thanks. I’m Ryan, by the way. I’m a friend of Wes’. He said you’ve been working with Adrian lately.”

  Cole’s mouth twisted a little, making the scars on the left side of his face tighten a fraction. “Did he?”

  “Adrian’s dating my best friend,” Ryan explained, then shoved his hands under the water for something to do. “Noah?”

  “Adrian’s spoken of him, but we haven’t met,” Cole said. He turned, his hand on the wall, then he made a clicking noise and Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin when a black lab appeared as if by magic. The lab was fitted with a harness which read Guide Dog in bold letters along the side. Cole bent down and lifted the handle, then straightened. “It was nice to,” he started.

  Out of desperation for Cole to stay at least another moment, he blurted, “What’s your dog’s name?” just as Cole finished with, “…meet you.”

  Cole looked mildly startled by the question, then his smirk turned into more of a smile. “Kevin.”

  Ryan blinked at him, then grinned widely. “Your dog’s named Kevin? Who the hell names a dog Kevin?”

  Cole chuckled, the sound surprising Ryan a little, and he reached down with his free hand and gave the dog a little scratch by the ears. “It wasn’t actually my choice, though it’s grown on me. He was already named and well trained when I got him.”

  “Right. I guess that makes sense,” Ryan said, feeling a bit of an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. He’d met the guy for nine seconds and he was already twisted up. “So…how do you like boxing here?”

  Cole’s face dropped a little. “I have to go. I’m late for a meeting, but I’m sure we’ll see each other.”

  Ryan was left standing there, confused and more intrigued than he’d been in a damn long time. He watched Cole navigate his way out of the locker room, leaving him completely and utterly alone.

  3.

  It had officially been two weeks, but Cole couldn’t help but replay the voice from the locker room over and over as he sat at his desk. With Kevin between his feet, Cole couldn’t help but hear the grin when Ryan had said, “Who the hell names a dog Kevin?” Maybe it was a rude thing for a total stranger to say to a man standing in a bathroom holding the harness of a guide dog, but for the first time since his injury, meeting a stranger had felt normal.

  He’d been mocked a little for the name of his dog, but in a way where he could hear the smile in the man’s voice, where he felt like just another man getting changed after a long work-out session. He’d never considered how rare those moments would be, even in a place which catered to men like him—damaged after serving their country—and he never considered how good it might make him feel.

  That in itself irritated him a little because he deserved better. He deserved for that treatment to be the rule, not the exception. But he was also profoundly aware of the world he lived in, and he decided to take it as a win. He also tucked away the thought that Ryan, the man with the harsh, very American accent and brash way of speaking, was closely connected to the people Cole had been getting to know.

  Best friends with his trainer’s boyfriend, and clearly a long-time friend of the owner. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be the first time he encountered Ryan, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. He’d left him standing there with a terse, “I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” as a test. Would the guy choke up? Would he panic at the word see since Cole’s blindness was obvious even without the harness of his guide? Ryan had said nothing, and Cole felt a familiar level of frustration at not being able to use the rest of his senses to tell if Ryan had been thrown.

  “Hey, how’s that program coming?” came a voice from his doorway.

  He was surprised by the sudden appearance of a person once more, but this time he didn’t startle. He swiveled slightly in his chair toward the sound of Max’s voice and offered a shrug. “It’s going. It’s a little buggy since it hasn’t been properly tested on our software. The braille display is working better, but I can’t bloody read it fast enough. At least with the speech bit I can increase the speed, but it keeps glitching.”

  “Want me to put Andrew on it?” Max asked. Cole could hear him stepping further into the office and he tried not to be irritated at his interruption. As eager as he was to be put back to work, he had a long way to go. His job prior to losing his sight had been a lot of speed-reading through encrypted code and trying to crack what he could before they were discovered. He’d been working on braille the moment he was told he could actually continue his work since he knew it would be faster, but even nine months into his study, the connection between his fingers and his brain was sluggish. He reminded himself it was like learning a new language.

  He hadn’t got into this job by being immediately good at it. He’d earned his way to the top, earned his reputation as the best, but it had taken him years to do it. What he wasn’t willing to admit was that he was terrified. Terrified that if he didn’t prove himself immediately useful, immediately capable, they’d tell him never mind. They’d let him go and put him on disability pension and leave him to rot.

  He couldn’t have that. He had nothing left. The mother of his child was too afraid to bring his daughter around him—not that he blamed her, really, and most of his family was dead. His own mother hadn’t bothered to do more than phone in once or twice a month during her sober days to tell him how proud she was of her war hero. She hadn’t been to see him once during his hospital stay, and she hadn’t been present as his send-off when he decided to take a plane across the pond without any real plans of coming back.

  He’d never been afraid of being alone before, but it was when he could guarantee he would have something to do, he would be useful to someone somewhere. Logically he understood that his superiors were willing to give him the time he needed to find his way, but trauma after what he suffered was rarely that. Illogic ruled his life now, and it was difficult to accept.

  “I’m actually going to try a couple of things with it first, see if I can sort out where it’s going wrong. But if you speak to Andrew let him know I’ll probably call him in once I pinpoint the issue. Is there something you needed? I’m slow at it right now, but if you need me to get into something…”

  “No,” Max said, and though Cole was probably imagining it, he always sounded a bit patronizing. “I don’t have anything on my plate just yet. I’ll let you know, of course. We’re thrilled to have someone of your caliber here.”

  The last bit was bullshit and they both knew it. His caliber meant nothing if he couldn’t actually do the work. Right now, he had no assignments. He was still technically on active duty, but there were no guarantees about that.

  “Well,” he said after a beat, “if there’s nothing else…”

  “Just wanted to check in,” Max said. There was a tapping sound and Cole was pretty sure the guy had given his metal door jamb a double-pat. “Have a good weekend. It’s a three day so do something fun.”

  Cole had plans to work on his braille skills, to fuss with his speech program, and to spend as much time at Baum’s as he was allowed. Wi
th a breath, he turned back to his computer, but before he could restart the program, there was a knock on the doorframe.

  Cole bit back his irritation as he turned in his chair once more, greeted by a voice that almost made him stiffen up to attention. “Major Price, have you got a moment?” The voice was punctuated by the soft, distinct digital chime of the man’s watch which went off on the hour, on the quarter, and on the half. Cole had asked about it once, and the man had told him it was a gift from his daughter since he never remembered to check the time.

  The man was his boss, Darren Taber, who wasn’t military and was also American, and therefore didn’t need to be saluted. However, there was something about the man which gave Cole the same feeling he had around his Captain General. He was older, obvious by the timber of his voice and his manner of speaking, and he was stoic and intelligent in a way that was somewhat intimidating. Cole didn’t know much about the man, how he was involved in this project between the Brits and Americans, nor how he was allowed the specific clearance he’d been given without actually being a member of either military. However, Cole was grateful to work with him. He was one of the few since accepting the assignment to remain enlisted and part of this project that hadn’t treated him like a disability first and a person second.

  “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

  “No, sir,” Cole said. He gestured in the direction where he was fairly sure a second chair was, and he heard Taber close the door, then cross the room and groan as he lowered himself down. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “A situation has come up that you need to be aware of. It’s a delicate matter—personal, and potentially dangerous.” There was a heaviness to his tone which set Cole immediately on edge.