Page 8 of March 5

The door opened before he reached it. Maverick walked in, took one look at Dio, and frowned.

"Don't ask." Dio continued his hobble toward the door.

"What happened?"

"Told you not to ask." He stopped. "Cord thinks it's my sciatic nerve or some shit."

"Damn, brother." Maverick held the door open. "I feel you. It happened to me six months ago."

"How did you fix it?"

"Skye." Maverick's gaze softened. "Her hands are magic. She had me up and riding in two days without any pain."

Right now, he and Skye needed space. Maybe then, she'd forget what she saw the other night.

"Speaking of Skye, did you talk with her?" asked Maverick.

"Yeah. We're good."

Maverick dipped his chin. "Appreciate it."

He stepped away. It'd been a long day, made worse by hurting his back. All he wanted to do was go home and crash.

He lifted his foot off the ground at his bikeand almost fell. Depending on his Harley to hold him up, he leaned his upper body on the handlebars and inched his leg up. His boot stuck on the seat. He reached down, grabbed his jeans, and dragged his leg over.

Once seated, he caught his breath. Damn. It felt as if he'd run a mile. The most normal thing—something he had done multiple times throughout the day since he was eighteen years old, now threatened to take him out.

It took him a few minutes to figure out how to get his kickstand up without relying on his right leg to hold the Harley. Luckily, once he got the bike going and his foot on the peg, he could shift without discomfort.

On the way home, he seriously thought about continuing to ride because he felt no pain while in the seat. When he pulled into the driveway, he'd convinced himself that whatever bothered him earlier was gone. He wasn't feeling any discomfort.

He parked in front of the single-story house he'd bought over ten years ago. His hope that whatever was wrong with his back had fixed itself died a swift death as he fell off his Harley and had to drag his ass into the house. Throwing his duffle down, he hobbled to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey.

He was scheduled to ride out on the second shift tomorrow. He wouldn't be able to do shit with the amount of pain he was in.

An hour later, when the whiskey failed to fix him, he called Skye to come over and work her magic on him.

Chapter Four

Skye carried her bag to the front door of Dio's house. On the phone, he'd told her to walk right in when she arrived. That alone worried her. If he couldn't get off the bed, how bad had he hurt himself?

She opened the door and stepped inside. His home was as familiar as her parents' house. She'd spent many hours here over the years, sometimes when she came with her dad and other times when her parents were busy, and she hung out with Dio.

A three bedroom cottage with salt seasoned gray shingles with white shutters on each window welcomed her inside each time she visited. Inside, the furnishings were simple, manly, but homey. There was never anything she couldn't touch. No furniture she couldn't put her feet on. She was always free to investigate his fridge and help herself to whatever she wanted—except his beer.

"Dio? It's me." She walked toward the hallway. "Where are you?"

"Back here." Dio groaned. "Bedroom."

She hurried to the room and dropped her bag beside the bed. Dio was on his back, bare feet on the bed and knees in the air. At least he'd gotten into a position that would put less stress on his lumbar spine.

"How much pain are you in?" she asked.

"If I don't move, not much." He pointed acrossthe room. "Can you get me my pack of smokes? They're in the pocket of my vest."

"You're not going outside to smoke in your condition."

He exhaled heavily. "Can you make me better?"