Broken: a bad boy romance novel

by London Casey

The all-American boy. The quarterback in high school that got good grades and went to med school. The boy-turned-man who worked hard, fair, right, and actually became a doctor. A really good doctor at that. Most of his patients he operated on ended up at the building I worked at, so seeing him was nothing new.

  What else was nothing new was his desire for me. And it should have made sense to me. Good looking. Money. Good job. Solid foundation. A seriously decent person.

  “You look like you need something stronger than coffee,” he said.

  “Dr. Derrick,” I said with a grin.

  “Rough night?”

  “Rough day,” I said.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  I knew better than to ask for help. He would rattle off a laundry list of medical terms that would impress anyone but me. I had been this close to becoming a doctor myself. But that was a whole other disaster I was still trying to cover up in my life.

  “No,” I said.

  “Well, enjoy your coffee.”

  “Why do you pay that much for a coffee?”

  “Because it’s that good,” he said with that same good-boy grin of his. He slowly leaned on my desk. He touched his glasses and ran his hand through his hair. “What’s your week looking like?”

  “My week? Busy. Always busy.”

  “Too busy for me?” he asked. “Just curious. You know me. I buy you a coffee and ask you out on a date.”

  “And you know me,” I said, already used to this routine. “I’ll take the coffee, tell you you paid too much for me, and then explain that I’m not dating anyone right now. That I’m too busy and trying to focus on my career.”

  Derrick knocked his hand on the desk. Then he turned and crouched down so he was eye level with me. “And I’m going to tell you that whatever you need with your career, I can try and help. You mentioned before you almost became a doctor. Maybe there’s a time when you’ll revisit that. I have great contacts I can pass along.”

  “Right. And what will it take for me to get those contacts?”

  “Nothing,” Derrick said. He stood back up with that grin. “I mean, we’ll obviously have to discuss those contacts over dinner. A nice dinner. Private, with a touch of romance, but that wouldn’t be my fault. It’d be the restaurant.” He showed his hands in defeat.

  “Why don’t you find a good woman for yourself, Dr. Derrick?” I asked.

  “Because I’d rather wear you down,” he said.

  “Good luck with that. I can tolerate a lot.”

  “And I can keep dishing it out.” Derrick walked to the door and looked back at me. “I’ll be making my rounds. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Derrick left, and I sighed. There was no reason on the outside why I shouldn’t have let myself at least entertain the idea of dating him. But I had my own reasons. Dumb reasons, but they were my own.

  I shut the folder in front of me and thought about my next patient. He was a new one, not really something I was used to dealing with. An accident victim who nearly lost his leg. I had seen pictures of what happened, and it was enough to make my stomach turn. An emergency surgery saved his leg, but there was extensive muscle and nerve damage. It was my job to figure out just how bad it really was.

  These were sometimes the worst cases to deal with. Because it was my job to cause pain. Not damaging pain, but the good kind of pain. The kind of pain that would help heal the body.

  It also didn’t help that this guy was around my age. I never got people this young.

  I took my coffee and left my office. I went out to the waiting room of our office, and nobody was there.

  “Hey, Mary, where’s my three?” I asked.

  “He was here. Then he left.”

  “He left?”

  Mary nodded. “I wasn’t going to stop him. He’s… he’s big.”

  “Big?”

  “Like, strong-big. And sort of scary-looking.”

  “Scary-looking,” I repeated. “He have tattoos or something on his face?”

  “On his arms,” she said. She took a folder and waved it at herself. “Now, don’t get me wrong, he could turn my heat up anytime he wants. Those arms. Those muscles. Those tattoos…”

  “Mary, you have grandkids,” I said.

  “That don’t mean I’m dead,” she said with a grin. She kept fanning herself.

  Great, just what I needed. Some handsome rogue type, right?

  I had the folder in my hand as I stood there, waiting. I’d give it a few minutes and then move on to someone else. It was bad enough to have someone in pain, but to have someone that didn’t want to be there?

  No loss for me.

  I started to turn when I heard the door open.

  That’s when he appeared. He looked ten feet tall and ready to throw a punch. He had a crutch in his hand, but he wasn’t using it. Instead, he was being stupidly stubborn by hopping on his good leg, trying to minimize the pressure on his bad leg. He turned his head and looked at me, and I immediately recognized him.

  He was the guy from the bar when I was out with Alex.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  He looked to be in really rough shape, though. Heavy eyes, annoyed, filled with anger over what happened to him.

  He slammed the crutch to the counter and sent a potted plant sailing over to Mary’s desk. Dirt spilled on some papers.

  He stared at me, adjusting his leather cut, then leaning against the counter, favoring his injured leg.

  “You going to fix me?” he asked, his voice rough.

  He was sexy and rugged. And it did something to me. I hated myself for that way I liked how he looked.

  “I’m going to try, Hudson,” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You know my name.”

  “I have your folder,” I said. “And we met before.”

  Mary was busy cleaning up the mess Hudson made—the mess he made and didn’t apologize for.

  I opened a door and gave a nod. “Why don’t you come back and we’ll get started.”

  “Wonderful,” he grumbled. He grabbed the crutch and started to hobble again.

  “You know, the crutch is meant to be used,” I said.

  Hudson stopped walking. He then threw the crutch to the floor without breaking a stare. Like a child who didn’t want to eat food and just tossed it.

  “I don’t need fucking crutches,” he said. “I need you to bend my leg a few times and tell me I’m good to go.”

  I nodded.

  This was going to go great.

  Just fucking great.

  I bent his knee, and he turned his head to look away. I saw the veins in his neck throbbing, telling me he was in pain. Some people weren’t afraid to scream at you. Some people tried to hold it in. But Hudson…he was the toughest man I’d ever encountered.

  I made him change into shorts so I could see his actual leg as I worked on him. His legs were built with strong muscle, which definitely served him well to keep from losing that leg in the accident. All I got out of the report was that he was hit by an SUV. It was amazing that he even survived that, much less come out with all his limbs.

  As I bent his knee some more, I could feel his body resisting it. I slowly pulled his leg back out and put it down. Hudson exhaled and swallowed hard. I ran my hand up his leg, feeling the hair on his shin run through my fingers. I had to quickly pull away, feeling foolish for even thinking anything about the way it felt.

  There was a large scar on his knee, and above that, he was still healing.

  I touched his muscle and held there, then touched his other leg to compare them.

  “You’re definitely swollen,” I said. “I think we should get you on your feet and walking. That’s going to be the best thing for you. To just keep moving and using your leg.”

  “Great,” he said. “So I’m good to go?”

  “Not quite. It’s going to get painful and hard to move with this,” I said.

  “Whatever,” Hudson said.

  He sat up and swung
his legs to the left. I caught the smell of his body—leather and man, a deadly combination that outdid the expensive cologne that Derrick would lather on himself.

  As Hudson started to stand, I grabbed for his arm. “Don’t do that.”

  He looked back at me. “Don’t tell me what to do, Doc.”

  “I’m not a doctor,” I said. “I’m a therapist.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, therapist,” he said.

  I should have fought him, but I was more than annoyed by then. He was cocky and mad at the world. I was just there to try and help him. I had a job to do.

  I pulled my hand away from his strong forearm and watched him try to stand. The second he tried to put an ounce of pressure on his injured leg, he toppled to the left. He grabbed for air and ended up crashing down to his right leg.

  “Fuck,” he growled.

  I dropped to my knees next to him and grabbed for him. I couldn’t move him if I tried, he was far too big and strong.

  He stretched out his left leg and grabbed at it. He took deep breaths, gritting his teeth. Slowly, he looked at me, his eyes looking ready to admit defeat.

  “Now will you listen?” I said in a low voice.

  “Go to hell,” Hudson growled. “Stand me up. I’m leaving this shit. You fucking hurt me worse.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. “Your leg needs to heal. This is part of it. Do you have a prescription for painkillers?”

  “I don’t take that shit.”

  That explained some of the grumpiness.

  “You should,” I said.

  “That shit is no good,” he said. “I’ve seen what it does when it locks into someone. I’m fine on my own.”

  “But you need my help to stand up.”

  “What the hell is this?” Hudson asked. “You mad at me because I made a pass at you at a bar?”

  “Now you remember me, huh?”

  “Yeah, I remember you,” he said.

  I helped him sit up. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here? Let’s take this slow. This isn’t going to be a one-day fix.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not looking for a friend, and I don’t need a therapist for my goddamn head. Either fix my leg or find someone who will.”

  A few seconds later, Derrick came charging across the floor. His white coat floated behind him. He skidded to a stop and dropped to one knee. He put a hand to Hudson’s shoulder.

  “Hey, partner, are you okay?” he asked. He looked at me. “What happened?”

  “He thought he could stand,” I said.

  “You have to be careful,” Derrick said to Hudson. “If you tear anything…”

  “Take your hand off my shoulder,” Hudson said. “Partner.”

  Derrick slipped his hand away. “Why don’t we get you on your feet?”

  Derrick took Hudson’s hand and tried to pull. But Derrick had no size or strength compared to Hudson. Derrick’s face turned red as Hudson stayed dead weight on the floor. It wasn’t until Hudson started to move that he rose up a little. He heavily favored his left leg, growling under his breath as he did so.

  Once he was standing, he quickly hobbled back from both me and Derrick.

  Derrick then touched my lower back. He leaned toward me. “You okay here?”

  I opened my mouth to talk.

  Hudson cut me off. “I was just leaving.”

  “We still have almost thirty minutes,” I said.

  “I’m done for today.”

  Hudson started to walk, reaching for anything he could. I watched him with a curious eye. He walked along the wall and made it from one room to the next.

  “I can talk to someone about that,” Derrick said. “You don’t need to deal with that noise.”

  “It’s fine,” I whispered.

  I forgot that Derrick’s hand was still on my lower back. He started to move his hand like he wanted to rub my back or something.

  Oh, hell no.

  I hurried to move away.

  “I have to go,” I said. “Really need to check on him…”

  I thought I could be faster than Hudson, but he was on the move. When I got to the front desk, he was already outside. I ran by the desk and plowed through the door. I watched in shock as he loaded himself into a pickup truck.

  He sat there, his head back, obviously in pain.

  Then he turned his head, and our eyes met.

  I did the dumbest thing ever as I lifted my hand to wave at him. I probably looked like a total bitch. Either that or really desperate.

  Hudson started the truck and pulled away.

  I was left standing there, half-shocked, half-disgusted.

  That’s when I thought about what Derrick said. He was right. I didn’t deserve any of that.

  Hudson could become someone else’s problem.

  He sure as hell wasn’t going to be mine.

  6

  HUDSON

  I sat with my leg up and had a beer in my hand. I felt like the bastard step-kid of the club. I was in the back corner room of the clubhouse, damn near hidden from the rest of the world that mattered. It was a pain in the ass to try and drive when my leg flared up, so I had been crashing more and more at the clubhouse. I was in the belly of the beast, so to speak, and I just wanted to get on my motorcycle and go for a ride.

  There was no chance of that, though.

  I was all but trapped.

  Drinking helped, but only a little. I had a prescription for the pain pills, but my tongue was too eager to lap those fuckers up. To see how many I could take until everything just disappeared. The pain, my leg, shit, even myself.

  I threw the bottle back and drank the piss-warm beer. I reached back and put the bottle on the dresser. This was the only position I could find some sort of comfort in. But it made the rest of my body feel stiff.

  The doctor told me the surgery went perfectly. He said there was damage, but it shouldn’t be permanent damage. That I just needed to use my leg, work myself back to normal, and keep an eye out for anything bad. It was all so fucking easy to say, reading from a chart and moving to the next patient.

  I burped and laughed to myself.

  I put my head back and felt like I was maybe starting to slip a little.

  The door opened, and Duke came walking in with purpose.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked.

  “Healing,” I said. I reached for my beer and raised the bottle up.

  “You’re a fucking asshole, brother,” Duke said.

  “Born and raised.”

  “Come on, we have to get to the table.”

  “What?”

  “Meeting,” Duke said. “Prez wanted us to find you. Figured you’d be buried in booze or pussy.”

  “Just beer.”

  “You know you have it easy with that bum leg, right? You could get anything you want…”

  I looked at Duke flatly. “Nothing quite like being a cripple and having the women flock to you.”

  “You’re not a cripple, Hudson,” Duke said. “Now get up and walk. How’s your therapy going?”

  I laughed. “It’s not going. I left.”

  “Christ. You’re supposed to be going there at least three times a week.”

  “Not me.”

  “Do you realize what’s happening in the club right now? What we’re up against?”

  “Do you realize what I’m up against?” I yelled. “Age-old fucking rules that don’t matter anymore.”

  “You want to be an outlaw without a ride?” Duke asked. “How does that work?”

  “Fuck off, Duke.”

  Duke grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. “You better smarten the fuck up, brother. Because if you want to go rules, here’s another for you. You can’t ride, which means you shouldn't be at the table and shouldn’t have a vote. We could proxy in a prospect, have a stand-in at the table, or call another charter for some help. But we voted against that. As a fucking club. We want you at the table. So stand the fuck up and get to the table.”
r />   “I’ll give my proxy,” I said and looked away. “Whatever the majority is, I’ll go with.”

  “We’re talking about the guys that attacked you,” Duke said.

  “I still give my proxy.”

  There was silence.

  I wouldn’t look at Duke.

  I thought about Cora. She hadn’t even told me her name, I’d seen it on her. Perfectly stitched over her left breast. The same natural beauty that was there the night at the bar. I could have picked her out of a crowd of a thousand. She didn’t belong at the bar, serving as a designated driver for her friend. And I sure as fuck didn’t need her twisting my leg around, asking me about my life.

  “You get angry, Hudson,” Duke said. “I know that feeling. I’ve seen nasty shit. I’ve pushed guys out of the way and taken a bullet.”

  “You’re a war hero,” I said. “I’m an outlaw. There’s a difference.”

  “Look at me,” Duke said.

  I forced myself to look him in the eye. In my mind, I kept thinking about that pencil-neck doctor. Trying to help me up. Touching Cora. I sensed something there. He wanted her, and she didn’t want him. Her eyes were locked onto me. I was a good disaster to tear into.

  “Get to the table,” Duke said. “Right now. Stand up.”

  “Fuck yourself, Duke.”

  Duke stepped back and swung his right foot. He came within an inch of smashing my leg. I grabbed the arms of the chair and almost jumped back and out of the chair.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Next time I won’t hold back,” he warned. “Get to the table.”

  Duke walked to the door and paused only to grab my crutches. He threw them to the bed and left the room.

  I forced myself to stand. Bending my leg sent hot pain searing through my entire body. I gritted my teeth and held my breath as I got to my feet. I put some weight on my bad leg, and the pain was fierce. I stumbled to the bed and grabbed the crutches. I jammed them under my armpits and leaned, kicking my bad leg back. The pain eased up but was still throbbing. I wiggled my toes in my boot. I twisted my ankle. That was all good shit. I had feeling. I had movement.

  I just needed healing.

  And that was Cora’s job.

  I swallowed a lump that was a bit like pride and worked my way out of the room. I bounced through the clubhouse on the crutches to the conference room. The guys outside the conference room all stopped to look at me. Some at the bar. Some at the pool tables. The prospects were behind the bar, cleaning up.