by West, Dahlia
Jonah set the book on the nightstand and leaned back in the chair. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment.”
The old man grunted again. “Don’t say that. Never say that. I was never disappointed, just worried, like your mom. It’s not good for a man to be so alone, Jonah.”
“Well… I’m not going to be alone for much longer.”
Pop hesitated, eyebrows raised. “Really?”
Jonah nodded firmly. “I know what I want now, who I want, and I’m ready to let her in.”
The old man’s grin was wider than Ava’s Grand Canyon. “Well, don’t waste any more time, son. Not another minute. You don’t get much.”
They both looked at the framed photo of Mom on the dresser. Jonah understood what it was to lose someone you’d ordered your entire life around for as long as you could remember. If he ever lost Sienna, he wouldn’t survive it. It was a miracle Pop had managed it so far.
The shared moment passed, neither one of them wanting to dwell on their heartache for the woman who’d meant so much to them all. Pop threw back the blanket and levered himself to his feet. He patted Jonah on the shoulder before making his way to the corner of the room where his desk was.
Pop settled in to tie a few flies, another hobby of his even though he didn’t go fishing as often as he used to. It was with no small amount of regret that Jonah realized he’d never gone with the old man to the lake to cast out a line. So much of their relationship had been patchwork, stunted. Too much, really.
Jonah left the room silently, feeling guilty about the old man’s advice. The two of them wouldn’t get much time, either, it seemed. Jonah had spent so much of his life keeping the man at arm’s length; trauma and trust issues had left heavy scarring.
Now that Jonah was getting better, reaching out, Pop was fading away. It was a sad fact that Jonah tried not to dwell on much.
He rounded the corner of the hallway and headed into the kitchen. There were few dishes in the sink, but he turned on the faucet to wash them anyway. He might not live here now, but he helped out when and where he could. With the window open, a light breeze wafted in, shimmering the lace curtains. It also brought with it a voice that Jonah instantly recognized.
“It’s not a big deal,” Sienna said. “I don’t care.”
“Come anyway!” Ava insisted. “Who cares about him?”
“I don’t have a dress.”
Ava snorted. “You can go in your scrubs if you want. And there might be—”
Sienna huffed loudly, cutting off her friend. “Might be who? What’s wrong with Ryan? Just because he doesn’t want to go to a stranger’s wedding? Who does?”
“You do,” Ava pointed out.
Sienna’s voice was silenced for a moment.
Jonah peered out the window to see the two of them in bikinis, lying on towels in the back yard.
He closed his eyes and tried to catch her scent on the breeze. Probably stupid; definitely impossible. But it never stopped him from trying. He’d read somewhere that scent, of all the senses, evoked the strongest memory. It must be true, because every time he smelled sandalwood, Sienna was in his arms dancing to a tune that couldn’t be heard.
“So I can catch another bouquet?” Sienna grumbled finally.
“All I’m saying,” Ava replied, “is that you might meet someone else. Someone better than Ryan.”
Sienna jutted out her chin. Her eyes were shielded by her sunglasses, but Jonah could tell she was giving his little sister a death glare. “There’s nothing wrong with Ryan!” she said through clenched teeth.
Ava cast a doubtful look. “Then marry him. You’ve already got the bouquet.”
Jonah’s mouth tightened even though Sienna actually laughed.
“I can’t,” she sighed, sitting up. “Polygamy’s illegal. I don’t think I could find a pastor who’d marry me and Ryan and Ryan’s phone.”
Ava giggled and shaded her eyes with her hand. In a deep voice, she said, “Do you take this computerized British accent to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to surf, for better or worse reception, for richer or poorer, especially after the monthly data usage bill?”
Sienna pushed Ava and smirked.
“And do you forsake all others?” Ava continued. “Forever swiping left till death do you part?”
“Shut up,” Sienna replied, but she was smiling.
Jonah thought, though, that even from here he could see some tension around her mouth. As he watched her, she stood up, adjusted her bikini, and moved toward the back door.
“I can’t go anyway!” she called out over her shoulder. “I don’t have a dress, remember?”
Instinct told him to leave, as he’d done so many times before, to escape her presence before she got too close and couldn’t escape him. But things were different now, he reminded himself. Things had changed.
He had changed. And it was time to let her know just how much.
Chapter Seven
The door slid open and Sienna stepped into the kitchen. The familiar rush of heat surged through his body whenever he saw her. Her reaction to him, though, had faded over the years. When she saw him, she ducked her head immediately, hesitating with her bare feet on the mat.
Jonah could almost hear the whirr of indecision as she debated whether or not to leave.
Practicality won out, he supposed, because she tightened her grip on the glass of lemonade she was holding and she walked toward the sink. He couldn’t lie to himself. His chest hurt at her response to him these days. What else could she do, though? He’d pushed her away so many times, crushed her hopes at every turn. She couldn’t even look at him now. He’d done that to her. And it was the thing he hated most about himself.
She avoided him mostly, pretended not to care. But Jonah knew better. Inside this girl was an endless well of passion and hope, and anyone who didn’t see it and nurture it every single day was an asshole who didn’t deserve to stand so close to such pure goodness.
He moved out of her way, but only retreated a step.
She ignored him completely as she reached out and turned on the faucet.
“Hey,” he said gently and then grimaced a little. Not the greatest of starts, but he was new to this, to say the least. He could recover, as long as he stuck to the plan.
She turned to look at him. Her face was unreadable, an expression she’d been wearing for too long to protect herself. Jonah recognized it as a mirror image of his own—cold, unfeeling. But it hid the truth. Sometimes too well, in his case. He’d convinced Sienna that he didn’t care about her and now she was doing her level best to convince him (and maybe herself) that she didn’t care, either.
But they were done with that. He was ready now. And she’d always been ready. It was time to start walking in the light.
It was time to take off the masks.
“You should go to the wedding,” he told her. “It won’t be the same without you there. But don’t go in your scrubs, cute as you are in them. You need a dress. And heels. You always look good in heels.”
Sienna gaped at him, unable, apparently, to respond to him.
Jonah stepped forward and lifted his hand. His fingers caught a lock of her hair. She smelled like tanning oil and sunshine. “If I get a say,” he declared, “I’d prefer you wear your hair down, too. You can see all the different colors that way.”
He extended a finger and ran it along her ear. Hard to know which of them shivered first from his touch. “And as long as I’m making suggestions,” he added, “the dress should be green, to match your eyes.” Jonah leaned down and let his mouth hover a mere inch from her ear. “That’ll be tough, though, Sienna. I don’t think you’re going to find exactly that shade anywhere else. Believe me, I’ve looked.”
She had only one earring in each ear, and though he knew it was wrong, Jonah had gone to bed on more than one occasion fantasizing about piercing her golden, tanned skin.
He could start with her ears and work his way down. Her nipples, her
belly, her throbbing—
“Shit!”
Close.
“Shit!” Sienna repeated as the glass dropped to the sink. The thin rim cracked on the stainless steel.
Jonah’s hand shot out, abandoning her ear and grabbing her wrist. He yanked it back from the sink. “Are you all right?” he demanded.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned her hand over, inspecting it thoroughly. It was wet from the water, but there was no blood that he could see. On her palm was the small, familiar scar, now whitened with age.
“You’re fine,” he said, more to himself than to her. He raised his eyes to meet hers. She stared at him. “That’s good,” he told her. “We don’t need another one, do we?”
He rubbed her hand with his thumb, marveling at her soft, smooth skin. It was only marred by that one thin, white line that he wished he could wipe away, along with the memory of waiting for her dad to call. He never did. He rarely had. He probably wouldn’t call tomorrow, either. But Jonah could help her take her mind off that.
“One more day,” he told her.
Sienna looked up at him, puzzled. “Wh-what?”
“One more day until your birthday. Calla got you a cake.” He squeezed her hand again, holding it in his own. “Do you know what you’re going to wish for?”
She didn’t answer.
Jonah assumed it was taking all of her concentration just to keep breathing. It had been a long, long time since he’d stood this close to her, since he’d touched her so tenderly.
With his free hand, he reached up and pushed her hair back behind her ear. He couldn’t resist running his finger down it one last time. “I know you’re not supposed to tell anyone. I know it’s against the rules. But tell me anyway, after you blow out the candles, okay? Whatever it is, Sienna, whatever you wish for tomorrow, I’ll make sure you get it.”
Chapter Eight
Jonah left Sienna standing in the kitchen and walked out of the Stark house, because it wasn’t time yet. If he wasn’t careful, he might sweep her off her feet, kick down the door to his old bedroom down the hall, and claim her before she could even react.
That wasn’t how it was supposed to go, though, so he shut the front door firmly behind him, separating himself from her, if only for one more day. He hopped on his Harley and sped across town. The gym was the only place he could be right now. He’d gotten worked up just standing that close to her, and he needed to let off some steam.
Chappie’s Gym was less a gym than a shabby warehouse just a few blocks from Stark Ink. Or at one time, probably in the 70s, it was the place to go for a real workout. What it lacked in shiny, complicated contraptions, it made up for by not being a Crossfit juicehead box but instead a proper boxing gym with heavy bags surrounding a ring.
Jonah had thrown his first legal punch here in high school and had never stopped coming back for more.
He grabbed his gloves out of his locker and found an unused speedbag in the corner. The heavy bag was out of the question for today. His hand was still stiff from the last fight. He settled into a comfortable rhythm, letting his own thoughts take over as the rat-tat-tat of the bag sounded in the background like white noise.
He had no idea just how long he stood there before a shadow loomed at his side. He turned and saw Emilio, Ava’s boyfriend, standing next to him.
“‘’Sup?” he said, lifting his chin.
Jonah nodded.
Over the last few weeks, Emilio had heard Jonah mention the gym and expressed an interest in trying it out for himself. Jonah hadn’t quite been looking for a friend, but a sparring partner would do him just fine.
And sometimes it was nice to pop the dude, just to keep his head from getting too big.
Emilio gestured, indicating the ring that was freeing up just now.
Jonah left the bag and strode to the center of the large room.
“Hey, yo, we’re up!” Emilio called out to Chappie, who nodded and sent the last two fighters off with a wave.
Jonah ducked under the ropes and held them for Emilio.
Emilio glared at him.
Jonah laughed. “Hey, Mom always said ‘hold the door for a lady. Or a senior citizen.’ I figure with you, I get double the brownie points.” He held out his hand for Emilio to tap before the bout, but Emilio pushed it away.
“Keep talking, boy,” he growled. “I got moves and you know it.”
Jonah had to admit that much was true. Emilio did have some moves, things he definitely hadn’t learned in just a few weeks here at Chappie’s gym. All that time working with a bunch of ex-Army Rangers had done the man good. He’d be hell in the ring—not the one they were currently in, but the secret one constructed hastily in various abandoned buildings around Rapid City.
Jonah would never tell Emilio about it, though. For one thing, Jonah valued his privacy. Emilio would tell Ava, who would tell Pop, Dalton, and Adam. And Jonah was pretty sure he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the room until his family had extracted a promise never to fight for money again.
Jonah was a lot of things—a fierce fighter, a former juvenile delinquent, an ex-foster kid who’d stolen money from time to time, but he was better these days. A real man, a good man. As good as he could be, anyway.
He was a Stark, first and foremost, and when he gave his word, he kept it.
Jonah had made promises to himself already, though. He’d mapped out a plan in his head for how the rest of his life was going to go. All he needed were a few good fights and for God to either give him a helpful nudge or just step out of the damn way entirely. Jonah was fine with either scenario.
The second reason, looking at Emilio now, was that if the cocky little Mexican didn’t happen to get his nose broken by a shady fighter (and he might), Ava was likely to do it for him when she found out about it.
In Jonah’s estimation, he was saving the infuriatingly over-confident bastard. He pulled his next punch, too, but only because his hand was still fucked up and he didn’t want to do any real damage to it before his next fight.
Emilio noticed and gave him the stink eye. “You laying up for me?” he accused.
Jonah shrugged. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he lied. “Mess up your pretty face.”
Emilio grinned. “And I appreciate that. Your sister does, too. Your sister, who’s been blowing up my phone, by the way. Something about you touching Sienna’s ear.” He waited for a reply, but Jonah wasn’t interested in giving one. “She wants to know if I know anything about that.”
Jonah ignored his words and took another swing at him instead.
Emilio ducked and snorted. “You’ve been out of the game too long, hermano. Ears ain’t where it’s at.” He hesitated. “Though, now that I think about it, if you’d touched her anywhere else, she’d probably be in the ER with heart palpitations, anxiety attack or some shit. What’d you do to her? For real.”
Jonah weaved the second he saw Emilio rise to the balls of his feet. The shorter man’s jab went slightly wide and only just brushed Jonah’s jaw. “I went as slow as I could. She’s forgotten what it’s like for me to touch her. She’ll get used to it again.”
Emilio’s jaw dropped and so did his hands. “Again? What do you mean again? When did you touch her before?”
He waited for an answer, but Jonah wouldn’t go there with a guy he barely knew.
Emilio groused. “Oh, you’re not speaking now? I was just beginning to get the hang of translating your grunts, then you lay some shit on me like she’s forgotten how you used to touch her and we’re back to grunts again?! My heart can’t take it. Damn. You and Sienna, huh? So, did you tap that?”
Jonah turned and Emilio took a step back. He raised his hands defensively. “Don’t tap me! I take it back!” He hit the post of the ring with one fist. “I’m tapping out. Forget I said that. Absolutely none of my business. I’m sorry.” A long silence hung between them. “But, um,” Emilio said carefully, “I mean, you know she has a boyfriend, right?”
Jonah’s
jaw twitched. “He’s nothing. Not to us. Sienna’s mine. He’ll step out of the way when I come for her.”
Emilio’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “So, what, you’re gonna Clint Eastwood that shit? Just roll up on her and tell her to get in your wagon? I gotta say, I respect that. I don’t know if it’ll work,” he added, “but I respect it.”
“It’ll work,” he assured his new friend. “We were meant to be together. But I’ve always been partial to John Wayne, myself. And this isn’t a movie. This is real life, and mine is starting tomorrow.” Jonah took off his gloves, signaling the end of the sparring. He turned and headed for the ropes.
Emilio gave a low whistle. “Bullshit it’s not like a movie!” he called after Jonah. “This is going to be a summer blockbuster! From the dark underbelly of Rapid City, a hero will rise and—”
Jonah flipped him off as he ducked out of the ring and headed toward the locker room.
“Sign language! I can dig it!” Emilio shouted after him.
Jonah wasn’t the least bit put off by Emilio’s reservations. Sienna’s boyfriend had his chance and had blown it. And though seeing her with him or hearing about it from Ava had been hard, Jonah had resolved to himself that if she had been happy, truly happy, with someone else, he’d let her go. He owed it to her to allow her to have the best life possible, even if he wasn’t in it.
But she wasn’t happy, that much was painfully obvious. And it was tempting to smack the boyfriend in the mouth—twice: once for being stupid and not seeing what was right in front of him, and again for not doing everything in his power to make her happy.
If he gave Jonah any lip tomorrow, Jonah might actually slap the shithead for good measure.
He changed into a clean shirt that he kept in his locker and headed out to his Harley in the tiny lot at the side of the building. The ride to Stark Ink was just a few blocks and in no time at all he was stepping into the cool, darkened confines of the two-story brick building.
Adam was already there, which was no surprise. Adam was always there. Jonah figured that’s what it took to get your own business up off the ground and running. The older man stuck his head out of his workroom, though, and gave Jonah a nod.