Taken by Storm (Give & Take) - By Kelli Maine Page 0,3

doing wasting time back in Sandy Springs, Georgia, at the Rocha Estate?

Don’t answer that question, she told herself. It was of the rhetorical variety that had plagued her mind on repeat for the past year and a half. Every question came down to the same, one-word, one-name answer.

MJ.

He hit the door of the Third Base Lounge with both hands, making it bounce back off the wall as he stepped inside. His first priority was a drink or five, then he’d move on to a distraction. Glancing around, he didn’t see the female distraction he’d been getting around to knowing better. Carnally better. Too bad. Tonight would’ve been a night for her to remember.

He was glad Paul was behind the bar tonight and not the new guy Coach had hired who tried to card MJ two nights ago. He settled in on a bar stool and ordered a double of Jack. This was home and Coach Harting, the owner, was as close to a father as he’d ever had. MJ had grown up eating peanuts and watching cartoons with Maddie in the bar’s back office while Coach balanced his books.

Coach Harting had coached every summer Little League team MJ had ever been on and sponsored them with Third Base Lounge jerseys. He was the reason MJ made it onto the GSU baseball team at all after Maddie left.

Those first few months after she’d left, MJ had been a mess. He got drunk and passed out every night, dropped most of his classes his first semester, and started fighting with anyone who wouldn’t back down. Coach wouldn’t give up on him though, said MJ had too much talent to let a woman destroy his dreams. Coach met with the GSU baseball coach and personally vouched for MJ, said he’d kick MJ’s ass if he didn’t shape up. Somehow, the GSU coach believed him and let him on the team.

Now Coach owed MJ an ass whooping.

MJ took the shot glass from the bartender. “Keep these coming.” He tossed the fiery whiskey down his throat and slammed the glass down onto the bar.

“Bad day?” Paul asked, whisking the empty away and replacing it with another.

MJ rolled his head back and forth from shoulder to shoulder. The Jack warmed his stomach and dulled his senses. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

Paul braced his hands against the bar. “A chick?”

MJ took a deep sip of his double shot, nodding. “Kicked me square in the balls.” He swallowed and winced. No need to mention his daddy issues. That situation was too fucked up to even try to explain.

Paul dropped his hands. “Sorry, man.”

“Yeah. Whatever. We haven’t been together for over a year anyway.”

Paul leaned in, resting his forearms on the bar. “Wait. You mean Maddie? Is she back?”

MJ exhaled sharply through his nose and downed the rest of his shot.

That was all the answer Paul needed. He gave MJ a friendly punch to the arm and shook his head before striding to the other end of the bar where he was being flagged down for a beer.

Someone ran into MJ from behind, jolting him sideways on his stool. Instantly enraged, he swung his fist around, connecting with the back of the guy’s head. It was one of the idiots playing pool. “Watch yourself.”

The guy grabbed the front of MJ’s shirt and threw him back into his stool where he lost his balance and fell off onto his ass on the floor. “Want to try that again?”

Drunk and stumbling, it took a second for MJ to get onto his feet and start swinging. The dull, dark pounding in his head was a tribal drum beat spurring his anger. The man became every guy he’d ever imagined Maddie with in Michigan and MJ threw every punch harder than the last, determined to take back what was his. He wouldn’t be denied any longer. MJ slammed his fist into the side of the man’s head, making him shuffle sideways against the bar. MJ rushed forward, eager to finish this asshole.

With another punch to the man’s gut, the man became MJ’s father, and a surge of animosity crackled under MJ’s skin. He would be heard. Seen. Acknowledged. His fists jabbed hard and fast against the man’s face and abdomen. The cracks of fist against skin urged MJ on again and again. Thanks to his trusty friend, Jack Daniel’s, he didn’t even feel the hits he took.

A pair of hands grabbed him from behind, and as he was being dragged backward,