A Steel Heart (Heart #2)

by Amie Knight

  I’d lost a lot. My one gain in this shit storm—Harper.

  “Reading anything good?” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

  I’d always loved to read and write and while I’d been laid up in that bed recovering months ago with Harper at my side, she somehow managed to turn me onto romance. She’d sat next to me and when I’d been too depressed to speak, too fucking weak to open my eyes, she’d read to me. My leg pounding in pain, my body forced to lie on that lumpy mattress, my skin itchy and sweaty against the rough sheets, Harper’s voice had been my only comfort.

  I’d always thought of romance as the white, small books I saw in Walmart with a couple clutching at each other dramatically on the front, but the books Harper read me hadn’t been cheesy or ridiculous. They had been pretty damn amazing; a girl’s journey to giving life all she had after receiving a cancer diagnosis, a woman’s story of loving someone and the domestic abuse she overcame. Yeah, romance wasn’t just Fabio on the cover of some cheesy story anymore. It was pretty damn cool.

  “Yeah, some book about a homeless girl who lives at a train station. I can’t remember the title. It’s not bad.”

  “Cool, keep me updated on it.” She smiled around her straw. And, fuck, I wanted to smile back at her. But I just couldn’t. I didn’t think I’d smiled in a long fucking while.

  “What about the redhead next door?” she asked suggestively. Harper had seen her the day she’d helped me move into my apartment and even suggested I might ask her to hang out some time.

  My sternum ached at the mere mention of Miranda Mae. With her round, kind eyes. Her sweet smile. How terrified those eyes had been when I’d yelled at her a few days ago. I’d scared the shit out of her. Any time I even felt the least bit guilty about it, I told myself it was for the best. After all, I was a broken, thirty-three-year-old man with nothing. I couldn’t even step over some goddamn groceries in a hallway without falling and embarrassing myself. I didn’t even have a fucking job anymore. I could have stayed after the accident. The Army had tried to offer me a way. I mean, I could have settled for being a desk jockey, but I would’ve never been happy. Not that I was happy now.

  I had no business even being friends with a young twenty-something girl who wasn’t yet jaded by life and all its negatives. No, I’d stay far away from her. I’d let her pack her little library with brilliant books, her business card stuck in the interior. Miranda Mae Editing. She was too fucking cute, but I’d let her giggle with the neighbor boy in the hallway, her tinkling bell of a laugh echoing off my walls. And I wouldn’t give it a thought. I’d ignore her and all her goodness, no matter how she watched me. And I knew she did.

  “What about her?” I asked my sister, giving her a look that said the subject was closed. Luckily, she took the hint because I hated fighting with her. She was all I had left now.

  Our food arrived and Harper dug into her meal, leaving me to my quiet. She knew me. Knew I preferred the silence over unnecessary chatter. Like Miranda Mae, she was too good for me.

  We wrapped up our meal and I brought her in for a hug outside the restaurant.

  She backed out of our embrace and brought her hands to my cheeks, looking into my eyes. “Call me if you need anything, Hold, promise me,” she said, her dark eyes pleading with me.

  “Okay.” I nodded my assent against her palms.

  She placed a quick kiss to my cheek and made her way to her car parked nearby. I watched her small frame enter the car and drive off before I started the couple of blocks walk back to my apartment. My leg throbbed since I’d already exercised and done therapy that day, but I kept pushing myself. I always was. I didn’t know why I kept going because there wasn’t a day I wasn’t fucking miserable. What did I have to keep going for anyhow?

  I pushed through the bottom steps of the apartment building, my knee practically on fire now, and crashed into the boy who lived downstairs. My leg twisted in an awful way and I grunted in pain. I yelled before thinking, “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

  The boy froze before me and even through the pain, I immediately wanted to take my harsh words back. Fuck, my temper was too short these days. I heard a gasp and looked up. Of fucking course. There she stood, eyes full of horror again. She seemed to always catch me at my worst, or maybe I was just always at my worst.

  I shot past the both of them and limped up the stairs to my apartment as quickly as I could, ashamed of myself but too damn prideful to say so.

  Reasons Not To Kill Your Sexy Neighbor

  You’ll Miss His Sexiness

  You’ll Go To Prison (and you look terrible in orange and jumpsuits)

  You’ll Really Miss His Sexiness

  I waited at the coffee shop under my apartment, sipping my latte and eating a piece of lemon pound cake. And I was seething. The cake didn’t taste nearly as good as I wanted it to and I was going to blame that on the sexiest man in the world. Because I was fired the heck up and not in a good way. So I waited. Yep, I was stalking again, but it wasn’t so I could admire him walk across the street or get in his truck. I had a thing or two to say to him and none of it was good. Last night had been the icing on the crap cake when it had come to my neighbor.

  The sexy butthead finally walked by the coffee shop, so I quickly shoved the rest of my cake in my mouth and grabbed my coffee to go and darted out the door. I stayed behind while I worked up the courage I needed to attack. I walked faster behind him. I was winded as heck, but I kept going, picking up speed. I was going to tell him what an insufferable douchebag he was. I was going to confront him about being a complete butthole to my favorite kid. I was going to let him know he couldn’t call me fat. Only I could call me fat. Who in the heck did he think he was, picking on little kids and women?

  Only the closer I got to him, the more my temper cooled because, gah, that behind. Lord have mercy, those sweatpants did all kinds of good things to that butt, and even though I was mad as sin at this mean man, I couldn’t help but admire how incredibly hot he was despite his personality. Because let’s face it, his personality basically sucked.

  By the time I got right up on him and was ready to attack, I was so short of breath I was panting. Lord, I was out of shape. Just as I was getting ready to reach my arm up and tap him on that big shoulder he spun around on me, hitting me with those dark sunglasses and scowl. He was so tall he blocked out the sun and I felt myself shrink a little with intimidation.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice deep and cold.

  I was so stunned by his confrontation I simply answered, “Walking?”

  “Why?”

  Why? He wanted to know why I was walking? Or why I was following him? Or why I was breathing like I’d never walked a day in my life?

  “For exercise?” I answered, sounding unsure if it was the right answer. Because now that he was looking at me all of my bravado had flown the coop and now I was just a big fat chicken. I wasn’t going to tell this man anything. I was going to get the heck out of there.

  He stared at me a minute before saying, “Really? Because it seemed like you were following me and panting?”

  What the what? Who the who? Oh, no, he didn’t. And every bit of the anger I’d felt earlier was back in full swing. Only I didn’t get to let it loose on him because he spun back around and started speed walking away again. He wasn’t going to get away that easy. I didn’t care how sexy he looked in sweatpants or how much his scowl made my panties melt. I forged ahead, my mission clear. Only the faster I walked, the faster he walked despite his slight limp. His every stride was three steps for me. And he had to know it. Jerkface.

  I was a sweaty, panting mess by the time I was by his side. So he was kind of right and that pissed me off even more.

  He looked straight ahead, never acknowledging me, but I would not be ignored.

  “You are not a nice man,” I said to him between deep breaths because, holy moly, I needed to get myself to the gym. Clearly I was way out of shape.

  “Too many donuts

,” my mind said to me. “Never!” my heart yelled back.

  He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even acknowledge my presence, so I laid it all out there to him.

  “You do not get to open your front door and tell me and my little buddy to quiet down when you have kept me awake all night with your sexual shenanigans.” Yeah, I was letting loose on him and it felt dang good. It would have felt even better if I could breathe a little.

  He paused and looked at me a second before getting back to his brisk walk. “Sexual shenanigans?” he questioned, his face a mask of confusion.

  I blushed because even though I was angry as heck, the word sexual on those gorgeous lips did things to my girly parts. Really good things.

  I pursed my lips. “Yeah, playboy. Do you not realize we share a bedroom wall? I can hear you getting your groove on every night,” I panted out. Oh, God, sometimes once I got started I couldn’t stop. I think people called this condition diarrhea of the mouth. And I had it in spades at the moment.

  “My groove on?” he said and his forehead crinkled, which was the most emotion I had ever seen out of this man.

  I was sweating like a stuck pig, but I kept going. “And you most definitely do not get to smash my donuts and then call me fat!”

  He finally looked over at me, his eyebrows raised above his sunglasses. “I didn’t call you fat.”

  “You did.”

  “I didn’t. I said you didn’t need donuts,” he huffed through clenched teeth, and I wanted to smile because I could tell I was getting to him.

  “Which basically means I’m fat.” I dared him with my eyes to argue.

  He accepted my dare. “No, it means that no one needs donuts.”

  I didn’t like how he was trying to manipulate me with words. I was a word master. A darn word aficionado. He didn’t know who he was dealing with.

  “Don’t mince words with me. I know what you meant and so do you,” I spat out.

  He stopped walking and turned to look at me before stepping so close we were practically nose to nose. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Mae. If I wanted to call you fat, I would’ve called you fat. All I was saying was that you didn’t need donuts. No one does. They’re not healthy.”

  Blasphemy! He did not just use the phrase ‘not healthy.’ My dream man was slowly becoming my it’s never gonna happen man.

  And was he out of his mind? No one called me Mae. Mae wasn’t even my real name. Miranda Mae was just a nickname my grandmother called me when I was a little girl. I had fond memories of her and that name, so I’d decided to name my business after it. As far as I knew, he didn’t even know my first name. I sure as heck didn’t know his. I might have been a little more creeped out if he hadn’t been so good-looking and if my lips hadn’t been so close to his. My neck flushed with heat even as we stood toe to toe. Even in the heat of a battle, this man’s innate beauty took my breath away. My heart thundered. My head felt light and my nipples tightened behind my bra, but my mind was smarter than my body and I was no pushover.

  “Miranda. My name’s Miranda and do not tell me what I need…” I looked at him and nodded, my eyes imploring him to provide me with a name. Only he just kept glaring at me from behind his sunglasses. I continued on since it was clear he wasn’t going to grant me the knowledge of his name.

  “I need donuts.”

  His eyes shot to his hairline.

  “And you need to learn some manners,” I finished.

  He let out a deep sigh and took a step back before glancing at the ground. “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay?” I asked, flabbergasted. Did I hear him wrong? Was he agreeing with me? What in the H E double hockey sticks was happening?

  “Okay,” he said again, but this time on a whisper, and then he turned and walked off, leaving me to stand on the sidewalk at least two miles from my apartment, exhausted and confounded.

  I dragged my behind back home and stomped up the stairs to my apartment, completely shaken. He’d said okay. He was almost agreeable. And in that moment, he’d looked almost like a wounded dog. Beaten down. Like he wasn’t just done fighting me. Like he was done fighting life. And my heart, it had burned in my chest for him. I took a shower, washing away the sweat and our confrontation. I couldn’t think about him. I wouldn’t. I knew. My heart was too tender for that man. He’d crush it. He’d steal it for his own and beat it to death. I was too sensitive. Too sweet. He was the opposite. If my heart hurt for him after a simply whispered, desperate okay, I knew if given the time, he’d have it in full-fledged knots that I’d never be able to untangle.

  I got dressed, determined to never think of him again, but somehow my mind still wandered back to the seemingly most broken mean man I’d ever met. I shook my head as I sat down at my desk. I need donuts. Famous last words. What in the ever loving hell was wrong with me? If I’d ever had a chance with the most breathtaking man I’d ever seen in my life, I didn’t now. Because nothing says crazy like I need donuts. I laughed to myself as I opened my computer and tried to get to work.

  Not that I wanted him anyway. He was a butthole. I was a nice girl. I deserved a nice guy who’d take me out to dinners. Wine and dine me. Not tie my heart up in knots. I wanted a man who’d bring me flowers. Call me sweetheart. I deserved the list. And I wanted it. Right?

  I sat across from Ainsley, two fresh plates with sandwiches and chips and two gigantic cups of sweet tea between us. Truth be told, Ainsley looked a little green and I wondered if she was sick. Maybe that’s why Adrian had thought she’d been moody.

  I grinned at her. “What’s up, Ains? How are things going?” I asked nonchalantly, hoping to ease her into telling me what was going on. Ainsley wasn’t usually forthcoming. She internalized everything while I, on the other hand, let it all hang out. If I was sad, you knew. If I was mad, you dang sure knew.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Soda shot from my mouth and clear across the table, hitting Ainsley square in the face. Some must’ve made its way to my nose, too, because God, it burned. So much for internalizing things.

  “What?” I garbled out. She and Adrian had only been back together for a few months. If she was pregnant, Adrian must have the super sperm because that was quick! I must have heard her wrong. But the terrified look in her eyes as she wiped soda from her face told me otherwise.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said louder, firmer, and this time when my nose burned it wasn’t from the cola.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, getting out of the booth and coming around to Ainsley’s side of the table.

  She moved over as I pushed my way in and clutched her hands in mine.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, excitement making my skin prickle.

  She nodded. “Positive. Seven times if you count all the tests I took.” Tears poured from her eyes and I couldn’t take it another second.

  I pulled her body to mine and held her tight. “Oh, Ainsley. I’m so happy for you. A baby! A freaking baby! We’re having a baby!” I said, a little too loudly and Ainsley pulled out of my embrace.

  “God, keep it down, lady. Adrian doesn’t even know yet!”

  “Is this why you’ve been acting nutty lately? How long have you known? Why haven’t you told Adrian yet?”

  She laid a finger over my mouth. “Jesus! Cool it. All of your questions are stressing me out!”

  I pulled her hand away from my mouth and tried to settle into the booth, playing it cool. “Sorry. I’ll chill. But for real, what’s going on, Ains?”

  She leaned back and bit her lip, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. We’re so young, Miranda. We haven’t even been back together that long. God, we must have gotten pregnant right away. Probably that night at the bar when I drank all the alcohol and decided to make all the terrible decisions.”

  Oh, I remembered that night all too well. The night my best friends finally got over their drama and got it on. Bow chicka wow wow.

  I jumped in. “Stop it! It doesn’t matter when. It doesn’t matter how young you guys are. You both have careers now and you’re living together. You’ll marry soon. And you guys love each other so much. That’s the only thing that matters.”

  Fresh tears trekked her cheeks. “What if he’s not ready? What if he doesn’t want a baby yet?”

  My face fell. “What? You’re worried Adrian’s going to be upset?”

  She nodded and I could only shake my head. For one of the smartest girls I knew, Ainsley sure was a fool.

  I took her hand in one of mine again. I grabbed a napkin off the table with the other and dabbed at the tears on her face. “Oh, Ains. You couldn’t have it more wrong. Adrian is going to be shocked, yes, but he’s also going to be so, so happy. Because he wants everything with you. He always has. Y’all’s story is an epic one, love, and a little plot twist isn’t going to keep him from his forever.”

  “You think?” she asked, her eyes glittering at me, begging me for reassurance that I could 100 percent give her. There weren’t many men in my life I could count on, but Adrian was one of them. He was one of the best men I knew, and he’d never let Ainsley down.

  “Yeah,” I breathed, bringing her in for another hug. I tightened my arms and rocked us from side to side and sang, “We’re having a baby.”

  “We are,” she whispered and almost sounded excited.

  A sudden thought occurred to me, so I sprung out of our embrace. “Have you told your momma yet?”

  She shook her head, her face bewildered.

  “Holy moly, she’s going to be so freaking excited!”

  “I know.” Ainsley smiled.

  Ainsley’s momma was just as much a momma to Adrian and me as she was to Ains, so I knew she was going to be ecstatic at the news. Earlier in the year, she’d received a cancer diagnosis, but had just recently finished her radiation and chemo. This was good news and she needed every bit of good news she could get right now.

  I let Ainsley go and got myself back to my side of the booth while asking, “When are we telling Adrian?”

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