He punched the bag harder. Sweat dripped down his face, burning his eyes as memories of the car accident slammed into him. The crash had stolen Jock’s girlfriend, Kayla, and their son. It had driven a wedge between him and his twin brother, Archer, Kayla’s best friend since childhood, and had sent Jock spiraling into a depression he was sure would be his end. He gritted his teeth, punching faster, harder, pushing past muscle fatigue, past the clenching in his gut, struggling to find his limit so he could push past that, too. He’d hit the damn bag until he dropped if he had to. He should be able to put his horrific past behind him and move forward by now, to pick up that sweet little girl and earn that pretty smile along with her beautiful mother’s respect. Daphne probably hated his fucking guts, and he didn’t blame her. But she and her daughter were two of the reasons he’d come back to the Cape to try to work through his hellish past instead of trying to settle down in some other part of the country. Come hell or high water, he was going to find his way clear of this—or die trying.
Brock “the Beast” Garner stepped beside him, watching him go at the bag. At six four and about two thirty, with thick blond hair and chiseled features, Brock lived up to his nickname. He was a local boxing champion and the owner of Cape Boxing, the club where Jock had been trying to find his salvation for the past few months.
Jock dragged his forearm across his sweaty brow and said, “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Seems like it’s going a lot better for me than it is for you.” He flashed a friendly smile that turned him from a beast to a gentle giant. “I haven’t seen you going at it this hard for a while. What’s happening in that head of yours?”
“Just trying to calm the chaos.” Jock wasn’t one to air his dirty laundry. Jett and Tegan knew what he’d been through, as had Harvey, but beyond that, he kept his shit locked down tight. Or rather he had, until he’d lost Harvey. Now the ghosts of his past were rattling their chains, trying to break free from the dungeon in which he’d buried them, and he had no fucking clue how to stop them.
“Woman trouble?” Brock asked.
If only. Jock hadn’t had a relationship with a woman since the accident. He swallowed hard, pushing back the memories before he dredged that awful shit up, too. “Yeah, you know how it is,” he said. It wasn’t a total lie. Daphne was a woman, and she definitely created chaos in his mind.
“Can’t say that I do.” Brock eyed his raven-haired wife, Cree, sauntering over from the boxing ring. At first glance, Cree, dressed in head to toe black, from her tank top to her combat boots, with colorful tattoos snaking up her arms and neck, appeared to be the polar opposite of clean-cut Brock. She definitely had a tough side, but she was the kindhearted pixie to Brock’s gentle giant.
“Guess not,” Jock said as Cree reached for Brock’s hand and Brock leaned in for a kiss. He tried to ignore the wave of jealousy he’d felt lately when he saw happy couples. That new, uncomfortable sensation had started shortly after he’d met Daphne. It was just one of the differences he’d discovered in himself since Harvey’s death.
Jock had been a writer and a caretaker, and he’d been phenomenal at both. But he hadn’t written a word in more than a decade, and while he’d loved caring for Harvey, he wasn’t a caretaker at heart. The problem was, he was floundering. He had no idea who he was anymore. Harvey had left him a fortune on the condition he publish another book, and Jock knew it was Harvey’s way of pushing him to get back to living a real life. Harvey had badgered him to bridge the gap with his family, whom he saw only a couple of times each year for a few hours, to get out with people his own age, and to live the life Jock’s baby boy never got the chance to. Jock didn’t give a rat’s ass about the inheritance. He’d made good money off his book, and Harvey had paid him handsomely. He’d lived a very frugal life and had enough money tucked away to last several years. But Harvey had saved him from falling off the face of the earth. He’d become his family, his prankster buddy, and his closest friend, and Jock wanted to make him proud. He had spent a year trying to write. The trouble was, he had no idea how to find his muse or his way back to his family, much less ever have another relationship with a woman.
“Hey, Jock. See the gorgeous girl with long, light-brown hair standing by the ring?” Cree pointed to a tall, fit woman wearing spandex and pretending she wasn’t watching them in the mirror as she drank from a water bottle. “She just started working out here and she was asking about you. I know you like your privacy, so I didn’t say anything other than you’ve worked out here for a while.”
Cree was always trying to set him up. He’d told her dozens of times that he wasn’t looking to become involved with anyone, but that hadn’t stopped her yet, so he’d learned evasion tactics. “Thanks, but I’m actually on my way out.”
“I could introduce you for another time,” she suggested hopefully.
Jock shook his head. “You’re one persistent woman.”
“She believes everyone should be in love.” Brock hugged Cree against his side and said, “She’s not wrong, you know. The right woman can calm that battlefield in your head.”
“I’m good, thanks.” Jock held out his gloved hands and said, “But you can get these off for me if you’re itching to help.”
“I’ve got it.” As Cree took off his gloves, she said, “You should come to Undercover one night and hear me and Brock sing.”
Undercover was a local nightclub, and Jock had heard both Cree and Brock sing there before. Cree had the voice of an angel and she was in negotiations with a music label to cut her first album, and Brock sang a cappella with two other boxers.
“I’ll think about it.”
“If you give me a heads-up, I can let her know when you’ll be there,” she said cheerfully, handing him the gloves.
“I’d really like to fly under the radar if you don’t mind,” Jock said as casually as he could, hoping she wouldn’t push him any further.
“Leave the guy alone, babe. He doesn’t want to be set up with every woman in here.” Brock swatted her butt, and she walked away giggling. “Sorry, Jock.”
“No worries. You two make love look easy. That’s a good thing.” Jock had loved Kayla like a close friend, and they’d had fun together, but he’d never experienced the kind of love Brock and Cree had. The kind that lit a guy up from the inside out. His thoughts drifted to Daphne, but he knew better than to allow himself to play in that sandbox. The last thing she needed was a fucked-up guy like him in her life. He grabbed his bag from the bench and shoved his gloves in it. “I’m taking off. See you around.”
“Hope you find the remedy for that storm in your head.”
“Thanks, man. Me too.”
Jock headed outside feeling a little less agitated than he had when he’d arrived. The brisk evening air cooled his sweaty skin. As he climbed into his Range Rover and headed for the resort, his thoughts returned to Daphne and Hadley. Rick had told him that Hadley had stopped crying after a minute or two that morning, but that didn’t soothe the ache that had been his constant companion ever since he’d walked away.