Free Love, Tussles, and Takedowns by Violet Duke

visiting actresses his home state’s finest sights, his friend clearly had very different ideas of how he should be getting over his demons.
    Finishing off the rest of his beer with one final glance at the setting sun, he headed back in to see if Fiona had managed to overload his answering machine like she had the last time they had a few days off from the set.
    The flashing red numbers weren’t as bad as he expected.
    Seventeen. An all-time low. Maybe Fiona had gotten lucky this weekend. He’d purposely left his cell phone off the entire time he’d been in Cactus Creek.
    This wasn’t going to be pretty.
    *Beep*
    Where the heck did you disappear to on Friday? I tried to find you after we finished filming for the day. Dude, I had at least five extras from the restaurant scene—four of whom were marginally interesting, and two were classically slutty. I told them about you and they’re all dying to ‘handle’ your weapons. If you know what I mean.
    Ah, his friend the pimp.
    *Beep*
    Look, if it’s your hands you’re worried about, hell, you have a working mouth and an impressive main attraction down south from what I hear. Call me!
    That’s right folks, his friend the sensitive pimp.
    *Beep*
    Okay, so it turns out that all five of the girls were grossly uninteresting. But that’s okay. There’s a VIP party tonight with enough good alcohol that most of the girls should seem downright fascinating. Have you lost my number?
    Shaking his head, he finally let out a chuckle. A delicate debutante she was not. But, she was his oldest friend who would gladly give away all the designer clothes off her back to help someone in need. And where he was concerned, she’d always had his best interest at heart.
    The rest of her messages detailed a typical whirlwind weekend for Fiona. The last few, however were more subdued, navigated by that deeper part of her that she hardly ever let anyone see.
    *Beep*
    Alright, if you’re going to insist on the silent treatment, it’s time for me to bust out the big guns. I’m worried about you. I miss seeing you happy. I know you say you’re not punishing yourself but you are, hon. It’s like you made it back here in one piece, but lost a chunk of your soul somewhere in the process. Just let yourself be happy. If only to get me off your back.
    Maybe she had a point.
    He stared at his hands, gritting his teeth when even making a fist with his left one hurt like hell today. It was because of the three-hour drive back. And this was just from driving his jeep. Going for a ride on his bike, one of his absolute favorite things to do, was now out of the question thanks to the little piece of shrapnel that had slashed its way into his vertebrae along his C7 and T1. Activities like the ones Fiona seemed to be fixated on, however, were still within his abilities; and yet he’d been acting like his injuries were from the waist down as well.
    He kind of hated when Fiona was right.
    After another minute of questioning his sanity, he picked up the phone and dialed.
    “Hello?”
    “I lied,” he admitted gruffly, the sound of her voice already easing the pain in his hand. How did she do that? He could almost picture her cute pixie-like smile, and those deep, incredible catlike eyes of hers—the way they sparked with a delicately witty humor and razor sharp intelligence, overflowed with unending empathy and yes, at times, pain.
    Even in his memories, she took his breath away.
    “Hudson?”
    “Yeah.”
    Pause.
    “So you did do a little recon on me,” came the lightly playful reply.
    “I’d hardly call it recon, sweetheart. You leave your number on the bottom of your shop’s ‘closed’ sign.” The reminder of that filled him with the same protective worry he’d had this morning when he first saw it. “That’s just a big ass blinking welcome sign for every psycho stalker out there.”
    “Clearly,” she deadpanned.
    “I’m not kidding, Lia. It’s not safe. At least consider getting a