For the Fight

by Leah Ashton

Her eyes had lit up, and Nate could see her relief at discarding the fear that he knew had overwhelmed her.

  But both Nate and Oscar shook their heads. “No Lou,” Nate said, and hated seeing that light in her eyes extinguish. “The detectives have recommended you don’t go home, and that you’re kept at a secure location. Just in case the guy didn’t mean to miss and plans to finish off the job.”

  Lou dropped her head into her hands. “Seriously?” she said. Her neat hair had become less so, and strands had tugged out of her bun to fall around her cheeks.

  “Don’t stress, Lou,” Nate said, “the E-SWAT Close Personal Protection guys will look after you. You’ll be fine.”

  “So will you,” Oscar said, looking at Nate. “If this is about revenge, you’re as much in the line of fire as Brayshaw is. You’re not going home either. The CPP officers assigned to you both should be arriving soon.”

  His message delivered, Oscar left them alone in the booth.

  For a moment they just stared at each other. Lou’s eyes were round, but no longer empty.

  It appeared she had something else to focus on now rather than fear for her safety.

  “I’m spending the night with you?” she said, clearly aghast.

  Nate couldn’t help but grin. Sure, he could say the obvious: they’d be in separate rooms.

  But Lou would already have assumed that.

  That wasn’t the point.

  Twelve years after Nate had climbed out of Luella Brayshaw’s bed and run as fast as he could from the first woman to ever love him – he’d be spending the night with her again.

  Somehow, the fact they’d not be in the same bed didn’t even feel relevant.

  They’d be close enough, and they were in this thing together.

  That was what made this feel intimate.

  They’d never planned to be on that train together today, but it had happened – and together they’d become a team. Without saying a word, they’d been a team for the entire excruciating journey from Perth to Fremantle. Every look, every touch, every move – they’d been aware of each other. Thinking of each other. Looking out for each other.

  And now, with that Notechi’s bullet, they were a team again.

  Luella Brayshaw and Nate Rivers. Together again.

  “Seems like it,” Nate said, his grin growing broader.

  We’ve seen each other naked, Nate.

  And yeah, that kind of made things feel intimate, too.

  This was a disaster.

  Lou couldn’t say she had a better alternative. She certainly didn’t want to go home alone tonight. And she wasn’t about to stay with her mum and potentially lure an outlaw motorcycle gang to her mother’s doorstep.

  But did she have to be staying in the adjoining hotel room to Nate? Really??

  Logic told her yes. As if E-SWAT would deploy two totally separate teams of bodyguards – or CPP officers as they were known – when one would obviously suffice.

  She got that. But still.

  It sucked.

  On the plus side, being annoyed at being paired in this way with Nate distracted her from the fear that hadn’t stopped prickling its way along her spine.

  Even though she knew how carefully the CPP team had driven them both here – to this small, very expensive hotel just north of Perth, so that she knew they hadn’t been followed – she couldn’t relax. It didn’t matter that armed police literally guarded her door and this building, every muscle in her body still felt tense, from her toes to her jaw. She was one big bundle of tension, and despite taking deep breaths and mentally trying to release each tense muscle in her body one by one, she was having zero success. She just lay there, on this huge, lovely, hotel bed and stared at the ceiling. Tensely.

  She’d changed into the brand-new knickers, T-shirt, and tracksuit pants that someone had obviously been told to go purchase for her to sleep in. The knickers were too big, the tracksuit pants and T-shirt a touch too small, but they would do.

  Honestly, the fact she’d worn ill-fitting clothing for most of today was the least of her worries.

  Being shot at twice was a bigger concern.

  Lou shoved herself up and off the bed to pace the room.

  It had lovely carpet, deep and plush; the type you would never lay in your own house unless you really loved vacuuming. If she was allowed to open the curtains she’d have a view over the ocean. The bathroom was all marble and expensive tapware, plus it had an awesome freestanding bath.

  It seemed rather a waste for her to be here alone.

  That thought dragged her gaze to the door that adjoined her room with its neighbour.

  Nate’s room.

  The door between them was locked – she’d checked – but still.

  He was just there.

  The width of a wall away.

  The first time she’d found herself staring at that door, she’d changed into her makeshift pyjamas before she got any silly ideas.

  Like, knocking on his door.

  And what would happen then?

  Nothing, probably. They’d maybe talk a bit more about today. Be professional colleagues.

  Or, maybe she would burst into tears on his shoulder and tell him how fucking scary it was to be shot at. How if she held her hand up in front of her face now it would still be shaking, and she felt that shaking all the way under her skin and into her veins.

  Yeah. No.

  That wouldn’t be happening.

  Lou kept on pacing, trying to think about anything but trains, or hostages, vengeful bikies, or bullets. Or Nate. Definitely not about Nate.

  Then, there was a knock on the door.

  The adjoining door.

  “Lou?”

  Nate’s voice was low and husky.

  She went absolutely still. As if she didn’t move, she wouldn’t need to make a decision about what to do. Answer him? Pretend she was already asleep?

  “Lou?” he repeated. A pause, then a sigh. “I know you’re awake, I’ve been listening to you pacing for a while.”

  Oh.

  Lou shoved her hands into the pockets of her tracksuit pants, and rocked onto her heels, then her toes. Heels, then toes.

  “That’s a weird thing to do,” she said, before she even knew she planned to speak.

  “Tell me about it,” he said, and laughed.

  Lou padded across the plush carpet to stand on the other side of the door. He must have opened the door on his side to be able to hear her.

  “It’s creepy as hell, Nate,” she said.

  “Yep,” he said. “That too.”

  Lou realised she was grinning.

  “Why?” she prompted.

  There was a soft thud, just above Lou’s height – as if he had rested his forehead against the door.

  “I’ve been thinking about how I’d feel if you’d died,” he said.

  Lou sucked in a gasp. “Lovely,” she said, flat as a pancake.

  “No, Lou – I’m serious. I could’ve lost you today.”

  Her grin had completely dissolved. “You have to have me before you can lose me, Nate,” she pointed out. Then added briskly. “Right. I’ll leave you to your self-indulgent concerns, given I’m more concerned about staying alive than how you may or may not feel about it.”

  She stalked over to her bed, and rather violently wrenched back the covers.

  “Lou!” Nate said, more loudly now. “Please. Don’t go. I …”

  “What, Nate?” she asked, against her better judgment.

  “Can I come in?”

  Lou stared at the crisp white sheets before her. “No,” she said firmly.

  “Please,” he said. “I’d really like to talk.”

  She shook her head despite knowing he couldn’t see her. “I don’t want to talk, Nate,” she said. “I’m tired.”

  And she was. She was tired somewhere deep inside her bones, although she doubted her exhaustion could overcome the tension that still consumed her body.

  “How about I just do the ta
lking then?”

  “Hmm,” Lou said. “A man talking at me. Tempting.”

  Nate’s laugh was rich and achingly familiar.

  Familiar enough that she turned without volition, but stopped herself halfway between the bed and the adjoining door.

  He cleared his throat. And then there was a long silence, as if he was working out what to say.

  “If you let me into your room, you can talk as much as you like, Lou, or not at all,” he said, finally. “I don’t mind. You can tell me how you’re feeling about what happened today. Or not. I don’t mind. You can yell everything I deserved yelled at me twelve years ago. Or not. I don’t mind.” He paused, and Lou realised she’d walked all the way up to the door. She stared at the brass polished handle as he spoke. “You can listen to my apology. Or not. I don’t mind.”

  “Your apology?” Lou blurted, suddenly spurred into action.

  Her fingers gripped that brass handle and yanked, but the door didn’t move.

  She’d just about come to her senses – why would she want to open that door, anyway? – when the door swung open. Nate stood there in black tracksuit pants and a grey T-shirt. A key dangled in his fingers, which he held up as if in explanation.

  “Wait,” Lou said. “I didn’t mean to try to open the door.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to hear some stupid apology just so you can feel better if some Notechi murders me tomorrow, okay?”

  Nate’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t joke about that, Lou.”

  She held his gaze. “You reckon that was a joke?”

  “You’re not going to die,” he said firmly. As if that would make it true. “Elite SWAT isn’t going to let that happen.”

  Lou dropped her gaze now, and stared at her hands. She’d pressed them flat against her thighs, but it made no difference.

  “Your hands are shaking,” he said and reached for her.

  Not cautiously or waiting for permission. He just reached for her, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and dragged her into his arms.

  His big, strong arms wrapped around her, and his hand rested amongst her loose hair as he pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart thumped loud against her ear.

  “Shh,” he said.

  And Lou felt abstractly that she should be annoyed at this: at his presumption that his hug would help her, that his voice would soothe her. Him. Nate Rivers. Of all people.

  But she couldn’t work up the effort to pull away. She couldn’t work up the want to pull away.

  Because his touch felt so good. So solid and unyielding, so warm and understanding.

  So, she allowed herself to lean into him. To soften her body against him, and to absorb all that warmth and strength and reassurance.

  And slowly, gradually, the shaking stopped.

  “I couldn’t just stay in my room, Lou,” Nate said, lowering his head so he murmured into her hair. “I couldn’t just leave you alone after you’d told me you were scared.”

  “I know it’s stupid,” Lou said. “I know I’m safe in here.”

  “It’s not stupid,” he said. His arms held her closer still. “Not stupid at all.”

  Now that the shaking had stopped, she became more aware of what she was doing, and that she was practically curled around the man she’d hoped to never see again. Her arms were wrapped around his waist and she was pressed against him: cheek, shoulders, breasts, hips.

  Yet she couldn’t move just yet. For the first time today – for the first time in weeks – she felt secure. She felt safe. Ever since that night two weeks ago, she’d been off-kilter. Everything had changed and all she’d become was her failure.

  Her mother, her few close girlfriends – no one had been able to make her feel better. None of them had been able to truly understand her fury with herself – and if she was allowed to make a phone call and speak to them now, they wouldn’t truly understand what she’d gone through today.

  But Nate understood. He’d been there.

  And not only in the obvious sense of being by her side. She knew from their past that he was like her in so many ways. He understood her drive, her passion to be a truly great cop, her frustration when she never reached her own – even she could acknowledge – unattainable standards.

  “I’m glad it was you on that train with me today,” she said against his pectoral muscle. His new cotton T-shirt had a small embroidered logo that was scratchy against her cheek. “I mean, I know if I hadn’t freaked out and run away, then we never would’ve been on that train, but …”

  His hand on her back slid up to her shoulder and squeezed. “I know what you mean,” he said. “We were a team.”

  Team.

  Lou didn’t like that word for some reason. Or maybe how he’d said it, like it was special. She leaned back a little in his arms, to put a slither of space between their bodies. “We aren’t a team. We just happened to be on the same train together, and I’m just glad that I was with you.”

  Lou knew how contradictory that sounded, but she needed to be clear. She and Nate were not a team. They were not linked in any way, whatsoever.

  “Okay, not a team,” Nate said, and she knew he was humouring her, and she would’ve been more annoyed at that if his arms didn’t feel so damn good. He looked down at her, with his navy-blue eyes that had always done things to the butterflies in her stomach – and still did so now – and smiled a half smile. “But we used to be a pretty good team though. A long time ago.”

  Lou had to wiggle away from him now, and she did.

  She scrambled a few steps away and crossed her arms as she glared at him. “You didn’t seem to think so when you snuck out of my bed in the middle of the night and never spoke to me again.”

  Lou shook her head angrily. She did not want to be having this conversation. Not tonight, not ever.

  Nate stepped towards her. He’d been standing in the doorway this whole time, never fully in her room. But now he was, it felt somehow shocking. To have Nate in her bedroom again, after all these years.

  “That was a mistake,” he said firmly. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

  Lou just shook her head in disbelief. “No. I am not accepting your apology so you can feel good about yourself after the Notechi knock me off.”

  “Still not funny,” Nate said from between gritted teeth.

  “What you did is still not okay,” Lou said, mimicking his tone.

  “I know,” Nate said. “It’ll never be okay.”

  “Uh-huh,” she agreed. “Can you go now?”

  This was just an awful end to an awful, awful day.

  “I meant what I said on the train,” Nate said, quickly, as if he needed the words out fast before Lou yelled at him to leave. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t do a thing wrong when we were dating.”

  “Of course I did,” Lou said, and shrugged. “We used to bicker about all sorts of silly stuff. We’d argue, or overreact, or misunderstand each other. It wasn’t always totally your fault.” She attempted a breezy smile and failed.

  “No,” he said, “I think you know what I mean. You were perfect in the way you were with me, you know, open and honest and you jumped all in. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

  Lou shrugged again, determined to be blasé. “You just weren’t into me that way, Nate, okay? No need to rehash it. It wasn’t a high point of my life. I told you I was in love with you, you weren’t in love with me – and while that is okay, running away was not. We had six months together, Nate. I think I deserved to be told you were ending the relationship, rather than eventually working it out myself.”

  Part of Lou really wanted to ask him all the questions she’d had back then.

  Why?

  Why had the man who’d been with her every day for months on end just disappear in a metaphorical puff of smoke? He hadn’t replied to one text, he hadn’t answered one phone call.

  This was before even Facebook – when it was so much easier for someone to disappear. And disappear he had.

&nbs
p; “Of course you deserved that, Lou. I’m so sorry. I’ve regretted what I did to you ever since.”

  But you still did it.

  She needed him to leave her room.

  “It was cruel, Nate,” she said, instead of telling him to go. She hadn’t planned to say that at all, but suddenly words were bubbling up from deep inside her. “You hurt me, and worse, you changed me. I gave you the power to hurt me by loving you, and you fucking used that power, Nate. You used it, and you didn’t care that you crushed the kind of naivety that only a twenty-one-year-old woman can have – the naivety that only exists until some man stomps all over her.” She strode back to Nate, and looked him right in the eye from an arms-length away. “And you were that guy, Nate. You stomped all over me, and it hurt, damnit. I’m old enough now to know that nearly every woman has that guy. That guy who made her question love, and if she’s worthy of love, if she can trust love – all that messy stuff. But why did that guy have to be you, Nate? Why did the guy who—”

  Her voice cracked, and her gaze fell to the floor. Her bare feet gripped at the plush carpet, her toes a freshly painted coral in honour of her first day at Elite SWAT.

  “The guy who what, Lou?”

  She met his gaze again.

  She’d made a tactical error standing so close, because even now, even after all this time, and what he’d done – standing close to Nate Rivers did things to her. Tummy butterfly things, tingly things, hot awareness between her thighs things.

  Things she did not want.

  But her hormones or something were reminding her of the Nate she’d fallen in love with, the Nate who’d comforted her tonight, the Nate who’d saved her life.

  “No,” she said to Nate and to herself. “You don’t get to ask me questions. You don’t get to apologise to soothe your fucking conscience. You don’t get anything from me.”

  “Lou,” he said, and oh – his eyes were so blue and so full of stuff she couldn’t define: maybe regret, maybe heat. Whatever it was, it was electric, and she couldn’t look away. “You don’t need to forgive me. You don’t need to do anything. But I need you to know I’m so sorry. So very fucking sorry.”

  And, oh no, his gaze was tracing her face – sliding from her eyes and down her nose, pausing on her lips. No, not really pausing. Stopping. Parking. Staying.