Free Wreck (Bareknuckle Boxing Brotherhood Book 2) by Cara Nelson Page B

her. I am not dangerous. I’m NOT, goddammit,” he forced out through gritted teeth.
    He was shaking all over, and knew deep down that since he had wanted to hit her—even though he had resisted the urge to throw his phone, to punch the brick wall of JC Penney, the desire to hit and hurt and punish was still there. He was dangerous. The funny thing was, despite all his years of fighting in the ring, he always thought of himself as a laid-back guy, out for a good time. Never someone who would have considered striking a woman who angered him.
    He blinked furiously, fighting back tears, and punched Shea’s number into his phone. She was the only person who knew about Olive and Ashley, so she was the only one he could turn to.
    “Hey, I need you,” he said baldly.
    “What’s wrong? Was the baby mama that nasty?” Shea said.
“This is real, Shea, don’t joke about it,” he managed.
    “Okay, I’m sorry. Where are you?”
    “I’m still in the parking lot,” he said.
    “I’ll come get you. Wait there.”
    He sat in his car, trying to push down the rage, pulling air into his lungs and forcing it out again, trying to say the alphabet backward to calm himself and drive past the red fury that engulfed him.
    When Shea rapped on his window, Kyle was startled, nearly bumping her with the door in his haste to get it open. Shea hung back diffidently, but Kyle hooked an arm around her hips and pulled her into his arms. She landed awkwardly in his lap with the steering wheel jamming against her hip, but she held on to him tightly. He buried his face in her hair, his hands clenched on the back of her t-shirt. When his ragged breathing slowed, he loosened his grip on her and let her wriggle out of his lap.
    “So, um, what’s up?” Shea said.
    “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
    “Like where? Your car’s pretty private.”
    “Like your place. Or mine,” he said.
    “To talk?” She raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
    “To talk.”
    “Is this naked talk?”
    “I’m not ruling it out,” Kyle said.
    “I’ll drive. You’re not in any shape for driving,” she said, “and I’m a nurse. I know all kinds of shit.”
    “I bet you say that to people in the ER.”
    “Most of my patients are unconscious. I’m a surgical nurse now. But when I worked emergency, they were pretty adamant that I shouldn’t talk to the suicide attempts. Seems I’m not motivational speaker material.” She grinned.
    “I’m not gonna kill myself,” he said.
    “I didn’t think you were. What did she say to you?”
    “Just a bunch of bull about how I’m bad for Olive,”
    “So she feels threatened and she’s insecure.”
    “So she says I’m dangerous and I live in a shit neighborhood and I’d be a bad influence.”
    “I’m thinking that her husband, Meth-Making Monty, might be a bad influence.”
    “Do you seriously think they’re on drugs?”
    “I didn’t get much of a look at her through the car window, and I haven’t, like, been to their house and seen their setup, so no. But I think there’s a chance. I mean, the mom is acting pretty erratic, showing up at your fight, making demands, yelling at you a lot…”
    “Did you smell it on Olive?”
    “I thought maybe a cat had peed on her backpack.”
    “Does ferret pee smell the same?”
    “I have no idea. I’ve never smelled ferret urine. Or any rodents, really. And I’m not sure I have ever had a weirder conversation than this one. If Zoe had told me that I’d be standing around the JC Penney parking lot talking ferret piss with her almost brother-in-law, I’d have said she was nuts. But I used to tell her she was nuts a lot.”
    “Is she?”
    “Not even close. She’s just really sweet and hopeful. I have no idea how we managed to live together.”
    “Friends are always the same. Me and Aaron—we’re pretty different.”
    “Both of you were boxers; now you both teach self-defense. That doesn’t seem all that different to me.”
    “Trust me. He’s a brooder.