Unraveled (Woodlands) (37 page)

“Hamilton emailed me about your socks, you know. He wants a pair.”

“Hamilton can go suck his thumb.”

Sam didn’t respond; she just continued to knit.

“What’re you working on?” I asked.

“I got another order for a layette, so I’m making this little sweater. The booties and hat are done. I’m getting fast enough that I might break even.” She laughed. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to quit waiting tables to pay the rent.”

I shifted in my chair, wondering if now was the time to bring up a subject that had simmered at the top of my head the entire time I was gone. It was a risky topic, and I didn’t relish putting myself out there, but for once I wanted to beat Sam to the punch. She’d been the one to hit on me first. She came to see me after our rock climbing fiasco. She came out to San Diego. This one time, I wanted to be the one to make the gesture.

“You could marry me.”

The sound of the needles stopped abruptly. I was hesitant to look at Sam, a little nervous about what expression she’d be wearing. Would it be astonishment? Or maybe chagrin? I tipped my head slightly so I could glance at her in my periphery. Her mouth was hanging open and her knitting had fallen unnoticed to her lap. That wasn’t quite the response I was hoping for.

“Gray Phillips, did you just propose to me by the pool in front of all these people?”

It was like a trick question. I had to make sure I gave the right answer. “Yes?”

“I should stab you with one of my needles.”

“That’s not the answer I was hoping for.” I got down on one knee, in front of the avid gazes of the sailors and Marines who lived in this apartment complex. Pulling out the ring box, I flipped it open so that the sun shown down on the pink diamond in the platinum setting. It was very different than what she’d worn before and I held my breath waiting for her answer.

The sound of her wild laugh, the one she let out when we rappelled down the cliff together that very first time, rang out in the courtyard. It was pure, unadultered joy. Goddamn, I loved her. Shoving the ring on her finger, I picked her up and twirled her around and around until we were both dizzy.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” She placed a hand on either side of my face and we kissed, hungrily and lovingly and for a very long time but we didn’t leave right away. Too many people came over to look at the ring, congratulate Sam and I, and generally give us the business—in jest. But it felt great. I wanted everyone to know I’d fallen irrevocably in love with this woman whose courage in life blew me away.

<<<<<< The End >>>>>

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Bo's story is told in
Unspoken
, the second in the Woodlands series. Read on for an excerpt. Even better, sign up for my newsletter and receive a weekly webseries episode featuring Bo's daughter Charlotte and Noah's son Nathan titled the Charlotte Chronicles.
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It's hard to know where to start because there are so many people who are so important to this book that it is hard to know where to start.  First, though, special thanks must go to my beta readers. These are folks who read my work often more than once during the revision process. Without their help, Unraveled wouldn't be the book that it is today. Thank you to Brie, Elyssa Papa, Kati, and, last but certainly not least, CeCe. CeCe, your insights were amazing. Thank you for pushing me to dig deeper.  

I'm blessed with an amazing circle of writerly friends including Daphne who listened to 
me talk about the plot and helped me discard some really bad ideas and for just being an amazing friend and Jessica Clare and Katy Evans who not only helped me over rough spots in the manuscript but whose hand holding during release week help to keep me sane. 

To AW, I don't know how you do it but your editing pen is magical. I appreciate the numerous times you read through this manuscript because every suggestion made this a better book.  

Meljean Brook, I don't know why you have all the skills in the world. It's unfair. You can create amazing covers and print designs but also write more magically than most of us mortals. Thanks for being a friend.

Lisa at The Rock Stars of Romance, you've been with me since the beginning. I can't believe the journey we've had together. Thank you for non stop support.  And to Michelle at All Romance Reviews, our facebook chats are the highlight of many of my days.

Thank you to all of the bloggers who participated in the blog tour and/or reviewed Unraveled and to all the reviewers who've left reviews and readers who've read our book, your support is amazing.

Finally, to the MGL. I hope to be reading a book from every one of you soon. 

BO

“T
AMPONS
SLOWING
YOU
DOWN
THIS
morning?” I taunted the young businessman who’d volunteered to spar with me this morning. We’d been dancing around each other for the last five minutes. I wasn’t here to carefully gauge the length of his reach or the power of his jab. I wanted him to hit me, and I wanted to hit him back.

My smear on his manhood worked better than a fist to his gut. He jerked out of whatever fantasy he was concocting of being the next king of the Octagon and rushed me. I waited, slid slightly to the side, and then kneed him in the ribs. As he was bending over from the impact, I brought up a left uppercut and then a right punch. He crumpled like a tin can at a recycling center.

As he lay face down at my feet, it occurred to me I’d made a big strategic error. My third of the morning. I was a slow learner. I looked up to see Noah Jackson shaking his head at me. Noah was my best friend, Marine battle buddy, and roommate. He knew me better than anyone else.

He knew the lightbulb had just gone off over my head. There would be no more hitting in the Spartan Gym today, which meant my hope for a good match was as sunk as the guy at my feet.

With a groan, yuppie number three rolled over. I pulled off a glove and offered him a hand up. He looked at it for a couple of heartbeats like I might punch him again. Christ, I wasn’t a jackass. I didn’t mind fighting dirty if the situation called for it, but I wasn’t going to hit someone who was weaker than I was, who couldn’t fight back. You got smacked around here at the Spartan Gym. That was the whole point.

At least that was why I was here. I woke up every morning with an itch under my skin. I could work out that irritation a couple of ways. My preferred method was fighting. But the downed businessman with the soft hands was my third opponent this morning and not one of them had laid a hand on me outside of a few glancing blows that slid off my protective headgear.

I pulled back my hand and walked over to the corner, shaking my head in disgust. Pauli Generoli, the owner of the gym, climbed into the ring and glared at me. I wasn’t supposed to damage the merchandise. These rich guys were the way he paid for his gym and when they weren’t given enough opportunity to feel like conquerors, they didn’t want to come back. I ignored his summons to come over and jumped down off the platform. Noah was on the mats to the side, practicing some Brazilian jiu-jitsu moves.

Noah used to partner with me. Or actually, I sparred with him to ready him for a world of professional fighting. I wasn’t allowed to do this anymore, as Noah had been invited to be part of the UFC, the officially sanctioned group of mixed martial arts fighters.

Paulie, who trained Noah, said I was too dangerous and undisciplined to fight Noah. I thought it was better for Noah to face down dangerous and unpredictable in the safety of a gym setting before facing it inside the Octagon, where the UFC fighters battled for fame and money, but I never voiced any opposition.

If it were anyone other than Noah, I wouldn’t have kept quiet, but I wasn’t going screw up Noah’s opportunities here. Even if I wanted to because Noah could put a beatdown on me like none other, and we both felt better after. None of the other amateur fighters could get in enough blows to make a difference and my fight instinct was too strong to just stand there and take it.

I pushed open the door to the locker room, and the stifling smell of ball sweat and ass swept over me. Stripping out of my shorts and jock strap, I leaned into one of the two tiled shower stalls at the back to turn the water on. Paulie was not a generous owner. Complain about the cold water and he’d tell you it was called Spartan Gym for a fucking reason and that if we wanted some goddamned hot water we could go to the meatbars out west. Didn’t seem like much of a difference these days, with the infiltration of yuppies thinking they could grow a bigger dick by putting on a pair of boxing gloves.

The cold water washed away what little sweat I’d generated, but the excess energy inside me still pulsed just under the surface. The tension I’d woken up with hadn’t been pounded out of me, and I felt as agitated now as I had at the start of my workout. With all the good fighters off limits because I wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone while they were training, I was left with few options.

I dried off quickly and pulled on my underwear.

Throwing my towel on the metal bench, I sat down and scrolled through my phone’s contacts until I hit the right one.

Fight tonight?
The response was immediate but disappointing. Too early in the week for an actual match.

Thursday. Casino. Real fight. Want in?

The reservations held the human version of cockfights because they weren’t bound by state laws. This could be awesome or I could go home on a backboard. Either one looked good to me right now.

In.

The locker-room door creaked on its hinges as Noah pushed his way in.

“Already done for the morning?” I asked in surprise.

“Just wanted to put my two cents in,” Noah said.

“How so?”

“Figure you’re trying to set up some fight this week because this morning’s rounds were so disappointing.”

I just shrugged in return. I wasn’t exaggerating about Noah’s familiarity with my behavior. More than a decade of friendship and four years of military service deployed together to Afghanistan made us tighter than an ass in spandex.

“Look, I don’t want to be the heavy, but one of these days you’re going to come out of these fights a vegetable.”

I scratched the back of my neck and took a deep breath to gather some patience. I didn’t want to say something that would end up pissing us both off. “Okay, Grandma. You’re one to talk.”

“It’s sort of a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ type of lecture,” he admitted sheepishly.

“You have other suggestions?”

“Not really. Just be careful. I think the crew back in San Diego would spit on your hospital bed if you ended up in a coma after you’d come back hale and hearty from deployment.”

He wasn’t wrong. No one liked to hear the news about a brother who survived the war only to come home and get fucked up in some random accident. It seemed pointless, a total waste of a good man, but I wouldn’t ever put myself in the “good man” category. “Yeah, got it.”

I stood and pulled the rest of my clothes from the locker. Jeans, ratty T-shirt, boots, and a heavy winter coat that weighed about ten pounds. I hated the cold. As I threw my clothes on the bench, the clink of metal sounded loud against the concrete floor.

Noah walked over and picked up the heavy coin that had fallen. “What do you think this guy would say about your fighting?”

The heavy coin with the emblem of the Medal of Honor stared up at me, almost as if it looked disappointed.
Do the Corps proud, both in uniform and out.

I rubbed both hands over my face. “You’re a dirty fighter, Noah Jackson.” I snatched the coin from his hand and curled my fist around it until the rope-finished edges bit into my skin.