The Harder You Fall

CHAPTER TWO

LINCOLN WEST NEARLY put his fist through the front door of the WOH building. Fury was a prowling, fire-breathing dragon in his chest as he peered through the window, watching Jessie Kay interact with Daniel Porter, a man she used to date. A man younger than West, and even younger than Jessie Kay. What the hell were they discussing? Daniel’s need for a diaper change? The latest in pacifier technology?

Had the two started dating again? The way Daniel was grinning at her...

An animal-like growl split West’s lips, surprising him. He didn’t give two shits who Jessie Kay dated. Yes, she was temptation wrapped in seduction, a Southern beauty with a viper’s tongue, a rapier wit and a bone-deep grit that rivaled his own. Yes, she’d basically blown his mind with her brilliant concept of time. But it didn’t matter; she was completely off-limits, which made his behavior today a complete non sequitur.

Knowing she would insist on making sandwich deliveries despite the weather, he’d waited outside her house this morning, his car hidden by a mound of snow. He’d followed her into town to make sure she arrived in one piece, and as she’d distributed the goodies in her basket, he’d sat in his nice, warm office staring at the clock, bordering on panic when she failed to arrive at a reasonable time.

He’d planned to follow her home as soon as she left the office. Now Daniel could have the honor.

“I’ve known that girl since she upended my third-grade class.” Cora stapled a bundle of papers together. “Always in trouble for talking, always tardy, but always kindhearted. If anyone was having a bad day, she’d be the first to offer comfort and whatever dessert her mother had packed in her lunch box.”

He wished he’d known Jessie Kay back then. He would have been the kid she comforted, the one who received her dessert. Maybe they would have grown up to be friends. He’d had very few of those over the years. Hell, besides Jase and Beck, both of whom he’d met in foster care, he’d been alone.

Boo hoo. Poor baby.

He snapped, “Not another word about her,” and stalked to his office.

He couldn’t afford to like Jessie Kay. He just...couldn’t. There was too much feeling there. Some of it good—too good—and a lot of it bad.

The day he’d met her, he’d flashed back to Tessa, the only girl he’d ever loved. The girl he’d lost. He’d promised to throw her an elaborate party, a “congrats for passing your GED exam” only to forget. When she’d shown up expecting an adoring crowd, flowers and balloons, she’d gotten a coked-out West, cold beer and leftover pizza.

She’d burst into tears and driven away...and he’d found out a few hours later she crashed her car and died instantly.

The flashback had unnerved him. There’d been no reason for it.

Jessie Kay looked nothing like Tessa. The two were as different as night and day, in fact. While Tessa had been short and slender with dark hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes that hinted at a multicultural heritage, Jessie Kay was tall and curvy with pale hair and navy blue eyes that were always simmering with enough heat to blister.

The only thing they had in common? Both were beautiful. And, honestly, they were the only two women in the world capable of jacking up his blood pressure with only a glance.

When he’d been sober, he’d treated Tessa like a queen. Now he was always sober, but he only ever treated Jessie Kay like a portal to hell. Not on purpose. Or maybe it was on purpose. The first time he’d seen her, he’d wanted her with an intensity that had scared him stupid, but she’d ended up sleeping with Beck, and later on, Jase.

It’s my turn now.

The thought—one he’d had many times before—pissed him off. There was no reason good enough to risk bad blood between him and his friends. Not that either guy would care if he and Jessie Kay hooked up. They encouraged him to go for it at least once a day. They liked her. The problem was West. If he had her—this woman who sometimes haunted his dreams—would he grow to resent his friends for beating him to the finish line?

The mere possibility always stopped him from making a move. Always pissed him off more than the “my turn” nonsense. He would let nothing come between him and his boys.

West tossed the contaminated sandwich in the garbage, fell into his chair with a grunt and loosened the knot in his tie, which was currently choking the life out of him. If food touched the floor, it never touched his lips. In one of the foster homes he’d lived, the father found it hilarious to watch the kids in his care eat off dirty linoleum, their hands tied behind their backs.

Get used to it, boy. Some people aren’t meant for better.

Not all of the homes had been hellholes. Most had been pretty decent, granting him a better life than he ever would have had with his mom. Della West had never mistreated him and might have even loved him, but she’d loved her heroin more.

A knock sounded at his door. He glanced up to find Beck standing in the open doorway.

The six-foot self-proclaimed sex god strode into the office and plopped into the chair across from the desk. Flakes of snow dotted the guy’s hair, giving the gold and brown strands a deeper depth of color.

He unwound a cashmere scarf and shrugged out of his coat. “Saw Jessie Kay and Daniel Porter on my way in. You all right?”

He wished his friends had never clued in to his struggle—wanting her, but not wanting to want her. “I’m fine.”

“Well, could you do me a favor and inform your face? You look like you’re constipated.”

“Haven’t you heard? Constipation is the new black. All the cool kids are doing it. Or not doing it.”

Beck snorted, his amber eyes twinkling. Unfortunately, the amusement didn’t last long. “Seriously, my man. You good?”

The guy worried about him. That wasn’t new. To be honest, West worried about himself.

As a kid, he vowed he wouldn’t end up like his mother. And for most of his teenage years, he’d succeeded, treating drugs and alcohol like the enemy. Then Jase was sent to prison for a crime West and Beck helped him commit, and West had wanted to escape reality, just for a little while. Coke isn’t heroin, he’d rationalized. The same rationalization he’d used the next time...and the next...

When Tessa died, it wasn’t long before the highlight of his day was cutting blow and snorting from any flat surface he could find—before he woke up nearly every morning covered in his own vomit.

Eventually he lost his scholarship to MIT, which was just another reason to get high. He’d failed himself, but more important, he’d failed his friends. Jase had taken full responsibility for their crime so West could go to school, get a degree and make something of his life. Beck wasted years trying to get him clean.

Even now, guilt was too strong to shake.

He’d failed Tessa worst of all. He’d even failed his mom. When he’d finally sobered up, putting himself in a place to help her with her own problem, it was too late. She was already dead. One overdose too many.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to relapse. I’m attracted to Jessie Kay, but I’m not in love with her.” He would never allow himself to fall so deeply again.

“Why not? She’s the total package. A lady in the kitchen and a wildcat—”

“Stop talking,” he said through suddenly gritted teeth.

“Everywhere else.” Beck had always dealt with tense situations in one of two ways: teasing or taunting. “Why? What’d you think I was going to say?”

Refuse to resent. “If she’s so world-class amazing, why didn’t you fall for her?”

“One of the hazards of jumping into bed too fast.” Beck shrugged. “You find out later you’re better off as friends. Besides, she’s not Harlow.”

She wasn’t Tessa, either. And now this conversation was over. “All right. If I’ve passed today’s sobriety test, I’ve got work to do.”

“Happy to say you passed the sobriety test. Sad to say you failed the asshole test.”

“Not that. Anything but that.” He shook a fist toward the ceiling. “Why? Why me?”

“And now you’ve failed the shithead test. Where’s my thanks for showing up just because my best friend is a workaholic and he’d throw a he-hissy if I suggested we take an ice break?”

“Here.” West flipped him off. “This is your thanks.”

Grinning, Beck stood and gathered his discarded garments. “Heartwarming. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Alone, West admitted that, despite his levity, he wasn’t actually in a good place. Could he pass a true sobriety test?

Let’s find out.

He unlocked and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. A bottle of Lagavulin stared up at him. He traced a finger over the cold glass.

Drink me, the whiskey said. Just a sip. I’ll help you relax.

Truer words had never not been spoken. But West knew the sense of relaxation would only last for a little while. Later he would fall back into his foul mood and he would need another drink...and then he’d turn to coke. The bane of his existence. The demon on his shoulder.

There’d been many mornings when, in the prime of his addiction, he’d frantically raced through his apartment on a hunt for money. He’d checked for loose bills under couch cushions and inside the washer and dryer, and when he’d found nothing, he’d snuck into Beck’s bedroom to rifle through dresser drawers. His desperation had been greater than his shame.

He’d needed a fix, and he’d needed it bad, but without cash, he wouldn’t get anything but grief from his dealer. He’d even contemplated doing what his mother used to do to get her fix...

He scrubbed a hand down his face, tried to forget... Can’t ever forget. His mother allowed her addict “friends” to do whatever they wanted to her body as long as they shared their supply. Sometimes she even sold herself to strangers. Anyone with a few dollars to spare.

One guy—

Call me Uncle Sam.

West shuddered. Whenever Sam had finished with Della he’d come looking for West. Not knowing what else to do, West had hidden in cabinets, under his bed and even inside the trash can. Sometimes he’d stayed hidden. A few times, he’d been found.

The fact that he’d ever considered selling himself...

He gave his head a violent shake to dislodge the claws of the past. His self-disgust remained.

“Drinking isn’t on my schedule.” He slammed the drawer shut, turned the lock and breathed in and out with purpose. He always stuck to his schedule. A habit he’d developed in rehab. Structure kept chaos—a trigger—at bay, every task a baby step that required time and attention to ultimately walk him to the end of his day as clean as a man like him could be.

Too many stains on my soul.

Speaking of his schedule... Four little words stared up at him from the screen of his phone. Follow Jessie Kay home.

Why had he penciled in such a thankless task?

Because he liked the way her sun-kissed skin flushed to a deep rose whenever she got angry? Because he liked the snarky things that came out of her mouth? A mouth he longed to taste. Because he liked the burn in his blood every time she stepped into a room? Liked the rush of matching wits with her?

Because he didn’t want the madness to end?

Idiot! Fool! A man could become addicted to a woman like her. Especially a man like him. And yet he still picked up the phone and pressed the button to connect him to Beck.

“I’m heading out for a little while.”

* * *

SATURDAY MORNING, WEST dressed in running shorts and a T-shirt that read “Goal Scouts.” During soccer season—March through October—he coached a team of underprivileged kids. Off-season, he played indoors with the big boys. A great source of therapy.

He anchored his shin guards in place, tied his shoes and glanced at the clock—8:59 a.m. Right on time. He smoothed the wrinkles in his comforter, ensured the lid to his dirty clothes hamper was closed and sailed into the kitchen to mix three protein shakes.

“Hey, man.” Jase strode around the corner, dressed and ready for the game.

Both Jase and Beck opted to join the indoor team rather than watching the action from the bleachers.

Jase played goalie. He had the body of a tank, and nothing got past him. Also, other teams tended to soil their pants with a single look at him. Everything from the spikes in his dark hair to the feral glaze in his green eyes said screw with me and pay the ultimate price.

Not exactly an idle threat. Having spent nearly a decade behind bars, he had a few issues and a whole lot of pent-up rage.

Aaand just like that, guilt burned through West like acid. “Hey.” He couldn’t meet his friend’s gaze as he slid one of the shakes across the counter. “Drink up.”

“Seriously?” Jase got in his face, forcing eye contact. “This is how you’re going to start the morning?”

“Since when do you have such a beef with protein?”

“I don’t care about the protein, and you know it. I care about the way you’re looking at me right now. Or trying not to look at me.”

Right. Jase actually expected West to forgive himself for the part he’d played in the prison sentence. And for a while, he’d tried. But guilt was the monster in the back of his mental closet, always there, always lurking, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. His friend had suffered unimaginable horrors, and for what? So West could throw his life away?

So, no, West wouldn’t be forgiving himself anytime soon.

“You’re the reason I’m what Brook Lynn refers to as a romance novel lover’s dream. Reformed and rich,” Jase said. “I’m grateful.”

West started WOH simply to keep himself busy during his recovery, but the hobby quickly became a cash cow. “You wouldn’t have gone to prison at all if I’d reacted differently to Tessa’s—”

He couldn’t say the word.

The night it happened, he’d been a newly minted eighteen-year-old kid fresh out of the foster system. He’d lived with his boys and had his eye on the prize: a happily-ever-after. Tessa had invited him to a party, but at the last minute he’d opted to stay home and tinker with a new motherboard. He could sell it, make money and buy his girl the world. She’d gone with her cousin, instead. Beck had gone on a date with a girl he’d met earlier that day, and Jase, a carpenter, had still been at work.

A sobbing Tessa had returned in the middle of the night. She’d always been an emotional girl, so he hadn’t reacted at first. Then she’d thrown herself into his arms and gasped out, “He...he... West, he forced me,” and everything had changed.

Dark rage swallowed West whole. He’d gotten the rest of the details out of her, picked up Jase and Beck, and hunted down the piece of shit responsible. The guy had been sleeping peacefully in his bed.

Yeah. They’d broken into his apartment.

West threw the first punch. When he felt cartilage shatter and saw drops of blood leak onto lips that had assaulted Tessa, he smiled without humor. He only wanted more blood, more destruction—wanted to deliver more pain.

The guy fell to the floor and cried, “She begged me for it!”

As he tried to crawl away, West kicked him in the ribs. A starting bell. Jase and Beck joined the boot party, and it was a brutal, savage thing. Wrath unleashed. Violence without equal. The three of them continued until the bastard stopped moving...stopped grunting...stopped breathing.

“West.” Jase’s voice drew him back into the present.

“You shouldn’t have asked us to hide our involvement.” Back then, they’d lived by a strict code. What one requests, the others do. The end. But West had soon found himself trapped in a prison of a different sort, one built from guilt and shame. “Especially me. You expected me to move to Massachusetts, to finish school and start a family with Tessa.” He released a sharp breath. “I never even set foot out of Oklahoma. And you know what happened to my girl.”

“I don’t regret my decision. I never have.”

No. Not true. “You must.” Emotion clogged his throat. “Beck and I used to visit you every week. I saw your bruises...know what happens to young, scrawny boys behind bars...” At eighteen, Jase had been extremely scrawny.

A muscle jumped in his friend’s jaw. “That’s the past. Over. Done.”

“Is it?” Sometimes West woke up to Jase’s screams.

Shouldn’t have brought this up. Too painful for us both.

I can do this. He pasted on a happy face and rolled with the punches. “You’re right. Of course. Over and done. Now drink your breakfast like a good boy.”

Jase peered at him for a long while, silent, before finally sighing. He tasted the shake and grimaced. “What’d you put in this thing? Arsenic?”

“Can’t be that bad.” West took a swig and shuddered. Yeah. It was that bad. “Arsenic would taste better. Brook Lynn awake?” The girl was magic in the kitchen. She could throw together—

“She left earlier this morning for a dress fitting. Something about gaining a pound and seams busting.”

Women and their weight. When would they realize skin-and-bones only impressed other women? Men preferred soft and lush...like Jessie Kay, rounded in all the right places.

Down boy. “Maybe Harlow—”

“Nope.” Jase shook his head. “She’s helping Jessie Kay with breakfast deliveries.”

First he’d thought the name. Now he’d heard the name. Can’t escape her.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Jase said, mercifully changing the subject, “I selected a construction company.”

“Good.” A few weeks ago, they’d decided to build two additional homes on the acreage. One for Jase and Brook Lynn, one for West and his misery. Beck and Harlow would keep the farmhouse since she’d grown up here and loved the place almost as much as she loved her fiancé. “What do you need me to do?”

“Call the owner on Monday and tell him what you want. I’ll text you his number.”

Beck stumbled into the kitchen. He was dressed and ready to go, but his hair was unkempt and his eyes rimmed with red. “What are you two yakking about?”

“Your bachelor party,” Jase deadpanned. “You want one stripper or four?”

“Dude.” Beck scratched his chest. “My life was a bachelor party. I don’t need another one.”

Jase snickered. “Afraid the little woman will protest?”

Like he wasn’t just as whipped.

“Actually, I’m afraid the little woman will ask the strippers for tips and I’ll die of a heart attack before I have the privilege of saying my vows.”

West handed him a shake. “Stop bragging about your love life and drink your breakfast, Becky. You need it.” The guy was an attacking midfielder, his skill with a ball unsurpassed. He remained calm under pressure, dishing out all kinds of abuse. “You step into the arena half-asleep and you’ll have your ass handed to you.”

“I should be so lucky.” Beck drained half the glass without reacting to the bitter taste. “It’s a nice ass.”

“Your modesty humbles me.” West was fast and agile, so he played center forward, stealing the ball—his ball—whenever it needed stealing. And it was his ball. Always. When he stepped onto the field, a sense of possession overtook him. Mine. Which was probably why he ended up the top scorer of every game.