Getting Rowdy

“To fight.” She knew very few people who ever engaged in physical confrontations. While growing up, the only fights she’d ever witnessed had been in sporting matches. In her world, men had ruled with money and prestige, not brute strength.

Her one and only experience with physical anger had sent her running away and into hiding. “You’re so good, you make it look...effortless.”

He studied her, his attention far too intuitive. “You know I have a younger sister.”

And that explained his need to fight? One day, Avery would love to meet Pepper. “You two are close?”

His concentrated attention strayed from her mouth to her collarbone to her hair. “Our folks died in a car crash a long time ago, so it’s just the two of us.”

Oh, God, so tragic. In sympathy, Avery reached for his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” As if it didn’t matter at all, he laced his fingers with hers and said, “They were a waste of breath.”

The harsh words threw her, leaving her wide-eyed and speechless. She still grieved for her father, who’d died years past.

She mourned what would never again be, and for how everything had irrevocably changed—not for the better.

Rowdy turned her hand over, brushed his thumb over her palm. “My parents were both miserable drunks.” He explored the thrumming pulse in her wrist. “That’s how I got my name.”

Her stomach dipped when he put a damp, warm kiss to her wrist, followed by the soft touch of his tongue.

She needed to get him back on track, and fast—before she forgot her reasons for waiting. “I think you told me once that your mom was a Clint Eastwood fan. I assume that’s why she named you after one of his characters.”

Sardonic humor curved his mouth. “She claimed that she went into labor during a three-day drinking binge and couldn’t remember any other names. She and Dad would laugh about the good times, which usually led to a rip-roaring drunk and a lot of bitching about how kids got in the way of having fun.”

The insensitivity of his parents both angered and saddened her. “They actually told you that?”

His mellow gaze showed total disregard for the cruelty. “The night they wrecked, they took out six other cars. Luckily no one else died, but a lot of people got banged up pretty good.”

Emotion squeezed the air out of her lungs, making her chest hurt. “You weren’t with them?”

He shook his head. “I was pretty young still when I learned to recognize the signs. Mom would get giddy, or Dad would smile a certain way, and I knew they planned to tie one on. I’d hide with Pepper so they couldn’t take us.” Looking beyond her, he drew in two slow breaths. “When I got big enough, around the time I turned twelve or so, I just flat out refused to go. They figured leaving me behind was easier than the fight it took to take us along.”

So young! Her eyes burned with the idea of how he’d lived his youth. “Pepper...”

“I kept her with me.”

She was glad to hear it, but how much strength had it taken for a boy at that young age to defy alcoholic parents?

Rowdy traced the lines in her palm. “I was home with Pepper when we got the news they were dead.” His hand tightened on hers. “She cried for two days straight.”

That poor girl. “How old was she?”

“Fifteen. Plenty old enough to understand that we’d been on the radar for children’s services for years. She figured with our folks gone, she’d end up in a foster home.”

A vise of sorrow closed around Avery’s heart. Now she understood what had forged Rowdy’s hard edge—pure survival. “How old were you?”

“Just turned eighteen.”

On the run. Avery already knew, but asked anyway. “You took off with your sister, didn’t you?”

“That seemed better than being separated. And we did okay for a few years. At times, it was even kind of fun.”

Because he no longer had abuse to deal with? She fought the unbearable urge to hug him tightly, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it.

Not for the reasons motivating her.

Without her realizing it, Rowdy tugged the cloth-covered band from her hair, freeing it.

“Rowdy...” She reached back to gather the unruly mass, but he already had his fingers tangled in it, spreading it out, bringing it forward over her shoulder.

As if fascinated with her hair, he watched his hand instead of meeting her gaze. “Pepper had grown up without much, so she didn’t feel like we were missing anything. Long as we had a roof over our heads and enough to eat, she was happy.”

Gently, Avery said, “I think being happy had more to do with having her big brother around.”

“Maybe.” He gave a gruff laugh of disgust. “I screwed up a lot of stuff, but most of all when I got us both jobs in a high-end club. The pay was great. I was able to save up some money and keep Pepper close at hand.”

Had he been protecting Pepper his whole life? First from his parents, and then from well-meaning authorities?

If so, where did that leave Rowdy?

Who had looked out for him?

Avery tried to imagine him as a little boy stuck in a bar while his parents drank themselves into oblivion. At thirteen, hiding with his sister. At eighteen, on the run from the establishment.

“You did the best you could.” Always.

Something shifted in his demeanor, the sadness replaced with iron will—yet his touch remained gentle as he toyed with a long lock of her red hair. “By the time I realized the club owner was a murdering bastard, it was too late.”