Crash & Carnage by Emma Slate

Chapter 22

Boxer’sfront porch light was on, and I could see the glow of the living room lamps through the closed blinds.

He was home.

With a sigh, I cut the engine, and then sat for a moment in the parking spot on the street.

The front door to the house opened, and Boxer loomed in the doorway. Even though the sun had long since set, I could see him clearly, illuminated in porch light.

He was wearing a pair of jeans, a button-down red and black flannel shirt, and no shoes. His jaw was scruffy from not shaving, and his hair was messy. Boxer crossed his arms, leaned against the door jamb, and waited. He didn’t appear to be in any substantial discomfort from his recent injury, and I seriously wondered about his pain tolerance.

Girding my loins, I grabbed the bag with the pie I’d bought at Pie in the Sky, my purse, and climbed out.

“How’d you get my address?” he asked.

“I asked Reap for it.”

“You don’t call?” Boxer drawled. “I could’ve been out.”

“You don’t call,” I reminded him. “You just show up on my doorstep. I’m taking a play from your book.”

I locked the car and then headed up the sidewalk, but before I got to the porch, I stopped.

“What’d you bring?” he asked with a nod at the bag.

“Pie.” I held it up.

He didn’t move, and I was worried he wasn’t going to.

“What kind of pie?” he asked finally.

“Blueberry. From Pie in the Sky Bakery.”

He pushed away from the door.

I came up the steps and before I swept past him, I stopped and looked up, meeting his gaze. I gauged his body for signs of fever. He wasn’t flushed and his eyes were clear—and casually blank. In that moment, I realized it was his way of masking what he was feeling.

Boxer shut the door behind me and then took the bag from my grasp, careful not to touch me.

Sadness at his rejection enveloped me, and it was my instinct to continue pulling away, but he was always offering me honesty and openness. It was my turn to do the same.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to the kitchen chair. He pulled out the pie and set it on the table.

“I don’t like how we left things,” I said.

“So you drove all the way back here to say that?”

“No. I drove around Waco all day to clear my head and to find the best comfort food that went nicely with an apology. If you don’t want pie, I’ll order chicken wings. Or barbecue. Or anything else you want. Just…hear me out. Okay?”

He sighed. “I’m listening.”

“Everything feels very…uneven between us.”

“What do you mean, uneven?”

“You talked about your childhood.”

“You talked about yours, too,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” I agreed with a nod. “I did. But it’s not the only thing that I carry around inside me. There’s something else I want to share with you.” I paused, trying to summon the nerve. “I lost a kid on my table.”

I heard the scraping of the chair next to me, and then Boxer sat. I felt this warmth, but he didn’t reach out to touch me. I was glad he didn’t. I was afraid that if he touched me in that moment I’d shatter like a crystal vase.

“It was my second to last year of residency. He was badly injured, and I had to make a call. It was a fifty-fifty shot, but it was the wrong one, and an eight-year-old boy died right in front of me.” I exhaled slowly and forced myself to look at Boxer.

His eyes were full of sympathy but not forgiveness. No one could give me that. No one except me, and I’d spent years punishing myself for my mistake. I wasn’t sure I was capable of ever forgiving myself at this point. I’d lived with it for so long. I understood the burden I carried, but it wasn’t so easy to let it go.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” I said. “Sitting across from hopeful parents when you’re the one that has to tell them their child is gone. The light leaves their eyes, almost like they’ve died too.” I turned my face away and closed my own eyes, but all that did was force me back in time to the worst moment of my life.

I inhaled a few breaths and then continued. “They made me take a few weeks leave after my breakdown. I saw a shrink and went to grief counseling.” I opened my eyes. “That’s where I met Quinn.”

Shaking my head, I laughed softly. “We blew off grief group one day, got drunk, and talked. That did more for me than three weeks of counseling. I still don’t know why.”

I looked at Boxer, but still he said nothing.

“I came back to work, slapped a smile on my face, and pretended like each breath didn’t feel like a razor shredding my heart. It was too much, so I left Boston and went to Duke. I met a guy down there. Jeff. We lived together. My mother liked him. I felt…lukewarm about him. I felt lukewarm about everything, really. A few months ago, he got promoted and took a job in San Francisco. He asked me to go with him. I said no and moved here.”

I clasped my hands together and placed them in my lap. “I run from things. People. Myself. Something is broken inside me, Boxer. And it broke long before I…” I swallowed. “Before I killed that boy. I think it broke when my dad left. I stopped trusting. Stopped seeing the good in the world. I wanted to fix things in people that could be fixed. I want to help others because I can’t help myself.”

I felt like a grandfather clock that chimed the wrong hours.

“When I was nineteen,” he said after long pause. “I walked into my childhood home and saw my father strangling my mother. He had his hands wrapped around her throat, and it was obvious he was really gonna do it.”

His gaze was cold, steely. “I pulled him off her and while I was beating the shit out of him, she was sobbing next to me, begging for his life. The bastard was gonna kill her, and there she was pleading with me to let him live.”

I couldn’t imagine the horror of walking into the scene he described. I saw terrible things as a doctor, but to witness something that personal… God, he was stronger than I even realized.

“I beat his face until he went limp and pissed himself. I leaned down close to him, and he looked at me through swollen eyes when I told him if he ever touched her again, I’d kill him. I’ll never forget how he smelled in that moment, like cheap gin and fear.” He clenched his hands into fists, as if he was viscerally remembering the scene he’d witnessed.

“Something happens to men when they realize they’re nothing more than mediocre has-beens who’ve never amounted to anything. They take it out on the people that love them.”

He took a long, slow breath. “Later, when I walked into the clubhouse and told Colt and the others what I’d done. My knuckles were bloody and raw. And a few months later when they patched me in, they named me Boxer. It’s the most honest thing that I am.

“I haven’t seen my dad since that day. I doubt he’s dead. Some men are too fucking mean to die.” His smile was rancorous, and he looked straight at me. “Some people break and never recover from the things they’ve seen. They never figure out how to breathe deeply again. But you took the pain of your father leaving and turned it into something. You found a way to give back and do something good in this shithole of a world.”

He finally reached out and touched me, cradling my cheeks in his strong hands. “People die all the time. You tried to save a life. That’s more than what most people do. My old man was so miserable, he just wanted to spread it around. You spread good, Doc, because you are good.”

“Boxer,” I whispered, but he wasn’t done.

“We’re all broken in some way. If you’re lucky, you might find someone whose broken pieces fit with yours.”

I leaned into his touch. “You live a dangerous life.”

“Yeah.”

“I just dug a bullet out of you.”

“It won’t be the last time,” he said with a rueful smile.

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Boxer—”

“No, hear me out.” He paused and exhaled a long sigh. “I almost died from my appendix bursting. I got shot but didn’t die. I’ve been in fights with guys who’ve pulled knives and done shit on my bike you wouldn’t believe. You have to live, Linden. You have to take risks, because if you don’t, then you’ll wake up at the end of your life full of regrets, and a head full of dreams never lived, and that’s a lot worse than dying.”

“I’ve never had a relationship that’s lasted.”

“Then they weren’t the right ones.”

“My dad left me,” I said quietly. “That damage runs deep.”

“It says nothing about you, and everything about him. My old man’s shit isn’t my shit. My dad’s wounds aren’t my wounds.”

I bit my lip. “You’ll get sick of me.”

“Nah.”

“I’ll get sick of you.”

“Like hell you will,” he said with a grin.

“I’ll drive you crazy.”

“Without a doubt.”

“What if I try to run?” I asked in exasperation.

“I won’t let you.”

“What if you try to run?” I pivoted.

“We need each other, Linden.”

“What if—” His lips cut off what I’d been about to say by covering mine.

My mind was suddenly full of static, finally silenced, beaten into submission.

His hands dropped from my cheeks and then he stood. He grasped my hand and pulled me up. And then he kissed me like he’d never get another chance, like he needed me to be touching him so he could breathe.

My fingers tore through his hair and then he was hauling me toward the bedroom, his mouth fused to mine.

In our frenzied state, he bumped into the wall and then the doorway of the bedroom.

He flipped on the light and then let me go, but only so that he could quickly strip out of his clothes.

I did the same.

And then I was back in his arms, skin to skin. Warm. Alive.

He gently pushed me down onto the bed, and then he covered me with his body. Boxer spread my thighs and then he was deep inside me.

Our eyes locked.

Boxer thrust into me again and again, and the pleasure I felt between my legs spread through my body and up my spine.

I breathed in, smelling him, smelling us. His eyes were liquid silver, full of heat and want and something more.

It was the something more that made my breath shaky and my heart drum in rapid staccato.

And when I clenched around him, screaming out my pleasure, I cried, too.

Tears skated from the corners of my eyes to fall into the hair at my temples.

“I know,” he whispered before taking my lips.

I clutched his shoulders and clasped him to me, feeling for the first time in my life, that I was where I was supposed to be.

* * *

Swaddled in Boxer’s arms, I drifted off to sleep, my cheeks wet with tears. When I woke up, I expected to see sunlight streaming through the blinds of the bedroom, but it was dark, and he wasn’t asleep next to me.

I sat up and listened for a moment. I heard Boxer moving around in the kitchen and wondered what time it was. The man didn’t believe in clocks.

I turned on the bedside lamp and climbed out of bed. I found my underwear on the other side of the room, and then I put on Boxer’s discarded flannel shirt. It was soft from many washings.

He was standing at the counter, bare chested. His white bandage was stark against his skin, reminding me of what he’d gone through.

My soft footsteps on the wooden floor made him turn around. He was in the process of finishing off the last of the pie.

“Could you be any cuter,” I said with amusement. “Sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to eat all the pie. You weren’t going to share it, were you?”

“Nope.” He grinned at me. Boxer held out the fork to me, his hand underneath it to catch anything that fell.

I went to him and let him feed me until the pie was gone.

His dark blond hair was mussed, and he wore a pair of green boxer briefs. I couldn’t help but admire the expanse of skin and ink.

“Did you sleep?”

“Nope,” he said. He grabbed the half-drunk glass of milk in one hand, took mine with the other, and led me into the living room.

I sat at the far end of the couch, my back pressed up against an arm. Boxer took the seat on the opposite side and then set down his glass of milk. He switched on the lamp and then dragged the blanket from the top of the couch to cover me. He then wormed his hands underneath the blanket.

“You’re cold.” He rubbed the top of my foot and then clamped it between his palms.

I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling while his hands warmed my skin.

“What was wrong with him?” Boxer asked.

“What was wrong with who?”

“The guy you were dating. You lived with him?” he didn’t sound jealous, merely curious.

“For a bit.”

“Why’d it end?” he asked.

I paused and really took a moment to think about the answer. “There were a lot of factors. I guess the biggest and most important one was that I didn’t love him.” I shrugged. “We thought we were supposed to be together. On paper, we were a perfect match. In real life though, something was missing. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, it didn’t make much sense to me either. I worked all the time. He didn’t like that, but it wasn’t as if I was going to change it. This is my career, and I love it.”

Boxer was quiet for a moment, and his hands moved to my other foot. “Did you tell him about what happened? Losing your patient?”

“No. I didn’t tell him.”

“Why did you tell me?”

“Because that’s the ugliest part of me, Boxer.” I stared him in the eyes. “And I wanted—no, I needed you to know me. Every part of me.”

He let go of my foot and then lunged for me, pinning me beneath his body. “There’s nothing ugly about you.”

I looked down, trying to shield my emotions from him, but he was a battering ram to a castle wall.

“I’m a criminal, remember? You want to keep score on who’s worse? I’ll win. Easily.”

“A criminal who rescues women and children,” I said.

“I’m a sinner, not a saint,” he quipped. “The good deeds don’t outweigh the bad ones.”

“Life isn’t black or white, is it?”

He grinned. “You just proved my point.”

I sighed.

“You deserve to be happy, Linden. You gotta let the guilt go.”

“Easier said than done. Easier said than done.”

* * *

“Get your ass out here, Boxer!” a female voice yelled. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”

I shot up in bed and looked around. Daylight streamed through the blinds, and Boxer was still in bed next to me.

His eyes were closed, but he scratched his chest. “Damn, that woman has a set of pipes.”

I fell back onto the bed. “Who the hell is here at this hour?”

“Mia,” Boxer groused.

“What is she mad about?”

“No fucking idea.” He cracked one eyelid and peered at me. “You’re not pissed she just walked in here like she owned the place? We could’ve been naked in the kitchen. Or naked in the living room. Or naked—”

“I got it,” I said dryly. “You want us naked in all your rooms.”

“Yup. It’s gonna happen. I’ll make sure of it.” He flung the covers off him and then swung his legs over the side of the bed. Boxer ran a hand across his scruffy cheek and then got up. He went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt.

“Don’t leave me out there with her. She’s in a fit, and she’s full of hormones.”

I snorted, rolled to the side of the bed, and grabbed the flannel he’d worn the night before. “Pregnant women scare you?”

I buttoned the shirt and then stared at him when he didn’t reply.

He was still, looking thoughtful. “No. Pregnant women don’t scare me.”

Boxer stalked from the room. I quickly used the bathroom and then went to discover why Mia was here.

When I entered the kitchen, I smiled. Mia was looking up at Boxer, glaring at him.

He peered down at her, a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey, Mia,” I greeted. “A little early for a visit, isn’t it?”

“Sorry,” she said. “Boxer’s never had a woman here. I’ll call next time. For the record, it’s almost ten. Hardly early.”

I inclined my head and accepted her apology and marveled that I’d slept so late. Then I remembered we’d woken up in the middle of the night for a chat…and other things. The other things made sleeping late easy.

The coffee was brewing but hadn’t finished yet.

“Sit,” I told her. “Get off those feet.”

“How did you know?” she asked as she walked to a kitchen chair. She sank down into it and moaned softly.

“I guessed,” I said in amusement.

“Good guess.”

“So, what’s this bone you have to pick with Boxer?” I asked.

“Jughead, here, taught Silas his ways with women.” She pinned him with another glare. “When I went to pick Silas up from school, not only did he have three girls buzzing around him, but they’d all baked him cookies. Cookies, Boxer!”

“What’s wrong with cookies?” he asked with a raise of his brows. “You make cookies all the time.”

The coffee maker was sputtering to the end of its brew cycle, and Boxer went to a cabinet and pulled out three mugs.

“None for me. I’ve already had my cup of caffeine for the day,” Mia said.

“Was he disrespectful? To the girls, I mean? Because I’ll tan his hide if that’s the case,” Boxer said lightly.

“No, he wasn’t being disrespectful,” Mia repeated. “He informed me he invited the three of them to dinner tomorrow night, and they all accepted.”

“Three preteen girls all vying for attention of the same boy,” I said. “That sounds like it could get a little catty.”

“Don’t worry, I taught Silas how to handle them,” Boxer stated.

“Handlethem?” Mia’s face suffused with color.

“She’s pregnant,” I reminded Boxer. “Can you try not to raise her blood pressure?”

Boxer brought the two mugs of coffee to the table and then took a seat. He patted his knee, and I immediately went to him and perched on his lap.

“Are you really pissed that I taught Silas how to flirt? Or are you pissed that he’s finally noticing the opposite sex?” Boxer asked.

Mia sniffed and quickly wiped her eyes. “He’s only twelve.”

“And you want him to stay a boy a while longer,” Boxer said. “He came to me, Mia. I swear.”

Mia nodded.

Boxer let out a soft laugh.

“What?” she demanded.

“He’s killing it. Three girls hanging around him? Maybe he can give me some tips.”

It was my turn to glare at him. He grinned cheekily at me. “For when you throw me overboard because you get sick of my shit.” He wrapped an arm around me, and I sank back into him.

“I brought you a lasagna. It’s in the fridge,” Mia said.

I raised my brows at her. “You were pissed at Boxer, yet you brought him food?”

Mia sighed. “Yeah. Even when I’m mad at him, I feed him. No wonder Silas is doing great with the girls in his class.”

I sipped my coffee and ran my fingers through the hair at Boxer’s nape.

“Well, I better go. Sorry again about barging in here, Linden.”

“You didn’t offer me an apology,” Boxer said.

“I promise not to abuse my key privileges,” Mia drawled. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “The kid already knows about the birds and the bees. You know that, right?”

She sighed, her hand covering her swollen belly. “Inevitable, I guess. Bikers for uncles. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this at all.”

“That’s life,” Boxer said with a wry grin.

“Helpful. Thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “See you guys tonight.” The front door shut, and we were alone.

“Tonight,” I repeated. “Ah, Joni and Zip’s party. That’s still happening?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Because you were shot?”

“And the world still turns, Doc.”

I couldn’t really argue with that.

“She brings you food even when she’s mad at you,” I said, changing the subject and getting up off his lap and going to the refrigerator. I opened the door and pulled out the carton of eggs.

“Does that bother you?” he inquired casually.

Far too casually.

“Was there anything between you guys?” I asked, not looking at him. “Mixing bowl?”

“Bottom cabinet in the corner,” he said. “And no. There was never anything between me and Mia. It’s not like that with us.”

“She loves you,” I said. I found the medium-sized bowl and set it on the counter.

“I love her. She’s family.”

I nodded and cracked an egg.

“You can say it you know,” he said.

“Say what?”

“That you love me.”

Shell fell into the bowl. With a curse, I picked it out and tossed it into the sink.

He chuckled, and then I felt him come up behind me. Boxer wrapped his arms around me and pressed his chin to my shoulder. “I should’ve warned you.”

“About?”

“My lethal charm.”

“It might’ve been helpful,” I said dryly, turning to face him. “The nurses going gaga over you should’ve been warning enough.”

He covered my lips with his and then his tongue was in my mouth, and I didn’t care about eggs or breakfast.

I turned in his embrace, my back against the counter. I lifted my leg to rest it on his hip, opening myself up to him. His hand delved between my legs, his fingers teasing the purple satin underwear I wore.

He found me wet and ready when he slipped his finger inside me. My back bowed as pleasure skated down my spine.

Boxer continued to torment me.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Give me the words, Doc.”

“Boxer…”

He pulled his finger from me and then he tugged down his sweats, freeing himself. Boxer pushed my underwear aside and tormented my entrance with the crown of his shaft.

I felt just the tip of him at first and then my body swallowed him, welcoming him inside me.

Our moans echoed off the kitchen walls. I tried to get my bearings by grasping for the counter, but all I did was knock the egg carton and bowl to the floor.

He rammed into me harder, his hand curling around my hip.

“Say it,” he said, his silver eyes meeting mine.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Say it,” he said again, this time softer. He stilled inside of me, refusing to move.

“Blackmail,” I snapped. “Not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war, Doc. Say it and then I’ll make you scream my name.”

“Too charming and too arrogant,” I said.

He rolled his hips, and I felt him everywhere inside of me. My body was no longer my own, but his to worship and pleasure.

Boxer’s hands left my hips to slide up my arms and then to cup my cheeks, so I was forced to stare into his unyielding gaze.

He swiped his thumbs at the corners of my eyes, waiting, seemingly eternally patient.

“I’m not ready,” I whispered. “Please, I just need—”

His lips silenced my fears and ignited my body in pleasure.

My moans of desire reverberated off the walls as he began to thrust again and again. If anything, he used me harder, pleasured me deeper.

His hand slid to the nape of my neck as he came.

Our breathing was labored, and he was heavy, but I never wanted him to move.

I reached down and clasped his butt, dragging him even closer.

He shuddered with raw gratification. “I knew this kitchen had a better use than for cooking.”

And then he eased out of me. He tucked himself back into his sweats as he looked around at the carnage. “Yeah, we’ll be going out for breakfast.”

I brushed a kiss along his stubbly jaw. “Shower first.”

“Okay, but keep your hands to yourself, woman, or we’ll never get out of here.”