Chapter 150

I set Mia on the floor of my bedroom on her playmate. She has toys scattered around. She immediately grabs a plastic rattle and starts chomping on the end of it.

After making sure she’s settled, I start doing some stretches. I’m running on empty tonight, after having been up all night with Beau. I managed to shower and change before Mia roused for breakfast, and now we were here, with Mia wide awake and me chugging down coffee and energy drinks.

But I’m okay. I still have some adrenaline pumping through me from last night – from my intimacy with Beau, from overhearing him and Archer, and even from the fight.

The fight is what I should focus on. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to compete in that underground ring someday. But Beau wasn’t lying either. If I want to make it without getting sent to the hospital, I need to train more.

I finish my stretching, take a stance, and then throw a punch into the air. And then another, and another. These are the more trained punches that warriors use, not the wilder ones the fighters used in the ring.

I take a breath, reset my stance and try again. This time, I add more passion into my throws. The exertion makes me grunt. Again and again, I push myself.

The punches have more force behind them then necessary for hitting the air. To full my passion, some heart-aching moments flood my mind. Archer ignoring me. Neil having to propose to Angela. Beau saying I don’t mean anything to him.

Beau’s words don’t hurt me. They don’t. But there is something so unpleasant about it, like an annoying splinter stuck right between my ribs.

I throw another punch. Another grunt.

Mia whacks her rattle against the ground.

Beau, from the doorway, says, “A bit of violence going on in here, I see.”

I swivel on my heel to face him standing just inside my room. A grin quirks his lips. He’s otherwise relaxed, leaning against the opened door.

“I heard some rather curious noises and thought I would investigate,” he says. “I see now that it was nothing to worry about.”

“What did you think I was doing?” I ask, attempting for levity to hide my hurt. “Fighting someone for real?”

“Perhaps not fighting…” He pushes off the door and saunters further into the room, closer to me.

Not fighting? Then, what?

It takes me longer than he should to realize he means sex. Is that what my grunts sounded like to him? And was it really curiosity that drove him here, or was it something more? There’s a bit of an edge in his smile, I see it now.

He said he didn’t care about me only a handful of hours ago. Surely he couldn’t actually be jealous I might be with another man?

Although, knowing him and his ego, he’d likely be more annoyed if he hadn’t completely satisfied me, and I needed to take a different lover so soon after being with him.

I roll my eyes at him. “I was only training.”

“I can see that now.” Beau kneels down beside Mia and gives her some attention. “Careful with that rattle. You wouldn’t want to break it.” He brushes his thumb over Mia’s cheek and she giggles.

It’s endearing, and I hate it. Because Beau means nothing to me. At least, I don’t want him to, and seeing him like this with Mia makes something in my heart melt just a tiny little bit.

I turn from them and throw a few more punches.

“You are sloppy,” Beau says. He stands and approaches me, coming up right beside me.

“Fuck off,” I snap.

He just grins wider. “Feisty. I like that.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Go away, Beau. Leave me be.”

“I could,” Beau says lightly. “Or I could be your sparring partner.”

I finally stop to really look at him. “You’d do that?”

“Sure.”

I have some suspicion he’s only offering as an excuse to put his arms around me, but as we square off and begin, he seems to genuinely want to help me. When I throw punches, he takes the time to correct my stance. And as we bout, though I never quite catch him off guard, he seems a bit impressed with my moves.

As our bout continues, I tell him honestly, “I can’t believe how civil you were. I really thought you would use this as a way to get into my pants.”

“Not in front of the baby,” he says with a laugh.

I hope it’s the opening I need, and throw a punch at him. He dodges and I miss, but suddenly he is right in front of me. He kisses the tip of my nose.

I stumble back, startled and embarrassed. My cheeks start to burn.

Beau uses this momentum to snatch my arms and trap them behind my back. Suddenly, I’m trapped against the strength of his body. He smirks at me.

“I win,” he says.

Then he twists away, scoops Mia up in his arms, and hollers in victory. “We’re the champions, Mia!” She giggles as he lifts her and glides her around.

It’s adorable, the bastard. I can’t seem to hate him no matter how hard I want to. Even with this defeat, I should be furious as hell. Instead, I’m just looking forward to next time.

Beau winks at me. “You’ll have to train harder if you want to beat me, Nanny.”

“Count on it,” I say.

Later, while Mia is down for her nap and Beau was flittered off to who-knows-where, I wander the halls and find myself standing outside of Neil’s door. I’ve been worried about him practically constantly since the revelation that he had that silver implanted.

I just want to make sure he’s still okay.

His door is opened just a crack, and I peek my head inside.

Neil stands in front of a canvas. He’s painting a vase of flowers. Or, at least, I think those are flowers, and that a vase. His usually straight, fluid brush strokes and splotchy and uneven.

Probably because his hand is shaking.

He’s trying very hard to stop it. The muscles in his arm are bulging with effort. But it appears like the harder he tries, the more his hand shakes.

Slowly, he lowers the brush down to the canvas.

Suddenly, his hand jerks, and his brush leaves a streak of white paint across the picture.

He growls in frustration and throws down his palette and brush. He grabs the canvas by the side, and in a fit of frustration and fury, he rips the painting straight in half. He throws both halves down onto the ground, adding to the mess he made.

My heart jumps into my throat. He’s such a clean freak, for him to make a mess like this must mean that his frustration has overrun his sense.

Or maybe he’s in such pain that his desire to keep everything in order has cracked straight through the middle.

I make a small gasp, and his gaze snaps to me. His eyes are wild, like he might shift in an instant.

I step further into his room, unafraid.