Prologue

It’s the feminine scent that wakes me. It smells like someone shook a bunch of flowers over my bed, and it’s so unfamiliar I sit up, wondering where I am.

The warm body next to me rolls onto her side, and Hope lets out a small sigh.

Hope.

The source of the flower smell and the reason I’m naked and my head is fuzzy from lack of sleep.

Her dark hair fans out across both pillows, and I sweep the silky tendrils to one side. The feminine scent wafts out of her hair, and I breathe it in deep. What is it, lavender? Citrus? Something so womanly and unfamiliar I don’t even have the fucking vocabulary to describe it.

The digital alarm clock casts a green glow over the pale skin of her bare back. Unable to resist, I press my hand gently to the skin of her back just to feel her breathe in and out, to make sure she’s real.

Last night felt surreal. From the moment she stepped into the Dusty Boots Bar and Grill with her tight black jeans and butterfly print tee, it’s as if I’ve been in a dream.

She hesitated on the threshold, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she glanced around the dark bar furtively. I thought she was going to retreat, choose somewhere else for dinner, but the waitress approached her and handed her a menu, and the hesitation turned into a smile that got my attention.

Same as every other straight man in the place.

She was led to the booth opposite mine, and as soon as she sat down some asshole in cowboy boots asked if he could sit across from her.

Asshole couldn’t take no for an answer, and I was out of my seat and sliding into the booth myself before I could question what I was doing, replacing one hot-blooded man with another.

I only intended to protect her from the guys trying to pick her up. I never meant to be that guy.

But three drinks and a plate of ribs later, we moved to an ice cream shop. I stopped drinking beer and we ordered milkshakes. I wanted to keep my mind clear, to remember ever detail of this night. When that place closed, we walked around the town square and along the river all the way until the footpath ran out, arms linked and talking like we’d known each other forever.

When I asked her back to my place, it was because I didn’t want the night to end. I never intended to get her into bed.

I never intended to open my bed and my heart to her. I never intended to feel this fierce protectiveness as I watch her sleeping, to feel like I want to wrap myself around her and never let her go.

The alarm clock winks 5:30 a.m. It’s the time I usually get up for work to be on site early, and no matter how tired my body is, I can’t lie still. I’m thinking about how to convince Hope to stick around in Oregon and not get on the plane back to North Carolina.

My leg twitches, and I drum my fingers on the bedsheet. I’ve got to get up or I’ll wake her, and she’s sleeping too peacefully for that.

As quietly as I can, I slide out of bed and retrieve my clothes that are strewn on the floor. I snag the condom from last night off the floor, and sticky residue comes off on my fingers. It’s been a while since I used one of these, but shouldn’t the deposit stay inside?

I chuck it in the trash and creep out of the room.

The sun’s just beginning to rise, and the kitchen’s bathed in a pink glow. The first flowers of spring are poking out from the overgrown backyard, and I wonder why I haven’t noticed them until now.

A bird sings its morning song, and I whistle right back at it as I make a pot of coffee.

There are eggs in the cupboard and bacon in the fridge. When Hope wakes up, I’ll cook her a mean breakfast and tell her how I feel. I bet there are construction jobs in Charlotte, or maybe she can move here. We can try it long distance. I’ll fly to her every fucking weekend if I need to. I just know I must see this woman again.

On the counter is a coaster from the Dusty Boots with a giant boot stomping on a beer, sending froth spraying out from under it. Hope thought it was ironically funny, so I slipped it in my pocket for her. Remembering the way she laughed at the coaster, her green eyes lit up, her head thrown back exposing her neck, makes my chest feel tight.

A wave of emotion bubbles up, and I clutch the kitchen counter. Fuck. Is this what love feels like?

The bird whistles again, and I swear I feel like fucking dancing around the kitchen. My fingers drum on the counter, and my leg taps out a steady beat. I need to get a fucking grip.

Grabbing the coffee mug, I head to the one place I can rely on for calm: the basement.

I put my headphones on and hit play on my favorite death metal playlist. The harsh tunes make my body relax and drive all the thoughts from my head. I learned this trick in foster care, loud music to stop the negative spiral of your own thoughts, only today it’s the overwhelm of emotion I need to stop. It served me in the military as well, cranking music as I set the bombs for demolition.

As a demolition man, my basement is full of the tools of the trade. I’ve got pickaxes and brute bars and hammers in all different weights and sizes. Along the back wall is my workbench, and mounted above it on a handmade wooden mount is my axe collection.

There are twelve axes on the wall, small and thin, long and chunky, axes for chopping wood, axes for hacking at walls, axes for throwing at targets, and my set of badass Viking axes.

I take down The Chopper, my favorite axe, and pull out the chair next to the work bench. The handle is hand carved red oak wood with a simple design carved into the wood. The steel blade is blunt from use, and I clamp it to the workbench and get to work with the sharpening stone.

With Frozen Soul blaring through my headphones and the methodic slice of the blade against the sharpener, for the first time since I woke, my breathing calms and my heart rate slows, and thoughts of Hope are banished from my mind as I focus on the blade.

I complete the first axe and lay it carefully on the bench, then reach for the next.

I’m working on The Slicer, which is what I call the big chunky one, when something makes me look toward the stairs. The door at the top is wide open, and I’m sure I closed it.

I slide the headphones off my head. “Hope?”

From upstairs, there’s the sound of the front door closing.

“Fuck.”

I race up the stairs calling her name. I was so engrossed in my axes I have no idea how long I’d been in the basement. As I pass the kitchen window, her car pulls out of the driveway.

“Fuck.”

I’ve had the most amazing night of my life and finally met a woman who makes me feel things, and she’s leaving. I can’t let her go.

I pull open the door and start down the front stairs.

“Hope!”

She’s backing out of the driveway, and she looks up when I call her name.

We shared something last night, something real. We were intimate. We went to sleep holding each other. I woke up so overwhelmed with feelings for her that I had to retreat to the basement. But anything we shared is gone as she looks at me with fear.

“Hope!”

I race down the drive as she reverses into the road, needing to talk to her, to tell her how I feel.

She slams the car into drive, and the tires screech as she takes off down the road just as I run into the road behind her.

I’m left panting hard, staring after her retreating headlights. Only then do I realize I’m still holding the axe in my hand.

No wonder she was frightened.

She must have woken up in a stranger’s bed, come to find me, and found a madman polishing axes in the basement.

“Fuck.”

I find a nice girl, and I scare the shit out of her. Nice one, Dex.

I carry the axe and my sorry ass inside.

I’m a demolition man. I destroy things. That’s what I do. It’s no surprise I’ve fucked this up too.