"Pop it up!"

His brother Vidar's voice was loud in his head, but Dagen Rourke ignored him. He'd always done things in his own time. Lifting wasn't any different.

Grunting with effort, Dagen felt sweat slide down his back as he adjusted his grip on the heavy barbell in his hands. Almost four hundred pounds of weight plates pushed to keep him from winning the battle against gravity. The twinge in his leg gave him a moment’s pause, but he ignored it, trusting his body to tell him if it wasn't ready. Setting his feet with a grunt, his mind went to that calm center, where pain was something to grapple into submission, set-aside, and the lift was all that mattered. With a tiny squat, Dagen used the power of his whole body—starting in his legs and channeling all the strength in his large frame like a shot to his arms and shoulders—to pop the barbell above his head in a press.

As soon as his arms locked in position, the bubble snapped. Muscles screamed in protest. His mind balked at the insanity of moving more weight than his body consisted of and he brought the bar back to his chest before letting it fall back to the mat. A yell of relief and triumph escaped his heaving chest as the weight plates on each end of the bar bounced on the floor mat in front of him.

"Yes!" Rory Wilson, one of the other trainers at Rourke MMA and family friend, stepped up to clasp his hand before pulling him forward into a back-slapping hug. "That's it! Knew you could do it, man!”

Still panting, Dagen nodded his head before searching out his brother's eyes. "Thanks."

Vidar was standing just as he had been, one tattooed, muscular arm crossed over his chest and the opposite hand toying with the strands of his blond beard. Piercing blue eyes looked Dagen over, pausing at the spot on his leg where there wasn't a scar to see, at least on the outside.

"Any pain?"

Dagen took a deep breath and reached for his water bottle, considered lying to his brother and then dismissed it. Vidar would know. "A twinge when I pulled it off the ground."

"And now?"

Dagen shrugged. "Hurts about as much as everywhere else." And it was true. He'd been resting for months, but these last few weeks after the doctor's release, he'd been pushing himself, trying to get back to where he'd been before.

Vidar grunted then pulled out his phone and checked the screen. He shifted his eyes toward Rory. "Keep an eye on him. Make sure he stretches with Harbor after the spar."

"I'm standing right here, you know," Dagen said, scowling. He may have been twenty-two, but Vidar would never see him as anything other than his baby brother. In fact, all his brothers seemed to share that complex. It didn't matter to them that at six-foot-six he towered over every single one of them and outweighed each by more than a hundred pounds.

Vidar raised an eyebrow at him, the smallest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. For Vidar that was equal to a full-on belly laugh. "Yes, I can see you, Dagen. Now, do what Rory tells you while I go meet your new roommate."

"Wait, roommate?" Dagen yelled toward Vidar's retreating back as he walked to the far side of the gym and the wall that divided Rourke MMA from Vidar's other business, Open Wounds.

The tattoo shop had come first. The fight and powerlifting gym becoming a reality only a few years later. And when Vidar had been able to, he'd bought this old brick warehouse to house both businesses, divided by a wall and with a second level above the tattoo shop. Which was where Dagen currently lived, in the small two-bedroom apartment that had originally been Vidar's. Who, of course, ignored him and disappeared through the door that led to Open Wounds without a backward glance.

"Who is he talking about?" Dagen asked, turning to Rory and taking another swig from his water bottle when Vidar ignored him.

"Remember the tattoo guy he tried to poach from Justin Michaels the last time we were in Vegas?" Rory responded as he bent down to pull the weight plates off the bar Dagen had just lifted.

"Justin Michaels? That guy's a—"

"A douche." Harbor Rourke bumped into his shoulder as he walked over to join them.

"Yeah. And I remember you guys saying something about Vi offering someone a job..."

"It was Justin's apprentice, but the guy was badass. No clue why he was apprenticing with that asshole." Harbor flopped down onto a nearby weight bench, a fringe of sweat-dampened blond hair falling over his forehead. Harbor’s looks were like Vidar, blond hair and glacier blue eyes with a complexion that flamed like hot coals when they were pissed—or had just gone three five-minute rounds in the cage. Harbor was an MMA fighter. And he was good. Good enough to be in line for a shot at the Middleweight title in one of most recognized professional MMA organizations on the planet.

Rory grunted his agreement, moving the last weight plate onto the stand. "Guy wasn't ready to leave though."

"And he is now?"

Rory shrugged and took a drink from his own water bottle. "Must be. He called Vidar a couple days ago and asked if the offer was still on the table."

"Huh. What's his name?"

Harbor bounced to his feet, fists up. He feigned right then left, shadow boxing the air in front of Dagen's chest. Tattooed arms moved in a blur of color before landing a light punch to Dagen's bicep. "Ollie V. I can't wait to be in his chair."

Rory snorted. "Got a crush there, Harb?"

"Shit. Maybe," Harbor laughed as they all turned toward the thick floor mats covering one corner of the large open space. They were used for ground training mostly for jiu jitsu and wrestling or for throws in judo, but they made the perfect place to stretch.

Dagen had a specific set of stretches his physical therapist had suggested he continue even though his therapy sessions were over. While he worked through them, Rory put Harbor through his own paces on the mat beside him.

This gym had been his home in more ways than one over the last couple of years. After he'd been injured, Dagen had to give up his apartment and stay with their mom, Stella, until he healed enough to take care of himself. Vidar had offered him use of the apartment above the tattoo shop, free of charge, until Dagen could get back on his feet and out from under a staggering pile of medical bills. He’d accepted and had been living in the apartment for the past few months.

He wasn't thrilled that Vidar had offered the second bedroom to someone else without even speaking to him first. The apartment belonged to Vidar, true, but Dagen had been hoping to rent it on a more permanent basis; he was always at the gym anyway, either for his own training or working as a personal trainer and strength coach. Honestly, it was convenient having his kitchen right upstairs while he maintained his training diet.

Now he apparently had a roommate to contend with; a thought he didn't like at all. He enjoyed his space and the quiet. Liked being able to drop his guard as soon as he was through the door. He sighed, settling down on the mat for the next stretch and tried to summon up positive thoughts to combat the cloud that had descended the minute Vidar had uttered the word roommate.

Dagen lowered his chest toward his legs stretched straight out in front of him, feeling the gentle pull of muscle through his lower back, glutes, hamstrings, and calves. This was his home. The sweat scented air, the near constant clang of weights moving, the whir of treadmills and stationary bikes. He chastised himself inwardly. Vidar wouldn't have offered the guy a room if it wasn't needed. Maybe he should at least wait to meet the guy before passing judgment. He hoped this Ollie V, or whatever his name was, did his own damn dishes.

"This will be your work space," Vidar stated as he opened a dark wooden door, identical to the other four in the short hallway behind the reception and waiting area of Open Wounds.

It resembled most tattoo shops and Oliver Vos had been in a few. The gray walls were covered in tattoo designs of various price tiers, artist portfolios were spread out on a low table in the seating area, and the low buzz signaling a tattoo in progress could be heard behind one of the closed doors.

"Mine and Kayla's doors are back there." Vidar pointed to two doors across from each other farther down the hall. "The room across from you is empty at the moment and that door at the end leads to a break room, storage closet, and the stairs up to the apartment."

Ollie took it all in and followed Vidar when he stepped into the area that would be his. The small room felt surprisingly open given the amount of space and all the furniture in it. There was a desk with a computer and phone in one corner, and a shelving unit, tattoo machine, rolling stool, and an adjustable tattoo chair stationed in the middle of the floor.

"Everything you need should be here. If not, feel free to rummage in the storage closet or ask Kayla. I split my time between tattooing and running the gym, so Kayla manages things here. Any questions or concerns you have should go to her first."

Ollie knew he should say something or ask questions, but he was just trying to convince himself that this was real. "Yeah, sounds great." His voice came out raspy and he tried to discreetly clear his throat before turning back to his new boss. "This is a nice space. Thank you for bringing me on."

Vidar shook his head. "You brought yourself on. I'm not easily impressed, but I've been hoping you'd call ever since I gave you my card. I think you'll do well here."

Ollie couldn't help his grin and nodded his head, eyes roaming back over what would be his space. His space. Damn it felt good to think that. Every mile he'd put between him and Justin Michaels had been a chip knocked out of the boulder that had taken residence on his shoulders for nearly two years. Standing here now, on the edge of something new—something that would be his own—made him feel like he could fly.

Vidar eyed him for a moment before jutting his chin to Ollie's right hand hanging limply at his side. "That going to follow you here?"

Ollie jolted out of his rumination and glanced down at his hand as if he'd forgotten all about the busted knuckles he hadn't thought to cover before walking in here. He supposed it was better that way though. He didn't like to lie and definitely didn't want to start his relationship with his new boss that way. "No. I left it in the desert." Expecting Vidar to push, Ollie braced himself for questions he hated the answers to and waited, holding the blue gaze of the man who'd sent him a life raft without even realizing it.

"You have luggage and stuff to take up to the apartment?" Vidar asked instead.

Ollie blinked then stammered, "Yeah, in my jeep. Not too much stuff though," he quickly tacked on, not wanting Vidar to think he was trying to take advantage. Ollie would never be able to express how grateful he was when Vidar had offered him a room above the shop. He was paying rent, but even sharing the apartment like Vidar said he would be, it was a ridiculously low sum. This perpetually angry looking Viking was offering a hand where Ollie had never expected to find one. He'd been suspicious at first, but things had gotten bad enough in Vegas that nearly anything would be better. He laid a hand against his side almost unconsciously and looked Vidar in the eye. "I will hopefully find my own place soon."

Vidar waved him off. "No rush. Now come on, I'll show you the rest."

The apartment was nice. The open floor plan was naturally lit by four large windows set in the south facing wall. Everything was modern and done in muted earth tones, making the space seem warm, welcoming. Ollie hefted the box in his arms, wincing as pain shot through his side, and made his way past the dark leather furniture surrounding the flat screen mounted on the wall to the bedroom Vidar had indicated would be his.

He had yet to meet his new roommate, but one look around the apartment was all it took to know what he was dealing with. Ollie shook his head at himself, wondering what he'd expected. But it was clear from the six or seven protein drink shakers drying in the dish drain to the muscle magazines strewn across the coffee table that he'd entered the domain of a jock.

Ollie wasn't anti-sports or anything, but he'd never meshed particularly well with the athletic guys when he was in school. Especially once they found out he was gay. He hoped that wouldn't be the case here.

The place was also just so lived in. Keys on the kitchen island next to a pile of mail. Shoes by the door. It made Ollie feel like an intruder. Getting this glimpse into someone else's life. Someone he had yet to meet. He decided then and there that he would be as unobtrusive as possible and save every penny he could for a deposit on his own place despite Vidar’s assurances there was no rush.

Hoping to get everything upstairs before dark, Ollie dropped the box on the bed he'd be sleeping in and made his way back down stairs, using the apartment's second entrance that led to a set of stairs and a smaller parking lot along the back of the building. Vidar had given him keys to both the locks to the apartment’s inside and outside doors. He could feel them now, a weight against his hip, like they were straining the fabric of his jeans pocket. The whole thing was overwhelming and as Ollie's feet carried him back over to his Jeep, he felt a bounce in his step that hadn't been there in years.

"Hey, you Ollie?" A voice called from a door midway down the building on ground level.

Ollie turned to see a red-haired man with a truly impressive and similarly colored beard hanging half out the door. "Um, yeah. Oliver Vos."

The red-haired man stuck his head back inside and yelled something Ollie didn't quite catch before walking toward him and offering his hand. "Rory Wilson. I'm a trainer at the gym." There was a hint of an accent in his words—Irish or Scottish Ollie would guess from the lilt...and the hair.

"Nice to meet you." Ollie shook the offered hand as two more men emerged from the still open door and he felt his eyes widen. The first man was a couple inches taller than Ollie's own six feet, but even at that he was absolutely dwarfed by the second man. Ollie watched as the big man turned slightly to keep his broad shoulders from bumping the door frame and felt his mouth go dry when the last rays of the sun caught on his features. A dark, neatly trimmed beard showcased full lips and a strong jaw. Not only was he tall and broad, every inch of him was thick and solid with muscle like Ollie had never seen. He looked nothing like the bodybuilders that had been plastered on the front of the magazines upstairs with enlarged muscles, bulging veins, and fake tans. His physique was natural, with muscles built for hard work instead of show.

The shorter of the two men reached where he and Rory were standing by his old Jeep Cherokee and stuck his hand out.

"Harbor Rourke." So, this is Vidar's brother. He was a good-looking guy, with blond hair buzzed short on the sides and long on top, a matching goatee and mustache, and the same ice blue eyes as Vidar, but there was something else about him, something in the way he carried himself that spoke of an explosive energy coiled in his muscular body.

"Oliver Vos," Ollie said, returning his handshake. "So, I guess we'll be rooming together?"

Harbor smirked and shook his head. "Nope, that'd be this guy." He jerked his blond head back toward the giant just joining them. "Oliver Vos, meet Dagen Rourke. Your new roomie."

Oliver shifted his eyes up to meet the taller man's and nearly lost his breath at the intense gaze already focused on him. It was hard to tell in the light, but Ollie thought his eyes were hazel—a collage of blue, green, and gold.

Dagen extended his hand and Ollie took it with a nod. "Nice to meet you."

"You too. Uh..." Dagen seemed to falter and Ollie watched, confused, as the tips of his ears went pink. "We can help you carry your stuff up."

"Nah, I got it. Thanks though." The last couple days had been surprising in what should be the best of ways. Between the job still being available, the apartment not being a dump, and every single person he'd encountered being friendly and welcoming, he was struggling to hold onto his defenses and those were something he simply couldn't afford to lose. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely starting over couldn't be this easy. There had to be a toll to pay somewhere.

"It's no problem, man," Harbor asserted, walking toward the rear of the jeep and stared at Ollie pointedly.

"Not at all," Dagen said, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling back almost reluctantly. The rough pads of his fingers dragged along the palm of Ollie's hand and he had to suppress a shudder.

Ollie relented, walking to the rear of the jeep and opening the hatch. "If you guys insist."

Each of the men grabbed a box or suitcase—two boxes in Dagen's case—and what would have taken Ollie five trips became one. Once the last box was placed in his bedroom, he turned to the men. "I really appreciate the help. Can I at least buy you guys some pizza or something?"

Rory started laughing causing Dagen and Harbor to scowl at him.

"What am I missing?"

"We're training. So Harbor and I only get that which must not be named on cheat days," Dagen told him, longing written all over his face.

"But I'm not," Rory boasted, smirking at the other two. "So, how ‘bout we order a pie and I teach ye the ways of torturing the Rourke boys."

"You're an asshole," Harbor muttered and stomped out of the bedroom to flop onto one end of the couch.

Ollie couldn't keep a chuckle from escaping and Dagen smiled at him.

"Sorry, they're a lot to take in."

Ollie shook his head. "They seem great. Uh... I wanted to tell you that I'll try to stay out of your way. I didn't realize I'd basically be invading your home—"

Dagen held up a hand. "It's your home now too. For however long you need it."

Ollie took a deep breath and tried not to cave in on himself at those words. Your home. That was something he hadn't had since he was eighteen. He wanted so badly to believe he could find someplace to fit, maybe for the first time in his life. It hadn't happened in Vegas no matter how hard he'd tried. Surely, he'd learned his lesson and wouldn't let the words of a couple Viking brothers sink past his armor.

Dragging the mask he'd realized he needed to face the world firmly back into place, he gave Dagen a tight lipped smile. "I appreciate that, but I'll be getting my own place as soon as I can."

The corners of the big man's mouth pulled down, but he nodded his head before turning and walking out of the room.

More good-natured ribbing and cursing filtered in from the living room as Ollie stared at all his worldly possessions stacked neatly in half a dozen boxes on the floor. His heart gave a little clench, but he managed to clamp a lid on the cautious hope blooming in his chest.