Fuck it. This was taking way too long, and Nick wasn’t in the mood. He dove, abandoning any pretense of strategy or form.
Surprise flitted across Jackson’s face, but he didn’t call Nick on the breach of code. He just met him grapple for grapple, punch for messy punch. The conversation devolved into an exchange of grunts and splattered sweat. Gloves slapped bare flesh.
Nick nearly wept his relief as rational thought receded. His world shrank to a blur of effort. Punch. Kick. Grunt. Pain.
Fire bloomed in his muscles, scorching away the frigidity in Aubrey’s eyes.
Jab. Uppercut.
The in-and-out pull of air scraped at his lungs, erasing her scent.
Overhand. Sprawl. Dance out of reach.
Damn, there wasn’t anything else he’d rather be doing.
Still, desperation made him sloppy. Within minutes, Jackson had him in a clinch, using it to rain knees against Nick’s torso. Each strike left a blossoming flower of hurt behind. Nick jostled for position, but Jackson, taller and stronger, took him down. Nick hit the mat on his back, air driven from his lungs. Before he could counter, Jackson locked him in an arm bar.
The sinew of Nick’s shoulder popped and stretched. He gritted his teeth, his mind clouding with a blessed haze of white.
Jackson grunted. “What’re you doing, man? Tap out.”
Nick didn’t, which prompted Jackson to pull harder. Only when Nick’s humerus bent in a way it absolutely shouldn’t did he finally slap the mat.
Jackson let go and scrambled away. Nick lay there, his arm throbbing, his chest working like a bellows. Overhead, thelights swam in and out of focus. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
“Dude.” Jackson shook his head. “What is goingonwith you? That was a hot mess.”
True. But it had also swept Nick clean inside.
He levered upright and pulled Jackson into a sweaty hug. His best friend clapped him on the back in that perfunctory way that said Jackson had him covered, even if he didn’t understand why.
“Don’t worry about it,” Nick said. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Sure, man.” Jackson huffed. “I’ll beat the crap out of you whenever you want.”
“Yeah, yeah. Why else do you think I keep you around?”
Once outside, Nick walked the eleven blocks back to the Kroger. He still couldn’t remember what he’d stopped for, so he climbed into his truck and headed home. He should’ve been back half an hour ago, anyway. At least for Paige’s sake. Tansy never cared.
When he walked in, his co-parent and his daughter sat at the dinner table. Tansy barely glanced up, but Paige squealed like she hadn’t seen him in weeks.
“Daddy! You’re back! How was your day?”
Nick dropped into his chair. “Hey, Peanut. It was... uh, interesting. How was yours?”
She launched into a gleeful accounting of her latest math team competition.
He sat back, basking in her youthful effervescence. For all that he’d fucked up everything else in his life, at least he’d done this one thing right. He had the sweetest sixteen-year-old daughter on the planet.
Other parents griped about the challenges of teenage girls, but privately, Nick pitied them, because Paige was a breeze—smart, driven, curious, responsible, perpetually happier than apig in mud. Everything he could possibly have wanted for her, she had in abundance. Sharing a house with her felt like living with a spill of sunshine.
Which was astonishing, considering her parentage. She didn’t resemble him or Tansy in temperament and hadn’t inherited much from Nick physically. Paige’s pleasant features came straight from Tansy, right down to the blue eyes, the only real difference being the addition of a strawberry tint to Paige’s otherwise buttery hair.
“Isn’t that amazing?” Paige cooed. “No one else got that problem right. Only me.”
Nick grinned. “It really is, Peanut. You make an old man proud.”
“Yeah, well... you are pretty old.” She scooped lasagna into her mouth, then dodged his attempt to ruffle her red-blond ponytail. “Hey, so can I sleep over at Maria’s tonight? She promised to take me to school in the morning.”
