Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(18)

But he was just supposed to ignore that.

Because Keelie had it under control . . .

“Fuck that,” he muttered.

He headed down the hall and hoped like hell Zach hadn’t managed to get most of his shit moved into storage.


*

An hour later, muscles limp and lax as putty, his mind was almost clear.

The weights hadn’t helped much. He hadn’t expected them to.

The treadmill had helped some but he’d only been able to do three miles before he gave up. Running nowhere fast never seemed to do much to burn off any sort of energy for him.

The heavy bag had helped.

Now his hands were sore, his thighs were screaming at him, and he almost felt like he could sleep.

Of course, every time he closed his eyes, he still saw Keelie.

Saw the way that bastard had been moving in on her, the way Keelie had stared at him after he’d taken the guy’s knee out. The way she’d studiously avoided looking at him after she’d told him I had it under control . . .

Translation: I don’t need your help.

Too f*cking bad, because he didn’t regret that. Not at all.

Just thinking about it was enough to make his muscles knot back up, so he pushed it out of his mind.

It was over.

It was done.

He’d say something to Zach and the guys at the shop would make sure to keep an eye out in case the guy came back around looking for her. Nothing much for him to do, since Keelie hadn’t really wanted him involved in the first place.

Like he was just supposed to . . . what? Stand there?

“You’re doing a first-class job of not thinking about it,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face as he headed out of the little gym Zach had set up.

He needed a shower. Needed to put some food in his belly and then he’d collapse.

There wasn’t anything in the fridge but there was some canned ravioli and boxes of macaroni and shit in the cabinet. Zane had to take a minute to be glad his brother had the appetite of a twelve-year-old because, otherwise, Zane might have just gone without food all night. He wasn’t going anywhere without some sleep.

He opted for the ravioli. Dumping the thick, gooey mess into a bowl, he shoved it into the microwave and dug out some ibuprofen from his bag. The way he was going, he would need another bottle before he headed home. His head hurt, his hands hurt . . . his heart—

He closed his eyes.

He really, really needed to take some time and think this through before he committed to moving here. Yes, he needed to move on with his life and focus. Yes, he wanted to try and . . .

He swore and slammed a fist onto the counter. He didn’t even have the balls to say it out loud. He wanted to take a chance on making something happen with Keelie. He knew as well as he knew his own name that she felt something. But feeling something and being willing to take a chance on it were two different things entirely.

If he moved here and she never took that step, then what?

“Then you deal,” he said softly, forcing himself to acknowledge that very reality. But he couldn’t keep hiding away from it because he was afraid.

It was time to start thinking about all the things he could have, all the things he wanted . . . all the things he’d always wanted.

Things he’d never have if he just kept dreaming, instead of reaching.


*

A little while later, showered, tired, and pissed, he made his way back out into the living room. He wasn’t going to sleep. Not yet.

Get dressed. Coffee . . . caffeine rarely had much effect on him anyway. Then he could spend the next few hours going blind on the classifieds. Sooner or later, he’d be tired enough to sleep, he figured.

If he lucked out, he’d find something he could use for his studio around here. That was the plan, at least. He’d have to check out San Francisco or his mom would never let him hear the end of it. He had no desire to move back to California. He spent enough of his life there—the first eighteen years—but he’d go through the motions to make Mom happy.

In his gut, though, he knew where he needed to be. Right here, in Tucson.

This was . . .

Somebody knocked.

Scowling, he eyed the clock on the wall.

Past midnight and, other than Zach, nobody knew he was here. Cautious, he grabbed his phone as he moved closer to the door.

“Zane. Open the door. I know you’re up.”

Keelie—

He managed, barely, to keep from throwing the door open.

So much for putting her out of his mind.

He even managed to paste a bland expression on his face when he opened the door.

It was harder to keep that expression, though, when Keelie’s gaze dropped from his eyes to his chest.

He should have grabbed a damn shirt. Self-conscious, but determined not to show it, he stood there as she cocked her head to the side, studying the tattoo he’d let Zach put on him years ago. It was an owl in flight and it started midway across his chest and continued up, one wing spreading over his shoulder, the body stretched out along his torso, with the tail feathers ending down his side. Maybe not the typical tattoo for a guy, but if he was going to have one, he figured it might as well be something he didn’t mind staring at every damn day for the rest of his life.

Normally, he didn’t mind at all if women stared.

Keelie was a different matter entirely, though. Her interest seemed to waver between professional and personal, her eyes narrowing as she studied what felt like each line, each feather. But at the same time, a pink blush settled along her neck, climbing higher and higher, and her eyes glittered.