Fix You: Bash and Olivia (2 page)

"You can say whatever you want to, Olivia, but we both know the truth. If you didn't want the attention, you wouldn't dress that way. So what am I supposed to do when guys stare at you like they want to fuck you, and think they can paw all over you?" The pulse in his neck pounded furiously and I bit my lip hard to keep from bursting into tears. "Do you know how that makes me look? Like some kind of bitch-ass punk, that's how."

He nailed the wall behind my head again with his fist. At least now I knew the root of the problem. If I could diffuse the situation and get out of there, we could talk it through tomorrow when he was thinking clearer. It was long past time that I stopped hiding my head in the sand and dealt with this head-on, but I wasn’t going to do it when he was wasted.

I grabbed his arm and tried to keep my voice calm in spite of the fact that my stomach was roiling and the alcohol in my system was about to make a reappearance down the front of my shirt. "Andy, I'm not dressed any different than most of the girls here. And the guy who grabbed me caught me to keep me from falling. He works here. He was just doing his job."

His mouth twisted into the ugly smirk I’d seen only once before, two weeks ago, and I knew shit was about to get really mean. Would he seriously hurt me this time? The fight or flight instinct hit hard and, heart slamming against my ribs, I ducked underneath his arms to make a grab for the door handle. I'd just gotten it open a crack when he kicked it shut again.

"Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you.” He pulled me away from the door and shoved me against the wall again, this time crowding me until I had to crane my neck back to see his face. His hand closed over my throat, and his voice dropped low. "If you ever embarrass me like that again in front of my boys, I will make you regret it. Do you understand me?"

In shock, body shaking like a leaf in the March winds, I nodded, ready to say anything to make him let me go. His grip wasn't tight, but it was enough that it chilled me to the bone. Brutal violence was right there, under the surface, waiting to erupt, and I was one false move away from giving him an excuse to unleash it.

"I asked you a question. Do you understand me?"

I wet my lips and croaked out half a "yes," but before I got any further, the door flew open, squealing on its hinges and slamming against the wall so hard, the whole room vibrated.

"I'm going to give you three seconds to let her go."

I couldn’t see past Andy’s rugby-wide shoulders, but I recognized the voice and the sound of it sent bile rising in my throat.

Sebastian. My knight in shining armor for the second time that night.

Jesus, Andy was going to kill him.

“One.” Sebastian’s voice was serious as a heart attack.

"Who the fuck are y—"

"Two."

But three never came. One second, Andy's hand was around my throat, the next he was flat on his back, sprawled across the filthy tile floor, lip split and gushing blood.

Sebastian took my chin in a surprisingly gentle, steady grip and examined my face. "Are you okay?"

I tried to talk, but the words were stuck. My teeth chattered uncontrollably and my whole body felt numb. It took me a few seconds to pull myself together and finally manage a firm nod. He released me reluctantly, his perceptive gaze taking in far too much.

"Do you have a friend here who can take you home?"

Odd how in that moment I noticed the strangest, most minute details, like everything had been amplified by a thousand. The way his skin smelled of clean sweat and sports-scented deodorant. The clenched tightness of his stubbled jaw that belied the concern in his crystal blue eyes. The way he never even looked down at bleeding Andy to see if he would get back up and fight. It was like nothing else mattered, except for me.

"Hey, you with me? How many fingers am I holding up?"

His low, husky tone had grown more urgent and he held three fingers in front of my face. I took a steadying breath and tried not to think about what had happened, or what the ramifications would be. Instead, I focused on the strong, capable hand in my line of sight, knowing he needed a response. "Three."

“Okay, that’s real good. Now we’ve got to get you out of here.” He laced his fingers with mine and tugged me toward the door. “Let me see if I can talk my boss into letting me cut out long enough to take you home, all right?"

"N-no. It's okay.” Panic made my voice sound shrill and reedy, but I’d already caused this guy enough trouble. No way was I going to get him in hot water at his job on top of it.  There was also some part of me that knew, if I spent even one more minute with him, it would send my already hella-fucked-up life into yet another tailspin. I cleared my throat and tried to work up a reassuring smile. “I do have a friend here. If you can help me find her, I'll get a ride."

He eyed me dubiously, but his gaze was already growing shuttered and the loss of that warmth made me feel empty inside. When had a guy last looked at me that way? Like he was really seeing me?

Andy groaned from his parking place on the floor and I shoved my savior toward the exit, dimly aware of the heat of his skin seeping into my icy hands.

“Go,” I whispered urgently. “Neither of us will want to be here when he gets up.” Although at least one of us was going to have to face him sooner or later.

And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Chapter Two

Bash

“If I don’t let you go, he’s going to press charges,” Marco said with a shrug of his beefy shoulders. “It’s a no-brainer, kid. His family’s got cash out the wazoo and can cause me a shit-ton of problems. This bar only exists because of the students at Crestville. I’m really sorry.”

That made two of us. I squeezed my eyes closed with a nod and moved to yank my apron off, but Marco held up a hand to stop me.

“You don’t have to go until the end of the week. Apparently the bozo called his daddy from the airport this morning to complain. He's on his way to Cabo and won’t be back in Boston until Monday. What he don't know won't hurt him, right?"

I wasn’t too sure about that. The guy hadn’t known me, and I sure as hell hurt him.

Bastard.

I flexed my hand, recalling the satisfaction of busting the motherfucker in the chops. Maybe it was wrong to feel that way, but I didn’t question it. Fighting was a way of life. Something I'd done from the cradle on. First with my brothers over the last piece of chicken or whose turn it was to be at bat. Then, later, with my father when he took us to the gym and taught us to box. Those had been the best years of my life. Before everything turned to shit.

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth that came rushing in every time I thought about my parents and focused on the now. Not that it was all that hot, either.

"Any chance they'll let it go?" I asked. Seemed unlikely, but I’d kick myself if I didn’t at least ask. I needed this job for another couple months.

"Didn't seem that way.” Marco scrubbed a hand over his hangdog eyes. “His father was a real dickbag, tossing out words like 'felony' and 'battery.' I think it's best for you if you stay out of his way, kid."

I’d figured as much. "Okay. If that's the way it has to be, that's the way it has to be."

Marco's pursed lips and the regret on his face told me it hadn't been an easy decision on his part. There was no point in making him feel shitty about it. Shorty's was his livelihood. What choice did he have?

"I appreciate you letting me stick around for the week." That would give me some time to figure out another way to come up with next month's rent. Not ideal, but definitely not the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

"And look, come see me again mid-May. Once the students leave for the summer, you can come back. Hell, maybe the kid is even graduating. We could look at this as a hiatus and it'll be like you never left."

Hiatus my ass. If I was still in Boston come summer, I'd eat a fucking bullet. This little hiccup only lit a fire under me to go harder. I made a silent vow to contact Butchie as soon as I got home and talk to him about scheduling some amateur fights in Atlantic City. He’d bitch a little, and say I shouldn’t get into the ring again until the Spada fight, but in the end, the almighty dollar would win him over. Twenty percent of my take was enough to override his objections.

Marco and I stood there for a long, uncomfortable moment created by a bad situation, until I gestured to the back room. “I’m going to go re-stock for tonight.”

I’d started to cross the beat-up floor when Marco's low voice stopped me.

"Hey, kid?"

I threw him a quick glance over my shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Was she worth it?"

Shit, that was the ten-thousand-dollar question, wasn't it? Or at least the four-hundred-and-eighty-dollar question, since that was what I made at Shorty's in a given week.

Was she worth it?

I thought back to the girl with the long, wavy brown hair and the turquoise eyes. The way she looked at me. The way she smelled. Then I thought about the fear on her face. And that motherfucker with his hands wrapped around her neck.

“Yup.” I gave Marco a curt nod. "All day, every day, boss."

Two hours later, I'd restocked the bottles and switched out the kegs from the night before. It was late afternoon and we were already getting a few stragglers in for a Monday happy hour quickie. Spring break wasn’t a busy time for us, but with the students away, the townies came to play. Shorty’s would do a decent dinner business and I'd still be out before midnight, which was good. I’d have a chance to stop off at the corner store before they closed and pick up a newspaper to look for a job.

I'd just had the cook fix me a turkey sandwich on my break and was about to tuck into it when a soft voice stopped me.

"Sebastian?"

When I'd heard her talk the night before, the place had been mobbed and the music was playing, so if someone had asked me if I would've known her voice, I'd have said no.

I would’ve been wrong.

The husky tone flowed through me like an electrical current and settled somewhere over my chest. I turned to face her and set my sandwich back on the plate, remembering my manners. "It’s Bash," I said, wiping my fingers on my apron and holding out a hand. "Nice you meet you."

Sometimes, you see a girl and it's like, damn, she's hot. And all these dirty thoughts go through your mind, even when you don't want them to. Even if it's your buddy’s girlfriend. Even if you can't stand her. Hell, sometimes even if you haven't seen her
face
.

This wasn't that. When I saw her up close for the first time, I’d wanted to tuck her into my chest and hold her tight. To tell her that everything was going to be all right. To touch her skin because it looked so goddamned soft and sweet. I felt the same way this time.

Which was how I knew right off that bat that I needed to stay far, far away. I couldn’t afford to get stuck on a girl right now. Especially an uptown one like this. I wasn’t even close to good enough for her. Still, the least I could do was take a minute to try to convince her that that other asshole wasn't either.

"Bash, then. Olivia Beckett." She shook my hand and her pretty lips tipped into a sad smile. "It's nice to meet you too." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and shifted from foot to foot, her high-heeled brown boots clicking softly against the wood floor. "Um, do you mind if I sit with you for a minute?"

I nodded and pushed the stool next to me out with my foot. She sat, slinging her purse onto the bar before taking a deep breath and facing me.

"I'm so, so sorry about last night.” The words poured from her mouth in a rush. “I appreciate what you did more than you could ever know. It was absolutely the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. But—" She swallowed hard and met my gaze. “I guess that old saying is right. No good deed goes unpunished. See, my boyfriend, Andy, contacted his family and he—”

Hearing her call him that—her “boyfriend” and not her “ex,” or “that asshole”—sent a stab of annoyance through me and I cut her short.

“I already know. My boss just let me go. I’m out of here at the end of the week.” I’d spent less than three minutes total in this girl’s company and she’d already managed get under my skin. If she was such a mess that she would put up with a guy manhandling her, I needed to get control over my reactions to her, quick.

I faced front again, picked up my sandwich, and took a bite--because fuck manners--but the food was like a pile of rubber in my mouth.

“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry. I was hoping I’d talked him out of it.” She grabbed my forearm and squeezed it desperately. “I need to know how to make this right.”

She sounded so miserable, it was hard not to feel for her. I set down my lunch again with a sigh and spun my stool around.

"It's not your fault." For the second time in the past three hours, I was consoling somebody else over my getting fired. Something was ass-backward about that, but it also felt right. She hadn't asked for my help the night before. I'd let my temper get the better of me and gotten into her business. I knew the risks and did it anyway. There was no one to blame but myself here, and I told her so.

I should've left it at that.

"But I gotta know…what are you doing with a guy like him? You seem smart. You're attractive."

The more I looked at her, the more I realized that was the understatement of the millennium. She was beautiful. Like one of the women in those grainy black-and-white movies my great-grandmother used to watch when we'd visit her at the old folks’ home. Not flashy, or with a ton of makeup that had you scratching your head over why her skin looked so tan in the middle of winter. Just…right. The almond shape of her eyes emphasized by a light dusting of gold, the bow of her lips highlighted with a sheen that didn't make you wonder if your mouths would be glued together for eternity if you tried to kiss her. At the moment, though, those lips were twisted into a frown.

"Thanks?" she said with a half laugh.

I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest. "Take it however you want, but it was meant to be a compliment. You're too good for a guy like that."