Fight (9 page)

Fury didn’t follow, and the road behind Nathan remained empty until Nathan got on the interstate, driving hell for leather toward home.

Chapter Four

At a quarter to quitting time the next day, Paul knocked on Nathan’s door. “Hey, man. Got a second?” Paul asked.

“Sure.” Nathan had avoided Paul all day and not answered any text messages from the night before. Nathan knew he couldn’t duck Paul forever, but it hadn’t stopped him from trying.

“Thanks.” Paul shut Nathan’s door and dropped into a chair. “The hell happened? You look like shit.”

Nathan ran a hand through his hair. He’d gotten home and been unable to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Fury’s face. Nathan had consumed his weight in coffee and half again in antacids, and all day long he’d jumped at shadows and jerked to look over his shoulder because his skin recalled Fury’s hands on him with amazing tactile clarity. A few times, he would even swear to hearing Fury’s voice.

“C’mere…”

“Got sick and had to bail,” Nathan said to Paul. “Sorry. Thought seeing me puking would kill the mood and your plans.”

“You discovering an allergy to alcohol in your old age?”

Nathan reclined in his chair. “Don’t know. Had a stomach thing last weekend. Maybe it was back for revenge.”

Paul grunted and stretched out his legs. “Sarah said to tell you bye. She was pretty pissed. Kaleigh ended up having to take her home and make nice.” Paul cocked an eyebrow.

Nathan sucked air through his teeth. “Sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll just have to remember you make a lousy date.”

Nathan tried to appear apologetic, but what he wanted to do was scream that Paul was a lucky piece of shit to have a wife who loved and cared about him, who wanted to sleep in the same bed, make love, wake up together, and go fucking grocery shopping. Paul had freedom, choices, opportunities, the chance for real happiness, and the asshole took it all for granted and risked it all on one cheap piece of ass after another. Nathan found himself envisioning what it’d be like to slam Paul’s head against the edge of the desk. The rage rose, the force of it surreal, and Nathan clasped his hands to prevent them from shaking.

When Nathan had crawled out of his mauled bed that morning, he’d wondered if the whole night had been a dream. The kind of cruel dream where you woke up a second before the good shit started. Nathan’s cock demanded to know why they weren’t still in the cab of that truck fogging up the windows, and Nathan kept waiting for the guilt or self-debasement to arise, but so far, there was none. The mix of emotions made Nathan dizzy, and he repressed a fresh urge to yell at Paul to get the hell out of his face, office, life.

“Yeah, well…” Nathan picked up a glass and drained it of water. “I could have told you that.”

“No doubt.” Paul got up. “Take some vitamins or something, right? I don’t want to start dragging your ass to and from the gym.”

“Thanks.” It was all Nathan could find the energy to say, and Nathan was grateful it was enough for Paul. He shut the door on his way out.

Nathan put his head on his desk. He palmed his cock and gave it a stroke or two before letting go. Getting fired for masturbating in his office was not how he wanted to go. Taking a nap next to the putting green was one thing. Cleaning cum off his computer screen was probably pushing the company rules of conduct. Nathan would have to ask Paul.

Ignoring his hard-on and waking up his laptop, Nathan got a half hour of peace and then his cell phone started to ring. Nathan picked it up and was sliding his thumb across the screen to answer before it registered who was calling. He managed to mouth his cursing instead of speaking it.

“Hi, sweetie,” Nathan said.

“Did I catch you between doing lines and teenage boys?”

Nathan rubbed the bridge of his nose. One sentence from Laura, and Nathan felt like the traitorous, hypocritical, lying bastard he was. How on this side of hell could he throw stones at Paul’s behavior? Though, unlike for Paul, there was no chance and never would be for matrimonial happiness between Nathan and his fiancée. “Laura, honey, you have got to learn how to cut to the chase. All this beating around the bush drives me nuts.”

“Tell me you were safe.”

“I was.”

“Tell me you’re getting tested anyway.”

“I’m due for my six-month check,” Nathan muttered. “I’ll get it done.”

“Good. Now can you tell me why this has gotten worse?” Laura asked.

“Worse?”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I don’t know why,” Nathan whispered. “But it has.”

“How’s work?”

“The same.” Nathan filled her in on the banal details of the international conference and the other meetings of the week.

“So, it’s stressful,” Laura commented.

“Yeah, but no more than usual.”

“How’s Daddy?” Icicles dangled from Laura’s flat tones.

“Still showing no sign of the claws and horns you tell me he has.”

“You didn’t grow up with him, remember? You don’t know what it’s like to live under his thumb in the same house.”

The anger reared its ugly head again. “No, you’re right. I grew up with a father who used to think a week wasn’t complete if he didn’t beat his only son bloody at least once.”

“Think of it as training on how to hide your deviancies so that you can get the shot at the life you really want,” Laura said sweetly.

Nathan got up and started to pace. He kicked a golf ball, and it rebounded off the glass windows. “I’m sorry. Did the conversation stray too far away from you and the chip on your shoulder, sweetheart?”

Laura let out a long sigh that hurt Nathan’s ears. “I’m not the only one with the chip, Nate.”

“I know.” Nathan banged his head on the window. He did it again. It didn’t help. “You’re right.”

“Nathan, I—”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Nathan interrupted.

“Me, either. I’m worried about you.”

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Can I help?” Laura asked, softer now, and sincere. “Manage the destructive tendencies for you?”

The image of statuesque, beautiful Laura standing over Nathan, tools in hand and corset cinched tight, appeared in Nathan’s mind. “As attractive as that offer is, not everything can be fixed with cuffs and a flogger, Madam.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying, boy.” Laura chuckled, but it died off quickly. “I know it didn’t really work even when we thought it did.”

“But you are now the standard to which I hold all other women with a strap-on.” Nathan couldn’t believe he was having this conversation at the office. He also couldn’t believe how little he cared if anyone overheard him.

“I’d like to think I was responsible for ruining you on all other women, but…”

“You certainly assisted toward that end,” Nathan said. “If that helps.”

“Mm.” Laura hesitated. “Nathan…”

“I know.” Nathan turned and sank to the floor.

“It was never going to be easy.”

“Why is it that the simplest plans are always the toughest ones to do?” Nathan asked. “I mean, think about quitting smoking. Should be simple, right? Two words. Quit. Smoking. But it’s damned impossible, to hear the smokers tell it.”

“People do it, though. If they want it badly enough.”

“Yeah.”

“You still want this?” Laura sounded fifteen, not twenty-nine.

Nathan blew a long breath. “I’m still on board. I told you I would try, and I am. I will.”

“And these ‘errands’ you keep doing? These unplanned trips?”

“I’ll stop.” Now it was Nathan who sounded young and small, even to himself. But with Fury around and in town, maybe Nathan wouldn’t have to—

No. Nathan couldn’t think like that. He shoved the memory of Fury framed by the Ford truck out of his head. It didn’t matter that recalling Fury made the urge to go find drugs or a quick fuck fade into the background. Fury and Nathan shared a city, and playing fast and loose while surrounded by so many people who knew Nathan and would be happy to report all the illicit details of a supposed affair to Laura or to Greg was out of the question.

“The engagement party’s in six weeks,” Laura said. Nathan could tell she was biting her lower lip. “I can move the wedding date up?”

“Sure the parents wouldn’t get suspicious?” Nathan asked dully.

“Let them think I’m knocked up.” Laura’s tone matched Nathan’s. “That’ll make them happy.”

Nathan shook his head, even though Laura couldn’t see him. “No. Don’t do that. I’m fine. I will
get
fine. I’ll do what I have to do.”

“We’re both doing our share of that.” Laura brightened. “And speaking of…”

“Oh God.”

“We’ll be going shopping with Mother and the sisters.”

Laura was the youngest of three girls, and she always referred to Leslie and Lydia as “the” sisters. Not
her
sisters. “Oh. Awesome,” Nathan replied. “When?”

“A week from tomorrow.”

“Why in the hell do they want
me
to go?”

Laura snorted. “Maybe they’re hoping some of your fashion sense will rub off on me.” When Nathan couldn’t make himself say anything because fear, anger, and dread had taken his voice hostage, Laura said, “Nate? I’m kidding.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I knew that.”

“You’re going because I told them you wanted to join us. To make up for missing the luncheon last Sunday.”

And here it was: the payback Nathan knew had been coming. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, I know you are. And I know you’ll resist the temptation to find any other excuses to get out of what you’ve promised me and my family.”

Nathan unclenched his jaw. “Technically, I only promised you.”

“Tell that to my father.”

Nathan gave up. He’d learned a long time ago not to argue with Laura. Her guilt web weaving was masterful. “Fine. Text me when and where.”

“Good boy.”

“Screw you.”

“Anytime you like.”

Laura hung up, and Nathan didn’t throw his phone. Instead, he got up, went to his desk, and spent the next hour doing research on the local fight scene. He told himself it was just for distraction, and he even almost believed that to be true.

* * * *

Nathan sat in the Corvette’s plush seat, the radio on and the engine running. At nearly midnight, the gym’s parking lot was practically deserted. Adrenaline stayed open all night, its members provided with key codes and the front desk staffed with a security guard. Nathan rarely worked out this late, but it’d been a long weekend.

On Saturday, Nathan had rolled out of bed and driven the two hours to Johnson City to get tested for STDs. There was a clinic there that ran the rapid screening for HIV, and they rushed the other test results for a fee. The clinic assigned numbers, not names, and Nathan always paid in cash.

Three hours later, and Nathan had started home. He was clean, or so the preliminary test showed, and the staff advisor had reminded him to get another test in a few weeks to confirm the results. Nathan had listened to the safe-sex counseling, taken the pamphlets, and as he always did, thrown them away. He’d spent the return ride hating how everyone else seemed to run Nathan’s life. By the time he got home, he’d been dangerously close to out of control. He’d downed a Xanax and spent the rest of the day and that night in a daze.

Sunday had been spent staring at the TV and laptop. He’d made himself eat. He’d done some work from his couch. He’d kept his mind blank, but when the sun had set and he was closer to an insane asylum than he was to sleep, he’d not been able to take it anymore. He’d packed his gym bag, roared out of the apartment complex, and arrived at the gym five minutes before the witching hour. He’d pulled into a parking space, grabbed his bag, and had almost been out of the car before he’d realized he was directly across from a Ford truck.

A very familiar Ford truck with a cross hanging from the rearview mirror and a cover over the bed.

Nathan didn’t know how long he sat there, unmoving and stuck in the land of indecision, but in the end, the choice to go inside wasn’t a conscious one. He keyed in his membership code, yanked open the door, and counted squares of tile on his way to the locker room. It was empty and silent, and Nathan stored his keys and wallet. He squared his shoulders and doggedly marched out onto the main floor. Two girls were jogging around the track. One woman was on a stationary bike. A man about Nathan’s age was using free weights. Nathan didn’t see Fury, and he tried not to look too hard. He climbed onto a treadmill, hit buttons, and started running in place. He cranked up the volume on his iPod, letting the music deafen him, and he kept his gaze dead ahead.

An hour later, and Nathan was coated in sweat. He’d pushed himself, and his body was on sweet fire. He slowed to a walk, got his breathing and heart rate down, and hit the red Stop button so the treadmill came to a halt. There’d been no sign of Fury, and Nathan didn’t know how to feel about that, but he told himself it was the workout that made his hand tremble as he reached for his towel and wiped his face.

The trip back to the locker room was solitary. Nathan turned off his music. The heat came on and rumbled the building’s exposed rafters. The door swished on its hinges. Nathan passed by the privacy wall covered in fliers about supplements, classes, and personal training. The locker room had four rows of double-stacked lockers, and there were benches down the center of each of the aisles. The showers and bathrooms were at the end of a hallway to the left. Straight back were the steam room and the hot tub.

Nathan turned left, heading for the row of lockers where he’d stowed his things, and there Fury stood in nothing but a towel, as though waiting on Nathan to arrive. Nathan’s heart kicked his sternum, and he stifled a startled yelp that transformed into a low grunt.

The towel covered Fury to just above his knees, and he held it with one hand at his waist. The black hair on his legs stopped neatly at the sock line, and he wore battered red flip flops that made Nathan want to laugh. Nathan’s gaze traveled north, across Fury’s navel, stomach, chest, and up to Fury’s hair. It wasn’t in its braid, but loose and hanging almost to Fury’s shoulders. It dripped at the ends, and a drop of water dashed over Fury’s collarbone and darted over one dark nipple. The eyes of a jaguar gleamed from Fury’s tattoo sleeve, and Fury’s expression was eerily similar as he studied Nathan, very clearly returning the attention.