Author: Cheryl McIntyre

She looks down at her computer, clicking at the keys. “Hm. Mr. Anthony’s afternoon is full today. How does tomorrow afternoon work for you?”

“Mr. Anthony.” I roll his name over my tongue, tasting it bitterly. “Is that the guy that just came in?”

“Yes.” She smiles again, her attention still focused on the computer screen. “You know, it looks like Mr. Wright has an opening at three.”

I release a sigh. There’s someone else here. That’s good. She’s not alone.

“Tomorrow works better. Do you have a business card for Mr. Anthony?”

“Sure.” She places a small white card on the front of the desk and slides it toward me. I pick it up and my hands shake as I read it. Gregory Anthony. I have a full name and I can’t seem to look away. Gregory Anthony. I repeat it my head like a mantra. Like a promise.

“One o’clock tomorrow all right?”

My fingers pinch the thick paper, crinkling it. I feel sweat bead across my forehead as my body temperature rises. He’s sitting in one of these offices, unsuspecting. He has no idea his worst nightmare is this close.

“Sir?” Amy says, drawing my attention back to her.

“Yeah,” I croak. “One’s fine.”

I give her a fake name for the appointment I have no intention of keeping.

***

“Where’ve you been all day?” Augie asks as soon as I step through the door. My feet falter, bringing me to an abrupt halt halfway to the front desk. The Irish prick has been my best friend since my freshman year of college, five years ago. I’ve never lied to him—not about anything important—but he can’t know what I spent my morning doing. If he knew, he’d try to stop me.

I force my feet to move, striding over to the desk. I shrug as I flip through the mail. “I just had a few errands to run.” I drop the envelopes and run my fingers through my hair. I should cut it. Less hair, less chance I have of leaving DNA evidence behind.

My eyes flutter shut as an idea occurs to me. What kind of sweet justice would it be to cover the assholes in bleach as I pick them off? I shake my head, disregarding the tempting thought. That would be too obvious. Byer’s would put it together too quickly. I don’t care about being caught. But I don’t want to be stopped before I have time to finish this.

“I need to take off early, too,” I say.

Augie looks over his shoulder at me as he loops his thumb into a hand-wrap and starts winding it around his wrist. “More errands?”

“Something like that.”

“What’s her name?” he asks. I can hear the smile in his voice and I know it’d be easier to let him think I’m hooking up with a girl than what I actually plan on doing. But then he’d want details. Hoping I finally found the girl that’ll make me forget. Make me better.

He’ll never get it. There is no better. Not for me.

“Fiona,” I deadpan. “She’s the twice-divorced, middle-aged lady that cuts my hair.”

He smirks at me as he fastens the wrap. “Are you that hard up?” he asks. “I know some nice girls I can hook you up with. Hot girls. Girls closer to your age. Without kids or ex-husbands.” He drops his voice conspiratorially. “You might not have noticed, but they’re in abundance in this gym.” He throws his hands out, gesturing toward the room.

I glance around. It’s slow, being a Monday afternoon, but there are still quite a few women working the ellipticals. Their ponytails swaying across their backs, ear buds locked in place. Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I just have no interest in getting to know them. Between the sheets or otherwise.

I’m not a monk. I still have needs and desires. I get lonely. Horny. But I don’t hook up with girls that occupy the gym. Just because I still have the yearning to fuck, doesn’t mean I have any craving to be in a relationship.

It’s not going to change. Augie refuses to accept this simple fact, but that doesn’t make it obsolete. What I had with Olivia was once in a lifetime.

Could I love another woman if I tried? If I wanted to?

Maybe.

But I will never, ever love someone the same way I loved her. I don’t want to. I gave her my heart. And she took it with her when she died.

It’s not fair to anybody for me to continue loving the ghost of my dead girlfriend while I pretend to care for someone else. I know this. I own it. Period.

“I’m good,” I say.

“With Rosie Palm and her five sisters,” Augie agrees, chuckling and making an obscene gesture with his hand as the main door opens. I turn in time to see the new hire, his eyebrows raised in question. And then I notice the girl standing behind him. Or more accurately, the mass of thick, black hair, piled on top of her head. The messy locks, from style to shade, resemble Livie’s exactly. I suck in a breath afraid to let my gaze drift to her face in fear of what I’ll see.

“Who you got there, Joe?” Augie calls. His voice sounds far away, tunneled through my ringing ears.

“My little sister.” He steps to the side, pulling the girl forward, and I finally allow my eyes to flick over her features. I release the breath I was holding, partly out of relief. Partly out of disappointment.

She looks nothing like my Olivia. Her eyes are a deep brown—not a soft blue. Livie was always happy. Sweet. This girl is hard or hardened. I can tell just by the way she holds herself. By the coldness in her gaze and the tightness in her lips.

Her eyes meet mine and I look away, wanting to distance myself. Fuck. Every time this happens—every time some random girl reminds me of her, it’s like losing Livie all over again.

Eight

Rocky

“This is my boss, Linken Elliott,” Joe says, nodding to the guy behind the counter. I rake my eyes over him quickly. Though everything about him is simple—hair that in-between blonde and brown color, eyes a mild gray, body typical of a guy that would own a gym—there’s a rugged attractiveness to him, accompanied by a cool indifference, I find unique. Intriguing.

My eyes linger on him because he doesn’t bother to look up at the sound of his name. He doesn’t acknowledge the introduction in any way. Which makes him kind of an asshole.

“And that guy there,” Joe continues, lifting his chin toward the dark-haired beauty in front of us, “is August Moore. He’s the one that got me the job.”

August holds his hand out and I take it, expecting to shake, but he pulls me to his side, slipping his hand around my waist. I stiffen in response.

“Everybody calls me Augie,” he says, grinning widely. “And what should I call you?”

“Off limits,” Joe states firmly as he knocks Augie’s hand away.

I take a quick step sideways, putting some space between us. I know I’m safe with my brother here, but I don’t like being touched like that. My insides automatically tense up. My heart beats out of control. And my instinct to run flares up.

I look at Joe and take a slow breath, inhaling deeply through my nose. He keeps his eyes trained on me. His brows lift in a silent question, asking me if I’m okay. I nod once and clear my throat. “Rocky,” I say. “You can call me Rocky.”

“As in Balboa?” Augie asks with a smirk.

Joe throws his head back and groans. If my dad heard that he’d have a fit. I shake my head. “As in Rocky Marciano.”

Augie smiles, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nice.” He cocks his head to the side, looking at his boss. “You hear that Link? Named after the best undefeated boxing champion of all time.”

“The only undefeated boxing champion,” Joe and I say in unison.

“And she knows her boxers,” Augie announces excitedly. He closes the distance between us, scooping up my hand and bringing it to his chest. “My car’s parked out back. Run away with me.”

From my peripheral vision, I see Joe move closer, readying himself to back Augie off, but I’ve become pretty damn good at redirecting overly eager men. Usually I’m not nice about it, but this is my brother’s coworker.

I slip my hand free of his and wink. “You couldn’t handle me,” I say with a smirk, hiding the panicked thoughts galloping through my mind. I glance at Joe and force a smile. “How about that tour now?”

He steers me away from Augie smoothly. “There’s not much to see. Workout equipment in the front. Ring and bags in the back.” He automatically takes me toward the ring. Not because I want to see it, but because it’s his favorite thing in this gym, I’m sure.

“Link’s office is back there,” he says, hooking a thumb toward the door marked Private just beyond the ring. “Locker room and showers are right through there.” He tips his head at a door on the opposite side. “Really, that’s it.”

“Where do you guys do the self-defense classes?”

“On the mats,” he replies. I don’t miss the hopeful connotation in his voice.

I pause, observing the sea of dark-blue mats. Some are spread across the floor, end-to-end, side-to-side, corner-to-corner. Others are piled along the length of the wall. “You said you’re going to assist,” I begin as my eyes move slowly over the space. “Who teaches?”

“Depends on the class. Augie does some, Link does most.”

“He’s a strange one, huh?” I peer over my shoulder, sizing up Joe’s new boss. He’s turned so I get his profile. The muscle in his jaw twitches as he glares down at the clipboard. “Bit of a douchebag.”

Joe scratches his chin and shrugs. “Seems all right. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him much. Just the interview. But what he’s doing here—the classes for women—he can’t be that bad.”

My gaze falls back on Link. As if he feels my attention on him, he shifts his head slowly, his eyes settling on mine. I arch a brow letting him know I’m not interested. His disregards me almost immediately, fluidly returning to his clipboard.

Huh.

Maybe he’s gay.

Maybe we can be friends after all.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?” Joe says, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“Why does Link do these classes?” I don’t know why it matters, but it does. I need there to be a purpose.

“Augie said Link lost someone a few years back. He teaches the classes so women know how to protect themselves. He does it for her.”

I chew on that for a moment. “Okay. One class. If I’m not feeling it, I get to leave and you let it go. Deal?”

Joe grins. “Deal.”

***

After the gym, I went home and crashed for a few hours. By the time I woke up, the sun was setting. I felt off. Twitchy. And I couldn’t take it.

Three whiskey shots and a hot shower later, and I feel no better.

I need to get out.

I can’t sit in this apartment for another second.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, slap on some lip-gloss, and head out. I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, an old, faded red Camaro I’ve had since my sixteenth birthday. It’s white trash eighties-retro and I love it. Until I turn the key and absolutely nothing happens.

I try again, cranking the ignition and pumping the gas pedal to no avail. The thought of trudging back into my empty apartment has me slamming my fists into the steering wheel.

I don’t want to be alone tonight.

My head falls back against the seat and I press my lips together until they hurt. I rock my neck to the side. There’s a shitty little bar down the road, right across from the gym Joe’s working at. I’ve only been in there once, choosing to find a different place to frequent. I didn’t want to get cozy someplace so close to home.

I hesitate. I could call my brother. He’d be here in a heartbeat.

But then he’d want to talk.