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After Mo had intercepted Noah from further mangling his fists, the man had explained more about WFC. The basic idea was to use the discipline and physical outlet of mixed martial arts training to help veterans struggling with anger management issues, PTSD, and other problems transitioning to civilian life.
Check, check, and check. All of that was Noah in a nutshell.
The other interesting thing about WFC—it was only open to active-duty service members and veterans. And given that Noah’s panic attack in the art therapy class this morning was received with nothing but understanding and encouragement, knowing he’d be training with others like him gave him at least some confidence that they’d get it if he lost it again.
Baby steps, man. But he’d fucking take ‘em.
Noah started down the stairs and nearly had a damn spring in his step. After months of feeling so down, this small sliver of excitement at the prospect of finally finding something that could make a difference nearly felt euphoric. Which showed just how down he’d been.
Footsteps sounded out below, and Noah moved to the side as a guy with longish brown hair and lots of ink rounded the landing and came jogging up.
“Hey, man,” the guy said.
At some point, Noah would have to work on actually meeting his neighbors, wouldn’t he? For now, though, he just nodded. “Hey.”
“Oh,” the guy said from where he stood up above him now. Noah turned. “Sorry to hold you up, but I wondered if you were the guy who just moved in.” He came back down the steps, and that’s when Noah noticed he carried a flower in his hand. A single pink rose.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Noah extended his hand and introduced himself.
The guy returned the shake, an easy-going smile on his face. “Ethan. Ethan Black.”
For a moment, Noah couldn’t figure out why the name sounded so familiar, and then he heard Kristina’s voice from last weekend. His name is Ethan and he’s a bartender…
Holy. Fucking. Hell. It was Ethan the Dickhead Neighbor. “You’re the bartender,” he managed.
Confusion painted the other man’s face. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Kristina.” Tension squeezed the muscles of Noah’s neck so hard that a headache bloomed all down the back of his head. This. This was the guy she was going out with tonight. This was the guy she thought was hot.
“Oh, right,” Ethan said, that easy-going smile returning. He looked down at the rose in his hand and blushed. Which almost certainly meant the rose was for Kristina. “You’re her friend…” He kept on chatting, but Noah’s brain tuned him out.
Because something about hearing another man label them as friends had Noah grinding his teeth. Especially another man taking his girl out on a date. Made no difference to the man underneath all the bullshit that Kristina wasn’t actually his. Not as he looked at Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky-Hottie-McDickhead-N
eighbor standing there with a fucking rose. And a pink one, at that.
Kristina was going to like that. Because it wouldn’t be the presumptuous overkill of red, but it would be sweet and thoughtful all the same.
And Kristina would like sweet and thoughtful. Hell, she deserved it. And maybe Noah shouldn’t resent that this guy was apparently capable of giving it to her, but he did. He resented it with every pissed-off fiber of his being.
Ethan didn’t seem to have registered that Noah was on a DEFCON-5-level meltdown, because he asked, “Hey, what kind of stuff is she in to? I really dig your friend,” he said with a sheepishly charming shrug, “so I’d appreciate any pointers you could give me.”
Snark and sabotage rushed to the front of Noah’s brain. With some effort, he forced himself to resist the urge to tell him where to stick those pointers or to sabotage his chances with Kristina by suggesting he take her out for sushi, which she hated, or to order for her without asking, which she thought was a ridiculous thing for anyone to do ever.
Finally, Noah shook his head. “Just ask her. She’s very laidback and down-to-earth.” Kristina deserved that much from him.
“All right, man. Well, thanks. I’ll tell her we ran in to each other.” Ethan gave a wave and started up the steps again. “Have a good night.”
Noah couldn’t return the sentiment. Because the idea of what might make Ethan’s night good had Noah’s blood boiling in his veins. His skin was suddenly hot and too tight. He stalked to his SUV and then sat there. Stewing and churning. Full of regret.
He had his phone out of his pocket and open to his messages with Kristina in an instant. His fingers hovered over the keys. Saying anything to her about this date was probably a bad idea. No, it was most definitely a bad idea. Which was probably why his fingers started in on the hunting and pecking.
Don’t go on your date tonight, he sent to her, his gut tossing.
Why? Did something happen? came back at him almost immediately.
How easy it would be to tell her he needed her instead, that he wasn’t doing well. But Noah couldn’t do it. It already made him enough of an asshole to ask her not to go out with Ethan in the first place. He knew it did.
No. Everything’s fine. Just don’t go.
