Page 2 of Never Going to Care

It doesn’t take long to get changed and then I’m taping up my hands along with Blaze when the door to the gym swings open and Remington, Weston and Easton come striding in. Fuck me, they actually do have popcorn.

I scrub a hand down my face and share a look with Blaze. His face is a neutral mask, but I can see the smirk in his eyes. Fucker.

I shake my head and point to the group. “No commentary from the peanut gallery.”

The three of them, as if they fucking coordinated that shit, zip their lips with their fingers and toss the imaginary key over their shoulders. I groan and turn away from them as they erupt into laughter behind me.

Easton is usually a little more serious than his brother, but not by much. He has a silly side which he only lets a few people in on beyond the casual and charming mask he shows the world. Since we’re like a family, we’re all in on it.

I approach and enter the ring alongside Blaze who looks me over after we bump fists and then take a few steps back, both getting into defensive postures. It’s always a battle of wills between us on who is going to attack first. We learned a long fucking time ago that being the aggressor in a fight has its place, but so does reading your opponent and waiting it out.

More often than not I break first and today is no exception. Usually, it’s because I get an itch under my skin to do something…anything. I can’t ignore it for too long.

I’m the one who asked him to spar anyway so I should be the one on offense and, hopefully, get first blood. Those two things don’t always line up, but I try to make it work for me.

We dance around each other, and I try to make an opening for myself by faking a jab to his ribs, but Blaze is ready for me, blocks me and then mirrors my actions. I’m not fast enough to block him and the impact is jarring as fuck.

I know he’s not even using all his strength either. We never do when we spar. No one needs to go to the hospital today which is what would happen if we turned this friendly sparring match into more. Piper would probably yell and fuss at us if we did which would annoy Landon and then he’d be up our asses.

No fucking thank you.

We trade punches back and forth, dancing around each other until we’re both sweating and panting. My muscles feel loose even as a few ache with tenderness from where Blaze has landed a blow. There’s no shit talking between us. It’s one of the reasons I always ask Blaze to spar with me.

He doesn’t talk, he delivers, and I appreciate the fuck out of it.

We’ve been doing this long enough to know the strengths and weaknesses of each other. When he takes me down to the mat and gets me into a grappling hold, I know he’s not going to let up until I surrender.

Growing up with three sisters and being the oldest, I’ve always prided myself on not being a sore loser so I could teach them to be the same way. The same is true when I’m sparring with my friend. I tap his arm twice and the pressure is immediately gone.

When I’m standing, I face Blaze as we pant. We fist bump and then head over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Our audience is munching popcorn and obnoxiously cheering like they just witnessed some damn cage match. It’s annoying as fuck, but also…kind of nice. Not like I would tell them though.

They’d become insufferable if I did.

I suck down the water and look at Blaze, the look we share tells me we won’t be having another match today. I’m fine with it. I got what I needed to out of it, and I hope he did as well. With a nod we flip off the three spectators, as if they couldn’t hold their own in the ring with us, and stalk off to the locker room.

By the time I’m out of the showers, I feel little less feral and hunting for blood and a little more like myself. The feelings of annoyance have settled into a simmer instead of a boil, but it’s still there right under my skin. I’m annoyed with being annoyed.

What the fuck is going on with me?

Maybe I need to find a woman for a night. I can’t offer her more than that and I know it. I haven’t even attempted a relationship since before I joined up. I knew there was no way to maintain it while I was being shipped to hell and back. Then afterward, I’m man enough to admit I needed some fucking space to deal with all the shit in my head.

My parents and sisters tried to support me as much as possible, but it was hard as fuck coming back to civilian life. You can’t just turn off the training I’ve gone through. I wasn’t on the same team as Landon, but I knew the man and when I heard about him opening Sullivan Protection, I tracked his ass down and got in.

It was what I needed because I knew he’d understand. I saw the same demons in his eyes I knew resided in mine; still do, for both of us. I needed a purpose and I found it here at SP—a way to put my training to good use and be surrounded by men who weren’t oblivious to what was going on in the world.

We added on, but every man who became part of our family here are former military. Sebastian was the only guy from the Air Force we had, but he’s in Denver now. It was the right move for him, even if I resented him leaving us for a little while. Now that he’s found his woman there, I know it was meant to be.

Still sucks to feel like we lost him when we’ve all had enough loss in our lives. The connection we have to Denver and the guys from Higgins Security there is strong and we’re better for it. My annoyance ebbs at the thought that the HS guys and the rest of their wild-ass family will come for Landon’s wedding.

The moment I get back to my office, my phone rings. I don’t groan but it’s so fucking hard to hold it in. I have boring ass files on my desk waiting for me and I don’t want to add to the stack of them. Not even a little bit.

“Torres,” I bark out when I answer.

The little giggle on the other end could be any one of my sisters. I swear, if you only hear them on the phone, you’d think they were fucking triplets. I can barely tell my mother apart from them either.

“Well, hello to you too, brother,” she snarks and it gives away who it is more than her voice.

“Isabella,” my voice softens. She’s after me in birth order and the oldest of my sisters and has always taken the role of being the oldest of the girls seriously. As if I wasn’t enough of a protective older brother. “How are you? How’s the shop?”

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