by
Laura Kaye
One of my favorite things about writing military romance is getting to write about a group of guy friends bonded indelibly by the experience of war and, often, loss. Military units create bands of brothers that are just wonderful to write about and, honestly, I enjoy writing a good bromantic scene as much as I do one between the romantic leads.
So, today, I thought I'd share one of my favorite bromance moments from my recent release,
Hard As You Can (Hard Ink #2). In this scene, Nick and Shane (the heroes from books one and two, respectively) are using boxing gloves to work through the issues that have kept them from fully connecting as friends and partners in the year since they've been discharged from the Army. Read on...
They
circled, attacked, and retreated over and over, neither man holding the advantage
for long. Nick clipped him in the mouth, and Shane felt the skin split and the metallic
tang of blood on his tongue. So evenly matched, their fight turned into a war of
attrition that threatened to go on and on. Exhaustion making his arms heavy and
his responses slower, Shane used the memory of the train of unanswered calls
and emails, each one leaving him feeling more alone and isolated, and found the
will to keep going, keep fighting, keep exorcising the demons in his head that
never let up for five fucking seconds.
It
was just . . . all . . . too . . . goddamned . . . much. Wham. His fist
connected with Nick’s cheekbone like a sledgehammer. Nick’s head whipped to the
side, and his whole body spun as if in slow motion.
Nick
caught himself just before he face-planted, though he stumbled until he crashed
into the bench press. For a long moment, Nick braced his gloves against the
leather-covered bench and seemed to gather himself. He rose and faced Shane,
and it was clear from the stiffness and slowness of his movement that he was
hurting.
Shane
didn’t take a lick of pleasure from that fact. Just the opposite. The sight of
his best friend bloodied and injured at his own hands drained the fight from
him. Becca was going to have both their asses in a sling when she saw that the nearly
healed cut on Nick’s cheekbone was open again. The initial wound wasn’t Shane’s
doing—that had been between Nick and Beckett.
“Goddamnit,”
Shane rasped, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm. His
mouth took over where his fists left off. “I needed you, Nick. I fucking needed
you, and you weren’t there.”
Nick’s
head dropped heavily on his shoulders. For a long moment, labored breaths
aside, he was still. Then his gaze cut up, and Nick nodded. “I know. I . . .
know.”
Shane
waited, expecting more. Expecting . . . something. Anything. That Nick had
needed him, too. That Nick
was sorry. That he understood just how deep his silence had cut. “That’s it?
That’s all you have to say?”
“What
else is there to say?” Nick pulled off his gloves. And there it was. Same
story, different day. Guy still didn’t get it, did he? Shane tugged off his
gloves, returned them to a shelf against the wall, and shook his head. “Not a
damn thing, I guess.” Shane reached for the door handle.
“Jesus.
What do you want me to say?” The agonized whisper had Shane turning back to
his friend. “Do you want me to say I was so fucked in the head I became
depressed? Do you want me to say I should’ve figured out what Merritt was
doing? Because I know that shit is true. And that, since I didn’t see the
forest for the trees, I was so guilt-ridden I couldn’t face you guys? That I
thought you’d all blame me for ruining your lives and killing our friends?”
Nick’s eyes were bleak with anguish.
Shane’s
gut went tight as a hollowness settled into his chest. “Nick—”
“Or
maybe you want me to say it was easier to ignore you than face the possibility that
I’d lost you, too? Because you had to hate me as much as I hated myself, right?
Or, how ’bout that the pain of the surgeries and the PT was so intense I got
hooked on painkillers for about three months until Jeremy realized what’d
happened, flushed them down the toilet, and called my doctor behind my back?”
Nick scrubbed his hands over his face, smearing the blood on his cheek, and
clawed his fingers through his dark, sweaty hair.
Christ.
How the hell had the guy carried all this around for the past year without caving
under the weight of it? Just went to show that you never really knew the size
of the load another person carried. Except—Shane should’ve known. He was
supposed to be Nick’s best friend in the world. His brother. Damnit. Shane
should’ve forced the question.
As
Nick stood there pouring his soul in a bloody mess onto the floor between them,
it occurred to Shane for maybe the first time ever that he’d failed Nick as
much as he’d always thought Nick failed him. If he’d only pushed through his
own hurt and anger, maybe he would’ve realized that under normal circumstances,
the Nick Rixey he knew would never shut him out. But things hadn’t been normal,
had they? Not by a long shot.
Sonofabitch.
Shane
released a long breath, then crossed the space that separated them and lowered
himself heavily onto the bench. “Sitcha ass down before you fall down.”
Nick
sat and dropped his gloves. Bracing his elbows on his knees, Shane watched a
bead of sweat drop to the concrete. “I wish I’d known.” From his peripheral
vision, he saw Nick nod.
“I
know. I wish I’d been strong enough to tell you.” Shane’s thoughts were in a
whirl. Which made sense since the earth was shifting a bit underneath his feet,
at least where his beliefs about Nick were concerned.
Knock,
knock, sounded
against the door that led to the hall. A moment later, it eased open, and Becca
stuck her head
through the breach. Did she hear . . .
Yup.
Her
expression was a study in worry and concern. How much she’d overheard, he didn’t
know. But it was something, for sure.
“Um.
Everything okay?” she asked, clearly knowing the answer to the question. She
stepped the rest of the
way
in and let the door fall closed behind her.
Nick’s
glance slid from her to Shane. The man’s eyes repeated the question. Are we
okay?
Shane
didn’t want an audience to say the things he needed to say, and the words
weren’t there just yet anyway.
So
he said, simply, “Yeah, man. We are.” It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.
Did you have a favorite line from the excerpt? Or do you have a favorite fictional bromance?
Thanks for reading!
Laura
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About Hard As You Can:
Five dishonored soldiers.
Former Special Forces.
One last mission.
These are the men of Hard Ink.
Ever since hard-bodied, drop-dead-charming Shane McCallan
strolled into the dance club where Crystal Dean works, he's shown a knack for
getting beneath her defenses. For her little sister's sake, Crystal can't get
too close. Until her job and Shane's mission intersect, and he reveals talents
that go deeper than she could have guessed.
Shane would never turn his back on a friend in
need, especially a former Special Forces teammate running a dangerous,
off-the-books operation. Nor can he walk away from Crystal. The gorgeous
waitress is hiding secrets she doesn't want him to uncover. Too bad. He's
exactly the man she needs to protect her sister, her life, and her heart. All
he has to do is convince her that when something feels this good, you hold on
as hard as you can--and never let go.
