Ringer: A New Year's Romance: The Doyles, a Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  Alix lays next to me, her breathing soft. The curve of her ass presses into me, and I’m getting aroused again.

  Nothing like zero-to-sixty.

  This woman has taken me to places in the last few days that I’d never imagined going again. As I look at the soft lines of her face and the glossy locks that fall across her neck, I have to be honest.

  She might be taking me places I’ve never been to.

  I’d dated and slept with plenty of women, had a lot of good times and a few relationships. And then eventually, my marriage and my son.

  But military life makes it hard, and I hadn’t done a particularly good job at picking women that were excited about the lifestyle.

  For a while, that was fine.

  I always figured I’d settle down when the right woman came along. They say you’ll still know, right?

  There’s always time.

  Until there wasn’t, and I’d adjusted my new life.

  And then I figured I’d live my life differently.

  I would just kick ass at my job, work hard at the gym, and eventually end up as the old guy fly-fishing in Alaska on vacation.

  Never mind the fact that I’ve never fly-fished.

  And then this kind, patient woman had given me a glimpse that something else might be possible.

  Along with her strength and stubbornness that modeled a whole different path.

  A life with less pain.

  And then maybe, a life with a little more joy.

  A lot to hope for, but not impossible.

  A life like that was something I could barely imagine.

  But the thoughts going through my mind right now, the sense of hope that I’m feeling, hints at a lot more than just one dinner and one night spent curled up in her bed.

  I let my head roll back, willing the tension to ease out of my shoulders.

  Sometimes, you have to enjoy what’s in front of you rather than planning a full-fledged logistics campaign to bend the future to your will.

  And my body is really eager to enjoy what and who is right in front of me.

  The more I think about it, the more I’m willing to make sure that she enjoys me, too, so that she might be willing to give this another shot.

  I’m not going to say I don’t take my pleasure from sex.

  I do, and being a large, athletic guy always gave me certain advantages in the bedroom that I am happy to lean into.

  But the biggest turn-on for me has always been making sure of my partner’s pleasure.

  Right now, I’m not sure that I’ve delivered.

  My hand slides down over her stomach, flat but soft. Her curves are unbelievable, and I’m getting more turned on just thinking of them.

  But I won’t touch her unless I know she’s awake and into it.

  She lets out a little gasp and rolls back toward me. I let her turn into me, then onto her back, and I’m pressed up on one arm, looking down at her.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, truly awed.

  “You have to stop saying that. You’re going to give me a big ego,” she says, licking her bottom lip.

  She does that when she’s getting turned on, and right now, I’d say or do anything to get her to do it again.

  Leaning my head closer to her ear, I whisper, “Your hands are magic. But so are other things.”

  My hand is still on her belly, and I let it skim just a little lower.

  She arches her hips up, and it’s all the encouragement I need to float my fingers down over her pussy.

  She’s soaking wet.

  Jesus.

  She moans and pushes herself against my fingers.

  Lazily, I start tracing circles around her clit.

  Last time was explosive goodness, but this angel deserves a slow build.

  I can’t help myself, bringing a hand up to rest on her breasts. They’re beautiful, full and heavy, and just the perfect size.

  I roll on top of her, and she immediately spreads her thighs like she’ll welcome me in. And I’m so fucking tempted. I’d like to work out every ounce of pent up frustration that I’ve acquired in the last few years of hell in my life, with this woman.

  But that’s not my objective.

  I’m a professional.

  Stay on target.

  By the way I’m done, Alexandra won’t be able to think about me without her knees shaking.

  Without instantly getting wet.

  Without craving my tongue and my fingers and my cock between her legs.

  That’s how I’ll win this war.

  Exquisite, heart-rending, hip arching pleasure that leaves her crying my name until she can’t string together a sentence.

  I kiss my way down her neck, teasing first her left nipple and then her right. She’s practically writhing beneath me, and I’m get a sense of pride that she feels good, but it’s mixed with the idea that she’d feel a whole lot better if I just gave in.

  Kissing my way down, over the rise and fall of her stomach, I bury my face in her pussy.

  It’s so wet, and I lick her from top to bottom and then back down again. Her fingers are wrapped in the sheets, tugging, and she’s gasping out my name.

  It’s been a long time since I was with a woman, but she’s incredibly responsive, and I am so damned turned on.

  Maybe I’ll just stay right here all day.

  Eventually, I get out of bed and head into the kitchen.

  Alix is right; there’s not much food, but I find enough ingredients to make pancakes.

  Fight-diet friendly?

  Hell no.

  Exactly what you want to feed a woman before you spread her thighs as wide as possible and plunge inside to ride her for hours, again?

  Oh hell yes.

  That’s what I’m thinking when the phone rings, the answering machine picking up on the first ring.

  It’s old-fashioned but she says that the line lets volunteers answer the phone, even when she’s on the road.

  “Hey Miss Winthrop, Police Chief here. Look, we interviewed Chad Walker and I’m certain there’s no threat there. Whatever’s going on at your place clearly has something to do with someone else. If you experience any other issues and can’t resolve it yourself, you’re free to contact us but we’re closing the case.”

  My perfect mood melts, as the words come through and the machine clicks off.

  I lean my head back.

  I don’t know what the problem is.

  If they’re really that understaffed.

  If Walker really does have cache.

  If they’re bad at their jobs.

  But I’m furious.

  I don’t want to ruin the last several hours, and the possibility that’s before us.

  Making the most of this day.

  I’ve taken one step toward the stove intent on refueling the most beautiful woman in the world from some intense pleasure seeking when I see it.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye.

  It looks like some of the animals got free.

  It makes no sense; I went out myself to take care of them while Alix slept. Everything was locked. I change directions, jamming my feet into sneakers and pulling a sweatshirt on over my bare chest.

  Something tells me to call the cops.

  I dial 911 and report an intruder, identifying myself and asking for immediate response.

  Then I give chase.

  Chad Walker stands in the middle of the double doors on the barn, holding Beastie Boy by his lead.

  There’s a sound of pure rage, like a roar, and then I’m on him. I rip the lead from his hand, and we’re rolling in the filthy mud.

  “Get the fuck off me, you loser,” he’s shrieking. “I said get off.”

  My intention was just to sit on him and wait, hold him down til the cops get here.

  The dumb shit decides to fight back.

  It would have been fine.

  Except that he punched me right in my broken nose.

  One second he’s pinned, a
nd then next he’s driving his fist into my face.

  Not hard.

  Just hard enough to make me see stars.

  Just hard enough to make me really angry.

  Very calmly, I wrap my hands around his throat.

  Time to tap the air supply and encourage someone to sleep until the cops get here.

  That’s when I hear the screaming.

  Not Chad.

  Alix.

  She’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe, but she’s screaming for me to let go.

  Exactly at the moment that the cops get there.

  The cops ask me politely – and at gunpoint – to let go.

  I do, reluctantly.

  Walker stands up, gagging and whining about pressing charges.

  I wait, trying not to look at Alexandra who looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

  The cops are looking at me.

  “Sorry, Lt Colonel, but you’re facing assault charges.”

  Fury slams through me.

  “Does anyone wonder why the hell this asshole is on this property when he’s been told not to be, taking an animal away?”

  Everyone freezes.

  “What’s that smell?” Alexandra’s face goes from a mask of confusion to horror.

  Kerosene.

  Fire.

  Flames lick at hay that’s been piled in the middle of the barn, with most of the animals still inside.

  I take off, heading straight for where I saw the extinguishers.

  In seconds, they’re out. He’s soaked hay and started to ignite them, but they hadn’t really caught fire.

  Thank God.

  The cops are looking at Walker with far more interest.

  “Chad, if you did this, you’re looking at some serious jail time,” the chief says, sounding a bit shocked.

  “I didn’t do anything,” whines Chad. “I want a lawyer.”

  Relief floods through me as they cuff walker.

  The police officer stops in front of me. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to come down to the station while we sort this out.”

  I’ve had enough.

  I just hit my breaking point.

  This asshole has been stalking my…..what? Friend? Girlfriend? The woman I’m fantasizing about marrying.

  Breaking shit.

  Leaving dead animals nailed to the door.

  Threats.

  And now, a fire and a second attempt.

  And they’re bringing me in for questioning.

  Rationally, I know it’s fine. Stay calm, cooperate, be honest.

  But logistically, I’m tired. I didn’t sleep and the dream of staying in that bed seems further and further away.

  “Are you shitting me?”

  That’s when I also get cuffed.

  My hands are behind my back, which is new and not pleasant, but I’m remaining calm for my girl.

  It’s going to be fine.

  I meant to be more accommodating, but I wasn’t, and now Alix stands there with eyes filled with tears.

  “It’s totally fine, Alix,” I say, trying to let her know.

  I’m okay, the barn’s okay, the animal’s are okay.

  Except that she can’t seem to put enough distance between us.

  The cops are conferring together in low tones, and I stand off to one side by myself.

  “What is it Alix?”

  “I can’t do this, Jack. I’m so sorry. I just can’t.”

  Confusion and anger hit me.

  “What do you mean? Last night?”

  “It’s not about last night, Jack. It’s about this morning. You just left me in the house. You didn’t ask me what to do, you didn’t call the cops.”

  “I did call the cops,” I cut in.

  Technicalities, now that I look back on it.

  “You didn’t wait for them or for me. You’re were just so focused on one thing…”

  “Keeping you safe, honey.”

  At the use of the pet name, she flinches.

  “I did that to protect you,” I say, my voice already sounding less resolute.

  “You’re unpredictable Jack. You respond to everything with violence. We talked about this – about this exact thing – and you didn’t think.”

  She tips her head back and a stream of unbroken tears runs down her cheeks.

  For a long, awful second I remember being inside her last night, moving as slowly as I could, our eyes locked on each other and I couldn’t contain my wonder at the depth of our connection.

  Now I’d fucking made her cry.

  She’d asked me to help but been clear about what she wanted.

  Clear about the stakes.

  Clear about the boundaries.

  And then I’d gotten my fucking heart involved – and my dick – and I was acting like I owned her.

  Like I was above the law.

  I know better.

  Most importantly, she expected better and had told me on multiple occasions.

  I don’t fight when the Chief helps me into the police car, although he’s apologetic and promises it’ll be resolved in an hour or two at most.

  I stare at the closed door where she disappeared, feeling like an idiot.

  My father was right.

  No matter how hard I try, I’m garbage.

  My ex was right.

  Relationships don’t go well, but when I’m involved? It’s a guaranteed crash and burn.

  My heart was right.

  I loved Alix, and instead of staying out of her way, I’d brought a world of hurt to her.

  Crying, not just out of fear but because the man that was supposed to protect her got arrested.

  Because I hadn’t done the simple things she’s asked.

  Alix

  Jack gets out of jail pretty fast.

  When they drop him off here, I’ve packed up his stuff and put it in the SUV.

  I thought about leaving a note.

  I want to thank him.

  He did help me.

  And when I went outside, I saw that the cat building was done. He’d worked double time to finish it in time for Christmas. Because of him, I’d now have a safe, warm space for the cats that come into the shelter.

  But I can’t seem to stop crying.

  I ignore the pounding on the door and hide.

  Jack’s an amazing man, with so much to offer.

  For a second, I thought that might be on offer to me.

  It wasn’t.

  He was so focused on the mission, on doing what was right, that he went overboard.

  Ignored everything we’d discussed.

  Got violent in a way that he didn’t need to.

  Let his feelings dictate the way he behaved.

  He saved Beastie Boy and was key to getting Chad into police custody.

  And for that, I’m beyond grateful.

  Yet the ferocity of Jack’s response scares me. I didn’t know if he’d be in trouble with the police. If that decision would compromise his career or his fight. Or how that would impact the shelter’s relationship with the city.

  At my feet, Cookie whines and seems to be asking for Jack. I fight back more tears.

  The reality is that, as I’d looked at him fighting with Chad, I’d been hit with something totally different.

  Blinding fear.

  Not of Jack.

  For Jack and for myself.

  He’s not out of the service yet.

  What if he gets deployed?

  What if he gets hurt or worse?

  Loses his temper in a loaded situation and gets hurt?

  Gets distracted by me and gets hurt in an accident?

  Dies?

  Or what if his guilt about the past stays stronger than anything else and we can never move forward?

  I don’t think I can lose him twice.

  This is hard enough.

  Going through what I went through with my brother?

  I can’t even imagine.

  I couldn’t handle it.

&nbs
p; And simply not being able to communicate in a way that lets me help him?

  I hadn’t even been there to help Jack with because he didn’t stop to ask.

  I’d never even known something was wrong.

  If Chad had a gun or had gotten the advantage, as unlikely as that seemed, he could be dead.

  My thoughts race.

  There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t be with a guy like Jack.

  Why being mad, even if it’s stupid, can help keep me safe.

  And yet, for some reason, my eyes don’t stop watering and it feels completely wrong.

  Full stop.

  Jack didn’t need my protection.

  Jack was totally safe, at least from that with Chad.

  And he’d clearly worked it out with the cops.

  Jack just wanted my trust.

  He’s a passionate guy.

  Still waters run deep, and that hasn’t been productively channeled for long.

  What if I’d made a horrible mistake?

  Surely it was too late.

  Just more evidence for Jack that women can’t be trusted, and relationships are bad.

  And just more proof for me that some baggage is insurmountable.

  That for all my talk of fresh starts and new beginnings, clearly I didn’t know shit.

  I wasn’t going to be able to save Jack from the things that made him unhappy.

  And I’d just better start accepting that now.

  I make the rounds and then grab Cookie, heading to my parents’ house.

  That’ll give me something to focus on other than Jack.

  Not that it works for one single second.

  14

  Jack

  I train for two hours, and it’s clear that any real opponent would be out. Actually, they’d be lucky to be breathing with what I’m throwing today.

  I’m ready for this fight.

  I’m just not ready to get through the intervening days without Alix.

  Five days.

  How had five days changed everything?

  It’s early Christmas morning, and JJ calls me first thing by video call. I just wrapped up training and stand in the locker room.

  “Wow, Dad” comes his excited voice as he leans a little too close to the video camera. “Thank you so much for my presents!”

  “You’re welcome, bud. Merry Christmas,” I say.

  My chest pulls tight anyway, because I shouldn’t be spending my Christmas in an empty gym punching sandbags.