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  My hands tightened even further as I nodded numbly. I was used to be the one that took care of everything. I was used to being the man in charge, the pillar of strength and support, and even though Royal was my partner at work, I still felt like it was my duty to look out for her, not because she was a woman but because she was my closest friend and I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it. I’d never really had anyone looking out for me or my best interest before. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. So I just muttered a weak “okay” and stood to shake his hand when he rose from behind the desk.

  There was more than a spark when our palms touched. There was an electrical current that blazed a fiery trail all the way up my injured arm and made my spine tingle at the contact. I held his pale gaze and searched openly for any sign that he felt it, felt something. It was unexplainable and overwhelming, but something was happening between the two of us, and I saw his skin darken slightly and his eyes widen just a fraction. He was better at hiding his response than I was, but I was trained to look for the tiniest changes in expression, and they were there on his handsome face. He was as affected by me as I was by him.

  He released my hand and cleared his throat. “I’ll see you on Wednesday. We’ll go through the paces and see exactly where you’re at so we have a baseline to work from. Be ready to sweat.”

  I couldn’t hold back the chuckle or the leer that crossed my face. “I don’t mind working up a good sweat.”

  I could’ve sworn he blushed, but I didn’t intend to push my luck any further, so I told him I would see him Wednesday and headed for the door. I let my gaze skim over all the awards and degrees he had decorating his shelves and took in the pictures he had decorating the space. I was impressed to see him standing with his arm around Peyton Manning and another where he was with Carmelo Anthony when he still played for the Nuggets. Apparently Lando was a hockey guy, because of all the sports stuff he had on the shelves, most of it was dominated by the Avalanche, and there was more than one picture of him with Patrick Roy and with Gabriel Landeskog, proving he was a longtime fan.

  Apparently in this line of work he got to live a fan boy’s dream but what really caught my eye was an obviously personal picture that stood out the most amongst the autographed and flashy memorabilia. It was a picture of a much younger Lando standing next to another boy in his late teens who was wearing a high-school football uniform. Lando was smiling ear to ear, arm wrapped around the padded shoulders of the stiff and obviously uncomfortable dark-haired boy. This wasn’t a fan excited to meet a ball player. These weren’t two buddies excited after a big win. This picture showed a young man proud of his boyfriend. There was obvious affection and pride on the picture of Lando’s face. Both boys were so young and so obviously in love, at least it seemed to me. I could also tell there was something captured in that innocent snapshot that made the dark haired boy uneasy.

  Interesting. I couldn’t help but wonder if the extraordinarily handsome football player in the photograph was still in the actual picture, as in Orlando’s life currently.

  All of those wayward thoughts took a backseat to the silent thrill that zapped through my entire body at what I considered irrefutable proof that Mr. Fancy-Pants did indeed like boys the same way I did, and we were about to spend a lot of time getting sweaty together on the regular.

  Bring it on.

  Chapter 2

  Lando

  A cop.

  A big, burly and surly protector of the law and innocent.

  A warrior and a fighter. A man that would push and push until he broke and then push some more.

  A hero.

  Dominic Voss was all of those things and so much more. He was the reason that taking on cases for those that served selflessly, for those that gave their lives to be the first line of defense in a world that was full of really terrible things was something I had to do. I did it in order to balance the scales between making a nice living off the rich and famous, and getting to help people that needed it. I wanted to have purpose. I wanted to help. I genuinely wanted to repair things that were broken. I wanted to help people stop hurting whenever I could.

  For every injured hockey player or football player that came into my clinic, I made sure that the cost of their care and rehab would be enough to cover the rehab of at least two disabled veterans or first responders injured in the line of duty. My loyalty was to the health and well-being of the body, not to the wallet attached to it and how fat it may or may not be. Broken bodies came from all walks of life and I firmly believed if I was able to help, then I would.

  The zealous need to heal, the driving desire to bring men and women back to their former glory came from not being able to save the one broken body I wanted to the most in the world. My therapist had had a field day with me after I came clean about the ugly fight and ultimatum I laid at the feet of my first and only serious boyfriend the night he died. She called it projection. She told me I was blaming myself for the accident even though Remy had been driving too fast for the rainy conditions that night, and as a result I was trying to save everyone.

  Of course, I blamed myself. If we hadn’t been arguing, if I hadn’t told that stubborn and beautiful boy that enough was enough, that he needed to love me enough, love himself enough, to be honest about who he was and what we were, he would never have left that night wrapped in good-bye and silent acceptance that our relationship had run its course. I mean, I logically knew he would have left regardless of the fight or not. His twin brother called needing a ride home and whenever one Archer brother needed something, the others were right there to offer it up. Especially the twins. Rule and Remy were two sides of the same tarnished coin and there would have been no stopping him, if Rule said he needed him. But … the giant ‘but’ and uncertainty that haunted me to this day: if I hadn’t said I’d had enough, if I hadn’t told him I deserved someone that loved me fully and completely and openly the way I loved him, then maybe, just maybe he would have been paying closer attention to the road. Maybe he would have seen the semi that lost control and could have avoided the collision. And, of course, the biggest maybe of all, maybe he would still be here with me.

  I had begged him to stay, to tell me that our love was enough to finally get him to come clean to his brothers, and asked him to set his best friend free from the shadows of half-truths and deception he had her trapped in, but all he could do was shake his head at me and look at me out of eyes the color of winter while he told me he couldn’t do any of it. He wasn’t ready, and he understood if that meant I had to move on to someone who was.

  I wanted to hate him. To this day, all these years since the accident, I wanted to hate him, but I never could. My love for him was too big, too strong to leave room for any kind of hate, so instead I worked my ass off to heal people that were broken. Remy’s body had broken the night of the crash, but there were things inside of him, fundamental issues that he should have addressed not only with himself but also with his family well before we got to the serious stage of our relationship and definitely before we moved in together. Remy was broken on the inside and someone, namely me, should have tried to fix him before he was lost to me for good.

  Thinking about broken men, I forced my attention back to the one in front of me as my assistant nudged up the speed on the treadmill Dominic was running on. We were going to see if he could last a full hour with the speed and incline increased every ten minutes. He had a mask on his face to measure his breathing, electrodes taped to his bare chest to monitor his heart rate and various other contraptions clipped to him, so I would have all the data I needed to see what kind of shape his body was in after the fall and all the surgeries to piece him back together.

  We were at the halfway point and he was still keeping a pretty steady pace which I had to admit impressed the hell out of me. That shattered femur was no joke when it came to having a serious leg injury, but aside from a slight imbalance in his stride, he was weathering this first test well. He was sweaty, but his breathing
seemed steady and his heart rate was better than some of the professional athletes I put through the same test.

  Dominic Voss was built like an ancient Spartan. He looked like he had been crafted to be a warrior and protector since birth. Even with being laid up in the hospital while he healed, he was still impossibly broad and toned. His shoulders looked like they could hold up the weight of the world and then some and I couldn’t remember ever seeing an ass look that tight and perfect in a pair of track pants, which was saying a lot considering the bulk of my clientele got paid exorbitant amounts of money to look good in athletic gear.

  I was taller than him by a few inches, but he was cut and hard in all the right places and that superb body and the intensity on the roughly hewn face attached to it were wreaking havoc on my concentration. I was supposed to be paying attention to how he responded to the tests, not to the way drops of sweat were running down the sides of his neck and across the impressive bulge of his pecs. And I really, really shouldn’t be wondering what he would do if I leaned over the edge of the treadmill and licked the salty moisture away with my tongue.

  I shifted my gaze away when my assistant caught me staring and nodded when he asked if he should kick up the speed some more. I nodded but watched Dom flinch a little as he had to adjust his gait to keep up with the machine. His dark eyebrows were furrowed. His already bronze complexion looked even darker and I could hear him breathing audibly behind the mask strapped to his face. I watched as his arms pumped hard at his sides, the left one flowing free and easily like it was supposed to while the right one moved stiffly and awkwardly. I didn’t have any doubt that he could chase a bad guy down in a footrace, but I was starting to wonder if he could hold on to them when he caught up. His mobility on the left side was fluid and sure; the right side of his body looked like it should be attached to a much older man with arthritis.

  He was struggling. But he wouldn’t say anything. In fact, when the treadmill went up to the highest setting, which was the last ten minutes, he would run through and not offer a single complaint. I frowned at him because I knew that that kind of exertion wasn’t good for his leg. The body had its own language and if you refused to listen to what it was telling you, then chances were you were doing more harm than good. When my assistant asked to kick it up the last time, I shook my head in the negative and saw Dom’s very dark green eyes narrow at me. I knew that if he didn’t have the plastic ventilator covering the entire lower part of his face I would be getting an earful.

  I met his look with a bland one of my own. I was in charge here and the sooner he learned that, the better this partnership would be. I kept my eyes locked on his and treated him to the same slow and thorough appraisal he had given me yesterday, only I got the added benefit of getting to check him out while he was sweaty and shirtless.

  After Remy died, I went a little crazy. I figured if he couldn’t love me enough to save us, to save himself, then I was obviously the problem. I figured I was nothing special, undeserving of someone as fantastic and charismatic as Remy Archer, so I went off the deep end. I slept around like it was a sport. I tried on boy after boy searching for one that would fit. I burned through men like a wild fire, endlessly searching for that special something that I’d had so briefly. I was trying to fuck away grief and guilt and there had been plenty of willing partners to help me do it.

  Then one day I got a phone call out of the blue that changed everything. Remy’s best friend, a sweet little thing named Shaw Landon, now Shaw Archer, wanted me to come and meet the other Archer boys. Remy’s twin, Rule, and his older brother, Rome, were moving on in life, finding loves and lives of their own, but the way Remy went out … we all deserved more than secrets and speculation. She convinced me to come meet the entire family and like an insane person I agreed.

  I had no clue how I could look Remy’s twin in the eye and not fall to pieces. How could I look at the face of the only man I ever loved on another man and not fall apart? It turned out to be pretty easy.

  As much as Rule and Remy looked alike, they were worlds and worlds apart. Where Remy had been polished and shined to perfection, Rule Archer was pierced and inked up in a beautiful riot of chaos. Remy’s hair had been short and styled, Rule’s was hot pink and spiked up like a weapon. They had the same face and the same eyes, but that was where all similarity stopped. Remy had been kind, loving, almost a pushover, Rule Archer was as in your face as any man I had ever met and he obviously didn’t care if he impressed or offended.

  Watching the family that loved the same man I did struggling to heal and doing it together through love and patience made me pull my head out of my ass. I stopped sleeping around, buckled down at school so I could get out and go to work, and put all my energy into helping others. I still dated here and there, but no one had that same effect on me that Remy Archer did. No one immediately touched my heart, and I was too busy and too focused on my career and making a difference in my clients’ lives to notice the loss.

  That’s why my reaction to Dom was equally shocking and thrilling. When I first saw Remy and started to fall in love, it was like being surrounded by a fluffy blanket of good feelings and endless comfort. It was something I sunk into and never wanted to be without. It felt easy and as natural as breathing. The instant I laid eyes on the big, brooding cop it was like a full body assault. There was nothing easy or comfortable about it. My ears started ringing like I had been knocked upside the head. My vision narrowed so that all I could see was him, and what I saw made my blood heat up and my heart thump loudly. My chest hurt and it was hard to breathe because all I could smell was the earthy, musky scent that was far too alluring and oh so masculine, that emanated from him. My knees went slightly weak, which made me glad I was standing behind my desk, and it took me a solid three minutes before I could get my voice to work.

  He was rougher-looking, more aggressive and assertive than the men I typically found attractive. He looked like he could easily take care of himself out on the streets and like he would have no trouble taking care of whoever he was with in the bedroom. Everything about him was dark and serious, from his short black hair to his intent olive-colored gaze that clearly showed his frustration and fear. His voice was deep and gravelly and the way it made my skin ripple in response had me needing to sit down and take a minute to pull myself together. I wasn’t prepared for him. My reactions were completely visceral and primitive. All the responses Dominic Voss drew from me felt like they came from someplace elemental and animalistic. It was my reaction to him that scared the holy hell out of me.

  As he pushed himself to complete the test, his muscles bulged and flexed. His broad chest expanded and contracted rapidly, making the white scars that crisscrossed his shoulder and side stand out in stark relief against the rest of his tawny skin. There was more evidence of his obviously risky line of work in the jagged scar that shot over his ear and along the side of his skull and contrasted with his short, dark hair. Everything about the man seemed dangerous and brutal, which wasn’t something I should find appealing.

  But I so did.

  When the hour ended and the treadmill cranked down to a barely moving pace so he could cool down, he pulled the respiratory mask off and huffed out, “Not bad, right?”

  He was still breathing heavily, but there was obvious pride hidden beneath his exertion.

  I frowned a little bit and marked some things off on the chart I was using to track his vitals.

  “How does your leg feel?”

  He lifted a dark eyebrow at me and I watched as his hand went to his thigh. The corners of his mouth turned down in a scowl. “It’s fine.”

  I made a noise in my throat and met his dark look with one of my own. I was stupidly attracted to the man, fascinated that after so long I had a genuine response to someone, but I had a job to do and his long term recovery was my priority, not getting him into bed.

  “I think ‘fine’ is an exaggeration. I think you are pushing yourself too hard and your body is fighting back.”


  He continued to rub his thigh while lines of discomfort furrowed across his forehead. I took the opportunity to watch the enticing flex of muscle and sinew that was everywhere as he moved.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of playing through the pain? Yeah, it fucking hurts, everything fucking hurts, but I can’t live my life waiting for it not to hurt before I start existing again.”

  I inhaled sharply and shifted my gaze back to the clipboard. I’d done my fair share of waiting for things to stop hurting before getting my life back on track and the reminder, even though he didn’t know anything about me, stung, and the fear of living and losing what mattered most nipped at all of my senses.

  “If you work the muscles so hard that they never get the chance to fully repair themselves, you’ll never get your natural stride back. If you push yourself too hard, you’ll never recover from your injuries, and where you are now is the best that you’ll ever be.”

  He grunted and stepped off the treadmill. “Then tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  I had to bite my tongue—hard—from spitting out the really inappropriate things I wanted to ask him to do.

  Things like step closer.

  Things like let me touch him all over.

  Things like let me kiss everything that hurts so I could make it better.

  I closed my hand around the pen I was using to make notes so tightly the plastic casing snapped.

  My assistant and my new patient both looked at me curiously as I cleared my throat and awkwardly took a step away from the heat I could feel coming off of Dom’s half-naked body.

  “I can give you the tools to make your body work better, but you have to listen to what it’s telling you. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t push past the pain in order to get results, but you need to be able to tell the difference between something simply hurting and something being irrevocably damaged.”