That was, unfortunately for Luc, true.
For the first time in a week, Olly felt his lips curving.
He turned back to the TV and his smile died.
Fuck, he’d said some seriously stupid shit and she’d even told him he’d done damage.
I had hoped to discuss having more with you …
They didn’t know each other well enough …
No.
Olly didn’t know her well enough to know she needed space to ratchet down her temper when it flared. Not knowing that, he hadn’t given her that, hadn’t even tried to read it from her. Instead he tried to force it low himself and took her calling him Olivier wrong. Made an assumption about that where he jumped to conclusions, let the shit he was worried about that came between them rear up and he lost his mind.
I had hoped to discuss having more with you …
She wanted more with him.
And I bet if you saved and worked overtime to buy her a diamond bracelet, even if she had twenty others, none of them would mean more to her than that one.
Olly had no idea if this was true.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t sense, like his dad said, right down to the pit of his gut, that it was.
And more, if he never gave her a diamond bracelet, if all he had to give was a bouquet of flowers every once in a while that said she was on his mind and she meant something to him, she’d take that.
She’d take anything.
Leigh just wanted Olly.
Fuck, he’d fucked up.
His Leigh.
His Leigh-Leigh.
Fuck.
He had to fix it.
And he sat for the rest of the afternoon, watching football with his dad, knowing no matter what he had to do, he needed to find a fucking way.
And he was damn well going to.
AMÉLIE
Late that evening, Amélie moved out to her garage, wondering if her present course was the right one, giving one last lingering look to her poor Cleopatra, who was trying to follow.
But she had an excellent cat sitter who she paid not only to come and feed them and take care of their litter but also to stay, play, and keep them company.
They’d miss their mummy, but they’d be all right.
Now, her bags were already in her car and she was off to France for three weeks.
A break. Time away. Time to heal. Time to be with people who loved her mother and loved her.
And maybe she’d learn more French this time.
She had her phone in her hand, looking at four texts that had just come in.
The first was from Mira asking (for the hundredth time) if she was okay and telling her to connect when she was safe in France.
The second was from Felicia, inviting her to a movie the next night.
Amélie suspected Mirabelle hadn’t said anything but Felicia would have definitely noted that Amélie had not been to the club all week and it was not a secret that she and Olly had had a weekend together outside the club.
Her friend was worried.
The third was from Romy, saying she needed to get drunk and laid, go on the prowl vanilla-style and give an unsuspecting gentleman the time of his life, and she wanted Amélie to go with her.
This, too, was Romy’s way of saying she’d noted Amélie’s (and Olly’s) absence from the club, suspected the reasons behind it, and wanted to help Amélie move past it.
She had good friends.
Alas, this did not make her feel any better.
The last text she saw was from Aryas informing her that Tiffany was again with Belle that night and all was good.
She smiled to herself, knowing this was the third time Belle had played with Tiffany.
The young.
Quick recoveries.
On this thought, without sound or warning, she was struck on the side of the head by what she would realize much later was a fist.
But the blow was forceful, the pain immense, and it took her by such surprise, before she could even consider launching a defense, she fell to her hands and knees.
Then, in her very own garage, she took more, much more, including several vicious kicks to her mid-section that had her coughing up the metallic taste of blood.
And finally, a hand in her hair yanking it back to her feeble, whimpering cry.
“Delia says to mind your own business next time, you cunt,” a man spat in her ear and then he pushed her head from him. It cracked against the cement, stars shone in Amélie’s eyes, which she could fortunately focus on rather than feeling the spittle he landed on her temple.
Blinking slowly, pain coursing with intent through her body, she watched him walk out the side door it was clear needed a much better lock.
He slammed the door behind him.
Phone.
Phone.
What had happened to her phone?
Crawling in a way that was more like dragging, Amélie saw the phone under her car, gratefully collapsed to her belly, and reached under.
She grasped it.
And blinked again, slower still.
She was losing consciousness.
A boon. It would take away the pain pounding through her midsection and throbbing sharply in her face.
No.
She had to make the call first.
She pressed her finger to the phone and tried to lift her head, the effort mammoth. It felt woozy, stuffed full, way too heavy.
Wetness dribbled down her face.
Taking more effort she could ill afford to lose as she felt herself fading fast, Amélie forced her eyes wide and engaged the phone function, unfortunately not hitting the icon for the keypad but for contacts.
She kept blinking, trying to keep focus, her brain fighting back, shifting concentration to her pain, her finger senselessly scrolling like she could find the keypad in her contacts.
And there was Olly’s name.
He was a firefighter. Even if they were done, he would be able to activate emergency. And she was beginning to realize she’d taken too much time fumbling with her screen. She no longer had it in her to find the keypad and dial the three digits she needed.
Further, he was Olly. Her Olly. Even if that was now buried somewhere deep inside him.
He’d take care of her.
She touched his beautiful name and put the phone to her ear.
OLIVIER
Olly sat at head of the table in the kitchen at the firehouse, surrounded by the guys.
“We get a call, I’m gonna be dragging,” Emilio said.
“Scored last night?” Chad asked on a grin.
“No. Total tease.” Emilio grinned back. “But I put effort in trying.”
Olly, his mind on things not the inane conversation about pussy that seemed the priority discussion at the firehouse, looked down when his phone on the table in front of him went off. The second he did, he felt his gut tightening and his heart squeeze.
The display said LEIGH.
It was late. Really late.
But she was calling.
Maybe she’d had a few and got up the nerve, though that was unlikely.
More likely, she was just Leigh. A class act, strong enough to make the first move because it was important enough to do that.
It sucked she beat him by a few hours but he didn’t dwell on that.
She’d called.
Olly focused on that.
He snatched up the phone and pushed back his chair just as Chad asked, “Leigh. Who’s Leigh?”
Jesus, the guys were nosy. No woman had anything on a man who wanted to be up in your shit.
Olly didn’t answer Chad.
He took the call, moving from the room, muttering, “Gotta take this.”
He put it to his ear and didn’t say anything until he was out of the room.
Then he did.
It was, “Leigh-Leigh?”
“Olly.”
She sounded funny, tentative.
Probably worried he’d be a dick.
r />
Fuck.
“Baby,” he said gently. “So fuckin’ glad you called. So fuckin’ glad. Love it. Though you beat me. Was gonna call you tomorrow morning. Minute I was off. But I’m at work. Midnights. Won’t be done until morning. I can’t talk now.”
“Olly—”
“Call you the minute I’m off,” he semi-repeated. “I’ll come over. We’ll talk.”
“Ol—”
“Fucks me to say this because I wanna talk, I just can’t. But I wanna talk, baby. Fucked up again and I wanna work that through with you. Right now, the guys close, they’ll get up in my shit and we can’t say the things we need to say and anyway, the things I need to say to you, gotta say to your face.”
She didn’t reply.
“I fucked up, Leigh-Leigh, but we’re gonna fix this. I’m gonna fix it. Promise that, baby.”
Leigh said nothing.
“Leigh?” he called.
Silence.
“Leigh,” he bit out.
Nothing.
“Fuck,” he hissed, disconnected, and called her back.
It rang and he got voicemail.
“Fuck,” he repeated, disconnecting again, calling again, getting voicemail a-fucking-gain, then disconnecting and staring at his phone.
Why’d she call and hang up?
If she didn’t answer, he couldn’t find out.
And he was working, he couldn’t leave. He was working, so he also couldn’t talk even if he did get through to her.
Shit, he had to wait it out, call her in the morning, and if she didn’t answer, go home, find the packaging the stuff she’d sent him came in that he hoped like fuck he didn’t throw out (and he wasn’t into cleaning so this was luckily a good probability), get her address and go to her place.
If she didn’t answer the door, he was going to break the goddamned thing down.
He looked to his watch.
Six hours he had to wait.
Fuck.
He turned back toward the kitchen to see Chad standing there.
Terrific.
“Who’s Leigh?”
Olly looked in his friend’s eyes and gave it to him.
“Woman I’m seein’.”
“You’re seeing someone?”
Olly nodded. “A while.” Suddenly he shook his head. “Fucked shit up, lost my temper, but we’re gonna work it out.”
“You lost your temper?”
Olly felt some tension slide out of his shoulders at hearing Chad’s tone, a tone he knew well since it was his giving-shit tone.
“As crazy as that sounds, considering I’m such a laid-back guy, yeah, I lost my temper,” Olly returned, moving his way.
This time, Chad shook his head.
Olly made to move by him but, Chad’s hand landing on his shoulder, he stopped, turned, and looked down at him.
“You puttin’ in the effort to work shit out, this Leigh must be something,” Chad noted, dropping his hand.
Olly even felt his shoulders straightening with pride as he replied, “She is, brother.”
“Am I gonna meet her?” Chad asked.
“Yes,” Olly answered.
“Is Annie gonna like her?” Chad went on.
“She’s good for me and Annie’s gonna sense that, so yeah, she’s gonna like her.”
“Please, bro, tell me she’s into football.”
All good with Chad after too long of it not being quite right because Olly never got a lock on his temper, he just let loose (except what still wasn’t good with Leigh, but it would be), Olly smiled. “Men tackling each other, she’s got different reasons, man, but she’s totally into it.”
Chad started chuckling, doing this muttering through it, “That’s why Annie likes it,” and moved into the kitchen.
Olly took one last look at his phone, thought, Just six hours, and he followed his friend.
* * *
In his truck on his way home from work, Olly decided not to call Leigh.
When they talked, he didn’t need to be driving.
He needed to be all about Leigh, talking her into letting him come over and straightening out what he’d fucked up between them.
But Olly had a bad feeling when he saw a black Cayenne parked in front of his house with a big black man outside leaning against it, watching Olly’s truck approach through wraparound shades.
Olly didn’t hit his garage door opener. He parked in the drive of his fake adobe house that was in a neighborhood of fake adobe houses, all of them looking the same even if they were all one of five different façades that could be picked when they were built fifteen years ago.
He figured Leigh lived in a vastly different neighborhood.
He also figured, she was at his house with him, lazing in the back by the pool, snuggled into him watching football and eating nachos, she’d wouldn’t give a shit how different it was.
He got out and moved to the bed of his truck to see Aryas Weathers was on his way there.
Leigh would not out his lie to Weathers.
No way.
But there was no reason for the man to be there, so that meant some way he’d found out.
That way wasn’t Leigh. Olly was no spy laying down cover. It could be anything.
This still was a surprise, getting a personal visit. He couldn’t imagine something like this would merit more than a phone call.
He just had to sort this, not so it was good for Olly, so Weathers wouldn’t get in Barclay’s face about something his friend never really wanted to do.
“Help you with something?” he asked then stopped abruptly when he noticed Weathers’s gait was aggressive.
Olly went on alert and straightened with all his muscles tightening when Weathers didn’t stop until he was smack in Olly’s space and his face.
He lifted a hand with a phone in it to their sides.
“You wanna tell me why Leigh called you and talked to you for three minutes right after she was attacked and she was still on the floor of her garage, beat to shit, five cracked ribs, when the police and ambulance arrived twenty minutes after you disconnected, called back, repeatedly, but it wasn’t you who called emergency? It was Leigh who regained consciousness and did it her-fuckin’-self.”
Olly heard his words but didn’t reply because he was suddenly not confronting Aryas Weathers in his space and face.
His mind had blanked to nothing but a violent sheen of red.
“You better answer me, man.”
Olly’s mouth moved. “Where is she?”
“That’s not answering—”
Olly’s vision cleared, he bumped chests and noses with the man as he roared, “Where is she?”
Weathers stared into his eyes before he noted, “Did she black out after she dialed you?”
Olly bumped chests with him again, taking the man back a foot, and watched Weathers’s eyes go alert and pissed.
“Ask this one last time, where the fuck is she?”
“She took a few to the face, spent the night in the hospital for observation to watch for concussion. She’s gonna be fine, is being released today and Mira’s taking her to her ranch.”
“Which hospital?”
“What happened during that call, Hawkes?”
Olly could see Leigh meant something to the guy so he expended some needed but quickly waning patience to say, “We had a thing. I thought she was callin’ to work it out. I was on the job and couldn’t talk. I had no fuckin’ clue and thought she hung up on me.”
“Fuck, brother,” Weathers whispered.
“Jesus, man, tell me where she fuckin’ is.”
“Going there now. You’re in a state, Hawkes, so you’re not behind a wheel. You’re coming with me.”
Olly was not going to waste time arguing.
He jogged to the Cayenne.
He didn’t know if Weathers was the type of man to jog to anything but he sensed Olly’s tension so Olly was grateful when he followed him in the same way.
They were in
and on the road when Olly asked confirmation by saying, “So she’s good.”
“She doesn’t look all that great but when the swelling goes down, her ribs heal, she’ll be good as new.”
Olly felt his hands form fists on his knees and ground out, “Burglary? What?”
Weathers didn’t answer.
Olly looked his way. “How the fuck she get jumped in her goddamned garage?”
“Well, thinkin’ you’re seriously wound up and as big as a house in a vehicle I kinda like, so even though I know it’s piss-poor judgment to share this with you right now, you gotta hear it, deal with it, and be about her when you see her.”
“Give it to me,” Olly grunted.
“We had a situation with a Domme at the club. She was taken care of, though apparently the message wasn’t made as clear as I thought. She’s a cunt and from what Leigh shared, she somehow found out Leigh was concerned and voiced that to me. We’ll be findin’ out how that happened. But bottom line, she acted on that and sent someone to work Leigh over.”
Olly was again looking at him. “Delia.”
Weathers glanced his way. “She share her concern with you?”
“I shared mine with her and she told me she had the same thoughts.”
Weathers nodded.
“Police been called?” Olly asked.
“He got the drop on her. She knows he’s a guy, he’s white, he’s bigger than her and he beat the shit out of her. Other than that, she didn’t get anything. He did something stupid, spit in her face…”
Olly’s focus on the road disappeared as it shifted to stopping himself from punching through the windshield or roaring like an animal.
“Lock it down, brother,” Aryas said quietly, not surprisingly feeling Olly’s rage. “Deep breath. Then another one. Keep doin’ that.”
Olly took his advice.
On breath five when Olly’s vibe stopped choking the air in the cab, Weathers went on.
“Means he left DNA at the scene. Don’t know if he left prints or got seen. If they don’t have that to try and track him, and he’s not in the system with his DNA, which is unlikely, they’re not gonna find him. They don’t find him, they can’t trace him to Delia. But yeah, to answer your question, Leigh’s given a statement to the police.”