Nights at Seaside Read online

  He gazed up at the star-studded sky, and she saw his Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed whatever memories made him grow silent.

  “I promised you dinner. We should probably go.” He pulled her in close again.

  He was more than a head taller than her, and with the moonlight at his back, he looked even more handsome than he had when she’d first seen him at Governor Bradford’s. Sky knew it was because he’d shared so much of himself with her that his looks moved to the background and his emotions filled the space between them. She’d never met a man who opened up so easily. She’d thought that she and Blue were as close as two friends could get, but it had taken a few weeks until they shared these types of intimate conversations—and even then they felt like they rode the surface compared to her conversation with Sawyer. She was a little overwhelmed by the sense of feeling like she knew him so well after just a few hours.

  “Thank you,” he said, as he tipped her chin up and gazed into her eyes.

  “For?”

  “For reminding me of some of the best moments in my life. I hadn’t forgotten them, but I hadn’t revisited them in so long that I had almost forgotten how special they were.”

  He drew her close again and held her. His heart beat against her cheek, and despite wanting to kiss him again and again and again, she reveled in this moment of closeness.

  Chapter Four

  SAWYER AND SKY ordered lobster rolls at a walk-up restaurant on the Provincetown pier and ate while sitting on the beach. The sand was cool and the breeze coming off the water was brisk, but when Sawyer touched Sky’s hand, her skin was warm. They talked for a long while, and he realized that they both enjoyed similar styles of music—ranging from Top 40 to country and jazz, and they both hated sauerkraut, mustard, and mullets, which they shared a laugh over as they lay back on the beach, their sides touching, and gazed up at the stars.

  “Do you ever wonder how different your life might be if just one element had been altered?” Sky asked.

  “Like if I hadn’t gone into boxing?”

  She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “You’re a boxer?”

  “I didn’t mention that?” Sawyer wasn’t surprised that she didn’t recognize him. Not just because she probably didn’t follow boxing, but because he’d never accepted any offers for sponsorships. The idea of having his face plastered over a billboard selling boxing equipment or pushing certain clothing lines or energy drinks had always turned him off. Sponsorships were for guys whose egos needed stroking. The only stroking Sawyer’s ego required was done by his own competitive nature to be the best. Winning his boxing matches was all the notoriety he needed—and if it had come without a belt, he wouldn’t have cared. He’d have trained just as hard, fought just as tough, to know in his own head that he was the best fighter in his division. And it was that determination that would secure his father’s financial future.

  “No,” Sky said. “I would have definitely remembered that.”

  The distaste in her tone surprised him. Usually women went crazy over his career.

  “I’m sorry if I didn’t mention it.” He pushed up on one elbow so he could look into her beautiful, though wary, eyes.

  “You actually get into a ring and punch people?” she asked. “And they punch you?”

  He smiled at the simplification. “Yes, but it’s really more than that.”

  “Enlighten me,” she said, pushing up on her elbow so they were eye to eye.

  “I take it you’re not a fan?” He reached for her hand to see how far she was withdrawing, and thankfully, she laid her hand in his.

  “I don’t love the idea of fighting,” she said. “But to think that you willingly do it? Let’s just say I’m curious, but not a fan, no.”

  “When I was a kid, I was in organized sports. Pee-wee football, soccer, baseball. And as I got older I was frustrated because the bottom line of winning or losing was out of my control. I wanted something where winning or losing came down to my own skills. My own drive and determination. My dad traveled a lot when I was younger, and my mom was busy, and I went searching…”

  “Searching?” It came out sounding like a question.

  He met her gaze again, and something about the intense way she was looking at him, as if she were trying to see inside him, made the truth spill out.

  “I started hanging out with these older kids. Part of me knew they were no good, but they were tough, and that was intriguing to me. Well, that lasted about ten minutes. My father came home one weekend and caught me mouthing off to our neighbor. It’s embarrassing to think about now, but at thirteen, what did I know? Anyway, my father’s got this way of seeing right through people, and he knew exactly what I needed. He dragged my butt down to the local fight club and handed me over to Roach.”

  “Roach?”

  “Manny Roach Regan. He’s been my trainer forever, but it didn’t start out that way. My father took me to a fight club and told Roach to show me what it meant to be respectful, and then he walked out the door.”

  “He left you at the fight club?” Her eyes widened. “When you were thirteen?” Her fingers inched across the sand and covered his.

  “Yeah,” he said with a smile, because looking back, he knew his father realized exactly what he was doing. “That one afternoon changed the course of my life. Roach is a no-bull guy. He was in his twenties, and he was massive. He had me taking out the trash, cleaning the gym, and working the bags.”

  “And you didn’t hate your dad for leaving you there?” She sat up, and he could see the tension in her shoulders. “Weren’t you scared?”

  “Scared to death. I thought I was tough, and then suddenly this monster of a guy is looming over me. Roach is intimidating to adults, so at thirteen…” He shook his head with the memory. “Let me tell you, I didn’t feel so tough after about two minutes with the guy. But I was a quick study, and something about his toughness spoke to me. I went back the next day, and the next. And eventually I got over my frustration and anger at my father for dumping me off on Roach, because really, he was saving my life.”

  “And now you fight.” Her eyes moved over his face, and she shook her head, as if she couldn’t make sense of what she saw.

  “Yes. I’m a fighter. It’s who I am.” He paused, thinking about that statement, and changed his mind. “Actually, it really isn’t who I am, Sky. It’s what I do. And Roach? He became my mentor and one of my best buddies. He taught me to respect everyone and everything, and part of respect is knowing when it’s okay to fight. When two people agree to the rules and engage in a safe environment—in the ring—that’s cool. Street fighting or bullying is not.”

  “But…” Her brows knitted together. “How can you punch some guy in the head? I don’t watch boxing, obviously, but I’ve seen clips on television. It’s so violent.”

  “That’s how most people see it. A lot of people correlate boxing to Mike Tyson and the whole ear-biting fiasco—all that nonsense and hype that surrounded him in the years following that fight. But you’ve just spent hours with me. Do I seem like an aggressive media seeker to you?”

  She shook her head, and a genuine smile lifted her lips as she reached up and touched his cheek. He leaned in to her touch.

  “No. I can’t imagine someone punching this face. In fact, it’s hard to put the idea of you boxing together with the man that I’ve just gotten to know and the man I saw singing at open mic night. You’re either really good at pretending to be someone you’re not, or you’ve managed to divide and conquer your inner self.”

  “Divide and conquer my inner self? That’s the perfect way to say it.” Her hand slipped from his cheek. “When I was younger, all my mother wanted for me was to be true to myself. I loved music, and she signed me up for guitar and piano lessons. I’m surprised I didn’t end up a boxer and a professional musician, quite honestly.”

  “Well, you do write songs and sing them in bars. How does your mom feel about your fighting?”

  A breeze swept off the
water, causing goose bumps to rise on Sky’s arms. Sawyer pulled her in close, loving the feel of her against him.

  “She won’t come to my fights, but she supports me. She came to a few when I was younger, but it was too hard for her to watch her little boy punch and be punched.”

  “I can only imagine.” Sky sank down to her back again.

  He leaned over her and asked, “Is this too much for you?”

  She shrugged like it was no big deal, but the look in her eyes and her wrinkled brow told him that it was a very big deal. “I think I’m with your mom. I don’t think I could watch you fight, but I guess I won’t really know unless I try at some point. When do you fight?”

  “Well, right now I’m training for a title fight.”

  “A title fight? Is that a big deal?”

  He smiled at the question. “Really big. I’m the East Coast Boxing Federation cruiserweight titleholder, and ranked number three in the Northeast Boxing Association.” He couldn’t keep the pride from his tone.

  “Cruiserweight? Title fight? I’m sorry, I don’t know the lingo.”

  “Cruiserweight is the weight class, usually 176 to 200 pounds. I hold steady between 198 and 200. And holding the title means you’re the champion in that division. A title fight is a fight for the title, or to become the champion.”

  “So…you’ll fight the best in the division and try to win the title from him?”

  He nodded, remembering the doctor’s warning, and his smile slipped away.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Do you like it? Fighting, I mean?”

  He lay on his back beside her again, wanting to avoid her gaze while he thought over his answer.

  Sky reached for his hand. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. Sometimes we don’t know what we really feel.”

  He looked at her then and felt even more drawn to her than he had all evening. He didn’t want to hold back, but revealing the truth would burn like an open wound, and once she realized how much he loved boxing, she might run the other way. She smiled and he realized how quickly their connection had developed. Better to find out now than after they’d spent even more time together.

  “For the first few years, boxing was an outlet and obsession. I loved the adrenaline rush as much as the power of knowing I had succeeded at what I set out to do—to win. Then it became my passion. It was what I lived for, and then, after my father became ill, boxing took on a new meaning. In addition to being something I love, it became something I needed to succeed at to secure his future.”

  “I’m sorry, Sawyer. I didn’t realize—”

  He squeezed her hand, then pushed up on his elbow again, missing the connection he felt when he gazed into her eyes.

  “He was in the Vietnam War, and like too many other veterans, he fell prey to the aftereffects of Agent Orange. Parkinson’s hit him a few years ago. He’s in stage three, still able to function for the most part, with deficits in speech, walking, facial expressions, and…” His chest tightened as he rattled off the parts of his father that were quickly slipping away. He inhaled a breath and felt the urge to move. Sitting still made him feel like he wasn’t doing anything to help his father, and that, he realized as he stood and reached for Sky’s hand, was just one of the painful realities of his father’s illness. There was nothing he could do for his parents but help financially and provide emotional support.

  They walked up the beach as he described what his parents’ life had become—the slowness of his father’s gait, his endless tremors, and his need to rely on others, which he knew his father disliked.

  “I can’t imagine the sense of loss your whole family must feel. My mom’s death was a shock. It was unexpected and treacherous, but I can’t imagine watching her deteriorate because of a disease.” She squeezed his hand. “How does his health tie into how you feel about boxing?”

  “I’ve always fought regionally because I wanted to be close by in case my parents needed me, but regional fighters don’t earn as much as national fighters. And then I won my titles and finally began earning big. Big enough that four years ago I was able to purchase a house that had been in our family for generations but my parents had given up nearly fifteen years earlier because they needed money.”

  “That’s incredibly generous, and so meaningful, to bring that family history back into your lives.”

  He stopped walking and looked toward Commercial Street, thinking about the last few years and how much had changed—and how much hadn’t. His father’s health had changed, which had taken a toll on both of his parents, and his fighting had progressed to higher levels, but he felt like he was treading the same water he’d been over many times before.

  “The house was all my father talked about when I was growing up, and bringing it back into the family felt like the biggest achievement of my life. Even bigger than the titles I’d won. I’m renovating it this summer, adding wheelchair ramps and making it easier for him to get around so he can still spend time there as his disease progresses. You asked about how my father’s illness fits into my boxing. The more I learned about Parkinson’s, the more I realized what he’d need in terms of care as the disease progressed and how much his care would cost. The military covers a good deal of his medical expenses, but he’d never want to be put in a health-care facility full-time, despite the fact that there’ll come a time when his care will be too burdensome for my mother.”

  Sky’s eyes filled with compassion.

  “He’s the only man my mother has ever loved, and although she says she’ll care for him…” He shook his head. “It’ll be too much for her. It would be too much for anyone. I’ve finally made it to a point where a title fight would mean enough money to cover in-home, professional medical care for the rest of his life.” And now the doctor says another blow to my head could leave me brain damaged. He pushed that awful thought down deep and said, “I’m going to win this title fight for him, and then I’ll think about retiring.”

  “Sawyer.” She reached for his other hand, holding both as she gazed into his eyes like she was seeing him for the first time. “You’re fighting to provide for your father? That’s admirable. Your parents must be very proud of you.”

  He couldn’t confirm that as easily as he would like to, because his parents didn’t know about the doctor’s recent warning—if they did, he knew his father would tell him not to fight. Sawyer had one last chance to pay his father back for seeing enough in him, for believing in him enough to redirect and center him. Sawyer had had years to think about that day his father had handed him over to Roach, and there was no doubt in his mind that his father had saved him from teenage years filled with trouble. Who knew what he might have done, or where he might have ended up? His father might not have been around much, but he cared. He cared enough to risk his son being pissed off for weeks on end.

  No matter what, Sawyer was going to win this fight. He dropped his gaze to the sand, then shifted it to the parking lot, and watched a group of people laughing as they walked toward the lights of Commercial Street.

  “He was very proud of me.” He needed noise to drown out the chaos in his head and the ache in his chest that accompanied thoughts about his father and the doctor’s warning.

  “Was? And now?” she pushed.

  Now it’s like looking in a mirror, at what could happen to me if I get hit in the head again. Now I hear his slowed voice telling me to give it up and follow my heart to something else. Now I’m standing between two rivals playing Russian roulette. On one side is my father’s care and quality of life. On the other is something I haven’t thought about with any great significance—my own well-being.

  And now the thing I never expected has happened.

  Now there’s you. Causing me to question my decisions in a way I never have before.

  He couldn’t say any of those things. Not tonight. Not on their first date.

  Maybe not ever.

  “Now I think we should go to a club, listen to music, and
see if you’re as good at dancing as you are at listening. And kissing. You’re definitely good at kissing.”

  Chapter Five

  TWO HOURS LATER Sky’s and Sawyer’s bodies were pressed tightly together on the crowded dance floor of a dimly lit nightclub, surrounded by a mass of people bumping and grinding to a band Sky had never heard of. The melody didn’t matter. They’d been dancing since they’d arrived, and their bodies moved to a rhythm she was sure only they could hear. A private beat, fast and slow, hot and sensual. His hands splayed across her back, moving over her hips, then up her arms. Undemanding and possessive at the same time, as if she’d been his forever.

  Sky didn’t consider herself uptight or laden with inhibitions, but she had some level of self-control—and she’d left it behind when their bodies began their slow seduction, and her mind turned lustful and dark. It had been a long time since she’d gotten lost in someone, and that’s exactly what was happening. She couldn’t resist letting herself feel for the man who loved his father enough to fight for him, the man who listened and comforted her. The man who could have taken advantage of her openness, if he’d been a different type of person. The man whose soul seemed to be as deeply rooted in who he was as hers was.

  Her hands traveled over the hard ridges of his chest, as their hips brushed. She closed her eyes, and when his mouth descended on hers in a needful, wanting kiss, her emotions whirred.

  His lips slid to the corner of her mouth, then across her cheek, and he said something in a growl, but the music was too loud to make it out. She pressed in closer, craving the sound of his voice. She wanted so much more of him. Sex was all around them. Men gyrated against women, openmouthed kissing in a sea of sexually charged bodies, all of which heightened her arousal. When Sawyer turned her in his arms and raked his teeth over the shell of her ear, she tilted her head to the side, giving him better access. He sealed his mouth over her neck.