When I was ten, I brought home a bird I had found in a ditch in front of my cousin's house. My father told me not to bring him in the house and when I asked him why, he told me that when the bird was healed, he would fly away when he was ready.

He was right. For days I watched over the bird, providing him with a shoebox home and an old scarf for a blanket with dried grass for a nest. I dug up worms for him to eat and used a dropper to give him water. And one morning I found the box empty. He had flown away and I missed it.

And it was like that when Colt came to live with us. My father was quite the boxer back in his day, winning some small time fights and making a name for himself in our town when I was very young. But that wasn't good enough for my mom. She left before I turned three.

My father raised me on his own and I later realized he gave up what could have been a successful boxing career to raise me. So instead of taking on title matches, my father opened a gym and dedicated himself to helping train other boxers. And he was good at it.

I spent a lot of time in his gym and I saw a lot of bloody cuts, broken noses, bruised ribs and split lips. At first, I couldn't take the sight of anyone hurt. It was like I could feel their pain. But the longer I hung around the gym, the more I felt needed.

Some of the guys laughed at me as a 12 year old with a first aid kit and ice packs, trying to tend to their wounds. Some of them wanted no part of it, deciding to take care of themselves. But that only made me want to care for them more.

After some first aid classes, I could set a broken bone in an emergency, use a defibrillator, close up most cuts, and manually realign a broken nose. I liked the feeling of being able to help people. I had found my calling. I wanted to be a nurse and study sports medicine.

The summer before my sophomore year of high school, I heard my father out in the garage talking to someone. I peeked through the partially open door that led out there and saw a battered boy slouched on a stool.

"So I don't suppose you want to tell me what happened?" my dad quizzed, narrowing his eyes at the kid.

He shrugged and glanced away. "I'm okay. I was only trying to get into the gym so I could get a shower. I wasn't trying to steal anything."

Dad crossed his arms over his still impressive chest and gave this kid a once over. Even at 45, my father, Charlie Armstrong was still in amazing shape. "I won't call the cops on you, kid, but I can't have you sleeping in the alley or trying to break my windows. You really don't have a place to go?"

He shook his head solemnly, dark brown wavy locks shaking over his forehead as his shoulders slumped. "My foster parents... they know my birthday is in a few weeks and the checks are gonna stop coming. I...I just don't wanna go back into the system. I'm almost aged out. I just need a little help until then."

Dad reached out and squeezed his shoulder and shot him a hopeful look. "I won't call child services and I can help you out with a place, but you have to meet my conditions."

"Okay..." The kid sounded hesitant yet curious. "Just name them."

"First, you can stay in the loft above my garage," he informed him while pointing above their heads. "Second, you come work for me at the gym. I can find you plenty to do to help earn your way. But when school starts back, you go. No skipping school or dicking off in class. Keep your grades up."

"Anything else?"

My father rubbed his chin and gave him the sternest look yet. "Yeah. Just one more thing and it's a big one." He paused for the effect and then added, "Never touch my daughter."

"No problem, sir."

"I mean it, Colt. I'm trusting you with my life. My little girl means everything to me and she isn't here for you to be sniffing around, okay?"

Colt held his hands up in surrender and nodded quickly. "Yeah. I got it. I won't even look at her. Swear."

My father tried to bite back his grin, but I already knew it was there. He liked this guy. And I already felt a pang of jealousy because he was a boy and deep down I knew my father wanted a son to share his knowledge of boxing with. He had tried with me, opting to train me, but I didn't have that killer instinct. I would fight to defend myself but I found no joy in pummeling someone for the hell of it.

So I knew my dad had to be thrilled when Colt had asked if Dad would train him. He got that look in his eye and I knew he was thinking about it. Colt definitely had the body for a boxer. Of course, even in his clothes, he looked too thin, but that could easily be fixed.

His shoulders were wide and his back looked strong from what I could see. I wanted to see more, surprising myself with that thought because previous to Colt's arrival, I had had little to no interest in the opposite sex. My friends would nearly faint over the sweaty muscular jocks sauntering around my father's gym, but none of them caught my eye.

Until now.

"Come on out, Corri! I know you've been listening," my father teased, his voice carrying through the half open door.

Shit. I was busted. No sense in acting Iike I wasn't eavesdropping. I could feel my cheeks heating up as I eased the door open and shuffled across the concrete garage floor. "Yeah, dad?"

Dad placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me directly in my eyes. "We have a houseguest. I'm letting him stay in the loft for a while. Please help him find anything he needs and be kind to him while he stays with us."

I rolled my eyes at his instruction. Why did I need him to remind me to be kind to anyone? I'm always kind. I'm kind to hurt birds, bruised boxers, and homeless teens my dad brings home to live above the garage.

"Corri...this is Colt."

Dad turned me to face him, guiding me by my shoulders. "Colt, this is my lovely daughter, Corri."

I lifted my gaze from the grease stained floor and my eyes landed on the most incredibly handsome face. He had obviously been in a fight recently. His cheek was bruised and the edge of one eyebrow was cut open, blood trickling from the gash. His jaw was swollen a bit and I hated to think of what injuries lie under his soiled and ripped t-shirt.

He offered his hand to me and I took it in mine, feeling his calloused skin and noticing how much larger it was than mine. "Nice to meet you." His voice was gravelly and deep. His face was damaged but his eyes caught my attention. With his dark hair and tan skin, his light eyes made it hard to look away.

"I could close up that cut for you," I offered, pulling my hand from his and lifting it to his jaw for inspection.

Colt flinched when I touched him and I wondered if anyone had ever been kind to him before. "I'm okay," he scowled, putting up a tough front but I saw the way his eyebrows pinched when I ran my fingers along his angular jaw.

"Just let her help you, kid. She's young but Corri's had some basic first aid training and she can fix you right up."

I beamed with pride at my father's confidence in me and how Colt had finally relented. I bounded back into the house for my kit, that I always kept stocked with the necessary supplies. Dad had left, probably to go over the taped fights he kept in his office. I returned to the garage and snapped on the clip-on light attached to my father's workbench. Colt had moved from his spot on the stool and was moving about the space, checking out old photos of my dad in his prime boxing years.

"So why didn't he ever go pro? He was good enough, wasn't he?" Colt's voice had softened and he spoke without looking at me.

"He was the best," I gushed. "He had a left uppercut that would bring any man to his knees."

Colt swung around to face me, prowling toward me slowly and invading my space as I leaned against the old workbench. I blinked up at him, suddenly aware of how he towered over me. "And what about you?" he murmured lowly.

"Why didn't I go pro?" I joked, using humor to deflect the fact that this boy made me nervous.

Colt scoffed and reached over me to paw through my bag. His forearm brushed my shoulder and I had to remind myself to breathe. "I meant what do you do to bring men to their knees?"

I gazed up at, taking a deeper look into his moss green eyes, so warm with golden flecks that it made me want to dive into them and never return. He sunk back onto the metal stool, bringing him level with me, but he never stopped staring.

I prepped a cotton swab of antiseptic and dabbed it to the cut above his eye. "Fuck," he swore quietly through clenched teeth. He squirmed as I cupped his chin with my other hand.

"Does that answer your question?" I smirked triumphantly as he cringed from the pain.

"You're mean," he growled, gripping my hip and squeezing tightly.

My heart skipped and I returned my attention to the supplies. I pulled his hand from my hip, knowing that I couldn't handle the contact a second longer. He was getting to me. And no one ever got to me. I was around handsome men all day and they never made my stomach flutter the way this boy did.

"Shit, it stings," he whined, lifting his hand to touch the abrasion.

I swatted his fingers away. "Don't touch it, doofus. I just cleaned it!" I scolded. Before he could argue, I leaned in to blow on the wound, watching as his eyes fluttered shut and his thick, dark lashes brushed the tops of his sharp cheekbones.

He blew out a slow breath through his nose and couldn't help but notice the deep furrow in his brow. "Still hurt?" I breathed.

"No, butterfly." Colt whimpered.

With his eyes still squeezed shut, I buried my fingers in his thick, curly hair. I sifted through it feeling for bumps, ignoring the way his whole body tensed when I touched him. He swore again, his breath brushing my neck as he did. I could feel tingles all over my body and shit...my nipples hardening.

He must have noticed it too because he was squirming around on the stool. But being the stubborn fool I was, I pressed my hands to the top of thighs to keep him still. He sucked in a sharp breath and I knew immediately that he must have more injuries.

I lifted the bottom edge of his loose basketball shorts and revealed a large ugly purple bruise on his left thigh that looked horribly painful. "I'm so sorry," I whispered as I felt around for a lump.

Colt's eyes snapped open and he abruptly shot up from the stool and looked anywhere but at me. The stool flew back, clattering loudly on the concrete floor. "Don't touch me," he spat, looking more like a wounded animal, than a high school boy.

"Colt," I soothed, reaching for his arm as he twisted away. "It's okay."

It was then that I noticed a sizeable tent in his shorts and how red his face was. "Oh," I gasped stupidly, struck with awe that I had done that and feeling the awkward tension between us as it threatened to swallow us up.

Colt scrubbed his face with both hands and tried to shake away the embarrassment. "What the fuck is wrong with me? You gotta be what...fourteen? Jesus!"

I kept staring at him, trying not to stare, but hell, how could I not? I did that. I wasn't surprised he thought I was younger, I was short and a little delayed in my development. "I'm fifteen," I blurted. "It's okay."

His eyes widened as he stared back and I realized my words. "I mean it's not! You can't...we can't... just put it away!"

"Yeah?" Colt scoffed. "You act like I can control it! It was you...you were playing with my hair and you touched me..." His low voice drifted off as his eyes roamed over me.

"I was checking your head for bumps. I thought maybe you had a concussion or something," I replied maybe a little too defensively, but he was making it seem like I did that on purpose! I mean, why would I? That's too weird.

The truth was, I kinda liked him like this. Not that! But vulnerable and a little more open. Finally he returned to me, bringing the stool back upright again and taking a seat. I continued to give him a once-over, opting to ask questions and look at him with my eyes instead of touching him.

It was just as dangerous for me to be this close to Colt. I had never felt this way before. There was a tightness in my lower stomach that wouldn't go away no matter how hard I tried. It wasn't just pity I felt for him. He was a mystery that I couldn't wait to unravel.

"Were you ever unconscious?" I quizzed, leaning into him slightly as I applied the steri-strips.

"No," he breathed, biting down on his lower lip. Colt had his eyes shut again, maybe to keep himself from looking at me? I tried not to get too close, but he was sitting there with his legs spread wide and...no. I couldn't keep tempting him. My dad told him to stay away and I needed to heed the same advice.

If only it were that easy.

I had just finished covering his cut with a larger bandage when I could hear the unmistakable sound of a hungry tummy rumbling. I smiled at Colt as I packed my supplies away and discarded the trash. "We have some lasagna. Wanna join me?"

Colt rose slowly from his seat and wrung his hands. "I shouldn't impose."

"You're living here now," I laughed. "How is a meal imposing?"

Colt scowled and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just meant that I don't wanna take advantage of the hospitality. You're letting me stay here, but that doesn't mean you have to feed me."

"It's no big deal, I swear. Just some leftovers I'll have to throw out tomorrow anyway."

Colt twisted up his mouth in the most adorable way as he considered my offer. "Just say yes," I grinned wildly. "I hate eating alone."

He nodded and we both headed inside.

I was close to home. I hadn't been here in so long. Not since...well, it had been six years since I had seen my childhood home. After the first year of me refusing to come home for any of my holiday breaks, my father began visiting me at college. Yeah, that was weird, but not after I had gotten my own apartment during junior year.

My dad and I were close, but not close enough for me to tell him why I wouldn't come home. Or for him to call me as soon as he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

I guess we both had things to hide.

When my father finally broke the bad news to me, he had already moved into a nursing home for his care. I wanted him to stay home and let me do it, but he insisted on not being a burden.

Now there were just so many wasted years. The regret I had for not being present in my dad's life was eating away at me. I shouldn't have stayed away. I should've been stronger.

I just couldn't take what I had seen the last time I was home and I didn't wanna see it again.

As I entered my old hometown, I thought back to that first night with Colt. If only I hadn't fallen for him. If only he had ever felt anything for me. Things could've been different. We could've been happy... right?"

"This is amazing," Colt moaned, diving into another huge bite of lasagna. "You made this?"

"I did," I beamed, bursting with pride that he loved my cooking. I had learned from the best. My Nanna had taught me and now more than ever, I was glad I had listened.

"This the best meal I've ever had," he sighed deeply, reaching for the full glass of milk in front of him.

I hopped down from my perch on the counter and sat beside him, too nervous for him to watch me eat. "Want some more?"

He glanced at the pan and considered it. "Don't you want some?"

I was hungry and I finally served myself up a small piece when Colt teased me about not being one of those girls who eats like a bird. He playfully poked my ribs until I started fighting back. "Quit!" I squealed when Colt tickled my neck.

"What's going on?" My father's gruff voice called from his office, causing us both to freeze.

"Nothing!" I hollered, stifling a giggle as I looked into Colt's eyes.

His smile fell away as his gaze drifted to my mouth and back to my eyes. "You're bad, butterfly," he smirked, bumping me with his shoulder.

"Me? And why do you keep calling me that?" I scoffed. "You're a terrible influence, I can already tell."

I swiped a lone tear as I passed my house on the way to visit my father. I couldn't help but wonder where Colt was today. He was probably happy with his family, never giving me a second thought.

So why the hell couldn't I forget the boy with eyes like green sea glass that I was dying to get lost in?

.....

A/N: so here we go! I've been so excited to bring you this new story. So much love to those following me from Taking Chances. If you're new, welcome! Like, comment and follow me on Instagram at stephanie.with.an.a ♥️♥️♥️