Shift Happens (Providence Family Ties 2)

All of the cars looked nice and well cared for, the small yards and grassy areas were nice, and most people seemed to have potted plants on their balconies—perfect for a young girl.

Hopping out, I made my way over to the front door, smiling when a pretty young lady stopped it from closing behind her and let me in.

Hmm, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. I’d have to ask her dads to notify the building manager to put a sign up about not letting strangers in. It was for all of their safeties.

I was so focused on my new surroundings and the issue I’d just encountered that I didn’t realize the girl had stopped until I saw the apartment number I was looking for. To my surprise, she was standing in front of it, rooting in her purse for her keys.

Not thinking, I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder. “Sa—”

Faster than I’d ever seen anyone move, she spun around, dropped down, and punched me full force in my crotch.

More precisely, in the balls.

The consequences were instant—I died a little.

My soul left out of my dick and went straight to hell to scream with all of the other tortured souls. It felt like lava filled with shards of glass and knives exploded from the area and traveled up through my body, all amassing in my throat.

The whole thing made my legs give out, and I dropped down to my knees in front of her, cupping my nuts and trying to gasp in oxygen.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, fanning her hands in my face. “I didn’t realize you were a neighbor. I thought you were a freak trying to attack me.”

“I’m not—” I croaked, gulping in air. “Not neighbor.”

The fanning—whatever good she thought it was doing—stopped, and she leaned away from me slightly. “Who are you then?”

“Jack—” I wheezed, dropping forward to lean against the wall and trying to focus on just surviving, “—son.”

Tilting her head to the side, she looked around us. “Jack’s son? I haven’t met him yet. What apartment’s he in? I’ll run and get him for you.”

Swallowing harshly, I shook my head and closed my eyes against the bright flashes of light. Probably fireworks from my nuts.

“No, Jackson,” I whispered, hoping the fact I could form words now meant I was going to get through this. “Townsend-Rossi.”

Her horrified gasp had me nodding slowly.

Yeah, tell me about it.

“I’m so sorry. I have fists of steel, and sometimes I get carried away. I’ve just been at a self-defense class, and my head was still in the zone. I was feeling the rage as I imagined an attacker—”

I opened one eye so I could look at her as she explained, figuring I’d enjoy this all at some point later on. Much later on.

“So when you touched my shoulder, I lashed out and did the fists of fury nut crunch.”

Who taught someone a fists of fury nut crunch? Jesus Christ, was her self-defense instructor a sadist?

Ironically, she answered that next.

“My instructor taught us that today, and it seemed immoral at the time, but she insisted we learn it. Apparently, her ex-husband was the reason she invented it in four forms. Between you and me,” she whispered, looking around us, “it didn’t sound like he’d earned it, but what do I know?”

Either the blow to the nuts had done something to my brain, or this really was as surreal as it felt.

Biting on her lower lip, she started fidgeting. “You staring at me with one eye and your hands on your junk is a bit creepy.”

That startled a laugh out of me, which was a huge mistake. Massive fucking mistake. It felt like my balls and gut exploded all over again, and I doubled over with a weird choking gasp noise.

My parents owed me.

And at this stage, that debt probably included a new pair of testicles.

Then, as I was panting, on all fours on the ground, she clicked her fingers. It was probably the same noise my poor balls had made when her fist connected with them. Not that I was bitter.

“Oh my God, I know you. You’re Ronnie and Wyatt’s son.”

Unable to lift my head, I kept it hanging but nodded weakly. In all honesty, the only reason I expended the effort was because I was hoping if I did that, she wouldn’t hit me in the nuts again when I finally got the strength to stand back up.

“Which one are you?”

Blinking at the tiled floor, I felt a new emotion join the pain—offense. How dare she not remember me. I was memorable, damn it.

“One of the twins,” I choked out. “The good looking one.”

People always made this mistake. Marcus and I were identical, but there was always a better-looking twin, regardless, and that was me.