“Why aren’t you at work then?” she asked.
“Laid off.”
Her eyes flew back to his. “Seriously?”
“Wish I wasn’t serious.”
As she unrolled the gauze, anchoring it in place on a part of his hand that miraculously wasn’t cut, she said, “So you wrecked your bike and lost your job in the same twenty-four hours.”
He sighed. “That sums it up, yeah.”
“I’m so sorry, Tank.” She finished with his one hand and reached for the other. He lay it on her palm, his own dwarfing hers.
“You didn’t answer my question about dick wad.”
Long ago, she’d stopped trying to convince Tank to call Chad by his name. He didn’t like the guy, and she knew he was being like a big brother. Protective of her.
“What you saw at the diner was me walking away from another fight.”
Tank shook his head. “Why do you keep putting up with his shit? What’d he do this time? Accuse you of stepping out on him?”
She bit into her lip. “He wanted me to spend the night and I told him I work tomorrow and then the girls invited me out for drinks.”
He issued a low noise that sounded like a growl. While she swiftly changed the bandage on his hand, he remained silent, and she didn’t want to invite more backlash from him about Chad.
She finished his hand and started to pull away. He grabbed her fingers, and their gazes met.
“Why do you put up with him? You deserve so much better.”
“I’ve heard this before. Let me check your jaw.”
He dodged her touch. “It’s fine.”
She couldn’t tell by his mood if she should stay or not. She cleaned up the supplies and placed them back in the bathroom. When she returned, he reclined on the sofa with his feet up.
That almost alarmed her more than seeing the deep cuts and bruises marring his body.
“Maybe you should go back to the ER,” she said.
“Like hell. I’m gonna get some sleep, Catarina.”
“Yes. You should sleep. I’ll go. Make sure you drink lots of water. It will speed up the bruising process.”
“Thanks, medic.” He cracked a smile at her, and relief flooded through her at seeing it.
She moved to the door and threw a look back at him before she walked out. He didn’t budge from the couch, and she didn’t expect him to. But this was a change—she usually needed his help. So doing something for Tank, even bandaging his cuts, gave her a feeling of giving back for once. It felt good.
Chapter Two
Sports night at the Painted Pig meant the place was packed with fans and people who made sports a good excuse to drink more beer. Tank, standing heads above most everyone else in the place, spotted Fiona behind the bar and made his way to it for a drink.
“This place is nuts,” he said to her.
Dixon’s ‘old lady’ turned to him with a grin. “I know! Great night! Dixon’s in the back.”
“I figured. He got the pitchers ready?”
“Unless the guys drank them already.”
“Guess I’ll be back if they did.” He gave her a see-ya-later chin raise.
“Tank!” she called out.
He turned back to the bar.
“Good to see you’re feeling and looking better.”
He held back his grunt, not that she’d hear it above the noise of fans cheering for their team anyway. Looking better he could confirm from a glance in the mirror. His bruising had faded to a greenish yellow, and the worst of the cuts were healed. But feeling better? Not damn likely. After spending a week sitting on his damn couch, he couldn’t account for his state of mind.
As he moved around groups of people standing around with beers in hand and tables crowded with too many people, he considered where his life was at a week ago compared to now.
Beer. What I need is a drink with my bros.
Dixon glanced up from the head of the table where he held court among the Dark Falcons. “Well, look who finally left his house.” He stood to greet Tank, and all the guys got to their feet as well.
They gripped Tank’s hand and slapped him on the back, and he had to admit the welcome felt good.
“Got a beer for me?” he asked.
“Pour this man a beer!” Dixon called out.
Someone thrust a draft into Tank’s hand, and he guzzled it in one long swallow, which brought about encouragement from his brothers, so loud that it rose over those of the sports fans.
He drained the glass and slapped it down on the table. “I’m back, gentlemen.”
Laughter sounded as they all sank to their respective seats around the table. Tank looked around. “I see we won’t be conducting any business tonight, brothers.”
Dixon shook his head. “Most we’ll discuss at this table tonight is which pretty girl you boys will be taking home.” He cocked a brow at Tank.
He reached for the near-empty pitcher and dumped the last of the contents into his glass, ignoring Dixon’s far from subtle nudge to get into the game.
Luckily, Patriot interrupted with talk about Tank’s bike and when he planned to rebuild, and he didn’t need to think about women—or his lack of one—for the time being. Motorcycles he could handle.
“Man, you missed a great ride yesterday. We were bummed as fuck that you didn’t get a chance to join us.” Patriot received his nickname because he always fought for the underdog anywhere, anytime. Tank guessed that underdog right now was him.
He kicked back in his seat. “I’m sorry I missed it too.”
“When do you plan on getting to work on your bike?” Patriot ran his fingers through his short hair.
Besides Dixon and Rio, Tank hadn’t told anyone that he was part of the wide layoffs at the plant. Saying so now would make him sound whiny, and no one had called him that since he wore diapers.
Also, admitting he didn’t have funds to fix his bike didn’t set well with him, so he just shrugged in response to Patriot’s question.
He scratched his jaw with a big thumb. “Say the word and I’m there to help.”
“Appreciate it, man.” Glancing up, Tank caught Dixon’s stare. He knew his friend registered at least part of what Tank had going on in his mind, but neither of them said a word about it.
Dixon cleared his throat, which caught the table’s attention. They quieted to hear what he had to say. “As much as I love this place, I think we’d better start looking for a new place to hold our meetings.”
“Your old lady won’t like that.”
Automatically Dixon looked toward the bar where Fiona stood racking up drinks on trays that the waitresses delivered as fast as possible. He nodded. “She’ll understand, though.”
“What kind of place are we looking for?” Rio set his empty glass on the table.
“Not sure yet. Maybe some old warehouse or garage.”
“Haven’t heard of anything like that available in Mersey,” Rio said.
“I’m not against looking outside the town limits.”
“Out of town has some rundown places. With this many members, we can fix something up in no time,” Tank added.
A group of girls had edged closer and closer to their table, and he noted one kept looking his way and touching her long brown hair, flipping it over her shoulder and then pulling it forward again. Catarina once told him that girls did that when they were feeling flirty.