It was Friday night and that meant Ivy was out with Greg-Fucking-Lewis. After a long week of avoiding both Lewis and Ivy at the gym, Sean had more pent-up fury than a bull chasing a red flag. He wasn’t a violent man, or at least he hadn’t been in a long time, but the image of Lewis with his arm draped around Ivy, the thought of them getting cozy on Ivy’s couch where he should be sitting watching crime dramas with her, and the dread that Lewis might soon have his playboy mouth on Ivy’s sweet, innocent body—was making him feel like he was losing his fucking mind.
Wham. Wham. Wham.He slugged the bag, waiting for the pressure in his chest to subside. He’d been at it for an hour, and so far hadn’t noticed a difference.
Their kisses. They plagued him night and day. She’d kissed him first, and it had been sweet, shy, and rushed. Their second kiss had been a scorching, soul-deep connection. Then she’d said he didn’t want her. Had she not noticed how much he wanted her in that kiss? How could he make it any clearer?
The air made a hissing sound as his fist whizzed through it and slugged the bag. Frustrated did not even begin to cover how he felt. If she weren’t so dead set on keeping things casual, he’d be the one with her right now. He’d be the one sharing a fancy dinner with her and opening car doors for her. He’d be the one bringing her home and taking care of her needs. Fuck. She’d told him she had needs. Well, he had fucking needs, too. Except, on his end, there was nothing casual about them.
And goddammit, he knew there was nothing casual about hers. He couldn’t put his finger on the exact kind of game she was playing, but he knew she’d come to him first for a reason. She wasn’t out to use him. She’d asked him first because she trusted him. And he would have given her what she wanted if he could have gotten on board with her nonchalant agenda. But he couldn’t.
And now she was out with Greg-Fucking-Lewis.
Christ. He wanted to hit something other than this bag. Preferably Lewis. He couldn’t remember being this worked up over anything in his life. Of all his friends and acquaintances, he was the one with the level head. And it wasn’t an accident. He’d seen first-hand what losing your cool and making rash decisions could do. Over the years, he worked hard to build his diplomatic nature and bank of wise, philosophical quotes. He earned his reputation, and normally nothing phased him.
Nothing except Ivy going on a date with someone who wasn’t him.
Twenty minutes later, dripping sweat, muscles aching, Sean finally forced himself away from the bag. He glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost 9 p.m. Dinnertime was over. He slumped onto one of his kitchen bar stools and wondered where Lewis had taken Ivy.
Would they go to Lewis’ place or Ivy’s after they finished whatever they were doing? Would she let Lewis touch her? Sean couldn’t let his mind go there. Not when the only hands he’d ever considered on her body were his.
He needed a drink and a distraction. Bowie’s could provide him with both. He jumped to his feet with enough force to almost tip the stool over and headed toward the shower.
Yanking his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, he tried to be logical. Ivy wouldn’t seriously let a guy like Lewis put his paws on her. Not only did she have more sense than that, but for as long as he’d known her, he’d never seen her let any man get that close to her. And he knew why.
Something dark had happened to Ivy before she’d come to Portland. That much had been obvious from the moment she’d showed up at his gym to sign-up for kickboxing classes. Pale, hollow, and quiet, she’d barely looked at him. She’d avoided eye contact, dressed in dark baggy clothes, and spent most of her time hugging herself as though she might splinter apart if she let go.
Growing up the way he had, in the neighborhood he had, having seen the things he had, it hadn’t taken much for him to put two and two together. In his youth, he’d known plenty of survivors of violence—not to mention the ones who didn’t survive. His parents tried their best to protect him and his brother, but it was always there, in the periphery of their lives. And later, after his dad passed, a lot closer than any child should have had to live with.
He’d been helpless and afraid. It was why he’d become so disciplined with his training, regimented and obsessive until he’d perfected the craft of martial arts, so he could control how he used it to defend himself and others. But he left Chicago, without protecting anyone. And that failure had followed him like a ghost all the way to Portland—where it haunted him day in and day out.
Until he met Ivy. He had considered her his redemption. His chance to leave the world a better place than when he found it. In those early months, he poured all his energy into training her, because if he could prevent her soul from succumbing to brutality, then maybe he’d make up for the soul he’d sacrificed.
The joke was on him, though, which was something he’d quickly gotten comfortable with where Ivy was concerned, because she wasn’t his redemption. She was pure vengeance. Whatever she’d been out to get, whatever ghost she was fighting, she acted hellbent on getting the better of it. She pushed herself harder than anyone he’d ever met. She took the drills he gave her and ran them over and over, never once complaining, pushing the limit until he thought there was no way she could take anymore. But she had. She never quit, and she’d morphed into the powerful, resilient person she was today.
He couldn’t take any credit for her transformation. It had been her fortitude, her grit, her tunnel vision when it came to her training.
But knowing that it all came from a place of darkness—fuck, that had triggered a protectiveness in him to the point where he considered himself her personal bodyguard.
So no, Ivy wasn’t his redemption. She was the single most precious thing in his life. He had to protect her. This compulsion had become as involuntary as breathing. A reflex that kicked in without thinking. Like it had a few months ago, when Ivy had fully panicked at Bowie’s when a drunken blast from her past had shown up. After Hope had her go at the asshole, Sean had taken his turn, in the more private location of the alley behind the bar. He’d made sure the lowlife got the message never to come near either woman again.
Lewis was different. Sean didn’t lump him into the scum-of-the-earth category. But he was still the biggest player Sean knew. And even though Ivy had given him a big speech about her newfound desire for a friend with benefits, something about her spiel didn’t sit right. Nothing about it sounded logical to him, and it was driving him mad.
He needed to rein himself in. He needed to get out of his apartment.
After his shower, he donned a pair of jeans and rooted through his clean laundry pile for a shirt. He’d pulled it half way over his head when every muscle in his body tensed with awareness as the sound of rumbling male laughter filtered through his front door.
Do not go to the door. Do not go to the door.
Ivy’s unmistakable giggle filtered through next.
Stay out of it. Stay out of it. Stay out of it.
Jesus. Why were these doors so fucking flimsy? He was going to have to talk Gabe into installing some weatherstripping, if this was going to be his new normal.Sonofabitch. This couldnotbe his new normal. He’d go crazy.
There was more gruff, male rumbling. Then the sound of keys jangling. And, Christ have mercy on his soul, he was at his apartment door in a flash, ears tuned in, his eyeball on the peephole.
Was he invading Ivy’s privacy? Maybe. But he figured he was being less Peeping Tom and more Personal Security Service.
He was simply going to make sure that Lewis respectfully dropped her off, and that he didn’t make any unwanted advances. That was all.
