Chapter 3

Chrissy felt the butterflies in her stomach kick into high gear. Jack moved his head lower and oh so slowly brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. Automatically her lips parted and a little gasp escaped. Traitorous lips! That was all the permission he needed; his mouth crushed down on hers and his forearms gave way, his body melding into hers as he pressed her against the wall. His hand slid down the contour of her body as her right leg hitched around his hip. Traitorous leg!

Her body parts were on cruise control; she didn’t seem to be in charge of them anymore, and they were up to no good! His knee nudged between her thighs, and as the kiss deepened so did her gyrations against him, their hips rocking together. Chrissy’s arms wrapped around his neck as she took the lead and deepened the kiss. It was a tug-of-war between their tongues. She nipped his lower lip and he groaned. He licked her upper lip and she moaned. Everything that made her inherently female was on high alert, and his very prominent hard-on rubbed against her.

She sighed in pleasure. “Jack …”

“I got you, babe.” He released her for a second, took half a step back, and peeled off his shirt. It took Chrissy a minute to stop gawking. She had been right: there were muscles on top of muscles. All she wanted to do was lap him up. She responded by grabbing the hem of her dress and pulling it over her head.

He took a step back to look at her. “Fuck,” he gasped when he saw her in just her itty-bitty black panties and a matching bra. In a split second he was on her again. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and her mouth happily accepted it. This time, instead of wrapping her arms around him, she reached between them and started undoing the button on his jeans.

“Jack! Hurry, help me take these off.”

Trying not to break contact with her mouth, he took his jeans off with one hand while swatting Drogo, who was jumping on his hind legs and snarling, with the other. “Go away, Drogo!” Jack commanded.

From the corner of her eye Chrissy noticed something red. She pushed him away, still panting, and pointed to his hipbone. “What’s this?” She reached toward the waistband of his boxer shorts, where a big square Band-Aid stuck out. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just got hurt, is all. Don’t worry.” His jeans hit the floor and he again looked ready to pounce, but she kept him at arm’s length.

“Wait, it’s bleeding. Look, it started to seep through. Let me take a look at it. It must hurt.”

“Not as much as my dick is going to hurt if we stop now.”

She pointed to the couch. “Oh, don’t be a baby. Sit.”

Jack groaned, picked up the incessantly snarling dog and set him on his pillow, and then sat down as instructed. Chrissy kneeled between his thighs. God, is she trying to kill me? Did I verbalize the nurse fantasy? Still mostly naked, she slowly began to take off the Band-Aid and gauze, and he winced. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it does. But only a little. It’s no big deal.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” Once she lowered the waistband of his boxers a little and carefully removed all the bandages, she shook her head. “Shit, Jack. It looks pretty deep. Who taped you up? They did a terrible job. You should have gotten stitches on this. Did they even clean it out? It looks ripe for infection. How’d this happen?” She was inspecting the wound, but it didn’t go unnoticed that she was crouched down by his hip and directly in front of his hard-on, which was mere inches from her face.

“I taped it up myself. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” He jumped when she touched along the edges of the cut. “Son of a bitch!” Jack hissed.

“Go to my car and bring me the black backpack from the trunk. Luckily, I have some medical supplies in there from my recent trip.”

“Chrissy, can we—”

“Just go.” She pointed toward the door. “This is not good, Jack. You may need stitches and antibiotics. I need to boil some water to sterilize my supplies.”

Clad just in white boxer briefs, Jack went outside, crossed his lawn, and strode to her car with the biggest hard-on he’d ever had in his entire life. Disconcerted yet wound up, he prayed that none of his neighbors would see him. But really, he didn’t care. His mind was elsewhere, specifically on the half-naked vixen inside his house playing nurse. Actually, his mind and all the blood in his body were elsewhere—south.

He walked back in, startled to see her in his black T-shirt boiling water in his kitchen. She had to have been a late bloomer, because eleven years ago her breasts hadn’t been as full as they were now. She was small in stature but voluptuous where it counted—breasts and ass. “I think that should be the official uniform for doctors. In fact, you aren’t welcome back in my house unless you’re wearing one of my T-shirts and nothing else.” She giggled as she continued working in the kitchen. There’s that giggle again. That giggle is going to be the death of me.

“Okay, go sit down.” She pointed toward a dining room chair, and he obligingly sat down. Drogo followed. The dog looked at his owner, and it almost seemed as if he was concerned for Jack, because his tiny head tilted to the side and he let out a little whimper. Either that or the mutt was hungry. Probably the latter, Jack decided. Chrissy smiled at the pup and said, “Excuse me,” and Drogo actually moved. The dog didn’t bark, didn’t bite, didn’t disobey. He simply gave Chrissy room to work. Jack couldn’t believe what had just happened between Drogo the devil dog and Chrissy the dog whisperer. He knew she probably didn’t even realize she had just had a conversation with Drogo.

When Chrissy began to work on Jack’s wound, she was assertive and in control, all business. Any sign of the wanton vixen had been wiped away, despite her stimulating attire. She pulled out another chair and sat down, taking out tape, scissors, more gauze, a needle, and little bottles filled with different liquids from her bag. He couldn’t help himself—she was just so close. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her. She squealed, and he placed her down on her knees between his parted thighs. “You want to work on me? Fine. But you do it right here. Between my legs.” He reached for her bag and slid it across the table so that it would be closer to her. She looked at him with those big sapphire eyes and smiled. The wanting in her eyes returned. At some point she had put her hair up into a tight bun, which made her look like a librarian. One of those fantasy librarians. As she prepared her supplies, he reached under the hem of the shirt and rubbed her thighs, working his way up to her ass. She looked up at him as she straightened her glasses.

“Never take those off. You’re a fantasy, you know that? This right here is a fantasy,” he said, pointing at her.

“Oh, you’re into the whole doctor thing, aren’t you?” That made his imagination soar. Scratch the whole naughty-librarian thing. She was a naughty doctor. He could certainly work with that. In the span of an hour, he had managed to conjure up all sorts of role-play scenarios: nurse, librarian, doctor. What the hell had gotten into him?

“No, baby, I’m into the whole sexy-Chrissy thing.” He wrapped an arm around her small waist, pulled her close to him, and began to plant openmouthed kisses along her neck.

“I need to concentrate and you need to sit up. You’re being a very bad patient. I can’t get to your hip if you’re bent forward.” She pouted and moved back a little, but with a mischievous little wink. Oh, she was playing his game, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

“Sorry, Doc. It just hurts so much. Maybe you can kiss it and make it better,” Jack whined.

Even though she was going along with the game, she continued to work diligently on his wound. “Oh, poor baby. Where does it hurt?”

He waggled his eyebrows up and down and slowly dropped his gaze to between his legs. She laughed out loud.

“Well, as soon as I’m done fixing this”—she pointed to his hip—“maybe I’ll kiss that.” And she pointed to his throbbing erection.

Suddenly she was all business again. She pushed him back against the chair and started rubbing alcohol on his open wound. “Fuck. That shit really stings,” he protested.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” As she kept probing and prodding, he winced and clenched his teeth. “So, you didn’t tell me how this happened.”

“Are you trying to make me forget that you’re inflicting major pain on me right now?” He flinched again when she rubbed something else on the cut.

“Nope. I tried to do that with the flirting. Now I’m just really curious.”

“Last week I was arresting a drunk driver, and he fought back with a broken bottle. I let my guard down because he was so drunk. I should’ve been more alert. It was my fault.”

“You get injured a lot on the job?” she asked, concerned.

“Not really. It was a rookie mistake.”

“And you’ve been bleeding for a week and haven’t gotten it checked out?”

“No. It was almost healed, but at last night’s fight I got kicked, and the wound reopened. I bandaged it up myself.” If Jack had wanted to get Chrissy’s full attention, he’d just figured it out, because she stopped cold.

“Fight?”

“Yes. The card Slade and I were headlining last night.”

“You mean you fight too?”

“Yeah, of course. You knew that, though. Remember the sandwiches? We talked about this.”

“That was a million years ago. I thought you’d grown up. You got a real job. You’re a cop, for Christ’s sake. What are you doing fighting?” As she spoke, she continued meticulously working on his cut. She pressed the gauze against the wound forcefully this time.

“Hey, don’t take out your anger on my injury. You think you could be a little bit gentler?” Clearly she couldn’t, because he had to bite his tongue at the pain she was inflicting.

“So, you’re a cop by day and a boxer by night? I don’t understand.”

“No, I’m a cop all the time—night and day. And I’m not a boxer. Heard of MMA? Mixed martial arts? It’s sort of like a super-full-contact sport. It’s boxing, judo, kickboxing, and jiujitsu, all in one. When I’m not working I train, and a few times a year I fight. It’s a hobby that pays very well when I win. I love it, and I’m good at it.”

She snorted. “Clearly.”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted.” He grimaced as she kept working on him. “Injuries are normal in my line of work—and when I fight. I’ve had far worse. And Slade … that guy’s probably had most of the bones in his body broken at one point or another.”

“You say it like that’s a good thing.”

“No, it’s not a good thing, but it’s not a bad thing either. It’s what we do. It’s what we’ve always done. I do it for fun. Your brother does it for a living. He’s a professional MMA fighter. I thought you knew that.”

“Of course I knew that, but I never really saw you guys fight. I tried to sneak into some of those backyard matches, but you always took me home before I got to see anything. By the time Slade went pro, I was already out of town. And I always just assumed that once you became a cop you stopped fighting. I just don’t understand it. It’s so violent. And a lot of good it’s done—I have to bail him out of jail tomorrow, remember? Remind me, what was he charged with again?”

He didn’t answer, and she finished bandaging him up in relative silence. “You need to change the dressing every day. You should’ve gotten stitches. It’ll leave a scar. But …” She let out a gush of air. “You’ll probably love the scar. You can brag about it with the guys,” she said as she began putting away all her things. “And the groupies who love an ass-kicking brawler.”

Jack stood and helped her pack up. At the same time, Drogo began to bark. “Your brother didn’t do anything wrong last night. I had already left before it happened, but I know him better than anyone. I know he had a good reason. I was going to talk to Chief Lyon tomorrow to have him released.”

“Why didn’t you get him released today? It would have saved us all this aggravation. I wouldn’t have had to come here and we wouldn’t be fighting right now.” Chrissy looked down. “Drogo, hush!” she said sternly. The dog quieted.

Jack scowled, both at Chrissy’s comment and at Drogo’s disloyalty. He pulled her toward him and crouched down to meet her gaze. “First of all, I didn’t know he’d call you. Normally he calls me—”

“Normally? This happens often?”

“Can you just listen for once?” He clasped her lips shut with his thumb and index finger. “Second, the fight wasn’t during our match. It happened afterward. It’s a long story, one that I prefer he tell you, but suffice it to say it was over a girl. I thought he should stay locked up for a day to cool off. And lastly, I couldn’t be fucking happier that you’re here. So I’m not sorry he called you.”

“I hate that my brother is a professional fighter. I hate violence. I took an oath to help people, and you two idiots are getting yourselves beaten to a bloody pulp—my brother professionally, and you for what? Fun?” She was yelling now. “And I hate performing these stupidectomies. I—”

“What did you say?”

“Stupidectomies. That’s what I call it when I have to bandage up someone for doing something stupid. And what you do—your fighting—it’s stupid! Maybe even stupider than Slade’s, because you do it for pleasure!”

“I didn’t get hurt in the fight. I got cut while working. And let me stop you before you start your rant on my job. Sometimes I get injured at work. It’s par for the course with being a cop. I’m good at my job, Chris, but shit happens. Either way, I guess it doesn’t matter—apparently I’m just stupid. Thanks for putting down the one thing I enjoy doing apart from work. I suppose some things really haven’t changed. You’re still a self-righteous bi—” He saw her flinch just as the word was about to come out of his mouth, and he stopped himself, but it was too late.

“Bitch? Just say it. Don’t worry, I’ve heard far worse. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” Drogo jumped up and down, barking, to join in the melee. Chrissy threw her bag over her shoulder, stepped over the yapping dog, and pushed Jack aside. Right before she reached the door she yelled, “By the way, you’re still an ass, Jack Daniels!” She stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

When she reached her house she noticed he was right on her heels, sans Drogo. “What are you doing? Go back home. Tend to your Chihuahua. Pit bull? Pfft! You’re delusional!” She was on a tear. “I hope you don’t think that we’re still going to, you know …”

She shoved the door open, but he remained right behind her.

“What? Fuck? You can say the word—you’re a big girl, right? Yeah, we’re still going to fuck. But not tonight. Tonight I just wanted to make sure you were in the house safely.”

“We?” Indignant, she whipped around to face him. “You and I are never going to happen. There is no we. I don’t date or screw bad boys. I don’t do one-night stands. And I hate violent men. Forget it happened. It was a colossal mistake. You were a jerk while we were growing up, and I will never forget that. What just happened was a momentary lapse of judgment. Last I recall, you hated me. I was just Slade’s annoying little sister.”

All of a sudden he was unsure whether he wanted to shake her or throw her down and have his way with her right there on the floor just to shut her up. He decided neither was such a good option at the moment. “When you’ve calmed down, I’m going to bend you over that couch right there.” He forcefully turned her around so she could see the couch and whispered into her ear. “I’m going to rip off those tiny little things you call panties with my teeth, lick your pussy from behind, and then when you’re good and ready, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember the Hippocratic oath.” Her chest rose and fell. Still standing right behind her, he nipped her neck and kissed right behind her ear. He knew she was turned on, but he also knew that if they slept together tonight it would be out of anger and it would happen only once. And once with this firecracker of a woman would never be enough. He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

After a sleepless night of tossing and turning, Chrissy put on a conservative black pantsuit, slicked her hair back and tied it into a tight bun, applied very little makeup, and headed to court. The previous evening she had called Mr. Robertson, the only bail bondsman in town, and hired him. He was already there waiting for her.

“Little Chrissy Martin! It’s been a helluva long time since you’ve been back. Sorry your brother’s troubles are the reason for your return. We’ve missed ya ’round here. You always were a ray of sunshine.”

Chrissy smiled. Before she’d left for college, before all the crap that had made her a cynical mess, she really had had a sunny disposition. She’d volunteered at the neighborhood animal shelter, babysat some of the local kids, and was always friendly with the townsfolk.

“Ya know, I was surprised when you called. There was a time when your brother used to keep me mighty busy. Disorderly conduct, public intoxication, bar fights … ya know, the usual.”

Chrissy sighed. “How long has it been since his last arrest?”

“I reckon it’s been about a year or so.”

Well, at least that was something. During the last year he had either matured and stopped his shenanigans or just hadn’t been caught. She hoped it was the former but expected that it was the latter.

Mr. Robertson explained the process, and then they sat and waited for Slade’s case to be called. She noticed Jack walk in, wearing civilian clothes, and sit a few seats back. He didn’t make eye contact with her. When Slade’s case was called, the judge said a few things, then the court-appointed attorney said a few things, and in a few minutes, before Chrissy even thought it had begun, it was all over.

“Okay, honey. Did you understand all that?” Mr. Robertson asked her. She shook her head. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Jack was now standing right behind her.

“Since this was not his first or even second offense, and because the alleged victim is the mayor’s nephew, bail is thirty thousand dollars. I provide a bond for that amount, and you pay me a ten percent fee—three thousand dollars.”

“Wait, what? Isn’t thirty thousand dollars for bail excessive?” asked Chrissy.

Chrissy felt Jack’s hand resting on the small of her back. She knew he was supporting her, physically and emotionally. He bent down and whispered, “The guy deserved to be punched in the face, Chris, but he’s still the mayor’s nephew and this is a small town. Don’t worry. I’ll do everything I can to get the charges dropped.” She looked up at him, pushing her glasses up her nose, and he smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”

“Come on, honey. This way.” The bondsman led them through a set of doors and down a corridor to a counter where Chrissy would have to write a check and fill out paperwork.

“Well, look who’s back in town! The big fancy doctor!” Melinda, a thin woman in her early forties, came around the counter and gave Chrissy a big hug.

“Hey, Mels. It’s been a long time. How have you been?”

“Not as good as you, honey. Look at you with your swanky clothes and shiny hair. You look good.”

“Oh, thanks.” Chrissy blushed. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but Melinda had always been very chatty. Actually, now that she thought about it, the entire town was very chatty.

“You know, my brother Miles just got divorced. Remember Miles? He’s a doctor too. A chiropractor. You should come over and meet him. How about tomo—”

“Hey, Mels,” Jack interjected, “Chrissy hasn’t had such a great morning. Ya think she can take a rain check on the matchmaking? I’m sure she’ll call you soon enough to discuss it further.” Chrissy had the impulse to reach over and hug him, but she didn’t want to be rude. She remembered Miles, even though he was about ten years older; everyone knew about his reputation for hitting on all things female. He wasn’t a bad guy, just a little too old and a little too creepy for her taste.

“Oh, my. Honey, I’m so sorry. Of course. We’ll talk about it later this week. Let’s get all the paperwork filled out so I can get Slade released.”

Chrissy nodded and forced out a friendly smile.

“You okay?” Jack asked while they waited for Slade.

She shrugged. “I’ve had better days.” She rested her elbows on her lap and dropped her face into her hands.

Jack sat next to her and caressed her back. “You need help with the money, Chris?”

“No, I’ve got it. But thanks,” she answered with her head still hanging. “God, he better not skip town. I’ll kill him. You know he thinks I’m rich because I’m a doctor?” She rolled her head to the side to look at him, her glasses once again sliding down her nose. “I’m not, you know? Rich, I mean. I’ve basically been volunteering since I got licensed. It’s helped bring down my student loans from medical school, but my bank account has suffered along the way. I’ve enjoyed it, though. Going all over the world and helping others—it’s exciting. I wish I could do more to help.” She looked back down. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, since we didn’t exactly part on good terms last night. Sorry.”

“Because you’ve known me forever. Because your brother and I are close. Because you can trust me. You can tell me anything, you know?” Jack leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead like she was his little sister, although after last night she didn’t want to be thought of as a little sister. Scratch that—she didn’t want Jack to think of her at all. You’re here to bail Slade out of jail and go home. In and out, that’s the plan. But Jack was being so sweet, and God, he was hot. Smoldering hot. Sister? Eek. Gross.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she told him. “I didn’t intend to be so mean. I just … it took me off guard. The whole MMA thing, it was just … unexpected.”

“You’re forgiven,” he said with a smile.

She was overwhelmed by the emotions of the last twenty-four hours, not to mention the dent this little fiasco was going to make in her checking account. “The mayor’s nephew.” She shook her head. “Slade’s an idiot. You see why I hate violence?” She sat up and looked him straight in the eyes, but before Jack could say anything, a man she’d never met before came over to them.

“Jack,” the man said by way of a greeting.

Jack stood and reached for the man’s hand. “Cain, buddy. How’s it goin’?”

“How’d the arraignment go?”

“Thirty thousand dollars, dude. His priors and the fact the mayor’s nephew is involved didn’t help.”

The man shook his head. “You got the flow covered?”

Chrissy was looking back and forth between the two men. This other guy, who looked intimidatingly serious and stood as tall as Jack, seemed to be a man of very few words.

“Yeah, man. It’s covered. His sister’s got it.” Jack looked down at Chrissy. “Cain, this is Chrissy, Slade’s sister. Chrissy, this is Cain, a friend.”

Cain’s head tilted up in a sort-of nod.

Was that a hello? Intimidated and unsure of what that small interaction had meant, Chrissy awkwardly smiled at him. She was glad to see Slade had another friend ready to help if need be.

“You fucked up Jas real good. Heard he won’t be fighting for a while. Talk is that when he got to the hospital, there was so much blood coming out of his nose, they thought he’d need a transfusion.” Cain held out his fist, and in some sort of caveman ritual, Jack pounded his fist against Cain’s.

Jack beamed. “Thanks, man, glad to hear it. That guy was huge. Wasn’t sure I’d win.”

Cain looked down at Chrissy’s ashen face, then back up to Jack. “See you got this covered. See you ’round.”

“Later, man,” Jack said as Cain turned and left.

Just as Chrissy was trying to wrap her head around the conversation and how calmly and proudly they had discussed the barbaric sport and the injuries Jack had inflicted on his opponent, the doors opened and Slade came strolling out. Sauntering, really.

“Hey, sis. Thanks for coming to bail me out.” He leaned down and kissed Chrissy affectionately on the cheek. He then turned to Jack and playfully punched him on the arm. “What the fuck, man? You didn’t get me out yesterday!”

Slade was taller than Jack, at least six foot four. And, just like Jack, he was bulky. Between his name and his enormous stature, Slade really was made to be a professional fighter. His chest was wide, and his biceps and forearms had muscles that bulged every time he gestured. Whereas Jack barely had any hair on the top of his head, Slade’s slicked-back long black hair curled at the nape of his neck. He could have given Conan the Barbarian a run for his money. He had a thick black tribal tattoo that peeked from the neckline of his T-shirt and another on his right forearm. At least those were the two that she knew about. Like Chrissy, Slade also had piercing blue eyes and long black eyelashes.

“Dude, you needed to cool off. I was doing you a favor. What the fuck happened after I left?” Jack looked around as if he’d suddenly realized where they were. “Hold that thought. Let’s go across the street and grab breakfast at EE’s and you can explain there.”

Chrissy felt tiny between the two gladiators flanking her. But while most women, or even men, would be intimidated by them, she wasn’t. These were the same guys who when they were fifteen had used Mrs. Daniels’s expensive eyeliner to paint lines under their eyes as camouflage before they went to toilet-paper the neighbor’s house. Within five minutes they had been caught and brought home to face the wrath of her dad and Mr. Daniels. All that camouflage on their faces, yet they’d worn yellow T-shirts and white shorts: Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

She had to take two steps to one of theirs, and at some point before crossing the street toward the diner she just refused to walk that fast in her heels, so she slowed to a normal pace for her five-foot-four-inch frame. She’d just meet them there. After eighteen years of being the third wheel to Dee and Dum, she was used to being ignored. When they reached the intersection, she saw that Slade looked both ways and crossed the street, but Jack looked to his right and to his left and then glanced back. “What are you doing all the way back there?” he hollered to Chrissy.

“Walking.”

He headed toward her. “Why so slow?”

“I’m not slow. You guys take gigantic steps. I couldn’t keep up. Next time I’ll bring roller skates.”

“Fuck, Chrissy. I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me. Come on.” Jack slowed his pace, and when they reached the intersection, he rested his hand on her lower back, guiding her, protecting her.

As soon as they reached the small diner, a heavyset older woman with pink chubby cheeks and a friendly smile greeted them. “Hiya, Jack. Haven’t seen you ’round in days. Heard about the bar fight yesterday. Glad you caught those hooligans. Earl and I were just sayin’ how proud we are of ya, son. I remember when you were just a little boy and—” She stopped midsentence when she noticed Chrissy at his side. “Oh, my word!” She clasped her hands together. “Is that little Chrissy? I haven’t seen you in a long time. Come here, darlin’.” She reached for Chrissy and gave her a tight hug.

“Esther! Wow, it’s so nice to see you. You’re still running this place, I see.”

“Of course. We’ve been here for thirty-five years and don’t plan on leavin’ anytime soon. Earl would wither away if he didn’t have this ol’ place to come to every day. How long you in town for?”

“Just a few days.”

“Oh, my son Jeffrey is in town too. Maybe you can come over for dinner. I think you two have so much in common. Remember Jeffrey?”

“Oh … um, yes, I remember, Esther. Even though that sounds super nice, I’m only here for a day or two, and then I have to go back home. Maybe next time.” What the hell? Do I have a sign on my forehead that says Husband Needed ASAP?

“Then go have a seat, darlin’. I’ll tell Earl you’re here. He’ll be delighted to see you.”

“If you’re in the market for a date, a boyfriend, and/or steamy sex, I know someone I could hook you up with,” Jack whispered in her ear.

Chrissy affectionately shoved him. “My goodness, I must be exuding desperation. If one more person tries to hook me up with their son, nephew, or any other relative, I’ll scream.”

Jack let out an amused snort.

Her mood lifted as they walked to the booth where Slade was already sitting. They slipped into the booth, facing Slade.

“What took you guys so long? I’m a starved man. You know what kind of shit they serve in there?” Slade motioned with his thumb in the direction of the jail.

Jack was about to answer, but Chrissy put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. He whipped his head to her and saw her eyes telling him to just let it go. She didn’t want to argue with Slade.

Slade hadn’t cared that she couldn’t keep up with him. He couldn’t have cared less whether she wired him the bail money or came in person. Sure, they’d talked on the phone over the last eleven years; it was small talk and it was brief, but they had stayed in contact. The last time she’d seen him, though, was about ten years ago at their father’s funeral. The last thing he’d said to her there—the reason she’d decided not to return to town—was forever ingrained in her head: “This is all your fault, Chrissy. You should’ve called me the first time that guy touched you. The minute you got to town you should’ve called me and told me what was going on. You knew Dad was going to get into that car and set things right. You knew he had a temper and would want to protect his perfect little girl. You knew it! You were selfish to come back to town when the shit finally hit the fan instead of letting us know before it got as bad as it did. And now I’ve lost my dad. I have no one left.”

He had been drinking that night and the words came out slurred, but the truth of them had shone in his misty eyes. Jack had been consoling his parents at the other side of the funeral home and hadn’t heard the argument, but she was fairly certain he too had been drinking, because his eyes had been unfocused and when he’d greeted her earlier his hug had been a little too tight and unsteady.

Bottom line: Slade always took Chrissy for granted. He thought because she was a doctor she could afford to bail him out. He resented her for their father’s death. And because the guilt ate her up, she didn’t bother standing up for herself. She felt she owed him, because had it not been for her, their father would still be alive today. So the pace of his step was not worth an argument.

Slade was concentrating on the menu and didn’t notice the exchange. Jack reached under the table and put his hand on Chrissy’s, the one that was squeezing his leg. The waitress came by, took their order, and brought water and coffee. And still Jack and Chrissy’s hands stayed together under the table.

In and out of town, Chrissy. Hand-holding is not a part of the plan, she reminded herself. Jack had flipped her hand over and was drawing small circles in her palm and tracing the bluish-green gathering of veins on her wrist. Oh, God, what am I getting myself into?

Jack looked at Slade. “Start talking, brother.”

Slade picked up his cup of coffee, and Chrissy noticed a small tremor in his hand. Her eyebrows furrowed, and Slade must’ve picked up on it because he quickly set the cup back down, put his hands on his lap under the table, and began to talk.

As Slade began to tell his story, Chrissy instinctively reached into her messy purse and dug around for the antibacterial towelettes she kept in there. Her purse had almost anything she’d ever need for almost any occasion. Her head was practically inside her oversized bag when Jack placed his hand on her forearm to get her attention. “Chrissy? What’s with the scavenger hunt?”

Her head snapped up, and she looked at both men. “Sorry. Don’t mind me. Continue your story.”

“Continue?” Slade said. “I can’t even begin with that huge-ass bag taking over half the table and all the noise you’re—”

“Aha! Found it.” She placed her bag by her side, put a little tube on the table, and ripped open the paper packaging. Then she leaned over the table.

Slade pulled back. “What the fuck, Chris? Is that a condom?”

“You are such a moron!” She let out a breath. “It’s an antibacterial towelette and some antibacterial cream. Stop being such a baby and let me see that scrape on your neck. I bet they didn’t even clean it before you went to jail. It’s probably infected.”

“No, Chrissy, there’s not a nurse giving out sponge baths in jail. Stop being such a mom. Leave my cut alone and listen to my story.”

Chrissy ignored him and leaned almost completely across the table. Her ass was practically in Jack’s face. She wiped the wound clean and then put some cream on it as both men silently watched her work. When she finished she sat back down. Then she looked at the men. “What?”

“You’re my little sister, but you’re acting like the older sibling.”

“I’m a doctor. That’s why I did it.” That’s a lie. “And anyway, if the older sibling is a huge idiot who’s fighting and getting arrested, how’s he going to tend to his little sister?” Jack took Chrissy’s hand, which was under the the table, and placed it on his lap again.

Slade seemed to ponder her words for a few moments before he cleared his throat and began to speak. “Okay, so after you left the fight, Jack, I was getting my stuff together and was about to head out to my car. That pretty chick Jessica—you know, the classy brunette I’ve been trying to hook up with for months who tends bar at the Pier—started talking to me. She told me she finally broke up with Dennis. So I asked her out. Again. For the hundredth time. This time she agreed. I was walking her to her car, just talking, when all of a sudden I get pushed from the back. It was a pussy move. When I turned around, that asshole Dennis took a swing at me. I ducked and threw two good body shots, and apparently broke his rib. Then the son of a bitch lunged at Jessica. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Stand by and let a man hit a woman?” Slade glanced at Chrissy, whose body seemed to constrict; under his fingers, Jack could feel her pulse accelerate. But when Slade turned back to Jack and continued to explain, Chrissy instantly relaxed again. Jack looked at Chrissy and then at Slade; had he imagined that there been some sort of quiet exchange between them?

“So I punched him and broke his nose. Dude, the guy’s a jerk-off, mayor’s nephew or not.” Slade took a sip of coffee before he spoke again. “Would do it again. He was going to hit her. I don’t regret it.”

When the food arrived, Chrissy pulled her hand out of Jack’s lap, and before Jack began eating he gently squeezed her thigh. They ate, mostly in silence. “Well, I’ll do my best to get the charges dropped, but I can’t promise anything, brother. It’s the mayor. He has a lot of pull at the precinct. Small town and all.”

“Thanks, Jack,” said Chrissy. “And Slade, don’t do anything stupid while you’re out and everything should be fine. Don’t jump bail or anything.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving town. I have a fight tonight. I have to stick around,” Slade said.

Chrissy choked on the coffee she was sipping, causing her eyes to water. Slade quickly stood and went around the booth. He began patting her on the back, while Jack handed her some napkins. She dried her eyes and waited a moment for the coughing to subside, then used the napkin to clean up the small amount of coffee that had spilled.

“You okay, sis?” Slade asked.

When she could speak again she asked, “Slade, what did you say?”

“I have a fight. Tonight.”

“Bro, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Jack put in. “You’re supposed to be on your best behavior.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have it all under control.”

“Slade, you cannot fight tonight. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Chrissy’s palms were on the table and she was leaning toward him.

“Calm down. It’s not a big deal. I do it all the—” Slade’s cell phone began to ring. He immediately answered and said a few things into the phone as Jack and Chrissy looked at him. He hung up and stood. “Thanks for everything, guys. Gotta go to the gym. That was my trainer. They’re waiting for me. Jack, can you give me a ride?”

Chrissy’s steel-blue eyes were begging Jack not to take Slade anywhere. Jack hesitated for a moment, then took out his wallet, threw a few twenties on the table, and stood up. “See you later,” he said to a stunned Chrissy. Instead of helping her convince Slade not to fight, he was taking Slade to train. Her eyes watered again, but this time it wasn’t from choking but from anger. She didn’t know whom she was angrier at: Slade for getting arrested and for fighting tonight, Jack for taking him to train, or herself for caring.

Just before walking out, Jack glanced back at Chrissy, whose blue eyes were fixed on him incredulously. He cocked his head to the side trying to convey an apology. Chrissy shook her head in disbelief and looked away. She sat alone at the diner for another half hour before heading back home.

Back at the house, Chrissy shut herself in her room and booted up her laptop. She still had not formally accepted the job offer at Miami West, and the HR department at the hospital had been emailing her for an answer. She heard the door open and close downstairs. She stayed in her room, too angry to speak with Slade; besides, she knew there was nothing she could do to convince him not to go tonight. Actually, what she really wanted was for him to stop fighting altogether. After an hour of surfing the Web and listening to the array of noises coming from downstairs—the microwave beeping, the door of the bathroom opening and closing—she heard the front door close and a car take off. Not able to stand it any longer, she hopped out of bed. She’d arranged for his bail, so she owned him! She’d make sure he was a good little boy tonight, fighting his little fight and then coming straight home.

After quickly getting ready, she slammed the front door shut and stormed to her car. She turned it on and then realized she didn’t know where the hell she was going. She couldn’t very well call Slade and ask because he would never tell her. That left only one person. She looked over and saw his car parked in front of his house. She was going to have to swallow her pride and talk to Jack.