Page 12 of The Rough Ride (Sanctuary, Inc. #3)

N ick stubbed a toe trying to get across the pitch-black bedroom to answer his phone. He cursed the contractor who had neglected to fix the electrical outlet by the bed. Fix it myself. Nah—he valued his life. Merciful God, his foot hurt. He grabbed the phone. “Yeah, Nick here.”

“Dude, it’s Derek. Maggie’s in labor. We’re on our way to the hospital. Get a hold of Mason to cover for me at the Richardson’s today. I gotta go.”

Nick was fully awake now. Maggie’s voice in the background urged Derek to stop driving over every pothole, followed by a moan.

Nobody was irreplaceable but Derek came pretty close.

He’d have to shift Derek’s workload to Mason. Mason was a good guy. Not as warm and fuzzy with kids, but he had a sense of humor and solid security instincts.

There’d be no going back to sleep now. He tossed the duvet over the bed and paused to imagine Liz curled in the middle, right where she liked to sleep.

It’d been a long time since they’d spent a night together.

Paris, actually. Almost two years now. Hopefully, she’d give some thought to their recent conversation during dinner.

Try to believe in them enough to give their relationship a chance.

They’d always promised each other when they left the service, they’d see if forever belonged in their future.

He rubbed the center of his chest. It always ached when he thought about Liz maybe wanting someone else.

He fisted the pillows into shape and lined them up against the headboard.

His version of making the bed made Liz laugh.

She liked it tucked in real neat, decorative pillows arranged up top, and a nap afghan arranged just so on the bottom corner.

He stopped and took a picture of the bed.

Maybe he’d text it to her. Remind her she could arrange the space however she liked.

Aww…hell. He’d settle to have her between his sheets so he could hear the little snore she’d developed after a zealous fist broke her nose in a volleyball game senior year.

How he missed the light scent of her perfume and the way her round derriere snuggled into his core and made him hard in an instant .

He glanced at his tented boxers. Sorry, buddy, you’re stuck with me again.

Maybe he could take some parenting classes.

How the hell does anybody learn how to do that correctly?

Never lose their temper or yell at a kid?

Even his mom lost it once in a while, though it was rare.

Mostly, he remembered her kindness and encouragement.

The way she’d hide him in different closets behind the clothes when he was little and tell him not to come out no matter what he heard.

She’d promise to make his favorite dinner the next day if he’d stay in the closet until she came to get him.

He’d never forget the fear lurking in her eyes.

As he grew older and bigger, he’d become aware of the bruises and welts on her body.

She’d covered them well, but once in a while as he walked by her room, he’d catch a glance of her back as she changed into fresh clothes.

He started standing in the gap between his father’s fists and her body.

When he was twelve, he began training on the punching bag in their dank basement.

He took his father’s abuse most of the time, but every once in a while he’d fill with rage and just flat-out deck him.

Cold-cock the sonofabitch, drag his drunken body into the spare bedroom and lock the door.

Some would call that protective behavior, but to Nick it only proved one thing.

He could be as cold as his father.