“It’s fine. I hadn’t gotten far, and I got no place to be.” Jay turned back for Mersey and the small rental house Tank probably could no longer afford.
The sun was making its way across the sky, reminding Tank he should be at work. The second shift was Tank’s favorite. He could put in four to midnight and then still hit the Painted Pig and hang with the guys until close. Hell, sometimes they got so caught up in talking that they didn’t head home before sunrise and ended up grabbing plates of ham and grits at the local diner.
As they moved through town, he glanced over at the diner just in time to see Catarina.
“Slow down,” he ordered Rio.
“What for? Oh.” He braked and they rolled by the parking lot slow enough that he saw who Catarina was with.
Fucking great. She and her boyfriend were back together. The fucker didn’t deserve her and never had—why did she keep going back to him? Then they’d break up and she’d run to Tank for advice and comfort food. Why did he always put her back together?
That asshole slid his arm around Catarina’s waist.
“Keep driving,” Tank grated out.
“Don’t touch me, Chad. It’s not going to work this time.” Catarina speed-walked away from her…what did she even call him? On again, off again boyfriend. She couldn’t figure out why she kept giving him another shot when they fought all the time.
Her high heels crunched on the gravel in the parking lot as she made haste to her car. At least she’d been smart enough to meet Chad at the diner and could leave when she wanted.
“Catarina!” he called after her.
She kept walking.
“Dammit,” she heard him mutter.
A light wind that always blew in from the Smokies sent a curl of hair into her eyes. She brushed it back and hurried on to her car. One of their most common arguments had to do with her working odd shifts as a paramedic. While she was one hundred and ten percent committed to her work in helping people, Chad regularly accused her of running around on him.
Why did she even put up with his crap? She was smarter than this.
She climbed into the car and started the engine. A glance in the side mirror showed her Chad was walking to his truck.
When they weren’t arguing, things were great. They had a lot of fun hiking in the mountains together and enjoyed the same music and movies. But when the time came for her to work, his controlling side broke free and they got into another argument.
She sighed and drove away from the diner. After this many fights, she wasn’t feeling all that broken up right now so much as she was frustrated.
When she turned into the street where Tank lived, she didn’t even consciously think about where she was headed—only that she needed a friend right now, and he was the best a girl could ask for.
How many times had he held her while she cried and handed her tissues to mop her face with? He had a whole drawer full of her favorite junk foods and all her favorite movies in his video library for times when she needed distractions.
Tank might not even be home. She lost track of his shifts lately, since he sometimes worked swing shifts or took on extras for cash.
Looking at the blinds drawn over the windows, she questioned if she should even knock on the door. But in the end, she did. He opened it immediately, and her gaze lit on his face…his bruised and cut face.
“Oh my God! What happened to you?” She pushed her way inside and stared up at him. He didn’t have on a shirt and from the looks of him, she understood why. Even the scantest brush of fabric against his bruised body would hurt like hell.
“What in God’s name…?” She dipped her gaze over the shades of blue and purple on his side to where it disappeared in his low-slung jeans.
“Wrecked my bike,” he said.
Her gaze shot back to his. “Tank! Why didn’t you tell me? When did it happen?”
“Last night.” He turned away, leaving her to shut the door and giving her a view of his back, which wasn’t in better shape than his side.
The paramedic side of her kicked in. Quickly, she rushed into the living room after him. He dropped to the couch with a wince, and she settled on the coffee table in front of him.
“Did you go to the hospital?”
“Yeah, not by choice. A driver stopped for me. They wanted to call the ambulance, but I knew I was okay more or less, so he drove me himself to the ER.”
Her brows shot up. “You were at the ER? I wasn’t working last night.”
He didn’t respond to that statement.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were back with dick wad?” His grumbled words reminded her that she was ticked off at Chad too.
“How did you know that?” She reached for his hand to inspect the bandages on his knuckles.
To her surprise, he let her check the bandage. “I saw you together just now at the diner. You looked cozy enough. So why are you here?”
She turned his palm over to see more cuts that must be road rash. “This bandage needs changing. Did they send you home from the hospital with supplies?”
“On the bathroom sink.”
She got up and went into his bathroom, which he always kept strangely clean for a man. The towels were neatly hung up on wall hooks and the vanity top tidy. She grabbed the supplies and returned to where he still sat on the couch.
“Give me your hand.”
With a sigh, he offered it.
As she proceeded to remove the tape holding the gauze in place, she took in his injuries. “That must have been one hell of a wreck. What happened?”
He grunted. “Lost control. Hit a guardrail.”
She gasped. “How the hell are you alive? Are you like a cat or something?”
Finally, he threw her that crooked smile. “Yeah, I got eight left now.”
She unwound the bandage from his knuckles, taking care when she pulled it away from the deep scores in the skin. “Jesus, Tank. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? How are you acting so calm?”
He simply stared at her.
“I could have lost my best friend.”
He dropped his eyes. “I’m fine, Catarina.”
She shook her head at the mess of his hand. Some places looked worse than simple cuts. “Did they clean these out well in the emergency room?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Last curve leading into town.”
“And your bike?”
“Destroyed. Saw it this morning.”
“Crap.”
“Yeah. Then I went into work just a bit ago and—”
Her eyebrows hiked up another notch. “You went into work? In your condition?”
“I can still run a machine, and it feels better to stand than sit down.” As if to prove it, he shifted to the edge of the couch. His legs were so long that his knees projected to the coffee table, crowding her in. She didn’t mind and continued examining his hand.
When she dabbed some more antibiotic ointment on the cuts, he didn’t even flinch. She knew this man was tough—the toughest, biggest and most bad-ass she’d ever known. But he was just crazy enough to ignore his own well-being.
She looked up at him. His dark blue eyes traveled over her face, and she dropped her stare over his too, noting how the big scrape on his jaw extended into the beard on his chin.