Survivor (First to Fight Book 2) Page 4

  “You don’t even know if I got in.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding right? Of course you got in. I bet you even got some kind of scholarship, didn’t you?” His voice is teasing, light, but I’m too afraid to trust the shift in his mood. Choosing between going to the school of my dreams and being with the man who owns my heart has been making me crazy.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking at my feet.

  A finger lifts my chin. “I’m not mad.”

  “You’re not?”

  “How could I be mad about something like this? It’s a good thing.”

  “I don’t know how you can see being away from each other for four years as a good thing.”

  “We both knew when I joined up we’d be apart for a while. Neither of us are ready to pull the marriage card and school is important.”

  “I could still go to a school near you.”

  He shakes his head. “Not a chance. We both know how much you love Tulane and as much as I know you love me, I won’t let you give up an opportunity like this. Not when you’ve been so supportive of me.” He tugs me closer. “Have you toured the campus?”

  “Mom and I are supposed to sometime, but…”

  “But, what?”

  “The only opening they have is this weekend.”

  “Well, that sucks, but I don’t want you putting off your future for me.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but his arms hold tight around me. “Let me finish,” he says firmly. His fingers flirt with mine and I keep silent. “I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have you in it. When I thought about what my life would be like after training, it was always a life that included you at the finish line. That doesn’t mean we need to get married right away, though I should let you know now, straight up, that that’s in the cards for me when it comes to you. But, I also want you to go to college, have that experience. I would never want to take that away from you.”

  My eyes flick down to my hands. I want to believe him, I do. Four years apart is a long time, though, and one of us has to be realistic. The words tumble from my lips out of pure self-preservation. “But what about us?”

  His hand comes up to frame my face, holding me in place, his touch stilling my racing thoughts. I feel my body curving toward him, a question seeking its answer. “We’ll make it work. What I feel for you…I know it’ll be worth waiting for.”

  Jack: Are you back yet?

  Sofie: About an hour away. What are you doing?

  Jack: Staring at a bunch of half-naked dudes. Send help.

  Sofie: Am now jumping out of the car and running like the Flash.

  Jack: Help is on the way

  Sofie: :O) How’d the tournament go?

  Jack: It was all right. Dad wasn’t kidding about being worn out. Worried about him.

  Sofie: He’ll be ok. How’d your guys do?

  Jack: Dunno, but that Alvarez guy is getting on my last nerve.

  Sofie: You’re just pissed about the other day.

  Jack: Maybe. He just rubs me the wrong way.

  Sofie: I’ll be back soon to rescue you.

  Jack: FYI, I prefer my knight-in-shining armor to be naked.

  Sofie: Ok, damsel. It’s a date. ;)

  My smile fades as I put my phone back into the cup holder. I was so prepared to hate Tulane, but it was love at first sight. New Orleans had been teeming with life and culture, worlds different from Nassau. And a world away from Jack.

  Was it possible to cheat on your boyfriend with a college education? Probably not, but it sure felt like it. A combination of shame and deep-seated pleasure. Or at least, what I imagine cheating would feel like.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Mom asks, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. “Fancy school. Scholarship.” She smiles. “You should be happy.”

  Schooling my features, I say, “I am, it’s great.”

  “Even though I wish you could stay closer, go to the community college, I know this is something you’ve been looking forward to.”

  “I know, Mom. But you and the boys can come visit.”

  She doesn’t understand the need to get out of Nassau. After my dad died, she began an active campaign to keep me by her side. If left up to her, I’d stay in town, marry some guy and spit out a couple of kids who’d do the same. This weekend was like a glimpse into someone else’s life—a future I’d only dreamed of, but wanted for so long.

  As our car eats up the remaining miles, I blow out a breath and lean heavily against the window, watching the scenery fly by. He’s the only thing I’d regret leaving. Attending Tulane would guarantee we’d be apart for the next four years, and that’s if I don’t decide to go to graduate school. That’s not even including the added stress of a long-distance relationship. He could deploy. He could be stationed overseas.

  Olivia had joked about Jack proposing, but it’s something his noble heart would do. He’d want to provide for me, be there for me. He may try to exude the hardass persona, but underneath all that swagger is a gooey center. He’s made no secret of the fact that he wants the whole shebang: kids, picket fence, house in the suburbs.

  The mere thought of marriage makes me shudder and wrap my arms around my waist. The last thing I want is to end up like my mom, alone and unable to move on because the one person who completes her is gone. We pass the sign announcing we’re entering Nassau city limits and I wipe my palms on my jeans.

  I drop Mom off at home and head straight to the gym. I find him with another fighter training in the ring. For a while, I just watch him. Really, it’s no chore. Sometimes, when it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve seen him, I start to forget what he looks like. The picture of him I hold in my head fades, growing more and more blurry with each passing day. Video chatting isn’t the same. Most of the time it’s just a quick call to say hello when we both manage to sync a few spare minutes in our schedules.

  He’s talking to a guy in the ring, leaning across the ropes. He gestures wildly with his arms, his thick brows pulled down and his full, sensual mouth a firm line. If there was ever a man who could convince me to throw away my dreams, it’s him.

  “Hey, Jack’s girl. How’s it going?” comes a gruff voice from beside me.

  I turn and find Damian Alverez standing beside me as he mops his face with a rag. Looking back at Jack, I say, “Great, just waiting for Jack. You?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  “How was the tournament?” He moves closer, enough that I can smell the soap from his shower. I immediately want to take a couple steps back to keep the space between us, but I shake the instinct off. I’m being silly. This is Jack’s friend.

  “I got rolled the first round, but we got a couple more to go.” He smiles and the cut on his cheek winks. “Just warming up.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do better next round. Jack says you’re killer in the ring.”

  A shrill voice cracks through the lobby. “Damian!”

  Tension thickens the air and I take a step back, looking between the woman and Damian. His lips pull into a scowl and he pushes off the wall, grabbing the woman by the arm and pulling her around a corner.

  Trouble in paradise, I muse.

  Pushing Damian from my mind, I turn my attention back to Jack. I don’t know how long I wait on the far side of the cavernous room just watching him, but eventually he grows alert. His shoulders stiffen and he swivels his head around, peering around the gym equipment and sweating bodies. When he finds me, he smiles and it wipes away any lingering discomfort from my trip to New Orleans.

  Jack jumps down from the ring and winds his way through the competitors and spectators. “You’re back,” he says, scooping me up into his strong arms. I hold on to his shoulders and tuck my face into his neck. “How was Tulane? Did you love New Orleans?”

  “Amazing,” I lie against his warm skin. “Just like the fifteen times you asked on the way home.”

  Laughter rumbles in his chest. “I wish I could have gone with you.”

&nb
sp; I squeeze him tighter, wishing he could just go with me permanently. “I told you I understood.”

  He pulls back, grinning so wide he shows his perfectly straight teeth. “That’s not why I wanted to go.”

  Heat curls low in my belly. “It’s not?”

  He pulls me closer with an arm around my waist. “I think I promised you a bed,” he murmurs.

  My breath shortens. “So you did.”

  His nose traces a path of lightning down the skin of my neck. “I’ve only got about an hour left here. Why don’t you get changed and I’ll take you out somewhere?” He finishes his tour at my face, rubbing my nose with his, and then kisses me on the forehead.

  My eyes slip closed and I nod. “That sounds perfect.”

  “I’d say let’s blow this place off because it’s just that one match, but Alvarez kind of bombed tonight and Dad’s on a rampage.” He pulls back a little, dispelling the illusion of our own little cocoon.

  I shake my head to clear my brain of fluff. “Yeah, I’ve gotta shower anyway. Meet you here in about an hour?”

  He gives me a long, drugging kiss. “Can’t wait.”

  When I regain rational thought, I give him a goofy smile and walk away feeling lighter than air. I can feel Jack’s eyes follow me out the doors and into the parking lot. I cross the empty spaces to my parked car and hiss out a breath at the sight of a flat tire.

  “Great,” I say, my mood dampening. Maybe the drive to New Orleans and back was a little too much on the poor old car.

  “Need a little help?”

  I peer into the darkness and find Damian strolling up. My hackles rise for a second, then I relax and manage a small smile, in spite of my hesitance, because yes, I do.

  “Looks like it,” I say. “You know how to change these things?”

  “Sure. Piece of cake. Why don’t you hop in and pop the trunk so I can grab a spare for you?”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” The car is about fifteen years old, so it doesn’t have fancy button on the keychain to unlock it. As I fold myself into the front seat and reach for the release lever for the truck, I hear the resulting pop, followed by a peculiar slam. I peer toward the back to see if it opened.

  I manage to get a glimpse of Damian rushing at me with what seems like preternatural speed when his hand slaps over my face and nose, stifling my scream. Panic and vomit explode into the back of my throat.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he says, jabbing something into my ribs.

  Pain explodes in my midsection as the blow connects with my ribs. “Jesus, you tryin’ to kill me?”

  Logan grins. “Sorry, Jack.”

  “This is a warm-up not the championship match,” I tell him, rubbing my ribs. If he wasn’t one of my best friends, I’d enjoy breaking the rules and punching him right the fuck in the face. When my side twinges, I give the thought some serious consideration.

  “Couldn’t resist. Your dad has talked so much shit about you, I had to see what’s up.”

  My dad grins across the ring where he’s advising one of the competitors. I throw up a middle finger in his general direction, but my ribs twinge. Fucker has a hell of a right hook.

  “Go find another punching bag,” I tell him and hobble off to find some ice.

  I press the bag against my ribs and glance at the clock above the ring. A half hour until we shut this circus down and I can go out with my girl. It’s been too fucking long.

  And the thought of being away from her while she goes to school for the next four years kills me almost as much as the pain in my side. At least this will go away in a couple hours. When I wake up tomorrow, she’ll still be going to school hundreds of miles away.

  “You look like shit,” Dad says.

  “Thanks to you, asshole.”

  He chuckles. “You looked so sad, I thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

  “Well fuck you very much. Don’t do me any more favors.”

  “Sure about that?”

  I look up at him and gesture with my free hand. “Damn right.”

  “Then I guess you don’t want me to cut you loose.”

  “You are such an asshole,” I say.

  He knocks a fist against my shoulder and I wince. “Get out of here. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “I’m not even going to ask if you’re sure.”

  “Give that girl a hug for me,” he says over his shoulder.

  “I’m not giving her shit.”

  His laughter follows me out of the gym and into the locker room hallway. I grab my bag from my locker, shower, and dress all in the span of a half hour. The spectators are dwindling and the stands are nearly empty when I stroll through the lobby. I get caught in a bottleneck of people trying to get out of the door so I pull out my phone.

  Jack: Done. You on your way?

  The congestion clears and I plunge into the parking lot with relief. I suck in a few deep breaths of the cool night air as I cross to my truck in the employee section on the side of the building. I toss my bag into the back of the truck and scan the parking lot while I wait for her response.

  Thoughts of having her alone, finally, drift through my mind as I watch everyone spill out of the gym and get into their cars. It’s not until the parking lot is nearly empty that I notice her car.

  Frowning, I push off from my truck and check my phone as I walk over to see if she texted me back. When a cursory glance shows no response, the hairs on the back of my neck raise and the laser-fine intuition the Corps has honed over the past year is telling me something is wrong.

  I go around the side of her car, noticing her rear tire is flat. Relief floods my chest and I release the breath I was holding. I pull out my phone again.

  Jack: Saw your flat. Hope you made it home okay. Did you call your mom to come and get you?

  Her front door is unlocked, which makes me frown, but I pop the trunk and get the spare and jack. I’m just finishing up the last lug nut when my phone beeps.

  Sofie: Yeah got a ride home. Not feeling good. See u tmrw.

  I cock my head at the phone and frown. Tapping a message out will take too long, so I call her, but it goes straight to voicemail.

  Three subsequent tries yield the same results.

  Present

  MY TIME IS up. On a number of levels.

  I have less than an hour to give a response to Jack about my brothers’ fate, the lease on my townhouse is due for renewal at the end of the week, and I’ve used up every last one of my vacation days from work trying to figure out what the hell to do.

  I know the right thing to do, what Jack would do in this situation.

  But I’m not Jack and my heart is certainly not made of gold.

  Going back to Nassau would mean more than just taking care of a couple of teenage boys—though that in itself is a problem I don’t have the answer to. Going back would rip open wounds I’ve been running from since the day I left. Wounds I rubbed raw when I spent time with Jack a year ago, leaving me bloody and exposed.

  I close my eyes and lean my head against the couch as I sip a glass of wine. Jack and I have always managed to put up a pretty good—if completely see-through—front when it comes to interacting in front of his sister. When a group of people is as close as we are it’s either get along or go our separate ways. Since Livvie is my one and only true friend, I couldn’t conceive of losing her, too, even though I only see her every so often.

  My phone buzzes against my thigh and I know without opening my eyes that the person on the other line is Jack. I bring the phone to my ear with my free hand. “Hello?”

  “Need an answer, Sof,” Jack says, his voice coming through the line clear and throaty.

  I fortify myself with a generous swallow of wine. “I know you do.”

  The line crackles with his sigh. “This isn’t a game. This is their life.”

  I chuckle darkly. “Trust me, I know it’s not a game.”

  “Then stop acting like a kid and quit playing around.”

 
Tears burn and I finish off my glass, hating and loving the pleasant warmth and resulting numbness. “Yes,” I answer finally.

  “You’ll do it?” he asks.

  “Yes, I’ll do it.”

  He sighs again, but this time I can hear the relief, even over the connection. “Good. That’s good.”

  “You’ll have to give me a couple days to get everything tied up over here. Give notice at work and to my landlord, but I should be able to come back this weekend.” Having made the decision, the rest comes more easily. In for a penny.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. The boys are out of school for the next few weeks so they aren’t going to miss anything and I’ve spoken to their teachers so they understand they’ll be going through some transitions at home.”

  My chest burns and I choke out, “God, you would have made such a good dad.”

  He pauses and clears his throat as he changes the subject, which is probably for the best. “You’re going to do fine,” he says.

  I get up and cross the room to refill my glass of wine. Next to the half-empty bottle are the charred remains of the papers I’d retrieved from Mom’s house. “I guess we’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

  “You’ll do fine,” he repeats.

  I change the subject. His comfort is a little too sweet. A little too much to handle. “What about the house? It looked like some of it was starting to fall apart.”

  “Parts of it are in pretty bad shape, but I can help you with that.” Before I can speak around the lump in my throat, he says, “Most of your mom’s life insurance will go to paying off her doctor’s bills, the funeral expenses, but the amount leftover should be enough for repairs.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but you’ve already done more than enough.” Besides, him hulking around the house with his shirt off is entirely out of the question.

  “Look,” he says plainly, “I’m glad you’re stepping up, but I’m not going to go away just because you’re coming back. They deserve some stability. I’m going to stick around, at least for a little while, to make sure you don’t run out on them the first chance you get.”

  Well, that hurt. I gulp more wine. “Fine, knock yourself out.”