Hard as You Can (11 page)

This time, Shane caught them before they made impact.

“Look, I know a firearm is your first weapon of choice. But as I don’t need any more holes in my head, and I’d like to stay on this side of the great white beyond, you’re going to have to make do with the gloves. You need this, Shane.
We
need this. So could you just put the fucking gloves on already and stop being a pain in the ass?”

“Right.
I’m
the pain in the ass,” he muttered, his hands making quick work of lacing up without really telling them to do it. Nick was right, though. Shane did need this. For a whole lotta reasons. But the other man was a few rounds shy of a full clip if he thought throwing a coupla punches would clear the debris field between them.

The minute the second glove was secured, Nick was right in his face. “No holds barred.” He slammed his gloves on top of Shane’s, and Shane hammered right back.

And then it was on.

Shane threw the first punches, catching Nick in the jaw and the ribs, and blocked the uppercut aimed at his gut. Facing off again, Shane jabbed with his right, forcing Nick to cover himself in a way that exposed his left side—and the lingering injuries from his gunshot wounds that still gave him back problems. Shane jammed his knee into Nick’s side. The deep groan that erupted from his opponent’s throat tempted Shane’s guilt, but then he wasn’t the one who insisted on this, was he? And now that Nick had invited Shane’s lizard brain out to play, it liked their little game here too much to back down.

Nick recovered quickly and came at him with a back kick that had broken ribs written all over it. Shane managed to rear back at the last possible second, but the action threw him off-balance, allowing Nick to take his feet out from under him. Shane slammed to the ground, his breath whooshing out and pain radiating up and down his spine. But even before gravity had all its fun, Shane was forcing his ass to move. He rolled and sprang to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that threatened.

And it was a good goddamned thing he’d found his feet again.

Because Nick was now full-on pissed off. He came at Shane like a freight train, swinging, kneeing, kicking. Nick’s fury fueled his own, and Shane gave every bit as good as he got. Body impacts, grunts, and the scuffs of shoes on concrete echoed around the cavernous space. Man, but Shane was going to be feeling this little dance for days.

They circled, attacked, and retreated over and over, neither man holding the advantage for long. Nick clipped him in the mouth, and Shane felt the skin split and the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. So evenly matched, their fight turned into a war of attrition that threatened to go on and on. Exhaustion making his arms heavy and his responses slower, Shane used the memory of the train of unanswered calls and emails, each one leaving him feeling more alone and isolated, and found the will to keep going, keep fighting, keep exorcising the demons in his head that never let up for five fucking seconds.

It was just . . . all . . . too . . . goddamned . . . much.
Wham
. His fist connected with Nick’s cheekbone like a sledgehammer. Nick’s head whipped to the side, and his whole body spun as if in slow motion.

Nick caught himself just before he face-planted, though he stumbled until he crashed into the bench press.

For a long moment, Nick braced his gloves against the leather-covered bench and seemed to gather himself. He rose and faced Shane, and it was clear from the stiffness and slowness of his movement that he was hurting.

Shane didn’t take a lick of pleasure from that fact.

Just the opposite.

The sight of his best friend bloodied and injured at his own hands drained the fight from him. Becca was going to have both their asses in a sling when she saw that the nearly healed cut on Nick’s cheekbone was open again. The initial wound wasn’t Shane’s doing—that had been between Nick and Beckett.

“Goddamnit,” Shane rasped, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm. His mouth took over where his fists left off. “I needed you, Nick. I fucking needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Nick’s head dropped heavily on his shoulders. For a long moment, labored breaths aside, he was still. Then his gaze cut up, and Nick nodded. “I know. I . . . know.”

Shane waited, expecting more. Expecting . . . something. Anything. That Nick had needed him, too. That Nick was sorry. That he understood just how deep his silence had cut. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say?” Nick pulled off his gloves.

And there it was. Same story, different day. Guy still didn’t get it, did he? Shane tugged off his gloves, returned them to a shelf against the wall, and shook his head. “Not a damn thing, I guess.”

Shane reached for the door handle.

“
Jesus.
What do you want me to say?” The agonized whisper had Shane turning back to his friend. “Do you want me to say I was so fucked in the head I became depressed? Do you want me to say I should’ve figured out what Merritt was doing? Because I know that shit is true. And that, since I didn’t see the forest for the trees, I was so guilt-ridden I couldn’t face you guys? That I thought you’d all blame me for ruining your lives and killing our friends?” Nick’s eyes were bleak with anguish.

Shane’s gut went tight as a hollowness settled into his chest. “Nick—”

“Or maybe you want me to say it was easier to ignore you than face the possibility that I’d lost you, too? Because you had to hate me as much as I hated myself, right? Or, how ’bout that the pain of the surgeries and the PT was so intense I got hooked on painkillers for about three months until Jeremy realized what’d happened, flushed them down the toilet, and called my doctor behind my back?” Nick scrubbed his hands over his face, smearing the blood on his cheek, and clawed his fingers through his dark, sweaty hair.

Christ. How the hell had the guy carried all this around for the past year without caving under the weight of it? Just went to show that you never really knew the size of the load another person carried. Except—Shane
should’ve
known. He was supposed to be Nick’s best friend in the world. His brother.

Damnit. Shane should’ve forced the question.

As Nick stood there pouring his soul in a bloody mess onto the floor between them, it occurred to Shane for maybe the first time ever that he’d failed Nick as much as he’d always thought Nick failed him. If he’d only pushed through his own hurt and anger, maybe he would’ve realized that under normal circumstances, the Nick Rixey he knew would
never
shut him out. But things hadn’t been normal, had they? Not by a long shot.

Sonofabitch
.

Shane released a long breath, then crossed the space that separated them and lowered himself heavily onto the bench. “Sitcha ass down before you fall down.”

Nick sat and dropped his gloves.

Bracing his elbows on his knees, Shane watched a bead of sweat drop to the concrete. “I wish I’d known.” From his peripheral vision, he saw Nick nod.

“I know. I wish I’d been strong enough to tell you.”

Shane’s thoughts were in a whirl. Which made sense since the earth was shifting a bit underneath his feet, at least where his beliefs about Nick were concerned.

Knock, knock,
sounded against the door that led to the hall. A moment later, it eased open, and Becca stuck her head through the breach.
Did she hear . . .

Yup.

Her expression was a study in worry and concern. How much she’d overheard, he didn’t know. But it was something, for sure.

“Um. Everything okay?” she asked, clearly knowing the answer to the question. She stepped the rest of the way in and let the door fall closed behind her.

Nick’s glance slid from her to Shane. The man’s eyes repeated the question.
Are we okay?

Shane didn’t want an audience to say the things he needed to say, and the words weren’t there just yet anyway. So he said, simply, “Yeah, man. We are.” It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.

Nick rose. Shane wondered if Becca would catch that he’d braced himself on the weight bar to make it to his feet. Her expression darkened the closer Nick got. So, yeah, she’d noticed.

“Sorry, Becca,” Shane said, rising to his feet. “Won’t happen again.”

Nick shook his head and caught her hands in his. “Be mad at me, not him. I started it. A guy thing.”

She rolled her eyes but cupped his face in her hand as she looked him over. “Well, let’s be done with the guy things, okay? We have enough enemies out there without fighting each other.”

“Roger that,” Shane said, regret making him weary.

“Okay, sunshine,” Nick said, his voice sounding as exhausted as Shane felt. Nick followed her out the door but threw a look over his shoulder before he stepped into the hall. “You coming?”

“Uh.” Shane tugged his fingers through his hair. “In a few. I think I’ll just”—he shrugged—“listen in on the feeds from Crystal’s and Confessions for a little while. Or something.”

Nick gave a tight nod, and the door closed behind them, leaving Shane alone in the cavernous quiet of the unfinished warehouse. He licked at the crust of blood on his lip as aches screamed from every joint in his body.

But, god
damn,
the silence around him only amplified the roar in his head. Because the space between his ears was
loud
with the sound of all the words he couldn’t take back, of all the things he should’ve said but hadn’t, of all the things he wished he could say, but couldn’t.

Like apologizing to Nick.

Like . . .

Like telling Molly, yes, she could play with him and his friends.

Like telling her he was sorry he’d sent her away.

Like having the chance to say good-bye.

Jamming his hands in his pockets, his fingers found the chain of Molly’s butterfly necklace. God, what he wouldn’t give for five more minutes with his kid sister. Just five. Did she know how sorry he was? How much he loved her? That he’d devoted his life to making things right for others as a penance for getting so much wrong with her?

He stood there. Absolutely lost and completely alone. It was the stinging in his eyes that finally caught his attention, made him realize he’d been staring off into space. He wiped the burn away. Just a little sweat in his eyes. Damnit.

He hadn’t kept Molly safe, but maybe he could do that for Crystal and Jenna. And maybe Crystal could lead him to information that would help him clear his name, his teammates’ names, and the names of his six brothers who’d died. Because they were his family, too. That was a shit-ton of maybes, but Shane didn’t have a choice. A lifetime of guilt and a soul-deep sense of duty meant, at the very least, he had to try.

C
rystal lurched into a sitting position, not sure what had woken her. From her makeshift bed on the floor of Jenna’s bedroom, her gaze cut to her sister, all balled up against the far wall and sleeping soundly. Then what—

“Crystal! Open the damn door!”
Bang, bang.

Bruno?

Adrenaline racing through her system from being startled awake, Crystal scrabbled off the floor and dashed through the apartment. What the hell was he doing here? And what time was it, anyway? Pitch black still cloaked the outside world, so it had to be the middle of the night.

A light that shouldn’t have been there slanted in a narrow beam across the living-room carpet. Crystal flicked the switch to the front hallway’s ceiling fixture and realized it had been the light from the landing streaming through the exterior door, already ajar about two inches. Only the security chain kept it from being opened all the way.

“Open it before I break it down,” Bruno growled, peering through the gap.

“What’s the matter?” she said, completely bewildered by his presence and his urgent anger. “Step back so I can undo the chain.”

As soon as she did, he pushed his way in, shoved past her, and looked around, like he was searching for something.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Crystal watched him for a long moment, not wanting to risk having him direct his ire at her. Though, given his foul mood, that was likely going to happen whether she did something to attract it or not. “Bruno, what’s happened? What’s the matter?” she finally asked.

He pivoted toward her. “Who’s here?”

“What do you mean? Me and Jenna.” But, true as it was, her stomach was already sinking. Given the night’s earlier activities, his question couldn’t be a coincidence.

His gaze narrowed, and his expression darkened. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Grasping her by the biceps, he yanked her down the dark hallway toward the bedrooms.

“Ow, you’re hurting me,” she said, as his fingers dug into her bare skin. “There’s no one here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dragging her to the threshold of her bedroom, he reached in and flicked on her overhead light. Her bed was still made, the lavender comforter all straight and flat, her pretty throw pillows in a neat row against the headboard. Her normal pillows were all on Jenna’s floor . . .

Bruno stalked into the room and whipped open the closet so hard a big stack of fabric scraps from her sewing projects tumbled out. He braced like he thought someone might actually be hidden within.

What made him think someone was here? There had been a few times over the years when she’d had a niggling thought that he seemed to know something he shouldn’t, but never anything that so blatantly made her wonder if maybe some of his guys spied on her. God, she wouldn’t put it past him. The thought brought a sting to the back of her eyes. Did she truly have nowhere she was safe, nowhere she could have a slice of privacy? Although no doubt Bruno would feel entitled to snoop as much as he liked since he’d taken over the rent when Crystal had once fallen so far behind they received an eviction notice. Even with Jenna contributing some of her work-study money, Church took so much of what Crystal made at Confessions that she often couldn’t make ends meet without Bruno’s “help.” Which wasn’t exactly free, was it?

Still, the thought of him
watching
or, worse,
listening
stirred up a storm cloud of anger and resentment in the space between her ears until she struggled to keep her expression and voice neutral.