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I tensed. No, it couldn’t be him surely. I placed both my phone and Coke back on the table, heaved my tired self off the sofa, and then padded to the door. I pulled it open … and there he was, holding two shopping bags.

I could only stare at him, shocked. Up until now, he’d pointedly avoided entering the complex. And now here he was, standing outside my apartment.

His brows drew together as he drank me in. He walked inside, closed the door behind him, and strode right into my personal space. “Christ, baby, you look—”

“Like shit, I know.” I was still too stunned to see him to even fret over how utterly undesirable I must look right now—no makeup, my hair in a messy ponytail, my body bundled up in baggy sweats.

His eyes fixed on my choker, and his frown eased slightly. He slid an arm around my shoulders and brushed a kiss over my forehead. “I don’t like seeing you so drained.”

“How did you get into the building?”

“I bumped into Briar outside. She let me in.”

The minx could have given me a heads-up. “You didn’t say you were coming.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Well, he’d succeeded. “Not to sound unwelcoming, but why are you here?”

He pulled back the arm he’d draped over my shoulder and brushed a stray curl away from my face. “Because I want to be here.” He lifted his bags. “I come baring gifts.”

My brows hiked up in interest. “Gifts? What kind of gifts?”

“Those that are high on carbs.”

Every cell in my body perked right up.

“My mother has migraines. When the hangover sets in, she binges on carbs and Coke—which I also brought in case you had none.”

He was a total gem. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, but I’m real glad you did. You’re welcome to stay awhile, but I won’t make great company.”

“I’m not looking for you to entertain me, Iz. I’m here to baby you a little.”

That sounded somewhat intriguing. “What exactly does that entail?”

“Mostly keeping you watered and fed so you don’t have to move. Oh, and head massages.”

I melted into him. “I don’t think anyone would believe me if I told them you have a sweet side.”

“It’s doubtful,” he agreed, looping an arm around my waist.

“So. Carbs?”

He chuckled, slowly and carefully backing me into the living area. His gaze took one quick scan of the room before he led me to the sofa and urged me to sit down beside him. When he pulled a box of cupcakes out of a bag I swear I almost teared up. Oh, he was one fabulous motherfucker.

I practically inhaled the first cake, completely unashamed. He only smiled, his eyes lighting with what could have been affection—the light was gone too fast for me to be sure.

He draped an arm over my shoulders as I busily munched on cake number two. “How often do you have migraines?” he asked, gently playing with my hair.

“Usually only once every two or three months. What about your mum?”

“She typically has one a month.”

I paused in chewing. “Then she has my sympathy. Do you see much of her? It’s just that I get the impression you’re not at all close to your dad. I wondered if maybe it was different with her.”

“I’m not close to either of them. Or to any of my other relatives, for that matter. It’s why you’ll never see them at my ringside during fights.”

I frowned, eating the last chunk of my cake. “None of them are ever there to support you?”

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