Testing the Limits. Kira Sinclair
“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”
Suddenly, the restraint was gone and she was free. For a second she stood there, suspended, unsure just exactly what she needed to do.
In the end she fled, putting the cage and Jace at her back and pushing through the crowd. She knew Axe followed her, could hear the complaints of the crowd behind her, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care.
She needed air.
* * *
JACE BRACED HIS arms on his knees, his head hanging heavily between them. God, his body ached, especially his ribs. Although, the cut above his right eye also throbbed like a bitch.
He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, trying not to wince when his ribs protested.
He’d won, though a single moment of distraction had almost cost him the match. He’d looked up at one point and seen Quinn standing on the other side of the cage, her eyes wide with apprehension. In that split second, he’d found himself grasped around the waist and pinned to the cage, defenseless against the onslaught of fists and elbows and feet.
Stupid. He knew better than to leave himself open like that.
After that, he’d studiously avoided looking in her direction. He’d channeled all of his focus into the man trying to send him to his knees.
It was over. And for the first time in two years he was starting to think he was too old for this shit. Who would have thought thirty-one would be too old for anything? Certainly not him. But his body couldn’t take the abuse it used to.
He’d found MMA by accident. When Michael had gotten sick and died, he’d needed an outlet. A safe release for all the pent-up anger, aggression and emotion. One of his buddies, a guy he’d growled at one too many times, had suggested he join a training program, not to compete but for the relief.
He’d fallen in love with the sport. The brutality and challenge of it. And maybe the reminder that he was still alive, his body functioning. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he’d needed the pain in order to feel connected to the world.
“Jesus, Jace.” He hadn’t realized Quinn was there until her soft voice touched him. Her words were followed by fingers slipping across his skin.
A sharp breath pulled through his teeth when she touched the cut over his eye—a combination of pain and twisting, unwanted need.
But she wasn’t interested in soothing his hurts. Somehow he knew she wouldn’t be.
Her palm cracked across his shoulder. Compared to the abuse his body had taken tonight, it was the equivalent of a raindrop in a hurricane. But unlike the other blows, he felt the echo of that harsh touch deep in his bones.
It rattled him as nothing else could. Not because it bothered him, but because any contact with Quinn always sent his body spinning out of control. Knowing she was upset with him didn’t change that, although it probably should have.
He was like a starving man, willing to take whatever scraps were available. God, if Michael could see him he’d laugh his ass off. He was pathetic.
“Are you trying to die, too?” Her shrill words cut through him, more painful than his injuries.
“No.” Although, he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.
Danger had been part of his life—his job—for so long, and he’d never hesitated to put himself in the line of fire, especially if it meant protecting someone else.
He’d been playing that role for years. Growing up, his father, a long-haul trucker, had been gone more than he’d been home. How often had he heard the words, “You’re the man of the house”? By eight or nine, the responsibility of looking after his mom and brother was laid at his feet. And he hadn’t minded. He’d liked knowing his father trusted him enough to take on the task. It had made him feel important. Like a man, though he’d been far from it.
But the mantle was difficult to shed, even after his father had retired and finally returned home for good. By then, he and Michael had been grown.
It was still hard to look his father in the eye whenever he dropped by to visit. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he’d failed, miserably, by letting Michael die.
Ultimately, though, it was those same sad, tired green eyes—so similar to Michael’s—that had kept him from doing something stupid. As much as it might have been easier on himself to push the envelope and take the easy way out with stupid risks, he couldn’t do that to his parents.
Losing Michael had devastated them both.
Tonight it was all too much. He was just...tired.
With a sigh, he let his body sag into the physical exhaustion.
Quinn crouched in front of him. Her hands landed on his biceps, bracing her body. Heat he would have thought himself way too tired to feel surged through him. He shifted on the hard bench, trying to ease the sudden ache of having her so close.
Why was that pang so much sharper than all the others?
He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him go, clamping her fingers harder around his quivering arms. Ducking down so she could force him to look at her, she stared right into him. “Jace, you have to stop this.”
He stared into her pale brown eyes. Wide, deep pools that threatened to pull him in and swallow him whole. Pressure suffused his chest, making it difficult to breathe. And suddenly he was angry. Pissed. At her. At himself. At Michael.
Throwing her hands off, Jace bounded up, temper snapping through him.
She rocked backward on her heels, startled by his sudden movement. Without thinking, he reached down and picked her up, steadying her even as he pulled her against his body all in one quick motion.
Her eyes widened, but she stood there, lax in his hold, flush against him.
His labored breaths brushed across her face, reflecting back at him.
“Don’t tell me what I have to do, Quinn. You’re in no position to cast stones. When’s the last time you went on a date? Or even thought about another man?”
To his surprise something hot and sharp flared deep in her eyes, sparking through those golden flecks and flashing fire.
Her mouth opened, a small sound pushing past her lips. God, he wanted to drink it in. Which is why he let her go and took a step back. She stumbled, catching herself this time because he couldn’t trust himself to touch her again.
Jerking her gaze away from him, she swallowed, and in a muted voice said, “That’s different. I’m not hurting anyone.”
“Only yourself.”
Her soft, sad eyes found his again, the impact of them slamming straight into his chest.
Giving him a small shrug, she said, “Maybe, but I won’t die from loneliness. You on the other hand...” Her voice trailed off to barely a whisper. “One wrong move in that ring and it could all be over.”
Without waiting for his response, she walked away.
Sinking back onto the hard bench, Jace hung his head between his arms again. It was at least five minutes before he realized just what she’d revealed.
She was lonely. Alone. Just like him.
* * *
LAST NIGHT HAD been uncomfortable, although she was used to that sensation around Jace Hyland. Just as she had for years, Quinn had brushed it off and instead focused on life’s mundane details. Making up the spare room. Getting him a towel and washcloth.
After she’d prepared everything, she’d retreated to the dark of her own room with the knowledge that Jace was next door—because he’d insisted on taking the closest room to hers in case something happened in the middle of the night. It had taken her several agonizing hours to fall asleep, her body restless and