Page 38 of Dirty Fighter

I tuck my knees closer. “Thank you for this.”

He nods, raking a hand through the mess of his hair as he navigates around the easy chair and coffee table and into the kitchen.

“So, serious question.” The tap turns on, and it’s almost enough to drown out the raging storm.

“Ask.” At this point, I might tell him anything.

“Hot chocolate with those mini marshmallows you used to like.” He lights the burner, and I hear the comforting sounds of cabinet doors and the kettle meeting the grate. “Or the storm special… mini marshmallows and Irish cream?”

Jill would love this guy. “Storm special all the way.”

Jason

She told me I didn’t need to make her a fire or stay up with her. But she has no idea.

From the day we met, something about her got under my skin in a way nothing in my life ever has before. Something about seeing that fear and vulnerability in her eyes wrecks me.

Even after all the years and this business with the will, I’d move mountains to take her fear away.

Or maybe just make her some boozy hot chocolate and keep her company during this mother of a storm.

“Careful, it’s hot,” I say, handing her a heavy mug with too many layers of glaze.

“Protecting me from the dark, and now you’re keeping me safe from my hot chocolate too, huh?” Her lips purse through a soft smile, and she blows into her mug.

It’s a look I’ve seen even less than the others. And, damn, it looks good on her.

It’s sexy as hell… and causing a reaction I’d really like to think I’ve gotten over but clearly have not.

I clear my throat and take the other corner of the sofa. “That’s me. Full-service-Stanvic.”

“So,” she starts, pulling her knees up to tuck her feet under the blanket. “What do you want to talk about… other than this storm?”

Her.

I want to ask a million questions about the last ten years and the ten years before that. I want to ask about those months before I left home and if it was easier for her after I was gone.

But what she needs is a distraction.

“Last concert you went to. Band name. Whether it lived up to the hype. And did you buy the T-shirt? Go.”

* * *

We’re slouched into the loveseat with our feet propped up on the coffee table I dragged over after the first refill. The cabin is still getting pummeled by the weather, but the ground-shaking thunderclaps seem to have subsided, and Rowan has a warm, relaxed look to her.

Me?

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“I see that sour face, Jason.” She’s sitting up enough to point her mug at me. “I’m telling you he’s a good guy.”

* * *

“He left you for a year,” I choke out, staring at the woman beside me. “And then he decided to do it again?”

Our fire is dying down but still throwing off enough light for me to catch the eye roll as she lets out a quiet laugh.

“It’s not like he was following some band across the country. He’s a doctor working with a clinic in Madagascar. It’s meaningful work.”