Dr. Dickhead was standing there, eyes to my shoulder, his face messed way the heck up. We were talking massive. Both eyes black, blue, and very swollen, a bandage on the bridge of his engorged, reddened nose, fat lip with three angry cuts and yellowish bruising around both of his cheekbones.

Oh God.

“I, um… of course,” I said quietly, my gaze skimming through my colleague, Peggy, who was sitting behind the desk at the nurse’s station and who also was staring at Dr. Dickhead with an expression on her face that I was certain mirrored mine.

I turned back to Dr. Dickhead to see him extending an arm for me to precede him. I moved, he shifted to let me by, and I noticed that he was holding his body very carefully.

Shy had fucked him up.

Shy had totally fucked him up!

Oh God.

My mind blanked of everything but walking as he guided me to an empty patient’s room. I walked into the room and he followed, closing the door behind him.

Eyes to my shoulder, he launched in, “I want you to know I apologize for my behavior. I’ve had some problems at home, I took them out on you, and that’s inappropriate. From now on, I’ll be more mindful of how I treat you and, erm… all the nurses, and be certain to show you more respect.”

Yep, Shy so totally fucked him up.

“I, uh… okay,” I whispered.

His eyes slid to mine then quickly moved away and he asked, “Is that acceptable to you?”

“Um… yes, uh… that would be great.”

“Excellent,” he muttered. “I appreciate your time.”

“Well, uh…” God! What did I say? “Thanks for that.”

Lame!

He extended his chin, winced, hid the wince, turned while holding his body stiffly and opened the door.

It swung closed behind him and I stood there staring at it.

I didn’t know what to do about this, and I didn’t know what to feel about it. I just knew, at that very moment, it felt weird and not in a good way. I also knew I had three hours to the end of my shift and I couldn’t do anything about it until then.

When I hit the nurse’s station, Peggy was still there, her eyes still wide, she leaned in and asked, “What was that about?”

“Uh, something about a patient. No biggie,” I lied.

She looked down the hall, obviously where she’d last seen Dr. Dickhead and asked, “Do you have any clue how he got that messed up?”

Oh yeah, I did. I totally did.

“He didn’t share that,” I told her. Fortunately it was the truth (in a way) and she looked back at me and grinned.

She was loving this. Yes, that was how big a douchebag he was.

“I bet he didn’t,” she muttered.

I pulled up enough professionalism to move on with my day and it was only when I was walking to my car that I took my phone out, my thumb moving on the screen, automatically calling Shy.

I put it to my ear and within a ring, I heard Shy’s, “Sugar.”

“Where are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately and when he did, his tone was quiet.

He’d read me.

“Where do you want me to be?”

I stopped at the door of my car, pointed my eyes to my shoes, and said, “That didn’t answer my question, Shy.”

“I’m at the Compound, havin’ a drink with the brothers.”

Okay, not home. That was good.

Maybe I could get my thoughts sorted before he got home.

“Tab?” he called when I said nothing.

“I’m here.”

“You okay?”

No, I wasn’t. I just didn’t know what I was.

“Sure,” I lied.

“Tabby—” he started.

“Listen, uh… it’s been a hectic day. I’m standing outside my car. I just wanna get home. I’ll see you when I see you, yeah?”

“Tabby—” he began again, but I cut him off.

“Later, Shy.”

I ended the call, got in my car, started her up, and ignored the two times my phone rang on the way home.

I was in jeans, a long-sleeved Harley tee, bare feet, had my hair up in a sloppy ponytail and my head in the fridge to get a much-needed beer (though, I was thinking more along the tequila lines) when Shy got home.

I twisted from the fridge to look at him and saw his face was serious, his eyes intense and they were on me.

I closed the door to the fridge coming out with my beer, taking two steps away from the fridge and deeper into the kitchen, I asked, “You want one?”

He walked into the kitchen, stopped and his eyes moved over my face.

Then he said quietly, “No. I want you to talk to me.”

“Shy—”

It was his turn to cut me off.

“Tab, heard it in your voice, see it all over your face. Somethin’s up and I figure I know what that somethin’ is. Now, talk to me. Why are you lookin’ at me like you’re lookin’ at me right now?”

Okay, suffice it to say I hadn’t got my head sorted before he got home.

It would have been nice to have the chance to do that, but with the way Shy was looking at me, I knew I wasn’t going to get that chance.

So I whispered, “You beat up Dr. Dickhead.”

“Yeah,” he copped to it immediately.

I blinked.

Shy shook his head then spoke. “Babe, we may not be an old married couple but we got a lot of time in and, just pointin’ out, at first, I was into you so I paid attention. Then I was fallin’ in love with you so I paid more attention. Then I was in love with you, so I figure you get where it went from there. What I’m sayin is, I know you. I know you were keepin’ shit from me. I also know why. And last, I know that motherfucker was fuckin’ with your life and it was bad, because I sensed your mood and it was deteriorating. After the hog roast, Lan had a word with me and what he said sealed it, so I did what I’d been thinkin’ of doin’ for a while. Somethin’, I’ll add, that needed to be done.”

That was debatable, but I decided it best at that juncture not to debate it.

“You didn’t talk to me about it,” I told him.

“No, I didn’t,” he told me. “But I told you flat out what I’d do to that asshole if he didn’t leave you alone.”

“You didn’t even tell me after you’d done it,” I kept fighting my corner.

“No, I didn’t,” he repeated, and again said no more.

Crap.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that, Shy. This affects me, my work—”

Shy interrupted me, “He apologize?”

I was losing it, therefore my voice rose when I answered, “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

Shy crossed his arms on his chest and his voice went low when he replied, “Oh yeah, it is.”

“Shy—”

“This is not a surprise to you, Tabby,” he stated low. “It’s not a surprise but it’s a shock, and I know on the face of it that doesn’t make sense, but I also know you get me.”

I stared at him and kept my distance.

Shy didn’t miss much and he didn’t miss this. We were the kind of couple that got close. Even shuffling around the kitchen, we touched, brushed mouths, stood near when we were both doing something at the counter.

So he didn’t miss the unusual distance I was putting between us. He also didn’t approach.

What he did was order, “You take time to come to terms with this. You need me to help you, I’m there. Now, I’m gonna give you time alone to sort your head out. Not much, we’re sleepin’ together, we’re wakin’ up together, so now you got a sense of how much time you got. Use it wisely, honey. This is me, you knew that was what you were gonna get, you can’t expect me not to be me and I’m not gonna lose you over somethin’ as meaningless as that douchebag.”

On that, he gave me a long look and sauntered with his tall, loose-limbed biker grace to and through the door.

I sucked in breath.

Then I moved to the phone with only one person on my mind.

My dad’s rough voice came at me after one ring. “How’s my girl?”

“Dad, I need to talk to you.”

He didn’t answer immediately and when he did, his tone was quiet.

“You had dinner?”

“No.”

“Buyin’ my girl dinner. See you at Lincoln’s in twenty.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

Twenty minutes later, I walked into Lincoln’s Road House, a biker bar off a slip road on I-25 that doubled as a neighborhood watering hole. I didn’t know how they managed to mix bikers, booze, and often live music with the staunchly middle-class ’hood that surrounded the joint, but they did it. Likely because the food was good, the waitresses were friendly, and the music, when they had it, was great. Not to mention, Denver was eclectic and folks were used to rubbing shoulders with just about anyone. It was one of the reasons I loved my town.

I saw Dad sitting at the bar with a beer, and his eyes were on me the moment I came through the door. I moved through the bar, slid my bottom up on the stool beside him, and plopped my purse in front of me.

His eyes moved over my face then they moved to the bartender. He jerked up his chin and waved a hand toward the beer in front of him.

Nonverbal badass speak for, Get my daughter a beer.

The bartender clearly spoke badass because he got me a beer. I took a pull, put the bottle on the bar, and looked at Dad.

“Talk to me,” he demanded.

“Shy beat up a doctor at work who was giving me a hard time.”

Yep, that was what came straight out.

“No, he didn’t,” Dad stated, and I stared.

After staring awhile, I asked, “He didn’t?”

Dad shook his head. “Nope.” He lifted his beer, took a pull, put it back on the bar, and looked at me. “Shy, Roscoe, and Hop fucked him up. Not just Shy.”

Oh my God!

Three of them?

I leaned in and hissed, “Are you serious?”