Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

escapes his lips. The grin is gone, and there’s pain in his face. I notice a long cut on the side of his head. He grips at the side of his torso again and pulls his hand away. There’s a smear of dried blood on the left side of his body, and a mottled, brown and purple bruise spreads over his ribs.  

    “I’m hurt, Nat. Not sure how bad,” he says and looks at me again. His cocky grin is wiped clean.

    “Damn you, Josh. What the hell happened this time?” I sigh. I want to stomp my foot and scream at him—he knows I won’t turn him away if he’s hurt for real. The very fact that he’s shown up here at all is another act of manipulation—just like the night he left me. I stand and stare at him a second, my pulse rising and my stomach dropping out all at the same time. I want to curl up in a tiny ball and pretend he isn’t lying right there in front of me, but the doctor part of me wants to take over. It’s that part that knows he’s hurt bad—and I gotta ignore the angry, hurt part so I can move on and help him like he needs.

    “Nothing much. Nothing out of the regular,” he says, but the expression on his face tells me otherwise. Arms still crossed over my breasts, I look him over, noting the gashes that need stitches and the left arm hanging limp at his side. My doctor brain is already taking over, and I’m moving lightning-fast, grabbing my doctor’s kit and a pillow to prop up Josh’s head.

    Shit , I think as I rifle through my bag. Ain’t got a needle that’ll stitch him up proper. And no damn iodine, no nothing that’ll get those stitches done. He probably knows I’ll take him to the damn clinic where I used to work. I used to take him there when he begged me not to take him to the hospital, and damn him, he knows I never let go of that access card after I quit. I think of the rush of sneaking him there in the middle of the night back when I was in nursing school, and I almost roll my eyes at myself and sigh deeply.  

    Get a grip, Natalie. This is just his same old shit. You can’t get involved. But as I’m taking his pulse and guessing at his blood pressure because he won’t stop fucking moving, I know he’s making me get involved just by being here, rolling here into my apartment like no time has passed at all.

    I throw the pillow under his head. He lies down and lets out a groan, like he’s been holding it deep inside, hiding how hurt he really is. Kneeling next to him, I take his wrist in my hand. His skin is hot to the touch, his pulse rapid. The long, straight line of his jaw starts to quiver as he grabs my hand and squeezes it hard. A shock runs through me, heat spreading through my belly and down into my thighs. This is how it is with him, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m mostly fucking naked. My body responds, betraying me. But it’s a betrayal he doesn’t need to know anything about. I put on an annoyed look and bat his hand away, trying to hone in on his pulse again.  

    “Thank you, Nat,” he says. He knits his eyebrows together when he looks up at me, and I smile for just a second. His eyebrows have always been darker than his hair, and because his hair is cropped so close, the contrast makes him look unnaturally serious and intense.

    “I haven’t done anything yet,” I say, nervously running my fingers through my hair. I haven’t been this close to Josh in years, not since that one night where it almost happened, him and me. He’s probably forgotten about it. And I should have too. It’s not right that it affects me to be near him like this, not after all this time. Not after the chasm that’s formed between us.  

    “Thanks for opening the door, I mean.” His voice is softer now, almost like it’s an effort for him to speak. There’s no hint of his characteristic sarcasm, and though his eyes show pain, there’s an honesty I haven’t seen there before.  

    “What the hell else was I supposed to do?” I ask. He shrugs and cringes hard, favoring